Berlin was falling. Of that there could be no doubt. The once glorious army of the Third Reich lay in ruins, pushed to its very capital by the Red Army of the Soviet Union. In the West, the Allies swept in like a vengeful tide. It came down to one battle. It came down to one final battle, in the ruins of the German capital. It was a symbolic gesture of defiance really. The downfall was inevitable.

Six years of war had not been kind to the city. What was once an urban metropolis had been ground to the earth, powdered by constant air-raids from Allied bombers. Civilians flooded the streets, fleeing the wrath of the Red Army as they burned a vengeful swath through the city. Soldiers—children really—held strategic choke points in the city. Everyone was desperate, the air smelled of it. Every now and then, a shell would fall close to a convoy of civilians fleeing the city. They would flinch, staring apprehensively towards the explosion, hoping, praying that the Russians would not find them.

SS-Oberführer Dieter Heinrich couldn’t care less whether or not the Russians found the civilians. His current priority was the preservation of his own life, not those of those too weak to take up arms. Dieter knew that it was over. The Third Reich was collapsing. The Fuhrer was most likely dead. The only logical choice was to flee the wrath of the Soviets. Dieter could understand the Russians’ vindictiveness. He could even respect it. After all, he and his comrades had raped Russian land and massacred millions of their people, most of them innocent. That did not mean that he would accept his own fate. He had seen what the Russians did to SS officers, and he had no intention of becoming another corpse hanging from a tree.

Two Russians rounded the corner of the street. They saw Dieter, and wildly opened fire in his direction, caring not if they hit German civilians. Dieter dived for cover behind a pile of rubble. He felt a piece of wood penetrate his arm. The adrenaline coursing through his veins dulled the pain. Dieter unstrapped his Maschinenpistole-40 submachine gun. Flicking the safety off, he moved into a crouching position so that he could aim over the rubble. Dieter fired two shots.

The first round went through the eye of the first Russian soldier, bursting the eyeball and severing the optic nerve and entering the soft, grey brain tissue behind. The round continued travelling for a fraction of a second before being stopped by the density of the brain matter. The Russian twitched from nerve shock and collapsed face first to the ground.

The second round punched through the other Russian’s jugular a millisecond later. Its sheer velocity shattered his larynx. The round then ricocheted off of his spine and emerged through the side of his throat, spinning end over end as it severed his carotid artery. The Russian made a gargling noise as he tried to breathe despite the hole in his throat. Blood bubbled as he expired, and he collapsed into the mud, dead.

It had taken less than two seconds.

Dieter felt nothing. He felt no joy, no relief, nor did he feel horror that he had taken two lives. He had taken many before, and would likely take many more. It was war. They had attacked him. Now they were dead.

Dieter got up from behind the rubble. He glanced at his arm, wincing slightly as he saw the wood jutting out of his wound. He relaxed his arm, closing his hand around the wood, he quickly yanked the wood out. Blood gushed from the open wound. Dieter promptly brought out a flask of schnapps. Quickly taking a swig, he poured it onto the wound, gritting his teeth as he did so. It hadn’t been the worst pain he had felt. It would pass. Dieter took out a piece of cloth, and expertly bandaged the wound. It was not perfect, but it would do. His healing done, Dieter looked around. The civilians had gone, either taking cover within the structure still standing, or rounding the corner of the street to escape the city. Dieter shrugged, and continued walking.

It was night time. Dieter had walked for a further six hours after he killed the two Russians. The sounds of battle were dying down, although flares and explosions still punctuated the silent night with blinding flashes of red light. Dieter was almost out of the city. By his estimates, he had only two more blocks to go. His arm was burning, and Dieter was almost tempted to lay down and sleep as the exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. Dieter refused to give in. He had been trained to be as steel: unbendable, unbreakable. He stumbled onward.

Dieter saw the edge of the city in the distance. He was nearly there! He was going to make it. He would live after all!

Dieter’s pace quickened as he felt hope of survival. A shot rang out. Dieter suddenly felt pain in his sternum. Looking down, he saw a massive opening in his chest. Dieter cursed silently. Of course the Russians would have posted snipers. Dieter cursed again. Was this some cruel trick of fate? He had been so close! He sank to his knees, his normally straight posture sagging as he felt an overwhelming tiredness seize him. Dieter fell back, and there was darkness.

Author's Note

This was the first chapter of my first story. Please leave comments, and feel free to give me critiques on my grammar and writing style. Enjoy!