MY IMMORTAL
THE VAMPIRES OF BERLIN

BY LEE RUDNICKI

Published by
Broken Ocean Entertainment
11901 Santa Monica Blvd., #521
Los Angeles, CA 90025

All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any and all references to any government, school, military units, intelligence agency or law enforcement personnel are purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only.

ISBN 978-1-4507-3191-1
© 2010 Lee Rudnicki
All Rights Reserved

Printed in the United States of America
First Edition – July 2010

For my friends and family

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lee Rudnicki is an entertainment attorney, motion picture producer and writer in Los Angeles, California. For more information, please visit http://www.drumlaw80.com

MY IMMORTAL – PRODUCTION TEAM 2010

Creative Consultants – Chris Nalls and Rumiko Ono

Graphic Design (book) – Dennis Mancini

Music (As the Blood Flows) – Trip Device

Graphic Design (web) – Leo Guzman

Editor – Kaleigh Woods

Photography – Lee Rudnicki

Special Thanks – Chris Rudnicki, John Rudnicki, Ko Mori, Maria Kabanova, Maureen Rudnicki, Scott Gorden and Uta Arning

AUTHOR’S NOTE

“I warn the generality of readers, that this present book will seem to them only a rather more revolting mass of wordy nonsense than the last.”

- D.H. Lawrence
Fantasia of the Unconscious (1930)

Hi there. Welcome to My Immortal: The Vampires of Berlin. As you will soon find out, villains and heroes come out of the most unlikely places in this story. In fact, two of the heroes are in the Wehrmacht. Yes, that German army.

The difficulty in using two German soldiers during World War II as protagonists, of course, is that doing so potentially raises all sorts of moral and political issues.

Please know that as I write this, I am profoundly aware that there is nothing in the world I can tell my German and Russian friends—or anyone else for that matter—about World War II that has not already been said in thousands of well-written articles and history books.

Along those lines, My Immortal is not a history book — it is a supernatural adventure tale that is set during the Battle of Berlin. Conceptually, the setting is very similar to being on the Titanic after the ship hits the iceberg. There are no underlying political statements or moral judgments to be gleaned from these pages and there is no disrespect intended towards any government, country, person, religion, school or entity that is depicted or not depicted in this book.

The sole and exclusive exception to the foregoing rule is the Nazis. For the record, I have nothing good to say about the murderous bastards and My Immortal does not glorify their crimes in any way. The Nazis do, however, make the perfect villains for a supernatural adventure tale; that is the role they are called upon to play here.

The acknowledgements are at the end, but I would like to use this opportunity to thank my wife Rumiko for her patience and understanding during the many hours that it took to write this novel. Domo Arigato, Rumi. I love you.

Now, without further adieu ...

MY IMMORTAL
THE VAMPIRES OF BERLIN

PROLOGUE

In April 1945, the Second World War was coming to a bloody end for Adolf Hitler’s Third Reich.

As the Red Army encircled Berlin, the Nazis broadcasted a curious radio message. They threatened that if the Russian forces were not immediately withdrawn from German soil, a secret weapon “more powerful than the sun itself” would be unleashed upon them. The message ended with an ominous warning: there will be no survivors.

Allied intelligence intercepted this message and concluded that the Nazis had a nuclear bomb. They also believed that Hitler was about to use this weapon against the Soviet 8th Guards Army, which was positioned in and around Berlin.

President Roosevelt notified the Kremlin of this analysis, but Stalin elected to continue the assault on the German capital. Meanwhile, his generals quietly braced for the possibility of casualties on an unimaginable scale.

On 30 April 1945, Adolf Hitler ordered the weapon, code-named Tristan, to be utilized against the Soviet Red Army. It is not known why these efforts failed, but shortly after giving the order, Hitler and his wife Eva Braun committed suicide.

Over the last sixty years, there has been a great deal of speculation about the miracle weapon that had Adolf Hitler so convinced he was about to win the war.

To date, every American president since Truman has precluded any legislative or judicial inquiry into Operation Tristan on the grounds of national security.

PART I
SEVEN YEARS FROM NOW

1

Berlin, Germany

As the sun broke through the clouds, a young mother knelt down next to a baby carriage. She pointed to the sky to show her child the sunlit cross that appeared each day on the steel bulb on the television tower. Berliners called the mysterious optical effect “the Pope’s revenge,” a tribute to the communists’ failed attempt to purge Christianity from their lands; futile efforts that included the application of various chemicals to the silver tower to try to eliminate the cross. The city had seen some very difficult days, but God had apparently not forgotten about Berlin.

Professor Gerhard L. Richter III emerged from Berlin Cathedral behind a group of giggling Italian tourists and squinted in the sunlight. Professor Richter looked every bit the part of a mad scientist—wild hair, thick glasses and an old mismatched plaid suit that didn’t quite fit. An untrimmed gray beard bristled from his face, which matched the hair that sprung from his ears. A handwritten price tag hung from the sleeve of his jacket.

Richter’s investigation had begun two weeks prior, at a small overgrown airstrip in the Czech countryside. After examining the rusted hulk of what had once been a Nazi transport plane, he ventured into Prague, where he carefully retraced the soldier’s footsteps. The Czech Secret Service had not been amused by his attempts to access Heydrich’s secret room in Prague Castle. He didn’t get in, but they couldn’t hide it forever. He would see to that.

After Prague, the professor took the train north to Berlin, where he again walked the same path as the two men had done so many years ago. The culmination of his journey was Berlin Cathedral, where they had found the young girl, once upon a time. The crypts were exactly as they had been described in the dossier, but the entrance to the tunnel that led to the Neptune had long since been bricked over, as he knew it would be.

Professor Richter relished the thought of seeing the faces of those university morons who labeled his writing as the work of a delusional conspiracy theorist. Those idiots and the governments they supported were about to be unveiled as fraudulent puppets.

Of course, it had been difficult for him to verify all of the information in the dossier, due to the passage of time or the fact that evidence had been destroyed or covered up after the war. But the game had changed; he finally had all of the proof that he needed. He was about to rewrite the history books, whether the governments that suppressed the information for the last seventy years liked it or not.

Professor Richter glanced at his watch and donned his hat. As he walked across the Lustgarten with a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist, he smiled at a beautiful woman who was talking on a cellphone.

Richter didn’t realize it, but the woman had been following him for over two hours—she was reporting his every move to someone who was stationed thousands of miles away.

2

Ft. Meade, Maryland

Zig was nervous. He had been at the National Security Agency for six weeks. So far, it wasn’t what he expected.

In hindsight, it had been unrealistic for him to go into the intelligence field with the expectations of driving a bulletproof black Audi on covert missions around Europe. Instead of a life that resembled a Jason Bourne film, Zig’s German studies degree and NSA job application brought him long hours pouring over email intercepts and computer bulletin boards for signs of extremist activity in Germany. He was using his language skills and doing something good for his country, which was nice, but he simply didn’t think that he was very good at it.

Zig promised himself that if he made it through the day without getting arrested, he would find a new career. Depending on how things went, he thought he might be available for that new career before lunch.

You see, Zig screwed up on that fine Wednesday morning over his daily cup of orange tea. Long story short, he stretched the accepted interpretation of international law and NSA electronic surveillance directives when his short attention span got the best of him. He didn’t think it was a big deal to snoop through the laptop as Professor Richter surfed the net in a Berlin café. Zig’s flawed rationale was that he wasn’t really stealing anything; he just wanted to know what book was next.

He had always been a huge fan. He tracked down every book and article the professor had ever written and had even bought Pyramids and Aliens twice—first in hardcover and then again when the paperback came out with a blue cover. He also had copies of The Bermuda Triangle UFO Conspiracy, The Secret History of KGB Astral Projection and Tales of Man.

The other member of the Richter fan club was his best friend Julia, who just finished her first year at the CIA. They met back in college, in the West Chester University marching band, and they had stayed in touch ever since.

As fate would have it, Julia was in Berlin visiting her mother’s family that week. When he read her email and learned that Professor Richter was going to announce his next book at Humboldt University, he couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t be there, of course, but he was dying to know what book was next in the series, so he could beat her to the punch when he got that inevitable gloating phone call from Berlin.

No harm no foul, Zig thought as he broke through the firewall. He chuckled as he scanned the documents folder and found what he thought was the outline for Richter’s next book. There was only one problem—it wasn’t the outline for the next book. Zig knew that he was in trouble the second he saw the cover page.

TOP SECRET
FOR THE PRESIDENT’S EYES ONLY

The first thing he did was to call Julia. Unfortunately, he couldn’t fully explain the situation to her, nor would she believe him even if he could. He wasn’t sure what she could do to help him, if anything, but he begged her to track Richter down and keep an eye on him until he could talk to someone. Julia agreed because he was already on thin ice at work—she didn’t want him to get fired.

Deep inside, Zig knew the dossier was like Pandora’s Box—once it was open, there was no going back. It might be sheer entertainment and fiction, like everything else the professor had written. But then again, it might be something else. He just hoped Julia could keep tabs on him in case the document turned out to be authentic.

Then came the hard part. The door was open, so he knocked on the doorframe. Deputy CIA Director Christian Sheppard heard him, but he didn’t look up.

So Zig knocked again. Louder.

“I don’t have a meeting right now,” Sheppard grumbled. “Talk to Cabrini and schedule one.”

Zig knocked again. And again and again.

Finally, Sheppard got annoyed just enough to look up from his report on the Israeli subs in the Gulf of Oman. “What do you want? Better yet—who the hell are you?”

Zig was nervous; his palms dripped with sweat. “Good morning, sir. I’m Michael Zigmund. I’m an analyst in the Germany group, downstairs. I need to talk to you. It’s kind of important.”

Sheppard looked back down at his report. “Did you speak to your supervisor about this?”

“No, sir.”

“Then go back and take it up the proper channels. If it’s important enough, I’ll see it.”

“We don’t have time.”

That simple declarative sentence got Sheppard to look up. In fact, Zig suddenly had his full and undivided attention. “Does this concern an immediate threat to the national security of the United States?”

“Yessir,” Zig replied anxiously.

“What is it?” Sheppard’s expression was deadly serious. He had one hand on a red phone.

Zig gulped hard. “The incident in question happened in 1945. During the Battle of Berlin.”

Sheppard stared at him in disbelief. “The Battle of Berlin? As in ... World War II?” he asked, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Yes, sir. The Nazis called it Tristan. It was a supernatural weapon of some sort. Ring a bell?”

Sheppard took off his glasses, brushed his dyed auburn hair back and sighed loudly. He was annoyed as hell. “No, that doesn’t ring a bell,” he grumbled. “In fact, the NSA and CIA both stopped worrying about witchcraft, ghosts, astrology, psychic submarine tracking and all of that other supernatural crap a long time ago. You’re wasting your time. More importantly, you’re wasting my time.”

“Well, how about—”

Sheppard cut him off. “Look, kid. I’ve never heard of Tristan. Whatever it was, it happened far too long ago to affect our mission in the here and now, which is to protect the United States of America. Put the Harry Potter books down and get back to work.”

“With all due respect, sir, maybe you aren’t high enough up the chain of command to know about Operation Tristan,” Zig said rather innocently. “May I talk to the President?”

“The president of what?” The conversation was growing tense and strange. He contemplated calling security.

“The United States. He was just sworn in.”

“I know who he is, asshole,” Sheppard shot back. The rogue analyst no longer seemed dangerous, just incredibly stupid with no social skills whatsoever. He wondered if someone put him up to it. Are we on Candid Camera? Punk’d?

Zig held up the dossier. “Sir, can you please look at this? It’ll only take a minute.”

Sheppard didn’t look at it. Point of fact, he would rather carve his eye out with a spoon than be badgered into doing something by an analyst. “Mr. Zigmund, how long have you worked here at the NSA?”

“Six weeks.”

“Six whole weeks?”

“Yep.”

Suddenly, the stupid questions made sense. The guy was a newbie—a computer nerd run amok. Sheppard decided to screw with him. “Maybe you were absent that day, but you should have gotten the memo that we typically don’t grant first-year analysts an emergency meeting with the President to discuss World War II. And even if he had time to meet with you, there is nothing you can tell President Duarte about World War II that he doesn’t already know—I gave him The World at War DVD set for Christmas, which is narrated by Laurence Olivier. And let me tell you something else.”

“Sir?”

“That son-of-a-bitch was the best narrator in the history of human civilization—and probably a couple of other ones too. Including the chimps. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.”

Zig was stunned silly. The conversation wasn’t going as he had imagined. Technically, he was being openly mocked. Nevertheless, he pressed on. “Sir, this is really serious. I think I found something important.”

“Fantastic. Now, go write a report about it. Use Times New Roman, double-space everything and use lots of goddamn commas—you can never have enough goddamn commas. But just don’t bother me again, I have work to do.”

“But the President...”

“Is that coffee?” Sheppard asked, pointing to the red ceramic cup in Zig’s hand.

“Orange tea, actually.”

“Whatever. Drink your drink and get the fuck out.”

“But-but-but ...”

“Drink your drink and get the fuck out.”

“I don’t understand—”

Sheppard talked over him. “That’s what this bouncer used to say at the Chapeau Rouge in Prague. Today, I’m giving you the same advice that they dish out at the best bar on Earth when it’s time to go home. Drink your drink—”

“I got it ... I got it ... thank you.”

Sheppard pointed to the door.

At least I tried, Zig thought as he walked out. His consolation prize from that debacle of a meeting was that he didn’t have time to confess to stealing the dossier from Richter’s computer. Which meant that he could keep his job for a few more weeks while he sent out resumes.

Then, the strange and chaotic Wednesday took an unexpected left turn. Zig literally did a double take when he saw the stars in front of the elevator—they were on the shoulders of General John Hastings, the Director of the NSA. This is no coincidence, Zig thought. This is fate. God Bless America.

His approach immediately caught the attention of the two Secret Service agents who were constantly at the general’s side, a precaution that former President Obama had implemented after the abduction and murder of two British intelligence officers in Brussels a few years ago.

“General Hastings, can I please talk to you for a minute?” Zig asked.

Hastings ignored him. He looked at his watch.

Secret Service agent Michael Jones stepped in front of Zig and eyed his badge. “You don’t have the credentials to speak to the general without an invitation,” he said. “In fact, you’re not even supposed to be on this floor. Scram.”

Zig disregarded the attempt to shut him down. “General Hastings, can I talk to you? Please.”

Sensing that Zig had no intention of leaving, Agent Jones grabbed his arm. “Sir, even though you’re a NSA employee, I have to ask you to leave now or you will be subject to arrest.”

“But I need to talk to the general,” he said loudly. “I have something to show him.”

Agent Jones tightened his grip on his arm and called for backup. Zig pushed him away. The papers flying into the air marked the exact moment when the situation had officially passed the point of no return.

The Secret Service moved fast. Zig shouted as the agents wrestled him to the floor. “General Hastings! I need to talk to you! Please! This is important!”

General Hastings stood to the side and silently watched the raucous wrestling match. When Zig was finally in handcuffs, he stepped right over him and into the elevator.

Zig desperately called out to the general one last time as the doors closed. “Operation Tristan!”

3

Berlin, Germany

Professor Richter enjoyed his stroll down the Unter Den Linden, the grass pedestrian mall named for the linden trees that have stood there since the 1600s.

Despite its long and proud history, many of the buildings along the Unter Den Linden are relatively new. In Berlin, it is said that you can tell if a building was around during the Second World War by whether or not it has bullet holes. If it doesn’t have bullet holes, it wasn’t there.

On the day that Professor Richter walked down the former path to the palace of the Prussian kings, however, bullets were not flying through the streets of Berlin. Germany had the blood of freedom pouring through its veins and the Unter Den Linden was beautiful again.

The professor decided to make the biggest announcement of his career at Humboldt University for two reasons. First, the school was a legend in academic circles all over the world; it had been home to some of Germany’s finest minds of the past 200 years, including his hero Albert Einstein and more than twenty-five Nobel Prize winners.

The second reason was more personal to Richter, as a writer. The campus is infamous for the night that the Nazis burned 20,000 books authored by Jews and other so-called degenerates in the nearby Bebelplatz. That horrible evening featured a speech by Joseph Goebbels and showed the world what was in store for it with Nazi ideology. Richter felt that if he had been a writer back in the 1930s, his books would have been on that burning pile. If not himself.

Richter stood above the small hidden memorial that marked the spot where the Nazis burned the books and said a silent prayer. Just below ground level, bookcases with shelf space for 20,000 books lined an all-white room. There was not a book to be found on the shelves, but a plaque bore the famous Heinrich Heine epigraph: “Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo man Boucher verbrennt, verbrennt man am Ende ouch Mencken” (“That was only a prelude; where they burn books, they ultimately burn people”).

The Nazis had always fascinated Richter, especially their well-documented interest in the occult. But he didn’t admire them. Instead, he wondered what could have driven an entire country off the deep end like that. He didn’t think it was because the German economy was in free fall, nor the fact that Hitler had been a charismatic leader who was at the right place at the right time. Instead, Richter was convinced that true evil had been responsible for Hitler’s messianic rise to power—perhaps the manifestation of Satan himself. If only the world had known how truly close Hitler had taken us to the brink, he thought.

Just outside the university gates, Richter stopped at a row of tables from which the school sold reprints of the books that the Nazis burned in the Bebelplatz. As he browsed, a student asked him to sign a copy of Pyramids and Aliens. He scribbled his name on the inside cover and sent the kid on his way. He drew comfort from the fact that Pyramids and Aliens was still generating interest. His research had not been the best, perhaps, but his fans loved the book. The 70,000 copies that it had sold over the last few months got him onto a few talk shows and paid the bills; not a bad thing. There were even rumors of a movie deal, but that hadn’t quite panned out yet.

Richter enjoyed the fame and benefits that came with a best seller, but his perspective changed when the mysterious dossier arrived in his mailbox. At first, he thought the document was a joke or perhaps an anonymous work penned in tribute to his own books. But, his life changed when he went to Prague and began to retrace the journey of the two German soldiers—that’s when Richter found himself in possession of the scoop of the century. And with the person who sent him the top-secret dossier unwilling or unable to disclose their identity, the story was all his.

Professor Richter looked around at his surroundings one last time before he went into the school. He knew that the world would be a far different place when he emerged.

Julia panicked when she saw him walk towards the front door. She didn’t have a plan, but she tried to buy Zig some time. “Professor Richter! Professor Richter!”

Richter heard her call out, but he had no intention of stopping. He signed one book, but he couldn’t sign them all—the press was waiting.

He went inside. When Julia tried to follow him, a security guard in a blue blazer stepped in front of her. “Student ID, please.”

Julia reeled backwards, not sure what to say. “I don’t have student ID, sir. I’m just here for the lecture.”

The guard looked at his clipboard. “Name, please.”

“Julia Heckmann. I’m not on the list, but I’ve traveled a long way to hear Professor Richter speak. Please, you’ve got to let me in.”

“You’re not on the list.”

“I know that I’m not on the list. I just told you that. I’m a huge fan of Pyramids and Aliens. Have you read it?”

The security guard shook his head. By his irritable demeanor, she instantly knew there was no point in appealing to his literary tastes.

“Can I please come in for the lecture? I cancelled plans with my family to be here. I’ll behave and I’ll leave right after it’s over. I promise.”

The security guard shook his head.

Julia sighed and walked away. A few steps later, she gathered her courage, blended into a group of students and tried to sneak past the guard again.

When the irate guard blocked her way for the second time, he pushed his sport jacket aside to reveal a small silver pistol in a shoulder holster.

“You’re not on the list.”

4

Ft. Meade, Maryland

The elevator door opened and General Hastings towered over Zig. He had been absolutely convinced that the kid was a lunatic. That certainty disappeared as the elevator doors closed. “What the hell did you just say?” he bellowed.

“Ook,” Zig responded. Agent Jones had his face pushed down into the carpet.

“What?”

“Ananrannaggupupyyzzrzoozananannnnawhhhhoppkknssssssssoyyeaawwoookookkkkieezzzzeszzzz. Uruururru.”

“Get him up. I can’t understand a goddamn word he’s saying. Take the cuffs off,” Hastings ordered.

Agent Jones pulled him to his feet and took the handcuffs off. Zig cringed when Hastings grabbed him by the collar and looked him in the eye.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Michael Zigmund, sir.”

“Are you going to tell me what all of this nonsense is about?”

Zig glanced nervously at the Secret Service and other people in the hallway who had been attracted by the commotion. Sheppard stood outside of his office with his arms crossed, looking like a math teacher who just caught some kid cheating on the final.

“This is highly confidential. Can we talk in private, sir? Please?” Zig asked.

General Hastings sighed. Then he turned to his security detail. “Did you search him for weapons?”

Agent Jones nodded.

“Shep, can we use your office?”

Sheppard stepped aside, but he wasn’t happy about it. Zig picked his papers up, winked as he passed Sheppard and went into the office. Hastings followed him in and shut the door.

“Okay Mr. Zigmund, I’ll play. What kind of goddamn, low-rent, turkey raffle bullshit is this? What is so important to risk your career and personal liberty over?”

Zig held up a copy of Pyramids and Aliens.

The general knew the book; his wife Maureen wouldn’t stop talking about it. “I hope you’re not about to tell me that the theories in that book are real,” he warned. “Because if you do, I’m going to kick your ass right here, right now. Step two will be your arrest on federal charges for assaulting a Secret Service agent.”

Zig smiled. “No, sir. Pyramids and Aliens is complete tabloid bullshit. Well-written entertainment fiction. Fun to read. It might even make a great movie. But nothing in that book is real. Nothing at all.”

General Hastings breathed a sigh of relief. The kid at least had half of a brain. “Get to the point.”

“A friend of mine heard that Professor Richter is going to speak at Humboldt University today, in Berlin. She thinks he’s going to announce his next book.”

“So what.”

“He isn’t going to announce his next book. He’s going to announce something much, much bigger than that. And if what he shows people in that presentation is real, there could be trouble. A lot of trouble.”

“Why are you so interested in that guy’s kooky theories? He claims to have proof that the Pyramids of Giza were built by Martians. How the hell do you know he’s not cooking up another publicity stunt to sell more books?”

“I hacked into his laptop.” Then Zig showed him the dossier. “It’s all here—I printed it out.”

General Hastings was stunned speechless. He had just spent the morning testifying to an antagonized Congressional subcommittee about the NSA’s new warrantless electronic surveillance guidelines. The incident that Zig just admitted to was a textbook case of what Congress and the civil liberties groups were up in arms about. He wondered if his next day on the Hill would be spent explaining and apologizing for this crap. On C-SPAN.

“Who told you to do that? Who authorized you to scan his laptop?” Hastings asked.

Zig just stood there.

“Did anyone at all approve it? Anybody at all?”

“Nope.”

Hastings hit the roof. “How goddamn stupid can you be? Don’t you know how big this issue is right now? If the press gets wind of this, they will eat us alive—so will Congress!”

“I understand, sir.” Zig put his head down in shame. He wondered if they were going to let him clean out his desk. Then he wondered if he could get a new job with a felony on his record.

As Zig turned to leave, General Hastings grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute, son.”

“Sir?”

“Let me see what’s in that file.”

5

Langley, Virginia

Patrick Waldon leaned back in his chair and pushed his breakfast across his desk, away from him. In his six years as Director of the CIA, the secret had come close to being revealed twice. Both times he had successfully dealt with the situation. It wasn’t pleasant, but he did what he had to do. The stakes were too high to play by the rules.

Waldon knew the secret would probably get out someday, but he vowed that it wouldn’t happen on his watch. In fact, one of his principal jobs at the agency—besides killing off the remnants of Al Qaeda and its various splinter groups—was to ensure that the secret didn’t get out. Under a classified Presidential directive, he was authorized to take any steps deemed necessary to prevent that from happening, including the use of deadly force in any jurisdiction.

When he heard that the topic of the meeting was Operation Tristan, he got worried. Worried enough to have CIA chief counsel Charles Corgan in the office with him. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Corgan nodded and pulled out a yellow legal pad as a three-dimensional hologram of General Hastings appeared in front of them. The lawyer was amazed by the latest and greatest toys that Waldon constantly got his hands on, but the new 3D technology was just a little too realistic and creepy for him.

Waldon got right to the point. “How bad is it?”

“Someone stumbled onto Tristan again,” General Hastings replied.

“Who?”

“Gerhard L. Richter III, a semi-celebrity and very strange writer from Vienna. They call him ‘the professor,’ but he doesn’t teach anywhere, he just writes shitty occult books. In fact, we can’t find any evidence that he even has a college degree. We’re not sure who gave him the information about Operation Tristan, but it appears to have been a significant security breach. He’s been visiting the locations described in the dossier.”

“How certain are you that he has good intel?”

“100%. One of our analysts hacked into his goddamn laptop.”

Waldon still didn’t panic. They had contingency plans to deal with anyone who got too close. They also had a heavily armed Delta Team on standby in London, 24/7. “Why did you authorize this surveillance in the first place?”

“I didn’t authorize squat,” Hastings replied. “In fact, I didn’t even really know anything about this Richter character until this morning. Our analyst, Michael Zigmund, is a big fan of his books. So is my wife.”

“Did he have a search warrant?” Corgan asked. He didn’t fully understand the situation yet, but he was running the usual legal scenarios through his mind.

“No one authorized Mr. Zigmund to do anything,” General Hastings replied. “He’s an overly-curious and hyperactive nerd, just out of college. He couldn’t wait for Richter’s next book to come out. He had to know what was next. Lucky for us.”

Corgan thought the solution was simple. “No problem. We’ll get the German courts to issue an emergency restraining order to prevent him from going public.”

“That will buy us some time,” Waldon said.

“Agreed,” Corgan replied. “Germany’s laws are much more restrictive than ours when it comes to Nazi bullshit. In fact, if you give the Hitler salute, you can go to jail.”

“I hate to veto the CIA’s mutual admiration society, but you don’t understand what’s going on here,” Hastings interrupted. “Richter conned his way into a classroom at Humboldt University; his lecture starts in a few minutes. Because of the success of his latest idiotic book, the press might actually show up to hear what he has to say.”

Waldon remained unconvinced. “No one will believe him anyway. With a little covert and malicious PR, we can discredit him so bad that he won’t get an invitation to speak at a middle school science fair for the next forty years. If that fails, we’ll drug him and get photos of him in flagrante delicto. There’s a tabloid website in Los Angeles that will be all over it.”

General Hastings sighed. There was no way around it—he had to tell them. “Listen to me, gentlemen. Professor Richter is not some run of the mill moron who will be deterred by risqué photos. The document that Zig lifted from his laptop is not a collection of half-assed UFO theories. We don’t know how he got it yet, but it’s Dossier #6561—the same top-secret dossier that was prepared for President Truman after the war; the same dossier that no member of Congress has ever seen. Get the picture?”

Corgan put his legal pad down and closed his eyes. The atmosphere in the office went ice cold.

It finally happened. Goddamn it, Waldon thought. His heart and his mind raced. The United States government suddenly faced its most serious crisis since the Second Korean War. “Did you notify the Chancellor?”

“She was in a closed-door session mediating the latest skirmish between Greece and Turkey. She didn’t get the message fast enough or didn’t appreciate its significance. Either way, there was a catastrophic failure in communication and we didn’t reach her until a few minutes ago. The German feds and FBI are on the way to Humboldt University, but they won’t get there in time. We can worry about who screwed up later, but we need to fix this. We have seven minutes. Ready, go.”

Waldon threw his breakfast against the wall and screamed. “Fuck!” It had been three years since he had thrown food, but a little food throwing during a national crisis was good for the soul. That danish was stale anyway, he thought. I hate lemon danish. Fuck lemon danish.

The lawyer got him to snap out of it. “Are there any other food groups that you want to attack before we decide on a course of action?” Corgan asked.

Waldon didn’t answer—he was already running solutions to the crisis through his mind. “We’ve gotta take him out,” he muttered. Then he punched a button on the speakerphone. “Gilman!”

“Sir?” came the voice on the other end.

“Get the German Chancellor on the line.”

“Yes, sir!” came the reply.

“Not so fast,” Corgan interrupted. We have to contact the President for approval first.”

“No time.”

“But under the law...”

“Under the law, I have the emergency power to take these actions without Presidential approval. I don’t care if we have to launch a fucking tomahawk cruise missile into that building. We will not allow that lecture to proceed.”

Corgan remained unmoved. “Sir, you are obligated under federal law to get the President’s approval prior to conducting targeted assassinations in NATO countries. There is a procedure. A protocol.”

“Screw protocol and screw the three years that you spent in law school. We’re in deep shit right now. Duarte has been the leader of the free world for less than a week—we don’t have time for him to get over the sticker shock.”

Waldon turned back towards the hologram. “General, who do we have on the ground?”

“Only one agent is close enough,” Hastings replied. “Julia Heckmann. Fortunately, she’s been following Richter.”

Waldon breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. Give her the green light. Terminate him.”

“She’s a librarian.”

Waldon was stupefied. “A librarian? You sent a goddamn librarian on a covert mission?”

“We didn’t send anybody. Your CIA librarian just happens to be in Berlin on vacation—I trust that she has had the standard weapons training. In any case, we are lucky that our NSA analyst was smart enough to ask your CIA librarian to follow Richter around, just in case your CIA agents need to move fast. Which they do.”

Waldon punched a button on the phone. “Gilman—get Julia Heckmann on a secure line. I want the Delta Team mobilized and agents sent to Gerhard L. Richter’s home in Vienna. Get everything that goofball owns that could contain data—every DVD, CD, iPod, iPad, notepad, computer and cellphone—on a plane headed back here before lunch.”

“Yes, sir!” came the reply.

Corgan put his hand to his head as the hologram of General Hastings disappeared. It was all too much. The thought of testifying in front of a grand jury that was seeking to indict him on conspiracy charges gave him a migraine. He felt the wave of pressure and pain building behind his left eye like a tsunami.

“Get the lifeboat ready, counselor. We’re going to have some explaining to do,” Waldon said with a smile.

Corgan didn’t return the smile. He was contemplating what would happen to his wife Lynne and their three kids if he went to federal prison.

Director Waldon read the worried look on his attorney’s face. “Charlie, please draft a memorandum that expressly advises the CIA against taking action in Berlin without the express written consent of the President. I will acknowledge receipt of that memorandum in writing.”

Corgan nodded appreciatively, but he knew that a memo wouldn’t save him if information concerning Operation Tristan went public. The resulting chaos could make the 2014 collapse of the Euro pale in comparison. If things got so bad that the United States government fell, Germany, Russia and the Czech Republic would soon follow. They had all been involved in the cover-up.

6

Berlin, Germany

Julia walked away from Humboldt University. She felt bad that Zig might lose his job, but she wasn’t going to jeopardize her security clearance over a trespassing charge. Besides, she wasn’t even in Berlin on business—she had a family reunion to be at in a few hours.

Her cellphone rang. Julia looked at the caller ID and sighed. This should be interesting, she mused.

“Hi Zig. I’m sorry I didn’t...”

Julia stopped talking the second she realized that Zig wasn’t on the line—it was a CIA communications officer. She knew the call wasn’t a prank when she was asked to recite classified passwords and personal information to confirm her identity.

Then she literally dropped her phone when Director Waldon got on the line. She had only seen Waldon once in person, at the Langley commencement—she had never actually spoken to him before. Of all people, why would he want to talk to me? she wondered as she picked her phone up. I just spent the last six-months in a windowless library digitizing semi-confidential historical documents that are of no significance to anyone. I’m not even a field agent; I’m a glorified file clerk.

Waldon got right to the point when the phone was back to her ear. “Your friend Michael Zigmund asked you to keep tabs on Professor Richter.”

“Yes, sir,” she stammered. “Zig told me that he could lose his job if I didn’t find him.”

“He isn’t going to lose his job. Frankly, we’re lucky that he asked you to follow Richter. Are you still tracking him?”

“He just went into the school. That’s as far as I got.”

“Did his lecture start yet?”

“I’m not sure. I tried to get in, but—”

Waldon cut her off. “Julia, listen to me. The United States is facing a grave national security threat that is directly connected to Professor Richter. I’m about to give you an important mission that I need you to carry out without question or delay. Do you understand?”

What the hell is going on here? Julia wondered as she struggled to get the words out. “Yes, sir ... I think so.”

“Are you armed?”

Julia gasped. “Sir, I haven’t touched a gun in a year. I’m not even authorized to pack heat in Germany. I could get arrested.”

“I assure you that neither the United States nor the German government will prosecute you for anything that I’m about to ask you to do. Now, we need you to get into that building and do whatever it takes to stop Professor Richter from giving his lecture, including but not limited to terminating him. Do you understand?”

Julia was stunned. What had started out as a casual favor for a college friend just turned into a once-a-career mission. She recalled Waldon’s commencement speech. He told the crowd that in the CIA, anything could happen on any given day. Well, that theory is certainly true.

“Do you understand the assignment, Julia?”

“Loud and clear, sir.” Julia gathered her courage and went back to the school. She didn’t know how she was going to get in, but she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Not this time. No way in hell.

As it turned out, Julia had no problem getting past the security guard. He was already dead.

7

The Paparazzi

Professor Richter opened the door and triumphantly entered the lecture hall. His expectations of taking the stage in front of the world press and hundreds of admiring fans were immediately dashed into the rocks. There were only twenty students and a bored reporter waiting for him.

The sole press representative, American freelance reporter Tom Schmitzfy, sat in the front row, his tall spidery legs barely fitting under the desk. Tom wasn’t thrilled to be there, but he needed the work; he had recently been fired for publishing a carjacking victim’s name while the shooter was still on the loose. Tom took the odd jobs as they came so he could stay in Berlin with his girlfriend, but he felt that his real place was covering the embassies and government ministries and circulating among the dignitaries whom he counted among his friends. That’s where he made a difference. Not covering this bullshit, he thought. This is not why I went to night school.

Meg Miura came in and sat down next to Tom. The striking Japanese reporter in the pink shirt and round glasses immediately doubled the press coverage and brightened the room with her smile. “It’s nice to see you down here in the trenches with us,” she teased.

Tom liked Meg, but underneath his smile, he was secretly offended that she considered him one of them. “This is just a short-term assignment until they find someone else,” he lied. “Then I’ll be back at the embassy. The ambassador is a friend of mine. I’ll get you an invite to—”

Professor Richter interrupted the self-serving diatribe by rapping his knuckles on the podium. The crowd quieted. “Good evening everyone. Thank you for attending.” Then he took a sip of water and silently surveyed his audience for nearly a minute. The effect was dramatic.

“As you know, I’ve done a great deal of research and writing about international conspiracy theories,” he continued. “Some of those theories turned out to be correct. And some of them—as my flea-ridden paparazzi critics so often point out—amount to little more than tabloid entertainment.”

The crowd laughed.

“But what I am here to talk about today goes far beyond the scope of anything that I have ever studied before. In fact, my new theory is not even a theory—it is an incredible collection of facts that are supported by undisputable evidence. Be forewarned, there are very powerful people in the world who do not want you to have this information.

That’s a little dramatic, Tom thought.

“They don’t want you to know about the shadow government that joined the fight against Nazi Germany; a government that had previously stayed out of European wars for a thousand years.”

Tom looked at his watch and moaned. If I wanted a boring and uninspired lecture about World War II, I would go back to high school. We should be talking about the shootout that just sent two Greek patrol boats to the bottom of the Mediterranean. Not this nonsense, he thought.

