The Hunting Game [Temptationist x Dark Saint]

[Dark Saint]

3rd of September, 1942
Stalingrad, Russia

============

In August of 1942 Germany Army Group B, headed by the 6th Army and 4th Panzers, is at the spearhead of an operation to capture the city of Stalingrad from Soviet forces.
Raids by the German Luftwaffe have started to turn the city into little more than rubble, and have degraded the fighting into a state of bloody hand-to-hand and house-to-house combat.
However, German soldiers have reported a new menace. A shadow that has left staff officers dead in their headquarters, and who keeps German soldiers afraid to emerge from cover.

She has become known to the Germans as "Wölfin" - the She-Wolf.

It has been decided by German high command that there is only one way to kill a wolf.

And that is with a hunter.

============


He had several names already, though most were the "in-house" ones muttered by the scientists who'd spent the last several years pouring over all the research that came together to make him. He was Jäger. The more starry-eyed called him something like "das Kind von Deutschland". But he preferred a simpler name that wasn't so tied into the program that had made him into what he was now: Kristian Urner, Major in the German SS. A physically fit, mentally sharp, tactically skilled, and these days so much more enhanced soldier. They had told him that he would be the test-bed of a program that would some day see the German peoples sitting as rightful rulers of Europe, free from foreign influence and corruption. He'd been picked as much for his skill in soldiering as for his patriotism and had suffered through countless agonies and trials as they ran test after test on him.

And now he found himself at the front lines with the enemies of the Fatherland. He was not so much attached to or part of the 6th Army as Field Marshal Paulus had been told he'd been given a solution to the problem of the Wölfin harassing his troops with the solution himself being granted relatively free reign. The armories and stocks of the 6th Army were made available to him, Kristian was given maps and intelligence, and once he was certain he could begin to track the alleged She-Wolf he'd been set free to go looking for her. And that was how he found himself in the industrial areas of the shelled and bombed out city where this near urban legend had started to scare everything short of tank crews away from the streets and alleyways.

Kristian peered around the corner of a blasted away brick wall to look out at the next spot of cover. The best that he could find was a partially open doorway at least eighty meters down the road. And for the whole of that distance he couldn't count just how many windows or rooftops could be hiding a rifle pointed his way. A few blocks in either direction gunfire provided a weird sort of ambience to an otherwise still and quiet scene that was complimented by the bodies that dotted the street - a Russian machinegun team dead at the mouth of an alley here, four or five Germans laying out in the street there. Marksman - and markswomen apparently - from both sides had called this stretch of the city home for close to a month now and the damage showed. Of course he'd stuck to that with his own scoped rifle tucked tightly to his chest as he stepped back from the corner again.

"Easy now, Urner. You've done this before." He told himself, "You can do it now."

He didn't even double-check himself in case a sniper was watching the corner now. He just broke from cover and sprinted down and across the street with his eyes set on that doorway. Salvation from an unseen enemy.

 

[Temptationist]

I spy with my little eye...​

My eyes narrowed as I followed the target through my scope. I lay tucked at the highest story of a shelled out building, with just enough of an opening in the fractured window to shoot potential enemies.

My fellow partner, a skilled sniper, lay dormant on her stomach next to me. "U menya yest' vystrel." I have a shot. She said to me.

"Net..." No. I reinforced, declaring that the shot was not sufficient and to hold off. Against my better judgement, the young 19-year old Roza Shanina took the shot. The bullet snapped through the air, towards the rogue German soldier though rapidly missed the target by nearly a foot. Instead of striking him dead, all the bullet did was lick his feet. Roza was as beautiful as she was deadly, however, she was young and inexperienced in the face of war compared to our other team members. I was her spotter and sniper supervisor. But against my hopeful belief, she had betrayed my guidance.

She spat at her failure. "Derr`mo!" Shit!

My heart nearly sank as she missed her target. Although failed-shots were a common occurrence in this line of work, this was a pivotal, eerily quiet setting to miss a shot. Even the slightest of falter could lead to a compromise in our position. As much as I wanted to yell at her, I held my tongue in this silence and continued to watch. "Zatk`nis." Shut up. I whispered to her, slightly irritated by her previously snide confidence.

Watching his every mode, I suddenly slammed down the stationed binoculars. "On znayet." He knows. My words were riddled with alarm.

Roza's eye reverted back to her mounted scope as I shuffled through our artillery bag. "On idet!" He's coming!

Sprouting to my feet, I made a bold move. I stood from my shielded position on the floor in order to launch a direct assault on the nearing enemy. Pulling the trigger from my hand, I flung a RGD-33 offensive grenade out of the window, and towards the running man who came only meters from our building. Without the jacket on the Russian grenade, the blast radius was quite small. The Russian device also yielded poor results and a high failure rate, often igniting small blasts in relation to other common hand grenades. The item was used mainly as a distraction - a weapon that worked at buying us a little more time. Throwing myself to the ground, I shielded my head and face as the grenade took nearly 6 seconds to detonate before it fractured the front side of the building. The complex, already hollow from the events of war, trembled as the blast went off. However, it did not crumble, as the damage was superficial; only shaving off about a foot off the reinforced concrete walls.

