Lieutenant John the T-Rex halted suddenly and threw his stubby arms out to the side. “Hold up here men.” Behind him he heard the two rookies stumble to a stop.

John hunkered down and studied the lines, peering across no-man’s land into the darkness beneath the bed. Had he seen movement? T-Rexes weren’t known for their excellent vision.

Hell. How did I land this duty? he thought. The answer came to him immediately. Because there’s nothing more for you to do. It was hardly a question worth asking. The lines around the bed were set, manned, watched. The lamps were lit, the skipping ropes were laid down. The only thing remaining was constant vigilance. That, he could not provide. Not through engineering.

One of the rookies behind him pushed close, “What do you see in there, Rexy?”

Babysitting rookies was the only job left.

John didn’t deign to answer. He’d taken an immediate dislike to this rookie. He was cocky and walked with a swagger. Monster fodder as far as John was concerned. A mouthy blowhard in the meantime. I should bite this one’s head off right now. I’d be doing everyone a favour in the long run.

But John couldn’t do that. As much as he wanted to. He was still new to the corps, still learning the ropes. It could only make a poor impression with the rank and file if he went around biting the heads off of new recruits when their lines were already so severely stretched.

‘Solidarity and all that. No head biting,’ Billy had said. ‘But give them the impression you’ll bite their heads off.’

John was okay of that. Biting heads off was trouble. Plus, it was what everyone expected of a T-Rex in a position of authority. He wouldn’t give the haters the pleasure of being right.

“Shutup, kid,” he said. “This is important.”

“Sure thing, Rexy.”

“That’s Lieutenant John the T-Rex to you, soldier.”

“Right.”

“Not Rexy.”

“What do you see, Lieutenant John the T-Rex?”

John sighed inwardly. But if I ever need to bite someone’s head off to make an example of someone, I’m randomly selecting this guy.

The two foot perimeter around the bed had been maintained since the night of the incursion. No monster activity had been reported since and the men were beginning to feel secure again, but they were tired, and getting ornery. In the absence of complacency there’s fatigue, impatience; eventually doubt begins to sneak in. As bad a threat as any.

Orders had come down from the top:

Men: Pay no attention to the crushing dark quietness that preys on our souls. Don’t let its quiet darkness overcome your spirits like perfect black oil corrupting a tall glass of pure white milk. We shall prevail.

Signed,

Commander Billy

Morale had been much improved after that.

John couldn’t see much happening in the two inch gap between the bed sheets and the carpet. A great debate had struck up around whether the sheets should be drawn up, or left to hang naturally low. If the sheets were hanging low, the monsters might be able to move undetected behind them, and possibly undertake another sneak attack. If the sheets were pulled up, however, they were less restricted if they did choose to strike. Sleepy little fingers and toes dangling over the side of the bed would be more vulnerable.

In the end the sheets were left to hang low. The monsters wouldn’t be able to see out as easily, but neither could the good guys see in. All consideration to the little toes.

John pulled himself up to his full height, three times that of the rookie. “I see you being close to insubordination, soldier. That’s what I see.”

“Sorry, sir, John the T-Rex, sir. Just want to do my part, sir.”

He’s not sorry.

Bite his head off. Bite his head off. Bite his head off.

“Don’t let it happen again soldier.”

“Longshot.”

“What’s that, soldier?”

“It’s Longshot, sir, John the T-Rex, sir. That’s my name, sir.”

"Don’t overdo it. And don’t let it happen again, soldier Longshot.” And as an afterthought he added, “...soldier.” John turned away and rolled his eyes. He couldn't let this guy get under his skin. He'd never win the respect of the corps that way. 

Behind them, the other rookie had taken a knee at John’s warning, and had stayed down during the altercation. Standing, he pushed his helmet back off his forehead and stuck his chest out.

“I’m Private Percy,” he said as John turned around.

“Hey, nobody asked your name, rook,” said Longshot.

John said, “Good to meet you, private. Good cover position. Ok you two, follow me. And keep one eye on the darkness under that bed. Tell me if you see anything moving.”

Private Percy snapped a salute. “Yes, sir!” Longshot adjusted his crotch and spat over the skipping rope divide into no-man’s land.

