Chapter 62: The Birth of a Martyr

Chapter 62: The Birth of a Martyr



Bruno stood in the snow filled streets of Saint Petersburg. The gunfire that had previously echoed across the region had come to a silent halt. The battle was won, and so quickly at that. 80,000 reds lie dead in a sea of their own blood.

The snow itself being stained with the overwhelming volume of the liquid which poured across it as a result of the hundreds of thousands of rounds that had been fired down range in the span of ten minutes.

Bodies lie blast apart by the artillery shells, which impacted on their positions, as they foolishly charged against an entrenched and fortified position. One that had far more heavy weapons than they realized.

And yet Bruno's hands were as still as the dead. The shakes he frequently gained were nowhere to be found. Why was this? Because it was not the sound of artillery and gunfire which haunted him on a subconscious level.

Nor was it the sea of corpses whose lives were taken by men acting on his orders. These things, they were calm, soothing even as the man had long sensed grown accustomed to them. Rather, it was the peaceful silence, the silence when the gunfire ends that terrified Bruno. He could not find a way to live with it.

And because of this, here and now on the battlefield, or what remained of it he was as calm as could be. Callously counting the dead of those who followed him into battle. There was no silent prayer for the souls departed, nor a thought of the humanity lost. To him they were simply numbers.

It was while Bruno was counting the losses which they had suffered in the charge, which was far less than the enemy. That his soldiers approached him with a prisoner in tow. As Bruno had ordered, the officers who cowardly hid behind their own fortifications while sending their men to their deaths were executed upon capture.

Only one man was permitted to live. The commander of the Red Army, or at least the field army which had surrounded and besieged saint Petersburg for the last few months. Bruno was surprised to find that the man who had so brazenly attacked such a significant city was none other than Leon Trotsky, a man he held great resentment for.

The Red Army's commander was forced onto his knees in front of Bruno who simply pulled out a cigarette and began to smoke as he gazed upon the hated face of his enemy. A man whose actions and ideals had caused the deaths of countless innocent souls in his past life. Leon was never a physically imposing or intimidating man. But he was more pathetic than history had depicted him. Especially now, as he was crying, his eyes red and puffy from the overwhelming tears he had let loose since the moment he realized his army was destroyed.

All the while his nose was dripping with snot, while his body trembled uncontrollably. He was bound by ropes with his arms behind his back. And when Bruno gazed upon the man, he was surprised to find that there was no anger, nor hatred in his heart towards one of the founders of the Bolshevik revolution.

Nor was there any sense of disdain or contempt as there had previously been. Instead, there was nothing but indifference. Perhaps it was because Leon Trotsky, here and now, was not the man he had been in his past life.

He let out a large puff of smoke from his lungs before saying the final words that the communist leader would ever hear in this life. And they were ones that only added to the confusion he currently felt.

"I have often thought about what I would do to you and Lenin if I were ever able to get my hands on either of you... I mean the suffering the two of you have caused in this world. It is truly on a scale that few humans are capable of comprehending.

And yet millions of people around the globe venerate you as some kind of ideological saint. It is truly sickening... Especially when other dictators, warlords, and maniacs who have committed far less evil in this world are so despised.

However, despite my previous intentions I have to admit. Now that you are in my custody, you seem so pathetic... It is almost as if you are not even worth the hatred which I have held for you for all these years.

I suppose I should thank you. Seeing you act like such a despicable and insignificant creature in the face of death has only confirmed that you are simply unworthy of provoking any

emotion from me.

Allow me to gift you with these parting words of advice: if you are ever given another chance at life, you would do well to reflect on what brought you to this point and how you can

properly repent for your sins."

*Bang*

The body of Leon Trotsky fell to the floor with the sound of a gunshot. His brains blown out all over the snow in front of where he had kneeled just moments before. All the while Bruno took one last drag from his cigarette before tossing the butt on the face of the corpse he had just made. Without any concern to putting it out. It was his last gesture of disrespect towards a man undeserving of being remembered in history.

All the while the soldiers of the Iron Brigade, the Black Hundreds, and Russian Army gazed at Trotsky's corpse after his execution with conflicted feelings. Surely this was a sign that the Bolshevik revolution was coming to an end was it not?

Unfortunately for them, the war had only just begun, and Trotsky's death at the hands of

Bruno would make him a martyr in the eyes of those who shared his cause. In the coming days, hundreds of thousands of peasants would flock to the Red Army, easily replenishing their ranks from those who had died on this day.