CHAPTER FIVE
Charlie coughed and spluttered himself awake, spitting out a mouthful of dirty water. He was lying on the river bank somewhere far downstream, soaked to the bone - he must have blacked out underwater. Rolling onto his back he exhaled, utterly exhausted and in a great deal of pain. Above him the sky was a beautiful blue, the day had begun, and for a very brief moment he allowed himself to enjoy it. But then he remembered. He glanced around. There he was, right beside him - Billy Random, sprawled out, face down, unconscious, but undoubtedly still breathing.
Charlie struggled to his feet.
‘There he is,’ came a thrilled voice from the distance.
Charlie looked across the way. What was left of his squad were eagerly running towards him - Yankee, Doodle, Specks, and a handful of men.
‘Good to see you, sir,’ said one. ‘Anything you need, Captain?’ asked another.
‘A cup of tea would go down a treat,’ he strained, stretching out his aches and pains as best he could.
The men smiled, relieved to see their Captain alive and well, and in his typical spirits. Charlie looked perplexed at Yankee and Doodle, who were standing there quite proudly, the only soldiers still retaining their helmets, which they had placed firmly on their heads.
‘How on earth did you two manage to hold onto those things?’ he asked.
‘Skill,’ they boasted in unison and without hesitation.
Charlie shook his head in disbelief.
‘Specks, report,’ he continued.
Yankee and Doodle thrust Specks to the front.
‘Seven of us left, sir,’ he said, his teeth chattering from the wet and cold. ‘We lost three in the battle, and another four in transport. There is a small possibility that they washed up further downstream, but as you see,’ he pointed to the river running off into the distance. ‘This meander here…’ but from the corner of his eye Specks could see the vacant looks on his comrades’ faces. He started again. ‘This curvature in the river here slows down the water to just the right speed, allowing us to be washed ashore. Hence why we are all in such close proximity to each other.’
Charlie looked around. As he feared, Specks’ diagnosis of the river was correct, and he didn’t like that - his men were gone, there was no doubt in his mind. Their surroundings were bleak, with no visible landmarks in sight. As far as the eye could see lay nothing but a dismal muddy landscape.
‘The werewolves?’ asked Charlie, turning back to the squad.
‘Well, sir. According to legend… they would transform back to their natural state during the daytime.’
‘Well, that’s good right?’ harped up Yankee. ‘I mean the full moon’s gone now. So they wont be turning into those things for another month. Right?’ Everyone looked hopefully towards Specks for verification. But he cringed. ‘Right?’ asked Yankee in a high-pitched and less certain voice.
‘I’m afraid not,’ answered Specks. ‘Last night was a waxing gibbous moon.’ The men’s faces were completely blank. ‘An almost full moon,’ he clarified, sighing.
‘Meaning?’ asked Charlie, restless to get to the point.
‘Meaning, sir… Tonight we will see the arrival of the actual full moon. Tonight they will return to their wolf-like state. Tonight…’ he hesitated.
‘Yes?’ pushed Charlie.
‘Spit it out, Specks,’ snapped Doodle, stamping the butt of his rifle on the ground.
‘If they really are empowered by lunar activity, then tonight, not only will they once again transform, but they will, erm…’ he dithered, ‘they will almost certainly be significantly stronger, significantly faster, and significantly more animalistic.’
The men began to moan, antagonised by the new information. ‘Thanks a lot, Specks,’ commented one. ‘Yeah. Cheers for dropping that bombshell!’ said another. ‘That’s just great!’ remarked Yankee. ‘Why don’t you keep your trap shut? You goddamned brainiac!’ added Doodle. The squad bickered between themselves, pointing fingers, hurling accusations and swearing at one another. They were unsettled.
‘That’s enough,’ bellowed Charlie, his voice booming over their argument and silencing them all. ‘Line up,’ he commanded.
With a snap in their step they did as instructed, forming an exceptionally short line. Patiently they stood whilst their Captain paced up and down in front of them.
‘They’re stranded like us, boys,’ he said, his voice calm and tranquil. ‘And I saw nothing to suggest that they have any other mode of transport. If they are human in the day… as Specks suggests, then that means it’s an even game. They’re men, just like us. And we can match them step for step. We can keep this distance between us.’
‘But what about when nightfall comes?’ asked Yankee, speaking out.
Charlie stopped his pacing and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. Normally he would discipline one of his soldiers for talking without permission whilst in line. But their situation was desperate, not to mention unusual, so this time he decided to give them a break and let it go.
‘I haven’t got that far yet,’ he answered quietly.
‘So which way do we head?’ asked Yankee.
‘We continue with the mission. We head north-east.’
The men nodded in accord.
‘And what about him?’ asked Doodle, throwing a nod to Billy.
The squad all looked at the young man, who was nothing more than a messy heap sprawled on the floor. Charlie walked over and rolled him onto his back with a gentle push of his boot. He was still limp, lifeless, and showed no signs of waking up. But Charlie couldn’t help it - he couldn’t just leave him there to die, and truth be told, he needed to know more. The Captain looked up at his men, a set smile on his face.
‘He’s coming with us,’ he answered.