Part One

As with every day, I found myself out in the fields, my mammalian pets running in their vain attempt to stay fit and free. Man too often ruined a perfectly good animal with domestication and captivity. Look at the Wolf. Although extremely similar to the average dog, it has less inbred character traits and is the perfect example of the canine species. So how, I find myself relating to them, the lupine roamers have been persecuted as evil beings since the dawn of time. They are social animals by their very nature, but restrained by the very nature of their confines.

The vibration like that of a swarm of locusts arose from my trouser leg. Reaching inside my pocket, I withdrew one of man's greater inventions, the ability to contact or be contacted anywhere, with, and like everything else I am accustomed to, the right logistics in place. Pressing one of the padded buttons on its front, I placed the device by my ear.

"Lupo, this Alpha male." The tense voice was clearly audible and betrayed the speaker's anxieties of the past few weeks.

"My Leader." I replied with respectful intonation as the voice and name registered in my cranium's contents.

"My Child, the pack is most displeased…" The voice sounded quite irritated to me, and my ear and mind stung with his implied judgements.

"The pack was foolish!" I interjected. My voice was slightly raised, but the wilderness surrounding me held no secrets, I was alone with nature. It was as I now was in this world, alone, rejected by the pack and left with my only sub-ordinate friends, my animals.

"Lupo, the pack never wanted to leave you, we had no choice…" His voice was tinged with a slight bit of frustration, his efforts on me obviously in vain in his eyes.

"YOU ALWAYS HAD A CHOICE!" I screamed back as I hurled the phone into a nearby stream that ringed the eastern perimeter of the field. "I AM NOT LUPO ANYMORE!" I cried as I flung my head to face the sky.

By the time I looked down to my feet, one of my canine friends had retrieved my phone from the murky waters of the stream. I wiped the speaker before putting it to my ear, the line dead; surprising me that it had survived both the throw and dunking. "Thank you, my friend." I said as I patted him softly on the head. "Thank you."

Part Two

The light from the door shone through to the ground outside. My rear was cold and gradually growing numb, my hands shaking as I tried to light a match, each snapping or fizzling out within seconds. I mumbled incessantly, trying to make sense of the previous months of my life. Pulling out the final match, I struck it on the abrasive surface, as time seemed to slow. I saw the first spark, then another, and another, until eventually it caught fire as it pulled away from its drag. As time began to speed up in my mindset, I quickly covered the few metres to the stone circle that encompassed the kindling and logs for a fire. I lit the kindling, fine pieces of paper I had shredded in boredom, and then slowly but surely it ignited the other timber in its grasp.

The fire quickly grew, the relaxing crackle assuring me that it was going strong. The dogs meandered out of the shack and took up a place beside the mini-inferno, enjoying its warmth and comfort. Satisfied with my creation, I entered the hut, collecting a stack of documents and personal affects that I had deemed 'unnecessary'.

Having struggled to carry it outside against the mild breeze, I had to pick up a few of the stray documents for fear of their discovery. As I crouched to pick up the final piece of paper, the wind rustled the bushes, trees, and loose humus upon the ground. My years of heightened states of alert, the need for survival, and most of all, the dependencies my sub-ordinates placed on me, did not help calm me. The natural event made me jump, not physically, although I could feel my cardiovascular system racing within my body.

Having had a close encounter with the Earth's forces in its atmosphere, I had to take time to calm myself. My eyes concentrated on the flames flickering within the ring of stones, like the result of some pagan ritual. My ears tuned into the sound of my own breath, my mind focusing on the number of breaths I took as my chest heaved up, then down, the movement of my diaphragm all to evident to myself. Finally, the aroma and acrid smoke drifted towards me, calming my final two senses. Eventually I began to relax, realising I was far away from any interference from both strangers and acquaintances alike.

Turning to the imposing pile that cast a shadow towards the fire as it caught light from the still open entrance to my humble abode, I picked up the first wad of paper. I smoothed and straightened it so it stiffened outwards, then placed the corner furthest from my digits into the flames. The sheets began to turn black and ashen before they finally lit, and it placed them into the roaring fire, my masterpiece, only nature can produce such a piece of art.

