A/N: Did the last character death shock you? I'm sure it must have shocked some people, but there are still more sacrifices to be made if peace is to ever be achieved. Dewey is not done yet, and he will get his plan moving no matter what he has to do. So be warned, there are more character deaths here, and you may be surprised at who falls next.
Also, this is the longest chapter I've ever written since it is another battle, so you may need to set aside some time to read it all through in one go. It's okay, though, since we are so close to the end, and people have never complained to me about the length. I take it as a good thing.
Also, next week, the final chapters will be posted. There's one more battle, and a conclusion. When I arrive at that point, I will explain everything that happens to me afterward. I'm not done with writing fanfiction after this, so I want to clear the air a bit on questions people have been asking me privately. Plus, with the new Eureka 7 movie trilogy announced, there are a lot of questions of whether I will make a comeback or do another fiction series like I did here. I'll answer those questions and many many more when next weekend rolls around.
So, read on, beware, and enjoy if you can.
Chapter Twenty-one
August 29th, 1944
St. Come-du-Mont, France
No sooner had the victory parade in Paris ended when Renton called for a march back to Normandy. For him, the war was over. There would be no more battles for him after this. There would be no more killing for him after this. This was his last campaign. All that was left before returning home was to bury the dead, say goodbye, and pay his old debts.
The village where Renton met and grew up with Jacques, Charles and Ray had changed little in the three months they spent on campaign. The farmers' fields still lay untouched, with fields of grain dancing in the late summer breeze. The small woodlot beside the river served as a reminder of where Renton's long and bloody journey began. The stone bridge bore little wear after their first crossing, the crossing which led Renton into a serpentine journey of blood, steel, rubble and death.
All he could do was walk along the dirt roads, gaze at the empty chateaus of Jacques, Charles, and Ray, and think, remember, and wonder. So many alternate scenarios tempted him to ask the question of what could have been done differently. What if he didn't part ways with Jacques after Carentan? What if he didn't split his forces in Caen? What if he didn't try to fight that Tiger tank one-on-one?
The questions offered nothing except a growing despair and depression that ate away at his soul. That same despair only strengthened his resolve to turn his back on all of this, and vow to never again take up the sword.
An open plain out by the river found some of the soldiers working the somber duty of burial, digging deep enough graves to rest their brave comrades. Since their deaths in Caen, the bodies of Jacques Desjardins, Charles Fontaine and Ray Leblanc were kept in marked bags, zipped up to prevent exposure to the elements. Even though there was little time to mourn and eulogize on campaign, they still clung to their old friends, as if they carried some special charm that kept them alive.
Dominic Sorel, the American student, classmate, and right hand of Renton Thurston, grunted with effort as his digging spade scooped out another pound of earth from the ground. Even he, who had long aspired to wear the uniform and experience the thrill of combat, was shaken from the three-month experience. He saw men die before his eyes in horrific ways, and witnessed destruction unparalleled. He knew what it was like to kill a man, and his hands were doused with the blood of others. It was still amazing that he was alive at all.
"I should be dead a thousand times over," he thought aloud as he dug deeper. "Rather surprised that the chief alone survived."
"The same thought occurred to me, several times," a kindly feminine voice answered.
Dominic's gunmetal grey eyes turned up from his work and saw the orange hair and magenta eyes of his lover and one of the principle medics of their troop: Anemone Doolittle. She leaned on a cross, and wore a frayed black coatdress with a matching shawl, leggings and boots. The only thing that indicated her status as a medic was the white armband with a straight red cross just above her left elbow. Her eyes seemed tired, but relieved. Relieved that they had lived through a horrific campaign and survived…mostly.
She offered Dominic her canteen.
"I'm astonished that we ALL managed to live the next day." Dominic graciously accepted the canteen with a small smile, and drank.
"Thanks, Anemone. My throat's been feeling like sandpaper for a while."
Anemone looked over at the other graves, each marked with crude, handmade crosses. The leaden work of grave digging reminded her too well of the costs they paid to stay alive. God may have spared them, but He was not as kind to others.
"It's too bad Jacques couldn't live to see what we did," she said. "I know he would have been happy."
"You got that right. We lost too many good people in this one. I can't imagine what Ren must be feeling right now."
"Or Sakuya," Anemone added with a look of quiet melancholy.
"Yeah, or Sakuya. And to top it off, we're leaving after this, too! Sakuya's just losing everyone, it seems."
The solemnity muffled them, as Dominic could only keep digging, until he deemed the hole deep enough for the body. Anemone's eyes turned back to the village, and saw her commander, classmate and friend Renton wandering the streets, as if looking for a lost friend, one that would never come back. As he climbed out, the young student-turned-soldier saw where his girlfriend's gaze was focused, and offered some consolation to lift their spirits.
"You shouldn't worry about him, Anemone. The chief will be okay, and many others like him." The Irish nurse sighed heavily, questioning the validity of that statement.
"Will he? He's had a lot to deal with last year, and now, this. There's only so much a guy like him can take."
"Maybe, but he's got friends and family to help him when he gets home."
Dominic pulled himself up, and splashed some water on his face before handing the canteen back to his girlfriend. Seeing his old friend and commander walking around aimlessly, his trench coat in tatters and the soles of his shoes almost worn through to the skin, he was reminded of many a photograph of veterans from previous conflicts. Veterans who were afflicted with the same disease.
"You know, my pop went through something similar to the chief. He fought with the Marines in the Great War, remember? It filled him with pride, but when he came back home…he was a sick man." Anemone nodded.
"Yes, you told me that a while back. He suffered nightmares, insomnia, depression…among other things. He had a name for it. What was it…?"
"Shell shock, he called it. He had it really, really bad."
"He wasn't the same after that, and he even tried to convince you to choose another profession."
"Yeah, but he only managed to make it to today because he met my mom. If it weren't for her, he'd probably have gone off the deep end, and done God knows what."
Anemone's eyes widened slightly and then glanced back to Renton, who was joined by Eureka, her close friend and Dominic's.
"That's right. He did have someone to bring him back to the light when he was sinking into the darkness." Dominic nodded in agreement.
"Like Dad, Renton won't be alone. He'll be alright, Anemone. I know he will."
Anemone smiled softly, reaching for her lover's hand, before pulling him into a warm embrace. They would come back from this, too, like Renton would. They had to, if only to honor those who had fallen for them.
In the village, Eureka led Renton to the fields, where the bodies were interred and all stood, mourning for his lost friends. She noticed a weakness in his step, the wound from Paris still smarting, leaving him with a limp. It may be a long time before he could be a fully fit man again. There was a labor in his breath, each move a struggle. This campaign had cost him more than just his friends; it cost him his strength, his very being. She had no doubts that this was his last battle, his last campaign.
They crossed the road, and came face to face with a comrade who never carried a weapon, never killed an enemy in battle. His only weapons were his Bible and his rosary beads. A man with a shaved head and dark brown eyes, dressed in olive fatigues and brown combat boots. He would be another soldier if not for his prayer book.
"Father Norbert…" Renton said quietly.
"Capitaine Thurston."
"I suppose this will be the last time we see each other." Norbert nodded slowly.
"Indeed, it will be. We'll be following different paths. Something inevitable for all comrades."
"It's too bad that we're leaving under such…sad circumstances."
