Twilight Remembered

The harsh, flickering light of a chemical camp fire outlined the silhouette of over a dozen men against a stark, desert landscape. The pungent tang of burning sterno mingled with the scent of gun oil and day old sweat. The men, each heavily armed and clad in body armor and desert fatigues, huddled close to the foul, smelly fire to fight the chill of the clear night. As if hesitant to break the silence, they sat together quietly and cleaned weapons or stared into the distance.

Overcome by impatience, a young soldier with dark hair spoke. "How far away are they?"

Closing the breach of his rifle with a resounding snap, an older man in a perfect, unwrinkled uniform covered in medals and insignias answered without looking up. "At least a day's hike to the advanced scouts, Wilson. We'll leave at dawn, meet up with Commander Austin's 4th Battalion by noon, and get ready to engage the Kliks the following day."

"Why does it have to be the damn tin men? I hate those stinkin', steamin' hunks of junk," another soldier grumbled under his breath.

"Nobody likes dealing with the Klik, but you didn't join the Irregulars to hang out in the rear with the gear did you? Gutierrez, we're not the type for manicures and fruit drinks. We're the tip of the spear. Am I right, private?"

Gutierrez grunted and nodded. "Sir, yes sir, lieutenant. I'd just rather get a crack at the L'na. At least with the fur balls you get blood on your hands and not motor oil. Yeah, give me a shot at the L'na. I could use a new rug.

Several of the men chuckled, and one slapped Gutierrez on the back and gave him a toothy grin. "That's right, baby. Let me at the critters!"

"You ever fought a L'na, private?" A weathered soldier with three red diamonds stitched onto the shoulder of his shirt leaned forward and spat into the fire. A deep scar stretching in a crescent from his forehead to the base of his jaw shined in the light from the blue green flames. Every eye in the circle turned to him as he scratched at his graying sideburns.

"No, sergeant." Gutierrez responded.

The sergeant looked slowly around the circle and finally locked a stare on the lieutenant. "Anybody here 'cept me ever fought the L'na?"

After no one spoke, he turned his blue eyed gaze back to Private Gutierrez. "I didn't think so. Boy, if you wish you were fighting those critters, you ain't got brain one in that head of yours.

Gutierrez sneered and elbowed the man next to him. "Exactly when did you tangle with the fur balls, Sarge?"
The lieutenant spoke before the sergeant could answer. "If I remember correctly, Sergeant Rivers was in the Redwood Offensive. That was one of your first campaigns, wasn't it?"

"That was my first assignment right out of basic. I would have been younger than you Gutierrez. A lot prettier and damn sure smarter to boot."

All of the soldiers laughed except for the sergeant who never broke his near permanent scowl.

"We won the Redwood Offensive, Sarge. It couldn't have been too bad," Gutierrez said after the men settled down.
Sergeant Rivers stood up in a slow, deliberate motion and pulled a leather pouch from his back pocket. He removed a clump of foul smelling fire weed and popped it into his mouth . After a few wet, noisy smacks, he spat out a long stream of brown juice and saliva onto the sand.

"Oh yeah, we won. No question about that. Took a while, but we won. The first time we engaged them was a small village with a name I don't remember. My company routed them. Our commander wanted to send a message to the critters, so we killed nearly everything that moved and burned the village to the ground. Psi ops and what not" He spat again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Turns out they got the message loud and clear and felt the need to reply personally."

Rivers turned his back to the soldiers and firelight to stare into the darkness. "The place was different. Trees and grass instead sand and rocks, but the darkness was same. It always is . . ."

"Rivers, come here a minute," Sergeant Cash called over the noisy bustle of the company setting up camp for the night.

Private Rivers, tall and almost painfully lean, tied the last line of his tent to a stake and turned to face his sergeant. Rivers had sandy blonde hair cropped close and neat above a face that was smooth with youth. Fatigue battled with excitement as he struggled to process the events of the day.

"Yes, sergeant?"

If Rivers was built like a scarecrow, Sergeant Cash resembled nothing so much as a bulldog. Rivers was a head taller than the older man, but Cash was barrel chested and seemed to have developed muscles on top of muscles. Even his voice, clipped and low, came out as a growl.

"You did good today, boy."

"Thank you, sergeant." Rivers fought the urge to smile with pride.

"Today was your first live engagement, wasn't it?"

"Yes sir."

Cash cracked a tired, half smile. "Can the sir, private. I work for a living."

"Sorry, sergeant. Permission to speak freely."

"Speak however you want, but do it while we're walking. I want to check the perimeter patrols."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and marched off at a determined, surprisingly rapid pace. Despite having longer legs, Rivers struggled to keep up. Around them, enlisted men struggled to pitch tents and officers barked orders. Despite the bloody attack on the L'na village earlier that day, only a few minor injuries were visible on any of the men. They looked like a company fresh off a training mission rather than the first L'na engagement of an offensive.

"Sergeant, I know I'm new, but the village seemed to go down too easy. Is it always like that?" Rivers was quiet, almost embarrassed to be heard.

