Web of Evil
Fog of Vengeance
by Drivtaan
On Halloween night a group of German soldiers become lost on a deserted road in the middle of occupied territory. But as a heavy fog crawls in, each one finds himself isolated from the others. What will they encounter in the fog of vengeance?
***
Somewhere in California, October 31, 1985:
The Opel Blitz transport truck crept slowly along the rutted country road, bouncing the German soldiers repeatedly from their seats. Since the occupation of California at the end of the summer, the occupiers had been forced to travel to these out-of-the-way places and put an end to any and all uprisings. The driver grinned at his passengers’ discomfort as he switched on the headlights. Soldiers tended to forget that the army depended on more than just warriors; drivers, mechanics, cooks, and even pencil pushers were needed to keep things moving steadily ahead. Despite the fog that was beginning to rise up from the ground, he spotted what appeared to be a particularly deep rut and cut toward it. Curses rose from the back of the truck as he continued to push farther along the dirt road.
As the hours passed and the night grew darker, the truck pressed on. Sleep, or any kind of rest at all, was impossible to the soldiers despite the truck slowing to a crawl. The fog had continued to thicken until, at last, the driver was unable to see much farther than the hood of the Opel Blitz. The truck finally rolled to a stop. After sitting idle for several minutes, the men in the back began to climb out of the truck. They edged their way to the front of the vehicle, keeping their eyes on the surrounding countryside — as much as the fog would allow — to find out why they had come to a stop.
The driver was leaning against the grill between the headlights drawing as much nicotine out of his cigarette as possible while the lieutenant in charge of the mission tried to raise headquarters on the radio. The soldiers relaxed, but only slightly, when they saw no immediate danger. A couple of the men dug into their pockets and pulled out cigarettes of their own. Pressing the tips to the glow of the driver’s cigarette, they were soon mingling smoke of their own with the fog.
The lieutenant climbed from the truck’s cab, shaking his head as he dropped to the dirt. “It is no use,” he said, finding a cigarette of his own. “I have tried different frequencies, but there is no answer.” He lit his cigarette from the end of one of the others.
“So, Lieutenant,” the driver said, “what do you want to do now? Do we try to turn back or keep going?”
The young officer took a drag, thinking of what he wanted to say before speaking. When he finally spoke, he looked at the driver. “Are you sure you cannot go any further?”
The driver looked up and exhaled. “Unless this fog dissipates instantly, we aren’t going very far in either direction.”
The lieutenant sighed, then took another drag. “Let’s give it a half an hour and see what happens. Maybe we will get lucky.”
A couple of the men returned to the back of the truck, hoping to grab a few minutes of sleep before they started moving again. The others finished their cigarettes before finding a place of their own to settle down.
With each man lost in his own thoughts, no one was certain when the fog had grown so thick they could no longer see each other. Even the men who had chosen to try to sleep in the back of the truck woke to find themselves separated by the fog.
“Hey, Lieutenant,” the driver called out. “I think I see a vehicle coming towards us.” Receiving no response, he stepped forward and began waving his arms in an attempt to stop the oncoming vehicle from slamming into the Opel Blitz. It was only when he began to make out the design of the car that he realized his uniform could put himself and the others in a bad situation. He quickly removed his gray wool jacket and tossed it on the hood of the truck, hoping it would not be noticed. He turned back to the road as the car pulled up.
The driver of the car, a black Cadillac hearse from the late ’50s, rolled his window down as he rolled to a stop. Dark, sunken eyes looked the German over before the man spoke. “Kind of late to be out on this lonely stretch of nowhere,” he said.
The German’s initial impression was that this man would have looked more natural in the rear of the hearse than behind the wheel. His gaunt face was as ashen and gray as the stubble sprouting from his pointed chin. From what he could tell of the old man, his body was as cadaverous as his face, his black coat draped over his frame like that of a scarecrow. He seemed undisturbed by the fact that he was chatting with a squad of Nazi soldiers.
“We were out on patrol, but the fog brought us to a standstill,” the driver said.
The old man nodded. “The fog can do that.”
“Where are you going at this hour?” the German asked.
“I’ve got some bodies to collect.”
The German shuddered. Something about the man’s response sent a chill through his entire being.
“Would you like a ride?” the old man asked.
“I appreciate the offer,” the German replied, “but, I cannot leave the others.”
The old man pushed his door open and stepped out of the hearse. He was, the German thought, what the old American western movies would call long and lanky.
“What others?” he asked as he walked to the back of the hearse.
The driver of the Opel Blitz glanced around to find himself alone with the old man. He wasn’t sure when they deserted him, and he was especially surprised to discover the lieutenant had gone with them, but he felt no desire to remain in the middle of nowhere by himself. When he turned his attention back to the old man and his hearse, he took a step back and blinked several times; the passenger’s seat was now occupied by an emaciated corpse. After several seconds, he walked to the back of the vehicle and climbed in. Lying down, he folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. All he knew was that it felt right.
As the old man began to close the door, tendrils of fog crept in and surrounded the German.
***
A stiff wind blew open the tarp on the back of the Opel Blitz, allowing the fog to creep in. One of the soldiers scrambled to his knees and tried to catch the flapping material. “Why are we even here?” he asked as he secured the back. “Most of these uprisings end up being little more than rumors spread to keep us running back and forth.”
When he got no reply, he glanced back at his companion, amazed that he could have fallen asleep so fast in spite what was going on. Nothing could have prepared him for discovering that he was alone in the rear of the truck. He put his back against the side of the truck and raised his weapon.