“As the war ended, Adolf Hitler tried to unleash the Tristan weapon upon the Soviet Army. At the time, the Allies thought he had a nuke. But the truth is, the Nazis simply didn’t possess that technology. No, my friends, Tristan was something far more dangerous to the Allied forces than a mere atomic bomb.”

The crowd murmured.

“In fact, when Truman and Stalin learned the truth about Operation Tristan, they both immediately set out to produce thousands of nuclear warheads, well beyond what was needed to fight a war of annihilation against one another. Neither leader informed his generals that they were actually preparing to fight a far different type of adversary. A far different type of weapon.”

Tom laughed out loud. “Yeah, we know. The Nazis invented the missile and it was scary! Whoooooosh!!” The crowd chuckled as his pen played the role of a V-2 flying through the sky towards London.

Professor Richter smiled warmly and silently cursed the bastard prick reporter. “My friend, you will soon understand that I am not talking about the world’s first long-range ballistic missile. This is a much more serious matter.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tom shot back. “I meant the German jet fighter that usually exploded upon takeoff and killed more pilots than the American machine gunners ever could. Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!” People laughed as he imitated a B-17 tail gunner. They were buying into his comedy act and it threatened to turn the lecture into a sham.

The professor clenched his teeth, turned red and struggled to contain his temper. “No,” he snapped. “I am not talking about the Messerschmitt Me 262 which—although far more advanced than anything the Allies had at their disposal—was far too little too late to affect the outcome of the war.”

Tom was having a good time. He continued to prod him. “The big bad Tiger tank...”

Richter finally had enough of the verbal jousting. He wasn’t going to allow a quack reporter to ruin his moment in the sun. “Shut up, sir! You shut up right now!” he shouted. “You are wearing a press pass, you corrupt idiotic stooge! That means that you are here to cover my lecture! This is not open mike night for every degenerate dandruff licking druid with a pencil!”

Stunned silence.

Then Meg leaned over and punched Tom on the arm. “This may be beneath you,” she said loud enough for everyone else to hear. “But I need the money. Since you got laid off from your uppity magazine, I think you need the money too. Let him do his shtick or get out of here.”

The students laughed; it was Tom’s turn to be embarrassed. He slunk down in his seat, pulled out his phone and pretended to check his email.

Richter felt vindicated by the show of support. He took another sip of water and composed himself. “You may be surprised to learn that the Tristan weapon was so powerful that Nazi Germany almost won the war. In fact, we are lucky that Hitler did not succeed in using his supernatural weapon. None of us would have been born.”

WTF. Tom grimaced at the thought that he had been tricked into attending the promotional lead-in to another ridiculous occult book. He wondered if the next topic was going to be the astral projection capabilities of the KGB.

Suddenly, Professor Richter realized that he had forgotten an important facet of his presentation. He took a cable out of his pocket and plugged his phone into the podium. He closed his eyes as the powerful brass chords of Also Sprach Zarathustra flowed out of the speakers on the wall.

The classroom theatrics pushed Tom over the edge. He turned towards Meg, put his index finger to his temple and pretended to shoot himself. Then he headed for the door. Game over.

Meg wanted to be somewhere else too, but she felt an obligation to her bank account to stay until the end and get the best story she could. It could be worse, she thought. I could be stuck at a desk somewhere writing obituaries.

8

Panic Attack

Julia ran from classroom to classroom, peering into windows and disturbing bored students, all the while realizing that Richter’s presentation had probably started and that her mission—whatever it was—had already failed. She didn’t know what would happen if she couldn’t find his lecture, but it couldn’t be good.

In desperation, she stopped a kid with purple hair in the hallway. “I’m looking for Professor Richter—he’s giving a lecture here today. Do you know where he might be?” Julia spoke fluent German, but the punk looked at her as if she had just spoken a long-forgotten dialect of Apache. Sensing that she was running out of time, she grabbed him by the shoulders. “Where is the lecture hall?”

“Lady, get out of my face,” the belligerent punk replied.

Out of patience, Julia threw him against a locker, causing a scene in a hallway that was crowded with students. “I’ll ask you one more time, tough guy—where is the lecture hall? Tell me or I’ll punch your goddamn lights out!”

The punk looked like he was going to wet his pants. “Third floor,” he whispered.

Julia sprinted up the stairs and briefly entertained the thought that maybe the phone call from Director Waldon had been a fake. She couldn’t imagine how Richter could be a threat to national security. But then again, she knew that the CIA had no sense of humor when it came to mission assignments. The top-secret codes that Director Waldon used in their call told her that the threat level was on par with nuclear terrorism.

Julia looked into the window on the last door and saw Professor Richter speaking to a small crowd as symphonic music played in the background. His eyes were closed and he held one hand in the air, like an opera singer.

She clutched the handle of the security guard’s revolver and took a deep breath.

Here we go.

9

Rock Star

Professor Richter imagined two large Hollywood spotlights going back and forth behind him as the music grew louder. He was a best-selling author, but no one in academia had ever given him the time of day. That is about to change, he thought. I paid my dues. This is my day.

Richter’s voice boomed over the music. “Over the years, there has been much speculation about Tristan, but the weapon has never been publicly identified!” Right on cue with the chord change, he slammed his briefcase on the podium and shouted. “UNTIL right fucking now!”

The small audience gasped. No one knew what he meant, but everybody knew what he said.

Richter had imagined this moment for months, but even he was surprised by the obscenity when it flew out of his mouth. He surprised himself a second time by being perfectly okay with it. Maybe a little profanity is good for my brand, he thought. In any case, I certainly have everybody’s undivided motherfucking attention right now.

As Professor Richter pulled a 100-year-old Swiss astrological chart out of his briefcase, the door flew open.

Julia made a beeline to the podium; her grand entrance took Richter right out of his game. “Excuse me,” he stammered. “Please take a seat. I’ll be happy to sign your book after my presentation.”

Julia pulled the pistol out of her pocket and pointed it at him. “I’m not here for a book signing.”

Richter’s jaw hit the ground. He knew that several governments would want him silenced if they knew he had verifiable information concerning Operation Tristan. But this didn’t make sense. I didn’t tell anybody! I was careful—I even shredded and burned my notes!

“This lecture has been rescheduled,” Julia told the stunned crowd. “Everybody out.”

Professor Richter remained defiant. “This lecture has not been rescheduled, young lady. Put the gun down and let me show you something that will change your mind about who you work for.” He pressed a key on his computer and the cover page of Dossier #6561 projected onto the wall.

TOP SECRET
FOR THE PRESIDENT’S EYES ONLY

Bang! Julia’s first shot struck and killed the laptop. The audience screamed and dove to the floor. She moved around the podium and squeezed off two more shots at Richter, both of which struck the whiteboard.

In the confusion, Meg dove onto the would-be CIA assassin. The women fell to the floor and desperately fought for the gun. Meg bit Julia’s wrist and another shot rang out; Tom fell to the floor.

Meg threw the gun across the room and held Julia down as two guys secured her hands and feet with their belts. A janitor with a stun gun zapped her on the leg. Julia screamed in agony and kicked him in the balls. There was chaos in the room...

And then there was chaos outside of the room. Professor Richter ran down the hallway like a maniac, plowing over students and sending books and papers flying.

At the end of the hall, Richter pulled the door open and bolted down the stairs. Two flights later, he stopped in his tracks and backed up the stairs slowly.

He was terrified.

10

Mayhem and Spectacle

The screaming students that were running out of Humboldt University quickly got the attention of law enforcement. Within minutes, the Berlin Police had the building surrounded. A dead security guard lay sprawled out on the pavement near the front door.

Chief Wilhelm Heinkel was late to the action. He sped down the street, pulled the wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes. His police car spun out and came to a stop right between Humboldt University and the SWAT team that was preparing to rush into it. “Don’t go in yet!” he screamed. “I’m in charge! We need to put assets in place to minimize casualties!”

Truth be told, Chief Heinkel didn’t want his men to rush into the building before he was in position to take credit for the operation. He was technically off-duty, but with his retirement coming in a few months, he knew that the incident was probably his last chance to get on television.

Heinkel jumped out of the car and barked orders at his lieutenant. “Put a sniper on each exit and keep the SWAT team ready to go in on my command! I’ll handle the negotiations. What are their demands? What’s the situation?”

“We have one dead security guard. A reporter took a bullet, but he wasn’t a target. He’ll be fine. We haven’t talked to the—”

A sudden shout interrupted the exchange. “Someone’s coming out!”

Heinkel pulled out his pistol and ducked behind his engine block. “If they come out shooting, take them down!” he screamed.

With fifty guns trained on the front door, it opened.

“Hold your fire!” a SWAT sniper yelled.

Meg and the now-limping janitor carried Julia out. She was tied up and looked slightly delirious, the result of a few too many zaps from the stun gun. They stepped over the security guard’s body, walked up to the cops and unceremoniously dumped Julia onto the ground right in front of them.

“Who else is in there?” Chief Heinkel asked.

“What do you mean, who else?”

“The terrorists. How many are we dealing with?”

“Terrorists? There are no terrorists. It’s just this crazy chick. She killed the security guard.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Julia cried. “Let me go! I have diplomatic immunity—I think!”

Chief Heinkel ignored Julia’s pleas and stuffed her into his squad car. As he closed the door, two black SUVs pulled up. He recognized a few of the men who got out as Bundespolizei. What the hell do the feds want?

“Who is in charge here?” Lt. Meyer asked.

“I am,” Chief Heinkel replied.

“Where’s Professor Richter?”

Chief Heinkel laughed. “He’s probably still running for his life. Apparently, the woman in the back seat of my car doesn’t like his book. I thought it was a good read, certainly not bad enough to kill him over. In any case, we arrested her before you got here. Case closed. You can go home and do whatever it is that you do when you are not chasing bad guys. My bad guys.”

“Get her out.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get the suspect out of your goddamn car,” Lt. Meyer replied. “We’re taking custody of her.”

Heinkel shook his head. “No, you’re not. This is not a federal matter. This is my jurisdiction and that woman is a suspect in a very active murder case.”

“Let me make this clear,” Lt. Meyer said. “We are here by direct order of the Chancellor. These men behind me are with the American FBI. We are taking Julia Heckmann with us. If you interfere, we will arrest you on federal terrorism charges and take her anyway. Now, get her out of your car.”

“That is not possible. She just killed a security guard.”

“She didn’t kill anyone,” Lt. Meyer said.

“How can you be so sure?”

Boom! The cops spun around ...

Professor Richter’s body was on the hood of Chief Heinkel’s car, as if it had fallen from the sky. His left arm ended in a bloody stump. His briefcase was gone. Julia was in the back seat, screaming her head off.

“Holy” and “crap” were the only two words that Chief Heinkel could muster. Five minutes later, he retired.

11

Washington, D.C.

President Ricardo Duarte paced around the secure conference room deep underneath the White House. The Joint Chiefs of Staff and other advisors sat unmoving around the table. This was Duarte’s first crisis in office, but he wasn’t getting answers and he wasn’t happy. In fact, he was angrier than he had ever been in his life.

“Mr. President, the crisis has been averted,” CIA Director Waldon said. “Everything is going to be fine.”

President Duarte waved his hand. This is not your time to talk; this is your time to listen.

“Let’s get some facts straight, shall we?” he shouted. “On my fourth day as President of the United States, the CIA tried to publicly assassinate a writer in Germany. A security guard was killed and a reporter got shot. Last but not least, the writer got thrown out of a building. Or dropped from an airplane. In fact, we’re not sure what happened to the writer, but apparently it was goddamn dramatic because he fell out of the sky and landed on top of a police car. Am I right so far?”

Director Waldon swallowed hard. “Our agent didn’t kill Professor Richter.”

“I stand corrected,” the President replied. “The CIA librarian who you sent in with a stolen weapon that she didn’t know how to use tried and failed to kill the writer. On another topic—do you think this scandal will be bigger than Abu Ghraib? Because at the impeachment proceedings, I’m going to have a front row seat!”

Waldon ignored the sarcasm. “There will be no scandal and there will be no front row seat. The German Chancellor is aware of the need for secrecy and we have assurances that the investigation will go nowhere. Tomorrow, the Berlin press will go back to writing about the polar bear cub or whatever they have in the zoo these days. We’ll follow up with a strategic disinformation campaign and this will blow over. When it does, we’ll whisk Ms. Heckmann out of Germany and into a desk job in San Francisco.”

“What about the security guard?”

Waldon cleared his throat and loosened his tie. “He was killed by a transient.”

“A transient?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“Do you mean the homeless guy who miraculously escaped through a ring of German police just as Richter became a flying fucking Walenda? That guy?”

Waldon nodded.

President Duarte laughed out loud. “Oh my God. We spend billions on covert operations and that is the best cover story you got? A transient? That doesn’t even pass the laugh test—you might as well blame Richter’s death on the Pittsburgh Steelers. You better lose the bullshit story, Director Waldon, because I want to know what happened!”

Waldon sighed. The rest of the conversation was going to be difficult, just like it was every time. Maybe the discussion was hardest yet on the handful of government officials who had to explain the implications of Operation Tristan to each new president. In any event, the inquisition was not over.

“Director Waldon, please answer the million-dollar question. Who ripped Richter’s arm off and threw him off the building? The Tooth Fairy?”

“Our allies, Mr. President.”

“Our allies?”

“Yes, sir.” After having this exact same conversation with the last president, he knew what came next.

“What the hell do the Germans—”

“He’s not talking about the Germans, Mr. President,” General Hastings interrupted.

Realizing that the conversation was about to spiral out of control, Waldon cut him off. “Hold on, general. We have to take this one step at a time. He has no idea who we’re dealing with.”

The President had enough. “Look, I don’t care what drug dealers, mafia-types or evil dictators you’re in bed with—I know how the covert intelligence game works. But I never approved a public assassination in a NATO country. Period. Your actions were in violation of federal law and at least a dozen international treaties. As far as I am concerned, this is treason.”

“Air Force One is ready, sir. We’ll brief you on the way to Berlin,” General Hastings replied. “We’re going there to discuss the crisis with the Chancellor in person.”

“No, we’re not. We’re staying right here.” The President picked up the phone but General Hastings grabbed it out of his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” President Duarte shouted at the top of his lungs. “Is this a coup d’état? When do the Marines take to the streets?”

Waldon handed him a black dossier. “Before you issue any more formal proclamations and accusations of treason, Mr. President, you need to read this. This document represents the highest level of national security.”

“National security does not get higher than the President of the United States.”

“It does on this issue, sir. And you need to know what we’re dealing with before you shoot your mouth off.”

The harsh words shut President Duarte up. He looked down at the dossier. “1945?”

“Yes, Mr. President. It’s based on interviews of a German soldier and a few other witnesses.”

“Do I really need a history lecture right now?”

“No, sir. But the soldier who provided most of the information in that dossier remains vitally important to the national security of the United States. In fact, Truman gave him the first Presidential Medal of Freedom, albeit covertly. The second one went to his commanding officer. Posthumously.”

“You’re telling me the first recipient of the Medal of Freedom was in Hitler’s army? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Before you pass judgment on previous administrations, Mr. President, read the dossier. You’re about to find out that the world is a far different place than you thought it was when you took office.”

President Duarte rubbed his eyes and wondered what the hell he had just gotten himself into.

The Joint Chiefs of Staff sat quietly as the President read the OSS dossier. They knew that things would move very quickly when he was done.

They always did.

TOP SECRET
FOR THE PRESIDENT’S EYES ONLY

CHAIRMAN OF THE JOINT
CHIEFS OF STAFF

DOSSIER: 6561

CODE NAME: MY IMMORTAL

JULY 7, 1945

OFFICE OF STRATEGIC SERVICES ANALYST SUMMARY CONCERNING OPERATION TRISTAN.

THIS NARRATIVE SUMMARY HAS BEEN DERIVED FROM APPROXIMATELY TWENTY-SEVEN HOURS OF INTERVIEWS OF WEHRMACHT SOLDIER SEBASTIAN BRINDLE, AND OTHER EYEWITNESSES OF CERTAIN EVENTS THAT OCCURRED IN BERLIN, GERMANY AND PRAGUE, CZECHOSLOVAKIA ON APRIL 30, 1945 AND MAY 1, 1945

WARNING

THE INFORMATION CONTAINED IN THIS DOSSIER IS CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET.

IT IS A FEDERAL CRIME TO READ, DISCLOSE, EXHIBIT OR REPRODUCE THE CONTENTS OF THIS DOSSIER WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PRIOR WRITTEN CONSENT OF THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. THE UNAUTHORIZED DISCLOSURE OF ANY INFORMATION CONTAINED HEREIN ISPUNISHABLE BY DEATH, IMPRISONMENT FOR LIFE WITHOUT PAROLE, OR IMPRISONMENT FOR A TERM OF 25 YEARS TO LIFE

12

Götterdämmerung

As 1944 came to a close, the Allied armies fought their way deep into the heart of the Third Reich. Nazi Germany was on the ropes; every significant ally had already capitulated, with the exception of Japan, who was half a world away and fighting a battle for survival that was every bit as desperate as its own.

Of all of Germany’s adversaries, none was more feared than the Russians, whose lands they had brutally occupied in the name of Lebensraum, the concept that Eastern Europe should be conquered in order to give living space to the allegedly superior Aryan race.

In the opening years of the war, the Nazi war machine rolled through the Soviet Union like a hot knife through butter. The Red Army was wholly unprepared for war; its officer corps had been decimated by years of Stalin’s bloody purges. The Russians fought back valiantly, but the German forces reached the gates of Moscow before the advance could be halted.

Over the next two years, the Soviet Union turned the tide of the war, their cause helped by the American Lend-Lease program, a ferocious winter and the almost super-human effort to reestablish arms factories in the Urals. After the defeat at Stalingrad, Hitler’s once invincible Wehrmacht found itself in a chaotic retreat back into the Reich itself. Stalin was obsessed with inflicting total defeat on Nazi Germany; nothing but an unconditional surrender would satisfy his blood lust.

In January 1945, the relentless Allied bombing forced Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun to move into the Führerbunker, a secret concrete fortress located deep beneath the garden of the old Reich Chancellery. Although it was occasionally safe enough to take brief walks in the garden, by the end of April, it had become too dangerous for the Führer to venture outside. He became a creature of the underground, never again to see the light of day.

As the Red Army surrounded Berlin, a few depleted Wehrmacht and Waffen-SS divisions scrambled to defend the city against what had become the largest army in the history of the world. The German units were supplemented by what remained of the police, the Hitler Youth and the Volkssturm—a hastily-organized force that consisted mostly of old men who were previously ineligible for military service.

To prepare for the onslaught, the desperate Germans transformed Berlin into a fortress. They barricaded the roads and prepared the bridges for demolition. They also built a series of defensive rings, with the innermost one based on the S-Bahn circuit. The final defense ring was Citadel, which was based on the island formed by the River Spree and the Lander Canal. The defenders hunkered down in their fortified positions and awaited the final battle. The 1st Belorussian Front fired the first Soviet shells into the city on 20 April 1945. It was Adolf Hitler’s birthday.

Led by Lt. General Vasily Ivanovich Chuikov, the Red Army hit Berlin like a cyclone. The besieged Germans were no match for Soviet divisions that had perfected street fighting tactics long ago in the rubble of Stalingrad. The Russians pounded their way through the fortifications using heavy artillery, Katyusha rockets and flame-throwers that reduced their victims to screaming torches.

As the hours passed, the German perimeter shrank and the beleaguered defenders became concentrated in the city center. The reinforcements that were rumored to be on their way to save Berlin remained their last hope.

Late in the evening of 29 April 1945, General Hans Krebs contacted the German Supreme Army Command via radio to ascertain the status of the reinforcements:

“The situation in Berlin is dire. Request immediate report of the whereabouts of General Wenck’s reinforcements and the time of the attack to relieve Berlin. Also request the location in which the Ninth Army will break through.”

The reply that General Krebs received from Supreme Army Command sent chills down his spine.

“Wenck’s forces are bogged down south of Schwielow Lake and unable to continue. The Ninth Army is surrounded. There is nothing that can be done. You are on your own. Good luck.”

Like the frozen Sixth Army before them in Stalingrad, the defenders of Berlin were surrounded and dying in droves. The end was near for Nazi Germany.

Or so it appeared.

13

30 April 1945

Flames from a burning Panther tank reflected in the few remaining windows of Berlin Cathedral. Darting blue eyes and a blackened face peered out through a broken pane as the sounds of battle took a momentary pause. At that exact moment, the Soviet Red Army sent the owner of those eyes a reminder of what was to come in the morning.

Like stars in the sky, sixteen points of white light appeared on the glass. The eyes behind the pane widened as the high-pitched scream of incoming Katyusha rockets permeated the night.

Former tank driver Sebastian Brindle turned away from the window and jumped for his life. “Incoming!” he screamed as he flew through the air. The windows exploded just as he hit the floor. He covered his head as glass and pulverized stone showered the interior of the cathedral around him.

He opened his eyes as the dust settled. Every muscle in his body ached. From the small amount of blood on his uniform, he surmised that he only had a couple of cuts and bruises. I live to fight another day, he thought. Maybe only one more day, but another day of life nonetheless.

Sebastian got up, his broad shoulders held straight and rigid. His facial features were carved into a rock solid face that was pale, angular and handsome. Berlin Cathedral, on the other hand, was wrecked. The signs of war, including dead German civilians and soldiers, were everywhere.

Despite his physical gifts, Sebastian never wanted to be a soldier. His hero was Mozart, not Rommel. Before the war, he taught children how to play violin and piano out of a small music store in Dresden. When the war in the east went badly and Hitler needed more soldiers, he got drafted. He survived a few rough years in Russia, but Berlin was definitely the endgame—there was nowhere left for the Wehrmacht to run.

Sebastian found his tank commander, Major Wolfgang Kepler, kneeling behind a column near the front door. “Relax, Major,” he said as Wolf tried to load an MP-40 submachine gun with trembling hands. “We have some time. The Ivans will sleep for a while.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It’s too dark—an artillery barrage is just as likely to kill their own troops. We’ll be okay for a few hours. But when the sun comes up, all bets are off.”

“Then we need to get out of here before dawn,” Wolf replied. “Gather the others.”

Sebastian laughed and motioned behind him. “Major, look behind me. I am the others.”

Wolf looked at the pools of blood and shattered bodies that filled the cathedral. Everyone else was dead. At that moment, he realized how truly desperate the situation had become. He had always known that the war wasn’t going to end well, but he never expected it to end with Germany in ruins.

Surrender was out of the question. He had seen the horrors that the SS had brought upon the occupied lands in the name of the Reich. The last place that he wanted to end up after the war was a cold Siberian prison camp, from which he would surely never return.

14

The Bunker

General Helmuth Weidling passed through the long dark tunnel from the Reich Chancellery. The newly appointed Commander of the Berlin Defense Area had spent many sleepless nights trying to figure out how to organize and resupply his pitiful forces. With limited resources and no reliable source of heavy weapons, his mission felt more like trying to organize the passengers of the Titanic into a lifeboat than trying to organize the citizens of Berlin into a defense force to take on the Russian bear.

General Weidling was not particularly happy about having to come to the Führerbunker for the meeting. The journey from his Bendlerblock headquarters had been treacherous; his staff car got raked with gunfire on the way. Besides, he knew what was in store for them. Hitler would rant and rave and point out military units that no longer existed on a map. Then he would accuse everyone of insubordination or incompetence. Maybe he will actually shoot one of us this time, he thought.

The mysterious SS officer who had been at Hitler’s side for the last few weeks blocked the entrance to the Führerbunker. “Give me your sidearm, general,” Heydrich demanded.

“Don’t you ever sleep?”

“Your weapon, please.”

“The account for our sins of past years has arrived,” Weidling muttered under his breath as he reluctantly handed his pistol over to Heydrich.

Normally, Weidling wouldn’t have thought twice about turning in his firearm prior to a staff meeting with Hitler. But then the Führer ordered his execution by firing squad, when he thought that Weidling ordered the LVI Panzer Corps to retreat. The death warrant got rescinded, but when your superior orders you to be shot, your professional relationship tends to change. As a result, he wasn’t fighting for Hitler now. He was fighting for the German people. Or was it self-preservation? Or was it because the rest of the world branded me a war criminal and there is nowhere to run? He chuckled when he realized that he actually had no idea why he stayed in Berlin as the Red Army encircled the city.

In any event, his main concern at that point was not Adolf Hitler, it was the fact that the Russians would eventually find the bunker—he didn’t plan to be around when that circus rolled into town. In fact, General Weidling had no intention of being taken alive. Like Hitler, the possibility terrified him.

In the situation room, SS Brigadeführer Wilhelm Mohnke, Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels, General Hans Krebs and Chief of Staff Martin Bormann stood around a table that was covered with a large map of Germany.

At the head of the table, Adolf Hitler pointed out military units whose location had been carefully plotted on the map. In reality, only two of the German units that were depicted on that map still had anything that could even remotely be considered offensive combat capabilities. The rest had either ceased to exist or were on the run.

General Weidling entered the room, clicked his heels and saluted. General Krebs responded with a nod, but no one else acknowledged his presence. The atmosphere in the damp cement room was quiet and very, very tense.

When the Führer moved into the light, Weidling was immediately struck by how old that he looked—he was hunched over, his hair was completely gray and his left hand trembled incessantly. After the assassination attempt at the Wolfsschanze headquarters in East Prussia, the Führer disappeared from public view. Now he knew why. Von Stauffenberg’s briefcase bomb didn’t kill Adolf Hitler, but it had certainly accelerated his demise.

Despite Hitler’s deteriorating physical appearance, it was General Weidling’s duty to give him an accurate report concerning the defense of the city. “Mein Führer,” he began. “The military situation is far more desperate than it was only twenty-four hours ago. The Red Army has broken through in every sector and our men are dying at an incredible rate. We have no heavy weapons to deploy against the Soviet tanks.”

Hitler nodded. “Your men have fought bravely. Order them to hold their positions.”

Weidling expected that answer, but he was not prepared to accept it. “Mein Führer, intelligence indicates that the Russians will launch their final assault at dawn. However, my men will be out of ammunition well before then. They will have nothing to fight with except the bricks from the rubble. They will be slaughtered.”

There was a nervous murmur in the room, but Hitler remained uncharacteristically calm. “Thank you for your report, General Weidling. We will launch the counterattack soon. Final Victory will be ours.”

Final victory? Weidling was flabbergasted. “But we have no forces for a counterattack. The only reinforcements that we have seen are a small unit of French SS, half of which are wounded or too drunk to fight. It is not a question of if the Russians will overrun Berlin, but when.”

Hitler pointed at General Weidling and narrowed his eyes like a python. “You are not to allow your troops to take one step backwards until we launch Operation Tristan.”

Weidling averted his eyes and tried to summon the courage to continue the discussion. He wasn’t sure of the source of Hitler’s delusional optimism, nor did he know what other last minute ridiculous military scheme the Führer could have dreamed up. Even the V-2 rockets that terrorized the English ultimately had a negligible strategic effect. He wondered if the narcotics that Dr. Morell had been providing to Hitler could explain his belief in a miracle weapon. Too bad Heydrich collected my pistol. I could’ve shot the son-of-a-bitch myself.

General Weidling knew that he was risking a deadly confrontation by pressing his case, but he had a duty to try to save his men’s lives. He took a deep breath and nervously appealed to what was left of Hitler’s sense of reason.

“Mein Führer, please understand. We have implemented your orders to defend Berlin to the fullest extent. We built tank barriers. We flooded the subways, which drowned thousands of civilians. We sent children and old men into the streets to fight in your name and they have been butchered without mercy. All hope is lost—we must try to save German lives now. I respectfully request permission to break out to the west and surrender.”

Rage filled Hitler’s heart. Another pathetic and feeble-minded general had questioned his strategic brilliance. Everyone stepped away when Hitler started grinding his teeth. Then the Führer shook with anger and silently cursed the fact that he had to waste even an ounce of energy to convince General Weidling that victory would soon be theirs. Before he could explode, however, his mysterious SS companion beat him to it.

“The only one who should lose all hope is sitting on his big fat ass in the Kremlin!” Heydrich screamed. “Your orders were clear—your men will hold their positions until Operation Tristan is launched! If you are not capable of carrying out these orders, General Weidling, we will find someone who will!”

The room fell silent. Weidling stared at the floor, thankful that he hadn’t taken a bullet to the head. He wished that he could be anywhere else in the world other than ground zero Berlin.

“Thank you, Heydrich,” the Führer said quietly.

Heydrich responded with a salute. “Heil Hitler!”

15

Berlin Cathedral

Wolf peered through his binoculars at the open grass area that surrounded the cathedral; it was clear of everything but decaying bodies and the wrecked Panther tank that he had commanded until a few hours ago. The Lustgarten gave the defenders a clear field of fire and enabled them to hold off the Russian assaults. However, the holy building that served so well as their citadel had also become their prison. They were completely surrounded. They weren’t going anywhere.

Sebastian saw the wheels working inside Wolf’s head. “There is nowhere to go, Major Kepler. We’re stuck here until the end. But there are worse places to die.”

Wolf was not convinced. “Look, I’m not going to stand here and give you some bullshit speech about how easy it will be to get out of here alive,” he replied. “It’s going to be hard. Probably impossible. But we’ve got to try.”

Sebastian studied his face for a few seconds. “Major, how do you expect to do that? You won’t make it two meters outside that door before you get blasted. The Russians have snipers trained on this building at all times.”

“Maybe we don’t go out. We go down.”

“Down? What are you talking about?”

“When the air raids got bad in 1943, the Führer ordered all of the cellars in Berlin to be connected so people could get out if their building collapsed. These tunnels exist. If they connect to the cathedral, we might be able to access them from the crypts downstairs. We can get back to German lines.”

“If there is anything left of the German lines,” Sebastian replied. He was in no rush to die, but he wasn’t sold on the plan to find a magical tunnel either. Getting back to German lines just tacked a few hours onto the end of your life. Nothing more.

Undeterred, Wolf got up. “Let’s go,” he said.

Rifle at the ready, Sebastian followed him through the cathedral. They were battle-hardened veterans with years of combat experience, but they were both scared out of their minds and very low on ammo.

In front of the altar, Sebastian rolled the body of a dead Waffen-SS trooper over. He recoiled when he saw the big ugly scar that ran the length of the soldier’s cheek. “Jesus. Someone sliced him good.”

“He got off easy,” Wolf responded bitterly. He had no pity for the dead soldier. He hoped that the SS got exactly what they deserved when the war was over; if it was even half of the misery those bastards inflicted on the rest of Europe, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Sebastian took a bullet clip and wallet from the body and put them into his backpack. Then he spotted a crucifix near the altar. “Look at that. I bet it’s pure silver. That’s probably worth—”

“Nothing,” Wolf interrupted. “It is worth absolutely nothing. Only water and ammo are worth a goddamn thing right now. We don’t need a business plan, my friend, we need an escape route.”

When Wolf was out of sight, Sebastian discretely put the crucifix into his backpack. Water and ammo might be the only currency right now, he reasoned, but that will change when the war ends.

With his treasure safely in place, Sebastian followed Wolf down into the crypts. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and opened a small gold locket. He looked deeply into the eyes of Anna and little Sophie. It was the only photo of them that he still had. Sebastian reflected on how happy life had been in Dresden before the war and wondered how many others had lost everything.

Meanwhile, Wolf searched for the entrance to the tunnels. He didn’t find it, but the dehydrated soldier found the second best thing in a corner crowded with boxes, books and trash. He pried the lid from a barrel, splashed the water on his face and drank greedily from cupped hands. When he couldn’t drink any more, Wolf took his helmet off and dunked his head in. The water was cold, but for someone who hadn’t regularly slept or bathed for the better part of two weeks, the shock to his system was appreciated.

“Do you plan to swim out of Berlin, Major?” Sebastian asked.

Wolf pulled his head out of the water and shook like a dog. Water flew everywhere.

Sebastian’s laughing fit ended abruptly when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped into the air and his rifle went off, sending a bullet exploding into the ceiling and plaster falling down around him. Wolf dove to the floor, desperately scanning the room for the source of the threat.

In front of them stood a young woman, about seventeen or eighteen. She was beautiful. Her high cheekbones and straight burgundy hair gave her a distinctive Eastern European look. Her face gave away no secrets; her distant stare made it seem as if nothing else in the universe existed. Her clothing was minimal; she wore a white ankle-length nightgown and was barefoot, despite the fact that much of the ground in Berlin was covered with broken glass and other dangers. Somehow, her feet were uninjured.

The soldiers remained still, their weapons pointed at their unannounced guest. “They are coming for me,” she whispered. She was clearly afraid of something.

“They are coming for all of us, fräulein,” Sebastian replied, lowering his rifle. The thought of another young woman caught up in the war saddened him. He wondered if she was shell-shocked, a common condition among the civilians who remained in Berlin. “What is your name?” he asked.

“Eeee-va.” The girl spoke slowly and deliberately, as if each syllable was a struggle to get out.

“That’s a nice name. What are you doing here, Eva?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Wolf said. “We’re not bringing her with us.”

Sebastian immediately jumped into the debate. “Look at her, Major. She’s out of it. You may be in no mood to collect refugees, but this poor girl can’t look out for herself right now. We must do the honorable thing and bring her to safety.”

“Safety? What are you talking about? There is no safety in Berlin right now. You would find better safety roaming around a tiger cage with a ham sandwich tied to your fucking leg. And another thing, when did this war become about honor?”

“The night Dresden got hit.”

Narrator: Black knight eliminates white pawn, bishop and rook. All at once. Checkmate.

Wolf sighed loudly. Dresden was where all discussions about the morality of the war began and ended with Sebastian. After he uttered that word, there was nothing else to discuss. The incineration of his home and family by Allied bombers was a terrible wound that would never heal with the young soldier.

As they contemplated their next move, Eva pointed at the bookcase. A leather-bound book shook briefly and then fell to the floor.

The men stared at the book in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Neither one knew what to make of a flying book, but they had seen many strange and inexplicable things in the war. As long as it wasn’t shooting at them, they felt more or less safe.

Finally, Sebastian picked it up. It was a church songbook, nothing unusual. “Maybe it contains a code,” he said, as he curiously flipped through the pages.

“When you get out of the army, don’t apply to be a detective. You’re extremely dumb,” Wolf replied.

Sebastian looked up and smiled. Eva had her arm fully extended, pointing at the bookcase. Subtle, she was not. He dropped the book, grabbed the top of the bookcase and pulled it towards him. He jumped back as the weight shifted and it slammed to the floor.

As it turned out, there was a wooden door behind the bookcase. When he opened it, the men gasped—stairs disappeared down into the darkness!

Sebastian looked at Eva in wide-eyed amazement. “You’re an angel,” he said. “Our guardian angel.”

16

Devil Inside

Two hundred meters from Berlin Cathedral, the remnants of a squad of SS troopers occupied the Hotel Neptune, a small two-story structure just off the Unter den Linden. The bizarre aquatic theme of the second story room that they had called home for two days clashed with their dirty black uniforms and the military music that played incessantly in the background.

Varik peered through binoculars as artillery rumbled in the distance. Next to him sat one of the Nazi’s newest instruments of death, an MG-42 machine gun. The weapon’s incredible 1,200 rounds-per-minute firing rate made it the fastest machine gun of the war; it sounded like a buzz saw when it was fired. Varik had used the weapon to mow down an entire Russian patrol yesterday. Despite that momentary victory, with limited ammunition and no reinforcements, he knew that the next time he fired the weapon would probably be his last.

