by David Bishop
I watched as the two patrolling soldiers strolled back into view, their murmuring voices drifting across the empty street towards us.
"What are they saying?" Eisenstein whispered in my ear.
"It's hard to make out," I replied softly. "The one on our left is complaining about his boots. He was hoping for a new pair by now. The other man... He's run out of cigarettes, says he's dying for a smoke."
"Well, he won't have to worry about that much longer."
I smiled at the joke, but the banality of the enemy soldiers' conversation surprised me. Having spent the past seven months inside the blockade, I had willingly bought into the siege mentality so common among those at Leningrad or stationed along the front line. The Germans were fascists, murderers, invaders, inhuman monsters to be driven out of the motherland, and should be shown no mercy or pity. It was startling to think of them as men like me, who worried about the state of their boots or where their next cigarette was coming from. They were wearing a different uniform and speaking a different language, but in truth there was little difference between us. Now we were coming to kill them because politicians and generals had decided we should.
The two men on patrol reached the pair standing guard outside the front doors but instead of continuing onwards as they had every time before, they stopped to make conversation.
Eisenstein cursed under his breath. "What are those bastards doing now?"
I strained forward but could hear only one word in three. "Something about... lights? No, he's asking... He's asking for a cigarette."
Antonov had joined Eisenstein and me, wanting to know what was causing the delay. He and Uralsky had been poised to dash across the street while the two patrolling soldiers were passing their comrades on sentry duty. "Grigori, should we go while they're busy talking?"
Eisenstein shook his head, all his attention focussed on the four men across the ravaged road. "Hold on. Wait until they resume patrolling again."
Flame flickered into life outside the Univermag as three of the soldiers lit cigarettes, their faces briefly illuminated. They were young, all younger than me, with handsome features and smiles. The quartet shared a joke, their laughter drifting away into the night, then the two soldiers returned to their patrol, still exchanging bawdy banter with their comrades.
"Now!" Eisenstein growled as the Germans separated. Antonov nodded to Uralsky and they darted across the street, keeping to the shadows where possible. Once they were safely on the same side as the Germans, Antonov and Uralsky walked boldly towards them.
"What the hell are they doing?" I gasped.
"In this light it's difficult to tell our uniform from what the Germans wear," Eisenstein replied. "The last thing those sentries expect is to see two Red Army riflemen strolling towards them. With any luck, they'll assume Yuri and Andrei are on their side, and not bothered to look any closer."
"And without any luck?"
"This will get very messy, very quickly."
I watched with mounting horror as my comrades neared the Germans. But the sentries remained oblivious to the approaching danger, too busy sharing a private joke. Uralsky and Antonov were within a few metres before the Germans realised something was wrong. By the time they had pulled their rifles off their shoulders, it was too late. Antonov clamped a hand over the mouth of his target, stabbing a bayonet blade beneath the German's ribcage.
Uralsky spun his garrotte round the other sentry's neck and pulled it tight, slicing through the soldier's windpipe in moments. Neither man made a sound before they died. Antonov gave an all-clear signal and the rest of us, bar Sophia, hurried across the street. Borodin and Strelnikov disappeared after the two soldiers on patrol while I helped strip the tunic from Antonov's victim.
Eisenstein darted inside the Univermag, checking for more troops on the ground floor. He returned a few seconds later with a puzzled look on his face. "It's deserted downstairs, but I could hear voices from the first floor. We'll hide the sentries' bodies out of sight while you two stand guard out here."
By the time our ruse was in place, the others had returned from dealing with the patrolmen. Borodin was ashen-faced but Strelnikov was all smiles, clutching two freshly severed tongues for his necklace of macabre trophies.
Eisenstein was not impressed. "I've told you before, if the Germans capture you and find those bloody things, they'll torture all of us before we get executed."
Leaving Uralsky and Antonov on guard duty outside the front door, the rest of us crept inside and gathered round the foot of the staircase. Eisenstein went first, motioning for me to follow, then the others. Up we crept, the sound of German voices crackling in the air above. One was distant and mixed with static, his words hard to understand. The other voice was closer and clearer. He sounded about my age, his words filled with intense concentration. I listened to his words, trying to determine their meaning without being able to understand the other half of the conversation. It was something to do with orders from Berlin, a local officer who was objecting, and a foreigner, an angry foreigner.
There was one word that stumped me, a compound construction that made no apparent sense: "blood-change-fear". Eisenstein gave a quick glance back to ensure the rest of us were ready, then crept up into the light on the first floor, his PPSh ready to fire, and a knife blade clenched between his teeth. He swivelled round, studying his surroundings, then signalled for us to follow him up. There were supposed to be at least a dozen men inside this building, but so far we had only seen four guards outside.
As I reached the top floor, I swung round, searching for the others. A single German soldier was the sole occupant, hunched over a large radio, concentrating on the messages he was receiving through his headset. He didn't notice our arrival until Eisenstein had a knife pressed against his throat.
"Zunetov, get over here! Ask him where the others are."
