Chapter 4
Taylor burst quickly through the puddle, already sprinting before he'd left the Garrison. The terrifying eight foot bulk of the Fenrir warrior loomed over him from barely two metres ahead, roaring and violently animated and moving closer to the gate. It was far too close and too large for him to dodge, sidestep or retreat from. At this distance, Taylor knew he would be dead in less than a second – except the alien werewolf was screaming in intense pain and clutching it's head with both hands, it's eyes screwed shut as it's sensitive eyes and ears suffered the brutal effects of Alpha's flash-bangs.
Taylor had his carbine raised and ready to fire on full automatic before he even stepped through the Stargate. The Fenrir's agonised howling was quickly drowned out and silenced by Taylor squeezing the German assault rifle's trigger. The alien warrior's dense fur rippled with each impact, it's body convulsing as the rounds tore into it's head and neck at point blank range as brass shell casings skittered and danced across the stone cobbles, the clinking sound of hot brass on stone muted by the rain and the report of several other assault rifles firing.
As it's now limp corpse fell to the ground amid splashes of thick black blood, it was quickly followed by the other two Fenrir at the hands of the rest of Alpha, both aliens uttering final-sounding gurgling noises as they fell to the ground under the combined assault rifle fire. Taylor sprinted past the wolf he'd killed and threw himself against a nearby low wall, scanning the surrounding area through the ACOG scope on his carbine.
The Stargate seemed to have been located in the centre of a large open courtyard, small raised beds of plants and stacks of wooden crates and barrels breaking up the vast expanse of stone paving. Directly ahead of the gate was a large arch, wide enough to afford him a view of the rest of the walled city-state stretching up the hillside above.
"'P7S-267's a bit wet'. Understatement of the bloody week, Halverson." Taylor muttered to himself as he wiped the rain off his face. The cobblestones underfoot were slick and glistening, raindrops bouncing off them and forming puddles everywhere, and if he looked up he had to squint to stop the rain affecting his vision. Thunder rumbled across a ceiling of black cloud, and distant flashes of flickering light suggested this wasn't the worst of the storm – the cloud was so thick it was hard to tell what time of day it was, but Taylor guessed it was late afternoon. The downpour, however, was not enough to put out the furious infernos raging across the tightly packed buildings of the city, even as the columns of black smoke drifted over the rooftops.
The courtyard was level, but beyond the arch in front of Taylor was a wide path that opened onto an even wider cobbled street running perpendicular to the Stargate. Wailing civilians fled past in terror, panic and confusion, oblivious to the luminous puddle of the Stargate and the new visitors with strange clothing and weapons. Taylor turned, the rest of Alpha confirming one by one with nods and hand signals that there were no further Fenrir in their immediate vicinity. He reached for his radio.
"Hostiles neutralised, area clear. Bravo, move up."
Taylor checked behind him as he heard the gate gulp, seeing Llewellyn and the gate defence team storm through after him, instinctively finding concealed, protected spots with good fire coverage. Even without dedicated offworld training they were doing precisely what they needed to, unfazed by the fact they had just jumped through a wormhole into an alien warzone.
"Clear and secure the gate, I want GPMGs there and there." he called to his men, adding hand signals for clarity and briefly watching the men swiftly set up the machine guns and set about preparing defensive positions before clicking his radio. "Charlie, proceed."
As the support unit stepped through, Taylor ushered them to the side.
"Local zone is clear straight ahead for thirty metres, no obstructions, send them through." he said into his radio.
Seconds later, the event horizon rippled and the bulk of an olive drab, open roofed Land Rover Wolf sped through, it's V8 engine gurgling as it braked neatly before it could roll through the arch and into the stream of terrified civilians. Another followed, parking almost alongside the first. With a pintle-mounted 7.62mm GPMG and a ring mounted .50 calibre heavy machine gun where it's roof would have been, each of the vehicles would be a welcome addition to the assault group.
"Lieutenant!" Taylor called to Llewellyn. "Have some of your men establish a secure defensive position - they hold the gate no matter what. We lose that and we're screwed. I want the rest to stay here for now, but they must be ready to move out at a moment's notice."
