BERLIN, GERMANY
-1945-
-1200 HOURS-

All had been quiet for some time upon the tattered and tarnished streets of once mighty Berlin, a ghost town that was once the lively and forever thriving symbol of prominence and power to the Nazis, and now here it lie in ruin, its buildings of stone and brick that housed the very backbone of Hitler's oppressive empire now skeletons of their former selves, the framework somehow surviving the constant bombing raids of the Brits and the Yankees, and now the continuous bombardment of artillery fire from the glorious Red Army, Stalin's equally oppressive offense in full swing. Twas above these casualties of the second Great War that she had made her nest, the angel of death who struck from the heavens above with such rancor, such malice, and such efficiency. "S nami bog." She would say to herself in a frail whisper, but judging the grim silence of this dying city, devoid of any civilian life, she was sure someone could've heard her. Luckily no. In the belfry of the old church, Nadiya sat her vantage point, a perfect overlook of a nice stretch of city street. In her accustomed prone, she awaited any targets of value to tarry aimlessly down this very road, where they would be met by her bullet, either to the head or the center of mass.

But there was sort of a drawback to her elevation, a bit of a crosswind blowing from north to south, with her facing east. The wind, just by guestimation, had to be traveling at possibly 8 or 9 kilometers per hour, not much, but enough for her to have to compensate for it, not to mention the slightly lower muzzle velocity of her rifle, the Red Army's favored Mosin Nagant. At her distance from the road, she would possibly have to aim two notches or so above the head, but the higher elevation should also benefit the bullet drop. While she focused in through her rifle's scope, the blonde Russian could hear the cantankerous clatter of gunfire pattering off far away. Her comrades had already begun the assault, and now Hitler's SS, which the coward so foolishly hid behind, would face the crushing might of Mother Russia's war machine. It almost brought a smile to Nadiya's face to imagine the heroic Red Army pushing forward through the gates of Berlin, under their feet the corpses of slain Nazis and Germans alike they trampled. What patriotism the very visage held to the devout of Stalin, but Nadiya's smile however cringed at the distant roar behind her, ever growing closer. Damn! A bomber!

Suddenly, the large bird of steel soared overhead, but its payload was less than lethal as Nadiya had witnessed. What the hell is this? She wondered, observing with a dumbfound expression hung on her face as several....leaflets fell from the bomb-bay doors of the battered Junkers Ju 88, flying close enough for the Russian to even see the pilot and his wingman before the bomber disappeared from her, the drone of its twin engines becoming distant by the second, and the sleek but powerful frame of the aircraft...merely a blur of black against the smoke-hazed horizon. Mhmm.... Nadiya's eyes scanned about the tiny shred of the Fuhrer's last ditch propaganda, noticing that it was not Herr Hitler himself upon it as usual, but rather...a German Solider, and a rather striking one at that. He had definitely fit the description for the Aryan Race, blonde hair, as soft and pale as a horse's mane, and those eyes, deep and blue. If it were not for the suka being a Jerry, Nadiya would be rather smitten. She wondered, was this man a hero to the Nazis? If so, then it would be quite the honor of Nadiya to dispatch him. Crushing the leaflet in her leather gloved hand, and tossing it aside, she returned to her rifle, just in time as she heard the firefight's telltale resonance of small arms....moving closer to her position.

The thick dark smog of the city seemed to surround every inch of Berlin.
What seemed to be the setting of some Horror Noir from Hollywood, was now the day-by-day atmosphere for the capital of the Third Reich. Looking upwards towards the city clock proved a futile effort, it was safe to assume it was near midday as the sun was still looming above with little to no inclination to the left or right. A little something Lukas had learned during the long Russian winters in the Ost-front. Back then there were no Ivan's to fight! SS troops relied on the basic scouting skills to remember what direction Russia was in seeing as there were no soldiers to find. Now, things were much different. You still couldn't see them, but the thick, rubble filled streets of Nazi perfection are now a playground for cowardly conscripts with long eyesight.

A brisk walk through the ruins of the once great Berlin allows Lukas to realise the gravity of the situation. To the left, there is a park bench with the remains of a middle aged couple holding hands, a revolver is slumped by their feet as it was evidently dropped by the last surviving partner. A cold reminder of the hopelessness that the civilians feel towards the invasion. Further on he notices fewer, yet more precise ricochets usually, but not always followed by a pool of dried blood, or even a corpse.

