Dark Tales From the Secret War

by John Houlihan

  “I take it we’ll have army support?”

  “Not as such,” Lockwood said, staring into his mug. “Price and Riby will be with us.”

  “Two men? That’s it?”

  “Correct. I believe Riby is an old friend of yours, is he not?”

  “Two men, Lockwood?” She repeated. “How the hell are we supposed to kill it if with just two men?”

  “We’re not supposed to kill it,” he replied, meeting her gaze. “This is a capture, not a kill mission.”

  She choked on her tea. “What?!”

  “This is a remarkable opportunity for study,” he said blankly. “We’d be mad not to take it.”

  “No Lockwood,” she said, shaking her head, trying to keep her tone level. “You’d be mad to try it. You said so yourself — these polyps are deadly! It will kill us all.”

  “Those are my orders, Mrs Snaith,” he said.

  “But Lockwood! Jonathan, please —”

  “Those are my orders!”

  She wanted to slam her cup down and scream in his face. Wanted to drag him down to the morgue where the bodies of the dead sappers currently lay. Wanted to hurl insults at the unfeeling bastard. Instead, she took a deep breath and a moment to compose herself. Like it or not, he held rank.

  “So how are we supposed to do this?”

  * * *

  The crates had arrived by lunchtime. Lockwood crowbarred the first one open gleefully in the yard, revealing a bulky tangle of olive green metal curves. “It’s a portable generator,” he explained. “Though it didn’t feel very portable when we were carrying it in here.”

  Cordelia stood a few feet away, sheltering from the rain. “Alright. Now what?”

  “This works in conjunction with a metal cage. With a little bit of adaptation I’ll be able to run a current through it. We get the polyp in there and it won’t be able to get out again. Well, at least I hope not.”

  She eyed him doubtfully. “Don’t worry,” he said. “The binding will immobilise the creature temporarily. It’ll be fine.”

  * * *

  Five hours later, she stood once more in the cold at Scriven Street, watching as Price and Lockwood finished assembling the enormous cage.

  “Nice night for it,” Riby said cheerfully, passing her a cigarette. She didn’t say anything, but accepted his offer.

  “Cities shouldn’t be this quiet,” she said, sadly, sparking up.

  He shrugged. “A lot of things shouldn’t be the way they are. That’s just life.”

  Cordelia had been friends with Riby for several years now. Joining Section M had been an intimidating experience and he had been one of the few to have welcomed her and treated her with respect rather than suspicion.

  “What do you think of all this, Peter?”

  He shrugged. “Well, I’d rather be down the pub, but it beats sitting around underground all night.”

  She laughed. “I suppose.”

  “It’ll be alright, love. Lockwood knows what he’s doing.”

  “Do you think? I’m really not so sure any more.”

  Riby turned to look at her. “There’s only one thing that’s going to get us through this war. And that’s trust. I know he’s a difficult bastard, but he’s smart too. If he reckons this will work out, then we’ve got to take his word for it.”

  “I just hope we’re still standing at the end of it.”

  “That’s never a certainty,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette. “Not in war time. You know that as well as anyone.”

  There was a triumphant cry from behind them. Lockwood had yanked the starter cord of the generator and the contraption juddered loudly into life. He hopped back, warily. After a few moments sparks began to fizz and pop up and down the metal bars as drops of rain struck it. The cage was live. Now they just had to lure the polyp inside.

  * * *

  Price, Riby and Cordelia spread out, a few yards apart. They carried Stirling submachine guns — almost certainly not enough to do any lasting harm to the creature, but perhaps enough to give it pause for thought if it attacked them. Cordelia felt moderately safer clutching hers tight to her chest. Their torches remained off. The hope was that this would give them the advantage of seeing the creature before it saw them…

  It wasn’t long before they found signs of its presence. Price called to them and Riby and Cordelia jogged over to find him crouching over something.

  “What is it?”

  “Guess,” Price said, standing up and flicking on his torch. The beam illuminated a pale white face, staring up at them. He moved the torch beam, revealing the lack of a body. “Pretty tasty, eh?”

