A/N: Life has not been kind to me lately. LOTS of financial hardship and stress has made it difficult for me to get into a creative mood and mindset ( what I call "the zone" ) and focus on my writing, even though I get a few hours of free time most nights. But I won't bore you with the details. What I will say is that 90% or so of the next chapter is already written, and I should have it up within the week, hopefully. Maybe (fingers crossed) by Thanksgiving, though I would say not to count on that, as I do have some holiday cooking to do and even one night of poor/little sleep can easily make me miss this target deadline.
The following chapter is adapted from a private roleplay between me and two close friends who wish to remain anonymous. It was originally intended as one chapter, but it ended up being a LOT longer than I thought it would after I had adapted it, so I chose to split it into two chapters, as it would otherwise be around 3 times longer than my current longest chapter, and I like to try to keep my chapters roughly the same size, or at least without too much variation in size.
The chapter name "Tiger vs Bear" refers both to Germany and Russia's actual and perceived-by-Germany fighting styles. You'll see what I mean over the course of this chapter and the next.
Translations for the non-English text are at the bottom of the chapter. My husband helped me with some of them to give the story a more authentic feel, however he is very busy with work these days and couldn't do more than a few. For the translations he couldn't get to I just wrote what was being said in English. I know this kind of inconsistency wouldn't fly in a manuscript which I hoped to get published, but for the sake of fanfic it'll do. Would have done more if I could.
The answer to the poll question will be revealed next chapter. Also, review replies to last chapter will be dished out as I get around to it. It's going to take me a few days, but I WILL respond to everyone who took the time to review. As always, thank you so much to those who read, reviewed, and/or voted in my polls!
Chapter 29
Scheiße!
For someone so large and heavy-looking Ivan was amazingly, blindingly fast. Ludwig barely had time to whip his Maschinenpistole up in self-defense before the butt of a Mosin Nagant struck the barrel like a comet striking the earth, simultaneously slamming the freezing metal cylinder up under his helmet against his left temple and exploding into a shower of splinters.
Despite his remarkably high pain tolerance, warrior's pride, and unwavering resolve to never, ever give his enemy the satisfaction of hearing him cry out, Germany could not help the agonized exclamation that shot past his lips as white lightning crashed before his eyes and stinging hell flashed through the left side of his head. Dazed, he dropped his firearm and stumbled backward, both hands instinctively rushing to his face and forming a protective cup over his eyes, nose, and mouth.
Don'tfocusdon'tfocusdon'tfocus…separate. Let it flow through and out…
He had to back up, had to put some space between himself and Russia…
Something on his neck!
Ludwig grabbed the offending object and tried to pull it away, but it was no use. Powerful fingers wrapped around his throat like talons, the cold wool of ice-encrusted gloves rough against his skin. Though he weighed a respectable seventy-eight kilograms ( eighty-four when he had enough to eat ), Ivan hoisted him off his feet with one hand as easily as if he were made of Styrofoam.
Had he been human, the sudden and excruciating surge of pressure to his neck and head would have knocked him out, if not outright killed him. Ivan was so f, so terribly, terribly strong…
"Did nobody ever teach you..." The soft, lilting voice was jarringly at odds with the pure hatred blazing like hellfire in its owner's violet eyes. Ivan tightened his grip and Ludwig became lightheaded. "Not to touch things that don't belong to you?"
Unable to answer, Ludwig tore off his gloves, curved all of the digits on his hands into claws, and seized his enemy's hand and wrist. Left hand fast at work on Ivan's fingers, he swiftly peeled back the Russian's double sleeves with his right, dug his short fingernails deep into the exposed flesh of his wrist, and attempted to pull it away from his throat as he did so.
Though he had to be feeling a fair bit of pain Ivan didn't show it, nor did he let it keep him from countering Ludwig's strength with an equal amount of his own. Mouth locked in a nasty snarl, he threw Ludwig to the floor just as the Nazi managed to force some of his fingers under his own.
Relief!
Sweet, blessed relief!
Reflex ensuring that his shoulders took extra punishment for the greater good of keeping his head from striking the floor, Ludwig took in a few gulping, gasping breaths of air as he stared up at the imposing figure towering over him.
Russland.
Ivan Braginski.
The Ghost General.
Conqueror of nations. Terror of Baltics. Murderer of thousands, arguably millions.
His former friend.
Like every other Soviet in the city every square centimeter of his body except for his face was covered in thick, heavy, mostly light-colored clothing ( his coat and uniform were both a rather light shade of khaki-tan ) made to keep the wearer warm in the harshest of winters; his head was wrapped so tightly in the dark brown scarf which held his similarly-colored wool-and-fur ushanka to his head that not even a tuft of ash-blonde poked out.
The snarl on his face was gone, replaced with an infuriatingly smug look. He appeared to have calmed down quite a bit. "The whole world is against you," he purred tauntingly, savoring the moment.
Not the whole world, Ludwig corrected internally, steeling his nerves against the immense pain radiating from his numerous wounds. The ringing in his ears was gone now, enabling him to hear his Russian nemesis clearly in spite of his quiet tones and the roar of battle in the background.
"Every nation on Earth hates you. Your men are dying. Your people are turning against each other, your land is being swallowed up with hate."
Blahblahblah, tell me something I don't already know. In a matter of seconds Russia was going to be very sorry he hadn't knocked him out or killed him when he had had the chance, that he'd not only let him go, but allowed him to recover.
Ivan shook his head disdainfully, continued on as though Ludwig were lying in front of him with his arms and legs cut off. "How does it feel, Ludwig? How does it feel to be the villain? To know that you've made your mark on history in the worst way possible?"
"You know very well how it feels," Ludwig hissed, pained eyes flashing to the door before returning to hold the other general's gaze.
The soldiers who'd chased him in the hall were nowhere to be seen. Ivan had obviously ordered them away, probably sicced them on his soldiers, who should be nearing the front of the residence by now.
Yes, the capture and torture of a nation spirit was a treat fit only for him. Germany didn't blame him — were situations reversed he would have done exactly the same — but calling off backup before entering the battlefield was generally a lousy idea. He and Russia were alone in the room, free to fight nation spirit-to-nation spirit utilizing all of their inhuman strength, speed, and reflexes with little fear of being seen. Ivan was even crazier than he thought if he actually believed he had the upper hand.
The sadistic Soviet adjusted the scarf he wore around his neck — a keepsake given to him by one of his sisters that was such a pale shade of lilac it was almost white — with insulting nonchalance. "You know," He smiled thinly and Ludwig was hit by a powerful urge to spring up and punch him in the mouth, smash his teeth. "Once I've ended your campaign, perhaps I'll deal with your brother first. He's a little on the small side, but the small ones are the best. It's always so funny when they try to fight back. I think that he will make a wonderful toy to play with. It's only fair, since you've stolen my very favourite one."
Never going to happen. You'll never take Prussia alive. And even if you were able to take him alive, you wouldn't be able to break him the way you did those Baltics. He'll fight you to the death each time, every time. You won't get the satisfaction of seeing his pain, his fear.
Rather than lend voice to these sentiments, Ludwig held his tongue, let his head fall to the floor, screwed his eyes closed, sucked in air through his teeth, and winced mightily. The display served two purposes. One, while his head did still sting ( and pound, and ache ) to no small measure, he wanted to give the impression that he was hurt worse than he really was, encourage an already overconfident Ivan to let down his guard even more. Two, the more confident Ivan felt, the longer he would talk. The longer he talked, the longer Ludwig would have to recover. Though his injuries weren't as debilitating as he let on, he was facing down his most powerful adversary, who appeared to have no significant injuries aside from whatever damage he'd done to his wrist, with cuts on his arms, a bullet in his shoulder, and a fractured skull. He needed to gather as much strength as he could before making his move…
Nein!