"Snipers!" He thinks to himself, not a word he mutters as he stops a moment to think. Yes. Stalingrad, a few years ago, same problem...
His gaze scans the area, pulling the strap to his SGT off his shoulder to grasp his weapon. Ahead, he see's a long straight road. If he passes unharmed, a whole route of options are open to him. If he decides to head North, Switzerland is only a train journey ahead and freedom follows. East, he could surrender to the Ukranians and be treated kindly as opposed to the Red army. South, a day-long boat journey would land him in Greece, the perfect place to escape detection.
After years of fighting, Lukas knew the war was at an end. Happy he has served his country to his ability, he decides to quit whilst he's ahead. This is his last day in the Waffen SS, he's not afraid to use what's left of his influence he has to meet his own ends!

The long narrow street seems too tempting to be good. What would take an ordinary person in peacetime to walk in 5 minutes might as well be a mountain hike to him. A common Soviet trick was to litter the battlefield with Snipers, this much he learned in Russia. Not taking any chances, Lukas takes cover behind the enclove to a closed Chemist, just the hiding spot for any would be Snipers looking for a fresh kill!

As the wind picks up, small bits of debris start to blow behind his position. Among this, a leaflet swoops into the doorway landing at his feet. He doesn't even need to blink before realising what it is.

"Scheiße"! His mind racing. If any snipers were out there, they pretty much has a wanted poster with his fucking face on it!

Just as the winds began to shift again, unraveling her silk blonde hair from behind her head, and tossing aside precariously her thick wool cap, Nadiya sighed deeply. This was the rather meticulous part of being a sniper, and even the best of the best had gone through this, the dreaded prolonged period of watching, waiting, anticipating when her very target would arrive, if any would even dare to venture down such a path laden with peril at every turn, or so they assumed. True, the most prominent and overused tactic of the glorious Red Army upon these bloodstained and unhallowed grounds was mass assaults, masses of troops charging headlong into the sea of peril comprised of bullets and artillery fire, masses of tanks rumbling across the battlefield and trampling upon screaming Nazis, their bones cracking under the hooves of the iron warhorses, and of course, masses of snipers, dead-eyes trained to kill quick and efficiently such as she, flocking about the rooftops and the high grounds, some even daring to shoot from the low ground, but either way, the enemy was overwhelmed by the volleys of mayhem, the sound of several guns firing at once such an ill rattle of horror down the Jerrys' spines. But...such was not the case for Nadiya now.

She was alone, the only gunwoman perched high atop the dead and decaying city of Berlin, but even she alone could take on a good ten or fifteen men. The Germans would barely even know where she was hiding, and down they were with their brains leaking from their stahlhelms when they least expected it. Nadiya, she was growing impatient though, for not a single German troop had passed nor dared to pass through the death-road, the trap she had set so perfectly, but...it seemed her luck has changed, and indeed it changed for the better. `tchyo za ga`lima? She couldn't believe her very eyes. No...this was an illusion of sorts, her mind toying with her after such long hours up in that damned belfry, but no. It was...Him. "So the khuyesos' of the Fuhrer decided to show himself to his very death dealer, da?" Nadiya whispered rather pleased of herself, a smarmy grin to boot her cocky attitude behind her Mosin. "Hehehe...then time to die, mudak." She poised herself, her hand reaching to grasp in her clothed fingers the cold, steel bolt of the rifle and pull it back, the same hand now reaching for the dusty, windswept wood underneath her to snatch a nice piece of 7.62X54 brass away from the few other bullets it sat beside, chambering the deadly projectile into her sleek and vicious weapon and closing the bolt shut, now flipping the safety off and readying her weapon and herself to attack.

Her hand next trailed to her scope, doping in the precise measurements down to a T, but then again there was that pesky wind problem. Since the wind's decided to switch on me, I've got little chance of getting a good killshot in. But then again, what was there to say she couldn't incapacitate the Nazi bastard, maybe take his arm off at the shoulder, shock and blood loss could do the rest and feed the bastard to the flames of Hell. It was worth a try at least. Just as her scope, her eyes peered down unto her chosen target, the first crucial part being executed in trailing him for a while, watching his every movement and discerning the perfect time to take the shot. Finally, he stopped behind an old Apothecary, shut down after the war reached Berlin's inner sanctum no less. Now was the right time. Do svidaniya. One pull of the trigger, and off the Mosin went with a deafening bang.

(AMMO COUNT: MOSIN NAGANT: 29 TOKAREV: 10 GRENADES: 2)

A passing glance at a glorified portrait of himself was enough to send his heart racing. Grasping his SGT 44 close to his chest, he pounds it in a rhythmic pace as he had learned during his time Training. It was a common practice of the Heer troops of the Wehrmacht, something the Waffen SS didn't like to emulate in any form, but it proved to be useful in calming his nerves. "I need a cigarette"

The thought creeps across his mind as he slides his hand into his breast pocket to pull out a silver cigarette case. Flipping it open and pulling out a cigarette whilst pulling out a box of matches seems more of a task than he thought. Finally, he pulls out a stick and strikes it against the box. Almost instantly, just as the flame appears so does the sound of a bullet!

