“When you become a leader you give up the right to think about yourself.”

– Gerald Brooks

“Contact!”

Bright didn’t hesitate for a second, opening fire on the enemy ahead and scoring a direct hit, the rounds traveling its way up the barrier of sandbags and tearing the man apart as bullets made their mark-

“Contacts at the windows!” A storm of hostile fire erupted from a nearby apartment building as the soldiers within caught sight of the incoming attackers, peppering the armored Humvees with light fire-

“Keep moving! Down the road towards the second entrance!” Marc roared, and the vehicle swerved to avoid fire and raced down the path, leading the charge with a sister vehicle beside them-

“What about those machine gun nests?” Bright yelled.

“Second Platoon has the main entrance. Push into the city, raise some hell!” Marc ordered.

The city was now alive with activity as their presence had instantly become known to all who could hear the gunfire, Imperial soldiers scrambling from all across Sighisoara to their battle stations and defend their territory. As they ran out into the streets, their panic became their undoing as First Platoon charged into the town center and caught them unawares-

“Contacts ahead!”

Bright unleashed a volley out into the crowd, the thick group of soldiers spraying red as round after round found their man until the streets ran red, the Humvee not stopping as scores of soldiers were crushed and killed underneath their tires-

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Rumble muttered over and over again, his eyes as round as saucers as his first taste of war erupted before his very eyes-

A building wall splintered and crashed out into the cobblestone streets as a heavily armored behemoth of a man marched out into the streets, covered head to toe in steel and raising his hand towards the oncoming vehicle-

“Swerve! Go around him!” Marc yelled, and the Humvee nearly rolled over to avoid colliding with their steely foe. “Bright, get him!”

“On it!” Bright swiveled in his turret and turned to open fire-

“Heads down!” A spray of bullet fire erupted from the armored soldier’s weapon, spraying the Humvee’s back window with deadly accuracy-

Bright found his mark and unleashed a punishing salvo of 50 caliber rounds, each bullet finding its target as it pushed against the steel armor-

At first the foe only staggered, bruised by the oncoming rounds, until two, three, four, then five rounds found their place, one punching through and tearing flesh from bone and sending the colossus toppling to the ground-

“What the fuck was that?” Rumble yelled-

“Iron Guard Commando!” Marc replied. “Genetically modified Imperial soldiers. That won’t be the only one we see…”

“We’re coming up on the square!” Bright reported, as the winding, narrowed street began to open up to the once-beautiful heart of the city, now consumed by military equipment, barricades and soldiers, and a powerful rocket system right in its center-

“Down that alleyway!” Marc commanded, and the Humvee careened down a tight lane between two houses, the launcher system automatically locking on and preparing to fire-

“Bright, can you do any damage to that-”

“No, not with a 50 .cal,” the Gunner replied. “That truck is too heavily armored for me to do anything.”

“We’ve got to keep its attention on us,” Marc said. “It’ll pulverize the Brad before it can get in range. Take a left here, get back into view of the square. Bright, when you get a glimpse of it, aim for the tires and see if you can immobilize it!”

“Fucking hell!”

As the Humvee turned the corner, the peeling wail of a horn met their ears and Marc turned to see an incoming truck crawling with enemy soldiers-

“Push through the intersection!” Marc yelled, the collision missing its mark by only a heartbeat as the truck passed through unscathed. “Now reverse! Get back in and follow it!”

The Humvee screeched to a halt and sent the soldiers within rocking before pulling back into the city street and pushing ahead, now directly behind a well-armed squad of Imperial soldiers-

Bright, the consummate killer, did not hesitate, spraying the truck with fire until each soldier lay dead and the truck crashed into a nearby building, its hulking mass twisted and burning from its punishment-

“Back to the square!”

“Sarnt, we’re gonna get killed!”

