by Andrew Iddon
Greg couldn’t get a good view of Richthofen, so he tried to peek up a little higher, leaning his hand on a desk for support. He gazed down at the Nazi army below; they were terrifying, black and soulless. Their helmets were dull red; the Nazi he fought on Heilagur had a bright red visor. Maybe when their helmets were dull it meant they were in a relaxed or dormant state, and when lit up, were combat ready; they were constructs, after all.
As he was examining the fearsome horde beheld to him, his hand gave way and he fumbled, knocking the desk over in his flurry. All at once, every helmet of the Nazis lit up, and they all turned towards the disruption. Friedrich looked up, and caught a quick glimpse of the intruders, and shouted orders in German.
Before Greg could get back up, the room below was emptying, and the sound of marching and quickening footsteps filled their ears. Karaliskos heaved with all his strength, and threw Greg up to his feet, as the group bolted for the elevator; they ran with all their might, completely horrified at the outcome of being caught. They made it inside, and Greg mashed the up button several dozen times, jumping with angst at the slow speed of the doors. The group piled in as fast as they could, once the doors finally opened.
Just as the doors began to shut, they saw the SS clones flood into the room, ripping it apart in search for them. One of the clones then heard the dinging of the elevator bell, and turned towards Greg.
He yelled something in German, and began to sprint towards the elevator. The doors closed, but, before they did, the SS pressed his wrist, and a one foot long blade ejected from his forearm armor. The doors finally shut solid, before the Nazi could reach them, and the group sighed with relief, before shouting in alarm as a blade punctured through the metal doors nearly nicking Carlin in the face. The Nazi had stabbed through the metal doors with his wrist blade, and was frantically waving it around trying to cut someone.
Karaliskos drew his own blade, and swung down upon the Nazi’s arm, severing it off completely. The Nazi bellowed a raunchy, demented scream as he pulled what was left of his arm back through the doors, releasing the elevator upwards towards the surface. Carlin picked up the bleeding arm stub, and looked at it closely, before the fingers twitched, opening the fist that was clenched. Carlin squeaked as he dropped the still moving severed arm, wiping his hand off on Greg’s shoulder. Greg sneered back at him.
They exploded out of the elevator as the doors opened; they knew there would be other ways out of the lab below, and they didn’t want to be there when the Nazis found them. They ran as fast as their legs could carry them, until they were outside the rusty gates, and, as they burst through them, the sounds of the Nazis yelling and shouting grew louder. The Nazis were demonically fast as they were catching up to them.
Greg didn’t think they could escape, until he remembered something.
He remembered the Nazi on Heilagur, who thought Greg was dead, but he was only injured. The Nazi was artificial, it was programmed; and it wasn’t human except for its body, so it must not have human instincts. It must have calculated that it was a death blow, but it did not kill him; he couldn’t help but wonder why.
He then had a theory, the water! The street was flooding with water, and it broke his fall. The Nazi mustn’t have calculated the water cushioning him. This was his advantage; the clones would calculate and manage the battle through math and logic, not instincts. He would use their arrogance, and their plain thinking against them. He yelled ahead for his comrades to get to the ship, and get ready for lift off. He would stay back to distract the clones.
CHAPTER 17
As Greg was toiling with his own problems, his old buddies Vulture, Drake, and Sabre were feeling the fist of Nazi oppression first hand. Whilst in their secret city underneath Baronium, the Nazi’s struck hard and fast, destroying everything. Baronium was a very species-friendly planet, housing a multitude of alien and human alike, a perfect first target for the Nazi fleet in the sector.
The three of them, along with their mercenaries, watched as the Nazis cleared the streets like a rinsing cloth cleaning dirt from a dish. They swooped in with massive numbers and strength, and burned and slaughtered everything in sight. Before they could even react, the Nazis had already placed posters of Friedrich von Richthofen, and of the swastika, all over the walls of buildings and billboards. They erected large speaker towers with multilingual instructions on how to live in the new Nazi owned planet.
