"Well, let's get this over with," said Mookie. He handed a cigarette to Ducimus. "You have anything to say?"
"Just make it quick," said the Oberfeldwebel.
"Very well." Mookie turned and joined AVGWarhawk and August on the firing line. He handed a carbine to the Takeda. "May as well get used to this, Yank. The way it's going, you may need the practice."
The journalist held the heavy weapon uncertainly. "Yeah, 'spose you're right, Mack."
He took aim, then relinquished the rifle as August worked the bolt for him. "Works better when there's a round in the chamber, Schmierer," he grinned.
"Guys..." AVGWarhawk said, with a touch of nerves. Ducimus struggled and writhed against the straps that held him to the post. His face contorted, his flesh blackened like fetid leather, and horrible black bristles grew with hideous speed across his cheeks and brow. His chest swelled and the straps strained.
Together, they raised their weapons and at Mookie's command, fired.
Night begins!
.