2019 Story Request - The Lycanthrope Club: The Interview

"Well, I hope this is what you meant by message, and I guess I'll take this opportunity to request something I've proposed at other points in time - the story of the creation of the US military's first werewolf unit. I imagine the startings of such would be very interesting. If you do follow this suggestion, something worth keeping in mind is that if anyone got cold feet before conversion, the military probably be able to let them leave the program - after all, if someone tried to claim the military was creating werewolf soldiers people would probably just think they're crazy."

-Formulafox 

NOTE: I am not a current or former member of the United States military or any armed force. Please forgive any mistakes or inaccuracies in military protocol, terminology, etc. I mean no disrespect. 

Harris Townshend shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair and glanced at the door to his right. He'd never been in this room before. He hadn't even been aware of its existence. It was just large and wide enough to accommodate a large desk with three chairs - black leather office chairs on wheels, Harris noted - tucked behind it and a single chair on the opposite end - the chair he was currently seated in. Like the rest of the compound its floor was hard grey concrete but its walls were lined with sort of textile a shade of beige so drab and uninteresting that he couldn't focus on it for too long before his gaze wandered somewhere else. There was a small yet conspicuous black camera nestled in the upper corner to his left but nothing else - no windows, clocks, wall outlets, nothing. It was clean, too. Not exactly sterile, but there was very little dust and no scruffs, stains or discolorations. He sniffed the air. There weren't a lot of smells, either. None he recognized anyways.

His ears twitched. Though it had seemed dead silent at first there was a soft yet persistent buzz - likely the camera or some other device concealed in the walls. But his ears had picked up something new over the buzz - a dull, rhythmic thumping. Footsteps.

Harris straightened up in his seat and tugged a crease in his uniform. He forced his face to adapt a disciplined, attentive expression - one he was finding increasingly difficult to maintain as of late.

The door swung open and three uniformed figures stepped into the room. Harris rose. The newcomers each took a seat at the desk, facing him. Harris recognized only one of them - a tall, hard-faced captain of African descent who had inspected and interviewed some in his unit. The other two - a chief warrant officer, Caucasian, older, possibly in his fifties, and a colonel, also Caucasian, slightly younger with sandy blonde hair, who sat between the others - were unknown to him. Each carried a manila folder.

The colonel cleared his throat.

"Please state your name and rank," he said with a slight southern drawl. 

"Sir. Lance corporal Harris Townshend," replied Harris instantly.

The colonel nodded. 

"Take a seat, corporal."

Harris did so. The colonel opened his folder and briefly scanned it before continuing. 

"Due to the classified nature of your current assignment and the...unique circumstances surrounding the altercation we are forgoing certain processes and formalities. This does not preclude the possibility of discipline or referral to civilian court but we thought it best to conduct an interview before proceeding. Again, these are unique circumstances that warrant an unconventional approach. That said, you are not to disclose what we discuss today or even the nature of the interview. Is that understood, corporal?"

"Yes, sir."

The corporal paused, giving Harris an appraising look, and then nodded at the captain. 

"On September 27th of this year you were on leave following an extended training exercise with your squad," began the captain, taking over. "According to your written account you entered a local bar - the, uh, Red Bottle Club - at West 23rd Street, San Bernardino, at 8:49 PM. Is this correct, corporal?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you enter the bar alone?"

"Yes, sir."

"At 9:43 PM the same night the San Bernardino police station received a call from the proprietor of the Red Bottle Club reporting that a brawl had erupted. Though witness testimony is not entirely uniform at least four individuals were involved in the fight. Were you one of these individuals, corporal?"

"Yes, sir."

"Were you familiar with any of these individuals?"

"No, sir."

There was a pause.

"Did you initiate the fight, corporal?"

For the first time Harris hesitated before answering.

"Apologies, sir, could you clarify what you mean by 'initiate?'"

The captain gave him a look.

"I believe he's asking if you were the one who threw the first punch," said the colonel, almost wryly. The captain nodded.

