Kraken Island Read online

  Kraken Island

  Eric S Brown

  Copyright 2016 by Eric S Brown

  Kraken Island

  An utterly inhuman shriek rang out in the jungle. Others followed it. All of them grew closer with each passing second as Corporal Davis ran. His knuckles were white from the tightness of the grip he clutched his rifle in. His legs pumped beneath him as his breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat slicked his sunbaked skin and seeped from the hair covered by his combat helmet to run into his eyes, burning them. He blinked away the sweat, continuing to push himself to his limits. Every muscle in his body ached, but he knew that if he slowed, even in the slightest, he was dead. He was the only one left. His entire unit was dead. Davis was doing his all-out best not to join them.

  They had come to this island expecting a fight, knowing that they were outnumbered before their boots ever touched its soil. Those things were just part of the job. His unit had faced far worse odds than the intel report had laid out for them here and emerged victoriously. They were the best of the best. It was as simple as that. For the last two years, they had traveled the globe, their way paid by Uncle Sam, taking out the threats that folks back home didn’t even want to know existed. They had cut their way across the Middle East like a blade sliding into the stomach of a terrorist.

  When the details of this operation had landed on Colonel Jones’ desk, the old man had almost told the higher ups to go to Hell or at least that was how the rumors went. Quite a few in the unit liked to talk about the old man and his hunches. He had led them all through Hell and back so many times, his hunches were like the word of God to them. If the old man suspected trouble or things to fall apart, you could bet they would. No one was quite sure why he had such a feeling on this one though. The operation looked on paper just like any other op they had run before. Get in, eliminate the enemy, and get out before anyone that mattered knew they were there.

  The old man had been right too. Things had gone to Hell almost from the very moment they hit the island. The enemy they had been expecting wasn’t the enemy that was waiting on them. Their advantage of surprise was gone, and they were the ones who were completely blindsided. They were hit while they were still trying to figure out what was going on and paid the price troops usually do when they are handed bad intel to guide them.

  It wasn’t so much a fight as a massacre. Davis had only escaped because, for the first time in all his years of service, he had run when the crap hit the fan. And he was still running now.

  Corporal Davis never saw the piece of vine on the jungle floor that caught his ankle as he plowed headlong through the trees. One instant, he was running full out, and the next he was rolling in the dirt, shouting curses at the top of his lungs. The fall had busted up his right shoulder pretty badly. He gritted his teeth at the pain, knowing it was dislocated. His rifle lay several feet away from him as he had lost it in the fall.

  The shrill cries of the things chasing him grew louder. They were almost on him now. His left hand jerked his Glock from where it hung, holstered on his hip. He painfully readied the weapon. There was nothing else he could do. The things were too close for it to matter if he started running again. He had no choice but to face them and die like the soldier he was.

  Davis got to his feet, pointing the Glock at the sound of the closest shrieks. He couldn’t see his target, only the tree limbs moving in its wake as the thing came crashing through them. Opening fire, he put a trio of rounds into the jungle where he figured the thing coming after him had to be. A loud screech let him know his fire had at least made contact with something.

  Something cold and slimy lashed out and downwards from the tree behind him. It slipped around his neck and tightened there, lifting him from the ground. His feet kicked in the air as he smashed his pistol into it, desperately trying to break the thing’s hold on him.

  Davis couldn’t breathe. His eyes bulged as the thing twisted about his neck grew tighter. The last sound Corporal Davis ever heard was the sickening snap of his own neck breaking.

  ****

  Colonel Jackson Brannon had been out for his evening run when the black Suburban had picked him up. He sat next to Admiral Messer in its rear section, dripping sweat and sipping at the bottle of water the admiral had given him.

  A clearly armed operative with an ear piece sat up front with the driver. Brannon had no doubt he was far from the only protection with eyes on Admiral Messer, though the Suburban appeared to be the only vehicle in this section of the park. This wasn’t the first time he had been snatched up from leave when something had come up, but Messer’s personal presence indicated that whatever it was this time, it was really bad.

  “You always were a night owl.” Messer feigned a smile.

  “Could argue you were the one who made me this way, sir.” Brannon smiled back.

  Messer grunted. “Guess you could.”

  “We both know this isn’t a social call, sir.” Brannon pushed them on towards getting down to business. “Whose mess am I going to be cleaning up this time?”

  Messer frowned and handed him a tablet. On its screen were the details of the job he was being drafted for. Brannon whistled as he read over them. When he looked up into Messer’s eyes again, it was his turn to frown.

  “Jones was one of the best. Not many people out there who are better,” Brannon said.

  “You are, Colonel,” Messer said simply. “That’s why I am here.”

  Brannon shook his head. “As to me being better than Jones, that’s a matter of opinion, Admiral. I get what you are saying though. From the looks of what went down though, it ain’t gonna be easy to clean it up.”

  “It never is.” Messer sighed. “Not with something on the scale of this one.”

  “You have a plan though, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Full-scale assault,” Messer admitted. “It’s the only option left to us now.”

  “Hard to keep that sort of thing off the public’s radar,” Brannon cautioned.

  “Let me worry about that, Colonel,” Messer said coldly.

