Berlin or Bust

^{CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX} TOTAL WAR

Jäger Muller lay a clinic bed wondering how he’d gotten here.

In full kit and with his scoped K98 slung over his shoulder, Schulte smiled down at him. “You’re at Martlesham Heath, kid. You made it.”

Muller touched his chest, though he knew the Overman serum wasn’t there. He was in a bed, wearing pajamas, his guts throbbing with a nagging dull ache.

It all came back to him. The beautiful smiling maid caressing his stubbled cheek with her nails. Her mouth opening wider than he thought possible, revealing teeth clotted with rotting meat.

Her head exploding on the snow, followed by an endless pilgrimage through purgatory that ended with him lying moaning on the deck of a plane.

“Mama,” he said.

He’d gone back for her, hadn’t he?

He’d stayed on the motorcycle, resolved to help Schulte deliver the Overman serum. He was going to go find his family after.

Now he never would.

“Rest,” the sniper said. “Enjoy the morphine and the nurses. I’ll see you and your impressive scar when I get back.”

Muller looked around the room. The clinic and its beds full of wounded soldiers swam in his eyes. He tried to speak but had difficulty forming words.

“Where… going?”

“It’s back to the front for me, kid. Paris.” The sniper shrugged. “The life of a German soldier, eh? We always seem to win big until we lose it all. Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky this time.”

“That bad?”

“The draugr broke the line at the Meuse. The Allies are throwing everything they have at it. In Germany, Leipzig is under siege. The Wehrmacht formed a new government in Munich and is trying to form a southern front. Dresden went dark. Don’t tell Steiner about that. It’s bad enough for him as it is.”

“He’s…?”

“Alive, ja. And more dachshaden than ever. They let him keep his machine-gun.” The sniper ruefully shook his head. “They’re desperate.”

“Anybody else…?”

“Nein. As far as I know, we’re all that’s left of the 3FJR.”

“Jesus.”

“Ja. Keep calling him. We need all the help we can get. Speaking of which, here comes Steiner.”

The machine-gunner strode into the clinic toting his MG42. “Mules led by lions, Erich.” He looked down at Muller. “How are you, Yohann?”

The soldier looked ghastly, his face red and raw, his jacket charred black in spots. But he was grinning. Dachshaden.

“Wish I was going with you,” Muller said.

“You’re crazy,” said Steiner.

“Heroes usually are,” Schulte observed. “You and Steiner both. Thanks to you bringing back the Overman serum, Allied scientists are now working on a way to kill the draugr. Maybe produce a vaccine for the rest of us.”

So maybe it all meant something. Muller hoped it did. It had to.

He raised his hand. “Glück ab, comrades.”

Schulte smiled and clasped it. “Glück ab, jäger.”

He liked that, being called jäger.

Steiner clasped it next. “Glück ab. Get better soon, Yohann. We’ll need you when we return to Berlin.”

The men tramped out of the room, returning to this new, horrific, total war which could only be won through absolute victory.

Muller hoped Steiner was right. They’d win, and he’d go back to Berlin to help put Germany to rights. A better Germany, a strong Germany, a righteous Germany. A Germany of art and freedom and peace.

Until then, his war was over. He’d be staying here until his wounds healed.

The rest, meanwhile, would be going to the front.