Cash slapped a passing corporal on the back and answered, "No. No, it's not. Today was easy. Then again, we've never fought the fur balls before. Maybe it will be a stroll on the beach, maybe it will be a long slog through hell. Don't know."

Both men saluted as they passed two officers discussing camp defenses. "I mean, Sergeant, they barely put up any resistance. Almost nothing."

Cash stopped as they drew near the edge of the camp. Beyond three soldiers patrolling with heavy rifles, the outline of a massive forest could be seen in the waning light. It was almost to dark to pick out individual trees, and soon, the forest would become a single, hulking mass, a dark wall in the night. The sharp, clean smell of evergreen needles wafted toward them on the breeze.

"Rivers, we'll see if the L'na can put up a fight soon enough. Now, let's walk this perimeter and get some sleep. I'm getting to be an old man, and I need my beauty rest."

They patrolled the edge of the camp without speaking.

Rivers started from a deep sleep as someone kicked his foot through the open tent flap.

"Get up, kid. Something's up," Cash grumbled.

Outside, Rivers could hear the chaotic shouting of orders and sharp replies of "Sir, yes sir." Trained to go from sleep to a running start, he yanked on his boots and grabbed his service rifle and helmet before crawling from the tent.

Though the night had been clear when he had gone to sleep, a dense, eerily luminescent fog had rolled into camp. Rivers could see his sergeant and four other squad mates chambering rounds and looking around frantically. A few meters away, he could see the shadowy silhouettes of other men running around responding to commands. Beyond that, the night loomed black and impenetrable.

"Fog rolled in about an hour ago. Nothing unusual until the perimeter guards didn't report in," Cash said under his breath.

The red haired corporal, Anders, stammered, "Can't see a thing sarge!"

"Everybody settle down! Hold your position here, and we'll wait for orders." Cash scanned the Eastern side of the camp as if trying to see through the ocean of fog. "They should be firing up the emergency lamps soon."
The fog seemed to thicken and engulf him as Rivers waited. Moisture was collecting on his face, and he could feel the cold seeping through his clothes. Beginning to shiver and nearly blind, he worked desperately to fight back the rising tide of fear building in his chest.

"Okay, tight formation on me. Hold a three meter spread and call out immediately if you can't see a squad member," Cash said in a firm, calm voice. "Something feels wrong here. Weapons hot, gentlemen."

Rivers flipped the safety off his rifle and shouldered his weapon. He could still see the dim shadows of other soldiers moving behind the fog, but it was becoming more difficult to make our their shapes. The light thrown by the camp lights was swallowed far too quickly by the mists.

A long, guttural howl split the night. It was a primal, ancient sound that brought back man's oldest fear of teeth in the darkness. It was not the howl of wolves calling out to the moon, but a howl that sounded of blood and the crushing of bone. The hairs on the back of Rivers' neck rose, and he closed his eyes involuntarily.
As the howl ended, the rattle of a machine gun flared out toward the Eastern side of the camp. It was followed by a deep, bestial roar and a wet, gurgling scream. More gunfire erupted from the other side of the camp.

"Hell! We're breached on both sides," Anders squeaked.

"We're moving North to the command tents now!" Cash yelled.

As the squad moved forward at an even, slow pace, other sounds began to mingle with the gunfire. Rivers heard growls and what sounded like hoof-beats along with screams and grunts. Somewhere in the darkness above, wings beat a hollow rhythm.

Smitty, the squad's hulking, blonde monster of a heavy gunner stumbled to a stop, nearly dropping his machine gun. "What the hell is that? Does anyone else hear that?"

Cash raised a fist for the squad to halt and moved to lay a hand on Smitty's broad shoulder. "Hear what, private?"

"High pitched whine, like bugs . . .. . Getting louder." This time he did drop his gun and grabbed the sides of his ears, shaking his head violently from side to side. "It hurts! Damn, it hurts!"

"I don't hear it, private! Get your ass together!" Cash barked.

"Somethings in my head! It's burning! I can feel it scratching at my eyes! Make it stop!" Smitty was wailing, pleading at the top of his lungs. Tears began to stream from closed eyes and slow trickle of blood leaked in a lazy line from his ears to drop on his fatigues. He was shaking violently.

Rivers saw Cash tighten his grip on the gunner. He moved to help, but it was too late. Smitty ripped free of the sergeant with a hard shove and ran blindly into the fog screaming, "Get it out of my head! Get it out!"

Frozen by fear and confusion, Rivers saw a shape moving on four legs overtake the shadow of Smitty and drag the man to the ground, ripping and tearing at his throat. Rivers raised his rifle and fired two rounds, but the thing was gone. Gone into the fog.

Something that looked human but with wings and a wicked, curved beak shot past at a dead sprint. All around him, shadows and monstrosities flew, ran, and hopped at great speed leaving swirling eddies of mist in their wake. Each time he turned his rifle to fire, they were gone.

Anders fired his weapon into the night and screamed, "I got one. Got one."

