Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)

[talien]

Time and Serpent: Conclusion

Cleaned up and reinstated as active agents in Blacknet's database, the agents rested at a nearby safehouse in Samson, California.

"So all this time Ssuthraa was trying to kill himself?" asked Archive.

Jim-Bean nodded. "He was talking about becoming the Prime. I think he was trying to do something over; whatever happened when he was in the guise of Hunt didn't work, so he got access to time travel technology, went backwards in time, and started over."

"Time travel makes my head hurt." Hammer left out the part that at some point, he gained access to time travel and attempted to warn himself.

"Yeah, speaking of which, you said something about how you were the Prime," said Jim-Bean suspiciously.

Archive shrugged. "Heat of the moment, I guess." He too left out the feeling of triumph he felt when he killed Ssuthraa. It felt so right. As if he were the guardian of time and space…

Jim-Bean looked down at his cistron. "Oh great."

Archive checked his cistron. "What now?"

"Looks like your girlfriend screwed up," muttered Hammer. "That thing we delivered to her escaped."

Jim-Bean rubbed his forehead. "She's not my girlfriend."

The message indicated that the thing's containment cylinder was eaten through by powerful acid, as was a single window pane to the outside. The thing, aided by a sudden spurt in growth or capability, escaped and disappeared without a trace in the metropolis of Samson.

Archive pulled up a recent newspaper clipping. "The homeless population noticeably declined soon after."

"So Sprague wants us to find it?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Oh, we know where it is," said Hammer, scanning his cistern. "He wants us to track down Harold Gall's car and see if we can find anything that will help us defeat it. Brute force isn't going to work."

"Why not?" asked Archive.

"Because that thing wiped out a thirty-man team," he said grimly.

 

[talien]

Chapter 46: A Night on Owlshead Mountain - Introduction

This story hour is a combination of the scenario from “A Night on Owlshead Mountain” from Arc Dream's Delta Green: Eyes Only by Dennis Detwiller, At Your Door, and The Killing Jar by Bruce Cordell. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

• Game Master: Michael Tresca
• Kurtis "Hammer" Grange (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster
• Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
• Joseph “Archive” Fontaine (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by Joe Lalumia

Owlshead Mountain gives the impression that Dennis was tired of "cowboy" agents planning to blow up monsters with huge amounts of explosives. In this scenario, the agents are up against a two-fold threat, one of them being the near indestructible Dark Young of Shub-Niggurath. The creature's immunity to firearms is distinctly different from past incarnations of Dark Young, due to tweaks in the Call of Cthulhu rules. This makes a Dark Young more than just a summoned goon, but a TPK.

Having already introduced the Dark Young in an earlier scenario and with my opportunity to play with time (which I love to do), two weeks later there's a fully-grown Dark Young stomping around the woods of Samson, California. Like Future/Perfect Dennis isn't big on narrative and prefers to let give Keepers the ingredients and then let them figure it out. I prefer a bit more structure, which is why I used a scene from At Your Door and The Killing Jar.

Defining Moment: You think a Dark Young is bad? Wait til you meet a Young Dark Young...

Relevant Media

• [ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0933635648?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0933635648]At Your Door[/ame]: source of the serum blob.
• [ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1887797297?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1887797297]Delta Green: Eyes Only[/ame]: Source of Night on Owlshead Mountain.
• [ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/078691615X?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=078691615X]The Killing Jar[/ame]: Source of much of this scenario.
• [ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0011UY1F8?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0011UY1F8]Six-Gun Gorgon Dynamo[/ame]: by Darkest of the Hillside Thickets.

 

[talien]

Owlshead Mountain: Prologue

She's one of the Million Favored Ones
She's the Black Goat with a Thousand Young
She's the six-gun Gorgon dynamo
She's primed up and all Geronimo​

--Six-Gun Gorgon Dynamo by Darkest of the Hillside Thickets​

"The Weston Logging Consortium and the Samson Valley Ski Company had taken an interest in Owlshead Mountain, logging old growth under state contract for years. There were plans to employ them in the removal of virgin timber from the upper slopes of Owlshead Mountain on a portion of territory they purchased from the state for an exorbitant sum.