I did as Eisenstein requested, putting the question to our captive. His eyes widened at my spoken German, but he did not reply. I asked again, saying we would not kill him if he talked. Slowly, haltingly, the radio operator whispered a few words in a Bavarian accent. "The officers are busy... supervising."
I translated his reply to Eisenstein who pressed the knife closer against our captive's neck. A thin line of blood appeared on the edge of the blade.
"Supervising what?" The radio operator swallowed hard at my question, but stammered out a reply that I quickly translated.
"Berlin ordered the German commander to choose one man from each ten, the strongest man, for a special assignment. They are being... changed."
"Into what?" Eisenstein asked. I quickly repeated the question to the German and listened carefully to his reply.
"He doesn't know, but it's got him scared. Whoever is in charge scares him more than we do."
Eisenstein gestured at a nearby table strewn with official papers. "Those must be the German battle plans. Start checking those for what Brodsky wants. The sooner we get out of here, the better."
I moved towards the table, daunted by the number of documents I would have to sift through. When I looked back to ask Eisenstein a question, he had slit the radio operator's throat and was wiping his blade clean on the dead man's tunic.
"I promised we'd let him live if he talked," I protested.
"I didn't," Eisenstein replied. "Start reading." He gestured at Strelnikov and Borodin. "You two go back downstairs and tell the others what's going on." Strelnikov stepped towards the German's corpse, smiling gleefully.
"Downstairs," Eisenstein snarled. "We've seen enough of your butchery for one night!"
It was another ten minutes before I had skimmed through all the official papers, sorting a quarter of them into a separate pile. Eisenstein paced back and forth impatiently behind me, eager to get out of the Univermag. I rested a hand on top of the documents I had chosen.
"These look the most current. I haven't had time to sort them properly, but I can't find any evidence of an imminent German attack planned for our part of th
e front line. There are papers mentioning something called Operation Feuerzauber, which roughly translates as 'Fire Magic'. That requires the Wehrmacht to capture Leningrad by early September, but there are no other details. Perhaps the Germans have another intelligence HQ nearby?"
Eisenstein shook his head. "No, this is the Ivanovskoe command centre. It's as I suspected - Brodsky sent us to be killed, to get his revenge. There never was an imminent German attack planned from this position. It was just a story the captain manufactured. I thought it sounded wrong the moment I first head it. He was a prisoner of war, how would he have access to such facts?"
"So all of this is a trap?"
"No, but it is a suicide mission, like Yuri said. We're fortunate the Germans have been distracted by their new orders from Berlin otherwise we'd never have made it this far."
Eisenstein grabbed the papers I had selected and shoved them into my knapsack before striding towards the staircase. "Come on. We've got to get back across no-man's-land before sunrise. That's less than an hour away."
I followed him down the stairs and we met the others by the front doors. Uralsky and Antonov were still standing guard outside. They checked the street in either direction for approaching troops, and then we all crossed to where Sophia waited with her radio.
"We haven't triggered any alarms yet," she reported while Uralsky and Antonov shed their German helmets and tunics.
"Let's hope it stays like that," Eisenstein agreed. "Back the way we came."
But we travelled only a few hundred metres before our path was blocked by a squad of Germans. They were halted directly in front of us by a command from an authoritative voice with an accent that chilled my blood. I recognised the voice instantly.
"It's him," I whispered when the officer had stepped into view from the shadows. "It's Constanta!"
The Rumanian officer emerged in front of the squad, his face twisted into a cruel smile. "Is this the best you could find, Obergefreiter?" he sneered.
"Yes, Hauptmann," the German corporal replied. "You've already had the pick of our enlisted men. These are our finest fighters from those that remain."
"Very well," Constanta reluctantly agreed. "Take them to my quarters." The corporal saluted crisply, then marched his squad towards the southern part of Ivanovskoe, away from the front line. The vampyr leader watched them depart but remained where he was. He glanced about himself and sniffed the air, as if he could detect a scent on the wind. The hand holding my PPSh was shivering uncontrollably, so I pressed the weapon against my legs to prevent it making any sound. Constanta stood quite still, his eyes searching the shadows.
"Nobody move," Eisenstein whispered. "Nobody make a sound."
After what felt like an eternity, the Rumanian smiled and strode after the German squad. When he had gone I realised I was holding my breath and slowly let it escape, a tingle of relief running through my veins. Strelnikov started towards the railway lines but Eisenstein pulled him back.
"There's been a change of plan. We're following the vampyr to his lair."
"Why?" the shorter man protested. "We got what we came for, let's get the hell out of here!"
"No," Eisenstein insisted. "We've all heard the reports of renewed vampyr activity in this area. Now we've a chance to discover what the undead are doing here, what they're planning. Follow them and we might even be able to wipe them out."
"Or we might get slaughtered, or worse," Strelnikov insisted.
"That's a risk we'll have to take," Antonov replied. "This is a war, Vladimir. Sacrifices must be made for a greater good, to stop a greater evil."
"Forget it. There's nothing you can say that will persuade me-"
Eisenstein pressed the muzzle of his pistol against the side of Strelnikov's head. "Then I'll let my actions speak for me. Get moving, you little bastard."
"You'll pay for this, Jew boy," Strelnikov vowed.
