by Harald,C. M.
Tigers on the Western Front
(A Royal Zombie Corps story)
By C. M. Harald
Copyright © 2016 C. M. Harald
All Rights Reserved.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The author has asserted the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Recruiting
First Combat
Resistance
Arras
ABOUT THE BOOK
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COMING SOON
Also available
Recruiting
"It was not clear, from the initial deployment of Tigers, that they would be the decisive war winning weapon we hoped for."
Hudson, O, 'One Hell of a War: The Memoirs of Brigadier Oliver Hudson' (1934, London)
Following the action in the village, new orders arrived for the battalion. It was being taken out of the line to investigate the 'interesting circumstances' of the animate corpses. Although the orders were signed by the General Staff, most of the men suspect that Colonel Hudson had written them. Marsh, on the other hand, knew that the Colonel had written them, and despite being a lowly soldier, Hudson had consulted him on several points. A small number of replacement troops were expected, and widespread testing of all the solders had begun. It was hoped that some would be found to have the potential to be handlers of the zombies.
A resourceful soldier had managed to find a small number of goats from somewhere and Hudson had already begun his experiments on the animals. Of far greater importance to Marsh, Wells had even managed to come up with several fresh eggs and a slab of bacon that the squad made short work of. The men all knew there was probably an officers mess missing breakfast somewhere close by, but none of them felt the slightest bit of guilt.
As part of the investigations into Marsh's newfound skills, he had to undergo a great number of tests. It was during these experiments, while digesting the stolen food, that Scott came into his tent. Marsh was rather annoyed with all the needles being stuck in him.
'Morning Sarge, come to use me as a pin cushion as well?'
'Stand to attention when an officer enters the room.' The grin on Scott's face said he was joking about standing to attention, but not about being an officer.
'Congratulations Sir.' Marsh said shaking Scott's hand while patting him on the back, careful to not shake loose the needles stuck in his arm.
'I've been made up to an Acting Lieutenant. No pay rise, but a battlefield commission.' Scott was clearly happy, promoted to a rank far beyond that which he would have believed possible in his pre-war career in the army.
'We must have taken more of a beating than I thought if they've commissioned you.' Marsh smiled from ear to ear.
'We must have taken more of a beating than I thought, Sir.' Scott emphasised his new title before continuing, 'This was all your doing. When Colonel Hudson wants something, he gets it. He wanted our battalion and he needs officers to help run it. He's our new CO now.' Scott explained.
'Thought he was just a medic.' Marsh said.
'Seems he's a bit more than that. Unit's been renamed "1st Experimental Battalion" and we seem to be getting priority on everything but new pairs of hands. Clearly there's an advantage to having a Colonel as the CO of an outfit this size, rather than a Major. I'll probably even have an officer's uniform by tomorrow. But that's not the half of it.'
'There's more? We've only been here a short time and everything's changing again.' Alfie said incredulously, before adding a cheeky, 'Sir.'
'Wells is being made up to Sergeant and you're going to be Corporal.' Scott said removing a pair of stripes from his pocket and handing them to Marsh, 'Congratulations.'
'You'll have you own squad. Wells'll be the platoon sergeant and I'll be your officer. You can pick your own lance corporal.'
'Are you sure I'm ready for it?' Marsh asked, well aware that his reputation as a soldier left a lot to be desired. He had barely scraped through training, and so far had survived combat through luck and teamwork.
'You are joking aren't you? You're the only person here who can control those things.' Scott, like the other remaining soldiers in the battalion had Marsh to thank for saving them when they were nearly overrun while attending to a civil disturbance in a village behind the front line. The General Staff had omitted to inform them that the disturbance was caused by zombies, not that any of the soldiers would have believed them. Maybe Marsh and Wells would, having already met a zombie in the front lines and accidentally controlled it, 'You may be rubbish at the spit and polish, but you've survived the Germans once and the zombies twice. In my book, that makes you perfect for the job.'
'I want Tom as the lance corporal. He knows what he's doing. He's a veteran and doesn't want the job, so he'll do it well and not take any rubbish off the others.' Marsh knew he was going to have to undertake a lot of persuading to convince Matthews to take the role.
'Good choice, but you'll have to work on him.' Scott managed a massive grin, 'Now Corporal, the Old Man wants to see you. Let's get those stripes stitched on double quick shall we.'
'Ah Lieutenant Scott and Corporal Marsh. Just the people.' Colonel Hudson had a dead goat on his desk. He was dressed in his surgical clothes and was clearly in the middle of a dissection, his writing desk standing in for the lack of an operating table. 'Scott, can you wait outside please while the Corporal and I have a chat.'
'Marsh, I would offer to shake your hands but...' The Colonel waved bloodied hands in the air, 'Now, have a look through that microscope over there, yes the one on top of the chest.' Marsh looked through the lens, 'Well, what do you see man?'
'Little things moving around in a liquid.' Marsh said cautiously, not quite sure why the Colonel would require his opinion.
'Bacteria!' It was said with almost religious enthusiasm, 'The very bacteria that we find in the zombies. I suspect these are the animating principle of the creatures. This was in the blood of this here goat, but do you see this goat arising to savage me?'
