Berlin or Bust by Craig DiLouie & David Moody & Timothy W. Long

Author:Craig DiLouie & David Moody & Timothy W. Long [DiLouie, Craig & Moody, David & Long, Timothy W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombies
Published: 2018-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

GRUNEWALD

Jäger Muller trailed Leutnant Reiser through the dense woods.

Gaunt pines wherever he looked. Stately oak trees devoid of greenery. Light and shadow played tricks on his eyes, making him see lurching dead everywhere.

The thrashing he heard turned out to be a terrified snow hare.

Muller carried his rifle, bayonet, Luger, and stick grenades, along with a bandolier holding a hundred rounds and additional clips stuffed into every spare pocket. Still, he felt defenseless.

Something moaned in the trees. He looked at the lieutenant to make sure he hadn’t imagined it this time.

Leutnant Reiser shouldered his MP40 submachine-gun and fired a burst. The stream of bullets punched the grimacing ghoul in the head and nearly tore it clean off. The body toppled a moment later in a puff of smoke and dust.

“Good shooting, Herr Leutnant,” Muller said in wonder.

“Ja,” said Reiser. “Send my trophy in the next post. Los, jäger.”

The trooper pursed his lips and followed. Damn it, did the lieutenant have to be so good at shooting on top of everything else? Did he even know what fear was?

It was just one more thing that was intimidating about Reiser. Maybe that was how it was supposed to work. Muller feared failure more than he feared the undead. He feared being a feigling, a coward. And he feared Reiser most of all.

Not just fear. He despised the man, found him almost entirely lacking in warmth and personality. Muller didn’t like officers in general, and not just for that. The higher up in rank you got, the closer you were to being Hitler.

If Oberfeldwebel Wolff were here, he’d tell Muller what to do instead of forcing him to tag along in the middle of the woods, part spectator, part cannon fodder. The sergeant cared about his men as much as he did the mission. Wolff would give him the chance to conquer his fear by drawing blood with a kill.

Reiser couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t care about Muller at all, didn’t even know his name. And every downed ghoul brought him closer to his objective.

“Herr Leutnant, are you sure the platoon is ahead of us?”

The lieutenant answered with a grunt. “Ja.”

In the darkness, they’d stumbled upon the weapons container, already opened and almost emptied of weapons and ammunition. They’d armed themselves and marched east until dawn found them in this thick forest.

Muller was certain they’d overshot the assembly area. This wasn’t a patch of woods. It was the Grunewald Forest, on the other side of the Havel River, which put them far ahead of the regiment and very much on their own.

He was sure enough about it he opened his mouth to tell Reiser, then wisely shut it again. “Surely,” he ventured, “we should have caught up to them by—”

Reiser raised his MP40 and fired again. Two bodies crumpled to the snow among the trees. “Los.”

“Zu befehl.” While obedience was highly valued in the Wehrmacht, the Fallschirmjäger were expected to take initiative, especially if it meant being aggressive. “I’ll take point, Herr Leutnant.”

He ranged ahead before the lieutenant could respond with some scathing rebuke.

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