On June 4, James Bartlett and Drew Frost, two surveyors in the employ of MacArthur Surveying of Samson, California, set off to mark regions on the northwest upper slope of Owlshead Mountain. When they did not return by 5 a.m. the following morning, the local police were alerted. A search by two-hundred men began on June 5 and last until the 8th, when it was called off.

On June 12, a search party led by Majestic Agent Irving set off hoping to locate the men. Near the crest of the mountain, Cell I was confronted by some sort of alien creature. Of the thirty-man team who went up the mountain, only seventeen came back alive. Irving, the leader of Cell I, several Majestic friendlies, and local searchers perished on the mountain during an intense firefight."

Sprague downloaded the case file into the agents' cistrons. “The thing wandering the mountain was described by the surviving agents as tripedal, with various maws and mouths set around it like knots in a tree-trunk. Its grey and green body is topped by a series of long, thin, prehensile tentacles that it uses as grasping limbs. It is nearly silent and very swift in the woods, and is difficult to spot when it holds still in the tree line. We believe it’s drawn to sound and motion, as those that frozen on the mountain were spared during the attack.”

Pictures appeared on their cistrons of some of the bodies recovered from the incident, and several grainy black-and-white photos of huge cloven footprints found in the mud surrounding them. The photographs of the bodies were horrific. The bite marks on them resembled those left by a shark attack.

“We had a plaster cast made of on the of the hoof marks of the beast,” said Sprague. “It’s three feet long by two and a half feet wide."

"The thing we dropped off at Zymvotek did that?" asked Hammer.

"Looks like our escaped baby is all grown up," said Jim-Bean.

"I want you to look over Harold Gall's car again. Warner's team is obsessed with tracking the thing down, but I think your time will be better served investigating. Get to it, I don't want Warner to beat us on this."

Their cistrons winked out.

Jim-Bean blinked. "Did Sprague just compliment us?"

 

[talien]

Owlshead Mountain: Part 1 – The Thing in the Car

Gall's empty car was first noticed by a Herb Hike of 6060 Fulton Avenue, Samson, who happened to observe Gall's wallet lying open on the front seat. Hike, a visiting researcher at UC-Samson, called police because he feared the locked vehicle would be broken into and the wallet stolen. The responding officers took more than casual notice of the vehicle because the viewpoint where it was discovered was little more than fifty yards from a high sea cliff. Several suicides each year took place there, and the officers knew that people driven to suicide frequently left behind wallet or purse as a memorial or marker.

The vehicle, a late-model BMW, was newly scraped and battered in amazing fashion. Because of the extensive body damage, the reporting officer suggested that the driver may have been drunkenly despondent when he reached the sea, and there climbed over the rail and fell to his death among the rocks and pounding surf a hundred feet below.

Hammer flashed his badge at Lester, the owner of Hurricane Towing.

Lester squinted at it. "Feds huh? Well, come on through." He pressed a button and the gate buzzed open. "Don't know why you boys want to look at it again though."

"We may have missed something," Hammer said nonchalantly.

In the background, a Rottweiler barked incessantly. "Cujo! Cujo, cut out that racket!" He turned back, apologetic, to address the agents. "He ain't normally like that."

Cujo paced. Lester hooked his chain up before the dog could come closer.

As Jim-Bean passed, the dog made a running leap at him, only to be snapped backwards by the chain. Coughing and gagging, the Rottweiler retreated.

"It's okay," said Jim-Bean. "Happens all the time."

"Good guard dogs are hard to find. Cujo's my third dog in a few months. They keep runnin' off." said Lester. "The car's over here. Still drivable. The steering column is broken. Has about a quarter tank of gas."

"Great, thanks," said Hammer. "We'll take it from here."

"Sure thing," said Lester, relieved that he wouldn't have to stand around while the agents investigated Gall's car. "Cujo!" Cujo had begun barking again. "Cujo, calm down! Dumb dog's gonna choke himself to death…"

Archive peered at the vehicle. "You think you're really going to find something?"

"I'd like you two to take a look at it," said Hammer while he wormed his way into the back seat with a flashlight.

Archive whispered some arcane phrases. "Nothing magical about it."

"And before you ask, no auras either," said Jim-Bean.

Hammer reached under the seat and tugged. After a moment he was rewarded with a small plastic container.

