Alongside those who are sinful.

Chapter 1

A special thanks to @PanzerVor621 who was a monumental help.

A serious warning: This story should not be, in any way, thought of as propaganda. You will see very early on in the chapters that Dietrich, while being the main character, is definitely a bad person. He is just the protagonist of the story. There is no glorification of any regimes outside of what the characters might believe in.

With that being said,  "Alongside those who are sinful" will cover many themes some may consider sensitive and upsetting, included but not limited to atrocity, war crimes, sexual assault, and other vile things. The story will attempt to properly display the idea of Second World War soldiers having to use the skills learned in war against a new type of foe.

The story is graphically violent and is realistically descriptive. It is brutal. It is nasty. It is war in its very nature. This will amount to the only warning applied to the story.

XXX

Observe.

Inhale.

Align the crosshair.

Squeeze.

Exhale.

It was second nature to me. Ending a life from behind a scope, sometimes hundreds of meters away. My father took me on my first hunt when I was just 10 years old. I still remember how nervous I was; the way my arms trembled as I tucked the rifle into my shoulder. My whole body was quivering with excitement!

I did not know it then, but I was eager at the prospect of taking a life. I fired that gun, and was almost flung back from the sheer recoil on my smaller body. I remember distinctly, how the deer just...collapsed. It's legs buckled as it ceased living in an instant, and it was all because of me. And now, as I watch a squad of Soviet riflemen, I think back to that first hunt, to my first kill.

And I feel that same excitement.

I only have my father to thank for getting me to where I am today. I joined the army one year before the war started, training as a sniper due to my extensive history with hunting.

Then, we invaded Poland. I took my first human life there, and subsequently, many more all over Europe as the war progressed. Belgium. France. Even a little stint in North Africa.

Then, came the East.

It was...different than the rest of Europe. Gone were the days of a more...skilled enemy. The Soviets were generous in how many men they would throw at a machine gun nest. And the same is said about a city block infested with snipers. But, as the war went on, tactics change.

Suddenly, human waves are not as smart as they were thought to be, and they really started to get smart. That was 1942.

This is 1945. We have been pushed back to Berlin, at the Seelow Heights, and I am currently charged with watching a small sector of rolling hills covered with waves of tall grass. About 500 meters in front of me is a tall, green curtain which shields a hideous monster.

The specter of the Soviet Union is shielded by those trees, and secretly, I know that there is nothing I or any army here can do about it. But even in the end days of my country, there is comfort. Sporadic patches of trees crop up, and make for excellent concealment positions.

Many unaware squads have already fallen prey to hidden machine gunners or to other snipers. But right now, I have had enough of thinking. I turn my attention back to the Soviets. I run through the routine in which I know all too well.

Observe.

I observe the squad as they dutifully move near some trees roughly 200 meters in front of me. I look through my scope and thankfully, I am able to make out the colors of the insignia on the collars of their uniforms. The more color or gold on the collar, the higher the rank. I never took the time to study the Soviet Army ranks, but it did not matter. My current method had proven time and time again to be effective.