Flight of the Valkyrie
Page 1
Contents
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Dragons Keep
The Forgotten Knight
Thank You
About the Author
Glossary
Blitzkrieg
Flight of the Valkyrie
Christopher Vale
Copyright © 2016 Christopher Vale
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
Cover image by:
J.T. Presta
www.jtpresta.com
Prologue
Breslau, Germany
1945
BOOM! The exploding mortar round sent dirt and concrete flying into the air as the pavement shattered into a thousand pieces. Brygida winced as a shred of hot frag seared her hand and she glanced down to see a small piece of the mortar shell had embedded itself there. The frag burned, but she considered herself very fortunate. Two of the men in her unit were much closer to the explosion than she and they lay motionless in the middle of the street, limbs blown further away.
Brygida rushed toward the remains of a work truck—now little more than a large scrap of metal set upon shredded tires—and sought cover behind it. She heard the whiz of bullets as they zipped through the air over her head and the pings and pangs of several rounds impacting what remained of the shell of the truck.
Scanning the area behind her Brygida saw her men—battle hardened veterans of the Soviet Union’s 50th Rifle Division—seeking shelter among the ruins and rubble of Breslau. The German forces were heavily entrenched and fortified and even after months of brutal fighting still staunchly prevented the Soviets from taking control of the German city.
Since her escape from the Nazis, Brygida had spent most of the war fighting with the Polish resistance and assisting the German fifth column, who sought to overthrow the Nazi government. She was a fighter of such superior abilities and possessed such a burning desire to kill Nazis that she had quickly become the top assassin of the Polish resistance. She hunted Nazi leaders down with cold calculation and often killed them in their own homes or offices—sometimes right in front of their families.
Following years of being hunted as prey, high ranking Nazis became so terrified of Brygida that she became more than a woman in their minds—morphing into a mythic legend. The Nazis even referred to her as the Valkyrie—named for the female figures of Norse mythology who chose the men who would die in battle—a name and image Brygida happily embraced. The name Valkyrie soon became a symbol of hope throughout occupied Europe, but most especially in Poland. The name was whispered on lips of not only Nazi officers fearful of death, but by Polish school children searching for something to believe in during a time of immense terror.
Brygida had begun fighting with the Soviet Red Army as soon as it returned to Poland—this time viewed not as conquerors, but as liberators. The Soviets had already heard of the Valkyrie, her legend having spread all the way to Moscow. At first, Soviet commanders refused to believe that the legendary warrior-assassin whose very name struck such fear into the hearts of Nazi officers was the pretty, petite woman they met. However, Brygida quickly impressed the Soviets with her fighting ability and dedication to the cause of defeating the Nazi scourge. She was even awarded the prestigious Order of Lenin after her very first battle alongside the Red Army for saving a squad of Russians pinned down by machine gun fire and taking out a platoon of Germans almost single handedly. Once the Soviet commanders realized how uniquely gifted a warrior she was, they placed Brygida in a special operations unit within the 50th Rifle Division, known as the Red Patriots. The Red Patriots were sent on seemingly impossible missions—normally deep behind enemy lines—to take out targets that could range from Nazi officers, weapons caches, bridges, or anything else deemed vital to victory. They died by the score and were memorialized in propaganda exalting their bravery throughout the Soviet Union. After nearly all of the elite unit’s original officers were killed, Brygida was awarded command of the Red Patriots. It was something the men had been pushing for for some time. For Brygida, fighting with the Red Patriots presented an opportunity to kill more Nazis. It also gave her an opportunity to interrogate Nazi officers before turning them over to the Soviets. She was still searching for the genetics labs where she might find her children and rescue them. Almost as importantly, she wished to locate Colonel Arnulf, the cruel SS officer who had experimented on her and taken her babies from her. She often dreamed of the day she found him, drove a knife into his chest, and watched the life drain from his eyes.
Currently, however, Brygida had more pressing concerns—namely survival. Sergeant Volkov sprinted across the street, abandoning his position of relative safety behind a pile of gray rubble to join Brygida as she huddled behind the remains of the truck. In doing so, he narrowly escaped being mowed down by a hail of machine gun fire which ricocheted against the paved streets and clinked and clanked against the remaining metal sides of the truck. Volkov was a hardened war veteran of the Great War, the Bolshevik Revolution, and numerous battles of the current war, prior to Breslau. Brygida had come to depend on his experience and cool head. Something she desperately needed as she was young and brash and so focused on revenge it often replaced good judgment during battle. Then again, the success of the Red Patriots could often be attributed to her fearlessness in the face of overwhelming odds and enemy forces.
Volkov leaned in close to Brygida and smiled with overconfidence revealing teeth covered in grime. “We’re in a tough spot here, Valkyrie,” he said in Russian, a bit of a humorous tone to his voice. “I fully expect mortar rounds to finish us off any second.”