They marched on. John stopped every so often to inspect a kink in the line, or to offer pleasantries with a Joe Corps soldier. With men maintaining a watch over the door to the attic, and keeping a constant vigil over their inner sanctum, the line was much thinner than John would have liked. The men he met had long stares and sour mouths. Little was said. Night was coming on and their attentions were stretched.

Behind him, keeping their distance to avoid being struck by John’s swishing tail, the two rookies talked as they went. John the T-Rex ignored them. Let them enjoy their talk while they can.

Longshot said, “Nice cover back there, what was it, Private Prissy. You took cover right behind me.”

“That’s Percy. And I apologize if it seemed that way. I just hunkered down where I was. No harm meant.”

“Harm to my pride, rook” said Longshot. “I don’t like being used as a human shield.”

Percy threw his hands up. “No, I didn’t mean anything like that. I was just keeping an eye out, like the Lieutenant said.”

Longshot laughed. “Don’t sweat it rook, I’m only yanking your chain. I don’t care what you do. I don’t really have any pride to get hurt.”

Percy took off his helmet and ran his hand over his immovable hair. “Stop calling me rook. I don’t like it. You’re just as new as I am.”

Longshot laughed again and hoisted his long sniper rifle higher on his shoulder. “We may be the same age,” he said, “but you’re the rook. Look at you....”

Private Percy was a generic World War II action soldier dressed in Khaki head to toe. His wide flaring pants were tucked into a pair of half-hidden boots. His helmet was lime green, and that was the most anyone could say about it: it was green: as like much of the rest of his uniform, it lacked definition and detail. A mottled chest denoted camouflage of some sort, or perhaps rank and designation. Lines around his body could have been the seams of his clothes, or perhaps simply flaws in his construction.

“...you’re lucky you have a gun,” scoffed Longshot. “Hell, you’re lucky you’re wearing pants. Because it sure looks like somebody forgot to requisition the rest of your uniform, rook.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Check this out, rook.”

Longshot was the latest in military scare tactics. His pants were kept tight to his body by Kevlar kneepads which covered his shins almost down to the top of his black, shiny boots. Black body armour covered his chest so that not an inch of him was unprotected, even under his armpits, and his black helmet, which swooped down in a stylish curve to the back of his neck, had a reflective face guard that he could put down and seal himself away completely from fire.

Some snipers wore ghillie suits to hide in tall grass. Longshot wouldn’t be able to hide anywhere, except maybe in a coal mine. Whoever designed Longshot’s outfitting wanted the enemy to think: Anybody wearing that much reflective black material has to be a badass; I’m just going to surrender now.

Longshot clunked his rife off his knees, his chest, his helmet. “See this. I could get shot anywhere and keep on grooving just like normal. No problems. Hell, I could get run over by a herd of elephants and come up laughing. I’ll be careful when I’m turning around quickly around you. I wouldn’t want to give you a concussion or something. That helmet doesn’t look good for much other than boiling soup in. Get it at a yard sale?”

Private Percy’s face had a hurt pinch to it. “My helmet’s fine,” he said. “Just fine.”

“Fine for getting shot in, rook. Take a look at my helmet. Like I said, I could get shot in the face and keep smiling.” He held up his sniper rifle, three feet long, black and reflective like the rest of him, with dials and scopes covering every inch. “Unless I got shot in the face with this baby,” he said. “This is the latest in long shooting technology. It’d pop my head clear off like a dandelion. I could cut your toenails with this gun from a mile away. With this I could put a shine on your buttons – if you had buttons. I could probably even use it to make soup if I wanted; I just haven’t figured out how to do that yet. Because I like using it for shooting, see, so I haven’t bothered to check out how to make soup yet. That gun that you got there, what’s it good for?”

Private Percy held up his standard issue Garand. “For shootin’,” he said. “It’s good for shootin’. You’ll see.”

Longshot copied Private Percy’s accent. “Good for shootin’ out a little flag that says BANG.”

Private Percy didn’t respond and they followed Lieutenant John the T-Rex in silence. Longshot studied Private Percy openly as they walked. He whistled sarcastically and shook his head. Private Percy was just as conspicuous in ignoring him.