"Indeed," Norbert agreed somberly. "It's…hard on everybody."
"What will you do," Eureka asked softly, "now that this is over, Father? Do you have a home somewhere?"
"Not here, Madame Novikova. Not long ago, I was in Notre Dame, as a bell ringer, but that was before the German invasion. After this, I will go back to Paris, and resume my work there."
"You will be well suited there, Father Norbert. I wish you all the best in your future."
Renton bit his lip at the word "future." A word that was now an unattainable luxury for his old friends. He looked off to the fields, where the crosses stood in a row. Sentinels keeping watch, serving as a reminder of the price they paid for liberty. The price he paid for chasing after the ghosts of his past.
"Father Norbert, answer me something. How do you move on after so much loss? How do you keep living when there seems to be so little to live for?"
Norbert pressed his Bible close to his chest, and breathed deeply. It was a question one of their comrades asked him on campaign not too long ago. She had been lost in a despair much like his commander's. For the sake of his leader's health in a new postwar world, he imparted the same thoughts he gave to her.
"God gives us challenges to make us stronger, Capitaine. It is natural to feel grief and express sorrow; we are humans, after all. But God also gave us the people with whom we live each day. I would say never forget who your friends and family are. We are all God's children, and in that way, all of us are family."
Renton said nothing, but only sensed the light squeeze of Eureka, and nodded. He had lost many people in this war, but he was also surrounded by people who cared for him. In the many instances when he thought he was utterly lost, someone brought him back to the path he had to walk. And walk he did.
Up the hill to the line of graves. To the small weary band of partisans and freedom fighters, waiting for their final dismissal. To Holland Novikov and Dominic Sorel, his best friends and trusted lieutenants. To Sakuya Kobayashi and Anemone Doolittle, the remaining medics, and to the two surviving militiamen from Denisov's platoon.
Their faces were stony and tired, and who could blame them? When they began this campaign, there were more than 100 of them from this village. Less than a dozen returned three months later. Casualties suffered in three months' fighting all but destroyed them, and after Paris, there were those who chose to join the newly reconstituted French Army to continue the fight. Germany was not yet finished, even as the Wehrmacht fled towards the Rhine River and the Siegfried Line. What good was victory when so many had gone, and there were still others who vowed to continue until Germany was ground into dust?
They knew their commander's time in France was at an end, and after this he would return home. He had a family of his own to raise, and a fiancée to eventually wed. His time as a soldier was at an end, and his lifelong tenure as a civilian was about to begin, after one last martial rite.
"My friends," he said, his voice soft and subdued, "it has been a long and hard-fought campaign. We lost many friends and family along the way, myself included. All of the friends I had in this small company are gone, now. They made the ultimate sacrifice to free their country and their families. In the end, that is precisely what we managed to achieve. In that sense, we are part of a special group."
He paused, and glanced at the tired partisans. Eureka, wearing her dark blue coatdress, removed her beret and pressed it to her bosom, her lips quivering. Beside her, Sakuya Kobayashi, the Japanese expatriate and former student, looked on, holding tightly onto Eureka's calloused hand. She wore the wardrobe of a civilian, a white dress with green accents and a light mint neckerchief beneath her collar.
"Countless millions like you and I gathered together across this great land in the wake of defeat four years ago, vowing not to go quietly into the night. From the docks of Cherbourg to the vineyards of Lyon to the sandy shores of Marseilles and everywhere in-between, your fellow brothers and sisters banded together. You swore that the battle for France was not decided, and you swore to resist foreign tyranny. History may not remember what any of us say here, but it will never forget what you all did here. You won back freedom for yourselves, your families and your country. You owe this victory to your unbridled patriotism, your unbounded love for liberty, and your unique bravery. But above all else, you owe it to your comrades, the men and women for whom you fought and bled every day."
A soft murmur of agreement and Holland's gentle nod preceded Renton's next part. His commander's normally steely voice shook with each syllable.
"There exists among us a bond, unlike any in mankind. It is a bond forged only in combat. We are brothers and sisters of shared foxholes and trenches, we've seen death and suffered together, and we held each other in dire moments, when all seemed lost. I do believe that if it were not for the friendship and common cause that bind us, I would have long given up this campaign and gone home."
He folded his arms behind him, and bit back a sob.
"I am honored and proud to have served with each and every one of you. You all deserve long and happy lives of peace. Godspeed to you all."
A heavy sigh served as the conclusion, and he turned to make the long walk towards the dirt road, and the road to a ship that would take him and all who came with him home at last. A moment of silence passed, and as their fearless commander cautiously stepped down the hill and cast off the martial mantle, a single voice cried:
"God bless Renton Thurston, the American Russian!"
The lone yell yielded to a collective cheer as loud as any car engine, one that compelled all of them, veteran and recruit, wounded and unbroken, to rush down the hill and embrace their commander in joy, in solidarity, and in sorrow to see him leave. Waves of encouragement, compliment, and admiration crashed on his body with the force of a tsunami, until he was so overwhelmed that he could not leave without at least shaking each of their hands.
On the other side of the crowd, another tearful parting was breaking the hearts of two fire-forged friends. Eureka could barely speak, and only managed to hold onto Sakuya's hands, as if fearful of her disappearing.
"Sakuya…my friend…" she choked, smiling wistfully through her tears, "…I'm so glad I met you." Sakuya said nothing, but only nodded understandingly. "I hope…things will be better for you now."
"They will be, Eureka. I know they will."
"What will you do, now? Will you stay here in France?" Sakuya shook her head, surprisingly.
"I'd like to, but when this war ends, I ought to go back to Japan. My family hasn't seen me since I left there several years ago, and they probably think I'm dead. Once I go back I'll finish my schooling." Eureka seemed crestfallen at the news, since it meant the unlikelihood of either of them meeting again.
"Oh, I see. It's too bad we can't stay longer. There is so much more I want to tell you…!"
"Such as?"
She considered for a few moments, and a catalog of thoughts were laid out before her. How brave Sakuya was. How calm she could be. How was it even possible that she still stood after all of this, after so many close friends lost?
"Well…you're an immensely strong woman for just going forward after all of this. I can't imagine what it must take, after all you have been through."
"I have to move forward, Eureka, for those who can't anymore. Father Norbert said the same to me; we owe it to the dead to keep on living, lest we dishonor them and everything they fought for."
"You're too right about that. He said the same to Renton as well. I just pray things will get better for all of us now."
"What's your address?"
Eureka almost gasped upon hearing the question, as if wondering why she, of all people, would have any reason to keep their friendship alive. From this point on, their lives would diverge, and they would likely never see each other again. So why?
"I'd hate to miss out on the news of your wedding. You must tell me everything you can!"
"Oh Sakuya…"
Eureka could not muster the courage to say anymore, and only tightly hugged her friend, nearly suffocating herself. Even if the chances for meeting again face to face were close to nil, she could not deny the request. To forget her would be to forget about everything she lived through in three months that changed her life and the world.
Eventually, the time came for Renton and his original party to leave, and when they marched up the road towards the coast, Eureka could not keep her eyes forward. All she could do was look back, to her Japanese friend and comrade who stood by and supported her like another sister.