A shock of dread gripped his heart as he felt the ice-cold, gritty pressure of a boot sole pressing down on his throat. His eyes snapped open.
Russia loomed over him like a mountain, smiling down on him like a mean little boy smiling down on a bug he was about to squish. His eyes shone with cold glee. "We'll call it reparations," he continued jovially in that perpetually soft, vaguely ominous tone which he used even for polite conversation with superiors, strangers, family, and friends. "I think you're already familiar with that idea, no? I'll be a good sport and let you watch." He paused, appearing contemplative. "I wonder how long it will take me to get tired of him...?"
Ludwig felt his blood — and cheeks — begin to heat. The threat was real. Though he was doing, and would continue to do, absolutely everything in his power to win this war, and win it soundly, judging from the way battles were going these days there was a better than twenty-five percent chance that he would lose, that his boss's blunders had already doomed him and his people.
And if he lost…what then? He'd be occupied and enslaved, his land body gleefully split up among the Allies and his human form forced to serve and obey an as-of-yet-unknown boss. The same would happen to Prussia. He hadn't given the rest much thought: after the Great War especially a future where he lost wasn't one he wanted to imagine, and even entertaining the idea felt like defeatism. But by speaking of his post-war plans for him and his brother, Russia was forcing him to envision the scene, to think about where he and Gilbert would actually end up.
The scary truth was, though a number of countries were actively fighting against him, the Soviet Union, commanded by Russia and Stalin, was by far doing him the most damage across the board. Of the four remaining major Allies, Britain was his next most formidable adversary. France's resistance was and continued to be a joke, America was a force to be reckoned with but seemed to be much more interested in getting revenge on Japan for Pearl Harbor than storming Berlin ( over a year later and Alfred's right hand was still a bit sore from the bombing ), and China was more of a nuisance than anything. Realistically, if he and Prussia were to be invaded, Russian invaders would outnumber those of other nationalities by a significant margin, the end result being that they would likely both become Stalin's bitches. Since Stalin obviously was content to let him have his way with all the other nation spirits under his power, there was absolutely nothing to stop Ivan from doing exactly as he promised.
Cruel, taunting laughter.
Ludwig's eyes narrowed dangerously, burning more with anger now than pain. One corner of his mouth edged up in the beginning of a snarl.
Then, quickly as it had come, Ivan's smile slipped, a rather curious phenomenon since he wasn't looking at Ludwig, but seemingly nothing in particular. "..but no matter. There are always ways around these things. He might not even survive you losing this war. You are arrogant. It will be a good lesson for you, to learn about loss."
A good lesson for you, too. Pride and raw emotion screamed at him to attack, to cut his little trick short, but Ludwig stayed put. Though his body was quickly adjusting to the furious agony of smashed skin, tissue, and bone he'd received minutes ago, logic argued that he should wait as long as he could risk…
Bad idea. Without warning the boot crushing his windpipe flew up and came down on his jaw. His right cheek slammed against the floor.
Ludwig's eyes screwed shut, more out of reflex than actual pain. The blow hurt, yes, but only mildly: had that side of his head not already been smarting, he probably would have only felt a twinge of discomfort. Ivan had given him a mere tap. He was playing with him.
"Your men are terrified of me," the Russian boasted with pride. Ludwig's eyes opened. "I've torn so many of them limb from limb, made their comrades watch. I usually let just one go, so that he'll tell the others. They whisper my name amongst themselves. Now they just start to surrender and beg like dogs before I've even touched them." He chuckled softly. "Your soldiers are such cowards - you would never see such shameful displays from Russian troops."
"Actually I do," Ludwig snapped savagely, the details of how Ivan dispatched and terrorized his men pushing his patience past breaking point. He started to move at the same time a sharp kick connected with his right shoulder, upsetting the bullet lodged within. Rebound and retort delayed, he grimaced and stifled the groan which tried to work his vocal chords.
Russia went on as though he'd not been interrupted. "Anyhow, I've cut half your supply lines off and your men are starving and freezing to death. You are weakened and outnumbered and I have a limitless supply of men and women who are lining up to eliminate your campaign of fascism from this world. We've already won the Eastern Front, it's only a matter of time before the last straggling remnants of your forces are picked off. If I wanted to, I could sit comfortably at home and just wait another month or two for the Russian winter to do my job for me. But I'm here because you need to understand the consequences of your actions..."
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH! Ludwig rolled away from the next kick and sprang back onto his feet like a jackrabbit evading a predator. Eyes flashing with rage, he hastily pulled the strap of his Maschinenpistole over his head and, realizing the barrel was broken by an impressive dent, flipped the weapon so that the wooden stock became a club. His throbbing head no longer affecting his ability to focus, he assumed a fighting stance. "Bullshit. You're here because your people need you to be, because if you weren't thousands more of them would be dead." In sharp contrast to his violet-eyed foe, his voice was loud, hard, and about as lilting as a chunk of granite. However, he switched gears quickly, and when he next spoke his tone became much more relaxed and upbeat. Taunting. "You're not the only one with a fearsome reputation, you know." Never breaking eye-contact, he cocked his head playfully to one side and smirked.
Ivan watched him carefully, the expression on his face inquisitive in a way which almost managed to be childlike.
"You know what your men call me? The Russian Butcherer. You see, I hate wasting good bullets on Untermenschen. I'd much rather bludgeon and hack them into pieces like the filthy, uncivilized apes they are. Doesn't happen nearly as often as I'd like, and of course I have to be careful not to show too much of my true power, but sometimes…" His smirk turned sadistic. "…sometimes I am able to trap a group of them alone in a room with me. Then I am free to do as I please. Oh, a few usually try to fight me right at first, but once I break their weapons with my bare hands and gut them like deer with my dagger the others lose their nerve and forget how to fire their own weapons. After that all I have to do is go around and pull their whimpering, terrified asses out from under tables and inside cupboards so I can tie them up and make them watch as I chop their compatriots into bite-sized pieces, pieces which I then force into their crying, pleading mouths." He chuckled a little as if savoring the memories, as if he didn't find the thought of doing what he had just described disgusting, unnecessary, and too cruel even for his enemies.
There.
That should get Ivan's goat.
Ludwig braced himself for the inevitable backlash, muscles tightening, coiling, preparing for shock absorption.
Let's get this over with. Come and get me, you bloodthirsty sonuva—what the hell?!
He was laughing.
Russia was actually laughing. Not only had detailed descriptions of how his own men had been terrorized, tortured, and killed not enraged him, it hadn't even fazed him.
Ludwig's eyebrows rose appreciably. A ripple of shocked disbelief went through his face. How can you…how can…?!
"I think you are lying. But it doesn't matter."
Oh.
That was how.
Disbelief gave way to annoyance. Though Ivan had, to his knowledge, never witnessed his softer side, even in this city, this battle, he had done a few things — like helping wounded children — that some Russians had noticed, and likely told their friends about. While vanishingly few hoped to meet up alone with him in a confined space, there had to be at least a handful who knew the truth about his kills, knew his victims never suffered long, if they suffered at all. It wasn't farfetched to think that Ivan had gotten wind of that. He also could have gleaned hints from other nation spirits which they had both interacted with.
