[RPG] Guts and Blackpowder

It was another dark and deadly night in 1813. The air in Leipzig smelled of gunpowder, blood, and something rotten that had no name. You, a wounded soldier (of any class), were part of the last surviving group: a handful of Prussians, a Russian grenadier, and a French ranker, who had set aside their enmity for one thing—to survive and break through to the bridge, so they could blow it up and escape. You moved quietly, leading the slow "cannibals" astray. But now there were three of you. The rest had fallen or been bitten and left begging for a merciful bullet. Your boots slapped through the bloody mud, fifty steps to the bridge. Thirty. Ten...

And then you see HIM.

A figure stands in the middle of the bridge, his back to the moon. It's not a limping corpse. He stands erect, like a soldier. Instead of a right hand, he holds a long, dirty saber, seemingly fused to the bone. The remains of a blue uniform hint at armor. His head slowly turns toward you. His empty eye sockets seem to stare right through you.

“Mon Dieu...” the Frenchman croaks, raising his musket.

The cuirassier doesn't roar. He makes a short, metallic click. And then he breaks into action . It's not a run—it's a swift dash, faster than a horse. The Frenchman raises his rifle, but the blade-arm describes an arc—and the hand holding the musket falls at your feet, still clutching the barrel. The Frenchman freezes in a silent scream before collapsing. Your last comrade, the Prussian, stumbles back.

The bridge is before you. Beyond the bridge lies the darkness of the forest, a chance for salvation. On the bridge stands this steel monster, slowly turning its blade toward you. Behind you, the groans and shuffling of an approaching crowd of common "cannibals."

You're alone. The wound on your side aches. In your hand is a saber/pistol/bayonet (choose yours).