!!!!

Instantly sliding behind cover hugging the wall enclave as if it was his own mother, Lukas doesn't dare move a muscle. A stray bullet had flown past his very eyes!
What was once a moment of quiet reflection, a matchstick in his hand and an uni-lit cigarette in his mouth had almost become his Epitaph. Both match and cigarette were sliced in half by the almost blade-like action of the shot that acted within a fraction of a second.

His mind raced back to Stalingrad. He tried to think logically, yet find some way to relax, as if there would be a Panzer division that would break through the abandoned Library that was opposite, but it didn't. No. Lukas knew that he had to find a way out on his own.

"Okay, time to make yourself famous" He joked to himself before squeezing the barrel of his gun tightly.

The distance between him and the sniper was a mystery. There was no safe way to find out without risking his life. Multiple thought flashed through his mind, finally settling on the facts he knew. He names them clearly in his head...

1. Bolt Action means at least a second delay between shots
2. Five shot maximum before a reload
3. Magnified scopes can be blinded

It's here where he plans what to do. Behind cover, Lukas points his Rifle up towards the road, firing aimlessly in every direction. Wrapping the edge of his shirt cuff around the trigger guard, he Counts each expended round in his mind to the very last cartridge, at that very moment he flings his SGT into the street!
His SS jacket attached, within a brief instant it would appear that an entire person was moving to a trigger happy Sniper gazing down a barrel, although Lukas himself was himself diving forwards into a roll, trying to make his way behind a abandoned Volkswagen. His success depending on if the momentary decoy worked.

Dammit! That one was no good as Nadiya did not hear the satisfying crack of the bullet entering the Jerry's skull, but rather the sound that caught her ear was the whizzing and hissing ricochet of the brass making impact and bouncing off the ground. Dammit! Dammit! She scolded herself with as much anger as she would face returning without that bastard's head to the Motherland, maybe even to be locked away in the coldest Siberian gulag and rot forever, the punishment for her failure to eliminate one of Nazi Germany's most prominent of figureheads, next to Der Fuhrer. And thanks to her false volley, her cover had to have been practically blown, position definitely compromised from atop the church belfry.

I need to move. Now. And certainly for the better. Thankfully before Nadiya considered the belfry, there were other optional vantage points at her disposal, each one so meticulously scattered about the collapsing Berlin city block and far they were from the Russian sniper, but each precarious windowsill and hole in the wall would give her the ample tactical advantage over her adversary. So what if the mudak was decorated in medals of prestigious honor and valor. Even under all the glory their leaders heap upon them, a German foot soldier was a German foot soldier, and the only good German soldier as far as Nadiya considered was a dead soldier.

Right before she readied to fall back to another vantage point however, automatic gunfire soon rang out in retaliation. Fuck! He knew where she was already! Quickly, Nadiya ducked down, expecting to be pierced through the heart and the head with Sturmgewehr rounds, but...the pain of gunfire shredding through her unarmored body did not follow through as feared. "What?" Though she was glad to be alive still, she was more than most bewildered rather than overjoyed. The rattling of the Sturm soon halted, the last shot fading away into the dead air of crumbling Berlin. Not one bullet had struck her.

This was perplexing indeed....and yet...very suspicious. Nadiya rose her head, her eyes training back onto her scope. There was no sign of her target anywhere. Her quarry had already fled....and what a fool she was for taking in his bait. "Suppression fire....fuck!" Nadiya muttered angrily to herself, already racking the bolt of her Mosin and loading another lethal round. Hopefully this time, she hits the damn Kraut. Suddenly though, an image flashed across her line of vision in the scope. Black, she recognized that color, swiftly passing through into her sights, and in a brief moment of hesitation, she fired again, this time a direct hit to the back, and down the bastard went. But wait.....????? It was only....a jacket?!

"Yob!" She growled with so much displeasure at this. Not only was she practically giving away her well hidden vantage again, but she was wasting away her limited ammo. Not to mention, her target had gone silent...or has he? There were footsteps, frantic as if a dead sprint. Once again Nadiya was back on her weapon, just in time to rack the bolt again and train her vision upon the bastard. Escaping was he? Not for long. Again, the sniper pulled the trigger, another loud report of gunfire echoing unto the desolate road.

Overhearing the shots that were being fired behind him, It was safe to assume he might just get away with his make-shift decoy.

Within the last few meters of the safe cover or the abandoned car was a moment of dread.
BANG!

A bullet slides through Lukas's left shoulder. His forward momentum was enough to leave his body behind the abandoned cover, yet the bullet had grased across his left shoulder like a knife through hot butter!

"!!!"

