Alright, let's get this out of the way, shall we? The Monster Hunter International series is owned by Larry Correia, a friend of mine and someone I know in real life, and Baen Books. Any attempts to sue me for copyright infringement is futile since it's part of Fair Use under copyright law in the United States.

This short story is based on a story my dad told me of my opa (German for "grandfather") when he served in the German military. The notable differences between this and my dad's story is that the character that fend off the recruits taught martial arts to the Nazis and it's set at daytime rather than at night.

I hope you can enjoy this story as much as I have when I wrote it!

ADDITIONAL NOTE: I wanted to say this but I decided to disown this series. I had a few arguments with Larry Correia over politics. The more I thought about it, the more I realize he's a jackass, a bully who looks down on others. The breaking point was, surprise, GamerGate. I'm against it and he's for it under the premise of social justice warriors . Here's the thing: GamerGate has harassed numerous people over a game dev sleeping with a journalist for a review, which actually never happened. Social justice is that: social justice. Equality and decency for everyone. Try to dispute that and I'll give you a warning of a block. I'm in no mood to argue with you over the schematics.

Monster Hunter International: After Basic

Today was like any other day at the Monster Hunter facility after training some Newbies through basic. A normal, uneventful day, I hope. The downside? While I appreciate having the weekend off, I don't have much to do now. Hunting monsters? I haven't heard anything unusual in the past few weeks. On the bright side, there aren't any world-ending abominations that are out to eat my soul. But the best part? No Feds harassing me. Halle-fucking-lujah!

I sat on my chair in front of my desk as I reside in my office, passing the time by looking over various transactions in the MHI. You see, aside from having marksmanship skills and strong leadership skills, I am also an accountant—and a damn good one at that.

From what I've seen, there wasn't anything unusual on the list. Stuff like ammunition, especially ones like hollow-point rounds with silver cores inside the cavity (great against werewolves. Silver on its own is too light and hard to handle rifling properly), weapons, food, alcohol, et cetera, et cetera.

After looking over the transactions, I thought for a moment what to do to kill some time. Julie, my lovely wife, is out of town on a trip. Harbinger's also out, though he doesn't say where he would be going. Trip, Milo, Holly, and the others are at the lounge. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to spend some time with them. I heard earlier Trip just brought over a new game.

With that in mind, I turned off my computer, sat up, and left the office, closing the door behind me.

Several hours later, early in the evening, I went back to my office. It came to no surprise that Trip was pretty good at playing video games. After all, he's quite a nerd. However, I would never think Milo would pull off such a neat map in Halo Reach. But knowing him, I shouldn't be surprised. Though I kick a lot of ass in Modern Warfare.

Anyway, I approached the bed, tired as all hell. Right as I landed on it with my back, my cell phone rang, buzzing in my pocket. I dug it out to see who was calling me. While it didn't show me the name of the caller, but it did showed me the number: 256-311-9446 . Guess that person lived somewhere in Alabama. At least I won't have to go cross-country. The phone continued to buzz in my hand.

I pressed the 'Talk' button and placed it by my ear. "Hello?" I asked.

"Hello, is this Owen Pitt?" a man's voice, probably that of a senior, was heard on the phone.

"Yeah, that's me," I answered. "Who am I speaking to?"

"Gary Paulson," the man on the phone answered. "I'm a Marines martial arts instructor."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. I think he gained plenty of respect points from me. "Well, no shit," I commented, chuckling.

"Yeah. No shit," he agreed.

So what's someone like you calling me at this time of night?" I asked as I approached my desk, which was across from the bed near the door to my left.

"Well, a few hours ago, I heard some noises outside my house while I was watching the TV. I poke through the nearest window and I saw three young men, drunk off their asses, making quite a ruckus to my barn," Gary started explaining to me. "Only God knows how they managed to get here from some bar, but there you go." He sighed for a moment.

