Cross Conviction

Leopold Sturm glanced down at the silver watch wrapped around his left wrist. 
12:03. Arthur should be settling into the academy by now. God protect that boy. He thought to himself.

The droning sound of powerful aircraft engines filled the bland metal cavern surrounding him. He sat quietly in a simple steel chair, folded out from the wall. The air was frigid, as expected at an altitude of 6,000 meters. Naturally, this also meant there was little oxygen in the interior of the HE-111 bomber. Despite this, Leopold had decided to forgo the use of an oxygen mask so that he might avoid the discomfort that it would have caused when used in combination with his famous bristling mustache. Instead, he had opted to slow his breathing to the point of sage-like efficiency. Every inflation of his giant lungs was drawn out over several minutes, and each exhalation was equally long. This way, Leopold avoided depleting the oxygen left in the cabin before it was time for him to disembark from the aircraft.
    

“Alright, Colonel!” the copilot shouted over the blaring engines as he leaned back out of the cockpit, “We’re one minute from the drop zone! When you get down there, make sure those good-for-nothing Communists receive General Xing's message loud and clear!"

Leopold rose to his feet and steadied himself against the persistent sway of the aircraft with the handrail above. The mission was as cut and dry as they came. A week prior, a particularly treacherous faction of Chinese Communist forces under one Marshal Liu had murdered some fifty political prisoners. Among these prisoners were the adult children of a prominent Nanjing official.

The Germans maintained a complex diplomatic balancing act between the Nationalist Nanjing government and Imperial Japan. With the Japanese invasion of China three months earlier, the political situation had become all the more precarious. Meanwhile, Communist militants in China took advantage of the chaos to consolidate power. While some rebels had taken to a temporary truce with the Nationalist government in the wake of the Japanese invasion, others honored no such agreement.

With their forces stretched thin and the Chinese "Wǔ Shì", roughly equivalent to Germany's Iron Knights, engaged in fierce combat against the Japanese, the Nanjing government was forced to call for foreign assistance. While German interference on behalf of the Nationalists would not directly interfere with Japanese operations, it was decided that the best course of action would be to keep the mission classified.

Leopold Sturm was to leave no survivors.

“Thirty seconds, sir!” the copilot announced excitedly, “Make your way to the bay now!”

The titan of a man stepped toward the back of the plane, the steel heels of his jackboots clanging loudly against the metal platform as he walked.
    

“Fifteen seconds, bomb bay open!” the copilot hollered.
    

Clanking in quick, rickety succession like the ticking of a giant windup toy embellished with a constant electrical hum, the bomb bay doors of the aircraft opened beneath the suspended catwalk that Leopold was standing on. Below him slowly scrolled the vast, verdant sprawl of the remote Chinese forest. The wind howled violently as it rushed by the open doors at over four hundred kilometers per hour.
    

“Good luck and Godspeed sir!” shouted the copilot one final time.
    

After returning a quick salute, Leopold dove through the open bay doors feet first. Tumbling, he repositioned himself into a proper head-first posture. The wind rushed through his cape, causing it to ripple and thrash as he plummeted toward the ground. Spotting a clearing, Leopold shifted his weight and bent the wind around him to adjust his trajectory. As he came closer to Earth, he was gradually able to make out more details of the rebel base that occupied the clearing. Four guard towers, several scattered concrete buildings, and two larger barracks bordered the tree line. With just seconds before impact, Leopold flipped back around, causing his cape to trail above his head. With immense force, his massive boot crashed into the ground, violently shooting rock and debris several meters in the air. 

At once an alarm was tripped and several dozen rebel Communists rushed from the nearby barracks and administrative buildings. Weapons trained at the base of the billowing cloud of dust that stretched nearly thirty meters in the air, the soldiers stared in shock. Frantic commands were issued to the present squads by their captains, who themselves were at a loss for what was unfolding before them. 
Then, without warning, the Hurricane burst forth from the cloud and, before a single finger could hope to apply pressure to a trigger, swiftly removed one soldier's head from his shoulders with a precise swing of his greatsword. Without a second's pause, Leopold was on top within striking distance of another man, whom he immediately bisected vertically with a mighty cleave.

