Red Devils

22

They used kerosene from one of the lamps and torched the hut they’d been sheltering in, at the same time cremating the body of Lieutenant Henshaw. They took his weapons and kit, and Wilkins collected his identity tags and papers and a photograph and letter from his sweetheart which he found in the dead man’s inside pocket. He made a silent promise to himself that when all this was said and done, he’d seek the woman out and tell her what a key role her lost love had played in saving the world. Hollow words, he knew, but he hoped they’d help ease the pain on some level.

The flames from the hut had the desired effect. As the British soldiers snuck out through the rear of the building, the incandescent bloom acted like a call to the faithful, drawing out vast swathes of undead creatures from every corner of the camp. They swarmed like ants over picnic food, competing with each other to get closer to the fire, oblivious to the devastating effect the flames had on both living and dead flesh alike. Jones watched with disbelief from a gap between two other buildings as several of the damn things continued to move, still walking even as their bodies burned. Prisoner and guard alike, all the former barriers of race and rank had been erased by this despicable condition. Nazi, Jew, man, woman, adult, child, captor, captive… now they were all just the dead.

This next group of buildings where the four soldiers now found themselves were, thankfully, far more innocuous than the last. By peering in through the dust and grime covered windows, Barton saw that these large, warehouse-like places appeared to be some kind of factory. Although much was hidden by the darkness, the outline of row after row after row of workbenches stretched back into the gloom. Their purpose appeared almost industrial by design. ‘Munitions,’ Wilkins told him. ‘Although my sources suggested a change of design had been mooted for the weapons made here.’

‘How so, Lieutenant?’

‘We were led to believe that the Nazis intended harvesting the germ and loading it onto their weapons. Rockets and other such. It doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’

‘Good grief. You mean Jerry was planning to fire the germ straight at us?’

‘Yes. And if you needed any indication of the seriousness of our predicament, which I’m sure you don’t, remember that the Nazis appear to have so far resisted doing so. I wonder if the Reich have begun to realise the full implications of what they’ve created.’

‘Strikes me as inhuman that anyone – Nazi or otherwise – could even contemplate using a weapon like this,’ Harris said, the disgust in his voice barely concealed.

‘War makes good men do awful things, don’t ever forget that,’ Wilkins warned.

‘Our boys would never stoop so low,’ Harris said.

‘Be under no illusions, if we’re not successful in stopping this deadly infection, something far worse may be unleashed. You heard Colonel Adams’ warning.’

The endless parade of the burning dead was strangely hypnotising, but the men knew they needed to focus on the task at hand. ‘Any sign of Sergeant Steele?’ Jones wondered.

‘Nothing,’ Harris said. ‘Not a peep.’

‘We can’t afford to wait,’ Wilkins said. ‘We must keep moving.’

Schematics of the concentration camp had been hard to come by, but it seemed likely their instincts were right. The scientist and his laboratory would almost certainly be found in the fortress-like castle at the entrance to Polonezköy – inevitably the hardest part of the camp for them to breach. Built several hundred years ago, it looked as strong and impenetrable as ever. The towering building appeared, from this angle anyway, to be a motley collection of disparate parts: square towers with spires butted up against circular towers which stretched up into the dark sky. Endless grey stone walls seemed to wrap around each other like a maze. And yet there had to be a way in. For the castle to play a functioning part in the day to day operation of the concentration camp, there had to be a number of ways in and out.

‘Should we split up?’ Harris asked.

‘I think it’s better we stick together, until we’re inside at least,’ Barton said quickly.

The men moved across the courtyard at speed, ducking and swerving to avoid more meandering corpses which, for now, were still gravitating towards the light from the fire. They were soon pressed up against the castle wall. Jones looked directly up at the vast keep which towered above him, and froze. ‘Not sure if I can do this, sir…’ he stammered.

‘It’s all right to be afraid,’ Wilkins told him. ‘Between you and me, though, I’d rather be inside with you men for company than left out here on my own, wouldn’t you?’ He dragged Jones on with him without giving him a chance to renege.

They found a set of steps which sunk down into the ground and ended at a solid-looking door. Wilkins cautiously edged down and listened, but he could hear nothing. He tried the door and found that it opened easily. Was no door left locked in this bizarre place, he wondered? He peered inside – seeing nothing initially in the pitch-black – and waited for some kind of response.

‘Smells bad,’ Jones said from close behind.