There were snipers throughout this city, and even more so, there were troops hiding in every crevice, and every corner. There were several rounds of firing that went off as a result of my risky move; the blast breaking the silence within the calamity of Stalingrad.

 

[Dark Saint]

"Scheisse!"

Kristian had heard the shot at almost the same moment he'd seen it hit just a foot or two ahead of him. A lesser man might not have noticed the glint of the scope that came his way in that second leading up to the shot, or possibly even missed the flash of a muzzle in a dark window, but he'd seen both and as he slammed back-first into the doorway he knew just where that sniper was hiding. But instead of stepping out and snapping off a shot of his own right away Kristian took a moment to steady himself just in case the sniper didn't think he had been exposed after that first shot. Of course then he heard the dull sound of metal hitting concrete and moved on reflex to throw himself into the doorway to safety.

Boarded up windows had what little glass was left blasted out, the door had one of its hinges ripped away, and for a few seconds the whole world was tinnitus and blurred vision.

The Major rolled over onto his back and tugged at the balaclava he still wore - now stained with dust and out of position from a dive to safety. Outside the sniper had just kicked a few collective hornets nests with that grenade and things were coming to life. Both sides now thought they had just heard the first shots of an enemy push and were scrambling to meet it. Machine gun crews came from seemingly out of nowhere, rifles pointed out of dozens of windows, and men in the khaki of the Stalingrad Front and the grey of the Army Group B came to "defensive works" in the strewn rubble of the city streets. Kristian could tell by just how much louder the Russians he heard were than his fellow Germans that he was much closer to the Russian lines in what was shaping up to be a rather horrid skirmish.

"Der sohn einer hure." Kristian muttered to himself as he got back to his feet, "Ich werde ihn zu genießen zu töten."

A grenade was in his hand when he came back to the door and he wasted no time breaking out into a run from his cover towards the sniper's hide-site. A cap unscrewed in the run and the detonator primed: it was hurled up into the window and smashed through one of the few remaining panes of glass in the frame. As it rolled on the floor a quick eye that didn't have the sense to get to cover first might even read the chalk on the grenade.

AUS DEUTSCHLAND
MIT LIEBE​

Of course a perhaps more pressing concern for anybody inside the multi-story complex might be the masked German man who threw himself through the nearest window to come rolling across the ground on the first floor. He wasn't immediately gunned down and a quick sweep of the floor saw that in the moment he seemed to be alone, so he slung the rifle across his back and drew the Pistole he'd kept tucked away at his waist. Eyes were up as he stalked his way to the nearest stairwell with his pistol trained for a sniper coming down. When he approached the bottom of the stairwell he stood to the side where the steps ended at a corner of the wall, posted himself, and listened for footsteps over the gunfire and confusion outside.

 

[Temptationist]

The moment the blast from my RDG-33 went off, I instantly sprung up from my defensive stance and peeled Roza off the ground. "My dvizhemsya, seychas!" We move, now! Grabbing the duffle bag beside her as I scooped her up, she was quick to react on to her own two feet. Despite the mounds of armor and the thick fur-coat that embellished our bodies, we moved with precision and speed. The weight was something every woman and man in the Red Army had become accustomed too. For us women, as part of the special ops program, we were trained with this combat equipment. It had become our second skin.

Bolting out of the room we were laying in, the two of us crouched low as we waddled our way down the long hallway of the multi-story apartment complex. With sniper rifles slung around us on our backs and a PPD-40 submachine gun at hand, we were ready for any enemy attack that might threaten us. Despite the fact that I had attempted to bomb the man out of sight, out of mind, the reality was that I had no idea if it had been effective. Because we were forced to relocate, I wasted no time in searching for his body. In this war, it was kill or be killed, and no time could be wasted on confirming that kind of kill. With each passing apartment, I moved first to check the coast then motioned for us to move forward. We passed room after room in dead silence, with several feet between us as to clear each room individually; uncertain of who might be around. In such a big place, and with the commotion of the blast, it was possible somebody else had crept in.

The sound of crashing glass caused the two of us to stop dead in our tracks. I looked back at Roza, who also shared a puzzled look on her face. Before either of us could properly react, the hidden grenade detonated, causing an entire apartment just a floor below to be blown to smithereens. As the explosion shot upwards, it reduced the middle of the hallway to rubble. The grenade had detonated right below us, and amidst the blowout, the floor had caved right under me. Instinctively, I grabbed on to the edge of the floor that did remain, dangling for a second like a ragdoll before I used my core strength to hoist my body up. When I finally pulled myself up, there was a 10 foot gap between me and my partner.

The grenade had blasted a gaping hole three floors down, allowing me to see all the way to the ground floor. Roza looked up at me - we were permanently separated. With no way to get across, and a hallway too broken and narrow to moved against the sides, we would have to split up. Reverting to only using Russian Sign Language, I quickly motioned to her; 'Split'. Though, in that moment, the corner of my eye caught glance at a figure on the first floor. I pointed down, sighning again; 'Company'. Roza went for another grenade from her pocket, but I instantly motioned to stop. Shaking my head; it was too risky. The building was falling apart - another blow could see fatal to both of us.