"In that case, yes, I initiated the fight."

The colonel and the captain scribbled a few notes. The warrant officer did not. 

"If I may, sirs," said the warrant officer. "Corporal, why did you go into the bar?"

"Sir?"

"Why did you go to the bar?" repeated the warrant officer patiently.

"To, uh, recuperate, sir," said Harris, mildly bemused by the question. He straightened up and cleared his throat. "It was the first leave I've had since I joined the squad. I needed a night out."

"Understandable," said the warrant officer. "But why a bar?"

Once again Harris was caught off guard. "I, uh, I'd been there with a girlfriend - ex-girlfriend - a couple years back. Wasn't bad, so I thought I'd pay it another visit."

"I see," said the warrant officer. "What did you plan on doing there?"

The captain and colonel shot the warrant officer sidelong glances. The warrant officer didn't appear to notice or care.

"Uh, watch the game, maybe have a drink or two."

"Of alcohol?"

"Yes, sir." Harris opened his mouth and then shut it immediately. 

"I'm not exactly reprimanding you for drinking, corporal," said the warrant officer in a reassuring tone. "You were on leave. But why would you drink? What would be the point?"

At last it dawned on Harris where he was going with this.

"I suppose out of habit, sir," he said uncomfortably. "And, well, it was a bar. I ordered some drinks because otherwise they would have kicked me out."

"Exactly how many drinks did you have, corporal?" said the captain. "Over the course of the hour you were there?"

Harris bit his lower lip, but only for a second.

"Nine," he admitted. "Mostly beers, two bourbons." 

The warrant officer leaned back in his seat. The colonel's eyes narrowed.

"Would you say that would raise the average person's blood alcohol above the legal limit, corporal?"

"I-...I'm no medical professional, but yeah, probably."

"Were you trying to get drunk, corporal?" asked the colonel.

"No, sir," said Harris. "To tell the truth I didn't feel much even after the eighth drink."

"But you should have expected that," said the warrant officer evenly. "A component of your training was gradual exposure to a variety of toxins to ascertain your resistance to poison, including alcohol. So you understand my confusion."

"Again, sir, with respect, it was mostly out of habit. I, that is, I did realize towards the end of the evening that the alcohol really wasn't having its...usual effect. I stopped drinking then. Apart from the expense I thought it might look suspicious if I drank more."

"On retrospect would you say the alcohol you had consumed affected your judgment?" inquired the colonel.

"I...don't believe so, sir. I did feel a slight buzz but I remember that night very well."

"Your report was commendably thorough," said the colonel. "But certain details - crucial details - are missing. Such as exactly why you initiated the fight. Could you elaborate?"

Harris took a deep breath.

"There was a woman working in the bar," he said. "A waitress. Brunette, late thirties or early forties. Around nine o'clock I noticed she had been speaking with three customers for an extended period. I didn't think much of it at first but then when she tried to leave one of them grabbed her by the wrist. She managed to pull away, yelled at them and walked off. They laughed. I didn't care for their behavior but I didn't do or say anything." He paused. "It must have been...fifteen, maybe twenty minutes later. I was watching the Lakers on the television when all of a sudden there's a crash. I turned around and saw the waitress on the floor next to a flipped over table with blood on her face. From what I could tell one of the customers from before had struck her. The other two approached her. One of them kicked her in the ribs and called her a...well, it wasn't a flattering name. I rose from my seat and put myself between her and the three men. I asked them to leave her alone." Harris grimaced as memories of the night played in his mind. "There was a...exchange of words. The bartender asked them to leave and they refused. Then, the waitress screamed, threatening to sue for assault. One of them moved towards her as though to kick her again so I punched him and things sort of escalated from there."

Harris realized his gaze had been drifting downwards. He straightened up and looked back up at the officers, who had been listening intently. 

"Some witnesses say your attack was unprovoked."

"I take issue with 'unprovoked' but I did throw the first punch, sir."

