by David Bishop
She glared at me. "I don't need your protection."
Now it was my turn to be embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"
"I survived more than an hour at the hands of that godless monster Gorgo," Mariya continued, not letting me finish my apology. "I'm sure I can handle two lust-addled Mongolians."
"Look, I wasn't try to suggest-"
"I simply meant it would be a shame if I had to kill them. Most Mongolians I've met are brave, resilient fighters. I'd rather have them on my side than in the ground."
"Right," I agreed. "Of course."
Mariya looked at me and smiled. "You'll have to forgive my tendency to rant and rave, but it isn't easy to be a woman in this war. Most men expect us to do no more than tend their wounds or mind the radio. I used to think the same until I saw for myself what happened in Stalingrad."
"You were a sniper?"
"I worked in signals, translating enemy transmissions until I was asked by the NKVD to help interrogate a prisoner of war after the Germans surrendered. It was because of him I first learned about Hitler's unholy alliance with the vampyr. I discovered my brother Josef had been fighting with a smert krofpeet unit. He was murdered by Constanta, so I vowed to avenge his death. I got myself attached to a team of vampyr-hunters as a translator. Gradually, I learned how to fight and how to kill. One by one the others in the unit got killed and were replaced by new recruits. Eventually I was the most senior member of our smert krofpeet so I became its leader."
"They were the slaughtered men inside that farmhouse," I realised.
"Good fighters, all of them. Gorgo and his minions tortured and killed them, one at a time, trying to break our spirits... But none of them talked. We didn't know anything but Gorgo didn't care. It was almost as if he was testing us, assessing our strengths and weaknesses..."
I nodded. "I've seen that before. The vampyr treat this war like a rehearsal; a fact-finding mission for them to learn about us and the Germans."
"Exactly." Mariya smiled, and it lit up her face despite its mottling of purple and yellow bruises, the lingering marks from Gorgo's mistreatment. "You know something more about them, don't you? About their reasons for fighting in this war?"
In my head I still wasn't certain I could believe in her, but my heart told me Mariya was worth trusting. So I told her about my experiences with Eisenstein in fighting the vampyr at Leningrad, and all we had learned about these nocturnal fiends since then.
"Constanta himself once told us the vampyr would always fight with the winning side in this war. When the battle for Europe is over, the Rumanians intend to launch a new conflict: for the future of mankind. In exchange for their help, Hitler promised the vampyr their own sovereign state, an undead nation. Now the tide has turned against the Germans, the Rumanians are swapping sides. I wouldn't be surprised if Stalin has cut a similar deal with them, thinking he can control these monsters by force. But Constanta's ambitions stretch far further than having a country his kind can call their own. He wants vampyr to have dominion over the continent, maybe the whole world eventually. Victory over the Germans will only be the beginning of the fighting, not the end."
After such a statement, most people would have considered me unbalanced or deluded. But Mariya's eyes showed only sadness and recognition. "Are you sure of all this?"
I shrugged. "As sure as anyone can be of anything in this war. Constanta gloated to us of his ambitions outside Leningrad. I doubt they've lessened in the months and years since then."
"Quite right," a harsh, guttural voice interjected from the shadows. I spun round to see Sergeant Gorgo emerging from the darkness, flanked by two more soldiers bearing the insignia of the Rumanian Mountain Troops. Too late, I realised night had fallen in the time Mariya and I had been talking. Instinctively I grasped for my crossbow that normally stayed slung across my back before remembering that I had given up my anti-vampyr weapons to join the deep knife unit.
Eisenstein and the two Mongolians were on their feet in an instant, hands clasping whatever weapons they had, ready to fight, to kill, to die if necessary. But Gorgo's response caught us all off guard. He began to laugh.
"My, my," he chuckled. "That's quite a welcome for anyone to face, but especially since I'm your new commander." Mariya gasped beside me. Gorgo noticed her presence and smiled. "That's right, Charnosova, you heard me right. All of you have been handpicked for inclusion in my deep knife squad. Each of you has personally tried and failed to kill me in the past, and proven yourselves to be determined, implacable and deadly opponents. Now that we're all fighting on the same side, my Lord Constanta thought it would be a delicious irony to harness your strengths and direct them towards defeating the accursed Germans." The Rumanian glared at us, one eyebrow raised imperiously. "Well, what do you have to say?"