Nazi guards patrolled the streets, cleaning up the mess they had caused; they issued new laws and regulations that would also sound through the towers. Any non military personnel on the streets after the curfew time would be shot on sight, without question, without anything stopping them, including age or gender. There were separate piles of bodies in the main town square, a pile for human men, a pile for women, and a pile for children and pets, with matching piles for the various aliens as well.
Vulture tried not to get teary eyed from this horror. The Nazis meant business; this wasn’t how war was meant to be fought. There had to be nearly twenty thousand bodies in the town square, and that was from the city thus far.
Most of the surviving citizens took shelter in their homes, but the surviving aliens as well as their supporters, were forced to retreat to Vulture’s secret base underground. They could not hide there for long. They would be found out eventually, and Vulture knew this; he had to protect the people, but he could not figure out how. Those who hadn’t taken shelter, or were in hiding, were placed into walled off neighborhoods where they were abandoned to starve. There were also those who were cursed with being taken to the camps outside the town borders, where God knows what happened to them.
The Nazis on Baronium were being led by a dark man, a man handpicked by Friedrich to lead this division of troops. His name was Colonel Heinrich Ostheim, originating from the human colony of Austringary. He grew up in a troubled life, orphaned and institutionalized for excessive violent behaviour; he was perfect for Richthofen’s personal staff.
Vulture stared at the poster on the wall of his club. It was a picture of Ostheim, a heroic painting of the Colonel, standing atop the body of an alien, holding a flag with the swastika on it. Ostheim seemed shorter than most, but stocky, and bald, with small round glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. It was easily identifiable that he used to be a strong and troubled lad. He had mesmeric blue eyes, eyes so bright and blue you could see them in the dark; hardly expected to belong to a man whose heart was as black as night. He was not a leader of the SS, and so wore the traditional army grey dress uniform, although he had several SS clones under his command to ensure his troops performed to their best.
Vulture himself had not seen the new SS elites in action as of yet; he had mostly been dealing with the still difficult to kill Nazi basic infantry.
The German’s new and improved tanks patrolled the streets as well, their construction based and updated from the tanks used in the renamed Earth World War Two. The German’s had superior tanks in that war, so Friedrich had his engineers manufacture ones based on those designs, but using modern day steels and ammunition. The results did not disappoint. Their new HAV4 Panther tanks roared up and down the streets of Baronium; a single shot from their tremendous cannons could level a city block.
The Imperium had very impressive tanks and vehicles, but the German engineers were top notch, and were able to create better tools of destruction.
With all the advantages the Germans seemed to have had, they still had their weaknesses. Vulture noticed that all the German army focussed on was large tanks and ships, but their light, all-terrain vehicles, and their fighter jets were of fairly poor design. Their fighters were small, of average speed, and very weak, with low fire power; the Nazis had hoped to make up for that part with their titan battleships and tanks.
Vulture studied his new enemy. Drake then put the information into theory, already using his advanced inhuman brain to develop strategies of comb
ating them. The Nazis were using a tricky strategy; instead of decimating and burning the entire population and their planets, the Nazis left many alive. They left many alive in order to convert them to their cause, to use massed and constant propaganda to brainwash their new conquered peoples into showing support for the Nazi cause. Without the civilian support the Nazis would face countless problems of anarchy and rebellion, even after the Imperium was long gone. They figured that if they forced the citizens to submit before the downfall of the Emperor, the people would be less likely to resist the new government; yet another mistake made by Friedrich’s inspiration, Adolf Hitler.
“Well, guys, we find ourselves in a predicament,” said Drake.
“What do you mean?” asked Sabre.
“We can leave now, save our own skins; or we could stay and fight for the people,” replied Drake.
Vulture then turned, and looked at his ship. He could easily just hop in, and be far away from Baronium and Ostheim in less than fifteen minutes. He then looked back at the swathes of people pouring into his base, and he eventually came to a conclusion.
