First Strike by - (reading e books .TXT) 📕

during the night. He knelt down and placed his hand alongside one of the tracks. It dwarfed his hand.

Agnar was right; they were being stalked.

Cole looked out into the forest. He couldn’t see more than a few meters through the thick, dark woods. A feeling of primal dread ran down his spine. The bear could be watching him and he’d never know it until it was too late. He stood, checked that he had a high-explosive grenade loaded into his grenade launcher, and then followed Agnar back to their camp.

When noon arrived, Sheridan ordered their shelter to be struck and everything made ready to leave regardless of how Shawul was feeling. Although he had rested an extra six hours and had drunk plenty of warm liquids, Shawul was no better. To help him keep up with the remainder of the group, Garcia and Agnar had taken all of the sick man’s equipment and carried it on their backs. Struggling through the knee-deep snow, everyone soon became tired. Agnar took point and bashed a path through the forest for everyone else to follow.

Sheridan’s throat was parched. He couldn’t believe how thirsty he became in the cold. He reached down for his water bottle and saw that it was nearly all gone. Without realizing it, he had been chugging water all afternoon. He called out for Agnar to stop where he was while everyone else caught up with him. Sheridan undid his shirt to let out the trapped hot air. Steam rose from his chest. He was about to ask Shawul how he was doing when all hell broke loose.

With a monstrous bellowing cry, the bear that had been stalking them charged straight out of the forest. In seconds, it was less than a couple of meters away and closing fast. 

Sheridan tried to bring up his weapon to fire but was too slow. 

With a horrified scream on his lips, Shawul was struck by one of the bear’s four arms. His bloodied and mangled body flew up into the air, landing in a heap beside a snow-covered tree.

Tartov panicked and blindly ran backward, colliding with Cole and knocking him off his feet. 

Garcia spun about and tried to raise her rifle to fire, but was hit in the side by the bear as it charged by. Tumbling to the ground, Garcia blacked out.

It had taken mere seconds for the bear to strike. With a loud growl from deep inside its chest, the animal’s powerful jaws clamped down on Shawul’s neck. With a loud snap of cracking bones, the bear shook its victim from side to side, killing him. It had what it wanted and ignored the others. The bear slowly turned around and dragged Shawul’s body into the forest, leaving behind a crimson streak of blood on the snow.

“Fuck,” mumbled Sheridan as he watched the bear and Shawul vanish from sight.

Agnar ran past Sheridan and fired off two quick bursts of automatic gunfire into the woods, trying to hit the beast.

“Is everyone alright?” asked Cole as he pushed a terrified Tartov out of the way.

“Shawul is gone,” answered Agnar, still staring wide-eyed into the darkened woods.

“Where’s Garcia?” asked Sheridan when he couldn’t see her.

A second later, she sat up covered in snow. “Here, sir,” she replied, rubbing her aching neck.

“We have to help Shawul,” said Agnar. 

“He’s dead,” said Cole.

“We’re Marines God damn it!” shouted Agnar. “We don’t ever leave a man behind.”

Sheridan shook his head. “Agnar, there’s nothing we can do. Staff Sergeant Cole is right. Shawul is dead. If we go into the woods looking for his body, there’s a good chance one or more of us will also end up dead. You saw what it could do. We have to keep moving.”

Agnar shook his head, dropped to his knees, and then looked over at Garcia for support.

Garcia stood up, brushed the snow off her uniform and walked over beside Agnar. “It’s okay, big fella, there’s nothing we can do for the man. Come on, Marine, we have a job to do. Now up on your feet.”

With a nod, Agnar got up and resumed his post.

Cole walked over to Sheridan. In a hushed voice, he said, “That friggin bear will be back. Once an animal has a taste for human flesh, it’ll keep coming after us.”

“I know. What do you suggest?”

“I bet we’ve got a day or two before it comes looking for its next meal. We’ll have to make some improvised explosive devices and ring them around the camp at night and hope that we get a shot off next time, or we’re all doomed.”

Chapter 9

Without Shawul to slow them down and the thought of a four-armed bear with a taste for human flesh tracking them, Sheridan’s group made good time. They arrived at the base of the tall mountain range a day earlier than anticipated. When Sheridan couldn’t spot an easy way around, they slowly began to walk up a narrow rocky path that led between two tall jagged peaks. Agnar named them Freyr and Freyja, after a pair of twins from Norse mythology.

The snow had been coming down continuously for the past day. Everyone was cold and tired, but they still kept their heads up and didn’t complain, all except Tartov, who looked like a drowned rat.

“Okay, we’ll rest here for the night,” announced Sheridan, pointing to some overhanging rocks.

“I’ll get a fire going,” said Agnar.