As Varik kept watch from his perch, Otto the Jackal and Pig Face sat on the couch and drank the night away. The two soldiers had been to hell and back over the course of the war and had become best friends after surviving two days of desperate hand-to-hand fighting in a Lithuanian swamp. They were tired, but not so tired that they couldn’t pass the cognac around. Technically speaking, they were piss drunk and trying to forget that it could be their last night on Earth.

Pig Face stood up and stared at his grotesque pockmarked face in a huge gold-framed mirror. “I’m sick of this weird place. We need to get out of here,” he said. “We can’t hold them off forever.”

“Relax, asshole. Fritz will be back soon,” Otto replied, patting his huge belly. “We still have some time.”

Suddenly, the music stopped. The men grew quiet as the voice of Joseph Goebbels came on the radio.

“At the moment of the war when all forces of hate and destruction gather to give what they mistakenly believe will be the death blow to the German Reich, I speak to Joseph Stalin and the Soviet Red Army. The Führer demands the immediate withdrawal of Soviet forces from German soil. If you do not comply, a secret weapon more powerful than the sun itself will be unleashed upon the Soviet Red Army. If the Tristan weapon is utilized, there will be no survivors. This is your final warning.”

Otto laughed. “When the Führer unleashes his secret weapon, the Russians won’t know what hit them. We’ll stack their bodies like cordwood.” He had been a proud member of the Nazi party since 1937 and he never stopped believing in Germany’s eventual victory in the war, regardless of how desperate the situation appeared.

“The Americans will soon turn their guns on the communists,” Pig Face added. He believed the rumors that had swept through Berlin in the final weeks of the war; that General Patton was secretly planning to help Germany fight the Soviet Union.

Varik had listened to the men’s indoctrinated ramblings for months, but he finally had enough. Believing in the Fatherland was one thing, but Otto and Pig Face wouldn’t face reality if it hit them in the head. The war was over. Ka-fucking-put. The Nazi generals were jumping off the ship like rats and it was every rat for himself.

“If the Führer had a secret weapon, he would have used it before our capital got turned into a burned out cesspool,” Varik said. “Now, we’re defending the rubble with old men and little kids. It’s over. Turn that shit off.”

Otto turned the radio off and took another mouthful of cognac. His commanding officer lacked fighting spirit, but his defeatist attitude would change when the Führer unleashed his Tristan weapon on the Russians.

You’ll see, he thought. You’ll see.

17

Walk Unafraid

Wolf was on point. He pressed forward through the darkness and shined the flashlight on the strange blood red markings that covered the walls. The tunnel had obviously been there for a long time; it wasn’t just a simple passageway created to help people escape the air raids.

When the tunnel split, he stopped. He wasn’t sure which way to go, but they had to choose carefully—they could pay for a mistake with their lives.

“Should we toss a coin?” Sebastian asked.

“No.” Wolf pulled out a compass. “We’re going west, away from the Russians. If we head east, we’re as good as dead. Follow me.”

When Sebastian took Eva’s hand, she screamed and pulled him backwards.

Wolf spun around. “Let her go, soldier—that’s an order! We’ll be lucky enough to survive this night without dragging around a refugee who is having some sort of psychotic episode.”

Order or not, Sebastian wasn’t inclined to give up on someone who just saved him from certain death. He pulled her close and whispered into her ear. “You helped me. Now I want to help you. But you need to come with us. Do you understand?”

Eva just stared at him. No reaction at all.

Sebastian didn’t give up. “Listen to me. The Red Army did not come to Berlin to play games. They will kill you. Or worse.” He took her hand again, but Eva planted her feet into the ground like a stubborn mule.

A muffled explosion rang out above. The walls shook and dirt fell from the ceiling. “We’re out of time,” Wolf shouted. “Come on—we have to get out of here. Let’s go!”

Sebastian shouldered his rifle. He didn’t know what put her into such a catatonic and belligerent state, but he wasn’t going to leave her there. He grabbed Eva and threw her over his shoulder. She struggled briefly and then went limp.

Wolf didn’t say anything as he carried the girl past him; it would be impossible to get him to leave her behind now. He just hoped they wouldn’t pay for Sebastian’s misguided kindness with their lives.

Seventy meters later, the tunnel ended at another small wooden door. Sebastian put Eva down and the men readied their weapons. Wolf put his ear to the door and smiled when he heard the music. It was the Horst-Wessel-Lied. The anthem of the Nazi Party.

18

The Neptune

Otto the Jackal and Pig Face slept on the couch as Varik kept watch out the window. A whistle from within the building sent the men into a panicked scramble for weapons. Varik was dumbfounded. He had kept a close eye on the street—he had no idea how anyone could have gotten into the Neptune without him seeing it.

The panicked SS troopers pointed their weapons down the stairwell and listened for the intruders. Otto pulled the pin out of a grenade. Suddenly, a German voice rang out. “Don’t shoot—we’re friendlies! Please! Hold your fire!”

“Screw you!” Otto yelled as he angrily put the pin back. “You almost bought yourself a one-way ticket to hell.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Wolf and Sebastian smiled. They were relieved that the response—as rude as it was—came in German and not in the form of a live hand grenade bouncing down the stairs.

Wolf led them up to the second floor. They were happy to be back behind German lines, but when Pig Face glared at Eva with lustful eyes, Sebastian got worried—a strange nautical-themed room full of armed and drunken Nazi fanatics who were awaiting their deaths was no place for a young woman.

Pig Face grabbed Eva’s arm. “Come to papa, fräulein.”

Sebastian pushed him away. “Back off pocky, she’s with us. We don’t want any trouble.”

With the hour of their escape from Berlin approaching, the last thing Varik needed was a brawl between his men and other German soldiers. He tried to break the tension. “Gentlemen, I apologize for my rude friend. Welcome to the Hotel Neptune,” he said. “It’s not much, but it’s all we have right now. That and our lives.”

“Nice place,” Wolf muttered as he stared at the surreal underwater landscape and fluorescent sea creatures that covered the walls. “It looks like we’re in a fucking aquarium.”

“You can have it, skipper,” Pig Face said. “We’ll even throw in the radio and the cognac-soaked couch. We’re getting out of here.”

“You can check out, but you won’t live long,” Sebastian replied.

Pig Face belched. “Maybe you won’t live long, you arrogant prick, but we’re getting a flight out of here.”

That got Wolf’s attention. “From Tempelhoff?”

Varik shook his head. “Despite the valiant efforts of the Müncheberg Division, the Russians overran Tempelhoff airport. Planes can only take off from Brandenburg now—the one miserable strip of grass in Berlin that the Reds haven’t taken yet.”

“And now, the finest airport in all of Germany!” Otto added. Pig Face laughed uncontrollably, which made Sebastian want to kill him.

Varik’s patience was wearing thin. “I just hope that you idiots aren’t so drunk that you won’t be able to get on the plane,” he scowled.

Pig Face pointed a bayonet at his commander. “Watch yourself,” he said ominously. Pig Face was smiling, but he had the eyes of a rabid animal.

Varik cautiously returned the smile. He knew all too well that both Pig Face and Otto the Jackal were capable of incredible violence when they were provoked.

19

The Sniper

As the campaign in the Eastern Front progressed, the Soviet military noticed that the Wehrmacht was having a tough time replacing the officers that their snipers were gunning down every day. To take advantage of this fact, the Russians strategically increased the number of snipers that were embedded in their units and significantly enhanced their training. Unlike most combatants of World War II, the Red Army also allowed women to join their sniper teams.

Lyudmila crawled across the rooftop with cat-like stealth, a path that had been carefully calculated to keep her in the shadows as much as possible. She called it the “MSR,” the maximum shadow route. After years of hunting fox and other game in the forests surrounding Novosibirsk with her father, Lyudmila’s marksmanship with a rifle was unparalleled. But she wasn’t hunting fox that night; she was conducting reconnaissance. Specifically, she was searching for a German machine gun nest that was hidden inside one of the buildings across the street.

A few meters behind her was Ruslan, a shy but dedicated soldier from Rostov-on-Don. Being the spotter in a sniper team was an apprenticeship. Lyudmila determined the target, position and escape route for each mission; Ruslan shut up and did what he was told so he could learn from the master. That night, he was learning that patience and stealth were the keys to success as a sniper.

The Wehrmacht had made killing snipers a priority. As a result, there were only two kinds of snipers left in the Soviet Red Army—good ones and dead ones. In fact, Lyudmila’s previous spotter panicked and ran from a concealed position in the Tiergarten when probing gunfire got too close. That unfortunate decision put him into the dead category.

Once their rooftop position was set, Lyudmila scoured the street and adjacent buildings. At night, there were two ways to locate a machine gun. The first method involved careful and deliberate reconnaissance. The second involved getting shot at. Lyudmila had no intention of finding out through the latter method; the Russian bodies in the street lay in mute testament to the deadly accuracy of the enemy machine gunner.

20

Catastrophe

Deep in the Führerbunker, Adolf Hitler nervously waited for a status report on Operation Tristan. “Where is the girl?” he asked. “I don’t see her. Where is she?”

“She will be here soon,” Goebbels replied. “The hour of Final Victory is at hand.”

General Weidling cursed under his breath. All hope may be lost, he thought, but Goebbels’ unrelenting arrogance annoys the hell out of me. He is just as delusional as the Führer.

Suddenly, there was a commotion. Weidling’s heart raced—he thought Russian shock troops had located the Führerbunker. His panicked thoughts of a quick suicide were tempered by the fact that Heydrich still had his pistol.

Weidling let out a sigh of relief when Martin Bormann stormed into the situation room. His clothes were torn and covered in soot. He looked like hell.

Then came Adalgar, Hitler’s personal astrologer and practitioner of the black arts, complete with fiery red hair and brooding brown eyes. Introduced to Hitler by the Swiss astrologer K.E. Kraft, Adalgar was rumored to be developing a supernatural weapon. His surprise appearance in Berlin on 15 February made Hitler’s bodyguards nervous, but they tolerated him at the Führer’s insistence.

Hitler apprehensively surveyed the new arrivals, looking for his most important guest. “Where is she?”

Adalgar pushed Bormann towards Hitler. “Go ahead. Tell him.”

The Führer put his arm on Bormann’s shoulder and peered into his eyes. “Tell me what, Martin?”

Bormann was so nervous that he actually stuttered. “Sh-sh-she wa-wa-wa-was...”

Extreme concern suddenly showed itself on Hitler’s face. “Where the hell is the Romanian girl?”

Bormann wiped his brow and took a deep breath. He was dripping with sweat. The tension in the air was extreme. “Sh-sh-she wa-wa-wa-was mo-mo-moved to Ge-ge-ge-ge-stapo headquarters under the gu-gu-guard of our be-be-best troops,” Bormann stuttered. “But we lost her.”

With those four well-spoken words, the color drained from Adolf Hitler’s face. He turned away and his left arm involuntarily contracted and shook like a flipper. Goebbels knelt down on the floor next to him, put his head in his hands and screamed. “Goddamn it!”

Then Hitler’s demeanor changed from shock to anger. He grabbed Bormann and shook him like a rag doll. “What the hell happened?” he screamed, saliva flying out of his mouth. “Where is the girl? Where is the girl???”

“It’s not my fault,” Bormann whimpered. “A bomb hit the building—my men are dead.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your men,” Hitler screamed. “Where is the damn girl?”

“She was last spotted near Berlin Cathedral, but that position got cut off. She won’t get far—she is sedated and we are organizing a counterattack to retrieve her. But with all due respect, there are more important strategic matters regarding the defense of Berlin right now than a Romanian peasant.”

And with that, Adolf Hitler went berserk. He stomped on the floor and flew into a rage, the likes of which his staff had never seen. He ran around the room like a militant chimpanzee, screamed obscenities in a fury and tore the map right off the table.

Bormann jumped out of the way when the first chair flew across the room. “It’s not my fault! Please calm down! Please!” he shouted.

“The war is lost!” Hitler shouted back as he threw chair after chair at Bormann. “We were so close! We were so fucking close! I can’t believe it! I am surrounded by idiotic incompetence! I’m going to kill you!”

Bormann tried to run away in the face of such an insane display of aerodynamic furniture, but Hitler cornered him before he got to the door. Bormann tried to protect his head and beg for his life, but the Führer would have none of it; he pummeled him until the blood flowed freely. Bormann was a strong man—he could have easily overpowered Hitler, but he was too scared to fight back.

Everyone stood to the side and watched the Führer beat the crap out of his trusted advisor. When Hitler was done with the beating, he screamed for his guards. “Take this traitor outside and shoot him!”

In stark contrast to the violent scene that was playing out in front of them, Adalgar and Heydrich stood by calmly—almost nonchalantly—as the SS guards dragged Martin Bormann out of the room kicking and screaming.

Hitler braced himself against the wall and shook with rage until Dr. Morell entered and gave him another injection. He calmed down as the powerful narcotics entered his bloodstream, but he still looked like he wanted to kill someone. “Where the fuck is she, Heydrich?” he snarled.

“She is still in Berlin. I can sense it.”

“There’s not enough time,” Hitler replied. “There’s not enough goddamn time. We’re finished. Everything we worked for is finished. The German people deserve to lose this war. They are not strong enough.”

“Everything will be fine, mein Führer. The Tristan facilities in Prague are fully operational. We’ll have twenty-four hours to make the transfer after your...” Heydrich stopped mid-sentence. It took a few seconds to find the right word. “After your journey.”

The Führer grabbed Heydrich’s hands and looked deeply into his eyes. “Succeed,” he said. “You must succeed.”

21

The Neptune

Pig Face grew more stinking drunk as the night wore on. When he was just about out of cognac, he put the bottle down to pursue other pleasures. He called out to Sebastian. “Hey soldier. If you want to go to the airfield, you gotta share your whore with us. Besides, you can’t take her with you.”

“Leave her alone,” Sebastian replied.

“Not a chance. Give her to me.”

“She has been traumatized enough already.”

“Relax, soldier,” Pig Face replied. “I’m not asking for something for nothing. I’ll give you cigarettes and cognac. Now, give her to me.”

At that point, it became clear to Sebastian that diplomacy wasn’t going to work; any attempt to talk his way out of the situation would be perceived as weakness. The only thing that the SS understood was force.

Sebastian got up and raised his voice. “Stay away from her or we’re going to have a problem.”

The only problem was that Sebastian was bluffing—he had no idea what he was going to do if they rushed him. He was betting the farm that the SS needed every available trigger finger in case the Russians attacked the Neptune while they were still in it.

Wolf tried to diffuse the situation by changing the subject. “Time is running short, gentlemen. When will we try to reach the airfield?”

“Soon,” Varik replied.

“We’re not going anywhere until Fritz gets back,” Otto said.

“And we fuck his girlfriend,” Pig Face said, reaching for the bottle. He took a swig and spit at Sebastian. “It’s time. Give her to us. Now!”

Tired of the games, Sebastian posed a question to Otto the Jackal that instantly changed the dynamics of the situation. “Hey fatso—does Fritz have a big ugly scar on his cheek? From a bayonet or something?”

Otto looked up, surprised. “You saw Fritz?”

Sebastian threw a wallet at him. “If those are his family members in those photos, then don’t wait around for your scar-faced buddy. He’s not coming home tonight.”

The atmosphere in the Neptune crashed like a freight train. Then Sebastian pushed it one step further.

“But there is a silver lining to this black cloud. Fritzy died in Berlin Cathedral, so he probably got to say goodbye to God on his way down.”

The room fell silent. Otto sat down and wiped the tears from his eyes as he looked through the photos. The trickle of tears quickly became a downpour.

Sebastian was confused by his extreme reaction. People were dying all over the place in Berlin; surely no German soldier could expect a life span that was measured in anything but minutes or hours—especially the SS. “What the hell is wrong with him?” he asked.

“Fritz is ... was ... his brother,” Varik said.

“Oh ... sorry ...” Sebastian replied meekly, having just made the most significant faux paus of his entire life.

Wolf slapped his forehead. Sebastian just killed any chance they had to accompany the SS to the airfield.

Sebastian sat with his back to the wall and one hand on his rifle as the furious SS troopers organized their weapons and equipment. He crossed the line, but he had no way of knowing that the dead soldier was the Jackal’s brother. He just hoped that they would leave without another incident.

When things calmed down, he poured water from his canteen into a cup. He gently turned Eva’s head towards him and lifted the cup to her mouth. Suddenly, Eva screamed and knocked the cup away!

Pig Face looked up in horror as the tin cup clanged across the floor. “Shut her up! That bitch is going to get us killed!”

22

Recon

As the Russian snipers searched for the machine gun position, Eva’s scream gave it away.

The Germans are idiots, Lyudmila thought. They slaughtered our patrol and stayed hidden for hours. Now the dogs are more worried about carnal pleasures than the battle to come. This is why we are slugging it out with them in the streets of Berlin and not Red Square.

Through the scope of her Mosin-Nagant rifle, Lyudmila spotted two German soldiers through the widows of the Hotel Neptune. She pulled Ruslan close. “I found them. But we don’t have the firepower to take them out. Go tell Kolachenko. Quietly.”

Ruslan crawled across the roof and peered over the ledge. After three days of fighting, the exhausted soldiers in the alley were sound asleep. In the middle of them, Major Boris Kolachenko snored like a bear. With his big stomach, long hair, blue headband and eye-patch, Boris looked like a misplaced buccaneer. Ruslan would never say that to him, of course, as he might find himself assigned to a vanguard minefield clearing detachment.

Next to the sleeping men, a truck carried the feared Katyusha. The Germans called the weapon “Stalin’s Organs,” because of the terrifying, screaming sound that the rockets made. The Katyusha worked well in Berlin because the Germans were in fortified buildings. Having no desire to see their men mowed down en masse, the Soviets lined up the Katyusha and other heavy weapons and pounded the German fortifications with high explosives until there was no resistance or building left. The weapon’s main drawback was its lack of accuracy. Of course, accuracy was much less of an issue in Berlin than was the ability to reduce a building to a steaming heap of rubble.

Ruslan tried catcalls and whistles to wake the men who were sleeping around their beloved Katyusha to no avail. He wondered if even gunfire or explosions would wake them. In desperation, he took a bullet from his belt and threw it. His first throw missed and rolled into the gutter. His aim was better with the second; it bounced off of a helmet and hit Boris right on the nose.

Boris swatted at the air and opened his eye. The one-eyed soldier was wide-awake the instant that he saw the look on Ruslan’s face. It told him everything he needed to know—they found the sons-of-bitches who had annihilated his patrol. Boris jumped to his feet and kicked his men awake. Revenge would not wait for first light. It was time to fight.

A few minutes later, the soldiers quietly pushed the truck-mounted Katyusha into the street in front of the Hotel Neptune. Boris almost had a heart attack when a new conscript sneezed. He would have shot him right then and there if it could have made their chance of detection any lower. They cringed and spent the next thirty seconds waiting for the machine gun burst. When that didn’t happen, the men breathed a sigh of relief and maneuvered the rocket launcher into position.

The battle plan, as Boris had explained it, was simple. Step 1. Launch the Katyusha point blank at the Hotel Neptune. Step 2. Go inside and kill any of those rat fucks that survived the blast.

The men worked quickly. Once they got the Katyusha in place, they could make it a very bad day for the Germans who were holed up in that little hotel. However, if they got spotted before the Katyusha was ready to fire, their odds of survival against an MG-42 were slim to none. After all, they were breaking the time-honored Rule #1 of Soviet Red Army street-fighting doctrine—get the hell out of the street.

23

Blindness

Things went downhill fast for Wolf and Sebastian. With three drunk and crazy armed SS soldiers on the loose, the Hotel Neptune had become just as dangerous for them as Berlin Cathedral. Only this time, the threat was from within.

Pig Face was done waiting. He pointed his bayonet at Eva. “Before we leave, we’re going to send this Slavic bitch out with a bang. Let’s go.”

Otto the Jackal stood up and unbuttoned his pants. “The party begins...”

Wolf froze, but Sebastian jumped up in front of Otto with his fists clenched. “Back off Jackal—this is not a goddamn party!” he shouted.

Otto shoved Sebastian to the floor and Pig Face grabbed Eva. She didn’t resist his advances; she just stared into his eyes. “They are coming for me,” she whispered.

Pig Face laughed loudly and pulled at her nightgown. “So am I, missy, so am I!”

“Leave her alone!” Sebastian shouted as he landed a desperate right hook that sent Otto reeling backwards. Then he grabbed Pig Face from behind, but the hand-to-hand combat expert threw him over his shoulder and sent him crashing into Eva; she instinctively bit down on his hand when it hit her in the face.

Sebastian went ballistic when he saw the blood. “Goddamnit!” he yelled. “Stop this shit! Stop it! Right now! We don’t need this!”

“Screw you,” Pig Face replied, pushing him aside.

Sebastian pulled out his Mauser and pointed it at him. The stakes were suddenly raised and all of his cards were on the table. “Leave her alone, you fucking animal! I’m serious! I told you to stop!”

Pig Face didn’t flinch. “Go ahead. Shoot me if you got the balls. I’m not afraid to die tonight.”

“I will shoot you, so help me! “I will kill you!” Sebastian’s hands shook like a leaf—he hadn’t expected defiance in the face of overwhelming force.

“Then kill me already,” Pig Face replied. “Get it over with. But before you do, there’s one thing you should know.”

“What?”

Bang! Sebastian slumped to the floor, blood flowing from the back of his head.

“His friends are deadly.” Varik chuckled as the acrid smell of gunpowder permeated the room. He wasn’t keen on killing Germans, but first and foremost, he would protect his men. He didn’t regret taking the shot.

“Auf Wiedersehen, asshole,” Pig Face said. Then he spit on Sebastian’s body.

Wolf angrily reached for his pistol, but Varik turned the rifle on him. “Go ahead, Major. Be a hero. Pretend this little bitch and your dead friend matters more to you than your life does right now. We will help you prove your point.”

“Berlin is a dead man’s party,” Otto cackled in the background. “Do you want an invitation?”

Wolf couldn’t take his eyes off of the rifle. His heart told him to fight but his brain told him that the battle was over before it started. His only hope for survival was to convince the SS that he wasn’t a threat and accompany them to the airfield. “Put the rifle down,” he said calmly. “No one else needs to die here tonight. There is still time for us to get out. Maybe we can get to Argentina or Brazil. I heard they are providing a refuge.”

“South America sounds nice, I hear the beaches are to die for. But you’re not coming with us,” Varik retorted.

“I’m a decorated officer. I can get you onto a plane.”

“We don’t need your help, we have transport papers signed by Himmler himself. But let me give you a piece of advice—hide that Iron Cross that you have so proudly pinned to your uniform before the Russians ship you to Siberia in a fucking cage.”

The SS men laughed hysterically. Wolf sighed and sat down on the floor. He covered his eyes from a repulsive scene that he was powerless to stop.

Pig Face looked Eva over from head to toe and continued his sick advances. Forcing women to submit to him was a pleasure that the evil beast had enjoyed many times as the SS marauded its way across Eastern Europe.

“Give us a show, Pig Face,” Otto said.

Pig Face put his hand on her shoulder but Eva slapped it away. He laughed at her feeble attempt at resistance. Point of fact, Pig Face enjoyed the challenge—she could scream, she could cry, or she could remain quiet. In the end, it didn’t matter to him. He would have her, just as he had all of those who came before her. “How do you like it, Princess?” the swine asked, moving in for the kill. “Hard or soft? Actually, it doesn’t matter, because you’re going to get it all tonight.”

Eva smiled, silently daring him to do something.

“It’s a standoff,” Otto laughed.

“She’s not afraid of you,” Varik said, keeping his rifle trained on Wolf. He didn’t have the stomach for assaulting women, but he had even less of an appetite for getting shot by his own men for trying to stop them.

Pig Face pulled Eva close. “Hey bitch. Varik thinks you’re not afraid of me. Say something. Are you in there?”

“They are coming for me,” she whispered. “And you’re going to bleed tonight.”

“Whoa. Tough as nails!” Otto exclaimed. “The Piglet finally met his match.”

That snide comment put Pig Face into a rage. He pulled her hair, harder. “Stop staring at me you fucking whore or you’ll get the same medicine that your boyfriend did—a bullet in the brain!”

Eva’s hand moved incredibly fast, like a cobra strike. Pig Face didn’t even have time to blink before five bloody lines appeared across his cheek.

Eva smiled and licked his blood from her fingers.

Pig Face went ballistic. “You bitch! You cut my face!” he screamed. He pushed her against the mirror with a bayonet at her throat. “Look at your pretty face for the last time, whore! When I’m done with you, the—”

Pig Face stopped talking the moment he realized that the girl’s image wasn’t reflected in the mirror. He held her in his hands, but in the mirror, it looked like he was holding air. What kind of fuckery is this?

Eva’s eyes narrowed and a crack appeared in the mirror. The men curiously watched it spider-web through the glass. A split second later, the mirror exploded, sending shards of glass flying throughout the room.

Pig Face instinctively grabbed his face and screamed in agony. He was blind.

24

Love and Rockets

Boris heard the scream. He didn’t know what the Germans were doing in the hotel, but it was time to launch the attack before they were spotted. He raised his arm and slammed it down. “Fire!”

Boris dove for cover as the salvo of Katyusha rockets screamed through the air and slammed into the Hotel Neptune. The explosive impact sent pieces of white-hot shrapnel flying throughout the hotel, including a large piece that blew the back of Varik’s skull off, exposing his brain as he fell to the floor and died.

Wolf dove into the corner and covered his head as the gunfire erupted, intermixed with screams and curses in Russian and German.

“Onward, comrades!” Boris yelled as he led the charge across no-man’s land towards the Neptune. He didn’t exactly enjoy combat, but he was addicted to the adrenalin-rush; he wondered if he ever could go back to the tractor factory in Kiev.

Inside the Neptune, Otto scrambled to repulse the attack. He pushed Varik’s body aside and fired the MG-42 wildly out the window. The murderous sound that the machine gun made was deafening. He screamed as brass bullet casings littered the floor. “Die! Die! Die!”

As the battle raged, Pig Face crawled around the room and blindly felt around for a weapon. The pain from the injuries to his eyes was excruciating, but he was desperate to stay conscious and defend himself.

In stark contrast to the havoc that was erupting all around her, Eva calmly watched the Russian soldiers storm through the door. With guns blazing, each man covered a different firing lane.

Otto grabbed a rifle and fired back at the intruders, but there were too many to stop. After taking two Russians down, he took a bullet himself. The impact spun him around and he fell to the floor with a gaping hole in his shoulder. He had once vowed to never surrender. However, sticking to that plan when he was bleeding to death turned out to be a different proposition entirely.

Enter Boris. When he saw two of his men dead on the floor, he went berserk. “Damn stinking Germans! I will kill all of them!” he screamed.

Otto staggered to his feet and put his hands up as the angry Russian officer screamed at him in a language that he could not understand. “Please, I surrender.”

“You fat fuck!” Boris yelled. Then he shot Otto in the face. Otto was dead before he hit the ground, but that didn’t matter. Boris shot him over and over and over and over and over and over again until he ran out of bullets. Then he reloaded and shot him in the face again. And again and again and again and again and again.

When the gunfire stopped, Boris had successfully released a great deal of pent up anger and frustration. Otto the Jackal, on the other hand, was unrecognizable as a human being from the neck up. The other soldiers watched the macabre scene unfold with wide-eyed amazement; they wondered if their commander hadn’t lost his mind in the days leading up to the Battle of Berlin.

Then Boris saw Pig Face cowering in the corner. The pathetic German was trembling and bleeding profusely from the holes that had once contained his eyes.

“Please ... please don’t hurt me ... I surrender,” Pig Face stammered. “I need a doctor.” The moment that he had feared most had arrived. And he couldn’t see it.

Boris laughed. “Don’t worry,” he replied in fluent German. “I do not discriminate against the handicapped. I myself know what it is like to lose an eye to the enemy.”

When he heard Boris speak German, Pig Face took it as a glimmer of hope. He supported himself against the wall and put his arm into the air. “Hitler Kaput! Hitler Kaput!” he cried. “I surrender.”

“You are blind,” Boris replied. “That is such a shame. Do you know why it’s a shame?”

“No,” Pig Face sobbed.

“Because I specialize in teaching eye loss to German soldiers through a special technique that I call extreme eye-poke. It usually involves a bayonet, although it could also involve a fork or other sharp object. Unfortunately, the Katyusha did my work for me today. Instead, I’ll just have to shoot you.”

Pig Face nearly passed out. He dropped to his knees and begged for his life. “No, please ... listen to me ... listen...”

Boris put the pistol against his right temple.

Pig Face cringed.

Boris pulled the trigger. Click.

“Ah, that’s too bad,” he said. “I used all of my bullets on your fat fucking friend. Maybe it’s your lucky day, scratchy-face blind guy.”

Pig Face smiled nervously. His friends were dead, but he thought that maybe fate had intervened to save him. Maybe he would survive this awful war.

He couldn’t have been more wrong. Pig Face had no way of knowing it, of course, but Boris had a nickname among his troops, The Janitor. Over five years in the Red Army, The Janitor had developed his own ultra-vicious methods of street fighting. Since his lack of peripheral vision prevented him from leading the assault once they were inside the building, his modus operandi was to send new conscripts through the door first—brave men whom he had given an extra ration of vodka before the battle. After the initial shoot out, The Janitor would clean the room of enemy survivors. The caveat to the strategy was that the first men to charge into dark confined spaces where the effects of automatic weapons and grenades were multiplied usually didn’t live long. Luckily, Stalin ensured that Boris had no shortage of cannon fodder to lead the way.

On that day, The Janitor wasn’t about to let a lack of ammo prevent him from doing his job, especially with two of his men dead. He ripped Pig Face’s helmet off and threw it across the room. The blind soldier frantically tried to feel his way to the door, but Boris pushed him down and pinned him underneath his boot.

The angry Russian bear finalized the dance of death by pounding Pig Face in the head with a rifle, yelling in a rage with each successive hit. After the third blow, pink brain matter squirted out of his cracked skull. The Janitor didn’t just kill Germans—he pulverized them; a method of fighting that he adopted after a supposedly unarmed German POW took out his eye one awful winter day. Boris occasionally kept an officer alive for intelligence purposes, but there were rarely survivors when The Janitor was done with his work.

Mikhail, a tall soldier with a dark ruddy complexion, noticed that Wolf was still breathing. He kicked him hard in the kidneys. “This one is still alive!” he shouted. Then he put his rifle to Wolf’s head and prepared to put him out of his misery.

“Hold your fire,” Boris ordered.

“You had your fun,” Mikhail said. “Let me kill this German pig.”

“Stand down, Mikhail. This one is an officer. We’ll get something for him. Maybe some more Czech wine,” Boris replied.

Wolf groaned as the enemy soldiers debated his fate in a language that he couldn’t understand.

Finally, Mikhail relented. “Schnell! Schnell! Get up, you swine!” he shouted.

Wolf got up. So this is how it ends, he thought. He said a silent prayer and wondered how painful his death at the hands of the Russians was going to be.

Mikhail’s eyes widened when he saw the Iron Cross. He ripped it from Wolf’s jacket and threw it onto the floor. Then he hit his new prisoner over the head with his rifle.

Fade to black...

25

The Death of Lyudmila

The gunfire and screaming in the Hotel Neptune stopped. Lyudmila peered through the scope and smiled when she saw Boris through what had been a window prior to the Katyusha strike. The doomed patrol had been avenged.

Lyudmila got her chance to fight after Stalin threw thousands of poorly trained and pitifully armed men into battle to stem the Nazi invasion and the casualty numbers soared. She learned her craft quickly and became one of the most feared and celebrated snipers in the Soviet Red Army, with over 200 kills to her name. A sniper sheds no tears for her victims, of course, especially Nazis. However, Lyudmila often wondered if it was true that her victims never actually heard the gunshot.

She adjusted the scope and peered down below. The position had been chosen carefully; it concealed her and provided an unobstructed view of the street. If any Germans were stupid enough to try to retake the Neptune, she would rain death down upon them, one hot piece of lead at a time.

As if on cue, a young kid with an oversized helmet ran down the street with a Panzerfaust. Lyudmila smiled and put little Dieter Hübner in the crosshairs. She whispered the words that she uttered before every kill. “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”

As her finger tightened around the trigger, an icy breeze swept across the rooftop. Lyudmila shivered as she pulled the trigger. The round missed the boy and struck a cement column. Dieter scurried for cover behind a burned-out halftrack before she could get another shot off.

Goddamn it, she thought. Where the hell is Ruslan? How long does it take to piss off a roof?

Behind her, and entirely unnoticed, two dark fast-moving shapes darted across the rooftops.

As Lyudmila scoured the street to relocate her target, another icy breeze rushed across the roof. She looked back as the cold wind swirled around her.

Suddenly, Lyudmila was gone. Only her rifle, bouncing on the roof, remained.

26

Sympathy for the Devil

The Russian soldiers gathered around Eva. The outcome was certain; the only question was who was going to go first.

The young vampire wasn’t afraid of the dirty men who were pressing in on her. “They are coming for me,” she whispered.

“This stupid girl thinks that the garbage German army is going to rescue her,” Mikhail chuckled.

“She’ll be waiting for 500 years,” Boris replied as he shouldered his rifle. “It’s all over but the crying—there won’t be anything left of the Wehrmacht when we’re done with it.”

“They are coming for me,” she whispered again, looking the Russian officer right in the eye.

Boris pulled her close and licked her ear from top to bottom. “No one is coming for you, fräulein. You and all German women have become the property of the Soviet Red Army. You are my property.”

“They’re here,” Eva whispered. “And you’re going to bleed tonight. You’re all going to bleed tonight.” There was excitement in her voice, as if she were a child describing an upcoming birthday party.

Boris nervously backed away and looked around. When he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary for the aftermath of a brutal gunfight, he relaxed. “This one is feisty,” he said.

“And crazy,” Mikhail added. The men laughed hard until the candles blew out. Then they grabbed their weapons and fearfully tried to pick out unseen targets in the darkness. A minute went by, but nothing happened.

“Boo!” Boris shouted, causing Mikhail to jump.

The men laughed again as Boris relit the candles. They were having a good time. But when they turned their attention back to Eva, she made an ominous statement. “Russian soldiers, be afraid. Be very afraid of the dark.”

Then the candles blew out and the room was again enveloped in darkness. All of the sudden, the good times didn’t seem so good. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Without warning, two dark shapes flew through the windows and the Russians instantly found themselves in a desperate fight for their lives. Unfortunately for them, it was not a battle that they were capable of winning. The intruders were fast and deadly, and only one soldier got a shot off before he had been eviscerated. After that lone gunshot, the only sounds to be heard in the darkness were the screams and whimpers of dying men. After one final loud crunch, the room went still.

The candles relit by themselves. The Russians were dead, their bodies scattered all around the room in a gory mess. Mikhail was folded in half. Backwards.

Vampires Zina and Dumitra stood over the massacre. The beautiful twins had long straight burgundy hair and angular facial features. They were dressed in black from head to toe, but the dark clothing didn’t hide their victim’s blood.

“We missed one,” Zina said, pointing to the corner where Boris stood alone and shook with fright.

