War Torn

The autumn of 1944 was particularly cold in northern Romania, and Anselo found himself huddled very near the warm glow of his campfire on most nights. He had been traveling for months, trying his best to lead his new Soviet “comrades” through the mountains of his homeland, so that they may be able to help liberate Transylvania from Nazi control. Thus far all he had known was bloodshed and hardship, but it seemed that the Soviets were making ground, and he had heard recently that the Allies had launched a full invasion in the west.

When will it all be over?

He thought to himself as he wrapped his  patched coat as tight as he could to his ever thinning frame. He had lost his hat in the last firefight with the Germans, and his fingers had completely worn through his gloves. Winter would soon be upon them and the familiar embrace of the fire was a comfort on these bitter mountain nights.

“Gypsy!” called a portly Russian private, a rarity considering their meager rations.

“Come join us for a drink.”

Normally, Anselo liked the peace and solitude of his own campfire, but tonight was frigid and a few shots of the homemade Russian vodka would certainly go a long way towards warming his bones. He found a spot around the fire next to Captain Evgeni Markov, affectionately known as “Captain Geno” to the rest of the platoon. He offered him a pull at his bottle, which Anselo graciously accepted.

“Tell us one of your ghost stories Gypsy, I would rather shiver in fear than from the cold tonight.”

“I told you Captain, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Ahh, my apologies, tell us one of your monster stories”

Anselo pulled back his long black hair, revealing a large, rough scar on the right side of his neck. He took another drag at the vodka and wished if maybe he’d been leading some Irish or American troops, perhaps they would have had whiskey instead. Most nights Anselo kept to himself, but on the nights when he was social enough to sit around the fire with the six remaining members of the Red Army he was leading, he would often tell stories passed down to him by his grandfather, a beloved “monster hunter”. The Soviets couldn’t get enough of the stories, filled with all sorts of creatures that “go bump in the night”.

“I have not yet told you of the story behind my scar… I suppose tonight is as good as any.”

The fatigued soldiers gathered close around the fire as it slowly dimmed, almost in anticipation of the tale to come.  Anselo had a flair for the dramatic when telling his stories, but tonight his demeanor was different. He gazed into the fire, seemingly staring into the depths of his own soul, trying to find the right words. He had been leading these men, originally numbered closer to one hundred, across the Apuseni range. Their goal was to regroup with the rest of the 53rd Army, as well as the newly allied Romanian Army on the other side of the mountains. Throughout his time as a scout for the Soviets, as well as his time as a gypsy in a Nazi controlled nation, he had seen firsthand the horrors of war. The men he led through the mountains had also known horrors. Some of them had been involved in three or four campaigns at this point, and the most recent victory at the Battle of Paulis was nothing compared to the brutal fighting they had seen earlier in the war. Tonight he planned to give them a true story of monsters.

“Some of the most terrifying monsters in this world are men,” he said. “Men are capable of doing things that would give even the darkest of creatures nightmares.”

The men were particularly intrigued. Normally, Anselo would dazzle them with stories of his grandfather battling with werewolves and witches, vampires and shapeshifters, none of which Anselo, or the Soviets truly believed, but loved to imagine a world where there is something to fear more than the war. His stories gave them an escape from the terrors of war, even if only for a little while. As the moon rose high in the sky Anselo rolled a cigarette, and the soldiers hung on his every word.

“Before this war, this godforsaken war, I lived a simple life in my village. My summers were spent hunting and fishing during the day and singing and dancing every night. When I was just a school boy, I met the love of my life, Amberlina. She was beautiful. Her eyes the deepest blue and her hair long and black, her sunkissed skin golden like an autumn sky. I knew from the first time that I saw her she would be my wife. After years of dancing and making love by the light of the moon, I finally asked for her hand in marriage. We had not been married two years when the Nazis came to our village”.

He paused to light his cigarette and take a long drag. The smoke burned his lungs, but not as much as the hate burned in his heart.

“As you all know I am Romani, one of the blessed, what you refer to as a gypsy.”

Some of the soldiers looked a bit ashamed when he brought this up, but they still listened intently to his story.

“Well, as I am sure you know, the Nazis are not very fond of my people. When our government decided to ally with Germany, it meant very difficult times for people like me and my wife and our families. We had heard that the Germans were rounding up Jews and gypsies in Poland and Germany, but we never thought it would reach us here.”

He let out a long sigh and looked down as if grief had overcome him, but it was not grief that he felt now, but anger.

“When they came for us we were unprepared. They dragged us from our homes and burned our village to the ground. Those of us that fought back were shot in the streets, including my parents… but I guess they had a different plan for me. They pulled me off of one of their officers as I tried to free Amberlina.. As they dragged her away they strung me up by the neck.”

He gestured to his scar.

“As I struggled there, hanging from a beam of a burning house, I watched as my wife screamed in horror. I fought as I could to free myself, but my hands were bound and I was quickly losing air. The more I fought the more the rope dug into my neck, but I knew I was close to slipping the knot. It took every ounce of strength I had left, but before I passed out I was able to slide free. The rope ravaged my skin and left me with these scars as a reminder of the brutality of war, and the depravity of man.”

At this point Anselo was in tears, willing himself to finish his tale.

“That was the last time I saw my wife, just over a year ago. So you see gentlemen, as horrible as the monsters may be, there is nothing in these woods I fear more than man.”

Typically when Anselo would finish a story the men would cheer and demand another, but tonight they just sat quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in.

“I’m sorry comrade.” said Captain Markov, “But remember, if we lose this war, thousands of others will share your fate. We are the only thing standing between the innocent and the monsters of this world.”

This gave Anselo some hope. The thought that he was playing a part in the downfall of the Third Reich strengthened his resolve. He wiped his eyes and perked up.

“Well then, tomorrow I get you one day closer to reuniting with your comrades, and one day closer to winning this war.”

Anselo finished his cigarette and Captain Markov polished off the last of the vodka. They bid each other good night and bunked down for what would be a long, dark night in the forest.

—

The men awoke to the piercing sounds of screaming. It was still the middle of the night and the light of their fires had died to just more than an ember. They scrambled out of their sacks, unaware of what was happening.

“Where is it coming from?” asked one of the young soldiers, frozen in fear, trying to ready himself for a fight.

“I don’t know.” said the Captain, “where the hell is Federov?”

All around them something was moving with great speed and force. It was difficult to pin down its location, but it seemed to be tossing its victim around like a rag doll. As it rushed around them it seemed to move the forest, shaking the entire camp. The sound of flesh being torn from bone was quite audible.

“Dear god, someone help me!” gurgled the voice of Federov from the darkness.

In the chaos of the camp it was tough to distinguish exactly where it had come from. A moment later there was another scream, a rush of movement from the forest and the unmistakable sound of a human body making heavy contact with a tree.

“WAKE UP!” screamed the Captain. “WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!”

Everything was happening too fast. The men were sluggish to react, most still in a haze from their slumber, but the sense of danger was evident from the Captain’s tone. Some of the men had their rifles up and were firing blindly at the movement in the woods. Anselo was one of the first to his feet and had his revolver fixed on the tree line at the perimeter of camp, his other hand gripping a silver edged blade, a gift passed down to him by his grandfather.  The Russians were now all up and moving, some of them calling to Federov, but he gave no response. It was then that they heard something else, something that gave even the bravest of them goosebumps. What they heard could only be described as a roar, or perhaps a howl. Whatever it was, it reverberated throughout the camp and could be felt by the six remaining members of the party.