"I remember what you said. One witness stated he saw you converse with the three men prior to the altercation with the waitress. Is this true?"

"I was just saying hello," said Harris, shrugging. "They saw my uniform and wanted to know what branch of the U.S. military I was in. We didn't speak again until after they struck the waitress."

"There was a security camera in the bar but we haven't been able to get a hold of the footage," said the warrant officer. "It's under review by local law enforcement. We are looking into retrieving it or getting a copy."

"Look, we're dancing around the main issue here," said the colonel. "You engaged these three men and incapacitated two of them in short order. The third, however, proved more difficult."

"Yes, sir."

"Based on your encounter would you say any of them had any formal training in unarmed combat?"

"No, sir. Street brawlers. They didn't know how to move, guard, or even stand properly."

"Were they armed?"

"No, sir."

"Would you say they were exceptionally fit or strong?"

"Not the first two, sir. Both were overweight - more fat than muscle - not much of a threat. The third was on an entirely different level. Exceptionally strong, fast and resilient."

"So much so that he managed to get you in a headlock," said the colonel. "At least according to the officers who were first on the scene. Were they correct?"

Harris's lips tightened.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly.

The room was silent for a moment. Then, the captain took a sheet of paper from his folder.

"According to your records you hold a green belt in MCMAP and are working to qualify as an instructor." He paused. "And you have ...other advantages."

Harris didn't say anything.

"Would you say he just got lucky, corporal?" asked the colonel.

"...No, sir," said Harris.

"Then how in the hell did some two-bit bar thug manage to beat you, corporal?" said the colonel, suddenly angry. 

Harris said nothing. He stared straight ahead while avoiding the colonel's withering gaze.

"It was three on one," said the warrant officer. "That would be difficult even for someone with far more experience and training than Corporal Townshend. This isn't the movies."

"For the average soldier, yes, absolutely," replied the colonel. "But Corporal Townshend is not an average soldier. His performance raises certain fundamental questions regarding the...the utility of the program. Given all the time, effort and expense spent training and acclimating him - not to mention the security risk inherent in conversion - is it really worth it if he can't incapacitate a few unarmed civilians?"

"He wasn't in the field, colonel," observed the warrant officer. "He wasn't facing an enemy combatant out to kill him - just some abusive bar patron. I'd go as far as to say we're comparing apples and oranges."

"Oh bullshit," snapped the colonel. "Frankly I'd be a little embarrassed if he'd let those three kick his ass before he joined the squad. For all we know the conversion may have actually had a detrimental effect on his combat ability."

"You may have a point there," said the captain slowly. "However, I wouldn't exactly place effectiveness in unarmed combat above all else."

The colonel turned and gave the captain a sour look, which the captain met with solemn stare. 

"I'd actually like to hear a more detailed account of your altercation with this third individual," said the warrant officer. "How did he beat you, corporal?"

Harris hesitated.

"I wouldn't say he beat me, si-"

"Corporeal? I believe I asked you a question."

"...I was caught off-guard after throwing the second guy," said Harris. "He one punched me in the kidney - by accident, I think - which stunned me. Gave him enough time to get a few more good punches in before I could recover. I side-stepped one of his jabs and got him into an arm lock." Harris shook his head. "He managed to twist his arm in a way that should have at least sprained his forearm and hand, spun around and tried to bear hug me from behind. I broke out using a side-step technique and get him in an arm lock but he just...yanked free. I could have sworn I heard something snap but he didn't even flinch. He had an...insane tolerance for pain." Harris looked up, suddenly inspired. "Now that I think about it, he may have been under the influence of narcotics - something besides alcohol."

"Like meth or PCP?" said the warrant officer.

"I couldn't say for certain, sir, but it would explain his behavior and tolerance for pain."

"Since he's the only one of the three that escaped, it's only speculation on your part, corporal," said the colonel, although he now sounded unhappy rather than outright incensed. 

"Has local law enforcement dug up anything on him yet?" asked the captain.

