The seven men were crammed into the rear compartment of the
Stryker Armored Personnel Carrier. Ansel sat across from Lt. Colding, the
vampire’s knees constantly banged against the SEAL’s thighs whenever the
vehicle went over a curb, or some other unknown obstacle outside. Lt. Colding
stared at Ansel, Ansel stared at Lt. Colding. Clad entirely in black, Ansel’s
attire complimented the SEAL strike team’s tactical gear.
“Are you going to stare at me the whole time?” Colding asked.
“You know, there are relics in this city,” Ansel said with a faint smile.
The whole vehicle jostled as it plowed over a ditch. A calm voice crackled into the team’s earpieces.
“Two minutes out,” the driver said.
“I’m going to make you a relic if you don’t quit creepin’ me out,” Lt. Colding muttered.
“I am a relic,” Ansel said, his smile no longer faint.
The SEAL and SWCC operators in the Stryker barely noticed the impact as the Personnel Carrier smashed through a chain link fence.
“Thirty seconds,” the driver said.
“Are you ready for this?” Ansel asked.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve done this more than you,” Colding replied.
Everyone swayed to the front of the vehicle as the personnel carrier made a rapid deceleration and stopped. The floor to ceiling hatch in the back of the compartment opened.
“Don’t be so sure…” Colding heard Ansel say as the SEALs piled out of the vehicle. Ansel had completely vanished as soon as the door had opened.
“Where the fuck are you?!” Colding asked, trying to keep his voice down.
The SEALs double-timed to their rehearsed positions around the machine shop. Colding, Wasnick and Hernandez ran to the front door that led to the office portion of the building. Petty Officers Gosling, Barnes and Kyer broke off and jogged to the door on the Eastern facing wall, leading into the machine shop itself.
Petty Officer Wasnick had his shotgun trained on the front door’s deadbolt lock, waiting only a few seconds. As he heard muffled gunshots from around the corner of the building, Wasnick shot out the door’s lock, then fired three rounds where he expected the doors hinges to be on the inside. Wasnick kicked down the door and Colding rushed in, followed by Hernandez. Wasnick was the last one in.
Colding entered the poorly lit office area with his nerves strung so high, he felt like a violin ready to break under its own tension. He attributed his successes to the fact that his SEALs were trained to execute their missions in a well synchronized, choreographed ballet of maneuver and slaughter. Knowing that Ansel so completely and utterly disappeared at the mission’s start irked Lt. Colding to no end. For all he knew, the mission could be over in a heart-beat.
His finger resting on the trigger of his MP5, Colding swept his aim over the office’s reception area, and then walked briskly down the hallway with Wasnick and Hernandez in tow, stopping next to the first door they came to. Colding paused only briefly before barging in gun first. He quickly cleared the small room, sweeping his weapon left to center to right but was briefly stunned by what he saw- three bloodied bodies of insurgents strewn across the room. AK-47’s tenuously touching the hands that had held them, their light brown wooden barrels and handles slathered in red. The insurgents had bled out from their necks, and quite severely, judging by the pools running down their chests and soaked clothes.
“Clear,” Colding managed to cough out.
Colding heard shots fired out in the machine shop as he made his way out into the hallway to clear the next room. The staccato shots Kalashnikovs rang out, followed by a brrrrrrrrrrap of MP5 fire. The next room that Colding cleared looked like the first, only there was just one body. The man had had his throat clawed out and his rifle had been folded into a V shape.
As Colding walked yet again out into the hallway, he saw a flash of black streak from the room on the right to the room on the left at the end of the hall. Ansel, he thought.
Colding ran down the hall and charged into the room. The insurgent inside had fired a single shot from his AK before Colding entered. Lt. Colding and Petty Officers Wasnick and Hernandez trained their weapons on the only movement in the room- that being Ansel making a diagonal, upward swing with his fingers into the insurgent’s throat. It sounded as though pages were forcefully ripped from a book as Ansel’s nails tore through flesh, the man let out a quiet, gargled scream as he rose a foot off the ground and he fell back onto a desk, his rifle clattering to the floor. There was blood on the floor, two of the walls, and parts of the ceiling.
Staring once again into Ansel’s soulless eyes, Lt. Colding’s sense of un-ease had momentarily lapsed into a near maniacal surge of triumph, knowing that his team had cleared the office with only one shot fired.
A voice crackled into the team’s earpieces.
“All clear in the shop. We have a new asset, over,” Barnes said.
Still staring at Ansel, Lt. Colding keyed his throat mic.
“Roger, all clear in the office, out,” Colding responded.
“How the fuck do you make such a gawdam mess without getting blood all over yourself?!” Colding asked Ansel.
“I’ve been doing this for quite a while,” Ansel replied, “And I haven’t drunk anyone in here yet.”
Lt. Colding tried to process the mechanics of how his new undead asset operated. Ansel had suddenly disappeared when the APC’s rear hatch opened, and was apparently inside the building by the time the SEALs had shot the doors open. He had killed as many as three armed men at once, and he didn’t even kill them to feed himself. He clawed out their throats and moved on to the next room.
