RED HAZE: A Werewolf Story for the 21st Century Read Online Free PDF

the side of him, on top of one of the dunes, another group of six stood silently watching the spectacle unfolding below them.
    For Chris Collins…there was no escape.
    The tallest Iraqi made the first move, lunging with his blade at the SAS combatant.
    Collins parried the blow and sliced upwards, catching the Iraqi’s chin, making him squeal in pain. Cautiously, the others surrounded him, their knives held at waist height, pointing towards their sweating, bloodied enemy.
    “KILL HIM, KILL HIM!” Up on the dune the six Iraqi soldiers cheered and shouted, their focus completely set on the spectacle below, totally oblivious to the large canid shape moving stealthily towards them from the rear.
    With the insidious yells of his enemy invading his ears, Collins said a silent prayer and lunged at two of the Iraqis surrounding him. Feinting to the left, he kicked to the groin of the larger of the two as the man squealed in pain, dropping to his knees. Pressing his advantage, Collins slashed, kicked and punched as blood and sweat flew in all directions.
    “KILL HIM, KILL THE PIG!” The chanting became louder and louder as Collins winced in agony from a sudden slash across his back. Ignoring the pain, he rolled to the right and kicked out, smashing his boot into his antagonist’s kneecap as across the dune he heard Billy Dunstan battling on.
     
    And at precisely the same time, with a terrifying, hideous roar, the beast moved in for the kill.
     
    The six Iraqis on the dune didn’t know what hit them. As the unholy form of the wolf rose to its full height, one of the Iraqis, suddenly sensing a new threat, quickly turned around. The sight he beheld momentarily unhinged his mind. He began to scream, the same scream abruptly ending in a gargling sound, his larynx being slashed open, the beast’s lethal claws lunging again, ripping his head from his shoulders. In an instant the man’s blood spurted out across the sand, spattering his comrades and soaking the beast’s fur. 
    With fear in their eyes the terrified Iraqis grabbed their weapons as the wolf, standing solidly on its hind legs, outstretched its thick furred, blood soaked canid arms and claws, ready to strike again.
     
    Down below the dune, away from the hellish, seething maelstrom of carnivorous brutality, Trooper Collins lay panting in the sand, bleeding heavily from several deep cuts across his chest and arms. Swiftly, calling on every ounce of his energy, he rolled sideways, his body soaked in sweat and blood, his knife slashing cloth and tendon as yet again, he desperately tried to defend himself.  Then, quite suddenly, he noticed the apparent lack of concentration on the Iraqi’s faces. Gone was the look of hatred, the look of bloody revenge. Now, a look of stark bewilderment lay set in his opponent’s eyes as they gazed up at the dune towards their comrades.
    Or what was left of them.
     
    Savagely the beast struck again, its clawed hand defleshing the face of one Iraqi as it held another by the throat.
    “Jesus, fucking Christ,” breathed Collins.
    The six Iraqis on the dune had been ripped to pieces by the towering, flesh hungry, blood lusting wolf in less than a minute. Now, growling viciously, it turned and looked down at Collins and his antagonists. Dropping to all fours, the wolf ran swiftly as the terrible screams of mutilated men assaulted Collins’ ears. In an orgy of wild, untamed bloodshed, one Iraqi was swiftly disembowelled, the head of another, ripped off as throats were slashed open. Running for his life, the last Iraqi gripped his AK47 and fired, the bullets hitting the beast in the chest and arms. “DEMON, DEMON,” he yelled hysterically. The overly large, gore ridden wolf roared in pain and stopped in its tracks, its eyes glowing blood red with rage and hatred, its bloodied, furred chest rising and falling visibly with each snarling breath. With savage intensity, the beast roared again, its blackened lips curling back, its semi white,