Z: A Nazi Zombies Novel, Chap 1

[MexicanIlluminati]

Chapter 1 of a Nazi Zombies story i wrote awhile back.

BEFORE READING

-I wrote this awhile ago, so I am aware that some of this has been misproven by current evidence.

-Don't expect too much more, I had more written but all but the first three chapters were accidently deleted. Maybe, i'll post the next 2 chapters soon if I get good feedback.

-constructive criticism is encouraged.

Z: Chapter 1

Hammer and Sickle

Seelow Heights, Germany. April 16, 1945

Nikolai Belinski was dreaming.

He was home again in his peaceful hometown of Yivisk, Russia. He was sitting in his favorite spot in his favorite bar chugging down bottle after bottle of his favorite beverage: vodka. He finished off the last drops of his latest mug of vodka and watched the bartender hastily refill his glass and shrink away in fear. Nikolai glanced around. The few men brave enough to drink in the same bar as “Nikolai the Terrible” were huddled together in the far corner of the bar nervously eyeing him and whispering amongst themselves. Nikolai nearly smiled in his sleep. He knew this is exactly where he belonged: in the nightmares of his Russian countrymen and intoxicated beyond belief.

A harsh deluge of water brought Nikolai choking and sputtering back to reality. He was back in Seelow Heights, lying in his bunk in his platoon’s barracks, and judging by the sharp pain in his temples, he was recovering from a brutal evening of unadulterated drinking.

He looked up to see Sergeant Tamarov standing over him with a now empty bucket.

“Uhh… Mr. Belinski sir?” Tamarov stammered, visibly nervous, “We began the attack over 2 hours ago. I was s-s-sent to wake you. Your platoon is already loading up on the t-t-truck.”

Nikolai laughed out loud. He took great pleasure in the fact that such a prestigious military man who easily outranked him referred to him as “sir”.

Nikolai was once an influential and feared politician. He had made sure that his voice was heard by punctuating every move with the murder of some unfortunate opposing politician. No one but Nikolai himself was sure of how many lives he had taken while clawing his way up the political ladder, most were content to look the other way and take care not to cross paths with the relentless psychopath. Nikolai had risen through the Russian government with apparent impunity, with no one willing to address his obvious transgressions, lest they fall victim to his random acts of violence. He had also married politically on multiple occasions for the sole purpose of rising through the ranks, with each wife meeting their demise after angering the madman in some way. Nikolai’s political dreams came to a halt when his fifth wife was found to be having an affair with a high ranking politician. Nikolai reacted as usual, and less than a week later she was found with an axe in her neck. This brutality ballooned Nikolai’s reputation and before long Stalin himself was cowering in fear. Stalin rid himself of the sociopath for good by stripping him of all political authority and dropping him on the frontlines at the outset of the war where, whenever he wasn’t slashing Nazi throat, he was wallowing in his vodka.

Nikolai sat up.

“Heh, and you’re the poor svoloch who was sent to fetch me, eh?” he said, with a menacing half smile.

Tamarov only stared, white with fear.

Nikolai let loose a low gruff groan as he rose to his feet.

The sergeant took 3 fearful steps back and grabbed at his knife. Nikolai groggily stumbled over to the table opposite the door where his vodka rested.

“You join me for drink? I never fight sober.” said Nikolai.

He waited for an answer, but none came; the sergeant was still stiff, his hand locked on his knife.

Nikolai shrugged and finished off a whole bottle of vodka in one apathetic chug much to the sergeant’s shock and disgust.

“Hah! There, now I am ready to fight war!” Nikolai bellowed, beaming at Tamarov.

Nikolai made his way for his PPSh-41 as the sergeant fled the barracks so as not to be in the same room as an armed and drunk Nikolai Belinski.

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Nikolai plodded down the dirt road toward the truck where his platoon was waiting for him, the engine already running. His comrades sat in the back of the truck, each with an identical expression of annoyed impatience. Normally the squad would not postpone an attack waiting for one man, but Nikolai had proven an invaluable asset in battle despite his irresponsible nature.

Nikolai tried to diffuse any hostility with a friendly smile.

“Be happy comrades! I bring vodka!” He shouted from afar.

Captain Vasilliev was indignant. “You’re late. Get in.”

Vasilliev’s stern expression faltered for a split-second and a brief half-smile escaped. Nikolai almost chuckled. He knew that on the inside Vasilliev was laughing at his blatant stupidity.

He somberly mounted the truck and took his seat in the corner across from Vasilliev.

The Captain gave the ok, and the truck began its bumpy journey down the road.

Vasilliev looked at Nikolai with a blank stare, “Comrade, do you know what it does to my reputation as a Captain every time you do something like this?! I am only thankful this incident didn’t destroy any military property like your more recent shenanigans…”

“What? That incident with the latrine? Feh, I already told you I was trying to light piss on fire!” said half joking, half serious.