Sakuya Kobayashi (1925-2015)
With war's end, Sakuya briefly returned home to Japan and finished her schooling, eventually earning a degree in agriculture from the University of Tokyo. She would return to France and open a small florist shop in Paris, where she made a living selling lotus flowers. While she and Eureka never again met, she regularly wrote her until her death at the age of 90.
Norbert Vandamme (1922- )
The young chaplain returned to his work as a bell ringer in Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris after the Normandy campaign. Together with the cathedral staff, Norbert devoted his life to helping families whose lives were destroyed by the war. His charity and kindness eventually saw him become assistant to the cathedral's archdeacon. He maintained a close friendship with Sakuya Kobayashi throughout his life, but his religion barred him from marriage.
»»»»»
July 6th, 1945
Somewhere in Soviet-occupied Germany
"That kid shouldn't have died," Renton remarked bitterly as he looked over Dmitri Voronin's newly dug grave.
There was little time for a funeral in the aftermath of the raid, and all that Dmitri's friends could do was return him to the earth from which he came. The rifle and helmet served as a headstone, with his identification tags tied around the trigger guard. Renton ground his teeth in frustration and sorrow, regretting how everyone he met, everyone he loved, seemed to face the same fate. Death does indeed come for all.
"He was a good kid," he continued. "He should have died fighting the Germans, not like this. No one deserves to die in a fight like this."
"I'm beginning to agree with you there," Holland thought aloud, sighing deeply.
A heavy rough-skinned hand weighed on Renton's back, and the young American sensed the trepidation in his Russian friend. The grave's sight only brought him down further, and he suddenly felt 100 pounds heavier. Why was it that everyone close to him had to suffer? Was he cursed?
"It all feels so unfair, Holland. I'm glad we got your father back, but…this isn't what I thought we would have to do."
"None of us did, my friend. It doesn't matter how tough you are, how long you've served, or how smart and cunning you may be. If you're in the wrong spot at the wrong time, you're going to bite it."
"Why does it always have to be that way? Why do we always lose the ones we love the most?"
Holland said nothing, simply because there was no easy answer. Even he, after all his years fighting and bleeding in war, could not answer that question. He had seen many a friend and classmate die in battle, often without any real reason at all. It was something to which he grew accustomed, but it hardly lessened the impact of each death. His silence only deepened Renton's depression, and unearthed his previously-held doubts.
"I don't know, Rentoshka," he said quietly, gazing at Dmitri's impromptu tomb. "All I know is life can be a real mess."
"Damn right, and we stumbled into one bloody hell of a mess. We may be in over our heads, this time."
Holland glanced over at his friend, and saw the familiar glaze in his jade eyes, the one of hesitance. Of wanting to back away. After everything they had seen and everything they had lost, the ex-partisan could hardly blame him. Perhaps this was what he feared would happen should they ever return.
"What do you mean, old friend?" Renton only shook his head in despair, his eyes never leaving the grave.
"What I say. I don't think we can fix the problems we're faced with now. They've spiraled out of our control, and we might be endangering ourselves if we stick around."
"Renton, it's just my brother. All we need to do is find where he's gone, and this will be over."
"I wish it was just your brother, Holland, but it isn't, anymore. This is much bigger than him! It's bigger than any of us! Don't you see what's happening here?!"
Renton slowly faced his future brother-in-law, his eyes tired, his oak brown hair frazzled, and his nerves completely shot. To Holland, he was indistinguishable from a walking corpse.
"Dewey is just a symptom of a disease we can't treat. For God's sake, Holland, British commandos broke into that castle to get that uranium bomb! We were bamboozled by that 'observer' from the secret police to get that doctor! It's by the grace of God that neither of them got what they wanted. We're fighting against something that's beyond our control."
The militia officer thought he saw a twitch in Renton's body. He wondered if this was what originally compelled him to refuse to go.
"What would you have us do, Renton?"
"Go home. Forget this ever happened, and leave everything behind while we still can."
"Including Volodya and Father?"
He expected a pause, a moment when his friend would see the error in his thinking. Instead, he only shook his head and brushed away an errant lock of hair. The follicles were greying from the root up, a product of the immense stress.
"They can come with us, if they want. Anyone who wants to come back with us can go. It won't be long before Moscow comes looking for us, too, after we put that commissar in the dirt. We all have targets on our backs, now, so let's just get out altogether. Let's fight for something we can believe in."
He wondered for the longest time why Renton was so hesitant to join the fray once more. Ever since the end of the Normandy campaign, Renton told his friend many a night that he would not go back and do that deadly work. He would not fall into that cesspit of madness that always seemed to take him in battle. He would not do it simply because it would mean forsaking Eureka, Holland, and everyone about whom he cared so deeply. But Holland wondered if a situation like this was something Renton foresaw. Caught on both sides by giants, hunted by friend and foe alike, and stuck in the middle of a rift between allies that only grew wider with each passing day.
Holland sighed, finally understanding why his friend refused to go with him to begin with. If he knew this was what would happen to them, he would have refused too.
It was at that moment when footsteps approached the two friends, and Holland saw Nadia, the former secret policeman and now Renton's bodyguard, solemnly march up to them. The death of her colleague Roza hit her hard, as she kept out of sight and out of the way since arriving in Berlin. Now even she was at her limit, as she failed to suppress a yawn, a side-effect from lack of sleep.
"There you are, Nadia," Holland greeted. "How is Father holding up?"
"He is resting with Eureka, now. Whatever your brother tried to do, he nearly killed the man. So, Thurston, what do we do now?"
Renton smiled ruefully, wondering just what more could be gained by continuing the chase. Holland filled in the blanks for Nadia.
"Renton doesn't think it's worth pursuing Dewey any further, and that we should just pack up and leave. What would you say?"
Nadia was stunned, chilled, almost terrified at the proposal, but after everything they had seen, and considering the fiasco in which they were embroiled, it was hardly surprising that Renton would have second thoughts. With Roza gone, the NKVD undoubtedly hunting them, and a counterattack by Dewey all but certain, she wondered if it was indeed the right moment.
"I certainly understand why," she said after much thought. "Frankly, Lieutenant Novikov, we are in a very dangerous place, and given all that has happened, we may be fighting more than just Dewey and his soldiers. It is only a matter of time until Moscow starts asking questions about Commissar Pozharsky. To be honest, sir, we may be facing something beyond our control."
"What do you mean?"
"Look at what this fight has become. We were misled by a government agent to get a doctor, and British commandos raided the castle where your father was held to get the doctor's weapon. It's not just about Dewey's plan to start another conflict anymore."
The ex-secret policeman gripped at her belt, the leather cutting grooves into her palm. A terrible, sobering reality stared her in the face when she closed her eyes, thinking of what they could do.
"The grand alliance that destroyed fascism is falling apart before our eyes, Lieutenant, and this fight for Deckard's uranium bomb was the first skirmish. It will not last beyond Japan's defeat. If we stay, we will be hunted by the Soviets as well as Dewey. It may be best for us to just leave."
Holland looked back to his friend, then back to Nadia, and felt the claw of apprehension grasp at his soul as well. It was the same doubts he had when planning the whole expedition at the start. Was chasing after Dewey even worth it? Did Renton Thurston even matter to him, anymore? Was there anymore they could even do, now that they had disposed of the bomb, and retrieved his father? For all intents and purposes, his plan was dead on arrival.