Brygida nodded in firm agreement. “I’ll draw their fire,” she replied. “You move the men forward. We have to take out that machine gun nest.”
“Very well, comrade,” Volkov said. “Try not to die, though. I’m not looking for a promotion today. Too much responsibility.”
Brygida laughed. “Yes, I certainly wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
Volkov gave her a wink and Brygida returned it with a smile. She suddenly leapt to her feet and sprinted up the street as fast as she could. The machine gun trained on her and opened up sending seven or eight rounds in her direction. Brygida dove for a doorway as bullets whizzed past. She crouched inside for just a moment before peeking out at the machine gun position which had been fortified in the first floor window of a gray concrete building further up the street.
The machine gunner had already turned his attention to the other members of the Red Patriots who were rushing up the street to their next position of cover. “Just a little closer,” Brygida whispered to herself before dashing from the doorway as swiftly as she could and ducking into an alley before the machine gun turned back to her.
When Brygida reached the alley
she was slightly surprised to find four German soldiers crouched down, their backs pressed against the wall of a building. They were even more surprised to see her, however, and immediately leapt to their feet as they raised their weapons. As fast as they were, the Germans were not fast enough. With four quick pulls of her rifle’s trigger, Brygida killed each of the German soldiers before any of them had an opportunity to fire.
Brygida turned back toward the street and glanced around the corner of the alley. She watched as the machine gunner sent a burst of rounds toward her men. She was now experienced enough to realize that taking out the machine gunner himself would be pointless. The assistant gunner would simply take over the job of firing the gun and someone else would take over for the a-gunner once he was killed. The Germans would have plenty of men in the building to replace everyone she killed. That was assuming that she could even get a clear enough shot to snipe them.
Brygida narrowed her eyes as she stared at the machine gun, knowing that she needed to destroy the entire machine gun nest. She reached down to her belt and unclipped a grenade. She peered around the corner again to check the distance. She felt confident she could reach it. She was quite possibly the only person in the whole of the Red Army that could lob a grenade that far, but she had done it before.
Brygida leapt out of the alley quickly and slung the grenade with all of her strength before diving back into the alley. She waited but a few seconds before hearing the explosion and peeked out at the machine gun. Brygida cursed under her breath as she realized that the grenade had not destroyed the machine gun nest as it had landed short, a few feet in front of the building allowing the sandbags to absorb most of the blast. Brygida sighed as she unclipped another grenade and stepped out again. This time, she paused, taking careful aim before tossing the grenade. That pause almost cost Brygida her life because just as she released the grenade, the machine gunner held down the trigger sending a hail of bullets her way. Brygida barely made it back into the alley in time.
Brygida listened for the explosion, and upon hearing it peeked around the corner once again. She smiled to herself as she saw busted sandbags, the mangled remains of the machine gun, and a shredded German soldier’s body lying in the streets where they had been blown from inside of the building. This time Brygida had thrown the grenade perfectly through the window of the building.
Her excitement was short lived however, as the explosions of a mortar barrage were soon ringing in her ears. She glanced back at her men huddling behind cover protecting themselves as best they could, before diving to the ground herself and throwing her arms over her head. The explosions soon stopped and she stood up and shook her head in an attempt to clear the ringing from her ears.
Brygida glanced back at her men, most hidden from view, crouched in defilade behind whatever protection they could find. She peeked back around the corner of the alley at their objective: the building that housed the machine gun nest. The machine gun was out of commission, but there were still lots of shooters in the windows of the three-story concrete structure.
Brygida glanced over her shoulder to see Sergeant Volkov peering around a pile of rubble to see her. She signaled him to lay down suppressing fire and he passed the signal on to the other men. She waited a minute to allow the signal to reach all of the men before bolting out of the alley and toward the building as fast as she could. Brygida heard gunfire erupt behind her as her men exposed themselves to riddle the windows with bullets and give her a chance to reach the building.
The suppressing fire worked, keeping the heads of the German soldiers down long enough for Brygida to reach the building. She quickly climbed over the sandbags and through the window of the former machine gun bunker. She raised her rifle, placing it tight against her shoulder as she glanced about the room for enemy troops. She saw three dead German soldiers lying on the floor. A fourth sat against the wall, blood oozing from a gash in his stomach. He stared at her, but made no move. His weapon sat several feet away, but Brygida did not care. She aimed her rifle at his head and squeezed the trigger, painting the wall with his blood and brains.
Brygida turned to the door and moved quickly toward it. She reached the door and glanced quickly around the corner. Seeing no one, she stepped cautiously out into the hallway, rifle held at the ready. She moved swiftly along the hallway searching for the staircase. She found it at the end of the hall and ascended quickly up the stairs in light, springy steps. As she did so, a German soldier turned the corner and almost walked right into her. The soldier paused briefly, his eyes popping wide with surprise as Brygida brought the butt of her rifle around smashing into his jaw and knocking him to the floor. Her knife was in her hand before he hit the ground and she struck with lightening quick speed, shoving the blade into the soldier’s throat before he could make a sound.
