Isle of the Damned

Shit, Blood, and Mud

Warning: light mentions of blood and war

Prologue part 3 of 3: Shit, Blood, and Mud

*2 years later - 1916*
They were on the isle for four weeks now. The days were long but the nights were longer for they offered no solace against the tolls of the jungle.
They lost men before the battle even began. A dozen or so had died during the voyage to the isle, another handful had contracted disease from the small population of native animals. Another few died of starvation, and about ten men had gone missing. The General was beginning to truly understand why the isle had been inhabited for three thousand years.
But this would soon be over. Today was the day of the final battle. There were about two hundred men or so, ready and prepared to fight one last time, and finally leave the damned island. Amongst the two hundred men, stood Remington, armed and ready for battle.

Remington:
The jungle was silent. Only the whispers of the wind against the leaves and the occasional squish of mud could be heard throughout the island. War was upon us. A stupid war, I might add. If we were to battle, why would an island named after a curse be the place to do it.

The General says that 'the Isle gave easy access to his enemies, but they would have trouble getting to him, the journals said so', then why is it that we're lined up in the jungle, with brown sludge between our boots preparing to fight off an enemy that is not my own. Because the General is an idiot, that's why.

"Hey Remington, how long do you think before Dager's militia arrives", Claude asked in a whisper, looking around nervously.
"Its Dalager* Claude, and how am I to know. According to The General, we were told not to expect Dalager's men.", I retorted while reloading my weapon.

We were stationed in the East of the island, waiting patiently to fight our last battle. The men formed a line of resistance, meanwhile The General stood behind us, waiting to give a command. He was nervously tapping his leg, and running his fingers through his balding head, it wouldn't be much longer now.

I looked to my right to see that Claude looked nearly as nervous as The General, and its quite possible that he was, Claude just did a better job hiding it. In all my years of knowing him, which is only two, he has progressively grown better at masking his cowardice. But moreover he had remained exactly the same. He still had platinum hair that appeared almost white, and a nose that rivaled that of Pinocchio, and he lied just as much. He still had bug eyes with a strained look upon his face.

Claude said that this would be his last battle, that he'd return home to his ma or something like that...I didn't really listen to him when he went on his sentimental rants. But this was it for him, along with the hundreds of other men there. As for me, I'd likely not retire anytime soon. I mean what can I say, the travel is great and the sights are unmatched, well aside from the occasional corpse or so. Still, a life on the run was better than any other option that I have.

"General, they're coming!!", a voice shouted from the end of the line.
Suddenly, a roar came from the jungles, shaking the ground and causing the birds to flock away in shrieks. Our boots began to shift in the mud following the tremble of the jungle grounds. Shouts began to follow, almost like a battle cry. The fight begins now.

Just as we turned around to get guidance from The General, he dropped his weapon and jolted as far away as he could, fumbling all the while.