The Dogs of War

The moon was high and bright over Baghdad, round as a biscuit and yellow as a hound's eye. A full moon, a blood moon. And in the midst of this city, Ahmed Hassan was scared. No, not scared, terrified. He was on the verge of shitting a brick, sending rapid-fire prayers to Allah, begging for protection from the seemingly invincible demon that pursued him. His AK was gone, his pistol was gone. All he had was a knife, and as he ran through the streets he reflected on the past day.

Ahmed was a very important man. He was a leader of soldiers in the righteous Mahdi Army, a man versed in tactics and the art of war. He had been unimpressed when rumors started to circulate that the Americans had hired a group of mercenaries to find him, where they could not. Rumors like that were rampant in Baghdad, but this one had seemed different. 'The Dogs of War'; that name was spoken in hushed tones, as if speaking of a monster, or a great warrior. He heard stories from foreign volunteers, about how these mercenaries were cursed. No matter where they went, people turned up dead. In the most horrific manner. The warlord in Somalia, found in his bed, the walls of his chamber drenched with his blood and the blood of his twenty bodyguards, all torn apart as if by a wild beast. The death was blamed on a rogue lion that had escaped from the zoo. Or the 'dog attack' in Ireland, that left two IRA assassins in pieces. At the time, Ahmed had scoffed at the idle gossip of men trying to scare each other, but now he knew. The Dogs of War were more than hired guns, they were demons. They had captured one of the mercenaries. He had watched as the thin, unimpressive mercenary who gave his name as John, suddenly convulse and change. His legs became canine, his hands claws. His head elongated and became a snarling wolf's maw. Then the demon had come for him. It grabbed Qari and tore him in half, flinging the bloody pieces to either side. It absorbed the rounds of thirty Kalashnikovs like it was nothing, and had mauled Abdul and Kofi to death. A swipe of its paws broke backs and necks like tinder, and by the time it caught up with Ahmed, its jaws were tainted red, and not a soul was left alive in the other room. Ahmed ran, and the beast ran faster. Ahmed shot at it, wounding it in the eye, yet it shook the bullets off like flies.

He finally gave the beast the slip, and looked around. He was in an alley near the edge of Sadr City. He thanked Allah for his mercy, his beneficence, and walked out into the street. The glare of a streetlamp was reflected back to him in ten sets of glowing red eyes, that ringed him roundabout. The Dogs of War advanced. Ahmed screamed...