Dumitra playfully shook her finger at him. “You have been naughty, commander. You were brave enough to molest the young girl, but you ran away while your men valiantly fought for their lives. What should we do about that?”

Boris panicked and ran for the door. When he got there, it slammed shut on its own. Terrified, he grabbed the doorknob and pulled with all of his might. It wouldn’t budge. He cursed his fate. Then he turned around slowly and put his hands up. Stalin had ordered the suicide of every officer rather than surrender; Soviet military law regarded POWs as traitors. But Boris didn’t think comrade Stalin had vampires in mind when he issued that order.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like the girl anymore?” Zina asked. “Maybe she is not sexy enough for you. Perhaps you will like my sexy better.”

Boris trembled as the gorgeous vampire put her arm around him. When she seductively licked his ear from top to bottom exactly as he had done to Eva, piss ran down his leg.

“Shhhhh. Do not be afraid,” Zina said. “I like Russians. Do you—Mr. not-so-brave Russian soldier—like my sexy?”

Boris smiled nervously as she kissed his neck.

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Boris replied. Unaware of the fate of his snipers, he thought Lyudmila would take them out if he got them closer to the windows.

Any hopes or strategies for survival that Boris Kolachenko may have had that night instantly disappeared when Zina bit his neck and tore out a chunk of bloody flesh.

As her victim writhed in pain and bled to death on the floor in front of her, Zina turned her attention to the very reason that she had come to the Hotel Neptune. “We missed you.”

Eva didn’t respond. She just knelt down beside Sebastian and held his hand. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Zina didn’t notice the bite marks on the soldier’s hand when she pulled Eva away from him. “Come with us, dear. There will be many more German soldiers for you to feast on before this night is over.”

Wolf regained consciousness as Zina spoke. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, but she wore black and his Russian tormentors had obviously been killed in a spectacular and somewhat creative fashion. To Wolf’s line of reasoning, that could only mean one thing—the Gestapo had saved his life. Unbelievable!

Ordinarily, he couldn’t stand the sight of the bastards who tortured in the name of the Fatherland, but Wolf couldn’t contain his glee. He jumped to his feet and kicked Mikhail’s corpse. “How do you like Berlin now, you backwards-folded borscht-eating heathen! God is with us!”

Zina’s response brought him crashing back to reality. “God is not with you, Nazi scum. Your kind is poison to this planet and to all life on it. You and all those like you shall burn in hell with Adolf Hitler.”

Wolf stopped in his tracks and tried to comprehend the situation. He wasn’t dealing with the Gestapo. But who are they? The enemy? But they kill Russians. Run or negotiate? Then he remembered a quote that made the decision for him. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

He smiled and tried to look as non-threatening as possible as he picked up his Iron Cross and showed it to them. “I’m a decorated officer. I can get you on a plane.”

Dumitra shielded her eyes and bared her razor-sharp fangs. Wolf dropped the medal. His mind raced and came to a stunning conclusion that sent a chill down his spine—vampires had saved him from the Russians. Fucking vampires. What kind of miserable screwed-up scenario is this?

As Wolf contemplated making diplomatic overtures to vampires among his dwindling options, Zina kicked a pistol across the floor towards him. “We have our own way out of your wretched city,” she explained. “But when the Russians catch you again, use the pistol.”

“But ... I ...” he stammered.

“On yourself.”

27

Transformation

Surrounded by blood and gore, Wolf strained to read a map of Berlin by candlelight. He wondered if the subway tunnels were still accessible. If they were not, the only way out of the city would be through the Russian lines; not a pleasant option.

Suddenly, a moan broke the silence in the Hotel Neptune. Wolf shot to his feet and waved his pistol in the air. He had a rough day and was in no mood for any more chaos—he was ready to shoot anybody at that point, including himself.

“Who is there? Identify yourself!” he yelled, straining to find a target in the dark room. “Come forward or I will shoot you!” Then it dawned on him. Sebastian was dead. The vampires took Eva. Whoever was left was either SS or Red Army. Fuck them both.

Just as he prepared to spray the room with gunfire, someone got up and moved into the light. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “You’re alive...”

“I think so,” Sebastian replied. He felt the back of his head for the bullet that had somehow not killed him and tried to sort out vague memories of the fight with the SS.

Then Sebastian noticed the blood. It covered the floor. It covered the walls. Hell, blood spatters even covered most of the ceiling. The fantastic sight excited his senses. His heart raced and he felt different, more alive than he had ever felt before. That extraordinary and almost sensual thrill dissipated when he saw the smashed skull and brain matter on the floor, looking like a disgusting pile of smashed tomatoes and grits. He had to suppress the urge to vomit. “Major, what happened in here?” he asked. “You must have had one hell of a party while I was out.”

Wolf stared at him in disbelief, trying to find the words. “You were dead. I saw you get shot. I saw you die.”

“No, my friend, you didn’t see me die,” Sebastian replied. “I felt the impact, but I’m fine. The round must have bounced off my helmet and knocked me out.” Then suddenly, he remembered. “Where is she?”

Wolf looked around the room evasively.

“Major, where is Eva?”

Wolf knew that his response would only raise far more questions than it answered. “They took her.”

“They took her? They? Who exactly are they? The Russians?”

“No. As you can see, the Russians are dead.” He pointed to Mikhail’s corpse. “They turned that motherfucker into a pretzel.”

Sebastian was angry. He had seen the aftermath of many battles, but nothing like the blood-soaked room. “Major Kepler, what the hell happened here? Why does this place look like the slaughterhouse on the bottom of the sea? How did you kill everyone?”

“I didn’t kill anybody.”

Sebastian angrily pulled the map out of Wolf’s hands and flung it across the room. “You’re sitting by yourself in a room stacked with more corpses than the Leningrad morgue, and you can’t tell me what happened? I want some answers!” he shouted.

“Vampires,” Wolf replied softly.

Sebastian wasn’t sure that he heard him correctly. “What did you just say?”

“Vampires.” Then it was Wolf’s turn for his anger to boil to the surface. He didn’t know who he was mad at—or why—but after a horrific couple of days in Berlin he was ready to completely lose it. Then he did.

“Do you want the truth?” Wolf screamed. “Do you want the fucking truth? Do you want to know why I’m sitting here reading this shitty map surrounded by body parts in Caligula’s fucking bizarro-world nautical-themed fucking aquarium hideout? Because two pissed-off Gestapo fucking vampires slaughtered everybody and took your girlfriend to wherever it is that fucking vampires hide out during a fucking apocalyptic war. My best friend was dead, now he’s not, and I still don’t know how the fuck I’m going to get out of Berlin. Rebuttal?”

Point of fact, Sebastian had no rebuttal to an irrational, angry, obscenity-laced tirade of that magnitude. He had never seen Wolf so mad. He figured that yelling back would accomplish nothing, so he tried another approach.

“Wunderbar,” he said, throwing his hands into the air, making the motion as comedic as possible. “We are surrounded by evil vampires, our squad is dead, and my commanding officer has gone cuckoo. I lost the magical princess but gained a babbling idiot and a headache. This is just like Oktoberfest without the beer and songs.”

That ridiculous statement got Wolf to break a smile. “They know a way out,” he replied.

Sebastian was not impressed. “I know. Flights are supposedly still getting out. All we have to do is blast our way through the Soviet lines and get on a plane that might be waiting somewhere near the Brandenburg Gate. No problem. There will be a lot of Russians to shoot though. We’re going to need about two million bullets.”

“I’m not talking about Brandenburg Gate, you sarcastic bastard. The vampires know another way out.”

“The vampires know another way out?” Sebastian asked incredulously. “Major, we don’t have time for fantasy life. In case you haven’t noticed, the Soviet Red Army has surrounded Berlin and its soldiers are not very pleasant to be around right now. If we’re not getting out on an airplane, we’re not getting out. We don’t have the firepower to survive another day in this hellhole, let alone break through the Russian lines. Wake up already!”

The men stared at each other for a moment, neither one knowing what to say. The uncomfortable silence was broken by the sound of wood and metal crashing to the ground just outside the Neptune.

Battlefield instincts took over. The men moved fast and pointed their guns out the window, safeties off. They were ready for anything ...

They were ready for anything but the seventeen pathetic, weary and dirty German soldiers who stood in the street below them. Weapons of all shapes and sizes littered the ground. Many of the men were covered in bloody and dirty bandages. The sad little group was the picture perfect illustration of the word “defeat.”

“Jesus,” Wolf mumbled.

A weather-beaten old man waved a white flag. His back was shaped like a question mark; his warrior days long since passed. “Attention Soviet soldiers in the Hotel Neptune! We surrender! We lay down our arms! We surrender to you!” he shouted.

“We’re Germans, you idiot!” Wolf yelled back. “Go surrender to somebody else!”

Old man Klaus stopped waving the flag. He felt sorry for the ignorant soldier in the window who would soon suffer a violent death. “Come with us!” he yelled. “The war is over! The Russians guarantee the safety of all who surrender!”

“Get your fat ass off the street before I use it for target practice!” Wolf replied.

Frederick, the leader of the group, pushed Klaus forward. “Come on, soldier. You’re wasting time on a dead man. Let’s go.” Klaus raised the flag and the miserable trek resumed.

Wolf was disgusted. He had seen many dismal things in the German army, but watching a group of once-proud soldiers march off to their death under the white flag of cowardice was the worst.

Suddenly, Sebastian got up and ran downstairs.

Wolf watched him run out of the Neptune and down the street after them. For a second, he thought Sebastian decided to surrender, but that analysis changed when he heard him call out to the group. “Wait! Wait a minute! I need to talk to you! Hold on!”

Wolf sighed. He knew what that meant.

28

Confrontation

Down on the street, Klaus pushed Sebastian away. “Young man, you have no right to tell me anything. I fought for Germany in the first war, before you were born. We lost a generation in those trenches and our economy was destroyed! Then Adolf Hitler—who wasn’t even born here—rearmed Germany and led us into another stupid war. Those of us who were dumb enough to pick up arms are now left with a choice. Surrender or die!”

“There’s still a way out!” Sebastian insisted.

“Fairy tales! This battle is the sequel to Stalingrad, only Hitler and his cronies are stuck here with us in the Kessel this time. There is no way out, no means to fight back and nothing left to fight for!”

Klaus dismissed Sebastian with a wave and the despondent group trudged down the street after him.

But Sebastian wouldn’t give up. “You have to believe me! There is a way out!” he shouted.

Klaus stopped in his tracks and went straight for Sebastian. The other men crowded around the two warriors, like a schoolyard fight. Just when they were about to come to blows, a kid with round glasses and an oversized helmet jumped right between them. “Are you sure you can get us out of Berlin? Are you really sure?” he asked.

Sebastian looked at the kid and the bazooka-like Panzerfaust that he clutched in his arms in disbelief. Jesus. Is this what had become of the invincible Wehrmacht? There truly is no hope. “How old are you, kid?” he asked.

“Thirteen, sir. Next month.”

“What’s your name?”

“Dieter, sir. Dieter Hübner.”

“Well, little Dieter Hübner, you should be at home with your mother, not wandering the streets of Berlin with a weapon that is bigger than you are.”

Dieter held up the Panzerfaust. Large red letters on the metal tube read Achtung! Feuerstrahl! “I may be young, sir, but I can fight like a man. I blasted a T-34 yesterday!”

Axel, a handsome young Luftwaffe pilot with long, unkempt blonde hair slapped the kid on the back. “And the Russians they pulled out of it looked like burnt schnitzel!”

“And then a thousand tanks replaced it,” Frederick replied. “Stalin has an endless supply. We must surrender. It’s our only hope.”

“If you surrender, they will kill you,” Sebastian said. “And if you’re not lucky enough to be killed quickly, you will get shipped off to Siberia to experience a wintery hell in a prison camp until you die from frostbite.”

Wolf arrived. He was nervous and uncomfortable to be out in the open with snipers in the area, but he was determined to get his friend out of there. “Sebastian, leave these men alone. They made their decision and we made ours. We have to leave. Now.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Dieter asked. “Do you really know a way out of Berlin?”

“No, kid. No, I don’t,” Wolf replied. “And don’t listen to my friend here. He got shot in the head tonight. I think that maybe his brains spilled out.”

“Major, we need firepower to get to the Brandenburg airfield,” Sebastian argued. “They can help us get there and we can save their lives in the process.”

Wolf laughed out loud. “Are you out of your mind? Children and men who are old enough to remember the Battle of Waterloo are not going to help us do anything but die. That’s not the firepower we need—we need soldiers.”

Sebastian raised his voice just loud enough to be heard by everyone. “Attention group. My commanding officer and I have devised a plan to get out of Berlin. We can’t promise you that it will work, but we can promise you that we’re going to shoot anybody who gets in our way.”

The soldiers laughed.

Sebastian pointed at Dieter, “Who else—besides this brave member of the Hitler Youth—will help us execute our plan?”

Wolf angrily grabbed Sebastian’s arm and whispered into his ear. “Plan? What the hell plan are you talking about? We don’t have a plan.”

“I agree with you, major. Our plan is genius,” Sebastian said loudly. He prayed that Wolf wouldn’t interrupt him again. “Raise your hand if you will join us!” he shouted. “We have a genius plan—who is with us?”

No one moved.

Wolf smiled. “Can we go now?”

Sebastian looked into their eyes, desperately trying to get a read. Their spirit is broken, he thought. It was time for a more drastic approach. He put his arm around Dieter. “Is this little guy here the only one among you who isn’t a sniveling coward? Now, who is brave enough to join our squad?”

That insult brought a murmur from the group, but their anger dissipated when Klaus handed the white flag to Frederick. “I am brave enough to join your squad,” he announced. “If you are brave enough to accept an man who is old enough to have fought against Napoleon.”

Sebastian was undeterred by the qualifications, or lack thereof, of the squad he was trying to assemble. “If you were brave enough to put that uniform on with the Red Army closing in on Berlin, you’re brave enough for me. Now, who else is brave enough to help us implement our genius plan?”

The Luftwaffe pilot raised his hand. So did Thor, a soldier who had lost his left arm in the invasion of France. Neither man thought Sebastian’s plan—whatever it was—had a snowball’s chance in hell of succeeding, but the idea of surrendering to the Russians scared them, despite the promise of lenient treatment being touted by Soviet propagandists.

Frederick spit on the ground. “Enjoy your lost cause, you rat bastards.” And with that, he raised the white flag and led the rest of the men down the street.

Five minutes later, Sebastian and Wolf led their new rag-tag squad into the Hotel Neptune. As they entered, Dieter slipped and fell. As the men helped Dieter up, their attention shifted from his blood-soaked pants to the smashed and mutilated bodies that were scattered all over the place. It was butchery on a scale they had never seen before.

“Oh my,” Klaus said. “This is terrible.”

“Yeah, sorry. We had a little incident.”

“A little incident? This was no little incident,” Klaus replied. “This was a bloodbath, man. An orgy of violence.”

Dieter was astonished. “Are you guys serial murderers?”

“Pretty much,” Wolf replied. “Now, grab all the ammo and grenades you can find. You’re going to need it.”

29

Retaliation

The street remained eerily quiet as Frederick led the trek to the Russian lines. The death and destruction that they passed on the way was incredible.

The men wept when they passed the bread line, where the grim reaper took the form of an artillery shell. Out in the open, the poor hungry people had no chance against the white-hot steel that sliced their bodies to ribbons.

“I’ll never see my wife again,” a soldier sobbed.

“Stay strong,” Frederick replied.

A young soldier spotted a Russian sniper peering down at them from a rooftop. “I have a bad feeling about this. We should go back.”

“Everything will be fine,” Frederick replied. “We just have to make contact.” Then he waved the white flag back and forth and shouted. “Hello! We surrender! We have documents issued by the Red Army that guarantee us treatment in accordance with the Geneva Convention!”

Red Army soldier Alexander Lebel watched the Germans approach with bitterness in his heart. He had lost all three of his brothers when the SS locked them in a woodshed in reprisal for a partisan attack. The problem wasn’t the detention, it was the fact that the SS set the shed on fire and sprayed it with machine gun fire while his brothers were still inside. Now, the murderous bastards were asking for mercy and he was the one behind the machine gun. These Germans weren’t wearing black SS uniforms, but that didn’t matter to Alexander. They were all the same.

The surrendering Germans were caught off guard when the machine gun erupted. Most were cut down where they stood. Some tried to run away, but only one got more than a few steps.

Back in the Neptune, Wolf raised his binoculars as the staccato gunshots rang out. It saddened but did not surprise him that the men who Sebastian had just tried to talk out of surrendering were dead. He watched the lone survivor wave the white flag as he crawled back towards the hotel. With a single shot from a sniper, Frederick collapsed to the ground and died. His precious flag turned red with his blood.

Wolf lowered the binoculars and sighed. His calm acceptance of the situation was in stark contrast to the panic that enveloped the Hotel Neptune.

“The final assault has begun!” Klaus screamed hysterically. “We’re going to die! We’re all going to die! We’re doomed!”

The panic spread fast and spiraled out of control. “What are we going to do? We’re doomed!” Axel screamed. “We’re doomed!”

“We’re doomed! We’re doomed! We’re doomed!” Dieter added to the chorus. “We’re doomed!”

Wolf pointed his machine gun at the men. “Shut up! Shut the hell up!” he yelled. “Do I have to shoot all of you doom and gloom motherfuckers?”

Stunned silence.

“You wouldn’t really shoot us, would you, mister?” Dieter asked sheepishly.

Wolf sighed. “Most likely not. But you need to calm down or I will give it serious consideration. If you stay calm, we can execute the...” His voice trailed off.

“Plan,” Dieter said, finishing his sentence.

“Major, what exactly is the plan?” Klaus asked. “How do you plan to get us out of Berlin? Tell us your genius plan.”

The men stared at Wolf and waited for words of wisdom and comfort. They waited for hope.

Unfortunately, Wolf had no words of wisdom for them. Nor comfort. Nor hope. He stared at the ground and lit a cigarette that he had found in a dead Russian’s pocket.

“Major, tell us the plan. It will be much easier to execute the genius plan if we know what it is,” Klaus said.

Wolf rubbed his temples. He had no idea what to tell them. Point of fact, they were going to die. He debated lying to them for a drag or two of the cigarette. He wondered if it would even be possible to organize them into a fighting force if he told them the truth. Above all, he had to keep them calm. In war, panic equals catastrophe. His philosophy was that if you stay calm, you could survive any combat situation. Unless, of course, you are in a destroyed city that is surrounded by a million enemy soldiers.

“That’s not the final assault,” Wolf said, crushing the cigarette on the floor. “They just took care of your stupid friends. They also woke up every Soviet soldier within ten blocks and killed our chances of getting out of here quietly.”

“Do something!” Dieter begged. “We can’t just stay here until they butcher us.”

“There is nowhere else to go,” Wolf replied. “The tunnel led us here. We can’t shoot our way out with this motley crew and we just lost the element of surprise. Now, we need to prepare defensive positions and try to hold out until the government formally surrenders.”

“That is the plan?” Klaus asked. “Try to hold out until the government formally surrenders? That is your goddamn genius plan?”

“Look old man, there is no—”

“That is the genius plan? That piece of crap? An elephant with a paint brush could come up with a better plan than that.”

“But we believed you!” Dieter cried. “We need a plan!”

“We can go back into the tunnel,” Sebastian said.

That comment shut everybody up. There was finally something else on the table besides sitting around the Neptune and waiting for death to arrive. They all looked at Wolf with hope in their eyes again.

“Where is this tunnel, Major?” Klaus asked.

Wolf shook his head and sighed. “We can’t go back there. It’s a suicide mission.”

“It’s our only chance,” Sebastian said.

“Come on, Major,” Thor said.

“Please...” Dieter cried.

“Listen, men. That tunnel is not a way out of here—it will just take us back to Berlin Cathedral or the Soviet positions. Either way, we’ll be in Russian hands. Like I said, it’s a suicide mission. A death sentence.”

Sebastian smiled. “Eva didn’t think so.”

30

Rattenkrieg

The squad followed Sebastian down the tunnel as the sounds of the Battle for Berlin resonated above them. “I hope this little underground expedition doesn’t end in Red Square,” Klaus said.

“If it does, I’m going to kill some more Russians before I go,” Thor replied.

“Relax, Lefty. If we’re lucky, we’ll get out of Berlin without firing another shot,” Sebastian said.

Suddenly, there was a squeal. Dieter fell to his knees and aimed his Panzerfaust at the sound.

Luckily, Sebastian was able to throw his hand up before the kid got the shot off. “Don’t shoot!” he yelled. “You’ll bring the ceiling down!”

Dieter lowered the Panzerfaust and Klaus thumped his helmet. “Think before you shoot, dummkopf. Think!”

Wolf aimed the flashlight at Dieter’s intended target. The ruby eyes of three large black rats reflected in the light. They were chewing on a corpse that looked remarkably like a deflated balloon. “Something sucked out his blood,” Thor said. Then he turned and puked.

“Hey, now. There is no projectile vomiting allowed on the tour of terror,” Axel teased.

“Buzz off, pilot,” Thor replied as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Or the next stream of puke goes on you.”

Wolf stepped over the pool of vomit and handed Dieter a pistol. “Here, junior. The next time that you decide to declare war on the rats, use this. You won’t kill all of us in the process. Got it?”

Dieter nodded silently. Lesson learned.

“Good. Let’s go,” Wolf said.

Guns at the ready, the squad continued down the tunnel as quietly as possible. Twenty meters later, the sound of chanting echoed through the tunnel.

“What the hell is that?” Thor asked.

“Shhhhhh,” Wolf replied. “Get down.”

The men crawled towards the sound until they came upon a huge cavern ringed with torches. In the center of it, Eva lay on a gray stone slab. Her eyes were closed.

Rodika held a silver dagger and chanted in a foreign tongue. This vampire was strikingly beautiful but much different in appearance than the twins; she was taller and had platinum blonde hair and blue eyes that complemented her distinctive Slavic facial features. She also had a high raspy voice, like a serpent. Behind her, Zina and Dumitra kissed passionately.

“What the hell is this wacky shit?” Sebastian asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Vampires,” Wolf replied. “Now do you believe me?”

Sebastian not only believed him, he was already running the battle plan through his head. “We have to stop them before they hurt Eva,” he said.

“Stand down,” Wolf warned. “They are far more powerful than you can even imagine.”

“She saved our lives,” Sebastian replied, not taking his eyes off of the dagger. Then Zina and Dumitra joined in the strange chant; the words accelerated and filled the chamber with a hypnotic ostinato. When Rodika raised the dagger into the air above Eva, Sebastian got on one knee and pointed his rifle into the cavern.

“Get down! This isn’t our fight,” Wolf implored.

“To hell with that—I’m not going to watch them kill her,” Sebastian replied.

Thor didn’t help the situation. “There are only three of them. We can take them out.”

Suddenly, a shot echoed through the tunnel and the dagger flew out of Rodika’s hand. The stunned vampire looked down at her hand and then at Sebastian. He had taken the perfect shot.

“Move! Move! Let’s go!” Sebastian yelled as he charged into the chamber. Thor scrambled to his feet and followed him in. The men unleashed a furious volley of gunfire. Bullets ricocheted everywhere; it was a wild-west gunfight on crack. Several rounds hit Rodika in the chest and knocked her away from Eva.

Wolf punched the ground in anger. Then he got up and joined the attack, followed shortly thereafter by the others. After years on the Russian front where a missed shot meant the difference between life and death, the men were expert marksmen. The vampire’s bodies could withstand a great deal of punishment, but within a minute, all three were on the ground.

As the soldiers approached, only Rodika still stirred. “This is not over,” she warned.

“It is for you, bitch,” Thor replied. He pressed his machine gun against her chest and fired a quick burst into her heart. Rodika’s body shuddered and then grew still.

“Did you see their teeth?” Dieter asked. “Vampires exist, they really exist.” The kid was amazed—the night was turning into the greatest adventure of his life.

“Relax, cadet,” Wolf said. “This isn’t a game.”

Sebastian kissed Eva on the forehead. His heart soared when she opened her eyes.

Axel shook his head and walked away. “Real fucking sweet,” he said. “The frog prince just kissed the princess or however that stupid story goes. We risked our lives and she’ll get to live another hour or two. Wonderful. Now, let’s get out of here.”

Unseen by the men, Zina rose to her feet behind them. With lightening speed, she grabbed a torch from the wall and slammed it into Axel’s face!

“Arrrggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!” Axel screamed and fell to his knees as the blaze engulfed his hair.

Klaus ripped off his jacket and doused the flames as the others sent bullets tearing into Zina’s flesh, knocking the vampire to the ground.

Thor screamed when Rodika and Dumitra got up. “Holy shit! They don’t die!”

“That’s because they’re fucking vampires!” Wolf shouted as he dragged Axel out of the cavern. “Cover me!”

The men provided accurate cover fire, but they were quickly learning that a high velocity slug could only knock a vampire down, not kill one. Once they ran out of ammo, the evening was going to get complicated.

“Run!” Sebastian screamed.

31

Stalingrad

Sebastian pulled Eva along by the hand as he ran down the tunnel after the other men. As catatonic as she seemed at times, he considered himself lucky that he could get her to move extremely fast when danger was present.

Suddenly, Eva broke free from his grasp and darted down a small passageway that the others had missed. Sebastian cursed and went after her. Klaus saw the detour out of the corner of his eye, but he was far too scared and out-of-breath to care. How ironic it would be to escape from vampires only to die of a heart attack, he thought.

The ultimate question that one faces when you are running for your life and you begin to tire is—when do you turn around and fight the monster? That question was answered for the men when the tunnel floor went out from under them.

They rolled and they tumbled and they tossed and slid and fell down a steep, muddy slope and crashed into a heap at the bottom. That fiasco was followed by a panicked scramble to untangle themselves and grab weapons.

The men aimed their guns up the slope, expecting to be attacked at any second. The only sounds to be heard were the men’s labored breathing and Dieter muttering the Lord’s Prayer in the background.

After a few minutes of terror, the men relaxed. “I think we got away,” Wolf said.

Klaus verbalized their collective thoughts. “Not all of us did. That evil girl led Sebastian to the vampires.”

Wolf scoffed. “Old man, I fought with Sebastian through three miserable campaigns in Poland, Lithuania and Russia. He is as tough as nails and as lucky as a ladybug. He can look out for himself.”

“I respect his experience, Major. But he didn’t fight vampires in Operation Barbarossa.”

Wolf didn’t respond. Klaus was right. Prior combat experience had little relevance now; they were dealing with the supernatural. In the background, Axel coughed violently, the sound of a dying man.

“Keep watch,” Wolf said, thankful for the change of subject. He knelt down and gently pulled the pilot’s hands from his face. Axel’s face was charred and disfigured. He had seen many severe injuries in Russia, but he had never seen anyone survive very long with burns that bad.

“How do I look?” Axel gasped.

“I’ve seen worse,” Wolf lied. “As soon as we get out of here, we’ll get you a doctor. You’ll be okay.”

Axel appreciated the kind sentiment, but he knew that he was dying. There were few doctors and no functioning hospitals left in Berlin. If they were captured, the Russians wouldn’t send him to a medic, they would throw him into a ditch. One way or another, he didn’t have long to live and he had come to terms with it. In fact, his main desire was to speed up the process. “Kill me,” he moaned, desperately hoping that one of the other men had the strength to do what he could not do himself.

Wolf leaned in close, but he had no intention of assisting a suicide. Instead, he removed his Iron Cross and pinned it onto Axel’s jacket. I spent years trying to survive this war for my own selfish reasons, he thought. Axel got hurt trying to save someone else. He paid a steep price for his bravery.

“Sir, I don’t...” Axel said.

“You deserve it far more than I do.”

The wounded pilot looked down at the medal and was overcome with emotion. “Thank you, sir,” he gasped. Tears rolled down his blackened face.

“No son, thank you,” Wolf replied. He covered him with a blanket and rejoined Klaus on point.

“How long does he have?” the old man asked.

“He’ll be dead in an hour.”

Klaus closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

Axel heard the prediction about his imminent demise and it gave him the strength to speak up. “Klaus, you skinny son-of-a-bitch! I should have shot you twice!”

Klaus laughed. Picking up on Wolf’s puzzled look, he sat down and told his story. “Axel and I were in the Sixth Army. Hitler ordered General Paulus to hold Stalingrad while the Russians surrounded us. It was a stupid military strategy based upon megalomaniacal tendencies. As the situation deteriorated, Hitler promoted Paulus to field marshal simply because no German or Prussian field marshal had ever surrendered before—he wanted to shame Paulus into fighting to the last man.”

“That’s unbelievable,” Wolf replied.

“And it’s true,” Klaus said. “We were starving, freezing and running out of ammunition. To make matters worse, we had to rely on that fat bastard Göring and his Luftwaffe to fly the food and ammo in. It was dangerous work and they never came close to bringing in enough supplies. Between the miserable Russian winter and the thousands of antiaircraft guns that were brought in to shoot our supply planes down, we were doomed.”

You could hear a pin drop. The men were transfixed by his story. Especially Dieter.

“One fateful morning, we loaded wounded men onto transport planes at our last airfield, the Stalingradskaja flight school. Stretchers were laid out all over the frozen runway when the artillery barrage hit. It was terrible. Men were blasted to smithereens. There was no cover, so I put my life into God’s hands and kept loading wounded onto the planes. When Axel saw a young grenadier get cut down, he jumped out of his plane and took the rifle out of the dead boy’s hands. Then he started shooting at the Russians as fast as he could pull the trigger. He went full all-out berserk.”

“Full all-out berserk. Whoa.” Dieter was visibly impressed. He had a mental picture of the brave pilot standing on the wing of his aircraft and taking out his enemies with perfect aim from very far away.

“He fired his rifle at the Soviet artillery?” Wolf asked just to be sure he correctly understood the story.

“Yes. He shot like a madman at artillery that was nearly a kilometer away—it would have been easier to shoot down the fucking moon! That didn’t matter to Axel, he was too angry—a berserker in the true sense of the word. He proved that Luftwaffe pilots don’t have good brains or good aim. He shot me!”

The men were stunned.

“But it was a magic bullet—I had become one of the wounded men who we were trying to save. On 23 January 1943, Axel flew the last plane out of Stalingrad. And I was on it!”

The men gasped. Dieter clapped, as if he was at the theater. “That’s amazing,” he said.

“The truly amazing thing about a near death experience is that it changes your perception of the world forever. You suddenly appreciate the little things, the big things and everything in between. When we touched down in Germany, I felt as if I had been born again. Like I had been given a second chance at life.”

“That’s incredible, Pop,” Dieter said, visibly awed. He hadn’t heard this story before—it was the best one ever.

Then the old man’s expression became grim. “The men we left behind in Stalingrad were not so fortunate. The Russians marched 100,000 of them through the snow to Soviet prisons, most of them probably never to be seen again. Hitler publicly labeled Generalfeldmarschall Paulus a traitor for surrendering, but Paulus had no choice, you see. We were starving to death.”

“Axel saved your life,” Wolf said.

“He shot me in the ass!” Klaus replied, and the men roared with laughter.

32

Mysterious Ways

Sebastian aimed his rifle up the tunnel and listened intently. He breathed a sigh of relief when didn’t hear anything but the thump of his own heartbeat. He had lost his squad and he had lost Eva; but he had also lost the vampires.

A tap on his shoulder startled him. He spun around and instantly lowered his weapon. “You really need to stop doing that,” he said. “That’s the second time I almost shot you tonight.”

Eva smiled. Then she silently took his hand and led him down the tunnel. He was separated from the rest of the men, but he felt eerily calm in her presence. He didn’t exactly feel safe, but he trusted her.

Their journey ended in a large underground cavern that was filled with strange crypts. Haunting stone gargoyles and other winged creatures adorned the tombs.

Sebastian took a closer look at the mysterious blood-red writing that covered the walls. When he was a kid, his father had taken him to an ancient Egypt exhibition in Munich. This was definitely not hieroglyphics, but the writing looked strangely familiar, as if he had seen it before in a dream.

Two identical black marble statues of a woman with her arms outstretched dominated the center of the cavern. The statues looked remarkably like the twin vampires they had just killed. Or tried to kill. That’s when Sebastian knew what he was looking at. These weren’t human crypts—they were vampire. The creatures live underneath Berlin Cathedral.

Sebastian contemplated this discovery as he unscrewed his canteen. “Do you want some water now?” he asked.

Eva just stared at him.

Sebastian shrugged. As he raised his canteen to his parched lips, Eva moved fast and grabbed it out of his hands. Water spilled and he felt intense pain.

He could only stare in disbelief at the smoking red blisters that now covered the back of his hand.

33

So Much for Dying

The murky water seemed dangerous, but no one was of that opinion more than Klaus. He almost drowned as a kid and had been deathly afraid of water ever since.

“It doesn’t look that deep,” Thor said.

Klaus folded his arms. “Screw that. It’s far too dangerous. The floor could give way at any moment.”

“This is the way out. Unless you want to negotiate a peace treaty with vampires,” Wolf said.

“And Russians,” Sebastian added.

Thor waded into the water. “Hold on. I’ll check it out.” The one-armed soldier tried to appear brave, but he was scared shitless underneath the bravado. When the water went no deeper than his knees, Thor looked back and cracked a smile. “Hey, old man! You can stop building the ark and collecting pairs of animals—the water isn’t going to kill you!”

“Very funny,” Klaus replied.

But when Thor tried to move, his left foot was stuck on something. “Shit!” he yelled.

After a minute of watching Thor try and fail to free his foot, Wolf went into the water to help him. A noise in the tunnel brought the rescue efforts to an end. Everyone went perfectly still.

Suddenly, like a tornado from hell, a thousand black bats flew down the tunnel and swarmed them!

Thor panicked and swatted the creatures away as he fell backwards into the water. The other men ducked or took cover against the tunnel wall as the bats flew harmlessly around them.

When the bats flew off, a very embarrassed and wet soldier picked himself and his MP-40 out of the water.

“Are you okay?” Dieter asked. “Do you need new underwear?”

“Thanks a lot, smart-ass. Now get me out of here,” Thor replied. One last bat flew above the men. Thor fired a quick angry burst at the straggler, but he missed.

“Put the gun down,” Wolf shouted. “You’re wasting ammo!”

Suddenly, the bat turned around and flew straight at Thor. Before he could react, the creature slammed into the pool in front of him with the force of a cannonball, sending a spray of water all over the place.

A split-second later, there was Rodika. “Beg for mercy, soldier,” the vampire said. “I want to enjoy this kill.”

Thor panicked and desperately tried to free his foot as she closed in. Just before Rodika got to him, he raised his machine gun and let her have it.

The squad grabbed Axel and took off running. Thor was able to hold Rodika off just until his gun jammed—then she tore his arm off and pushed him under the water. Red bubbles quickly replaced the agonizing screams of a soldier who was destined to suffer the same horrific injury twice in one war.

With her victim dying beneath her, the highly trained vampire assassin peered down the tunnel in the direction that the others had run.

It was time to hunt.

34

Defiance

As they walked through the vampire crypts, Eva stopped and stared off in the distance. Sebastian felt a slight breeze and instantly knew they were in trouble. He grabbed her hand and sprinted across the chamber as the wind grew to a roar behind them.

Then something hit them in the back, hard.

Eva hit the floor face first. Sebastian flew through the air, hit the ground and rolled back to his feet. He pulled out a pistol as Zina and Dumitra closed in.

“Are you going to shoot us?” Zina laughed.

