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.

Both were not new to killing or stealth, but Roy somehow managed to find the only dry stick in theatre. The snap it made caused that thing to pause, followed by an eerie orange glow. Like a lighthouse the glow swept over the surface until it passed over the corporal.

Roy froze in place, entirely transfixed. Without hesitation Murphy closed in fast, grabbed it by the shoulder, and sliced his throat. The motion left a black viscous liquid all over his blade. What in Hell’s name is that?

The young man nodded and left his rifle against the edge of the crater. While a rifle was the most obvious way to deal with the threat, it would also draw fire from both sides. Their narrow window of escape would be denied them for potentially another day. The snipers would be on the lookout.

Both Murphy and Roy took out their bayonets. With a couple of hand signals the Sergeant ordered his corporal to circle left and approach from the rear. Whereas Murphy would go right to distract the creature long enough for his man to make the kill.

The realisation sent a chill down his spine followed by a sudden drop in blood pressure. After his vision blurred, Murphy reacted by taking several deep and controlled breaths to regain his wits.

“We…” Murphy began.

It was hard to believe but a scent assaulted his senses. The odor was hard to describe, but it evoked the image of a bloated corpse left out in the blistering heat of the sun. For a man constantly surrounded by death, such a strong reaction only served to motivate him.

“We do this quietly,” Murphy whispered to Roy.

“Psst,” Murphy whispered.

When that failed to get his attention, Murphy put away his watch and grabbed his weapon. When he peeked over the crater wall he saw it immediately.

Against the rolling fog there was a gangly man in tattered clothing, an outfit more appropriate for someone interred at a cemetery. It had an unusually long nose, bald, ashen skin and beady black eyes.

What was most disturbing was the fact that it was gnawing on O’Reilly’s arm. Tearing flesh from bone with a casual indifference that was hard to imagine even the worst of the Huns doing. That’s no man.

A battlefield at night could be quiet as a tomb, doubly so when the wind died down. While there were night time artillery barrages, tonight was mercifully free of action.

Still, there was a bizarre noise in the distance. It sounded very much like a dog gnawing on a bone, but both of the men knew that man’s best friend knew better than to venture into a land that the Lord himself had forsaken. Snipers aren’t fussy.

Murphy made a series of hand motions which Roy acknowledged. Once more the corporal took a peek and froze in place. Murphy could even see the young soldier’s jaw hanging loosely as though no one was home.

“Holding on,” Murphy whispered. “I’m not sure if that’s by the divine will of our Lord or because Lucifer caught his eye.”

Given the conditions of this blood soaked mud, Murphy guessed the man would lose the leg. If gangrene or infection set in, his death would be slow and excruciating. Had the sniper been a better shot, it might have been more merciful.

“Sergeant—(Do you think it’s time to head back?)” Roy whispered.

A battlefield at night could be quiet as a tomb, doubly so when the wind died down. While there were night time artillery barrages, tonight was mercifully free of action.