Angler - Horrors of the Battlefield

"Author's Note: The subject of this story was on active deployment at an undisclosed location at the time of interviewing, but graciously contacted me via Skype to give their story. This is a rough transcript that I cleaned up in post, as the call itself was not recorded on audio or video."I remember as a kid hearing about all the stories the other kids had of being scared of something under their beds or in their closets, and I used to think those kind of kids were total pussies. Not to sound super macho or like a big, tough guy or anything like that, I just never understood their fear. If there was something to be scared of, the human race would’ve been killed off in the Dark Ages, right? You know, back when all we had to protect ourselves were torches and pointed sticks? Yet here we are now, the dominant life form across the whole damn planet with guns, bombs, satellites, and all the other wonders of modern technology. As I got older, I started to realize that really the only great enemy of humanity is itself.

That’s why I joined the United States Marine Corps when I turned 19 in November 2001. Yeah, just after all that happened. I remember sitting there thinking “it wasn’t monsters that knocked down those towers and killed thousands of people, it was people. People that need to be stopped.” That’s how I ended up deployed in the Middle East and had an experience there that would change my life forever.

I saw actual combat there, ok? I’m no weakling. I shot people; I got shot myself. I had close calls with explosions from grenades, RPGs, roadside bombs, everything. I lived the life of a soldier, going around assuming that every rock could hide a bomb or a hillside sniper. I could’ve gotten way worse, though. I never lost any limbs, my mind’s intact, I’m not a shattered man or anything like that. But I saw some shit… and none of it prepared me for that one night.

We had gotten the scoop from a local on a potential enemy weapons cache. Apparently, it was a big one, not just your typical stash of AK’s, but they got some brand new 102’s, HAT’s, the like. I was stationed with an arms convoy, and if those weapons were used to ambush us and get some more arms then we’d have a situation on our hands. So my squad, as well as two others, each comprised of two fireteams with four jarheads each, were assigned to go out on a night mission to capture or neutralize those weapons by any means necessary. Cut and dry, right? So I thought.

We rolled out at about 0300, nearly pitch black outside because of the clouds covering the moon. We were driven out to about 10 miles from the objective and proceeded on foot with night vision to get the drop on the enemy. We were fanned out in a crescent, with my squad, Charlie, taking up the left wing with all of us just out of visual range of each other because of the uneven terrain. Rules of engagement still applied, there were some locals living in the area and with the war already losing favor back home we didn’t need a PR hit. So we kept a careful eye out for any civilians or potential hostiles wandering around.

That’s when we started to come across the first signs. The alpha squad leader, who was about a click to the east, began squawking over the radio. Something about a substantial blood trail being located. Keyword: substantial.

It wasn’t uncommon to come across the kill of a leopard or even wolves, although the latter is somewhat rare in the area. However, the squad leader was quick to point out the presence of bloody human handprints on the rocks and the sheer amount of blood. The handprints seemed to indicate someone being dragged by their legs. We still weren’t concerned at that point; it wasn’t unheard of to hear about someone getting caught off guard alone in the wilderness and getting dragged off by a desperate predator.

That’s when A-leader also reported the discarded AKs lying around the area. That’s right, AK’s as in plural, with spent shell casings littering the ground. Not even bears can withstand some full-auto 7.62mm from multiple combatants, and bears weren’t ever found this far south in the middle east! Some of the grunts were starting to spook, I could tell they were getting nervous now. I calmed them down by rationalizing it as tribal violence, probably a hit job from some other local gang, nasty stuff. It just meant we had to be on the lookout. Wasn’t a necessarily a lie, either; as I said, humanity can be its own worst enemy, and most of the boys felt the same. We proceeded after updating the higher-ups on our findings and the current situation. Just a one-off event, right? Hell no. Things only got worse from there.

15 minutes later, Bravo squad reported finding a small dwelling that had been broken into half a click east. It looked recently occupied, food was still on the table, some candles were still lit. But the first thing they noticed was fresh blood trails leading from the structure, the smashed front door, and more discarded weapons with spent cartridges scattered on the floor. The B-squad leader was a tough guy, but even he sounded spooked. He said something about huge parallel gouge marks on the door, walls, and floor like someone had gone to town on the place with a fire axe. He also reported finding the cache, left wide open, and some of the weapons scattered across the room in the process of being loaded but suddenly discarded. It was at this point that comms got fouled up, to this day I have no idea how, and we couldn’t get through to HQ. We could barely make out what each squad was saying, and after some repeated attempts we all agreed to stay put until things cleared up.

I had Charlie squad make our way to this nearby hollow in the ground to bunker down. It was a good spot, elevated but had a recess to huddle in without being exposed to the surrounding area. The weather was good, no wind or rain, but since the clouds had not thinned out yet our visibility was still reduced to the maximum range of our night vision which was about 500 yards.

