The mist curls around his ankles like cold fingers. Feldhofer's breath comes out in white puffs he can't quite control. His uniform itches—the wool scratchy against skin that's too thin for this weather. The boots pinch at his heels, poorly fitted for feet that aren't meant to march in formations. Beside him, the Liaoningvenator—she'd told him her name was Kessler—keeps her feathered head still as stone. Her talons click softly on the wooden planks of the bridge. The other "prisoners" march with their heads down, though Feldhofer's noticed they all have the same enemy uniform underneath the civilian clothes. Same boots. Same tactical builds hidden under the rags. The Dutch guards barely glance their way as the group approaches.
"Look at these sorry bastards," one of them says, her voice carrying that particular edge of smugness that makes Feldhofer's jaw clench. She's a zalomoxes—a long-crested herbivore with gray-green scales that catch the dim light filtering through the fog. Her rifle hangs casually over one shoulder.
Her companion—a smaller nanosaur type with messy feathers—snorts in agreement. "Poor little humans. Probably just boys playing soldier."
Feldhofer keeps his eyes down. Counts the planks. One. Two. Three. Four. "Hey, prisoner," the zalamoxes calls out, stepping closer to his position. Her breath smells like mint and something sweet. "You got a name? You look young. Bit young for the front lines, even for you humans."
Kessler's talons tap once against the wood. A warning. The nanosaur giggles, drifting around to his other side. "He's cute, actually. For a human." She leans in close, her feathers brushing his cheek. "You know what they say about human boys going off to war, right? All that testosterone. That tight uniform."
The zalamox grins, showing teeth that are too sharp for a herbivore. "Careful, sweetheart. You might scare him off. Some of these boys get all nervous when they actually see what girls like us are packing."
Feldhofer's fingers curl into fists at his sides. His heart hammers so loud he's certain they can hear it. "Wouldn't be the first time a human got nervous around dominant women," the nanosaur purrs, her claw tracing down his arm now. "In fact, I'd bet on it."
Kessler's talons click faster now. A rhythm he's starting to recognize as dangerous. "Maybe save the flirtation for after the war," Kessler says quietly, her voice tight.
The pterosaur perched on the tower flutters her wings, careful she says "humans are very dangerous i wouldnt get in a bed with that thing if i where you" The nanosaur scoffs and calls her boring. "Oh, he's definitely useful," the zalamox laughs, not moving from Feldhofer's shoulder. "Just not in the way the Germans think to use them." Her scaled finger traces along his jawline, feeling the softness of his human face. "We could put him to much better use after we're done with this war..." she purrs suggestively, her breath hot against his ear.
Feldhofer's throat goes dry. His hand clenches around the knife hidden under his shirt, the metal cold and real against his palm. The bridge planks continue under his boots—one, two, three, four—counting to keep his mind from screaming at him to run or fight or do something, anything, to escape this suffocating moment.
The zalamox leans in closer, her minty breath mixing with something sweeter, more intoxicating. "You know what we do to boys like you in these domes?" Her scaled hand moves from his face to his chest, fingers splaying across his ribs. "When the war's over and we're back in the warm? You'll spend the rest of your life wondering if today was the day you should've run back home, boy. Cuz those hips of yours are gonna be pulverized into dust by all the girls back in the bunk."
The nanosaur giggles darkly, her clawed fingers drumming on the wooden planks. "I call dibs on the first round!"
Feldhofer doesn't answer. his throat goes dry. His hand clenches around the knife hidden under his shirt, the metal cold and real against his palm. Three quarters crossed now.
The Dutch checkpoint looms ahead—the checkpoint with its machine gun nest bunker and the sergeant who barely glances at them before waving them through with lazy disinterest.
Kessler says "Move faster," she hisses under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear. "They're almost in position."
Feldhofer's boots hit the far bank.
He exhales quitely once, carefully.
The other "prisoners" shift too—subtle movements that could be mistaken for shivering but aren't.
"Okay. We're on the other side. Stop pretending already."
Below, in the brown water churning between the banks, something massive shifted. The vibration traveled up through the planks into his bones. The crocodilians. Waiting. Always waiting in the depths.
In the trees above, mist curling around branches like grasping fingers, the birds readied their sights. Scopes glinted in the moonlight—patient hunters with triggers under their claws.
Then movement—explosive, violent.
"FIRE!"
Rifles barked as one. Two Dutch guards—dinosaurs, their armor plating useless against the muzzle blast—dropped like dominoes. Bullets tore through soft underbellies, creating wet crimson pools in the mud. Their screams were brief, dying sounds.