A Polaroid photograph slipped out of the pile, the thermal currents lifting it to my head's height. As it began to settle back on to the red-orange glow of the fire, I noticed its content. There I stood, a wolf lost in the world, out of range and contact from the pack. "The Lone Wolf…" I have heard that so many times from the Alpha male. The pack was grouped to be strong, yet even an individual must be a proficient player in the game that is my former employment.

The whistling wind swept around my body, the fine dust of the desert scratching my goggles. The bitter cold tore at my cheeks as I surveyed the terrain below. The parallel tracks were clearly visible from my position, as I lay prone, looking down into the wadis below. In the night, my eyes were useless, my saviour being the 'kite sight,' a monocular night-vision device that enhanced the ambient light of the night.

The slight whir of the vision-enhancing component was dimmed out by the horrendous wind, it howled like the canines to the lunar disc. Through the scope, the green glow presented me with a fuzzy image of a Bedouin camp… not my target, just innocents in the conflict erupting around them North-east of their encampment though stood my intended target, a convoy of Arabs, Iraqis to be specific. They, like myself had been moving through the night, slowly edging away from the hot zones around them.

They were lying up for the night, their human cargo erecting temporary defences. Word of attacks from Allied ground forces, despite Operation Desert Shield only being an air-war, at least so far, were spreading around the Iraqi military faster than the onset of leprosy in a colony of lepers. They were scared, the Republican Guard had fallen back to protect key installations, preferring not to venture from their compounds in the night. This left the average grunt to deal with… not often any easier due to their randomness.

Doing a quick head count, I picked out about 20 troops, 6 drivers, one per vehicle, and the officer-in-charge, a Major from the look of him. I watched for an hour as their defences came into construction, sandbag sangars and the protection of the command element by the Ural trucks obviously the order of the day. Only one thing bugged me… what were they carrying that required that protection. It was my task to find out, the very stability of this region could have been ruined.

Slowly but confidently, I leopard crawled backwards from my observation post, as the wind began to buffet me harder, pushing me against my will. To add to the problems the night offered for visibility, I began to notice spots of rain on my goggles. 'Could be worse…' I told myself, most of the men from the Special Air Service had begun to suffer from the snow in the higher regions of the nation, thank fully I was very low compared to them. The whole Gulf plateau was very high compared to sea level, and snow, despite the region being desert, was a common occurrence.

Once I was far enough away from my position overlooking the Bedouin camp and the convoy I began to raise into a crouch as my eyes looked deep into the night, before I resorted to using the kite sight for those longer distances. The visibility had come down to about ten or fifteen metres unaided, quite dire for the operation I was performing.

I boxed around the Bedouin encampment and then around the convoy, dog-legging around to get a good look at the rear from a lower position. Two large boulders offered me great cover as they're shadow fell upon my head. It was obvious to me, even from my previous position that either the opposing force were not using night vision devices, as they invariably would be active, creating a spotlight-like ray to be highly visible in the passive kind, an example of the latter being my kite sight, or that they had decided not to use them, why they would do that would be anybody's guess.

One of the Urals remained partially open as a man passed out what looked like boxes of rations for nourishment to his comrades-in-arms. I strained my left eye in the kite sight to peer in, squinting despite knowing the futility. I was now resigned to the fact that I would be moving in on foot for close target reconnaissance… 'If only I had a partner from the pack,' I mused futilely, 'preferably female,' I continued, my face, despite the cold and damp, lighting up into a smile. After all, doesn't the Alpha male have his own Alpha female? He could at least share…

I sat in the rising damp for what felt like days, my timepiece showing the reality. It had been five hours since their arrival, and things were going well. The command element was asleep inside the protection offered by the wagon-circle of trucks. Their sentries remained at guard, although many were falling asleep. As I watched through the binoculars, a gunner's eyes closed, his head slumped forwards, his chest rising and falling in deep sleep. It was a risk, but my best chance to move in, now or never…

So I did, within half an hour I found myself leopard crawling directly towards the sleeping man, the only visible gap in the enemy's killing field. The negligence towards his duty cost this man his life, at least it will. I swore to myself to never do the same. I was close enough to reach out and squeeze his nose… I could have easily have just snapped his neck, a simple movement in itself, but costs the victim everything. He was lucky, this industry offered little in the way of second chances, but he had been spared the ultimate sacrifice.

