RED HAZE: A Werewolf Story for the 21st Century (6 page)

“So, I await your update on Phase One my friend. I have certainly enjoyed watching the news reports.”

On the other end of the phone, Wilhelm Oratz laughed sadistically. “Yes, I am sure you have my Fuhrer. Phase One is complete, a thorough success.”

Smiling with pride, the man in the chair spoke again. “Good, you have all done well! Pass my congratulations to our grenadiers in the field, their skills have been exceptional.”

“Indeed they have my Fuhrer. Even their mimicking of the Middle Eastern accent has been perfect.”

“Well trained indeed my friend. Now, recruitment, what interesting news do you have to give me?”

“Recruitment goes well and has increased greatly over the last week or so. It seems our policies are well thought of within the organisations I am visiting. Tomorrow evening I am attending a meeting in Stuttgart, with a large contingency. I have no doubts regarding their loyalty to our cause my Fuhrer.” With a sense of deep satisfaction, the man in the chair nodded his head as Oratz continued. “The total number so far recruited for our Kampfgruppen is one hundred and fifty six. Their training goes well, and all weapons are now shipped in and ready for use.”

A few seconds of silence fell across the room, both men being deep in thought. “I am delighted Wilhelm. Now, we move to Phase Two.”

“Agreed.”

With a sign of irritation, the woman spoke. “Otto, you have your report, let’s get back to our entertainment, shall we?”

The man nodded. “Wilhelm”, his voice now deep and penetrating, “I look forward to seeing you soon. Remember my friend, my loyalty is always for you.”

The reply was instantaneous, “and my honour, is always for you, my Fuhrer.”

Momentarily, vivid memories came swirling back to the naked man in the chair, back to the early seventies and the two men’s years at Dresden University of Technology.

Their new found friendship together had been a time of intense debate, for both studious, intelligent men had a fascination with the Third Reich, Adolf Hitler, the Waffen SS and most of all, a greater Germany. A Germany that other countries across Europe would once again both fear and respect. One day…they both knew that time would come.

At the end of their University term, he had offered Oratz a place by his side within a newly formed division of his father’s company. Both men were aggressive, dynamic, unstoppable, their blood oath having secured their friendship and loyalty to their cause. Having slit the palms of their hands with an antique SS Dagger, the two had shook firmly, their voices as one. “My honour is my loyalty,” they had both said, in unison. It was the old Waffen SS Blood Oath! To be as one, to hold fast a friendship that only strong loyalty could bring, a loyalty that would one day be bathed in the blood of others.

Now…that time had arrived.

Swiftly, the mobile phone was pulled away from his ear, but this time he didn’t mind. Cursing under her breath and switching the phone off, the woman moved briskly towards her captive’s large office desk and tossed it into a drawer. She turned quickly, her doctor’s coat swirling around with her, and walked back, the leather gag once again in her hand. Gripping his hair, she wrenched the man’s head backwards and ordered him to ‘open wide’. As she expected, he didn’t, he just struggled, adding to her amusement and sexual stimulation. Forcibly, gripping his jaws tightly, she replaced the gag around his mouth, dementedly pulling the straps tight, making him grunt like a stuffed pig, his jaws aching under the pressure. “There, that’s better.” With a look of sheer sadism set firmly in her eyes, the attractive physician restarted the DVD and snapped on her latex gloves.

The man on the screen was screaming terribly, her scalpel moving with precision, slowly, carefully, down his body, cutting, incising, causing so much…agony.

Deeply engrossed and utterly fascinated, they both looked on. Roughly, she gripped her captive’s penis once again, squeezing, caressing as they both viewed the horrifying scenes on the television screen. The wretched form on the operating table suffered terribly, for she knew how to keep him alive, how to keep him awake, so she could enjoy his slow, excruciating torment. “He survived another two days of pain and pleasure, before his heart gave out.” Her voice was a sultry whisper, “now my darling, it’s time for me to work on you.” 

And she did work on him, for nearly two hours, using her medical and surgical skills, scientifically placing the needles into various parts of his anatomy, but always sterilising the areas of torture first. For him, his body writhing, rocking in the chair, his yelling confined under the gag, it was a time of agony…and ecstasy, his seed exploding forth in her gloved hands, covering his finely muscled stomach and torso, his enjoyment immense and deeply satisfying.

