An uneasy truce settled between the two sides. No sooner than the shots faded and the schnapps run out, the men went their separate ways, having no discernible orders to the contrary. Jimbuna was alone in the Great Hall, muttering to himself, cleaning the table and picking up the empty glasses. "Just like me mates, they know how to knock a few back but they forget they're Royal Navy and leave a mess. Wish we still had the days of scrubbing the decks with sandstone, yeah."
A door slammed and he jumped. Realizing his situation, he threw down his cloth and pulled off his apron and fairly sprinted for the opposite exit.
"What's the matter, sailor? You seem a bit jumpy," SS Nisgeis laughed, entering into the light.
"Damn your eyes! I know you're the enemy, but what're ya t-trying to do? Kill me?"
Nisgeis smiled, lighting a cigarette. "I learned a great many things from my visit to the nunnery. This island of the damned is--" A tremendous rending of oak and mortar interrupted him--a great, fearsome beast smashed through the door like paper and ripped Nisgeis' head from his torso.
Jimbuna shrieked and fled through the back. Sprinting all out, he raced through the Inner Ward. As he rounded the kitchen heading for the North Turret he passed Task Force asleep in a ball by the foot of the stairs. "Wake up, mate! For crissakes, wake up!" Jimbuna leapt through the breach, twisting his ankle on the rubble. "Awww, no, no no," he groaned. Limping at a gallop, he headed for the POW camp. A glance over his shoulder and he saw an ominous shadow loping behind him.
The petty officer hitched it up another gear and sped through the now-open POW gates. He staggered out of breath and in considerable pain into the Bunkhouse A. "Captain!! I saw another one, get the men--oh-my-gawd..."
Jimbuna found he was alone in the room with a corpse. His commanding officer was dead, dismembered in a fashion he was becoming used to. "Oh the damned butchers," he said, tears welling up.
Then he knew he was not alone in the room. He was nearly overcome by a fetid smell, and he turned slowly. A werewolf, nearly eight feet tall, towered over him. Its inhuman eyes, its horrible grimace of slavering fangs were only an arm's length away.
With no escape, Jimbuna pulled the silver talisman dagger from his jacket. "Ok, ok, let's see about this then!" The beast flicked the dagger from his hand and it flew across the room. "Ah, I see," whispered the submariner. A guttural sound grew from the werewolf. It tensed to attack--then drew back. For a second, Jimbuna thought he could read confusion, fear in its eyes. "Yeah, yeah?" he shouted, advancing. "So whatre' ya gonna make of it, you blighter!" The creature stood its ground for a moment, then loped out the door and disappeared into the moonlight.
Jim collapsed on the nearest bunk. "Oh, the things I'll have to tell my grandkids when they ask what Pops did during the War."
Day begins
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