'No Sir.' Marsh replied. It was always best to humour officers. Now Scott was one of them, would that mean he would need humouring as well?
'Rhetorical question Corporal. Of course the goat is not acting in such a way. I am therefore going to hypothesise that the animal cannot be reanimated, but I will need to test this on a variety of other creatures to establish the universality of the process.' Hudson caught Marsh's eye and Marsh shivered at the apparent joy he saw there.
'I'll also have to investigate if eating this infected flesh corrupts the human. Now that could be a very interesting investigation.' The Colonels face became guarded as he thought through an idea, 'Nevertheless, we must turn our attention to your mission.'
'Mission Sir?'
'Yes, indeed, you suggested it yourself yesterday. It's damn useful to have someone like you about, someone who can work hands on with the zombies. Takes a lot of the guesswork out of my own investigations.' Hudson cleaned his hands of blood on a filthy rag before picking up a cardboard folder from the chaotically paper covered chair. The chair was clearly used to complete his paperwork on, when the desk was required for other purposes, 'These here are your orders, along with the necessary passes and letters to ensure that you receive the full cooperation you need. There is even a letter from General Haig himself, should you find that your other authorisations are insufficient to persuade a senior officer of the importance of your work. Please do not use the letter unless you really
need to. It's far better to keep a lower profile.'
A letter from the head of the British Expeditionary Force in France, Marsh thought, for a simple bloody soldier. This was all being taken very seriously if General Haig was being kept informed.
'Of course, you may not reveal the nature of our special project to anyone. The details are classified as 'Most Secret' and you'll find the letter from General Haig is red printed, so any staff officer will recognise it is from him from that alone. Now, just to clarify how secret this project is, I report directly to General Haig. His chief of staff knows we are working on something experimental, but not what it is. So the details of our work are only known by one man outside of our encampment, the General himself. Any leaks will be dealt with harshly and this will be explained to everyone involved before they leave this camp. In the meantime, we have military police forming a perimeter around our position to prevent contact with anyone else.' Marsh knew the military police had not done a good job of stopping Wells from liberating their breakfast from a neighbouring unit. He was not going to volunteer that information to Hudson.
'Now from this point onwards, our cover is that we are working with exotic animals. We're looking for applications to use them on the battlefield. Now with our immense commitments in India, it will come as no surprise to anyone that we would leverage any opportunities offered by the sub-continent. Therefore, we will use the cover name of 'Tiger'. To everyone, except those directly involved, unusual animals will appear to be our purpose. This cover also has the added side benefit of giving us the excuse to bring in large quantities of livestock for experiments. I'm sure some of the meat will find it's way into the mess pots as well.'
'Tigers it is then, Sir.' Marsh replied.
'To maintain appearances, when you travel around the infantry depots, you should maintain the appearance that you have a captive animal. This animal is a man-eater and that due to the experimental nature of our work it must not be exposed to anyone other than the handlers. Be very clear on this to anyone you bump into. I'm sure there will be some old-India hands about who would like to have a nostalgic nosey at a pet from India.'
'Now you will be travelling with your squad. I'll send a newly arrived Staff Sergeant along, as well as Lieutenant Scott. They will run interference with the busybodies and will be fully briefed on the contents of your orders and the permissions included. You will be able to focus on the core of the mission, recruiting men who can control our special beasts. On issues to do with our Tigers, you will have my authority to act as you see fit, reporting directly to me.' Hudson grinned a mischievous grin, guessing how a lowly corporal could abuse such authority, 'Of course, on other issues, you will follow the normal chain of command through your NCO and officer. I allow you this discretion because there is no-one better qualified for this task than you.'
'Your primary objective is to seek out others who can control the Tigers. I will continue experiments here with volunteers, but we must find other natural handlers, such as yourself, if we are to make any use of the Tigers as a weapon.'
'Are there any questions Marsh?' The Colonel showed the interview was at an end by picking up a severed part of the goat, examining it closely.
'When do I get going Sir?' Marsh asked.
'Right away.'
'Got our orders Sir.' Marsh said to Lieutenant Scott who was hovering by the Colonel's tent.
'Yes, the Colonel has already briefed me. Should be a fun trip. Étaples first I believe?' Scott asked. 'At least we won't be running around like the other poor sods there.'
'Wonder if anyone will recognise me? I can't wait to see the look on the faces of some of those canaries. Those bastards are a right miserable lot and they'll be even more miserable when they realise I'm now an officer.' Scott gleefully rubbed his hands together. 'Oh, we'll also meet up with the new Staff Sergeant when we get there. Bit of a fire-eater apparently, Simpson or something.'
'Who, Sir?' Marsh's blood ran cold. Simpson was a common enough name. The one he knew in training had been a corporal, not sergeant. Yet that Simpson had made his mark, crystal clear in his contempt for Marsh and his inability to function in a spit and polish army.
'William Simpson. Don't know a lot about him, other than he's up for the Military Medal after taking out a machine gun nest when his last unit were wiped out.'