Brygida removed the knife from the soldier’s throat and slid it back into the sheath on her belt as the German made a few gurgling sounds before slipping into death. Brygida continued up the stairwell to the second floor where she slowly opened the door. She peeked into the hallway outside noticing two German soldiers leaning against the wall. The soldiers were not on their guard and were too busy smoking cigarettes, while their rifles were pointed down at the floor. Brygida stepped through the doorway into the hall and popped out two quick rounds, sending both men collapsing dead on the floor. She hurried around their bodies and past the rooms lining the hallway, while glancing into each of them as she did so. Rooms three, five, and six had snipers in them but she did not stop moving until she reached the end of the hall. Once at the end she turned back around, moving quickly to the occupied rooms firing into each one as she did so. The snipers inside of the rooms were too focused on the battle outside of the building to even realize a threat existed behind them. Brygida was soon back on the stairwell and moving swiftly up the steps to clear the third floor in the same manner.
Once again when she glanced out of the stairwell she saw two men in the hallway outside. These appeared to be more alert, however, possibly due to the gunfire a floor below. She reached behind her, removed a grenade from her belt, and tossed it into the hallway, before ducking back inside the stairwell and closing the door. She heard panicked screams in German just before a large explosion silenced them.
Brygida stepped through the door into the hallway on the third floor and as she did so, saw men pouring from the offices. She squeezed the trigger of her rifle several times as she scrambled through the hallway, dropping soldier after soldier. The firing pin gave a metallic snap signaling she was out of rounds just as she found herself up close and personal with two gray uniformed men with SS lightning bolts emblazoned on their collars. She jabbed the first with the butt of her rifle, crushing his throat. The other backed into a room as he drew a pistol. She dodged to the side as he squeezed off two rounds, narrowly missing her. She ducked another shot and reached him before he could squeeze the trigger a fourth time. Brygida snapped the soldier’s wrist, forcing him to drop the pistol and then brought her boot up in a side-kicking manner, slamming into his chest and knocking him backwards. The soldier fell through the glassless window to fall three stories and landing on his back in the street. Brygida stepped over to the window, gazed out and signaled her men to join her inside.
Brygida rushed out of the room and back down the hallway to the stairwell. She descended the stairs quickly and was waiting for Sergeant Volkov and the others just inside the front door when they arrived. She slammed a fresh magazine into her rifle as she counted her men. Fifteen! They had lost over half already to the machine gun and mortar rounds.
Brygida’s eyes cut to Volkov. “Where to Sergeant?” she asked.
The old soldier laughed. “Well Comrade Valkyrie, if you have left us anyone else to fight, I must assume they are downstairs. This building should have a basement and since the Germans have been moving around the city using the sewers, I suspect anything of importance is down there.”
Brygida nodded. “Well, let’s get movin
g,” she said as she turned back toward the stairwell, but a hand on her arm stopped her. She spun back around and met Volkov’s eyes.
“I know how much you enjoy killing Germans, but perhaps we should let someone else go down first this time,” the sergeant smiled at her. Brygida nodded her consent. He was right, of course. The Red Patriots had lost enough commanders in the battle for Breslau. “Efreitor Donask,” Volkov called over his shoulder and the young Russian quickly joined them.
“Yes, comrade?” the efreitor asked.
“Why don’t you lead the way down the stairwell? Private Krupin will go second. I’ll follow behind and the Valkyrie can come behind me.” The men nodded. “Filipov and Kosh will remain on this floor and secure our rear. The rest of you follow the Valkyrie.”
Donask led the way to the stairwell, opened the door and descended while holding his rifle secure against his shoulder at the ready. He soon reached the bottom step with Krupin only a few feet behind. Donask motioned for Krupin to open the door to the lower level while Donask stood ready to shoot anyone on the other side. On Donask’s signal, Krupin swung the door wide. A hail of bullets blasted through the doorway, ripping through him before Donask could even squeeze the trigger. Krupin pushed the door closed, but the bullets blew through the wood and tore him to pieces as well.
“Damn!” Valkyrie shouted and bounded down the steps.
“No wait, comrade!” Volkov shouted to her as she blew past him.
Brygida ignored her sergeant as she scooped up Donask’s PPD-34 submachine gun and squeezed the trigger, firing through the already splintered door. Brygida charged through the door to find three German soldiers lying dead. “Come on!” she shouted over her shoulder and Volkov led the rest of the men down the stairs after her.
“Comrade, if you die, we are in serious trouble,” Volkov barked at his commander. “So please stop risking your life in such an idiotic fashion.”
“You are right, Sergeant. I apologize.”