josh and his squad

Josh Saltzman felt the ominous thuds and the red mushroom rise above the cold forest. His old ear counted multiple missiles crumpling into the forest. So the CDC base was under attack. Fortunately for Saltzman and his team, they had dropped off the Helicopters rappelling down about 15 miles behind the known Screaming Eagles and CDC position. If one thing that the SAD or the Special Activities Division relied on was total abhorrence of Regular Army behavior. Predictable, static and liable to be easily destroyed. The whole key to surviving Special Forces was not only that the enemy never knew where you were but more importantly was that your own side never knew it too. So here the training had paid off and the doctrinal distance that they tried to maintain from regular formations still rang true. Roach came over to Saltzman with his Assault Shotgun clasped tightly as he scoured the forest with his FLIR HD screen. The mega large sinister magazine holder on that fearsome weapon gave some clue to its lethal power. At 350 rounds per minute, Roach was just dying to have some tactical engagement with any kind of enemy, Werewolf or man. “Looks clear. Should we move over to the CDC positions and secure that location. What is our primary objective, sir?” asked Roach also stunned by this ferocious attack on American positions. Saltzman didn’t give a rat’s ass about the CDC. As far as he was concerned he was glad the meddling CDC had been put out of commission. He was not very keen on this whole ‘live Werewolf’ capture mission. If the reports from Captain Angelino and German NATO Commander Wolff inside that village were true, these animals were the most ferocious things this side of the Nazis. And just like the Nazis, they needed to be put down. “No our mission is total eradication of pestilence and extraction of all NATO and American personnel. We are taking SF Colonel Kilgore and his men home, that’s our priority. The Screaming Eagles and the CDC can enjoy Director Andy’s party. And if the Russians get in our way then we smoke ‘em too” said Saltzman gruffly, once again becoming the frontline soldier that he once was in Beirut, 1982. The old steel was coming back and the adrenaline charged military mind was making the old Saltzman that little Yoni had never seen, come back. “Move out men” whispered Roach fiercely into his com as Saltzman led the team forward into the dark snowy forest. For him these were the best possible conditions, considering he had a Hyper active thyroid gland and the snow helped him to travel cool. Roach was shepherding his 100 men into a staggered formation. One of the most interesting things that Roach had done was requisition dog whistles before the mission and now every SAD man had a dog whistle on him. Roach had heard they might be dealing with Werewolf like creatures and his quick thinking brain had thought of a low tech solution to battle the creatures. Now of course it remained to be seen if the idea actually worked! The men had a 15 mile hike to the CDC positions and then a 10 mile jaunt to the Taliban held village. What amazed Saltzman was that the Taliban seemed to be thriving around this Werewolf menace. Maybe these Werewolves were just friendly pooches after all just looking for some scratching behind the ear. Maybe the Taliban were expert dog handlers but hey, didn’t Islam forbid the Taliban from touching the Werewolves. Maybe the Werewolves were respectful of the Quranic injunction there and didn’t bother these Uber Muslims. Saltzman giggled to himself nervously. ‘Careful now’ thought Saltzman looking around in the dark forest, he didn’t want to lose the plot already. Or the Taliban were so high on their own supply that they didn’t see the Werewolves. Whatever it was it was a strange definitely supernatural scenario. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A murderously large caliber automatic weapon shattered the calm and almost made Saltzman leap out of his skin! It was Roach and he was on full Auto and then the rest of the soldiers joined in an awful symphony of different caliber weapons. No harmony. There was nothing in the forest that he could see and Saltzman scanned the area around him in terror. He could see nothing in the green nightvision or infrared high resolution. It was petrifying. All his years in the military seemed to vanish and he was reduced to a helpless quaking old man in the dark. Alone. Saltzman thought of his ex-wife. Would she be sorry to see him in this state and what about his institutionalized Mother? Could she understand where he was? Or why he was doing this? For America? It kinda rang hollow in his mind. The soldiers continued to fire. Then something broke in Saltzman and he came charging out of the forest. His Commander’s instincts had just told him something. There was nothing there. “Stop shooting you Motherfuckers. I will have all of you stripped and sent back to basic training. You fucking green hands. Stop firing. Roach I am commanding you to stop firing. I can still hear your stupid Shotgun. Stop firing!” yelled Saltzman into the com. This was supposed to be the elite SAD. The firing tapered off. Roach and some men went to investigate at what they had been shooting at. “Sir, one of the men saw something in the forest. I saw movement too” said Roach breathless from excitement into the com. “Well display its carcass in front of me, otherwise I will make a carcass out of the man that started this all. I am waiting” said Saltzman into the com, now in cold fury. He was really pissed, most of all because of how vulnerable and small he had felt. Then came the ‘jeopardizing the mission’ angle. Man they were supposed to be Stealth fighters not some fucking Boy Scout expedition in Ohio. “Here it is” came a triumphant voice into the com. Saltzman hurried over to see what it was. A carcass was proudly displayed on the ground as the men gathered around it, the lynx looking ominous in its stillness and shredded form. It barely resembled what it was and had lost most of its belly. Only the tail and the head hung on grimly along with its furry skin. The meat was long gone, blown away by ordinance. Roach looked quite silly with the dog whistle in his mouth which he was still blowing in the hope of scaring away or bringing the Werewolves to him. Saltzman gave him a withering look and Roach quietly dropped the whistle and put his helmet back on like a school boy. “So my bad assed SAD men have killed a cat. Fuck you!” yelled Saltzman into the com and out loud into the forest. It didn’t matter anymore. The whole forest knew now that Team America had just made a spectacular kill.


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