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In or out? In or out? As I pondered the question two days later, my thumb sought the already worn edges of Stormwinder’s business card. But my hand skimmed across Kevlar instead of fabric, returning me to the present with a jolt.
Shit. I’m letting down the team.
Okay, so the day’s work was merely a training session and the day’s bombs were really just hunks of inactive plastic and metal. But the EOD truism still carried weight—a careless EOD tech was a dead EOD tech. None of us could afford lack of focus while on the job.
Sure enough, Stooge nudged me and raised one eyebrow before addressing the team as a whole. “Ready?” he asked.
In stark contrast to our antics the night before, our responses now were subdued—a few muttered “yes”es and half a dozen head nods. As a unit, we turned to gaze at the imitation Middle Eastern village located a couple of hundred yards away. People were absent, but the blazing heat of the afternoon sun combined with the trucked-in sand set the stage nicely. Our mission of finding and disarming a simulated bomb before hidden explosives took us out felt very much real.
I could almost feel the calmness hovering over our group as every human took a deep breath and centered himself in the present. Yes, my team mates were pros...but I couldn’t say the same about myself.
Usually by this point in a mission, my wolf would have been scenting the air in search of danger while also lending a little additional agility to puny human muscles. After all, the bomb suit Stooge and I traded off wearing was heavy and hot. So when, like today, it was my turn to disarm, a dual-species approach had proven to be the best method of ensuring our entire team made it out of trouble zones alive.
This time, though, my wolf was intent upon driving his point home. Our pack is here, he whispered, continuing the silent argument we’d been slogging through ever since rolling out of bed that morning.
Because while I’d turned Stormwinder away earlier in the week, I hadn’t been able to forget the other shifter’s offer. And now, as I watched my crew mates prepare for the simulated danger of a mine-laden combat zone, I realized for the first time that my wolf and I were very much on the outside looking in. How had I not noticed previously that I was the only one on the team who lacked a call sign?
“Duckie, you’re in charge of border security. Romeo, you’ll lead the extraction crew. And Hunter, Banana, and I will defuse and disarm. Let’s go!”
We set off toward the apparently deserted village at a trot, crew mates peeling away at intervals to follow predetermined routes. The sun’s heat, pleasant half an hour earlier, now pounded down upon my padded body armor and baked rivulets of sweat out of my skin. I flared my nostrils to catch a hint of our commanding officer’s odor, knowing he’d been the one to set up any potential booby traps. But my wolf refused to assist by catching the tiny tendrils of scent particles that I knew were currently diffusing through my protective helmet.
Cooperate, I chided my inner beast. If they’re our pack, then act that way and watch their six.
The wolf growled silently, but obeyed. Abruptly, the stuffy air within our suit became redolent with sensations. Saltwater and seaweed from the nearby bay mirrored the scent of our own sweat. The soft crunch of feet on sand and the call of a distant fish crow filled our ears.
And there beneath the surface, far too minimal for a human to notice, lay our CO’s distinctive cologne. Old Spice to the rescue, I thought, mouth quirking up into a smile.
“This way,” I told my companions, leading Stooge and Banana around the edge of what I knew was a mine buried in the ground mere inches away from our booted feet. Rain had washed the sand smooth, but some indefinable change in our CO’s aroma prompted me to pull out a flag and mark the spot so no other team mate would accidentally stumble over the simulated explosive.
Well, the mine wasn’t entirely simulated. Our CO had a sense of humor and he’d rigged our booby traps in the past to spray out a mixture of red paint and cheap perfume. No one wanted to spend the rest of the day scrubbing pigment and old-lady scent off their uniform. The danger was very much real.
“One of these days, you’ll explain how you noticed that,” Stooge murmured, eying what appeared to be an entirely untouched patch of earth. But he and Banana both followed my lead, skirting the danger zone before padding deeper into the apparently abandoned village in my wake.
See, Stooge trusts us, my wolf murmured, worrying the issue the same way we’d gnaw at an old bone during the rare periods when we were able to sneak away to run four-legged through the woods.
He trusts his human partner, I countered. Stooge and the rest of the crew were our brothers. But would they be so inclusive after catching a hint of our deep dark secret?
