The Regime

by Andrew Iddon

  The Chairman pressed a button and the image of a man appeared. Greg immediately recognized who it was; it was the masked man from the cloning facility mission.

  The entire room went silent.

  The masked man stood there, quiet at first, glancing around the room at his new enemies. His uniform was much more recognizable this time around; the black peaked cap he wore bore the emblem of the Reichsadler, the black eagle with wings spread, and a swastika clasped in its talons; the coat of arms their ancestors used during the Second Earth World War. His black leather trench coat was opened, revealing a fancy black dress uniform, with an iron cross neck chain taking the place of a tie. His uniform was finely pressed, decorated with silver buttons, and outlined collars, multiple badges and stripes over his heart, and an ornate belt buckle complimented the entire ensemble. His trench coat had silver epaulets with an unrecognizable ranking emblem upon them, and along the left arm of his coat sleeve was a large Nazi party flag armband that encircled his bicep. This was the same emblem that was placed on almost every ship that Greg could see.

  The masked man was obviously going for as classic and retro a look as possible; almost every part of his uniform seemed to replicate the same uniforms that he now remembered seeing in his history textbooks from back in school, with a few minor differences here and there.

  “Greetings to you, new enemies of the Reich”, the masked man said.

  Everyone staring at the hologram just stood silently, waiting for the man to continue.

  “You are all in the way of the new order which shall rule this galaxy; I have been elected Chancellor of the new German Empire, of the new and better Imperium. I am Chancellor Friedrich von Richthofen, long descendant of the infamous Manfred von Richthofen, and I have been chosen by fate itself to finish Adolf Hitler’s work. Humanity is superior, and should not coexist with the filthy creatures of the depths of space. Aliens and those opposed to the Aryan race do not belong, and must be removed from history. The Jews, the Muslims, the Slavorians, the Fulvore, it does not matter; they are all the same, they are all unworthy and impure. All friends of aliens and the impure are enemies of the Reich, and enemies of the Reich will be erased. We are the fourth Reich, and we shall destroy you and your pathetic city as an example. We will eventually cleanse the galaxy of the infection of peace with aliens and humans, so that the Aryans will reign supreme. We wish you good luck in fighting us, and bid you farewell, ‘ein volk, ein Reich, ein Fuhrer’.”

  “One people, one Reich, one leader”, said the Chairman.

  Greg sat after that, going through what was just said, this was the masked man he fought on Nassau, the leader of the Nazis. His thick German accent and the deep proud voice through his mask’s voice box were surprisingly clear, and the entirety of the room stood there completely silent.

  The music began once more, louder than a rock concert, and it bounded through the streets, it was German opera music, with an orchestral score. It was war music, it was victory music, and it was music sounding the doom of the citizens of Mandredar City.

  The newly elected chancellor stood on his observation deck, with his hands behind his back, tapping his foot to the beat of the music, humming along during the singing measures, even enthusiastically raising his arm with victory and began mimicking a conductor during the solo. He turned and nodded at his captain who went on the intercom and initiated the drop order. Not a moment later the Universal soldiers stared into the sky, as a thousand ships all at once opened their underbellies, shooting dozens of drop pods out of each ship. You wouldn’t need to be a mathematician to know they were outnumbered at this point, as hundreds of thousands of tiny two man pods plummeted towards the surface of the city like a swarm of insects.

  Thunderous sounds of impact shattered the citizens’ ears, as the pods crashed into the ground and popped open, releasing the already armed soldiers within. Immediately afterwards, the sounds of screaming and gunfire were heard throughout the city, as the Nazi soldiers opened fire on everything and everyone that stood before them, whether they were armed, women, or children, it did not matter to them.

