The lawn surrounding the area where the artillery had been set up was completely scorched. Small fires licked hungrily at any combustible material; wood, clothes, flesh and rubber all burnt. A thick pall of smoke drifted lazily across the lawn carrying with it the stink of death. The silence was broken by the thunder of feet as thralls from the lower camp rushed over to put out fires and tend the wounded and dying.

Thralls gagged on the fumes. They went from fire to fire, and the dense spray of the extinguishing fluid only added to the confusion. Sergeant Philips looked around at the carnage and shook his head. This whole campaign had been a complete mess; bad preparation and equally bad leadership had already led to too many deaths.

Just then a shout came from his left. He could barely see the two thralls through the mist, but they seemed to struggle with a third figure, so he hurried over. When he got closer he heard the soldiers urge the figure they held on the ground to stay still until the medical team arrived to check his wounds.

The person on the ground pushed the thralls away and rose with a bellow. "Get away from me, you incompetent bastards!" the Lieutenant screamed. His face was burnt red and ragged pieces of flesh hung from his cheeks. Black soot covered his body, a stark contrast to the wild, white eyes that bored straight into the Sergeant's face. "Where is he?" he screamed.

"Who?" Philips held his hands up to try to placate his superior.

"General-fucking-Evans, that's who."

"Sir," Philips began calmly, "I haven't seen the General. What happened here?"

"I'll tell you what happened, that bastard threw a grenade into the ammunition dump. He did this!" He waved around him to indicate the carnage. "The traitorous bastard, I want him found, Sergeant."

The news hit Philips like a brick. The General was a traitor? He was shocked. He had thought that nothing could surprise him much anymore, but he couldn't really see the General as a traitor. Until he could confirm one way or the other whether this was true, though, he decided to play along and report to the Lieutenant.

Philips turned to the two thralls who had found the Lieutenant and issued orders. The two soldiers registered shock on their faces, but turned and began to gather up a few more recruits. Then they disappeared into the mist.

"What do we do about the humans, sir?" Philips asked.

The Lieutenant's face registered pure hatred. "Kill them, Sergeant. Kill every last fucking one of them."

"What happening out there?" Rodgers scratched his head while he watched the explosions rip through the artillery.

"I don't know," Harris replied, "but I sure am glad we're not the ones on the receiving end."

"Amen to that."

The two men on the balcony watched the late afternoon light up with explosive reports that shattered the tranquil countryside. Everything had gone perfectly so far. They had watched grimly while the thralls were decimated on the lawn, and then listened to the screams from those in the forest. Neither man took pleasure from the slaughter. This is war, as Dan Harrington had said, and shit happens.

Crockett came through the doorway and asked, "What's all the commotion?"

"The artillery dump just blew up," Harris replied and turned to Crockett with a broad grin.

"Get the fuck out of here," Crockett exclaimed incredulously.

"It's true," Rodgers cut in, "took all the guns with it."

"God, that's a relief. I really didn't want to give up the upper floors that easily."

"Why not? Why don't we batten down the hatches and get below ground? It'll take a tank to pull those doors down." Rodgers voiced the question that many of the men secreted in positions around the house had thought about over the last hour.

"The Cave is our last resort," Crockett explained. "Once we go down there, that's it, we've nowhere else to go. At least up here we still have options, few though they might be. As for the doors, well, I doubt they'll hold out long against the vampires when they arrive."

"Oh yeah, I nearly forgot about them." Rodgers looked earnestly at the other two. "Listen, I really don't want to go back to the way we were..."

"Don't worry, we've seen to that," Harris interrupted. He grimly placed a hand on Rodgers's shoulder. "No one is going back to that life. One way or another, it ends tonight. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a certain lady to see before they attack." Harris turned toward the door.

"What makes you think they'll attack now? Won't they wait for the vampires?" Crockett asked.

"Don't think so. Take a look out there." Harris handed the binoculars to Crockett and the worthy looked eagerly out over the grounds.

"I see what you mean." The entire approach to the complex was covered with thralls. Standing three deep the line stretched from the river right across to the forest. "Kind of reminds you of Zulu, doesn't it?" Crockett commented.

"What?" asked Rodgers.

"Bourke's Drift," Harris answered when he saw Rodgers blank face. "A small party of English soldiers defended an outpost in Africa in the 1800s against thousands of Zulu warriors."

"Oh," replied Rodgers. "Did they make it?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, some did."

"Some? How many is some?" Rodgers asked, but Harris had already gone.

