Napoleonic Dread French Infantry 1

Gustave Écharpe hastily reloaded his musket while his eyes darted across the foggy sky. What on earth was he doing here? Just two weeks ago he had been a fusilier in the army of general Séverins as he wreaked havoc among the Prussian troops. It hadn't been a particularly good or easy life, but at least with the Prussians you knew where you were at. You shot at each other until one side stopped, and thanks to the generals military genius they had usually enjoyed the tactical advantage, so casualties had been reduced to a minimum. Then this haggered capitaine arrived at the camp and recruited him and two other infantrymen to hunt monsters as part of some special unit. At first Gustave had enjoyed the change, there was less marching for hours and more food, and he got to listen to some crazy stories the veterans of the unit told. But slowly it had dawned on him that all of these stories involved brutal deaths of nameless fusiliers... He had managed to shrug it off at first, but as they traveled deeper and deeper into abandoned hinterlands he felt a never before known dread creep up to him. He had never been a religious man, but he actually began praying for a swift end of their mission. And then, two days ago, they had heard that ghastly screech for the first time, a sound that bellowed between the hills and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Their vivandière Sophie had given him a simple cross and advised him to always carry it around his neck, but she hadn't told him why. And now he knew. Or rather, he wondered how on earth a cross should protect him against whatever monstrosity they were shooting at. Next to him, one of the other two recruits dropped his musket and pointed upwards, sheer terror distorting is face. Then Gustave felt a SWOOSH as something large rushed past him, and when he looked up again the other soldier was gone, in his place a puddle of blood.

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