Twenty-three minutes later, more ammunition arrived and word was sent in. This began a managed rotation of men. Three came up from below to resupply while a fresh team relieved them.

Unsurprisingly small arms fire increased in intensity. Now that there was no need to conserve ammunition, Murphy must have ordered a push into new areas of the mine.

This went on for sixty-three minutes until word came down to send for Padre Taylor and for Marc to make his way down. He suspected their proximity to their lines complicated the clearing operation.

At the thirty-three-minute mark a runner exited and requested more ammunition. Those keeping watch on the entrance collected what they could, while another soldier was dispatched to bring in more from their lines.

Gunfire remained sporadic, and so far, Private Lavoie was the only other casualty. The man ended up buried in rubble when part of the tunnel collapsed. Fortunately, his team managed to pull him out of the debris.

Based on the distortions in the sound of gunfire they were clearing out offshoots of the main line. I’m picking up reverberations and echoes.

“Yes, Sir,” Leblanc said.

As the patrol approached, they spotted an officer in the ranks and promptly altered course.

Some officers believed they had to manage every element of a mission. A method that invariably led to burnout.

Other officers believed in delegation and empowering their men. Marc believed in the latter, and that officers should be content to keep to their domains. The caveat was that officers should be there to prop up a tent moments before it collapses.  All because it went to shit.

Either way the patrol had no desire to determine the type of officer he was, or risk drawing the wrath of someone with a huge chip on their shoulder. They probably get more than enough of that with their unit.

It helped to avoid naming the creature they were hunting. While ‘enemy’ was vague, it did not draw unwanted attention. Whereas using terms like ‘ghoul’ and ‘vampire’ bent the ear of any eavesdropper.

The fact they entered a ghoul infested mine certainly explained what was going on. Intelligence claimed the nearby town was known for factories and mining. The latter, especially when abandoned, left little trace of its existence.

“I’m surprised their artillery didn’t create a sinkhole,” Marc said, dismissing the statement as the random thoughts of an officer.

A fresh team of three were sent into the complex. All the while gunfire continued to erupt sporadically, enough to draw the attention of a roving patrol.

Marc came down from his perch and approached the security detail. A sentry nearly panicked, and brought up his weapon with the intent to fire, but Sergeant Leblanc forced them to stand down. That might have ruined a perfectly good uniform.

“Sergeant,” Marc said as he passed by and tipped his service cap.

“Sir,” Leblanc said. “The Warrant reports they found their way into an old mine. The enemy is putting up light resistance.”

That detail was the reason he was concerned. A nest of this size implied that ghouls themselves could adapt. The idea of carrion eaters becoming a credible threat was a sobering thought. We just have—

A runner ran out from the tunnel and passed on a message. Moments later another two came out at a slower pace. One was Corporal Mills, who was helping Private Mackenzie out of the tunnels.

The latter was pale, and his breathing erratic. Marc spotted the tourniquet around his leg and the visible bone through the uniform was a clear sign of a negative encounter with a ghoul.

Infections from ghouls were often fatal, and Marc guessed the leg was lost. Worse if that tourniquet wasn’t applied in time.

At the nine-minute mark there came the muffled pops of small arms fire. Marc always hated the waiting. As a captain in the French army, being forced to send his men into the line of fire was forever a torment. It was worse when he knew they might not make it back.

As expected, the initial interaction was short. But that was followed by another and another.  Interactions were far more frequent than with previous clearance operations, this led Marc to form a picture of a massive complex full of ghouls.

“Aerial photography of the area showed no structures within a kilometre,” Marc whispered.

It surprised him how much combat evolved since he first marched in formation into war. If the advent of aerial surveillance and trench warfare proved anything, it was that humankind never passed up an opportunity to kill their fellow man.

This was ironically the ideal war for a vampire. In the past men met on a battlefield and were either defeated or left as the victors. All of it was done under the glory of the sun, where those like him dared not follow.

Now there was night combat, ideal for his kind. They huddled together in trenches that remained in place for months at a time. When they finally break through, I’ll have to stay behind.

Murphy looked over his shoulder at the silhouette against the night sky. Marc waved his signs for the attack to begin.

His second went in with Apples detachment in the first wave. Five minutes later Butter detachment followed, leaving a smaller contingent to provide security along with a manning pool.

They were committing a force of sixty men to the endeavour. If Marc was right, that might just be enough, but that was based on little more than conjecture. We’ve never seen ghoul activity of this intensity.

Two of his teams were assembled at what appeared to be the entrance. Given the sheer potency of the stench, his men wore gas masks.

It was preferable by far to lose some peripheral vision over being attacked while they evacuated the contents of their stomachs. That’s also why they were always in groups of three, to mitigate the risks.

The man of war felt they missed something. Ghouls were known for their network of tunnels, but a large underground complex of this size was unprecedented. Give them a hammer and they’ll try to cave your head in with it.