"Anyway," he continued, "I went outside and confronted them. All of them had patches of a smiley face with horns on their right shoulders."

I would recognize the descriptions for these patches anywhere. The happy face with horns is basically the logo of Monster Hunter International, or MHI for short. Though if you put it upside-down, it looked like a penguin swimming towards you. Three young men, drunk off their asses. Guess that would explain why alcohol was on the list. Freeloaders these days.

I curled my lips, perplexed. "Lemme guess. Newbies?" I asked.

There was a moment of silence. "Something like that, yeah," Gary answered, muttering to himself. "God, I thought the Monster Hunter International was just rumors from all over the place, especially during the war in 'Nam."

I sat down in my chair in front of my desk, surprised at this revelation. "Well, um…" I stuttered. "Yeah. Did you get their names?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Gary answered. "After they decided to go aggressive on me, with one of them throwing a beer bottle at my horse, leading me to defend myself, I asked politely for their names. The leader of the trio was John. The other two are Author and Henry. After that, they gave me your phone number."

John, Arthur, and Henry. I trained them in Basic just the other day. Jon was an okay guy, but acted a bit too confident for my taste. He was a football player, too. He got involved into the business when there was a minor undead outbreak in a baseball stadium at Pennsylvania, armed with nothing but a bat. Arthur, or Art for short, was a pretty smart guy, but acted too much like a jerk for my taste. He reminded me of Grant when I first entered HMI several years ago, though I almost felt sorry for the basted at times. Art was a music student at the Boston Conservatory. He got his start after he took on a pack of trolls in an alleyway with a cigarette lighter and a leaking gas line. He wasn't the best at shooting things, but he was pretty creative and can carry his weight around. Henry was an economics student. He took out a gargoyle with a shotgun, a Remington 870, he had snatched from a nearby gun store. He knew how to handle a gun, but he wasn't very good at multitasking. Bit impulsive too, like Art. To be honest, I wasn't surprised when they were acting like a bunch of dumbasses. It reminded me about myself during my time as a Newbie. Ah, kids these days…

"I see," I said, leaning back on the chair. "Where are they right now?" How badly injured are they?"

"Oh, they're not too badly hurt, I assume," Gary answered. "The worst they can receive was a few broken bones. They'll be all right, I think. As soon as they recover, the police'll put charges on 'em. Your boys are at the Andalusia Regional Hospital."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I'm all right," he answered. "The deputy asked me some questions about the whole incident at the police station. I told him the same story. Then he let me go afterwards."

"Yeah. Anyway, I think I actually have a better idea. What's your address?" I asked as I looked up the address for the hospital. When I typed down the name of that place, it showed me the address: 849 South Three Notch St., 36420. Seemed like quite a long ways from the HMI facility.

"About several miles east from the hospital," Gary answered. "3125 East, 900 South, around the same street as the hospital. You'll be there when you see the big, red farm along with a blue medium-size house."

"Gotcha," I replied. "Well, I'll talk to you later, then."

"See ya."

I hung up my phone and turned off my computer. I knew my way around Alabama, so this shouldn't be too much of a problem. I then left my office, closing the door behind me.

About an hour later, after going through some light traffic, I managed to arrive at the hospital as I parked my car at a nearby spot. The Andalusia Regional Hospital looked like any other hospital I've been to. It has two interconnected buildings, with the taller one to my left overshadowing the shorter one on the right. The archway was typical for a hospital, too, with a blue rooftop. I exited my car and walked to the building.

After I went inside, I talked to one of the nurses, requesting that I would like to visit John Anderson, Arthur Fernezo, and Henry Beck. Since it wasn't late at night, so the hospital remained open for the night, the nurse led me to one of the rooms with multiple patients. I thanked him and looked for the Newbies.

As it turned out, the three had their beds aside each other. That made things a whole lot easier for me.