"All of my children are glad to lay down their lives for me." Ivan's words dripped with pride, confidence, and a total lack of concern for his own people. He sounded almost cheerful. "And I have plenty of them. But thank you for giving me some wonderful new ideas for what to do to your men. I was getting bored."
"Well then, I hope you can find ways to keep yourself entertained when you're lying on a table, drugged, being subjected to horrors even you can't imagine, because you've killed your last German." Somewhere in the middle of that threat Germany realized how utterly ridiculous it was for him to suggest that horrors which lie beyond Ivan's imagining existed — quite the contrary, that warped mind of his could probably dream up scenarios that would give even Mengele nightmares — and his snarl finished on an unconvincing, childish note reminiscent of a little boy yelling "Oh yeah? Well your face is stupid!" at the local bully. Temporarily suspending his plan he rushed the other nation, the butt of his rifle on a trajectory for that pale, sickeningly familiar face.
Wham!
Ivan danced aside and parried the attack with the remains of his own rifle.
Ludwig drew back, eyes shimmering with anticipation. As much as he needed this fight to be over and Ivan unconscious and on his way to France's house, fighting the pact-breaking brute one-on-one like this without functional firearms was turning out to be every bit as fun as he had initially imagined that happy day when Hitler had revealed to him that his plans did indeed include invading the Soviet Union at some point in the future. Sure, it would be better if he were doing better in the war, but victories seized from the jaws of defeat were the sweetest. Russia was the strongest enemy he had ever fought. If he could defeat him in this battle, capture and then subjugate him by forcing him into a specially crafted prison where a steady cocktail of drugs injected into his bloodstream would ensure that he remained too weak of mind and body to escape, the rest of their kind would stand in awe of his power and skill. And once Ivan Braginski's imprisonment affected the hearts and minds of his people, dampened their hope and chipped at their resolve, he would beat Russia in the official sense and the entire world would stand in awe. Even better, all of the other nation's land, resources, most valuable citizens, and servants would go to him — he'd be the most powerful nation on earth!
For the first time in ages, his spirits rose.
Injured or not, he could do this.
Would do this.
All I have to do is capture Ivan. The Russians will lose heart and Stalin will be left siccing his call girls and a handful of countries with all the strength, courage, and fighting spirit of Latvia on me.
Blissfully unaware of these thoughts, Ivan stepped forward with purposeful confidence, brought his rifle to bear in preparation for another attack.
Are you actually trying to intimidate me? The thought amused Ludwig, though given the Russian's mental state, and the fact that he didn't know him on too personal of a level, it was impossible to be sure.
He met the action with a step of his own. Challenge accepted.
All at once there was a racket in the hall and the roar of firearms being fired at close range.
They'd made it in!
German soldiers were inside the building!
And in that moment it happened: Ivan's eyes flickered to the right, to the door.
Big mistake.
Ludwig struck like a snake, surging forward and smacking the left side of the other general's head with the butt of his firearm.
Ivan stumbled, but didn't drop.
Damn! Didn't hit hard enough!
However, strange as it was the failure brought not only disappointment, but relief.
Ivan was still conscious. He could still have fun with him.
Ignoring the hard, scolding voice in the back of his head that said he really didn't have time for this and couldn't afford to take any risks when so much was at stake, Ludwig rained blow after blow on Ivan, his Maschinenpistole an unorthodox baseball bat which deliberately avoided instant-kill areas. When his weapon lashed out at arms or body, the amount of force was enough to shatter bone. When he took a swing at the Russian's head, Ludwig held back much of his strength.
Don't do it. Don't beat the hornet's nest. Just knock him out while you have a chance and be done with it, you damned fool.
But now Ivan was on the floor…surely he could afford a few seconds of fun. That couldn't hurt, wouldn't make him any more likely to lose.
Tossing aside his weapon, Ludwig tore open his trench coat and deftly removed his SS ceremonial dagger. The cold blade glinted in a shaft of sunlight. Eyes glittering with dark glee, he advanced on his fallen foe. "That all you have?" he scoffed, "I'm disappointed, Russia. At a distance with a working rifle you're a worthy adversary, but up close and personal you fight like a Pole." He stopped at the other nation's side, stared down into his eyes. "Lithuania is happier with me," his voice was both factual and full of pride. "Unlike you I don't subject her to insane workloads and beat her to within a centimeter of her life over misplaced books and spilled tea. She is able to relax in my company, enjoy herself." He chuckled cruelly. "We're actually friends. She likes me. She wants to stay with me. The thought of going back to you makes her shiver with fright, gives her nightmares." He gave his blade a playful flick. "How do you feel about that? Your lover doesn't love you anymore. Hasn't loved you for a long time."
This time the taunts had the desired effect. The liquid insanity swirling in Ivan's eyes caught fire, blazed black with fury. A strange noise tore out of his throat: a loud, wild, chilling, vocalization which sounded something like a clipped cross between a bear's enraged howl and a dog's warning growl.
Ludwig's eyebrows jumped; the cruel smirk he wore vanished, leaving his face soft and almost innocent looking in the light of surprise. He'd been fully prepared for a burst of hot anger, but he had never heard that sound before, not from man or animal, not in all seventy-one years of his existence.
The distraction, though it lasted but a brief moment, cost him. Ivan shot to his feet and lunged at him, shouting furiously in his native tongue.
Ludwig whipped his dagger up and stabbed at the other man's collarbone, but Ivan's hand was already well on its way to his neck and the razor-edged weapon pierced his arm instead, slicing through coat, uniform, and muscle to protrude at a diagonal angle out the other end, just before the elbow.
Unfortunately, rather than causing him to balk and cry out the way it would all mortal men and most nation spirits, the grievous injury didn't even slow Russia down. Powerful fingers wound once more around the German's throat, crushing his windpipe and causing his eyes to bulge.
Verdammt! A second time?!
Unbelievable.
Simply unbelievable.
He was really off his game today.
"How did you do it?!" Ivan growled through gritted teeth, his freshly bruised face a warped and terrifying vision of hatred and insanity. Ignoring the dagger in his arm he shook Ludwig like a rag doll. Ludwig fought to keep his head straight. "Did you lie with her? Take her by force? Fill her silly head with nonsense and lies?" He paused momentarily to spit up blood. "Did you get one of your scientists to drug her?"
Though he would have loved to answer, spit out some smartass reply, Ludwig couldn't. The crushing pressure on his windpipe made talking, and breathing, impossible. But the lack of oxygen was far more bearable than the lack of circulation. He could feel the blood in his head getting trapped there, swollen veins pulsing in tune to an increasingly frantic heart…
His expression austere as stone, he was just about to give his dagger a violent twist and lash out with his knee for the other male's crotch when Ivan suddenly lifted him off his feet and threw him. Again.
WHAM!
White lightning shot before Ludwig's eyes as the back of his head and body collided with the wall containing the window he'd thrown his smoke candles out. There was a stab of intense pain, followed quickly by a much less nasty, radiating ache which spread out over his body. His bones had been rattled and he couldn't stop himself from crumpling to the floor like one of his victims from earlier, but all in all it could have been much worse. He was still conscious, still able to fight.
Thank God for that helmet.
But now the protective gear was pressing in uncomfortably on the back of his skull. Slightly dazed, his vision not yet free of the retreating fuzzy black ocean swimming at the edges of his sight, he moved his hands to take it off, and that's when he realized he was still clutching his SS dagger.
The blade was almost entirely red.
If Ivan hadn't felt it the first time he was definitely feeling it now.
