This is the 66th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.
Stamper: Operation Wolf, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 5th February 2013
Word count: 812
The story:
“You’ve got to be kidding,” the base commander said upon seeing the ID of the man who had demanded entrance on a very stressful day.
“I’m afraid I’m not, this is a very serious matter that it appears you’re not qualified to deal with,” the man started with deference.
“We are the army, there’s nothing we’re not qualified to deal,” the base commander said, disliking some government agency waltzing in, though truth be told, he had barely any idea how to deal with this one. He did think the Ministry could at least send Five or Special Branch, he at least knew them, knew how they operated, this new agency was a mystery dealing with mysteries.
“If you’re okay to deal with this, I’ll let you track down the pack, then you can fight them, without help. If any of your men are still alive, I’ll gladly recommend that they have pretty medals pinned to their chests,” the mystery man said.
“You’re that sure this is one of theirs?” the soldier asked.
“From the pictures yes, the wounds are consistent, the investigator’s analysis of their movements, the MO is similar to a pack I was tracking,” the man answered.
The commander thought it over, he had no other explanations for what happened, there were two very serious missiles and a launcher out in the wild, there were three dead soldiers. “Okay Inspector Stamper, I believe you for now.”
“Good, because I’ll need help,” Stamper said, “Once I get a location, I’m going to need to move fast, normally I’d call Special Branch but this may require something new. I can brief you and your men before I go.”
“You want to use the army? In the UK?” the commander asked shocked.
“Special circumstances,” Stamper said, “PMs authorised it. We can’t have hostiles running around with dangerous weapons, and for these to have the gall and the strength to rip off am army base, it’s unthinkable.”
“I need to clear it with command,” the commander said.
Two days later the call came through. Thirty men, hand picked and briefed, with whatever training they could muster in the available time that seemed apt, set off fully armed in land rovers.
They arrived at the location sixty seven miles from the base, this was nominated as the staging area. They met Stamper, who rebriefed them on what they already knew, and filled them in on the specifics.
The enemy were werewolves, the largest pack identified in Britain so far. The Unit (the only name given to Stampers small department charged with investigating the growing menace, and naturalising the threat), believed this to be three packs that had come together, twenty wolves in total. They were organised, had a watch set up in their base. Their base was a farm in Surrey, two miles from the staging area.
“Okay, let’s get to work,” the Commander said, giving orders to his troops.
At fifteen hundred hours the first team approached in a flanking position, as expected the sentries quickly became alert, but two snipers took them from the playing board with silenced shots with silver tips and nerve agent coatings.
Still the noise roused the house. Team One had to move quick, they broke through the rear gate of the complex and set up a defensive point.
Four men charged out, seeing the army they ran for cover as the first shots rang out. One of the men went down in the hail of fire, the others got to cover. Then came the screams, moments later three huge beasts broke from cover and charged, fearlessly.
Team One were disciplined, well trained soldiers, they picked their shots. Like the snipers, the bullets were silver tipped and coated in nerve toxins. The three beasts went down.
More figures were emerging though, staying in cover and using guns.
Team One fell back to cover, protected by the wall. The main gates to the front of the property exploded, ten soldiers piled in.
They immediately opened fire on the emerging men in cover.
The operation lasted less than twenty minutes.
The commander and Stamper walked through the scene after. Stamper was skewering every body they came across.
“Must you really do that?” the commander asked.
“Yes, if they’re not dead, they’ll heal. You have to be sure, even when it seems obvious,” Stamper said.
“Where do they come from?”
“I can’t say, that they’re here is what’s important. That they’re organising, using tactics combined with their inherent, err, strengths shall we say. This secret war just changed shape,” Stamper said, skewering another corpse.
“If it’s a war, then the army I’m sure will want in on this,” the commander said.
“I’ll relay that to the PM, he’ll want a briefing on this case,” Stamper said.
Aspiring 