A squad of soldiers sit in the woods. Night has come, but they have a fire set up to keep the area bright. Not too far off are other campfires set up by fellow squadrons, glistening like bright islands in the dark forest. After a long day of patrolling, the soldiers relax and cook food, but something feels off to most of the members in this squad.
"I am telling you we should be back in Castle Nor," A wiry blonde soldier named Carl says. His blue eyes darting around, nervously eyeing the dark woods.
"Doesn't matter, Major Poctor wanted us to camp out here tonight," the leader of the squad Gordon says. His tall brawny ox like body rests on a log. He takes a puff from his corn cob pipe before speaking again. "We told the Major that we didn't see any of those Russconian bastards during our patrol, but he says he has a weird feeling they will try to cross the border tonight. And what Major Poctor says, we must follow."
"And let us camp in the middle of these haunted woods. I'd rather camp right on the border than and face the Russconians than the specter that roams through here," Carl says.
The other soldiers in the squad agree with him.
"Pipe down," Gordon growls, smoking from his pipe some more. He rubs his balding head, trying to think of the next words. He can see the men shuddering in the olive-jade coats the army provides them.
"Yeah, and why were we stationed here in the middle of Norwood Woods," Carl continues to complain. "I heard from some in our company are stationed around the villages that surround the forest. I'd rather be there than sitting in these dark woods."
The squad continues to murmur with agreement.
"Pipe down you lot!" Gordon bellows. "We should be lucky to be stationed here! I was stationed in the other regions that border our eastern "neighbors", let me tell you it ain't pretty over there, as I served in those battles before being stationed here. Our fellow country men being hacked to death, or torsos blown to bits and pieces by machine gun fire. Strange large moving artillery rolling around blowing up the landscape. I tell you that we are at war! And we should be lucky to be stationed in a haunted forest than the main war-torn parts throughout our eastern border."
"Sounds terrifying, but what abou—," Carl says before being cut off.
"Knock it of Carl! The "Banshee of Norwood Woods" is considered a rare spook by the locals," Gordon says cutting off the wiry built private. "I have talked with those who work in Castle Nor and those who live in the villages during our patrols, and they say that they rarely hear the wails of the "Banshee", along with attacks rarely happening than when the specter was first known about. We could be stationed here for months and never encounter this frightening specter."
The other soldiers agree with Gordon, telling Carl to stop his complaining. Carl grumbles then heads into his tent to sleep. Gordon continues to smoke his pipe, looking out at the other camps fires set up. The rest of squad goes back to relaxing or eating food, not caring about how haunted the forest could be.
The veteran soldier continues to smoke, looking up at the starry sky. His mind remembers the horrors he saw before being stationed in Norwood Woods. It had been only six months since the tension between his country (Angloiton) and Russocon turned violent, but the violence quickly became extreme. He remembered hearing the first volley of machine gun fire, he remembered seeing men he served with be cut down quickly. The blood and bodies of both his kin and the enemy filled the battlefields so quickly, that the bishops on both kingdom's sides called for a quick truce during the fourth month of the war so that bodies could be gathered and buried. Once that was finished, Gordon remembers how quickly both kingdoms went back to slaughtering each other. The war has turned into a stalemate, as each kingdom couldn't take too much of the other's border, but he knows that those at the top want to keep the brutal war going, and not have tried to find a call for peace.
"It ain't like anything I've seen," he says, smoking more from his corn cob pipe.
Gordon served his kingdom in other wars before this one, but these were against smaller nations, or tribes that wished to stop Angloiton's right to colonize; it was simple battles, where his kingdom overwhelmed the opponent and won quickly with very little loss of life. This war was different. He knows those who live in the kingdom of Russocon hate those who live in his, and built a military to challenge the one he serves. Tension had been building for years, and in six months that tension turned into violent bloodshed; no glory, no honor, no need to exert "civilization", this was two men brawling in an alleyway, only it was on a massive scale.
"I wonder when it will stop, or will it continue on," he says, looking up at the starry sky.
He is okay camping in a haunted forest. He'd rather deal with Norwood Woods than the soldiers who fight for Russocon. Many of the soldiers in Major Poctor's company are fresh faced, and he hopes that they aren't sent over to the border zones where the war is raging strong. He knows that Norwood Woods isn't a place the enemy would roam through to enter Angloiton, but they are stationed here just in case.
Eventually Gordon gets some sleep, the chirps of crickets soothing him to sleep. He hopes he has good dreams; many of his recent ones have been nightmares. He puts his helmet over his face, so that the world is truly dark to his shut eyes.
On the far eastern side of Norwood Woods, soldiers gather near it. They wish to strike into their hated western neighbor. This small army of thirty was sent up from the border zones where the fighting is strong between the two kingdoms. Captain Taras leads it; he used to have a hundred serve him when the war broke out, but only the thirty remain. The army he leads are hungry battle tested veterans who want to bring glory to Russocon, as well as pillage the hated Anglotonians for personal gain.