Satiated, and utterly exhausted, the gag was removed, the tape cut loose and the handcuffs released, her tongue penetrating his lips, lasciviously reaching for his tonsils as she ran her seed covered hands over his body. He agreed to the penetration, his tongue flicking, darting inside her mouth. Both were spent, their energies exhausted as he spoke, in a low, growling tone. “My dear Lana, what would I ever do without you?” 

The room stank of bodily sweat, her tongue caressing his face before moving leisurely down his neck where her beautiful ice white teeth bit enticingly into his flesh. Her eyes smouldered as she mounted him, another display of powerful sexuality engulfing their bodies and minds, their rhythms flowing, one with the other. Screaming and sighing, her hips writhing, she shouted, “OH OTTO, YOU’RE AN ANIMAL!”

And so they carried on into the evening, their bodies draining each other of further energy.

Then, they relaxed, her face close to his. “Now,” she whispered, “it’s time to celebrate your success.” Slowly dismounting his engorged member, she walked over to the small office refrigerator and pulled out the ice-cold bottle of Champagne. The cork was pulled, the bubbling, gassy liquid filling two glasses.

“Lana,” he whispered, a slight look of annoyance set on his rugged face, “you know I cannot consume too much alcohol!”

With her beautiful, sultry eyes transfixed on his, she handed him a glass. “Just this one,” she whispered, her smile as captivating as ever. “To the success of Phase Two, my darling.”

“Amen to that” the man said, his laughter cold, evil and intense.

4

LETHAL PASSENGER

The satellite images were both violent and disturbing, yet Ashley Piper was transfixed by them.

It was four days later, at SHAPE Headquarters.

“Yes, it’s you Ash, hard to believe isn’t it?” Thoughtfully rubbing the fingertips of his right hand along his jaw, Piper sat as if mesmerised, not saying a word as Colonel Mann sat at his desk, carefully watching his reactions. “Forty three Iraqi troops in total, ripped to pieces…by you!” The Colonel sighed, his finger pointing at the video screen, a grave look of disbelief edging its way quickly across his stern face. “To be honest Ash, that thing inside you frightens the bloody hell out of me.” Slowly, the Colonel rose from his chair and poured himself a glass of water, offering one to Piper.

Again, there was no response, just the same troubled look set firmly in Piper’s blue and amber eyes. Having sipped at his water, Charles Mann strode across the room and switched off the footage. “The Americans are naturally very interested in your…how shall I say…antics. It was their satellite directly over you at the time of the firefight.” Daylight flooded into the office as the blinds were drawn back.

“And in the midst of it all…” Piper cast an intense glance at the Colonel, “I saved Dunstan and Collins’ lives.”

“Indeed you did,” the Colonel nodded, “and that is why I, sorry, we…find you so utterly fascinating, and important!” Sipping his water again, his steely eyes not leaving Piper’s, Charles Mann continued the grim conversation. “From what we can ascertain Ash, whilst you are in this…wolf form, you seem to retain your perception of friend from foe. At least my colleagues and I are presuming this…at present.” The look on Charles Mann’s stern face now conveyed bold authority. “Tell me Ash,” he continued, “tell me what it’s like to be a wolf?” It was a clever question, a question to test Piper’s state of mind.

“Sir…?”

“The wolf inside you, what’s it like to have the senses and strength normal human beings lack?”

Piper noticed the Colonel’s use of ‘normal’. He had pushed the word down his throat, testing for a reaction. It was a direct assault on Piper’s sensitivity, an assault to test the possibility of any psychological damage to his mind. “I…I don’t know sir.”

“COME ON PIPER,” with an almighty thump, his quiet, confident tone becoming a shout, the Colonel’s fist slammed down on his desk, “YOU MUST REMEMBER SOMETHING OF YOUR TRANSFORMATION! THE FIREFIGHT, THE FEELINGS INSIDE YOU? THINK MAN, THINK!”

Charles Mann’s voice had risen considerably. Was he angry? Inhaling deeply, Piper answered, his thoughts in turmoil. “Sir, the only thing I can remember was seeing everything in red…yes, a sort of mist, a haze… a red haze.”

“Yes, go on, anything else?”

“…the sounds around me, very loud, almost piercing…and the smells… gasoline, sweat and blood.” Shaking his head in disbelief Piper continued, “I remember the tracer racing past me, an Iraqi firing at me, the look of horror on his face…” he paused, then flinched, “…the rounds hitting my chest!”

As the two men talked, the same high-ranking officer who had previously conversed with Colonel Mann was listening intently in another office, with every word being transmitted to where he was sitting by a hidden microphone.

