My Grandfather was in WW2, he served in the eastern European theatre in the latter part of the war. He told me a story of the time his squad came upon a gypsy encampment that had been devastated my something. All of the people had been mauled by some wild animals. The dead had been “chewed up and spit back out.” He said. There were bites all over them. While his squad was searching for survivors the dead began to get up. He said there was no way some of these people could have been alive. “There guts were spilling out of them and others had their necks entirely ripped out.” He told me about how the squad opened fire on them and how the bullets did absolutely squat. When one of his friends got off a lucky shot and hit one in the head they all knew what to do from there. They set up a firing line and dispatched the threat in short order. My Grand father spent his remaining days teaching his children and grandchildren and great grand children what to do if ever the need came up again.

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