Monsters

A Brief Forenote;

This story is somewhat graphic in it's language and subject matter, so be advised. It also contains some really incomprehensible German (I don't speak the language, but i felt it was really important for the mood). I'll include translations at the bottom of the page, but feel free to point out any glaring mistakes. Furthermore, this is a working title. To anyone who reads this, it would be absolutely wonderful if they could recommend a title. I'm open to any suggestions. I think that's about it; thanks in advance, and i hope you enjoy the story! =)



         A sharp vibration echoed through the core of his very bones. Through the scope, he could make out the burst of crimson as his lifeless target dropped to the ground. With the vulgar display, Samuel Fox  let out a heavy sigh.
         “Very good, Herr Fox!” the voice his captor rang through his ears, “that makes six for six today, very impressive indeed.”
         “Sie horte ihn, Cletus,” one of the guards added, “Zahlen, saugnapf!”
         “Schweigen, ihr affen!” The voice of Samuel’s captor was firm at best, more accurately bone-chilling. Offizier Niklaus was the nightmare of most allied troops. He was a spiteful, sadistic, and downright homicidal maniac. It was apparent to Samuel that without the war, Niklaus would no doubt have been committed or thrown in prison; his bloodlust was absolutely insatiable.
         About a month ago, the German forces decimated an allied bunker in eastern France. Very few prisoners were taken, and Samuel was one of those unfortunate few. He was separated from the rest of his fellows, however, and was told that a man named Niklaus wanted to speak with him. Samuel could vividly remember that conference, the burning vortex of emotion he endured.
         “I hear you are quite the shot, Herr Fox,” Niklaus told him that day, “responsible for more than your share of Deutsche casualties.”
         “Yeah, I know my way around a rifle,” he foolishly stated.
         “Yes indeed, I know many who could attest to that,” the offizier continued, “Or I guess the proper conjugation would be ‘knew’, because they all seem to be gefallen!” it was clear that he was growing angrier, the vein on his wrinkled brow now visible. “It is fortunate that we should be having this little talk, Herr Fox, because I have a proposition for you…”
         That had been months before, but the words were still branded in his mind. Offizier Niklaus had explained that the German Empire could benefit greatly from a marksman of Samuel’s skill. Before he was allowed to respond, Niklaus explained that Samuel’s cooperation would save the other prisoners ‘a relatively unpleasant demise’, as he called it. They were fed nothing but salted meat, and were not to be given water under any circumstance. Unless, of course, Samuel was willing to contribute his talents; for every allied soldier shot dead, he and his fellow captives would be awarded a glass of water.
         “A glass a head, Herr Fox,” Niklaus chuckled, “your brethren will rest easy tonight.” With that, Offizier Niklaus departed, closely followed by the guards, who removed the Springfield rifle from Samuel’s possession on their way out. Samuel retreated to his cot, which lay near the iron bars that separated him from his kin. They talked amongst themselves, but other than the occasional glare, they never associated themselves with Samuel. Although it was his sacrifice that kept them alive, they would not associate themselves with a branded traitor. As far as they were concerned, Samuel Fox was nothing better than a German Assassin. Samuel tried to sleep, but he never could. To pass the time, he would often use one bullet to make inscriptions on others. Helped his shot, Samuel always said, and his captors could hardly disagree.
         He lay awake most of the night, periodically sipping from his glass of water, while slowly drifting towards a state of slumber. Eventually he fell asleep, but the only thing he could dream of was the bitter taste the water had left in his mouth.

         Offizier Niklaus was there the next morning as always. If nothing else, he was punctual. He smiled when Samuel awakened, handing him the Springfield. Samuel reluctantly snatched up the rifle, carefully fitting it with ammunition.
         “Back to the grind, eh?” Niklaus grinned. Samuel did not answer. He continued to load his weapon, taking note of the two guards filing in.
         “Wette die Schweinegrippe Waffen runter sechs Schweinen heute,” said one of the guards. Samuel didn’t speak much German, but he knew these words weren’t kind ones. He noticed Niklaus glare at the subordinates with eyes that rivalled the piercing force of Samuel’s well placed shots. Niklaus then returned his attention to Samuel, who lingered a moment before taking his place at the window.
         The bunker was of a special design, having a prison cell at the back with a sniper’s nest in the front. The nest provided a full view of the allied trench, ensuring that it’s residents would never be without a target. Samuel took aim at a large concentration of bold firers, and pulled the trigger.

