//------------------------------//
// Birth of the Wolf-Part 3 
// Story: Metal Ringing 
// by 1000Fights 
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WARNING!-GORE IS USED!

The sound of a Howitzer is not something that will never be forgotten. The concussive force of the round being shot off and the explosion when the projectile hit the ground is only a sight that can be appreciated by few. Though, no one has ever appreciated such a sight like that more than the Wolf.

The Wolf stood just one hundred yards from the artillery pieces. His combat dress was newly cleaned and ready for another day. Next to him were his fellow Marines. All of them wearing the same uniform, except for one feature. 'The face of a warrior is important to see', so said the Wolf. Everyone else had their sunglasses and face masks on. The former however, chose to keep his face free from obstruction. He stated that it made it easier for him to catch his prey.

When the shelling ceased, the cavalry and infantry units came forth. The Wolf and his squad mates all huddled inside their MRAP. The roar of its engine bellowed alongside the others in a symphony of certain death. Of course, being what he was, the Wolf's squad, otherwise known as the Pack, led the charge through the city of Sananadaj. The northern portion was decimated from the bombardment After this, everyone knew it was time to clean up the mess in the rubble. 
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The wilderness is where the Wolf made his home, but the city, however, was the bane of his entire existence. He hated the tall buildings and noisy cars. Not to mention it also made it harder for him to find his prey. He didn't like having to search room after room of buildings after building just to find a small number of whelps to kill. The Wolf would have to make do with this though. 

The MRAP came to a halt when the vehicle made it into the heart of the burning rubble. Cars, bodies, and chunks of building were all cast aside and strewn about by the blast of the cannons. What remained after the shelling was nothing more than ruins and corpses of the Iranian people. Though most would think that this would be a place of silence, the Iranian Army found this as a perfect hiding spot for ambushes and guerilla attacks. Much to the displeasure of American military forces, but to the never ending excitement of the Wolf and his ceaseless hunger for blood. He thrived in this sort of dark and shadowed area of destruction. 

The Wolf jumped out of the MRAP and brought his nose to the air. No one knew, but somehow, the man could smell the enemy around his area. Sure enough, with a couple deep whiffs he smelled his prey through the other horrid stenches that were wafting through the air. The Wolf had stated before, when the war in Iran first started, which was about five weeks ago, that the people of this land had a unique scent to them, one that was a mix of spice and fear. Most thought that he was just being a freak, but after a while, and after many demonstrations of finding combatants and civilians alike, the Marines, and even Army, all agreed that this was no mere joke. 

With a stretch of the Wolf's legs, he was running off in the direction of the enemy with the rest of his squad in tow. Normally, the Marine officers would tell them to stick together, but having something as mobile and efficient as the Pack was invaluable to the mission. Not only did it allow easy movement, but it also took the liability off of the commanding officers. The Pack did their thing and eliminated the enemy without as much as a whisper at times. Other instances were met with minimal gun fire, but heavy amounts of screaming. No one in the Pack was ever hurt, save for the Wolf himself, but even if he was, some stitching and antibiotics gave him the treatment he needed to keep fighting. Everyone else in the group never had a scratch on them. At least not visibly.
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"Take the left side." called out an Iranian sergeant in Persian. The subordinate troops did as commanded and hid in the rubble. They were not two hundred yards from where the MRAPs were parked. This made it the perfect range for a fight like this. The range mixed with all the hiding spaces and cover made it easy for the troops to move around without much fear of gunfire. 

"Stay low." said the sergeant. They were all on an elevated position from the American forces, so this would be a textbook shooting gallery. "When I give the signal, rain hell down upon them." The troops all were ready to jump up from their hiding spaces and attack. The sergeant was about to give the signal to fire, but someone called out.

"Wait." it was a private ranked troop who had spoken.

"What?!" the sergeant took the outburst as an affront to his authority. "What could a private possibly have to say?"

"The amount of troops and vehicles do not add up." the private stated. "There are nine squads, but ten MRAP's. They are missing a squad."

The Iranian sergeant looked over the situation and counted the enemy. He found that his subordinate spoke true. There were nine squads with ten MRAP's in the distance. "Then where is the missing squad?" he asked. The answer came in the form of a howl. Not one made by the wild dogs that inhabited their country, but a howl that could only be made by the practiced vocals of a human being. The sergeant's blood ran cold, and his hands shook. He had heard the tales but he never believed. Until now. "EVERYBODY RUN!" With that command, the troops scattered and ran. They used as much cover as they could to hide themselves as they retreated.