“Let’s go, we’ve got a new asset to interrogate,” Lt. Colding said.
* * *
The machine shop smelled of steel filings and grease. The gray expanse of the concrete floor had a haphazard array of machinery ranging from manual lathes, welding rigs, even a CNC machine. Strewn about the concrete floor were metal shavings and a half dozen dead Syrians, their weapons several feet from their lifeless hands.
One Syrian was still alive; he was chained to a metal folding chair and bleeding from his mouth and thighs. Petty Officer Barnes stood with his MP5 trained on the Syrian while Gosling and Kyer moved about the shop, policing weapons and gathering intelligence.
“He hasn’t answered any of my questions, Ice,” Barnes said.
“So he’s the strong, silent type,” Lt. Colding said, “I can respect that.”
Colding made a mental note of the tools in the shop, and how they might aid in an interrogation. There certainly wasn’t a shortage of hammers and drills. Colding also noted the two bullet holes in the Syrian’s leg.
“You know you’re not leaving here alive, right?” Colding asked. The Syrian did not respond.
“I can make the next few minutes a living hell for you,” Colding said, getting close to the prisoner, “I could hook up that tig rig to this chair and shock the shit out of you.”
As he said it, Lt. Colding noticed two very small, scabbed over holes on the man’s neck. Colding glanced from the man’s neck and back to his eyes.
“You believe in vampires, don’t you?” Colding said, suddenly realizing he didn’t have to torture the man for information. Grant turned away from the prisoner, faced Ansel and very deliberately thought, Do your thing, knowing that his thought was heard.
Ansel walked over to the chained man, relishing the smell of hot blood flowing from his open wounds. The vampire traced two cold, slender fingers over the left side of the man’s neck, feeling the scabs from previous feedings. Ansel was behind the man now; both of his cold, slender hands massaged the man’s neck.
Lt. Colding and the rest of his team watched as Ansel bent at the waist then moved his delicate hands to the man’s collar bones and bit into his neck from behind. The man’s eyes widened only a little as Ansel gulped down his blood. The Danish vampire’s milky white skin regained an amount of living color as he fed. Ansel finished as the man’s head drooped forward, lifeless. The bullet holes in his leg had stopped bleeding.
“Cabal was here,” Ansel said, “he has a bomb.”
“Where is he now?” Lt. Colding asked.
Ansel had a serene look in his eyes.
“North…” Ansel responded, “He’s in Georgia, near the Russian border.”
“Is that where he took the bomb?” Colding asked.
Ansel playfully traced his fingers over the dead man’s neck.
“I don’t know,” said the vampire.
“Are you going to stare at me the whole time?” Colding asked.
“You know, there are relics in this city,” Ansel said with a faint smile.
The whole vehicle jostled as it plowed over a ditch. A calm voice crackled into the team’s earpieces.
“Two minutes out,” the driver said.
“I’m going to make you a relic if you don’t quit creepin’ me out,” Lt. Colding muttered.
“I am a relic,” Ansel said, his smile no longer faint.
The SEAL and SWCC operators in the Stryker barely noticed the impact as the Personnel Carrier smashed through a chain link fence.
“Thirty seconds,” the driver said.
“Are you ready for this?” Ansel asked.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve done this more than you,” Colding replied.
Everyone swayed to the front of the vehicle as the personnel carrier made a rapid deceleration and stopped. The floor to ceiling hatch in the back of the compartment opened.
“Don’t be so sure…” Colding heard Ansel say as the SEALs piled out of the vehicle. Ansel had completely vanished as soon as the door had opened.
“Where the fuck are you?!” Colding asked, trying to keep his voice down.
The SEALs double-timed to their rehearsed positions around the machine shop. Colding, Wasnick and Hernandez ran to the front door that led to the office portion of the building. Petty Officers Gosling, Barnes and Kyer broke off and jogged to the door on the Eastern facing wall, leading into the machine shop itself.
Petty Officer Wasnick had his shotgun trained on the front door’s deadbolt lock, waiting only a few seconds. As he heard muffled gunshots from around the corner of the building, Wasnick shot out the door’s lock, then fired three rounds where he expected the doors hinges to be on the inside. Wasnick kicked down the door and Colding rushed in, followed by Hernandez. Wasnick was the last one in.
Colding entered the poorly lit office area with his nerves strung so high, he felt like a violin ready to break under its own tension. He attributed his successes to the fact that his SEALs were trained to execute their missions in a well synchronized, choreographed ballet of maneuver and slaughter. Knowing that Ansel so completely and utterly disappeared at the mission’s start irked Lt. Colding to no end. For all he knew, the mission could be over in a heart-beat.