“What the hell was that?!” one of the horrified soldiers stuttered to get out.

Anselo had never heard anything like that before in his life, but he knew immediately what the sound was.

That was a monster.

A moment later, whatever had attacked Private Federov could be heard rapidly making its way through the forest. It was still too dark to see anything, but based on the sound it made in its escape, it had to be colossal. None of the men spoke, and the night became eerily still. The only sound that could be heard was the low crackle of the dying campfire.

“Captain, what should we do?”

“Nothing.”

“But what about Federov?”

“Federov is dead, there is nothing we can do for him now.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. At first light we will find him, but we are not risking anyone else tonight.”

No one would sleep the rest of the night. Every shadow cast by the fire evoked a guttural response from the soldiers, pointing rifles at the perceived enemy. After the attack on Federov, the Captain insisted on at least two men on guard duty, but no one was going to be able to sleep with the beast roaming the woods.

—

When dawn broke Captain Markov insisted no one eat until they found the body of their comrade. The early morning sun gave them just enough visibility to start making their way through the forest, and quickly the signs of the monster became evident. Trees were destroyed, clawed nearly in half, some uprooted by sheer force, and then there was the blood… it was everywhere. There were also some sort of tracks on the ground, deep tracks.

“What do you make of that, Gypsy?” asked Markov.

Anselo inspected the tracks in the dirt – they were like nothing he had seen before. They looked like human feet, but they were enormous and appeared to be clawed. The depth of the tracks suggested a creature of immense size.

Monsters are not real, they are just the things of old stories your Papu used to tell you.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It would appear to be the footprints of a man.”

The Captain, a skilled tracker in his own right, pointed out a few factors that led them to believe this could not be that of a man.

“A giant perhaps? A giant with clawed feet?” he remarked.

“Are you suggesting that a monster attacked Federov last night?” Anselo replied.

“What else do these tracks tell you, Gypsy?”

“Whoever this man is, he is huge. By the size and depth of the print, coupled with the stride length I would guess almost 3 meters tall.”

“How many seven foot tall men do you know with clawed feet that move and howl like that beast did?” questioned Markov.

“I DO NOT BELIEVE IN MONSTERS!” Anselo snapped.

“Neither do I, but I know what I heard last night and I know what I see now.”

Anselo looked around to the other men, they were frightened by these tracks. Typically battle hardened and courageous, they all looked like timid schoolboys looking over their shoulder for their bully. He knew they should push on, but was worried about what else they might find. They followed the tracks and the amount of flesh and blood strewn about began to increase, until they came upon the body of their fallen comrade.

Private Federov had been folded in two across a large tree. His back had been broken, his torso torn open, and his entrails removed. His throat also seemed to be ripped out and there were teeth marks all around the wound. His skin was whiter than fresh snow. He must have ruptured a vessel because his eyes, which were fixed open in horror, were dark with blood.

One of the soldiers made the sign of the cross.

“Lord help us.”

Some of the other men could be heard praying under their breath.

“We can’t leave him like this Captain.”

“We won’t. You two, start digging, you two, fetch his sleep sack, we will wrap him in it. I’ll get his personal items to send to his family.”

The men did as they were ordered and they buried Private Federov there on the side of the mountain. As the autumn sun began to rise in the sky it illuminated the colors of the Apuseni Mountains, casting hues of gold and auburn over the landscape. Had they not been burying their friend, the men would likely have relished the peace and beauty of it. After they put their comrade to rest, the men ate and prepared for the day. They were exhausted from the previous night and in much need of rest, preferably somewhere out of the woods. Anselo knew of a former nobleman who had an estate, only a day’s journey from where they were. He had gypsy blood and had been removed by the Nazis, sent to a concentration camp early in the war. Anselo figured that it was remote enough that at this point, it was likely abandoned by the Nazis, but still would provide excellent shelter and possibly some much needed supplies. Little did the men know of the terror that awaited them at the estate of Count Chergari.

—

There was not much conversation on the trail. The path was quite overgrown and littered with the crimson and apricot leaves of the oaks and birches covering the mountains. It was quite a remote trail, past beautiful vistas and pristine alpine lakes, following a sprawling mountain stream of crystal blue water running high into the range, through some of the thickest forest on the planet. Anselo knew the further they were from the beaten path, the less likely they were to run into trouble. He had hoped they could reach the estate of Count Chergari by nightfall, but in their rundown state, the Russians moved at a crawl, lumbering step after step, all of them still shaken by the attack. As the sun began to sink low into the autumn sky, Captain Markov recognized the need to make camp. It only took one look from the Captain for Anselo to understand. The next clearing sat on a strategic ridge and provided the perfect spot for them to set up.

“This looks like as good a place as any to spend the night.”

“We can keep going, Captain.” said Viktor, the youngest in the party.

“We can, but we won’t. The sun is quickly fading and this position will give us the advantage should… should anyone try to get the jump on us.”

The men knew he was referring to the savage attack of Private Federov the previous night. None of them wanted to spend the night outside if they could manage it, but they were tired, quite a way from the estate, and darkness was rapidly approaching.

“This is as good as it gets tonight. We do not want to be in the woods after dark.”

“Gypsy, how far is the estate?” Interjected Viktor. He was quite determined not to spend the night outside, and had it been up to him they would have walked all night. Hiking through the woods was preferable to trying to sleep in the woods with whatever killed Federov lurking just out of sight.

“Too far.” replied Anselo. “I don’t want us exposed in the dark, do you?”

Viktor nodded reluctantly. The particularly lean kid could not have been older than 19 and likely had lied about his age when he enlisted. He possessed great strength of will, and likely could have continued trekking through the mountains long after his fellow countrymen had given up. From his time traveling with the Russians, Anselo had learned that Viktor had come from Siberia, the farthest reaches of the continent. He was an obstinate young man who frequently questioned the Captain’s orders, not because he didn’t trust Markov, but because he knew the back and forth between them would usually result in a laugh.

Viktor spent his free time trying to empty the pockets of anyone he could, through cards and dice. He had an excellent mathematical mind and was a very intelligent young man, especially for one who likely received next to no formal education. He reminded Anselo of his younger brother Marcus.

I pray he is still alive. He was a smart kid, too smart to let those bastards capture him.

Marcus had been away at university in Bucharest when the Nazis had come to Anselo’s village. He was the first member of the family to even finish high school, and had been accepted into a very prestigious program at the Politehnica School of Bucharest, the national university of science and technology. The government had recruited him from a young age to a military technology program.

He was too important for them to have sent him to a camp. Even after our government sold out our people, he would have been too valuable to them.

As they were setting up camp the sun began to hang low in the sky and fade behind the nearby ridge. It cast the entire mountainside in a crimson light as the six of them scrambled to get set up before the last of the light faded.

“Viktor” Anselo called. “Why don’t you help me check the perimeter and secure firewood.”

Anselo enjoyed spending time with Viktor, much as he had spent time with Marcus before the war. They retraced some of their path and then veered into the first level of brush to scavenge for serviceable firewood.

“Are those what I think they are?” Viktor nervously said as he pointed to tracking the dirt not ten feet from the main path they had taken.

“They are the same tracks as before.” He bent down to examine them closer.

“And they are… fresh.”

Anselo also examined the tracks and surveyed the area immediately around them.

Jesus it’s tracking us. It is close.