"Get back to base!" shouted another sergeant. Though once he did, he was made a target. Out from a crack in the rubble, a figure leapt out at him. The Iranian NCO landed hard on the ground as he felt a burning sting on both sides of his neck, and his blood running cold. For above him, was the smiling face of the Wolf.
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The triumphant Marine removed both of his KABARs and ran on. Other Iranian troops were taken down by gunfire from the rest of the Pack. The squad positioned themselves in nooks and spider holes in the rubble at elevated positions. For the Marines, it was like shooting fish in a barrel. For the enemy, it was a horror show. One of the Pack mates, saw as the Wolf ran along the Iranian soldiers and pounced on them and drove his knives into their traps. The next victim tried to shoot at him, but the beast was too good for such things. He dove forward into a roll and came up to the right of the combatant. A simple bound from his legs brought the Wolf up close and personal to the Iranian as the latter's gun fired harmlessly past him. Both blades found their way into the stomach of the poor fool. Blood gushed from the man's mouth as his pain grew larger. The Wolf pulled his weapons from the abdomen of his prey and ran on.
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"I got to get to base. I got to get to base. I got to get to base." the commanding sergeant panted to himself. He ducked from cover to cover, in an effort to avoid the American monster. The Iranian combatant heard the screams of one of his brothers in arms and cringed when he heard the unmistakable howl of the Wolf. That howl was too close, though. He needed to move if he was to survive. 

The sergeant bolted for another place to hide. To his left was a tunnel. He couldn't see the exit, but he knew that if he didn't take the chance, he might not have another chance like it. The sergeant dove into the tunnel and low crawled through. He made sure to keep his rifle out of the dirt, and made double sure that he was silent. At the end of the tunnel, there was very little light, but the sergeant could still see that there was a fork. He was having trouble deciding which one to take, but then he heard the howl again. That was more than enough for him to just pick one and go. The tunnel's floor dipped under a large jagged chunk of building a ways down. It didn't offer much space, and the sergeant wasn't sure if he would fit through there. He had to at least try. Inch by inch, the Iranian went forward. But, almost as if Allah had other plans, he was snagged by his armor. The combatant struggled to pull forward, but his nylon covering was too strong and he didn't have enough leverage to tear it free. He tried backing up, but that didn't do anything. He figured that if he was going to be free, he would have to abandon his vest. All it took was a buckle and a Velcro strap and he was free. The armor stayed as the man slid forward on his stomach. After the sergeant made it out from under the rubble, the light of day came into view. The Iranian had to keep himself in check and not run head first out to the opening. He inched up to the opening and looked out. The noise of MRAPs filled his ears, and he slid back down into the tunnel. When the engines of the vehicles sounded in the distance, he made his way out. 

The sergeant watched as the vehicles rode away from the end of the destroyed part of the city and into the other areas where they would cause more destruction. He couldn't let that happen to his people without him having something to say about it. The sergeant ran to his left towards his base, but also toward his death. The Iranian stood in disbelief as the smiling maw of the Wolf greeted him as the pair of KABARs he held slid farther into the brown gut of the once proud and determined combatant. All life, and the only chance his brothers and sisters had, drained from his eyes as the knives did their work. Death soon took him in the coldest of embraces.
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The Wolf howled in triumph at his kill. The rush of adrenaline and the satisfaction of another confirmed casualty was enough to make the Marine feel like a god. From behind the man rode the rest of his squad in the MRAP. The Wolf sheathed his weapons leapt onto the vehicle and hung onto the outside. Neither bump nor dust could break his iron grip. For in the distance was his prize. He had done his job in protecting the other squads as they made their way passed the rubble. Now, it was time to head off into the true battle. 

A mortar shell came just inches within his face, but he only blinked with a smile before it exploded passed the transport. Other artillery pieces fired off into the wave of Army and Marine forces as they made their way toward the heart of the city. Where more than a few Iranian battalions were holding a strong defensive position. US tanks fired back with equal, if not greater ferocity against their Iranian counterparts.

The battle was just underway when the Pack rolled up to the commanding officer. The Wolf, being the leader, saluted the Captain and said, "Ambush forces are eliminated, sir." 

"Good." the officer said. "Get back in the MRAP and see if you can get around this artillery. If they keep shelling us like this, we'll be stuck here until the jets can get some reprieve from the dog fighting." 

