Normally I keep my foul language out of official reports so it’s a good thing this one is off the books. With that said… Mother fucker! I mean, what in the fucking fucker hell is going on here? 48 hours ago I was coordinating actions against insurgents and now I’m fighting werewolves? Seriously? Is this someones idea of a goddamn joke? Maybe it’s God’s fault and he’s finally pissed at me for that time I told Tori that those jeans didn’t make her ass look fat but her ass made her ass look fat. Another golden Omi moment for sure.
Well, now that that’s out of the way I can collect my thoughts.
First thought: Regiment S2 intercepts transmission bursts from unknown elements operating in theater. Who has resources to organize and initiate large-scale actions in theater? Us? Maybe. Brits? Possible. Werewolves? Is this a fucking gag? I don’t know.
Second thought: As encrypted messages are being broadcast, numerous coalition elements begin reporting contact with unknown hostiles. Who are these bastards and where do they come from?
Third thought: Contact with our elements in the field begin falling off the net and more than a few reemerge and appear to be working with unknown hostile contacts. Could there be a new player on the field? No shit there is.
Fourth thought: Werewolves? It would be logically impossible but for the things I’ve seen.
Fifth thought: What in the hell am I going to do with FOB Ironjaw?
Honestly, I have no idea how to proceed. I’ve arrived with force sufficient enough to hold the FOB while, per orders from CentCom, placing its remaining contingent under arrest. Fucking base is decimated. Bodies everywhere and more than half the force based here has vanished.
The ranking officer, Captain Paul Demarti, 4th Infantry Division, reports that all other officers and most NCOs are dead, wounded or missing. I’ve seen the camp CO and XO’s bodies. Not ashamed to say I wanted to puke. Regardless, Capt. Demarti also says he has a downed Apache pilot with serious head trauma in custody. I’ve seen this woman. Woof. She’d be cute if it weren’t for that chunk of fuselage sticking out of her head. She talks to herself but I would too if I’d had the night she has. She’s lost her bird, her gunner and her wingmen. Now that’s a shit night. I think her name’s Brenda Wachincki or Walinski or something Polish.
With all that factored in I am now forced to give more attention to the unknown enemy at hand. Everyone, my own mind included, screams that we’ve had contact with werewolves. Werewolves cannot possibly exist. Yet everyone, including my own people, walks around looking over their shoulders muttering about “poodles”. Cute nickname but it’ll take more than that to take the sting out of this mess.
At some point in time I’m going to have to send out scouts or patrols to locate any coalition survivors. Ironjaw had a more than a couple of nighttime patrols out when it all happened. None has reported in yet. Could be they’re dead, incapacitated or worse than dead or incapacitated. Fuck. Should’ve gotten out when I had a chance. Tori and the kids would’ve been happy and I wouldn’t have this nightmare headache.
We’re supposed to be relieved in a few hours. Who knows when that’ll happen. Better get back to what they pay me the shit bucks for.