He concurred with Viktor. He was preparing to call to the Captain when the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up, his palms began to sweat and he had the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

“It’s here.” He whispered to Viktor. “Stay calm and don’t do anything stu… ”

“CAPTAIN! IT’S HERE!” Viktor screamed to the others before Anselo could finish.

Viktor, you fool.

Just then they felt a rush of force coming toward them from what seemed an impossible location, nearly fifty feet below on a cliff face of sheer rock. What they saw astounded and terrified them. Coming out of the abyss at rapidly increasing speed was a creature of darkness. It was colossal and climbed the mountainside almost like a giant ape, leaping from edge to edge. It had glowing red eyes and was covered with pulsing muscle. Its body seemed to be human-like, but this was no man. The beast unleashed an ear shattering howl and in a split second was behind Anselo and Viktor and closing on the camp. The fatigued Russians tried to assemble, but the agility and ferocity of the creature were beyond what they were equipped to take on.

It dashed through the clearing to the quickly darkening forest. It was so swift the soldiers could barely even see it, but the force felt by its movements, as well as its blood curdling howl were unmistakable. Anselo and Viktor hurried back to the clearing as quickly as they could, but before they could reach the others, the beast had struck. Just in front of them they could see it, a colossal brute covered in pulsating green veins. It was a mix of what could only be described as raw muscle, exposed bone, patches of what looked to be fur, and ravaged skin stretched tight to the flesh underneath. The behemoth lunged forward, absorbing several shots from the Russians before striking the portly Sergeant Rostek, ripping his right arm clear off his body at the shoulder. Hot blood fountained from the wound as he looked on in terror.

“Keep firing!” exclaimed Captain Markov.

Rostek screamed in horror as the beast dragged him into the ever growing darkness of the forest. Viktor and Anselo sprinted to the clearing to find the other members of the party, sniper Vitali Plotkin, fixing his Mosin-Nagant M1891 on the tree line, hopefully to get a clear shot at the creature.

“Show yourself you son of a bitch.” he whispered under his breath.

Plotkin was a top shot. Anselo had seen him take the head off a King of Spades from near half a kilometer. If there was anyone who could put this nightmare to sleep with a single shot it was him. As he scanned the trees for a sign of the monster, the now familiar sound of tearing flesh could be heard over the screams of poor Rostek. It chilled the remaining four Russians and Anselo to their cores, for they knew there was nothing that could be done for their comrade. Captain Markov began barking orders trying to rally the troops, should there be a secondary attack.

“Form a defensive line, Plotkin, keep your rifle fixed on the tree line and put a hole in anything that moves. Viktor and Anselo help Constantine set up the DS-39. I don’t care if it alerts the whole German army to our location! Constantine, you unload the entire belt on that bastard if it shows itself again.”

The group quickly assembled the medium machine gun and prepared for another assault by the demon of the forest, when they heard yet another blood curdling howl. It was followed by the sound of the beast retreating back into the thicker forest. It could still be heard moving a great distance away, but the further it was the more relieved the men felt.

—

Captain Markov awoke from a heavy sleep, a sleep he did not think possible after the events of the previous nights, but a sleep he nonetheless needed. He peered over his shoulder to ensure that the two men on watch were still up to the task. Boris Constantine, a brutish Chechen machine gunner manned the DS-39 as their Gypsy guide, Anselo paced the perimeter of the camp, checking for any signs of the beast. The other members of their party, the young Siberian private, Viktor and the sniper Vitali Plotkin slept uneasily in their sacks, clearly restless.

At least they are getting some kind of rest. How are we possibly going to survive this? I just want to see my Mina once more. She will have already returned to school and I am sure Anna has her prepared. Still her Papa should be there.

The Captain had been away from home a long time and had seen his fair share of combat, ascending to his captaincy through acts of bravery and the loss of countless superiors over the past two years. All he wanted was a chance to go home to see his wife and daughter again. He gazed into the darkness and pondered if there was anything he wanted more than that at this moment.

Maybe some good vodka and a cigarette.

He chuckled to himself, alerting the ever watchful Anselo.

“Are you alright Captain? I can’t seem to see what you could find so funny at a time like this.”

Markov had spent the vast majority of the war fearing death from a Panzer shell or a Nazi firing squad, never in his wildest dreams had he thought he could be disemboweled by a nightmare creature lurking in the Transylvanian mountains. He rolled a cigarette, lit it, took a long inhale and then offered it to his Gypsy ally.

“Much obliged Captain.”

Anselo took a long drag and passed the cigarette back to the Captain.

“I love your Turkish blend, but it still does not compare to the French cigarettes Federov always had.” Anselo gave a small grin after the jab, but quickly the smile fell from his face. There was a short silence as the Captain took another drag.

“He was a good man.” he said as he exhaled.

They all were good men.

He thought to himself about the dozens of men he had lost under his command, each of them a son, or a father, a brother or husband, and most of them a friend. He thought about how this war had taken so much from so many, and that now they had fallen victim to something so far from what he had known, at least in terms of traditional enemies.

Four of us will not make or break the Red Army, but we can avenge the loss of our fallen comrades and possibly rid this world of a great evil.

“Gypsy, my friend, we have a new mission.”

“And what might that be Captain?”

“We are going to hunt down and kill whatever has been stalking us through these woods. I have you to track it, I have Plotkin and Constantine to blow it to hell, and if that doesn’t work I have that stubborn young bastard Viktor drive it to madness. At first light we take the fight to this monster, and you get to make your grandfather proud.”

Anselo gripped the handle of the silver blade on his hip, and prayed to his ancestors for strength, as he had begun to believe some of Papu’s stories may have been true after all.

—

As the sun began to rise, barely illuminating their surroundings, the Captain had already made coffee and prepared a small meal for the meager troops remaining. The little light the sun did provide was greatly obscured by a dense fog that had rolled off the mountains and settled just below the tree line, engulfing not only the camp, but the entire surrounding area in a blanket of white. It was as if it had been sent to thwart their efforts.

Maybe we are cursed.

Anselo couldn’t keep the thought out of his head.

Or perhaps it is just I that’s cursed. Perhaps I did something in a past life and only now is God judging my actions.

He walked the perimeter of the camp, peering out into the fog, praying that the creature that ravaged Rostek the night before was long gone, but he had a feeling that was not the case. The fog was thick and accumulated on his extremities, pooling where it could. He could barely make out the other side of the camp or their fire and he wasn’t more than 10 meters from it.

“Someone should try and find Rostek.” he called to the group. “I also want to see if I can get a better sense of what we might be dealing with out here.”

Anselo made his way back to the fire and had a cup of what he thought at the time might be his last cup of coffee. It was the best coffee he had ever tasted. It warmed him enough and filled him with some kind of confidence to take on the fog and whatever may be hiding behind it.

“Captain, if you will allow it, I want to search for Rostek.”

“I will send Viktor with you.”

“I wish to go alone. No offense to the young one, but I don’t want his blood on my hands. Aside from that, everyone needs to prepare for the hunt.”

The Captain smiled. “You hear that boys, we’re going hunting. No more sitting and waiting for this bastard to pick us off one by one.”

“What about rejoining the 53rd?” asked Plotkin.

“This is a greater calling. If we don’t stop this beast, who knows how many more will die? The Red Army will be fine without our services a little longer.”

The men looked a bit skeptical, but they would not disobey the Captain. He had gotten them through so much and they knew he was right.