"Figures. Warner's boys are sloppy."

Hammer held it up in the fading sunlight. There were patches of a strange residue, perhaps dried mucus or gel, staining the plastic container.

"Whatever was in this, it's long gone—" was all Hammer got out before the thing that was in the container burst out from the back seat.

It was shaped something like a sea-urchin, with soft, flexible tendrils. Its color was a translucent white tinged with blue, much like skimmed milk. Hammer didn't make out any other details because it leaped onto his face.

The tentacles lacerated his face, probing, shoving, violating his ears and nose and throat. It wanted in.

Hammer let out a grunt and managed to shove one hand between the jelly-like thing and his face. He tore it off, flinging it away.

The thing bounded off the trunk of the car and launched itself as Jim-Bean. Jim-Bean got one hand up just in time. The thing wrapped its tentacles around his face.

"I'll try…" he gasped "…to put it…in my baghhkh!" the last was drowned out as the thing started prying his mouth open.

Jim-Bean stumbled over to his satchel and shoved his head in it, both hands now busy keeping the thing from sliding down his throat. Concealed from view, Archive and Hammer couldn't see if Jim-Bean was losing the fight.

His movements took on an unnatural, herky-jerky quality.

"That's it," said Hammer. He took his best guess and fired into the satchel.

There was another moan and this time Jim-Bean's body bucked violently. The thing was making its way inside him.

Jim-Bean stopped moving, his head still concealed by the bag like some torture victim. Archive rolled him over and tore open his shirt.

His mouth was a bloody, bruised mess, but there was no sign of the creature. Blood oozed from a bullet wound through Jim-Beam's cheek.

"It's inside him!" shouted Archive.

He took out a piece of chalk and began drawing on Jim-Bean's chest.

"What are you doing?" asked Hammer, feeling helpless. He kept his pistols at the ready.

"Exorcising it. Get ready on my count."

Jim-Bean's neck pulsed with an unnatural bulge.

"One…"

Archive finished drawing the pentagram on his chest.

The bulge was making its way down to Jim-Bean's ribcage.

"Two…"

Archive drew a burning eye in the center of the pentagram.

"If it gets into his guts…" said Hammer.

Archive shook his head, but whether it was in disagreement with Hammer's assessment or an attempt to maintain his concentration was unclear.

"THREE!"

Archive pressed the Elder Sign amulet he wore around his neck into the circular eye he drew on Jim-Bean's chest. Jim-Bean's body bucked as he heaved a gasp. With another convulsion, he vomited the thing upwards.

Tracking it through the air, Hammer unleashed both of his silenced Glocks. It exploded in a spray of white ichor.

Jim-Bean sat up, blinking. A moment later he threw up what was left in his stomach.

"I am never…eating seafood…again…" he gasped.

 

[talien]

Owlshead Mountain: Part 2 – The Dastardly Dr. Kline

"What was that thing?" asked Jim-Bean. Hammer had bruises around his ears, nose and mouth from the jellyfish-like beast's attack. Jim-Bean, his protoplasm body's healing factor working overtime, showed no signs of violence.

Archive shrugged. "Not sure. Some kind of parasite, is my guess. Definitely an immature form."

"A baby, you mean," said Hammer.

"Something like that. More like a tadpole. My guess is it started out very small indeed, which is why the forensics team missed it."

"But it had a few weeks to grow bigger," said Jim-Bean. "Feeding on rats…"

"And dogs," added Hammer.

"It's possible that thing was related to the package you dropped off at Zymvotek," said Archive.

"If that's true, then it will keep growing. We need a lead on Harold Gall. Divers haven't found anything," said Hammer. "Sprague's had an APB out for awhile with the Samson cops…"

Hammer's cistron chirped. He answered it. "Hello?"

“Hello? Yeah, this is Deputy Fitzgerald. Listen, I saw your bulletin and I just wanted to contact you. I thought the body was taken care of, but after I saw the APB I'm not so sure."

"Slow down Fitzgerald," said Hammer. "What are you talking about?"

"Harold Gall's body. I was on the scene when the body was retrieved by ambulance. I was too late to stop a police report from being filed. They even called in the CDC because of the questionable condition of the body. The CDC agent identified it as pneumonia, but I’m not so sure.”