“Lieutenant!” His grip grew tighter on his weapon.
The fog thickened, filling every nook and cranny of the truck bed. Although the space in the back of the truck was limited, the soldier’s eyes were drawn to the corner farthest from him. Sweat ran down his face as he stared into the darkness.
Something moved.
The soldier squeezed the trigger, sending a spray of bullets into the corner.
“You need to be more careful.” The voice that emanated from the shadows was as cold as the night. “Someone could get hurt.”
The face of a gaunt old man emerged from the darkness. His sunken eyes seemed to bore a hole right through the soldier’s soul. Wisps of a scraggly beard decorated his chin.
“Geist,” the soldier whispered.
The old man grinned. “More or less.” After a moment, he continued. “But, I have disturbed your sleep. Please, place your weapon on the floor and rest.”
The soldier’s eyelids grew heavy and, with some reluctance, he put the machine gun down. Leaning back, he kept his eyes on the old man.
Extending his index finger, he traced a rectangle in the fog. Once he had returned to the starting point, he removed the piece of fog and turned his attention back to the soldier. “This will help you sleep.”
The soldier closed his eyes as the old man leaned in with the fog. He put up no resistance when the old man covered his face. He took a deep breath, drawing the fog into his lungs, and slipped into an unending slumber.
***
Something woke the soldier who had been sleeping peacefully on the floor of the truck. He glanced over at his companion, who was fast asleep, his back resting against the side of the vehicle. Climbing to his feet, he slipped through the tarp and over the tailgate; he dropped to the dirt road as quiet as possible.
As he started around the side of the truck, the mud began to pull at his boots. With each step he took, the pull became even more pronounced. By the time he reached the front of the Opel Blitz, the soldier was using his hands to physically move his feet. “How long have I been asleep?” he asked aloud. “It must have rained for hours.”
No one was around when he finally reached the front of the truck. “Lieutenant? Sergeant? Anybody?” Receiving no reply, he slapped the hood and yelled. “Hans! Wake up and come here! Come!”
When Hans didn’t appear, the soldier pulled his feet from the mud and walked a short way from the truck. Each step was a labor of will.
A short distance away, a tall, slender man stepped through the fog. “Looks like you put your foot in it this time, so to speak. Need help?”
The soldier glanced down. “I appear to have put both feet in it,” he said. “I would appreciate some help. Danke.”
“What are you doing out here alone?” the old man asked as he reached down and picked something up from the ground.
“I’m not alone… or, at least, I wasn’t. I don’t know where everyone is now,” the soldier replied.
Approaching the soldier, the old man extended what he was holding, and the young German reached out to grab hold. The minute his hand touched the object, he jerked it away. “Ow. Something stuck me.”
The old man grinned and stroked the hair on his chin. “Stuck… or bit?” He held up his hand to reveal a large rattlesnake.
The soldier felt his blood burn as the snake’s poison worked its way through his body toward his heart. The pull of the mud became even stronger. By the time mud was filling his mouth, the poison was near his heart; he never knew which caused his demise.
***
The lieutenant began calling out to his men. Receiving no response, he threw his cigarette butt down and crushed it under his heel. He turned back to the truck, only to realize he must have wandered farther away than intended.
Walking back the way he came, the fog seemed to have grown even thicker than before. Calling his men’s names again, he began to believe the fog was swallowing his words the moment they passed his lips. He stopped walking long enough to fish a second cigarette from his pocket. “Surely,” he said, “I must have reached the truck by now.” He called out to his men once more.
Somewhere, not too far away, he heard the steady cadence of marching feet; it was a rhythm he was very familiar with. Without warning, the fog faded, and, under the bright light of a full moon, he founded himself facing a squad of Schutzstaffel.
“Heil,” he said, snapping to attention and extending his arm. His eyes widened when his only reply was for his chest to become the focus of their machine gun barrels. He raised his other arm and held his hands palms up.
A tall, slender sturmbannführer stepped forward. “Foolish Jew. Did you really think you would be able to escape?” He rubbed the gray stubble on his chin, then folded his arms behind his back.
“J… Jew?” the lieutenant asked, stunned at the accusation. “I was born in Berlin. I have undergone the purity exam and passed. I have never even been arrested.” None of his protests had an effect on the major.
“Take him,” the major commanded his men.
The lieutenant struggled against the Schutzstaffel, but to no avail. The men dragged him to a nearby tree and began to tie him up.
“You have been nothing but trouble,” the major said. “That ends today.”
“I am not a Jew,” the lieutenant continued to protest.
“Ready… aim… fire!”
The last thing the lieutenant saw was the major’s grin as the lead tore through his body.
***
The fog had long since faded, and the California sun was high above the horizon when a second Opel Blitz pulled alongside the first. Several soldiers climbed out of the back as a colonel jumped from the passenger’s seat. After several minutes, all but one of the soldiers returned to the truck, while the final soldier and the colonel climbed into the cab of the empty vehicle.
“What do you think, Oberst?” the soldier asked the colonel.
The colonel thought for a second. “We found no traces of combat, nor tracks where the men could have just walked away. I guess we will never know.”
“If it isn’t classified,” the soldier continued, “do we know why they were even out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“I have no idea,” the colonel confessed. “As you know, I am in charge of deploying the squads. There was no reason for these men to be here.”
Both trucks turned around and headed back to headquarters.
As the dust rose behind the trucks, two sunken eyes in the shadow-shrouded woods watched them leave. They remained trained on the departing Germans until the trucks were out of sight. Fog began to fill the shadows and, seconds later, the figure and the fog were gone.
The End
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