Wilkins ducked his head into the doorway and gave out a most un-gentlemanly wolf whistle which was amplified by the acoustics of the ancient building.

‘Forgive me, sir, but what the hell are you doing?’ Barton asked.

Wilkins didn’t have chance to respond, because his call soon had the desired effect. He was immediately aware of movement inside the keep, and he moved out of the way quickly as a surge of dead bodies began to emerge. He found himself trapped at the bottom of the steps by an unexpected (and still growing) number of them and he began hitting out and slashing at them with his knife. Harris came to his rescue, leaning down and yanking him up to safely, a hand under each of his shoulders. He continued to kick out, catching one or two of them, but he needn’t have worried because Jones and Barton were already on the case. The advancing corpses seemed unusually dumb and lumbering, perhaps confused by the sudden escape and the shift from inside to outside. Between them they picked seven of them off with the bayonets affixed to the ends of their rifles, leaving them in an unruly heap at the bottom of the few stone steps.

Once they were dealt with, the chaotic attack was over.

Wilkins brushed himself down. The men were relatively safe here, hidden by the slope of the ground and a couple more wooden huts. He could see constant movement in the courtyard, but crucially for now, the dead couldn’t see him. Regaining his composure after the sudden exertion of the last few minutes, he took a step forward to examine the corpses they’d just felled. ‘Shine a torch down here,’ he ordered, and Jones obliged. ‘All German,’ Wilkins announced. They were all wearing Nazi uniforms and had real weight and bulk to their bodies. A stark contrast with what they’d seen of the prisoner population of the camp so far; cruelly starved and forced to work until their bodies resembled skeletons held together with the merest amount of flesh and sinew.

‘There’s something different about these,’ Barton said, and he hefted one of the corpses to the top of the steps and dumped it on the ground. Jones nearly emptied his stomach when he shone his light into the foul thing’s repulsive face. It was far more decayed than any of the other corpses they’d seen since reaching the camp. The skin was heavily discoloured. Wilkins forced himself to get closer to the repugnant aberration. He took its gloved right hand in his and began to bend and flex the arm repeatedly.

‘Pardon me, Lieutenant,’ Harris said, ‘but what in heaven’s name are you doing?’

Wilkins said nothing for a few moments longer, his face a picture of concentration. He took off one of his own fingerless gloves and unbuttoned the dead Nazi’s heavily stained tunic and shirt. He rested his hand on its pallid skin and agitated it slightly. When he was ready, he answered. ‘I’m trying to date the bodies.’

‘Date the bodies,’ Jones said to the other two. ‘What’s he on about?’

Wilkins looked up at him disapprovingly. ‘If you’d do me the honour of keeping quiet for a short while longer, I’ll explain.’

He held open the Nazi’s left eye, then prodded its distended belly.

‘Come on, sir, I think that’s enough…’ Barton protested.

Wilkins wiped his hands and stood up. ‘It’s quite simple really, but important. I’ve no doubt you’ve all seen more than your fair share of death since this infernal war began. I’ve just carried out a few simple tests I’ve picked up along the way to try and ascertain when a person died. The sclera over the eye, the amount of movement in the joints…’

‘Rigor mortis?’ Harris suggested.

‘That’s right. The condition typically manifests itself shortly after death, then relaxes again approximately a day later. Prodding the belly and inspecting the extremities allows me to estimate the gas content of the gut – the longer a person’s body has been decaying, the greater the volume of gas produced. Similarly, swollen joints and buttocks can indicate the presence of pools of blood where the corpse has remained in one position for an extended period of time.’

‘And rubbing the chest?’ Barton asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

‘As the body decays and undergoes such dramatic internal changes, so the skin can loosen. I was checking for slippage.’

‘So how long have these been dead? And pardon me, Lieutenant, but why in heaven’s name does it matter?’

‘In answer to your first question, I estimate between three and five days. And with regard to your second point, knowing how long these guards have been dead gives us the best indication we can get as to what has happened here. We know that the prisoners out here are dead, but what about those who were within the castle walls? Did they die first? I have to admit, I believe this place is filled with nothing but death in every conceivable corner. Yet, somewhere in that cesspit of decay, I also believe we might find the secret that will put an end to this nightmare.’

No more talk. Time for action.

Wilkins snapped a branch from a dead tree (is nothing left alive here? he wondered) and wrapped a jacket from one of the Nazi corpses around it. He poured lighter fuel over the material then set it ablaze.

The four soldiers ducked down through the low stone doorway and disappeared into the gloom.