A woman sat listening too. She was deep in thought.

Slowly, Piper ran the back of his hand across his brow, his thick, dark blonde hair, matted with sweat.

“Alright, relax Ash.” Charles Mann’s tone returned to normal, a calming smile weaving its way towards the worried looking man sat in front of him. What was Piper thinking right now, he thought? Could he control the terrifying beast inside him, and the bloodlust that now ran in his veins? Could he be the ultimate weapon against terrorism? Did he dare show Piper the recorded video footage from Rostov? Only Commander Hertschell and Doctor Descard could answer that question! It was time for him to meet them. “Ash, answer this final question, and I want an honest answer…”

“Sir?”

“Are you afraid…of what’s inside you?”

Piper’s facial expression suddenly became aggressive, the look on his face taking Colonel Mann somewhat by surprise. “No sir, I am not afraid, as you so quaintly put it, of what’s inside me!”

“How can you be so sure?”

Again Piper sensed the Colonel probing into his mind. “Because I have to live with it sir. I trust it…the wolf is a friend.”

Nodding his head with satisfaction Charles Mann rose from his chair, walked across to Piper and patted him warmly on the shoulder. “An honest and admirable answer. Now then…” Brusquely moving towards the door, the Colonel’s mood lightened somewhat, “let’s organise some refreshment shall we? What would you like Ash, coffee or tea?” Again, the calming smile returned.

“English tea sir?” Piper smiled too, his mind and body relaxing again.

“Of course.”

“That would be very pleasant sir. Nice and strong, just a little milk, no sugar.”

“And a slice of chocolate cake perhaps?”

Piper laughed, “wonderful sir.”

“Good! Wait here Ash, I’ll be about fifteen minutes. Your tea and cake will be brought in to you. After that, there are two people I want you to meet.”

There was now a look in Colonel Mann’s eyes that Piper found interesting. Yes, he thought, the Colonel’s hiding something, of that he was certain. This was certainly turning out to be a de-briefing with a difference. As Charles Mann turned and left the office, closing the door quietly behind him, Piper sighed, settled back in his chair and closed his eyes.

For late March the weather was quite pleasant. Although the sea salt could be smelt on the cool breeze, the sun was shining, lazily, brightly, its warmth making all the difference to the people in the long queue.

But it wasn’t particularly so for Claire Mason. She was in the middle of an embarrassing and tedious argument with her husband, John. Both 40 years of age, the couple had been greatly looking forward to their five-day tour of Holland, and to John especially, the visit meant a great deal.

“Oh Claire, c’mon, the Steamer is superb, just look at her. You know how much I have longed for this riverboat tour. You’ll enjoy the trip, trust me, I know you will.” Claire shrugged. She looked thoroughly miserable!

Reaching out and wrapping his arms around his wife, John hugged her gently. “Look love, the Steamer has ‘passenger safety’ written all over it.” John was doing his best to try to make a difficult situation, a little easier. “There’s no need to be frightened. There must be plenty of other people in this queue who can’t swim.”

He was probably right thought Claire as John’s face drew close to hers, throwing her one of his cheeky smiles, which she always loved.

“What do you bet?” he said, quirkily, “c’mon, I’ll bet you a fiver there are other people here who can’t swim.” John laughed. Claire blushed.

“Oh, I know…I know,” she replied, sheepishly. With a hushed tone, Claire looked back at the throng of people behind her. Men, women and children, all seemingly happy and excited, waiting to pay their boarding fee and climb on board the beautiful paddle steamer known as the ‘De Neederland’.

The majestic boat had previously ferried thousands of people on highly educational and thought-provoking tours of Rotterdam’s modernised Dockyards, and was a very popular tourist attraction. John himself had a particular fascination with all types of steamboats. That was why he had looked forward to the trip so much.

“Oh well,” said Claire, reluctantly shrugging her shoulders, “I suppose you’re right.”

Then, just behind the couple, another voice spoke.

A low, singular toned voice. A man’s. “I am sure you will both have a wonderful time.”

Turning around quickly, the two English tourists looked at the tall, dark haired, bespectacled young man facing them. He was smiling, pleasantly.

Claire felt a little rush of embarrassment. He must have overheard their silly little argument she thought, her cheeks blushing somewhat. Dismayed and embarrassed, she conceded and spoke to the stranger. “I suppose I am being a little silly. It’s just that…well…I can’t swim and I have this terrible fear of water.”

“We all have something to fear,” said the stranger, continuing to smile.

