Chapter 1 - Contact (very rough early draft)

The pungent smell of pine was accented by the must of coming rain.  A cool breeze tugged at the branches of the Colorado Spruce that grasped for the gray sky.  The small trail appeared cut out like a winding valley through the rolling terrain.  Lake George was no more then two clicks away, but the topography had already began to shift from rugged and rocky to the more manageable wandering hills. 

Master Sergeant Nelson had not know what to expect from the operation, but the terrain was familiar.  After (here info about rescue school - brief) he had worked his way too Level I of the USAFC Mountaineer Program.  Extensively training out of Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, he had bivouacked countless fridge nights in the Lake George area and the terrain came with a bit of nostalgia. 

Today though something made Nelson uneasy.

From the beginning the mission was quirky.  Having been called out of company he was been attached to this small makeshift team with unprecedented haste.  Corporal Skinner and First Sergeant Lock where familiar faces.  He had worked intermittently with them in Alaska During the concluding phases of the Mountaineer Program, and knew they where professionals.  Colonel Teller was also familiar if only from reputation and innuendo.  But the civilian Timothy Dumphry was the anomaly.  Nelson senses weren't sparked by the inclusion of live weapons, and his being assigned a full med getup typically reserved for combat drops.  Despite working outside of Government land, these where more common practices then most knew.  But the civilian, cowardly clad in combat fatigues, this was unnerving. 

During the briefing Teller only mentioned in passing that Dumphry was an observer. 

An observer...an observer of what?

---

Skinner raised his fist bringing the short line came to a abrupt halt.  Dumphry being grabbed by Teller crumbled to a knee.  It looked as if Teller was trying to throw him to the ground.  In his mid 40’s Tellers barreled trunk and vascular arms had the vigor that bespoke his relentless regimen.

Teller lifted his finger to his lips slowly, "shhh."

Up ahead Skinner spotted something.  There was a lone deer standing mid trail between the high trees the sheltered the path.  The call to stop had been more of a curiosity then trouble.  Skinner, a hunter, always took opportunity to observe a potential target, analyze their reactions and measure a the thresholds of their senses.  And then it happened.

Lunging from the tree line, no more then 15 feet to its right a blur caught the unsuspecting deer at its shoulders bringing it down and forward with its inertia.  Dust kicked up as the dear scrapped and wriggled.  It was a cougar, not unusually large, but fiercely powerful.  The intrepid animal quickly struck for the neck of the deer and clamped down.

"Holy !@#$" Lock whispered, "he must have slid 5 feet when that bad boy hit him."

Skinner turned and just nodded, with a wide eyes and a smirk.

The deer continued to kick and sputter in vain and the cougar executed flawlessly the job the eons had engineered into them, to kill.  Nelson watched with cold curiosity.  He had remembered that the clamping of the neck by a feline predator was often mistakenly thought of as "going for the Jugular".  That ultimately was just a description of locality not necessarily function.  The large incisors of most felines, such as tigers, lions, or cougars tended to leave only small relatively clean puncture wounds in their victim.  The pray dyed far to quickly to have been bled.

It was clear to Nelson as he watched, “she's suffocating it.” He said in a low voice.

Lock turned with a curios look, but ahead of him Skinner was now transfixed in analysis.  He was mentally annotating the moment.  Nelson could almost hear the faint whisper of Skinner counting, he was measuring the medium size animals time to affixation.  Amidst any normal civilians this was a bit troubling, but with Skinner this was the expected.

The deer's body stopped lurching under the weight of the cat, just the back legs now kicked intermittently in unison. Nelson remembered once when in South Africa how a Lion had seized the mouth of a jostling black water buffalo giving what the guide termed the "kiss of death." Clean, quick, minimizing potential injury, cats where an efficient killer.  No unnecessary risk, minimal wasted movement.  A marvel of nature and selection,

“its incredible isn’t it.” Nelson remarked.

“I hope that doesn't happen to us” Dumphry barked now on two feet but bent at the waist just enough get a clear line of site.  All four soldiers heads snapped in unison toward Dumphry with looks of disgust and incredulity. 

“Jesus Dumphry, could you get any louder” Teller muttered as he tugged at Dumphrys sleeve.  Something though in Dumphrys gaze had changed.  His once look of childish curiosity had turned to stone.  A piercing hiss echoed down the trail. 

Buy the time Nelson had turned Skinner already had his weapon raised and was scanning the trail.  The cougar was spooked.  Ears bent back and coiled like a crab the cougar backed down from the kill.  The slight bend in the trail obscured the tree line toward which the cougar hissed and spit.

Skinner, still peering down the reticle of his scope swiftly motioned to the left side of the trail with his free hand. Then rebalanced his rugged SCAR assault rifle.  Lock quickly took the cue and shuffled across the trail.  

Nelson noticed this point in the path was unusually broad as he intently observed Lock swiftly cover the 20 yards, all he could hear with a light jingle of his equipment, the rustle of Locks fatigues, and the diffuse patter of looming rain.

“What is it?”, Nelson inquired of Skinner.

“don’t know, must be big”

“another cat you think, possibly a male?”

“maybe.”  Skinnner was strangely terse in his response.  Something clearly had his intention. 

Nelson raised his rifle to peer down the scope.  The cougar continued to hiss and paw, but not run, otherwise nothing. 

What did Skinner see?