“Well then let’s get to it,” quipped Viktor as he took a rip from a bottle of vodka he had been saving.

“We’ll need all the courage we can muster today,” he said as he passed the bottle around.

Anselo took a swig, passed it to Plotkin and finished his coffee. He gathered what he needed and unsheathed his silver blade. He was not going to be taking any chances, should he encounter the demon of the woods.

“I shouldn’t be long, I’ll bring back his personal effects.”

As he stepped out of camp and into the fog and the forest he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up immediately. He hadn’t walked ten strides into the brush when he saw signs of the beast as well as Rostek. Just as with Federov, there was blood everywhere. However, unlike with Federov, when Anselo found his body there were additional appendages missing from Rostek.

As he approached the corpse of the dismantled Russian, Anselo gripped his blade tightly. He examined the claw marks around the body, as well as the bite marks all over it. He had to get quite close, as the fog was growing thicker, and visibility was next to nothing. His heart was pounding in his chest as he removed what he could of Rostek’s personal items to send to his family. It was quite easy to take off his Saint Christopher medallion, as Rostek’s head had been cleaved clear off above his collarbone. There was a rustle in the bushes behind him.

What was that?

Something was moving in the bushes not five meters from where he kneeled. He surveyed the brush the best he could, but the fog made it impossible for him to see. He tried to focus on what he could hear instead. His heartbeat pounding in his ears made this a challenge, but he was able to discern some movement, again coming from behind him.

It was moving slowly, each step making the faintest “crunch” as it moved around him. First it moved away, and he thought perhaps it was fleeing, but then the steps became louder as it approached.

CRRUUNCH.

Ten meters.

CRRUUNCH.

Seven meters.

CRRUUNCH.

Four meters. Get ready Anselo.

CRRUUNNCH!

One meter.

Anselo hit the ground just in time to see a massive clawed hand come out of the dog just above him. He rolled and cast his blade at the beast, making contact with what he thought was its lower leg. The creature let out a visceral howl, but this was different from the howls before. This time Anselo could sense the pain in its tone. The beast made off into the forest, and Anselo knew he had struck a decisive blow. Almost as if by divine providence the fog cleared and Anselo could see what it had left behind. Weaving its way through the forest were footprints, roughly three meters apart, and next to every other print was a splatter of green blood.

Should make it a little easier to track him.

—

As quickly as it had settled around them, the fog seemed to disperse from their campsite revealing a clear crisp morning on the mountainside. Plotkin had his rifle fixed on the edge of camp when he saw Anselo working his way back to camp.

Thank god he is alright.

Plotkin admired their Gypsy guide, he sympathized with him over the loss of those he cared most for. Plotkin himself was no stranger to tragedy, having lost his younger brother early in the war to Nazi air raids. He was glad to see Anselo was alright. They would need him if they were going to survive this ordeal.

“Did you find him?” asked Captain Markov.

“What was left of him, unfortunately there was not much.”

The men looked at each other, but there were no words to be said.

I wonder what we will tell their families if we make it out of this? I don’t know that they would believe their sons were butchered by a creature from the forest.

As Plotkin continued to ponder, Anselo told them he had something to show them.

“I know that I have told you all many stories of monsters, but what we are dealing with is something truly not of the realm of man”.

He showed them his blade, coated in a rapidly drying green liquid.

“I didn’t get a great look at it, but I did manage to catch him with my blade. I have never come across any creature in my travels or in my stories that bleeds green. This is something different, something truly evil. I am not sure if you have felt it, but every time that thing is near I can feel it in my bones, what we are dealing with is a being of immense speed and power, ferocity and cunning, but it is also not indestructible”.

He pointed to the blood on his knife.

“I got the son of a bitch pretty good, good enough that he left a trail of blood darting off through the forest. If he can bleed, he can be killed, and that is exactly what I plan on doing.”

“You keep calling it a he.” chimed Viktor. “Why is that?”

Anselo considered the question.

“That same feeling I get when he is near, that feeling tells me that he is or was a man. Much like a werewolf or a vampire, this demon has a man at his core, I know it.”

“That’s good enough for me.” said Viktor.

The entire party gave a laugh. They decided that before they would begin to hunt the creature, they would put to rest the remains of Rostek, then prepare as much as they possibly could to face fear itself.

We are lucky to have the Gypsy on our side. He’s the reason I know we’ll kill this monster.

“Anselo, can I talk to you?” Plotkin asked his comrade as they packed for the hunt ahead.

“Of course, comrade.”

The two gathered their things, loading their packs with supplies, chatting quietly, almost like the calm before a storm. They were both quite serious, but when they simultaneously pulled out their Rosary beads they could not help but look at each other and laugh.

“It is good to laugh, is it not?” asked Plotkin.

“Especially before we begin our current undertaking.” replied Anselo.

“We will truly be doing God’s work if we are able to rid the world of this demon,” he added.

“When we rid the world of this demon,” Plotkin insisted.

Plotkin was not typically a man of many emotions, but today his anger burned bright. Both men could sense the overall feeling of dread in their ranks the last few days, but the fact that they would be taking the fight to this monster gave them all a higher sense of purpose, which emboldened them.

As they finished packing their things Anselo explained they would follow the trail as far as they could, but that they needed to be prepared to fight at any given moment. A wounded monster would likely be even more dangerous and desperate, so they would need to be in the ready. The Captain gathered the men at the center of the camp one last time before they set out. They were a rag tag bunch, decimated by lack of sleep, hunched from exhaustion and fear, they were not much to look at. Plotkin noticed how skinny they all had gotten, especially Viktor, who looked like a stiff wind could blow him over. Constantine was thicker than Viktor, but he looked as if he had no will left to fight in him. His demeanor was that of a deer who just wanted to give up the chase and allow itself to be devoured by the wolves.

This is the group of men who are supposed to stop a monster straight out of our worst nightmares? Yes, this is the group that will get it done.

The Captain was not one for speeches, but today was not like other days. He gathered the men in close and went to a knee, dusting himself off and gathering his thoughts. He stared each of the other four men down with his cold blue eyes, one to the next, around the circle before beginning.

“Comrades, we are embarking on a mission to rid this world of a great evil. Today our wills shall be tested and we must rise up to the occasion. This is an enemy that may seem unfamiliar to us, but I put this question to you: have we not met evil on the field of battle before and come out the victors? Well today will be no different. We shall prevail!”

With that they were off, knowing not of the far more malevolent forces lurking in the mountains than just the man beast. It did not take them long to find its trail, and it would not take them long before they would be face-to-face with pure evil.

—

As the men followed the tracks of the creature they noticed less and less dried green blood as they went. Though there was less blood to follow, the tracks were still quite visible, and the destruction left in its wake made it easy to trail. After a few hours on the trail of the beast it was young Viktor who noticed a free patch of green blood on the trail. He reached out to touch it.

“It’s still wet… and warm.”

“It’s close, I can feel it,” said Anselo.

“As can I,” added the Captain.

Even the strong silent Constantine said he could sense the presence of the creature. With fear in his voice, he asked Anselo if he knew where they were.

“We have actually been moving closer to our goal. If I had to guess, the estate of Count Chegari can’t be much more than a couple of kilometers over that ridge to the north.” He pointed to the crest of the mountains that drew across the horizon from west to east, drifting into a lush valley below.

As the rest of the men peered off into the valley, Viktor examined the green substance between his fingers, seemingly fixated on something so strange, yet oddly familiar.