“We have to stay; these people trust us, they served us. It would be morally irresponsible to leave them behind to their fates; we would be no better than the Nazis. We have to show Ostheim that he cannot rule his new prize without making a few sacrifices,” said Vulture, proudly.
“So, what do you suggest we do? We have the three of us, and this mass of unarmed civilians, against several trained divisions of Nazi infantry and tanks,” said Sabre pessimistically.
“Well, they are tough. We know that, but these are not the SS. The SS have black armor with full helmets, and those red eye lenses. These seem to be regular Wermacht, as the posters say, grey armor and you can actually see their faces,” added Drake.
“We will be able to see the fear in their eyes first hand,” said Vulture. “We need to make a move on something, something that could aid us overall in the future.”
“I suggest targeting, perhaps their propaganda. With one less speaker tower, it could make it easier to recruit more to the cause,” implied Drake.
“One speaker tower? All they would do is put it back up the moment we left,” said Sabre.
“It isn’t the overall damage we do; it’s the message. If we show that we can fight back, than others will see it as well, and fight back, too. We need to send a message to the Nazis that we aren’t easily conquered, and we will make it difficult for them,” stated Vulture proudly.
He, Drake, and Sabre all decided to strike at the closest propaganda tower, which was in a still populated area, so that the locals would see their victory and rally. However, these towers were well defended by several regiments of Nazi regular infantry, who were led by the SS Elites.
Vulture skulked amongst the shadows, and along the ruins of the recently destroyed buildings. He crouched behind a fallen monument, and scanned the area, trying to discover a way to get around the troops. He was strong, but he couldn’t take on one hundred fully alert German soldiers. Luckily, Drake was handy with explosives.
As Vulture stared into the mass of enemies, Drake made his way towards an old gas station nearby, which was still in good condition. He kneeled next to one of the main pumps; he pulled out a satchel charge, and set off the timer for three minutes. The charge he was using was primarily for enhancing the effects of fire and burning.
He ran back towards the nearby ruins and crouched behind Vulture, who was eagerly awaiting the explosion. Just as he was about to jump the gun, the explosion rang out, shattering their ears, while fire shot up into the sky for hundreds of feet.
The Germans all looked towards the commotion, and, before anything could be said, all sped off towards it; all except one SS Elite, who stood his ground, and barked out an order in German. Twelve other Nazi soldiers all stopped running, and returned to defending the tower.
Vulture glared, and smiled towards Drake; outnumbered thirteen to three… a fair fight.
Vulture stood up, and made a loud barking sound; the Germans all turned towards him, and raised their weapons, ready to fire. As the SS Elite was about to give the order, Sabre bolted from the darkness behind them, raised his sword into the air, and plunged it through the back of one of the troopers. He then flicked his wrist, launching a throwing knife into the throat of another unsuspecting trooper. Before the others could even react, he withdrew his blade, and threw it at another charging soldier, tossing him back towards his companions.
As Sabre was battling it out with the soldiers, Vulture and Drake both ran out, and threw themselves at the enemies, while their backs were turned. They knocked a few off their feet, but they quickly recovered, and drew their side arms, firing blindly into the mess of heroes. Several rounds struck Vulture’s body armor, and a rare shot would puncture his skin causing him to bleed slightly.
Vulture was getting tired; there were too many of them to fight, and he was the Skullz greatest fighter, but not naturally. He cried during the battle for Drake and Sabre to back off. As they left, he opened his body armor, and slammed the button on the Ecclesia heart pad, sending the serum through his veins. His heart began to beat faster, his muscles quaked, and began to spasm; his veins began to bulge, and his body tensed up. His pupils grew, and his jaw began to ache; he let out a loud triumphant roar as he tore his jacket and body armor off, and turned to face the Nazi soldiers who were lined up with worried looks on their faces.
Vulture faced the troops, and charged, screaming as he bulldozed through them knocking several over, and stunning the rest. He threw his fists around, bashing and cracking their armor. He used his martial prowess to disarm, defend, and counter the German’s pathetic attempt at melee combat. He round house kicked a Nazi, whose helmet literally shattered under the strength and pressure of Vulture’s drugged up rage. The surviving soldiers knew it was a fruitless fight, and began to scatter and run. All the German soldiers were now gone, except one, the SS Elite who was observing the battle the entire time.