Initial shock giving way to sheer terror, some of the rebels finally opened fire. However, they were unable to track the Hurricane's immense speed and succeeded only in further shredding their ally's dismembered body in a hail of bullets. Utilizing the ensuing panic just as he had countless times during the Great War, Leopold quickly closed the gap between himself and another rebel, this time seizing his unfortunate victim by the throat. With inhuman strength, he crushed the man's windpipe simultaneously shattering his spinal column all at once before hurling the battered body toward another soldier at over four hundred kilometers per hour. Unable to avoid his comrade's broken corpse, the rebel was himself annihilated by the impact.

Once more, the deafening sound of gunfire rang out as another barrage was let loose by the horrified rebels. This time, Leopold stood firm, deflecting every last bullet in a silver flurry of his blade's steel. The errant projectiles careened in every direction, striking man and material alike. Several soldiers were killed by their own rounds while others were horrifically maimed by the warped shrapnel, bleeding out with no hope of survival.

With each slaughtered rebel, many more charged forth to take his place. Leopold identified one of the newly arrived men as attempting to fire a flare gun into the air, likely in a bid to summon reinforcements from surrounding encampments. Though he was confident in his ability to eliminate any number of rebels, Leopold was under strict orders to limit the enemy's eradication to this individual camp. The Nanjing government believed that, after this reprisal, the less agreeable Communist militants would find themselves unwilling to engage their Nationalist countrymen in combat, and would focus entirely on resisting the invaders.

Wasting no time, Leopold bounded fifty meters at the man, tore his arm from his body, and subsequently fired the flare gun into the rebel munitions dump. The stockpile swiftly erupted in a monstrous fireball, shaking the very earth beneath the men's feet. Many of the soldiers had surrounded the facility in a desperate attempt to better arm themselves and were helplessly overtaken by the violent inferno. Their frantic, pained screams gave way to the crackle of fire as they gradually dropped to the ground and became still.

The remaining soldiers, having taken a position opposite the munitions dump on the other side of the clearing, looked on in horror as the blaze quickly crept across the grass and took to the adjacent buildings. The infamous Hurricane's dark silhouette loomed against the towering wall of flame that overtook their once safely secluded camp. Finally succumbing to abject terror, some of the men broke ranks and attempted to flee to the tree line, while others made a latch-ditched attempt to fire on their assailant. However, the rebels' trembling hands betrayed their aim, and not a single shot from their Mosin rifles came close enough to warrant a reaction from the German. 

When Leopold realized that the routed men were attempting to escape, he knew he must take action now or risk losing his targets in the dense jungle. 
He tapped one finger on the guard of his still-drawn greatsword and shouted a name, "Ziz!"

Suddenly, a large blue eye with a vertical, cat-like pupil opened on the rounded pommel of the sword. It darted around, taking in the scene as if just awoken and lost in a tired haze. When its focus finally locked on the retreating rebels, the black void of the pupil narrowed to a predatory slit. 

All at once, a bizarre, alien voice like no other washed over the minds of the rebels. It spoke in a language they had never heard, yet, they understood. 

"The sin that spoils your soul is wide as the Red Sea and twice as deep. Prior to the murder of your victims, you inflicted countless unspeakable humiliation and sheer brutality. Preaching equality and unity as you lay bare the innards of all those with reservations toward your cause, you inflicted a reign of hypocrisy."

As if compelled, the fleeing men turned to face Leopold, only to see their more steadfast comrades town in half at the waist by a gleaming torrent of air directed forth from the Hurricane's greatsword. Frozen in place, the rebels were unable to react as they met the game grizzly fate.

"I will revel in your judgment."