The Marine Private saluted again, and said "The Pack will take care of it, sir." The gleaming teeth of the Wolf made the Captain cringe slightly as he saluted. He always hated dealing with the beast, but if it wasn't for him, the good officer would have been dead a long time ago.
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Sananadaj fell. It took longer than expected, but it still was accomplished in a relatively good time. However, the Iranian people had an old saying. 

"If God gives you an easy victory for one battle, he will give you the greatest challenge of your life in another."
	
This rang true. For Hamadan was now the greatest challenge the First Marine Division was facing. Granted, no one else, had a better time, but this was even with the Wolf to help them. Even though the tide was turning to the US's favor, they still had spent over two years in the mountains, and now spending six months fighting this one city. The guerilla warfare and battle tactics were being implemented on both sides, so the tactics portion was a stalemate. They both had artillery, and air support, so no one had the bigger guns. It was only because of the US's deep pockets at the time that gave them the upper hand, but that seemed to matter little. Something would have to be done if the United States was going to get to Tehran any time soon.
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From the Wolf's perch on a rocky cliff, the Marine could see the mountain valleys that surrounded the city of Hamadan. The sun was about to set behind the peaks, and the moon was about to take its rightful place among the millions of stars. From behind the Wolf came a voice. 

"Paulauckas." the voice whispered.

"What is it, Corporal?" the Wolf asked in a deadpan. His gaze never left the city. The rage he felt towards that one city was more than one whole country should be able to have at one time.

"We got a little bit of present for you." the smile in the corporal's voice told the Wolf something he wanted to hear. 

"What did you all bring me?" the Wolf asked with a bit of intrigue.

"Colonel Kasra." the corporal stated. The Wolf only smiled as the light from the sun faded from view.
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Colonel Kasra was not, by any means, a weak willed man. He felt that no pain was too great, and he never lived with regrets. He was always willing to sacrifice in order to achieve the greatness that his people could be. However, the ambition he has sometimes puts him some positions that some would call unmanageable. Although those situations did arise every now and again, that still didn't stop him from coming out on top. He used his wit and his strategic mind to get himself and his men to safety, and victory.

Even with an intellect like that, Colonel Kasra was not without his vices. Easy victories and rich spoils always seemed to attract him. It was this same vice that led to those situations mentioned earlier. However, instead of facing terrorists or mercenaries, he now faced one of the most dangerous types of people on the face of the earth. Along with the most dangerous man of that same type.
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The light from the sun was now going across the rest of the world. As it crawled in, it was relieving itself from the horror that the rest of the Pack would soon witness.

The Wolf stalked forward with a pace that was slower than death. With the night taken hold, one would think that there would be no light except from the flashlights. Those same people would be wrong. The moon this night was full, and the light from the stars along with it gave enough illumination to make out specific details on the Wolf. Colonel Kasra greeted the Marine in his signature fashion.

"Well, well, well." he said. "What do we have here? The legendary Wolf." As the Iranian commander spoke, the Marine tied a rope to the feet of one of the two soldiers that accompanied Colonel and a large rock. "Tell me, Wolf. Do you like it, as you Americans say, doggy style? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" The Wolf only stayed silent as he tied a piece of string to the one Iranian's neck.

The Wolf, after a good second was taken to inspect his work, replied. "I actually don't have a favorite style." he cooed. With that, he kicked the soldier off of the cliff and let the sound of screaming fill the mountainside. When the line jerked, the Wolf pulled out a hand grenade and pulled the key. He quickly threaded the string through and let the explosive run down the line and hit the Iranian soldier in the chin. The pain in the man's jaw only lasted for a spell until the grenade exploded and took his head an part of his upper body clean off. 

Colonel Kasra, witnessed in silence as his subordinate was drawn up without the upper portion of his torso and head. The Wolf, without so much as another word, stepped over to the other soldier with his KABAR and started cutting into the man's facial flesh just before the ear. The soldier howled in his native tongue as the blade did its nasty work. The tip of the knife dug in far as another inch or two of human flesh was cut from rest of the body. When the cut was made full circle, the Wolf dug his fingers into the face of the man and pulled hard. The man's facial flesh came flying off in display of blood and horror. One of the other Marine's had had enough and ended up throwing up. The screaming that ensued was enough to wake the rest of the darkened world up from its sleep. The Wolf only shrugged as tossed the man along with his face off the cliff and heard the crack of the skull on the rocks below. It sounded like the breaking of a tree trunk to the former.

