Chapter 21 #2
A match flared, illuminating the face of a young officer, his features gaunt with hunger and strain. Behind him, I could make out the forms of other soldiers, some lying wounded on makeshift pallets, others crouched with weapons ready.
“How did you get past the German lines?” the officer asked, the match burning down toward his fingers.
“We have our methods,” I replied as the match went out, plunging us back into darkness more comfortable for my kind. “But we must hasten. We can carry your wounded.”
Desiderius, Vincent, and Thomas had entered through other access points, gathering around me like gathering shadows. The British soldiers murmured in confusion and alarm at their silent appearance.
“There are only four of you,” the officer observed. “We have twelve men, five seriously wounded.”
“Numbers won’t be a problem,” Vincent assured him with the confidence of a former military man. “But time is of the essence. We must depart before the next flare illuminates this sector.”
The evacuation proceeded with efficiency born of careful planning and supernatural abilities.
The wounded were secured to our backs with improvised harnesses, the able-bodied instructed to follow as closely as possible.
When one soldier—delirious with infection—began to panic, I touched his forehead gently, using the calming influence that came naturally to our kind.
It was an ability that most vampires used to lure potential “meals” into submission, but I’d found better utility for the gift.
“Be at peace,” I whispered. “Angels guide you tonight.”
Our return journey required greater caution, our speed hampered by our human charges.
Yet we moved with purpose through the devastated landscape, avoiding German positions as Desiderius blurred ahead at a pace they wouldn’t detect and reported their movements.
When a flare burst overhead, we froze in perfect stillness, our black clothing and absolute immobility rendering us nearly invisible despite the harsh light.
We had to make multiple treks back and forth, but with Desiderius scouting the perimeter, we managed to move the men without incident.
The British soldiers gasped in disbelief as they watched us swiftly and effortlessly carry their wounded comrades out of the farmhouse. The officer’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of a woman with such strength leading this mysterious rescue operation.
“How did you manage this so quickly?” the officer asked, his voice filled with awe and confusion.
I gave a small, enigmatic smile, careful not to reveal the true nature of our abilities. “We are special forces,” I replied cryptically. “Trained in America for missions like these.”
The officer shook his head. “Special training doesn’t produce this kind of strength or speed. Especially for a woman.”
I chuckled, feigning offense. “I’m not an ordinary woman.” I paused a moment for effect. “Let’s just say there are things about us we are not at liberty to discuss.”
“Are you some kind of science experiment?” The British officer asked.
I stifled a belly laugh. My mind went immediately to Dr. Gallow. “There are some who see us that way. I wish I could tell you more, but—“
“Classified, no doubt.” The officer shook his head. “I’m in no position to reject help, regardless.”
The soldiers exchanged bewildered glances, unsure of what to make of us. They nodded, accepting my vague explanation in the face of our swift and successful rescue.
As we led the British patrol back through no man’s land, the wounded secured safely to our backs, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at our accomplishment. We moved with purpose and efficiency, our supernatural abilities allowing us to navigate the treacherous battlefield with ease.
The British officer, who had maintained his composure throughout our nightmarish journey, finally allowed his exhaustion to show as he reached safety.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said, gripping my hand. His eyes widened slightly at the coldness of my touch, but fatigue overwhelmed curiosity. “We were certain we would die in that farmhouse.”
“No thanks are necessary,” I assured him. “Only silence about our methods.”
He nodded, though confusion furrowed his brow.
“The men... they’re already talking. They say we were rescued by guardian angels appearing from the darkness.
” He laughed shakily. “I saw you move. No human moves like that. Classified or not, men will talk. They’ll ask questions.
Demand answers. I’m not saying we’re not grateful—“
“Perhaps it’s better to believe in angels,” I suggested gently. “Than to question what cannot be explained.”
We slipped away before the rising sun could trap us, returning to the abbey as the first pink light touched the eastern horizon. Mercer awaited us in the courtyard, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and grudging respect as we reported our success.
“Twelve men rescued without a single casualty,” he acknowledged. “An impressive demonstration.”
“And one that aligns with our true purpose,” I reminded him. “Preservation of life, not dealing in death.”
As we retreated to our underground sanctuary for the daylight hours, I overheard the wireless operator receiving reports from the forward post—breathless accounts of soldiers rescued by mysterious figures who moved through no man’s land like ghosts, vanishing into the darkness after delivering their charges to safety.
“The Ghosts of Ypres,” the operator repeated, writing the name that was already spreading through Allied lines.
I should have known the British wouldn’t respect my plea for secrecy.
A complication, I was sure, we’d hear about, eventually.
The General wouldn’t be pleased, but Mercy had approved the mission.
Besides, if covering up our existence was a priority, he shouldn’t have recruited us to begin with.
A mythology was being born—as often such things are in war. It would serve as both shield and sword in the battles to come. Whether it would ultimately protect my flock or endanger them remained to be seen.