The area is dark, yet Captain Taras' long white moustache glistens in the dark. A private named Petr walks up to him with a lamp in his hand. The bright lamp shines on the captain's green army coat, green pants, red cap, and old grey boots; this standard mismatch of gear is worn by a lot of soldiers that make up his kingdom's army. He holds his pistol viciously, while the saber sleeps sheathed attached to his black belt. His amber eyes glow as the flame shines on them, while it also shows his rugged stern face. Captain Taras looks back at his men, they have the same bloodthirsty rugged faces, their attire torn and raggedy from the war; his kingdom does little to give fresh uniforms, or arm their soldiers adequately. He hates how those above him think that relying on sheer numbers is the best solution to victory, then provide adequate equipment. He saw how the soldiers of hated Angloiton fought as violently as them, but their grunts were better equipped; they would lose one for every five of the Russconian side.
"It will be all worth it," he mutters. Petr leaves. The absence of the lamp's light sucks the captain back into the darkness. "My kingdom is landlock, not able to rely on the ocean for trade, unlike those Anglotonian bastards. When we win, we will violently pillage them, and make them pay. We are as good as them, we breed like rabbits in our impoverished kingdom. They think they are so good, but they only fight well because they are well provided for. But our kingdom's commanders might be on to something. Our sheer numbers who have nothing but hunger for better life will grant a victory we shall achieve in the end."
Captain Taras looks out into the dark woods. His army of thirty were told to march through these woods and cause chaos in the interior of their western enemy; it would give his kingdom hope to make an offensive push easier, as the enemy would be suddenly focused on trying to get rid of Taras' army. He agreed, wanting make his homeland of Russocon proud. Taras in an expert in commanding his troops to perform guerrilla warfare, especially at night; he used this strategy successfully when fighting in the border zones where the war rages, only losing his men when they fought traditional style combat during the day. His army sits at the border of Norwood Woods, but don't enter yet. The reason his army doesn't push deep into Norwood Woods—despite the success of fighting unconventionally at night—is that Taras' army was told of a crazed specter that haunts the woods. Even as blood thirsty as his men are, they are very superstitious, and are scared of facing a specter that could kill out of nowhere in the dark.
Tars strokes his moustache. He too can be superstitious, but he didn't become a fierce captain in his kingdom's army by being an easily frightened man. Moving through the forest during the day would be foolish, as they would be eventually spotted. He has an old map of Norwood Woods. The maps shows that the forest is not as big as the hated Angloiton countryside they will be pillaging once they move through it; he knows they need to use the darkness to move through the forest, past the castle, and villages that lay around it.
He gathers his small army, ready to rally his men.
"Gentleman, fellow comrades who fight like hungry wolves. Why are we frightened of a haunted forest? The map shows it is not that big as the kingdom we wish to enact chaos on. As long as we move west in the dark, we will make it out easily."
The other soldiers mutter, starting to feel strong morale.
"Who cares if a crazed specter haunts this place. We are crazed men, violent men who have slain many. If we encounter this specter we will kill it like those Anglotonian bastards we are going to kill. Think of the glorious praise we will be given if we slay it. Gentleman, comrades in arms, let us march through the dark, and come out of these haunted woods, armed, vicious, ready to slay the Anglotonian vermin who live in this region."
The other soldiers cheer and holler, feeling courage. Taras, puts his pistol away, then pulls his saber and thrusts it high, signaling them to follow him. The army gives a quick vicious holler, as they head into Norwood Woods.
Gordon wakes up in the night. His dream was weird, but it kept telling him to wake up. He sits up from the log he was resting on. He sees the dim campfire of his squad, along with the other campfires being also lowly lit. He sees that the other members are fast asleep. The few hairs that remain on his bald head feel tense; he knows something bad is going to happen tonight. He puts his helmet on, gathers his rifle, grabs a lamp, and slowly leaves the camp; Gordon makes sure to do this all of this quietly in order to not wake up his fellow squad members. He decides he will scout in the dark, and alert his comrades if any bad arises; he does this because he feels that it is his duty as the veteran soldier in both his squad and the rest of Major Poctor's company.
The dark forest towers over the battle tested veteran, only his lamp allowing him to see where he is going. He doesn't know what he will find, and he isn't scared enough to turn back.
Taras' army slowly moves through the dark woods. They abandon the idea of using lamps, wanting to use total darkness to hide their movement. However, this means they have to move slower in order not to walk over a wrong part of the terrain. His army remains quiet as they slowly move; Taras leads in the front, he told his men that the map shows how they can travel through the forest the quickest through a straight path. He leads them in this path, his wily mind the only thing allowing him to know that he is going in the right direction, since the dark night makes the line of sight low.
They eventually stop moving, one of the soldiers complains that they have been walking for too long, and have not seen an exit in the forest. Others begin to complain too, and some state that they should turn around.
"Fools!" Taras hisses. "We are going the right way, so hush. Or would you rather face the punishment for your cowardice from our dear leaders."
Many of the soldiers becomes silent. Taras then tells them in a low voice to continue to follow him. The grumble, but agree. The army continues to move, but stops again when they here a loud wail.