Vasilliev shook his head and slowly gave in to a smile and then a laugh. “You know that if you weren’t so good with a gun I would’ve had you discharged by now.”

“Ehh, who needs gun? Be thankful I can fight with broken vodka bottle!”

“ I’d be thankful if you didn’t breath on me. That stench is a weapon of its own.”

The men laughed to themselves and after, a long silence.

Nikolai spoke, “Captain, where is your friend sergeant Reznov? Was he not to be with us today?”

Sergeant Reznov was known all over Russia as the Hero of Stalingrad for his amazing feats of courage on the battlefield . After the massacre of his men, Reznov had feigned death in a mass grave for hours surrounded by the rotting bodies of his dead countrymen. At the right moment he fled the scene and met up with Dimitri Petrenko. The two moved through ash, gunfire, and rubble of the city, taking out multiple Nazi platoons as they went. Finally, they lead an attack on the German General Amsel, and, with no more than five men and in under an hour, Amsel was dead. This undertaking (along with Reznov’s recent rescue of Petrenko from German hands) gained Reznov widespread glory and cemented a strong bond between himself and Petrenko. Ever since, Reznov and Petrenko have stuck together in an inseparable brother-like bond.

“Reznov was reassigned at the last minute to the eastern tank division. He wished to stay with Pvt. Petrenko.”

“Ah,” came Nikolai’s response, quietly glad he would not have to share the spotlight.

The tank divisions attack was being held about one mile east of their position, and the cannon blasts and gunfire could be heard for miles around. The tanks were to push forward through the open field until they reached their objective: a train station, which they would use to head straight for Berlin. Nikolai’s infantry squad consisted of about 12 platoons of 6 men each, sent to flank around the west side of the Wehrmacht army. The squads were to travel 15 miles through the thick woods and then dismount their trucks and continue on foot, and gun down any and all infantry resistance.

About 10 miles into the trip all conversation had died down as the apprehension of the situation settled in. The silence through the woods was thick, and each man turned to his own thoughts, mentally preparing for the battle awaiting them. Nikolai took in the quiet of the forest, and clutched his gun as he slumped in his seat.

Nikolai had at first resented his being thrust into the war at the height of his political career, but over time he had come to realize that he would not have lasted long in the game of politics anyway; his infamous deeds of the past would eventually find him out and ruin him. He had always had a violent spirit about him, and after some thought, he knew that the battlefield was the best place for people like him, where bloodshed and tears were the norm of everyday life. This was the only place where Nikolai could escape the fearful glares of trembling civilians, where he was accepted and had anything particularly close to “friends” in his platoon. Deep down inside Nikolai liked killing, it was the only thing he was truly good at, and serving the motherland was but a bonus. He looked at the faces around him. Each man probably had something decent to come home to, but Nikolai had nothing. He had come to grips with the fact that he would probably be doing this for the rest of his life long ago.

Nikolai was looking at Vasilliev when suddenly his face went rigid in a twisted expression of pure horror.

One word broke the silence.

“PANZERSHREK!!!”

Nikolai heard the sound of the rocket before he saw it. Without looking to see the direction it was coming from, he leapt out of the truck just as the truck burst into a fireball. Nikolai landed, and within the same heartbeat, was on his feet scanning the forest for enemies. He instantly caught sight of a German hiding behind a tree. Nikolai bolted to shelter behind a tree of his own as bullets pelted the ground where he had just been standing. Nikolai reached for his gun, only to find it was missing.

“Chyort”, he whispered under his breath.

He looked over to the charred remains of his platoon’s truck about thirty yards away, where he saw multiple dead, with only 3 survivors, one of which was Vasilliev, who were now engaged in a firefight with the Nazi’s. Nikolai analyzed the battlefield. The landscape rose to a small hill where he and his comrades were, then sunk into a ditch about seven feet deep, and finally rose steeply to where the Germans stood about five feet above the soviets’ heads. Nikolai listened, and by the sound of their voices, he estimated it was a small squad of about 5 Germans.

He poked his head out just long enough to locate his fallen PPSh-41, in the ditch near a fallen tree trunk, and dodged back behind the tree as bullets whizzed by his ear. He considered his options. Could he make a break for his rifle and take shelter behind the trunk? No, he would be gunned down before he even neared the fallen tree. Could he retreat to the rest of his platoon at the truck to salvage a weapon (and his vodka)? No, it was best not to reveal his position to the rest of the Germans (as far as he could tell the only Nazi that saw him was the one directly across from him). He glanced down and realized he still had with him a battle tomahawk strapped to his belt. Yah, this’ll do he thought.

