Empire of Fu Manchu

Myitikina
Crown Colony of Burma
Monday, July 28th 1940



Lacking an effective weapon, Bond and Durhn hung back as Fah Lo Suee and Skorzeny advanced to engage the creature. It crashed through the wooden fence to the graveyard, sending splinters and fragments flying.

Black Naga quickly identified the Black Keris in the hands of the female it had been tasked with killing, and decided it was the greatest threat. Fah Lo Suee was immediately hard pressed to avoid a storm of flaying tentacles, not to speak on advancing within striking range of the two hearts, located on either side of the slavering maw and its corrosive exhausts.

Anxious to try out the Kusanagi, Skorzeny stepped in and swiped forcefully against one of the three long tentacles rising from the rear end of the beast, severing it cleanly in one stroke. Black Naga made a deafening, high-pitched sound, akin to meat sizzling over fire and backed up, nursing its injury.

The pain! It had never felt its like! Now, too late did it realise what weapon the man was wielding – the Sword of the Naga, forged at the dawn of man by its arch-rival and sister Amaterasu to protect her heirs. This weapon could kill it, had been made expressly for that purpose! The mere knowledge of its existence had dissuaded Black Naga from ever approaching the Islands of Japan, which She claimed as hers. Outrage waned, and a new torment was added to the physical agony of the amputation as for the first time in its existence, Black Naga cringed back in abject fear.

‘It’s retreating!’ Skorzeny shouted, pressing forward. ‘Don’t let it get away!’

Fah nodded and closed, but fear and injury only made Black Naga deadlier than ever. It feinted towards Fah Lo Suee, but struck with all five remaining fighting appendages towards the Austrian.

Even with the Kusanagi and his Sinanju training, such an onslaught was impossible to avoid entirely. Only tentacle was sliced off, the severed end coiling on itself like an agonising serpent on the ground. Three others struck only the neatly trimmed lawn of the cemetery, thanks to a lightning-like dodge that would have made Master Chiun proud - but the last connected solidly. Otto’s femur snapped like a dry twig and he went down howling in agony, blood spraying from extensive but fairly superficial lacerations.

Black Naga did not take any chances. It retreated quickly away from the fallen foe, intending to kill him off at leisure once the woman was neutralised, and launched a vicious series of attacks against Fah Lo Suee, who was only saved by beating a hasty fighting retreat.

‘James! Catch!’ Otto shouted, and threw the Kusangi towards the Secret Service agent. Bond was smart enough not to try complying literally, but picked up the sword from the ground and ran to join Fah Lo Suee.

Still at a safe distance, Günther Duhrn chose this moment to intervene. His hands began to weave a complex web of eldritch powers as he mumbled with inhuman voice words in a language predating the age of Dinosaurs.

Just in time. In her retreat, Fah stumbled on a headstone, and the monster reared to bring down all remaining fighting extremities on her. Duhrn released his spell, intended to cloud the perception of the creature.

Black Naga noticed the magician’s efforts, and stopped its assault. With an inner sneer of contempt, it ripped the spell apart with a blast of overwhelming mental power. Duhrn dropped, as if punched senseless, but although outmatched and overwhelmed by the sheer power of the Old One, he had bought the time needed for Bond to reach Fah Lo Suee’s side, and for her to regain her footing.

On seeing the Kusanagi AND the Black Keris again in the hands of uninjured foes, the creature instantly recoiled, hissing like a threatened viper. Held at bay and injured, Black Naga decided it had had enough. It was time to swallow pride and retreat back to the lair to heal! Quickly, it began to put some distance between itself and the Kusanagi. But then, as a parting shot, it decided to finish off the now for all practical purposes unarmed and injured male – with extreme prejudice. That would bring some small manner of compensation for the humiliation and pain inflicted!

Seeing death approaching, Otto drew the Rune Sword from his back and used it as a crutch to rise to stand on his one good leg. Painfully, he took the few steps necessary to place himself right between the creature and the others.

‘Come on, you slimy amphibian!’ he shouted, challenging the monster. ‘Time to die! Dare to make the leap, frog!’

He hoped Fah would understand that the very false bravado was intended for hear ears, not for the Naga. He could have spoken en clair but didn’t want to risk it in case the monster did understand German. Maintaining a precarious balance, he lifted the Rune Sword over his head, holding it point forward in a hanging guard, and awaited the assault. Black Naga rushed ahead, voracious hundred-toothed maw wide open. The human that had wounded it - Twice! - would die shrieking!

Just before reaching Skorzeny, Black Naga snapped out a tentacle to snatch the Rune Sword by the blade, ripping it out of his hands. However marginal the threat, it would take no risks.