Sadly, he had no choice but to let go of the weapon in order to remove his helmet. Digging his thumbs under the thick gray scarf he'd tied around his head to cover his earmuffs and as much skin as possible, he pulled it under his chin in one go, took his chinstrap up in two places between the thumb and first two fingers of each hand, and snapped it. A moment later and his helmet was off, exposing a sea of messy blonde hair partially covered by the loose scarf. He tossed it aside just as Ivan reached him, Soviet issue NR-40 knife glinting dangerously in his hand.
"We'll see how true your "friendship" is when you're rotting in Siberia and I'm sending you strips of her skin." the Russian continued in the same low growl, falling into a crouch with one boot flat on the floor and the other touching only on the toe. His glare could melt lead. "The day I take her home, she'll be begging for my forgiveness and cursing your name before the sun sets." He paused to draw in a ragged breath. "Assuming I let her keep her tongue."
Ludwig knew what was coming next, had been watching Ivan's arm closely for the tiniest twitch even as he processed his words. When the knife flashed, so did his hand. Catching Ivan's wrist, he stopped the blade a few centimeters away from his left cheek.
"Listen to yourself, Russia." While still decidedly unfriendly, his tone was lighter and less malicious than it had been earlier, almost conversational. The strength in his left arm sufficient to keep the blade at bay, he quickly pulled his scarf over his head with his free hand and tossed it the same direction he'd tossed his helmet. In the process he accidentally removed his earmuffs as well, but he doubted the fight would last long enough for it to matter. "You're talking about torturing the woman you claim to love, the same woman who tried to protect you from me even when she was bleeding out from the knife you stuck in her neck. The mother of your child. She never meant anything to you, did she? You never cared how much pain she was in, how hard it was for her to live in constant fear of you and your excessively brutal "punishments" for things which no one in their right mind punishes for, at least a few of which I'm pretty sure you pulled out of your ass just for shits and giggles."
"You don't know anything, do you?" Ivan spat, his words dripping with condescension.
The knife came harder.
Though he thought he'd been expecting it, Germany couldn't help but be surprised again by his foe's brute strength: Russia wasn't just the strongest country he'd fought, he was one of the strongest countries on Earth, period.
But not THE strongest. Ludwig put his right hand over his left, prompting Ivan to mirror the action with his nondominant hand, and found himself working twice as hard to keep the quivering blade in the same place. Heat rushed to his face in spite of the cold, welled in his forehead and cheeks. Still he continued speaking, his voice strained with the extra effort. "I've listened to Toris's stories. She sacrificed so much for you…even loved you at one point. And you treated her worse than you treat my soldiers. She was your toy to be abused as you saw fit." His eyes blazed now with newfound power and defiance. The next words to pass his lips did so in a threatening growl. "Well I'm no toy."
To drive the point home he suddenly fired all the strength he possessed into a massive burst of energy, pushing with all the might of the German military. Ivan was forced back and nearly lost his footing. In a deadly lock, the two men climbed to their feet. "I see you're bleeding." Ludwig huffed, his own breath becoming much more ragged and laborious. "Don't do so well against real nations, do you?"
"As far as I can tell, I'm the only real nation here at the moment."
In spite of the pain he was in and the truly enormous amount of energy he was having to put in to this shoving match, Ludwig managed a little chuckle. "Boy, if you have to struggle this much with someone who isn't even a nation, what's that say about you?" Little by little the Soviet knife began to tilt towards its owner. "And for the record, no, I haven't slept with Toris. But now that you mention it I think I will. I imagine it will be a real treat for her after so many years with you."
"You won't be sleeping with anyone." The deranged laugh that followed smoldered with anger, making it not only wholly unconvincing as a façade to hide the degree to which the insult/threat had hit a nerve, but downright disturbing. Ivan redoubled his efforts and the knife slowly began to reverse direction. "Her treat will be getting to unwrap pieces of you bit by bit. I think I will start with the eyes…she always loved mine. If she is on such friendly terms with you as you claim I am sure she will be delighted to receive yours in the mail."
Somewhere around the last ten words Ludwig grimaced and drew his next breath sharply through gritted teeth, barely stifling a cry as pain exploded suddenly in his right wrist. Anyone witnessing the scene would immediately attribute Ivan as the cause, but as soon as it happened, as soon as he felt the annoyingly familiar prickly heat concentrating in a coin-sized area of his skin, penetrating moderately into the tissue underneath, Ludwig knew at once that he'd been bombed somewhere in the vicinity of Stuttgart. Such incidences of minor bombings — and he could tell by the severity of the pain actively pulsing in his wrist that that was what this was — were normally more of a lingering, burning nuisance than a true handicap, the feeling similar to being scalded by boiling water.
While no time was ever a good time to be bombed, in this case the timing was so bad that Ludwig couldn't help but wonder, snap-of-the-moment, if some higher power had had a hand in it: the second or two his strength had wavered the knife, which had been pointed at Russia's feet and arcing slowly towards his abdomen/belly, reversed direction and shot up, straight for his eyes.
NOT happening! Forcing his brain to ignore the screaming message sent by his wrist and the continued aching protest of the bullet lodged in his shoulder, Ludwig resumed his resistance full force, straining every muscle in his hands and arms into shrill cords of pain.
The silvery tip of the knife froze a man's finger length from his left eye.
Ludwig's heart beat a pattern against his ribcage.
Close call.
Waaaay too close.
Russia didn't appear to be too disappointed. He also didn't appear to care too much about the unhealthy amount of blood dripping from the right sleeve of his coat, which was utterly soaked in it. The grayish carpet beneath him was spotted, blotched, and streaked with the red liquid. "As for dear Liet…of course she knows I care about her. Why would I punish her so and make her understand her place if I did not?"
What the hell am I hearing?! Ludwig blinked incredulously, lips parting a little in a deer-in-the-headlights expression of confusion and surprise.
In what insane, warped reality did this twisted logic actually make sense?
The comment was so jarring that the German was caught completely off-guard when his nemesis lashed out with a knee and caught him solidly in the gut. Thankfully Ivan was standing too close to put much power into the uppercut blow, but it still hurt like hell, and it took every last fiber of Ludwig's strength and self-discipline to keep his body from letting go of the knife and doubling over.
"You understand so little. Poor confused little Ludwig. It is a good thing you will not win this war. It is a good thing I will break you into little pieces and paint your lands red with your blood." Ludwig watched the Russian smile callously through pain-addled eyes; his tone of voice had become quite chipper. "You are no leader. You have no idea how to take care of and command subordinates. Not like me."
For which my subordinates are very grateful. Ludwig added silently, mentally beating back this freshest wave of pain, reducing it to metaphorical fuzzy redness in his peripheral.
Oddly, Ivan wasn't trying too hard to move the knife now: he applied just enough strength to keep it from advancing on him. Happily, casually, he continued. "Punishment is always necessary. Those beneath us must understand their place. They must fear. They must never forget that I am their salvation. I am their leader and their Lord. They play my game and I protect them and keep them safe. I provide them with everything they could need!"
Ludwig opened his mouth, but before he could utter the first word to address that little gem of advice Ivan was speaking again, this time in a much darker and more ominous tone.