“If I had my eyes closed I would swear this is a man’s blood.” he said as he brought his hand near his face.

“It even has the same coppery smell … ”

At the exact moment that he brought his hand beneath his nose the beast came ripping out of the brush, tossing him several meters into a large oak tree. His body hit with a loud “thud” and the beast unleashed a terrible roar. This was the first time that any of them had gotten a good look at the creature in the daylight, and what they saw evoked a visceral feeling deep within each of them.

Standing before the soldiers and their guide was a towering man. He looked to be nearly three meters in height and was stripped of all clothing, save for a tattered pair of dark gray pants that cut off just below its knees. His frame was rippled with muscle and raw scar tissue, its hands and feet elongated and clawed. He was covered in wounds and all the skin on his head was shorn down to reveal a bare skull. Glowing red eyes glared at the group as they looked from the beast to Viktor and back before it stood to its full height and let out another blood chilling roar. The creature dropped its arms revealing its most terrifying feature. Carved into its chest, just below the sternum, was the unmistakable symbol of the Third Reich, a deep red swastika.

“Open fire!” screamed the Captain, shocking the group of their temporary fear-induced paralysis.

As the soldiers shot at the Nazi colossus, Anselo tried to weave his way to Viktor who lay motionless in front of the tree. He had to dodge a swipe from the brute’s clawed hand and slid underneath, just barely getting beneath the blow. The beast was then fixed on the other soldiers, using his speed to avoid being ripped apart by their fire. Anselo propped up Viktor, smacking him in the face trying to wake him.

He’s barely breathing.

“Come on kid, wake up!”

He slapped him once more and Viktor’s eyes opened. He coughed up some blood as he came to. Anselo and Viktor looked on in fright as the Nazi monster charged Constantine. He managed to put a few rounds into the beast but in an instant it had its claws in him. Constantine screamed in anguish as the Nazi monstrosity ripped him in two, drinking the contents that spilled out of Constantine’s torso.

God help us all, we bear witness to the devil incarnate.

After the beast had its fill, it flung the remains of Constantine in opposite directions before taking a shot from Captain Markov’s pistol. It had only clipped its shoulder, but in conjunction with the other wounds it had sustained, was enough to drive the beast off. Anselo tried to get Viktor to his feet, but the young soldier could not be moved.

“I… I can’t feel my legs.” was all he managed to say before passing out again.

—

As Viktor lay motionless in a heap, the remaining three members of the party examined him to see if anything could be done. They attempted to wake him through different stimuli and quickly realized something was seriously wrong. He had terrible bruising on his back and he didn’t react to anything they did to his lower body. Though he did have reflexes in his upper body, the group concluded he may never walk again.

“What do we do with him?” asked Plotkin.

“We bring him with us,” answered the Captain without any hesitation.

“What if there is nothing we can do for him? What if he is just dying slowly? He will only slow —”

“WE BRING HIM WITH US,” he repeated.

“We can fashion a stretcher from a couple of branches and some extra shirts, we can pull him with us, lucky we are not far from Chegari Manor,” Anselo added.

Markov, Plotkin and Anselo gathered what supplies they could still carry, made their makeshift stretcher and situated a still unconscious Viktor on it. They loaded the stretcher up with additional supplies and began making their way to Chegari Manor. The estate of the late Count Chegari was not far, but carrying their supplies in addition to Viktor and the machine gun was exhausting. Add to the fact that they were still traversing a mountain range and you paint a picture of a run down group of men, near the end of their ropes, fighting for not only their survival but still trying to rid the world of a magnificent evil. The odds were stacked against the party, but they would not give up without a fight. They were hardened fighting men who had seen adversity before.

As they trudged along they noticed more green blood splattered on the same path they were taking. It would seem that their adversary was not far ahead of them. The tension amongst them was palpable, each member of the squad on edge, shaken to their core by what they had experienced in those mountains. Most of them had been questioning their faith as their purpose, but none of them dared to question the mission still at hand. After a period of silence on the trail Plotkin asked a question that was on all of their minds.

“So this thing we are after, it’s a Nazi?”

Markov and Anselo looked at each other, neither of them knowing the answer to that.

“We all saw the symbol, we all know what it means. All the more reason for us to rid the world of that vile beast,” said Anselo.

“Agreed,” added the Captain. “It has committed crimes against this platoon, and for that it has been judged unfit to live. We are now its executioners.”

“Sir,” said Plotkin, “I don’t know about you but what I saw back there, I doubt that bullets or blades will be enough to bring it down.”

The Captain paused for a moment to think.

“Then blow the son of a bitch up,” came the faint voice of Viktor from the stretcher.

“Viktor!” exclaimed Anselo. “How are you feeling?”

“Well Gypsy, that’s the thing, I’m not feeling anything below my waist. That bastard laid me low.”

The look on their faces told Viktor that the group was very aware of his situation.

“Do you still have my backpack?” Viktor asked.

Anselo nodded, then handed Viktor his rucksack. Viktor removed some extra socks and ammunition from the top and then pulled out something that put a smile on the faces of his comrades. Viktor, who had been quite the demolitions expert during his service time, pulled out three RPG-43 anti-tank grenades.

“That is a sight for sore eyes,” said Plotkin through a massive smile, revealing a missing top canine tooth. He quickly realized the others could see his gap and covered up. The entire group burst into laughter over the absurdity of the situation. They were face to face with true, unspeakable evil, yet they still found the humor in Plotkin’s missing tooth.

“This world is a strange place, is it not?” Plotkin asked the group. They sat for a few minutes and thought about what they had been through. As the sun was starting to work its way down, casting long shadows over the range and a soft glow of vermillion light. The  men could almost relax and bathe in the mix of the warm saffron sunsets offset by the brisk mountain breeze, cutting through the trees bringing the smell of pine and spruce. This evening was truly a feast for the senses, until they heard a familiar howl tear through the stillness of the sunset, striking fear in them all.

“Quickly,” Anselo said, “if we get to that ridge we can catch a glimpse before he is too far gone.”

They settled Viktor back in the gurney and the Captain and Anselo boldly lifted him off the ground. As the group bounded quickly to the edge of a ravine, Plotkin fixed his rifle, hoping maybe he would get a chance to even the score with the monstrosity. As they reached the edge of the cliff side they looked out into the valley to see something that both shocked and dejected them. There, far below in the valley, across from the beautiful mountain stream they had been following, nestled tightly in a thick patch of forest was the sprawling estate of Count Chegari. And making its way through the trees toward the castle, leveling a path in its wake, was the monster they were after.

—

“Anselo, get the binoculars out of my rucksack, I need a spotter!”

Plotkin barked orders as if he were the Captain, but he knew that though it would take all his skill, the beast was in his range and time was running out.

“Hurry, Gypsy! I need to know when I’ll have a shot.”

Anselo scrambled for the binoculars, his hands drenched in sweat, making it difficult to get a good grip and a good view. He quickly moved to a clearing on the cliff side once he had the binoculars secure, all the while Plotkin was getting sighted in on the Nazi bastard that had taken the lives of their brothers.

“There is too much cover for a clean shot. Is he coming to a clearing?”

Anselo focused the binoculars and saw that only a few meters ahead of the man-beast, he would be leaving the cover of the forest and would need to attempt to scale the five-meter stone walls of the fortress.

“Yes comrade, be ready.”

Plotkin slowed his breath, looked down the scope of his rifle and readied himself. He was tracking the creature’s movement through the forest but knew he may only have one chance, so it needed to count.