'Sounds like a proper hero.' Not like the William Simpson I knew in training, thought Marsh. Hopefully this would not be the same person. The man was not the type to be flexible enough to cope in battle, wedded to his Victorian ideas of soldiery.
'Get the squad ready. We'll leave for the railhead in an hour. I'll go and make sure that the transport for our pet is ready.' Scott dismissed Marsh, who managed a half-decent salute for once.
The journey to Étaples was far more comfortable than their original journey to the front had been. For a start, there was no fearful anticipation of the unknowns of combat on the front line. Furthermore, the train was not been overly crowded with them having their own carriage to themselves. In the locked mail compartment, there was a large sealed animal crate.
'We're going to find the girls when we get there.' Morgan had been insisting variations of this theme for most of the journey. Now sat in some sidings, waiting for the line to clear, the idea was beginning to wear thin.
'What girls? You've been to Étaples and there were no girls.' Simmonds explained, 'Not a single one.' He had rejoined the squad just before they had marched off with their special crate carried by a wagon. Despite being bitten by a zombie when they had first encountered them in the village, he had not turned into one himself.
'There must be some. Surely those Canaries have them hidden away?' Morgan argued, 'They've got every other luxury there. Why'd they not have girls there?'
'Canaries don't like girls. That's why they'd not have any girls there.' Simmonds explained, 'They only like themselves don't you know.'
'There's the fishing town?' Morgan insisted, 'Plenty of girls there.'
'The officers will have them all of them to themselves, I bet.' Simmonds suggested, 'Even the fishwives I 'spect.'
'I'd let you know lads.' Scott laughed, 'But I've got to nursemaid you lot. So no trips to town for me.'
The time passed slowly on the train. At one point they had been delayed and rumours of sabotage or aerial bombing circulated. During that pause to the their journey, Wells had left the train quickly returning with several liberated bottles of wine that he claimed he had traded for some cigarettes. The rest of the journey had passed quite merrily and without further major delay. The sheer volume of traffic moving towards the front lines had been impressive. Train after train of soldiers, supplies, and heavy equipment such as artillery, flowed past in an unending procession.
Finally the train had arrived at the railhead. It was dark and the rain was pouring down. The remnants of the alcohol in their systems provided little insulation. As the travellers unloaded their cargo, onto a wheeled wagon, the new staff sergeant introduced himself.
'Staff Sergeant Simpson reporting for duty, Sir. Thought I'd meet you here so I could lend a hand.' A loud voice accompanied the body rigidly at attention. The new arrival fired off a crisp salute at Scott.
'Welcome Simpson. Go grab a corner of the crate and we'll bring you up to speed later.'
'Yes sir.' Simpson carefully put his kit out of the way, sheltered from the rain.
As they manoeuvred the animal crate out of the carriage, Marsh saw the face of the new arrival and his heart sank. At least he had been prepared for the possibility that the new NCO would be someone he knew. He elbowed Taff Morgan and indicated with his eyes where to look.
'Dear God Almighty!' Morgan shouted, nearly upending the crate as he let go of the pole.
'Taff! Get a grip.' Wells shouted but Morgan continued to stare at Simpson, 'Taff!'
'Simpson.' Morgan spat out, almost stuttering over the name. He was pointing at the new arrival.
They all looked at Simpson, the crate unbalanc
ed and rocking on the polls. Simpson returned the stare of each man, his face turning grim as he took in the stripes on Wells and Marsh. Simpson looked ready to talk, but a growl from the crate drew them all back to what they were doing. With a fair degree of haste they loaded the crate onto the back of the wagon, afterwards squeezing in under the canvas cover to stay out of the pouring rain.
'What the hell you doing here?' Wells asked Simpson, disgust clear from his tone.
'Could ask the same of you.' Simpson replied equally frostily.
'He's the new staff sergeant,' Marsh said, 'Old Man mentioned it earlier, although I didn't think it would be the same Simpson.'
'You could have warned us.' Morgan said, throwing a glare across the narrow space.
'Well looks like I've got you rabble again. Surprisingly intact as well.' Simpson did not sound in the least bit complementary, 'How did you lot manage to escape the front lines then?' There was an accusatory tone to his voice.
'How did you manage to escape England?' Davies answered back.
'Escape England, Sergeant. Some of you still don't have a clue how to speak to your superiors.' Simpson glared at Davies before continuing, 'I was sent out to see action. However, it looks like they think I'll be better nursemaiding you lot again.'
'Feed him to the Tiger.' Morgan muttered under his breath, load enough for everyone to hear.
'What's that Morgan? What you muttering about?' Morgan did not repeat the suggestion. 'You lot need to shape up. A short time in the trenches and you no longer look like soldiers.' Despite the rain, Simpson's uniform was immaculate, the water had already run off his highly polished boots.
'Spit and polish don't stop bullets Sarge.' Marsh said.
'The expert himself speaks.' A new level of distaste emerged in Simpson's tone, 'Somehow you've even been promoted, so you can't have been the complete wash-out you appeared to be.' There was still spite in Simpson's voice as he turned to Wells. 'And Wells, incredibly you've made Sergeant. Where did you rustle up those stripes from?'