Sebastian looked at his pistol and smiled. “I’m pretty sure that this pea-shooter won’t do much good against two pissed off vampires.”

“Very perceptive. Now, are you ready to die?”

“Fuck you.” He threw his pistol at Zina, but she caught it in front of her face and tossed it to the ground. Then she punched him in the throat.

Sebastian collapsed from the force of the blow and tried to breathe. He crawled away as blood poured out of his mouth. Dumitra picked him up by the neck, his feet dangling in the air. “She asked you if you were ready to die.”

“And I said ... fuck you,” he gasped.

Dumitra slammed him against the wall in a rage and he dropped to the floor lifelessly.

“Stop!” Eva shouted. The girl was back on her feet and looking for a confrontation. She flicked her wrist towards the twins. The vampires both turned sharply, as if they had been slapped.

Dumitra angrily pointed right back at her. A blue ball of psychic energy flowed from her fingers and struck Eva in the chest, knocking her to the ground. “Don’t play with us, little girl. You are not ready.”

Sebastian’s voice rang out behind them. “I am ready.”

The twins were mystified that Sebastian was still alive. They could smell their own kind, but they had failed to detect the vampire blood that now flowed through his veins; he had yet to fully transform.

35

Trapped

The squad sprinted around the dark corner. Unfortunately, they didn’t see the dead end until they crashed into the wall and one another. When they got to their feet and turned around, their worst nightmare had been realized.

Saliva dripped from Rodika’s razor-sharp fangs. She had her prey cornered. She savored the moment.

The terrified men aimed their guns at the vampire. Dieter dropped to his knees and prayed. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

Rodika laughed. “Prayers will not save you, punk. Stand up and fight like a man.”

“... Amen.”

With his prayer done, Dieter’s terror gave way to rage. He aimed his Panzerfaust at Rodika.

Rodika’s eyes widened.

“Eat snot!” Dieter shouted. The men dove for cover as the kid squeezed the trigger. The cavern filled with a roar, a plume of flame and a tremendous explosion.

Wolf was knocked onto his belly, his arm curled around his MP-40, his mouth full of dirt, his ears ringing. He closed his eyes as rocks and debris flew through the tunnel.

As the dust settled, Wolf looked up. A trickle of blood came out of his left ear, but his eardrums were still intact. Rodika was gone. Vampires can’t be killed with bullets, but a Panzerfaust is something else, he thought. If it can knock out a tank, maybe it can kill a vampire.

Klaus slapped Dieter on the back. “Nice work, kid. You disobeyed an order and wiped a vampire off the face of the Earth all at once. You might make a good soldier yet.”

Dieter shook his head and pointed at Rodika as she emerged from the smoke. She was not happy.

“Get away from us, you evil bitch!” Klaus screamed. “Get the hell out of here! Leave us alone!”“

“I will feast on your heart, old man,” Rodika hissed. A loud rumble stopped the vampire assassin. Her eyes nervously darted around the cavern as the walls shook.

“Uh-oh,” Klaus said.

Suddenly, the ceiling collapsed!

36

Thirst

The vampires stopped in their tracks as the floor shook. When the earthquake stopped, Sebastian unscrewed his canteen.

“Thirsty?” Zina asked.

“Not so much. But before you kill me, maybe you could use a nice cool drink.”

Zina and Dumitra exchanged confused glances.

Then Sebastian threw the canteen at them as hard at as he could. Zina caught it in midair, but water flew out of the canteen and went all over her. She screamed as the side of her face melted.

Suddenly, the floor gave way!

37

Death of a Vampire

There was silence after the tunnel collapsed. Men and weapons were scattered all over the place. There was a hole in the ceiling and a huge pile of rocks and debris nearly sealed the west end of the tunnel. At the top of that pile, Zina was buried up to her neck. She was in bad shape; her half-melted face was still smoldering. Dumitra was nowhere to be seen.

Klaus panicked when he didn’t see Dieter. A second later, he saw boots sticking out of the dirt. “There he is!”

Zina taunted the men as they frantically dug through the rocks and dirt to save Dieter. “Nazi devils—you must kill the girl!” she yelled. “The Fourth Reich will be the End of Days! Even for Germany!”

The men ignored the vampire’s insane tirade, but Wolf seriously considered putting a hand grenade into her mouth. Then Sebastian jumped down through the hole in the ceiling. Klaus and Wolf noticed him, but they were too busy trying to save Dieter for a reunion.

“Listen to me! Kill the girl!” Zina screamed.

“You know what, bitch? You are really starting to bother me,” Sebastian said. He climbed down the rock pile, took Wolf’s canteen, and climbed back up.

“You must kill the girl!” Zina screamed.

Sebastian moved in close and examined her half-melted face. “On another topic, I think the right side of your face should match the left. It’s called symmetry. “

“You don’t understand!” she cried.

Sebastian held up his canteen. “This is full of holy water. Do you understand?”

Terror showed itself on the vampire’s face. The creature had little to fear in the world, but holy water burned vampires just as strong acid would burn a human. “Stop! Please! Listen to me!” she screamed.

“This conversation is over,” he said as he poured the water over the vampire. Zina’s face smoked and melted into a bloody, formless mess that folded in on itself. For the coup de grace, he jerked her head to the side and cut her throat with his bayonet. What remained of her head rolled down the rock pile and disappeared in a burst of flame.

A few meters away, Klaus yelled jubilantly as they pulled his grandson out of the dirt by his feet. “We got him!”

The kid coughed as they scooped the dirt out of his mouth. Dieter’s first concern amused his mates. “Pop, I lost my helmet...”

“Don’t worry about it—it didn’t fit your pea-sized head anyway,” Klaus teased.

Then, without warning, a voice came from behind them. “They are coming for me.”

The men exchanged nervous glances as Eva beckoned them to follow, but only Sebastian moved. “Let’s go,” he said. “She’ll show us the way out.

“There’s something wrong with her,” Klaus replied.

“I agree. She’s been traumatized.”

“There’s more to it, my friend. You’re asking us to follow someone who is being actively hunted by vampires. Ask yourself—what did she do to piss them off? Whatever that was, I bet it isn’t good for us.”

“She is the only reason that your sorry ass is still alive. Let’s roll,” Sebastian said. The argument continued for another five minutes. Eventually, Sebastian convinced the men that Eva was their best—if not their only—chance to get out of the tunnel system alive.

As the men followed Eva, it didn’t take long for Klaus to second-guess his decision. “How can you be sure she’s not taking us to the Russians? Or to be eaten by the vampires?”

“That’s not likely,” Sebastian replied. “They all want her dead.”

38

The Cemetery

The heavy iron door creaked as it opened. The occupants of the mausoleum went perfectly still and listened for any sign of the enemy.

Slowly, quietly, the men crept out of the stone building and peered through the fog. In front of them, beautiful gravestones and gothic statues were illuminated by moonlight and the glow of distant fires. None of them had known that such a fantastic place existed in the heart of Berlin. Klaus stared at the white stone angel that towered above the cemetery. “Incredible,” he said, running his hand along the bottom of a smooth wing.

“Don’t be so astonished, old man. We’re not out of this shit yet,” Wolf said. As if on cue, flashes of light appeared on the horizon, followed by the thunder of distant big guns.

“Do you think we’re going to make it, boss?” Dieter asked as they moved down a stone path.

“We’ll make it,” Wolf replied. He was trying to build his squad’s confidence in the face of overwhelming odds, but point of fact, he wasn’t sure they would make it. “Let’s rest for a few minutes and re-distribute the ammo.”

Klaus pointed to a cluster of dead German soldiers. “Dieter, see what they got on them.”

As the kid searched the bodies, Sebastian put his head in his hands. “Christ!” he laughed. “After a treacherous journey and all sorts of crazy supernatural shit, the oasis we find in the middle of the destroyed city is a graveyard. Michelangelo couldn’t have painted a better picture.”

“At least they won’t have to take our bodies far,” Klaus chided.

“We aren’t dead yet,” Sebastian replied.

“Young man, I’ll be surprised if we live to see the morning sun,” Klaus said.

“Yeah,” Sebastian added. “Me too.”

Dieter was excited to find a Panzerfaust under one of the bodies. It was a single-use weapon, so he was always on the lookout for another one. He wasn’t so excited by his new helmet, however. He put it on and grimaced.

“Don’t worry about it, kid. He doesn’t need it anymore,” Wolf said.

“And you finally got a helmet that fits,” Klaus added, eliciting a chuckle from everyone, including Dieter.

Suddenly, Eva got up and walked off by herself into the fog. Sebastian jumped up and followed her.

“Let her go,” Klaus implored. “We don’t need her.”

“Kill the bitch!” Axel gasped.

Sebastian looked back at the pilot, but he didn’t say anything. He gets a pass, he thought. He doesn’t have long to live. The uncomfortable silence that he left behind in his wake was broken by a short burst of gunfire just outside the graveyard.

The Russians were coming.

39

Stars

Eva sat on the riverbank and watched the nighttime sky as the sounds of battle resounded in the distance. She didn't say anything when Sebastian sat down next to her. Nor did he expect her to.

“Guten Abend,” he said.

Eva didn't respond.

Sebastian never believed in vampires until he met one. Until one bit him. Now, the sight of blood excited him and his strength was increasing by the hour. He knew what the other men had only suspected. Eva was a vampire. He was turning into one himself. He also instinctively knew that their survival depended on Eva, for reasons known only to God—assuming that God was still in Berlin.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you understand me? Do you know where you are?”

Eva just stared at the sky. If she heard him, she didn't show it. Opening the lines of communication with the young vampire was going to be much harder than he had thought. Frustrated, he turned her towards him and raised his voice. “Look at me. That Luftwaffe pilot over there...”

“Axel,” Eva said softly.

“Yes. Axel is about to die from burns he got when a vampire torched his face. He got hurt saving you. Now, please. Tell me what this is all about.”

She blinked hard and then pointed to the sky. “It’s in the stars, Sebastian...”

He looked up. Smoke and fog covered the city. There were no stars, only a dark gray gloom lit by the flash of occasional explosions in the distance.

Before he could ask her another question, an artillery shell exploded in the river in front of them. The cold water that cascaded over them brought him crashing back to reality. He got up and took her hand.

It was time to go.

40

Running up that Hill

The injured pilot strained to speak to the men who were gathered around him. “The vampires will kill you. They will kill all of you,” he gasped.

Klaus spoke up first. It broke his heart to see the life force ebb out of the man who saved him from the horrors of Stalingrad. “He’s right. The vampires want that evil girl.”

Wolf shook his head. “She is not evil. She saved our lives. I know this is a difficult and strange situation, but your Luftwaffe friend is horribly burned. He is delirious from the pain.”

“If we get rid of her, we get rid of the vampires,” Klaus argued. “We might survive this night.”

Wolf had no response. He had no desire to die trying to save civilians whose fate was sealed anyway. He probably could be talked into leaving Eva in the graveyard, but for the fact that Sebastian wouldn’t leave her side.

“Why does your friend continue to protect her? Her very presence puts our lives at risk,” Klaus said.

“I trust his instincts,” Wolf replied.

“This goes far beyond human instincts. We are dealing with supernatural forces. Vampires. Possibly even black magic.”

“And the Russians,” Dieter added.

“And the Russians,” Klaus repeated. “We’re going to have enough trouble getting out of Berlin without having to fight vampires too.”

“Sebastian’s girlfriend is creepy,” Dieter said.

Wolf bit his bottom lip. “Dresden,” he said loudly. The men stared at Wolf, unsure of what was going to come out of his mouth next.

“What about Dresden?” Klaus asked.

“You wanted to know why Sebastian protects the girl. So, I told you. He is from Dresden.” That statement instantly changed the tenor of the conversation.

“I heard the rumors,” the old man said, brushing his silver hair out of his eyes.

“The rumors are true,” Wolf began. “The Allies dropped tons of incendiary bombs on a city that was packed with refugees and created one of the largest firestorms in history. No one will ever know how many tens of thousands of people are buried in the mass graves. They’ll debate it for the next 100 years, but no one will ever truly know.”

The men stayed quiet. News of the tragedy spread through Germany almost as fast as the hurricane-strength winds that sucked people into the fire. The attack on the beautiful baroque city on the Elbe was an attack on the very soul of the German people.

“At the height of the firestorm, people got trapped in the Dresden city center. Many of them jumped into the city fountain to try to escape from the flames. That’s where they found Sebastian’s wife and little girl.”

“Did they live?” Dieter asked.

“They were boiled alive,” Wolf said solemnly.

Dieter shuddered at the thought.

41

The Miracle

Klaus cursed under his breath as Sebastian and Eva emerged from the darkness. “Devil girl is back,” he said.

“Kill her!” Axel gasped.

Overcome by emotion, Klaus stood up and pointed his rifle at Eva. “Let’s shoot her! The vampires will stop hunting us—we’ll be safe!”

Sebastian jumped up and put himself in the line of fire. “Easy there, old man. Put the gun down. We’re all on the same side.”

Klaus didn’t flinch. “How many more of us have to die because of that evil bitch? We can get out on a plane if we make it to Brandenburg Gate. You said so yourself—that’s why we followed you. We don’t need this vampire shit!”

Sebastian put his hand over the muzzle. “I’m not going to let you to shoot her.”

“Get out of my way! She is not your daughter! Your daughter is dead! I will shoot that witch!” Klaus yelled, his voice breaking with emotion.

“Shoot her, pop!” Dieter shouted.

As Klaus began the muscle contractions on his index finger to squeeze the trigger, Sebastian moved at lightening speed and tackled him. Dieter jumped on his back, but he ended up on the ground next to his grandfather. With his growing strength, Sebastian could have easily killed them both. Instead, he held them down just hard enough to prevent them from hurting someone.

Unnoticed during the mêlée, Eva put her hands on Axel’s face. She closed her eyes and a soft blue glow emanated from her palms. Axel moaned and tried to push her away as the light grew brighter, but she kept her hands on him.

Dieter noticed the light as he tried to wrap his hands around Sebastian’s throat. “She’s hurting him!” he screamed.

Sebastian released his grip on the two and the fight ground to a halt. Eva fell away unconscious as Klaus and Dieter ran to Axel’s side. “Are you alright?” Klaus cried. “Axel, are you still alive? Talk to me.”

Axel slowly pulled his hands away from his face.

The men stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “Oh my God,” Klaus said. “This is a miracle ... a true miracle.”

The pilot opened his eyes and touched his cheek. It wasn’t burned anymore. In fact, his complexion was as clear as the day he was born. When Axel realized that his burns had healed, he wept like a baby.

Sebastian cradled Eva in his arms. “Do any of you brave warriors still want to kill her?”

Before anyone could answer that question, a Russian patrol swept a spotlight across the cemetery. The men dove to the ground and went still. Fear gripped them as the bright light lit the cemetery around them. After a few tense minutes, the patrol left. “We’ll wait here a few more minutes, then move out,” Wolf whispered.

Dieter nervously adjusted the trigger guard of his new Panzerfaust. Suddenly, the weapon roared and the shell flew straight up into the air. The horrified men watched it fall back to Earth thirty meters away and explode.

Klaus tried to comfort his distraught grandson. “Relax, Dieter. Those drunken idiots probably didn’t even notice where the fireworks came from.”

Then all hell broke loose. Russian soldiers shouted, gunshots rang out and the searchlight headed straight for them. Machine gun tracer fire whizzed through the air at unseen targets of opportunity. “Lock and load. We’ve got to take them out!” Wolf shouted.

Klaus hyperventilated and dropped a handful of bullets as he tried to load his rifle. “My life does not need to be this interesting.”

“Where would you rather be, old man?” Wolf replied with a smile.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream filled the air. A second later, the searchlight went dark and the gunfire stopped. Klaus and Wolf exchanged curious glances and wondered if it was a Russian trick.

A quick movement to their right caught them off guard; Sebastian emerged from the shadows covered in blood. “What the hell happened to you?” Wolf asked.

“The Russian scouts have been dealt with,” Sebastian replied.

Flares shot overhead and bathed the cemetery in eerie red light. Then they heard the distinct pop of a mortar tube.

“They’ve got friends!” Wolf shouted. “Incoming!”

The men took cover as best they could as the shells exploded around them.

After a few rounds, the bombardment stopped and silence enveloped the graveyard. Wolf did a quick inventory and was happy to find everyone still in one piece.

“Maybe they think we’re dead,” Dieter whispered.

A Russian soldier with a megaphone shattered that illusion. “Achtung! Brave soldiers of the Wehrmacht,” he called out in broken German. “You do not need to die here tonight in this lonely graveyard.”

“I heard this shit before,” Axel said.

The Russian continued. “Surrender now and join your comrades in a holding camp until the war is over. You will be given food, medicine and water and treated in accordance with the Geneva Convention.”

Axel’s anger boiled over. “The Geneva Convention? What kind of bullshit is that? They don’t even know where Geneva is!” Then he got up and fired a few rounds at the sound of the voice.

Axel hit the dirt as bullets exploded around him. He was unscathed when the return fire stopped, which amused him to no end.

“Do you ever think before you fucking shoot?” Wolf asked the grinning pilot.

“No. No, he doesn’t,” Klaus said, answering for him. “I suspect he has anger-management issues.”

Before Wolf could rebut that smart-ass remark, the bombardment resumed. The men took cover as each successive salvo got closer; it was only a matter of time before the mortar team zeroed in on them. The Russians weren’t going anywhere as long as they thought that the cemetery still contained a pocket of resistance.

“We’re trapped!” Klaus yelled over the explosions. “They’ll keep bombarding us with those goddamn mortars until we’re dead.”

“The river! It’s our only way out!” Sebastian replied.

“But I can’t swim!” Klaus yelled.

Wolf pulled him off the ground by his collar. “You’re about to learn, old man! Get your ass up!”

42

The River of Death

The squad hesitated on the riverbank as mortar rounds continued to explode in the cemetery behind them. Eva was still unconscious; the effort to heal Axel had completely drained her of energy. Sebastian slapped her on the cheek. When that failed to wake her, he put her over his shoulder. Crossing the river would be tough, but trying to do so with an unconscious girl in his arms could prove fatal. He desperately scanned the water for floating debris as he went into the river.

Klaus stared at swirling black water. “The current is too strong. We’ll drown,” he muttered.

“This is the only way out,” Wolf replied. “We have to get out of here. Let’s go.”

A sudden explosion sent shrapnel whistling overhead. “Now!” Wolf yelled as he jumped into the river.

Klaus stayed on the riverbank and watched Wolf and the others drift away. As his friends were about to learn, the old man was far more scared of water than he was of Russian bullets.

“Come on! We’ll help you swim!” Wolf yelled.

“I promise not to shoot you this time,” Axel added, trying to add some humor into what was turning into a desperate situation.

Klaus responded with an obscene gesture. Two more mortar rounds exploded nearby and the voices of angry Russian soldiers filled the air.

“Come on, Pop! They’re coming! Please!” Dieter yelled. Wolf pulled the kid deeper into the water as Klaus stayed on the shore and contemplated his fate. He had grown fond of the old man, but the time for indecision and debate was over.

A salvo of bullets hit the water just in front of Klaus. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw armed men running down the riverbank towards him.

“Pop!”

The old man took one last long look at his grandson. Then he ran back into the cemetery.

This was to be his finest hour.

43

Dreams of Heaven

Klaus ran through the cemetery like a wild man; he was Custer taunting the Indians. “Hey ass face! Over here!” he shouted. When he finally made out the faces of confused Russian soldiers through the fog, he raised his rifle and shot the one with the red stripes on his sleeve.

Klaus ducked down behind a gravestone as the angry Russians returned fire. Then he threw a potato masher in their general direction as far as he could. He knew that the grenade had found its mark when the explosion was followed by the screams of a mortally wounded soldier.

“Stalin is a skunk!” he shouted. Then he jumped up and picked off several more Russians who were popping up between the gravestones to get a bead on him.

Unfortunately, Klaus saw the rifleman flank him a split-second too late. A bullet slammed into his forearm, instantly snapping his radius in half. He fell to the ground as gunshots ricocheted off of the gravestones.

Despite his horrific wound, Klaus surprised his adversary by rolling across the ground and quickly changing his firing angle. He took the Russian out with two carefully placed shots to the chest.

With a second to catch his breath, he looked down at his arm. His sleeve was red and there was a bone sticking out through it. The only thought that ran through his mind was that getting shot hurt less than he had expected; his arm was numb. Klaus felt tired and warm and began to black out. This isn’t so bad, he thought. I’ll just fade away. He saw his mother and father beckoning him down a long white tunnel and he felt incredibly happy and peaceful.

Angry shouts brought him back to the fight. The old man stood up and prepared to take on a determined enemy that was closing in on him like a pack of wolves. He leaned his rifle on a tombstone and took a few more down, but his position became indefensible when a Soviet machine-gunner blasted the stone monument to pieces.

Klaus staggered down the path as the blood gushed out of his useless arm. He didn’t have much time left on Earth, but he had successfully led the Russians on a wild goose chase away from his grandson and the rest of the men.

Mission accomplished, he thought.

44

Acceptance

The squad drifted downriver. When they heard the shouts on the riverbank, Dieter’s heart raced. My grandfather is a survivor—he lived through the Battle of the Somme, for crying out loud, he thought. Maybe he got away! Maybe the Russians lost him! His pulse quickened and he half-expected to see Klaus jump into the river.

Wolf had a far more realistic expectation of the situation. The old man led the patrol away from them. But like a soldier who dives onto a grenade, Klaus paid a steep price for his heroism. He was right about one thing, though. He died in a cemetery—they wouldn’t have to take his body far.

Suddenly, another flurry of gunfire rang out, followed by the cheers of Russian soldiers. Dieter felt his stomach turn. He knew what had happened. He looked to the sky and made the sign of the cross. “Thanks, Pop.”

Under normal circumstances, that moment would have broken Wolf’s heart, but he had no time for sentimentality. The enemy wouldn’t assume there had only been one soldier in the cemetery. They would search the grounds until they got to the water, the obvious escape route. If the Russians caught them in the blood-filled river, they would be sitting ducks.

45

Tank Camp

A bonfire fueled by Nazi parade banners and gasoline illuminated a surreal scene of drunken debauchery.

With their massive T-34 battle tank behind them, tank commander Sergei Tokolovskii and his crew drank vodka and sang obscene songs about Hitler. On the turret, twenty-seven crude slash marks kept track of the German armored vehicles that had fallen victim to their deadly 85 mm cannon.

Tokolovskii was a tough son-of-a-bitch from Minsk with a notorious reputation as a warrior who drank as hard as he fought. The crew respected Tok, but they also feared him; his tendency to lash out in a rage when he had been drinking was legendary. And he was always drinking.

As was his custom, he brought a guest with him to the party, a young, beautiful and rather unlucky German woman who had chosen the wrong Soviet officer to befriend in exchange for protection from other Russian soldiers. The fräulein wasn’t enjoying her evening, but Tokolovskii didn’t care. There were no innocent Germans as far as he was concerned.

As they did each night, the crew alternated taking shots of vodka and giving each other slaps in the face, a bizarre ritualistic pain contest between men who had caused more than their fair share of pain to others in this war.

Yuri didn’t take part in the festivities. He was more interested in tinkering with the huge abandoned searchlight that he found near the river. The crew was frustrated with his reluctance to drink with them, but they had long since grown used to his eccentricities. They tolerated Yuri because he was a brilliant mechanic and driver who helped them survive combat time and time again against the far superior German panzers.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tokolovskii asked, annoyed that Yuri couldn’t bring himself to enjoy even one night of mayhem with the rest of the crew.

“A report came over the radio. Some Germans escaped into the river in this sector.”

“Then they are fucking drowned. Drink with us.”

Yuri pulled a lever and the spotlight came to life, its intense beam pointed straight up into the sky. “Don’t worry, Tok. I’ll make sure the fascists don’t sneak up on us.”

Besides his burning desire to avoid getting mixed up in the inevitable drunken brawl, Yuri had another reason for working overtime, as it were. When he first picked up arms for the Soviet Union, the war wasn’t personal; it was a distant conflict that barely touched his life. That all changed when the Nazis wiped out his family at Babyn Yar. After he got that news, Yuri wasn’t inclined to take part in any celebrations until every last German soldier was either dead or on his way to a Siberian prison camp. The vodka could wait.

“Good luck on your fishing expedition,” Tokolovskii said, reaching for the bottle. There was still time left in the war. He was determined to enjoy every last minute of it.

46

The River of Death

The squad drifted past burning buildings as explosions and gunfire rang out all around them. Berlin was in ruins. The debris of war littered the water, including many burned and mutilated bodies. Still, they managed to find levity in their journey.

“Is the dog-paddle your primary combat swimming technique?” Sebastian asked.

“When I joined your half-assed squad, I didn’t realize that I needed aquatic capabilities,” Axel replied as he struggled to swim.

“I didn’t say it was going to be easy.”

“You didn’t say it was going to be impossible either.”

“Don’t worry, pilot. We’ll get you some swimming lessons when this is all over,” Wolf said.

“Asshole,” Axel replied with a smile.

Wolf pushed the decapitated body of a Russian soldier away and grabbed a tree that was floating in the river. The men draped Eva across a thick branch, keeping her head just above the water. “With luck, we’ll pass right through the Russian lines. Then we’ll make our run for the airfield,” Wolf explained, not quite believing his own words.

Just ahead, a searchlight cut through the fog and swept across the river. The beam got closer and a huge explosion gave the sky a momentary orange glow.

“They’re searching for us,” Axel said.

As if on cue, the searchlight swept right towards them. Unfortunately, Axel and Dieter were on the wrong side of the tree—there was nowhere for them to hide.

“Get down!” Wolf yelled. The men took a deep breath and dove underwater as the intense beam closed in.

47

How to Die Alone

As the bat descended through the clouds, a flare flew through the air below and reflected on its underbelly. Suddenly, the creature changed direction. It had detected something just below the surface of the swirling water.

Dieter held his breath as the searchlight illuminated the water around him. Just when he thought his lungs were going to burst, the water went dark again.

He shot to the surface and gasped for air. Dieter immediately realized that the others were gone. He looked for them, but the smoke and fog that cloaked the river limited visibility to a few meters. Then reality sank in. He was alone.

Suddenly, there was a huge impact in the water, like a meteor. Then he heard something swimming incredibly fast, right towards him.

Dieter turned towards the splashing noise.

“Axel?” he shouted, desperately hoping to hear a response from his friend. But it wasn’t his friend—something was swimming towards him faster than any human being could possibly move.

The kid aimed his rifle into the fog and screamed. “Help! Help me! Mother! Help me!”

48

Tank Camp

Yuri swept the searchlight across the river. He was exhausted, but there was no point in trying to sleep. Tok and the others would drink. Then they would fight until one or more of them were bloody. Then—and only then—would they would sleep. That’s what always happened.

“Yuri, come drink with us!” Tokolovskii yelled.

“Get over here!” Pavel added.

“I heard something in the river!” Yuri yelled back. “I need to stand guard. We could be ambushed!”

Tokolovskii knew that Yuri was avoiding him. “There is nothing in the river except dead bodies,” he shouted back. “Take the fish out of your big ears and come drink with your crew. This war isn’t going to last forever.”

49

Outrage

Wolf and Axel swam through the dark water and searched for Dieter. Suddenly, they heard him cry out. “Mother! Mother! Help me! It’s going to get me!”

Axel freaked. “That was Dieter! That was him! I heard him! Dieter!” The pilot was on the verge of hysterics.

“Calm down!” Wolf said. “Don’t panic! Keep your voice down!”

“But I heard him!”

Wolf slapped Axel across the face. “Get a grip, pilot. I need you to not lose it right now—we’ll find him.” Axel was capable of causing extreme chaos when he was riled up. Wolf knew that he had to keep him calm at all costs. “Take a deep breath.”

Axel took a few deep breaths.

“You okay?

Axel nodded.

With the situation momentarily under control, the men looked for Dieter. A few minutes later, they found him; a bloody chunk had been carved out of his neck.

And with that discovery, their most immediate threat was no longer a Russian searchlight and the situation was no longer under control. In fact, the river adventure had just changed categories from miserable-but-potentially-survivable to irreversibly-fucked-up-and-hopeless.

“Stay calm,” Wolf said. “We’ll get out of this.”

“I’m okay,” Axel replied. “But I have one question.”

“What’s that?”

“Do vampires have aquatic capabilities?”

Then it was Wolf’s turn to lose control. “What do you think we’re dealing with here, a fucking house cat?” he shouted. “Look at his shredded neck! I think it’s obvious that vampires don’t give a rat’s ass if they get wet!”

With Wolf no longer playing the role of the voice of reason, Axel’s world was turned upside down. He had felt safe in the water. The knowledge that they were still vulnerable to the vampires pushed him over the edge.

Axel screamed and fired his rifle into the fog. “Arrrghhhhh! Arrrghhhhh! I will murder them! Arrrghhhhh!” Exactly five shots later, the roar of gunshots was replaced with the click of an empty chamber.

“I’m out of ammo!” Axel cried.

Of course you are, Wolf thought.

50

Dumitra

Eva woke up. Sebastian was relieved until she spoke. “They are coming for me,” she said ominously. A split second later, something grabbed his leg and violently pulled him underwater.

Sebastian struggled to see his adversary through the murk as the searchlight swept across the surface. Then he saw Dumitra—her teeth were clamped onto his leg.

His lungs burned as he fought desperately to get the vampire off of his leg. As his blood filled the water around them, he kicked her nose as hard as he could. The blow from his combat boot knocked Dumitra’s head backwards and enabled him to get away.

The two figures surfaced, gasping for air and fighting desperately as the searchlight and flares illuminated the river around them. Dumitra threw a devastatingly powerful punch, but Sebastian dodged the blow and grabbed her arm. She then pivoted and bit down on his forearm like a bear trap, trying to reach bone. As their eyes met, Sebastian bared his fangs. Stunned by the realization that he was also a vampire, Dumitra released her grip. “You are one of us!” she cried.

“Never!”

“You don’t understand—the girl brings the End of Days. The prophecy foretold this!”

“The girl is innocent!”

“Kill her! Before it is too late!”

“For you, it is too late.” And with those words, Sebastian lifted Dumitra up out of the water with super-human strength and slammed her down onto a jagged branch of the tree. The vampire fought for her life as he pushed the branch through her. Blood poured from her mouth when the wood finally poked through her chest.

“Kill the girl,” she gasped with her last breath.

“Good riddance,” he replied as Dumitra’s body burst into flame and disappeared. Unfortunately, a dry branch of the tree also caught fire.

“Shit-shit-shit!” he cried. Sebastian desperately tried to douse the flames with water as the searchlight swept across the river towards the blaze.

Eva pointed at the beam and her eyes glowed red. Just as the light got to them, the sound of shattered glass filled the air. The searchlight went dark forever.

Sebastian was astounded. He had read occult books when he was a kid, but none of them mentioned vampires with extreme telekinetic powers or supernatural healing abilities. He was beginning to figure out Eva was much more powerful and important to the world than just a mere vampire.

51

Rodika

Wolf and Axel tread water with their backs to one another, as if they were in the ocean surrounded by sharks. They might as well have been.

Without warning, Rodika launched out of the water and hit Wolf, knocking the invaluable backpack full of ammo out of his hands. Wolf dove after it as Axel hit Rodika in the back of the head with his rifle.

Rodika spun around and attacked Axel. She grabbed his jacket, but her hand burned when it brushed against his Iron Cross. With the furious vampire distracted by her injury, Axel hit her between the eyes with his rifle butt. Her head flew backwards and there was a loud snap. He thought he broke her neck. “Take that!” he screamed.

Axel watched in horror as Rodika violently popped her neck back into place. Then she ripped the rifle right out of his hands and broke it in half.

Axel was stunned by the sheer strength of his adversary. Resigned to his fate, he closed his eyes and said a prayer as Rodika closed in for the kill.

At the last possible second, Wolf broke the surface of the water in front of the vampire and slammed the crucifix against her face!

Rodika screamed and knocked the cross away as her face burned. The stunned soldiers watched the wounded vampire launch out of the water, transform into a bat and fly away.

52

More Dead Germans

Tokolovskii took a swig of vodka as the raucous festivities continued around the fire. Then he broke into the death chant that started every battle and ended every night of drinking. “More dead Germans! More dead Germans! More dead Germans! More dead Germans!”

“More dead Germans! More dead Germans! More dead Germans!” the crew shouted in response.

Yuri hated that stupid chant. He wanted nothing to do with the crew when they were drinking, but with the searchlight out of commission, he decided to try to shut the party down for the night so they could rest. The next day’s battle would be like none other—the Nazis trapped in the city center had nothing left to lose. They would fight to the death like cornered animals, which would make them extraordinarily dangerous. The crew would need to be fast, alert and extremely lucky to have any hope of survival.

“More dead Germans! More dead Germans! More dead Germans!” the men shouted again.

Yuri pulled the bottle out of Pavel’s hands. When the young gunner from Belgorod tried to get it back, Yuri threw it into the fire. The only problem was that his throw was off. Way off. The bottle missed the fire and smashed between Tok’s feet. Broken glass and vodka went all over the place, but mostly on Tokolovskii.

In stark contrast to Yuri’s sudden fear of death or dismemberment at the hand of his tank commander, Pavel thought the bad throw was hilarious. He broke into a laughing fit and fell off the ammo box that he had been sitting on. “Ha-ha-ha-ha.”

Tokolovskii stood up with his fists clenched. “Shut the hell up, you illiterate serf. It wasn’t that fucking funny.”

The gunner was just drunk enough to be belligerent. He belched loudly. Then he dug his hole deeper. “Sorry Tok, but that was really fucking funny. It looks like you peed your pants.” Then he made another critical mistake. He laughed again. “Ha-ha-ha-ha.”

Tokolovskii clenched his teeth and tried to control his growing rage. That failed. Steam came out of his ears and he screamed at the top of his lungs. “You miserable cretin! I’m going to teach you a lesson that you will never forget!”

Pavel immediately jumped to his feet and assumed a karate-like defensive stance. “Bring it on, Tok!”

Here we go again, Yuri thought. He scrambled out of the way as the angry men ran at each other and collided like rams. They fell to the ground, wrestled and threw desperate punches, neither able to gain an advantage.

Just as Tokolovskii got the upper hand by attempting to strategically remove Pavel’s left ear from his head, a familiar voice rang out. “Stop fighting! That’s an order!”

The men stopped trying to kill one another and looked up into the angry eyes of Major Federov. Federov prided himself on visiting his men before each battle, but he hated this crew—they were always drunk and causing problems. The raging fistfights that broke out amongst Tokolovskii and his band of idiots were well known.

In what had become known as the “Incredible Kursk Incident,” three of them jumped out of their T-34 to settle their differences during the battle. That episode would have ended in a court martial but for the fact that they eventually climbed back into their tank and knocked out three more Tigers. The men were belligerent drunks with no respect for authority. But they were extremely good at killing German tanks; a trait that made them valuable to Federov.

“Put the vodka away, Commander Tokolovskii,” he ordered. “We have an important battle ahead of us.”

Tokolovskii remained indignant. “Major, don’t you have someone else to harass? Perhaps some new recruits from Kamchatka who haven’t learned how to tie their boots yet?”

“You drunken son-of-a-bitch,” Federov replied. “I’m warning you—your tank better be ready for battle at 0600. Stalin wants the Reichstag taken tomorrow. I intend to accommodate him.”