“Do it anyway! Second Platoon is almost there, immobilize that thing!” Marc fired back, and the Humvee gunned down the street until the open square came into view and the enemy encampment was exposed-

Bright’s round ricocheted off the iron shod hull of the launcher, one round even flying past the Humvee and threatening their own lives, while a dozen others flung themselves across the city street and sent Imperial soldiers scrambling for cover-

The launcher, its internal systems detecting it was under fire, became active again and focused its aim onto its attacker, ready to fire at any second-

“Get back into cover!” The Humvee flung its occupants back against the seat as it darted back into hiding, pulling back out into a secondary street-

The building beside them erupted in an explosion of fire, steel and brick as the launcher fired, the rocket detonating upon its impact with the nearby house and sending a cascade of debris down upon the launcher’s assailant-

“Fuck!” Bright dipped down into the vehicle to avoid being struck by the larger shards of rubble. “I can’t do that a second time over, there’s no way-”

“One more pass. Rumble, go around the west side- Bright, you have to get it to face towards us.”

“What the fuck-”

“Second’s about to be in range, we’ve got to keep Deiter covered. Move, Rumble!” Marc barked.

The Humvee roared through the wreckage that covered the ground and sent its occupants rattling in their seats until it found the lane it desired, racing down the street until the square came into view yet again-

Bright opened fire and aimed low, the bullets piercing stone as it eventually found rubber, the wheels of the truck launcher sagging under the pressure of incoming fire-

“Brad in range!” Off down the road, the formidable silhouette of the Bradley came into view, TOW Launcher prepared to unleash its payload out into the world-

The launcher turned towards the attacking Humvee, unaware of its impending doom-

“Pull back!” Marc cried, the Humvee racing out of view just in time as the soft Thoom! of the firing TOW launcher met them-

They did not see the missile strike, but their vision became clouded as a furious storm of fire, smoke and metal flared from the square and down the street-

“YEAH! Get some, you bitch-ass motherfuckers!” Bright roared-

“Second Platoon has the square, move across the river!” Marc ordered, and the Humvee raced towards the nearby bridge, leaping across the water and into the town outskirts-

“Contact! Machine gun nests, righthand side!”

“On the way!”

Before the Imperial soldiers knew what had struck them they were dead, Bright’s deadly aim eviscerating them and sending what remained of them toppling to the ground in a bloodied heap-

“Keep pushing forward!” Marc yelled, and the Humvee followed the road on and on, the streets emptying of enemy activity as they moved until they found no sign of hostile presence, save for a solitary guard at the town’s outlying edges, the pair of men gunned down by Bright in an instant.

“Where the hell are we?” Rumble asked.

“Edge of town,” Marc breathed, peering to their back and listening for the sounds of gunfire, hearing only the slightest tinge of warfare behind them. “It’s gone real quiet. Bright, you see anything?”

“Smoke’s still coming from the square, but that’s all I can see,” he reported. “The Guard must have moved inside to get some cover.”

Marc shuddered at the thought of moving into an occupied building. Corners and rooms their foes would know far better than they. “I don’t like it. It was too easy.”

“I don’t either- friendly vehicle moving our way!” Bright called out.

The friendly Humvee came to a halt beside them, the TC-side door opening and Big Mac revealed himself, motioning for Marc to come and join him.

“What have we got?” the younger man asked.

“City’s gone quiet. All remaining hostile forces have moved indoors,” Mac replied. “CO doesn’t like it, but we’re gonna have to do a building-by-building search.”

“What- that’s stupid, why not just blow them all to hell-”

“Civilians are still inside the city,” Mac reported, his face turning grim. “Cpt. Armor’s with some city official right now, trying to find out which ones were getting used by hostile forces. Once we know, we move. Keep here and don’t let anyone through.”

“Hooah,” was all Marc could summon, and returned back to his Humvee, watching as Mac raced back down the street and into the heart of the city.

“What’d he say?” Rumble asked.

“We’re gonna have to clear buildings,” Marc replied.

“Fuck me…”

“We’re trying to know which were occupied,” he continued. “For now, we stay here until we get word to move in. Bright, make sure you get a positive ID before you open fire, do not fire on civilians here. We’re too close to the end to screw it up now.”

“Shit. I’ll do my best,” Bright said anxiously, his gun towering over the cobblestone streets, waiting for the smallest sign of enemy activity within his line of sight.

The wait was excruciating. Each second felt longer than a lifetime, the fear that boiled within them did not falter. Their exposed position at the end of the road, right in the center of the street, was unsafe and every one of them knew it. At any moment, a solitary head could pop out from view and send fire their way- all it would take was one well-placed RPG, one lucky grenade, and all of them would burn and die in a fiery tomb.

