AN: I'm just putting this up to finally be able to put this story to rest. However, in the event that you wish to re-read its rewritten version (and that version's sequel), you're welcome to go to my profile, where it is listed as "The Dark Wars: Empire's Plight".
Fort Valor, England—Three Months Later…
A sound akin to the roll of thunder erupted from the line of muskets as they shot down at the oncoming masses of trolls. Some fell, but the vast majority was still alive and kicking.
Atop the walls, Sergeant Pips cursed loudly as he felt the stone ramparts underneath him shake with each blow the trolls threw at the stone walls. He took aim with his musket and fired at another oncoming troll, hitting the huge creature in the head, killing it effectively.
"Fire at will, boys! Let the buggers have it!" he heard his superior officer say from somewhere down the line. He turned to his own platoon and yelled,
"You heard the officer! Let 'em have it!"
The booming noise that had previously been the mark of the British garrison no longer sounded. Instead, individual bangs reverberated as individual soldiers took careful aim and took his time to fire.
It was inevitable, Pips thought as he shot at another troll. The barrage tactic wasn't killing the trolls so much as lightly wounding them.
Then again, the trolls' very presence was unexpected.
In fact, they were caught completely unawares.
Pips heard the cannons atop the four fort towers booming. Atop each was a Union Jack, fluttering in the wind proudly and defiantly. They were horribly outnumbered, and yet they still persisted in fighting the oncoming onslaught.
'But we never even saw them coming,' thought Pips. 'Not even a hint, or a rumor. They just showed up like the bloody boogeyman!'
The small garrison of Fort Valor had indeed been caught by surprise. The fort itself, although built to resist a sizeable force, was badly undermanned, since no one had thought that the enemy terrorists would: A) have the forces to successfully launch a siege on it; or B) have the guts to do so, so close to the Imperial capital it was.
Unfortunately, the enemy had proven them wrong on both counts.
'The bastards are learning' he thought wryly as he shot at another troll.
Far off, he could see the second wave readying to march. These weren't Death Eaters, either. Pips squinted. They seemed to be dressed ordinarily, too.
'What the…?' he thought, before turning to where he thought his superior officer was. "Sir, second wave readying to advance!" he shouted.
"Death Eaters?" came the follow up question from down the line.
Pips shook his head, though he knew the man couldn't see him. "Naw, Sir! Dressed like civilians!"
"What? What are these fellows playing at?" he heard the officer state. Minutes passed as he waited for some sort of explanation, all the while keeping his firing rate steady, before the officer suddenly gave a horrified whisper that every man in the rampart heard. The words were chilling. Pips took one look at the sky, saw nothing, and turned back to the officer, who gave him a scared stare before asking, "What sort of moon are we expecting tonight?"
Pips thought for a moment, took one look at the falling sun, then back at the civilian-dressed enemy, and confirmed the officer's guess.
Fort Valor HQ
"Sir, the men on the eastern rampart report the enemy wave is not faltering. The men have lost six men already due to sniper fire from concealed Death Eaters,"
The garrison commander, a recently brevetted Major, cursed at that. "What's the status on Winston Tower? Why are they not firing at the eastern wave?" he asked his adjutant. The man seemed every bit as shaken as the Major felt. Both men steadied themselves as they felt the very ground beneath them shake from the stomping of the giants and trolls outside.
"The southern wave has their complete attention, sir. The gate guard reports that the gate will hold for another two hours, but no more."
The Major cursed again. Where had these troop reserves come from? Why had no one told him? This was supposed to be light duty, off the front lines! Not at the bloody front lines!
The Major turned his attention back to his assistant. "What of the north gate?"
The assistant paused for a moment while he relayed the request over the communication spell. He was one of the two men in the garrison who was a Wizard. He blinked and then reported, "The north gate is still holding. Ensign Rogers reports that the gate is expected to hold for another four hours, if enemy advances remain the same."
'Which they probably won't.' thought the Major. "The west wall?"
Again, the assistant blanked out. When he regained focus, however, he had a terrified look on his face. He began sputtering and babbling, which made the Major even more nervous.
"What is it, man? Come on, speak!"
"W-Western wall indicates a new wave readying to advance. They have siege ladders."
The Major swore at that. It was one thing to try to repel an enemy that couldn't scale the walls. It was another to fight one that could. He simply didn't have the manpower to repel such incursions.
"It gets worse, sir," added the assistant as he looked up at the night sky.
"What do you mean, worse?" asked the Major before following his gaze upwards. When he saw the object his assistant was also looking at, his eyes widened in fear.
"Werewolves" whispered the assistant.
'We're all going to die' thought the Major.
Less than half an hour later, Pips was fighting alongside five of his fellow regiment comrades as the transformed werewolves scaled and ripped through the ranks like scissors on paper. As he stabbed out at the werewolf attacking him with the silver bayonet issues to them for this sort of occasion, Pips was still very aware of the screams of the terrified and agonizing in the background. From what he could understand from the sudden spell chatter, the werewolves had already killed off their Major, as well as the man's assistant, so all communication amongst the garrison troops were chaotic and restricted to shouts.
Pips slashed at another werewolf as the attacking canines gradually forced Pips into a corner, along with his mates, one of whom soon went down screaming as one of the werewolves managed to shred off the soldier's arm.
Determined not to faint or throw up, Pips tried his best to ignore the awful sound of the werewolves feasting on his friend's live body as the soldier's screams of pain and terror filled Pips' immediate hearing.
Grinding his teeth as he felt his back hit the wall, Pips stabbed out at the encircling werewolves defiantly.
"Come on, you flea-bitten bastards!" he challenged as he tried to swallow his own fear, "Come and get me! If I go down, I'll take some of you bastards with me!"
That seemed to instigate the werewolves, as the canines all suddenly decided to jump Pips in near-unison. The British sergeant gave a cry of defiance and swung his bayonet around, slashing at least three werewolves, before he was ultimately brought down to the floor.
Pips screamed throughout the werewolves' feasting.
AN: Well, with this ends The Dark Wars: Empire's Plight. I hope you all enjoyed it. Stay tuned for the future release of its sequel, The Dark Wars: Empire's End.