Llewellyn nodded and turned to issue orders to Bravo.
Taylor could hear screaming, volleys of primitive gunfire and blood-chilling howling echoing across the hillside city-state, periodically drowned out by the shriek of the Fenrir flechette weapons and random explosions. As he stared out over the city, he saw in the distance needle thin lines of angry, hot orange cutting down panicking city-dwellers, accompanied by the high pitched scream of the alien weapons. Bolts of blue-white plasma streaked out of nowhere to blow holes in the sides of buildings, frequently accompanied by excited inhuman yammering. He could only make out a few fleeting glances of Fenrir running and jumping across the city, but their locations could be deduced from the hordes of routed humans desperately trying to run from the alien attackers, their options for escape limited by the fires raging across the city.
Terrified civilians ran past him, many with streaming wounds, others clutching or dragging crying children. Soldiers in elaborately decorated armour and brightly coloured uniforms ran in the opposite direction, some of them wielding crossbows, ridiculously long barrelled muskets while others hefted pikes and halberds, the officers all with sabre-like swords. Not all of the soldiers were armed, some of them instead carrying flags, standards and pennants bearing intricate heraldic designs as if they could somehow demoralise the invading werewolves.
"They don't stand a chance, do they?" Halverson said solemnly, readjusting her vice-like grip on the P90 as she moved closer. Taylor decided the best response would be not to answer. He'd been good at military history back at Sandhurst, and having seen the difficulty that Earth's small arms technology had in taking down the aliens, he knew too well how ineffective the primitive, low velocity firearms would be against the trinium-laced flesh of the Fenrir.
"One Lima Romeo niner to Two Lima Romeo niner. Hamilton, signal your position relative to Stargate – reinforcements have arrived."
"Taylor, it is damn good to have you here man! We're pinned in a building about three or four hundred metres from the gate. Yates is injured, those flechettes tore his calf up and we don't have a medic."
"We'll come to you then, and Moffatt can patch him up."
"Taylor, be careful - Fenrir are running through the city. We counted two, maybe three dozen. Haven't seen this many in one place since the Battle of Lyngvi."
"Understood. You can give me a full sit-rep when we get there. For now, tell me how to get there."
The way the walled city of Lhoaka had been built and clearly rebuilt over the centuries meant that every street varied dramatically in width – at one point, the team had to squeeze down an alleyway barely two feet wide, and all too frequently they had to retrace their steps, either because of raging fires and buildings reduced to rubble blocking their path or simply because there was no way to reach their destination.
"Somehow, I'm beginning to question the wisdom of bringing Land Rovers into this place." Taylor muttered as he wandered down another long, narrow alleyway.
"At least the layout of this city will slow the Fenrir down." Halverson said.
Taylor glanced quizzically over his shoulder at the anthropologist.
"What? I'm not allowed to have tactical insights every now and then?" she said defensively.
Sat high up on the hill, the palace of the Lord Governor of Lhoaka was an impressive edifice, though it would have been much more so had it not been as crowded by the buildings around it. It almost seemed like the only thing preventing any other buildings from encroaching on the magnificent, baroque and yet functional looking castle was the thirty foot high stone wall closely surrounding the entire building and it's small grounds.
As Taylor stepped into the wider street with the rest of 1LR behind him, he stopped, his attention drawn not to the palace but the urgent shouting coming from the opposite direction. Twelve of the ornately armoured local soldiers were lined up with their backs to him in the middle of the avenue, their muskets raised and ready. At the urging of their sword-wielding officer, they fired at the single Fenrir approaching them from further down the street. The wolf howled and snarled angrily, flinching and doubling up in pain as it was struck by a dozen speeding lead balls, the projectiles slamming into its armour and it's flesh. As the cloud of white smoke from the primitive guns drifted away, the astonished soldiers simply stared at the pained, enraged, and bruised but still very much alive bipedal wolf, realising with horror that it was nearly impervious to their most advanced weapons.
It also held it's gun-axe, raised and aimed at the rank of terrified musketeers.