“Shit, fuck me up the ass,” Bright said tersely. “Let’s fucking go already.”

“Stay quiet,” Marc ordered, his eyes scanning the row of houses beside them. Was that a figure near the window he saw? The outline of a rocket launcher, held against a man’s chest? The wait was tortuous for him.

Suddenly the radio went silent for a momentary heartbeat, until the voice of Cpt. Armor broke onto the frequency. “All units, ensure the roads are clear before continuing mission. Captured personnel indicate that specific buildings have been put under military occupation. Second Platoon with cover the southwest side of the city, First Platoon will cover the northeast. Keep your guard up, people. They’ll be waiting for us now.”

“Fucking right they will,” Bright said, peering down into the vehicle and watching Marc grab the handmike. The NCO was listening intently as the Platoon radio frequency came alive with orders, each squad given a specific area of ground to cover. When Marc was satisfied, he set the handmike aside and turned to his map, identifying his targets. “First target is just ahead,” he reported. “That small market ahead was getting used as a medical facility. Rumble, drive ahead and get us close. Featherweight, soon as we’re outside we jump out and we clear that thing, understood?”

“Yeah? And what the fuck do I do, just play spectator?” Bright challenged.

“You cover my back and keep the road clear,” Marc said as they charged forward. “If something goes wrong while I’m dismounted, you call for me immediately and we rejoin you, understood?”

“Fuck me, this plan is shit,” Bright said unhappily, but agreed nevertheless. “This is it.”

The Humvee came to a halt and Marc raced out immediately, centering his aim right at the marketplace entrance, scanning for the slightest movement that indicated life within. “Featherweight, you see anything?”

“Nothing, Sergeant,” the young Dismount replied.

It wasn’t enough to soothe his nerves, but Marc settled for what lay before him. “Bright, if you see a machine gun you open fire,” he ordered, creeping out from cover and heading towards the door, Featherweight kept at a distance on his left.

The two men crept towards the door and Marc pushed it open, the locks already destroyed and thrown aside by someone else’s hurry.

“I take right, you take left, alright? We scan each aisle before we’re clear,” he said.

Featherweight gulped. “Sarn’t-”

“Do not mess this up,” Marc said fiercely. “You wanna live? You do this right. Now three… two… one… move!”

The door was flung aside and Marc rushed inwards, turning right and taking position, hearing Featherweight do the same behind him.

“Clear?” he asked.

“Clear,” came Featherweight’s fearful reply.

“Good. Now, nice and smooth,” Marc breathed, taking steps down the aisles with Featherweight tucked closely beside him.

The pair moved quickly and quietly until they reached the back of the market, finding a series of beds and medical equipment kept nearby, apparently a field hospital of sorts for the military personnel stationed there. However, the room appeared untouched by the afternoon chaos, and the offices nearby were empty and devoid of activity.

A rumble rocked the building, jars of food clattering to the ground and shards of glass flew across the tiled ground, precious wines spilled across the floor.

“What the hell was that?” Featherweight asked nervously.

“Explosion,” Marc said grimly. “Something just detonated.”

“Was it one of us?”

“I don’t know. Come on, this building is clear, time to get moving.”

As the two soldiers exited the building, Bright waved them down from atop his perch in the gun turret. “What’d you find?”

“Field hospital,” Marc reported, hurrying over to the radio. “What was that rumble we felt? Has it been called in?”

“Second Platoon lost a squad. Sergeant Nye’s vehicle,” Bright answered. “Iron Guard Punisher armed with an RPG hit it dead-on.”

The pressure in the air stiffened, becoming hard and unyielding as steel. None of them had expected to make it through unscathed, but to lose a senior leader in such a simple, singular instant…

“Jesus,” Featherweight murmured. “How many?”

“Four KIA, three more wounded.”

“Next building is further down the road,” Marc said brusquely, knowing that any rousing of emotion within them would hinder their progress. “We’re gonna be careful when we reach it, alright? If more Iron Guard are still in the city then we need to stay focused. Keep it moving.”

Featherweight appeared somewhat affronted by his NCO’s almost cavalier disregard for the moment, but nodded nonetheless and took his seat in the back of the Humvee. Marc motioned for his Gunner and Bright dropped from sight, appearing out of the door a moment later.