"CDC agent, huh? Did he identify himself?"

"He didn't give a name, now that I think about it."

"Can you remember anything else?"

"Yeah, the body was strangely bloated, discolored, and leaking a smelly, jelly-like fluid—easily the oddest corpse I’ve ever seen. It was transferred to the Samson Forensics Lab into the care of a Dr. Kline. The reason I'm calling you is because Kline asked me to set up a meeting between CIFA and him at 9:30 p.m. tonight at the rear door next to the loading dock. “

Hammer checked his watch. "That's not long from now. We'll be there." He hung up and threw the truck into gear.

"So?" asked Jim-Bean.

"One of our friendlies stepped forward. They think they have Harold Gall's corpse."

A half hour later, Hammer pulled up to the Samson Forensics Lab.

The two-story building presents an average-looking exterior, although the first floor had only a single window. Only a single row of fluorescent lights illuminated the main entrance.

The door was unlocked and there was no guard at the entrance.

The agents made their way around the side of the building to the loading dock. The light to Kline's office was on.

Hammer pushed open the door.

Boxes of all sizes were neatly stacked along the south wall and large metal cabinets lined the shorter north wall. The west wall held metal shelving upon which two-liter camber jugs were stacked in neat lines. Large metal drums stood upright in the room’s center, two deep in a row running east-west. The smell of organic solvents was thick in spite of the constant thrum of heavy-duty ventilation fans mounted in ceiling ducts.

Dr. Kline was in his late fifties with handsome, well-groomed silvery hair and beard. He wore a lab coat over a shirt and slacks.

"Doctor Kline?" asked Hammer.

"Yes. You're Sprague's CIFA agents?"

"Yes," said Hammer.

Kline nodded. "We’ll talk after I show you something, something incredible. This way.” Kline motioned for the agents to follow him.

When Kline was halfway down the hallway, a door into the hallway opened and a large man in a blue janitor’s uniform emerged, pushing a garbage cart. He called out in a vaguely grotesque mumble, “Dr. Kline, hold the elevator please.”

Hammer spun. "Who's that?"

"Oh that's just Melvin, the janitor," said Kline, voice rising.

As they reached an intersection in the hallway, Melvin grabbed up rusty gardening shears secreted in his cart and viciously attacked Hammer. Simultaneously, Kline pulled out a syringe filled with anesthetic and plunged it into Jim-Bean's neck. A sniper down the other hallway fired at them from a doorway.

Hammer danced back, Glock at the ready. He winged Melvin with a shot, spinning the janitor to the ground in an arc of blood.

Jim-Bean, the syringe still sticking out of his throat, turned and fired his own Glock into Kline's forehead, spattering his brains against the wall.

Archive returned fire at the sniper. A few gunshots later and the hallway fell silent.

"Amateurs," sneered Hammer. "Are any of them still alive?"

Archive tested Melvin's pulse. "Barely."

"Got another guy down here," called Jim-Bean from the hallway.

"Good, patch them up." Hammer snapped on a pair of plastic gloves. "It's time we had a chat."

 

[talien]

Owslhead Mountain: Part 3 – Interrogation

Melvin Harms blinked awake. He was strapped down with plastic sheeting to a gurney.

"Who do you work for?" asked Hammer, shining a spotlight into Melvin's face.

Melvin looked around, gasping. "What? I don't…"

"We know you were working for the doctor. He sent you to kill us. Why?"

"I…I take care of people for Dr. Kline. He harvests body parts. Sells them on the black market." Melvin sniffed. "That's all I know, I swear!"

Hammer pressed the business end of his silenced Glock hard into Melvin's forehead. "You're not telling me everything."

"Give me a second, all right! Let me think!" Melvin gasped. Hammer removed the pressure of the Glock but kept it pointed at him.

"Start talking."

"There was something weird about the body you came to investigate. I don't know what it was but Dr. Kline was nervous. Said it could make us both a fortune. We just were told to get rid of anybody asking questions. When word got out that you were looking for Harold Gall, he thought we could take care of it…"

"And?"

"And--and there's computer files. He has files on the body. I don't know where, he calls it Specimen X."

"Good." Hammer rolled the gurney away. Jim-Bean loomed out of the darkness over him.