Anselo’s heartbeat was ringing in his ears as the behemoth approached the edge of the forest.

It’s too far, he can’t make the shot, not on a moving target.

Closer and closer it made its way towards the massive chateau, slowing its pace as is approached.

“What’s happening?!” chirped Viktor from the stretcher.

“Shut up, Viktor!” shouted Captain Markov.

“Now, Plotkin! NOW!” Anselo said.

As the beast strode into a clearing Plotkin took a deep breath in and squeezed the trigger.

__

The shot rang through the valley. Over six hundred meters away a puff of green mist filled the air as the Morin-Nagant round passed directly through the head of the Nazi monster. The man-beast let out a final howl and dropped dead not two meters from the wall of Chegari Manor.

“My God, you got him!”

“Can you confirm the kill? I can try and get off another, but it would probably give away our position.”

Anselo was confused and elated.

“He is dead my friend, a true one in a million shot.”

Anselo peered down at the body of the dead Nazi monster-man and realized he had been so concerned with the task at hand that he hadn’t noticed the “Castle Chegari” as Transylvanias had called it, was inhabited.

“No time to celebrate boys. Looks like someone is home,” said the Captain as he peered through another pair of binoculars he had in his pack.

The sound of the shot had alerted those inside and quickly three armed Nazi soldiers made their way out to the beast. Anselo could see them arguing and trying to figure out what to do with the body, when a Nazi officer made his way out to the front of the building. As he made his way through the other three he barked orders to them, and they quickly fell in line. He ordered the men to retrieve the body, one of the troops went and got some ropes and the three of them dragged the corpse to the front gate and around the corner. As the officer was making his way behind them Anselo realized he had seen him before.

“It’s… it’s him,” he stuttered to get out.

“It’s who?” asked Markov.

“The German officer who attacked my village. The one who tried to hang me.”

He paused, tears of hate filling his eyes, his teeth clenched tightly with rage.

“The mother fucker who took my wife!”

—

Anselo was inconsolable, he was ready to march right up to the front gate and demand to see the officer who destroyed his family, but his Russian allies had something to say about it. He was frantic and speaking to himself in his native tongue as he gathered the supplies he assumed he would need. To do what, he wasn’t exactly sure. His comrades knew that there was no stopping him, but they were all still in awe of the fact that they had just killed what they thought was a supernatural being of immense power, just to be faced with a possibly more evil human enemy.

“Gypsy, we want to help you in this mission, but we have no idea what their strength is. Let’s think about this before we go running in, guns blazing,” suggested Captain Markov.

I don’t have time for this, I have to kill that son of a bitch and everyone else in that castle.

“Gypsy,” coughed Viktor, who while elated that the beast that crippled him was no more, looked as if he could expire at any moment, “I’m with you however I can be.”

At this gesture Anselo stopped his frantic packing. He was moved by his young friend’s resolve and realized he may be acting a bit hastily.

These are good men who have already seen enough bloodshed. I can’t ask them to go with me, but this is something I must do.

Anselo walked to a large rock, sat down and pulled a cigarette from his pack. He offered one to each of the other three. They all accepted, and even if for just a moment, the world around them seemed to slow down. They knew the Nazis would likely be mounting some type of search for them after the killing of their creature, but night was fast upon them and it would be very difficult to mount a search in this terrain in the dark. Even carrying Viktor they could likely put enough distance between them and the estate of Count Chegari to make it safely to the Red Army on the other side of the range.

Anselo lit his cigarette and passed his lighter around, helping Viktor light his. He hadn’t shaved since the first attack and had dark stubble growing in, his black hair was tied back in a bandana he had gotten from his brother as a gift a few years back. He took a long drag and exhaled, a simple pleasure that at a time like this was one of the only things he could truly take any joy in.

“I will show you the way back to your comrades before I depart, then I will make my way down to Castle Chegari. If you make some ground tonight and rest for only an hour or two you should be able to take Viktor and make it safely.”

“All do respect Gypsy, but shut the hell up.”

Anselo was floored by Captain Markov’s statement.

“We have been through too much, and I think that I speak for us all when I say you are one of us, a brother, a comrade. We are with you until you see this through, the war will be waiting for us after.”

Anselo looked at Viktor and Plotkin and they both nodded in agreement with Markov. Plotkin actually shook his head no, but then winked with a nod. Anselo had lost so much of his family to the Nazis, but it would seem that through war he had also gained a new family, one who would fight and die for him.

“Well if you are all so foolish, I won’t try and stop you but I suppose we should have a plan before we go in there blind.”

Plotkin, who was still on a serious high for having just made one of the greatest single shots in history, offered up a plan that they could work with.

“Well Gypsy, as you have seen I may be best suited keeping an eye on you from afar, making sure nothing sneaks up on you. I think our young friend here can still manage to use the machine gun, am I right?”

Viktor gave him a wry smile, “You bet your ass I can.”

“Good, we can all move to a better location further down the ridge. We’ll set Viktor up with the machine gun and I can get a good vantage point from a tree or cliff side. Captain, I assume you plan to venture down there with our brother, Anselo. Should you disagree with me, I will follow you both into the jaws of hell, but I feel a little better back here with a good line of sight.”

The Captain considered this. “Plotkin, we are very much on the same page, but you forgot one vital part: the explosives.”

“They come with us.” Anselo insisted. “We are going to use them to burn this place to the ground.

With that they made their way down the mountain, moving slowly through the darkness, occasionally breaking to do reconnaissance. As they made their way closer they ascertained that there couldn’t have been more than a dozen Nazi soldiers protecting the grounds, and for some reason none of them were very concerned with who killed the man-beast.

—

An hour or so after they began their descent into the valley, the three remaining members of the squadron and their ceremonial brother in arms were nearly within earshot of the castle. They set Viktor up in vantage point behind some tall conifers, but with a good line of sight for the machine gun. Viktor looked like hell, but he ensured the group that he could do his job. After getting Viktor set up, Plotkin moved off to find a place not far off where he could be of use with his rifle.

As Anselo and Captain Markov made their way closer to the castle they had to be mindful of German sentries around the building. There were only ever two of them on guard outside at a time. Anselo’s German wasn’t great, but as they got closer to their target he was able to make out some of their conversation. The German guards were more concerned with what they were going to do with their prisoners in the village than what had happened to their creature.

Anselo was a master of stealth and surprise, coming from a long line of hunters, he knew how to get the drop on someone. He waited until the guards were separated, one leaving his position to take a piss in the adjacent forest. Anselo signaled for Markov to take care of the guard in the woods while he himself would dispatch the other. As he crept up slowly behind the unaware guard his heart was pounding. It was so loud in his ears he could have sworn the guard could hear it as well. He was smoking a cigarette and reading what appeared to be a paperback novel. The guard was a large man, much bigger than Anselo, and when he was within a few steps Anselo drew his blade.

The robust sentry must have heard the blade or perhaps caught a glimpse of light from the silver tip, but either way, he turned to catch the knife before Anselo could strike. They struggled with the blade and Anselo found himself on top of the German. The guard clawed at his face and screamed, “Intruder! Intruder!!”

Anselo had the blade just above his adversary’s throat, trying to force it down to silence his foe. The German continued to hold him off and continued to call for help.

Finish him dammit, before his friends hear.

