Several Hours Later
“Lay down some fire over there to the left, hose it good, before we charge the house.”
We are a good Imperial Mile to two Miles into the city ruins, well past the front lines. No armour is left with us, the tanks made it as far as they could without getting stuck in the damage. They did say if we get close enough to the Thames and the waterfronts that the Royal Navy might be able to lend a hand. Not sure how to tell them where to lend that hand at. All around there are lots of lines ripped up; we have seen where fire swept entire streets into inferno. The damage will take years to recover from.
There are curst few survivors so far, some half starved wretches, a few children, not too many corpses though. That was pretty worrying at the start. Not a lot of incoming fire either, the bombardment must have driven them off well enough. Not too many casualties, which is even better.
The father into the city the odder it all is becoming.
“Smith, take three with you, scout that building to the right, part way down, rest take sight, cover the street.”
The Sergeant was one of the first causalities, by enemy fire even. Something all white like a mushroom suddenly found under a rotted log exposed to light for the first time, all pallid white and bloated in shape snaked out from around a corner. It moved too fast to be avoided, taking the poor man straight in the throat. Not a sound came out of him and then it just pulled back sharply, like setting a hook in a fish’s mouth, jerked him clean off is feet and kicking and scrabbling around the brick building corner. We that saw it dashed up to help him once our wits were regained, a few moments at the most.
We pelted around that corner and one of the enemy was there. That is the only thing you could call it, the enemy. It was all the same colour as the tentacle like thing that came out of a long thick pipe, which was the colour of a piece of bronze left too long out in the rain, all a shade of festering green with black shot through it. The thing holding the pipe, reeling in the poor Sergeant, stood a good half again as the tallest man I had ever seen, the mushroom shade, thick slabs of arms and legs naked on this battlefield. The chest was hideous with scars and open running sores and wounds, while the head was the worst thing of all. My eyes took it all in, and I froze, as God and Queen as my witnesses, it was the most horrid thing I had seen. Not even the horrors of the last war matched this thing. My eyes were locked while the bile rose and forced its way out of my mouth and still my eyes were locked. I heard the others retching as well and the noise covered the death of the poor Sergeant.
We stood there for long moments until a shell fortuitously impacted on the building across the rubble strewn way, behind the monstrosity, and that shook us out of the Mesmer we had fallen into. Our weapons came up and we all opened fire almost simultaneously, every round impacting in the bulk of the thing that had killed our compatriot.
It was near to explode from the force of weapons fire poured into it, as several grenades were also launched with skill from several arms at the same time, as we stumbled back from the handiwork and barely made it the few feet around the corner into effective cover before the other detonations occurred.
When the dust settled we went back around, rifles and revolvers at the ready, to take stock. Both were dead over there, but the blood from the enemy was not the right shade. It was too pale, too close to infection leading to gangrene in consistency, too pale as if it was not really blood.
“Well the next one becomes the prisoner right lads?” I half joke, but only half.
“Sure, you are in charge, orders Sir?” Little Thomas pipes up.
“Reloads, top off, swig of water for me to rinse this taste out, then onward looking for survivor. Not that I hold much hope for any.”
I muster as bravely as I can, with most of my courage since it lies at home with my wife and children, where it belongs. But now I must find more, to bring as many men back to our lines as possible as well.
“You, take point, keep your eyes peeled, might as well stay closer to the centre of the way, and avoid the corners. Form up, move out.”
As we move out on the mission, I cannot recall exactly what the head looked like, save that it was horrid and the very sight of it stole away a part of my life and memory in a scalding and painful fashion. My head ached with a dull throbbing from the imprint of that thing we killed. I hope we do not meet many more, that it is a singular thing, and not the equivalent of an infantry man in their forcers. So help us, if that be the case we will need quite a few more men and a whole lot more grenades than we can carry.
So the father into the city the odder it all is becoming.
“Smith, take three with you, scout that building to the right, part way down, rest take sight, cover the street.”
We move up in formation, taking a few moments at each doorway to check inside real quick for survivors. Always alert for more attacks like the last one. The ground is getting worse; there are already vines and climbers starting to cover the buildings, much faster than I would have dreamt possible. Maybe some learned man can decipher it all later on. Right now we move onward. The sky is darkening as we move inward towards the government buildings and their like.
Not a lot of opposition so far. This is worrying, beside that thing we killed, not a lot to shoot at. I fear that something more will happen all too soon. Especially with the fall of night coming and I am not so sure we could regain the lines before it comes fully on. Looks like it will be a night spent in enemy territory once more. Never felt good about that, not then, not now, even if the signs are in the language of my countrymen.
Come to think of it, not a lot of shelling has been going on. I knew they would hold off, but nothing now at all. Did they have so few that we broke their back, are they cowards before a foe that fights back? Or is there nothing to be shot at, or worse, did they overrun our lines as happened to my company during the war, when all we could do was run and run towards where we thought our other lines were at. That was a nightmare of shells, mustard gas, flares, and bullets from both in front and behind us as we ran till our lungs burnt with the effort. But that was years ago, and this place is evoking the same terror in me as the sun slowly starts to sink there behind us, telling me we are still moving deeper into the city.
“Men, we are not going to wait, time to hole up for the night, let scout a good spot, defensible, and make our camp for the night.” They all look at me like I have lost my mind. I just point towards the west, “The sun is setting, even if there is nothing close right now, I don’t trust the dark in London tonight. Besides we cannot make it all the way back, and I for one do not want to stumble around in the dark.” It makes sense, they all nod and start fanning out on the street, cannot tell the name, that we are on.
I watch them fan out, keeping an eye out on what rooftops and open windows remain. Were this a more normal situation I would worry about snipers and their ilk. Here I am worried about ambushes, the lack of opposition, and the possibility that we have yet to see the worse. The city is too silent here, it seems our fair lady here has taken a grievous wound, one which we all shall need to strive together to staunch the bleeding and give succour till she recovers.
One of the newer people back home, forget his given name, just recall his surname right now, motions me over to a partially derelict building.
“Yes?” Once over there
“Looks like a spot to hold up the night in Sir?” His face is too young to be here, scant older than my own children, and here beside me with rifle in hand and blooded in the eyes of God this day.
“Good Work, pull a few others over here, then we enter in force to survey the lay of the land and check the integrity of what remains.” I send him off while I peer inside the structure, and keep checking the street as well. Takes a few minutes, but he rounds up a couple of pairs of our lads and we all enter.
Inside it looks good, fairly clean, no stains, the dry good are hale so I instruct them to get the others; we all are holing up here. We will note the location, address, record what we eat of the owner’s goods to make fair recompense, and this will be the bivouac for the night.
Tags: Fiction Story Horror
