Stone Soldiers: Catching Fire (2 page)

Jamie pressed her rifle to her shoulder and aimed at the swirling flames now only a hundred feet away. She grabbed at a whistle around her neck with her free hand and began to blow into it.

As the first shriek of the whistle ended, the spiraling flames swept toward her, accelerating to incredible speed. Jamie couldn't help herself and fired her rifle. Her 5.56mm rounds passed harmlessly through the whirling fire.

Then it was upon her.

Jamie had never been burned before. She'd always had a healthy respect, almost a fear, of fire. When her dad lit up the grill she stood well back as he laughed and gave the charcoal an extra squirt or two of fluid. He was not afraid of fire. Not her father.

But this fire might have frightened him.

The flames wrapped around Jamie like a living thing- then they started burning her. As she screamed in agony, she knew instantly that this was no natural fire. It was indeed a living thing- a thing made of living fire.

***

"Now it's very important you look straight ahead, with both eyes open," Dr. King said as he strapped Daniel Smith's right hand down to the surgical table. He was back on the cold steel surgical table on the platform over the Fountain of Youth, just minutes from sundown.

"Or what?" Smith asked.

"Or you'll be turned to stone- solid stone," Dr. King said, smiling.

Smith took a deep breath as the Doctor moved around and secured his other wrist. He still couldn't believe this would really work. Despite what he'd seen, this just couldn't be real. Colonel Kenslir had briefed him for several hours, filling his head with all sorts of information he would never have chosen to know. Then h
e’
d taken him to a lavish last meal in the building's cafeteria and left him alone to make his decision.

It had been a great meal, with a spectacular view of Biscayne Bay- that was where the black glass office building hiding the Fountain of Youth was located- just outside of Miami. An unassuming building that housed not only the Fountain, but a number of other secret government projects. The whole thing was surreal- if not downright ridiculous.

With his stomach and head full, Smith had reluctantly agreed to try to be partially petrified. He figured that was a better choice than turning to dust or spending decades in a vault somewhere.

"Hey, Doc," Smith asked once his left wrist was locked down. "What happened to your eye?"

"What? Oh, this?" King said, his smile fading for a moment. He reached up to his cheek absentmindedly, then caught himself. "Just a minor lab accident during my research. Nothing to be alarmed about."

"Will my eyes be turned to stone?"

"Well, yes," Dr. King said. "Every molecule in your body will be."

"How will I see?"

"Well, your body will exist in a sort of mixed quantum state, being both petrified and not petrified at the same time. Light striking your eye will strike it both petrified and not petrified- "

"Doctor!" Colonel Kenslir interrupted loudly. He too stood on the platform, watching Smith and the Doctor.

"Oh, yes, yes..." Dr. King said. "I'll explain later."

The Doctor turned to a small table mounted on the platform and picked up several syringes. He began injecting Smith in the arm with them.

"And these are going to make me stronger?" Smith asked.

"No, this will," Colonel Kenslir said. He then drew a large knife across his left forearm. With his sleeves rolled up, the blade sliced neatly into his skin, releasing his blood onto the blade. When he pulled the blade away, the blood still on his arm soaked back into his skin, then the cut sealed up, a thin gray line that quickly turned back to flesh.

"Can you heal any injury?" Smith asked as Kenslir moved the blade over his chest. Smith was no longer in his pajamas- they had him wearing thin lycra swimming trunks for the procedure. The
y’
d also shaved what little hair he had on his head as well.

"You'd be surprised," Kenslir answered. Then he placed the tip of the blade against Smith's left pectoral muscle and held it there. Blood ran down the blade, finally touching his skin.

Kenslir then drew the blade across his chest, cutting Smith's skin open in a three inch long cut.

Smith grimaced at the cut. "Why ca
n’
t that just be injected
?
”

“
Werewol
f’
s curse requires that your blood be spilled by a werewolf, mixed with a werewol
f’
s and that you survive
.
”

“
So how come you aren't hairy and walking on all fours?"

Kenslir put the knife aside. "Same reason I'm not solid stone- I can resist the werewolf's curse."

"But you still carry it?"

"Like a disease, unfortunately," Kenslir said.

"What happened to it?"

"To what?" Kenslir asked.

Dr. King now stepped in and held one of Smith's eyes open and applied several drops of liquid.

"The werewolf- the one that you said bit you."

"I killed it."

"I thought that broke the curse," Smith said as Dr. King put drops in his other eye. The chemical worked fast and he had to squint as his pupils dilated and the lights in the room became overly bright.

"That only works in movies," Kenslir said. "And that's vampires."

Smith tried to peek, but the lights were still too bright. "There are vampires?"

"Can we get the lights turned down?" Dr. King called out to the technicians watching from the edge of the Fountain.

"Sometimes. We do our best our best to keep their numbers down," Kenslir said grimly.

"Man, this just-" Smith started to say. Instead he started screaming as every nerve ending in his body began to burn.

The Moon was rising.

He couldn't believe how fast the werewolf blood in him was working. He could feel it, liquid fire in his veins, running throughout his body and even into his brain. Then he could feel himself thrashing and twisting on the table. Strange cracking noises could be heard- his bones expanding and reshaping themselves.

The table he
was strapped to lurched as the platform began lowering. He quickly felt warm water rise up over his feet as the Colonel tilted his surgical table upright. The water felt cool and warm at the same time, drowning out the burning of his transformation. Then a feeling like relaxation swept over him, up from his feet into his legs, his torso his arms and finally his head.