The Mongolians spat a series of curses at Gorgo. Their words were beyond my understanding, but the meaning was plain: they meant to kill the sergeant as soon as possible.
He laughed and nodded. "What about you three? Do you feel the same?"
"Can you doubt it?' Mariya sneered.
"No," Gorgo agreed, "but I had to ask." He snapped his fingers and a dozen more vampyr emerged from the darkness to encircle the five of us. "You have a choice: either you can die here and now, knowing you have failed to stop my kind; or you can swallow your pride and agree to follow my command. In exchange for taking the latter option, you get to live and you get to help us destroy the Germans. Who knows? One day I might let my guard slip and you'll even get the chance to destroy me. Of course, I will always have my two bodyguards at my side, so that chance might never come, but it is, at least, a possibility."
He repeated the offer to the Borjigins in their native tongue, locking eyes with the two brothers. All trace of humour vanished from the vampyr's glowering, malevolent face. "Well, what is your decision?"
It was Mariya who spoke first, stepping closer to Gorgo. "I'll follow your orders - for now. But before I die, I'll see your kind driven from the face of the earth," she vowed.
"Promises, promises," Gorgo replied lightly. "And the rest of you?"
The Mongolians responded next, moving to stand beside Mariya. I looked at Eisenstein, but he betrayed no hint of his thoughts, one hand stroking the pustulant bandage round his neck.
"My patience is remarkably limited," Gorgo warned. "Make your decision or die where you stand." Eventually I moved to join Mariya and the others, leaving Eisenstein on his own. Gorgo gave a grim smile of satisfaction. "My Lord Constanta predicted as much. He said your pride would get the better of you, Jew."
Shaking his head in disgust, Eisenstein took a step towards the rest of us. "Very well, I will accept your command. But you shall not see the end of this war, fiend."
Gorgo laughed. "Such bravado! Such thwarted hatred! It will be a pleasure to make you five do my bidding." He snapped his fingers again and the other vampyr melted away into the blackness around us, all except the sergeant's two bodyguards. They remained at his side, a dark shadow of murderous menace.
"Now, gather your belongings and any food you wish to bring with you. From this point we shall march and fight during the night and sleep during the day. Before dawn we must have reached the foot of the Transylvanian mountains. Anyone who falls back on the march will be slaughtered and used as fodder for my bodyguards. Unless the Jew wishes to partake of our crimson sustenance?"
Eisenstein shook his head, disgust evident on his features. He produced a drinking flask, the lid tightly fastened and bound with strips of thin rubber to prevent leakage or evaporation. "I brought my own to drink," he replied.
Mariya stared at him in horror, while the Mongolians looked mystified by this exchange. Gorgo translated for them, pointing at Eisenstein. The two men glared at my comrade with a new distrust, their previous friendliness wiped away.
Within a few minutes we were marching into the darkness towards the black silhouettes of the mountains just visible against the bleak night sky. Gorgo strode confidently for
ward at the front, accompanied by one of his bodyguards, while the Mongolians followed along behind, whispering to each other and taking the occasional furtive glance over their shoulders at Eisenstein. He walked along in the middle, his shoulders slumped beneath the curse he had carried since being bitten by Constanta.
Mariya and I were behind him, and Gorgo's second bodyguard brought up the rear. I felt for Eisenstein, wishing there was some way I could ease his burden, my yearning made worse by the knowledge there was nothing I could do.
After we'd been marching more than an hour, Mariya edged closer to me and whispered out the side of her mouth. "Was what Gorgo said true? Is Eisenstein like... them?"
"Yes and no," I replied. "Didn't you hear him talking with Gorgo in the farmhouse?"
"I kept fading in and out of consciousness. I couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't by the time you two burst in," she admitted. "Gorgo had broken me, but he never got the chance to find that out thanks to you and Eisenstein."