Sergeant Philips looked down along the line of men. Some two hundred thralls had gathered just out of range of the complex. The Lieutenant's orders demanded a full assault; no feints and no patrols like the last time. This time they were going to throw everything they had at them and level the place.

"Bazooka!" he called. Two men pushed their way to the front of the line and knelt while they took aim at the doors to the house.

Philips turned to his Lieutenant. "Sir, we're ready when you are."

"Thank you, Sergeant. Have you detained General Evans yet?"

"Not yet, Sir. I have a patrol out looking for him."

"Very well, commence the attack."

The two rockets shot across the lawn and left a fine smoke trail in their wake. They impacted simultaneously and the explosions rocked the entire building. The doors disintegrated. Wood and masonry flew in every direction as the entrance, and most of the surrounding supports blew apart.

The Lieutenant grinned when he saw the destruction. A jagged hole measuring some twenty feet in diameter and ten feet in height became visible when the evening breeze whisked the smoke into the darkening sky.

"Sergeant!" he shouted. "Advance."

Harris saw the men with bazookas kneel and take aim from his vantage point on the balcony. "Incoming!" he shouted and ran into the house to take cover.

The explosion was huge. Harris was thrown across the upstairs landing and sprawled into a bedroom wall. Splinters and rock fragments flew everywhere in a deadly hail. Harris rolled into a ball and covered his head in a vain attempt to protect himself.

He heard a few screams from downstairs, but didn't have time to check the extent of people's injuries. He brought his weapon to bear and waited for the thralls to arrive.

Rodgers picked himself up from behind the sofa on the ground floor, and then quickly dived back down when bullets ripped the furniture to shreds. He had been on the first floor, directly in front of the doors, when the blast had come. The force of the explosion had been so great that he had been lifted up and thrown through the banister railing. He had landed directly in the path of the thralls, so he remained behind the sofa to protect himself while they swarmed through the ruined entrance.

The noise was deafening. Bullets gauged holes in the stone fireplace behind him, and splinters of stone covered his prone form. He pulled himself along by his elbows and returned fire blindly around the far end of the couch. Gunfire erupted from above him and men poured fire down in support.

Harris ran from one side of the landing to the other and tried vainly to outrun a line of bullets rapidly catching up to him. He had to move from his previous position when the thralls had lobbed a grenade that bounced across the wooden floor to lie ten feet from where he had crouched. Too close to stay and too far to get to it and kick it out of reach. He launched himself up and ran the only direction left to him, straight into the thralls" line of fire.

He neared the end of the landing and jumped, then rolled into a kneeling position and brought his machine gun to bear, letting loose a sustained burst of fire. This unexpected development caught the thralls by surprise and their bodies twitched while round after round hit home.

More thralls appeared through the hole while Harris changed his magazine and looked for cover. The noise was incredible. Some fifteen men in various positions around the house and an unknown number of thralls all fired and screamed in the close confines. Explosions erupted everywhere. Both sides threw grenades and added to the chaos. The structure of the house was a complete mess. Thralls now poured into the house through windows and the other gaping holes that had been blown through the downstairs walls.

Bodies lay piled on top of each other. Harris" men poured a viscous hail of fire at these entrances. Thralls were decimated one by one while they poured through the breach, but it wasn't all one-sided. Harris could see many of his own men already dead. Pools of blood seeped into the carpet or pooled on the wooden floors where they lay. Others slumped against walls, their shattered limbs held uselessly to their sides.

And all the time the thralls kept coming.

Rodgers heard the window to his left shatter and he looked up in time to see a thrall point his gun straight at him. With no time to think, Rodgers rolled out of the way of this new threat as bullets tore up the floor where he had lain. Unfortunately, the only space open to him was the open floor. He found himself on his back looking up at four very surprised thralls.

"Surprise," Rodgers grinned and then pulled the trigger. The thralls were so close to the weapon that the bullets literally ripped through them and lifted the bodies into the air. Blood spattered everywhere and the warm liquid splashed across Rodgers" face. With no time to clear the blood, he jumped to his feet and made a break for the stairs, dodging both enemy and friendly fire on his way. The thrall at the window was now inside and already others had begun to join him.

"Shit!" he muttered. He picked up speed while the thralls gave chase.

Thralls were already on the stairs when Rodgers hit the bottom of the steps at a run. They were not expecting an attack from behind, and he poured fire into them without missing a step. He sprinted past them as bullets flew past his head and picked at his clothes.

"Stop firing, you blind bastards!" he screamed. "Good guy coming through!" and he launched himself flat on the landing as the men ahead of him sent a hail of fire into the thralls chasing close behind.