After supper, Cole insisted on checking everyone’s feet. Days of marching over some of the worst terrain the sergeant had ever seen had taken its toll on the inexperienced soldiers’ feet. Agnar had a blister the size of a gold coin on the back of his right heel. If it bothered him, he didn’t let it show. Garcia just needed to dry her feet and change her socks. The worst was Tartov. The bottom of his feet looked like raw hamburger. Garcia shook her head and admonished the PO before getting to work cleaning and bandaging up the wounds.

“Sir, would you like me to check your feet?” asked Cole.

Sheridan didn’t answer.

Cole looked over and saw Sheridan staring out into the dark. His eyes fixed on something.

“What is it?” asked Cole as he reached for his rifle.

“We’re not alone.”

Cole stood up and joined Sheridan.

“What did you see, sir?”

“I didn’t see anything, I heard it,” replied Sheridan as he moved his thumb over and changed the safety on his weapon from safe to fire.

“What did you hear?”

“It sounded like someone moving about out there.”

A shot rang out.

Sheridan and Cole instinctively dropped to one knee and brought their weapons up.

A voice called out. “Drop your weapons and stand up with your hands on top of your heads.”

“Obermman, it’s you, isn’t it, you dumb ass!” yelled out Agnar. “I know it’s you. Only you could miss a target standing out in the open less than twenty meters away.”

“Agnar, is that you?” replied Obermman.

“No, you idiot, it’s his ghost.”

A second later, a disheveled-looking Marine walked next to the fire. Sheridan recognized the man as the tall, black-haired soldier who had lost his cool when the Churchill was fired upon.

“Marine, are there any more people with you?” asked Sheridan.

“Yes, sir,” replied Obermman. “I’ve got Andrews with me and three other crewmen. We had two more, but a couple of them saber-toothed cat things got ‘em the first night we landed.”

“Don’t be shy, people. Step forward,” said Cole.

Andrews led a couple of dirty and exhausted-looking men carrying an injured woman on a stretcher made from a blanket and a couple of long sturdy branches over beside the fire.

“What happened to her?” asked Garcia as she moved over to examine the woman’s injuries.

“She broke her leg two days ago,” explained Andrews, his accent had an Australian twang to it.

“Lay her down on the ground and let me take a look at what you’ve done,” ordered Garcia.

Obermman looked over at Sheridan. “Sir, do you know if anyone else from the platoon made it?”

Sheridan shook his head. “I think we’re it. Where were you and Andrews when the ship was hit?”

“We were on duty guarding the engine room. When the order to abandon ship was given, Andrews and I ran for the nearest pod.”

Sheridan asked, “How did you find us?”

“Purely by accident, sir. When we saw your fire, we knew we had stumbled across more survivors, or perhaps some refugees fleeing the Kurgans.”

“You all look like crap. When was the last time you ate?” asked Cole.

“Two days ago, Sergeant. After the cats attacked us, we ran for our lives. We left most of our rations back with the pod.”

Cole snapped his fingers to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, folks, listen up. Give me all of your rations and pile them up here at my feet. If I find you’ve kept so much as a stick of gum from me, you’ll wish you were never born.”

Sheridan was the first to drop all of his food. “I take it we’re going to start rationing our food.”

“Yes, sir, with four more hungry mouths to feed, we’re gonna have to stretch out our rations until we can find some more.”

For two more miserably long and cold days, Sheridan led his party through the mountain pass. Everyone took turns carrying the stretcher. Garcia had re-splinted the woman’s leg, but the injured crewman would require surgery to fix her shattered bones. With their thermal blankets draped over their shoulders to keep them warm, they looked more like a rag-tag mob than a group of fighting soldiers.

Agnar walked with his eyes glued to the rocks. He hoped to kill something they could eat. An expert shot, Agnar had grown up hunting in the woods of northern Europe with his father. If it walked on four or six legs, Agnar figured he could bring it down and cook it.

Andrews looked over at Sheridan. “Sir, why haven’t we been able to communicate with the forces in the capital? My communicator is fully charged, but I haven’t heard a thing since we landed. We don’t need a satellite to use these comms devices. Do you think the city has already fallen?”

Sheridan slowed down so he could talk with the Marine. “Andrews, the Kurgans will have established an electronic bubble around the capital, isolating it. Nothing our people send can get in or out of the bubble. As for the city, who knows? It could have been taken the first day the enemy arrived, or it still could be in our hands. I suspect we’ll find out in the next couple of days.”

That night, they took refuge in a cave. Out of the cold and with a roaring fire to keep them warm, their troubles were forgotten for a few hours. Down to two meager meals a day, everyone was always hungry.

Garcia checked on Hollande, the crewman with a broken leg, and then cleaned Tartov’s blister-covered feet.

Sheridan was at the cave entrance looking toward the heavens. For a moment, he thought about Tarina and wondered where she was and if she was safe. Sheridan knew that she had a couple of months of advanced flight