"Back back back!" Taylor shouted, pushing and herding his team into the relative safety of the alley they'd just left. He saw orange lines cutting through the air and heard the chilling shriek of the Fenrir flechette weapon, drowning out the massed screams of the soldiers as their elaborate steel cuirasses and soft bodies were riddled with scores of tiny, hypersonic darts. Quickly pushing past Taylor and stepping into the avenue as the flechette weapon ceased firing, Jarvis sidestepped, sighted and squeezed the trigger on the Minimi in a single fluid motion. Surprised, the Fenrir attempted to shoot the Royal Marine but it's shots went wide, staggering back and almost loosing it's footing as it's patchwork chest armour rippled with explosions in miniature.
Uttering a deep, spluttering snarl, the creature faltered but remained barely standing, pawing at the half dozen holes in it's chest as they oozed a thick black liquid that looked almost like crude oil. Weakened and visibly shaking, the alien shrieked in it's bizarre tongue of howls, growling and guttural noises as it tried to aim the gun-axe at the large, flame-haired ape. Jarvis was faster. He squeezed again, the second burst of 5.56mm rounds putting it down for good.
"And stay down." he muttered under his breath, satisfied that the alien had definitely been killed. Moffatt ran to quickly check the fallen guards for survivors even as their blood mingled with the puddles and spread between the cobbles, but after only a few seconds she looked up at Taylor and shook her head. Nodding grimly and grateful the brave soldiers had at least been afforded swift deaths, Taylor waved them forward to the palace.
"Okay Ham, we're at the palace, what now?"
Seeing a small but heavy and reinforced door open in the wall surrounding the palace and the familiar figure of Hamilton wielding an HK G36 and gesturing for them to approach, Taylor stood up and dashed towards the huge building, splashing through the puddles. Once Nesbitt, Halverson, Moffatt, Jarvis and Llewellyn were also inside, he followed the Major up two flights of stairs until they entered a large wood-panelled room with a heavy oak door.
"My God am I glad to see you lot here." Hamilton breathed as they entered. What must once have been a remarkably ornate and extravagantly decorated room for official functions and serving the Lhoakan aristocracy was now little more than a hideout for 2LR, the city's government and a number of it's militia.
Hamilton's team were spread out, attempting to give what little aid they could to the wounded and shocked locals. The other occupants of the room were twelve of the city guards and several very well dressed civilians that Taylor guessed were town leaders or aristocrats. Amongst them were several dozen locals of clearly lower status in various states of distress.
Slumped against a far wall and looking deathly pale was Lieutenant Yates, Hamilton's second in command. His left leg was heavily bandaged from the knee down, his skin white and clammy and his chest rising and falling rapidly. Already the dressings were saturated, with almost no white remaining, and his eyes danced across the room, distracted and distant. He wasn't the only injured person. At least eight guards lay on the floor, several of them clutching wounds or grimacing in pain, the rest still. It was hard to tell how many had passed out and how many were already dead.
"Moffatt, see what you can do for him and anybody else who needs it. Nesbitt, Llewellyn, I want you to coordinate with 2LR and the locals, see if you can improve or improvise defences. Halverson, find out what you can from and about our hosts, any cultural or geographic info that might aid in defence. Jarvis, get on the radio to the defence section, have them fall back to the courtyard and hold the gate. Hamilton...talk to me. I want to know everything that happened here." Taylor said.
"It started about an hour and a half ago, maybe more. Three shuttles landed inside the city, in the central marketplace." he gestured to the large windows that filled one entire wall of the room. Through it was a huge, paved expanse, bordered on all sides by buildings. It seemed out of place in the typically cluttered and crowded architecture of the city, but even more unusually, sat in the very middle of the impressive and spacious marketplace were three of the distinctively shaped black and red Fenrir shuttles, their wings extended.
"We legged it back here – the Lord Governor's palace is probably the most defensible location we've seen, and it was close by – to keep the city elders safe and try and organise a counter-attack, but things moved too fast. Yates volunteered to run to the gate and dial the Garrison for back-up. He got hit on the way back – Whately and I had to run into the street to pull him inside."
Hamilton paused, taking a slug of water from his canteen.