With every bit of force he could muster he thrust himself down upon the handle of the blade, forcing it deep into the jugular of the German. Blood fountained briefly from the wound, splattering on Anselo’s face and hands. He rolled off the German only to see him try to remove the blade and stand up. Hot blood poured down the front of his uniform and he gurgled something as he reached for Anselo. He managed one step before he dropped to the ground and the life left his eyes.

Anselo retrieved his blade from the ground only to feel a hand grab his shoulder. He turned quickly ready to fight again, only to meet the gaze of Captain Markov.

“Well, they certainly will know we are coming now, we don’t have much time.”

“Over there.” Anselo pointed to the entrance the Nazis had been guarding. The two of them sprinted through the gate and into the courtyard. It was lined on all sides by high stone walls, outfitted with gargoyles depicting creatures of the night, some of them eerily resembling the man-beast they had dispatched earlier. At the far end of the courtyard was a large bay window, revealing a great hall. Markov took the lead and Anselo followed him inside. They could hear the Germans quickly approaching from an adjacent hall, and saw what appeared to be a massive munitions storage, as well as giant vats of a green viscous liquid, and some sort of electrical equipment. They prepared for the inevitable fire fight by fortifying their position behind a large pillar in the great hall. Long red tapestries hung from pillars, some depicting swastikas. Markov and Anselo both drew their weapons and prepared to fight until their last breath.

Four Nazi soldiers equipped with MP 40s came racing down the hall. Anselo opened fire with his sidearm, clipping one of the soldiers. The other three stopped and returned fire. Under the cover of Anselo, Markov made a move for another pillar. As he bolted for the cover and advantage of the other pillar, he was ravaged by gunfire, several rounds ripping through his abdomen, sending him sprawling across the floor sliding to the cover of the pillar. Anselo watched in horror as his friend crawled behind the pillar leaving a trail of blood on the marble floor behind him.

“Markov!” He called to his comrade. “Markov, can you hear me?!”

His voice was drowned out by the machine gun fire of the Germans. He waited for a lull in the shooting to take aim on a target. He was able to get off a few shots, dropping another of the Germans, however he was clipped in the right leg and dropped to the ground in agony. He gripped his wound as he heard the Germans approaching. He peered around the pillar only to be bashed in the forehead by the butt of a German rifle.

—

When Anselo awoke he found himself restrained beneath one of the vats of green liquid. His hands were bound behind his back and he was strapped to a wooden chair. Next to him was a fire roaring in a fireplace that illuminated the room where he was being held. Standing in front of the fire was the man who had raised his village. He struggled in his restraints, alerting his captor.

“Ahh, so I see you are awake,” said the Nazi scum as he smiled at Anselo.

His dark eyes fixed on the Gypsy, staring down a long pointed nose from behind a pair of spectacles. He walked around Anselo as he struggled in his restraints, almost studying him.

“I know your face,” he said. “Have we met before?”

“Yes!” Anselo spat at his feet.

The officer grabbed Anselo fiercely, gripping his face tightly with his hand. He turned up his chin to reveal the scar on his neck.

“It can’t be, the Gypsy boy who dared attack me?! I thought we killed you, left you hanging in a burning house?”

“You did, I just refused to stay dead!”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed, but no matter. Soon you will get to see firsthand the power of the Third Reich!”

The officer tossed Anselo back against the chair.  “So it must have been you and your Russian friends that disposed of my little pet earlier tonight?”

How does he know about the others?

“Bring him in!” yelled the Nazi officer to his henchmen waiting just outside.

Two soldiers dragged in the limp body of Viktor. He had been beaten to within an inch of his life and his face was a bloody pulp.

“Viktor! You bastard, what did you do to him?”

“This little thorn in my side managed to gun down three of my best men before being captured, all apparently without the use of his legs. Well, I am glad he is in the state he is, because now you’ll see what we are truly capable of.”

Anselo was able to catch the attention of his beaten young ally, and asked him just one word.

“Plotkin?”

Viktor shook his head in despair.

Viktor then asked Anselo, “Markov?” To which Anselo just hung his head.

The Nazi officer paced around the room gesturing to the vats of green liquid surrounding them.

“I hate to ruin your little reunion, but do you know what this is?” He revealed a large syringe filled with the same green liquids as the vats.

“This is what I have been working on here in Transylvania, trying to perfect the ultimate soldier. You were able to put down my dog but not before I am sure he had eaten his fill of your comrades. You see, you Gypsy scum, he was much like your friend here, a wounded soldier, a cripple, nearly worthless to the cause until I gave him a purpose. My serum has been perfected,  creating the ultimate fighting machine. It took months of research, but I was able to come up with something that can not only regenerate human muscle and bone, but make men capable of doing the impossible, though I wouldn’t exactly call them men anymore.”

He chuckled as he made his way over to Viktor, grabbing him by the hair and pulling his head up to reveal the flesh of his neck. He pressed the needle against his skin.

“Your friend will soon become a mindless killing machine for the Third Reich, and when I am able to get this news to der Führer, our armies will be unstoppable, and we will rid this world of filth like you!”

Viktor stared at Anselo, fearing what was to happen next.

“Don’t let him turn me into a monster, please, Gypsy.”

The officer pushed down on the syringe and injected Viktor with the super soldier serum. Viktor fell lifelessly to the ground and all they could do was wait. After a few moments of silence it seemed as if the serum may have just killed the young man, but then his body began to convulse. His back arched ferociously and his muscles ripped through his clothes. His body grew and his hair began to fall out of his scalp, as his muscles began pulsing with green blood. He let out a terrifying roar and his eyes glowed red. He stood, regaining the use of his now barrelsized legs, his nails growing out into long claws, his teeth elongating into fangs. He was unrecognizable. Viktor was no more, only the beast remained.

—

Viktor let out a massive howl, but not like the other beast, it sounded as if it came from a place of pain. The volume still reverberated in Anselo’s chest and he feared what may happen to him at the hands of his former confidante. The Nazi officer smiled a wicked grin, but something wasn’t right with his new monster.

“Destroy this Gypsy scum!” he commanded Viktor.

Viktor looked at him with his glowing red eyes, looked back at Anselo and swatted him away like a person would sway a fly, sending Anselo flying into the wall, crushing the wooden chair he was attached to.

“Good, now let’s send you down to the village and see what you can do to the prisoners.”

Viktor paused as if he didn’t understand the order of his creator. He stared down his supposed master, looked down at his arms, now massive and rippled, his massive clawed fingers, his body that barely looked like a man at all. He let out another loud howl and then charged the officer. His blow sent the Nazi into one of the vats of serum, spilling gallons out onto the floor. At this the officer blew a whistle, calling in backup to subdue his new pet. A handful of soldiers came running to assist their commander. Viktor made light work of them, and they shifted from trying to subdue him to trying to kill him. He absorbed several rounds of fire, slowing him down, but it was not enough to put him out. At this the Nazi officer fled the room for safety as Viktor ravaged his troops, painting the room with their blood and destroying several vats of serum.

In the chaos of Viktor’s transformation and subsequent attack, Anselo was able to free himself from the broken chair. He got to his feet and took off after the Nazi leader, hoping to exact his revenge. As he left the room he took a final look back to see his comrade ripping a Nazi soldier in two and feasting on his entrails.

“Goodbye old friend,” he whispered as he pursued his captor into the great hall.

As he was crossing the hall, Anselo noticed that the trail of blood that Markov had made behind the pillar had expanded to a munitions storage box on the far side of the room. As he slowly peered around the box he found Markov, covered in blood, prepping the RPG-43s.