Nikolai pulled out the tomahawk, took a few deep reassuring breaths, and broke from his cover. With a mighty leap and bellowing roar, he catapulted the tomahawk forward with full force. Nikolai smiled menacingly as it struck with pinpoint accuracy in the dead-center of the German’s forehead. The Nazi collapsed in a heap and rolled down the embankment to Nikolai’s feet.

Nikolai paused for a brief second to admire his work, then raced to retrieve his fallen gun. He scurried up the hill, positioning himself on the Germans’ left flank. He spied two Germans taking cover behind trees, a third dead on the floor. He rushed up behind the first, thrusting the tomahawk deep into his back. The second turned at the sound of the screaming, only to be greeted with a volley of lead from Nikolai’s rifle. He crumpled onto the ground and the forest was silent.

Nikolai stepped out from behind the trees, victorious, still holding his tomahawk with the Nazi hanging from its blade, “Alright, alright they are dead….. now where’s my f**king vodka!?!”

The squad erupted in laughter and cheers of victory while waving their rifles in the air. Nikolai let loose a hearty laugh and raised his bloodied tomahawk in the air.

Vasilliev stepped forward, “Stop this foolishness now!”

The men were silent.

“This was no victory. Look your comrades lay dead!” he said, gesturing to the bodies by the truck. “We still have a job to do. Now gather the bodies together and salvage what you can from the dead; we press on.”

The men somberly did as they were told, and headed for the truck in shocked silence.

Nikolai plodded down to the truck where his bottle of vodka lay peacefully. He opened it, sniffed it, and then took a swig. He noticed Vasilliev’s cold stare; he was obviously displeased. Nikolai burped loudly and chortled, all the while maintaining eye contact with Vasilliev in open defiance. Vasilliev rolled his eyes, knowing there could be no reprisal.

Nikolai smirked, knowing his thoughts. It was nice to know that he could be in control regardless of his “superiors”.

The men milled about, taking what they could from the bodies. After finishing his current bottle of vodka, Nikolai eventually did the same.

He did not have a hard time looking at his dead comrades, he had seen far worse come upon people to whom he was much closer, namely his wives. His callous had certain advantages.

His search of the first body yielded nothing; it had already been gleaned clean by the others. He moved on to the next from which he was able to acquire a large combat knife about four inches long. Nikolai studied the blade for about ten seconds then, satisfied, holstered it on his belt next to his tomahawk.

Finishing their salvage, the men reported to Vasilliev, to await orders.

Vasilliev, standing on the hill above the men spoke. “Men, we have lost almost half our squad. We will mourn them later, but as for now we still have our mission. Our leaders are still counting on us to secure the west flank. Will we disappoint them?”

“No!” responded the platoon.

“Indeed we will not. The Fascist rats have killed two of your brothers. Do not let their death be in vain. We will press on, and avenge our fallen comrades. By the end of the day, we will take the train station. By the end of the week, we will reach Berlin. And by the end of the month?” He paused looking at his men “BERLIN WILL BURN!!!”

Cheers rang out, hats were tossed to the air, and adrenaline pumped through the men’s blood.

“We push forward! Onward Comra-“

Vasilliev was cut short by a high cracking sound. The cheering ceased. His eyes widened as he looked down to see blood pouring from his chest. The men stared in stunned horror.

Another cracking sound, the Captain collapsed.

“Sniper!”

All hell broke loose as each soviet scattered in different directions. Nikolai was as much a veteran to know that if he took an extra breath to locate the sniper, it would be his last. Without missing a beat Nikolai sprinted away, ducking and dodging through the brush.

There were very few times in Nikolai’s life when he was truly, deeply, afraid. This was one of those times. A bullet dug into a tree next to him. A bullet ricocheted off a stone in front of him. Finally a bullet shot off his hat. Nikolai stumbled over a tree root and looked back for a split second: just long enough to see an unfortunate soldier get his head split like a watermelon. Nikolai jumped to his feet and ran all the faster. He did not know where he was going, nor did he care. But if he knew what lay less a mile ahead he may have chose to stand and face the sharpshooter instead. Nikolai was unknowingly heading northeast: straight for the heart of the German forces!

As one final bullet flew by his ear, Nikolai saw his chance at escape. He dove down a steep embankment on his right, rolling head over heels through bushes and over unforgiving rocks.

Nikolai crumpled in exhaustion and pain at the base of the hill behind a fallen tree. His heavy breathing soon slowed and he was calm. Last time I ran that fast they had stolen my vodka! he thought with a smirk. Nikolai’s smile faded as the lethality of the situation dawned on him. He hadn’t the slightest clue where he was, nor did he have any plan as how to contact his men. He rose to his feet and looked over the trunk he had been resting behind to better assess his situation.