"It's nothing personal," said Jim-Bean, shaking his head. "You're just working for the wrong side."

"Wait!" shouted Melvin. "I told you what you wanted to know—"

Jim-Bean shoved a rubber glove in Melvin's mouth.

Hammer pointed to Archive. "Wake up the other one."

Archive waved smelling salts under the other agent.

The enemy agent shuddered awake. Realizing the gravity of his situation, the agent pursed his lips.

Archive rolled the prone agent's gurney over to the spotlight.

"Now you, you're not like Melvin here," said Hammer. "You're not some hired thug who got in way over his head. You're a pro, am I right?"

The man didn't even look at Melvin, whose muffled screams were audible in the dark.

"I thought so. This is what we know about you: your name is Jim Williams. You work for Dawn Biozyme. So now we want to know who your superiors are and what you know about Harold Gall."

"F*&k you," he said.

Hammer sighed. "I'm not surprised. You don't think we're serious. Jim-Bean? Show Mr. Williams that we're serious."

Jim-Bean fired his pistol at point-blank range into Melvin's forehead.

"Jesus!" shouted Archive, flinching. "We didn't agree to do that!"

Williams looked suitably startled, as much by the cold-blooded murder as by Archive's authentic reaction. "All my interactions are with Mr. Smithy. By email."

"And the email is?"

"Devermis@yahoo.com. That's it."

"That's it," said Williams. He looked away.

"Jim-Bean, clean this mess up. Archive, come with me, I need you to comb through Dr. Kline's files."

The gurney wheeled off into the darkness, led by Jim-Bean.

Archive looked over his shoulder. "But what about Williams?"

A muzzle flash in the darkness answered his question.

 

[talien]

Owlshead Mountain: Part 4 – The Anterior Sample

Jim-Bean caught up with the other two agents as they left Kline's office.

"So?"

"A mysterious Mr. Smithy paid Kline to get rid of Gall's body and delete all forensic records of it," said Hammer, making his way purposefully down the hallway where Williams had fired at them.

"Only he didn't," added Archive. "He kept it, looking to sell it on the black market. Something about the body transforming into a jellyfish-like substance through TPA."

"What's TPA?" asked Jim-Bean.

"We don't know," said Hammer. "But Locker 23 should explain a lot. It's Gall's locker."

They made their way upstairs to the second floor.

Steel metal lockers lined the walls of the chamber and a double row of lockers formed an island in the room’s center. The lockers were numbered.

Hammer jimmied the lock on Locker 23 and fished out its contents.

Locker 23 contained a glossy flier, a filthy lab coat, a muddy and torn composition book, and a handkerchief with the initials “H.G.” on it.

Archive took a look at the composition book. "There's a few words here: 'this record is the truth' and 'Thomas Waban confirms Cornstalk connection. The talisman is my only hope' on the inside leaf. The first page of the composition book is torn out."

"So we need to find Waban," said Hammer. "That just leaves one thing."

"There's another thing?" asked Jim-Bean.

"The body," said Hammer. "Kline was holding onto it. We need to clean up his mess."

"Can't we just call in a STREETSWEEPER team?" asked Jim-Bean.

"We could," said Hammer, checking the bullets in his Glock. "But if Gall's body is anything like what we found in his car, it could easily escape."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," muttered Jim-Beam as he followed Hammer and Archive down the steps to the basement.

The basement was a wide, damp space enclosed by unfinished cement. A few bare bulbs provided inadequate light. Besides fuse boxes, wiring, plumbing, and the bare ductwork associated with most basements, several dozen empty metallic drums cluttered the side walls. A very large incinerator/heater squatted against the center of the east wall, vintage early 1900s.

"Archive, see if you can't get that incinerator fired up," said Hammer. "Jim-Bean, you're with me. Let's search the barrels."

They spread out. Archive fired up the incinerator. It made a horrendous noise, crackling with all the fury of hell itself. The flames created a decidedly infernal cast to the room.

"Hey," Jim-Bean pointed at lightly chalked initials on one of the barrels. "There's letters written on this one. H.G."

"That's got to be it," said Hammer. He turned from the barrel he was inspecting.