  Their armor was terrifying, black with glowing crimson circular eye lenses on their helmets, which covered their entire faces. Black plates with white rims and borders on their shoulders, and chest plates outlined their features, and added a more natural look to their armor. Each soldier also had a thick red stripe on his left arm, with the swastika emblem on it indicating their overall faction, a number underneath indicating their regiment and rank, with other various rank marks and personalization across their bodies. On their helmets and armor collars they had two runic S’s which, if Greg remembered correctly enough, meant that they were part of the SS, the schutzstaffel, the most elite form of Nazi. Other various red glowing lights were scattered across their armor, on the shoulders and back, with two on their chest, to help see each other in the dark.

  They were incredibly cruel; they grabbed women’s hair, and ripped their children from their arms, following up by executing them in the streets. They mutilated and tortured innocent bystanders, tearing apart any alien colonist trying to run for their lives. Each Nazi soldier carried a large automatic assault rifle, and a long dagger which they made good use of. They stabbed and shot, maimed and gutted, destroyed and burnt everyone in sight, and, while the ground forces were doing their leader proud, the battleships above began to open fire upon the city. Thousands of large rockets and artillery shells, laser blasts and bombs all shook the ground as they deconstructed the once paradise of a city.

  Greg and his comrades stood watching from the tower, horrified and overflowing with hatred, already loathing the enemy’s behaviour, as they were more animals than humans.

  “We have to get out of here. There is no way we can stay; we are all going to die here”, yelled Vulture all of a sudden.

  Everyone, including the Universal Inc soldiers, shuddered with agreement, and all made their way for the warp elevators, but stopped when they realized the Chairman was not coming. He just stood there with his fists clenched, gazing across his crumbling empire.

  Greg yelled at him to come along, but the Chairman turned and calmly fixed his suit and tie and said, “This is my city, my company, and I’ll be damned if I am going to let some racist bastard take it all away. This was the man I tried to warn you of, Greg. I regret that I may have warned you too late, but I feared for my life. I should have said something myself; I should have warned the Emperor, but I will rectify my mistake. If my city dies, then I die with it. You all must leave. This is my fight today; this is my sacrifice to make.”

  Greg tried not to listen. He moved back towards the Chairman, but Sabre grabbed him, and shoved him towards the warp elevator which teleported them back to the ground floor. The group of men made their way to the west entrance of the city; the Nazis hadn’t reached this area completely yet. They approached the gate, when something broke their concentration. On one of the nearby rooftops stood a Nazi officer, wearing the armor of the infantry, but he had a similar hat to the chancellor, instead of the helmet.

  “Look! That must be an officer of some kind. He seems to be directing troops beneath him,” said Greg trying to analyze his new enemy, and their behaviors as much as possible.

  The enemy officer was yelling, and pointing towards Greg and his comrades. As the sounds of footsteps approached, the group instantly began running towards the gate, narrowly navigating the complicated honeycomb-like city streets, to the valley and cliff formation where Vulture’s ship was parked.

  The Universal Inc soldiers followed; a few stopped, and began firing their weapons to suppress the enemy, allowing Greg, and the rest, time to escape. They fired blindly towards the gateway as the Nazi soldiers tried to follow; they stopped and shot twice each.

  One shot hit the Universal Inc soldiers’ weapons, knocking them from their arms, and the second hit them in the head, killing them ins
tantly. Three UI soldiers dropped dead simultaneously. Greg looked back, and gasped in amazement; the Nazi soldiers were nearly flawless, their skill was second to none.

  Vulture, Drake, and Sabre all ran into the ship’s hull, raising the service ramp behind them, where Greg and six Universal soldiers then entered. They all scurried like rats to the bridge, where the crew was already at work preparing for liftoff. Vulture gave the order, and the ship quickly began to hover, and then rocketed into the air, far to the west of the Nazi fleet escaping into space. A few Nazi ships fired upon them, but their shots were inaccurate, and missed quite embarrassingly, as the Bird of Prey was too fast and slick, having escaped Imperium Peregrine IIs in the past.

  The ship soared through space, and the survivors all looked at the planet’s surface, seeing the Nazi fleet from hundreds of miles away. They looked around at the nearby planets. Greg shivered at what he saw, another invasion fleet; he turned and looked at another planet, and saw yet another fleet. He spun around and looked at all avenues, and saw nothing but black ships, and the explosions from the battles below them.