She shook her head in understanding and I slowly backed up, afraid the enemy scouring the first floor would look up and see us. With the floor crumbling at our feet, I looked at Roza and gave a simple Goodbye nod. Roza returned the honourable salute before disappearing down the main stairwell. On the other hand, I was left with nothing but decaying apartment buildings. With no staircase on this side of the building, I would have to find another way to escape.

 

[Dark Saint]

As the two whole floors started crumbling down, the area filled out with a rushing cloud of dust and dirt and debris. In mere seconds a stairwell that had been perfectly clear and stable came tearing down when the supports buckled under the weight of two stories above it came crashing down. Kristian was completely enshrouded by the dust for those first few moments and he was grateful that at least the mask he was wearing worked to block out some of the damned debris filling the air - even if it stung at his eyes and made it difficult to see much of anything. But where he couldn't see through the smoke, the Major had years of experience to tune out the more distant gunfire so he could focus on his immediate surroundings, and what he heard told him what his eyes couldn't. The sounds of splintered wood and shards of glass crunching under careful footfalls in the hall just past the remains of the staircase making their way to his position.

As quickly as he dared without making much noise himself Kristian stepped back from the corner and pressed flat to the wall. He waited for those few moments as those footsteps drew closer until he saw the barrel of a weapon start to edge out from around the corner. In that moment the Major lashed out with his unnatural speed to strike a kick against the barrel. The weapon swung away to the side and the soldier holding it fired off a round either in panic or on a jerking reflex, but that round went nowhere and they couldn't fix their aim before the Major had stepped around the corner to face them. He brought up his pistol to finish the job but the woman he was now facing was quick enough on the draw. She lashed out with a knife and the blade slashed across the back of his hand to knock the pistol away and out of his hand.

From there it quickly descended into a mad and sudden brawl.

She swung for a punch, he caught it with an arm bar. She tried to stick her knife in his ribs, he wrenched it from her hand. He drove a knee for her crotch, she managed to block it. Harsh and staccato movements ruled tbe moment as the two tried to get an upper hand. But where she had experience, Kristian had a measure more on top of pure genetic modifications. Kristian had known in his mind who would come out on top in the end.

She screamed when her own knife pinned her hand to the wall. She stopped when Kristian slammed into her and drove his own knife home between her ribs. He stepped away and simply watched her as she started to realize she was going through her final moments. When Kristian turned to pick up his pistol again, he looked over his shoulder to see her watching him and working her jaw. Clearly trying to find the energy to speak.

 

[Temptationist]

The moment we parted ways, there was a sinking feeling in my gut. It wasn't because I was now alone amidst a detrimental battle. I had been a lone wolf all of my life. I lived, breathed, and operated solo. The partnership with Roza was an exception; simply a project given to augment German fatalities among the battle of Stalingrad. However, prior to our collaboration, Roza had been a new recruit in Stalingrad and I had been a long standing member of the Soviet forces. Despite our differences, there was something about our separation that had my instincts screaming.

Despite the feelings, I pushed that notion to the back of my mind to focus on the task ahead of me. I had to find a way out of this building, and without a proper stairwell to simply climb down internally, instead, I had to find an alternative. Moving swiftly into another apartment, I kept a low-crouch as I swung my machine gun around, searching the area for any potentially hidden assailants. Once I was confident the area was clear, I moved straight for the apartment's private balcony. If I couldn't get down from inside, I would have to climb down from the outside. With an enemy sniper potentially hidden in every surrounded building, I was taking an immense risk by revealing myself to the exterior of the complex. Unfortunately for me, war was all about risk. I had no choice.

Having retired both of my major weapons to the back of me, I peaked out of a broken window before making the decision to toss the artillery bag right out of it. With the glass doorway to the balcony already hollowed out from previous gun-fire, I simply took a deep breath and prayed for the best. All I could do was hope that whatever snipers were on-looking this side of the building were Russian or American, and not German. Exhaling, I suddenly swooped forward; plunging myself out of the window's frame. In one abrupt leap, I launched my body towards the railing of the balcony, just a couple feet to the side of the window. With such acrobatics, I grabbed on to the railing's bottom-edge and subsequently wormed my body back and forth. I rocked my body twice, using the momentum from the swing of my legs under the balcony to finally push off. It took only a couple of seconds before I released the railing again and fell several feet. I directly caught myself on the third-floor's top-railing. I repeated the same movement twice over again, skipping down balcony after balcony until I landed onto ground-level.

Still alive, and evidently unshot, I took a deep breath. Either God was on my side, or the Russians really had moved to guard most of the area. I kept low again, swooping to grab the bag I had just moments ago, thrown out the window. Though, as I reached for it, I heard crunching on the first floor. I hit the ground, laying on my stomach as I pressed myself up against the outside of the building. Poking my head up, through the window by my head, I could see the male mystery figure several meters down the hall. Realizing I could not move without compromising my life, I slowly reached for my TT-30 pistol. Sliding my way up the wall slowly, I narrowed my eyes and took aim. Right as my finger tightened slightly on the trigger, suddenly, my target moved; coming in to contact with another figure. My heart sank and so did my gun - it was Roza. I watched silently as she struggled with the German, but she stood no chance. I closed my eyes slightly, curling back over away from the window to hide myself. Slouched on the ground, I leaned my head against the cold concrete wall and could do nothing but listen to her stammering last breath. In her final dying moment, she spoke words that would forever haunt me.

