War: 8.20.1930


The tunnel was the key.

I had seen several lieutenants exiting out of the tunnel, as well as a captain.

Above that rank, there was no one. Which meant they were in the tunnel. And if they were in the tunnel, that was where I needed to be.

There were several guards and a solitary man at a switchboard. Coffee was brewing on a small stove, and a pair of young soldiers delivered breakfast to the men as I watched. When the younger troops left, leaving only the guards and the operator, I hid the BAR beneath broken branches and leaves and made my way towards the mouth of the tunnel.

Drawing my knife, I slipped around to where the operator sat. He was eating and washing his food down with coffee while the others had their backs to him. There was some sort of tension between them, and it suited me fine.

When the operator took an overly large bite, I stepped out and drove my knife into his neck, twisting and pulling all in one motion. Arterial blood sprayed out over the equipment and me as I stepped over his falling body.

One of the guards began to turn, but it was too late.

I was already there.

They fought hard, as soldiers do, but they died, nonetheless.

I’d been fighting with knives since before their grandfathers had drawn breath.

I dragged the bodies into the mouth of the tunnel, tucking them off to either side. Pouring myself a cup of coffee, I cleaned my knife, slipped it back into its sheath, and made my way into the narrow, dark passage.

Soon, a narrow-gauge rail could be seen, and beyond that, the sound of men working.

I soon discovered a man standing in the darkness beside a cart. His eyes widened, and he stared at me in horror. He took up a long stave and swung it at me, an act which earned him death. As I slammed the knife up to its hilt into his breast, his mouth opened, and I saw why he had not cried out.

His tongue had been torn out at the root.

Perhaps it had been done to prevent him from sharing secrets. Perhaps it was an old injury.

It didn’t matter.

What was important was the officers wouldn’t know I was coming.

That and I hadn’t spilled the coffee.

#horror #monsters #supernatural #death

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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