The man withdrew a calling card from his breast pocket and held it to the Sergeant.

“I’m looking for a Warrant Officer Second Class to look after the day-to-day,” the Captain said.

“I’m a sergeant, Sir.”

“You don’t say?” The Captain replied. “Take a week to think it over. Show that card to your superiors, they’ll know what to do.”

“Sir?”

The Captain slipped the card into the Sergeant’s front pocket. Without a word he brought Roy forward, whose eyes were still glazed over. He’s even drooling a bit.

It was that curious grin from the officer that gave the Sergeant a reason to pause. The Captain was clearly no stranger to battle and authority, but he also appreciated that someone challenged him.

The captain, however, ignored the questions and simply emphasised his reasoning.

“Use the excuse that will get him help instead of being executed for cowardice. No man ever deserves to be diagnosed with shell shock,” the Captain said.

“Yes, Sir,” Murphy said.

He went to grab the private, but the Captain shook his head. He supposed it would have been too much to hope that they all make it through the night.

“Before you go, I believe your corporal has neurasenia,” the Captain said. (Nervous exhaustion.) “He may never recover.”

“How’d—(you know that?)” Murphy asked.

It was that curious grin from the officer that gave the Sergeant a reason to pause. The Captain was clearly no stranger to battle and authority, but he also appreciated that someone challenged him.

“Your… aggressor… is not dead… I need to question him.”

Nothing about that statement made any sense, then again neither did black blood, moving faster than a speeding bullet, or fangs. He was tempted to question further, but there was resolve written on the officer’s face.

“You have your orders, Sergeant,” the Captain said while pointing the way which curiously happened to be the precise bearings to take to get back to his lines.

“Yes, Sir,” Murphy said.

“What—(was that?)” Murphy asked.

The Captain raised his hand to silence him and shook his head. In the space between heart beats, this gentleman was now less than a foot away.

“Not the place or time,” the Captain whispered. “Head back to your lines.”

Whoever gave him that initial warning must have gone. The one before him spoke exactly like an educated British officer. I’m not sure I’d like to meet the other man.

“You’re not going, Sir?” Murphy asked.

“Your… aggressor is not dead… I need to question him.”

There came a blur from behind, followed by the Kraut’s head being turned violently a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. Before the body dropped, Murphy realized there was someone else ahead.

Another officer, but this time it was one of his fellow countrymen. The three pips marked on his shoulders marked him as a captain, but there was authority in his bearing that hinted he was intimately familiar with command.

The man had black hair, dark brown eyes, and sunburnt skin. He was surprisingly short, but had a hefty build and looked to be no stranger to violence. His service cap still sits perfectly on his head.

“What—(was that?)” Murphy asked.

That’s when the situation really got out of hand. O’Reilley was not alone, there was another soldier with him, a Hun officer by the looks of him. The helmet with a brim at both ends and that distinctive spike at the top was pretty much all he needed to make that determination.

If that was not disturbing enough, this officer was necking the private who despite heavy blood loss appeared to moan in pleasure. What am I looking at?

While that killed the eerie glow it did nothing to help Roy recover. Murphy crept over, to Roy who appeared oblivious to what was going on.

“Roy,” Murphy whispered.

When there came no reply he snapped his fingers twice and still got nothing. Since they were sitting ducks, he grabbed the man and headed back towards their crater. The corporal followed on limply as though he were a mindless automaton.