He couldn't scream. Dragging himself against the back passenger door the the vehicle and resting his back, slowly he brings his right hand to the wound. Although it wasn't deep, the impact would clearly effect his co-ordination of his left body. Thankfully, he happened to be right handed.
"Only thing I need with my left hand is the Bayonet" He thought.

Pulling out a hip-flask and promptly soaking the wound with a powerful Vodka, no doubt acquired from the Russian front, Lukas lets out a silent groan that could be mistaken for a deep exhale. Without a bulky Rifle or any excess ammunition to slow him down, he felt more comfortable with his surroundings. "Ahh..."
Although the situation seemed to be against him, Lukas had a calm mind and the battlefield advantage. Everything he could knew could save his life, from the fact that the Pharmacist that used to work at his old hiding spot liked to throw away expired painkillers into the trash, all the way to local kids who used to hide switch-blades behind the bakery only a few feet away....

It didn't seem like he could make it out in one piece. Whoever this Sniper was, they wern't going to let him walk away, even though Lukas didn't want to kill anyone. This sunk into his mind. "It's me, or him"

(AMMO COUNT: MOSIN NAGANT: 27 TOKAREV: 10 GRENADES: 2)

While it wasn't a killshot, at least Nadiya could take it as hitting her designated quarry. Merely she had cat scratched the Nazi mudak, but with that wound to his shoulder, she was sure to have notched him down a peg or two at least, bringing him to a halt behind the abandoned vehicle now dead in her Mosin's sight. There was no possible way she assumed he would be able to move after that, trapped behind cover for fear of the next round barreling onwards towards his head, plus she was also certain the Jerry was too preoccupied at the moment with dressing his small nick of the skin.

This would give ample time for the woman to move to the next vantage point possibly, but come to think of it, there was quite the trek between Nadiya and the bombed out library to the south of the German's cover, nothing but an open spot there and just slim picking for the Russian, however...it would mean traversing with all her weapons, all her gear bearing on her, down the stairwell into the sanctuary of the church, then mad sprinting it across the barren street towards the side-alley where she could enter the library's first floor through a chasm in the brick wall. Then, it would be another harrowing climb to the second, where she would have the perfect shot lined up for her from the middle windowsill about two down from the southermost windowsill.

The more she thought of it like that, Nadiya considered it more of a calculated risk than a spur of the moment maneuver to give her higher advantage over her enemy, but...some risks were worth taking when it came more to survival than achieving valor. I could go for it. The Russian woman pondered, her eyes still very affixed upon the damaged car, the very same her target cowered behind. But placing me out on the street....it would be suicide, but wait... She remembered he discarded his weapon, the Sturm having been emptied in a frenzy of suppression fire and now left on the ground to rust...along with the rest of this damn city. However, did that honestly mean the Kraut wasn't carrying a secondary? He'd be a fool not to, for any soldier, especially of his ranking and notoriety, always brandished their service pistols proudly at their hip. Why even Nadiya was not foolish enough to forget her TT-33, lest the same gun be used against her for such. It was more than a weapon. The service pistol was a badge of honor to any soldier, and as such....Nadiya was damn sure the Kraut had his.

It's not as though he can hit me with it. I mean, the dumbass wasted a perfectly good gun trying to keep my head down. And what did that say to the soldier's merit. Not a whole lot. I can make it. The decision was made. Carefully, Nadiya lifted herself, the brunt of her ammo's weight already pushing against her as she rose to her feet, Mosin in hand. She hastily yet quietly made her way down the spiral steps of the belfry, into the sanctuary of the lost and lonely church as figured, yet paused, immediately going prone before she reached the church's doorway. Things had always looked so simple from up there in her little perch, but now that the angel of death has descended to the ground, she was but a mere mortal again, putting herself in the line of the German's fire.

She could already feel her muscles tensing, her heartbeat undulating a bit faster, gathering speed every second she kept herself out of the open, crouched underneath the lower windowsill of the church and looking outward onto the empty passage. Her route towards the library now seemed further than imagined. This could either end two ways. One....The mudak could draw his pistol and get a good shot off me. Or two....I make it. Still she questioned the German's accuracy with his suspected Mauser, but also...she deeply questioned whether or not she dared to venture out of the church.

But she realized something, Nadiya. She had...grenades...two of them, and she hasn't thought of any purpose for them other than...suppression. She could make it to the library, or at least that side-alley, now she was sure, reaching into the pouch on her hip and clutching the grenade tight. It would only give her a slight margin of time, but that would be all she needed...hopefully. Slowly, her hand reached for the pin as her eyes focused again on her target, or rather the cover he hid behind still. Then, with a swift maneuver, she jerked the pin away and tossed the F1 as far as she could to the bastard Jerry, already taking to her feet in a dead run for the alley.