Feldhofer's knife came out smooth and silent. The Zalmox—bipedal lizard, predatory eyes fixed on him with hungry intelligence—tried to crawl away. Made it three feet. Didn't make it further.
Stab. Stab. Stab.
Each impact sent jolts up his forearm, blood and scale spraying with each thrust. The creature's dying scream was cathartic. Die. All of you. Die and rot in this fucking mud. His voice cracked with genuine hatred, his heart pounding as the emotion surged through him.
The other Dutch guards opened fire—tracers screaming orange through the black— but the Brandenburgers had already transformed. Dutch and he ran together them, their civilian clothes dissolving like morning fog revealed uniforms underneath, standard-issue gray, the same issue Feldhofer wore but somehow—fuck, how was this happening—ACHTUNG BRANDENBURGERS painted across their chests.
The brightstoneus commander's roar tore through the confusion, her voice carrying across the chaos: "VERNIETHUNDE DER SOLDATEN! VORWÄRTS! ZULÄNGEN!" (Both soldiers! Forward! Advance!)
Panzer engines roared to life in the trees—metallic shrieks as armored vehicles emerged from the fog like mechanical nightmares made of steel and diesel fumes. Their machine gun emplacements barked, sending tracers into the Dutch bunker. An explosion blossomed across the checkpoint structure—the sound of the 7.5 cm Lichtes Infanteriegeschütz lobbing high-explosive rounds through windows. Windows that shattered, bodies thrown like ragdolls, the detonation washing over the structure in a fireball.
Above, the birds dove—pterosaurs with hunting rifles—wings spread wide as they descended on the bridge's defensive positions. Their shots cracked in sharp succession, Crack. Crack. Crack. Bullet impacts splattered against duck-billed faces.
The Brandenburgers scattered like they'd been coiled springs suddenly released, spreading out, using cover, using the fog, using chaos itself as ammunition. Feldhofer ran with them, boots pounding on planks—nine, ten, eleven—his breath ragged now despite his attempts at control.
"MOVE! MOVE!" Kessler's voice, raw and wild, as the Liaoningvenator launched herself at the checkpoint tower.
Dutch Commander Brightstoneus stands her ground as you charge forward, her hand already reaching for the service pistol at her hip. She's built like a tank—thick-set with rough-hewn features and short-cropped blonde hair that shows the strain of field command. Her uniform is practical, covered in campaign medals and scuff marks.
"STOP!" she barks in heavily accented English,You think you can just storm the borders like some—some dummkopf?!"
Her blue eyes are wild with equal parts fury and something else—raw fear beneath the bravado.
"You want to fight? Then FUCKING FIGHT!" Brightstoneus drops the pistol and lunges forward with surprising strength for her size, her body slamming into yours. She grabs your shirt with both hands, her breath hot against your neck as she screams Dutch profanity in a voice that cracks slightly.
Her grip is iron-strong, but you can feel her body trembling. There's a dark flush spreading across her freckled cheeks, and her thighs press together in an unconscious gesture. Her fingers dig into your shoulders hard enough to bruise.
"When this is over, I'm gonna break your crotch in half," she adds under her breath, her eyes flicking down before snapping back to your face.
you shove her away.
The hand-to-hand combat is brutal and desperate. Brightstoneus fights with the ferocity of someone who has nothing left to lose, her military training kicking in as she blocks strikes and tries to find openings. But you're relentless, driving her backward across her quarters.
She manages to land a solid punch to your ribs, but you barely feel it. Your blade is still in hand, and you're not letting go.
"VERDAMMTE!" she screams in Dutch, her accent thick with exhaustion. Blood trickles from a cut on her lip.
you lunge forward with the knife, it connects.
her eyes going wide as the blade sinks into her tail. The pain explodes through her body—not just physical, but something deeper. Her carefully maintained composure shatters completely.
"AAAH FUCK! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" she screams, her voice cracking with raw emotion. Blood seeps between her fingers as she clutches the wound, her face twisted in pain and humiliation. The color drains from her cheeks, leaving them bone-pale except for the angry red flush across her freckles.
She falls back into the river with a splash, her body hitting the water hard. The scream tears from her throat—high-pitched, desperate—and then it cuts off abruptly as something massive closes around her from below.
yellow scales flash briefly in the dim light beneath the surface.
No. No no no. Her thoughts race desperately as she fights the instinct to breathe, Bubbles escape her lips as she tries to scream again, but it comes out as a strangled gurgle. The river water is cold, She tries to kick harder, but her body isn't responding.
The last thing she sees before everything goes dark
Feldhofer standing there, smiling. panting slightly from the exertion, watching as his teammate drags Brightstoneus's deeper. The crocodile gives him an almost respectful nod before disappearing entirely.