Blood On The Volga

By Charles Eugene Anderson

As Hitler's forces advance into the bombed-out ruins of Stalingrad, a lone Soviet soldier named Ivan Kuznetsov is about to discover that a far deadlier evil lurks in the shadows. 
While fortifying his isolated position, Ivan witnesses strange shapes moving with otherworldly speed and menacing eyes glowing red in the darkness. When dogs refuse to approach, and comrades start turning up, drained of blood, chilling rumors circulate among the ranks. Are the old legends true - have vampiric beings emerged to feed amidst the carnage?
Ivan finds himself alone against an unholy scourge as the attacks grow bolder. Trapped in a battle between the advancing Nazis and hordes of feral vampires, he must survive the longest and bloodiest battle of WWII. And if the horrors surrounding him don't kill Ivan first, the truth he uncovers along the way just might: these are no mere bloodthirsty beasts but avatars of an ancient evil far darker than any earthly war...
Inspired by true battlefield accounts and the occult mysticism surrounding WWII, transports readers back behind one of history's deadliest fronts, where humanity wages war against predatory nightmares from beyond the veil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mad Cow Press
• Release date: Dec 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223106548

Charles Eugene Anderson

Charles Eugene Anderson lives in Colorado. Chuck is a former teacher. He now spends his time writing, hanging out with his pup, Champ, and learning how to bake. More about Chuck at http://charleseugeneanderson.com

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

PORTENTS OF BLOOD

In the quiet misery of dawn, Ivan Kuznetsov stood outside his decaying family hovel in the remote village of Volkova. The air was damp and heavy with the iron scent of blood. The sky was painted in bruised shades of purple and red, ominous clouds gathering over the trembling birch trees.

His mother, a gaunt woman with worry lines cut deep into her hollow cheeks, clutched him with bony fingers. Stay alive, my son, she rasped, her sunken eyes glistening with tears as dark memories surfaced.

I'll try, Mama, Ivan replied quietly, his young voice strained with dread and duty. He was barely grown, swimming in the mound of a uniform that had claimed his father and elder brother.

As the battered military truck clattered down the muddy road, taking him from the only hell he'd ever known into the gaping maw of a greater one, Ivan's soul was a tempest of emotions. Foolish patriotism warred with a primal terror of the oblivion that awaited. He glanced back at the rotting hut that had caged his childhood one last time before the gloom of the cursed forest swallowed the village.

Besides Ivan, hunched two other youths, freshly torn from their short-lived innocence to be fed to the endless battlefields. Mikhail was a lean 17-year-old with bright hunter's eyes that seemed far too weary for his age. And Pyotr, a hulking 19-year-old simpleton who grasped his rifle in meaty hands, grinning with oblivious glee as though it were a shiny new toy.

What do you look so happy about, Pyotr? Ivan muttered, his breath pluming in the frigid air. We go to greet Death himself.

Pyotr's grin widened, his mind too empty to comprehend the reality awaiting them. Do you think I'll get to shoot the gun soon? he asked with childish enthusiasm.

Mikhail scowled, his age showing momentarily as fear flashed across his features. If you're lucky, the fascists will shoot you before you even raise your rifle.

Ivan sighed, the sound lost in the rattling of the truck. His limbs felt heavy, resignation sinking into his bones. At least in battle, the end would come quickly. Pray our ends are swift, he whispered, closing his eyes as he pictured his mother's weeping silhouette fading into the gloom. Pray the war is kinder to us than life.

As the truck shuddered into Moscow, the haggard city only sharpened the bleak mood. Buildings lay in ruins, with remnants of lives crushed underneath. The starving faces passing by told of the hardship and suffering the war had