“I was certainly in someone’s sights,” Marc replied before adding a pause to mimic Lewis. “Private.”

Marc stopped a couple of paces away and placed the werewolf’s head on a stack of crates. They used them to distribute rations to the soldiers along the line. The head was almost too big to stay on the crate without rolling off.

“A wolf?” Lewis asked.

“That’s not a wolf,”  Heart replied, the way his voice trailed off certainly implied he had an idea on how big wolves actually get.

The look on Lewis’ face changed in slow motion until it fell in line with his fellow soldier. Marc was nearly always impeccable in dress, even when he ventured out into No Man’s Land on the hunt. Tonight his uniform was covered in mud and blood, with various holes to indicate gunfire and knife wounds. Just wait until they get a look at my back.

“You look like one of the targets at the range,” Lewis said. “Sir.”

The delay in adding the ‘Sir’ was likely accidental, because everyone who saw him was taken aback. However, it also cut through the tension and as long as Marc played his role as Le Marquis right, this would hopefully be a short exchange.

When Marc turned back to head towards the line, he heard the sergeant slap him upside the head. The rest was colourful, a poignant lesson on reserving the comments until officers were well out of earshot.

Five-hundred-and-sixty-three paces later he was sight of his headquarters. Private Lewis was at the entrance as expected… and so’s Signaller Heart.

The latter was also expected by now, coming out after radio checks for a quick smoke before retreating back inside. Still, Heart’s presence would most likely complicate matters. Sure enough when Lewis steadied up, Heart responded by letting his jaw hang loosely. He would have lost it if it wasn’t attached.

“Made it with time to spare,” Marc said as he walked through the trenches headed  towards his dugout.

All around him the soldiers were reacting, especially those from behind that saw the blood stained claw marks and smooth flesh of his back. While that was what their eyes were initially focused on, the bloody head of what looked to be from a massive wolf was sure to keep their tongues wagging for the rest of the war.

“Wolves can’t be that big,” someone said.

That line or something similar was a recurring theme. Even if they thought they were being discrete, his vampiric senses heard every word.