"There's a padlock here." Jim-Bean lifted it with the barrel of his pistol. "But it looks like the lid's been bent open from the insAAAAH!"

Hammer was treated to the horrific sight of Harold Gall's head clinging to the back of Jim-Bean's neck.

The disembodied head was completely transparent and hairless, though “head” was too generous a term. Six slender, translucent tentacles sprouted from the head in a radially symmetrical pattern, though the vacant expression on the original translucent shape remained horribly distinct.

Jim-Bean spun, clawing at the thing on his neck.

"I can't get a clear shot!" shouted Hammer.

The thing launched itself off of Jim-Bean and landed on the stairwell. It skittered up the steps. Archive ran after it.

Jim-Bean and Hammer joined him a few seconds later.

"Did you see where it went?" asked Jim-Bean, panting.

"Yeah," said Archive. He pointed at the slimy trail that led down the hallway and slipped under a door. "There."

The sign read: BODY BANK.

 

[talien]

Owlshead Mountain: Part 5 – Making a Withdrawal

Jim-Bean used Dr. Kline's keys to open the body bank door.

"It's a good thing Kline dismissed everyone for his pathetic booby trap," said Hammer, "or we'd have bigger problems right now."

The chilly chamber was walled on all sides by banks of metallic fifty-centimeter-by-fifty-centimeter metal drawers, three drawers high. Several height-adjustable metal carts stood in the chamber’s center.

Jim-Bean tried to point his pistol everywhere at once. "So which one is it?"

"Hard to tell," said Archive quietly. "Last time we saw the thing in action it was burrowing into you. If it wasn't for the fact that you're not really…"

"Human?" asked Jim-Bean wryly.

"…I was going to say made of terrestrial flesh. My point is we don't know if it can reanimate a corpse or needs a living host."

"It can reanimate a corpse," said Hammer, looking past Jim-Bean.

"How do you know?" asked Archive.

On the far side of the room, a body was sitting up, cloaked in a blue sheet.

The agents retreated. Jim-Bean locked the door.

"Those things move fast," said Hammer.

Jim-Bean tore off down the corridor.

"He must be really freaked out," said Archive. "Not that I blame him…"

Seconds later Jim-Bean returned pushing a cart full of embalming chemicals.

Jim-Bean rolled the cart to the door and unlocked it. "There's only one way to deal with these things."

"We'll be at the far end of the hall," said Hammer.

Jim-Bean placed a block of C4 on the canister and rolled it into the room. Then he locked the door again.

WHAM!

The thing hurled itself against the door with incredible force.

WHAM!

Jim-Bean turned and ran down to the far end of the hallway to join Hammer and Archive.

WHAM!

Safely behind a door, Jim-Bean pressed the detonator.

The explosion tore off the door to the body bank.

Jim-Bean flipped on his cistron. "Sprague, this is Jim-Bean. I'm calling in a STREETSWEEPER team at my coordinates."

A flaming corpse burst into the hallway, slamming into the far wall. It turned and charged down the hall towards them.

Jim-Bean's jaw fell open. "You've got to be kidding me."

Hammer, Jim-Bean, and Archive opened up on the corpse. It jerked as bullets ripped through it, but the flaming corpse kept coming.

"If it gets outside…" started Hammer.

The human inferno had just reached them when Archive body-blocked it, slamming the corpse through a nearby doorway. It fell to the ground.

Hammer followed up with three bullets to the thing's melted face. It finally stopped moving.

Archive kept rolling, putting the flames out that had leaped from the dead body to his clothing.

Jim-Bean peeked his head into the room. "Should I call off the STREETSWEEPER team?"

Hammer gestured at the carnage around him. "I'm pretty sure we still need them."

 

[talien]

Owlshead Mountain: Part 6 – Old Thomas

Old Thomas Waban was a full-blooded Pennacook Indian who grew up in and around the Townsend area. Nearing eighty, he still managed for himself, living in a shack in the divot between Clastonbury and Owlshead Mountain.

Thomas' shack was a three-room lodge that existed in the wooded depression. The path was too small for motor vehicles, forcing the agents to park by the roadside.

The path wound through the sweet-smelling forest of spruce, pine, and cedar trees for three-hundred yards before opening up into a small clearing. It was located next to a small freshwater stream in a beautiful grassy clearing rich in wildflowers.