Perhaps it was time to prevent further losses.
KABLAM!
No sooner had Holland begun to entertain the notion of leaving when an earsplitting explosion shook the earth with the force of a volcano blast, and all three looked back towards their safehouse. An abandoned factory on the outskirts of a village just received a large shell near its base, followed by another loud explosion. They were quickly followed by a rapid series of loud pops. Gunfire.
"It's Dewey!" Holland said hastily, reaching for his pistol. "Looks like he's making one last effort."
"Undoubtedly, he's here for your father, again," Nadia speculated. "Let's hurry!"
Renton grabbed his Mosin-Nagant rifle and started on his way towards the factory. The time for mulling about whether to stay or go would have to wait until after this battle. How on earth did Dewey even track them down? It didn't matter; they would withstand this attack, same as always, and just leave afterward.
The closer they came to the factory, the more severe the damage appeared. Several masked armed men were storming through a large hole, a gaping wound, in the walls of the factory. Dewey's men. Bright, orange flashes emanated from inside the factory, where First Company and Holland's militia squad were desperately trying to hold them off.
Renton took aim at one stocky gunman, leading the way into the breach. Holland was a few steps ahead, however, and tossed a fragmentation grenade like a baseball towards the small squad. It landed right at the lead gunman's feet before exploding. The effect of the blast was akin to an earthquake; the lead gunman fell instantly with a bloodied arm and head while the rest were flung in all directions like ragdolls. It provided the opening for the trio to rush in, but as Nadia bounded through the breach, more gunmen arrived.
One screamed like a banshee and almost crashed into Renton, bearing a 'liberated' Sturmgewehr-44. Renton had to dig in his heels to keep his balance, and fought in a battle of sheer strength to overwhelm him. The gunman swung the butt of his gun with a loud grunt, but Renton swiftly dodged it with a jump backward. That provided enough space for him to stab the gunman in the heart with his bayonet. The gunman groaned and fell to his knees before Renton swiped out the bayonet. Finally, he clubbed the man across the head with the stock, and looked off to his right to see a familiar-looking silhouette.
It was a tall man with wild hair burrowed beneath his officer's cap, and a rain cape and hood tied around his collar, giving an imposing, almost frightening appearance. For a moment, Renton thought he was looking at a villain from an old silent film. His black jackboots kicked up dust as he walked, and in the smoke and haze, Renton thought he saw a bayonet's luster in his eyes and a ghostly smirk.
"He's here."
Renton gently nudged Holland, and pointed off into the distance. Seeing his older brother after so many years made the young militia lieutenant's blood run cold, but at the same time, he could not help but be glad to know he was still alive. It was only a shame that he was not a better human being than when they last saw each other.
"Renton, go get Eureka and Father. Tell them we're leaving."
"What about you?"
"I'll gather my squad and meet you. Just go!"
The American had no choice but to trust his friend, and ran into the factory where he was soon joined by Nadia. He found her quickly conversing with Vladimir who, with other members of his battalion, had just fought off an assault by Dewey's gunmen.
"How the hell did brother find us?!" Vladimir asked no one in particular.
"Doesn't matter," Anatole quipped as he loaded a new magazine into his PPSh-41. "We push them back and kick ass, same as always!"
"We'll have to push back really hard if we're to survive this…"
He reloaded his TT-33, and looked over at Renton, who was firing his rifle at an unseen enemy. For some reason, he felt a deep sense of longing, of nostalgia. The officer remembered vividly how often he played in games of soldier with Renton and the others from his neighborhood. To think those games of soldier now had stakes of life and death…
"You need to get Eureka and Father out of here, Renton! MOVE!"
"You better be right behind us when we leave!"
Renton disappeared up the stairs, and Nadia was about to follow him when a distress call came over the major's radio. It was Lieutenant Sokolov.
"Vladimir, do you read me?! They've breached the north entrance… (cough, cough)…I'm pinned down with Natasha and Ken-Goh! I need help now!"
"Stay there, Petya," Vladimir ordered, "we're coming to you."
Vladimir glanced over at the stairs, and saw Nadia lingering, her C96 pistol at the ready. In the time she had been with them, the ex-secret policeman and former assassin had proved brave and resourceful, even when it turned out their so-called friends were enemies in disguise. He had something important he still needed to do, and it would require her assistance.
"Agent 340, I need your help."
"What would you have me do, comrade Major?"
"Come with us and bail Petya out."
Nadia did not question it, and only followed Vladimir and Anatole into the darkness towards the other side of the factory. The wall had yet another large hole, recently exploded as smoke and dust wafted through the air like a thick gas. No sooner had they entered the room, which housed several generators when it was alight with gunfire.
Vladimir entered the room first, and saw one gunman trying to flank them from the right. He opened fire with four shots from his TT-33 and managed to slow him down briefly, but brought his attention away from Petya's group, crouched behind a piston engine, Anatole barged in and slid down, firing his submachine gun into the flanker before finally taking him down. Vladimir and Anatole were now free to move forward to Petya's group, who were fending off yet another attack from the breach.
The dim light of the factory and the afternoon light from outside gave the battle an ethereal quality, as if Dewey's gunmen were descending from the heavens to mete judgement on man. But they were no angels; they were demons, and they fought like them as well. The dark silhouettes of the gunman made for easy targets, as Petya sprayed any who got too close to the breach, and Natasha picked off marksmen and snipers from afar. Even Ken-Goh lent a hand, if only by finishing off targets with his pistol.
Nadia came into the room now and looked off to a dark corridor on her left, and saw yet another flanker, this time brandishing an SVT-40 semiautomatic rifle. She took aim and discharged three shots from her pistol, only to find she had spent her clip. Her sidearm empty, and the gunman charging towards her, she had only one choice: fight head on, in close quarters.
The gunman lunged forward, hoping to stab Nadia in the chest with his bayonet but Nadia sidestepped him, grabbing the barrel of the SVT-40. She quickly reached for her combat knife and stabbed the gunman several times in the stomach. He groaned in pain, and blood leaked from his lips as his grip on the rifle loosened. Nadia finished him quickly with a slash across his throat, and claimed the rifle for herself.
It was just in time as well, as another wave of attackers stormed through the breach. She unloaded her entire magazine into them as they came through like a tidal wave. One, two, three, four enemies fell, piling up on both sides of the breach and formed a mortal pyramid. Petya and Anatole unloaded the remainder of their magazines through the breach and formed a sheet of suppressive fire, pinning down more enemies. Anatole lobbed a grenade, and suggested to Vladimir that they go.
"If we hang around here, there's no telling when we'll be overrun." Nadia concurred as she loaded a new stripper clip into her pistol.
"I agree, comrade Major. We should focus on getting out of here while we still can."
The grenade exploded outside the breach as Vladimir nodded and motioned for all to leave. But as they started to pack up their weapons and make for the stairs, a loud whizzing sound was heard, emanating from outside and drifting closer with each second. Anatole looked through the breach and saw a grey projectile cutting faster through the air than an African swallow. He gasped and yelled for everyone to scatter.
"INCOMING PANZERSCHRECK!"
No sooner had the words exited his lips when a deafening detonation rocked the generator room to its core and blasted all off their feet. Petya squinted through the smoke to see the damage, and it was devastating.
