"We’re waiting for him."
"Who is “him”?"
"Sorry, the General."
"The General? He survived?" She was amazed at the revelation. She had assumed that most of the command would have been wiped out.
"Yes, he did. He's what kept us together."
"Right, so how many of us are left?"
She could tell the question stuck a cord with Bencher. For a brief instant his face changed into a countenance of deep, painful sadness.
"Not a lot. Not a lot at all. But we're still here and we're still fighting." In answering, she saw his resolve harden. This was the experienced NCO that she knew.
Just then he entered the bunker. The men guarding her quickly straightened to attention, and Amy found herself jumping to attention as well. In a side observation, she noted that the man who had walked into the room had that kind of presence. He wasn't overly tall or overly short, and in actuality there was nothing in his appearance or stature that commanded special attention. But when he entered the room, you felt a presence and knew this man was in charge. This man was not just an officer, this man was the General.
The General came and stood in front of Amy, and old habits from years of training came right back. Still at attention, she saluted the superior officer.
"Captain Reynolds, reporting as ordered, sir."
The General returned the salute.
"Have a seat, Captain."
The captain sat down and the General pulled a chair from the wall and sat down across from her.
The General met her eyes with a piercing gaze and got right to the point.
"Why don't you tell me where you've been the last month, captain?"
"Well..."
Amy had asked herself that question a lot over the last few weeks and wondered how she would explain what she was doing and what had happened to her. In the end she felt that honesty would be the only true path. No hesitation. It was too late now.
"I've been feeding, general."
She had thought that her answer would shock the general. Instead in reply to her answer, she got a tight lipped smile.
"Yes, so I've been told," He paused. "So how many men have you fed on?"
Amy looked around the room at the other soldiers, she felt ashamed to answer.
"I don't know." She paused. "Dozens. Probably more, maybe hundreds, to be honest. I don't keep track."
The General continued to meet her eyes. "Why don't you tell me how it works."
"How what works?" Amy replied too quickly.
The General sternly reminded her why he was a general and she was just a captain.
Don't get cute, captain. You know what I'm talking about. Sergeant Bencher there has told me what he saw you doing, and he has told me what he thinks you have been doing. So, tell me why you have been doing it and how it works."
"Right,well, I just feel this insane need. It over comes me, and I have to have it. It gets to the point where it's the only thing that matters."
"By it, you mean blood don't you?"
She had lowered head for as she confessed her new addiction. She slowly raised her eyes and looked at the General.
"Yes, yes, I need blood." She relented.
"Good. I don't like tap dancing around facts, no matter how brutal or ugly. If we're to survive here, we
"Who is “him”?"
"Sorry, the General."
"The General? He survived?" She was amazed at the revelation. She had assumed that most of the command would have been wiped out.
"Yes, he did. He's what kept us together."
"Right, so how many of us are left?"
She could tell the question stuck a cord with Bencher. For a brief instant his face changed into a countenance of deep, painful sadness.
"Not a lot. Not a lot at all. But we're still here and we're still fighting." In answering, she saw his resolve harden. This was the experienced NCO that she knew.
Just then he entered the bunker. The men guarding her quickly straightened to attention, and Amy found herself jumping to attention as well. In a side observation, she noted that the man who had walked into the room had that kind of presence. He wasn't overly tall or overly short, and in actuality there was nothing in his appearance or stature that commanded special attention. But when he entered the room, you felt a presence and knew this man was in charge. This man was not just an officer, this man was the General.
The General came and stood in front of Amy, and old habits from years of training came right back. Still at attention, she saluted the superior officer.
"Captain Reynolds, reporting as ordered, sir."
The General returned the salute.
"Have a seat, Captain."
The captain sat down and the General pulled a chair from the wall and sat down across from her.
The General met her eyes with a piercing gaze and got right to the point.
"Why don't you tell me where you've been the last month, captain?"
"Well..."
Amy had asked herself that question a lot over the last few weeks and wondered how she would explain what she was doing and what had happened to her. In the end she felt that honesty would be the only true path. No hesitation. It was too late now.
"I've been feeding, general."
She had thought that her answer would shock the general. Instead in reply to her answer, she got a tight lipped smile.
"Yes, so I've been told," He paused. "So how many men have you fed on?"
Amy looked around the room at the other soldiers, she felt ashamed to answer.
"I don't know." She paused. "Dozens. Probably more, maybe hundreds, to be honest. I don't keep track."
The General continued to meet her eyes. "Why don't you tell me how it works."
"How what works?" Amy replied too quickly.
The General sternly reminded her why he was a general and she was just a captain.
Don't get cute, captain. You know what I'm talking about. Sergeant Bencher there has told me what he saw you doing, and he has told me what he thinks you have been doing. So, tell me why you have been doing it and how it works."
"Right,well, I just feel this insane need. It over comes me, and I have to have it. It gets to the point where it's the only thing that matters."
"By it, you mean blood don't you?"
She had lowered head for as she confessed her new addiction. She slowly raised her eyes and looked at the General.
"Yes, yes, I need blood." She relented.
"Good. I don't like tap dancing around facts, no matter how brutal or ugly. If we're to survive here, we
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