“Relax. We’ll be sober, awake and ready to kill as many Nazis as you want tomorrow.” Tokolovskii then briefly interrupted himself to kiss the German woman a few more times before continuing. “Well, we may not be sober. But the rest is true,” he said.

The crew laughed at their commander’s insolence.

“Stop drinking and let the woman go. You should have a guard posted. The Nazis are trying to break through our lines all over this city. If you’re not careful, they will slit your throat.”

Tokolovskii smiled. “Major, it may look like we have just been enjoying ourselves all night, but we have had a guard posted this entire time.”

“That’s true,” Pavel added.

“Yuri, tell Major Federov about your brave efforts to keep the Red Army safe. Tell him how you protect us against fascist threats in the river.”

Federov stared at Yuri. This should be good.

“Well ... the searchlight was working. I searched for German soldiers in the river for about five minutes. Then the light blew up. I don’t know what happened—it just exploded on its own.”

Federov stared at the broken glass that littered the ground. “Nothing just explodes on its own. The searchlight exploded because you are drunk,” he replied. “This crew is always stinking drunk. But let’s make one thing clear. Tomorrow is an important day for the Soviet Union. If you are drunk, I will make an example of you. All of you.”

The smile disappeared from Tokolovskii’s face. “Yuri, get the tank ready.”

Federov walked away, immersed in angry thoughts. This renegade crew is trouble. Perhaps their luck will run out tomorrow.

53

The Plan

Wolf lay on the riverbank, completely exhausted. After surviving the journey down the river from hell and combat with a vampire, he didn’t know if he had enough energy to stand up again, let alone continue to the Brandenburg Gate. He closed his eyes and drifted off...

A few minutes later, Axel emerged from the water and collapsed on the ground next to him.

Sebastian came out last, cradling Eva in his arms. She was still out—she fainted again after taking out the searchlight, her energy drained. He wondered if she had been poisoned or was under some sort of supernatural attack that he couldn’t perceive. In any event, they had to get moving. “Let’s go,” he called out. “Rise and shine.”

No one moved.

“No rest for the wicked,” he shouted. “Get up!” When still nobody moved, he kicked Axel in the leg. “Get up, pilot! Let’s go—we’re not out of this shit yet!”

Finally, the men stirred. As Axel got to his feet, he touched his chest and panicked—the Iron Cross was gone! “Major, I’m so sorry. I lost your medal,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Wolf replied.

Axel was devastated. “That decoration meant everything to you,” he cried. “It meant everything to me. I am so sorry, Major Kepler.”

Wolf stared at him in disbelief and wondered how a young man who had lived through so much that day—shootouts, getting his face burned off and fighting a vampire in a river of blood—could possibly be worried about a silly piece of iron. “You’re alive, son. That’s all that matters right now. Nothing else. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Axel bowed his head. “Yes.”

Artillery rumbled in the distance. “It sounds like Germany’s last stand will be in the Reichstag,” Sebastian surmised.

“They’re wasting their time. Hitler burned it down for them years ago,” Wolf replied. Underneath the dripping sarcasm, he was worried. The Soviet forces had advanced much further and faster than he had anticipated. Which meant they were probably still behind enemy lines.

The men gathered around as Wolf drew a crude map in the dirt with a bayonet. “The Russians will attack with everything they have at sunrise. Before then, we need to get right here,” he said, pointing to a mark in the dirt. “The landing strip near the Brandenburg Gate. If we can get to the gate, we might be able to get on a plane.”

Axel scoffed. “The great panzer divisions couldn’t break through the Russian lines and they had waves of Stukas to support them. How do you plan to break through?”

The roar of a T-34 tank engine in the distance answered the question.

54

Grand Theft Tank

Yuri revved the powerful engine. He was in the driver seat of his beloved tank, the place where he felt the safest in the entire world. The steel beast had a soul. It protected him and gave him the means to strike back at a potent enemy who had taken so much from him.

Tokolovskii shouted to his men over the roar of the engine. “Give Yuri a hand—get the beast ready!”

As the drunken crew stumbled back to the tank, Tokolovskii pressed a crushed packet of cigarettes into the German woman’s palm and closed her hand. “I have to go kill more of your friends and family,” he said. “Buy yourself a new dress on the black market, fräulein. Make yourself prettier for the next time.”

The woman shrieked and threw the cigarettes into the fire. Tokolovskii laughed as she ran off into the darkness, her dress in tatters. He liked German women. He hoped to be stationed in Berlin after the war.

Suddenly, a hand tapped him on the shoulder. Tokolovskii turned around. He smiled because he thought that he was looking at one of the thousands of pathetic German soldiers who were surrendering to anyone and everyone in a Russian uniform. With the hour of the final assault approaching, Tok didn’t have time for a prisoner. Instead, he decided to make the end of the war quick and painless for this German. “Give me your pistol,” he ordered.

Sebastian didn’t move a muscle. He just stared at Tokolovskii as a blind rage boiled deep inside of him.

“I told you to give me your pistol.”

Sebastian grabbed him by the neck and lifted him off of the ground.

The Russian remained defiant. “You Nazi scumbag,” he gasped.

“I am not a Nazi,” Sebastian replied. “I am a German citizen and I am a fucking musician. I just added vampire to my resume, so you are highly advised against antagonizing me further.”

“Bite me.”

Sebastian bared his fangs and Tokolovskii had a sudden change in attitude. He gasped in terror and tried to form the words to beg for his life from a vampire in a German uniform.

“You should respect the innocent,” Sebastian said as he squeezed his airway closed. Then he punched him so hard that bones shattered. Blood, spit and little white crunchy pieces of teeth gurgled out of his mouth as Sebastian threw the whimpering Russian into the fire.

The crew heard the garbled scream over the engine. They grabbed their side arms and unleashed a furious volley of gunfire at the intruder in their midst.

Sebastian felt the bullets rip into him as he fell. When the shooting stopped, he had been shot exactly twenty-seven times, by his count. The impact of those bullets, however, felt no worse than getting poked with a stick. Annoying, at best. He didn’t ask to be transformed into a creature of the night, but if it was going to get him through the war, so be it.

As the petrified crew looked on, Sebastian stood up and brushed off his jacket. For the encore, he held up a smoking bullet, blew on it and threw it back at them.

The crew ran for their lives, but they didn’t get far. Sebastian was just beginning to realize his newfound speed as a vampire. When the massacre was over, he pulled the three badly wounded Russians into a dark corner of a bombed out building. Eva quietly joined the feast as he quenched what was becoming an unyielding thirst for blood.

Alone in the tank, Yuri never heard the commotion, nor did he have any idea that the rest of the crew was dead. He was annoyed as hell though. “Those drunken slobs will be late to their own funeral,” he said to himself. When he opened the hatch to read the crew the riot act, a gun was stuck in his face.

“Get out,” Wolf ordered.

Yuri put his hands up and climbed out of the tank. He loved his machine, but there was no reason to die for it. The Wehrmacht was on the verge of annihilation and the Great Patriotic War was over. His main fear was that the psychopath who just pulled him out of the tank at gunpoint might not see it that way.

When he saw Tokolovskii’s body in the fire, Yuri panicked. He dropped to his knees and begged for his life in broken German. “Please, don’t kill me ... I have family ... three little babies ... please.”

Wolf didn’t know that Yuri was lying about his family, but he wouldn’t have cared if he did. He was tired of the death and destruction. He motioned for Yuri to leave.

Yuri froze. He was convinced that Wolf would shoot him in the back.

“Go,” Wolf said.

Still, Yuri didn’t budge. He pointed to Wolf’s pistol and shook his head. Wolf smiled and put the pistol back in his holster. “Relax, Ivan. I’m not going to shoot you.”

Yuri sobbed and kissed Wolf’s hand. “Danke schön! Danke schön!”

“Get the hell out of here before I reconsider my offer.” Yuri didn’t give him a chance to change his mind. He jumped up and ran for his life.

With the crew out of the way, Wolf and his men inspected their new prized possession—a Soviet T-34 battle tank.

Sebastian put Eva into the turret. Then he climbed into the driver’s compartment and studied the controls. Although different from the Panther that he had driven until a few days ago, the driving mechanism looked close enough to figure out. This small crew compartment is more like the inside of a submarine than a tank, he thought.

Wolf climbed into the turret. “Get in here with us,” he told Axel. “I’m gonna load. You’re gonna shoot. It’s very simple. Got it?”

Axel was dumbfounded. “You want me to shoot that freakin monstrosity?”

“You’ll be fine. Besides, the loading system on a T-34 is complicated; not as efficient as our panzers.”

“I’ve never even been inside of a panzer before. Are you really sure that you want me to fire the cannon?”

“Listen, pilot. I can’t let you drive this thing unless we want to crash in the first five minutes. It’s better to have you shoot the enemy than blow us up from within, which is exactly what will happen if I put someone as stupid as you in charge of the high explosives.”

Axel shrugged and climbed into the turret. “Good morning princess,” he said to Eva. “I’m here to blow shit up.”

“Sit down and pay attention if you want to live,” Wolf warned. “I have three rules for the gunner. First, line the target up in the crosshairs before you pull the trigger. Second, don’t press any button or pull any lever if you don’t know what it does. And finally, and most importantly, don’t shoot anything unless and until I tell you to shoot it, under any circumstances. I don’t care if Stalin himself dances into your line of fire; do not shoot him unless I give that order. Do I make myself clear?”

Axel saluted smartly. “Crystal clear, sir.”

“Good, because basic tank training is over. You’ll have to learn the rest as we go.”

55

The Rat Patrol

The T-34 roared down the street as Sebastian navigated around and through the Russian positions. The tank was a challenge to drive—especially given the horrible condition of the streets—but he was getting the hang of it. A few blocks later, he grew confident enough to roll over a shot-up Mercedes, crushing the car as flat as a pancake. This is a monster, he thought.

Russian infantrymen waved as the tank passed, never imagining in their wildest dreams that they were greeting their mortal enemy.

In the cramped turret, Axel poked Wolf. “I was skeptical before, but I must admit it now. Your plan is genius.”

“Your plan is genius,” Eva parroted as she curiously studied the interior of the tank. She had no idea where she was, but she felt safe with the men.

Wolf gave Axel the thumbs up, but their problems weren’t over. The real trouble would start when they got to the German lines—they had no radio capable of communicating with German units to convince their nervous anti-tank gunners that their Russian tank wasn’t a threat.

Fifty meters up the street, Major Federov watched the T-34 rumble towards him on what he expected to be the greatest day of his military career. In the weeks that led up to that proud moment, he had never stopped reminding his men that the unit that planted the flag on the top of the Reichstag would be Heroes of the Soviet Union for all time.

They’re early. That’s strange, Federov thought as he waved their orders in the air. Tokolovskii won’t be happy to learn that his tank will lead the attack. “Halt!” he shouted.

But the tank didn’t halt. In fact, Sebastian wasn’t entirely sure how to stop a Russian tank—he had barely figured out how to get the damn thing to start. The other problem was the T-34’s notoriously poor visibility. Strategically, this affected the driver’s ability to use the terrain to his advantage. Practically speaking, Sebastian couldn’t see shit. Federov had to dive out of the way at the last second to avoid getting squashed by the tank treads.

Twenty meters later, Sebastian found the brakes and the steel monstrosity ground to a noisy halt. Federov fumed as he got up. What had been a spotless military tunic was now covered in mud. As he picked up his Ushakov combat medal from the ground, a few soldiers laughed openly.

Federov was furious—he decided to hold the crew accountable. He would lose his lead tank, but it would be a powerful demonstration of the importance of discipline in the Soviet Red Army, a lesson that would save the lives of other men in the fighting that awaited. He took a hammer from his belt. “Get out! Get the hell out of the tank!” he screamed.

When there was no response from within the tank, Federov pounded on it, growing angrier with each strike of the hammer. The only question in his mind was whether or to allow Tokolovskii to publicly apologize before he shot him.

Inside the tank, the men were strangely calm and even found humor in the situation. “Subtle communication system they have here,” Axel said.

“Major, what does the Wehrmacht field manual say to do when you are in a stolen tank and surrounded by hundreds of enemy soldiers?” Sebastian asked.

Wolf laughed. “It says to tell the angry guy with the hammer that we’re not filling out paperwork today.”

Federov continued to pound on the tank as the surreal banter continued inside. Angry at being ignored, he screamed at soldiers who were gathered around the tank. “You men! Get these incompetent assholes out of this tank—I will court martial them myself! The entire crew will be shot if any of them have so much as a drop of alcohol on their breath!”

In response, a grinning soldier from Tajikistan jumped onto the tank with a crowbar.

“Uh-oh. They found a can opener,” Wolf announced. He knew that if the Russian got the hatch open, their tank excursion would not end well.

Then the tactical situation suddenly got worse—Yuri showed up. The driver grabbed Federov and pointed at his tank. Federov looked at Yuri, then back at the tank, then back at Yuri. Then he pushed Yuri out of the way and pulled out his pistol. Game over.

“Fire,” Wolf said.

Axel froze.

“Please pull the trigger,” Wolf said as the crowbar scraped against the hatch.

“Axel, pull the fucking trigger!” Wolf screamed.

Axel closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

The checkpoint exploded! The soldier with the crowbar flew off the tank and men dove for cover everywhere. Federov dropped his hammer and just stood there with his mouth open as a thick black cloud enveloped the street.

“Gun it!” Wolf shouted as he slammed another round into the chamber.

Sebastian hit the gas and the T-34 roared forward, belching exhaust fumes and causing Federov to dive out of the way for the second time. Angry Russian soldiers struggled to make sense of the pandemonium and started shooting, whether or not they had a target in sight. Hundreds of rounds pinged off the tank as it rolled down the street.

“Fire!” Wolf shouted.

Axel pulled the trigger and the powerful 85 mm sent the façade of a bank crashing down onto a platoon of dazed Russian soldiers. The T-34 swerved around a concrete barrier and crashed through the remnants of the checkpoint, sending wood, metal and men everywhere! Yuri emerged from the dust cloud and ran away as fast as his legs would carry him, never to see his beloved tank again.

Federov screamed and gestured wildly at another tank, a KV-85. “Regroup! Regroup! Fucking Regroup! Kill them!” The massive KV-85 roared forward, its exhaust fumes adding to the dust cloud. Just as it passed Federov, it fired its massive cannon, causing a street lamp to launch into the air and crash to the ground right in front of the T-34.

“They almost got us! Turn the turret! Turn it!” Sebastian screamed. “Hurry up! “

“Take them out!” Wolf yelled.

Although the T-34 had a high velocity gun and sloped armor, its Achilles heel was its thin turret armor. Wolf knew that if they didn’t get another shot off before the KV-85 did, they were probably as good as dead.

Up the street, an astonished detachment of Volksstrum watched the two Russian tanks slug it out as Panzerfaust shells swished through the air around them.

“Achtung!” came the cry. “Finish them both off!” The German gun crew pulled the camouflage netting away and their deadly 88 mm gun roared to life. Boom!

The resulting explosion violently rocked the T-34. Eva screamed as the side of the tank lifted into the air and crashed back down.

Wolf slammed another round into the chamber and prayed that the treads hadn’t been destroyed. If they got stuck in the kill zone of the 88, they were finished. “Fire!”

Axel pulled the trigger and the ground in front of the KV-85 erupted. He panicked when he realized that he missed. “Damn! Reload! Reload!”

The KV-85 responded with cannon fire of its own and the T-34 shook violently, as if it had been hit with a giant sledgehammer. Flames shot out of the back.

“We got hit! We’re on fire!” Wolf shouted.

“Give me one more shot!” Axel screamed.

“Screw it!” Wolf yelled as he slammed a shell into the chamber. “Fire!”

Axel pulled the trigger one last time. It was a direct hit—the KV-85 exploded!

With their most immediate threat eliminated, Sebastian turned the burning T-34 towards the German lines at full throttle. Fifty meters later, another explosion rocked the tank. He wasn’t sure where the shot came from, but it didn’t matter—everybody was shooting at them.

“Hold on!” he shouted. Then he crashed the flaming tank into what used to be a department store.

Smoke and orange flames engulfed the tank. “Get out! Everyone out!” Wolf yelled.

They jumped out of the tank and sprinted through the burning building. The upscale store had long since been looted of merchandise, but bomb damage and debris made it very difficult to navigate.

Suddenly, the tank exploded behind them. The force of the blast knocked them down in front of a row of mannequins. They got up and scrambled for the exit as the flames spread throughout the building.

Two serpent-like eyes followed their every move from a dark corner of the burning store. Rodika licked her lips and waited for the opportunity to strike.

56

Mercy Street

The squad ran out of the store as explosions rang out behind them. Then they stopped dead in their tracks.

“Holy shit,” Wolf said. In front of them, an apocalyptic scene of death and destruction. Destroyed vehicles littered the street. The bloated and decomposing bodies of German soldiers swung back and forth on nooses hung from the lampposts. Crude cardboard signs around their necks labeled them as deserters.

“We’re killing our own now,” Wolf said as he plugged his nose from the unbearable stench.

“When is this lunacy going to end?” Sebastian asked.

Eva pointed at a little boy who knelt on the sidewalk and desperately tried to open a small package. “Boy is hungry,” she whispered.

When the boy noticed everyone staring at him, he scurried away through a hole in the wall, leaving his precious package behind.

Sebastian picked the package up and ripped the brown paper away to reveal a small loaf of bread. The thought that they scared the boy away from what little food he could find made him sick. The kid was starving, he thought. He couldn’t have gone far.

The squad crawled through the hole in the wall. It didn’t take long to find the child; he was huddled next to his mother in a corner of the building. His mother’s leg was purple and oozing pus, compliments of a badly infected shrapnel wound that she got while standing in a bread line. She couldn’t be moved, so they decided to remain there until the bitter end. Which for her, was soon.

Sebastian offered the bread to them, but the scared little boy pushed it away. “We won’t hurt you. Please, take it,” he said, still holding the bread out.

“Get the hell away from us,” his mother replied. “We don’t need food or anything else from you. The Russians will kill us if they find you here.”

“Get out!” the boy yelled.

“We just want to help you,” Wolf replied.

His mother looked at her son, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Look around you, soldier. You did this to Germany. This is your fault. Haven’t you helped us enough already?”

Sebastian sighed and put the bread on the ground. “Let’s go,” he said. As the men backed out of the room, Eva sat down next to the injured woman.

“Go with your friends, dear,” the woman said. “His father is dead and I am not long for this world.”

“Shhhhhhh,” Eva replied.

“You don’t understand, sweetie. We have nothing to offer you. Nothing at all.”

Eva put her hand on the woman’s badly infected leg and smiled. The garlic-based drugs that the Gestapo had pumped into her system were starting to wear off.

57

Accountability

Wolf led the squad through the ruined Berlin cityscape as fighting raged in the distance. Graffiti in red paint on the wall of a bombed-out café held an appeal from Goebbels. “Every German will defend his capital. We shall stop the Red hordes at the walls of our Berlin.”

“The nation pays the price in blood, but Hitler never looked,” Wolf muttered to no one in particular.

“What are you talking about?” Axel asked.

“Hundreds of thousands of German civilians have been killed in the air raids, but Hitler never visited Hamburg. He never visited Cologne. He never looked at the suffering that his war caused. In fact, he had the windows of his train painted black so he could travel through our bombed out cities without having to look at anything. We gave Adolf Hitler power—Adolf Hitler gave us death.”

“I hope you’re right about the Brandenburg airfield,” Axel said.

Wolf spit on the ground. “I’m not sure that I know what is right about anything anymore.”

Suddenly, Eva screamed! The men ducked and pointed their guns at the surrounding buildings as they tried to locate the source of the threat. A second later, the air was filled with the roar of a formation of Russian Yak-7 fighter planes. “Get inside!” Wolf yelled.

The men scrambled off the street and took cover in the ruins of Café Leipzig as the planes blazed a trail of destruction with their machine guns. When fighters flew off, the sounds of death from above were replaced by music. The Blue Danube.

Sebastian thought he was hearing things. He turned around and was stunned to see an older couple in formalwear dancing in the ruins of the café.

Wolf lifted the needle up from the record player. “You have to get out of here,” he told the pair. “It’s not safe.”

The well-dressed couple smiled and continued their dream-like dance in silence, as though they didn’t hear him. “The enemy will be here soon,” Wolf said forcefully. “You must leave.”

Finally, the woman responded. “Café Leipzig was everything to us; now it is gone forever. What you see around you is all that we have left of our hopes and dreams. This is the last dance that my husband and I will ever have in the ruins of our dreams. Please, leave us be,” she said.

Wolf put the needle down.

As the soldiers walked down the street, The Blue Danube resonated behind them. “We destroyed Germany,” Wolf said.

“We didn’t destroy anything,” Axel replied. “We were only following orders.”

“That’s horseshit! Millions of lives have been lost and families have been wiped out all over Europe. Countless national treasures and works of art have been lost forever. Through our selfish actions, we helped Hitler destroy Germany. We are responsible.”

“It’s not that simple.”

The music stopped. The silence that followed was broken by two gunshots from Café Leipzig.

“It is that simple,” Wolf replied.

58

Ballroom Blitz

Gestapo officer Günter Honaker stormed out of the ruins of Café Leipzig, his gun pointed right at Wolf. “Halt! Put your hands up!” he slurred. “Where is your goddamn unit?” Günter was drunk and trying to perform what his solemn duty to the Führer; the elimination of those who betrayed Germany in its darkest hour.

Wolf was in no mood to deal with Günter. “Where the hell do you think our unit is?” he asked. “It was annihilated as we carried out orders that were conceived in a loony bin. Our Panther was destroyed near Berlin Cathedral. Like our Luftwaffe friend here, we are the sole survivors of our unit.”

Günter would have none of it. “You are not survivors—you are deserters! You should be on the front lines, fighting for the Fatherland!”

Sebastian protectively stepped in front of the others. “Look around you, idiot,” he said. “There are no front lines in Berlin anymore. There is only survival, which is growing more and more difficult by the hour. Put the goddamn gun down and save your life.”

“Traitor! Put your hands up or I’ll blow your damn head off!” Günter shouted.

As the situation escalated, Heydrich suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He had been searching for Wolf and the others all night and he was not about to allow a derelict Gestapo officer to interfere with Operation Tristan. “Stand down! That’s an order,” he said.

Günter turned his gun on Heydrich. “To hell with your cowardly orders. I hang deserters!”

Heydrich smiled. Then he pulled out his Luger and shot Günter right between the eyes. The men had never seen anyone move so fast. The second surprise was Heydrich’s announcement that followed. “Major Kepler, I’ve been tracking you all night. You have proven quite difficult to find in this environment.”

Wolf was stunned. His mind raced with a thousand questions. “You’ve been tracking me? How is that possible? How do you even know who I am?”

“There is no time to explain Major, we have to go. The Russians are about to launch their final assault.”

As they spoke, a group of Hitler Youth rode past them, a Panzerfaust or two strapped to the front of each bicycle. Heydrich clicked his heels and gave the kids a sharp salute. Eva also raised her hand into the air, but as if to tell them to stop.

“Death to the Russians! Defend Berlin!” a freckled, red-haired kid shouted. A few other kids cheered as they furiously pedaled their bikes.

The children’s misguided enthusiasm saddened Wolf. They were acting like they were going outside for recess, but they had no idea what they were in for. “They’re going to die. They’re all going to die for nothing.”

“Keep your voice down, Major Kepler,” Heydrich replied. “Adolf Hitler himself ordered those children to attack the Russian positions. They will not survive this mission, but that doesn’t make their contribution any less valuable to the Reich. They are buying us time.”

“Buying us time for what?”

“To get you out of Berlin.”

59

Dead Kids on Bikes

Major Federov had received intelligence from recently captured prisoners that the Germans were about to launch a preemptive strike in his sector. In response, he carefully set up multiple kill zones in the street with his machine guns and anti-tank weapons. Any German units that were stupid enough to attack his position would pay a heavy price.

“Multiple targets!” a rooftop sniper shouted. “Multiple targets approaching fast!”

Federov jumped behind a wall of sandbags, picked up a pair of binoculars and scoured the street for any sign of the attackers. “Select targets! Fire on my command!”

Each soldier pointed his rifle or machine gun down the street and waited. Gunners slammed shells into the 57 mm anti-tank guns; they were bushwhackers prepared to rain death upon the enemy.

Federov watched the enemy approach. As the images in his field of view became clearer, he realized that the soldiers of the attacking force were just a bunch of kids. The Nazis were using children as suicide troops!

He dropped the binoculars and ran in front of his troops waving his arms like a madman. The war was nearly over—he didn’t want it to end with the blood of children on his hands, despite what his own family had suffered in the brutal siege of Leningrad. “Hold your fire! Don’t shoot! They’re just kids!” he yelled.

His troops stared down their gun barrels as Federov picked up a megaphone and desperately tried his version of battlefield diplomacy. “Children!” he shouted in German. “Please put your weapons down and go home. The war is over—we don’t want to hurt you!”

The youths jumped off their bikes. For a fleeting moment, Federov thought that he had pulled off a minor diplomatic miracle. Then the red-haired kid raised his Panzerfaust and yelled “Heil Hitler!” That’s when Federov knew the situation was about to get ugly.

He dove behind sandbags as the shell swished through the air towards them. Boom! The explosion erupted right where he had been standing.

Federov got up quickly. His ears were ringing, but he wasn’t hurt. A private from Belarus hadn’t been so lucky, however. The sight of the blood shooting out of the mortally wounded young soldier’s thigh enraged him.

“Fire!” he screamed. “Kill them! Kill them all!”

The Russian soldiers opened up on the Hitler Youth with a vicious hailstorm of gunfire. When the bullets stopped flying, the street was littered with dead kids and bikes. Thinking of the similar fate of his own children, Major Federov fell to his knees and sobbed.

None of his men said a word.

60

Red Skies at Night

General Chuikov looked at his watch. The Hero of Stalingrad had waited a very long time for this moment. In exactly seven minutes, the Soviet Red Army would launch its final assault on the Reichstag and Berlin city center.

Chuikov had every expectation that the Germans would fight back hard. His casualties would be substantial, but irrelevant. Stalin would order him to throw more men into the fight until the Nazis were crushed. A great deal of Russian blood would be spilled in Berlin, but the only thing that ultimately mattered was that the Nazis were defeated.

The main problem that Chuikov faced—besides the tenacity of the cornered Germans—was the 88 mm guns on top of the flak towers at Friedrichshain, Humboldthain and the Zoo. The thick concrete walls of the flak towers were invulnerable to Soviet artillery and aircraft. The structures resembled a medieval castle; they were also entirely self-contained, so there was no hope of starving out the occupants any time soon. The deadly accurate 88 mm guns made life a living hell for the Soviet troops that found themselves in their sights. The lives of the men taken by the 88s today would be the cost of doing business with the devil, he thought.

Chuikov watched the seconds count down. At exactly 0600 hours, thousands of Soviet guns simultaneously opened fire. Armageddon had come to Berlin.

61

Brandenburg Gate

The sounds of the Soviet artillery barrage reverberated through Berlin, like the loudest thunderstorm in history.

Far above the battle, a vampire bat flew past the burning Reichstag, through the billowing smoke and over the Goddess of Victory that topped the Brandenburg Gate; there was hardly a square inch of the monument that wasn’t pockmarked from bullets and shell fragments.

To the west of the Brandenburg Gate, the SS had carved a makeshift airstrip out of the Tiergarten. There, two Ju-52 transport planes revved their engines and waited. The first aircraft carried a platoon of highly trained SS troops, the security force for Operation Tristan. The other plane was to carry the Third Reich’s most precious cargo—the Tristan weapon itself.

Fanatical SS guards with machine guns kept the few civilians and Wehrmacht soldiers who were brazen enough to try to get on one of the planes at bay as they waited for Heydrich.

All of the sudden, an SS officer crawled out of the rubble and sprinted towards the guards with a briefcase. “Let me through!” he shouted. “I need to get on that plane!”

The guards were stupefied—it was Heinrich Himmler, Reichsführer of the SS. They recognized him, but they were under strict orders not to allow anyone other than Reinhard Heydrich near the planes. There were no exceptions, not even for high-ranking Nazi officials.

Himmler stopped in his tracks when he saw the guns pointed at him. “Put your damn weapons down!” he shouted. “That’s an order!”

The nervous guards didn’t lower their guns, but they weren’t inclined to shoot the man who they worshiped since his rise to power either.

Himmler took advantage of their indecisiveness and sweetened the deal. He opened the briefcase and showered them with gold coins and diamonds. “Take it! It’s yours!” Then he dropped the briefcase and ran right past them.

When the Reichsführer tried to get onto a plane, however, his efforts to save himself were rewarded by a punch in the face from a fanatical soldier who had no intention of deviating from his orders. The blow broke Himmler’s trademark round glasses and he fell to the ground.

The plane roared away, leaving the Reichsführer coughing in a cloud of fumes and dust. Before it could lift off, a Russian shell hit the starboard engine and exploded. The fuselage cracked in half and spilled SS soldiers all over the ground, many of them on fire.

Himmler watched the gruesome crash in disbelief as the battle for the runway intensified. There was still one transport plane left, but with so much lead flying, he decided to take his chances on the ground. He picked up what was left of his glasses and ran back into the rubble.

As the second plane moved into position, more Russian soldiers appeared at the Brandenburg Gate. A grenade exploded and three more SS troopers fell. The situation was deteriorating. The beleaguered defenders of the runway were hopelessly outnumbered and their ranks were thinning fast.

Heydrich raced to the plane and led a mad chaotic scramble up the ladder. He had gotten them into a plane, but the real feat was going to be getting it out of Berlin in one piece. “Go! Go! Go!” he screamed at the pilot as a rifle round cracked the cockpit windshield.

The engines roared and the plane taxied down the runway. A guard leaned out the door and shot at the Russians who were trying to cut them off. His targets fired back en masse; the guard took two rounds to the stomach and fell out of the plane. Then the pilot slumped forward, blood pouring out of his ear.

“Axel, the pilot got hit! Get up there! Fly the plane!” Wolf screamed.

Axel ran for the controls as the plane roared down the runway, sans pilot. Through the cockpit windshield, he saw the other transport plane engulfed in flames. They were headed right for it!

The bat swooped low towards the airplane at an incredible speed and landed right in the middle of the battle for the runway. A meter from the wing, the creature transformed into the vampire Rodika, who now had the outline of a crucifix permanently etched into her face. The Russians streaming through the Brandenburg Gate were so intent on taking the plane down that most of them didn’t notice her until she was standing on the wing.

Axel pushed the pilot’s body out of the seat and took the controls. He didn’t think they had enough runway left to get airborne, but he was determined to try.

Suddenly, there was a sharp jolt. Eva screamed. A split-second later, Rodika’s fist smashed through the corrugated steel above Sebastian’s head. Sebastian rolled away across the cabin as Wolf and Heydrich shot through the side of the plane at their unseen adversary.

In the cockpit, Axel desperately pulled the stick back as the end of the runway approached. “Come on baby! Come on baby! You can do it!” he shouted.

With meters to spare, the plane rose into the air. Unfortunately, the danger wasn’t over—Rodika darted across the wing towards the engine!

Sebastian kicked the door open and went out after her. He slipped on the wing but regained his balance and dove at the vampire in a desperate attempt to save the plane.

Rodika pivoted just as he got to her and landed three quick punches to his head. The last blow was so hard that he thought his skull was fractured. Sebastian fell backwards, dazed. Despite the pain, he was able to hold onto the wing and recover his senses.

As Rodika ripped a panel off of the engine, Sebastian charged again. This time, he hit her low, in the knees. The tactics worked—Rodika lost her balance and fell onto the wing.

Sebastian grabbed her by the neck and pushed her head towards the propeller in a rage. The vampire fought back fiercely; it took every ounce of his strength to push her into the spinning blades.

Right before she got chopped, Rodika pulled backwards towards the blades and tried to take Sebastian with her. The propeller made short work of her head and showered the plane with vampire body parts that quickly burned up and disintegrated. Unfortunately, the flying body parts included Sebastian’s hand. He instinctively knew that it would regenerate, but not soon enough.

As Sebastian tried to make his way back into the plane, a Russian anti-aircraft battery opened up. A searing hot piece of flak hit the tail and the plane nose-dived. Sebastian lost his grip on the wing and flew end-over-end towards the propeller. He was able to push away from the spinning blades at the last second and he plummeted through the air.

Inside the aircraft, Axel struggled to pull the stick back. The ground was approaching fast; the screaming engines sounded as if they were about to rip apart.

“Pull up, Pull up!” Heydrich shouted.

“I’m trying!” Axel yelled.

Wolf closed his eyes and hugged Eva in anticipation of the crash. Seconds before impact, Axel miraculously pulled the plane up. After it came out of the dive, the aircraft gained altitude quickly. The burning buildings and plumes of billowing smoke disappeared over the horizon.

“Unbelievable! Two close calls and we still made it out of Berlin! That was incredible! Amazing!” Axel shouted from the cockpit. “Hey Sebastian—how did you like that crazy ride?”

When he didn’t get a response, Axel looked back into the cabin. Eva was crying. Wolf just shook his head. The pilot’s heart sank when he realized that Sebastian was gone.

Axel turned his attention back to the instrument panel. He felt the loss of his friend, but that was tempered by the fact that his own death was—for the first time in weeks—no longer imminent. “Where are we going? Switzerland?” he asked.

“Argentina.” Wolf replied.

“You’re going to have to refine your travel plans, Major. We don’t have enough fuel to get to Italy, let alone South America.”

“Head south. We’re going to Prague,” Heydrich said.

Wolf was mystified. “Prague? That would be suicide. The Russians have already overrun most of Czechoslovakia.”

“The Russians have not yet moved into Prague, Major Kepler. We’re going there—preparations have been made for our arrival.”

Wolf stared at Heydrich. He thought that he knew him from somewhere, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Heydrich was amused that Wolf still hadn’t recognized him. The Hungarian surgeon had done brilliant work. Unfortunately for him, Adolf Hitler ensured that the good doctor ended his career and life at Auschwitz, as a personal research subject of Dr. Mengele.

“Try to get some sleep, Major,” he said. “We have an appointment with destiny.”

PART III
OPERATION TRISTAN

“War is fear cloaked in courage.”

-- General William C. Westmoreland

62

The Last Supper

Night and day morphed into one. With their demise imminent, no one in the Führerbunker felt compelled to sleep away what little time they had left. The doomed men and women drank the never-ending day away and spent countless sleep-deprived hours discussing suicide. They lived in a fantasy world, growing detached from the ugly reality of the war as it slowly encroached. The subject of religion came up once in a while, but with all of the crimes they had committed in the name of National Socialism, they felt very far away from God.

Then, in the early hours of 30 April 1945, Adolf Hitler ordered a staff meeting. The glum generals and advisors walked into the situation room and were astonished by what they saw in front of them.

Hitler was in a tuxedo. His wife Eva Braun wore a beautiful red Italian gown. The map table had been covered with a white linen tablecloth; Bohemian crystal chalices were filled with forty-year old French Bordeaux and perfectly cooked Sauerbraten was set out on fine china. The men hadn’t seen real food in weeks. Their mouths watered at the extraordinary sight of the roast beef marinated in burgundy wine, vinegar and spices, exquisitely complimented by potato pancakes, applesauce and red cabbage. With the Soviet Red Army less than a kilometer away and moving closer with each tick of the clock, fine dining was the last thing they expected.

