Sgt. Golem: Royal Mech Hussar - Stubs Soon!

The truck rumbled to a stop with a squeal of old brakes. The tarp was thrown back to reveal a dark street, interrupted only by the blinding headlights of a truck behind us. The others climbed down, and I followed awkwardly, still bound in chains.

Shadows moved through the headlight beams. All around was the mutter of low voices and stamping of feet. There was a hush to it all, a kind of worried reverence that I associated with troops who knew the enemy was near.

As my eyes adjusted, I took a step out of the headlight beams. The nearby troops startled, swinging their rifles around and levelling them at me with muffled curses and demands for explanation. Now that I was out of the blinding light, my eyes started to adjust. The soldiers were more of the red-armband communist rebels. They looked better fed and equipped than those I had seen before. Perhaps the rebels had an elite squad to do their most important dirty work. One of the ones who’d been in the truck with me Waved the others away and eventually the startled men reluctantly lowered their rifles, though several hard glares fixed me still.

I didn't feel like startling the gunmen, so I moved very slowly and carefully to look around. There was a faint green light to the convoy's right. It spread out over a large area. We were in an apparently-deserted urban area. I made out the ghostly fingers of light poles and the gray looming bulk of houses and apartment buildings. Everything was dark. There was a musty stench and a general feeling of decay about the place. The sidewalk next to me was cracked and broken, but no weeds grew from the cracks. This must be the outskirts of Moscow.

The convoy had stopped a few dozen yards from a diffuse green glow. As my eyes adjusted, it resolved into a wall of sickly greenish light that filled half the world beyond us. It was so large, and we were so close, that it was impossible to see how big it was. The green light shifted and shimmered as I looked at it. I could vaguely make out the shape of buildings beyond, but no details. I had absolutely no desire to touch that dome.

The communists had mentioned a barrier around Moscow, and I could believe this was it. It looked large enough to encompass a city. I’d been picturing barricades, I guess. Checkpoints. Something normal. Not – this.

"How long has it been like this?" I murmured.

To my surprise, Stalin, who was standing nearby, answered, "Twenty years, since before the reign of Alexander. The whole place was cursed and surrounded by this barrier. The monsters didn't come out, so after a time, we stopped trying to go in. We didn't realize it was Rasputin's doing until very recently."

"And you're sending me in there?" I asked. "What's inside?"

"Moscow. And the armies of the living dead. Everyone who was within the barrier when it went up.”

I repressed a shudder.

It took some time for them to get ready, and they wouldn’t remove my chains until they were. A squad of roughly 20 men formed up in the dark near me. Stalin was giving their final briefing, and I heard every word. The mission was for me to pierce the barrier. Then the team would go in. They would make their way to an underground tunnel that apparently led deeper into the city. Working their way through it, they would find the device that apparently created this glowing green barrier. I gathered that every moment they spent in there, they were at risk of death, and I don’t think they meant from the zombies. Something about the barrier itself was deadly to humans.

A priest in a big hat moved through the group, handing out amulets of some type, and as each man donned an amulet, he was given a blessing.

“Can I have one of those? Or at least the blessing?” I asked.

“Your role is only to breach the barrier,” Stalin sneered. “It doesn’t matter how long you last inside. Besides, an artificial man should be beyond such superstitions."

"The longer I last, the more help I can be. I have no love for Rasputin or zombies, and I would rather die with my hands around their throats than be shot down like a dog by your men. I know you're going to kill me. Let me die fighting." I wasn’t lying. This wasn’t the kind of mission anyone came back from, but if I was going to die I could at least do my new world a favor and get rid of a monster.

His face was unreadable in the dark, but he seemed to consider for a moment. "Give the golem a blessing as well," he finally said.

The clergyman protested, but Stalin cursed and threatened him to obey. They had to find one of the taller thugs to reach high enough and put it around my neck. The clergyman's blessing didn't have as much enthusiasm as it had for the others, but I hoped that wouldn't affect whatever benefit it might provide. I might have grown up Baptist, but in this place, I’d take whatever I could get.

As Stalin completed his briefing, I studied the group of men. They were a tough-looking bunch with grim expressions, armed well with a motley assortment of weapons. Several had bandoliers of ammunition, and a few carried grenades. Their weapons were a mix of rifles, shotguns, and submachine guns. I eyed them longingly, considering which weapons I would prefer once we were inside. I had no doubt that once the team took casualties, I would be able to arm myself more appropriately. My hidden gun was a comforting lump at my back, but I didn’t have much ammo.

All of them bristled with large knives and short swords. In this era of Europe, machetes were not common, but a variety of similar bladed weapons such as engineers' knives served a similar function. They would no doubt be effective against zombies, but still allowed the undead to get much too close for comfort. Even if these weren’t the one-bite-you’re-doomed kind, nobody wants to wrestle with the undead.

The priest returned and began handing out glass vials the size of some very small mason jars. The squad tucked them away in pockets or set about attaching them to bandoliers. I caught a few words that confirmed my suspicions: these were filled with holy water. I had no idea if that was effective against these sort of zombies, but I wasn't one to turn down any supernatural defense.

When he got through the group, the priest had one jar left. He stopped in front of me and considered for a moment, his impressive beard wagging. Then, with a quick motion, he twisted off the lid and splashed the jar directly in my face. I glared at him, and the little man scurried away with a terrified expression.

The briefing was over. The group started milling forward towards the barrier.