  Cordelia panned her torch around until the beam picked out a malnourished dog, gnawing hungrily at something. It scurried away from the torchlight, leaving its prize behind — the rest of the cadaver. “Well at least we know it’s still here,” Cordelia said. “Be on your guard.”

  As if in answer, a low, keening whistle echoed around the empty street. Riby swore and caught her eye. “It’s not always nice to be right, is it?”

  Cordelia felt, rather than saw, something rush at them out of the dark. Instinctively, she threw herself to the side, hitting the ground hard. She rolled onto her back, weapon and torch raised, but there was nothing there. She sat back up and looked around.

  It took her a second to work out what was happening.

  Riby’s mouth was hanging open in terror. She followed his line of sight and saw Price, shaking and gagging, with what looked like a long black rope wrapped tightly around his throat. She followed the line of the noose and soon saw it for what it really was — a tentacle.

  It was impossible to determine the shape of the monster — it was a constantly-shifting mass that seemed to expand and contract, while a clutch of tendrils twitched in the air.

  Cordelia scrambled to her feet and aimed the Stirling, trying to find a clear shot at the writhing black mass. Before she could fire, the creature lifted Price into a crushing embrace, enveloping him completely.

  Riby fired, his bullets riddling the polyp’s flesh. The creature gave a high-pitched snarl. In a single, fluid motion, the creature tossed Price’s remains towards them, forcing Cordelia and Riby to scatter. The crushed, bloody remnants of their colleague hit the ground with a loud, wet crunch. When Cordelia turned back, the polyp was gone.

  “Did we scare it?” Riby wondered aloud, visibly shaken.

  “I doubt it,” she said. “I think we made it angry. Come on, we’ve got to draw it back to Lockwood.”

  The pair turned and ran back the way they had come. The monster’s whistle — loud, almost hooting now — seemed to follow above and behind them. Cordelia resisted the urge to turn and look; pushed the images of cold, wet tentacles wrapping themselves around her body out of her mind. They had to get back to the cage.

  Lockwood was waiting for them as they arrived, his grimoire open. Cordelia could hear the crackle of electricity from the cage. It was oddly reassuring.

  “Price?”

  “He’s gone,” Riby said, breathlessly. “That bastard thing killed him.”

  Lockwood nodded. “But we’re still here. Keep it together, it’s coming for us next.”

  “You’re a cold-hearted bastard, you know that?” snapped Riby.

  “It has been mentioned. When the polyp comes, open fire. Distract it while I begin the incantations.”

  Cordelia nodded. “This had better work, Lockwood.”

  “It will,” he said. “This spell is ancient and powerful — almost as old as mankind. If anything can hold it, this ca —”

  There was a moment of intense heat and Cordelia was tossed to the ground. She cried out in pain, but couldn’t hear anything above the sudden, deafening roar. She lay there awhile, deafened and disorientated, until a sudden surge of adrenaline forced her back to reality.

  As the rumbling faded, it was replaced with the sounds of tumbling masonry. Gradually, her senses began to reassert themselves.

  “LOCKWOOD?”


  There was no answer. Struggling to her feet, she gazed through a wall of smoke and fire. The V-2 had detonated at the end of the street, about 200 feet from them. She choked and gagged on the dust and smoke in the air. She called out for Riby, but he was silent too. Her ears were ringing and she felt dizzy and nauseous. She scrabbled around, hopelessly lost in the choking smoke and dust.

  Eventually her hands landed on something soft and wet. She knew immediately that it was a body. Riby. The right side of his head had been crushed completely by debris. She turned away in shock, fighting back the urge to scream. Instead, she allowed herself a precious few moments with her old friend, her hands resting on his shoulders, tears stinging her eyes, before forcing herself to move on.

  She found Lockwood a few minutes later — dead or unconscious, she couldn’t tell. She leaned down to check his pulse. As she did so, she felt something whip passed her. She dropped and hugged the ground, hoping that the polyp hadn’t seen her, that it too was struggling in this murk.