His finger resting on the trigger of his MP5, Colding swept his aim over the office’s reception area, and then walked briskly down the hallway with Wasnick and Hernandez in tow, stopping next to the first door they came to. Colding paused only briefly before barging in gun first. He quickly cleared the small room, sweeping his weapon left to center to right but was briefly stunned by what he saw- three bloodied bodies of insurgents strewn across the room. AK-47’s tenuously touching the hands that had held them, their light brown wooden barrels and handles slathered in red. The insurgents had bled out from their necks, and quite severely, judging by the pools running down their chests and soaked clothes.
“Clear,” Colding managed to cough out.
Colding heard shots fired out in the machine shop as he made his way out into the hallway to clear the next room. The staccato shots Kalashnikovs rang out, followed by a brrrrrrrrrrap of MP5 fire. The next room that Colding cleared looked like the first, only there was just one body. The man had had his throat clawed out and his rifle had been folded into a V shape.
As Colding walked yet again out into the hallway, he saw a flash of black streak from the room on the right to the room on the left at the end of the hall. Ansel, he thought.
Colding ran down the hall and charged into the room. The insurgent inside had fired a single shot from his AK before Colding entered. Lt. Colding and Petty Officers Wasnick and Hernandez trained their weapons on the only movement in the room- that being Ansel making a diagonal, upward swing with his fingers into the insurgent’s throat. It sounded as though pages were forcefully ripped from a book as Ansel’s nails tore through flesh, the man let out a quiet, gargled scream as he rose a foot off the ground and he fell back onto a desk, his rifle clattering to the floor. There was blood on the floor, two of the walls, and parts of the ceiling.
Staring once again into Ansel’s soulless eyes, Lt. Colding’s sense of un-ease had momentarily lapsed into a near maniacal surge of triumph, knowing that his team had cleared the office with only one shot fired.
A voice crackled into the team’s earpieces.
“All clear in the shop. We have a new asset, over,” Barnes said.
Still staring at Ansel, Lt. Colding keyed his throat mic.
“Roger, all clear in the office, out,” Colding responded.
“How the fuck do you make such a gawdam mess without getting blood all over yourself?!” Colding asked Ansel.
“I’ve been doing this for quite a while,” Ansel replied, “And I haven’t drunk anyone in here yet.”
Lt. Colding tried to process the mechanics of how his new undead asset operated. Ansel had suddenly disappeared when the APC’s rear hatch opened, and was apparently inside the building by the time the SEALs had shot the doors open. He had killed as many as three armed men at once, and he didn’t even kill them to feed himself. He clawed out their throats and moved on to the next room.
“Let’s go, we’ve got a new asset to interrogate,” Lt. Colding said.
* * *
The machine shop smelled of steel filings and grease. The gray expanse of the concrete floor had a haphazard array of machinery ranging from manual lathes, welding rigs, even a CNC machine. Strewn about the concrete floor were metal shavings and a half dozen dead Syrians, their weapons several feet from their lifeless hands.
One Syrian was still alive; he was chained to a metal folding chair and bleeding from his mouth and thighs. Petty Officer Barnes stood with his MP5 trained on the Syrian while Gosling and Kyer moved about the shop, policing weapons and gathering intelligence.
“He hasn’t answered any of my questions, Ice,” Barnes said.
“So he’s the strong, silent type,” Lt. Colding said, “I can respect that.”
Colding made a mental note of the tools in the shop, and how they might aid in an interrogation. There certainly wasn’t a shortage of hammers and drills. Colding also noted the two bullet holes in the Syrian’s leg.
“You know you’re not leaving here alive, right?” Colding asked. The Syrian did not respond.
“I can make the next few minutes a living hell for you,” Colding said, getting close to the prisoner, “I could hook up that tig rig to this chair and shock the shit out of you.”
As he said it, Lt. Colding noticed two very small, scabbed over holes on the man’s neck. Colding glanced from the man’s neck and back to his eyes.
“You believe in vampires, don’t you?” Colding said, suddenly realizing he didn’t have to torture the man for information. Grant turned away from the prisoner, faced Ansel and very deliberately thought, Do your thing, knowing that his thought was heard.
Ansel walked over to the chained man, relishing the smell of hot blood flowing from his open wounds. The vampire traced two cold, slender fingers over the left side of the man’s neck, feeling the scabs from previous feedings. Ansel was behind the man now; both of his cold, slender hands massaged the man’s neck.
Lt. Colding and the rest of his team watched as Ansel bent at the waist then moved his delicate hands to the man’s collar bones and bit into his neck from behind. The man’s eyes widened only a little as Ansel gulped down his blood. The Danish vampire’s milky white skin regained an amount of living color as he fed. Ansel finished as the man’s head drooped forward, lifeless. The bullet holes in his leg had stopped bleeding.
“Cabal was here,” Ansel said, “he has a bomb.”
“Where is he now?” Lt. Colding asked.
Ansel had a serene look in his eyes.
“North…” Ansel responded, “He’s in Georgia, near the Russian border.”
“Is that where he took the bomb?” Colding asked.
Ansel playfully traced his fingers over the dead man’s neck.
“I don’t know,” said the vampire.
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