Weston Ochse - Reign of Evil

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw three of his men go down. Damn.

“Do you need help?” Magerts shot through the coms.

Ian brought his sword back into First Point, which presented the tip of the blade toward the target, his sword hand beside his right ear. “Got this.” The tip of the sword quivered from his barely controlled fear.

The hound clawed for his leg.

Ian jerked his foot back.

The hound immediately clawed at his other leg, before Ian could put his foot down.

He was forced to hop backwards and in doing so lost his balance.

The hound leaped forward, grabbing his boot with a claw. He felt talons bite into his leg directly above his ankle. He fought back a scream and jammed his sword at the hound’s face. It jerked back, but not before he sliced off an ear. But even as he looked, the ear grew back.

He pushed himself back and stood.

The hound moved on again.

This time Ian feinted, stepped back just as the hound lunged, and spun to his right, finishing a 270-degree arc by slicing the black blade through the creature’s neck.

It fell soundlessly and began to melt into the air.

Ian turned to his men. Eight of them were down. A single hound held the rest at bay. Try as the Marines might, they couldn’t get past the hound’s defenses, and vice versa.

The hound was facing away from Ian so it was an easy five long strides before he hacked off this one’s head as well.

With no current opponents, he began to check the men.

Five were dead, one of whom had his chest ripped open and another with his spine ripped out. Ian saw it lying a few feet away but didn’t have the stomach to return it to the dead. Three others were wounded, one of whom didn’t have long to live.

“Observation Post, report,” Ian said.

“They’re arguing on the hill. They must know what you’ve done. The hounds are dead, right?”

“Affirmative.”

“They seem to be trying to decide. One’s pointing this way.”

The observer in the front of the home joined the conversation. “I bet he’s pointing at the troop trucks.”

Ian could hear trucks coming up the road. Sounded like several of them. A sinking feeling replaced his sense of impending victory. “Did you say ‘troop trucks’?”

“The trucks stopped. Men are disembarking. They’re wearing black and carrying SA80s. They’re forming into two groups and look ready to come down each side of the road.”

“How many?”

“Thirty. Fifteen and Fifteen.”

“Stand by.” Ian sheathed his sword and grabbed the nearest Marine. He spoke in a harsh whisper. “Listen up. We’re crossing the road and going into the house. We leave in five seconds. Magerts, stand by. QRF, stand by. Two, one, move!”

He jerked free his pistol and pulled the Marine through the shrubbery and let the others follow. He rushed across the narrow two-lane road, through the charred doorframe, and into the house. Parlors stood off either side of the entry. He posted the men in each one as they came through. The last two in line were the wounded as they came under fire from the new threat. One took a bullet in the back. The other made it in.

“Magerts, when they get in front of the house, open fire with everything you have. QRF, establish positions to their rear. Machine-gun fire on my command. You lot in here. I want you to clear the first floor. Kill anyone who is a threat and zip-tie everyone else. And for the love of god, look out for Trevor.” Ian faced ten sets of wide-eyed stares. “Move!” And they jumped into motion.

He remained by the front window. He didn’t like being forced to bring his men inside without knowing what they faced, but the alternative would get them killed. And they weren’t even close to completing their mission. He tried to call Holmes but got only static. He tried Preeti with the same results. Could someone be blocking cellular coms? If so, he was thankful their short-range radios were working.

Several shots rang out behind him. He didn’t dare turn. He just had to trust that the Marines were doing their jobs.

The radio crackled as the machine gunner spoke. “One group is moving behind the shrubbery you just vacated.”

“And the other?”

“Moving slower toward the near corner of the house.”

Ian pulled a fragmentation grenade from his belt, slid free the pin, and held the spoon in place. He put his back to the wall just left of the window. It gave him the angle to see the first man of the group of black-clad soldiers closest to him. He was dressed like the others, and his and the faces of the men behind him were painted with black and green camo.

“Magerts, fire on my signal.” He let the spoon slip free and cooked the hand grenade for two seconds before tossing it through the window. He had just enough time to see the surprised expression on the lead man’s face before Ian was forced to dive to the ground.

The grenade went off, peppering the outside of the home with shrapnel. Screams were cut off by a surge of SA80s firing from Magerts’s hide site. Then a few seconds later, the rattling of the machine gun began to eat the rear of the line of men.

He pulled his last two fragmentation grenades, removed the pins, then tossed each of them across the road until they rolled beneath the shrubbery. He jerked his head back. Both went off simultaneously, throwing superheated shrapnel in all directions. When next he looked, a pair of truck-sized holes had been blown in the shrubbery. Men were picking themselves off the smoke-hugged ground. Many had hands over their ears. They never heard the machine-gun shots that took them down.

Then as suddenly as the violent confluence started, it stopped.

The machine gunner said it simply. “They’re all dead.”

“Rule number one.” Magerts laughed. “Never walk into an L-shaped ambush.”

But Ian didn’t find any of this funny. Thirty men with families had just died much like Jerry and probably Trevor. And for what? For a mythical king to come back to life? Fuck!

One of the Marines approached from behind. “First floor cleared, sir. No sign of Trevor.”

“Clear the second floor. Magerts, clear the front, and bring your men inside.”

Ian turned and walked into the main salon where his men had already zip-tied several dozen revelers. It had been an orgy of epic proportions. Many of the men were still erect, trying to edge their way closer to the nearest zip-tied woman. There wasn’t a single piece of furniture or square meter of carpet that wasn’t occupied by someone.

Some of the men still wore masks. Long beaks of birds. The mane of a lion. The whiskered snout of a rat. He pulled the rat’s mask off and recognized the man immediately.

“You looked different on television.”

The flab of the man’s midsection almost covered his semi-erect cock. The mad, lust-filled look in his eyes showed no signs of diminishing. It was either drugs or magic or both. Whatever was in these people, it wasn’t anything Ian wanted to be part of. He glanced over at the naked women and noted that they did nothing for him. In fact, he felt sadness for them. Whatever they’d had that was good had been spent. He wasn’t sure how he knew it, but he just did. Something evil had come to harvest and laid them bare.

A few shots echoed in the street out front; then Magerts and his men fanned inside.

Magerts whistled. “Now this is what I call a party.” He waggled a finger at one of his Marines. “Treat this like a museum, boys. Look, but don’t touch.”

“Pretty fucked-up museum,” one of them said.

Magerts’s face held the afterglow of battle. “We’ll follow you anytime, Lieutenant Colonel Waits. Those bastards never knew what hit them.”