Chapter 2 Need To Know

March 1st, 1946

1130

Echo Company Barracks

United States Allied Command

West Berlin, Germany

Lt. Genoa gathered his men around an hour after he had made his way from his Berlin hotel, back to the army barracks at the nearby camp outside of Berlin. It was now early in the afternoon. He had wanted to give them as much time as possible to prepare for the journey ahead. Everyone assembled (about twelve in all) outside the shabby looking tents, underneath an old sycamore tree.

"Alright Whiskey Company, here's the scoop. Lt. Col Jack Houser-'' Genoa paused for a minute. There was a loud booing that followed the mention of this man's name. Lt. Col. Houser was not very popular with the enlisted soldiers.

"Yah yah, boo and whatever other curses youse wanna through out. Guys a fuckin' asshole. And a damn lush. Ay but still, he's doing us a favour. We're leavin on vacation tomorrow morning for Alsace. Hes got an assignment for us, but its an easy one. We got a pack of wolves runnin amok in the country side. We're gonna do a little good PR and go eliminate them. Maybe pose for a few pictures, drink a few bottles of wine, and we'll be back. We already got us rooms reserved at the local inn even. We'll be back in a week" Genoa finished his brief. The mens demeanors seemed to of relaxed a bit. Genoa had thought he had sold it well. Genoa didn't mention any of the extra details in the report because truthfully ?

"Its all a bunch of horseshit and superstition. There's nothin in there I can explain." Geno thought to himself. Regardless, although he hated to deny it , some things in the dossier could not be explained. And those things disturbed him greatly.

"What time do we leave ?" Said Private First Class (PFC.) Garcia. Garcia was a shorter skinnier dark skinned man with dark hair, a crooked nose and a wide jawline. He had the appearance of a handsome and very suave - Troll. And coming from the Bronx he wasn't afraid to swing a club like one either.

"0500, tomorrow morning" Genoa replied with a thin, sad smile coming across his face. The reaction from his platoon was what he expected. It took Sergeant Derringer to step in to calm the mob. "Ay, did I just hear a bunch of little bitches in my squad?

"Uh, our squad you mean Sarge?" Genoa murmured but Derringer ignored him.

"Now, 0430 tomorrow morning. Be packed, shaved, and because of this (he gestured around) circus of complaining, I want to see you all smiling like a bunch of whores at a dick eating convention ! Do we have any questions?"

The men (including Garcia) had gone quiet. They knew they could gripe a little against Genoa. But none of them dared challenge Derringer. Derringer was a tough man from Texas, and he wasn't the type man to settle something with paperwork. He was the type to settle it behind the old barracks after dark. With just himself and the concerned party. No ranks, no politics. One on one. But, to his credit. He was also the same one to save your ass when you needed it. Derry believed in two things, getting a job done and brotherhood. He realized that after years of being in the army, he could beat the living shit out of a smart ass private to get the job done, but there where other and more effective ways to motivate. And as a testament to this, there he stood under the sycamore tree. Tall, muscular, hairy arms exposed from his rolled up sleaves, hair trimmed to just barely to regulation length and a thick brown moustache he had been growing out since the war started.

Finally, a hand shot up. It was Private Gadot. "Sergeant, do we need to pack our weapons ?" This, to Derringer. Was a very stupid question. "Why would you not bring weapons to a wolf hunt?!" Derringer looked as though he was going to have a stroke of stupidity. "I thought it was a wolverine hunt staff sergeant !" Gadot muttered. "And jumping Jesus Christ, like wolverines are cute and cuddly ! Do you want to take one home as a pet Gadot?" Derringer mused rubbing his moustache. Gadot slowly lowered his hand and sunk back down.

"Alright, the answer is simply "yes". Pack ALL of your gear, weapons, rations, camping equipment and be ready at 0445 tomorrow morning. We leave base before daybreak. And furthermore do not discuss this mission with anyone. It is as of this moment classified." Genoa said, giving his final marching orders for the night. The men all nodded, everyone understood him. He walked off to prepare his own self for the journey ahead. "Alright men, 0430 tomorrow be here ! I'm going to inspect you and make sure none of you brought, or forgot anything of serious importance."

The men broke. They went off to their quarters. And began to pack. Gadot took out a fresh pressed set of fatigues and began to clean his weapon. He laughed it off but truly he was a little embarrassed by the interaction in front of the squad earlier. "Least I can do is show up squared away and ready to go." He thought as he polished the barrel of his M1 Garand.