"And they must be tested." The creepy out-of-place smile he wore faltered. A cold, black shadow swam in his eyes, eyes which no longer seemed to be looking at Ludwig, but rather at something past him. "Always tested. They can be so very bad. So very disloyal…suka."(1)
Ludwig swung his hands — and an unprepared Russia's with them — to the right, shifting the brunt of the stress of their prolonged contest to the arm which didn't have a bullet lodged in its shoulder. "And I'm the bad guy," he scoffed, trying again to wrestle the knife free. "I believe in punishment too. But I only punish for real offenses, not imaginary ones, and only significant ones, not something as stupid and trivial as a servant giving me a cup of green tea when I ordered black or being so busy with the other items on her chore list that she can't get around to folding my laundry at the end of the day." He squirmed away from another kneeing. Dug his heels into the carpet and tried unsuccessfully to throw Ivan to the floor. "Do you treat your soldiers the same way you treat your servants?" The question rhetorical, he answered it before Ivan had any chance, his tone cool and practical. "No, you couldn't. If you did they'd turn their guns on you. You know, I actually feel sorry for the poor bastards. With you as a nation spirit they hardly need me and my armies."
Ivan scoffed. "Such a sentimental fool aren't you? All offenses are worthy of punishment. There is no difference between bringing the wrong tea and messing up in a battle. Both show lack of attention and lack of care…"
A lack of attention maybe, but not necessarily a lack of care. For all his professionalism and extreme attention to detail there had been plenty of times Ludwig had made mistakes, more than he would ever admit to. Some had cost him dearly and some had made no difference in his life — and the lives of his citizens and those he held dear — at all. While he did hold his soldiers to higher standards than his general population and punished them more fiercely for screw-ups, few mistakes merited a full-on beating: these Ludwig reserved only for the second-most serious class of offenses, mainly insubordination, deliberate rule-breaking, and less serious cases of pre-meditated attacks on individual Germans/allies.
Russia, however, truly believed differently. Germany could see it in his eyes as they struggled against one another, ruthless conviction unfettered by empathy, honor, or logic.
Without warning Ivan threw all of his weight and strength into a single mighty push.
Unprepared, Ludwig stumbled backward and nearly fell over. To his surprise he heard the cushioned 'thud' of the knife falling onto the carpet and felt the pressure on his hands and wrists vanish; realizing what the gesture meant he returned the favor and released his hold on Ivan. While he regained his footing his adversary jumped to the side with all the care and grace of a bull in a China shop and tripped a little on the body of the young male Ludwig had shot earlier. Unfortunately he managed to avoid going down.
Now the two men stood facing each other with scarcely two strides between them, the thundering cacophony of battle rising up from downstairs.
Ludwig had no way of knowing how long it would take his men to get to the second floor, or even if they would be able to advance that far, but judging from the racket below they were giving a good account of themselves to the Russians, who had yet to rush to their general's aid. Gunfire, explosions, and screams rent frigid air heavy with the scent of gunpowder. A warm blush of bittersweet pride spread through the German's chest as he heard some of his men defiantly roar his true name as part of a battle-cry. God, he hoped he wasn't losing too many of them down there.
Violet eyes flashed to the fallen knife, lingered on it a moment before ticking to the body their owner had tripped on. His expression unreadable, Ivan's intentions were made clear a moment later when he hastily stooped to scoop up the rifle protruding from under the boy.
"My men adore me," he proclaimed brightly, turning the weapon in his hands to check the breech for a cartridge. "They love me because I am strong, I protect them, and I lead them to many victories. But servants are not soldiers, Ludwig. You know that. Different lives have different values. Doesn't your own boss say the same thing?"
The reference to Hitler annoyed Ludwig, especially since, in this case at least, the Austrian bastard — and Russia — were right. But Toris had been more than a servant to Ivan. "It's true, but it takes a special kind of asshole to repay the unconditional love Toris gave you with beatings, stabbings, mind-games, and constant threats. I guess you really are your boss's country. You must have learned everything you know about love and family from him."
The whole time he'd been speaking his eyes had ticked rapidly between his dagger, the door, and Ivan. They'd moved around quite a bit during the scuffle — his favorite melee weapon now lay roughly two and a half meters to his left and slightly behind him. The body of the female sniper lay directly in front of him at roughly the same distance.
It was a good thing he'd been taking stock of his surroundings because Ivan charged him like an enraged rhinoceros, his comrade's rifle held out stock-first like a club. Ludwig leapt to the left and heard a loud 'whoosh' where his head had been only a second earlier. He scarcely had time to take a breath before the brute was swinging again, his mouth locked in a unnervingly bizarre snarl that had an edge of glee to it, insane fury shining out of his eyes.
It's about time.
Ludwig knew that look, knew it well.
Sure enough when he dodged the second blow he saw Ivan's lips moving faintly, mouthing the Russian word for "kill" over and over again.
Finally got to you. Germany wasn't altogether sure why he liked triggering this specific reaction in Russia: yes, it made him slightly more careless in battle, but also even more unpredictable, untiring, and deadly. Objectively the cons outweighed the pros. Still, there was something oddly pleasing and even funny about the fact that he could incite such passion in his enemy, cause him to temporarily lose what was left of his mind.
Blood rushing, he dove into a tactical roll, grabbed his dagger, and sprung back up before Ivan finished his next swing. The handle was wet and sticky with blood, and so cold it burned a bit against the bare flesh of his already icy hands, but it would do. Sadly, since it by far lacked the reach of Ivan's rifle, his only real option was to throw it at his enemy, hopefully catch him in the chest area.
Unfortunately Ivan didn't plan on giving him the chance; the big brute came at him like a force of nature, swinging maddeningly, and Ludwig found himself backpedaling furiously to stay out of the rifle's reach. The moment he could afford to he turned and ran, put some distance between himself and his adversary. After he'd taken two flying strides past the wide-open door he stopped, spun around…and was greeted by the sight of a white figure bursting over the threshold.
Russian!
His dagger was cocked in his hand and poised in the air in an instant, ready to deal with this new threat. He'd just decided he'd rush the soldier and quickly slit his throat rather than throw the weapon and leave himself vulnerable to Ivan when a voice rang out, loud and clear.
"Russia! Wait!"
Ludwig's heart froze mid-beat. His arm fell to his side; his mouth hung open a little. Blue eyes swelled with shock that quickly turned to horror.
The woman had spoken in Shaykomay, and with a voice he very much recognized. Though her head and hair were mostly covered by the hood of the white Russian sniper masking uniform she wore, there was also no mistaking her face now that he looked upon it.
"Svetlana?!" he gasped, "What the hell are you doing here?!" He spoke purely in German: her Shaykomay wasn't nearly good enough for her to understand him any other way. This is bad. His mind whirred. She's either betraying me or about to get herself killed…
Svetlana ignored him. Holding up her hands to show that she didn't carry any weapons, she turned to Ivan and started speaking to him in rapid-fire Russian. (2)
"How did you…?!" There was a bit of movement at the door, and there Ludwig found his answer.
A jittery Feliciano nervously waved a few gloved fingers at him from the threshold. He could not have looked more guilty if he'd tried. "Don't be angry, Germany! She wanted to come, wanted so badly…"
Ludwig glared at him murderously. He'd given the Italian strict orders to guard Svetlana with his life, to stay with her in the safe place he'd chosen and wait for his return. If, and only if he either didn't return within three days or the enemy somehow found their hiding place was he to take her and leave. Literally his only job for the time being was to protect her, and he'd brought her to the most dangerous spot in all of Stalingrad.
"Ahdeen eez moe-eeh sobstvyehnneeh loodyay srazhayehtsyah zah vrahgah?! Kahk tee pahsmyehl?! Kahk tee pahsmyehl pryehdaht menyah?!" (3) Ivan sounded furious.
Ludwig's eyes — and full attention — shot back to the scene in front of him.
