C60 Cerberus Death Teams

Deep imprints. Too deep. Spiked soles. Reinhard felt his stomach twist. A heavily armored man had done this.

And considering only one type of soldier in the Imperium wore spiked boots and used this kind of unmarked type of ammunition, that left only one conclusion.

"Deserters,"

He spat. Goffmans eyes snapped toward him.

"You're sure sir?"

Reinhard handed him the brass casing.

"These rounds aren't standard issue for for anyone. And those footprints?"

He pointed toward the heavy, deliberate steps leading into the woods.

"Those are from ex Legionnaires or, worse as I suspect ex Paratroopers."

Goffman stiffened. Deserters. And one of the fearsome paratroopers that ended the war In three 3 days. And now, one of them had left his mark on this village.

"We need to report this up the chain immediately,"

Reinhard said, his voice steel. Goffman nodded, already running Into their car for the newly Installed field radio.

"Command, this is Greater Spartanum Ducatum Police, Unit 12. We have confirmed signs of possible deserter activity. Over."

Static crackled before a sharp reply came through.

"Copy, Unit 12. Maintain scene security and await further orders. Dispatching Cerberus investigation team now. Over and out."

...

About an hour later.

The low hum of an approaching engine cut through the uneasy silence of the village. The Greater Spartanum Ducatum Police officers stiffened, hands resting near their holsters, not out of hostility, but instinctual caution.

The villagers, what few had remained to gawk at the investigation, disappeared behind doors and shutters as soon as the matte black Cerberus jeep rolled onto the blood stained dirt road.

The jeep's tires crunched against gravel and dried grass, slowing to a halt just outside the perimeter of the crime scene.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a sharp metallic clack, the doors swung open, and two men stepped out.

They moved with precision, without hesitation, their completely black combat uniforms devoid of any insignia.

But what truly sent a shiver down the spine of the gathered officers were their masks. Black balaclavas. Painted across them, in white skull designs, turning them into living specters of death.

Cerberus Death Teams. Completely made up of summoned paratroopers. Second In combat effectiveness only to the Imperators death squad troopers.

Reinhard swallowed thickly as the two figures walked toward him without a word, their heavy combat boots eerily silent against the dirt road. No unnecessary movements. No wasted energy.

The slightly shorter of the two, stopped just inches from Reinhard, his masked gaze unreadable.

"Report."

Reinhard exhaled sharply before responding, forcing his voice to remain steady.

"Sir, we discovered the body approximately forty five minutes ago. Signs of severe abuse before death, broken ribs, defensive wounds, bruising. Cause of death was a gunshot wound to the skull at close range. No exit wound."

XIII didn't react. He simply extended his black gloved hand.

"The casing."

Reinhard handed it over immediately.

The taller operative, marked with the white numeral IX, crouched by the spiked footprints, tracing the deep indentations with his fingers. He pressed his palm against the dirt, measuring the pressure.

"Weight class confirmed. Heavy full gear. Spiked boots standard issue for high altitude jumps."

He stood up, turning to XIII.

"Definitely an ex Paratrooper."

XIII rolled the brass casing between his fingers before holding it up against the light.

"6.8 mm same as ours."

Reinhard tensed.

"So… it's confirmed?"

XIII turned to him.

"It was never in doubt."

Goffman, still standing a few feet back, cleared his throat.

"What are our next steps?"

The two Cerberus operatives exchanged glances. Then, XIII tossed the bullet casing back onto the ground.

"There is no next step. Not for you."

Without another word, both men turned on their heels, striding back to their jeep with the same eerie silence they arrived with. Reinhard gritted his teeth.

"That's it? No questions? No orders?"

IX paused just before stepping into the vehicle.

"This matter is beyond your clearance, officer."

XIII settled into the driver's seat, the engine roaring to life.

"Return to your duties. Cerberus will handle it from here."

And with that, the black jeep peeled off, kicking up dust as it disappeared into the distance.

Reinhard let out a slow breath, glancing at Goffman.

"F*ck me…"

Goffman just shook his head.

"Yeah… whatever happens next? We don't want to know."

...

Deep Forest, 20 km from Kirschtal

The fire crackled softly. The faint glow of the flames danced against the crude, makeshift tent of Marcus Septimus, a former r*pist sentenced to serve In the first paratrooper c*horts first contubernium, classified as MIA after the airborne battle. 

