Chapter I – War Over Moonlight
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"Look at ze moon, herr doktor. Beautiful, is it not?" Said the Major, his eyes looking through the window, lost in the night skies, wandering in his memory from battle to battle as the memories of the past flowed to his mind. Memories of glory and victory, of war and slaughter, of unparalleled...beauty. As his Major raved in a symphony of massacre and madness, the Doctor followed his gaze to the moon. To the Doctor the moon looked pretty, but not as ecstatic as the Major described. "Bright like an atomic bomb, spreading its deadly light across the battlefield!" The Major continued.
The Doctor shrugged "Yes, Major, I suppose it is." In an attempt to bring the Major back to more mundane affairs, the Doctor commented "Major, the five have arrived."
"Oh yes, the five." The Major's eyes slowly unfocused off the moon and returned to Earth. His mind attempted to recollect the conversation he was having just now "...Tell me Doctor, why did I fetch for them again?"
The Doctor sighed to himself "Operation Barbarossa's Vendetta, Sir?"
"Ah, but of course!" The Major's eyes acquired a new gleam of delight. Murderous delight. "Report for duty, glorious officers of Millenium, united for the single-minded purpose of war!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, echoing through the iron walls of his zeppelin.
"Tubalcain Alhambra, reporting for duty, my Major." Taking a bow a man clad in a suit said, a mischievous smile on his face and a deck of poker in his palm, his tone was swaggering and cool-headed.
"Rip van Winkle, reporting for duty." Next to Alhambra a woman in a blue suit with a musket resting on her shoulder, grinning naively with a natural warmth to her voice.
"Luke Valentine, reporting for duty." Said a gallant man in a white suit with a knife in his hand, nodding with his head in respect. "Jan Valentine reporting for FUCKING duty, my man Major!" Right after sounded out another in a blue uniform a smiling man with a lunatic grin. Luke stared disappointed at Jan, who merely grinned even more.
At last, a titanic one-eyed woman carrying a scythe sounded. "Zorin Blitz, reporting for duty." She said in a deep baritone with all the seriousness possible.
The Major looked at all five and smiled to himself, his glasses shining against the moonlight.
"Doctor, turn off the lights." Asked the Major ecstatic. The Doctor looked at him strangely, but complied. And so the lights were turned off. The full moon cast its sole light upon the Major and all five of them, giving a dim silver aura to the otherwise immersed in darkness room. "A sparkle of light in the dark! That is what we are! That is what you are! We shall spread our guiding light is war upon the darkness of peace! our moonlight will be the flash of gunfire!" He cackled "Look at you, my mighty warriors! Glorious in all regards!"
Rip van Winkle looked at her Major with respect and pride, Luke courteously bowed to such high praise, Zorin remained stoic and unemotional, while Jan and Alhambra didn't think much of his words. "He's still going." Alhambra looked at the insane Major with a smile, "He really doesn't know when to shut up, does he?" He whispered to Jan.
"He's a nazi, what did you expect, man?" Jan shrugged. "I'm surprised how he isn't playing Wagner in the background or some shit."
"Be silent!" Growled Zorin to both Alhambra and Jan. Alhambra smiled pleased with himself, while Jan gave her the middle finger. Zorin sighed in restrained rage and turned her attention back to the Major, who was still making a grand speech without noticing Alhambra or Jan's commentaries.
"But enough of poetry, my warriors of Millennium! I summoned you here with a purpose." The Major finally concluded. "I have a mission for you." With a snap of his fingers he commanded the Doctor to press a button. The lights came back on, and the television screens of the zeppelin all simultaneously came online, in a blank screen.
"Oh so this IS going somewhere." Alhambra commented in a mocking tone, "I was about to wonder if we were here just to watch him chew the scenery."
Jan laughed to himself, earning another disapproving stare from Luke. "Be professional for once, Jan."
"One more word and I'll turn you into mincemeat." Zorin gripped her scythe.
"No need to disguise your feelings for me in the form of violence, love." Responded Alhambra, grinning. Zorin puffed in rage, but contained herself, while Alhambra's smile expanded.
Rip van Winkle, for the first time taking her eyes off the Major, simply eye rolled "Children."