"We considered just trying to make it to the gate, but one or two Fenrir periodically show up and take pot shots at us. We try and return the favour, but they're so damned fast. Besides, I think they like having us trapped in here – they could force their way in any time they like, but I think they enjoy having us wait."
"You might like to know that Sergeant Jarvis took out one of the mutts prowling around the palace, so that might take a little pressure off." Taylor said.
"Something's still not right. One of those Fenrir seems to be a commander of some kind – elaborate armour, personal shield, jet black fur, seems to be badly scarred. The weird thing is, they don't seem to be hunting, not in the usual manner. Nor is this about extermination...they aren't systematically eliminating the populace like we've seen on other worlds. If they wanted to do that, they could have wiped everybody out by now, easily. Instead they seem to be appearing randomly across the city, picking off handfuls of people, targeting soldiers mainly, destroying buildings and generally – "
"Inducing panic?" Taylor interrupted, his tone grave.
"Precisely. It's all a big show of force, all this panic and terror and chaos with comparatively little death and destruction – comparatively little for the Fenrir, anyway, it's meant to scare these people into submitting...Taylor, I'd lay odds that they're here to enslave this planet's population."
"What makes you say that?" Halverson asked.
Hamilton turned and walked over to his team's stash of equipment, opening a reinforced plastic sample case, selecting one of the items it held and throwing it to Halverson. She held it up to the light to examine it – it was a small, rough and lightweight stone with an odd silvery-grey appearance, and as she rolled it between her fingers she saw it was also powdering and crumbling easily. On impulse Halverson squeezed. After a second the pebble fractured and partially imploded, crushed under the force, tiny fragments and flakes of glittering grey mineral falling out of her hands.
"Trinium..." Nesbitt said, looking over her shoulder.
"I'm betting the Fenrir don't have the numbers to carry out the mining operation themselves. I was going to suggest to Webber that we negotiate a treaty to get access to the stuff when the Fenrir arrived." Hamilton said.
"So you think the Fenrir are here for the Trinium?" Taylor said.
"Makes sense, Major." Nesbitt offered. "With the Fenrir, both their technology and physiology incorporate trinium extensively – it stands to reason they'd need a major source of it once separated from their usual supply lines inside the Prison."
"Right now, that's fascinating, but not terribly important. What's more important is the defence of this city. I've got sixteen soldiers and two armed Land Rovers ready and waiting by the gate, but first we need to organise a solid defence. I just saw a line of musketeers get shredded by a single mutt. They may as well have fired water pistols at it, and I'm betting the same thing is happening all over this city. We need to act fast to stop this massacre. Who's in charge of the military here?" Taylor said.
A young man stepped forward, wearing an even more elaborate version of the uniform he'd seen on the soldiers, his helmet crested with pale blue, teal and vivid turquoise feathers and a fine dark blue cape hanging from his shoulders. One hand gripped his sheathed sabre nervously.
"I..I believe I am. Grand-Captain Phelle was one of the first to die, and nobody's heard from Captain Marnn since the attack started, so I'm the next in command. I'm Sub-Captain Waldroch of the City Guard."
Taylor stepped up to the man, altering the tone of his voice to compassionate yet commanding. The man had clearly endured too much already.
"Well, Sub-Captain, my men have the training and the weaponry to repel and kill these wolves, and I've got the experience of fighting them, but I don't have enough troops to contain the threat. First of all, I need you to send out the order to stop using muskets and switch to longbows and crossbows if you've got them."
"But...but our firearms – "
"Don't cut it, I'm sorry. I know they're the new toy and work very well against people, but... Okay, look. It's easier and faster if I show you."
Taylor ejected the magazines from his rifle and his pistol, holding them up with one in each hand and showing the young officer their contents.
"Your muskets fire slow, round balls, a bit like these." he said, indicating the rounded nine millimetre rounds in the pistol magazine. "Those things out there have thick, tough hides and these basically just bounce off, like your musket balls. What you need is penetration, and for that you need a sharp point – like these bullets, and like your arrows and bolts. Archers can fire faster too, which is important since you'll need a lot of them to take down a Fenrir...unless you can coat their tips in poison or set them on fire. You get it?"
A faint smile formed on Waldroch's face and he nodded understanding, already more confident.