I moved to the inside of the trucks, the sleeping command element only metres away as I silently made my way to the open truck. My weapon was pressed hard into my shoulder, a Diemaco manufactured M4, licensed out by Colt, with a sound-suppressed barrel. Manufacturers claimed that the only sound to emerge from the weapon would be the clicking of the internal machinery, it's report as quiet as a mouse. I had had little in the way of success with the reduced noise capability, little enough to know that in such close-quarters, the other guards would hear and twig to it.

As I crouched beside the wheel-arch of the truck, I could hear the snores of another off-guard sentry. I frowned on the state that a drafted military got itself into. I had been the same throughout modern history, volunteers were much more effective than those press-ganged into recruitment. Take America's experience in Vietnam. The Viet Cong were a highly dedicated guerrilla group of volunteer soldiers, for the most part, yet the US called upon a draft system, and look who won. The same with the Falklands, the smaller British force beat the much larger, closer to home, Argentine enemy.

Moving forwards slightly from the body shell of the Ural, I manoeuvred my rifle tight onto my back, reducing the noise that would emanate from the clunking of its receiver hitting my back. Then I drew my pistol, a Glock 17 with an impromptu silencer attachment that an armourer and I created before my journey to this hellhole. With my left hand, I drew the 'Maglite' torch from my right shoulder. Rapidly, but all the while silently, I rounded the rear of the vehicle, my weapon covering what I could see of the dozy guard.

Between glances at 'Ripp Van Winkle,' I looked inside the truck, my torch's covered head emitting a very fine slice of light, very much reminiscent of car headlamps during the era of the Second World War. As I passed the beam along the boxes I began to take notice of the labels. My heart jumped when I passed over a biohazard container label, the Arabic telling me that I was staring botulism in the face. Silently I cursed as I removed an infrared strobe from my webbing pocket. I moved back over to the sleeping command element as my feet crunched slightly against the pebbly desert surface. Switching the device on, I placed it by a man's sleeping bag, his quite body facing me, his eyes visibly moving through a state of rapid eye movement. I then began to withdraw as silently as I had entered, swapping my pistol for my rifle.

Unfortunately, I had just made on of the most careless mistakes of my life. I came around one of the vehicles in a low stance, to be greeted by the sound of human surprise. My eyes instantly connected with the once sleeping guard, it appears Allah only gave him the one extra chance. He fumbled for his rifle as I levelled mine with his head. I fired a two-round burst, his body slumping to the floor in a heap as the wind covered the noise, although not well enough. It was only a few seconds before one of the other guards called out what I took to be the corpse's name. He obviously wasn't too happy by the silence as I took some defensive cover inside the truck. I couldn't see the soldier being too happy with shooting inside a vehicle filled with one of the worlds most heinous of diseases.

He didn't come close enough, he had obviously noticed the body's silhouette in the darkness, and had decided to cry for help. His voice rang out in the small encampment as I heard several voices chiming in. One head moved quickly through my line of sight, followed by another, and another. Unfortunately, my luck for the night must have had run dry, as the man turned, the whites of his eyes visible in the dark. He looked directly at me as the trigger pressed, thumping three subsonic rounds through his cranium. I then moved quickly, diving out of the back of the vehicle, trying to maintain my balance as I landed, directly in the view of seven hostiles. I had been ready though, and with a small spray I emptied my weapon's magazine into the small mob, as they groaned, shrieked, and called, falling to the ground in a heap. I didn't have enough lives to chance in that perverse game of Russian roulette, so I broke into a sprint, out of the camp's perimeter.