  “You know straight up fights aren’t my thing anymore, sir,” Brannon pointed out. “I left that for the regulars a long time ago.”

  Messer nodded. “That you did, but I need you on this one, Brannon. I need someone who can think outside the box and adapt to whatever crap storm they get tossed into. That’s why I am putting you in command of the ground portion of this operation. We’re not dealing with just another terrorist group here. These people bring a whole new meaning to the word cult.

  “DESRON 44 is already in the area of the island. You and your squad will be flying out to join them. You have twelve hours to get your men and gear ready. Once you arrive, I expect you to work with Surface Commander Wall and take the lead in the planning the ground assault. Everything she has in terms of troops and firepower will be at your disposal. I want that cult wiped from the face of the Earth before the weekend is over. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Crystal.” Brannon grinned. “So much for my vacation, eh?”

  ****

  Specialist Vander rolled over. His eyes bugged as he stared into the face of a strikingly beautiful blonde woman. Her long hair was spread over the pillow beneath her head. He spent a moment studying her features before he reached two conclusions. The first was that, try as he might, he could not recall her name. The second was that this woman was hotter than any human being had a right to be.

  Ever so gently, he edged the covers over her back just enough to confirm his suspicion. Yep. She was naked underneath them. That certainly explained why he felt so relaxed and sore at the same time. Part of him wanted to pat himself on the back for a job well done, but the rest of him hated that he couldn’t remember a bloody second of the passion the two
of them were sure to have shared. That was the price of getting so drunk you couldn’t see straight. His only comfort was the hope that when she woke up, she would want to make another go of it before life dragged them away from the bed they shared.

  With a start, he realized it was his bed. He had brought her home. Given how hot she looked, Vander supposed he would have to forgive himself that one. Getting this lucky was a rare thing for him. He eased over on to his back and lay staring at the poster that lined the walls of his bedroom. Images of his hero stared back at him. His hero wore a thick, blue parka and carried a gun that was eighteen inches long and stopped molecular motion on an atomic level. Beneath the dark sunglasses he wore, his hero seemed to be smiling at him.

  Vander had always loved the cold. He had grown up in rural Alaska and had always been a part of his life. Snow and ice, they were among the greatest gifts God had given man to Vander. He missed them a lot. Ever since he had signed up with Colonel Brannon, he had seen far too little of them. Sometimes he wondered if he had chosen the wrong career path. Sure, his job took him around the globe, but it was almost always to somewhere so hot and sunny that he couldn’t stand it. Just once, he thought, he would like a mission to take them somewhere that wasn’t a bloody jungle or desert. He knew it was a forlorn hope, but he persisted in it anyway.

  As if in response to his thoughts, he heard the music of “Cold as Ice” begin to blare from his cell phone. Vander reached over, picking it up from the nightstand beside the bed. A quick glance at its screen told him the incoming call was from Colonel Brannon. He answered it.

  “Vander here,” he said. His cell was encrypted to Hades and then some. The line was as secure as anything could by in an age where hackers waged war against their enemies as if they were soldiers on the battlefield.

  Vander held the phone with his neck and chin as snatched up a pen and notebook to jot down his orders. “Yes, sir,” he said at last as Colonel Brannon ended the call.

  Turning around where he sat on the edge of the bed, he saw the blonde watching him.

  “Work?” she asked in the voice of an angel. Again, Vander cursed himself for not being sober when he had brought her home with him. “You never told me what you do.”

  “And I won’t be now either, love.” Vander frowned. “I’ve got to run. Duty calls.”

  Her hand reached out to spread flat against the bare, pale skin of his naked chest. “Do you really have to go so quickly?”

  Vander laughed, calculating exactly how much time he needed to get dressed, gather his personal gear, and report in. “No,” he smiled. “Maybe I don’t.”

  He let her pull him down as she slid on top of him.

  ****

  Adam sat at his desk. The room was dark. The only light was what little seeped into it through the window from the stars in the sky outside. He flicked ashes from the end of his cigarette into an already overflowing ashtray filled with two packs worth of butts. He couldn’t sleep. That was a problem a lot of folks in his line of work dealt with. When they closed their eyes, the faces of those they had killed or caused to be killed came clearly into focus like ghosts that refused to let them have any peace.

  It was different for Adam though. He was at peace with his job. The face he saw was his wife’s. Cancer had taken her from six months ago, and he hadn’t been the same since. It was as if she had taken a bit of his soul with her when they had laid her to rest in the ground.

  Adam liked to tell himself that he had done everything he could for her. He had called in favors with the powers that be to get her the best treatment possible and taken on extra jobs outside of usual channels to pay their medical bills. Nothing had worked though. She had grown weaker with each passing day until it reached the point he couldn’t take it anymore. Then, he had truly buried himself in his work. Putting a bullet into some zealot’s head and watching the man’s brain matter splatter outward in a shower of gray and red was preferable to watching her waste away.