"That's good. Now, I need you to round up as many soldiers as you can. After that, I need a map of the city. Time is short, sub-captain."
As the Land Rover approached at speed, the fifty calibre machine gun searching for targets in the street behind the Lord Governor's palace, Halverson and Nesbitt opened the reinforced gates to admit the vehicle. It passed through and screeched to a halt in the courtyard of the palace, eliciting gasps of shock from the assembled guards at the sight of the fast, horseless and strangely made metal carriage. Jarvis and Llewellyn ran to the vehicle and pulled the armoured crates from the rear of the vehicle.
"Secure those gates, quickly. Lieutenant, Sergeant, I want you to distribute those weapons and give these men basic instruction on their use." Taylor said as he walked back to the side door in the palace. He paused, then backtracked and turned to face Llewellyn and Jarvis again.
"Very basic." he emphasised, indicating the two dozen nervous and tired looking guards, their steel cuirasses dulled and scratched, their once flamboyant uniforms bloody or torn. He watched for a moment as Llewellyn and Jarvis undid the first crate and began pulling C7 assault rifles out of the foam and handing them to the guards.
"I didn't know we had that many to spare." Hamilton said, surprised.
"Actually, I just about cleared out the Garrison's supply. Webber wasn't happy, but he also didn't stop me. That reminds me, how are you for ammo?" Taylor said, fishing a trio of translucent polymer magazines from his vest and handing them to Hamilton as they walked quickly back to the palace's main chamber.
"Thanks, I could use these. I see you got your new toy then." Hamilton said, indicating the HK416 assault rifle in Taylor's arms.
"I've been dying to get my hands on one of these for ages. I've got a mate in Delta who swears by his."
Taylor walked over to the part of the room where Moffatt had set up a triage area and was tending to the wounded. Three bodies were already covered in sheets. Among the living, Yates seemed to be in the worst condition, evidenced by the blanket, oxygen mask and intravenous drip. Hamilton followed Taylor's gaze.
"He could have gone through to the Garrison when he dialled the gate, but he opted to rejoin us. Damn mutt hit him only a street away from here."
"How is the lieutenant?" Taylor asked. Moffatt didn't turn to look, focused on applying a dressing to a guard's tattered arm.
"Not good sir. He's lost a hell of a lot of blood and he's gone into shock. We need to get him back to the Garrison ASAP." Moffatt responded with grim professionalism.
"Noted. Get him down to the courtyard and load him on to the Land Rover, I'll have Sergeant Harper get him to the gate. If there are any other wounded that you think need to be evacuated, pick the very worst and have Harper take them too. Lieutenant," he said, pressing his earpiece, "I want those volunteers ready and armed in two minutes. We're going on a wolf hunt."
The Land Rover crawled down the cobbled street, flanked by eight soldiers on foot. Each quartet of troops contrasted sharply against the other – the British squaddies in dark, drab camouflaged gear and protective tactical vests, wielding SA80s, L86s and Minimis like they'd been born with them. The Lhoakans on the other hand were unmissable in their brightly coloured doublets and brown leather breeches. Their strangely shaped helmets all bore crests of what seemed to be turquoise feathers while their gleaming silver cuirasses were engraved with heraldic designs, the entire outfit making the extremely functional-looking matt black and olive drab assault rifles they wielded uncertainly look even more out of place.
"Rooftop, three hostiles, ten o'clock, approaching fast! Take cover and open fire!" the Corporal shouted. A terrible high pitched scream filled the air, and already the tiny, white hot trinium darts from the Fenrir gun-axes were slamming into the area around them at hypersonic velocity. Instantly the British soldiers fell into cover behind the Land Rover's V8 engine block or the nearby crates, scanning the rain-soaked tiles of the roofs opposite through the SUSATs on their SA80s. The Guardsmen stood their ground, raising their C7s and aiming at the snarling Fenrir warriors. One of them screamed and fell as a hail of incandescent, hypersonic trinium darts pierced his cuirass, perforating his torso with small puffs of steam and sparks. Another yelled and clutched his leg as the glowing splinters of metal pierced his thigh, but he kept firing.
