[ WP ] You are a vampire living in World War II . With the war being at its deadliest , you decide to take action .

**Bad Aachen - September 1944** 
 
 He was shaken awake by the rumblings of mortar fire far too close to his home. It was not yet dusk. Furious, he sat up and yelled for his housekeeper. 
 
 `` Greta! Coffee!'' 
 
 She shuffled in unhurriedly and frowned. 
 
 `` You should be asleep Herr Magnus, for hours still.'' 
 
 `` I do not need to be reminded of what I already know,'' he growled, `` and you are not my nursemaid to order me around so. I require coffee. And a grapefruit half. And be quick!'' 
 
 She gave him a long look. He shot back his most imperious glare, doing his best to ignore the plaster dust peppering his hair as another shell fell in the distance. 
 
 She held his eye just for a few moments longer before turning and shuffling out as slowly as she'd entered. 
 
 Grumbling to himself, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and hurried across the freezing cold floor as quickly as his arthritic knees would allow. 
 
 He opened the taps of his shower and surveyed himself in the mirror while he waited for the water to warm. He grimaced at his reflection. He was Ancient, but that was nothing new. He'd been ancient when that smart-mouthed Vicar had nailed his ravings to a cathedral door in Wittenberg, and that had been over 400 years ago. 
 
 The wrinkled and wizened face in the mirror looked old, decrepit. And that was exactly how he felt. 
 
 He stepped into the shower, groaning from the soothing pain of the hot water needling his old skin. 
 
 He was still toweling himself off when Greta returned with a tray. She placed it on his bedside table, ignoring his nakedness. 
 
 `` You should go out tonight'', she said as she began picking out underwear, and trousers for him. 
 
 `` Can you not hear, woman? There is war out there. Not the green ones, the brown pair.'' 
 
 `` Of course I know that,'' she said as she set down a pair of briefs, stockings, and the green pair of pants on his bed, `` but you're not benefitting anyone huddled down here, screaming and complaining. least of all me.'' 
 
 `` They are destroying my city,'' he yelled, `` Why should I not be angry?'' 
 
 She paused and gave him another long, knowing look. Not without tenderness. 
 
 `` Karl,'' She said softly, her eyes dropping just for a moment when she spoke his name, `` You can lie to yourself, but I know you too well to believe that there is n't more to your frustration. 
 
 `` You are irritable because you feel your age, but you have chosen to starve yourself. However noble your reasons may be, you have n't fed in over a century and so you are turning into a bitter, cranky old man, huddled under an old church.'' 
 
 `` I built this church! And now that idiot Austrian snot is presiding over its ruin!'' 
 
 `` All the more reason to go out there! You sat out the last war out of fear, or apathy, I do n't know which.'' 
 
 `` Fear, apathy'' he scoffed, `` I have done more for this land than anyone.'' 
 
 The tenderness returned, `` That's as may be. You are not a king anymore, but you are still a German, and those madmen will ruin us. You have a duty. *And you must feed! *'' 
 
 His shoulders sagged. Perhaps she was right. Why should he let some insecure little madman ruin his land? The German people might have only themselves to blame for bringing the tyrant to power, but they were still his people. 
 
 He straightened. `` Fetch me a shirt, not the checked one, the black.'' 
 
 She smiled, `` Yes, Herr Magnus,'' and turned back to his wardrobe. 
 
 Charlemagne stepped into his boots. His joints screamed in protest when he knelt to buckle them, but he knew that they would soon feel young again. 
 
 He would feast tonight.
