War Torn

Night had fallen by the time Stellan and Gunther reached the bunker, the repetitive crack of gunfire still sounding in their ears. Utterly exhausted, Gunther pointed his Karabiner's muzzle this way and that, pronouncing the area clear after only a perfunctory effort. The pair slid into the protective womb of the concrete chamber, seating themselves on the cold ground and arranging their supplies about them. Frigid winds tore in through every one of the barred apertures and Gunther gathered his meagre field-tunic about him and turned up the collar. 'Your efforts are futile, Fritz, my old friend,' drawled Stellan, removing his helm and running his hands through his straw-colored hair. 'This cold is pestilential.'

'Nummer Eins: Don't call me Fritz, or I'll shoot you. Nummer Zwei: What food do you have? I'm many dishes short of a banquet,' croaked Gunther, scratching his stubbled jaw. His bony nose was chilled red at the tip and his shallow breath made for stingy clouds.

'Wait,' said Stellan, reaching for his weapon and fingering the safety. He rose to a crouch, peering outside cautiously as his friend looked on with strained interest. 'Mein Gott!' Stellan whisper-shouted.

'What? What is it?' replied Gunther, much revived by rising anxiety.

'There's a huge rabbit out there. I could hit him from here, easy enough.' He turned to the man slumped beside him. 'There's your banquet, Mausi.'

'I only eat sanctioned military rations. You know, you're always an arschloch when I'm tired. Also, "Mausi" is off the menu too. Just call me Sir from now on."

'You only just outrank me, Gunther,' spat Stellan, flopping back down and scrutinizing his inventory. 'Don't forget we both of us grew up in Bamberg. We courted the same girls. Drank the same schnapps.' Stellan hurled a silver tin at Gunther, which he caught clumsily. 'Schmalzfleisch. My last. I know you can't get enough of that slop.'

'You don't want?' confirmed Gunther half-heartedly.

'You know I don't eat it. I'm a leaf-lover,' replied Stellan.

Gunther nodded, and Stellan felt in his heart that their relationship had finally coalesced into one of simplistic reciprocity. His friend had changed since his promotion: he was more argumentative now, quicker to fly off the handle. Admittedly, he was a keener shot now, and his night vision was beyond equal; the mind being such a powerful tool and all, he really believed in his newfound superiority. Yet, gone were the simple days of swimming in the Regnitz and stealing weisswurst from the fleischer's shop afterward. Gone were the familiar beats of their friendship. Since the war began every German soldier needed to come to terms with the fact, whether they believed in the Cause or not, that life would never be the same again. He comforted himself with the shaky idea that everyone was in the same boat; it was just a shame that it was more battlecruiser than cruise-ship.

'There's no going back,' barked Gunther, staring unblinkingly into Stellan's slate-colored eyes as he devoured the unnaturally pink approximation of pig meat.

'We'll push on come morning,' replied Stellan, too unnerved to admit that the other man had read the contents of his mind like a book.

'I'll take first watch, Friend.' Gunther's peculiar smile was the last thing Stellan saw as exhaustion ushered him into a deeply troubled sleep.

In an instant, Gunther was upon the sleeping man, violently biting the flesh of his neck, a bloody font spraying his gaping maw and pale chin. He sucked on the wound and swished a sanguine draught around his mouth like a connoisseur simply enjoying a mature cabernet, closing his eyes in ecstasy as he swallowed it down. Stellan, convulsing and wide-eyed, tried to speak his friend's name as death kindly spirited him away. Gunther rose to his feet slowly and fluidly, no longer assaulted by injury or fatigue. The Führer's gift had completed its corrective work, instilling in him the might of Thor, the courage of Tyr and the keen insight of their father, Odin.

His chest swelled with pride knowing that across the war-torn globe his brothers-in-arms would be reaching their full potential as was he. Gunther wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'I told you there's no going back, Mein Freund. Only forward from now on. Forward to inevitable victory,' he oozed, addressing Stellan's disfigured corpse: a telling snapshot of horrors to come.

The creature once known as Gunther Klein grinned broadly, his sabre-like teeth glinting in the moonlight and his glowing eyes already scanning his surroundings for fresh blood.