“We’re gonna stop about five meters from the next target,” Marc said. “I want you to keep the vehicle somewhat concealed while Featherweight and I move in on it from the side. If something jumps out at us, you light it up, alright?”

“And if you’re in my line of fire?” Bright asked.

“Then tell me so I get out of the way,” Marc said. “But if you think you have the shot, take it. That’s an order.”

Bright seemed willing to argue further but said nothing, pushing himself back into the Gunner’s turret with a mutinous look on his face. The resistance from his stalwart fighter was concerning to Marc. Was he taking too many risks here? Had that suicidal risk he once dealt with daily started to resurface? He prayed it wasn’t so.

“Keep moving down the road. Across the river, then take a left,” Marc ordered Rumble. “We’re looking for a hostel that got commandeered as a makeshift barracks. Featherweight, that means you and I will be going in and out of a lot of rooms, make sure to stay on your toes.”

“Hooah.”

The Humvee pressed steadily forward, moving down the road at a pace that kept them from being easily traced. The entire group, once feeling confident from their earlier successes, had been put on edge by the loss of one of their fellow squads. When the hostel came into sight, the foreboding that settled upon them was palpable.

“Time to rumble. Grab the radio,” Marc ordered before turning to Bright. “Once we clear the main floor, I want you to pepper the upper floors with some suppressing fire. I’ll give you a heads-up when we’re moving.”

“Too easy,” Bright said, wheeling the gun about to get into position. “Don’t do anything stupid, please.”

“Not the plan,” Marc replied, taking position at the corner of the nearby building and peering out at their destination. The windows were shattered, but remained open. The shadows within were too thick for them to distinguish any movement within. Turning to the younger soldier, he said, “I’ll give you cover. Move right towards the door, stay on its side and out of sight, understood?”

Featherweight could only nod, his fear keeping him silent. “Alright… move!” Marc lunged out from cover and kept his rifle steady while Featherweight shuffled past him, moving towards the hostel door. Marc’s eyes remained peeled, scanning the darkness within for any sign of life within its depths-

Featherweight crashed against the door and slipped down next to it, putting himself in position to cover his leader as Marc raced over to join him. As he moved across the open space, he thought he saw a trace of shadow churning inside, just out of the corner of the nearby window-

“Down!” What remained of the window erupted in an explosion of glass, brick, and mortar, a viciously armored foe breaking through the wall and sending Marc sprawling-

“Holy shit!” Featherweight raced forward, peppering the steely colossus with all the firepower his rifle could muster-

Distracted, the Guardsman wheeled about and raised his weapon towards his assailant, easily exposed out in the open-

Marc scrambled forward and crashed into his opponent, heaving his weight and trying to stagger the Guardsman and send his weapon flying-

“Out of the way! Out of the way!” Bright yelled, the Humvee rushing into position as Marc fell back to avoid the Commando’s sweeping arm, trying to unseat his challenger and crush his bones-

Marc weaved back and forth, his old boxing skills keeping him alive as each blow fell and missed by the smallest of margins, each heave closer than the last-

Featherweight rushed forward and buried the muzzle of his rifle into the shoulder of the Commando, firing again and again until the armor weakened and a spurt of blood flew forth from the exposed hole-

“Get clear!” The two soldiers flung themselves out of danger and huddled against the wall as the Guardsman staggered-

A hailstorm of fire erupted from within the building and pelted the Humvee stationed in the street-

Bright released a salvo of fire upon them, first gunning down the injured Commando before battering the hostel with round after round, firing until at last every weapon that lay hidden inside went silent. Marc, crawling slowly out from cover, dared a peek through the shattered window above him and saw nothing but a host of bloodied corpses surrounding a small machine gun. “You guys alright?” he called.

“Bright’s been hit!” Rumble called, and Marc raced out into the street to check on his steadfast Gunner.

“It’s not bad, it’s not bad,” Bright said quickly, nursing a gash across his right hand. “Ricochet. Lucky sonuvabitch nicked me.”

“Get it wrapped. Can you still fight?” Marc asked.

