At 24, Edward Cunningham Grubb was one of the camp’s best sharpshooters. As such, he was given watch tower number two guard duty as soon as the camp brought in the first prisoners. Out of concern for the coming storm, the Camp’s Commander allowed for tonight’s light sentry posting.

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Sgt. Tripp and the men were gathered by the camp’s entrance. He raised his voice above the wind and addressed his men. “Look, I don’t know what kind of situation we’ve got in there, but we’re gonna put it down by all means necessary.” The men stood ready. Some were nervous. Most, however, were combat veterans and some of these former prisoners of war themselves. Carbines ready, Tripp opened the gate and the guards swarmed in. The first ghoul they encountered was lumbering slowly towards the men. Two guards broke rank and ran towards him screaming.

“Halten!”

The ghoul continued shuffling at an erratic pace, like a man about to lose his balance. The first man aimed his rifle.

“Halt! Schnell!”

The thing did not stop. He lifted his head and grimaced at the men.

A shot rang from the guard tower. The round went through his chest and the ghoul stumbled backwards. Two more shapes appeared out of the storm and approached from different directions. Then a third. And a fourth. Then out of the blinding storm, a swarm of shuffling figures approached the guards.

Behind the barracks, the SS ghouls mingled with the other prisoners, themselves similarly transformed and posthumously united. They shifted in