Finally Longshot said, “Hey, rook, you got pockets on that uniform?”

Private Percy didn’t answer right away. It was obvious that he did. One bulging pocket on his left leg. “Yeah. I got a pocket,” he said eventually.

Longshot laughed. “Wowee. One whole pocket? That’s amazing. Check this out. You want pockets I got a million of them. Too bad you can’t borrow some.” He began patting himself down. “You want knives? I got knives. I got two of them on my arms here. Check this out, one of them on my leg, and oh, I almost forgot about this one right here, in my boot. Almost hidden by my Kevlar bulletproof armour. God I love my Kevlar bulletproof amour. That’s why I’m wearing so much of it; I love it.”

Longshot began rummaging through his various pockets which stuck out of his arms, legs, chest, shins. He was detailed down to the last button, which shone as they passed beneath the lights. He pulled out a handful of bullets, stuffed them back, and explored another pocket. “Hell, I don’t even know what I have in some of these. What’s this. Hmm, binoculars, a chocolate bar, compass, picture of your girlfriend....”

Pocket after pocket. “Oh hey, another knife.” Private Percy stared straight ahead.

Longshot closed his last pocket with a smug snick of the clasp. “So, uhh, what you got in your pocket, Private Prissy? Your one pocket.”

“I dunno. I haven’t looked.”

“You didn’t tell me that your name was Private something or other.”

“Didn’t think I’d have to by now.”

“What you got in that pocket, Private? What you got? You got a map? A map in that there pocket?”

“I dunno.”

“A map. You got yourself a little map?”

“I might.”

“A little map in that pocket you haven’t checked?”

“Might come in useful if I get lost.”

Longshot roared with laughter. “I knew it! Prissy got himself a map!” His cheer echoed inside the cover of his helmet as he guffawed.

Prissy had had enough. “Hey, shut the hell up. You’re one damned rude soldier, you know that buddy? I didn’t come here  to be made fun of by my own rank and file. I came here to fight the war against the monsters. I’m not gonna stand for it.”

“Whoa. Whoa. Just having a little fun, Private Prissy. Relax. I was only joking.”

“That’s Private Percy.”

“And such language too.”

“Sorry.”

The men walked in silence again. John the T-Rex had stopped to talk to a couple of soldiers. The light above them had burned out, casting strange shadows over their position near the southwest corner of the bed. The men looked frazzled. Their shoulders were low and their eyes were tense with anxiety.

Longshot turned to Private Percy seriously. “I like your shirt,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“I like how there’s nothing on it. I like how it’s beige.”

“Khaki. Thank you.”

“It really brings out the detail in all the wrinkles you have.”

“Yes.”

“It’s good to have wrinkles.”

Percy was quiet.

Longshot said, “I’ve always said wrinkles were the key to winning this war. Glad you brought some wrinkles along.”

John the T-Rex snapped a salute to the two soldiers, turned quickly, and lumbered over to where Private Percy and Longshot were talking. The soldiers manning the post jumped his swishing tail with hardly a flicker and somehow managed to return his salute while doing so.

“Okay you two, enough goldbricking. This is your placement.”

Private Percy thrust his chest out. “Yes, sir!” Longshot unslung his rifle and leaned on it.

“At ease soldier.”

“Yes, sir!”

“As you can see, this posting is particularly dark. Two of the lights above have burned out and we don’t have the supplies right now to replace them. Whether the lights burned out because of some plot by the enemy, or simply through bad luck, we don’t know. I suspect it’s just gremlins.”

Private Percy’s eyes widened. “We’re fighting Gremlins too, sir?”

John the T-Rex shook his head. “Sorry, private. Poor choice of words. I just mean to say that what can  go wrong, will go wrong. Murphy’s Law and all that.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Intelligence has no idea whether this spot is likely to be attacked. I think it’s as likely a spot as any. More likely, really, with all these weird shadows here, and it being the end of the line and all. Hell, I’d practically put money on it. Understand what I’m saying, recruits?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Sure thing, Rexy.”