Copper-green tracer fire burnt through the air around me as I pushed my body to its limits. My heart felt like it was going to explode and my legs were so full of lactic acid it was like I was being ripped open from inside. I tripped as a hail of gunfire flew just where I had stood; Lady Luck was with me today as I took the opportunity to change my M4's magazine. I then made a burst for a piece of dead ground as pulled my radio out of its holder, calling for the fire support from the Saudi-based jets. I had to keep the other hostiles busy or I'd risk them making a break for it. I crawled up over the edge of the little crater as I met the greetings of more high-calibre rounds. Using their muzzle flashes as little guiding fires, I aimed slightly upwards, firing a fairly large burst of seven rounds into the direction of the nearest threat. The commanded weapon stopped firing, but the three flanking it kept the fire hurtling downrange, or to not put a finer point on it, directly at me.

I dove back into my hole as I removed a white phosphorous grenade from my webbing, removing the pin as I held the fly handle. With a moment to steady my breathing, to steel myself against what could turn out to be a suicide run, I stood, then sprinted towards the camp, my throwing arm held right back and lobbing the grenade in the swung over arm technique still shown to recruits after all these years. The fly handle dropped a meter or so from me, as I praised the weather for removing the rain from the air. I then took to the floor and waited four seconds before standing, the residual light and smoke from the grenade had now dissipated as I began firing at the enemy positions, taking care to ensure that they dropped to the floor before I ran out of bullets. Satisfied with my handy work, I returned to my original over-watch position where I found my rucksack that I had carefully stowed away.

I didn't want to run the risk of getting infected by the cargo of the enemy, so I quickly got into my NBC suit, as supplied by the British Army. An overwhelming sense of claustrophobia arose as I placed the gas mask over my head. I was then serenaded by the night's announcement from the skies, steel rain. Incendiary and high explosive devices exploded across the abandoned convoy as I began to feel sympathy for the Bedouin camped nearby. It they weren't already angry due to the noise I had set off, they were about to run the risk of expose to one of the world's most awful infliction. I watched from my position as the fiery death engulfed the Iraqi plains.

Part Three

The flickering of the flames, the blackening of the photographic paper, the dark smoke rising into the darker sky… It all brought me back to the present. I hadn't realised the true nature that memories had on me, they were mildly disturbing… even though I had witnessed them first-hand, and their recall shocked me beyond every expectation. As I recovered my breath, I stared into the light lick of flames into the night air, flares rising higher than their much bigger brethren.

Almost semi-consciously, I reached to the next handful from the pile, bringing them forwards and lightly throwing them onto the fire. The quickly set alight, glowing red with the embers. A crackle reported from the flames, the paper getting chewed up, twisting and curling as the heat of the fire caressed its laminar body. I flicked an eye over to my two faithful pets. I had named them after the most influential person on the field of psychology, Sigmund Freud, or Sigmund and Freud in my creatures' case. They lay peacefully, like the brothers they were, snuggled together, enjoying each other's and the fire's warmth. Both were heavily relaxing to be with, each excellent guard dogs. I allowed a small smile to play across my face before I returned my gaze back to the fire.

The new pile of paper had been completely engulfed and consumed by the ferocious, yet controlled flames. Once again I looked to the large pile beside me. The top item was sealed in a small envelope, its contents eluding my memories as I searched every memory I had of such a document. Drawing only blanks, I lifted it from the pile, slipping the top, closed tab forward, removing the items from inside.

Only one item came out from the envelope, another photograph. My eyes stared down upon its mildly reflective surface, the yellow of the fire colouring it from my perspective. I brought my little finger and ran it down the face of the woman in its view. There she lay… the woman I fell in love with and promised the Earth for. Something I was willing to give. "Andrea…" I said, the word rolling through my lips as I struggled to keep my calm.