         The bullet ricocheted off a steel munitions case just above his target. Samuel could see the golden shell bounce to the floor of the trench, just as he intended. Offizier Niklaus was not as pleased with his aim, however, and retorted;
         “You missed…” A scowl unlike any Samuel had ever seen crossed the German’s face. He kept his composure, however, and merely gestured for a second shot. Samuel took aim and complied, this time audibly bouncing off the same munitions crate. The vein on Niklaus’ forehead bulged once again as the sociopath stared blankly at the ground. Without so much as a glance, he drew his pistol and brought it within inches of Samuel’s head. It lingered there a moment, receding with it’s bearer’s hand seconds later.
         “I cannot kill you, my friend,” said Niklaus, “You are no longer expendable.”
         “I’m not your friend,” Samuel replied, his cold stare gazing out the window. Niklaus pondered for another moment, then rapidly drew his pistol and fired one blind shot into the prison cell behind them. Samuel heard a choir of screams and death threats echo throughout the room, all the while staring out the window. Within seconds of the shot, he turned and lunged at Offizier Niklaus. The guards were quick to restrain him, however, and Niklaus simply laughed.
         “My apologies, Herr Fox, but you seem to have forgotten what little value a human life holds,” said Offizier Niklaus. Samuel, out of both rage and pure hatred, could contain his emotions no longer;
         “I’m not interested in whatever bullshit a fucking tyrant like you has to teach!” he said.
         “Ah, but we are one in the same, my friend, Vogel Einer Feder!”
         “We’re nothing alike, you monster!”
         “YOU DON’T KNOW THE MEANING OF THE WORD!” Niklaus burst into a fit of rage unlike anything Samuel had ever seen; “Sie frech ficken wissen Sie, Schweinen nichts! Sie morden und zu töten, und nennt euch die Gerechten, und wir müssen die Monster werden. Sie egoistisch Bastarde wird deine Sünden eines Tages zu beantworten, und ich wünschte nur, es könnte meine Hand, dass der Auslöser, dass eine Kugel Feuer in alle deine verdammte Gesichter, wie man zu so vielen Deutschen taten zieht sein!”
Niklaus then took his pistol in hand again and fired a bullet straight into the skull of one of the guards.
         “Is that any different?” Offizier Niklaus queried. Samuel was stunned, to say the least. He stood face to face with an absolute psychopath, wondering how to answer.
         “You did it of your own will,” was all he could utter.
         “And so did you, Herr Fox,” replied Niklaus, “when you fired upon hundreds of Deutsche soldiers.” Samuel feined a look of defiance, when deep down he was starting to understand. Niklaus continued; “They may be your foe, but they are still human!” Samuel turned his head, and, for the first time since Samuel woke, he and Niklaus locked eyes. They stayed that way for quite a few moments, respectively peering into what either one perceived as the abyss of all humanity. It was Samuel who broke the silence, placing his rifle on the ground and walking over to his cot.
         “I think we’ll go without the water today,” Samuel murmured, “I’m done for today.”
         “Very well, Herr Fox,” the German said. He lingered a moment more, then shuffled out of the room, closing the door lightly behind him. No one spoke after that, they simply listened to the symphony of gunfire outside. Despite the nightmare he was living, Samuel fell asleep in the middle of the day. He dreamed of trenches outside, the crude mixture of mud and blood. The crimson that stained the battlefield was replaced faster than the rain could wash it away. Fires burned on the horizon, and giant pit separated the trenches. No-man’s land was the gates of hell, spiralling down into a burning abyss of nothingness. The distinct laugh of Offizier Niklaus was the only thing that could be heard over the rain and the gunfire, until the noise of sirens began to grow; louder, louder- louder still! It soon became deafening, and everything around him faded into the hellish wastes of No-Man’s land.

         The sirens echoed throughout the bunker, and Samuel Fox awoke with a start. He walked over to the window and saw a mass of allied troops headed towards the bunker; they had already passed the first of two trenches! At that moment the door burst open, announcing the entrance of an desperate Offizier Niklaus. The vein on his forehead was pulsing with the force of a flowing river.
         “I don’t know how you bastards breached our defences, and I don’t really care at this point,” Niklaus said, “But I am a realist; I figured you might do me a favor before they take my life.”
         “What did you have in mind?” Samuel asked.
         “Do me the honor of delivering the bullet yourself.” With that, the German thrust his pistol into the hands of Samuel and pointed the gun at his own forehead.
         “You expect me to save you from a P.O.W. camp? After what you made me do?” Samuel began to grow angry with his captor. Why on earth should he save the man who made him kill his own?
         “You know, you could call me an angel, Herr Fox,” Niklaus stated, delusional with panic by now, “Without me, you would never have realised how despicable you truly are.” His hand began to tremble now, sweat drenching his wrinkled brow. Samuel wretched his hand free of the psychopath’s grip, letting the gun fall to the ground.
         “Your life isn’t worth taking,” Samuel said in the most menacing tone of voice he could. Niklaus dropped to his knees and stared at the ground. Again, he started to laugh. Samuel stood his ground right in front of the man, who grabbed the gun and held it to his own head.
         “You want to know the difference between us, my friend?”, the deranged Niklaus asked, “Sie sind ein Ungeheuer, aber ICH BIN EIN GOTT!” With those last words, he squeezed the trigger and slumped to the ground. In a fraction of a second, the adjacent wall was splattered with blood. Samuel himself was dotted with the crimson liquid, still standing motionless in the same spot. At that moment the door again burst open, and two British troops rushed into the room.
         “We got some more in here!” one of the soldiers called through the door, “you blokes alright?”
         “Yeah,” said Samuel, “We’ll live.”
         “We found the inscriptions on the bullets you fired, mate, pretty damn wily!” one of them told him. His missed shots from earlier were in fact inscribed, a message in a bottle of sorts, with details as to the prisoners inside and the shift changes of guards. Samuel felt slightly triumphant, but after today he could not manage a smile.
         “You look absolutely parched, have some water,” said one of the troops as he handed Samuel his canteen. He unscrewed the cap and walked over to the window. The sun was setting now, resembling the distant flames from his dream. Samuel Fox took a hard earned gulp of water from the canteen, but all he could taste was the bitterness of the hysterical laughter that plagued his thoughts.

As both a closing note and a thematic query;
When is murder justified?


The End

Translations (In Order of Appearance)

- You heard him, pay up!

- Silence, you apes!

- I bet the swine shoots down six more pigs today

- Birds of a feather

- you insolent fuck, you pigs know nothing! you murder, kill, and call yourselves the righteous, and we must be the monsters. you selfish bastards will answer to your sins someday, I only wish it could be my hand that pulls the trigger that fires a bullet into all of your fucking faces, the way you did to so many Germans.

- You are a monster, but I AM A GOD!