“Very well. Be on your lookout. Don’t take any chances. Anyway, your orders.... Private Percy....”

“Yes, sir! Ready and willing, sir.”

John the T-Rex lumbered over to the edge of the skipping rope which demarcated no-man’s land from their secure line. “Private Percy, do you see under that bed?”

“N-n.... yes, sir.”

John ignored the stumble. “Under there, Private Percy, is the enemy. Even now I have no doubt they’re watch us tirelessly with a thousand terrible eyes. They are implacable. They feel no for sleep. They know no fear, no solitude, no fatigue, only a deep and ageless hunger that knows no satisfaction. Why this is so, we don’t know. But their only goal in life is to lurk in the shadows and terrorize us who live in the light.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your orders, Private....”

“Yes, sir!”

“Is to venture out into no-man’s land, halfway between here and the enemy lines....”

“Um, yes?”

“And stand there.”

“Stand there, sir?”

“Stand there, Private.”

“Um....”

John carried on. “Now I know you’re new, and I know you can’t see under that bedsheet with it being so dark and all, but there’s creatures under there that’d curl your toenails just to see them. Some of them have snakes for eyes, and some of them aren’t much more than black holes with teeth that want to swallow a man whole.”

“There’s some good eatin’ on a Private, I hear,” said Longshot, seriously; “Meat’s all tender.”

Private Percy half turned, “Hey....”

“And all of them have different methods of attack,” said John, speaking over the heads of the two new recruits. “Some of them have bellies full of flame they’ll fire at you before you have time to say marshmallow; we won’t even find your bones, just a pile of ash. Some of them are quick as lightning; get a man in their terrible jaws before you can blink; the best thing you can do for that man if you see him being taken is pray the thing is hungry so it won’t play with him too long.”

“Um, sir?”

“Then there’s others that’ll get in your mind, make you think of kinder days, and people you love, and when you’re distracted sneak up and turn you into a puddle of brown goo. You’ll hardly notice because you’re still daydreaming, melting away with a smile on your face. It might not look so bad for the soldier melting away, but it’s not pretty to watch, let me tell you.”

“Sir?”

“One time I saw a man’s head explode. Wasn’t a single thing wrong with him until then PLAP went his head! Just like that, PLAP!; suddenly his head wasn’t there anymore. He fell over with his cigarette halfway to his mouth. Still don’t know what monster did that to him. Haven’t seen it happen again since. I can’t even be sure what I saw that night....”

“Sir?”

“What is it, Private?”

“Sir, what am I supposed to do out there... if the monsters do decide to attack?”

“Why, you stop them, Private.”

“Stop them, sir?”

“You stop them, Private. Those are your orders. Straight from the top.”

“How do I stop them, sir?”

“Decisively, Private. You stop them decisively.”

“If you say so, sir.”

Longshot was leaning on his rifle with a grin. “Might want to only take the one bullet, Prissy. That’s all you need.”

John lifted a part of the skipping rope line back onto the building block from which it had fallen, a yellow number eight on the side. “Boredom is going to be your worst enemy, Private. Out there, hour after hour with nothing happening, a man can grow complacent. He might let his guard down for just a minute, might want to yawn or think about going for a piss. And that’s when men die, soldier.”

“Yes, sir.”

“My advice to you, Private, is to shake things up a little to stave off the boredom. Every so often try turning your back to the bed as a change. Turn your back and stretch your arms and yawn like everything’s okay. In fact, stretch your arms and call back to the men stationed here, tell them that everything is normal and fine, that there’s no monsters for a hundred miles.

“Yes, sir.”

“Pat down your pockets a lot, as if you’re looking for a lighter. Nonchalant whistling, as well, usually helps alleviate the boredom. Walk around with your hands in your pockets, whistling nonchalantly, like this.”

John demonstrated and it was a strange sight to see a dinosaur gazing at the ceiling, pretending he had pockets so he could put his hands in his them, and blowing air through his teeth as dinosaurs have no lips.

“Got that, Private?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Just don’t get bored.”

“Don’t think that’ll be a problem, sir.”

“Good. You’ll do just fine. Okay, you other recruit....”

“Longshot, sir, T-Rex, sir.”