John Anderson was the one build like an athlete, sporting a blond mullet. I couldn't help myself but make a pretty lame joke about mullets and rednecks. There are casts on his left arm, right leg, and the chest. Arthur Fernezo has dark-tan skin with long, curly black hair. Cuban-descendant, I've been told a while ago. Skinny for his age, too. He seemed to suffer the least amount if injuries, with only a cast on his right forearm. Henry Beck, the black guy also with dark hair, had the worst injuries of the three. His face was swollen, casts and cuts all over. Jesus, the nurse told me they only suffered some sprains and dislocations, but damn! An old man did this? One way to find out, for sure.

By the time I approached them, they were already away, groaning in pain. Henry looked up and stared at me, blinking. "Hey, Owen," he spoke through his swollen lips. "You 'ere to check us out?"

"And to bail us out, hopefully," John retorted sardonically.

I nodded to Henry's question. "Yeah, but I'm not here to bail you out," I answered as I sat down on a nearby chair. "Not exactly."

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ on a pikestick!" Arthur exclaimed, groaning as he slammed his head on the pillow. "You can't just do that to us, dammit! Sure, we were asking for it, but still!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!" John exclaimed as he raised his good hand up, his eyes widen. "What'd ya mean by 'not exactly'?"

I bit my lip, thinking about what to do with them as I looked down at the floor. "Well," I answered as I looked back up at the Newbies, "instead of serving some time in jail, how 'bout you boys can do some community service, fixing up Gary's barn, once you recover? Hope the police will understand?"

"With that old man, who's fuckin' Chuck Noris?" Arthur asked. Hello, Mr. Swears-A-Lot. How are you today?

"From the sounds of it, yeah," John replied. "Couldn't help myself but think he totally looked like an older version of Commander Shepard. Y'know, from Mass Effect."

"I knowth, righ?" Henry replied.

I shook my head, amused. "So you're good?" I asked.

"I guess," Arthur answered, sighing. "Pretty sure John and Henry would do some community service over jail-time any day.

"Yep," both John and Henry quickly agreed. That was surprising to hear. I would've expected them to complain and moan about not being able to have a break after training.

"All right then, it's settled," I spoke as I sat up from my chair. "Get well soon, you guys." Well, I didn't get much from them, but at least they're willing to do some community service. After they said their goodbyes, I didn't waste any time as I left the hospital, making my way to the farm.

Not long after my visit at the hospital, I drove down the road, seeing the blue house alongside a big-read barn at my sights. Up close, the barn was no worse for wear; I was expecting it to be wreaked up, but you get what you paid for, I guess. When I followed the path up to his house, the lights are on. I parked my car in front of the house, exited it, and approached the front door as I waked on the gray, wooden porch. The house has two floors, from the looks of it.

I rang the doorbell and waited. Almost immediately, the door opened, revealing a well-built man, possibly in his sixties, wearing a light-blue polio short and a pair of khaki pants. John was not kidding about Gary looking like an older version of Commander Shepard, or least the default appearance. I think. Shaven head, five o'clock shadow, and a square jaw. Oh, and some wrinkles as well, can't forget about those.

"Gary Paulson?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's me," the old man nodded. "I take it your Owen?"

"Yep."

"Huh. I take it you talked to your boys?"

"Yeah, I did," I nodded as I scanned my surroundings of the barn. "Well, actually, I suggested they should do some community service here, fixing up the place to make up for their mistakes."

Gary raised an eyebrow, both surprised and satisfied at the revelation. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," I chuckled like an idiot as I shrugged. "Though to be honest, I was kinda surprised when they complied. Apparently, doing community service beats going to jail any day, huh?"

"Indeed," he agreed.

"Yeah, anyway," I replied. "Uh…" I looked past Gary into his house, which looked rather clean and organized. It seemed typical for a formal Marine officer, especially for a martial arts instructor. It wouldn't hurt to know more about Gary. "Mind if I come inside? I'm not a vampire, honest!"