The Wolf wiped his hands on his uniform to take off some of the blood as the Colonel was left speechless. He had seen many disturbing things, but he had never witnessed anything so horrific before. He was just without words. That is until, the Wolf's smile gleamed in the moon light. 

"Y-Y-You can't do this!" the officer cried. "You are bound by law and you will be executed for these war crimes!" He yelped when the Wolf brought up one of his fangs and started to cut the man's face off. The Iranian howled in agony, until he found enough courage to say, "I'll talk! I'll tell you anything! Please! Just let me keep my face!"

The wolf pulled his knife from the flesh, and wiped the accumulated plasma off of the edge. "All you had to do is say so." The Marine stated as he wiped the blade's wicked edge on the man's cloths and sheathed the deadly weapon.
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The next week, Hamadan fell. Colonel Kasra had told everything he knew to the American Military Officers. It was an easy victory with the cowardly officer's help, and it was even more pleasurable for the Wolf to shred the man to pieces in front of all the higher ups and cut off his head. Three of the Majors ended up vomiting their stomach's out at the sight of the gore. One general in particular, Lieutenant Colonel Aaron of the United States Marine Corps, saw this act and knew only one of two things. One of the two things had nothing to do with the situation as it included the image of a foul ball going into left field. The other, was something he knew better than anyone else there in attendance. He looked upon the Wolf with the same eye that another Lieutenant Colonel looked at him with. Another full bird Colonel looked upon that one the same way. All the way back to God knows when. So, as a man of his duty, both in the military, and as part of this vicious and horrible cycle, he would speak to the Wolf tonight, and hopefully break this chain.
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The Wolf was cleaning his blades later than day. They had been stained, and scratched, but with some tender malice and cruelty, every blemish was gone from the steel, and the edge of the knife had never been sharper. From on the other side of the makeshift hang out, one of the other members of the Pack spoke up loud. "Officer on deck!" The entire Pack all stood up at once in the position of attention. Lieutenant Colonel Aaron took to the room, and bade them a good day. 

And to leave.

This was nothing new to the Pack. They all knew what was going to happen next, so they all went back to their tents to pack for the arrival of the chopper that would take them to their next FOB or base. It almost was like clockwork. When the last of the squad were gone, the only person left in the room, besides the officer, was the Wolf.

"Have a seat, Wolf." Colonel Aaron's tone was soft, yet still had a heaviness to it. The Marine obliged to the request.

"Where do we get to go this time, sir?" the now ranking sergeant asked. 

"Home." the silver starred man said.

The Wolf arced his eye brows. "Sir?" He thought he was going crazy. Did he just hear that they were going home?

"We were contacted by the Iranian president last night. When we told him that we have Hamadan he surrendered. So, the war is over." 

It took a whole minute and a half before the Wolf spoke again. His brain still not able to fully process what it is he was being told. "So, we are all going home?"

"Well, you're not." the Lieutenant Colonel said flatly. 

"I'm to be stationed for occupation?" questioned the sergeant.

"No." the ranking officer said. "You are going back home, or at least your body is, but you, as a whole person, will not leave the battlefield." The General leaned in close. "You're running, so you can never truly go back."

"I'm not running from anything." the Wolf said a little more forcefully than he would have liked.

"I saw the way you ripped apart that Colonel. You show the same malice and cruelty that I did when I was your age. The only difference being it was at the beginning of Desert Storm and I was a Second lieutenant at the time, and I was just out of my books. I craved blood, and I wanted to kill so badly. Why? Because I was sad. I was depressed. My girlfriend at the time took my money and ran off. She had been my only family for ten years. So, when she did that, I was all alone at that point."

"You know that feeling, don't you? The cold stiffness of the air. Your mind making you hear the voices of the ones who abandoned you. That's why you kill, don't you? For the same reason I did. Because I wanted to escape the pain. I did that by inflicting it on others. And now you do it too."

"I am not running from any sort of emotion I'm felling." the Wolf stated sharply.

"I know what happened to you back when you were in the Air Force. I know the look that you gave nurse as she left. I know the smile you had when you killed that wolf. You are running, and sooner or later you will find that you have been running for so long that you are no longer the one who was abandoned, but rather, the one who has done the abandoning."

"What do you mean?" the Wolf demanded. The light from the sun seemed to dim considerably. The air became stiff, and the Marine's heart raced to the point of completing a marathon in nine minutes. The Wolf had felt this before. "No. NO!" He looked down to his hands to see that they were shaking and covered in blood. He shut his eyes tight as he tried to fight back the overwhelming flood of hot, salty liquid.

