Afraid

Special Forces Group already in Wisconsin, training here at Fort McCoy. They had been putting a prototype tank armor through the paces—it was electrically charged and virtually impervious to rocket-propelled grenades—and were set to return to Fort Bragg tomorrow. Operation Angel Rescue changed their status.

The twelve Green Berets standing at attention in the war room were dressed for combat but hadn’t yet been issued weapons. Though they were called after only an hour of sleep, each man appeared alert and determined.

“Parade, rest,” Tope commanded, and his men put their hands behind their backs. “Operation Angel Rescue is classified top secret and shall not be discussed ever with anyone in possession of less than two stars. Understood?”

“Yes, General.” Unison, strong and loud.

Tope continued. “The town of Safe Haven, Wisconsin, two hundred and seventy clicks northwest, population nine hundred and seven, is under siege. Your job is to capture the insurgents. Dr. Ralph Stubin, a civvie, will be accompanying you on this mission and providing intel.”

Tope hit the power button on the remote control, and a TV in the corner of the room came on. The screen filled with a fish-eye close-up of Dr. Stubin, colored green due to the night-vision camera. The background was indistinct, but the sound was unmistakable; Stubin was in a chopper.

“Am I on? I am? Okay.”

The doctor focused on the camera, looking grim.

“My name is Ralph Stubin. I’m a brain surgeon. My specialty is behavior modification, specifically transhumanistic neuropathology. By stimulating portions of the brain electrically, it can be prompted to function more like a computer, with sequential input rather than parallel. In layman’s terms, you can download information directly into a person’s mind, and programs will automatically execute when certain conditions are met.”

Stubin looked right in response to someone speaking to him—probably a soldier telling him to stay on track. He nodded and again stared into the camera.

“Many nations, friend and foe, have experimented with behavior modification. The code name for units composed of modified soldiers is Red-ops. A Red-ops unit is a strike force, meant to be dropped behind enemy lines. Their goals are threefold: isolate, overpower, annihilate. They’re inserted into small towns, and they torture, rape, and murder everyone they encounter. Red-ops exist to demoralize, intimidate, and frighten the enemy. Basically, they’re government-sponsored terrorists. Unfortunately, because of some colossal mistake that we still don’t understand, a Red-ops unit is now operating on U.S. soil, and it seems they were accidentally sent by one of our allies.”

Stubin looked ready to throw up. Tope couldn’t tell if it was from the whirlybird or the situation.

The brain surgeon wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before going on. “The unit has infiltrated the small Wisconsin town of Safe Haven. We don’t know where they are or what they’re doing. Because of their transhuman behavior modification, we have to assume they’re following protocol. They’re treating Safe Haven like an enemy territory. If we don’t stop them, they’ll wipe out the entire town.”

Then Stubin bent over and commenced with the vomiting. Tope switched off the TV.

“The briefing will continue on the Huey. Keep in mind that the Red-ops unit will view us as enemy combatants, even though our countries are buddy-buddy at the United Nations. We want to take them alive, with minimal civilian casualties. This is going to be easier said than done. Red-ops commandos have all had the equivalent of Special Forces training. They’re experts in hand-to-hand and armed combat, munitions, stealth, tactics, interrogation, and communications. Plus, they’re cold-blooded bastards. I’ve seen what these men can do, and it isn’t pretty. Questions?”

The SF-A team captain raised his hand.

“Captain Haines.”

“Which country are they from, General?”

“Need-to-know basis, Captain. But they speak our language.”

“How about our weapons, General?”

“Nonlethal ordnance includes Blake impact shells, sponge grenades, electric net entanglers, lacrimators, Splatt-Thixotropic rounds, and iotechnical-injector batons. We need them alive.”

“And the enemy, General?”

“Bladed weapons and sidearms only.”

“Numbers, General?”

“This Red-ops unit has five team members.”

This provoked a smile from Captain Haines.

“Permission to speak freely, General?”

“Go ahead, Captain.”

“Five men, no rifles? Are you sure you need us? Can’t we just send a Girl Scout troop out after these jokers?”

Some chuckles. General Tope betrayed nothing. He certainly didn’t say he had two other Special Forces teams, as well as a Navy SEAL team and a Marine recon team, being flown in to assist.

Instead, he cleared his throat and said, “I want you on the landing strip at oh one thirty. Heavy gear, rations for four days, bivouacs. Dismissed.”

The team dispersed, double-time. As he watched them go, General Tope had a strong feeling he’d never see any of them alive again. But he couldn’t dwell on that, not with so many other things to do.

Tope picked up the scramble phone and contacted the Pentagon to set up the quarantine.

Erwin Luggs heard the screams in the woods and wondered how everything had gone so bad so fast. The fallen helicopter, spread out around him like a giant broken egg, was damn near the creepiest thing he’d ever seen. The situation wasn’t helped by the fact that he was soaked, head to toe, with deer blood. It exuded a gamey, metallic stench, and it had cooled and coagulated, clinging to him like jelly.

Another scream came from the trees. Erwin shivered, mostly from the cold, but partly from fear. The night had begun on a promising note. Just two hours ago he was in a hot shower, ready to slip into bed with Jessie Lee Sloan for snuggling and possible nookie. Jessie Lee had been spending too much money on the wedding preparations, and Erwin had been reaping the benefits of guilt sex. Guilt sex almost made up for the overtime hours he had to work to pay for all the extras Jessie Lee was planning, like the custom-made husband and wife figurines for the cake, and a stretch limo that could seat all sixteen members of the wedding party and provide each with champagne.

But it didn’t look like there would be any sex tonight, guilt-induced or otherwise. Erwin reeked of clammy animal blood, Sheriff Streng still hadn’t arrived, and something evil stalked the forest—something that made Erwin want to run and hide.

A third scream, the loudest of all, and then a punishing silence. Erwin turned away from the chopper and faced the tree line. He knew the sheriff wasn’t going to come. He knew because he was pretty certain that last scream came from the sheriff. Though distorted, the voice was semirecognizable. What could possibly be happening to him to make the man—a tough man who had seen combat in Vietnam—cry out like that?

Erwin took out his cell phone. He tried Josh. He tried the sheriff. He tried 911. He even tried his fiancee. Each time, he got the same unable to place your call recording.

Though a firefighter, Erwin knew he wasn’t a particularly brave man. Unlike his friend Josh, who wanted to leave Safe Haven for a bigger town with more danger, Erwin was perfectly fine here. He hadn’t risked his life once in six years on the job, and that suited him. But he knew that it was only a matter of time until he’d be forced to do something heroic.

Unfortunately, it looked like the time had come. Erwin took a deep, steadying breath and then headed into the woods, toward the screaming. He figured that Josh must have heard it, too. Maybe he was already there, taking control of the situation. Maybe Sheriff Streng had broken his leg and the screams were from Josh splinting it. Maybe the deer that had bled all over Erwin simply caught its fur on a sharp branch. Maybe those helicopter pilots got their heads cut off in a freak accident.

The maybes didn’t last long. As Erwin ventured deeper into the woods, his imagination ate away at his rationalization. Someone, or something, had killed those pilots, and the deer, and probably Josh, and was now