“Yeah, but the 50 is toast. A round pierced the chamber, I don’t think it’s gonna fire. Gonna have to switch to the 240 for now until I can get it fixed.”

They had lost their best form of firepower. “How much ammo have you got?”

“Good enough to last us.”

Marc grimaced, knowing that Bright was wishing for more. “Pick your targets carefully,” he said, turning back to the hostel and motioning for Featherweight to join him. “You ready?”

Featherweight nodded and kicked open the door, rushing through and clearing the open floor. “We’re good.”

The two moved up to the stairs as quietly as they could manage, their ears pricked for sounds of life above them. The sound of whispering, a board creaking, a door opening…

Marc came to a halt in the stairwell, pushing Featherweight back against the wall before motioning for the handmike. “Bright, can you read me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Give the upper floor some heat.”

“On the way.”

Their caution was justified. As soon as Bright opened fire, a series of cries for cover erupted from the floor above them, bullets tearing through flimsy walls and finding flesh and blood-

As soon as the volley had begun it ended, Bright trying his best to conserve ammunition. Above them Marc could now hear groans and struggling, some of their foes still clinging on to life. “Take left, I’ll take right,” Marc whispered, creeping slowly up the stairs with the hopes of remaining silent. He turned the corner above and came into a bullet-torn hallway, some of the doors now spattered red with gore-

A shuffling sound came from the end of the hallway and a bloodied Guardsman staggered out into the hall, catching sight of Marc and struggling to raise his rifle up-

One squeeze of the trigger and the soldier fell, Marc’s aim true and his bullet swift. Featherweight came up behind him, moving his way down the left-hand hallway.

The rooms were empty, save for the solitary bedroom at the end of the hall. Crowded with dead and dying Guardsman, Marc entered and cleared it easily, taking note of the state of his enemy. Two still clung on to life, albeit barely. One had been struck several times by Bright’s onslaught, a pair of gaping holes in his chest where his pierced lungs resided. The other lay broken on the floor, his legs immobile and bleeding heavily, while he stared up at Marc with the cold, unfeeling eyes that all the Iron Guard possessed. Bred to fight without fear, the horrific augmentations that had been performed upon them had dealt their damage, rendering once-human men and twisting them into callous, unsympathetic warfighters that knew neither fear nor pain.

A Pop! from the other room and the sound of a body collapsing to the ground, and Marc knew Featherweight must have come across the same scenario. Pointing his rifle at the two wounded soldiers he fired straight in the head, killing them before they could bring a curse against his name. The building had been cleared.

Marc exited the room and found a vacant-eyed Featherweight standing in the hallway, his weapon trembling in his hands. “Are you alright?”

“He wouldn’t stop trying to reach for his weapon,” Featherweight said, his voice empty of emotion. “I tried to tell him to stop, but he tried to point it at me.”

“The Iron Guard are war machines. They look human, but all they know to do is fight and kill. He never would have stopped,” Marc said. “There was nothing you could do.”

Unconvinced, the two men went down the stairs and back out into the open, the agony within Featherweight’s soul as real and as raw as the blood of a dying man. The young man, boy-faced and soft-spirited, had joined the ranks of the killers.

“What have we got… next…” Rumble’s voice faded as he caught sight of his close friend’s countenance, taken aback by the haunted look now upon his face. “Jesus, what happened?”

“A house down the Strada,” Marc said. “Nothing special about it, I don’t get it…” a tinge of cold grew in his heart, mixed with foreboding. Something about this was horribly familiar…

Perturbed by their actions, Rumble nevertheless moved down the street and came onto the main road. “We’ve got another vehicle up ahead,” he called. “Looks like Sergeant Tran.”

“Halt the vehicle, then,” Marc ordered. “Featherweight and I will walk this one.” As soon as he exited the vehicle, the Humvee up ahead moved forward to meet them, Sergeant Tran exiting from his seat and making his way towards the two soldiers.

“You guys found anything?” he asked.

“Unused field hospital and a hostel turned into a barracks,” Marc replied, noticing a bandage wrapped around Tran’s right arm. “You guys been hit?”

“Bad luck,” the young NCO reported, wincing as he moved his arm about. “Some punk-ass in an attic clipped me, I can barely move the damn thing. Grenke, my Gunner, got hit too, he’s with the medics right now. Should be OK…”

“What’re you doing right now?”

