Categories > Original > Drama > Teeth, Hips, Hearts and Fists
- 2-
The British army sat against their trench walls, waiting for zero hour. It was the first of July 1916. Germany had been invading France since August 1914. They had taken over most of the country. General Joseph Joffre, the commander-in-chief of the French army, decided that the French, British, Italian and Russian armies were going to go up against Germany.
The Britain army decided to take the lead of the Battle of the Somme. The bulk of the British army now, however, mainly consisted of volunteers of the Territorial Force and Lord Kitchener's New Army. To start off with, the British army consisted of six strong divisions. All the battles in 1914 and 1915 had wiped them out, though.
An explosion suddenly caused all the soldiers to roll onto their stomachs. Their trenches weren't very deep, so they had to crouch down together. One soldier checked his watch.
"It's not even seven thirty yet." He said confused. Seven thirty was when the British army had decided zero hour would be.
"We want to make this invasion as easy for you as possible. At exactly seven thirty, you are to charge." Lieutenant General Hunter-Weston shouted over the explosion.
"Yes sir." A few men responded, readying their weapons. Zero hour finally arrived, and an awkward heavy silence fell among the soldiers as they prepared to charge.
The infantry then crawled out into no man's land. The smoke of the mines still lingered over them. Despite the shower of debris from the mines, most of the Germans survived. They had prepared by digging deep trenches and they openly fired on the vulnerable British army.
A German flare got General Beauvoir De Lisle confused with a success flare. So he sent more troops forward, into death traps. The battle continued to prove fatal as British fatalities skyrocketed. Medics rushed back and forth, carrying stretchers of injured people.
The medic system wasn't complicated at all. Certain men, the braver ones of the group, would run out in pairs, with stretchers. The more timid would stay behind and treat the injured soldiers. It wasn't until twenty minutes into the unsystematic battle that a pair of medics brought back a rather interesting body. One of the newer medics decided to report it to the General.
"Sir, there's something I need you to see."
"What is it, boy; can't you see I'm trying to run a infantry here?"
"It's a body." He said, still standing at attention. The General was too sidetracked to tell him to relax.
"Is he dead?"
"Well, yes sir -"
"Haven't you learned yet? If they're dead we just leave 'em. We don't have time to..."
"Sir, with all due respect, this requires your attention. This man has been brutally attacked by some sort of creature." The General flinched and then stood up. "If you'll just follow me," The medic led the General through his tent and to the Medical tent.
The big red cross stood out among the bleak grays of the morning. As the medic pushed the flap of the tent to the side, the General gasped and made his way over to the body. The throat had been ripped out and there were fang marks all over the side of the neck.
"Deadlies..." He whispered, placing his hand over his mouth. "How many have you found like this?"
"This is our first body..." Just as the head doctor said that, another pair of medics brought in another mutilated body. For the next hour, these attacks became more prominent. As the day wore on, the Germans defeated the British and the Irish armies. All of the allies reported back with similar attacks.
Lieutenant General Hunter-Weston retreated to his tent and stayed there for the remainder of the day. Something had changed in him, ever since these attacks. He seemed to know more about these beastly brutal assaults.
Late that night, he sent a telegraph to a Romanian man named Gheorghe Mecheslav, hoping he would arrive soon.
- - - - - - - - - -
Germans suffered more causalities from the French rather than the British and Irish. Although the British lost, the Germans were still surprised by the large-scale attack that the British forced over. General Erich Von Falkenhayn, known for his short-tempered attitude and sudden fits of rage, decided to remove the Chief of Staff of the Second Army from his duties.
In desperate need of a new Chief of Staff, he simply told his operations officer to take the position. Colonel Fritz von Lossberg, Falkenhayn's operations officer, regretted taking the position, because of the battle of Verdun. He wanted the offensive at Verdun to be stopped, because the French seemed to fight strong there.
However, there was something Lossberg didn't know about Falkenhayn. The man never smiled, and he barely had conversation. He craved blood, he needed to feed, and waiting until after all of his troops were asleep to feed on fallen bodies was getting tiring. Falkenhayn was a member of the Deadlies and wrath ruled his mind. Falkenhayn refused to keep his promise to leave the French alone at Verdun. Instead he let his instinct take control, and he fed off of any fallen troop he could find.
- - - - - - - - - -
The morning of July third was a turning point for the French side. British were coming from the north and French troops were filling in from the south. The British found it harder to rush the Germans, because of the dense forest on the side of the road. The French, however, pressed on and eventually gained possession of most of the land they had lost in the last two years.
It was midday when Gheorghe Mecheslav arrived. The men that came with him were of all ages. Some were as young as eighteen and others were older than sixty. Lieutenant General Hunter-Weston greeted them all with a nervous smile. While his troops looked on in disbelief. The British troops were tired, dirty, and hungry and they had been slacking in advancing past the Germans.
When the Lieutenant started equipping Mecheslav's men with weapons and war clothes, a few of the men started questioning his power.
"Maybe the war has started to get to him."
"It's not the war, it's the idea of losing, Michael." The men watched the Lieutenant command the substitute army to be stationed in the forest along side of the road. They were to make surprise attacks as Germans walked by, or navigated through the trees.