"Sie können den Wolf zu jagen, aber Sie können nicht ihr Heulen machen."
You can hunt the wolf but you can't make her howl.​

It was a proverb; one that I had told her when we first met. It dawned on me in that single, disturbing moment. Roza wasn't assigned to me for practicality and guidance... she was assigned to me for security. Rather than her native Russia tongue, she chose to speak with a slick German accent. Clearly, Roza was a jack of many trades. She was assigned to protect me. Protect She-Wolf. And even in her last moment, she took the identity of She-Wolf. She fit the description of the infamous She-Wolf. She was blonde, blue-eyed... beautiful. The stereotypical features you would expect from a Russian bombshell. Beneath all those layers of military armor, there lay unquestionably a curvaceous figure - capable of manipulating and seducing even the strongest of Nazi men. It was a shame that now she was dead. But she died for Mother Russian. She died in the name of her country. She died to protect me, and she was proud.

 

[Dark Saint]

A lesser man might have been ecstatic to hear those words. Any other member of the wehrmacht or even the SS would have loved to realize that they had been the one who killed the infamous She-Wolf. But Kristian wasn't that sort of hunter. Her features were nearly arian and quite beautiful beside, with an obvious grasp of the German language, and if Kristian had been any other regular German soldier then she'd likely have had the skill to soundly kill him as quickly as he'd done her in. And maybe if Kristian hadn't seen enough to dissolve his belief, he might have inquired of God why such a woman couldn't be given the grace and opportunity of being born a German in this whole horrid war. They would have made quite a pair: the lab-perfected hunter and the passion-driven wolf. Twin shots to the heart finished the job as those last words left her and then the Major retrieved his knife - and her's to take her away from the wall before pulling the tags she wore from around her neck.

The Field Marshal and his staff would want proof that the up-and-coming threat had been dealt with. Roza Shanina was her real name and with it she suddenly seemed much less imposing. Of course he knew that there was likely another somewhere around to contend with. Russian snipers had the habit of working together in small teams of two or more. But as Kristian looked around he was met with only the silence of his immediate area and the more distant rumbling of gunfire. He was satisfied that, if her partner wasn't already gone, that the She-Wolf's spotter wasn't about to put a round in his back as he turned to leave. He was kind enough to leave her second tag and, of course, her body for her allies to find later should they sweep through the area again after he had left.

============

Two weeks later
The port city of Rostov, Russia

The most up-and-coming threat to German troops in Stalingrad is now believed dead and the first small-scale field test of the Jäger program is considered a success.
In celebration the German high command has arranged for Major Urner to be taken to the German-occupied city of Rostov where a banquet is scheduled in celebration of the dual success.
Individuals such as Field Marshal von Manstein, Colonel Lucas Amsel of the Waffen-SS, and others associated with the Jäger program are said to be in attendance for the event.

============

Since he had been escorted to his changing room in the back halls of manor where the banquet was being held, Kristian had found himself fussing over the finer points of his uniform at least a dozen times. The thing had been cleaned and prepared without a single coin leaving the Major's pocket as just one minor reward for his duties and had been delivered to him while he'd waited in the room by a young lad who now stood in one corner with the rank markings of a Oberschütze on his own uniform. Of course both of them were equally invested in the medals - such as the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves - but for different reasons, Kristian imagined. The young soldier behind him was probably picturing a day when local attractive women and powerful figures of the Third Reich would come to see one on his chest among other ribbons and medals. The Major was just trying to figure out if it was straight or if his eyes were merely deceiving him.

There was a knock at the door and when Kristian looked back over his shoulder the young lad in the corner snapped to stand just a little bit straighter before moving to answer the door. Standing in the doorway in his own medal-adorned uniform was Colonel Amsel himself: Kristian's closest point of human contact during the early stages of the program and the one who had worked to keep him mentally stable and focused throughout all the testing and experimentation. Kristian immediately turned on his heels and joined the Oberschütze in saluting the Colonel - with the Major's being waved away as unnecessary.

"Now now, Major." The Colonel gave a laugh and a smile, "Heroes don't go saluting old fools."

Kristian offered a smile of his own as Amsel slapped him on the shoulder, "Its good to see you again, Colonel."

"Damned good, Major. Especially out of that damned lab, eh?"

Kristian made sure not to give the whole-body flinch he wanted.

Instead he gave a small chuckle, "Of course, sir."

Amsel stepped to stand beside him with an arm across his shoulders, "Come then, Major. Plenty of the locals are wanting to see the new face of Germany, eh? Let's go." Then he fished a handful of Reichsmarks from his pocket and presented them to the attending soldier, "You're dismissed for the evening, boy. Go see the Major's driver knows when to come around and then enjoy your night."