The projectile landed a hit on the piston engine that had been their cover, and destroyed it into a thousand pieces which scattered in all directions. One large shard of metal, resembling a curved dagger, impaled Anatole from behind as he was running from the exploding engine, and reemerged through his chest cavity. His friend's eyes widened in shock, and his body flew across the room until it pounded the wall, leaving a crack.
Natasha and Petya rushed over to their friend, and held him tightly while he bled out. His forehead was coated in crimson, and his words slow, raspy and weak. Natasha cradled his head and tried to suppress a tear as he breathed his last words.
"Ukhodi, Natasha…tiy khochesh' zhit', shtoby viyiti zamuzh…za Petyu…ne pravda li?" (A/N: Get out of here, Natasha…you want to live to marry…Petya…don't you?)
His head grew heavy and her body along with it. Natasha tried in vain to shut Anatole's eyes, but she could not see through her tears. Another friend lost to a brutal psychopath on some mad pursuit for power. Ken-Goh tugged at her collar, while keeping an eye on the breach.
"O da brost'ye, Natasha!" he screamed in his native tongue. "Nyelzya zdyes' ostavat'sa!" (A/N: Oh, come on, Natasha! We can't stay here!)
"On prav," Petya said quietly. "Nam nuzhny uiti, seichas." (A/N: He's right. We need to leave, now.)
She looked up at her fiancé, her love, and anguish was plastered on his face. His blue eyes were fixed on his deceased friend, and his lips almost hemorrhaged from his incessant biting. If only there was time for another funeral. If only there was a moment's peace. If only this terrible tragedy never came to pass.
Ken-Goh pulled her up, and she bit back a sob, not wanting to leave her dear friend, comrade, neighbor, classmate just yet.
She moved hesitantly towards the stairs to the upper floors, but found another casualty that almost made her heart, and everyone else's stop.
Just beside the stairwell, Nadia held their dear friend and commander Vladimir upright. He had wounded in the blast as well, although not as fatally as Anatole. All eyes drifted to the bloodied rag that was Vladimir's pantleg, where another wedge of metal sliced through his thigh like tissue paper. His face was covered in dirt and soot, and he looked about ready for a hospital bed.
"Oh my god…Volodya!"
"Comrade Major!"
"Jesus, not you, too!"
His friends surrounded him, and Vladimir grimaced as he tried to move.
"It's nothing…just my leg. Help me up, already! They're coming!"
Nadia and Ken-Goh nodded and lifted him up by his arms, shouldering him as one would a heavy knapsack. They started to move towards the stairs, just as another wave of gunmen came in through the smoke, soot, and sorrow.
The female sniper did not want to leave, and only looked on at Anatole's motionless body. His red eyes stared up aimlessly towards the ceiling, his mouth slightly agape as if still soaked in shock. Petya coaxed her to follow.
"Get up the stairs!" her lover and fiancé ordered. "On umer! DAVAITYE, POSHLI!" (A/N: He's dead! COME ON, LET'S GO!)
He pulled her up the stairs and fired a parting burst into an oncoming foe before tossing another grenade. As much as it pained him to leave his old friend and neighbor behind, the stakes were life and death. The price of failure was Dewey capturing all of them…or worse.
They made their way up a spiral staircase leading to the offices, the assembly lines and workbenches. What this factory used to make, none of them could say, nor did they care. They did not see machines as they peered down each corridor but new forms of cover, and potential obstructions.
Upon reaching the second floor, the group was taken completely by surprise as automatic fire swept through their ranks from the assembly line. One bullet landed on Petya's right thigh and made him trip, and another grazed Ken-Goh's upper lip, shaving off a bit of his mustache. But the third was lethal, finding a soft spot in Vladimir's side just above his left hip before exiting through his lower back. Vladimir cried in pain from the wound, and was almost dropped by his two carriers before finding the strength to level his pistol and return fire.
Natasha quickly scoped in and found one gunman, manning a light machine gun mounted on a conveyer belt, and pulled the trigger. Her aim, even when quick on the draw, was quite accurate; though she did not land a shot in the head, bullet to the chest was fatal enough to stop the rapid fire. Petya finished off the second gunman as he landed on his knee, discharging at least ten rounds before the masked man fell dead, his hands grasping a scavenged MP40.
There was no rest, and even as Vladimir bled out, they quickly moved on. Drops of red formed a trail up the stairwell until at last their commander ordered Ken-Goh and Nadia to drop him on a landing, just outside the third level. Petya and Natasha stopped, but their major and friend told them,
"Keep going! Petya, get your platoon in order and have them evacuate the factory. NOW!"
Petya wanted to protest, fearing what would happen if Vladimir was not properly treated. But there were others in his command he had to think of. He sighed resignedly, and, with Natasha in tow, reluctantly left his friend on the metal floors.
Vladimir turned to his right hand, Ken-Goh, the trusted and reliable commander of First Company. His vision became blurry and he thought he was looking through cherry-tinted glasses. With labored breath, he dictated his final orders.
"If you have any more dynamite, give it to me. Set it up around the landing and doorway."
Ken-Goh, normally a tough and somewhat brusque officer, shuddered as he planted charges around the landing and near the threshold. Connecting wires to the individual charges was especially difficult, as his hands could not stop shaking. Was it the constant gunfire? The fear that the enemy would be upon them any minute? The hacking coughs of his superior and he spoke to Nadia?
The major handed the ex-secret policeman his bag, which softly clattered as he removed it off his shoulder.
"There's an audio tape in here…and all of the evidence from our investigation…" Vladimir coughed again, blood spattering on his collar. "Renton and Eureka need to hear that tape. You must get it to them."
"Yes, sir," she whispered, trying her best to contain the tremble in her lips.
"They need to…turn that evidence over…to someone they can trust. When you leave, go find General Chuikov. He will help you…he cares about Renton…and us."
Ken-Goh finished readying the charges, and came to Vladimir with the detonator. His hand weakly grasped the plunger as Ken-Goh wrapped the final wires around the main mounts, keeping an eye on his old friend.
"Ken-Goh…" he breathed.
"Yes, comrade Major?"
"Come on, Ken-Goh, now's not the time to get formal."
"…sorry, Volodya. What is it?"
"I need you to gather the rest of First Company…(cough)…and leave the factory. You will join the rest of battalion…and (cough)…proceed to Point 606. General Chuikov will be there waiting for you. You're in command now, Captain Fyodorev."
Ken-Goh was left speechless, and he did not know whether to cry or shake his best friend's hand. He wished he could say something to Vladimir, how he could tell him that everything would turn out alright, and he would live. In the end, he had nothing to say, other than a firm, resolute 'yes, sir.' Vladimir smiled weakly, and gently nudged his friend in the shoulder.
"Tell Petya he's got First Company now. Look after everyone for me, Ken-Goh. And for God's sake, make sure Renton and Eureka get out alive."
"I will, Volodya. You can count on it."
"I know. I can always count on you…"
Nadia and Ken-Goh stood up and firmly saluted the major before going their separate ways. Nadia continued up the stairs towards the top level where Renton, Eureka, and General Novikov resided. Ken-Goh left down a dark corridor to find the remainder of First Company. Vladimir was left alone, staring down the hallway into an office space.