This idea seemed like it would fail miserably, but the British army was desperate for a relief.
"I'm trusting you will find enjoyment in killing these bastards." General Hunter-Weston muttered to Gheorghe. The tall slender man smiled crookedly and nodded. Gheorghe hated people. He knew the intent of every man's heart was evil and he detested it. He motioned his men to follow and the darkness of the forest swallowed them whole.
- - - - - - - - - -
The French eventually came to a town called Frise, which contained a stock of seventy-seven well-equipped German guns. This also seemed to be a German refugee camp. The French quickly filed in, stealing the artillery and kidnapping over eight thousand Germans.
July third proved to be a very successful day for the French side and their allies. By the time night had fallen, men weary from battle were settling down in their tents. When the midnight hour hit troops from both the German side and the French were awakened by loud screaming and angry cries from the forest.
Men from both sides went to check, cocking their guns and preparing for an ambush or sneak attack from the opposing armies. However, as they approached the black forest, they saw something that would change their lives forever.
Gheorghe Mecheslav and his men were fighting with German soldiers and German prisoners. However, this type of fighting was different than the armies were used to. Mecheslav and his men were fighting with extreme grace and offence, dodging almost any blow the German side had to offer. They would get the Germans in holds that decreased mobility by ninety five percent.
Mecheslav and his followers acted like cannibals as they attacked the necks of German soldiers. The sound of bones cracking out of joint reverberated off trees as the fight got more intense. Germans started to recognize some of their fellow soldiers. Then, one of the German men suddenly shouted.
"Look! It's General Falkenhayn!" The Germans started shouting and pulling out their guns, trying to shoot off Mecheslav's men. The General was fighting hand to hand with Gheorghe Mecheslav. His anger was like a drug as he repeatedly swung at Gheorghe.
The two leaders fought with extreme skill. German bullets whizzed past the two men; none of them seemed to hit. The British men were confused. Why should they help men that they didn't even approve of being there in the first place? The British men decided to watch.
Gheorghe's height made no difference as the General jumped up onto his shoulders and used his feet to choke the tall man with the fangs. After bringing Gheorghe down to his knees, Erich backflipped and landed on his toes behind him.
"Never challenge a Deadlie." Erich gruffly commanded. He snapped his fingers, stopping all of the Germans in their tracks. "Let's go!" He shouted. The men stalked off, deeper into the woods. Some German soldiers tried going after them, but others encouraged them to stand down.
French and German soldiers stood side by side and watched Mecheslav's men disperse from the clearing. They then turned, and parted ways, each man returning to their own tent.
The British army sat against their trench walls, waiting for zero hour. It was the first of July 1916. Germany had been invading France since August 1914. They had taken over most of the country. General Joseph Joffre, the commander-in-chief of the French army, decided that the French, British, Italian and Russian armies were going to go up against Germany.
The Britain army decided to take the lead of the Battle of the Somme. The bulk of the British army now, however, mainly consisted of volunteers of the Territorial Force and Lord Kitchener's New Army. To start off with, the British army consisted of six strong divisions. All the battles in 1914 and 1915 had wiped them out, though.
An explosion suddenly caused all the soldiers to roll onto their stomachs. Their trenches weren't very deep, so they had to crouch down together. One soldier checked his watch.
"It's not even seven thirty yet." He said confused. Seven thirty was when the British army had decided zero hour would be.
"We want to make this invasion as easy for you as possible. At exactly seven thirty, you are to charge." Lieutenant General Hunter-Weston shouted over the explosion.
"Yes sir." A few men responded, readying their weapons. Zero hour finally arrived, and an awkward heavy silence fell among the soldiers as they prepared to charge.
The infantry then crawled out into no man's land. The smoke of the mines still lingered over them. Despite the shower of debris from the mines, most of the Germans survived. They had prepared by digging deep trenches and they openly fired on the vulnerable British army.
A German flare got General Beauvoir De Lisle confused with a success flare. So he sent more troops forward, into death traps. The battle continued to prove fatal as British fatalities skyrocketed. Medics rushed back and forth, carrying stretchers of injured people.
The medic system wasn't complicated at all. Certain men, the braver ones of the group, would run out in pairs, with stretchers. The more timid would stay behind and treat the injured soldiers. It wasn't until twenty minutes into the unsystematic battle that a pair of medics brought back a rather interesting body. One of the newer medics decided to report it to the General.
"Sir, there's something I need you to see."
"What is it, boy; can't you see I'm trying to run a infantry here?"
"It's a body." He said, still standing at attention. The General was too sidetracked to tell him to relax.
"Is he dead?"
"Well, yes sir -"
"Haven't you learned yet? If they're dead we just leave 'em. We don't have time to..."
"Sir, with all due respect, this requires your attention. This man has been brutally attacked by some sort of creature." The General flinched and then stood up. "If you'll just follow me," The medic led the General through his tent and to the Medical tent.
The big red cross stood out among the bleak grays of the morning. As the medic pushed the flap of the tent to the side, the General gasped and made his way over to the body. The throat had been ripped out and there were fang marks all over the side of the neck.