That was when the Austrian dropped heavily to the ground, falling on his hands and good knee as if to implore mercy. The pain from his broken leg was such that he almost blacked out, but immediately, to his intense relief, he felt Fah step heavily on his back as she made the leap. She had been shielded from sight by Skorzeny’s bulk as she picked up speed for the jump. Now she shot through the air like a twin-tipped arrow, the Kusanagi held out in one hand and the Black Kris in the other, straight at the gaping, tooth-bristling mouth.

Black Naga screamed, briefly, in impotent panic. Even as the ear-splitting sound echoed through the Burmese jungle, Fah Lo Suee’s two fists smacked into the black, leathery hide on each side of the mouth. Each weapon had sunk to the hilt into alien flesh, piercing both hearts. She pressed her eyes shut as hard as she could as the noxious dying breath of the Old One blistered her face before she used her impulse and the leverage of the two hilts to somersault backwards up onto the back of the creature as it collapsed into agonic convulsions.

She quickly jumped off and backed away from the trashing thing, which within minutes dissolved into some kind of white-yellow goo.

‘Good thing… you’re quick on the uptake…’ Otto said smiling as Fah Lo Suee crouched next to him to wash away the stinging acid using water from his canteen.

“You slimy amphibian?” “Frog?” she laughed, although wincing from the swelling blisters. ‘You can do better than that! Had you really wanted to deliver a final insult to that thing, we’d have heard some obscene suggestions anatomically impossible even for a tentacled monster.’ She patted his shoulder with affection. ‘I know my man, I do!’​

Gorky
Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
Wednesday, July 30th 1940



The Politburo of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union had chosen the old Makaryev Fair building as its new residence, partly because of its massive size, which allowed all the surviving elements of Government to be housed in the single building. Not officially mentioned, but certainly also taken into account was the building’s proximity to the railway station. No one in the Politburo had any illusions about the future of the city should the Hitlerites succeed in reducing the Moscow pocket. Most documents and archives were not even unpacked.

‘Come in, Comrade General, and good morning!’

Zhukov obeyed, and entered Stalin’s office for his daily briefing. The dictator was seated behind his desk behind a formidable pile of papers, but looking very martial in his white Generalissimo uniform. He seemed to be in a good mood. This time, he wasn’t alone: Molotov and Beria flanked him, just as in the days before the war. Apparently, the time of relying almost exclusively on the advice of the Chief of the General Staff of the Red Army were over.

‘Good morning to you, Comrade Generalissimo.’

Zhukov noticed the “man of steel” no longer had dark pouches under his eyes, and he gave a fresh and alert impression. Ever since the escape from Moscow, he seemed to have regained some confidence. His visits to the General Staff (also relocated to Gorky) were statesmanlike; his questions relevant and intelligent, his suggestions were mostly, although not exclusively kept just that and his tone towards Zhukov and other military men was altogether civil. Would all this change now? The two party high-rankers looked nervous, insecure. Zhukov wondered what had been said before he entered the room.

‘Your briefing, please’, Stalin asked courteously.

‘Certainly. First and foremost, Fortress Moscow is still holding out. According to the latest wireless, they threw back another assault at dawn today. Marshall Voroshilov also reports that spirits are high and that all his men are ready to fight to the death for the Great Stalin.’

Beria beamed at the news. ‘The commissars in the Fortress are obviously doing a good job!’

‘Indeed. But Kliment was always big on the melodrama’, Stalin commented, instantly effacing Beria’s smile. ‘How’s he holding up, do you think?’

Zhukov shrugged. ‘I think he’s finally found a task suitable for him; there’s no need or possibility for him to manoeuvre or launch attacks. The logistics situation is desperate, but uncomplicated. He’ll do as well as anyone, I think.’

Stalin scowled fiercely. ‘If that buffoon had done his job properly against Finland, we wouldn’t be in this predicament to begin with! He can count himself lucky that he has been given this opportunity to redeem himself by victory or a heroic death!’

‘As you say, Comrade Generalissimo. Unfortunately, the fall of Moscow cannot be more than a week or two away now.’

‘That’s defeatism, Zhukov!’ Beria protested, turning purple.

‘No, Comrade Commissar of Internal Affairs, it’s the truth. Voroshilov doesn’t say so, but ammunition must be in short supply, and there’s no way for us to bring in any great quantities of it. We have expended a great deal of our remaining transport planes already trying to fly in more ammunition, but German anti-aircraft artillery is shooting them down by the dozens every night. Still, we have probably given Moscow a few more days of fight. When ammunition runs out, whether Voroshilov surrenders or not, Moscow will fall.’

‘And rations?’ Stalin asked, looking dismayed. ‘There can’t be much food left in Moscow.’

‘They’ll run out of ammo before they starve to death, that’s all we need to consider. But there’s bound to be famine among the civilians already.’

‘Hmmm. Let the Hitlerites worry about feeding Moscow after they take it. It’ll no longer be our problem!’ Molotov interjected.

‘I wouldn’t expect the Nazi bandits to expend much effort on that’, Zhukov predicted glumly. ‘From what we’ve heard, they barely feed their prisoners. Thousands have died.’