Intermittently at first, but becoming more regular and rhythmic, the combined rifles of the SWRS soldiers and surviving Lhoakan Guardsmen opened up, spitting armour piercing rounds at the sprinting aliens. Roof tiles cracked and shattered, their fragments dancing briefly as the rounds missed the lupine invaders. One of the wolves howled and shuddered as fountains of sparks erupted from its armour as a volley of 5.56 rounds found their mark. The alien collapsed, it's body sliding towards the eaves and falling to the cobbled street amid a wave of clay tiles. The remaining two wolves swiftly changed direction to escape the field of fire, one of them leaping clean across the street from roof to roof, chased by fire from the C7s and SA80s.
"Two more, street level, twelve o'- " the Corporal began to shout. He was cut off not by small arms fire, but the deep, rapid and loud thumping of the fifty calibre machine gun mounted on the back of the Land Rover. The 12.7mm rounds from the gun tore into the cobblestones and Fenrir equally, ripping them both apart in a ripple of small grey explosions.
"Clear! Bravo Four to Alpha One...three enemy down, two fleeing. And sir, the fifty cal works a treat!"
"Bravo Four reporting three hostiles neutralised, two allied casualties, one KIA, one WIA. Alpha Two confirms two kills in north-eastern sector, and Bravo Three just bagged another two Fenrir in the southern sector, two more friendlies wounded. Major, we're also getting reports that fifty calibre machine guns are proving highly effective against Fenrir infantry."
"Good. But it'll get harder now – we caught them off guard, while they're divided and unable to produce any kind of unified response. I'd bet they'll be recovering soon, and our job will get a lot harder – so we have to take out as many as we can now. Relay to all units: press the advantage while we have it. Stop for nothing except civilians, take out every single mutt they come across while they can, because they'll be regrouping soon."
Taylor turned to face the men standing next to him. A thin, marked face, old and tired but possessed of obvious sharp intelligence sat atop a body dressed in fine robes of deep blue velvet threaded with gold and silver. Next to him, Sub-Captain Waldroch shifted uncomfortably.
"Lord Governor, we'll do what we can to avoid it, but I'm afraid we may deal severe damage to parts of your city in the process of eliminating the attackers." Taylor said, addressing the city-state's ruler.
"Buildings and livelihoods can be rebuilt. It is far, far harder with lives and bodies. Do what you feel is necessary, Major – you have already more than earned my trust."
"Thank you. We'll do everything in our power to help." Taylor said, before turning and jogging across to the impromptu command post that had been set up at the other end of the room, a beautiful and detailed map of the city stretched out on the vast oak table.
"Ham, give it everything you've got. Use the Landys and escorts to deal with the heavier resistance...station them here, and here until needed. Then you can use lighter infantry to draw the mutts into their line of fire. For God's sake don't let the packs merge."
Yet again, Taylor wished he had snipers at his disposal. They would have made short work of the Fenrir since to preserve something of their speed and mobility, the wolves had taken to moving individually or in small groups and across rooftops. Instead, he had medieval weapons, though they were already having much greater success than the massed muskets. Arrows and bolts, dipped in pitch, set alight and delivered by archers and crossbowmen had claimed three Fenrir and driven off several more.
Already, of the estimated thirty-six Fenrir present, they had successfully eliminated eleven. He was sure even the Fenrir would have to start retreating soon – though they were undoubtedly fearless, determined and single-minded, they still only had limited numbers and assets outside the Void Prison. This mission of theirs was probably supposed to be easy, no real resistance – that was likely the only reason they'd had the success they had. Excessive losses must be enough to convince the commanding officer he'd heard mentioned that retreat was preferable to the loss of three dozen warriors and a trio of hyperspace capable shuttles.
Wait, he thought. The officer...
"Llewellyn, I'm leaving the palace and heading for your position, meet me on the way. We need to take out a priority target."
Handing the rest of the wolf hunt to Hamilton with explicit instructions to relay any intelligence on the leader to him, Taylor picked up his rifle and left.
