Concealed in the shadow of an entryway, former SS-Rottenführer Moritz von Stockhausen watched the Major stop on the bridge of the Deus Ex Machina.
It was late; moonlight streamed through the windows, casting the interior of the hall in strange contours. Pillars that seemed sturdy in daytime when the windows were shut and the rooms flooded with light had been granted absurd proportions, their bodies thinning into points the higher one’s eyes trailed up. Across the polished floor, shadows flickered and danced, teasing Moritz with their possibilities when nothing, he knew, could possibly be outside.
He was going to kill him. Walther P38 in hand, he inched around the archway to get a better glimpse of their battalion’s leader, the man who had been gathering them for the last forty years. His suit had been freshly pressed that morning, Moritz could tell — it glowed an eerie white against the blacks and greys of the airship, an undeniable statement of power.
I am not like you. I am something greater.
Like hell he was. Forty years Moritz had been a vampire — forty years he’d been immortal, lured by the promise of gunsmoke and war, of triumphing over death for his aging wife and daughter. Millennium had denied his request to convert either into vampires, asking him whether it was his intention to send both of them to their deaths in an all-out war. No — they were going to be kept safe, the Major had told him through his unsettling grin as he signed off on the paperwork for their new flat in Brazil. We’ll keep them here in the meantime.
One year later, the gas main where his wife and daughter lived exploded. They’d died instantly, nothing left of them but charred corpses that hadn’t even opened their mouths to scream and Moritz, who was legally dead, had no say in the funeral. They were buried in daylight hours, when he was unable to attend.
Sick fuck. Moritz raised the pistol, aiming for the back of the Major’s head. Already cocked, all it needed was for him to pull the trigger, and with no one around, not his entourage, not the Doctor, not even the Captain, nothing would get in the way of his revenge, a resentment twenty years in the making he had always been too cowardly to obey. He would never get an opportunity like this again.
The Major raised his chin as if to look at the moon. Moritz tensed; his hands began to shake. No! he scolded himself. His resolve wouldn’t falter. Not now. Not now.
Then he saw the lips split open, twisting into a grotesque smile, and slowly begin to move.
“…Heil'ge Götter, himmlische Lenker! Rauntet ihr diess in eurem Rath? Lehrt ihr mich Leiden, wie keiner sie litt? Schuft ihr mir Schmach, wie nie sie geschmerzt…”
He laughed softly, turned his head with a slowness that would have frozen Moritz’s blood in his veins if he were alive, and snapped his fingers.
“Captain. Dispose of the rebel.”
Even if one could not see the Captain, the veteran was always around. Much like the Major’s shadow. Unnoticed by anyone else but never far away and even if there was a distance between him and the leader - the Captain would always return to the man’s side within a second. Much like a loyal dog would. And that was all the soldier did for the past years. Remain by the Major’s side and protect him. No one ever saw him fight properly, none of these vampires truly knew. They were fledglings compared to the old BEAST.
And so no one was aware of how silent the Captain could be.
So when the traitor’s finger actually managed to pull the trigger - all the bullet hit was the Captain’s palm as he stretched it out to shield the leader from the bullet. It was crushed in his grip, not a single wound left. The only trace left, was the hole in his glove.
And in that moment Rottenführer Moritz, a man hardened by many battles and losses, dropped his weapon as he realized that he was faced with certain death. With each step the large man took, the more teeth Moritz bared. As if his vampire instincts showed themselves behind the mask of the former father and husband. However, in a contest of baring fangs, it was Captain Hans Günsche who always came out on top.
A simple bullet would not cut it with his kind, it might also demolish the furniture. So the Captain chose a more... Traditional way of disposing. By reaching his hand out to grab the man’s face and crush his skull in a single, fluid motion. He knew the doctor would complain about the mess but it was the quickest way of removing a vampire and a deserving way to die for a traitor.
With the command fulfilled, Hans returned to the man’s side, hands calmly resting by his sides and any trace of animalistic rage faded from his features.