Screaming Eagles

^TEN BEHR

After the SS doctor had administered the serum, Sergeant Heinz Behr’s arm had throbbed painfully for a few minutes. The initial rush had built in intensity until his body felt like it was humming. Sounds were nearer and objects were clearer. At first he’d seen the world in hues of red but that too had faded.

Charging behind Behr, his men had simply stopped in the snow, as if they’d run out of energy. The great and powerful drug that would make them all über-warriors had run its course in a matter of five minutes.

Behr’s head was a mess. His mind was flooded with images of Anglo-Americans covered in blood, shooting at him and his men. His thoughts were dark as he thought about how the enemies would taste. His mood darkened, even worse than it had been earlier today when he’d huddled with his men in a hole. They hadn’t been particularly well-fed and there was no coffee to go around.

He wasn’t sure how long he and his men had been waiting in the cold, but it might have been minutes and it might have been hours. They’d stopped their advance when one of the other Sergeants had sat down and refused to move. An Obergrenadier lay next to him, holding his rifle tight against his chest. He keened under his breath and rocked side to side. Behr should know the man’s name, but it had completely escaped him.

Mortars rocketed overhead, seeking the Allied positions. Explosions rocked the ground and should have sent many of his men seeking cover, but instead they snarled like animals.

Sergeant Heinz stood up.

Behr’s head swam again, and he nearly dropped to his knees. He got a hand out and caught himself on a tree branch.

The enemies were scattered ahead, and they had to die.

A squad of soldiers were embedded nearby, putting fire on an enemy position. Behr’s rage grew by the second.

The enemy was ahead and they had to die.

One of the men turned and popped him a quick salute. He was young, barely old enough to shave his skin, but old enough to fight for the Fatherland. Behr was aware that the man was on his side. He was also aware that the child was scared to death. Fresh, hot, pulsing, his blood coursed through his veins as he struggled to hold up an MP40 and fire.

Behr’s eyes filmed over. He suddenly had trouble seeing anything but the red heat signature of the other soldier, but it was enough. He leapt off the ground, soared several meters, and landed on the boy. The young soldier cried out in surprise, and then in anger as Behr ripped out his throat with his bare teeth.

The others in his squad descended on the fighters with malice. Chunks of flesh flew as the men tore into any exposed skin.

Blood stained the snow, but it was all the same to Behr. Red.

Moments later, when the boy no longer moved beneath him, Behr rose to his feet. The slaughtered lay in piles. Fifteen bodies that had once been alive.

Behr needed more.

The enemy was ahead and they HAD TO DIE!

The Sergeant roared with fury toward the front lines.

Behind him, the men that had just been killed struggled to their feet. They rose: a ragged army of bloodstained ghouls that seethed with rage. Eyes that had been many different shades were now white.

The men in his company followed, howling in fury as they ran.

Behr’s force of a single squad grew as they came upon others.

A halftrack had survived the trek into the woods. It crept along at a snail’s pace as it tried to pick out targets in the distance.

Behr and several other men leapt onto the vehicle and fed.

The slaughter went on for hours.