"My soldiers of Millennium!" Said The Major, once again, paying no heed. This line drew their attentions to him once again. The televisions screens behind him shifted to display a Soviet Union flag. The Major clasped his hands and rested his chin upon it, as lights turned his glasses bright "I am quite sure you remember Operation Barbarossa. The red symphony of death and slaughter by my glorious Fuhrer that struck fear, lead and horror in the heart and soul of Russia! This devil's orchestra, this melody of lost souls, proceeded for the remainder of the war until millions had perished. Oh it was beautiful, my heralds of Millennium! It. Was. BEAUTIFUL!" He cried out rejoiced, "But...all good things must come to an end. And so ended this beautiful war alongside herr Fuhrer's dream. What a tragedy, what a tragedy." The Major shook his head solemnly for a few seconds before returning to a more bombastic tone "But! As the Last Battalion, it it our duty, nay, our DESTINY to revive this glorious war from its ashes! The five of you will strike deep in the heart of Russia, burn the countryside to a crisp."
"Understood." Said Zorin, for the first time unfolding a sadistic smile. "Where do we start, my Major?"
The screens behind the Major shifted pictures to reveal a picture of a massively built Church, as red as the blood the Major so adored, towering over Moscow, rising to the sky imposingly, "Strike at Saint Basil's Cathedral! Headquarters of the Warriors of Nikolai, the Eastern Orthodox equivalent of the Catholic dogs of Iscariot. Fortunately for our purposes, the Communist regime weakened their forces nearly to nothing. Only one base remains. Much like ourselves, they are the Last Battalion of their regime." The Major grinned sadistically. "Relieve them of such burden."
"So we get there, kill the fuckers, and then what?" Asked Jan.
"Ah, that should be more than enough, Valentine. Without the Warriors of Nikolai Russia will be ripe for the taking! The flames of war will burn even higher than they did fifty years ago! This is the time, this is the place, the time for a vengeance upon the Russian insects! Let Operation Barbarossa's Vendetta commence! Sieg Heil!"
"Sieg Heil!" All five of them raised their arms and saluted, some, such as Zorin and Rip, more enthusiastically than others, such as Alhambra and Jan. And so, just like that, Moscow's fate was sealed. The Last Battalion's finest five turned around and left the room, now hellbent on their new task. The Major watched them as they left, pleased with himself. Once more he turned to the moonlight behind him and rejoiced, for he knew that the time of his glorious war drew ever nearer. But before every war, every conflict, there must be a war game, in the grand Wehrmacht tradition. And this was the Major's war game; to do what Hitler failed to do fifty years before: to crush Russia in a single stroke.
"Do you really think they will succeed, herr Major?" Questioned the Doctor, uneasy with the situation.
"I am sure of it, Doctor." Answered the Major with diametrically opposed confidence, "These five are the Devil's Virtuosos. Their fate is not to die here, against Russian dogs. Their deaths will only come later, my Doctor, against a much bigger hound." He reflected over this subject with a warm smile.
…
The Zeppelin changed directions and turned to Russia, the iron machine cruised at terrifying speed towards the Russian land as the five took their positions at the bridge of the ship, looking at the sky in front of them. A zeppelin crewed entirely by five soldiers, an entire invasion force composed of five soldiers. Absurd in all regards, but then again, Millennium's absurdity was its greatest strength, and there was nothing more absurd than making a crew of five people who hated each other invade a foreign country.
"Time estimation to reach Russia?" Politely asked Luke to Zorin, who was currently guiding the airship.
Zorin answered calmly "Four hours."
"Thank you, ." Said Luke, putting his hands in his pockets and attempting to relax as he looked at the horizon.
His brother disagreed. "Four fucking hours!? That's longer than even fucking Lord of the Rings, bitch, you high?" Protested Jan, "We could at least have brought some bitches and blow to make the trip less of a pain in the ass!"
"Please, stop." With annoyance in his voice said Luke, "Your attitude will still put is in jeopardy one day of those."
"Well it ain't that fucking day, alright?" Counter-argued Jan, "Eh fuck this, I'll be in my bunk."
Jan left the room and Luke sighed to himself, leaning against one of the iron walls. "When will he ever grow up?"
"Oh come now, man has a point, Luke!" Cackled Alhambra with legs crossed over the command panel of the Zeppelin, shuffling his poker deck over and over. "A zeppelin trip like this is no fun without some entertainment!"
Luke sighed once again, wondering if he was destined to be surrounded by idiots. "And what would you suggest, Mr. Alhambra?"
"Perhaps we could even play a bit of poker!" He looked at Luke with his trademark mischievous grin, the one that would warn any person in a thousand miles radius that this is one man who'll steal your wallet, your watch and your dog if he gets a chance to. "Which of course, is only fun when there's a wager. What do you think, Van Winkle?" He chuckled.