Tran motioned to a small schoolhouse across the street. “CO’s suggestion,” he said. “He thinks it would’ve made a good command post, so he wants me to check it out. Apparently whatever town official he’s talking to is kinda sketchy.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Marc muttered, turning away and heading back to his vehicle. “You see anything in the upstairs windows?” he asked of Bright.

“Not a damn thing,” Bright said tersely. “Sergeant, I don’t like this one. Let’s wait for Sergeant Tran to get done and get some extra bodies in there.”

“There’s not going to be anyone in there, Bright,” Marc said.

Bright’s eyes went wide as the memories began to flood into his mind. “Jesus Christ- fuck, you don’t think-”

“Give it a volley, just to be safe,” Marc said, Bright happily obliging as he scored hits across the walls and through the windows, not the slightest sign of life coming from within. “Thought so.”

“Sergeant, I still don’t like it,” Bright said forcefully. “We’re not gonna like what we find in there.”

“If you see movement in the upper floor, you fire,” Marc ordered. “Featherweight and I are gonna take the cellar.”

“How do you know there’s a goddamn cellar?” Bright called, his words ignored as the two Cavalrymen moved inside, finding an empty home with a built-in storefront at the door. Marc’s stomach dropped. This was horribly, horribly familiar. He feared what he would find in this building’s depths.

“Fuck,” Featherweight wheezed, turning to retch in the corner. “What is that smell?”

“Rotten meat,” Marc said, bile boiling in his throat and he willed himself not to vomit. No, no, please no…

The two moved into the back halls, pushing through the kitchen and finding it empty. Just as Marc had predicted, a cellar stairway was present just to the right of the back door, the wooden doors sealed with a large padlock.

“Oh my God, that is unreal,” Featherweight gasped as he stood beside the cellar, pulling back in disgust from the host of flies that tried desperately to push through and reach its contents. “What the fuck is that?”

“Stay up here,” Marc said, pointing his weapon at the padlock and firing, the solitary bullet cracking the lock and sending it flying. Pulling open the doors, a reprehensible stench of rotted flesh met them and threatened to bowl them over, the putrid, fetid stink of death unmistakable. Unable to withstand it, Featherweight turned to vomit, collapsing to his knees as he tried to recover from the unrelenting reek.

Marc began to tremble as he descended, each footstep more precarious than the last. Visions of days gone by swirled in his brain and obscured his vision, mingling with the present day and bending his resolve. He knew what he would find in this cellar, though he wished so heavily against it. Please, anything else, anything else but-

Marc slipped and fell down the few remaining steps, his feet slipping on semi-dried blood that had settled upon the stone, sending him crashing down into the dark and muck of the cellar. A small scream escaped his lips and he rushed to regain his footing, pushing himself off the floor and his movements came screeching to a halt as he caught sight of the bloodied figure that lay bound before him.

A group of eight corpses stood there, each one stripped naked and bloodied, bound by their hands and feet and left hanging from the ceiling. Several had begun to rot, the blood within having dried and evaporated into the ether. Two still bled slowly, a steady drip falling from their open wounds and down onto the cold stone below. Scars and scorch marks disfigured them, while others had been eviscerated and their insides left exposed. And around each of their neck, tied by rope, lay a simple sign that stated, I am impure, unholy, or a coward, and have brought danger to my people.

Marc’s heart stopped beating, his eyes wide. Each breath was left a struggle, desperately trying to cling to life as a terror long forgotten came crawling from the deep blackness of his brain, unbidden, unwanted, horrifying in its familiarity.

He had seen this before.

Toruń, Two Years Ealier

“And you are absolutely sure of what you found?” Lt. Armor demanded.

“Absolutely. Sir, I’ve never seen anything like it. Just… it was like they were being treated like animals or something. Just all carved up and mutilated-”

“How did you find it?”