"And you'll pay for that remark - now move."
So the seven of us went after Constanta, stalking him through the ruins of Ivanovskoe, always staying at least one street behind and keeping to the shadows. We followed for at least half a kilometre before seeing the Rumanian walk into one of the few undamaged buildings remaining in the township. The squad of Germans we had seen earlier were waiting outside, exchanging worried glances and mutterings. Uralsky used the sniper scope from his rifle to get a better view of their faces, before passing it across to Eisenstein.
"They look terrified," he told the rest of us. "Whatever is happening inside that building, it is scaring the hell out of them."
I thought back to the curious phrase I had heard the radio operator say in the Univermag: "blood-change-fear". A chill of realisation clenched in my guts, threatening to loosen my bowels.
"Constanta must be turning them into vampyr," I said.
"How can you know that?" Sophia asked.
"I don't, not for certain," I admitted, telling the others what I had heard. "It's the explanation that makes the most sense."
The first of the German soldiers was summoned into the vampyr HQ, his face pale and wan in what little moonlight there was. A cry of pain escaped the building soon after, further unsettling the men waiting outside. Then the soldier emerged, holding a bandage over the side of his neck. The sniper scope had reached me by this time and I peered through it to get a better look at the infantryman. His expression was glazed, almost lifeless, and two red dots were already bleeding through the white gauze pressed against his neck. I handed the scope back to Eisenstein who saw the same things I had.
"Zunetov's right. Constanta is creating a private army, probably taking just enough of their blood to put them under his thrall." He gave the scope to Uralsky, who slotted it back on to his rifle.
"Why?" Antonov asked.
Eisenstein shrugged. "Perhaps the vampyr have suffered heavy losses elsewhere, or perhaps their numbers are limited. At a guess, I'd say Constanta wants cannon fodder to send into battle on his behalf. Why risk his own kind when he can create a fighting force of Germans bound to follow his will? We have to stop him. This is our chance to kill Constanta and strike a significant blow against the Rumanians. This is what we've been waiting for all these months."
"Perhaps," Antonov replied, "but I think we should take this information back to Brodsky and force him to pay attention. If he won't listen to reason, then we go further up the chain of command until somebody does."
"Yuri's right," Sophia said. "We're deep in enemy territory and the sun will be up within an hour. If we don't start back now, we'll never make it."
"What is more important to you: staying alive or stopping these fiends?" Eisenstein demanded, his eyes searching each of our faces.
"I don't want to die today," Borodin said quietly, biting his bottom lip.
"You already know what I think," Strelnikov sneered.
I felt Eisenstein's gaze upon me, boring relentlessly into me.
To my shame, I sided with the others. "Even if we did attack, there's no guarantee we'll succeed in killing Constanta. We have no idea how many other vampyr are in there with him, nor how many thralls he already has at his command. You said Brodsky had sent us on a suicide mission. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. But launching an assault on that building now would be suicide, without a doubt."
When everyone's attention shifted to Uralsky, he merely shrugged.
Eisenstein sighed. "Very well, we go to the railway line, try to find a safe way back to our own front line. But remember we had this chance and you chose to turn away from it. I've no doubt that choice will haunt us all for a long time."
For once he was wrong. Our choice came back to haunt us less than a minute later. We retreated round a corner towards the railway line and walked straight into a ten-man German patrol. All of them had their weapons raised, ready to fire.
"Hände hoch!" the patrol leader barked at us.
"He's telling us to raise our hands," I explained, putting my arms above my head.
The others followed my examp
le. We were caught, dead in our tracks.
Chapter Nine
The patrol leader stepped closer to me, studying my face. He had blond hair and blue eyes - a classic example of Aryan manhood - but there was a sadness in his expression that hinted at sorrows seen and sorrows felt. The insignia on his uniform indicated that he was a gefreiter, roughly equivalent in rank to one of our sergeants.
"You speak German?" the patrol leader asked me.
"I went to Berlin University, before the war."
"You were fortunate," he commented. "Many of us never got the chance. I doubt we will ever have that opportunity now."
Eisenstein hissed at me, wanting to know what we were talking about, but I concentrated on the enemy soldier. His men were all lowly recruits, no officers among them. Though they had us at gunpoint, the Germans showed no inclination to finish us off or alert anyone else to our presence behind their lines. I decided to keep their leader talking, see what I could learn from him.
"Perhaps, when the war is over?" I asked him.
The gefreiter shook his head dismissively. "This war must end one day, but another war is coming. We shall be fighting that battle until the day we die."
His words intrigued me. Could this enemy soldier be talking about the threat posed by the vampyr? It did not seem possible, since the Rumanians were part of the Axis forces, part of the invading army that had attacked Russia the previous summer. But something in the German's manner and his choice of phrase told me that we might have found an unlikely ally.
"You're talking about Hauptmann Constanta and his kind, aren't you?"
The gefreiter was shocked by my question, as were his men. They exchanged glances before he replied.
"You know about them. How?"
"They have been harassing us for months, probing for weaknesses, using their unnatural abilities to spread fear and terror among our soldiers, our people."