Chapter 22
Hugo Drummond had rough features of a British bulldog and the course demeanor to match. He confidently led Mors and Irma out into No Man's Land and into a foxhole. That was unfortunate for the German soldier hiding in it. The panicked Hun drew his knife and rushed to attack. Hugo seized the arm and twisted it till the blade was dropped then pulled the antaganist into his clutches and, with minimal grunting and savage strength, crushed the life out of him.
"What was he doing here?" Demanded Irma.
"Probably a spy doing reconnaissance." Answered Hugo. "His officers will be waiting a long time for his report."
Mors asked "What do we do now?"
"Your next guide should be joining us here about now."
"One of yours?" Asked Irma.
"No. He's American" Said Hugo, "This fellow has become used to prowling close to the enemy lines."
Hugo blew on a whistle that emulated a light bird call. The same signal came from nearby.
A swift figure bound into the foxhole with them. He was a young man wearing a tattered uniform of the Royal Canadian Army, yet he greeted everyone with an American accent. Irma quickly noted that he was exceptionally handsome; there were several ornaments of American Indian culture on him yet he was all Caucasion; brownish blonde hair even. She focused on his eyes to see their pigmentation but it was like looking into the eyes of a grizzly bear. He carried a stick with him with dangling furry adornments, but it could not serve as a weapon.
Hugo introduced him. "Meet Tristan Ludlow."
Greetings were jovial even Mors with his German accent generated warm chemistry with the guide. Tristan complimented Irma on her dark cat burglar apparel and make-up.
"The ability to keep unseen here is what will keep you alive."
No Man's Land was a mangled divide between the trenches. Multiple artillery strikes and grenades had twisted the earth into ghostly landscape of dead shattered trees, wide craters and waves of disturbed dirt. It was these that allowed the daring travelers to crawl on their bellies across the lethal strip.
Another foxhole offered a brief respite amidst this awkward trek. It was from here that Mors and Irma got their first look at the super zeppelin moored just beyond the German lines.
"That's where we have to get to." Said Mors.
"Good luck to you." Wished Tristan. "I can get you passed the enemy lines; but getting in that base; I have to leave to your own devices."
"That's fine." Said Irma. "We got that worked out."
"With a little help from me." Added Hugo.
The remaining distance was traveled stressfully but without discovery. Tristan even lead them to a stretch of enemy trench that was unmanned. He clearly knew the Hun's vulnerabilities.
"Before we dart across." Whispered Tristan. "I must deal with that lookout post."
He was indicating a machine gun post to the left. It had two soldiers behind sandbags.
"Stay here and wait for me to return." Whispered the American as he scurried towards it.
Tristan's stealth was good; even Irma and Mors lost sight of him. The two soldiers remained unaware of any other presence. It wasn't long before Irma saw both soldiers disappear beneath the sandbag rim. One scream followed another as Tristan's knife dealt with both lookouts in quick succession.
Irma did not see Tristan until two minutes after the slayings, this was when he stood up to dismantle the Maxim machine gun. He got back in short order and bid everyone to cross the trench. They were in enemy territory now.
A wide mound of earth lay just beyond; everyone ascended towards the top. Tristan got their first then pleaded with everyone to not move and hide just short of the pinnacle.
A multitude of footsteps with occasional grunting was heard. The strides were too undisciplined to be soldiers marching and the verbal sounds were alien. Both Irma and Mors peaked over the mound's rim to see a massive line with hundreds of twisted pale skinned figures ambulating towards the trenches to the left.
They were each a horrid visage of the ugly sketch they were shown by M. Each countenance was only remotely human; their gait, walk and features were roughly apelike. Whatever sparse hair each one had was positioned variously and randomly on their hideous bodies and not always the scalp. So these were the homunculi, created in their thousands to rain hell on the Western Front. Their teeth and claws seemed deliberately designed to kill.
Occasional German were seen walking by the line. They carried little whistles that, when blown, made no audible noise but kept the mass of ambulating monstrosities in order.
When this procession passed the four onlookers drew a sigh of relief. After catching breath, there was questioning and discussion about the bizarre vision, but soon the mission continued. The super zeppelin looked massive now that they were getting close.
The forest behind the line was an easy walk and soon the air base perimeter fence came into view.
"This is where I part company." Announced Hugo. "My fence line sabotage will be explosive and provide the distraction you will need."
Mors and Drummond synchronized their watches before the latter's departure.
Tristan accompanied the two League members to the forest edge. All trees within fifty meters of the perimeter had been cleared. There was only one guard patrolling outside the fenceline in this area; trees made hiding from him easy. A lookout tower gave a guard a certain view of anyone leaving the treeline to approach the fence.
"Are you two sure you know what your doing?" Asked Tristan.
"We do Tristan." Answered Mors. "We must wait here until dark before we act. You have been been of valuable help. Thank you."
"Good Luck." Tristan took his leave of the two after another pass of the patrolling guard. Irma noticed that the stick Tristan was carrying had two extra furry adornments attached to it.
Mors and Irma sat and waited for nightfall.
The gentle forest sounds were pushed aside by an earsplitting thunderous shock that shook from the trenches. Wave after wave of horrendous noise ripped through the woods.
Mors turned to Irma. "The battle has begun."