Each time he blinked, and his vision grew darker, he thought he saw images of his youth. The beautiful streets of Stalingrad. The high skyscrapers, fabulous department stores, and the luxurious riverside café. He heard the laughter of children on the playground, and could make out Renton and Eureka's voices, calling for him to join them in their games. He smelled the taste of home cooking, a hot breakfast made special by his mother and father.
A squad of five gunmen came down the hall, eyeing the major, and calling for him to surrender. Vladimir could only laugh.
"Rentoshka…Eurekasha…"
They came upon him, and found the dynamite laid around them.
"Udachi vam." (A/N: Good luck to you.)
BOOM!
Nadia stopped briefly as she felt the staircase shake with the force of a volcanic eruption, and heard the cries of several dying men. She sighed, wondering if any of this death and loss could have been avoided. The moment of speculation was brief, however, as she knew time was of the essence. She practically hopped up the stairs, carrying Vladimir's bag all the while, until she reached the very top.
Behind an overturned managerial desk, Renton and Eureka were engaged in another gun battle with Dewey's men, who rushed in from the left-side door, screaming like demons. Nadia could only watch as the pair fought off each attacker who hoped to swiftly capture General Novikov. Where was he, anyway?
Further behind and keeping his head down to avoid gunfire, Piotr Nikolayevich kept an eye on both the north and south doors. One tried to sneak around, carrying a scavenged Sturmgewehr-44, and the general called him out.
"Eureka, to your right!"
Eureka spun around, her short dark brown locks swaying like branches on a windy day. Immediately she was greeted with three errant shots around her head which sent her ducking down, lying prone on the concrete floor. She scoped in, and found her target, who was seeking better cover.
As he started to make for a file cabinet, she fired, and turned out to be surprisingly accurate under pressure. A pink mist clouded her scope and the fallen body revealed her damage: a clear bullet between the shooter's eyes. Eureka's eyes widened in amazement at her accuracy as she shifted the bolt. Her months away from combat since Normandy apparently did not diminish her skill.
In her efforts to fend off a flanker, another gunman tossed a grenade through the door and towards Renton and Eureka. It forced them to scatter to different cover, and provided an avenue for the gunman to try and take the general.
Renton fired his rifle, but a bolt-action gun was never suitable in close-quarters combat. It failed to slow down the attacker and the grenade detonated, destroying the desk into splinters. The attacker bounded over the remains of the desk, and seemed poised to recapture Piotr Nikolayevich. But he had a surprise up his sleeve.
The elderly general was armed himself, and stood up behind cover to produce a semiautomatic pistol. He unloaded the entire magazine into the attacker's face, stopping the advance cold. As the attacker fell with a heavy sigh, Renton and Eureka could only gaze in amazement at Piotr Nikolayevich's skill to fight.
Nadia coughed, and made her presence known to all in the room.
The trio's heads swiveled to the back, and saw their protector, for all intents and purposes. Nadia's face was covered in soot and dirt, and gunpowder clung to her wild blonde hair, a pungent perfume. Her blue eyes looked tired, worn from the stress, but she still was ready for battle, pistol cocked and loaded. In her hand, she carried a rucksack normally worn by Vladimir. She shifted her foot, and addressed Renton.
"Thurston, the time has come for us to go."
"Have you found the way out, Nadia?" Renton asked with urgency.
"The north entrance is fucked all to hell. We can only go out the south way. Follow me, and we'll be gone in under a minute."
However, they couldn't get too far as the exit was blown open with grenades. The former assassin cursed underneath her breath as the smoke surrounded her group like a menacing fog. How did those ruffians know where they were so quickly?
The answer became apparent by who stepped across the threshold and into the room. A tall Red Army officer at least in his 30s, with a head of grey hair tied behind him and a dark olive rain cape draped over his shoulders. The icy blue eyes that flung daggers through the smoke sent a sickening chill through all of their bodies.
Dewey. The man who sought Renton Thurston's blood, and employed his old rival to get it. The man who would gladly set the whole world ablaze for his own ends. The man who always seemed a step ahead.
Nadia hardly had the strength to speak and stepped back into the door. For all he knew, she was dead, and God only knew what he would do if he saw her. Eureka felt conflicted, drowning in a raging whirlpool of emotions. Her brother was someone she both dreaded and longed to see, if only to get answers from him. Renton only glared long and hard at the eldest Novikov son as he stepped in, wearing a sardonic smile and carrying an almost nostalgic tone in his voice.
"Well," he greeted familiarly, "if it isn't the world-famous American Russian and his bride-to-be. It's been quite a while, has it not?"
"Spare me the pleasantries, Dewey," Renton berated, his voice hard as mountain rocks. "What the hell are you doing here?" Dewey grasped as his heart, pretending to be offended by Renton's sharp remarks.
"My, the pup has finally grown fangs. Well, Rentoshka, if you must know, I have come to recollect my father. He hasn't told me the attack codes for all Soviet forces yet. I need him if my plan is to ever get off the ground."
"Your plan is toothless! You don't have your precious uranium bomb or your German madman of a doctor!"
"Be that as it may, I still follow through on everything I start, and I have no intention of stopping now. Stand aside, and I might let you all live."
Eureka, not wanting to lose any more loved ones, stepped in front of Piotr Nikolayevich like a shield of might, her hands tightly gripping her rifle. With a dark glare of death, Eureka asked Dewey,
"And what if Father doesn't want to go with you?" Dewey looked towards his baby sibling and frowned with annoyance.
"What do you think, little sister? I'll take him by force if need be."
Having heard enough, Renton stepped in front of both Eureka and Piotr Nikolayevich, his expression hardening as he kept his eyes toward the taller adult man.
"We are NOT going to let that happen."
Dewey closed his eyes and sighed deeply with disappointment. But a second later, he flashed an almost psychotic smirk.
"Good."
Almost right on cue, five young men in dark olive uniforms leaped forward and charged towards Renton, Nadia, Eureka, and Piotr Nikolayevich. Renton did not hesitate and fired one shot from his rifle from the hip, and killed the lead man with a hit to the torso. Nadia, peeking across the threshold of the door rapidly discharged four cartridges at the closest gunmen to her and managed to slow them enough with wounds in his side and leg. Even Eureka, meek and timid as Dewey remembered her, stood firm against the fourth as he barreled through.
However, she did not anticipate how swift the fifth man was, for he dodged two of her gunshots and proceeded to use a dagger against Eureka, aiming a dagger at her heart. Luckily, she side-stepped and used the butt of her rifle and swung it at the gunman's stomach.
With all five men knocked out, all eyes remained on the prodigal eldest Novikov son. He rubbed his chin, as if in deep pensive thought, although Renton knew he was planning something else.
"We've fought plenty of your goons before," Eureka quipped. "What made you think this time would be any different?"
"A man can still dream, little sister. And for me, there is only one thing that is preventing my dream from becoming a reality."
He reached for his side and produced a pistol, but did not aim it at his father as all expected. The officer turned it instead on the young American.
"I told you before, Father. Every man has his price."
Renton did not flinch, but only stood like an old statue. Dewey turned one hate-filled eye at the young boy, the thorn in his side, the catalyst for all of this madness and death long after it should have ended.