The street outside was deserted, but the signs of recent conflict were impossible to ignore. Even under rainfall, streams of blood ran through the cobbles from several crumpled, lifeless bodies. Blackened, smoking stone lay scattered across the ground where the Fenrir's heavier weapons had blown holes in the walls of buildings, and small fires raged even under the incessant rain. Columns of smoke rose in the distance, indicating even worse damage to the city's infrastructure. The crowds had almost disappeared now, the few humans he saw always soldiers of one world or another.
Seeing the direct route back to the Stargate and the SWRS forces impromptu staging post blocked by a collapsed building, it's shattered timbers burning, Taylor looked around for an alternate path. The narrow alleyway ahead looked like it was heading in roughly the right direction to bypass the obstacle. He started forward, his carbine raised.
The alley was narrow and long, but eventually it gave way to a wider street, and as he stepped into it, he cast his eye over the surroundings. Crates and wagons had been abandoned, and much further down, he saw a local woman stood in front of a dead end, a small child sobbing beside her. She was desperately trying to open a heavy wooden door to one of the houses and keep the young boy close.
"Can I help at all?" Taylor asked, jogging towards her and lowering his carbine.
Startled, she turned, uneasily and desperately brandishing a smouldering piece of wood, and he realised too late that she was shaking, terrified beyond the ability to speak. That was when he heard the first click.
He spun around, instinctively assessing the situation. Five snarling werewolves were advancing slowly but purposefully from several hundred feet further up the street, two of them on the rooftops. They were blocking the best escape routes, and he realised he was now too far from the alley to make a break for it – even if he was prepared to abandon the woman and her child. The Fenrir's luminous-looking eyes all fixed rigidly on him as their claws clicked on cobbles and tiles. All of their weapons remained strapped across their backs, but he could see their lips curled back, revealing glinting silvery teeth – and he could swear at least one of the Fenrir was drooling. Fingers flexed, trinium-laced talons scything through the air in eager anticipation of the kills to come. They evidently had something much worse than just shooting him in mind.
"Get inside. Now." he breathed, backing slowly towards the woman without taking his eyes off the wolves. Slowly he raised the carbine and aimed it at each Fenrir as it advanced.
He thought quickly about his weapons – he had a knife, a nine millimetre pistol that would barely break Fenrir skin, four fragmentation grenades, a loaded single shot grenade launcher, and a fresh magazine in his carbine, but since it took more than a dozen rounds even at close range to terminate a single wolf, and the magazine held thirty rounds, he was still short. The idea of reloading the rifle while the unnervingly fast alien predators bore down on him and the civilians was too unpleasant and suicidal to consider. He could make a stand, keeping the wolves focussed on him but he knew he wouldn't last long. He might take one, two, even three down if he was supremely lucky, but the rest would tear him to shreds seconds later. Probably literally, he thought gruesomely...but it might buy time for the civilians to escape.
"Oh, this is not going to end well."
He assessed the situation tactically, trying fervently to come up with some means of eliminating the opposition, but he knew the odds were stacked against him. He looked again, this time trying to find a way of surviving…but there was nowhere he could get to before they ran him down, nothing he could hide in that they couldn't rip apart in a flash – even escaping wasn't an option now. They were playing with him. They knew they could kill him in a matter of seconds if they wanted, that he had nowhere to go and no realistic means of getting out of this alive, so they were drawing the whole hunt out, making him wait for his own death, seeing how much he would panic or how much of a fight he would put up. Just like they'd probably done with Colonel O'Bannon, he thought grimly.
"Your mum's never told you not to play with your food then?"
Backing up slowly, never taking his eyes off the wolves as they continued to openly, brazenly stalk him, he took a deep breath, nodded resolutely and spoke what he knew were most likely his final words.
"Right then! Who's first?"
TO BE CONTINUED...
Author's Note: I'm afraid that's it for this fic folks - Stargate Ragnarok episode 3 "Baptism of Fire, Part 1" is now done and dusted, complete, finished! But don't worry, because episode 4 "Baptism of Fire, Part 2" will be coming soon! Thanks for reading, and an especially heartfelt thanks if you've left a review.
If you want to know when episode 4 is posted, either add me to your Author Alerts (since it will be a separate fic), or visit the Stargate Ragnarok thread on GateWorld.
Thanks for reading!