The two left the room and headed for the source of the classical music drifting through the halls.

 

[Temptationist]

He disappeared into the dust of the battle of Stalingrad, leaving nothing but dead corpse inside a hollow building. Waiting until the German assassin cleared the area, I crept back onto to the first floor. My eyes fell on Roza, perched up against the wall with her body slouched over from the attack. She was covered in blood - the color in her face completely drained. My eyes fell on the red-smeared tag that lay around her neck. I curled my finger under it lightly, looking at the single pendant left on the chain. Slowly, and delicately, I slid my fingers alongside the sterling silver and slipped it over Roza's down-laid head. In dead silence, I looked out the window to the crumbling city, my face growing stern as I adorned my neck with the same tag.

"Do svidaniya." I whispered to her. Until we meet again.

[ * * * ]

Two weeks later
The Imperial Manor
Rostov, Russia

Balancing my cigarette between my plush, plump red lips, I brought my busy hands to my ear and fiddled with a sparkling gem earring. Once the second earring was in place, I returned the blunt to my index and middle finger and took a deep inhale. Letting the smoke rest at the back of my throat for a short moment, I exhaled softly and released the thick cloud of smoke to the side of my face. Dabbing the tip of it to the ashtray, I looked at myself - all prim and proper - in the gold-trimmed vanity of the lavish Imperial Manor hotel room. As I looked into my cold, pale blue eyes, I remembered the night at the Vorona Bar just a couple days ago.
_ _ _ _ _

Wide-eyed with a bright smile, my eyes could nearly be described as sparkling as I looked upon the young lad across from me. With my elbow mounted on the table and chin balancing on my palm, I leaned in with batting lashes and an unmistakable enthusiasm. "You would do that... for me!?" I asked the gentlemen, my German ultimately perfect despite my Russian roots.

The man looked back at me, leaning in to take my petite wrist in his hand. Pulling on it with the lightest touch, my head released from its lean to hover on its own. He subsequently took my other wrist, already on the hard-wood table of the local establishment, into his needy hands. "But of course!" He said with equal enthusiasm as he held my hands in his. "It would be an honor for you to join me."

I looked at him with an agape smile. "I... uh-" I said, with hesitation.

The German lad, shinning in his pristine Nazi uniform, began to panic. Suddenly becoming nervous, he began to stutter. "I-I mean... if-if... only if you want to." He cleared his throat, retracting from my hands, thinking he had fondled me, rather than swooned me.

"No, no!" I corrected, taking his hands back and leaning further in to him to show my undivided interest. "Do not take my hesitation for rejection, soldier." I smiled, the gleam in my eyes undeniably charming. "I just... I feel a poor Russian girl like myself... is not worthy of your praise and kindness. What would I even wear? A sac for potatoes?" Chuckling lightly, my giggle was as sweet as the floral perfume embedded in my skin.

His brows rose as his eyes became bigger, and brighter. "That is absurd." He mocked me, "You could wear that sac for potatoes and still be the most beautiful woman in the room." Bringing his hand to my face, he gently brushed the few strands of loose hair from my eyes and moved them behind my head. Falling momentarily silent, the smile on my face grew only bigger with his sweet words.

With just a short few hours, a handful of drinks, and a run-down bar on the outskirts of Rostov, I had already found my way in.
_ _ _ _ _

A low-laugh gurgled at the back of my throat as I brought the puff to my mouth again. "Putz." I called him as I remembered his complete naivety. He had made it all too easy to deceive. The moment I so much as glanced in his direction, he was already hooked. Despite his stupidity, the German army rat had specially reversed and paid for my room at this grandeur of a manor. Standing from the vanity, I put out the cigarette and pouted my lips to distribute the lipstick over the creases. Wasting no time, I grabbed the clutch from my dresser and headed out the door. At the very end of the hallway, I would hear the harsh flick of German tongue. I looked around for a moment at the several servants and other guests who traveled up and down these halls. Although I seemed to be taking my time as I walked, I was actually registering every detail of every person that I possibly could in my mind. Following the direction of my ear; I listened to the German banter that, with every passing step, became louder and louder. It was Colonel Amsel, and he was greeting someone of particular importance. A Major. I understood. Whoever this man was, he was a hero in Amsel's high eyes.

The "Face of Germany".

Just as I approached the doorway with an impatient eagerness, out popped the German boy from Vorona Bar. I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart sinking for a moment as his sudden exit startled me. Though, on the exterior, I appeared calm, just rather virtuously shy as he turned to look at me. The boy had been just as eager to get out of that room as I was eager to get in. Having been dismissed from duty for the evening, his excited eyes ignited as they laid eyes on my floor-length gown. His jaw dropped as his arms came up to fawn over me.

"You are... a sight to see." His hands came to rest on my shoulders. His heart was racing in that moment, the pupils of his eyes dilating as they came to look at me. One could even argue he was already in love with me.

Reverting instantly to the innocent demeanor the soldier had come to admire, I smiled sweetly at him. "Don't make me blush, Fredrick." Curling my hand over his arm, I swayed my body to the side of him; entering a formal couple embrace. Beaming with pride, the German lad motioned his head for the dining hall, striding forward with the utmost confidence as his fellow comrades gasped and gawked at the bombshell Russian clutching at his side.

