Whiskey Delta – Chapter 34

“Never forget that it is when a soldier is cornered that he becomes more dangerous than he’s ever been before.”

-Major General Michael Thur

The heat entered his helmet like a thousand hot needles. What was worse, he could feel Mance’s teeth digging into the hand he had thrown up to cover his face. Lastly, his right arm was being pressed into his side. He held it tight to is chest to cover his ribs but quickly realized it was futile. Mance’s pressing weight was shoving his elbow directly into the spot he was trying to protect.

Between all that, he was barely aware of the flaming face that was less than a foot from his own. His own yelps of pain were barely audible over the roaring noise of the fire and the pounding of his own heart. He turned his head sideways to see several burning bodies standing over Dezba too.

He had dropped a few as they charged, capped a few more was they fell upon him and he was forced to draw his sidearm. But now he in roughly the same spot Braun was, pinned to the ground. Except that he had at least three Whiskeys to contend with, not just the one. He felt a spike of adrenaline as he realized they would be through his armor faster than Mance could get through his. But there was nothing he could do so long as Mance had him pinned…

He looked back into his attackers eyes. The flesh around them was charged and flaking, but his milky white globes still looked intact. The way he was staring so intently at him again let him know that sure as shit, he could see him just fine.

The teeth were digging in tighter, and chips of them were breaking off against his armored glove. Mance didn’t seem to care. Even if his teeth went to shards, he would dig until they broke through the seal. Braun stopped yelling and began muttering to himself.

“No… not like this. Not like this. Not here…”

Mance bit down even harder and began pressing forward. Their faces were less than six inches from each other now, and Braun could smell nothing but his fetid cooked flesh. He felt another source of discomfort now, coming from his stomach.

“Oh God!” Braun drew a breath through his lips and spat. Directly into Mance’s face. He recoiled just enough…

The butt of his right hand went up and struck Mance in the nose. The broken bridge curled sideways and cleared his left hand too. But Mance was back on him in no time. Damn Whiskeys don’t mind a broken nose, he reminded himself. Both hands were now needed to hold Mance’s neck and keep him at a distance.

But that too was proving futile. Whiskeys didn’t mind pain. And even if they did, Mance didn’t have broken ribs to contend with.

A loud, angry grunt from his right told him sent him looking in Dezba’s direction. The three above him were on top of him, and one of the heads was closed around his neck. Braun felt his heart smash as it became clear that the worst thing that could have happened just did.

A voice screamed. His.

“Aaron! NO!”

His legs were kicking. The pistol in his right hand was going off against the ground, where one had it pinned. Dezba continued to cry out, he crazy bastard fighting it out even as he they were ripping into him. Braun felt another scream rising from h9is stomach, but this onecarried something stronger and better than the last one. The pain in his side and the fatigue in his bones faded as adrenaline shot through him, fury numbing everything but the fire in his chest.

He pulled his left arm over and put it in Mance’s face. This narrowed the gap between them again, but it let him get his right arm free. He struggled to slip it down to his waste, doing his best to ignore the stabs that this was producing. Couldn’t let them stop him now, he was almost there. He felt the reassuring handle at his belt and wrapped his fingers. The angle was awkward, he could barely get a proper grip. And the pain was returning and making it harder.

Fuck you, he told himself. Reach it! His body obeyed and grabbed just enough of the hilt to feel it budge. He reached forward to grab more and gave it another tug. One more and he felt it clear.

Out it came, slicing at Mance’s right side and forcing him to produce  a slight howl. He didn’t seem to mind much, but he sure as hell noticed. He stretched out his right arm, ugly flesh covered in singed fabric to grab hold of it. Braun felt the vice-like grib tighten around his wrist and yelled angrily. They struggled several times, the only communication between them now a series of angry bellows.

Braun looked at Dezba’s feet one more time. His kicking and struggling appeared to be diminishing, his legs succumbing to fatigue. His attacks looked just about done with him.

And there it was, the final surge he needed. He looked at his wrist and began twisting to get some leverage. In his hand, he spun the knife around, aiming the blade downward. It was just about free. He looked Mance in the eye again…

“Nice try, asshole. But your heads mine!”

Mance howled once last time. Braun’s hand got free.

The knife plunged into his neck, all the way to the hilt. Mance’s screams were muffled by the terrible noise of blood and air streaming from his throat. Grabbing his head with one hand and shoving the other into his side, Braun threw Mance off and rolled over on top of him. He grabbed the knife with his right hand and pulled it loose, spun it around again.

He drew it back as far as he could and chopped. Again. Again. Mance’s body shook under the weight of the blows. The knife tore it’s way through flesh and tendon, until the head was hanging by a single knot of bone. Braun breathed hard, but drew back for one final blow.

The head came off clean and Mance’s body fell dead. He turned clumsily to his left, the bleeding head hanging from his fingers. The three remaining bodies that stood over Dezba were the only things that moved amidst the killing field.

He drew his pistol and aimed.

Three shots completed the slaughter. Braun dropped his pistol to his side and raised his left hand. The look in the eyes filled him a funny feeling. He had never seen that look before, even on the faces of Whiskey that lay dying.

It was the look of abject fear, the kind of terror that only filled one’s eyes when they knew with certainty that they were they had been beaten. When they knew they were going to die terribly. Braun raised the head up into the air. Amidst the flames, smoke and terrible heat that was scalding his face, he let out another terrible noise.

He laughed, hard.

It was followed by some words. Teary, angry words.

“I beat you, you undead son of a bitch. I FUCKING BEAT YOU!”