He had been on the run for days. The moment he landed on the ground, he had slipped away at the first opportunity.

He had seen firsthand what the Imperium did to those who faltered. He knew that the moment his boots hit the ground, he was already dead.

So, he ran. Hiding deep within the forests, surviving on stolen rations, hunted game, and whatever scraps he could scavenge.

He kept moving, never staying in one place too long. He avoided towns, roads, and most importantly Imperium patrols.

But he had gotten careless, he couldnt resist the urge to do the same thing he was sentenced for.

The rabbit, skewered and turning over the fire, let out a satisfying sizzle. Marcus exhaled, reaching for his combat knife to carve into it. The second his fingers touched the handle, he heard it.

SNAP.

A branch. Behind him. His blood turned to ice. That wasn't an animal. His reflexes Ingraved deep Into his bones over the hellish training took over. His right hand snapped to his assault rifle, his left foot already pushing off the ground.

"F*CK! F*CK!"

He jerked his assault rifle up, blind firing as he bolted into the darkness.

BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM!

Muzzle flashes lit up the trees, bullets shredding bark and branches, but no screams. No sounds of impact. He didn't hit anything.

He didn't have time to process it. Shadows moved. Too fast. Then. PAIN. A bullet punched straight through his calf.

Marcus screamed, his leg collapsing under him, sending him tumbling into the dirt. His rifle clattered away, sliding across the wet leaves.

He gasped, clutching his wounded leg, trying to push himself up. A boot slammed onto his back, driving him face first into the mud.

The air rushed out of his lungs as he struggled. Another set of boots stopped in front of him. Black boots. Spiked soles.

He craned his neck upwards, his vision spinning from the pain. Two men. Cerberus Death Team operatives.

The black combat uniform. The white skull masks. The same silent, inhuman presence that the Imperators drill Instructors gave off.

The one pinning him down, marked IX, pressed his armored knee deeper into Marcus' back, keeping him completely immobilized.

The other one, marked XIII, stood over him, gripping a suppressed handgun, the barrel still smoking.

XIII crouched, tilting his head slightly, after ripping off his dogtag.

"Marcus Septimus. Legionnaire. First Paratrooper Cohort. Serial ID 0147. Confirm?"

Marcus gritted his teeth, spitting blood into the dirt.

"Go f*ck yourself."

XIII didn't react. Instead, he just answered his own question.

"Identity confirmed."

IX twisted his arm, pulling it behind his back, locking it in place with a handcuff. Marcus howled in pain.

"You don't, GNNHH!, you don't understand, they were going to kill me! I was sent to die!"

XIII finally spoke.

"Then you should have done just that to atone for youre sins."

Marcus thrashed violently, desperate.

"It was a mistake, a mistake!"

IX leaned in, his voice low.

"A mistake? Like the young woman you r*ped and the husband you murdered?"

BAM.

A sharp blow to the temple. The world spun into darkness. Marcus went limp. IX stood, checking the surroundings one last time.

"Area secured. Target subdued."

XIII clicked his bulky prototype walkie talkie.

"Command, this is Death Team Omega 3. We have the package. Extracting now."

"Copy. Transport en route. ETA seven minutes."

The two cerberus operatives hauled Marcus' unconscious body up, dragging him toward the dark treeline.

By the time the extraction vehicle arrived, there was no trace left behind. Only the fading embers of a dying fire.

And a skinned rabbit, still impaled on a stick, slowly turning in the night breeze.

...

March 15 First Infantry Legion Training Grounds

Klaus collapsed onto the dry dirt, panting, sweat dripping from his brow. His arms felt like lead, his shoulders burned, and his ears still rang from the sheer force of the last shot.

"F*cking hell,"

He muttered, rolling onto his back, staring up at the sky.

Beside him, his assistant gunner Jakob, another former Teutonica soldier let out a wheezing laugh, tossing aside his empty RPG rounDs backpack.

"You ever use one of these things before?"

Jakob asked between gasps for breath. Klaus let out a breathless chuckle, wiping dirt and gunpowder from his face.

"Only in my dreams."

Jakob whistled, nudging the spent launch tube with his combat boot.