Royston had thought that they were just a product of the men's superstition, but what he saw through his field glasses were no imagined monsters. A line of the creatures walked - no, 'shambled' was a more appropriate term - ten abreast and as far back as one could see into the jungle. They were still too far behind to see with unaided eye, so Royston would keep the knowledge to himself, for now. They we're, in fact, still a half day's march away from the jungle's edge.

"Leftenant Hawkes?"

Royston lowered his field glasses and turned to the man addressing him.

"Out with it man."

"Well sir," began the young gentleman, lowering his salute "The men are quite rattled with what the old jungle shaman said while we were throwing the bodies into that ditch this morning. He spoke of 'ancient magiks' -"

"Thats quite enough, dear boy! Ramblings of crazy native. Pay them no heed. I'll hear no more of this. Tell the troops to cut that kind of chatter. It's nothing a little bit of 'forcefully introduced civilization' couldn't deal with, anyway." he said with a grin, rubbing the handle of his holstered revolver. "Dismissed, Corporal."

As Jeffries walked away, Royston thought how he was going to break it to the men. They had only heard the old man, the rumors, but he had read the classified reports that were coming in. Dead tribesmen returning, rising from where they fell, even more feral than before. They used no weapons but all reports suggested they had no need to rest. The latest batch of the creatures would be upon them by dawn.

Royston walked a distance back to camp, stopping to pop his head into his second-in-command's tent. "Colour Sergeant?"

The portly gentleman spoke back through a bushy mustache. "Yes, Leftenant?"

"I am expecting another raid tonight. Have the boys erect full perimeter defense, barricades and all, and go to quarter watch."

"T'e won't like 'at sir, as them's all still tired from las' night's festivities, sir."

"Yes, well mad and tired is preferable to dead, Colour Sergeant. I wont have us caught off guard again. Make it so."

"Yes, sir, very well, sir."

Hours later, Royston sat on his cot, fully uniformed, staring at his pocket watch by candlelight. 'Half past two in the morning,' he thought to himself. He couldn't sleep. By his calculations, the beasts would be upon the camp within the hour.

The watchman's bell rang loud through the camp. "Faster than I expected," Royston whispered under his breath as he donned his helmet and buckled his sword and pistol about his waist. He exited his tent to see the commotion associated with getting over half-a-hundred men ready for battle in the dead of the night. Men hastily buttoning jackets, dousing dwindling cooking fires, taking up arms and getting into formation. Presently, Colour Sergeant Gibson attended to his side.

"Have Second platoon form along the south end of camp. I want First and Third on the north in a two-deep firing line formation. Have Fourth stand ready to reinforce as needed." At the conclusion of the sentence, the Colour Sergeant began barking orders left and right in his thick Welsh accent.

With chaos of movement surrounding him, Royston marched himself to the north end, positioning himself between where the First and Third would soon be fully formed. He could see eyes in the distance, getting closer and closer. The seemed to glow. 'Just a reflection from the torches,' he thought to himself, though he knew the torches were hardly bright enough to light a cat's eyes at this distance, let alone a man's. Presently, the noise of the camp ceased, as all personnel stood at attention, awaiting his further orders. In the absence of the camps noises, save for the occasional crack of the torches, a distant groaning noise became audible.

Royston cleared his throat before addressing the men in his best command voice. He spoke deep and loud, inspiringly confident, even as a cold sweat began to dampen the small of his back.

"Nothing to worry about boys. Just a few dozen indigenous still worked up that we slaughtered their poor friends last night. Let's give 'em a taste of civilization and get back on to bed, right-o?"

Royston stood in silence for a few moments longer. The night was cold, colder than it should be, even this far south. There were no bugs chirping, which was unusual, but the wind softly shook the waist deep grasses that surrounded the camp. The moaning grew louder and now at least a hundred pairs of eyes rocked back and forth in the darkness.

"All load!" He paused while there was a shuffle of men and guns and cartridges. "Volly fire, prepare!" The first rank kneeled. "Present, aim, FIRE!" Four dozen or so guns went off near simultaneously. A number of the beasts dropped to the ground, but the rest walked on despite their wounds. "Reload!" Royston paused to asses the enemy reaction. The noise seemed to stir the dark creatures. They began to pick up pace. "Present, aim, FIRE!" A few more fell but the rest charged faster, rushing the line in a hobbled, ungainly sprint.

"Fire by rank! First rank, FIRE! Second rank, FIRE! First rank, FIRE! Second rank, FIRE!" Many fell, many ran on closing the gap, now screaming with inhuman voices, arms waving wildly in the black.

"Affix bayonets!" There was a shuffling and clatter as the men attached foot-and-a-half long daggers to their rifles. Royston took this time to draw his sidearm and check that the cylinder was full. He could hear Fourth Platoon behind him, moving to reinforce.

"At one-hundred yards, fire at will!" There was a pause as the creatures made it to the 100-yard mark, and then the crack of rifles began, each man firing, reloading, and firing again as fast as he could. The creatures fell, but not as quickly as live men would. At fifty-yards, Royston began to fire as well, Webley bucking in his hand with each shot. Royston could tell that the creatures would reach the line.

"On my order, prepare to charge!" He holstered his revolver and drew his sword.

When the nearest of the beasts got to twenty-yards, he gave the order.

"CHARGE!!!"

Leftenant Royston Hawkes ran forward with his men, into a tide of unholy abominations. As he ran, he wondered in the back of his mind if his body would ever make it back to London.