“Pure accident. Martinez and I were checking the farmhouse when we smelled this awful smell, so we followed the trail and went down into the cellar, and found… fuck, sir, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The pressure was mounting with each passing moment. The chaos that had just ensued was still fresh in their mind, Marc’s mind playing the battle on repeat. The hilltop exploding beneath his feet, the rush to stop the oncoming assault, his assault on their foes, Collie mutilated and injured, and now a massive force heading straight towards them…

“Reyes!” Marc’s reverie was interrupted by the calls of his Platoon Sergeant, Iron Will rushing over to join the group of soldiers that strode towards the outlying farmhouse, the village of Gronowo still some miles away. As Iron Will joined them, he motioned for the young soldier to join him at his side, which Marc promptly obliged.

“Tell me everything that’s happened,” Iron Will ordered.

“Enemy broke through the line. They were- I dunno, I’ve never see anything like that before,” Marc answered. “Collie’s injured pretty bad, Lt. Pharaoh and Mac are with him. Sergeant Nye found something when they were clearing the farmhouse.”

“Do we know what?”
Marc could only shake his head, a sense of foreboding growing in his stomach, each step towards the antiquated farmhouse only increasing the tension within him. Something about this was desperately, desperately wrong, and he feared what they were going to find.

“Have you still got him?” Sergeant Nye yelled, one of his squad standing guard at the front door, adjacent to the cellar. As soon as it came into a view, a horrendous reek assaulted Marc’s senses and he staggered back, the smell so repugnant that he could hardly keep his eyes open.

“Jesus,” Lt. Armor cried, the stink causing the steadfast officer to retch. “What the hell…”

“Bring that guy we found walking around out from there,” Sergeant Nye ordered. “Where is he?”

“Martinez has him,” Biles replied, turning around to knock open the door and yelling something inside. In a few moments, a tussled, bruised, and obviously terrified man fell to the ground, screaming in a language Marc couldn’t understand.

“What were you doing here?” Sergeant Nye demanded of the man, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and bringing him to his feet.

“Nie mieszkam tutaj. Nie wiedziałem,” the man replied, trembling and clearly petrified at the sight of so many soldiers surrounding him.

“It’s all he says. Over and over again,” Sergeant Nye said angrily. “He was screaming some shit at us when we found us, but the moment we went down into the cellar this is all he’s been saying.”

“Let’s try this, then,” Lt. Armor said, kneeling down until he was at eye level with the man, giving him a stare that was as sharp as knives. “Jak masz na imię?”

The man appeared stunned, and somewhat displeased, to hear his own tongue come from the mouth of his opponent. “M-Marcin,” he managed to stammer.

“Co jest w tej piwnicy?”

“Kazano mi sprawdzić. Nic nie zrobiłem, przysięgam,” the man said as his face showed signs of panic.

“We’re not getting anything,” Lt. Armor said angrily. “Keep him here, we’re going down in.”

“Sir. I don’t know if you wanna do that-” Sergeant Nye said hesitantly.

Lt. Armor ignored the man, wrenching open the cellar door and unleashing an appalling stench so horrid that the entire group of soldiers found their eyes and throats burning as though gassed. “Jesus…”

Marc’s trepidation only increased, but he followed his XO down into the dark nonetheless, trying to ignore how even the very air he breathed felt rotten, tainted by something horrible-

“Jesus fuck!”

Marc’s stomach dropped at the sight: dozens of mutilated corpses, skinned and butchered like animals led to the slaughter. Dried blood caked the walls and floors, flecks of gore easily evident within some of the fresher pools. Figures of all kinds were present before him; men and women, young and old, fat and fair… it was a scene so dreadful, so nightmarish, that Marc wondered if he had descended into the very depths of Hell itself. “What the fuck,” he whispered.

“What’s that around their necks?” Lt. Armor asked, his voice tremulous as though he was about to be sick.

“A sign of some kind,” Sergeant Nye said. “I’ll- try to get one free…” He unsheathed a knife from his side and made his way over to the nearest body and began to cut through the tightly bound rope around the man’s waist, pressing deep into the knot until the cords began to sever-

“Shit-”

The knife broke through and sliced through the rotted flesh, the swift cut ripping open gangrene flesh and a putrid smell washed over the cellar as the man’s decaying inside spilled out onto the floor-

Marc’s vision churned and his stomach lurched. He scrambled for the dim light he knew to be the exit and staggered out into the air, falling to his knees and vomiting. He lay there, barely able to keep himself above his own pool of sick until his vision cleared and his strength returned, though he knew the image of that dead flesh, the smell, would linger in his memories forever.