Rip Van Winkle was in a corner of the room with her musket across her shoulders, humming the rhythm of some German opera Alhambra couldn't identify. Humming that rhythm she proceeded, refusing to listen to any outside noise, as if stuck in her own mental world of slaughter and massacre, with a toothy smile painted on her face. "Tinker-tailor, soldier-sailor, my bullet punishes all without distinction." She repeated in between the humming.
"Well...guess not." Alhambra shrugged at the oddness of Ms. Winkle, "Maybe you, Zorin? Up for some gambling before battle? I'm sure even a brutish simpleton like you could understand the basics of poker."
"If one more word comes pouring out of your mouth I will ignore the Major's orders and disembowel you." Said Zorin in restrained rage, a recurring emotion when it came to dealing with Alhambra.
Alhambra continued to smile confidently. "Guess it's just you and me, Luke." He turned his eyes to him in a challenging tone.
"I never said I would play with you, Mr. Alhambra." A bored Luke stated, unamused by his antics. "I am a professional, and professionals do not gamble, gambling implies the possibility of losing." He boasted with a smile.
"That smells of cowardice to me, Luke. Are you not the fabled Luke Valentine, who'll one day claim the life of Alucard?" Teased Alhambra, chuckling, "If you can't even win at poker, how do you expect to win against Alucard?"
Luke Valentine's facade of politeness and professionalism dropped like a sack of rotten potatoes. "Shut your trap you Brazilian dog!" He pulled out his knife and gritted his teeth.
Alhambra shuffled his cards even faster and said with malice "Oooh, touchy subject? Cowardice usually is!"
"Oh come on, boys, don't ruin poor Zorin's ship! It's bad for business!" Said Rip Van Winkle in a childish voice, waking up of her seemingly eternal loop of German opera songs. "You boys can sure handle a short trip without committing murder to one another can you not? Remember, the Major would burn you all to a crisp if you stepped out of the line!" Winkle stated with a strange glee before switching to a darker, threatening tone "Besides, even if he didn't, always remember, Herr Alhambra and Herr Valentine: Tinker-tailor, soldier-sailor, my bullet punishes all without distinction."
Valentine looked at her in impotent rage, while Alhambra kept grinning. Luke contained his rage and guarded his knife, returning to his collected self. "Maggots like you are not worth my blade."
He turned and left the room.
"Well that was anti-climatic." He continued shuffling his deck, "I was expecting something fun to happen here."
"As your superior, I am commanding you to shut up until we reach Moscow." Zorin Blitz, as always seething with rage, ordered.
"Not a single word more." Alhambra, satisfied with himself, crossed his arms behind his neck.
The trip proceeded without further hassle across the peaceful night skies, except for Zorin's increasing annoyance as Alhambra's compulsive deck shuffling which he somehow managed to keep up for the entire four-hours trip without missing a beat.
"Attention, we are about to enter Russian air space." Announced Zorin in the ship's sound systems, "All gather in the zeppelin's command room for further orders."
"Attention, you are entering Russian air space." A Russian voice sounded out in the zeppelin's speakers right on cue. "Identify yourself or be destroyed."
"If it ain't the motherfucking cavalry!" Jan Valentine cocked his absolutely titanic, howitzer-like machine guns as he entered the room, followed by a silent and calm as usual Luke Valentine, knife in hand. The five looked through the windows and saw, in the horizon, two jets approaching them.
"Tinker-tailor, soldier-sailor, my bullet punishes all without distinction!" Rip Van Winkle prepared her musket and aimed at them.
"Bitch is that the only phrase you know? Change the record, Jeez!" Said Jan Valentine with a sigh, but Winkle paid no attention. Alhambra chuckled at this comment warmly.
"What's our plan of operation, Ms. Blitz?" Asked Luke Valentine.
"The four of you will go atop the zeppelin. Protect it en-route to Moscow, take down anything that comes close. You'll receive further orders when we get there." The strict Zorin Blitz commanded. "Blast them out of the sky!" With a more bloodthirsty tone she cried out.
Winkle paid continence, Luke bowed, Alhambra smiled once again and Jan cackled as they followed to the zeppelin's top. And there the four stood, their hairs flowing against the freezing winds of the Russian pitch-black night skies, a coldness that could only match the coldness of their hearts. Winkle looked at the ships with a shark-like smile, hungry for their blood. Alhambra was as swaggering as ever, Luke maintained a serious face of professionalism, Jan a bloodthirsty, resounding laughter. Their job was about to begin.