"If someone would be so kind as to remove these chains," I said. Several in the group jumped at my sudden words. I pitched my voice slightly higher than normal conversation, much louder than anyone had been speaking since we arrived. My words sounded rough in my own ears, like speaking loudly in a church service.

The men shared some dubious looks before someone finally came forward with a key. The closest couple soldiers took a few steps back, and raised their guns to point in my direction. I refrained from grinning at them. No sense in antagonizing the trigger-happy types. I was not nearly as nervous as I should have been at the wavering muzzles and worried expressions. My golem body had always seemed to feel emotions less than I had as a man. Now, though, I had a kind of gallows-peace over me. They needed me, for now. They weren’t going to kill me yet. And when I was no longer useful, well, they’d all be too busy fighting zombies to care about one golem.

The chains fell away and hit the ground with a clatter, causing several of the gunmen to jump. I held very still, not caring to surprise them further.

The man closest to the barrier racked the slide of his shotgun. The sudden noise echoed, harsh in the stillness.

“All right,” the man said, who was apparently the leader. “Let’s move out.”

I was urged forward by several hand gestures and at least one gun barrel prodding my back. I stepped up to the glowing barrier. It wasn't a bright glow, just a diffuse green like someone had broken open a glow stick and smeared it into the carpet. I could see dim shapes beyond, but nothing definite. Just a hint of buildings and streets that lay within.

The leader with the shotgun stood a few paces to my right. "What am I supposed to do exactly?"

He gestured with his gun at the barrier. "Get on with it. Go through.” His tone was exasperated, but it was clear he didn't know any more than I did about it.

I reached out and pressed my hand against the barrier. It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling, like pushing against an electrified trampoline. The tingling energy was not sharp enough to be painful, but it was definitely uncomfortable. There was a spongy feeling as I pushed against it. I shoved a little harder, and the barrier parted, sending a sizzling sensation through my limbs. It actually felt invigorating, like a Frankenstein machine treatment. Some of the bruises I’d taken during that last fight seemed to ease. The edges of the barrier pulled away from me in every direction, leaving a hole a little bigger than I was.

"Quick, go through," the leader snapped.

I stepped forward through the barrier. There was still a feeling of obstruction, but much less than before. As I stepped past, the barrier retreated even farther. Beyond was a dark street, littered with debris, the kind I had seen in post-apocalyptic films or video from war zones.

"Let's go," the squad leader said behind me. He stepped through, crowding me. "Move forward," he said, and then slipped past.

I moved aside as the rest of the group crowded through the opening. I glanced back to see the last few, hesitating on the outside of the barrier. But in the shadows behind them were more armed men, and these ones were not going to allow them to back out of the job. Barrels prodded and gun butts swung, and the last few men staggered through the barrier. The hole was already starting to close up behind us.

The closest man to it had turned. He made a whimpering sound as the hole shrank down to the size of a man. Outside the barrier, I could see Stalin with his arms folded and several thugs with their rifles raised. They could have been for zombie protection, but I got the feeling they were there to shoot anyone who tried to desert.

An instant later, the barrier closed and we were trapped. Someone gave a low, terrified moan, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't me.

The squad milled about, peering fearfully into the darkness and waving their gun barrels about as though searching for targets.

"Enough of that," the leader snapped. "Let's go."

"But Ivan," someone said.

"Shut up, we have a job to do."

The shotgun-wielding man took off down the street at a trot. I hesitated only an instant before striding along behind him. I could probably have turned and tried to push back through the barrier. Something about my golem body seemed to allow it. But the only thing I would find outside would be a hail of bullets.

I had understood their briefing well enough. We had to get into the heart of this ruin and find the device that made this barrier. If we could disable it, help would come pouring in. Then, if everything went to plan, Rasputin would be finished. Just where the device was, I didn't know. Down a secret tunnel, buried in the heart of the city.

Apparently, the group's leader had a better description of its location than I did. He set off without looking back There was a shuffle of feet as the group swung into motion behind us. Some were reluctant to leave the barrier and hesitated. The front runners with me and the leader didn't slow down. In minutes, our group was strung out over half a city block as we made our way deeper into the dead city.

"Wait!" someone called from the back.

Another turned to hiss at him. "Shut up, you fool!"

We had no warning. There was the barest hint of a moan, and then the shuffling of a thousand feet. Zombies came at us from all sides. I think they had been standing there, waiting in the dark of alleyways and doorways. Just sitting there, waiting for someone to come. Someone gave a strangled cry, and all around, gunfire erupted.

I dearly wanted to draw my .45, but I hesitated. I didn’t want to reveal my weapon so soon. If they could fight off this attack without me, then there was no need.

The idea made sense, but man, did I want a weapon.

Two stragglers in our group stopped in the middle of the street to fire into the oncoming horde. The leader was shouting at them to run, but they didn’t listen. The rest of the group, strung out though they were when the attack started, wisely ran for the rest and bunched up with us.

I didn't think much of these guys' training, but they got a passable perimeter set up with guns facing in all directions, firing into the oncoming zombies. They were mostly coming out of narrow alleyways and appeared one and two at a time. They wore rags, at best, hair so matted with filth it was caked to their skulls. Some had missing limbs. They shuffled forward, reaching out with skeletal hands to seize their victims. I saw missing jaws, holes in faces revealing rotten teeth. Some had their heads lolling at sharp angles, their necks clearly broken, but still they surged forward toward the living, propelled by some force outside themselves.

The men behind us screamed as they were torn apart.