“Yes. Longshot. Listen carefully.” John pointed behind the lines to the far wall by the closet. “You see that bureau back there, pushed against the wall?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I want you to take you gun and go up there. Get up there as high as you can, way far back from all the action.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you need someone to help you get up there, there’s a force of Lego men stationed near the base. It should be no problem to get them to help you carry up anything you want or need.”

“Excellent, sir.”

“If you want a latte or a nice cup of tea, don’t be afraid to ask them. That’s what they’re there for.”

Private Percy was standing nearby, muttering to himself. John pointed again, his stubby claw scanning back and forth, trying to remember the layout of the upper bureau.

“When you get up there, rookie, you’re likely going to be there for a while so I want you to get comfortable.”

“Can do, sir.”

“Find a nice fluffy sock or an old hat to lie on. There’s a few up there. They’re very comfy.”

“What would you recommend, sir?”

“Always been partial to the hats myself. They're nice and woolly. But there’s a few smart wool socks which have a very nice weave to them.”

Private Percy was dancing in place as if he had to go to the bathroom very badly. Finally he blurted out, “What the hell? This isn’t fair!”

John looked over his shoulder. “What was that, Private?”

“You say something, Prissy?”

Private Percy sputtered incomprehensibly a moment, then lowered his eyes. “Nothing, sir.”

Longshot cleared his throat. “Sir, question about the mission, sir....”

“Ask away, recruit.”

“Sir, the Lego brigade at the bureau, do they have cinnamon for hot chocolate, or would I have to drink it raw, like an animal? No offense meant, sir.”

John nodded seriously. “None taken, recruit. And certainly, they have cinnamon, nutmeg, whatever you like.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Never hurts to tell them to Irish it up a little either.”

Private Percy could be heard to mutter, “Seriously?”

Longshot nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir. Very Irish. Understood. What should I do once I’m in position?”

“Recruit, once you are in position, I want you to watch the same quadrant of under-bed as Private... Private... the Private here. It’s a large sector. More than one man is needed to cover it.”

“I see, sir,” said Longshot. “So I should eliminate any threat I perceive to Private Prissypants, sir?”

John shook his head. “Not necessary, recruit. The Private will be out front. It’s his job to handle the immediate threats.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But if anything were to happen to the Private, make sure you take note of all the details. Be ready to give a thorough report, despite how gory and bloody and disgusting they may be.”

“Hey....” said Percy.

“Often helps with cleanup later if we knew which way all the limbs flew.”

Private Percy’s shoulders were slumped and his eyes were hanging low. He said, “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This is insane.”

John turned around, facing no-man’s land again. “You got a problem with your orders, Private?”

Private Percy sputtered, “Well... yes, sir... I mean....”

A voice from the darkness answered for him. “The Private said it’s not sane,” said the voice. “And he’s right. None of this is sane.”

In the shadows, the glowing end of a lit cigarette flared. They hadn’t seen it until now.

Now that, thought John the T-Rex, is exactly why we need more men down here. He could have been anybody... or anything. I can’t wait to get out of here.

As the soldier stepped forward, John’s breath hitched in his throat. It was Bazooka.

There’s men like Bazooka in every army. Stories get told and retold about him until he’s a walking legend. He could be a ghost; his exploits could be an old wives’ tale. What parts are true have been forgotten. Except this army was different. In this army, nobody retired unless retired forcefully. The evidence of Bazooka was Bazooka himself, standing before them as real as day.

No way was Bazooka a ghost. He emerged from the shadows with a pronounced limp. From the knee down his leg was a smooth default white, no boot, no foot, just a rounded appendage which used to be shaped like a boot. John couldn’t stop staring at it.

That’s from the time Billy left him outside all winter and his right leg was half immersed in a puddle when he was found in the spring.

At one time Bazooka’s shirt had been covered with a red number fourteen. The top half of the four was missing and now the fourteen looked more like a 1t.

Under all that crushing ice for four months. No one to talk to. Nothing to see but white.

His left eye was similarly white; gone, absolutely gone. The squirrels did that to him, thought John. In the spring when he thawed out of the snow, the squirrels tried to take him away and he fought them off with one leg still trapped in the ice. 