"You felt abandoned so you abandoned everyone else." said the officer. "Your own family was shut out of your life. You left your siblings with a hollow shell of a man that was once their brother. You became a ghost! A walking dead man to those that mattered."

The Wolf put his hands to his ears and shook his head violently. Trying to block out the words, but to no avail. It only made the voice of the General louder. 

"Remember Esfahan?" the Lieutenant Colonel asked with a maniacal and low chuckle. "You had found a family held up in a house. They were not hostile. In fact, they were pacifists. It didn't matter to you, though. You tore the infant from the mother's arms and cut the child's throat. You then tossed the body aside and killed rest of the children. The mother and father watched in abject horror as their children were ripped apart. You gave the parent's an even slower death. Cutting off their hands and feet. You let them bleed out and cry themselves into dehydration as they wailed in pain. Do you remember that?"

The Marine still felt the warmth of their blood and suffered the searing pain in his ears from the cries of more than just that family, but the terrible shrieks of the other families he had slaughtered alongside them. The blood he had spilt was now running down his face and caking himself in a mask of red. The smell and taste of metal, gunpowder and blood made it seem like his stomach was about to erupt from nausea. Even with his eyes closed, he saw every man, woman, and child whose lives he had taken. 

"Every last one of them died not because it was your duty, not because it was for a cause, NO. It was because you wanted to flee. You replaced your feelings of sadness and abandonment with rage and anger. With malice and cruelty. You tried to stifle your own pain by making others feel worse torment. In the end, however, it would all come back. You spoke true when you said you killed twenty six soldiers, but you lie if you say you did not kill two hundred and eighty civilians along with them. One man, YOU, took the lives of so many innocent men and women with not bullet, bomb, or gas. Nah! You killed them with blade and hand."

"How do know all of this?!" the Wolf cried in a demanding tone.

His answer came in the form of a hand gingerly grasping his chin and lifting his face up. When the Wolf opened his eyes, he did not find Lieutenant Colonel Aaron, but himself. He saw that his own from was grasping his face. Terror is a word the joyous use to describe this sort of situation.

"Because no matter how fast you run." the Wolf said. "No matter how far you may go. No matter where you hide. You can't outrun the Wolf." The face of the Marine erupted into the face of the beast he had killed when he got his name, and felt the jaws of the monster grip his neck. The fangs dug themselves far into the Marine's neck and clenched down into his throat. The Wolf couldn't breathe. He couldn't scream. He could only feel the pain of hundreds of stings and shooting pains from knife wound after knife wound that racked his body. Every cut and stab he gave to his victims was only magnified by the helplessness he felt as his windpipe was being crushed by the pressure of the ever growing strength of the monster's jaw. He was sure that at this point he would die. 

He tried to let out one more scream. One more effort to call for help. Almost as if it was a gift from God himself, he felt the pain of the Wolf's jaws no more. He felt like he was being pulled up. Not so much a floating, but like something was tugging at him. And that's when he heard it. He heard his name being called out. "Matthew!" It started off at a distance, but then grew louder and louder. 

"MATTHEW!"
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Ignatius jumped from his laying position and hit something solid. A pile of flesh and bone. He reeled back from the impact and found that the pile of flesh and bone was actually his brother Aquinas. The Naval officer held him by the front of his coat with a grip that shamed even that of Twisted Horns. Who happened to be at the foot of the bed Ignatius was lay on. 

"Matthew!" Aquinas called. The former was still hyperventilating and sweating. He was in a complete state of panic. That is, until the large hand of his brother cross his face, and made his eyes wobble slightly. "Matthew, calm down!" The Ensign's voice was more of worry than that of a superior giving an order. 

Ignatius snapped back to the reality he was in and began to recollect his breathing. His breathing was still labored, but at least it was under control. Tears and mucus mixed with the cold sweat that drenched not only his face, but his whole body. His entire body still shook violently because of the cold stiffness his entire body was held prisoner by. He tried to form words, but his quivering lips would not allow it. Then again, nothing really needed to be said.

Aquinas let out a relieved sigh and set the Sergeant down to the pillow slowly. While his brother still looked up to him from this prone position, he said, "You have a lot of explaining to do." It was at this time that he saw Ignatius slip back into a state of rest. He knew that when he woke up, he would need the energy.