 

[Dark Saint]

The main floor was typical of these sorts of events as far as Kristian could tell. Women in exquisite gowns and jewelry clung to the arms of men who were more powerful politically than physically if portly statures and graying hair was any measure. Some would mingle together at one table or another, off in some corner senior Wehrmacht officers stood together to smoke and drink and talk among themselves, and area clearly set aside as something of a dance floor was currently being used more for chatting and idly standing by company rather than actually dancing. A band occupied a stage that had clearly been brought in just for the event, waiting staff walked among the crowd with trays of wine and hors d'oeuvres.

And of course as they walked onto the floor Kristian could immediately tell that Colonel Amsel wasn't going to be leaving his side for most of the night when he saw bright and inquiring faces look his way. Major Kristian Urner was a key focus of the night and the Colonel was set to be as close to the center of attention as he could.

Another Colonel of the SS was introduced here.

A local political magnate there.

A talented young miss at the arm of a Wehrmacht officer.

Politicians, entrepreneurs, scholars, and others.

Everybody who was anybody that wanted this new prospective government to favor them had stepped out from the woodwork for the event. Kristian seldom had an empty hand before he was given the offer of a drink or a cigar - things he savored and drew out to avoid even his liver failing out on him before the night was through - and some part of the way Colonel Amsel talked of him as if he was a secondary ornament in the introductions made the Major feel a touch uneasy. As well as he could clean up, he'd never been a fan of these sorts of parties, and as stereotypical as it might have sounded he honestly felt more comfortable in his field uniform than wearing all of his own medals and finery. He began to look for an out as Amsel led him to yet another guest loitering near a back corner of the room.

"I must warn you, Major, that Herr Kuefer is a touch - full of his position." Amsel was whispering in his ear furtively as they drew close, "He might tend to grate just a touch."

As if the whole night until now hadn't.

Immediately as they drew close the Colonel belted out a greeting. The rather frail man in a dark suit, Herr Dirk Kuefer, extended a hand, "Its a pleasure to meet you, Major. I'm Dirk Keufer - on the Committee of the Four Year Plan." He gave a smile as if Kristian should have recognized it. Which he didn't. And the smile quickly fell from the other man's face.

"Its - its an economic reform plan for - "

Amsel slapped Kristian on the shoulder again, "Herr Kuefer, you are looking at the Major Urner. The progeny of the Reich's Thousand Year plan." The Colonel laughed.

Of course from his back corner Kristian was able to sweep the crowd. The young soldier who had been charged to tending to him earlier seemed to want to spend his night at the party rather than out on the town at cheaper and more accommodating pubs or inns. And maybe he wasn't so fixed on imaging attracting young ladies with the medals he'd some day earn because as he moved across the floor, a fetching young woman was at his arm. While he didn't know who the woman was, having a chance to talk with a fellow soldier from the lines of the eastern front would be a relief. He quickly excused himself from the Colonel for the time with a claim that he was needing to relieve himself and started through the crowd until he found himself drawing up on the young boy from behind.

"Oberschütze!" He barked the words.

The boy stood rigid as a board and tried to whirl around. Then of course he attempted to render a proper salute. That young woman at his arm made both nearly impossible to do at all let alone with any sort of proper crispness and precision. The Major made sure to motion for him to hold if only for the sake of the young lady - as amusing as it was.

"As you were. Relax." Kristian took a long draw on the cigarillo he'd been given from a fellow Major not thirty minutes ago, "I'm sorry, that was awful of me. I only wanted a laugh and here I didn't expect to see you had a woman with you." He offered a nod to the woman, "Its a pleasure to meet you, moya ledi. Could I ask your name?"

 

[Temptationist]

Fredrick nearly jumped right out of my arm hold. As he was startled, he instantly hopped into his submissive, compliant military stance. In a visually surprise manner, I stepped back, letting go of his stiffening arm as he entered such a independent salute. My smile was quickly wiped from my face as I was nearly shoved to the sidelines in such a quick change of events. If I hadn't been posing, I would have naturally rolled my eyes at such a pathetic fear-driven military brat like Fredrick. He was cripplingly cooperative, which is what made him such an honorable soldier. Though, in my defiant eyes, he was just another sheep trudging along in the herd. Typical. I thought. Though, my facial expression depicted the total opposite. My big, starry eyes looked upon the white-dressed Oberschütze as if I was utterly smitten with his achievements. My returning smile was authentic enough to move even the strongest of men to their knees.

The military child quickly relaxed his shoulders as he realized he was being played by the Major. He sighed a big relief, quickly turning to focus his attention back on the lady of the spotlight. "Major Urner!" He said with a strong nod. Moving back, he motioned for me to stand before him. "This is my date-"

"-Anya." I swiftly finished Fredrick's sentence, not allowing him the pleasure of speaking for me when I could so easily speak for myself. "Anya Maksimov." A fake name. I extended my arm out to you, offering you my black, silk-gloved hand for your gentlemanly kissing. I waited a moment to speak again, using my ice-cold blue eyes to truly soak in all the features of your face. You were painfully Aryan-looking, with the classic stern characteristics many would stereo-typically assume for Germans. You had a strong jaw, a high cheek bone and the highly-sought after dark blonde hair. Despite your objectively handsome features, there was one trait I could not ignore. You had beady eyes; dark with avarice and conviction. I wondered for a moment if those same determined eyes were also filled with lechery.