Back in Training Skinner had gotten the nickname spidy.  Once when repelling down an ice shelf skinner had abruptly jetted to of to one side as far and fast as he could.  The trainers where about too call out with a stern reprimand, when suddenly a large sheet of ice gave way directly over where Skinner was moments earlier.  He had just dogged it.  Later when asked, Skinner just called it a looming intuition.  His peers joked it was his “spider senses.”   To Nelson it appeared Skinners spider senses where tingling now.

“Should we leave?” Dumphry asked of Teller, now in a hushed tone.

“Keep it shut Dumphry, this is good….”

Tellers words where cut short by three shots that rang out across the trail.  As quick as Nelson could turn his head, Lock was gone.  The low shrubs where still shifting near where he once was. 

Skinner turned “What the F..”

“Where did he go?” Dumphry belched with a tremor in his voice.

“Lock!”  Nelson announced, “Lock!” Then in a moment of silence between the growing drone of rain Locks garbled voice rang out in the distance.  It was incoherent and already astonishingly distant, but clearly Locks.

Skinner rose promptly and looked at Teller.

“Go! ill take Dumphry and cover rear.”

Without a word Skinner swiftly moved forward weapon at the ready.  Nelson immediately followed just to his left and behind as they broke through the dense foliage that skirted the trail where Lock once was.

Intermittent sheets of rain began to break through the canopy as Nelson and Skinner moved forward.  The droning sound that seemed to be Lock seemed to have stopped moving.  Skinners riffle panned left to right rhythmically was he traversed the scatter pine needles, rocks and broken boulders with purpose.  Nelson fanned out wide of Skinner to get a wider viewing angle but his mind was already sifting through potential scenarios that would follow.  Twenty weeks of Para rescue EMT training in Kirkland New Mexico where still fresh in his mind and the training has shifted his perspective from attack and survival to assess and stabilize. 

What's in my ALICE pack? What to expect - expect the unexpected. Secure the location then the wounded.

The sound they where nearing was troubling, almost not human and it reminded him of stories of wounded soldiers he had read of earlier in his training.

“Status” Teller crackled over the headsets.

“Nothing yet,” Nelson replied

“Cats gone, where checking by the kill for trouble.”

“Rodger”

Nelson crept up low on a menacing bolder that looked over a shallow raven.  In the distance, against a low dirt ledge he spotted movement.  It was Lock.

“Skinner, 9 o'clock”

Skinner turned abruptly and worked toward Nelson.

“What is it?” Skinner asked with cool deliberance.

“Lock, he's in the raven ahead.”

“Rodger”

Nelson glanced through his retical. 

“Nothing”, he thought.  All around the forest rustled and shimmer with the increasing rain.

Skinner dropped to a knee 10 meters to Nelsons right.  “Clear here.”

Through his scope Nelson could see Lock shiver and he let out another gurgling moan, this time weaker them before.

Waiting just a moment longer Nelson scanned the area around Lock, “Im heading in.”

“Rodger”

Nelson swung around and over the boulder, sliding down its back.  It was slicker then he had supposed but he athletically carried his excess speed into a roll at the bottom.  The waves of rain where beginning to form small pools.  Loose gravel and leaves clung to his back and Oakley SI boots as he made for Lock.

As he got nearer to Lock the gravity of the situation grew clear.  Crimson blood already plastered most of his face.  Nelson glanced at Locks helmet that lay some 3 meters to the side.  Approaching Lock it was clear he had suffered blunt force trauma to his head.  Thick dark streams of blood that ran sheets over his ear and neck where briefly washed away  by the rain.  Lock moaned and shivered with sounds only an animal should make.  His fatigues looked intact if only a little disheveled. 

Quickly kneeling at Locks side, Nelson pulled off his helmet and swung around his medical rucksack.

“We have a problem here.”  Nelson pulled back the Velcro to his pack. As he noticed Locks hand shuttering beside him.  Nelson looked him up and down again. Foam was forming around a significant contusion in Locks temple. “Shit,” Nelson muttered.

“Teller Sir, we need evac. ASAP! Lock is down.”

Tellers voice rattled over the tactical headset, “How, bad? Can you get him back to the trail?  The birds going to have a hell of a time with the trees.”

Nelson gazed up through the dense pine forest.  Rain traced the tense lines on his face. He realized the helicopters would be in a compromised situation if they sat over the high forest as an electrical storm swept in. Wiping his eyes with a free hand he returned to his rucksack, “I think we shouldn’t but we may have to.  Pop smoke there and give me 2 minuets to assess.”

Nelson could hear Teller over the intercom radioing in for backup.

Skinner came up low and quiet to Nelsons side. “God damn it” he whispered looking at Lock.  Panning around the ground near Lock Skinner was trying to reconstruct the scene in his head.  “Doesn't make sense.  Where is his weapon?"

----

An intense clap of thunder called out from above drowning out the droning of the Blackhawk rotors.   In a small break in the tree line four men forged across mud and gravel carrying a limp body.   A superheat raced over head low and fast banking to the right and out of site behind the grey of the sheets of rain.

"Anything where the cat took down that dear Sir?"  Nelson yelled out over the commotion as the aircraft leapt into the air with purpose.

Teller shook his head and gave a sideways glance at Dumphrey who was eyes where still glassed over with the contemplation of the moment. "No nothing" Teller finished turning to Nelson to make eye contact, "nothing".