Rivers turned to see the body of an armor clad soldier hurled by some unseen adversary slam into Anders. Anders hit the ground hard, dropping his gun with a grunt. The body lay slack on top of the stunned private. Even in the dim light, the blood flowing from the soldier's crushed throat was visible. The dead man's neck hung at a sickening angle.

Sergeant Cash rushed to Anders' side and worked to push the body off him. "Got to get you up, boy. We need to move."

As Cash pulled Anders up, a bestial shape emerged from the fog. It stood as tall as a man with the body of a jet black gorilla, but a glistening purple serpent's head rose nearly a meter above its shoulders. It bared curved, ivory fangs and charged Cash.

Rivers pulled the trigger and felt the rifle slam into his shoulder violently. Bullets tore into the creature's chest sending a spray of blood onto the sergeant and corporal. Rivers kept firing until the creature staggered and fell to its knees in a heap.

Cash drug himself to his feet and whipped his head around in a circle. "Where the hell are the others?"

Tearing his eyes from the dead creature, Rivers looked around to find the three of them alone in the night. A thick spatter of crimson stretched out behind him and led off into the stifling mist. There was no other sign of his two missing squad mates.

"Damn it!" Cash screamed and pulled Anders to his feet. "We've got to go!"

As Cash spoke, Rivers' eyes went wide as a huge shape rose behind his sergeant. Though nearly two meters tall at the shoulder, it resembled a wolf. The brief illusion of normalcy broken, two long, insectile appendages grew from it's front shoulders above its forepaws and a scorpion tale whipped side to side behind it. Snapping and snarling, the beast lumbered forward.

Rivers raised his rifle and pulled the trigger. The bottom fell out of his stomach as he felt the mechanism jam and bind up. He pulled the trigger hard again before, cursing, he lowered the rifle and tried to clear the breach.

Anders scrambled toward his dropped weapon but only made it a few steps before the beast tore into him. Jaws larger than a lion's snapped closed on his head and ground hard with the grating clash of teeth crushing bone. Anders scream faded into a strangled cough as his skull collapsed under the pressure.

Blood and steam streaming from its jaws, the massive wolf creature turned just in time to see Cash fire his rifle from the hip. The creature howled in agony as three shots found his rear hip. Before Cash could fire again, the multi-pronged tale slammed into the man's hands and sent the rifle flying into the fog.

With an almost casual grace, it brought both of its sharp, insectile legs down hard. Cash spat and wheezed as the air left his lungs. Blood dripped from the tips of the barbs the pierced his chested and penetrated through his back.

"Damn it, no!" Rivers raised his rifle bayonet and charged the L'na.

Unable to rip its extra front legs from the dying sergeant fast enough, the creature took the bayonet in its front shoulder. Despite the blade lodged in its body, it lowered its canine head within inches of the crazed Rivers and let loose a deep, resounding growl. Its yellow eyes blazed, glowing with rage.

Nearly overpowered by the stench of blood on the L'na's hot breath , Rivers struggled to rip his bayonet free and make another stab. As he pulled, he lost track of the creature's tail, and it whipped around to trip him. Rivers hit the ground with a thud and felt the rifle slide from his hands. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder, and his vision blurred with the agony.

The creature tore itself free from Cash's body and raised its blood drenched claws above Rivers' prone form.
Somewhere, another deep howl reverberated through the night. The creature hesitated and lowered its snout close to Rivers' own.

A shimmering, purple cloud of steam left its mouth, engulfing Rivers' face and filling his lungs. Despite is racing heart, he felt his body go slack and his mind begin to cloud. Sleep beginning to creep over him in a warm wave, he stopped struggling despite every instinct screaming at him to fight.

As he faded, Rivers heard the beast growl a single, halting word through lips ill suited for speech.

"Klo'a'star."

Without another pause, it slammed its fore-claw across Rivers' face.

The private felt the skin on his face rip open from forehead to jaw, and the blood began to seep through the wound. As consciousness left him, he saw the creature turn and pad into the foggy night.

"We lost over fifty men that night. Not just dead, but slaughtered. Ripped and torn apart. The few of us that made it out alive carry around things to remember it by." Moony ran a finger along the arc of his old scar and and fixed his gaze on Gutierrez. "Before you go wishing you could tangle with the L'na, remember this.

"But, we won Redwood," Gutierrez stammered, looking around at the other soldiers for support.

"Oh, they say we won, and we might have. We took some territory from the fur balls, but not much. It took a couple of weeks to figure out a way to effectively combat their mystical crap. We lost a helluva lot of men over a bunch of trees we ended up giving back five years later."

Moony sat down hard and spat between his boots. The soldiers sat silent, staring at him, but he paid them no attention. He stared into the slowly dying fire and rested his arms on his knees.

After a few quiet minutes, the lieutenant asked, "The word the Twilight said, 'klo'a'star.' Did you ever find out what it meant?"

"Yeah. A week or so later. It means monastery. That village we burned was a monastery. We butchered L'na priests and nuns. We didn't know, but that didn't matter. We sent our message, and they sent theirs."