“Captain! I thought you were dead, we need to get you out of here.”

“Ah, Gypsy, I wish that were the case, but I don’t think I will be going anywhere.”

He pulled back his hands to reveal the extent of his wounds. It was a miracle he hadn’t bled out already, but he was not long for this world and would likely be dead in a matter of moments. Anselo knew this to be the case but could not accept it.

“You’ll be alright, I can patch you up and drag you out of here, you’ll see, we will be having a cigarette laughing about this in no time.”

The Captain, almost serenely placed his hand in Anselo’s. “You have been a good friend, Gypsy, and an excellent scout. As the commanding officer of this squadron I release you from your contract with the Red Army and order you to leave this place at once.”

Anselo was beginning to tear up. He had already lost so much in this war, he didn’t know if he could lose someone else he cared about, but he knew in the depths of his heart that the Captain was not leaving this God forsaken place alive. He placed his hand on top of the Captain’s.

“Well, at least you can destroy this abomination. Do you need anything? Are you sure I can’t take you with me?”

Markov pulled a bloodied envelope from his jacket. “Please, get this to my wife and daughter, I want them to know they were with me until the end.”

Anselo took the letter, folded it and put it in his pocket, “I will hand it to your wife personally, I swear it.”

The Captain smiled, “I know you will Gypsy.”

He coughed up a large amount of blood, he didn’t have long.

The color fading from him fast he had one last request, “Oh, and perhaps a cigarette might be nice.”

Anselo laughed through some tears, but he pulled out his last cigarette, placed it in the Captain’s mouth and lit it. The Captain inhaled then blew out a large cloud of smoke and coughed up more blood.

“Go Gypsy, you won’t have long. I’ll bring this place to its knees but you must hurry.”

Anselo hugged his friend, he was not typically one to show such emotion but he couldn’t contain himself.

“Go goddammit, or I’ll blow you to hell with this place.”

At that Anselo turned and ran for the exit. He looked back to see some of the other Nazis making their way into the great hall and knew he didn’t have much time to make his escape. He turned and sprinted as fast as his legs would take him, but before he could reach the exit he heard three loud explosions from behind him. Anselo continued running but he could feel the building giving way and the fire quickly coming upon his back. He was almost to the gates and dove, being thrown by the force of the explosions out of the gate and into the courtyard. Behind him the Estate of Count Chegari lay in ruin and flame.

—

As Anselo lay there, barely breathing through broken ribs, legs also possibly broken, covered in cuts and bruises of all manor, he watched as the chateau of a former Transylvanian nobleman burned to the ground. He could barely string together a coherent thought, but one thing stuck out in his mind, and as if being summoned he heard a ferocious howl come from the rubble.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

He peered through the smoke and inferno to see the giant silhouette of Viktor, thrashing, covered in flames, his flesh peeling off in the blaze. He was writhing on his knees, taking his last few breaths and howling in pain.

He is cursing the Nazi bastard who did this to him.

Anselo watched as Viktor slowly crumbled to the ground, finally out of his misery.

Rest easy now.

As he tried to get to his knees, Anselo noticed something in the smoke, a shadow of someone coming towards him. He couldn’t make out exactly what it was, but he prayed it was not another Nazi monster, until he realized it was a different kind of monster, the Nazi officer.

As the fiend moved out of the smoke and closed in on him, Anselo realized he was unarmed. His weapons had been taken from him upon his capture in the Great Hall, and now he was defenseless. Normally, he would stand a pretty decent chance in hand to hand combat, but in his current state he couldn’t even get to his feet. The Nazi approached him but kept a bit of distance, revealing a Luger pistol from behind his back.

“You have ruined everything!”

He now had the Luger pointed at Anselo. He was enraged and shaking, but he kept the barrel fixed on the wounded Gypsy.

“Years of research, months of testing and now all of the serum is destroyed!”

At least we were able to deny Hitler of his super soldier army.

“But you know what, I remember more about you, not only you attacking me, but also your pretty little wife. It is a real shame, you don’t even realize how close you were to seeing her again, and now you will die knowing that when I leave here, I will bestow upon her horrors you can not even imagine.”

Sweat dripping down his face from the heat of the flames, body failing him from his injuries, fatigue from blood loss and the sheer amount of stress he had placed on his mind and body, Anselo willed himself to his feat. The Nazi seemed alarmed but kept the Luger fixed on him, shaking even more than before.

“Any last requests before I end your pathetic, little life?”

Anselo again spit at his feet, looked directly into the Nazi’s cold remorseless eyes and smiled. “Go to Hell!”

The Nazi smiled back, raised the Luger and prepared to fire the kill shot.

CRACK!

A shot came, but not from the Luger. Just after the sound of the gunfire, a round tore through the right cheek of the Nazi, leaving a hole the size of a grapefruit starting just below his right eye. He stood there transfixed in time. The moment seemed to last an eternity for Anselo, who just a few seconds before had made his peace with God and fully expected to be on the receiving end of the Nazi’s pistol blast. Instead he watched as the Nazi leader crumbled to the ground. Behind him stood Plotkin, his rifle transfixed on the Nazi. He slowly approached the body of the Nazi commander on the ground, blood beginning to pool around him on the ground. He was trying to mutter something, but the fact that half of his jaw had just been obliterated made it just sound like a toddler babbling. Plotkin bolted in a second round, placed the tip of his rifle to the Nazi’s head and blew him straight to hell.

“It may go without saying, but I am very happy to see you comrade.”

Plotkin winked at Anselo and quickly came to his aid, throwing his arm over his shoulders and helping him away from the burning remains of Castle Chegari. They walked several paces to where the stream met the forest and Anselo insisted they stop for a moment.

“How did you survive?” he asked Plotkin.

“I am ashamed.” He said, putting his head in his hands. “I saw the exchange with Viktor, saw them capture him and beat him savagely. When they took him I stayed silent, as I feared what might happen to me. I was prepared to sneak off through the forest, but something told me I needed to return. It was then when the castle exploded and at that I came tearing down the mountainside, just in time to shoot that son of a bitch. Maybe if I had helped Viktor, or come sooner things would have been different.”

“I am just thankful you came when you did. You are a good man. This world could use more men like you.”

Plotkin pointed to a road not far from the entrance to the castle and the edge of the stream. “Before I decided to return, I did find something interesting down that road.”

“Let me guess,” said Anselo, “A small village.”

“How did you know?” asked Plotkin.

“Well, I am a scout after all. Did you see anyone there?”

“That’s the thing,” said Plotkin, “It looked like they were keeping prisoners there, but they only had a couple of guards.”

Plotkin handed Anselo one of his last cigarettes. For a moment they seemed to actually be hopeful, that all of the misery they endured may actually have been for something.

“You know, Gypsy, you were certainly right about the evils of man, but I was thinking further on the subject.”

Plotkin took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaled and stared up at a bright, shining full moon. He smiled, , leaned back and took a deep breath of mountain air. “If there are evil men in this world, then there too must be good men, you and I –  I think we are proof that good will triumph over evil.”

Anselo nodded in agreement. He took a long drag on his cigarette. “The war is not over yet, my friend, but I do think you are right, all we can do is bring the fight to them.”

At that they crushed out their cigarettes, and Plotkin helped Anselo to his feet. They began the trek to the nearby town, not sure what they would find there, but for the first time in a long time, they had hope in their hearts.