Future Weapons of War

afforded him a path to the edge of the clearing. Lower he slipped, quickly and quietly, until he was following a long run over a graybark limb that overhung the area. He crouched on the perch and waited. Whenever she faced away he slipped a few steps closer. Cynd was walking back and forth, and sooner or later would pass under him. The others snored, alertness dulled by fatigue. He would have a few seconds. That would be enough.

Cynd was walking toward him. She would pass underneath… now. Reaching down like a stretching spring, Cap got as low as hecould. His paws were bare meters above her Helmut visor, unseen in her restricted vision. He let go with his rear claws and dropped, feeling weight pull him down.

She wore Armor and her Helmet, but her face was exposed, and her legs. He knocked her flat under his weight, felt the breath whuff outof her, and locked his jaws over her face. She gasped for air, and he knew she was trying to scream in his mouth, as a yearling would. Her hands scrabbled for a weapon, but he pinned her arms down with his paws, letting the claws sink into the flesh and holding them tightly. As her gyrations increased, he unsheathed his rear claws and gouged deeply into her thighs. Hot wetness splashed, and the body underneath thrashed and thumped. He was intent on the kill, but his awareness was still with him, and he heard another voiceless scream of distress and the sound of gear.

With no hesitation, he rolled off Cynd, and charged away, legs pumping and lungs heaving as he drove around the trees in long bounds. Bullets came after him, and he dodged back and forth, stumbling over a rotten stick, rolling through a patch of ground ivy, and away.

Shouts were followed by loud bangs as someone detonated the mines. The explosions tugged at him, wind snapping at the leaves. But if they were bad for him…

His ears were ringing slightly, but he could hear shrieks and shouts, swearing and confusion.

The heavy growth would have stopped most of the metal stings from the mines, but they had to have been disorienting. And frightening. That was what he wanted. He wanted them afraid, wanted them to know, to understand and regret.

This was not their home. This was his. And he would protect it.

There was the sound of pursuit. He listened, head turning, to localize the noise. There was one, that way. He stretched out his hearing again.

Only one, shooting blindly and crying gibberish under his breath. Taken by panic, Cap thought, and the smell agreed. He was coming this way, but only from luck, and there were no others.

He could handle one.

As the Enemy came over the hummock, Cap sprang out of the leaf bed, his deathsnarl tearing the air and terrifying the animals. The Enemy stopped, wide-eyed and color draining from his face.

Smell told Cap that Enemy had voided himself, and as he tried to swing his Gun around, Cap took him.

First, he crushed the wrist that held the Gun with his jaws, while scratching for the face to distract him. Bones splintered, the Gun fell, Enemy screamed, and Capstick turned his attention elsewhere. The other hand was bringing up a Knife, and Cap rolled off, pivoted, and leapt back. The blade tore his lip as he hit, but he shattered that arm, also. The Enemy was sheathed in Armor and a Helmet and Boots, but the thighs and the groin were exposed, and Cap sunk his fangs deep into soft, warm flesh. Enemy howled in agony and thrashed, cried and shook, whimpered and twitched, and was still. Cap ate a few more bites to keep his strength up, and trotted off in a circle around the area, ears alert for voices.

Four.

“She has to have a trauma team! Phil! Abort the goddamn mission!” Gunner screamed.

“Yes!” Sergeant agreed. “Hold on, okay?” A moment later he continued, “White Mountain, this is Silver Three. Abort! Abort! Abort! Require immediate extraction and medevac.” There was another pause, and Cap knew the message was being turned into a squeal before the Comm sent it, so no one would know they were sending it. The magic squeals only other Comms could hear. If he’d only been able to find friends, all these would be dead. Now they would get away. That saddened him. But he might get another yet Sergeant spoke again. “Understood, White Mountain. We can make exfil point in thirty minutes.” Click. “Okay, let’s destroy the excess gear and weapons and bury them… Guys, where’s Jansen?”

They worked themselves into another panic, and Cap again knew pleasure.

* * * *

People had good ways to deal with wounds, and Cynd was strapped to a Litter they built. She moaned, and was still alive, but Cap knew he could fix that in a moment’s time. All that were left now were Gunner and Sergeant and one called Wes. Wes and Sergeant carried Cynd, and Gunner led the way.

They were heading north again, and Cap used the arboreal highway to follow them. Sometimes he led them. He knew where they would go, for a Vertol could best reach them on the Bald Hill.

The three Enemy were jogging quickly through the forest. Cap slipped into the lower branches, flowing along them like an elemental force, silent and determined. They were sweating and gasping for breath, and had taken off their Helmets to get better vision and cooling. That was good. He could see Gunner curve to the right up ahead, and eyes wary, he tensed for action… now!

A leap, a tuck, and Wes’ head was in his teeth. He somersaulted over, the world twisting, gripping as tight as he could, and felt the neck snap. Sergeant screamed, and Gunner tried to fire, but Sergeant was in the way. He moved to the side, and Cap dodged the other way as Sergeant dropped his end of the litter and tugged at his Gun. Cap tasted brains and sprang away, rolling off the path and into the soft, leafy fronds of a downweed patch, which hid him as he slid down the hill and over the edge of the ravine, roots and tendrils snagging him. Guns sounded again, and he winced at pain in his side. He had been hit, but it wasn’t bad. Nor would it matter if it had been bad. He was hunting. He had an Enemy to bring down.

Five.

He circled again, listening.

“—cant leave her here!” Sergeant said.

“Do you want to try getting to a weapon before that thing rips your throat out? Mother of God, have they bioengineered those things?”

“I’ll carry her back, weapon slung, you do the same up front. Drop her if we have to. At least she’ll have a chance!” Sergeant said.

“You didn’t hear me, Phil, I’m not carrying anything! I’m making that rendezvous, and they are never sending me back without a full platoon. You file any paperwork you want. I’d rather spend the war in jail than have that thing rip me to death. I liked Cynd, but she’s not going to make it.”

There was the click of a Gun being readied. Sergeant spoke, “Sergeant Second Class Willen Rogers, pick up that litter or I’ll shoot you right here!”

“You really are insane, you know that?” Silence. “Alright. Sorry. Nerves. Let’s get the hell out of here.” The sound of their feet indicated they were carrying the Litter, and Cap felt pleasure again. He would finish this, despite the wound. He might die as he killed them, but David would be avenged.

They were still heading north, and Cap kept back a bit. Sergeant was watching the trees. He was the tricky one, and Cap would save him for last. He wouldn’t die quickly, and Gunner might shoot him while he fought with Sergeant.

Ahead was the upper branch of the creek. They would have to cross there, and that’s where he’d kill them.

His side hurt severely, and he licked at it, tongue rasping through the fur. It tasted of blood, and the bitter tang of other damage. But he wasn’t dead yet, and there was still things that must be done.

He rose and moved. His motion was tight and slower than before, but he ignored the pain and glided along the boughs.

Bald Hill, as the humans called it, was not the highest point around. It wasn’t really a hill, just a jutting end of a smooth ridge. The creek flowed past it from the highlands, and Cap would have to be ready, as once they crossed the water they’d be where they could be found, and would have clear space to protect them. He urged himself forward, breath gurgling slightly. The wound in his side had hurt his ribs. No matter. He sprang nimbly from tree to tree, skirting the two Enemy and their burden.

This was good, he thought. They must cross here, with the Litter, as the ground sloped instead of dropping off. He would wait… there.

* * * *