The Saga of Tanya the Merciless

Colonel Harrison stood at his observation post, watching dawn creep across the valley. Six months of hunting deserters had changed him. Each morning, he traced the same ritual - checking the photographs of men he'd lost to their chaos. Good soldiers, betrayed by their own. The anger had crystallized into something colder now.

"Sir," his aide appeared with fresh reports. "Another pattern identified."

Harrison didn't need to look. He'd memorized their movements, learned their habits. The deserters thought their chaos protected them. They were wrong.

---

"Sie kommen näher," Morris reported from his post. [They're getting closer.] His voice carried an edge Tanya hadn't heard before.

Through borrowed field glasses, she studied the British patrols. Something had changed in their movements. The mechanical distance was gone, replaced by something more personal. More dangerous.

"Was sehen Sie?" Bennett asked. [What do you see?]

Before she could answer, Schmidt's voice cut through the morning mist: "Bewegung im Osten." [Movement in the east.] "But different. These ones move like..."

He trailed off as Tanya raised her glasses. Through the trees came a German unit unlike the others they'd seen. No mechanical stride, no drug-fueled intensity. These men moved with fluid grace, their discipline worn like a second skin.

At their head walked a familiar figure. Captain Mueller. Her throat tightened with recognition.

"Ich kenne sie," she whispered. [I know them.]

In his forward position, Harrison watched the German unit's approach through his own glasses. His hand tightened on the observation rail. Not the usual patrol patterns. Something else. Something that would serve his purpose.

The morning air carried sounds of distant combat. Somewhere to the north, radio intercepts spoke of a new force emerging, one that made even hardened veterans whisper. But that was someone else's concern. Harrison had his own ghosts to answer to.

"Oberst," Mueller's voice carried clearly to the cave mouth. "Wir sind gekommen, um Sie nach Hause zu bringen." [Colonel. We've come to bring you home.]

Tanya stepped forward, mind racing. These were her men - not the soulless automatons or chemical ghosts, but the ones who'd understood what she'd truly meant to build.

The explosion that shattered the moment was perfectly placed.

Harrison's artillery opened up without warning. No ranging shots, no preparation. They'd had six months to plot every coordinate, to learn every escape route. Now they put that knowledge to use.

The forest erupted. Trees vanished in fountains of earth and splintered wood. The carefully planned killing ground came alive.

"Rückzug!" Bennett shouted. [Retreat!] But there was nowhere to go. The British had been thorough. Too thorough.

Morris died first, thrown against rocks by a blast that came from exactly the right angle. Andrews followed moments later, trying to reach him. The deserters' chaos couldn't save them from this level of preparation.

Through the smoke and screaming, Tanya saw Mueller's unit react with fluid grace, trying to reach their position. But the British fire held them back with cruel precision. This wasn't just an attack. It was an execution.

"Sie haben gewartet," Schmidt realized in his final moments. [They've been waiting.] "All this time..."

The massacre unfolded with terrible purpose. Each shell placed exactly where a desperate man might seek cover. Each explosion timed to catch those fleeing the last. The British had learned. They'd studied. They'd planned.

Tanya watched her saviors die, unable to reach them. Mueller's men fought to break through, but the artillery created an impenetrable wall of fire and death. This wasn't random destruction. This was personal.

Bennett was the last. He died trying to buy time for the others, his final words lost in the thunder of guns. The deserters, who'd taught her the power of chaos and humanity, vanished in carefully orchestrated fire.

In his observation post, Harrison lowered his glasses. Behind him, his aide waited with casualty reports already prepared. They'd planned this too well for there to be surprises.

The echoes of the bombardment rolled away across the valley. Somewhere in the distance, radios crackled with reports of that other force - the one that made veterans tremble. But that was tomorrow's concern.

Today was for ghosts. Today was for answers.

Through the settling dust, Mueller's voice carried a warning: "Oberst! Sie kommen!" [Colonel! They're coming!]

But Tanya barely heard him. She stared at the place where her saviors had died, understanding finally blooming. The British hadn't just learned German methods.

They'd learned to hate with absolute clarity.

The morning wind carried smoke and silence across the valley. And somewhere, in shadow-haunted bunkers and hidden command posts, a fourth force stirred - one that would make this massacre seem gentle by comparison.

But that was another horror, for another day.