He had only just recovered when Lt. Armor and the others ascended the steps, a wrathful look upon the officer’s face. He strode over to the now-rambling civilian, bringing out his pistol and burying it in the man’s neck.

“What the fuck was that supposed to be down there?” he demanded. “Every single one of them had a sign around their neck that said they were impure, or unholy. What does that mean?”

The man gabbled away furiously, a line of sweat now dripping down his brow. Infuriated, Lt. Armor whipped him across the face with his sidearm, again and again until the man’s face ran red. “Who did this to them? What did you do?” he roared, his voice as terrifying and thunderous as a mid-summer storm.

“Otrzymaliśmy rozkaz. To nie była nasza wina. Śledziliśmy tylko zamówienia,” the man said, tears now falling down his face as he pleaded-

Lt. Armor’s face flashed with rage and he shot the man dead, letting the now-lifeless corpse fall to the ground. “We’re heading to the village,” he said. “Start setting up a CP. When we get there, we find everyone who was responsible for this. Do you understand me?”

Marc’s conscience quavered at the implication now before him, but fell silent as the images of the death within that cellar resurfaced before his eyes. He trembled once more, but rose to his feet as steady and firm as steel, his vision red.

“Sergeant… Sergeant, what the hell do we do?”

Marc’s heart still pounded within his chest, his vision remained blurred. But as the words rang through his mind, a tinge of clarity came upon him and the spell began to weaken.

“Sergeant, please, what the hell is this?” Featherweight stood beside him, absolutely beside himself at the sight of the flayed bodies that lay strung before him.

Marc regain focus and shook himself to stake his claim. No, he was not outside Gronowo, nor was he surrounded by his leaders. He was here, in the midst of death once again, and this time the charge was to be his own. He summoned all his willpower and commanded himself to take control.

“Get out of this place and get me a chemlight from the vic,” he ordered, forcing his voice to remain calm. “Bring it back to me, don’t say a word to anyone else.”

Featherweight was more than happy to oblige, rushing up the stairs and out of sight. Marc forced himself to wait until the younger man’s footsteps disappeared before he followed suit, running out into the open air and gasping for breath, the tinges of panic tearing at his brain. His mind was screaming at itself, one side desperate to lose control as the memories of his past mingled with the sights of today, begging to break free and be calm no more. Marc closed his eyes and bit down hard into his knuckles, the pain clearing his mind and allowing him to maintain control. He would not falter here, he would not succumb to panic. Not after all the struggles to regain his mind, not now!

“Got it, Sergeant,” Featherweight said, reappearing at the kitchen door.

“Good man,” Marc said gruffly, taking it and cracking the chemlight, shaking it harshly until the light within glowed brightly in the dying throes of the evening sunlight. “We’ll have to mark the entrance to the building, too. Don’t let me forget.”

“Roger… Sergeant, what was that?” Featherweight asked.

Marc shook his head. “Something awful,” was all he could summon, brushing past the man and heading back out into the streets.

Bright stared down at him as Marc made his way over to the radio, his expression stony. The two men had been there that day in Gronowo. They both knew what it meant. Neither wanted to remember.

“Knight Six, this is Red Two, over,” Marc called. “I say again, Red Two calling Knight Six, over.”

Marc waited as seconds turned into a minute of silence. Finally, just when he thought he would have to call again, the radio came to life. “Red Two, this is Knight Six, over,” Cpt. Armor said.

“Knight Six, we just came across a Chamber,” Marc said. “Down in the cellar, standard setup. Building is marked by a green chemlight outside the front door and the cellar entrance, over.”

The radio remained silent, before a wearied, “Copy,” broke through the static. “Was anyone present in the building?”

“Negative. Building is empty.”

“Roger. We’re setting up a CP in the square, get down here and join up once you’ve finished your checks. I’ll call it in.”

“Roger, over and out,” Marc said, tossing the handmike aside and turning to his squad. “We keep moving,” he said firmly.

The vehicle moved on down the road, their next destination awaiting them.

Author's Notes:

If I can imagine it, someone else has done it already. And that is a frightening thought.

The tale continues. As always, comments and corrections below. Hope you enjoy it.