He wished he hadn’t.

He saw at least twenty German soldiers on a truck convoy, stopped for some unknown reason.

“Oh sh*t!” Nikolai said,

A Nazi turned his head.

Nikolai retreated back behind the log and lay still taking care not to make the slightest sound, wondering if they even noticed him. He cursed at his stupidity. Being still was not something Nikolai was good at, since he was prone to shaking due to his constant intoxication, but now he somehow mustered the effort to remain stationary for what seemed like hours.

After what was in actuality three minutes, Nikolai heard nothing but silence. Nikolai popped his head out concluding the convoy had moved on.

He was dead wrong.

Staring back at him was a German soldier, not five feet away from him. The man began to shout, but Nikolai silenced him with a swing from his knife he had salvaged. The body fell, and the eyes of the entire convoy were drawn directly to Nikolai.

He dropped to the ground as a metalstorm of bullets showered overhead. Nikolai moved. He crawled smoothly behind the log about twenty feet and popped up rifle blazing. He picked off two Nazis in his first volley. He moved again and picked off three more. He moved once more and fired one more barrage, taking out a machine gunner on the truck. Move, Fire. Move, Fire. Move Fire. He repeated this process over and over again as the Nazi’s struggled to guess where he would pop up next.

Nikolai popped up to fire again and had another soldier in his sights when he heard a most disheartening noise:

Click.

Nikolai’s eyes widened as he realized all his extra mags were lost in the explosion. He sat bewildered and shocked for a good few seconds. His mind flooded with ideas of German capture, torture, and execution. As much as he thought he was, he was not in fact, ready to die.

Nikolai caught himself. What kind of talk is this? He thought I am a soviet! No! I am Nikolai Belinski dammit!

A German had snuck up to Nikolai’s log by now, and had just pointed his rifle at Nikolai when Nikolai reached up and took the German’s arm in both hands and yanked him into a nearby tree. The German, stunned, had no time to react as Nikolai stabbed his knife through his heart. Nikolai seized the German’s MP40 with the same intensity he would normally seize vodka.

Nikolai entertained the idea of taking on the entire convoy with the ammunition from the dead German at his feet. He knew he would run out of ammo far too soon. In the back of his mind, Nikolai had already thought up a plan that he knew would neutralize the convoy in one move, but he spent the next few seconds racking his brain for any other possible solution. Finding none, he surrendered to his initial plan. He snuck one final peek at the Germans below. He looked down at his still half-full vodka bottle. He knew what he had to do.

“This is not even worth it” he said to himself.

He kissed the bottle goodbye, briskly cracked his knuckles, and rose into full view of the Nazi’s.

The Germans erupted with a huge volley of gunfire tearing through the air around Nikolai.

He stood unphased.

Nikolai’s face was bleak “Okay…….let’s dance!”

He hurled the bottle over the log towards the truck in the center of the Wehrmacht forces. The bottle struck its target on the center of the trucks hood. The bottle burst splashing vodka all over the front of the truck.

Nikolai raised the German rifle and fired a single shot. The bullet was angled perfectly, and just grazed the trucks hood to produce a spark. The vodka ignited and the truck burst into flames sending shrapnel in all directions. The inferno engulfed the surrounding Nazi’s, leaving none standing. The Germans were dead, but at the price of Nikolai’s last bottle of vodka.

Nikolai stood dominant at the log, with a face as stern as can be; part of him grieving his lost vodka, part of him happy to be alive. If he were not so drunk, he would have noticed the lone Nazi sneaking up on his right.

The German swung his rifle and struck true to Nikolai’s forehead knocking him to the ground. As Nikolai slowly lost consciousness, he saw another German trod up to aid his friend. The soldiers spoke in German above Nikolai,

“I’ll take this one” one said, raising his rifle to Nikolai’s head.

“No!” the other responded, swatting the rifle aside “this one just took out an entire convoy with nothing but a bottle of alcohol!”

“Your point?”

Nikolai managed to overhear one last sentence before going under:

“This one should make a good specimen for The Butcher”

Chapter 2: Takeo viewtopic.php?f=14&t=22501

[MyLittleHellhound]

This is a really good story man, awesome use of vocab and stuff! Good grammar and punctuation, and I'm interested to see more.

[brains]

[gabbehhh]

I really really like this, especially because you portray Nikolai so well ;)

[MexicanIlluminati]

Thanks for the good feedback! If i get some more comments I'll post Takeo's chapter ;)

[MexicanIlluminati]

Thanks for the feedback! If i get a few more comments I'll post Takeo's chapter ;)

[xFierce_Fighterx]

This is probably how Nickolai would've been in the army!!! Can't wait for Takeo

[brains]