  In short, he had run and had left her alone at the end. Oh, he sent checks, cards, gifts, and even called every day, but it wasn’t the same as being there by her side. Until she had gotten sick, Adam had thought of himself as one of the bravest men alive and with good cause. He wasn’t afraid of dying. He had been tortured by the best that the Middle East had at their disposal and hadn’t broken. He had stared down the barrel of enemy guns and seen his friends blown apart by IED’s. Adam had seen children caught in crossfire, their little bodies twitching as heavy rounds cut them to shreds. He had seen people crazy enough to slit their own throats for glory in the eyes of Allah. But all that, all of it, was nothing compared to watching Julie die. Not an honorable death as he hoped for himself one day but rather a prolonged, terrible wasting away to nothingness.

  When he had finally returned home for her funeral and stared down at what was left of her resting in her coffin, he barely recognized the woman he had spent half his life with. She was little more than skin and bones. The spark in her eyes that had drawn him to her at the start, gone, replaced by the empty hollowness of death.

  Often, Adam had considered taking his own life so he could be with her in Heaven but he knew doing so was an unforgivable sin in the eyes of God. Even more than that though, he knew he simply couldn’t do it. To do so would be to admit defeat and that was something that Adam Hall could never do. It just wasn’t in him.

  He was glad to hear his phone ring. No one ever called him anymore unless it was about a job. Getting up from the table, he answered and was happy to hear Colonel Brannon’s voice.

  “Yes, sir,” he barked into the phone. “I’m on my way in right now!”

  As he shut off his phone, he took one last look at the picture of Julie that had been straining his eyes to stare at in the dark and said, “Goodbye, honey. Hope to see you again soon.”

  ****

  Sergeant Malcom Root stood at the doorway to his daughter’s room, watching her sleep. He had tucked her in for the second time tonight only moments earlier. She had a bad dream and had come bursting into his and Steph’s room. Unlike him, Steph worked a normal nine-to-five job and needed some sleep herself. Malcom had been happy to take Mary back to bed. She was his world and nothing mattered more to him, not even Steph. His job was the one that really paid the bills, but it only took him away from home every month or two and usually he wasn’t gone very long. Just long enough to blow up whatever needed blowing up and then back to his family he came.

  Malcom wanted very much to retire from it but knew he wouldn’t until they had enough money tucked in the bank to make sure Mary was provided for life if he could. He wanted her to have all things his drunk, deadbeat of a father had never given him. Malcom dreamed of the day he would watch her walk across some college’s stage, degree in hand. She would never know the pain of not having Santa show up on Christmas or the Easter bunny getting lost in route to her house. She would never see her mother shoved to the kitchen floor with a busted jaw and pummeled by the man who was supposed to love her. No, Malcom had vowed from the second Mary was born that her life would be as wonderful and perfect as he could make it, no matter the cost. His job was the only threat to that now. Every time he went out to answer his country’s call, it no longer filled him with pride but rather left his heart broken until he could see his little girl again.

  Steph appeared behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He nearly teared as he took the phone she shoved at him and said, “It’s for you. Colonel Brannon.”

  She knew as much as he did what a phone call from the colonel meant. He saw the sadness in her expression as he raised the phone and spoke into it. “Can’t say I am happy to hear from you, sir. It’s not a good time…” Malcom frowned. “Yes, sir, I know it never is.”

  Malcom listened to his orders before he switched the phone off and handed back to Steph.

  The two of them stared at each other in silence for a moment.

  Finally, Steph said, “How soon?”

  “Right now,” Malc
om admitted. “I should be moving already.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, hugging him to her.

  “Me too,” Malcom grunted.

  “You can wake her up if you need to,” Steph told him, nodding her head at where Mary lay in her bed, clutching a stuffed, pink pony in her arms.

  Malcom gently removed himself from Steph’s arms and shook his head. “I just got her back to bed and you need rest. Best I just go.” His voice cracked as he said the words.

  Steph nodded, knowing from experience not to argue with him.

  “Tell her Daddy loves her and I will call as soon as I can.”

  Malcom didn’t have the strength to say anything else. He kissed Steph and rushed down the hall to start packing up his gear without allowing himself to look back. He knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to leave.

  ****

  Colonel Jackson Brannon was already aboard the copter that would be flying them out to meet up with DESRON 44 when his men arrived. Each of them brought him a strange comfort as they boarded: Vander with his cool as ice shades, self-assured swagger, and steady grip on the M24 he carried, Malcom with his ever so slightly ticked off yet stoic expression as the giant of a man that he was took his seat, and even Adam with his look of pent-up rage just waiting to be released on whatever target was put in front of him. Brannon loved them all in his own way. They were his brothers and his boys at once.

  Their squad was short a man. Hamel had punched out during their last round on the sharp end. He had been a good guy and an excellent soldier, but everyone’s time came sooner or later. His replacement was Corporal Jim Zahn, a young man with a service record that Brannon had to admit even impressed him. He had recruited Zahn himself but sadly hadn’t had the chance to really get to know him yet. Brannon liked to know all the men under his command on a personal level. It made knowing what to expect from them in the heat of battle much easier. There was no time for it now either. Brannon knew he was just going to have trust his instincts about Zahn and hope for the best. The kid had a lot to live up to trying to fill Hamel’s shoes in the eyes of the rest of the squad. This operation would determine whether the kid stayed on or got the boot depending on how things went, assuming the kid survived.