I doubted it. No, they’d see me for the monster I truly was and cast me out.
“Wait a sec.” Stooge pulled me up short with a hand on my arm. Instantly, I paused with one foot raised, head swiveling as I scanned the nearby buildings.
There. The shiny black box had escaped my navel-gazing attention and I snapped my brain back into the job like a rubber band against bare skin. My wolf and I could argue later. For now, we needed to track down the primary explosive and ensure our entire team made it out of the war zone intact.
“Good catch,” I commented. It would have been better to notice the camera before it provided the enemy with an eyeful of our presence. But a piece of electrical tape over the lens did the trick to protect later team members.
Unfortunately, we were now racing against the clock, having been sighted and almost certainly targeted by the opposition. I only hoped Romeo had done a better job of paying attention to his surroundings and was marking a safe exit route that would make up for my own bad judgment. Because we’d need every second remaining if we hoped to defuse the bomb before it blew.
Luckily, my wolf worked well under pressure. Close, he murmured, turning my human head toward the west where our CO’s scent was strongest. We couldn’t afford to sprint, not with possible incendiary devices around every corner. But I upped the necessarily waddling pace mandated by my bomb suit from walk to trot while my companions flanked me in more graceful, unimpeded lopes.
“Bogies in route, four minutes until estimated arrival,” my ear piece crackled in Duckie’s distinctive voice. But the deadline didn’t matter. No, the pressure plate of an improvised explosive device was already in sight and the design looked awfully familiar.
Sure, every IED was different, but after a while you got used to the signature characteristics of certain makers. And this unit tweaked an old neural pathway well-worn into my wolf’s motor memory. A filthy can full of explosives and shrapnel, a few connecting wires, and a hacksaw-blade pressure plate. Dismantling the primary trigger would be a piece of cake.
“Your turn?” Stooge said, his words an uncharacteristic question. Usually, he wouldn’t have even bothered to ask—whoever donned the bomb suit defused the IED. But my partner sensed I wasn’t as present as I’d like to be and was offering up an easy out.
And maybe the smart answer would have been to let Stooge take the lead just this once. Still, I was better at sniffing out those secondary triggers that were oh so likely to bite us in the butt. Plus, I felt the need to redeem myself. So I ignored smart and chose expedient.
“My turn,” I agreed, pulling tools out of the case I’d been carrying by my side. This particular IED looked so simple that I could probably have removed the detonator in my sleep. I figured I’d have it done in thirty seconds, leaving three solid minutes with which to make our escape.
Of course, that assessment was based on rock-steady hands. Even with a bare-bones unit like this one, the merest slip of a finger would send me and Stooge both to the nearest hospital. Bomb suits were no match for a blast at close quarters.
Not real, my wolf reminded me. But, simulation or no, my entire team believed in the danger. In preparation, Stooge and Banana retreated to the other side of the empty street as I assessed the unit visually. Meanwhile, my heart rate picked up and the trickle of sweat seeping off my forehead turned into a river as I slipped a tiny metal blade through the electrical tape holding three wires together.
My hands were bare for the sake of finesse, but I knew lack of gloves only upped the stakes yet further. Because losing a hand for a human would be rough. As a wolf? I wouldn’t be able to run and hunt with only three working paws. Inconceivable.
Carefully, oh so carefully, I moved on from the wires to the case itself. Prying up the top of the can exposed the guts, wires in just the orientation I’d predicted. Child’s play, I murmured silently...just as the shrill blast of an unexpected dog whistle cut through the muggy afternoon air.
And my wolf, that rock-solid ally who had helped me survive far worse than this simulated desert village, flinched. Despite myself, my head turned in search of danger and my right leg jerked to one side.
Crunch!
My heart skipped a beat as I looked down and saw a secondary trigger mashed into active mode by my fumbling feet. It’s not real, I reminded myself, mimicking my wolf’s earlier admonition in an effort to keep my heart from pounding its way out of my chest.
Still, when Stooge gazed at me with such an expression of disappointed confusion on his face that it felt like a punch to the gut, I almost wished the IED had been functional. At least then I wouldn’t have had to bear my team mate’s distress.
Then our CO chimed in. “Boom,” he informed the entire unit through our shared radio waves. “You are dead.”