  After a few moments, she risked a look. There was nothing there, so she turned back to Lockwood, pressing an ear to his chest. It took a moment to make it out, but there was a heartbeat — faint, but definitely there. She could have wept with joy. She shook him hard. “Come on you old bastard, wake up and help me!” Her partner steadfastly refused to comply. “On my own then.”

  The grimoire lay nearby. She grabbed for it and leafed through the pages. It was written in some indecipherable language. Even if she could read it, she had no idea which of the charms was the binding spell. It was useless.

  There was still the cage, at least. Perhaps she could lure the beast inside… She switched her torch back on and searched the ruined street — and all hope evaporated.

  The cage lay several feet away, in several twisted and buckled parts.

  They were without hope. Her only option now was to get back to Section M. Come back with more men and more weapons. And if she wanted to make it back alive, that would mean leaving Lockwood. Dragging his unconscious body through the streets would leave her open to attack. She had to give him up.

  Except…

  She could hear something. Her ears were still ringing, but this was definitely something else, a clunky, rattling, juddering. It took her a few moments to realise that it was the generator. She ran towards the sound, slipping and stumbling on the wet stones.

  The cable that had been previously connected to the cage lay severed on the ground, fizzing and popping. She steered well clear and went to check the device itself, unsure of exactly what she was looking for. Nothing obvious presented itself.

  What would Lockwood do in this situation?

  She hated herself for wondering that. It was Lockwood who had landed them in this mess, after all. If they’d come armed with some serious artillery, then Price and Riby might still be alive. His arrogance had caused their deaths. After a few minutes of fiddling with the machinery she decided that this too was a dead end. Escape was now the only option.

  She would have to leave Lockwood to his fate. It was not a pleasant thought, but she knew he would do the same in her position. And besides, the jeep was just a few yards away. With a bit of luck she could make it. Get back to headquarters. Bring reinforcements… It wasn’t impossible that he would survive.

  The polyp swept down towards her, lashing out with a flurry of tendrils. One caught her hard across the face, knocking her backwards. Ignoring the pain and the blood, she fired into the dark, the sound of her Stirling rattling loudly around the empty streets. The creature had gone, for the moment, but she knew it would be back soon. A moment later she heard it whistling again, almost taunting this time. She spun her torch left and right, trying to locate it.

  There! It seemed to leap out of the darkness towards her. Cordelia fired again, riddling its amorphous hide with holes. She saw the bullets strike home, watched as several of those pitiless, alien eyes burst in fountains of black ichor. It shrieked, but kept on coming. She fired until the gun was empty, then tossed it aside. She snatched up the cable, and jabbed at it, electrical sparks bursting from the frayed filaments.

  The polyp rose up into the air. Cordelia dodged another tentacle strike, still clutching the cable, and waited, keeping her eyes on the night’s sky, trying to determine where it would strike next. Moments later it plummeted down towards her, and again she lashed out, missing its flesh by inches. It swept back up around, ready for its next attack.

  She heard a voice then in the odd moment of calm between attacks. She couldn’t make out the words. At the same time as she saw the tornado of black un-flesh tumbling back towards her, she realised that it was Lockwood speaking. He lay in a broken heap, his grimoire open in one hand, chanting and muttering in some weird tongue. Still trying, she thought sadly. Still trying right till the bitter end.

  The polyp descended, whistling quietly. Its tendrils reached out for her and she felt an overwhelming tide of helplessness. She closed her eyes tightly as one wrapped around her waist. It was gentler than she had anticipated. She waited for it to crush her, inhaled its rank, dead scent and felt tears roll down her cheeks. This was it.

  Nothing happened.