"Yah nyeh pryehdah-oo tebyah tovahreeshch gyehnyehral!" (4) Though he understood very little of what she was saying ( all he caught, actually, was 'Comrade General', the standard form of address for Russian generals ), there was no mistaking the desperation in Svetlana's tone. Cleary she was trying to make her country understand something.
But what?
Ludwig tensed, nerves tingling, his body prepared for swift action but uncertain what form it would take.
Was Svetlana in the process of explaining that she wasn't really on the Germans' side regardless of how things appeared?
Why else would she be here?
Not out of worry for him, that was for sure.
Come on, Sveta, would the hell could be so important? Svetlana was an intelligent young woman, more intelligent than most. She had to see that she was cutting her own throat by being here, that no matter who she ultimately sided with her chances of surviving this little encounter were slim.
Svetlana's tone became even more passionate and desperate. (5) She was really trying hard to convince Russia of something, something that he was obviously having a hard time believing.
Ludwig blinked. He'd caught his name, along with the names of his and Ivan's bosses. That didn't sound like betrayal. Actually, it sounded like a misguided attempt at peacemaking.
Whatever she was saying, Ivan didn't like it. His scowl deepened, upper lip curling back to reveal some teeth, and a red flush spread across the porcelain skin underlying the patchwork of bruises on his face.
Germany's eyes flashed back to Italy. The already terrified nation cringed under his molten glower. "If you don't get her out of her RIGHT NOW-" he growled in German, deliberately leaving the unspoken threat hanging like an ax over Feliciano's neck.
Rather than immediately follow orders like a good little subordinate, Italy instead stared at Russia, who had never stopped carrying on his nerve-wracking conversation with Svetlana. Ludwig followed his gaze. Judging from the tone of his voice and deadly glean in his eye Ivan still wasn't buying whatever the hell Svetlana was trying to sell him. (6) "Eezmyeneek."(7) he snorted.
What are you doing, Sveta?! He's going to kill you! "ITALY!" Germany roared, "Now!"
"But...but Russia's scary!"
"Do as I say you sniveling coward, or I'll make Russia look like Latvia!" Why the hell aren't you moving?!
Instead of rushing in, grabbing Svetlana, and jumping out a window like a good friend/ally, Feliciano remained rooted to the spot, shaking more from fear than the cold. His large, terrified eyes were fixed on Ivan, who was now staring directly at him.
Ivan spoke. "I will take pleasure in making all of you pay. How beautiful and red your blood will look on the floors and walls. I do think this place needs a bit of redecorating." The words were followed with an unnerving, ominous smile.
This was too much for Feliciano. The Italian let out an embarrassing, mouse-like squeak, turned, and lit out the back out the door in a truly jaw-dropping display of cowardice, as though he were an ordinary human and not a decently-powered nation spirit able to easily evade most of his kind.
Fuming — and thinking dark, acrid thoughts about his so-called "friend" — Ludwig turned back to Svetlana. He'd deal with Italy later. "RUN!" he shouted in German, "He'll kill you!"
His words came too late: Ivan was flying at his compatriot before Svetlana had time to react.
Nein!
Still clutching his dagger, Ludwig surged forward and grabbed his girlfriend by the arm, throwing her out of harm's way an instant before she would have been struck. The butt of Ivan's rifle came dangerously close to chipping off the top of his skull; he felt the wooden stock ruffle his hair.
"Oh so you like this one, Germany? This one matters to you? This simple, silly human girl makes you happy perhaps? The way Liet made me happy…" The dry chuckle that followed burned with malice. Ivan swung again.
Missed again, thanks to Ludwig's sharp attention and lightning reflexes.
"No doubt you are already getting used to feelings of loss and defeat. And you will feel even more when this war has ended. But you need to understand. You take my things, Ludwig...and I will take yours." The last five words were spoken five times as quickly and twice as loudly.
Heeding the split-second warning, Ludwig recoiled sharply and avoided Ivan's third swing by the skin of his teeth.
Hah! Not so quick, are y-…Svetlana!
In saving her from the initial attack, Ludwig had cast the green-eyed sniper behind and to the side of him. He'd expected her to run, to hastily put as much distance as humanly possible between herself and the two warring nation spirits in her immediate vicinity, but for some reason she hadn't, and Ivan had her by the hood of her uniform.
Seized by sudden, frantic panic, the German lunged at the larger Russian, right hand striking out with the dagger, aiming for that exposed, bruised visage…
Wham!
Red lightning cracked across pitch blackness as Ivan's elbow collided with his face. A particularly nasty, stinging pain exploded in his nose at the same time he became aware of the fact that he was staggering backward in a fierce battle to remain on his feet while a warm liquid gushed over his mouth.
FUCK!
He opened eyes he hadn't even realized he'd closed to see Svetlana struggling in Ivan's grasp, framed on both sides by an ethereal retreating black curtain. Her hood had come undone and her general had grabbed her by the hair. He was speaking to her, saying God only knew what.(8)
"Ti-ee bahoobshchye myehnyah slooshal?"(9) Svetlana replied, desperation permeating every fiber of her being. Eyes locked with Ivan's, she continued, words pouring out of her mouth faster and faster as her rising voice took on an increasingly frantic tone.(10)
Ludwig caught his and Russia's true names, his human alias, "people", and nothing else. What the hell?
Was this some sort of plea for peace? Did Svetlana actually think she could end even one battle in this war by begging the living embodiments of the countries themselves to stop fighting? Surely she wasn't that naïve, that foolish. Even if divine intervention caused Russia and himself to simultaneously decide they no longer wanted to fight each other, even if they were able to agree on who got what and what the final world map should look like, the war wasn't over until their bosses ( current or subsequent ) said it was, and nothing they said or did would matter too much. At best a personal truce between them would dampen the hostilities between their people. It wouldn't be enough, not nearly enough, to change anything on a large scale.
While Ivan considered her words, Svetlana grabbed the hair directly below his hand and tried to wrench it free.
Ivan let go and seized her by the throat instead.
Ignoring his pangs, Ludwig took a cautious step forward, bloody dagger cold and uncomfortably slick against the bare flesh of his right palm.
Ivan was speaking to his compatriot again, and it didn't sound friendly.(11) For a moment the latter stopped her struggles and stared at him in vast silence, mouth hanging open a little in shocked, heartbroken disbelief, eyes wide with fear.
Though everything in him screamed "Attack! Attack NOW!", Ludwig forced himself to remain still. Ivan could break his Sveta's neck with a twitch of his wrist; if he charged at him he almost certainly would. But if he did nothing the spirited young sniper's death was just as certain; perhaps she'd live a minute or two longer, perhaps not.
That odd, miserable — and, yes, scary — feeling of total helplessness returned, dropped over him like an ice-encrusted blanket. His mind raced with his heart.
Throwing the dagger was out of the question — he'd only thrown a blade a small handful of times in his life, and even at short range his accuracy was only slightly better than fifty-fifty. Plus, at this angle, Ivan was sure to catch the motion of his hand in his peripheral and move, probably while throwing Svetlana out in front of him as a shield.
That left bargaining, and the only thing he could offer that would cause Ivan to even consider turning Svetlana loose without first fatally wounding her was himself.
It wouldn't work. Ivan was neither trusting nor stupid, and he wouldn't for a second believe he'd keep his word and turn himself over peacefully once the other Russian was free.
But maybe I don't need it to work.
"Russia! Let her go and you can have me instead! I'll let you capture me!" The words were nothing but a distraction, a hasty gimmick to throw Ivan off-kilter, slow his reaction time. The last three hadn't even left his mouth when he bolted forward with the speed of life, dagger raised.
This would work, this had to work…
Flash of motion!