He let out a breath and opened his eyes.

The lights in the Fountain Chamber were dimmer now, and the burning pain he had felt was gone. He looked down at his arms and almost gasped. They were bulging with muscles- great corded strands that threatened to split his skin and erupt outwards. Nothing like his slim runner's body- a body of lean muscle and grit he'd kept trained and fit for years.

"Wha-?" he asked.

"Now, remember, Commander," Dr. King said stepping in front of him, holding a shoebox-sixed, metallic box. "Both eyes open, look straight ahead. It is absolutely crucial you do this correctly. Both eyes- at the same time. "

"I understand," Smith said, leaning his head back.

Dr. King placed the silver box over his face- it was molded to fit a face, much like some of the older nightvision goggles he's used early in his career.

"One... two..." Dr. King counted. "Three!"

A dark panel in the back of the box sprang up and Smith found himself looking into two yellow eyes. On the left was an eye that seemed like that of a lizard's. On the right, a more human-looking eye. Both glowed a bright yellow, then flared, even brighter, like the sunrise.

A cold chill swept over Smith, radiating out from his eyes, spreading over his face and down his body. It enveloped him in less than a second- a feeling of cold and numbness at the same time. Then the glowing yellow eyes disappeared behind a panel again.

The metal box pressed against his face was pulled away and Daniel Smith realized he had no longer felt it.

"How do you feel?" Dr. King said after he set the box down. He stepped up and began shining his light in Smith's eyes again.

The light was very bright, but it didn't hurt his eyes. When it was removed, Smith looked down at himself.

His dark brown skin was now gray- the gray of concrete or polished stone. It seemed roughly textured, yet somehow smooth at the same time. He opened and closed his right hand and marveled at how the stone appendage moved, yet looked solid at the same time.

Smith opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Dr. King put a hand on his chest, patting him lightly. "Your autonomic functions have stopped, Commander. You can't speak because your lungs aren't working."

Smith drew in a deep breath, feeling his chest expand. Then he let it out slowly. He couldn't feel the air blowing over his lips. They felt numb, deadened.

Dr. King began unfastening the straps that held Smith to the metal table. "Now, your nerve endings are no longer fully functional- you'll notice a significant reduction in tactile senses."

Smith swung his leg off the table and set it on the metal grating. It made a loud noise but he felt very little. It was as though his foot were asleep. He stood and tried to take a step.

Despite the strength in his limbs, Smith felt himself pitch forward.

Colonel Kenslir reacted quickly, his hand snaking out and grabbing Smith. Where the Colonel's dense skin touched stone, a green glow sprang to life and Smith felt his hard stone body soften- then turn to flesh.

The Colonel steadied him and helped him stand, then removed his hand. The soft patch of flesh on Smith's arm, shaped like Kenslir's hand, turned gray again and the green glow faded.

"Kenslir could see the questioning look on Smith's face. "Like I said, I'm resistant to magic.

***

Barbod Zaman lowered the binoculars from his face and smiled evilly. The orange glow of the American supply depot was finally starting to ebb- the last of the cursed invaders having been consumed by the flames. By morning, only ashes would remain. Ashes that would be swept away by the desert winds.

Zaman stood and stretched. It had been a good night. More Americans dead, his land one step closer to being free of Imperialists. One step of many he would take on the road to restoring his beloved homeland to its rightful place. Saddam might be dead, but Iraq would live forever.

Zaman tucked his binoculars away in a belt pouch then regarded the large ring on his right hand. He held it up so the light from the waning fire would reflect off it. For the thousandth time, he stared at the six pointed star on the ring and smiled.

***

Daniel Smith was tired of training- mentally tired. He didn't get physically tired anymore- his new stone body never tired. But he grew bored.

Smith understood the importance of training- it was something that had saved his life as a SEAL countless times. But that was in another life, another body. His stone body was a weapon all its own. And weapons didn't need training- they needed to be used.

"This is ridiculous," Smith said, lowering the heavy machine gun he was holding and turning away from his target. He'd been shooting all morning on the indoor range inside Argon Tower- the headquarters for the Joint Forces Detachment he was now assigned to. Detachment 1039.

"I've been using heavy weapons like these for years."

Colonel Kenslir watched him with his weird, greenish, almost-black eyes, his face an emotionless mask. "Look at your weapon, sailor."

Smith looked down at the front grip of the M-60E2, belt-fed machine gun, dreading what he would see. Sure enough, the hard plastic grip of the rifle was cracked and compressed- squeezed by the incredible strength of his stone hand. A hand that had very little feeling to it.

"Until you can cradle that machinegun like a newborn, you keep training," Kenslir said. "You've got to get used to this new body, or you won't do anyone any good."

Smith was about to protest when the door to the indoor range opened and a Major in Army dress uniform came in. Smith recognized him as Major Campbell, a salt-and-pepper haired career officer who was Kenslir's right hand man in the Detachment. And who looked several years older than the possibly immortal Colonel.

The two men talked quietly and Campbell handed a printed message over to his superior. Kenslir read it quietly then got an even more pronounced frown on his face.

"Pack it up, Smith," the Colonel said, handing the paper back to the Major as he turned back to Smith.

"Sir?" Smith asked.

"Training's over," Kenslir said. "We've got a mission."

***

Being made of stone meant more than just being indestructible. It meant that Commander Daniel Smith couldn't walk around in public. His existence was a highly classified secret. But luckily, Colonel Kenslir had a solution to that.