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He’d volunteered to take the watch this evening, which was not an uncommon thing for him; in his mind, a leader volunteered to do the tasks that those under him were responsible for as well. He wasn’t too good to pull a twenty-four hour duty to ensure everything remained quiet and safe through the night, and that’s where the evening found him on this particular occasion. He didn’t have to wear a uniform for this particular duty assignment, but he’d opted to wear it anyway; they were supposed to be professionals, and professionals dressed for the work they did. At this point in the evening, though, he was starting to think he should have worn a much more comfortable shirt and a pair of slacks instead.
Turning in the chair to face the small desk that served as his post, he looked over his proposal draft for the second time this evening. Brennan and Sullivan had both shot down his second proposal with regards to releasing Order members to serve in the British armed forces to fight the Nazis without repercussion. Despite making what he felt was an overly generous concession to staffing the castle, they were still unwilling to budge on it. Making a face, he picked up his pencil and tapped it on the last period he’d written.
Their total strength at the castle numbered forty-eight, including the Triumvirate, but really Cahir was defensible with a skeleton crew. He’d worked out that, to maintain full security coverage of the old fortress, the Order really only needed two squads of six, and this included two medics per squad. Of course their ruling council would be included with that twelve-man contingent, but they didn’t need more people. Sullivan’s insistence on having at least thirty personnel - and Brennan’s insistence that they couldn’t afford to lose anyone at all - was aggravating him to his last nerve. The numbers were utterly arbitrary and not based upon any sort of adequate consideration of their situation.
He snatched the sheet of paper up and crumpled it into a ball in frustration, tossing it forcefully into the wastebin beside the desk. Figuring there was not going to be anything particularly pressing to handle in the next fifteen minutes, he grabbed his cap from its spot on the desk and made his way to the adjacent doors that led to the courtyard. Stepping out into the cool night air, he took a deep breath before letting out an exasperated sigh.
He reached into his left breast pocket, retrieving a cigarette case and a lighter, and pulled a cigarette out to place between his lips. He was sparking the flint when he heard something on the wall that circled the courtyard where the barracks buildings were. There were a few guards roaming the walls, keeping eyes peeled for anyone trying to breach them, so surely if there was something, at least one would have been able to raise the alarm.
Neither did the hunter he was looking at, so he let it go, lifting his lighter to spark the end of the cigarette. Once the cherry was lit, he took a deep drag and exhaled, tucking his lighter back into his pocket. That’s when it happened. Another muffled sound caught his attention, but this time he saw the hunter at the far end of the wall being pulled down over the edge of the wall. His eyes widened, and he tossed his cigarette to the ground, bolting for the barracks building closest to him. If they were going to be brave enough to breach the walls and kill hunters in their home, they were either extremely foolish or they had the numbers to support it.
In some corner of his brain, he begrudgingly admitted that Mairead had been right after all, and that they’d all ignored her warnings. It wasn’t worth anything to him now, of course; he had to get everyone up and moving as quickly as possible. He threw open the door as he reached the building, slamming his fist against the light switch.
“We’re under attack! Get your weapons and get up, right fucking now,” he barked. A couple of the girls poked their heads out of their doors, half-asleep, but the moment they saw him, they went to full alert. Drawing his pistol from its holster on his hip, he bolted the five meters to the next barracks building in time to see the first wave of invaders making their way over the wall with preternatural speed. He took aim, firing a few rounds from his Browning at the nearest shape. The cry of anguish, followed by the sound of dead flesh evaporating in flames satisfied him that he’d hit his mark, and he slammed open the next door.
“Off your asses! We’re under attack,” he shouted. He was turning to face outside when he was presented with one of the monsters that had made its way into the courtyard, lunging at him. With a loud thud, he tumbled to the floor, firing up at the beast to little avail. Its hands reached for his throat, but he was no slouch; his free hand slid a stake from his belt and jammed it up into the beast’s chest, missing his heart by less than an inch. It let out a choked groan, and it provided enough pause for McKenna to fire a blessed bullet through its skull.