“You’ve outdone yourself, mein Führer,” General Krebs said as he stared at the food. “This is fantastic.”

Hitler acknowledged the compliment with a nod and motioned for them to sit. “Please everyone, enjoy your meal.”

As his guests took their seats and dove into their wonderful food, Hitler noticed that Artur Axmann’s seat was empty. “Where’s Axmann?”

No one answered. They feared the Führer might go berserk if he thought that another one of his trusted advisers had fled Berlin. Finally, Goebbels spoke up. “I haven’t seen him in a few hours. Maybe he left.”

“Do you really think it is possible that Artur has surrendered or fled the country?” Hitler asked.

“Perhaps,” Goebbels replied, rather nonchalantly.

“Too bad. Joseph, can you please pass the potatoes?”

General Krebs nearly choked. Hitler’s response was no less surprising to his guests than if he had suddenly attacked them with a flamethrower.

For the next thirty minutes, Adolf Hitler dined with his most trusted officers and aides for what would be their last meal together. The men enjoyed the cuisine, but they kept a close eye on Hitler as they ate, fearful of what might happen next in the bizarre culinary episode.

When most everyone had finished eating, Hitler surveyed his guests with a smile. “By the lack of food on your plates, it looks like you enjoyed your meal. That makes me very happy. Very, very happy. Now, I would like to tell you an interesting story about the delicious food that you just ate.”

General Krebs spit a mouthful of roast beef into a napkin and turned as white as a ghost. Holy Christ. Hitler just poisoned everybody!

“The meal that you just ate was very expensive,” Hitler said. “It cost the lives of twenty-one of Germany’s finest soldiers—seven of them were killed on the assault on the wine cellar alone. You have no idea how hard it is to find a good Bordeaux right now.”

The men were incredulous. Hitler hadn’t poisoned anyone. He paid for their food with German lives.

You sent young men on a suicide mission so we could have a nice goddamn meal? Wouldn’t it have been faster to drink their blood? General Krebs thought, desperately wishing he were brave enough to say those words out loud.

“I believe the price was worth it,” the Führer said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Joseph?”

“Ja,” Goebbels replied, his mouth full of food.

General Weidling stared at his steak knife and wondered if he could jump across the table and stab Hitler in the heart with it before the SS guards that lined the walls could shoot him dead. Probably not.

Adolf Hitler’s surreal monologue continued. “I sent those brave men on a mission to gather this food and wine for a very important reason. After more than five years—and just when all hope seems lost—we’re about to win the war. We are having dinner together on this fine day to celebrate the imminent victory of the Third Reich. Isn’t that wonderful?”

The room fell silent. General Weidling dropped his fork onto his plate, splashing gravy all over his gray tunic. With the exception of Goebbels—who had a shit-eating grin on his face—everyone looked at Hitler with a mixture of dismay and fear. They weren’t sure if the collective mind fuck was a macabre practical joke or if the Führer had just lost his marbles. Or both.

“By the looks on your faces, I can see that many of you think I am crazy,” Hitler said. “Perhaps you don’t believe that it is possible to win the war at this late date.”

Even with the Red Army closing in, his guests were not inclined to answer the question honestly. They feared sending him into another blind rage that would end with getting shot for treason.

Adolf Hitler noticed his guests squirm and he took immense pleasure in their discomfort. “Perhaps you find it odd that a leader holed up in a damp underground bunker that is surrounded by hordes of subhuman Asiatic barbarians would still talk about ... Final Victory.” Hitler laughed out loud, but no one else got the joke.

Weidling’s thin smile betrayed his disbelief. What the hell is this circus? Send in the goddamn clowns. Oh wait, they’re already here.

Hitler suddenly got animated. “Germany will win the war. I can tell you this with absolute mathematical certainty because I have a supernatural weapon!” he shouted, pounding on the table for emphasis. “When Operation Tristan is launched, we will destroy the Soviet Red Army within days. We’re going to kill EVERYONE.”

“Everyone...” Eva Braun repeated.

No one else said a word. Hitler took a drink and suddenly became calm again. “Unfortunately, a change in circumstances has necessitated launching Operation Tristan from Prague,” he added. “I hope you understand.”

Prague? Now the generals were truly confused. Czechoslovakia would fall to the Soviet forces within days. Any military operation launched from Prague could not possibly get to Berlin in time. Is Hitler fighting the same war?

“But don’t worry. We will be safe here until it is time to launch the operation,” Hitler continued. “The Allies don’t have a bomb big enough to take out this bunker. In fact, God himself doesn’t have a bomb big that is enough to take out this fucking bunker.”

Suddenly, there was a huge rumble from what must have been a catastrophic explosion above ground. The floor shook violently and Hitler was knocked to the floor.

The lights flickered as Goebbels and Krebs helped the Führer to his feet. Eva Braun wiped the food off of her evil husband’s tuxedo and wondered if there was anything left of the Reich Chancellery that stood above them.

Hitler grabbed his wife’s hand and smiled. “Final Victory is upon us, my faithful servants. Final Victory...”

If the Führer noticed his guests staring at him, he didn’t show it. He was lost in thought. For years, he had known this was exactly how the Second World War was going to end. And he looked forward to it with every fiber of his cursed existence

63

Czechoslovakia

The plane roared over the Czech forest. Axel lowered the landing gear and desperately scanned the landscape for the airfield that Heydrich assured him would be there.

Suddenly, the clouds parted. Sunlight from the first light of day filled the sky and poured through the bullet holes in the fuselage. Heydrich threw a black cloak at Wolf. “Put this over her!” he shouted. “Keep her out of the sun!”

Wolf stared at the cloak. The mystery was growing deeper. Heydrich obviously knew that Eva was a vampire; he wondered if the Nazis were somehow allied with them. But that wouldn’t explain the vampire’s desperate and repeated attempts to kill Eva, one of their own. She isn’t a threat to anyone. Or is she?

“Cover her now!” Heydrich yelled. Wolf snapped out of his thoughts and put the cloak over Eva.

Axel looked at the fuel gauge and cursed. The secret runway that the SS had carved out of the forest came up much faster than he anticipated. “Hold on! We only have enough gas for one shot at this!” he shouted.

The passengers held on for dear life as Axel put the plane into a steep descent and barely cleared a line of trees.

Six seconds later, the aircraft hit the runway hard and bounced back into the air. When it hit the ground again, a wheel flew off. The plane spun around and around and around in a dizzying circle.

When they finally came to a halt right in front of a tree, the plane was not in good shape. A wing was broken in half. Black smoke billowed out of the starboard engine and the fuselage looked like Swiss cheese.

Axel looked back from the pilot’s chair with a big toothy grin. “Ta-da!” he yelled. The men laughed as Axel gave himself a round of applause. “I am so great.”

Wolf leaned into the cockpit and patted him on the back. “Your landings stink, my humble friend, just like your marksmanship. But you got us out of Berlin, which I guess is something.”

Axel laughed out loud. Wolf was right. His landings weren’t the best. In fact, he was notorious for destroying seven airplanes, two hangars and an official reviewing stand in his brief Luftwaffe career. And while his planes were often in piss poor shape when they arrived at their destination, he was also famous for always getting his passengers there in one piece. Assuming, of course, that you don’t count people who jump out of the airplane while it’s in flight to kill a vampire.

As the story goes, Axel’s reputation was earned early in the war, on a mission in support of the Ninth Army. On that fateful spring morning, Russian fighters ambushed his formation in the skies over Raseiniai. When the dogfight was over, six Messerschmitt 109 fighters had been shot down. Axel’s plane was the only one to make it back to base that day. The young pilot didn’t get out of that fight unscathed, however. He took a round to the leg and lost a lot of blood. It was a miracle that he was able to stay conscious and land the plane. When he got out of surgery, he learned that one of his grateful passengers was General Hans Krebs himself.

True to form, Joseph Goebbels went to great lengths to keep the horrific aircraft losses out of the press. Despite the censorship, news of Axel’s heroism spread far and wide. When he flew the last plane out of Stalingrad, his status went from celebrity to legend.

With the accolades, Axel hoped to climb the ranks of the Luftwaffe as his hero Hermann Göring had done in the First World War. But when a refurbished Soviet army turned the Blitzkrieg into the all-out incredible ass-whooping, Axel’s squadron was disbanded for lack of aircraft and spare parts. Then he became just another pathetic German grunt who was on the run and preoccupied with self-preservation.

Wolf stared at the tree that they had almost crashed into. He chuckled. It was a linden tree. How symbolic that crash would have been, he thought.

Axel climbed down the ladder next and squinted into the sun. “We’re not in Prague, chief.”

“No shit,” Wolf replied. “We’re in the Czech countryside with a trashed airplane, waiting for antagonized partisans to show up and shoot us down like dogs.”

Heydrich climbed out of the plane last, wearing dark sunglasses. The Nazi scientists’ powerful UV blocking salve allowed him to move through daylight for up to two hours at a time. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it enabled his work to continue around the clock when circumstances dictated.

Suddenly, a truck with a red cross painted on the door emerged from the forest and sped towards them.

Wolf panicked and bolted for the trees. “We got company! Run!” He stopped running when he looked back and saw the smirk on Heydrich’s face.

The truck screeched to a stop next to the plane. An SS trooper in green medical scrubs jumped out and started barking orders. “They picked you up on the radar! Hurry! Get in the truck! Keep the girl out of the sun!”

Wolf helped Eva into the truck and wondered how the SS knew about her. More importantly, he wondered what the SS knew about her.

As they settled into the back of the truck, the driver poked his head in. “We’ve been out of radio contact with Berlin for hours. Where is the security detachment?”

“The other plane got held up,” Heydrich replied.

“How far behind are they?”

“I am not sure how to put a timeline on burning bodies and pieces of airplane spread all over the Tiergarten.”

The driver frowned. “Very well. We will continue the operation without them.”

As the back door closed, Wolf leaned over and whispered. “I didn’t realize that we still have ongoing operations in Czechoslovakia.”

Heydrich smiled. “Only one.”

64

The Protectorate

In April 1945, Prague was living through its final days as the Nazi “protectorate.”

It had been a shock to the Czechs when Hitler forced them to join in lockstep with the Third Reich. The Führer took control of the small country by summoning the Czechoslovakian President Emil Hácha to Berlin on 15 March 1938. In the meeting, Hitler demanded that President Hácha surrender Czechoslovakia immediately or the Luftwaffe would bomb Prague until there was nothing left but ash. The Czech president suffered a heart attack during the meeting, but Hitler’s medical staff kept him awake so the so-called negotiations could continue.

Threatened with the destruction of his beautiful capital city, President Hácha tearfully signed the document of surrender. A few hours later, German forces rolled into Czechoslovakia unopposed.

The next day, Adolf Hitler looked out upon the medieval city from a balcony in Prague Castle and formally declared that Bohemia and Moravia had become a German “protectorate.” The city of a hundred spires suddenly found itself stuck under a Nazi boot.

Although Prague was lucky enough to escape much of the bombing and devastation that other European cities had suffered during the war, the occupation had been difficult on the Czechs nonetheless.

To cement his gains, Hitler appointed the ruthless and evil Reinhard Heydrich as Reichsprotektor of Bohemia and Moravia. Pragmatically speaking, Heydrich was a dictator. President Hácha and his cabinet were stripped of most of their powers and remained in power largely as a figurehead government.

Reinhard Heydrich felt safe in Prague and often drove around the city in a black convertible Mercedes-Benz. In his mind, the Czechs considered him a benevolent king. He was convinced that he had nothing to fear in his beautiful city.

Allied intelligence took note of Heydrich’s lax security and worked with the Czechoslovak government in exile to plan an assassination mission. In December 1941, the RAF parachuted two agents into Czechoslovakia, Jan Kubiš and Jozef Gabčík. The men soon learned that Heydrich had a meeting scheduled with Adolf Hitler in Berlin on 27 May 1942. They also knew that Heydrich had to drive past the point where the Dresden-Prague road merged with the road to the Troja Bridge to get to that meeting. That’s where they tried to kill him.

When the ambush erupted, Heydrich’s response surprised his assailants. He ordered his driver to stop the car. Then he jumped out and started shooting back at them, like a crazed gunslinger. As the battle intensified, Jan Kubiš threw a powerful IED at the car. The blast knocked Heydrich off of his feet, but it also badly wounded Kubiš.

Believing that the bomb had killed Heydrich, the agents fled back into the city. German troops eventually cornered them in the crypts of the Ss. Cyril and Methodius Cathedral. Rather than surrender and face endless torture at the hands of the Gestapo, Kubiš and Gabčík said their final prayers together and committed suicide in the church.

A week later, the Nazis announced that Reichsprotektor Reinhard Heydrich had died from injuries suffered in the assassination attempt. That’s when life under the Nazis got much more difficult for the Czechs.

On 10 June 1942, Heinrich Himmler ordered all of the men in the Czech village of Lidice to be shot in retribution. After the executions were carried out, the Nazis shipped all of the women and children from the village to concentration camps, where most of them died.

Unbeknownst to anyone outside of a few select members of Adolf Hitler’s inner circle, the Reichsprotektor was not dead. In fact, at the time of his death announcement, Heydrich had been undergoing cosmetic surgery in a secret location just outside of Budapest to dramatically alter his appearance.

The Allies had no way to know that bravery was not the reason that Heydrich jumped out of the car to fight off his Czech attackers. Point of fact, by May 1942, it had already become impossible to kill the wicked Reichsprotektor with mere bullets and hand grenades.

He had already turned.

65

Old Town

Things were tense in Prague in the closing days of the war, but the Nazis were still in control. Despite the Waffen SS announcement on Radio Prague that any uprising would be drowned in a sea of blood, the Czechs took to the streets as rumors of the imminent German surrender spread. They wanted their city back.

Against this backdrop, the old Skoda truck wound through the narrow cobblestone streets of Old Town Prague. Just before the Charles Bridge, the driver approached a makeshift checkpoint that was manned by a dozen well-armed partisans. The Czechs were riled up and obviously looking for a fight.

The brakes squeaked as the truck rolled to a stop. In the back, Wolf and Axel readied their weapons as angry men with weapons of every kind surrounded the vehicle. A Czech held an American M1 rifle to the driver’s head and demanded papers.

“Dobry den,” the driver muttered as he nervously handed his travel documents over. The partisan eyed the papers suspiciously. Suddenly, he backed away from the truck with his hand over his mouth. He waved them on.

The truck rolled through the checkpoint and onto the Charles Bridge. Eva watched the beautiful stone angels, crosses and religious icons that lined the medieval bridge through a small hole in the side of the truck as they crossed the Vltava River.

Axel was astounded that they had gotten through the checkpoint without incident. “How the hell did you do that?”

“The Czechs are terrified of the epidemics that are breaking out all over Europe,” Heydrich replied. “The last thing they want to do right now is stop a truck full of typhoid patients.”

Wolf wasn’t convinced. “What if the partisans had opened the back of the truck?”

“Then all of them would be dead. That could have been inconvenient for us if one of them had alerted his friends to our presence before we got to Prague Castle.”

Wolf and Axel exchanged worried glances.

Prague Castle?

66

Prague Castle

The SS guards snapped to attention as Heydrich entered. “Heil Hitler!”

Heydrich returned a quick salute then turned his attention to his guests. “Welcome to Prague Castle or Prazky Hrad as our annoying Czech friends call it; the former home of the King of Bohemia and a few Holy Roman Emperors. The Basilica of St. Vitus, founded in the 10th century, is also on the grounds. You won’t see it today, but I assure you that it’s quite picturesque. Once the war is over, you will have all of the time to explore Prague that you want.”

Wolf was in no mood to sightsee. “This city will be in enemy territory soon. After a few years of treating the Czechs like our goddamn house pets, this country is a powder keg. I don’t want to be here when the war ends, no sane German does. We need to go somewhere safe.”

Heydrich looked at Wolf with a condescending smile typically reserved for foolish children. “Major, please. Contain your emotions. Yes, it is true that we will soon be behind enemy lines. But this part of the castle has been fortified and prepared for this very contingency. Neither the Russians, nor the stupid Czechs, nor any of our men outside of these guards even know this area exists. And even if they did, these walls are two meters thick. General Chuikov and 2,000 Russian tanks could pull up to the front gate right now and they wouldn’t get in here in time to stop us.”

“Stop us from what? What the hell is going on here?” Wolf’s patience was wearing thin.

“I will explain everything in due time, Major. Now please, get some rest. We’ll talk at dinner.” Heydrich clapped his hands. “Guards! Show our guests to their rooms.”

67

The Triumph of Evil

Twenty-four hours ago, Wolf was defending Berlin Cathedral against repeated Russian assaults. Now, he found himself in a dining room deep inside Prague Castle as a SS guard in a white jacket poured him a glass of absinthe. Fine china, beautiful crystal and a traditional Czech meal of pork stew, sauerkraut and knedliky dumplings adorned the table. This was the weirdest day of Wolf’s life. He didn’t know whether to be happy, angry or terrified.

Heydrich raised his glass. “To the Fatherland...”

Wolf and Axel were in no mood for a toast, but the situation was fluid and unpredictable, so they complied.

“To the Fatherland...”

The absinthe burned when it went down, but its high alcohol content and potent ingredients made the strange dinner a little easier to comprehend.

“And to the two brave German warriors who made Final Victory possible,” Heydrich continued, raising his glass for the second time.

“Final Victory?” Wolf was baffled. The Wehrmacht had been destroyed at Stalingrad. The remnants got chased back to Germany through one of the worst winters Russia has ever known and smashed into barely recognizable pieces. Germany’s soldiers didn’t have enough ammunition or men to defend Berlin for another day, let alone mount a counter-offensive. “We should go to Switzerland,” he said. “We don’t want to surrender to the Russians. I thought we learned that in Berlin.”

“The Red Army will be dealt with soon,” Heydrich replied. “As will the Americans, British and French. In fact, I have a special present for the French. They whine about the art that we have taken from them, but it was the French who pillaged all of the great civilizations of the world. The sheer volume of looted art and archeological specimens in the Louvre is obscene. Did you know that Napoleon himself once stole the chariot right off of the top of the Brandenburg Gate and shipped it back to Paris to display in the Louvre?”

Wolf and Axel shrugged.

“It is true,” Heydrich said. “The French are bigger thieves than the English, something I once did not think possible. My first gift to the French is going to be the annihilation of the Louvre.” Heydrich’s outlandish rant ended with a demonic laugh that echoed throughout the room and made him sound possessed.

Wolf was stupefied. The world was crumbling around them and Heydrich wanted to hold the French accountable for having a large museum. Dealing with an egomaniacal Nazi lunatic was a fine state of affairs when that egomaniacal Nazi lunatic was taking them out of Berlin on an airplane, but the fantasy had to end. Germany would surrender soon; they just had to find somewhere safe to hide out until then.

“With all due respect, sir, the war is over,” Axel said. “Germany lost. There is nothing left. Millions of innocent people are dead.”

“No one is ever truly innocent,” Heydrich replied.

The waiter interrupted the uncomfortable silence with a question that sent a chill through Wolf’s bones. “Herr Reichsprotektor, shall I bring more wine?”

Wolf knocked his glass over and green absinthe flowed across the table. He suddenly knew the identity of his host and it terrified him. “Reichsprotektor Reinhard Heydrich. The Butcher of Prague. The blond beast.”

“Himmler’s evil genius,” Axel added.

“Correct on all counts,” Heydrich replied. “But Himmler doesn’t own me—I am my own evil genius. Besides, he’s probably dead by now.”

“But you yourself died in a bomb attack three years ago. Here in Prague. The Führer attended your memorial,” Wolf said.

“Things are never quite what they seem, are they, Major?” Heydrich laughed and took another sip of absinthe.

“Those innocent villagers in Lidice were murdered to avenge your death. But you were still alive.”

“The elimination of that speck of dust on a map was a strategic necessity. No one would have believed that I was dead unless there had been a proportionate response to my assassination.”

“A proportionate response? Do you call wiping out an entire village of innocent people a proportionate response?” Wolf shouted.

Heydrich remained calm. “It was necessary so that Operation Tristan could continue without interference. And it has.” The evil Reichsprotektor then got up and walked around the table. “The only bump in the road was the bomb that hit Gestapo headquarters. Eva momentarily escaped from our grasp. But then you found her for us—in a church of all places. As a result of your efforts to retrieve her, the war shall end. But the war shall not end how Winston Churchill believes it shall end. The war shall end with the triumph of Nazi Germany.”

The triumph of evil, Wolf thought.

“For your heroic actions, you shall both receive The Order Of The Grand Cross Of The Iron Cross.” Heydrich then clapped his hands. “Guards! Prepare the girl for the ritual.”

Axel and Wolf got up. “No-no-no,” Wolf said. “Eva stays with us. We’ve been through a lot together.”

The guards stepped back, unsure of what to do with sudden defiance on the part of their honored guests.

“Sit down, gentlemen. This wretched girl is the sole and exclusive property of the Führer,” Heydrich said. “She is the only reason that I brought you out of Berlin. If it weren’t for her, you would be hanging by your neck from the rafters of the Reichstag.”

“She saved my life,” Axel said.

“Fine. Now, step back from the brink of treason and reap the rewards that you deserve for bringing her to us.”

“Leave her alone!” Wolf yelled.

“An illiterate, Romanian peasant is not worth your deaths at the hands of my guards. She is but a small sacrifice for the future of the Reich—guards, take her!”

The next moments were in slow motion.

Axel pushes a guard ... a plate falls to the floor ... Heydrich pulls a Luger ... Eva screams ... Gunshot ... Muzzle flash ... Pressure and intense heat ... Axel falls ... a guard pulls Eva away ... Heydrich jumps onto the table ...

When time sped up again, Axel was dead and Heydrich had his Luger pointed right at Wolf’s head.

“Here are the current circumstances,” Heydrich said. “As it stands right now, you are still a hero of the Fatherland. You will soon have more money, women and power than you can possibly imagine. But if you move against me and try to interfere with Operation Tristan, I will rip your heart out. Literally.”

“But the war is over,” Wolf protested.

“Correction, major. The war is almost over. Soon, London, Moscow, Paris and Washington will be nothing but fading memories. The Fourth Reich will last for 1,000 years, because there won’t be anyone left to oppose us when we’re done.”

Wolf lost it. “You’re insane! How many more millions of innocent people have to die in this war? Tell me! How many? How many more innocent people have to die?”

“As many as it takes!”

68

Goodbye Blue Skies

With the surreal banquet in the Führerbunker concluded, Adolf Hitler retired to his study to spend a few quiet final moments with his wife. Ten minutes later, Goebbels retrieved him; it was time to say goodbye to his staff.

Everyone quietly stood in a receiving line as the Führer shuffled into the situation room wearing his gray tunic emblazoned with the Gold Party Badge, the Iron Cross First Class and the Wounded Badge of the First World War. In stark contrast to his chipper and excited presence at dinner, the Führer looked as if he was on death’s doorstep. Technically speaking, he was.

Starting with General Krebs, Hitler took each person’s hand and said the same exact tired words, as if the message had been carefully memorized. “Thank you. You have done a great service for the Third Reich. Your sacrifices have brought Final Victory to Nazi Germany.”

He said goodbye to his SS adjutant, Otto Günsche. Then to his valet, Heinz Linge. Then to secretary Traudl Junge and all of the others. The tearful ceremony ended with a pat on the head and a few pieces of candy for each of the six Goebbels children, Helga, Hilde, Helmut, Hedda, Holdine and little four-year old Heidrun Elisabeth.

His staff appreciated the kind words, but they were surprised to hear the Führer talking about Final Victory as if it were still in the realm of rational possibility. With Berlin in ruins, they were convinced that his optimism was either a denial mechanism or a brave face put on for their benefit. They thought the presence of the wizard Adalgar in the bunker was a charade; no one really believed that the Führer had a supernatural weapon.

When Hitler had finished saying goodbye, an SS guard led most of his staff and the kids out of the room. Only General Krebs, Goebbels, Hitler, Eva Braun and Adalgar remained. “Where’s Axmann?” the Führer asked.

“Artur has still not returned,” Goebbels replied, annoyed at having to answer the question for the sixth time.

“His presence is not important,” Adalgar said. “It is time to commence Operation Tristan.” The wizard knew that the next step of the secret Teutonic ritual would be the true test of the Führer’s faith in his powers. Of course, with a million revenge-seeking Russian troops closing in on the bunker, the alternative strategies were not very attractive.

Adolf Hitler had taken great pains to ensure that there was no chance the Russians could capture him alive. Nonetheless, he had a certain amount of fear that the supernatural operation might fail. He couldn’t show his trepidation; the success of the mission depended on those who would temporarily outlive him. If they sensed hesitance or fear on his part, they would not be inclined to stay in Berlin to help him conduct Operation Tristan. Especially if they knew that doing so would cost them their lives.

Hitler embraced his wife one last time. He didn’t love the woman; she simply fulfilled his need for companionship in a brutal world of his own creation where he could trust no one. Nonetheless, Eva Braun had been faithful to him to the very end. As her reward, Hitler decided that he would be the one to take her life. “Goodbye, my love,” he said as he raised the pistol.

Eva Braun smiled and closed her eyes.

Bang! Hitler shot her dead.

As his wife crumpled to the floor, Hitler knew in his cold, black heart that his fate now rested in the hands of the Romanian peasant girl who he had named Eva in her honor. When Operation Tristan was complete, his soul and consciousness would be channeled into her body; the immortal body of a vampire. His own vessel had aged and suffered considerable damage since the assassination attempt at Wolfsschanze and he was ready to move on to something more permanent. “Get it over with,” he ordered.

“As you wish.” Goebbels took the pistol out of the Führer’s hands and put it to his head.

General Krebs panicked. “What the hell is going on? Hold on a second! This is Tristan? You’re going to shoot him? Hold on a second! This is not—”

Bang! Hitler’s blood and brains sprayed onto the wall a millisecond after Goebbels pulled the trigger. His body fell to the floor with a thud.

Krebs was in shock. “Oh my God! Oh my God! You killed Hitler! You just fucking killed Hitler!” he screamed.

“The heart of Germany has ceased to beat—but only for a moment,” Goebbels replied. His hand trembled as he put the gun down, betraying his cool, calm and collected exterior. “Help me with the body, Adalgar.”

Krebs watched in stunned disbelief as the two men dragged Hitler’s body onto a small metal alloy bed. Once the body was in position, they carefully aligned the diamond and sapphire pyramids that sat on small platforms on the top of each bedpost. Operation Tristan was ready.

A few hours after Adolf Hitler died for the first time, Admiral Karl Dönitz was appointed the new Reichspräsident of Germany. Hitler intended Dönitz to hold that office just until Operation Tristan was complete and he could return to power. Then, the Führer would utilize his newfound power to commence the first phase of World War III—the complete annihilation of the Soviet Union.

69

The Vampire Prophecy

Wolf hit the floor as the heavy door slammed shut behind him. He jumped to his feet and screamed through the tiny window. “Let me out of here, you filthy apes!”

When he got no response, he kicked the door. He kicked it again and again and again until he thought his foot was broken.

“You’re too late,” came a faint voice behind him.

Wolf froze. It never occurred to him that someone else might be in the cell with him.

He turned around slowly. There was a gaunt, hairless and pale vampire chained to the floor. The pathetic creature looks starved, he thought. He is dying.

“The Nazis have won the war,” Vlad said quietly.

“That is not possible,” Wolf replied.

“It is already so.”

Wolf closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. “We can not allow that to happen. We must stop them.”

“I can do nothing. Heydrich injected me with garlic serum. I will be dead within the hour.”

Wolf’s head was spinning. He sat down on the floor and tried to make sense of the unfolding chaotic situation. “What do they want with Eva?”

“The creature they call Eva is the last reincarnation of a vampire goddess, destined by prophecy to rule our kind for 700 years. Heydrich learned of the vampire prophecy before the war; that evil wizard Adalgar helped him ascertain the location and birth date of the chosen one. The Gestapo searched the Romanian countryside for two years until they found her. Until I found her for them.”

That sudden realization sent a chill down Wolf’s spine. “You helped them. Why?”

“Hitler made a very tempting business proposal. The vampire elders realized the true nature of whom they were dealing with and wisely turned him down. I was not so perceptive. I sold my soul to the devil for my own greedy purposes ... the balance of nature was affected.”

“This has nothing to do with the balance of nature,” Wolf said bitterly.

“This has everything to do with the balance of nature. Vampires and humans have coexisted in Europe for centuries. We only took what we needed and your senseless wars affected us no more than did the rain. That equation changed when the Nazis deciphered the prophecy.”

Vlad coughed and wheezed. “At first, the war that began in Poland seemed like all of the other European wars that preceded it. But the Nazis were different—they killed for the sheer sport of killing. They needed to kill. The problem is that Adolf Hitler’s thirst for blood will not be quenched until all life is extinguished. The Nazis are the embodiment of true evil—their very existence is a crime against the Earth.”

“We can fight them,” Wolf replied.

“Now that they have Eva, they are invincible.”

“She won’t help them.”

“Her free will is of no consequence,” Vlad replied. “After Hitler’s death, they will utilize an ancient Teutonic rite to channel his soul into Eva. When the prophecy is fulfilled, Hitler will control legions of vampire warriors throughout Europe. The English Channel won’t save Britain this time. It won’t even slow them down.”

Wolf was stunned. By bringing Eva to Prague, they had doomed humankind to centuries of terror and death at the hands of the Nazis. The senseless killing wasn’t going to end—it was about to get much, much worse. He dropped to his knees.

The vampire that the terrified Romanian villagers named Vlad the Impaler over 600 years ago pitied the man who prayed and wept in front of him. His race was doomed.

“Eva...” Wolf cried.

“Is the Tristan weapon,” Vlad said, finishing his sentence for him.

70

Operation Tristan – Act 1

General Weidling entered the situation room and was stunned by the bizarre sight. Hitler’s body was on the table; he had obviously been shot in the head. Goebbels and Adalgar worked feverously to align the diamond and sapphire pyramids—something was not quite right with the flow of electromagnetic energy between them.

“What the hell is going on here?” Weidling asked.

“Get against the wall, general,” Goebbels ordered. “We’re almost ready to commence the operation. Just a few more adjustments.”

Weidling froze, his mind unable to comprehend the scene of madness that was playing out in front of him.

“Hans!” General Krebs called out. “It’s alright—get over here.” Weidling nervously stood against the wall as Goebbels hung a silver pentagram pendant around Hitler’s neck and sprinkled a crimson potion over his body.

The sorcerer then opened a leather-bound spell book and recited the ancient incantation. “I command thy Evil one. Come forth. When blood comes not, Demons come not. Thou Evil one, come forth, I command you.”

The generals were astonished. Muffled explosions rang out above as the Soviet artillery strikes on the city center increased in intensity. It was quickly growing obvious to everyone that they did not have much time.

“I command thy Evil one. Come forth. When blood comes not, Demons come not. Thou Evil one, come forth, I command you,” Adalgar chanted.

A large explosion shook the bunker and a chunk of cement fell from the ceiling. “I COMMAND thy Evil one! Come forth! When blood comes not, Demons come not! Thou Evil one, COME FORTH!” Adalgar shouted.

Suddenly, Hitler’s leg kicked!

General Krebs jumped into the air like a rabbit shot out of a cannon; Weidling almost passed out and had to lean against the wall. “Don’t be afraid,” Goebbels said as he wiped a sweat bead from his rat-like nose. “We’ve been preparing Operation Tristan for years.”

That’s nice, Krebs thought, but I just saw dead Hitler make a goddamn football kick.

A bright light engulfed Hitler’s body. Then Hitler rose from the bed and levitated in the air in front of them.

“Oh my God,” General Krebs said. Weidling covered his eyes and shook like a leaf.

Goebbels stuck his right arm out in the Nazi salute as a thin wisp of black smoke emanated from the Führer’s body. The apparition rose into the air and dissipated into the ether. Hitler’s evil soul had left the building.

The body floated back down to the bed and the aura faded. Adalgar closed the spell book. No one said anything for a moment. They didn’t fully understand what had just happened, but the levitation proved that everything Hitler had ever told them about a supernatural weapon was true. It exists.

Then, what it all really meant suddenly dawned on General Krebs. “The tide has turned!” he screamed. “Germany is going to win the war! We’re going to win! We have a supernatural weapon! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

As Krebs and Weidling hugged and wept with joy, Goebbels shook the sorcerer’s cold bony hand. “Thank you Adalgar,” he said. “Your unparalleled skill in the dark arts has brought Final Victory to Nazi Germany.”

“You’re welcome,” the sorcerer replied as he conjured up the image of the horse stable that he was going to build over the smoldering ruins of Buckingham Palace.

Then Goebbels pulled out a knife and put Adalgar’s shiny happy plans to re-do the English landscape on hold. “Unfortunately, my dear wizard, your services are no longer required by the Third Reich,” he said.

Adalgar backed away, his eyes fixated on the blade. Goebbels’ amused expression told him that he had made a terrible mistake. “I don’t understand, Joseph. I helped you ... I helped you win the war. I risked my life for Operation Tristan.”

“And I said thank you.” Then Goebbels plunged the knife into Adalgar’s chest. No one moved as the wizard crumpled to the floor and died quietly in a pool of blood. They all wondered who was next.

“Don’t be scared,” Goebbels told them. “This pathetic money-grubbing wizard had to pass on—the ritual is not something that we can afford to have repeated during our lifetime. Nonetheless, the first phase of the operation was successful. Nazi Germany will win this war.”

General Krebs slapped Weidling on the back and smiled. The men were ecstatic again.

“But there is one other little unfortunate detail that you should be aware of,” Goebbels continued. “Soviet troops will penetrate this bunker before the final phase of Operation Tristan can be completed in Prague. They will kill all of us.”

General Krebs was shocked. He had assumed that the mobilization of Tristan had saved his life. Instead, the fact that he stayed in Berlin meant that he wouldn’t be around to enjoy the so-called final victory. It was a suicide mission.

“What the hell are we supposed to do?” General Weidling asked. “What about us?”

“For those who wish to try to escape,” Goebbels replied, “I am told that west through the Tiergarten is the only feasible opportunity to breach the Soviet lines. If you prefer, I have enough cyanide capsules for everyone.”

As another detonation rang out overhead, Weidling grabbed a bottle of wine from the table and started chugging.

Their time was up.

71

Act 2

Reinhard Heydrich spent years creating the secret Tristan room within Prague Castle. The Nazi scientists who designed and built it for him were not in attendance; Heydrich had them shot after it was completed to keep the existence of the room a state secret.

The fact that the ancient Teutonic ritual could only be performed after Hitler’s death—which would likely only occur if the loss of the war was imminent—meant that preparations had to be made to allow Operation Tristan to continue after the surrender or departure of German forces from Prague. Heydrich toyed with the idea of creating the room within the underground casemates at Vyshehrad, but ultimately concluded that the best place to hide Operation Tristan was right under the nose of the Czech government.

Similar to Hitler’s bunker, the Tristan room was sparsely decorated; it had only two Nazi flags and a portrait of Frederick the Great. There was one small window, which faced the east. The only furniture in the room was a small metal alloy bed that the Nazi scientists had specially designed to facilitate the transfer of electromagnetic energy. It was nearly identical to the one in Hitler’s bunker, including the pyramids at the top of each bedpost. Heydrich added a few personal touches to the Prague version, however, including a silver swastika footboard and leather restraints that were strategically placed in each corner of the bed.