The old American Indian was, perhaps surprisingly, splitting wood with an axe.

Hammer stepped out into the clearing, raising his badge. "Are You Thomas Waban?"

Thomas wiped his brow with a handkerchief in his pocket. "Yes. And you are with the government?"

"You could say that," said Jim-Bean with a smirk.

"Come inside."

Inside the shack was a mishmash of early twentieth-century junk and Pennacook craftwork, a ceremonial staff standing right next to an old Esso gas pump covered in vines. His furniture was functional if a bit uncomfortable, and there was no beds evident anywhere in the house.

He sat at a beaten up old table and gestured at the empty stools. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Hammer, Jim-Bean, and Archive sat down with him.

"Did you know Harold Gall?"

“Yes. He contacted me awhile back, asking all sorts of questions about my specialty. Harold never told me where he came from or why he was so desperate to learn what I know."

"Did you know anything about his employer?"

Waban shook his head. “I don’t know where Harold worked. A couple of times he said that people were after him, but never explained who they were. We made an appointment to head out to the burial mound under cover of night, but he never showed up and I haven’t heard from him since. That’s strange, because he said something about the talisman being his only hope, whatever that means."

"Wait a minute," said Archive. "Burial mound?"

Waban spared Archive a smile. “You may not know it, but these mountains are famous in certain circles for Mothman sightings. I’m one of those folks who know Mothmen really appeared here. I’ve got proof. Somehow, Harold found out about me and my theory about Mothmen and Chief Cornstalk, who died two hundred years ago. That’s what he wanted to know about."

"The Mothmen?" asked Jim-Bean, his curiosity piqued. "Tell us about them."

"My grandfather told me the tribe’s stories of the Winged Ones, creatures who predated the world and who came down in the beginning of time from the constellation of the Great Bear. He claimed that these creatures mined the hills in the region for some special material, but I did not believe the tales at the time. Until my seventeenth year."

"Then you saw them," said Hammer quietly.

"Yes. Sixty-two years ago, I stumbled upon two of the Winged Ones in the darkened woods. The Winged Ones looks like glowing crabs the size of a deer. According to my grandfather, they can fly and even pass through objects, and they can imitate human speech in any language."

"What did they do when they saw you?" asked Archive.

"For three days the Winged Ones assaulted my shack, pelting it with stones and beckoning him with their inhuman voices. Finally, they killed my dog."

"Funny," said Jim-Bean. "We call them alien dogs."

"So you are familiar with them." said Waban. He looked sad. "I don't know why they did it. They left the dog's carcass on my front porch, as a warning I suppose. I swore off alcohol forever after that."

"Have you had contact with them since?"

Waban shook his head. "That was the last I saw of them. See, the Pennacook lived hereabouts before white settles pushed them out. Their last leader, Chief Cornstalk, was murdered by disgruntled soldiers, but with his dying breath Cornstalk pronounced a curse on the area, which summoned the Mothmen. Anyway, my own research indicates that this “curse” wasn’t so much a request for vengeance as an appeal for help. Using an ancient talisman, Chief Cornstalk called on the Mothmen, and they bound one of the soldiers to defend the burial mound to this day."

"And Gall was interested in Cornstalk?" asked Hammer.

"Specifically, his talisman," said Waban. "My research indicates that Chief Cornstalk was a powerful shaman whose lore descended from the peoples who first settled this part of North America over fifteen thousand years ago. Apparently, he possessed some sort of talisman that gave him the ability to call forth specific creatures from the spirit world into the world of flesh. By all accounts, this is the talisman Cornstalk used to call the Mothmen. The talisman is buried with the chief."

"What did he want with the mound?"

“Gall was obsessed with the Mothman. He thought they could save him somehow, and that the talisman would help him call them. He said it was they were the 'only ones that could cure him.' I told Harold Gall the location of the burial mound because he seemed so desperate."

"Gall's dead," said Jim-Bean matter of factly.

"That's too bad." Waban expressed the same sadness he expressed over his dog, perhaps a little less.

"Can you take us to the mound?" asked Hammer.

Waban nodded. "Chief Cornstalk’s mound is located near the TNT area north of town, but this isn’t information you’ll find in any history book. I’ve been to the mound, and I know how to get in."