Early the next morning, they were all awake at three thirty in the morning, showered and in formation by four thirty for Sergeant Derringer. Derringer inspected all his men. Gadot had his rifle, and nobody else had forgotten anything. "Good. This had gone off without a hitch so far" Derringer thought to himself. He did a roll call. "Cpl. Fantaski, Cpl. Doukas, Spc. Gadot, Spc. Horowitz, Spc Henry, Pfc Garcia, Pfc Hightower, Pfc McHarrigan, Pvt Broussard, and Pvt Dancer." All men answered "Present" after their respective names had been called. All except for Pvt Dancer. Derringer closed his eyes and prayed to his lord Jesus for patience. "Where is Pvt Dancer?" He asked calmly. Nobody replied. "Where. The. FUCK. Is Private DANCER !?" Derringer repeated himself much more loudly, his thick Texas accent beginning to show.

Around the corner came a man of medium height carrying a rifle and a rucksack. He hadn't shaved and his uniform was untucked and untidy. He stumbled and tripped right at Derringer's feet. Derringer looked at his watch and then back down to the young man. "Fifty, go." He said flatly. The young man started doing push ups. He counted out to fifty. And without complaint. He had known he had messed up. He had woken up just 10 minutes ago. "Well now that you've dragged that lazy ass out of bed, and off the ground. Were the fuck where you Pvt Dancer?" Derringer asked. One of his main pet peeves was tardiness.

"Ay Sarge, I apologize. I had trouble sleeping at night. I was having strange dreams and at one point I thought I was having a heart attack because I felt a heavy weight on my chest." Dancer panted. He was feeling a bit faint, cold and clammy. Derringer saw this and had him sit back down. "Is that why you're sweatin like a hog ? You need to see the doc ?" asked Derringer with a little concern.

"I'm fine, I'll sleep on the way to Alsace. We got a long ride ahead of us after all." assured Dancer. Derringer nodded. Lt. Genoa arrived.

Sgt Derringer didn't relay any of this information to him. Truly it was an area of concern. They had handled it, it was all said and done. The unit boarded into the back of a green covered cargo truck, and then they were off. Soon, they were on a foggy, wet and bumpy dirt road headed into a small French village in Alsace.

"Yo, Dan." said a voice behind Pvt Dancer. It was Spc. Derrick Hightower. Hightower was a tall and dark caramel colored young man with short black hair (which he took great pride in). And even early in the morning he made sure he had gotten up ahead of everyone else just so he could follow his morning rituals. But this morning had been different for Hightower. He had woken up late, very late for himself in fact. He had managed to get to formation in time, but just barely. "You said you had sleeping trouble last night ?" Hightower said. The truck hit a bump in the road causing Dancer to bite his tongue as he responded "Yea so AH FAhckcbskhjbdbk, ye show I fawkin cuddnt shleep. (he recovered) and I felt like something was on my chest. It was like I was awake. But I couldn't move !" Dancer exclaimed.

"I had something like that happen." Hightower said quietly. "Was that ... all that happened?" Dancer said in a more quiet voice. Sgt Derringer was in the front of the truck with Lt. Genoa, but he didn't want anyone else in the back to hear what he was about to tell Hightower. "Aight Rick, soooo. I didn't say anything to Sarge, just cause he would have swore I was a insane and left me behind. But, at one point I was awake, but I also wasn't if that makes any sense? And when I couldn't move I saw a dark figure on my chest. I couldn't see it well. But it felt like it was staring at me, and I think I heard it growling."

Hightower looked down. A little mortified, he replied "Yea I kinda saw something like that too. 'Cept mine was this old white lady, had to be 150 yrs old ! She had an odd crooked nose and I remember her looking me in the eyes. She had these blank grey eye's, they where the color of granite. And then she put her hands on me ! I swore I was screaming but no one else around was hearing me ! She had on these thick and heavy rings, I felt her drag them down my chest. And then? It was all over. Fuckin weird shit. I think maybe someone played a joke and slipped us something in the chilli."

"Not the chilli, I skipped dinner. But for lunch all I had was a ham and cheese sandwich." Dancer said rubbing his temples.

