Chapter 10
It's easy to tell yourself—I'm going to Russia. In practice, however...
From America. During the World War.
The blockade of Britain at sea, submarine attacks on merchant ships, practically the entire coast under the fascists. I can't exactly get there through Murmansk, can I?
So I sailed to Britain, joining a military food convoy. There, at the nearest military airfield, I hijacked a plane (absolutely without any hesitation or twinges of conscience—I don't like the Brits, what can you do?) and bolted in it to occupied France, where, naturally, I was shot down on approach. But when has that ever stopped me?
I got out of the cockpit, swam to the shore, changed clothes, and armed myself at the expense of the very anti-aircraft unit that shot me down. There were no survivors left there.
Apparently, killing Kruger broke some moral dam-limiter that I had set for myself in the past years. I snapped, in other words. And the rage wasn't even that strong. It was more like cold pleasure. This time, I didn't tear people apart with my claws. No, just moves from martial arts. I didn't shoot either. I did everything quietly. Which makes it even more terrifying.
And then there was a forced march through captured France. Farther away from large cities, towns, and transport...
For a while, I joined up with the local resistance. I derailed about five trains with them, trained them in explosives, and severely frayed the nerves of the local occupation corps... So severely that they brought in an SS division and combed through the forests, monasteries, churches, and towns with a fine-toothed comb... They shot and hung the entire resistance. I am conditionally unkillable; they were not. I shot back and fought them off, but they all fell, those who didn't run away. And those who ran away were later identified and hanged.
Then came a very, very dark night. And the remnants of the already thinned-out division were no more. This time, personalized weapons, both melee and firearms, along with all sorts of Iron Crosses and other combat awards, went into my stash. Not so much to retrieve them later, but to make identifying the body parts more difficult.
In the morning, I ran further, as nothing was keeping me here anymore.
Perhaps for the first time in my entire past life, I was drawn to my homeland. Not the homeland of the body. The homeland of the soul. Apparently, these are not just words: "The Motherland Calls!". And she calls. Precisely when she is truly in danger. And it was something so deep, insurmountable, that at night the Beast howled mournfully in my soul.
And I ran.
I ran forward, through enemy-occupied lands. I killed them at night. I felt no remorse for it. They are the enemy. And the enemy is to be destroyed. Without mercy, without pity.
I blew up bridges behind me, set fire to fuel depots, derailed trains, slaughtered checkpoints, and shot up transport columns, burned tanks parked at night stops and planes at airfields... And I kept moving forward. To where the enemy was tearing towards Moscow. It was the winter of '41.
And I made it.
Compared to the force that was tearing towards the capital, I was just a tiny pebble. A pebble in a boot, which seems like a trifle but is terribly annoying and hinders moving forward.
The fact is, another difference between Marvel and my previous world manifested itself here. Vampires.
And for some reason, this filth was on the side of the Nazis. And most of them were sitting in the SS. Not in rank-and-file positions, obviously, but in officer ones. However, in France, where I joined the resistance, the situation was about the same.
Perhaps there were no fewer of them in the Gestapo, but I was at the front, not in the rear. Therefore, I saw SS men, but no Gestapo men. And those I saw, I destroyed.
I wouldn't say that a vampire is an easy opponent. A certain abstract vampire. In theory, over his very long life, he can learn to masterfully wield his body and/or weapons. They have no ceiling for development in this direction. But that's in theory.
In practice, ninety-nine point nine percent of the vampires I met stalled at some minimal level. They were quite satisfied with the advantages their very nature gave them over ordinary people. But not over me. My physical potential, solely due to the body's abilities, is already higher in itself than that of a vampire of the same age. And the years killed on mastering martial arts skills...
As a result, so far I have met only one bloodsucker who was able to put up some resistance before his death. The rest replaced real strength with conceit, self-assurance, and contempt for those around them. Such ones died without even having time to understand what exactly killed them.
There were genuinely strong fighters among the enemy too. The kind that mowed down ordinary soldiers like grass.
I even recognized four participants of the "Battle". Apparently, I am not the only long-liver in Marvel. Although, mages—what can you expect from them?
Each of these four had easily carried me out of the arena in their time. Casually and even cheerfully. And this is one of the reasons why I don't like mages with their arrogance, posturing, pathos, and, to be honest, unfathomable power.
But this is not an arena, this is a war. And in war, there are no rules. Just like in hunting. I ambushed one of these "higher beings" in the toilet. I hung under the ceiling of a wooden outdoor "outhouse" for about twelve hours. About thirty people managed to "do their business" right under me during this time. But I waited.
It's hard for a person with their pants down, in the process of defecation, to put up any resistance, even if he's a thrice-blessed mage. So I snapped the bastard's neck, then cut his head off completely, shoved the headless corpse down the hole, and laid the severed head on his bare ass. I think those who found the body understood my message correctly.
One mage left the front that very same day. The other two started going everywhere only together. Even at the latrine, one guarded the other. Especially at the latrine.
The first of them died on top of a woman. The second in his sleep, right after the first. What did you expect? War. And they are enemies. And enemies are destroyed by any forces and means. In any place, at any time.
* * *