"You know, boy, if it weren't for you, none of this would be happening in the first place! If you were not in our lives, I would have no reason to do any of this at all!"
"Bull-fucking-shit, Dewey," Renton shouted. "You started all of this because you were jealous, just like Chertov. You and him are just right for each other. Wanting revenge to boost your own ego and punishing those who disagreed with you!" The colonel laughed at the comparison.
"That little amoeba? He was always too arrogant and vengeful for his own good! I really ought to thank you for disposing of him, Thurston. Lieutenant Chertov would have only gotten in the way if he stayed on. He never cared about the dream for which I fight; he was just on a revenge trip." Renton winced at the memory of Chertov's suicide still fresh on his mind.
"So, that's all there is to you, isn't it? Using whoever you have as pawns. Chertov, Nadia, Roza, and the other agents from two years ago…! You're a sick man, Dewey Novikov. What happened to you? This quest of hatred and revenge is pointless. The war is almost over and here you are attacking us over such petty reasons!"
"Renton's right!" Eureka chimed in. "All you have ever done is tear our family apart with your scheming. Do you have any idea what you've done to us all?!"
"Roza is dead because of you…" Nadia whispered to the wind, her face concealed in the darkness of the stairwell.
Dewey craned his head over to his youngest sibling, and saw how starkly and diametrically different she was from her youth. Always she was quiet, reserved, somewhat afraid. To see her holding a rifle, wearing the uniform of a soldier, and speaking with a fire in her belly almost made Dewey forget it was Eureka at all. He spoke harshly to her, as one would to a badly-behaved child.
"If that is what it takes to save us all from ruin, then so be it. Your Yankee lover there is why I did all of this, you stupid girl! The instant our fathers shook hands was the instant we were suspected by the state! As long as he lives, and you with him, we are all traitors! Do you want your whole family dragged off to Siberia? To starve to death in the Gulag?! HE'S THE REASON OUR FAMILY HAS BEEN TORN ASUNDER!"
Renton was silent, having heard this before. It was no secret that the Novikovs' association with him and his father cost them everything now. Even though he loved Eureka dearly, and would do anything for her, he could not deny that part of this suffering was because he was a foreigner. Renton looked down at his shoes before he returned his gaze to the oldest son of the Novikov family.
"You're right, Dewey. Your family wouldn't have been targeted if not for me and father being at Stalingrad. We made a terrible mistake. We never meant to cause harm, but the damage is done, already, isn't it?"
He took two firm steps forward, and outstretched his arms.
"If you need to take a life, take mine instead. If it means ending the bloodshed, if it means sparing my remaining friends and allies, then get it over with. I'm sick of people dying because of me."
There was a daunting silence after Renton's statement. Nadia, Eureka, and Piotr Nikolayevich stood, bug-eyed, at the American Russian. What on earth was he thinking?! Did he have a plan under his sleeve? Was he serious? If he died, everything they had done up to now would have been in vain. The colonel smiled in surprise, and returned his aim to the American.
"That easy? That's a nice change. As you wish, Thurston. Thanks for not resisting any longer."
Both Nadia and Eureka protested, not wanting another person, especially not one so near and dear to them, to be brutally snuffed out. Dewey's finger curled around the trigger, and Renton closed his eyes, silently praying. He prayed for a better and more peaceful life for Eureka and those who remained; it was the least they deserved.
BANG! BANG!
Strangely, Renton felt nothing. Not the sharp pain or piercing sensation one gets from a bullet wound. Indeed, there was not a scratch on him when he opened his eyes. If he hadn't died, then who…?
On the ground, merely inches in front of him, an elderly man in his late 50s bled from his chest cavity, forming a small morbid pool of dark scarlet around him. Piotr Nikolayevich Novikov had jumped in front, and took the bullets meant for him.
Dewey, his eyes wide and the muzzle of his pistol still smoking, backed away in horror. Not only had he shot his own father, but shot himself in the foot as well; the attack codes would now die with him. For that, his father was truly brilliant.
"Father…"
"FATHER, NO!" Eureka screamed, her grey eyes flooded with tears.
The young girl rushed to her father's side, and tried to lift him up, not minding the blood smearing on her uniform and her hands. Renton came beside her and both were lost, staring into Piotr Nikolayevich's face. There was a hint of a smile, veiled beneath the blood-saliva broth that slowly seeped from his lips.
"Why?" Renton whispered, holding back tears.
"Because…" the general said weakly, "the future…belongs to you. You are…Eureka's happiness, now…more than I am, or her brothers…"
The general's kind eyes, wavering and trembling, glanced over Eureka's, welling up and flooding with tears. His gloved hand stretched out and caressed his daughter's cheek lovingly.
"You must live, Eurekasha. Promise me…that when this all ends, you will go back home. You will…live with Renton. He is family…and he always…will…"
Piotr Nikolayevich's breathing became heavier, shallower, and a sheet of sweat glistened on his wrinkled brow. Renton continued holding him as Eureka no longer felt strength in her arms, and shielded her eyes with bloodstained hands. The whirlpool of emotions grew more violent, and more clashed with greater force. The deeper she sank, the more she clawed for something to pull her out. All she could grasp was a dark, sinister, bitter sensation.
She raised her head, blood smeared on her face, and faced her eldest brother. He still stood, his grip on his pistol shaking, soaked in the shock of his murder. Looking at his sister, Dewey saw no grief in his sister's eyes. No sadness or pain. Only anger. Anger at having been beaten and kicked and disowned by an unforgiving, violent world. A world made dark and cruel by people like him.
"YOU!" she screeched. "This is your fault! You talk about saving your family? Protecting us from the Party? Don't make me laugh! Vsyo, shto tiy znayesh' dyelat'—UNICHTOZHIT'!" (A/N: All you know to do is DESTROY!)
Without even allowing time for a rejoinder from her brother, Eureka snatched Renton's rifle and charged the colonel. She no longer saw her eldest sibling. She only saw the enemy. Everyone who ruined her life was the enemy. Everyone who forced her to flee was the enemy. But even with his scheme in shambles by his own hubris, the enemy was not ready to die just yet.
Dewey produced a small canister from behind his back, and threw it to the floor. All were enveloped in a grey mist, but Eureka only kept charging, determined to make her enemy pay. They all had to pay for what they did to her.
The colonel exited the way he came, and said to two soldiers waiting outside the threshold,
"Take her."
The two soldiers burst through the door, hoping to slow down the anger-filled bull, but only proved to be a meat shield. One soldier fell from her bayonet, stabbed in the heart with a sickening squelch of flesh and a painful moan. Eureka kicked her victim off, struggling to pull out the bayonet from the man's ribs. The other soldier tried to club her over the head with the butt of his SVT-40 rifle, but only earned her wrath.
She swiftly dodged the attack, and delivered a kick to the man's groin, weakening him and knocking him down. With all of her might she swung the rifle like a bludgeon, and connected with his jaw. A few errant teeth and a gout of blood were knocked out as he fell. A low, animalistic snarl from Eureka made even Renton's blood run cold as she brought down her rifle like a sledgehammer on the soldier, bashing his face in until there was nothing left but bruises and blood.
Eureka looked down the dark stairwell leading to the south entrance, and saw the hem of the colonel's rain cape disappear behind a corner. She growled, and cursed in Russian.