Ludwig didn't have time to stop. He barely had time to realize what was happening before his dagger pierced white uniform, sunk deep into flesh and bone. Svetlana let out a bloodcurdling scream that turned his blood to ice and sent all his thoughts crashing into each other.
Face rife with horror, he grabbed the falling Russian in his arms and quickly noted the blade's place in her body.
A rush of relief swept over him as saw the handle protruding from her left shoulder.
She'd live.
Maybe.
Scarcely more than two strides away, Ivan broke into cruel laughter.
Half to reassure Svetlana and half as a defiant jab at the cackling maniac, Ludwig gently ruffled her hair and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Then he brought his mouth to her ear, keeping a wary eye on Ivan. "Keep the blade in or you'll bleed out." he half whispered, his voice strong, commanding, and full of love. "Get out of here. Now. If I lose you'll wish I'd killed you."
"Kick his ass, Germany." Svetlana breathed, voice strained with pain. Her feet began to find purchase on the floor.
There's that spirit! God, I love this girl. In spite of everything, a small, soft smile appeared on Ludwig's face.
She'd used Shaykomay. Shaykomay so that Russia would understand, so that he'd know, beyond all doubt, that she'd turned against him, that she was completely on Germany's side now and wanted to see him beaten and humiliated.
Dangerous move for a human, but then Ivan was already deadest on killing her, so what did she have to lose?
Ivan's laughter died. He frowned at Ludwig like a six-year-old boy who'd just lost his favorite toy, or been told that he wasn't allowed to go outside and play until it stopped raining. Childlike and innocent, the expression was eerily incongruous with his true self and state of mind. "Your aim is a bit off, dah?" There was nothing incongruous about the hot annoyance in his tone.
Ludwig glared at him murderously, lips pressing together tightly in a frown of his own.
"Stupid girl. I will finish what Germany started once I am done sending him back to his boss. I was going to be kind and quick. But now I think we will play."
Luckily for her, Svetlana's Shaykomay wasn't good enough to understand all of that. Not that that would help her in her battle for survival. The moment the word "play" left Ivan's mouth Ludwig swept her off her newly-recovered feet and thrust her towards the door…
Scheiße!
…at exactly the same time another Russian raced through it. Svetlana collided with the newcomer, knocking him clean off his feet, and both went down in a startled heap.
Fortunately, given Feliciano's hassle-free exit less than five minutes ago and the fact that Svetlana's human compatriot had exploded in on the scene as fast as he had it was highly unlikely that he had seen enough to think her a traitor.
Unfortunately, in tossing his girlfriend towards relative safety — and taking in the scene he had just witnessed — Ludwig had taken his eyes off of Ivan for a split second. Big mistake. He was still in the process of turning his head back in the other general's direction when a flying hand caught his left arm. Next thing he knew his entire backside was smashing into the floor with the force of a small meteor, delivering stinging pain to his tailbone and back and a fierce jolt of hell to the back of his head.
Dazed again, the German screwed his eyes shut, ground his teeth, and struggled to overcome the pulsing agony wracking his skull, the words 'let it flow through you' and 'don't focus on it' streaming through his head like a fast-moving river. Water welled in the corners of his eyes. White blotches throbbed and danced in his vision.
Damn, he wished he'd been able to leave that helmet on. Even nation spirits could only take so much trauma to the head.
"You can't stop me, Ludwig. You should just give up. You are beaten. Done. Be smart and I might show you a little mercy." The floor vibrated with Ivan's unhurried, approaching steps.
Ludwig opened his eyes to see the other nation looming over him, boot rising into the air and preparing to stomp down on his stomach. Forcing himself into action, he rolled away and sprung to his feet.
"I was about to say the same to you," he spat. Happily, his new vantage point gave him a clear view of the doorway; Svetlana and the other Russian had both climbed to their feet. Svetlana was speaking to the soldier, probably trying to get him to clear out, but he wasn't looking at her. No, his eyes, large and terrified, were on Ludwig. Without so much as a word of encouragement to his general he turned and ran.
Hah. Coward. Were the situation better, Ludwig would have smiled. I don't even have a weapon…
The realization hit him like a train: he didn't have a weapon.
Ivan still had his empty rifle.
Not good…
Gunshots rang out from incredibly close by.
Shooting in the hall!
Svetlana came back into the room, panic written on her face. "Ludwig! I don't know these soldiers of yours!"
"THE WOMAN IS AN ALLY!" Ludwig yelled as loud as he could in German, dodging a blow from Ivan. "HELP HER!"
WHAM!
White lightning cracked before Ludwig's eyes. The sickening wet crunch of bone filled his ears from the inside as his lower jaw exploded in agony. Reflexively, he launched his left fist in blind, automatic retaliation, relying on memory and instinct alone to guide him to the place where Ivan's head should be. But the blow made a complete arc without hitting anything and the next sensation he had was powerful fingers digging like cold iron talons into the meat of his left shoulder and throwing him to the floor.
THUD!
He barely had time to register, never mind appreciate, the fact that his head had hit something mercifully soft and cushioning before the butt of a Mosin Nagant flashed down and struck him right in the diaphragm, forcing all the air out of his lungs through his mouth in one short burst.
PAIN.
This time it was too much: his lungs refused to inflate. His body refused to move. Stunned, but still capable of perceiving everything going on around him in a hazy, dreamlike way, he could do nothing but lie where he'd fallen and stare up at the ceiling in utter agony as the next several seconds played out like a nightmare.
Gunshots.
Screams.
Grenades and other small explosives detonating and shaking the very structure of the private residence, sending tremors through the floor.
Ivan calling out in Shaykomay to his soldiers, laughing at them for coming to the aid of their fallen general, as if there were any way they could know what they were up against. "I am glad you all came. I was going to be pretty bored when I was done with him. I can never have enough Germans to kill."
The sound of a scuffle filled his ears, people moving around in a hurry.
Have to get up. Have to help them…
Unless they fired right away and got a lethal shot his soldiers stood a snowball's chance in hell against Ivan. And Svetlana, what of her?
As if on cue Ivan launched into rapid-fire Russian, probably addressing his ex supporter.
NEIN!
He had to get up, had to get up NOW!
Head rapidly clearing, Ludwig tried to climb to his feet.
Succeeded only in rolling over. It felt as though he were in a magic lock, trying to act against one of his boss's orders: the commands to move were fired from his brain, but his body refused to do what he wanted.
For better or worse, his new position at least afforded him a view of what was going on.
Uh-oh.
It was as bad as he'd feared.
One of his soldiers lay in a bloody mess on the floor, his face completely destroyed. Another, whose face was familiar, stood in the doorway, gaping in disbelief at the sight of a bruised and bleeding General Braginski holding Svetlana up by her throat, most of his slashed right sleeve soaked all the way through with blood.
Ludwig's heart — and blood — turned to ice.
"Save her! SAVE HER!" he wanted to shout. The words were in his throat, but he couldn't make them come out. Frozen with fear, his compatriot only watched, wide-eyed and disbelieving, as Svetlana spoke fiercely to her nation. (12) It wasn't until she spit in her own comrade's face that the other German snapped out of his fear-bound trance and into action, raising his gun.
Ivan reacted swiftly to the threat. Still holding Svetlana up by the throat with one hand, he used his other to hurl his rifle like a javelin at the remaining German. The soldier gave a bloodcurdling scream as the muzzle pierced his shoulder, traveled all the way through it, and pinned him to the wall several centimeters away from the threshold.
It was then that Ludwig got a good look at him. Schmitz! What the hell are you doing here?!