  It was a purge, a massacre; there were tens of thousands of battleships all bearing the swastika, and all cleansing the planets beneath them. This was the largest invasion force Greg had ever seen, the largest he had ever heard of.

  There was only one place that would be safe, the Right Hand of God; they had to inform the Emperor and the Imperium what was going on. This was the largest invasion anyone had ever seen, six NUCM planets were completely decimated in a matter of hours, and many more planets were soon to join them. A galaxy wide genocide was birthed, and Greg was at the spearhead of it all.

  CHAPTER 11

  The Bird of Prey sped across the stars putting as much distance as possible between the burning Nuevo Mundo and the Nazi hordes, but Greg realized something. The Right Hand of God probably was already aware of the invasion, but his men on Nassau weren’t. He instructed Vulture to head for Nassau to see to his troops; he couldn’t abandon his men to die at the hands of these barbarians.

  Vulture reluctantly agreed, and turned the ship for Nassau, flying as fast as they could through space to get there as soon as possible. After several long hours of anticipation they arrived in high orbit, above the glowing orange planet, only to see that the invasion had hit there as well.

  Greg stared hard at the Nazi fleet in low orbit opening fire upon the surface, witnessing the same tactics being used, the thousands of tiny pods full of murderers speeding to the surface. He told Vulture to land the ship, and get going, but Vulture stood there, emotionless.

  “I can’t go down, Greg”, Vulture finally said. Greg, confused, questioned his reasoning.

  “I need to get back to my people; these are yours, and they are dying as we speak. They need you, but I cannot go down; I know the Imperium’s methods, and no matter how heroic I am to them, I’m still a wanted criminal. I need to return to Baronium. I am passionate about my people there; like you and your men, I cannot abandon them. There is a drop pod down in the lower decks; you can use it to bring you to your base on the eastern shore, but I’m afraid this is where we say goodbye for now.”

  Greg nodded his head in eventual agreement, and shook hands with Vulture, Drake, and Sabre. He walked out of the bridge where a heavily armored Skullz trooper led him to the drop pod.

  Greg sat down inside the cramped, cold pod, and held on tight as he felt the force shooting him from the BoP’s belly. He watched out of the window as the BoP immediately afterwards turned around, and sped off to Baronium.

  He then turned his attention to his new objective. He looked out the rear window to see that the action was just beginning; the entire surface he soared across was consumed with battle. Thousands of Imperial and Nazi soldiers were running about, destroying each other with rifles and automatic weapons; hundreds of tanks were rolling across the plains, and dozens of fighters were blazing through the sky.

  Greg’s pod finally made impact in the side of a tall hill, just on the outskirts of his base. The pod shook him around like a baby rattle, and, as the door popped open, he clumsily stumbled out.

  After regaining his balance, falling a couple times, he climbed to the peak of the hill to gauge his surroundings. He looked in a complete circle, and all he saw were the flashes of guns, and explosions of artillery and mortar shells. He finally caught a glimpse of the Imperial flag from his base, and immediately ran towards it. He sloppily slid down the eastern side of the hill, and ran into the gateway, and straight for the commander’s tent.

  Inside, a very stressed and sickly old man stood over a table map of the region. It was Colonel Carlin.

  “Sergeant, Jesus, it’s been quite a while since I last saw you. As you can see, the shit has hit the fan, and we are losing this fight”, he said, with grief.

  “What is the exact situation, Colonel?” asked Greg.

  “Well, it ain’t good. The Nazis, as they call themselves, appeared out of nowhere. Before we could even blink, their fleet had already engaged ours in orbit, and released their land invasion force. There are eight divisions of tanks, four artillery, sixteen infantry and an absolute fuck ton more coming down,” replied Carlin.

  “What about our standing forces?” asked Greg.