"No," said the warrant officer, shaking his head. "Witnesses placed him as an out-of-tower. He'd met the other two in the bar. There's an APB on him but there's no record of anyone matching his description in criminal databases both local and federal. The man's a ghost."

"That's...peculiar," said the captain slowly.

"Yes."

The three officers were silent for a time. The warrant officer looked over some of the papers in his folder while the captain took a few notes. The colonel continued to stare at Harris. His expression was not encouraging. 

"Is there any chance you converted this individual or either of the other two during the altercation?" asked the warrant officer carefully.

"No, sir," said Harris quickly.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, sir," said Harris. 

The warrant officer wrote something down. 

"Did you..." the warrant officer trailed off, grimacing slightly "Did you do or say anything that might have revealed your condition?" he said. "Apart from imbibing too much alcohol, that is?"

Harris immediately understood what he was asking. "No, sir. If anythin-..." he stopped.

"Yes, corporal?"

"...If anything I was holding back," he corrected uncomfortably. "I didn't want to kill him."

"By the sound of it he posed a real threat," said the colonel. "You shouldn't have pulled your punches."

"With respect, sir, I don't think he could have hurt me," said Harris. "He didn't have anything silver on him, let alone a weapon."

The room fell silent again.

"Mmm...well, I can't exactly commend your behavior, corporal," said the colonel slowly. "I understand your instinct to protect this woman but you should have left matters to law enforcement."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"The other two men may be pressing charges but if the security footage confirms your description of events they will face criminal assault charges. I doubt any lawyer representing them will be particularly keen to prosecute, particularly given the injuries they sustained were minor." He turned to the other officers. "Anything to add, gentlemen?"

"Some re-assessment of the program may be in order," said the captain severely. "We should discuss it during the next meeting. However, based on what I've heard today I think we should leave this matter to the civil authorities. At least for the time being."

"Agreed," said the warrant officer. "We should not appear to give the corporal any special treatment unless necessary."

"We will re-convene once we receive a full report from the local police," said the colonel, nodding. "Until then we are cancelling your leave, corporal, and assigning you light duties until this matter is fully resolved. Do not speak with any peace officers, civil authorities or even your squaddies regarding the incident without clearing it with us. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," said Harris.

* * *

Harris swallowed. He sniffed the air and listened. He glanced down the barracks corridor. It was empty; the rest of his squad was gone. With his light duties assignment he was the only one here. He turned to the bathroom door and opened it, wincing at the foul odors emanating from within. He nonetheless stepped inside.

It was, as might expected, a Spartan and somewhat dirty (but not outright filthy) affair, with concrete floors and brick walls painted over with thick white paint. But unlike many barracks bathrooms, the toilets actually had flimsy privacy screens situated between them. Harris hurried over to one of the stalls in the back, opened it and stepped inside. After closing the stall door he knelt by the toilet and reached around. After some scrabbling he retrieved a tiny piece of tape that had been painted white on one side from the back of the porcelain bowl. He flipped it over, revealing a SIM card. Harris got up then sat down on the toilet. He dug out a cell phone, inserted the SIM card and turned the phone on. It took a minute or two for the phone to boot. When it was ready he selected a number on the contact list - the only entry there, actually - and pressed dial. The phone range once, then twice, and then a third time. Then came an abrupt beep.

"It's me," said Harris quietly. "I'll keep this brief since I'm still at the base. I ran into a nonregistered at the Red Bottle Club in San Bernardino three days ago and I think it's Simon's work. He's 6'3," Caucasian, muscular build, goes by Derrick, last seen wearing blue jeans, black T-shirt with American eagle over a torn red flannel shirt. Very aggressive. If he gets picked up by the brass it could cause all sorts of problems. Recommend you catch him before they do."

With that, Harris hung up. He rose, removed the SIM card from his phone, tossed it in the toilet and flushed. He turned as though to leave and then paused, looking back at the still swirling waters. He tossed the phone in as well and left the bathroom.