"What was that," Petr says nervously. The young soldier begins to light his lamp so that he can see, but the others stop him, saying that the darkness will hide them.
Then they hear another loud wail, followed by a manic cry. Taras' amber eyes dart around, looking for the creator of the noise, but he only sees darkness. He isn't frightened, he has his saber already out, but he draws out his pistol just in case.
"Men, pull out all weapons, we don't know where this screamer is coming from," he orders in a low tone.
The army is already carrying rifles, but they pull out any pistol, knife, or saber they think can aid them. Then Taras tells them to move. They move a few feet, when they hear a great scream. The army stops in its track; Taras decides to use his ears to pin point the direction of the noise, but he can't tell unless he hears the scream again. However minutes go by without him hearing anything; he tells his men to stay put, until he can find out where the maker of the screaming is coming from.
Moments go by, leaving the invading army standing the dark woods, not sure where the spook that frightens them is. Then they hear a manic cackle. Taras' ears picks up the direction of the sound, he can tell that the maker is in front of the army.
"Men gather quickly and point your guns out in front of me," he hisses. "Hurry the thing is right there!"
The army huddles quickly, and points out their guns, standing in a formation to make sure than no one gets shot by accident. Taras is ready to tell them to fire, but then he hears the manic cackle again. This time his ears pin point the noise coming from behind his army. He stares out into the darkness, eyes bulged with shock; he doesn't know how anything could move so fast. He is about to tell his men to turn around, when he hears a giggling wail.
"Poor lost ones. Look and you will be found."
Taras doesn't understand the meaning of those words, yet he hears his men turn around and shout at the voice to come out and surrender. One of the soldiers orders the rest to fire. Taras thinks that there is about to be disobedient shooting, but then he hears his men cry out that they can't feel their bodies move. Suddenly Taras can't feel his body move; his eyes look out stunned, baffled by the power of this mysterious thing in the dark. Then he hears the voice again, his mind swears it sounds like a woman's giggling erratically.
"Look and you will be found!" the voice then shouts.
Still unable to move, Taras suddenly hears his men cry out pain, as if their bodies are being slashed; many of their voices sound like they are gurgling and choking on their own blood from their throats being slashed. He is unable to do anything, as he hears the last of his men be cut down, then he feels like he is all alone, not able to hear the voice who slaughtered his men.
"Who are you!" he shouts. "What do you have against us."
Silence.
"How are you able to kill my men with ease? Why haven't you killed me yet?"
Silence.
"Show yourself!" he hollers. "Let me face my killer! Let me die with pride knowing I served glorious Russocon fighting like a mad man!"
Then he hears giggles.
"Poor old man. Poor. P-p-po-poor. This area mine."
Taras wishes to respond, but then he feels a blade be thrusted into his belly. As he squirms to resist dying quickly, his mind—which knows weapons very well—believes a rapier blade is in his stomach. He feels it be pulled out and up, slashing the rest of his torso. He cries out in pain, dropping his weapons, then falls to the ground, slowly feeling death overtake him. As he struggle to keep his eyes open—with his body going cold—he hears the giggling of the killer of him and his army. Before his eyes close they barely make out the voice's figure; it looks very ghostly. Then Taras dies.
Gordon hears the screaming of men. He quickly rushes toward the noise, holding his rifle tensely. He doesn't know who or what is making the noises, but he is going to shoot at them if they are considered hostile. Eventually he reaches where he hears the screaming coming from. He holds up his lantern to illuminate the darkness. Before him are the slashed and hacked up Russconian soldiers lay before him; the way they lay remind him of the bodies he saw in the violent border zones. Gordon breathes quickly, unsure what to do. He knows that the dead men before him are his enemy, but wants to know who killed them, and wants to know if this killer is still here. After looking around nervously, he decides to run off and tell his fellow soldiers and alert them to the killer of their enemy.
Gordon runs back giving out great hollering to his squad and surrounding squads. He tells them that the enemy is here, and that they need to mobilize. Soldiers in the middle of Norwood Woods arm themselves, but don't head toward where Gordon says the dead enemy is, believing it would be best to wait and defend the position until sunset. Gordon grumbles at their cowardice, but follows their decision, knowing that if these fresh-faced men had served in the border zones, they would be quickly rushing to battle; Gordon knows they are not there, and allows the others to be cautious. Day comes and the rest of Major Poctor's company finds Tara's' slaughtered army; their bodies look like they have been torn into, with many of their flesh and guts missing. Many of the soldiers believe that the "Banshee of Norwood Woods" was responsible for killing the Russconian invasion force. Major Poctor tells Lady Norwood of the account. She gets frustrated with him, stating that what is the point of the army being stationed in her woods, if the enemy could easily come and move through the dark, then stating he should be lucky that a rare appearance of the "Banshee of Norwood Woods" saved Angloiton from an easy invasion. Major Poctor apologizes. He decides to move his army right on the border between Norwood Woods and the Russocon; there the soldiers feel nerves—not Carl—knowing that the enemy could be attacking them, possibly with ease. Gordon isn't nervous, he has seen the horror of wars before. He is glad that this time it was averted by a crazed specter.