"It is an honor, Major... to finally meet the very Face of Germany." My German was near perfect, with barely a hint of a Russian accent, if there was a Russian accent at all. If not speaking to a trained ear, I could surely fool a native German. Retracting my hand calmly, Fredrick moved his forearm towards me, and I took it with pride and confidence. Curling my hand around his bicep, my eyes never left yours. "Fredrick has spoken very highly of you. You are a war hero." I would have rather puked those words than speak them, but my whirling malice only allowed for victory. Without discretion and disguise, I would be but another dead man on the battlefield. "But I wonder, Major Urner, does a soldier like yourself know how to dance as well as he can shoot?"

Fredrick's beaming smile quickly faded as his head shifted to look down at me, surprised and agape. Not only was I being charming and witty, but I was directing my flirtation to another man, and not Fredrick. A sense of jealously could be felt rising within the young lad as his breath dried in his throat. Despite his confusion, my offer would not come to fruition. There was a sudden clinking on the glasses behind us. Turning around to meet the attention of the Colonel Amsel, he rose his wine to the air and tapped on the side of the glass continuously with a butter knife.

"Attention, ladies and gentlemen..." He reiterated as the crowd swiftly turned to face him.

Fredrick pulled me in close, hovering his lips over my ear. "We should go." He whispered to me. I looked up at him with a flash of confusion. There was a sense of worry in his eyes. His pupils restricted - a sign that he was keeping something from me. He tugged on my arm, urging me to follow his lead towards an exit. Although I originally expected the soldier to take off to a cheap Russian bar to join his drunk comrades, we were already amidst a grand gala, and he expected me to abandon ship in the middle of an important speech?

"Fredrick...?" I whispered through my gritted teeth, retracting my arm to defiantly stand my ground. I did not want to leave just yet, that was clear in both the lack of my movement and the confused look on my face. My eyes bore like daggers in Fredrick. You're being rude. That was the expression on my face.

The Colonel looked to Kristian with a blooming smile. "We gather here today to celebrate not only the triumph of the Nazi Regime, but more importantly, the victories of our very own... Major Kristian Urner of Schutzstaffel." Amsel cheered the air with his glass as the crowd turned to look at you. Light clapping erupted in the room, though, it quickly came to a stop when the Colonel raised his voice again. Looking to Fredrick, I watched as the droplets of sweat formed at the edge of his hairline. He was nervous; his body temperature rising. My eyes narrowed slightly, crossing paths with the famed Major before shifting back over to the Colonel. Amsel continued in his speech. "Not only is he the best soldier in the infantry, but he is the sole responsible for the successful assassination of the infamous She-Wolf, sniper of Russia and destructive foe of Germany!" He boasted, "Tonight, we not only commemorate the death of such problematic assailant, but also the triumph of Stalingrad; as their forces weaken, the Soviet and all of its Russian scum WILL BE DEFEATED!"

Fredrick's head dropped as the anticipation of those very words had haunted him into escape just moments ago. Placing a hand over his forehead, he ducked his face in shame as my insulted eyes turned to look at him. There was a look of blasphemous disgust on my face. My hand around his bicep weakened. "Is that what you think of me? Russian scum?" Pulling away from him, I swiftly and dramatically turned away from him.

Darting straight for the exit of the dining hall, Fredrick quickly spun around to try and explain. "A-Anya, wait!" His concerned voice was masked in the cheering of the crowd around us. My climatic exit would be all but unseen in such a mass of people. Fredrick caught up to me in only a few short dashes. At the archway connecting the hall to the hallway, he grabbed for my wrist and forced me to face him. As we began to bicker behind the awing horde of German soldiers and Nazi officers alike, the Colonel was all but done his glamorous speech.

Amsel lifted his index finger to point to a large Nazi flag just several feet behind him. The bright red rectangle of silky material lay outstretched and proud with the German swastika at the center of attention. It was well over 10 feet wide and 6 feet tall - covering a large portion of the Imperial Manor's focal wall. The Colonel walked closer to it, motioning for you, the great Kristian Urner, to come towards it. "As a sign of my deepest gratitude, Major Urner... And as the leading Face of Germany, I give you this gift!" Grasping the corner of the flag, with one quick jerk downward, the piece unhooked from its cord and fell to the floor, revealing a custom-made poster with an animated image of you in the place of Hitler. The image was nearly 5 feet tall, framed in a solid brass and gold casing with the gleaming image of Major Kristian Urner, dressed in uniform, upholding the flag of Nazi Germany all the while leading a mass of soldiers into battle. It was dreadfully tacky, but it stood to serve as an honor.