I explained about my comrade's unique condition, and how he had fought back the vampyr taint. "He still eats, fights and thinks like you and me, but sometimes, when he can hold back the urge no longer, he has to drink human blood. To keep those around him safe, Grigori carries around that small flask of it. He gets fresh supplies from field hospitals when he can. Sometimes, if he's close to succumbing, I'll let him drain a little from me to keep him going."
I rolled back the sleeve of my tunic to reveal a succession of scars up my arm from the occasions when I'd sliced open my skin. "Every time Grigori sucks blood from a living person, it pushes him another step closer to becoming one of them. He's been on the cusp of losing his humanity for months."
"Now we're marching towards Transylvania," Mariya muttered, "the heartland of the vampyr. What affect will that have on him?"
I looked at my friend ahead of us, his feet dragging along the ground as he battled against his unholy urges that I could never understand. What torments must he be suffering? Would they be made worse by this journey into the heart of darkness? I shook my head.
"I don't know," I told Mariya. "I honestly don't know."
FOUR
It took Ralf, Hans and the other Panzergrenadiers three days to traverse the narrow pass over the Transylvanian Alps and down into the vampyr homeland below. Thankfully, Cringu's papers had included a comprehensive map showing a safe route between the towering peaks. Cringu had been under orders to deliver his cargo to Castle Constanta on the outskirts of Sighisoara, before proceeding to a nearby prisoner of war camp for a rendezvous with the leader of the vampyr shortly before midnight on August 27th. The directive also identified the Panzergrenadiers as an expendable escort, ready for sacrifice should circumstances demand it. Ralf made sure all of the others saw Cringu's orders so none of them would have any lingering doubts about Constanta. Kill or be killed, it was the nature of any war. But that was doubly true of this bloody conflict.
The journey through the mountains would have been quicker but Ralf was reluctant to leave anyone behind. Cringu's truck could only carry a dozen men, so the others ran alongside the vehicle as it clambered up the treacherous alpine track with Gunther at the wheel. All the soldiers were grateful that they were making the trip in late August, when summer had melted the snow from even the highest peaks. Such an ascent would have been unthinkable during winter. Even so, it took the Panzergrenadiers until the 26th of August to reach the top of the pass.
When they reached the highest point, Ralf had Gunther stop the truck. All those inside spilled out, joining their comrades for the chance to look down on Transylvania. The countryside was a rolling patchwork of greens and yellows undulating away into the distance, stretching as far as the eye could see. It looked peaceful, even benign.
"Hard to believe this is Constanta's homeland," Hans muttered to his brother.
"Remember the serpent in the Garden of Eden... Every paradise has its monsters."
Berkel had been appointed navigator. He smoothed out Cringu's map on the ground, using lumps of rock to weigh down each corner against the chill breezes that rose up from the valley below. Gunther took charge of the men while Ralf and Hans studied the map with Berkel.
"What are our chances of reaching Sighisoara by midnight tomorrow?" Ralf asked.
"Minimal," Berkel calculated. "It's taken us three days to get here from north of Ploesti. We've got at least twice that distance to travel before we're close to Cringu's rendezvous."
"We were travelling uphill all the way to get here," Hans pointed out. "Going downhill should be faster, much faster. If we left most of the men behind and went ahead in the truck with a handful of our best troops..."
Ralf shook his head. "We still wouldn't make it in time. Even if we did, we'd be exhausted and under-strength for any sort of confrontation. We're marching into the heartland of the vampyr. I've no intention of leaving men behind in this terrain, and little stomach for facing Constanta and his kind without sufficient support. We continue as we have been. If his lordship is still waiting for us at Sighisoara when we get there, so be it."
"Some of the men might think you're afraid of Constanta," Berkel ventured.
"Some of the men would be right," Ralf replied. "Only a fool would not feel any fear when faced with such a foe. Constanta and his kind have lived in the shadow of mankind for centuries. They have chosen to emerge now because they can profit from the madness of this war. I don't intend to add myself to all their other victims... Not willingly, at least."