Gary curled his lips, thinking about his answer. "Be my guest," he answered, nodding. "Did you ate anything for dinner? 'Cause I got some leftover spaghetti from last night."

"Nah, I'm fine. I ate a while ago," I replied, "but thanks." With this, I followed Gary inside the house, which led me to the living room.

Much of the house was, again, rather clean and organized. I didn't see anyone else in the house except me and Gary. However, I noticed a rather strange picture among the various medals, martial arts tournament trophies he had earned, and the newspaper articles, which are pinned at the trophy room. I walked over there to investigate. As it turned out, it was a picture of a village in the middle of a jungle, filled with piles of rotten corpses by the dirt road. Some of the corpses were mutilated beyond recognition while others were ripped apart into pieces. I could also see some villagers in there. Alive and well, but scared, likely because of these zombies torn up to hell like that. I can't blame them for that, though.

"Need something, Owen?"

I turned at Gary, who was over by the door. "I'm all right, thanks," I answered, "but I'm curious about that picture. Where did you get it? Y'know, the one with zomb—I mean rotten corpses?" Close one, Owen.

Garry gave me a look that was nothing short of serious. It seemed like he knew more than he let on. "They're zombies. Don't worry. As for the picture," he spoke as he approached said picture, "well, during the Vietnam War, my squad and I arrived at an isolated village nearby one of the US bases there. We took care of the remaining horde and search for survivors." He sighed for a moment before continuing on with his story. "One of the villages told us that a large beast, described as a wolf that looked like a man."

"Sounds like a werewolf to me," I replied as I turned my head at the picture. I wondered for a moment if that werewolf could be Earl Harbinger. You see, Harbinger, our boss of the HMI, was currently said werewolf, and he had been so since the early 1900s, making him pretty damn old. But if you see him, he would've looked like he was in his late-forties to early-fifties. Because of his lycanthrope abilities, he was drafted into a top-secret military squad during the Vietnam War. Great guy, but don't get on his bad side.

"Yep. I was skeptical at first, seeing that these kinds of things only happen in monster and horror movies, but a medic in my squad examined the wounds on the corpses," Gary explained. "Apart from their heads crushed and ripped apart, there were claw marks all over. Also, just before we took that picture, I spotted something moving in the jungle. We scouted the surrounding area, but no thanks to the rain, we didn't find anything suspicious, not even some footprints. Whatever that thing was, it's pretty good at disappearing without a trace."

"Did you tell anyone else about this?" I asked as I turned my head back at Gary.

"Mainly my wife, bless her soul to Heaven, Christ Almighty, and God, but no, not really," Gary answered. "Though my superiors and the government dismissed the details in the mission as classified after I sent out my report."

"Feds these days," I muttered under my breath.

"Probably for the best, though. If this kind of information gets leaked, it could lead to a lot of trouble."

"Yeah," I agreed. Then I began to get curious, if not suspicious. "So how did you find out about the MHI? Just curious."

"Gary shrugged. "Like I said on the phone earlier, it was rumors, word of mouth, stuff like that," he answered. "Mainly from those in the military, such as the recruits back in 'Nam and some vets here and there after the war."

"Okay," I replied. "Anyway, how did you become a martial arts instructor?"

"Well, it's a bit of a long story," Gary answered, placing his hands on his hips, "but not long after that mission, since I was damn good at martial arts, especially Krav Maga and Tai Chi, as you can see with the trophies…"

After Gary told me more war stories and such, I said my goodbyes to him and left the house. He was a pretty interesting guy. He once had a wife, but she passed a few years ago. From what he described to me, she reminded me of Julie. His son, also married, served in the Special Forces while his younger daughter went off to college. He had other relatives, too. I asked him if he would like to join them as a martial arts instructor, but he politely refused. It was a pity, too. It would've cool to see some Hunters kick some ass with their bare hands.

Well, with everything else going on in the world, I drove down the road in the dark with the headlights on.