"Uh huh, well I see." Hightower said. He was clearly a bit shaken. He changed the topic to a more comfortable conversation; baseball, his favorite pass time. The truck rumbled down the road, hitting many bumps and potholes as it bounced along. Dancer had begun to get the feeling they were being watched, but he wasn't certain where it was coming from. He could hear owls calling from the trees. They had been travelling for a while now and night fall was approaching.

In the front of the truck, Genoa and Derringer were having a conversation. "So, this is really just a top secret wolf hunt?" Derringer asked. "Yup." replied Genoa. "And this Colonel Rainbrough just saw our war record, and said "hey, these guys a good at bumpin off nazi's, these are the bastards to send after a few wolves?" Amma right?"

"Yup." said Genoa trying to focus on the road.

"And Horowitz fucked Housers wife." Derringer said casually.

"yuup wait what, WHAAAAT ?!" Genoa panicked and smashed the brakes. Several curses and yelps of pain came from the back of the truck. Genoa heard Fantaski call out "Well damn Hightower ! You gotta buy Dancer dinner first!".

"Damnit. What are you not telling me Frank? C'mon it's not like we're on a damn counter espionage mission. Why the big secrets?" Derringer pressed on.

"Look Derry, I want to say more. But this whole thing truthfully has a "fuck around and find out" kind of a feel to it." Genoa knew he had misspoke.

"Oh yea? Well I'd rather find out as much ahead of time, than fuck around and get someone killed. We've gotten more on intelligence briefs before. Why not this time?" Derringer was growing impatient and he wasn't going to let up. Genoa didn't like keeping secrets, especially from his men. He trusted them, they worked well together.

"Look, I get it. You were given top secret intel by the cockney spooks. And, Lt. Col. House-sitter doesn't want it spread around like last week's newspaper. Tell me at least so I know what the boys are walking into." Derringer had a sincere tone in his voice. Genoa knew they were on the same page.

"Alright, fine." Geno said giving in. " So officially, we are on a wolf hunt. There have been at least 27 confirmed allied casualties and who knows how many more unconfirmed casualties." Genoa began.

"That's a lot of bones for a pack of wolves." Derringer stated.

"Yes, it is. But something about the reports is strange. People were mangled. Bones picked clean. The mutilations don't look like they were done by a pack, but rather by one animal." Genoa continued.

"Right. Ok. Big wolf then. Probably took out two of the three lil pigs then? Bad boy this one is." laughed Derringer.

"Right, I think so too. But, there's just something about the photos, and the looks on the peoples faces. And the fact that the creature has avoided capture or being hunted for so long. These reports go back to 1939, and they continue through to present day. You'd think by then it would have met its end. Either by artillery fire or an infantry squad that just got lucky. But they have reports in the dossier that are very recent." Genoa went on trying to sound logical. "Just look at the dossier, maybe you'll see something I missed and it'll put my mind at ease. It could just be the Brits playing a joke on us. Fuckin leadin us on a snipe hunt."

Derringer reached into Genoa's bag, and opened the dossier. "Hmmm" He pondered as he flipped through it. "Well, I've seen coyotes and wolves. It kinda looks like these unlucky folks might have met one. But, why do they all look so old? This victim was just 16, and he looks like he's over the hill. Fucked up shit I tell ya, and I've seen some fucked up shit. Is it possible these people were sick before the attacks?" Derringer was rubbing his moustache thinking. "No idea on that one. Possibly. Either way, it makes you stop and think." Genoa muttered. He was off in thought again trying to recall anything else he might have missed. "Well I know one thing. It's nothing a few seeds of freedom won't fix. Could be a wolf, could be a bear. Fuck it could be bear that fucked a wolf and now its bastard off spring are here to wreak revenge on us. We'll get it though." Derringer concluded.

Although tempted, Genoa decided against teaching him a genetics lesson at this time, as he felt it would have been wasted. Besides, off in the distance he saw lights to the village called "Vichtenstein" they were destined to make for shelter. It was a small town, but it had functional street lights. While there were no large hotels on record, camping in the wilderness had been avoided largely thanks to Lt. Col. Houser booking three rooms at a local inn. Genoa parked the truck and the unit set off to the inn. As they walked up, they read the sign "la taverne et l'auberge du renard sournois". It was a good thing Genoa had packed both his French and German to English dictionaries. The province had changed hands so many times in the half century he hadn't been sure which he would need.