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Curse Claws Chapter 1. Fear Incarnate.

Hell. That was the only way to describe the scene in front of Clay as he charged across the battlefield, bullets, dirt and body parts flying all around him. The noise was deafening, officers shouting orders, near constant machine gun fire, earth shaking impacts of heavy artillery, and the screams of dying soldiers. The terror was as heavy as the scent of blood on the air.

Clay was not a soldier however; he was a 26 year old leopard working as a journalist assigned to a group of soldiers to do a simple public interest piece. He was supposed to travel around, get some personal accounts from soldiers, some inspirational photos and that was it, that's all he'd signed up for, and that's how it had been until this afternoon.

The unit he was currently attached to had been on a routine patrol when first heavy shell hit. The force of the explosion was enough to knock Clay off of his feet and onto his back where he saw a combination of dirt and flesh raining down. Before he could comprehend exactly what was happening, more shells started raining down on the squad.

All around him was chaos. Several soldiers were looking around frantically for the enemy, while others were diving for cover. Clay reached into his bag where he kept his computer, maps, radio, and other things a journalist would need in the field, and pulled out a small video camera. He quickly turned it on, and looked for the CO.

He quickly spotted the Sergeant almost immediately, and ran to join him. Even though McNeil was in his black camouflage fatigues the battle scared white wolf was easily recognizable. Clay stayed out of the way as McNeil organized his troops, and began leading them towards a small hill that would hopefully provide some cover.

Clay followed them, briefly wondered why McNeil was leading towards the artillery, but quickly remembered what McNeil had told him during one of his briefings, about how artillery becomes less accurate and effective as the range decreases. Making sure to film as much of what was happening as possible; he followed the McNeil and the rest of the platoon. He knew the quality wouldn't be great, but at least the people back home would see what things were like when the shit hit the fan.

Staying with them, his camera kept rolling as a many of them were blown to pieces by artillery and heavy machine guns, the explosions of blood and gore staining the ground and air dark red. The sight sickened him; for he'd become good friends with several of the soldiers now lying in pieces on the ground. Up until now, all he'd seen was small arms wounds; he'd never really thought about what the big guns could actually do to someone, what it would really look like to see some fur blown to pieces in front of him.

Most of the squad had made it into the shadow of the small hill, McNeil among them. The wolf was shouting instructions to the troops when Clay reached the hill and flung himself down next to a squirrel that couldn't have been more than 18 or 19. The terror on the young furs face couldn't have been more obvious.

McNeil's voice rang out as he shouted another order and the squirrel and the rest of the soldiers charged over the hill, their rifles firing at the enemy, trying to avenge their fallen friends, and trying to protect the ones still alive. Clay's camera caught the carnage as an artillery shell landed half a dozen yards to his left, blowing a fox, a rabbit, and a badger to bloody shreds, their screams and lives cut short, by the explosion.

Clay ran for his life, charging through the smoke, dust and gore while the earth shuddered under him from the force of the explosions. The rest of the platoon was trying desperately to keep up with McNeil as the wolf led them towards another hill, trying to find a position protected form both the artillery and the machine guns which were now raining a steady stream of bullets down on them.

By know the enemy artillery was within view and Clay counted 4 tanks, and several wheeled vehicles mounting what had to .50 cal machine guns. The enemy had positioned itself on a ridge a few hundred yards away and slightly above Clays platoon, giving the enemy the advantage of the high ground.

As he ran, Clay's eyes were drawn to one of the enemy soldiers. The soldier drew Clay's attention because he was standing on top of one of the tanks turrets, shouting orders at the others. Figuring this had to be the ranking officer of the enemy squad; Clay pointed his camera and zoomed in on the fur, trying to get a clear shot of just who was trying to kill them.

His camera seemed to take forever to focus. Not really surprising, considering he was still running as fast as he could and therefore the camera was also moving and jiggling, its auto focus struggling to keep up with all the commotion happening around him. After what felt like an eternity, the picture finally did resolve.

The enemy commander was a lion, his golden mane sparkling in the sunlight. His jet black uniform covered him from foot to neck, leaving only his head and paws visible, with what looked like silver symbols on his left shoulder and right arm. As clay watched, the lion appeared to finally lose his patience with whomever he was shouting at, for he took out a pistol and shot one of his own soldiers, the coyote fell over, and then remained still.

Another shell hit in front of Clay, and he dove behind a big Oak tree to protect himself as the rest of the platoon kept charging after McNeil. Cowering in the relative safety of the tree, Clay once again focused his camera on the lion in the black uniform, but as the picture focused, Clay's jaw dropped.

At first, Clay thought the Lion had been shot in the stomach, for he was doubled over, arms wrapped around his stomach, a pained look on his muzzle. But as he watched, something began to happen to the lion, his mane and what was visible of his started to change colors from golden brown, to pure white.

Clay kept filming as the lion straitened up, a weird light shining from his eyes as he looked over McNeil's group. A disgusted sneer lit the lions face as he reached his arms out to the either side, and Clay saw what appeared to be small balls of light, about the size of a baseball, materialize in each paw. Confusion turned to horror as Clay saw the lion reach back and throw one of the glowing orbs at McNeil's soldiers.

Clay quickly zoomed out, and filmed as orb sailed across the more than hundred meters of open ground between the lion and McNeil's group. Terror flooded Clay as he watched the orb, land next to a few of the soldiers who froze and eyed the glowing sphere cautiously. He instinctively screamed a warning but too late. The orb or whatever the hell it was exploded, turning the stunned soldiers into little more than scraps.

Frozen in horror, Clay kept filming as he watched this lion, continue to throw his deadly balls of light at the soldiers. McNeil's group lost all sense of military discipline and scattered, operating on pure survival instinct. McNeil tried to restore order and get his soldiers back in line, but his screamed orders were cut off when one of those balls of light landed between his feet and turned him into a fountain of white fur and gore.

Tears flooded down Clay's face as he hid paralyzed behind the tree, watching as one by one every one of the soldiers, many of whom had been his friends, were blown to pieces by that devil lion, their screams of pain and fear echoing across the field; the entire scene captured by his camera.

It was too much. Clay turned away from the massacre and reached back into his satchel, pulling out his laptop. Paws shaking, eyes blurred with tears, he turned it on, and hooked his camera up to it. He tried to block out the screams as he started to download the contents of his camera to the laptop, preparing to send the file back to his boss. Regardless of what happened to him, the world needed to know what had happened. Someone had to know about that lion.

His laptop chirped, signaling that the video had been uploaded successfully. He attached the video to an email to his boss along with a full explanation of what had happened, and then sent it. Not even bothering to turn it off, he closed his laptop and stuffed it back into his bag before poking his head around the base of the tree, the screams had stopped.

To his relief, he saw that the enemy platoon, probably thinking they had left no survivors, was beginning to retreat, backing down the far hill and out of sight, the lion still standing on top of the tank. That relief however, turned to anguish his eyes fell on the carnage again. He let out a sob for his friends then, realizing there was nothing he could do for them, accept survive and tell their story. Clay looked around the tree once more, to make sure that the enemy was indeed out of sight, then pulled out his compass, got his bearings and slowly started to make his way back to base. As he walked, the scene kept replaying in his mind, from the first shell impact, to the flying gore, and screams.

Day turned into night, and still on he walked, stopping only to rest briefly, and to check his map and compass. The more the thought about the day events, the more one thought kept rising to the top of his mind, blocking out all others. 'Who and what the hell was that lion?'

To be continued...

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As always, all comments and advise welcome. I'm always looking for ways to make my writing more enjoyable for the reader.