Eva hissed at the guards as they pushed her down. If her confrontational attitude bothered them, they didn’t show it as they methodically prepared for the Tristan ritual. After tying her down, they placed a silver pentagram pendant around her neck and sprinkled an oily potion over her body.

“Relax, my child. Your future will be glorious,” a guard whispered as he tightened the restraints on her wrists.

Heydrich entered and paced around the bed, checking each and every detail. When he looked at Eva, he didn’t see a young vampire—he saw victory for the Third Reich manifesting itself through the prophecy. He reflected on how they found her gnawing on a farmer’s corpse in the woods. She slaughtered three of his men before they were able to inject her with the diluted garlic serum. It didn’t kill her, but it kept the young vampire sedated and under control until they could get her back to Berlin, much like morphine would affect a human.

Satisfied that the preparations were complete, Heydrich took his place at the foot of the bed and opened the ancient spell book. “Thou Evil one, come forth, I command you,” he chanted.

“Thou Evil one, come forth, I command you,” the guards repeated.

“I COMMAND thy Evil one! Come forth! When blood comes not, Demons come not! Thy Evil one, COME FORTH!” Heydrich shouted as he waved his hand in the air like the deranged conductor of a phantom drum corps. After a few more minutes of chanting and bizarre but animated arm movements, nothing happened. Nothing at all.

The guards got worried. They had risked their lives by staying in Prague. Like all Waffen SS, their blood types were tattooed under their arm, for reference in the event that they were wounded in battle. The problem with the theory was that they now had absolutely no chance of blending in with the German refugees that were pouring out of Czechoslovakia. If Operation Tristan did not succeed, the Czech partisans would easily hunt them down and kill them.

When Eva’s body trembled, the guards breathed a sigh of relief. Something, at least, was happening. Relief gave way to concern when Eva’s trembling became violent, like a severe epileptic seizure. When the heavy bed began to bounce up and down, the guards backed away in fear.

Heydrich’s pulse quickened as he watched Eva’s eyes roll back into her head. It’s working! He had tried to tell himself that he had always believed Adalgar’s ritual would work. But the truth was, he always had his doubts.

Now, he thought only of revenge against the enemies of Nazi Germany. And he smiled.

72

Unconditional Surrender

With the first phase of the Tristan ritual complete, the SS burned the bodies of Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun in the garden of the Chancellery as the battle raged around them. Meanwhile, inside the Führerbunker, Joseph Goebbels posed an ominous question to General Krebs. “You are fluent in Russian, are you not?”

“Yes, sir,” Krebs replied. “I was stationed in Moscow as a military attaché. I took the opportunity to learn the language.”

“Very good. I have a message for you to deliver to General Chuikov of the Soviet High Command. We are talking about unconditional surrender. Do you understand?”

General Krebs gulped. He was certain that he was being asked to endure the unendurable. “I understand, sir. You want me to offer Germany’s unconditional surrender to the Soviet Union.”

“Not quite,” Goebbels replied with a smile.

One hour later, General Krebs and Colonel Theodor von Dufving drove a staff car through the rubble-strewn streets of Berlin, white flags attached to each side of the car. The men prayed that they wouldn’t be gunned down before they could speak to General Chuikov.

A squad of Soviet soldiers nervously watched the German staff car approach. “Hold your fire!” Sgt. Mikitenko shouted to his men. “They’re not here to fight!”

Fifty meters away from the front line, General Chuikov enjoyed a rare meal of steak, rassolnik soup and a good bottle of Chianti, compliments of his men who had broken into a wine cellar in the Friedrichshain. He ate slowly and deliberately, savoring every bite. He also ate like a child, one food item at a time. He had just finished his potatoes and was just about to take his first long-awaited bite of steak when he heard the commotion.

“General Chuikov! Come quickly! It’s a German general! He is here to surrender!” Sgt. Mikitenko shouted.

The interruption annoyed Chuikov. “Goddamn it! I’m tired of talking to the stupid assholes,” he shouted back. “They all have the same bullshit excuse—we were just following orders. Blah blah blah.”

“I think he is here to surrender Germany,” Sgt. Mikitenko replied.

Germany? Chuikov put his fork down and wiped his face with a napkin. The steak could wait. The surrender of a high-ranking officer had suddenly become an entirely different matter, one that could permanently engrave his name into the history books. The general anxiously made his way over to the staff car, which was surrounded by ten of his men.

General Krebs called out to his enemy in fluent Russian. “General Chuikov, I have a personal message for you from Adolf Hitler.”

“Where is he?” Chuikov asked.

“Adolf Hitler and his wife Eva Braun committed suicide in the Führerbunker under the Reich Chancellery a few hours ago.”

Chuikov smiled. He had received valuable intelligence already. The Red Army had never been able to ascertain Hitler’s location during the war. Prior to this discussion, they also had no idea there was a bunker under the Chancellery. Now they did.

“I am here to negotiate the surrender,” General Krebs announced.

General Chuikov shook his head. “There will be no negotiations. I am authorized only to accept an unconditional surrender.”

The German officers exchanged worried glances. “I’m afraid that you have it backwards,” General Krebs said. “We didn’t come here to surrender to you. We came here to offer you the opportunity to surrender to Nazi Germany. Unconditionally.”

That outlandish statement stunned the Russian contingency. General Chuikov’s jaw hit the ground. He stared at the Germans for a full minute and a half without blinking—he was trying to figure out whether they were completely out of their minds or merely just drunk and belligerent.

Then Chuikov smiled. The verdict was in. Drunk and belligerent. Then he laughed. He laughed and he laughed and he laughed and he laughed and he laughed and he laughed, until his side hurt and he had to sit down. He laughed until tears streamed down his face and he laughed until his stomach felt like it had a knife sticking out of it. As Sgt. Mikitenko contemplated calling for a medic, the hysterical Russian general rolled around on the ground and punched himself in the leg to try to stop laughing. After a few deep bruises, Chuikov was able to compose himself.

As everyone looked on in stunned silence, General Chuikov got up and wiped the tears from his eyes. “The Third Reich should have sent a sober general or two to discuss the surrender,” he said. “But this is very, very funny. Very funny, indeed. I have not laughed that hard since I was a boy. Thank you.”

General Krebs cleared his throat. “General Chuikov, this is a serious matter. I am not inebriated and this is not improvisational comedy. On behalf of Adolf Hitler, I hereby demand the unconditional surrender of the Soviet Union. If you do not accept this offer, the Red Army will be destroyed by supernatural means. There will be no survivors.”

When Chuikov realized that alcohol was not part of the equation, he tilted his head like a confused dog. Either the German was insane or the Nazis really did have a supernatural weapon. “But Hitler is dead. You said so yourself.”

“Correct,” General Krebs replied. “But Operation Tristan has begun. Adolf Hitler will soon return to life in a far more powerful state. Your only hope is to surrender.”

The mortal enemies stared at one another. Then Chuikov realized something. If the Germans had a weapon, they would use it. They wouldn’t negotiate anything with anybody. “Go ahead. Use your weapon,” he dared. “Let’s see how it stacks up against a Soviet armored division.”

“General Chuikov, just so you understand—I have personally seen a demonstration of Hitler’s supernatural capabilities. They are quite impressive,” Krebs added.

Chuikov grinned. “I’m waiting. Unleash your incredibly scary supernatural weapon. Conjure up the plagues of locusts, tornadoes or whatever you got. I’ll wait here with my men on the front lines.”

Sgt. Mikitenko took a hand grenade from his belt and looked around nervously. The other Russian soldiers pointed their weapons at General Krebs and waited for something spectacular to happen.

But nothing did.

“Well?” Chuikov asked. “Where is your magical super-weapon? Where are the lightning bolts?”

Krebs cleared his throat. “The deployment of Tristan will take some time. The operation had to be moved to Prague at the last minute.”

“Prague?” Chuikov laughed. “Soviet troops are entering Prague as we speak. Your operation is over. But let me give you a message to take back to Joseph Goebbels. Tell that murderous propaganda spouting son-of-a-bitch that I am going to display his head in Red Square. In a glass case.”

Then, in a brilliant flash of strategic insight, General Chuikov turned to his troops and did something that instantly affected the lives of millions of people. “Sgt. Mikitenko! Notify the Kremlin!” he shouted. “General Hans Krebs just formally offered the unconditional surrender of Nazi Germany. The war is over—the Soviet Union is victorious!”

Victory!!! The Russian troops cheered wildly and fired their rifles into the air! Vodka bottles appeared, soldiers started dancing and celebratory gunfire rang out all over the place.

As the pandemonium spread, General Krebs broke out in a cold sweat and grabbed Chuikov’s sleeve. “But that’s not what I said, General Chuikov. I am here to offer you the opportunity to surrender to Germany.”

“And I made you a counteroffer, which I then accepted on your behalf. I have no more time to talk to insane clowns. This concludes our meeting. Goodbye.”

Then Chuikov went back to his steak.

Joseph Goebbels had a nervous breakdown when he heard the news about Germany’s surrender on the radio. He and his wife Magda then murdered their kids by making them eat the cyanide-filled candy that Hitler had given to them at his farewell party. The wicked pair left the Führerbunker hand in hand and committed suicide just outside the front door.

General Krebs returned from his ill-fated mission to the Soviet lines and saw the bodies of Joseph and Magda lying in a ditch. Realizing that the war was truly lost, he went down into the bunker and poured himself a stiff drink. When the glass was empty, he shot himself.

Later that afternoon, Soviet loudspeakers announced Germany’s unconditional surrender. Leaflets containing the order were distributed to the dazed defenders. With the exception of a few scattered areas of desperate resistance, the Battle of Berlin was over.

73

Bring on the Night

Vlad’s eyes were closed and he had long since stopped responding to his questions. Wolf didn’t think the vampire was dead yet, but he was definitely fading fast. What seemed like a beacon of hope now struck fear in his heart. If the Nazis can render a powerful vampire helpless, what chance does a mere mortal have against them?

Suddenly, Vlad’s eyes opened and he spoke. “The End of Days is upon us.” Then he fell to the floor and burst into flame. Vlad the Impaler was gone.

For the first time in his life, Wolf gave up. He accepted that his fate was to rot in a jail cell in Prague Castle while the Nazis inflicted further death and cruelty upon the world. This is where it ends, he thought. It’s over. Screw it.

He closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to drift to happier times back in Heidelberg with his family.

74

The Resistance

The second phase of Operation Tristan continued in Prague Castle. The guards strained to hold the girl down as Heydrich read from the spell book. “I COMMAND thy Evil one! Come forth! When blood comes not, Demons come not! Thy Evil one, COME FORTH!” he shouted.

“I COMMAND thy Evil one! Come forth! When blood comes not, Demons come not! Thy Evil one, COME FORTH!” the guards repeated.

Suddenly, the bed shook violently and the spell book flew right out of Heydrich’s hands. The portrait of Frederick the Great fell to the floor. Eva opened her eyes and sat up. “You’re going to bleed tonight, Heydrich,” she said ominously.

As the panicked guards struggled to push her back down, the room was briefly filled with an intense red light that emanated from the girl’s eyes.

Eva was fighting for control.

75

Stealth and Savagery

The steel door moved. At first, Wolf thought he imagined it. Then he put his ear to the door. It’s definitely vibrating. It was almost like someone was trying to push it open from the other side. He peered through the small window, but there was no one there.

He shrugged it off. Then the door shook harder and became impossible to ignore. He stepped back as the vibrations accelerated until the door hitting against the frame sounded like a machine gun. Finally, the door snapped off its hinges and crashed to the floor.

Wolf cautiously stuck his head out of the cell and peered down the hallway. Nothing. He had no idea what had just happened, but he instinctively knew that somebody just gave him a chance—and he was going to take it.

He moved with stealth through Prague Castle. His main problem was not having a gun. If a guard spotted him, his only hope would be an immediate and vicious attack.

That theory was tested when he turned the corner and ran into a guard who was carrying food and water for the few prisoners that the Nazis actually wanted to keep alive; Wolf not being one of them.

Fueled by adrenaline, Wolf rushed the guard at full speed. Food went flying everywhere. Wolf fought like an animal, even viciously biting the guard’s hand and clawing his face. After few seconds of desperate fighting, Wolf got the hapless guard into a stranglehold and snapped his neck. One down, he thought as he dropped the lifeless body into the brown puddle of rat stew that covered the floor.

Wolf caught the guard posted outside of the cellblock by surprise, but he was strong—that one succumbed only after Wolf pushed his thumbs deep into his eye sockets.

As he wiped the blood and eye fluid from his thumbs and the guard’s submachine gun, he heard somebody yell.

It was Heydrich.

76

End of Days

Heydrich’s voice shrieked with the power of a thousand demons. “I COMMAND THY EVIL ONE! THY EVIL ONE, COME FORTH!”

Suddenly, the door burst open. The guards went for their guns, but they weren’t fast enough—Wolf dropped both of them with a quick bust from the MP-40.

Heydrich calmly put the spell book down as his guards writhed and died on the floor in front of him. “You’re wasting your time, Major Kepler. Operation Tristan is complete. You can’t stop it now.”

“Your fucking war is over,” Wolf growled. He pulled the trigger and the room was filled with the crashes and echoes of shots.

Heydrich reeled backwards as the bullets ripped into his guts. When the clip was empty, he straightened up, his wounds healed. “I disagree, Major,” he shot back. “The real war has just begun.”

Suddenly, it all made sense to Wolf. And just as suddenly, his odds of survival were much worse than he had anticipated. “Oh, Christ,” he said. “You’re a vampire.”

“The world is a vampire,” Heydrich replied as he circled the soldier like a lion stalking its prey. “You could have had it all.”

“You price was too high,” Wolf said as he struggled to keep Heydrich in front of him. “The vampires understood that, didn’t they? The Nazis threaten all life on Earth. That’s why the vampires sent assassins to kill Eva, their own goddess. They sacrificed their own future for the sake of the planet.”

“Wrong! Our elders were too stupid to understand that Adolf Hitler’s unique qualities make him the perfect business partner. They failed to think outside of the box.”

“You sold the world. But you are too stupid to realize that Hitler will exterminate you as well. His goal is not the furtherance of Nazi ideology—it is the extermination of life itself. Including vampires!”

“Enough!” Heydrich screamed.

Music: “As the Blood Flows” by Trip Device

Wolf tried to jump out of the way, but Heydrich was too fast; the vampire grabbed his throat and squeezed hard. Wolf turned purple and struggled to remain conscious as his airway was closed off. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t think. It felt like his head was about to pop off.

“Shhhhhh. Do not resist,” Heydrich whispered. “It will be easier that way. By the way, remember my statement about ripping your heart out?”

Heydrich then plunged his fist into Wolf’s chest, sending a pink mist into the air. “I wasn’t lying...”

Paralyzed and wide-eyed with fright, Wolf remained conscious as Heydrich’s hand moved through his chest cavity. Then, the cruel Nazi vampire ripped Wolf’s heart out of his body and showed it to him as he died.

Heydrich dropped the lifeless body to the floor. For the grand finale, he took a bite out of the heart and then threw it against the wall. The organ exploded like a tomato, scattering bloody pieces all over the place. Then he laughed out loud. “Evil defeats good ... because good is fucking dumb!”

With his enemy vanquished, he stared at the girl. He knew that the Tristan ritual had worked, but he didn’t know exactly how it had worked—it hadn’t been performed in nearly a millennium. Point of fact, Heydrich had no idea what would happen to Eva or how Adolf Hitler would reappear to lead them to the Final Victory.

Then, an odd tapping sound caught his attention.

To Heydrich’s surprise, there was a white raven on the windowsill. He stared at the bird. The bird stared at him. He stared at the bird. The bird stared at him. “Mein Führer?” he finally asked.

The raven flew away and climbed high into the sky, until it was almost invisible. Heydrich’s bemused expression changed dramatically when it suddenly reversed direction and dove towards the window at high speed.

The bird hit the window like a missile and the glass exploded. Once in the room, the raven instantly transformed into Sebastian and the two powerful vampires were locked in immortal combat.

Sebastian’s attack was desperate and ferocious, but Heydrich sent him to the floor with a mighty roundhouse kick to the side of the head. When he tried to crawl away, Heydrich lifted him over his head and slammed him down onto the ground. Finally, the Nazi vampire kicked him in the side, breaking four ribs.

The young warrior lay on the ground, dazed, stunned and bloodied as Heydrich stood over him with a hypodermic needle. “Welcome to life as a vampire. I hope you like garlic serum. I prepared this batch especially for you.”

Sebastian summoned strength from within and kicked the needle away just before it punctured his skin. He rolled across the floor and took off running. Heydrich gave chase. Just as he caught up to him, Sebastian grabbed a flagpole out of its base, spun around and stabbed him right in the eye.

The shocked vampire staggered backwards and screamed in pain as he frantically tried to pull the lance out of his eye-socket. Unfortunately for Heydrich, the counterattack wasn’t over—Sebastian swept his feet out from underneath him and sent him falling backwards. Then he jumped onto his chest and pushed the flagpole down as hard as he could. The silver spike went straight through Heydrich’s skull and imbedded itself into the floor.

With the Nazi vampire effectively nailed to the ground, Sebastian broke the swastika off of the footboard of the bed. The sharp edge glistened in the light as held it over Heydrich. “Any last words, demon?”

“You’re making a big mistake,” Heydrich gasped. “There won’t be anything left of Germany when the Allies are done with it. They will break it into pieces.”

“Which is a far better fate than you have to offer,” Sebastian replied indignantly. He didn’t give Heydrich a chance to say anything else—he slammed the swastika down onto his neck like a guillotine and didn’t stop pushing until the silver blade cut through his neck. The Nazi vampire’s head fell away from his body and disappeared in a burst of flame. The malevolent Reinhard Heydrich was history.

Sebastian stood up and nearly blacked out from the excruciating pain. His heart sank when he noticed that Eva wasn’t breathing. Oh my God. I’m too late.

Her eyes opened. A bright light engulfed her body.

Sebastian stepped back as the leather restraints snapped and Eva’s body rose into the air. As she levitated, Eva spoke in a loud booming Adolf Hitler voice that filled the room.

“IN THIS FATEFUL BATTLE THERE IS BUT ONE COMMAND! IN THE END, GERMANY REMAINS VICTORIOUS IN SPITE OF ALL! THE FINAL VICTORY OF THE PURE ARYAN RACE!”

“Goddamn it. Goddamn it to hell,” Sebastian muttered. He knew what had just happened to Eva. And it wasn’t good.

“IN THIS FATEFUL BATTLE THERE IS BUT ONE COMMAND! IN THE END, GERMANY REMAINS VICTORIOUS IN SPITE OF ALL! THE FINAL VICTORY OF THE PURE ARYAN RACE!”

In desperation, he broke the flagpole in half. “Damn you!” he yelled as he raised the sharp end into the air.

Eva’s expression instantly softened. “Sebastian,” she cried in her natural voice. “Please don’t hurt me. I love you.”

Sebastian’s hands shook as Eva cried and begged for her life. But he couldn’t stop. Hitler’s soul was inside of her. For the sake of humanity, he knew what he had to do.

“Please,” Eva cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I love you, Sebastian. Don’t hurt me. I love you.”

“I love you too, Eva,” he said. Then he plunged the wooden stake right into her heart.

The room shook violently as Eva convulsed. Blood and vomit poured out of her mouth and her demonic scream was heard far from Prague Castle. Just when Sebastian thought that his eardrums would burst, the incredible noise stopped. The light disappeared and her body dropped back down to the bed.

Then, silence.

Sebastian climbed into bed next to Eva and held her lifeless body. Then he wept. He wept not only for the young vampire, but also for the millions upon millions of innocent people who had lost their lives in the awful war.

Suddenly ...

Eva’s eyes opened.

TOP SECRET
FOR THE PRESIDENT’S EYES ONLY

CHAIRMAN OF THE JOINT
CHIEFS OF STAFF

DOSSIER: 7371

CODE NAME: MY IMMORTAL

JULY 7, 2027

CIA ANALYST SUMMARY OF EVENTS IN BERLIN GERMANY THAT LEAD TO THE PUBLIC DISCLOSURE OF CLASSIFIED INFORMATION REGARDING OPERATION TRISTAN

77

Days of Future Past

The President held a staff meeting as Air Force One taxied across the runway.

“Are you okay?” CIA Director Waldon asked.

“Just a little nervous,” President Duarte replied. “How is Mr. Zigmund doing back there?”

Waldon smiled, relieved that the concern etched on the President’s face wasn’t the precursor to a public nervous breakdown. “He’s fine, Mr. President. In fact, he’s watching Avatar 3 again. He enjoyed the flight.”

“I wish I could say the same,” the President replied. “There’s nothing like taking office in the middle of an international crisis. I’m a wreck.”

“You’ll be okay sir,” Waldon said, his voice ringing with confidence. “We’re starting with something easy tonight—a World War II memorial. We’re going there to support the Chancellor. She’s taken a lot of heat in the press for the incident at Humboldt University.”

“Are you worried about her? This is pretty intense.”

“She’ll be fine,” Waldon replied. “Chancellor Gottlieb is a lot of things, but fragile is not one of them. She’ll always do the right thing, regardless of how unpopular or problematic it might be.”

“That’s true. Remember Oslo? People are still talking about how she got on the table and screamed at the British delegation about the BP oil spill. Now, that was chaos,” the President recalled. “And that disaster didn’t even happen in her country.”

“If she ever gets bounced out of German politics, she can always run for mayor of New Orleans,” General Hastings quipped.

“As much as the Chancellor’s unpredictable moves get her in trouble, they also keep her foes off balance. In any case, we’ll get through the ceremony tonight, then get a good night’s sleep at Hotel Adlon,” Waldon said.

“The Adlon? Isn’t that where Michael Jackson stuck his kid out the window?”

“Yes, Mr. President. Something like that.”

“That is a perfectly chaotic addition to this trip.”

Waldon shook his head. He didn’t get the joke.

“What about tomorrow?” the President asked.

“In the morning, we’ll meet with Putin and Chancellor Gottlieb in the Russian Embassy. The first item on the agenda will be to determine how we can get our intelligence agencies to work together to prevent future incidents like this. Richter should have never gotten that close to disclosing the dossier.”

“We should deploy more Delta teams; one in Yokohama and one in Rio,” Hastings said. “If we can coordinate with Spetznaz, we can have a strike team almost anywhere in the world within an hour or two.”

President Duarte was overwhelmed. “It’s starting to sound like the collective default plan is just to kill anyone who is on the verge of taking the news public?”

“Yes, Mr. President. It’s a horrible situation,” Waldon admitted. “But consider the alternative. Consider what would happen if people found out that the United States government agrees to kill quotas; that we conceal the fact that humans are not on the top of the food chain; that vampires—and not NATO—are the reason that another major war has never broken out in Europe; that we would have lost World War II without them. If people learned the truth about how the world is really governed, global hysteria and rioting could result. Perhaps a worldwide revolution. The public can’t handle it.”

President Duarte did not share the gloomy outlook. “I have to believe in my heart of hearts that if the day comes when the secret gets out, people of all cultures, nationalities and faiths will accept vampires as part of the Earth’s natural ecosystem. The creatures must kill to survive, but they are no more a threat to our survival than the Bengal tiger. We must share the planet with them.”

“Let’s hope we never find out,” Hastings replied.

“How did my predecessors deal with this situation?” the President asked.

“Reagan, Bush, Clinton, Obama—they all did pretty well,” Waldon replied. “It’s not easy, of course. Rumor has it that Nixon headed for the presidential liquor cabinet right after he read the dossier. Then he wanted to launch missiles. No one was sure where he wanted to shoot the missiles, but he was definitely ready to press the button. I guess he was pretty upset.”

The President smiled. “And then what?”

“He fell asleep on the couch watching the Ohio State game. I suppose he just accepted it. After that, he sent Kissinger to talk to them, mostly. Kissinger was extremely resourceful and creative in unique diplomatic situations. He got everything worked out.”

Secret Service agent Michael Jones stuck his head in the door. “Mr. President, we can’t get to Berlin Cathedral via limousine. We’ll have to go in via helicopter.”

“Helicopter? Why?” President Duarte asked.

“The roads are blocked.”

“Blocked with what?”

Agent Jones pointed a remote control at the television. The monitor came to life and displayed a surreal scene. Thousands of points of light surrounded Berlin Cathedral and filled the roads and sidewalks in East Berlin. The lights were candles.

An excited reporter gave the play by play. “What started out as a trickle has become a torrent. In the wake of Professor Gerhard L. Richter’s unexplained death at Humboldt University, thousands of people are pouring into Berlin from all over Europe. The rumors concerning what caused Richter to fall out of the sky onto a police car range from the absurd to the fantastic. People want answers! The scene is incredible—it’s reminiscent of the fall of the Berlin Wall!”

An hour later, Berlin was in total lockdown. Bomb sniffing dogs investigated cars as two Czech radiological and chemical weapon detection teams monitored sensors that were discretely placed all over the city. Three hundred German Kommando Spezialkräfte soldiers were deployed around Berlin Cathedral to keep the growing crowd away.

Inside, hundreds of people who were lucky enough to get a seat held candles; many also clutched photos of Professor Richter or a copy of Pyramids and Aliens. What started out as a World War II memorial had transformed into a full-blown media circus as news of Professor Richter’s unexplained death spread. Television crews from all over the world jockeyed for position. On stage, nervous delegations from seven countries waited for the German Chancellor.

The photos of Professor Richter that were sprinkled throughout the crowd made President Duarte nervous. “What’s the chance that this could get ugly? Turn into a riot?”

“We’re fine. There haven’t been this many soldiers protecting this building since 1945,” Waldon replied.

“And we know how that ended.”

The crowd grew quiet as Chancellor Hilde Gottlieb took the podium. In the front row, Michael “Zig” Zigmund sat next to his very excited friend, Julia Heckmann, and took pictures with his phone.

“On this solemn occasion,” the Chancellor began, “we pause to remember those who lost their lives in the Second World War at the hands of the Nazis. Many of the victim’s names will never be known, but we remain eternally grateful to those who lost everything in the battle to defeat the forces of evil. We will never forget the sacrifices that they made so future generations could live free from Nazi tyranny.”

The Chancellor raised her candle to the sky and said a silent prayer. She prayed not only for those who had perished in the war, but also for forgiveness and understanding from the people of Germany for the decision that she had made shortly after Professor Richter’s untimely death.

Suddenly, President Duarte made a loud and inappropriate comment. “Son-of-a-bitch. I knew I was going to have a front row seat.”

The Chancellor stopped speaking for a second and there was a nervous murmur throughout the cathedral. World leaders and audience members alike were startled by the rude outburst from the American delegation. Waldon leaned over. “What are you doing, Mr. President?”

President Duarte pointed stage left.

Waldon’s heart skipped a beat when he caught a glimpse of the two world leaders who the Chancellor was about to unexpectedly introduce to Germany and to the entire world on live television.

Sebastian and Eva.

The end.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To my family, including Rumiko, Maureen, John, Chris, Cabrini, Veronica, Buzz, Lynne, Mike, Patrick, Margaret, Jason, Herbie, Linette, and Knox and his family; thank you for your undying support in everything that I try to do and sometimes fail at. I love you all.

I would like to say thank you to West Chester University philosophy professor Paul Streveler for teaching me to think outside of the box. To USF law professor Robert Brownstone and UCLA screenwriting professors Scott Gorden, Bennett Cohen and Hal Ackerman, for teaching me how to write. To Junichi Suzuki and Ko Mori for Death Ride, the film that changed everything. To Chris Nalls for twenty years of fantastic creative collaboration. To the 1993 Santa Clara Vanguard and the 1999 San Francisco Renegades for teaching me to persevere. To Jerry Rice #80 for his inspirational work ethic. To my professors at Trinity College, Dublin and Charles University, Prague for teaching me how to appreciate the rest of the world. To Dennis Mancini for his amazing visual artistry that helped bring the world of My Immortal to life.

To Aaron Woolfolk and his family, Al Murray, Al Yeh, Alan Chu, Alex Bloom, Alexa Brooks, Amy Walp, Anne Powell, Ben Lyon, Ben Martinez, Betsy Johnson, Billy Rhodes, Bob Morrison, Brent Turner, Calix Reneau, Carolina Thunder 1999, Cassie Van De Graaf, Chaz, Chris Correia, Chris Rodriquez, Chris Thompson, Chuck King, Chuck Simchick, Crunchy Frog, Cozy Baker, Dan Day, Dan Vannatta, Dan Hudson, Darryl Coleman, Dave Cooper, Dave Gambal, Dave Gary, Dave Gibbs, Dave Glyde, Dave Leon, David Powell (FNG), Dave Watrous, DCA, Dean Houck, Deb and Doug Peterson, Dianne Good, Diavola and Lolita (Anthrax Ripple), Drum Corps World, Earl Brown, Ed Teleky, Eddie the Rat, El Guapo, Fair Witness, Frank and Shirlie Dorritie, Gabe Kangas, Gail Imamura, Garfield Cadets 1986, Garry Parker, Gil Silva, Gis Montreal, Glen Crosby, Glen Hazlewood, Glen Johnson, Glitter and Mary, Greg Gilman, Gus Fjelstrom, Hanover Area, Harry Eldridge, the evil Heckmann brothers, Herbert Brindl, Irina Doliov, Isaac Ho, James Logan Drum Line 1987-92, James Peterson, Jan Huffman, Jay Lee, Jay Murphy, Jeff Ream, Jen Arnst, Jeni Paulson, Jerry Stewart, Jim Jackson, Joe Baranoski, Joe Wilt, Johanna Miller, John Bender, John Miliouskas (both of them), John Muscanero, John Orland, Jim McFarland, Jim Verdeur, Jon Liggett, Judi Johnson, Julia Witt, Julie Leidtke, Karimah Day, Kelley Houpt, Kelli Giles, Kelvin Ward, Ken Sherry, Kent Cater, Kevin Monahan, Kevin Murray, Larrie Dastrup, Lake Lehman, Lech Walesa, Lisa-Lisa McIntyre, Lucky Dime, Madge Sanchez, Mark Metzger, Mark Thurston, Martine Jean, Mark Aceves, Mark Allen, Martine Jean, Mav, Maximum Indifference, Melitta Fitzer, Mel Stratton, Mike Andrews, Mike Bertram, Mike and Vickie Braga, Mike Brett, Mike Foster, Mike French, Mike McCool, Mike Nash, Murray Gusseck, Myron Rosander, Notabando, New York Skyliners, Paul and Chris Marr, the Potter Brothers (assassins), Punky Brewster (Deb), Radost FX, Ralph Hardimon, Ray Sanchez, Rebecca Hu, Red Corso, the Renegades, Rhonda Jeffereies, Rich Duarte, Richard Gatmaitan, Rick Seidel, Robbie Robinson (both of them), Roxie and the honorguard, Rueben the Jackal, Rusty, Ryan Turner, Sam “sword-fighting” Signorelli, Scott Johnson, Scott Kubitz, Scott Slater, Scotty Sells, Sean Glyde, Sean Holton, Silvia Gallini, Skee Derr, Slinky, SoCal Dream, Stephen Darmofal, Steve Burstall, Steve Keifer, Stuart Miyasato, Su Lerwill Jaeger, T. Michael, Tammy McDaniel, Thom Hannum, Thom Shearer, Thom Willett, Thu Powell, Terri Ducay, Todd Mitchell, Tom Aton, Tom Peashey, Tracy Coogan, Trevor Terrill, Trevor Pyle, UCLA screenwriting, Veronica Flores, Vladislav Marsavin, Wayne Downey, Wendy Crouse, Wendy Tran, Will Chen, With Josh Powell, Wolf Kramer, Zach Hubbard, Zak Morton, everyone who complains about the single use of a narrator in this book, and a whole lot of other people who I couldn't fit on this list including about 1,007 Renegades; thank you for your support of my various creative endeavors over the years. Seven.

RECOMMENDED READING

For those of you who are interested in the Battle of Berlin, here are a few great books and a film that you might enjoy.

The Fall of Berlin by Anthony Read and David Fisher. A historical and literary masterpiece.

The Fall of Berlin 1945 by Anthony Beevor. A best seller by the author of Stalingrad.

The Bunker by James P. O’Donnell. The classic tale.

The Third Reich at War by Richard J. Evans. The final book in a well-researched trilogy about the Nazis.

After the Reich by Giles MacDonogh. This book tells the heart-wrenching story of what happened to the German people after the war. Not for the faint of heart.

Downfall – The award-winning film, directed by Oliver Hirschbiegel. The portrayal of Hitler by actor Bruno Ganz is unbelievable and frightening.

1945 by Robert Conroy. This book answers the question of what would have happened if Japan hadn’t surrendered after the atomic bombs. This is a different theater of war than described in My Immortal, but it’s a great read and an inspiring approach to historical fiction.

PRODUCTION NOTES

Hello again. Thanks for reading My Immortal: The Vampires of Berlin. It was an honor to share the adventure with you.

You might be interested to know that My Immortal actually started out as a screenplay that was written in the UCLA Professional Screenwriting Program. One evening, professor Hal Ackerman asked us to write the first scene of the script that we would work on for the first sixteen weeks of the program. Ready, go. I had just finished Anthony Beevor’s book about the Battle of Berlin, and that’s probably why the first image that popped into my mind when I put pen to paper was that of a trapped squad of German soldiers awaiting their fate in Berlin.

That seemed like a good start. Ten seconds later, it dawned on me that I had just picked the motion picture world’s universal bad guys to be the heroes of my screenplay. Not such a good start.

For whatever reason, I decided to stick with Wolf and Sebastian as the two “anti-protagonists.” Ultimately, the act of pounding a square peg through a round hole, so to speak, became a great creative catalyst and the German war story transformed itself into a vampire tale. My Immortal went on to win the Claw Award for best theatrical length screenplay at the Terror Film Festival and inspired the San Francisco Renegades vampire-themed show that competed at the DCA World Championships, complete with levitating coffins designed by Jed Roach and Rich Atcheson’s translucent backdrops of photographs taken in Prague’s Vyshehrad cemetery, the location that was the inspiration for the cemetery battle scene.

My Immortal has a mysterious way of drawing you into its world. After finishing the screenplay, Rumiko and I ventured to Berlin and Prague to visit the locations described in the script, much like Professor Richter does in Act 1, minus the CIA assassination plot. Then, what started out as inspired notes scrawled on a legal pad in an East Berlin apartment roared to life and transformed itself into this novel that you now hold in your hands.

Truth be told, writing a novel turned out to be a much more difficult and time-consuming experience than I had anticipated. Frankly, there were a few times when I wanted to throw everything out the window. However, fighting through the difficulties and exploring the new twists and turns that the My Immortal plot took as the novel took shape was a fantastic creative experience that I highly recommend to anyone.

If you get a chance, please visit the My Immortal website (vampiresofberlin.com) or Facebook page and say hello. You can also check out the song As the Blood Flows, by the San Francisco band Trip Device, which is the first official release from the My Immortal soundtrack. If you have any questions or thoughts to share about the story, please feel free to let us know at vampiresofberlin@gmail.com.

In any event, thank you again for reading My Immortal: The Vampires of Berlin. I hope you enjoyed the journey.

Lee Rudnicki

Los Angeles, CA

Table of Contents

PART ISEVEN YEARS FROM NOW

PART IIIOPERATION TRISTAN