321
Had a weird dream last night. Not a bad dream, I'm used to stuff like that. This was just... odd. Which is why I bring it up. I was standing in the middle of a huge desert, with rolling sand dunes stretching onto the horizon. I walked around, shouted, fired a gun into the air... nothing happened. And then I woke up.
I've been wandering around the countryside for a while, asking about Grendel. Found a crashed German motorcycle next to a pair of rotting bodies off the road. Didn't take much to get it running, and I've since been using it to get around. It's a lot slower than warping, but it's less of a headache than trying to untangle the era's mess of time. And I like the image: riding down the empty road, suit and trench coat on, assault rifle on my back, hair streaming in the wind. It's not the best way to blend in, but why the hell not.
I've seen a lot of nasty things here. More in the past few days than I usually do in several weeks. I've driven by the leftover battles from the German invasion, with rusty burnt out tanks partially torn apart for salvage. There have been entire towns empty of people, the only signs of its inhabitants being blood stains and bullet holes. Whenever I went too far east, I could hear the sound of Russian artillery. I've spoken with a lot of refugees. Terrified people, caught between the German occupiers and Soviet invaders. I tried helping them out, giving any food or water I was carrying (inadvertently introducing energy bars several decades early,) but it quickly became clear that I couldn't help everyone. What the hell am I supposed to do? Singlehandedly fight off the Wehrmacht and the Red Army, rebuild every destroyed home, magically resurrect everyone who died? If I could, I would. I would fucking do it in an instant. But... I can't. God dammit, I can't.
When I stopped in one town and saw several corpses hanging from the gallows in the square, something inside me snapped. What's the point? People are being slaughtered here, for what? Because they want to change a few fucking lines on the map? The Nazis have less than a year left, and the Soviets only last until '91, and then the only thing all their fucking borders will have accomplished is creating a mountain of bodies.
Someone approached me as I stood there. He wore a black SS uniform, and looked far more well-fed than any German soldiers I'd seen so far. I took an instant dislike to him.
Like most other soldiers who had approached me, he wanted to who I was and why I thought I could get away with openly carrying around a gun. I threw on the mask of a smile, and answered with, "Oh, well, you see, I was on my way to a gay gypsy Bar-Mitzvah for the disabled when I suddenly thought, gosh! The Third Reich's a bit rubbish. I think I'll kill the Führer. Who's with me?"
Then I used his slack jawed speechlessness as an opportunity to punch him in the face.
Yeah, yeah, I know, that was stupid and rash. But that was the closest thing to justice I could give these people. And I'd really, really been looking for the chance to use that quote ever since I came here.
Of course, such actions have consequences, and soon I was running back to my motorcycle as what I swear was every German for 20 miles chased after me. Fun stuff.
Raced down some pretty rough roads while being chased by trucks carrying German soldiers. I suppose I could have just warped away, but I dunno, I'd grown attached to my motorcycle, and I'd never attempted to warp while carrying something as big as that with me before....
Turned a corner, and nearly flipped over the motorcycle when I tried stopping it. A black open roofed car was blocking the road ahead, with three people dressed in SS uniforms inside. The first, standing up in the car with his peaked hat at an angle and far more buttons undone that regulation should have allowed, was Grendel.
"Hello honey." He said. "I was very surprised to hear news of you stopping by. Have the water bags been passing you gossip? You really shouldn't listen to them. They'll only lead you astray."
The second person in the car was a woman, which automatically struck me as odd. I'm fairly sure the SS wasn't known for its gender equal hiring practices. She had orange-red hair that seemed to flow with a life of its own, and a look of complete disinterest on her face as she looked off into the trees flanking the road. Felt almost like a Fear: it was the same feeling as I'd get from a Fear, but not as strong. Guessing this was the Burning Bride. The third was an older man, who felt like a human and who I didn’t recognize at all. Boring.
I shot Grendel through the head just as my pursuers came around the turn and unloaded from their trucks. I think the only thing that stopped them from shooting me was surprise at the laughter coming from the man with a hole in his head. Their surprise turned to horror as his face reformed, leaving no trace of the injury. “You would do well not to interfere here.” He said. “I’m sure you’ll find more happiness in massacring cultists then in failing to stop me.”
I was preparing to shoot another round through his face when the Burning Bride suddenly stood up and focused on part of the forest. Grendel stopped speaking to follow its gaze, just as a streak of light came from the forest and hit one of the trucks behind me. Loud bang, followed by hot shrapnel flying through the air and soldiers screaming in pain as they were cut apart. Rifle shots rang out from the trees, cutting down more soldiers. They returned fire, but there was no way to tell if they were hitting anyone beyond the tree cover.
Another rocket went toward Grendel’s car. The Bride stepped in its path, and it exploded while still in flight. The flames of the explosion flowed around the Bride, keeping the car unharmed. Grendel jumped out of the car and walked toward the trees, ignoring the bullets going through him. Then he warped into the forest, and the gunshots were replaced by drawn out screams of pain. I warped after him, catching up just as he was tearing the rib cage out of a man. Several other men in civilian clothing were nearby, ineffectually firing on Grendel. I threw a grenade at Grendel, which tore away part of his body. He healed quickly, but I used that brief time to get between him and the other fighters. I thought I might have been able to stop him, but realistically, my bullets weren’t any more effective than any other. Grendel rapidly walked toward me, his usual grin on his face. I stepped backward to keep distance, and tripped over a root. Before I fell, Grendel warped ahead and grabbed my arm. That left my gun pointed right at his chest, so I held down the trigger until I’d emptied the clip. Didn’t even phase his smile. Not until shrapnel from a grenade tore half of his face off, leaving only shadow and a bright red eye, at least.
Grendel raised his other hand as if to strike me, but hesitated as his eyes looked at something behind me. I craned my neck around to look, and saw a soldier standing amongst the trees, watching us. Wasn’t a German; I didn’t recognize the uniform. Looked more like something out of 1916 than the 40s. The soldier wore a tattered brown trench coat over its uniform, and a gas mask over its face.
Didn’t feel like a human. Felt like the Archangel. Grendel let go and started to walk away very quickly, but the Archangel appeared in front of him. Grendel snarled and swung a fist at the gas mask, but froze just before he hit. He yelped, actually yelped, in surprise, and was lifted into the air by an invisible force. The Archangel silently watched as Grendel’s arms were raised into a cross, and his legs locked together. His skin began to tear itself open, revealing the darkness underneath. That darkness seemed to be boiling, twisting and ripping, until Grendel began to growl in pain.
Suddenly, fire engulfed the Archangel, and Grendel fell back onto the ground. The Burning Bride had entered the forest, fire lapping at its feet. Grendel ran to the Bride, and the two ran back to their car. The Archangel only watched, making no attempt to pursue.
As they left, I gave a grudging “Thanks,” to the Archangel. Which it responded to by ignoring me, stepping away, and vanishing. So much for that teamwork EAT had been talking about.
With everything finally calming down, it was time to find out who had started that ambush. They were already pulling out of the area as I began following them, but it wasn’t so hard to catch up. Teleportation rocks.
Running up to a group of armed men is a quick way to get a lot of guns aimed at you, but they remembered me from the ambush. And shooting people in SS uniforms is a great way to make friends with Poles. Talked with them as best I could; they’re a group of partisans who have been operating in the area. They jumped to the assumption that I’m some kind of American special agent, which is a fiction I’m not going to try to dispel. Grendel doesn’t seem very popular amongst them, so they’re willing to tell me anything I need to know once we get someplace safe.
Awesome. Progress at last.
I-330
No comments:
Post a Comment