"Then why go to Sighisoara at all?" Berkel asked, a hint of desperation in his words.
"We know the truth about the vampyr," Hans said. "If they are switching sides to fight with the Bolsheviks against us, we have an opportunity to strike against Constanta and his kind before they join the Red Army. This could be our last chance. Once the vampyr have been integrated into the Soviet forces, we will not have such an opportunity again."
"Hans is right," his brother agreed. "Do or die, it's as simple as that." Ralf stood up, holding a hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun's glare overhead. "Once we move down into Transylvania, we are in vampyr territory, so we'll travel only by day. At night half the men will sleep while the others stand guard. Tell everyone to dump their conventional ammunition. I doubt we'll have much use for it here, and losing the extra weight will help us move faster. We leave in twenty minutes. Spread the word."
The Panzergrenadiers made remarkably good time coming down the Alps, moving faster than Berkel had anticipated, and they reached the outskirts of Sighisoara by midday on the 28th August. By then they knew that the Rumanian armed forces had switched sides to join the Russians, but that meant little in Transylvania. The region had been largely ignored for the past three years, having long since been held by the armies of the Axis, and any able-bodied men had long since been sent away to fight on the Ostfront.
The mountains to the east and south would slow any Soviet thrust into the region. Transylvania remained German-held territory, but it was a matter of time before the local population of women, children and elderly men grew hostile to their occupiers. For the moment, the Panzergrenadiers were still able to move unhindered across the countryside.
Ralf chose not to take his men into Sighisoara. Judging by the maps found in Cringu's truck, the settlement was built around a medieval citadel and contained a thousand dark corners where the Panzergrenadiers could be ambushed and slaughtered. Any local resistance movement was likely to be at its strongest in such places, where people could gather and resentment could fester. Better to stay out of such towns and cities and keep to the gently rolling countryside where the soldiers could see anyone approaching long before an attack could be made.
Instead the Panzergrenadiers made for Castle Constanta, a towering stone structure close to the outskirts of Sighisoara. The baronial home stood on the brow of a hill, offering magnificent views of the black, brooding Transylvanian mountains.
According to Cringu's map, this imposing castle had
been a private school before the war. Ralf and Hans knew it had been a rehabilitation centre for injured German soldiers during the early months of Operation Barbarossa because their brother Klaus had been sent there three years earlier. The injured pilot had been visited by Constanta while a patient at the centre and heard of a nearby prisoner of war camp where thousands of Russian soldiers were sent every week. After recovering from his wounds, Klaus had visited the POW facility and was horrified by the atrocities he had witnessed there. He wrote to Ralf and Hans about the things he discovered, although his letters had kept the details vague enough to escape the attention of censors within the Wehrmacht. It was only when the surviving Vollmers saw the outside of Castle Constanta that they realised Cringu's rendezvous was the same POW camp their brother had visited in 1941.
The Panzergrenadiers watched the castle from a safe distance for several hours before venturing closer to the daunting stone walls. There was no sign of movement from within or without the building: no plumes of smoke rising from the numerous chimneys, no vehicles coming or going, no sentries posted atop the crenellated walls or patrols guarding the perimeter, no banners or military standards hung from the flagpoles. Most curious of all, not a single bird flew within a mile of the building, nor did any wild animals approach it. Nothing grew from the ground around the castle. As far as anyone could see, the castle was utterly deserted and the land on which it stood was dead and uninhabitable.
Leaving Hans in command of the others, Ralf and Gunther drove towards the castle in their stolen Rumanian truck. Cringu's vehicle might afford them some protection from any hostiles hidden within the stone walls. If the castle was some gigantic trap waiting to be sprung, it would only capture the two of them. The others would still have time to retreat and get the hell away from this forbidding, foreboding landscape.
But as the truck rumbled ever closer to the castle, no attack came from inside the structure and there was no sign anybody was waiting for them from within. Gunther drove in through the gaping entrance, past the tall wooden gates that stood politely open, and came to a halt in the castle's gravel-covered courtyard. Slowly, cautiously, the two men climbed out of the vehicle, their weapons ready to fire.