"Deadlies..." He whispered, placing his hand over his mouth. "How many have you found like this?"
"This is our first body..." Just as the head doctor said that, another pair of medics brought in another mutilated body. For the next hour, these attacks became more prominent. As the day wore on, the Germans defeated the British and the Irish armies. All of the allies reported back with similar attacks.
Lieutenant General Hunter-Weston retreated to his tent and stayed there for the remainder of the day. Something had changed in him, ever since these attacks. He seemed to know more about these beastly brutal assaults.
Late that night, he sent a telegraph to a Romanian man named Gheorghe Mecheslav, hoping he would arrive soon.
- - - - - - - - - -
Germans suffered more causalities from the French rather than the British and Irish. Although the British lost, the Germans were still surprised by the large-scale attack that the British forced over. General Erich Von Falkenhayn, known for his short-tempered attitude and sudden fits of rage, decided to remove the Chief of Staff of the Second Army from his duties.
In desperate need of a new Chief of Staff, he simply told his operations officer to take the position. Colonel Fritz von Lossberg, Falkenhayn's operations officer, regretted taking the position, because of the battle of Verdun. He wanted the offensive at Verdun to be stopped, because the French seemed to fight strong there.
However, there was something Lossberg didn't know about Falkenhayn. The man never smiled, and he barely had conversation. He craved blood, he needed to feed, and waiting until after all of his troops were asleep to feed on fallen bodies was getting tiring. Falkenhayn was a member of the Deadlies and wrath ruled his mind. Falkenhayn refused to keep his promise to leave the French alone at Verdun. Instead he let his instinct take control, and he fed off of any fallen troop he could find.
- - - - - - - - - -
The morning of July third was a turning point for the French side. British were coming from the north and French troops were filling in from the south. The British found it harder to rush the Germans, because of the dense forest on the side of the road. The French, however, pressed on and eventually gained possession of most of the land they had lost in the last two years.
It was midday when Gheorghe Mecheslav arrived. The men that came with him were of all ages. Some were as young as eighteen and others were older than sixty. Lieutenant General Hunter-Weston greeted them all with a nervous smile. While his troops looked on in disbelief. The British troops were tired, dirty, and hungry and they had been slacking in advancing past the Germans.
When the Lieutenant started equipping Mecheslav's men with weapons and war clothes, a few of the men started questioning his power.
"Maybe the war has started to get to him."
"It's not the war, it's the idea of losing, Michael." The men watched the Lieutenant command the substitute army to be stationed in the forest along side of the road. They were to make surprise attacks as Germans walked by, or navigated through the trees.
This idea seemed like it would fail miserably, but the British army was desperate for a relief.
"I'm trusting you will find enjoyment in killing these bastards." General Hunter-Weston muttered to Gheorghe. The tall slender man smiled crookedly and nodded. Gheorghe hated people. He knew the intent of every man's heart was evil and he detested it. He motioned his men to follow and the darkness of the forest swallowed them whole.
- - - - - - - - - -
The French eventually came to a town called Frise, which contained a stock of seventy-seven well-equipped German guns. This also seemed to be a German refugee camp. The French quickly filed in, stealing the artillery and kidnapping over eight thousand Germans.
July third proved to be a very successful day for the French side and their allies. By the time night had fallen, men weary from battle were settling down in their tents. When the midnight hour hit troops from both the German side and the French were awakened by loud screaming and angry cries from the forest.
Men from both sides went to check, cocking their guns and preparing for an ambush or sneak attack from the opposing armies. However, as they approached the black forest, they saw something that would change their lives forever.
Gheorghe Mecheslav and his men were fighting with German soldiers and German prisoners. However, this type of fighting was different than the armies were used to. Mecheslav and his men were fighting with extreme grace and offence, dodging almost any blow the German side had to offer. They would get the Germans in holds that decreased mobility by ninety five percent.
Mecheslav and his followers acted like cannibals as they attacked the necks of German soldiers. The sound of bones cracking out of joint reverberated off trees as the fight got more intense. Germans started to recognize some of their fellow soldiers. Then, one of the German men suddenly shouted.
"Look! It's General Falkenhayn!" The Germans started shouting and pulling out their guns, trying to shoot off Mecheslav's men. The General was fighting hand to hand with Gheorghe Mecheslav. His anger was like a drug as he repeatedly swung at Gheorghe.
The two leaders fought with extreme skill. German bullets whizzed past the two men; none of them seemed to hit. The British men were confused. Why should they help men that they didn't even approve of being there in the first place? The British men decided to watch.
Gheorghe's height made no difference as the General jumped up onto his shoulders and used his feet to choke the tall man with the fangs. After bringing Gheorghe down to his knees, Erich backflipped and landed on his toes behind him.
"Never challenge a Deadlie." Erich gruffly commanded. He snapped his fingers, stopping all of the Germans in their tracks. "Let's go!" He shouted. The men stalked off, deeper into the woods. Some German soldiers tried going after them, but others encouraged them to stand down.
French and German soldiers stood side by side and watched Mecheslav's men disperse from the clearing. They then turned, and parted ways, each man returning to their own tent.
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