‘Then they get what they deserve!’ Beria shouted. ‘Surrender is treason!’

‘I will remember you said that, Lavrentiy Pavlovich!’ Stalin muttered over his shoulders, causing a furious scowl from the head of the Secret Police.

‘For the rest, I fear I have no good news’, Zhukov continued. ‘Our counter-attack towards Rybinsk has been decisively repulsed. Let me add that this was in no part due to lack of fighting spirit among the officers and men!’ he said with a look at Beria, who had just opened his mouth to deliver another tirade. ‘General Pavlov was wounded personally leading an assault and the divisions involved have suffered more than sixty percent casualties on the average. The enemy was just too strong, especially his air force.’

Beria’s mouth snapped shut, but Molotov came to his rescue. ‘Obviously the work of spies and saboteurs. We should improve our rear area security with draconic measures.’ Beria nodded enthusiastically at this.

Stalin pointedly ignored the remark. ‘You said the attack would fail, Zhukov, and I believed you. But we had to try, at least, to relieve Moscow.’

‘Perhaps, Generalissimo, but now matters are worse. The enemy keeps advancing north of Moscow, and has taken Rzhev and Demyansk. From the Karelian Front, Timoshenko reports being pushed out of Vytegra by the enemy 18. Army under General Küchler.’

‘And the south?’ Stalin asked after indulging in a depressed sigh.

‘Spearheads of General von Kleist’s 1st Panzer Group are closing in on Maikop. Outside of the Caucasus, they’re sitting pretty. They’ve not advanced past the Don, with the exception of their bridgeheads at Voronezh and Stalingrad, which we barely have any troops screening. Perhaps that partisan uprising in the Don bend unsettled them, what with their forces being so few and spread so thin. It’s not as if we’re stopping them, though.’

‘Hitler wants the Caucasian oil,’ Stalin mused. ‘Well, we can afford to loose Maikop, or even Grozny, but not Baku. 80% of our oil comes from there. When will the Pan-Asian troops arrive?!’

Molotov answered the question, since Zhukov had no idea about what the answer would be. The Pan-Asian Imperial General Staff had demanded – and been authorised, a sure sign of the desperation of the Soviet leadership – a liaison officer at the Red Army General Staff, but he had been less than forthcoming with such information.

‘Field Marshall Chiang Kai-Shek promised us 400.000 men – three Field Armies - to defend the Caucasus alone. They should arrive at Astrakhan during September. A similar number will bolster the central sector during autumn.’

Zhukov frowned. ‘They’re being vague too about it, Comrade Generalissimo. I do not trust them.’

‘Nonsense!’ Molotov objected. ‘Although class enemies, their objective interests are well in line with ours. Besides, because of the dismal failure of the Red Army, we badly need their help.’

Zhukov shrugged. ‘I know, but above all we must try to rebuild our own forces. This dependence is both dangerous and humiliating.’

Beria and Molotov exchanged a look of complicity. ‘We do agree with that, Iosef Vissarionovich’, the Foreign Commissar said, ‘but would like to show you an unexpected boon of this cooperation that could help us with just that. I take it you remember the Ivanov scandal, back in 1931?’

Stalin nodded. ‘How could I forget that debacle? Do you, General?’

Zhukov frowned. ‘Vaguely. He was some sort of crackpot scientist, wasn’t he? Got sent to Siberia and died there, right?’

‘Indeed, indeed,’ Beria nodded. ‘But he was no crackpot, I’ve come to realise. You see, Dr Ivanov did not die in 1931. Instead, it seems he was abducted by our present ally, Dr Fu Manchu. With some pointers from the good Doctor, the traitor Ivanov continued his work for the Si-Fan in a secret facility prepared for him somewhere in China.’

Molotov continued the exposition, indulging in a rare smile. ‘After lengthy negotiations, as a token of good will, Fu Manchu has decided to return Dr Ivanov’s… creatures… to us. They already number in the thousands! See!’

‘Is is true?’ Stalin jumped to his feet and eagerly accepted an envelope from Beria. ‘Fantastic!’ he shouted, rummaging through the photos. ‘I knew it could be done! This is just what I need! With this, who needs regiments of half-trained Muzhiks?’

‘Creatures?’ Zhukov frowned deeply. ‘What the Hell was Ivanov working on? Wasn’t he raising apes or something like that?’

Stalin chuckled. ‘You could say that. You see, the task I gave Dr Ivanov back in the twenties was to raise an army for me, not an ordinary army, but one of super-soldiers; fearless, fierce, tough and obedient. And to judge from these pictures he succeeded eminently.’

Stalin handed the wad of pictures to Zhukov, who accepted it with slightly trembling hands.

‘See?’

Zhukov saw.

‘CHYORT VOZ'MI!’*

The photos fluttered to the carpet like autumn leaves.

*OH SHIT!
​