Дэвид Муди - Red Devils

‘Not at all… with Doctor Månsson’s help, the Fuhrer’s plan to create the Aryan master-race will soon be complete.’

‘Never,’ Månsson spat, and he caught a vicious thump to the back of his head for his troubles. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

‘You bloody fool,’ Wilkins sighed. ‘He’s our only hope. Don’t you see that? Månsson can help us stop this germ in its tracks.’

‘But we have no need to do that. Our beautiful disease must be allowed to flourish. Doctor Månsson has been working on a cure, a way of ensuring only those we want to survive will stay alive. A way of cleansing the planet like no other, leaving only the master race behind. Do you not yet realise you’re beaten, you British pig?’

‘And you think Månsson will help you?’

‘You make it sound like he has a choice.’

‘There’s always a choice.’

Wilkins raised his pistol higher and aimed directly at the German’s head. Scherler glared at him. ‘I’ll put a bullet in his brain if you take another step nearer. Now put down your weapon.’

And then a single shot rang out, echoing through the early morning gloom.

Wilkins checked himself for further injury, but there was none. The German staggered back, clutching his chest. But who had fired? Wilkins looked around and saw Steele on the top of the opposite tower, gesticulating wildly for his commanding officer to get moving.

But the Nazi wasn’t finished yet.

With the last dregs of energy he could summon, he fired his rifle repeatedly at Doctor Månsson. The scientist’s body twitched and jerked violently.

‘You evil bastard!’ Wilkins shouted, and he fired his weapon at the German again and again, each shot forcing him further and further back towards the battlements. ‘Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve condemned the entire world to a fate worse than death.’

The Nazi grinned through blood-stained teeth. The sickening smile was too much for Wilkins to stand and he fired twice more, the final shot sending the kraut over the top of the tower’s battlements. He fell like a stone, bouncing off the roof of another part of the castle below, then landing in a crumpled heap in the courtyard. Wilkins peered down after him. The dawn light was sufficient now for him to be able to make out every detail as hordes of the dead descended on the fatally wounded German officer.

Månsson lay shuddering on the cold ground, his life draining away with the blood that trickled down the spiral staircase. Wilkins crouched down and the doctor pulled him closer. He said something, but it was hard to make out. ‘What are you saying, man?’

‘The girl,’ Månsson said, his voice little more than a drowned croak now as his lungs filled with blood. ‘She’s the one…’

‘I don’t understand. What girl?’

‘She’s the cure…’

‘What girl?’ he asked again, frantic now, but it was too late. Månsson was dead.

Steele appeared from the staircase. ‘Come on, Lieutenant. We need to move. We’ve barely minutes left to get out of here.’

Wilkins knelt over the dead doctor. ‘There’s no point running, Steele. It’s over. I fear our number’s up.’

‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘There’s something you need to see.’

Steele had to drag Wilkins over to the side of the tower and force him to look down. At first all Wilkins could see was chaos. Vast numbers of the dead had escaped the confines of the concentration camp and were swarming out through the surrounding countryside, many of them heading for the airfield at Leginów where the sounds of distant action could be heard. Many more remained trapped in the camp itself, either unable to get out or still intent on hunting down the remaining few survivors. Another crowd had formed around the hut where the last few desperate prisoners of war continued to shelter.

And down there, right in the middle of the madness, was the small girl that Doctor Månsson had clung onto so desperately. She was easy to see, because the dead weren’t attacking her. In fact, Wilkins realised, the foul things were positively avoiding her. A significant bubble of space had formed around her, and the space moved as she did. Creatures backed out of her way, tripping over each other to move.

‘It’s incredible, isn’t it, sir,’ said Steele, ‘she must somehow be immune.’

‘Good Lord, you might be right. Whatever she is, she’s our best chance,’ Wilkins agreed. ‘In fact, as far as I can see she’s now our only chance. Come on, man!’

Hunter’s men had just about managed to hold the airfield. Border patrols picked off the few undead stragglers that had followed the earlier rancid crowds but had taken longer to get here. Despite a sudden flurry of activity when Polonezköy had been rocked by fresh explosions, the Americans remained unquestionably on top. They were just waiting on their ride out of here and, the captain hoped, for the return of Wilkins and his men with their precious passenger. And all of this had been done with barely a single shot being fired. Stealth and savagery had been the order of the day.

Bryce Hamilton, a battle-hardened warrior who’d seen more service than most, had been patrolling the outskirts of the forest near the far end of the airfield when he saw one of his colleagues go down unexpectedly. The man had been on his feet one minute, on the ground the next. He ran over to see what was wrong.

‘Wassup, Wilder?’

Wilder was on his back, kicking out at something in the shadows. It was the remains of a Nazi that had hauled itself some distance to get here. Its legs were broken and useless, but it clearly still had enough brutal strength in its arms to move and was still completely fixated on destroying the living. It dragged itself further up Wilder’s body, having completely taken him by surprise. Hamilton knocked off its helmet, grabbed a handful of hair, and pulled its head and neck up high enough so that Wilder could kick his way free. The creature, unable to support itself from the waist down, flipped over onto its back and, before it could react, Hamilton stamped on its face until it stopped thrashing and lay completely still.

‘Thanks, man,’ Wilder gasped, picking himself up and brushing himself down. ‘Damn thing came outta nowhere.’

‘Yeah, and it wasn’t alone…’

Hamilton pushed past Wilder and struck another creature square in the face with the butt of his rifle. And another. Wilder was alongside him now, and they saw that more of the monsters were swarming through the trees, all moving in this direction.

‘Where the hell are they coming from so suddenly?’ Wilder asked, confused and concerned.

Hamilton didn’t answer. He called for assistance and was relieved when he heard other members of the battalion moving towards them. He stared into the blood-soaked face of the next corpse he dispatched. Female? Although his view was limited in the low light, he realised the woman lying at his feet was dressed in the uniform of a prisoner. Had she come from Polonezköy? ‘Wait,’ he started to say, ‘are these . . .?’

One of the vile creatures hurled itself at him at speed. He instinctively caught the cadaver and was about to smack the damn thing in its hideous face when it spoke.

‘Wait, don’t. It’s me, Lance Corporal Barton. Get me to Captain Hunter. Urgently!’

The accent gave the man away. It was one of the Brits. Hamilton obliged, virtually dragging the British soldier back to the airfield, then pushing him up the makeshift runway.

It took a couple of minutes to reach the captain. Barton could barely breathe, let alone speak. By the time they got to him, though, the captain was already well aware there was a problem. A vast swarm of the dead was beginning to emerge from the tree-line, rapidly encroaching on the airfield. Their shadowy shapes were everywhere. Hunter could see his men trying to keep them at bay; to a man they were doing everything they could, beating the hell out of everything that moved, but numbers meant they were already being forced to retreat.