  She opened her eyes, nervously. The polyp hung suspended in mid-air, as if snared on some invisible hook. It’s constantly shifting form was frozen for the moment, its hideous maw rigid with rage. To her right, Lockwood continued chanting through ragged breaths. She caught his gaze and he gave her a brief nod. Pulling herself free from the tentacles. Cordelia picked up the sparking cable and lunged forward, plunging it into the mouth of the creature. She felt the current pulsing through the cable. The polyp’s whistle became an intense animal howl. Its flesh caught fire, the blazing heat scorching Cordelia’s face. She held fast, allowing herself to scream when the pain became too much. And then, finally, the polyp disintegrated, it’s weird matter erupting into nothing but black ash and burning embers.

  AFTER

  Cordelia stood alone by the cemetery gates, watching from a distance. She didn’t feel comfortable around families at the best of times, and this was certainly not the best of times.

  The funeral was short. No one had the luxury of long goodbyes these days. Still, it was a good turnout with far more people than she had thought would come.

  Inevitably, she thought back to the day of Mark’s funeral and felt the familiar sting of tears. “Not here,” she muttered. Not while there was a chance of being seen.

  She still ached. The medic had told her that her injuries would heal soon, but that the burns would take longer. She’d wear some of those scars for the rest of her life.

  “You’re really very lucky,” he’d said. The doctor was an irritatingly cheerful young man who clearly hadn’t been serving long enough to have developed the right level of cynicism. She didn’t feel very lucky today.

  Eventually, the mourners left. Cordelia waited until she was certain that they had gone before making her way to the grave stone and laid the orchids that she had brought next to the roses and peonies.

  A figure stepped out from behind a tree, causing her to start. She turned quickly, sighing when she saw who it was.

  “Quite the turnout.”

  “They deserved it,” she said. “How are you, Lockwood?”

  “Oh, you know,” he tapped his walking stick. “Surviving.”

  “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “I respected those men as much as you did,” he said quietly. “And I am not unaware of the part I played in their deaths.”

  Silence hung between them. It was the first time she had seen Lockwood since that night. She had thought a lot about what she wanted to say to him, but now that she had the opportunity, she didn’t feel like saying anything at all. He looked gaunter than before. She knew he’d also suffered from burns and shrapnel wounds during the explosion. It was a minor miracle that he was here with her now.

  “There’s another one,” Lockwood said, eventually. “In Germany. Your friend Carstairs �
�� his report implied that there might be a second creature out there. And we’ve heard reports of a creature attacking villages in the Alps. I’m taking a team to investigate.”

  “You? You’re in no fit state to travel, let alone fight.”

  He glowered at her, a hint of the old fire returning. “Everyone else is busy. I appear to have cornered the market in marauding supernatural entities.”

  “And then what?” Cordelia snapped. “Are you going to bring it back here? Teach it new tricks? Train it to kill Nazis?”

  He paused. And then, turning to face the graves of Price and Riby, Lockwood shook his head. “Not this time, Mrs Snaith. Not this time.”

  They stood a while together, then Lockwood turned and started to make his way slowly, painfully towards the cemetery gates. He was almost through them when Cordelia called out to him. “So… when do we leave?”

  IN THE FLESH

  By Josh Vogt

  THE winter wind pried through the gap in the window and nipped Elwood’s face like a many-mouthed thing, each tiny, invisible bite snatching away another fragment of body heat he struggled to contain within his uniformed disguise. Frozen mud crunched beneath the supply truck’s wheels, sounding to him like bones popping and shattering as the caravan neared the camp gates. He could just make out the concrete and barbed wire of the walls through the rime-covered trees that arched over the road. Peaked guard towers jutted up every couple of hundred feet, poor imitations of Wurmberg Mountain just to the north.

  Four trucks ahead, three behind, each with a driver and guard or two. His squatted right in the middle, about to drive straight down into the heart of an enemy camp. He licked cracked lips, trying to swallow sour spittle. He needed clearer focus if they wanted to survive this operation.

  Elwood startled as a hand reached through a slit in the canvas separating the cab from the bed and thumped his shoulder. Sergeant Perkins rumbled in the gap.

  “You holding steady? Danston says you were looking rather peaky back at the pass. Don’t like the bloody work, even when it runs smooth?”