I saw them come into view down the hill, a group of about half a dozen bogies, all armed to the teeth, decked out in bandoliers, chest rigs, and heading in our general direction. But they hadn’t spotted us, didn’t seem to be aware of our presence, and we had both the terrain and firepower advantage if they decided to try anything. My fireteam set up prone at the lip of the recess with our sights trained on them as they got closer and closer, 400 yards, 300 yards, and finally 200 yards.

As they got closer, however, we noticed something was off. They all seemed very nervous, chattering to each other in the local lingo. Judging from where they had come from, they probably had been near where Alpha had found the site of the carnage. I got the sense that they weren’t looking for us at all, and I hoped they would just pass by us. It was this gut urge, you know? I had this idea in the back of my mind I really did not want to attract the attention of whatever they were after.

Then we spotted it. Something lit up on our thermals at about 300 yards out, putting the enemy force between it and us. Like the bogies, it showed up white on thermals and appeared to be an unarmed local in an all-white robe walking down from a hillside towards the enemy force. Nothing out of the normal, except one of my guys pointed out the way “he” was moving.

Instead of putting one leg in front of the other, it kinda swayed side-to-side, its arms limp and the feet dangling inches off the ground. Ever seen one of those really old puppets on strings, how they kinda wiggle about? Just like that. And apparently we weren’t the only ones to notice the figure, the bogies turned and began shouting frantically, we could hear them from where we laid prone.

My balls dropped out of my shorts when I finally made out something just behind the figure. Barely visible on thermals, almost as cold as the rocks around it and the resolution of the night vision almost didn’t pick it up. I didn’t even know what to make of it at first, but right when it hit me, I heard one of my boys mutter “oh shit” and that’s when it all hit the fan.

The entire thing lit up like Christmas tree lights turned on and the fucker made itself clear as day on our thermals. Behind the figure was a writhing mass of limbs… no, tentacles to be more exact, like the god damn Kraken had just come up in the middle of the desert. Each tentacle had to be fifty feet long; I had no idea how it kept so well hidden in the rocks. That must’ve been the reason it attacked at night, or maybe it had other means of camouflage as well.

The enemy began opening fire in a panic, trying to stand their ground, but they had already wandered too close. Most of them died within seconds, grabbed by tentacles and whipped around like maracas, smashed against the ground, flung into the air. One of my men pointed out later that it seemed to be dropping them into some unseen hole on the top of its body. The fucker was eating them!

One of the few who managed to get to a safer distance decided to fire his RPG-7 at the mass. It doesn’t matter how big you are, that thing’s going to wreck your day on impact; I’ve seen IFV’s ripped to threads by those if they hit the right spot. A freaking tentacle smacked it out of the air like it was just a nerf dart and… the tentacle extended! Gained an extra 20 feet or so, snatched up the poor bastard as he screamed.

I heard the clicks of my men’s safeties going off. They were scared, I could tell, but they were ready to give that thing all the hell they could. But I think I did what anyone short of some hopped-up General Patton would’ve done: I ordered a retreat. We got the hell out of there while the thing was… busy. We had been running about twenty more seconds when all gunfire and screams… yes, we could hear them even from that far away, went silent. Usually, we worked in silence and were used to it, but… you know when there’s a wasp in the room, and suddenly you lose sight of it and can’t hear it anymore? It’s like that: it’s better to know where it is.

We never saw it again, thank God, and when comms cleared up we regrouped with the others. The other fireteam leaders surprisingly believed in our story. At least they only ever saw the aftermath of this thing’s attack. Overall it must’ve killed 20 men that night, but thankfully none of ours. We all decided, wisely, not to report the creature, whatever it is, to command. Just some simple story of a gang having wiped out another gang over the weapons.

I think the event resurfaced some memories from my childhood. The old man was a marine biologist; really into deep-sea life. He loved to show me pictures of those fuck-ugly things like the goblin shark, creatures that have every reason to live down there in the dark. He had a sick sense of humor… ma wonders where I got it. One I remember was the angler fish, this hideous floating basketball that lures in fish with this little glowing thing on a tendril, and can move it around to get attention. Once the fish gets too close, it opens a mouth that’s like two-thirds of its body and NOM! Fishy’s gone.

That’s what we call it now, the Angler. Those of us still alive who saw it, anyway. God knows where it came from, or where it is now. Any further stories of encounters have not made it out into the world, either because commanders of their respective forces have been really good at covering up the stories or… because anyone who had stories to tell never survived. "Author's Note: The subject of the story, as far as our last communication, is alive and well, having retired from the Marine Corps after two consecutive tours and has adjusted well to civilian life."