"Great." Hammer got up. "Mind if we go now? We're in a bit of a rush…"

Waban shrugged and rose. "You are fortunate. The timing is just right. If we hurry, we should be able to enter the mound."

Before they could respond, Hammer got a buzz on his cistron. He looked down. "It's Sprague."

Hammer, aware of Waban's prying ears, kept it off speaker phone. "Uh huh. Uh huh. Yeah. Nope, got it." He hung up.

"What was that all about?" asked Archive.

"Warner's put a new team on this mission. A BLACK FLAG team."

"What's a BLACK FLAG team?" asked Archive.

"You don't want to know," said Jim-Bean.

 

[talien]

Owlshead Mountain: Part 7 – Introducing BLACK FLAG

Sprague's download of the BLACK FLAG team's profiles told the agents all they needed to know.

AGENT BREMMER: Team Leader, U.S. Army Captain, Ret. Joseph Bremmer was a veteran of Vietnam. In his picture, he wore fatigues and old beaten boots. He leaned on a huge machinegun. With his frosted white hair and lined face, Bremmer looked the part of a grizzled old soldier.

AGENT WALACH: Demolitions Expert, U.S. Army 1st Lieutenant, Ret. Oliver Walach was a small, conservative-looking man. His picture showed a long, dark cigarette dangling from his lips, the glowing ember at its tip just barely visible. A bandolier of grenades was slung across his chest.

AGENT PRESTON: Heavy Weapons Specialist, U.S. Marine Corps Private, Ret. A dangerous-looking man with a bitter glare beneath his cap, Luke Preston held a huge rocket launcher, balanced over one shoulder.

AGENT HULL: Tracker, Big Game Hunter. Arthur Hull was an Australian with the trademark hat, buckskin coat, and huge knife. He was responsible for creating a database on cryptozoology.

All of this flashed across their cistrons to the tune of the A-Team.

"Stop that," muttered Hammer.

Jim-Bean stopped whistling the tune. "Sorry, couldn't help it. These guys are real bad asses, huh?"

"They think they are, anyway," said Hammer. He pulled up to the burial mound.

The burial mound was located past the edge of the TNT area, one hundred meters into the forested Owlshead Wildlife Preserve. The area was partially hidden by overgrown trees.

The agents got out and followed Waban.

“During World War II the TNT area was used by a handful of companies to manufacture explosives contracted by the government," explained Waban. "Facilities, power plants, ponds, and nearly one hundred igloos were constructed in the area. The igloos were used to store explosives and were covered with dirt, so they couldn’t be seen from the air. Most of the igloos are still there today. Funny thing is, a covered igloo looks a lot like Chief Cornstalk’s burial mound---coincidence is odd that way.”

Just as Waban described, the gradual swell of this mound was difficult to discern as anything other than a natural hillock on the edge of the forest. Even if noticed among the surrounding tree growth, the mound was easily mistaken for another earth-covered igloo of the nearby TNT area. The lone hillock was thick with blue-bells and thorny scrub.

"I don't see how we can get in there…" began Hammer.

Waban pulled out a sheet of paper upon which was drawn a shaded circle, surrounded by seven additional concentric circles. Above the circles, a few stars were scattered.

"Where did you get that?" asked Jim-Bean.

"It came to me in a vision," said Waban. The symbol somehow allows entry into Chief Cornstalk’s mound.

Archive peered over Waban's shoulder. "The shaded circle symbolizes the mound itself, while the seven surrounding concentric circles indicate that a visitor must completely circle the mound seven times. The stars indicate that the mound can only be entered at night. "

"Good thing it's night then," said Hammer.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Waban, uncertain.

"Think of how much of a find this will be for your people!" exclaimed Jim-Bean, suddenly very animated. "This is an amazing opportunity for you to reclaim your heritage."

"But the Winged Ones…"

"Don't worry about them, we know how to deal with them."

Waban sighed. After preparing himself for a moment, he began to circle the mound, chanting as he went.

The seventh time he circled the mound, an orifice morphed open on the far side.

"It worked!" said Waban in disbelief.

Jim-Bean leaned over to whisper to Archive. "Why couldn't you do that?"

Archive frowned.