The Balkan winter was as frigid as usual, we awaited Spring with eagerness, the very essence of our beings was being sucked away with each sapping cold breeze, every drop of snow, every morning frost… every loud, chilling report of a weapon. It was one such event that forced me awake. It was close, within 100 metres of our lay-up point. I looked up for answers seeing only the radiant sunshine of Andrea's face. My fears dropped to the wayside as she turned to me, but they soon crept up as she spoke.

"Lupo… that was too close, the fighting was meant to be miles away…" The worry was evident in her face. It was her first mission away from the main body of the pack, and I had no fears about it not being her last. She had an air of paranoia and uncertainty around her that helped her stay one step ahead. She was a terrific fighter and would easily be able to fend for herself.

"Don't worry yourself, my child, it was probably just an irate Serb…" I cooed, trying my hardest to keep her calm and collected while we lay in our outpost. The look in her eye was like the greatest of the DeBeers catalogue. Only a moment passed by as I shook such damned thoughts from my mind. The mission at hand was always paramount. "What have I missed?" I asked her calmly as I surveyed the entire cone of vision offered by our position.

She explained the previous hours for me as I listened with interest, adjusting my gaze whenever I found it dropping to her chest, the open shirt and visible parts of her breasts inviting and exciting me against every resistant bone in my body… The mission is paramount.

When she was done, I radioed in the findings to the Alpha male before telling her that it would be best for her to get some rest, we had a long, hard day ahead. She looked at me with the eyes of a child before I felt forced to order her to get some sleep. Those puppy-dog eyes soon closed when she lay, getting the rest she had no doubt longed for all evening. I watched her momentarily before returning my eyes to the streets below us.

watched eagerly now as a platoon of Serbian infantry marched through the main street of the town below our hilltop position. 'So…' I thought, 'They've dragged in Arkan's Tigers…' This town was a massive stronghold of Serb military assets, but I had never thought I'd see Arkan's unit in it, they must be up to something… The paramilitaries were rarely around the Bosnian Serb Army long, they were corruptive to their discipline, but they could be making a major briefing. 'Such an event would lead to the appearance of the biggest cheeses in their units,' I realised.

Watching the platoon pass from about 200 metres away, slightly uphill, I ate a cold ration pack, some juice slipping down my neck as I savoured the taste in my cold, dry mouth. Andrea lay recumbent against the side of the OP, as soon as activity died down in the village; I flicked my gaze to her. She looked as pretty as a picture, even though she had been in this OP with me for days. I on the other hand looked like I had been dragged through a hedge backwards, set alight, and extinguished with the metal end of a shovel. Not to add the fact that I was beginning to smell slightly, but was it my imagine or, was she actually giving off a slightly rosy aroma. I made a note to get a closer sniff sometime, the very idea making me smile as I turned back to the village.

I checked my watch, its was 10am, the sun was still behind us. This allowed me to use the binoculars to scan for the position of the shooting earlier. Left to right, near to far, I scanned the landscape until I came upon two soldiers digging a man-sized hole. I knew exactly what it was without seeing the body of a civilian nearby. His cold, blue face was battered and scarred. He'd probably suffered days of torture… a lone defender for the women of his village, I imagined, the other men having left to escape the occurring genocide. The very thought sickened me in the stomach. Sure, I had killed; I had killed a lot, but never innocent civilians whose only crime was being born as a different race, into a different culture. The soldiers digging the grave looked horrified too, although it was probably because the corpse's muscles were relaxing and it no doubt reeked down there after the man's stomach content

My last few hours slipped pass uneventfully, and I sent off another report to the pack as Andrea began to stir by my side. The burst transmission was sent, Andrea's mouth opened, a yawn escaping it. I couldn't help but smile as she smacked those delightful lips together. She noticed my gaze and smiled back, a weary and tired smile, but one I'd never forget it. It was firmly imprinted into my mind. I threw a peaches and syrup ration pack over to her and began to tell her of Arkan's presence and the dead civilian. She seemed more disgusted than I had been, although it was understandable, she was the newest pack member… as well as being the loveliest.