"Vernis' i srazhaisya, proklyatiy trus!"(A/N: Come back and fight, cursed coward!)
She ran down, completely forgetting Renton and Nadia, still tending to the dying General Piotr Nikolayevich Novikov. Everything had disappeared. Renton was no longer important, and neither was her dead father, or anyone else she lost in this terrible melee. All that remained was to exact revenge, and kill anyone who got in her way.
Upon entering the second floor, Eureka was greeted by the cacophony of gunfire and the pall of cordite and smoke. At least four gunmen were in combat with a squad of First Company which was pinned on the far side of the room. She looked around, and found to her surprise (and now manic delight) that she sat right on the enemy's flank.
She raised her rifle to her shoulder and lined her crosshairs up at one gunman holding a light machine gun, suppressing the squad. A sickly, grim smile crept across Eureka's lips as she curled her finger around the trigger.
"Drop dead, svoloch," she said sadistically.
And just like that, the bullet pierced through the smoke and hit the throat of the unsuspecting gunman.
That earned the attention of the rest of the squad, and Eureka did not waste any time in going on the attack, relieving the beleaguered Red Army squad. After cycling the bolt, she charged again and collided with the fourth gunman who tried to empty his PPSh-41 into her. She was too quick and too small of a target for him, and she soon barreled into him with another violent stab of her bayonet, this time in his neck.
The gunman crumpled to the floor with a gurgle and produced her M1895 pistol, pointing it at the remaining group. Seeing they were outflanked and facing a demon rather than a soldier, they all laid down their arms and offered surrender.
Eureka, who kicked the last dead gunman over, kept her revolver on them and ordered them to stand up. She did not even pay the Red Army squad any heed when they thanked her before disappearing to find and repel new enemies.
"Hands in the air, scum!" Eureka demanded, "And stay on the wall!"
Two of the three gunmen did as they were told but one of them was desperate to fight back, no matter what. And so, producing a secret dagger from his waist pack, the orange haired soldier charged at Eureka quick as a flash and lashed out.
Eureka nearly tripped as the knife grazed her left cheek. In rage, she retaliated with a quick and strong elbow to the nose, breaking it. Groaning in pain and covering his nose with his free hand, the redhead had no time to counter attack.
"You think you're a soldier, do you?!" she screeched before shooting her pistol at the gunman's head.
A red mist clouded her vision as he fell over to his side like a lead-filled doll. Even though he was dead, and the two gunmen were too afraid to do anything, Eureka grabbed her rifle and swung it across the dead man's head again and again with the might of a lumberjack chopping wood. Each time she struck him, the butt of her rifle grew redder and redder. The squelch and thudding of flesh was sickening to anyone in that room, but Eureka paid it no mind. All she felt was anger. They had to pay. All of them had to pay for what they did to her! What they did to her family!
"DON'T…FUCK…WITH…ME!" Eureka screamed with fury.
She slammed her rifle butt upon the redhead man's corpse again and again, until the corpse was nearly unknown to the naked eye. Dark memories flashed before her eyes. The memories she fought desperately to suppress. Memories of her days of struggle in the snow-coated streets of Stalingrad. Where she lost her younger brother. When Chertov sought to kill Renton so many times. When she was forced to kill in Normandy, and brushed with death countless times. Everything she had to suffer came crashing down on her psyche like a tower of bricks.
The broken Russian girl raised her rifle to strike another blow, but was stopped when she felt a gentle touch on her right shoulder. A rage-filled growl shook the room and the weapon clattered to the ground, her hands clenching into tight, angry fists.
She swung not only her arms but pivoted her whole body to strike whoever was behind her, and her fists landed against something hard. Hard, but not enough to break her. She panted, hoping it would be enough, but a familiar voice snapped her out of the madness into which she sunk so deeply.
"It takes more than that to knock me down, Eurekasha."
Just then, the darkness in her eyes dissipated and she looked up to see the source of the voice. A tall man with darkly colored, greying hair and jade hued eyes, looking on in a mixture of disbelief and despair.
Renton embraced her tightly, as if to squeeze the anger and hatred out of her body. His breaths were heavy, filled with concern, and his hands gently rubbed her, trying to sooth away every ounce of trauma. She saved him from madness more times than she could count, but never did she think she would need saving from him. Perhaps the shame, more than the loss, is what stimulated the tears growing in her eyes.
"This is not you," Renton whispered, his voice desperate and worn. "This is not the Eureka I've loved since I was a child. Please…don't go where I can't follow you…"
In a split second, any bloodlust she felt was gone. The anger, the murderous intent, the sadistic glee in killing for revenge evaporated. The toxic whirlpool disappeared into an ocean of regret, shame, guilt, and most of all, sorrow.
Her knees gave away, her strength leaving her as Eureka sobbed her heart out. She sobbed over the constant losses and the constant dangers in her life. She sobbed over how much she had to lose to gain something in return. All she could do was utter the monotonous cry:
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry...I'm sorry…I'm so sorry!"
"I know, darling," Renton consoled. "I know."
It didn't matter that the other two enemy soldiers fled the scene. It didn't matter that the battle still raged. It didn't even matter if they were all alone, unarmed. What mattered was the warmth surrounding Eureka, soothing her into a loving, gentle embrace.
Just be. Just let the pain flow. Let the tears stream freely. The years of pent up grief have already shown its ugly colors. Let the comfort of the man of your dreams mend your trauma and woes. Just be.
"Take me home, Rentoshka," Eureka uttered pitifully. "I've had enough of this."
»»»»»
"Eureka, listen carefully. Inside my bag, you will find this audio tape, a fully typed report on Dewey's plot, and all of the evidence we managed to gather from Moscow, Warsaw, and Berlin. I wanted to explain just why Dewey tried to do what he did. It is important that, if I die, you take this to the right people, preferably the members of the Red Army General Staff. If you can get one of them to believe you, the alliance can still be saved.
"You might be wondering why I did not take it to them myself. To be honest, it's because you have a better chance of being left alone after this. I found out just as we invaded Germany proper that our family would be targeted in Stalin's next purge. It's why Dewey has it in for Renton, and why he is trying to start a new war with the British and Americans. Our family has been suspected of treason ever since we met Renton more than seven years ago. You're an American citizen now, and you live under Renton and his family's protection. You have immunity in this case.
"I hate to say it, little sister, but our brother is not the real problem here. He's a warning sign of something much larger. The alliance that defeated Germany is collapsing. Even when we were still fighting, I could see it at every staff meeting. Our countries' leaders distrust each other and will do anything to gain an advantage over the other. The battle lines are being drawn for a new conflict, but it's not one I want any part of.
"It's not like I don't love my country, or that I don't want to see it succeed. But meeting Renton that summer taught me more about America than I could ever learn from a Party boss or a school teacher. He taught me something none of them will ever admit: the Americans are just like us. They are just ordinary people doing what they believe is right; that's all.
"Eureka, I am most likely going to die, but whatever happens, don't blame yourself for any of this, and don't blame Renton either, okay? He did everything for you. He loves you deeply, and I can see that. Don't blame him for this; he may be all you have before this is over. Please, Eureka, this is all I ask.
"With luck, if I do manage to get out of this alive, and when the war ends, I'll come visit you in America. That's a promise. Keep well, my little sister."