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The rule was no dog tags, no identifying information on any note or letter, no wallet, no identification. They were a recon unit heading into enemy territory. They either made it out with the information, or they died nameless and unrecognized, their bodies left to either lie in foreign soil or exposed to the elements to be baked in the sun and made carrion for the animals who lived there.
They were a successful unit—considered to be one of the best and most highly effective. They were upbeat for the most part, never downplaying the danger for which they’d volunteered, but believing their cause to be just. Despite the risk, they were, for the moment, content and happy. This was their last mission before heading out on an extended leave. Safe—until they weren’t.
An IED exploded from beneath the Humvee, killing most of those inside instantly. Those who managed to crawl out from under the wreckage were immediately engulfed in close-quarters fighting. Hutch and Smitty had survived the initial attack but had become separated from the rest of the survivors. Hell, at that point, he wasn’t sure there were any other survivors.
Hutch was peeking around the corner of a building when an insurgent burst through an open door. Hutch was able to take him down, but not before he’d managed to shoot Smitty. Grabbing Smitty by the collar, he stuffed a dirty rag in his mouth to muffle his screams and half-dragged him into another building down a different alley.
By the time he could stop long enough to look at the wound, he could see Smitty would never make it out alive. The bullet must have nicked a femoral artery and blood was flowing freely.
“I don’t want to die here, Hutch. I don’t want to die.”
“You’re not going to die,” lied Hutch. There was no reason to tell the kid the truth. Even if a medic or a medivac chopper had been handy, Hutch doubted they could have saved him.
“I can’t feel my legs. I thought I got hit in the leg.”
“Nah, they barely scratched you. It’s just a bit chilly and I probably didn’t do you any good, dragging you along. You’re a tough soldier, Smitty. Most guys I know would have been crying their eyes out.”
“I don’t want to disappoint you, Hutch. I wanted into this unit so bad. You guys…”
“You’re one of us now…”
A brief smile flickered across Smitty’s face. “Us guys never fail.”
“And we’re not going to let that change today, right?”
“Right. Geesh; it is cold. Never known it to be so cold before.”
“You’ve never been in country at this time of year, right?”
“Right. I’m so tired. I don’t remember being tired when the Humvee blew.”
“That was hours and hours ago,” Hutch lied again. “Time gets compressed in a firefight—makes everything seem like it happened just a couple of minutes ago.” The kid was fading fast. “Why don’t you close your eyes and sleep for a while. I’ll keep watch and wake you in a bit. Then you can watch over me.”
“Yeah, I can do that. I can keep watch. Thanks for trusting me.”
“Nobody I trust more,” Hutch said soothingly as Smitty’s eyelids drifted down and he watched the kid descend into sleep and then into death.
Smitty had been one of those writing a note to his sweetheart back home. He fished the letter out of Smitty’s breast pocket and tucked it into his helmet. He might not be able to save Smitty, probably wouldn’t even be able to get his body back home, but Hutch vowed to himself he’d get the letter back to Smitty’s girl.
The sound of roaring and snarling, followed by screams wrenched his focus away from Smitty. He peeked out of the window in the rat-infested hovel in which the kid had died. It was all he could do to keep his clouded leopard in check. Those who had managed to survive were being ripped to shreds and eaten alive by a pack of hyena-shifters. They’d been attacked by shifters!
One of the larger hyenas shifted back to his human form and picked up a satellite phone. “Tell the Council their money is safe. Those who thought to liberate it have been dealt with. The Shadow League will ensure there is no trace of those they sent.”
Hutch counted the bodies that now lay, for the most part, unmoving, except when one of the hyenas tore at them. Including Smitty, the minions of the Shadow League had decimated his unit. He was the only one left to tell the tale—not just to the military, but to the growing number of shifters who it was said were mounting a resistance to the Council, in part, but most definitely against the League.
As he heard the tearing of flesh and gulping sounds of the hyenas devouring their prey, he swore he would get the information to where it would do the most good and then he was done.
He’d done his duty. He’d reported in, filed his reports—alluding only to the fact that hyenas had eaten the corpses and omitting the fact that they were shifters—done the rest of his time and mustered out. He landed in Ottawa in the dead of the night, determined to head out into the vast wilderness. Hutch waited at baggage claim and grabbed his duffle from the carousel and then headed out to catch a shuttle to one of the hotels close by where he could figure out how best to get to his destination.
He was just pushing through the revolving door out to catch a shuttle or a cab when a voice from the back and to the side addressed him. “I wouldn’t think running off to lick your wounds when there was a war coming would be your style.”
Hutch whirled around to find himself face-to-face with a long, leanly muscled shifter of some sort. “Given that I don’t know you, I find it hard to give a damn what you think.”
“Colby Reynolds. I’m the alpha at Windsong up on Kodiak Island.” His face must have registered recognition. “I see you’ve heard of me. I would like to speak with you about a mutual nemesis.”
“I know who you are, Reynolds. I’m not interested. I’m heading out into the wilderness. I want no part of you or the fight you and your friends have picked with the Shadow League. You do know it’s a little like David and Goliath, right?”
“But do you remember who won that battle? It wasn’t Goliath.”