Einsatzgruppen were never assigned to active battles: they only came in after the battles were either won or so close to being won that sending them in to get an early to start on rounding up Jews and other perceived racial and political enemies for extermination didn't significantly endanger their lives. It made no sense for Schmitz to be here, unless he'd either been released or dismissed from his Einsatzgruppe and reassigned to the frontlines or had abandoned his post to come looking for him on his own accord, a serious violation of orders and military protocol which could very well cost him his life.
Whatever the case, there would be time to worry about it — and the fact that he had just bore witness to a feat of superhuman strength — later, assuming Schmitz survived this battle.
Russia wiped the spit off his face with an eerie calmness and began speaking to his citizen in a tone which, to Ludwig's ear, sounded almost civil. (13) Almost. The words, foreign and incomprehensible as they were, were spoken with an angry undercurrent which even someone who had never before heard Russian in his or her life couldn't help but pick up on.
He was going to kill her.
Whatever she'd said, whatever she'd tried to sell him on, it hadn't worked. In Russia's eyes she was nothing but a traitor, something even worse than an enemy soldier.
Oh God…God no! Please no! Ludwig's heart galloped in his chest, spurred on by the absolute dread which had splashed over him like a bucket of ice-water on a hot summer day. For the first time he began to really feel the coldness of the air around him; the bare skin on his hands and face stung, even in the places free of blood and abrasions, and his aching, pounding, uncovered head was rapidly cooling his whole body, his mane of blonde hair little protection in temperatures this low.
Ivan threw a glance his way, drew Svetlana's attention to him. The cruel pleasure in his voice as he continued speaking was paradoxically both frightening and infuriating. Green eyes met blue, and there on his girlfriend's face Ludwig found the same sad resignation he had the night he'd almost killed her, strained a bit from pain and lack of air.
And, was that disappointment? Disappointment that he'd lost, that he'd failed to protect her?
NO! I WON'T LET YOU DIE!
Through sheer willpower Ludwig forced his lungs to breathe, to draw in the freezing air he so desperately needed to sustain himself. Muscles working again, he started to scramble to his feet, worried eyes fixated on Russia and Svetlana the whole time.
That's when it happened.
While Ludwig had been regaining his breath Ivan had turned the young sniper toward himself, lowering her so that her feet brushed the floor and the top of her head came approximately to the bottom of his chin. Now his head flashed down, slightly bloodied lips pressing against her forehead in a sadistic kiss that appeared to shock Svetlana as much as Ludwig.
On his feet again, the German general kicked off into a sprint.
He had to make it, he had to! Almost there…
The next second seemed to pass in slow motion.
Ivan simultaneously drew his head back and seized the mortal Russian's face in his free hand, his large palm completely covering her mouth and nose. One vicious twist of his wrist and he snapped every bone in her neck.
Crack!
NEIN!
The world sped up again. Sped up too fast. No time at all seemed to pass between the time Ivan dropped Svetlana and the time Ludwig was hovering over her, kneeling at her side.
No. No it couldn't be…this couldn't be real. This was all a dream and he'd wake up any second to find that it was early morning, that he and his soldiers hadn't even left the house they'd been holed up in and his dear enemy-turned-lover was safe and sound amongst them.
She couldn't be dead. Couldn't be.
Drawing away, he closed her eyes with his fingers, a respect he paid his fallen soldiers.
There. Her fatal injury not obvious, she appeared to be only sleeping.
Again he felt the corners of his eyes welling with warm, salty, emasculating liquid. Again he couldn't stop it, couldn't help the way it made him look.
BOOM!
The floor quaked under the punishment of a particularly strong blast.
The battle.
He hadn't forgotten.
Though it felt like much longer, he knew that only seconds had passed, seconds in which Russia hadn't made any move to attack him, just as he knew he wouldn't. With any other Russian he would never have dared let down his guard like this, but Ivan Braginski was an enemy he knew well, an enemy who would never miss the opportunity to drink in and savor the expression on his face when someone dear to him was killed right in front of him. Why else would he make a show of kissing his sniper before killing her? He wanted to hit Ludwig where it really hurt, cause the kind of pain a nap and bout of teleportation couldn't fix, leave a wound that even victory and prosperity couldn't heal.
A sadistic laugh rang out.
Ivan.
(1) Сука
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: Bitch/man bitch ( can be used for both males and females )
(2) "Я знаю, кто вы! Я знаю, кто оба из вас на самом деле! Пожалуйста, хватит драки! Я знаю, что Сталин делает с тобой и вижу, как избежать этого, вижу путь закончить эту войну быстро и выпнуть фашистов с наших границ малой кровью!»
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: "I know who you are! I know who both of you really are! You need to stop fighting, please! I know what Stalin is doing to you and there is a way out of it, a way to end this war quickly and get the Germans out of our borders with only a little more bloodshed!"
(3) "Один из моих собственных людей сражается за врага!? Как ты посмел! Как ты посмел предать меня!"
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: "One of my own people defending the enemy?! How dare you! How dare you betray me!"
(4) "Я не предаю тебя товарищ генерал!"
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: "I'm not betraying you, Comrade General!"
(5) An accurate Russian rendering is not available.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: "Germany isn't as bad as you think! He saved my family who were buried under rubble, saved a little girl with an injured ankle, and spared my life even after I killed him! He hates his boss, and I know you hate yours. Don't you see, if you both work together you can end this war! Germany can kill Stalin for you! I'm sure he will be happy to if you agree to kill Hitler!"
(6) An accurate Russian rendering is not available.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: "Lies. All of it. So this is how you repay your nation. This is how you repay me for protecting you and watching over you. The German tells you lies and you gobble it up like a weak, starving, pathetic Pole. I expected better of my own people."
(7) "изменник."
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: "Traitor."
(8) An accurate Russian rendering is not available.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: "Do not fear, Comrade. Your nation is a forgiving nation. I will take away all the hurt and pain. No more fighting for you. You will be at peace and perhaps in death you will realize your mistake in turning against the only nation that truly cared about you."
(9) "Ты вообще меня слушал?"
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: "Were you even listening to me?"
(10) An accurate Russian rendering is not available.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: "It wasn't Germany's idea that that the two of you should go after each other's bosses! That was my plan! I never even told Germany about it! Please, Russiya, don't you want the Germans out of here before they kill any more of your people? Don't you want a better boss? Ludwig will negotiate with you, I know it!"
(11) An accurate Russian rendering is not available.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: "You know what I want, Svetlana? I want to win. Bodies don't matter. There will always be bodies. All we can do is honor our comrades by winning at all costs. I will kill both Germany and his boss in time. And as for my own, his death gets me nothing. Another leader just like him to take his place. There always is."
(12) An accurate Russian rendering is not available.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: "I was on your side until you turned on me, bastard. Germany told me you were an insane sadist and I didn't believe him. I thought better of you, thought you actually cared about your citizens. I came here to make you two realize that you don't have to fight, that you can help each other end this stupid, bloody war. But you love killing too much…Germany was right all along. I hope he kills you. Permanently. Our people deserve better."
(13) An accurate Russian rendering is not available.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION: "Of course I care about my people. It is why I deal with traitor whores like you in such a manner. Charging in here already in bed with the enemy. Telling me such garbage as the German does not want to bring about my demise. Such nonsense. You speak of things you know nothing about. Well I hate to dash your hopes, Svetlana. But your German lover isn't going to be killing anything. Look at him over there. All crumpled up. A worn out ghost of himself. This war will kill him. But not before I do."