  “It isn’t good there, either. We have about half of their overall force, even less, now that we have lost quite a few skirmishes on the various frontlines. Railsck Mines and Jurgenston both have fallen to the enemy, and our position is soon to be compromised. We have intelligence that their leader, a General Commander Claus Austerlitz of the Waffen SS, is leading a Panzer division right to us. The only option I can fathom now is a full evacuation, or at least of any nearby available forces.”

  “I agree. I have to find my men, though; I cannot abandon them. Can you order the retreat and evacuation? Give me half an hour, and I will be back with as many of my men as I can find,” said Greg.

  “You have twenty minutes; if you aren’t back… you are in God’s hands,” replied Carlin sternly.

  Greg ran off towards his old bunk, got his uniform, and headed to the armory to get his suit and weapons. He clicked the buckles together, fastened the strap under his helmet, attached his pant legs to his boot rims, and clipped on his belt and sidearm. He took several magazines of ammunition, and finally pulled an Imperium battle rifle off the wall, releasing the retractable bayonet at the tip, testing the gun’s dependability. He exited the door, and ran towards the north, where his squad was supposed to be stationed—a thin winding gorge called Strangler’s Den.

  Gorges were difficult places to fight in, but the Imperium prided itself on its soldier’s skill and ability to adapt to whatever environment challenged them. Greg neared the opening of the gorge to see the surviving members of his squad exchanging fire with a group of Nazis deeper inside the winding path.

  He looked over his right shoulder, and saw one of the Imperium’s legendary Behemoth artillery cannons rolling up the hill on the side of the gorge, to get a height advantage. He hadn’t seen one in a long time, and it was a magnificent sight.

  The Behemoth was a large cannon, having a barrel with a three foot diameter, and a total length of twenty feet; it was so titanic it needed an APC or a tank to pull it to its position, where it would spread its four legs, and plant itself firmly in the ground. The cannon was so loud and terrifying, that its roar could be heard from space, and the impact of its rounds could level a small city in a mere two shots. The kickback, as well, was terrible; however the four legs planted in the ground helped keep it in place.

  Greg ran into the gorge after the Behemoth had left, and, while keeping his head down, slammed his back against the fallen rock pillar that his squad was taking cover behind. His men turned around, startled to see their leader back in the fight, but there was no time for talk; they needed to fight.

  Greg peeked over the rock, and saw the Nazis
, their glowing red helmet lenses giving off their position from afar. He laid his rifle on the rock, shifting it slowly, and calmly, trying to get an enemy in sight. He wanted to make the best of his shot, so he lined up with an unaware enemy trooper, and pulled the trigger firmly.

  The gun jerked and whistled as the bullet cracked from the muzzle, zipped across the path, and struck its target, perfectly. The bullet penetrated the Nazi’s helmet, entering his right eye, and burst through his skull, and out the other side.

  The body stood there in shock, and eventually collapsed, leaving a brainy red mess on the rock wall behind him.

  Greg’s soldiers were now ready to rock and roll. Their morale was raised, and all at once, they stood up, and let off four rounds each towards the enemy’s position. Another enemy was hit, and downed; the rest ducked their heads, and began to run.

  Greg ordered to take that position, and, all at once, his men leapt over the pillar, and slid into cover, from where the Nazis had just retreated.

  They stood there, ducking from the bullets, and shuddering from the sounds of the explosions; they barely peeked over their new cover without being shot upon.

  There was no use to this; he had to order his men to fall back; the enemy was dug in too well. He had to retreat, and figure out a better strategy.

  He and his squad linked up with several other retreating Imperium soldiers, and arrived back at the base camp not too long after.

  Colonel Carlin was still standing there, stroking his beard, his coat now unbuttoned, and his shirt loose. He was disturbed, and looked morbid, for he knew he was losing.

  The troopers huddled around the Colonel, listening to their comrades’ screams of death and pain, as the wounded were being brought in at alarming rates. They all scattered to the different wounded soldiers, helping the medics apply pressure to the bleeding wounds, and removing the dog tags of the deceased.