Though, as the flag dropped to reveal what should have been a memorable recognition, the crowd instantly gasped in horror, and the whole room went quiet. Amidst a bitter bicker with Fredrick, when silence consumed the dining hall, we all but bite our tongues and curiously turned to face the commotion's calamity. Fredrick, turning his head to look at the proclaimed gift, nearly chocked on his own inhale. The poster had be deliberately sabotaged. Four distinct tears, depicting what appeared to be claw marks, were torn over the affirmed Face of Germany. Over the printed head of the Major, where the eagle once flew in freedom, lay smeared the symbol of a wolf. The graffiti was fresh - not yet fully dried as the paint seemed to drip down the poster. Though, upon close inspection... it wasn't red paint that formed the sabotage - it was blood. The Colonel dropped his glass in total shock; the sound of the glass smashing against the ground cut through the silent room. Hanging from the top right corner of the frame... was the second dog tag of Roza Shanina.

She-Wolf lives. ​

 

[Dark Saint]

Kristian had been embarrassed before. He'd had wine thrown in his face, he'd listened to the "sophisticated" elites tittering behind his back before he'd earned his reputation, and once or twice he'd been full-on slapped for stumbling over his own words and committing some horrid faux pa. Once he'd even been drunk when called up to the front like this in a story that he would never retell to anybody for the whole of his life. But now he stood in front of everybody in attendance to switch between watching pale and shocked faces or staring up at the taunting defiance on the wall. His likeness being ruined was something he could easily live with but at that moment he was staring at a declaration that he had failed in his first mission as the damned "prodigal child" the scientists in the lab had all built him up to be. Fuming with rage, Kristian hopped down from the spotlight and into the crpwd.

"Frederick!" Kristian shouted for the junior soldier, "Frederick, where the hell are you?!"

Aristocrats and business owners and politicians all alike were too confused to move out of the way. They were shoved or elbowed aside with glasses and trays falling to the ground, with one portlier fellow even managing to bust a table from Kristian nearly throwing him to the ground in anger. Not even drawing his pistol wasn't enough to stir those closest to him into action with how serious the situation was. The damned woman was in the building. "Wölfin" was in the fucking building and half these fools were standing around with their cocks in their hands and no ideas in their damned heads! It was taking too long and Kristian finally grew sick of trying to make his way through the whole crowd at their convenience: two shots of his pistol into the ceiling caused a few screams of panic and finally, finally, the crowd began to rush for the main doorway. As they went one way the Major finally had the freedom to slip into the side hall and finally he saw the man he was looking for.

Kristian scowled and stormed over to seize the young man by one arm, "Oberschütze! What the fuck is your problem!? Get this woman out of here: did you not see what just happened?"

 

[Temptationist]

Frederick had an unforgettable expression on his face... Complete and utter shock. As you grabbed him by his arm, his wide eyes scrambled to process the horrific sabotage before his eyes. Frederick was distraught; disturbed to the very core of what this could mean for the Nazi forces, and for Germany. It took him a moment too long to snap out of his daze and stand up right again with a stiff posture. "Major Colonel!" He saluted you, as if this was a morning drill of tiring routine and little importance. The boy was still naive in the face of danger. A good soldier, but when thrown off guard, a military klutz. Finally living up to his reputation, Frederick snapped into action; springing to life as he drew a similar pistol from the inside of his tux and catered his eyes on high alert. He moved presumably to protect his woman, but as he turned around... she was no where in sight. His precious Russian Anya had vanished among the panicking ground.

Floods and floods of guests scrambled for the exit. Some retreating to their rooms as security guards approached and moaned in high voices for attendees to "return to the safety of their rooms" with an additional clause; "until further notice". Also known as, 'we don't know what's going on but it isn't good, but don't worry, keep calm'. I had heard it all before in the wake of this gruesome war. But I was no stranger to chaos. I relished in it; bred my entire existence around it. Although it did not effect my superior intellect, it did effect the character I was portraying. Poor little Anya, offended, startled, and alone in this dark city.

The moment the reputable Major called for his name - the moment Frederick abandoned his attention on me to turn to face his superior - was the moment I, performing as a disheveled Russian barmaid, gave up on my little romantic endeavor. As he swayed from me, I sighed heavily in acquittal, instantly turning my back on the soldier. My body bled into the seeping crowd. Within bare seconds, I had evacuated the dining hall and disappeared from the hallways. With my back to the German, my frustrated and terrified expression soon melted off of my face. It was nearly instantaneous. The moment I was away from him, I reverted back to my determined, true psychsocial form. I was conniving, some even deemed me wicked. And in that fine moment as I exited the very chaos I had created, a small gleam of happiness crept one corner of my lips. Victory.

Little did you know, dearest Kristian Urner, that the infamous She-Wolf - the damned Wolfin of Nazi Germany - had marked her territory right inside the comfort of your own manor bedroom. Aus Russland, mit Liebe, the note, hand-written in an alluringly feminine cursive, lay awaiting for your reading on the pure white silk of your bed's sheets. Mockery and insult, all in the most passive-aggressive and simultaneously triumphant farewell. The note was sealed with a lush red lip kiss. You can hunt the wolf but you can't make her howl.