John interrupted the flow of conversation. “Do I recognise a possible German accent?” he said, inquisitively.

“Yes, I am from Berlin. My name is Gerhard.” The man’s right hand reached out from his jacket pocket. John, then Claire, shook it warmly.

Again, Claire felt a little embarrassed, but the German gentleman’s pleasant charm and charisma soon put her at ease. Yes, she thought, he seems very nice, and he would be fun to talk to on the tour, especially as she had always wanted to visit Berlin.

It was John who broke the friendly silence of strangers meeting for the first time. “Well…here we go!” he said.

The three looked around as a portly, grey bearded gentleman, wearing a black, flat sailor’s cap bid the growing throng of people a hearty “good afternoon”. With a gleam in his eyes, he unclasped the short red-knotted rope attached to the entry of the gangway and casually walked over to the ticket box. As the queue of people began to move, Claire and John stepped slowly forward, Gerhard too, pulling a tatty looking rucksack over his shoulder. 

John was excited and pleased. Claire seemed happier, they had met a very pleasant, fellow passenger and the paddle steamer looked wonderful. This should be a grand tour, he thought.

“Ohhh, I must admit, I’m getting rather excited now.” Claire put her arm through her husband’s, as John pulled out a wad of Euros, ready to pay. “John, let’s treat Gerhard to this trip, please…”

The young German looked surprised.

“Yes, why not. This is on us Gerhard,” John explained, happily.

“Oh please…I cannot…”

“No, we absolutely insist,” Claire was adamant, “provided you tell us both about Berlin.” Her smile was bright, warm and affectionate. How could Gerhard refuse?

“Thank you,” the German tourist replied, “thank you very much.”

Chocolate Cake! Ash Piper smiled, savouring every mouthful, the break and the refreshments giving him time to relax, and think.

The C130 flight from Saudi had been pleasant, the crew, friendly, the same for the car journey to SHAPE Headquarters. Piper had guessed the two men who had met him off the flight were most probably from the Belgian ESI Civilian Special Forces group. Piper had a great deal of respect for the ESI, just as they had for the SAS. He had also noticed the tell tale bulges under his chauffeur’s jackets. They had both been armed. 

And now here he was, sat in an office in Casteau, near Mons in Belgium, belonging to NATO’s Military High Command. The Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe, or SHAPE as it is more commonly known. The Headquarters for NATO’s European military operations.

Bringing his thoughts steadfastly back to why he had been brought to SHAPE, Piper suddenly noticed the door swing open. It was Colonel Mann.

“Right Ash, follow me please.”

Moving quickly, Piper arose from his chair. Walking hurriedly out of the office, the two men moved to an elevator at the end of a long corridor. As two steel doors slowly slid open, they stepped in. The doors closed, Colonel Mann then reaching down to a small button on his right side. He pressed it. With a jolt the elevator moved as just for a second, a slight sense of dizziness overcame Piper. He had expected to climb upwards, but exactly the opposite happened. They were descending!

Several seconds later the compact steel cubicle came to an abrupt halt, the doors opened and the view that met Trooper Ash Piper of the Special Air Service, took his breath away. There in front of him, in an expansive room filled with an array of large overhead screens, were a number of men and women dressed in dark blue uniforms, several being sat at computer terminals monitoring what seemed to be satellite transmissions. In a mild state of disbelief Piper turned to the Colonel, his mouth open as if to speak…but he couldn’t. 

A proud smile sat on Colonel Mann’s face. “Welcome Ash,” he said, “welcome to CEATA. The Central European Anti Terrorism Agency.”

The cold breeze had increased on the deck of the ‘De Neederland’ and Claire was worried she might catch a chill. Standing at the front of the beautiful, crisp white-coloured paddle steamer, she tugged at her husband’s sleeve. “John, once the boat departs it might get a little cold standing here.”

“Oh love, you’re a born worrier.” Smiling, Claire’s husband raised his camera and snapped a photograph of the harbour skyline. “This is wonderful,” he said ecstatically. “Don’t worry love, if it gets cold we can always go inside.” Turning around, John saw the pleasant young man from Berlin, Gerhard, standing quite close to them. He was looking at his watch.

“Gerhard,” it was Claire’s voice, “please tell us about Berlin. It must be a lovely city to live in, with so much wonderful history.”

“Ah yes,” Gerhard replied, “I have lived in Berlin all my life.” Again, the German tourist looked at his watch, his eyes narrowing as he cast his gaze across to the jetty.