Rather than fashion an eyepatch to hide his deformation, Bazooka had drawn another eye himself where the old one used to be. It was poorly done, obviously sketched without a mirror, and haphazard, too large by a third, and off center.

This was the first time John had seen Bazooka up close and he found himself wanting to take a step back as the soldier emerged from the shadows.

Four months in the ice, remembered John.

“These men have their orders,” he said. “I don’t make them up.”

“Ours is not to question why....” said Bazooka, a twinkle in his remaining eye.

“Err, that’s right,” said John. “I get the orders and I pass them along.”

Percy’s voice had a squelch to it. “I’m gonna get killed, Lieutenant.”

“You’ll do fine, Private,” said John. “Remember your training.”

“What training? I got taken out of the package and now I’m here.”

Bazooka’s voice was slow and guttural. “That’s right, Private. You’re gonna die. We’re all gonna die. None of this is sane and we’re all gonna die. You’re the first person I’ve seen around these parts with any sense in a hell of a long time. Pleased to meet you, son. What’s your name?”

Private Percy looked first to John, who said nothing, wanting to see where this would lead. The Private then hoisted his rifle and answered, “Percy, Private Percy, sir.”

Bazooka took a drag of his cigarette. “Pleased to meet you, Private Percy. I hope we find all the pieces of you after the all clear has been given.”

Percy gulped. John said, “There’s no need for defeatist talk. He’ll be fine.”

Bazooka shook his head. He’ll be fine the way we’ll all be fine. Unfortunately we’re all gonna be dead. No two ways about it. Look up there. What do you see?”

Bazooka was missing the thumb of one hand, his kung-fu grip forever compromised. That was the hand he pointed with, John suspected, on purpose.

Billy was doing his spelling homework on his bed before going to sleep. Crisscrossing beams of light surrounding him allowed for no shadow, however slight, to touch his body. He moved not a muscle, and appeared the very image of a stoic commander.

Longshot was the first to speak. “Yeah, so what?”

“Keep watching,” said Bazooka. So they did. Thirty seconds they stared and said not a word to one another. John’s eyes were beginning to water. He felt suddenly aware of his breath coming and going, slowly, evenly. What was it they were supposed to see?

“Okay, old man,” announced Longshot. “I give up. What are we looking for? Do we get a prize if we find it?”

“How many pages has he turned in all the time we’ve been watching? Are his eyes moving at all?”

John struggled to see if Commander Billy’s eyes were following the lines of the page, and he realized they weren’t.

Longshot scoffed. “Oh, is that all, old man? You’re sitting here in the dark staring at the Commander telling us we’re gonna die because he’s spaced out? Goddammit man, get a better hobby."

Bazooka paid Longshot no heed. “It’s the squirrels for all of us, gentlemen. The sooner you realize it, the better off you’ll be.”

“There’s no squirrels in the house, old man.”

Bazooka nodded. “Each man will find his own squirrel when the time comes. Won’t be long by the looks of our Commander there. We heard the Civilians earlier. The oversight committee is worried with how the war is going. They’re going to take over the war effort from the Commander. Mark my words.”

“No way, old man.”

“And if these so-called reinforcements are what we can expect in the future with a civilian chair in charge, we’re all in big trouble.” With that, Bazooka took a big drag on his cigarette. It’s end glowed fiercely, and he dropped it to the ground. Stubbing it out with his white foot, he limped back into the shadows. "Each of us is gonna meet his squirrel." 

John hadn’t said anything in a while, but it was his job so he opened his mouth and hoped the right words came out. “Okay, enough lollygagging. There’s work to be done. You have your orders. Now get to them.”

Percy protested. “Sir, this is ridiculous.”

“Your orders, Private. This is your last chance.”

Private Percy, grumbling, turned and slowly arched himself over the skipping rope. "Goddammit,” he said.

Longshot had shouldered his sniper rifle and was turning towards the far bureau. “Hey, watch that language Private Prissy. There’s soldiers present.”

John the T-Rex lingered. He looked up and watched Billy on the bed for a full minute. No new pages were turned.