Vulture turned to face him, breathing heavily, whilst wiping the blood of his fallen enemies off his chest and abs. He cracked his knuckles, and stretched his neck. He got into his fighting stance, with his hands up, ready for a fist fight.
The SS Elite acknowledged this challenge. He dropped his assault rifle, threw his shotgun away, took his dagger, and placed it on the ground. He then put his hands up, and began to hop back and forth, up and down. The SS clones were trained in different types of fighting styles, and this SS specialized in kickboxing.
Vulture and the clone squared off, circling each other, occasionally hopping forward to psyche the other out. The SS threw a jab, catching Vulture off guard, stunning him momentarily, but the moment was enough for the Nazi. He then threw all of his weight into Vulture’s chest, knocking him on the ground. They exchanged more punches and kicks, wrestling around, trying to get the edge, although neither was showing signs of giving up. Vulture was on his back trying with all his might to push the incredibly strong clone off him; the clone focussing all his strength in wrapping his large hands around Vulture’s neck.
Vulture’s arms tingled; his muscles tensed. Yet another dose of Ecclesia had coursed through his body, and this worried him. If Vulture strained himself too much, he could overdose on the Ecclesia, causing very fatal and messy effects. He began to sweat, his arms loosening, as the clone’s hands wrapped around Vulture’s neck, and began to squeeze. Vulture could feel his breathing slow down, as his throat slowly tightened from the enemy’s hands; he had to do something.
Sabre and Drake watched anxiously from the sidelines, watching for German reinforcements. They wouldn’t intervene; Vulture was a very proud man, and being babysat during a one on one fight, would devastate him worse than death would. Vulture looked around him, and luckily spotted a piece of concrete debris; he picked it up and used the rest of his energy to rotate his arm hard, bashing the clone
in his large face visor, cracking it. The clone loosened his grip to hold his visor, examining the damage. This tenth of a second was enough for Vulture, who raised his hips, knocking the clone off balance. He rolled over, so Vulture was now on top.
The very shocked Nazi regained his focus, and began throwing his arms violently, striking Vulture on the top of his head. He tried blocking them with his arms, but the German’s power was outstanding, and Vulture could feel his arms weakening.
Vulture needed to dose himself again; if he didn’t, he would surely die, but he had never dosed himself this much since he was back in the FEC army. The last time he took that much Ecclesia; he murdered an entire township, and almost blew out his heart. His rage caused him to decimate a civilian population of nearly fifty people.
The Nazi began to chuckle to himself. Vulture got worried. The clone flexed his wrist, ejecting the large forearm blade from his armor, and nicked Vulture on his cheek with its full length. Vulture then said, “Screw it” to himself, and turned the knob on his chest, and padded the button once more. Vulture’s body completely seized up, his bones and muscles straightened as if he was petrified.
The clone knocked him off his chest, and stood up, regaining his composure. Vulture remained motionless, making low deep groaning noises, as he lost his connection with reality. He looked around, as he regained feeling in his body, seeing nothing but a black abyss, and his enemy.
The Nazi stood there, confused.
Vulture stood up, and stretched, as though he had just been sleeping. His eyes began to turn yellow; his pupils even coursed with Ecclesia.
The Nazi remained still, awaiting the result of this strange happening. He wasn’t trained to deal with something like this, so he began to run towards Vulture again. He raised his blade arm, and, with a yell, thrust it towards his target. Vulture, without even flinching, held up his hand, and caught the clone’s arm. With his other arm, he grabbed the blade, and began to bend it so it was facing the clone himself. The clone gasped in shock, as Vulture barehanded his razor-sharp, diamond-hard blade and bent it towards him. Vulture’s hand began to bleed profusely, but he felt no pain, showed no fear; he just stood there, staring the Nazi dead in the eyes through the crack in his visor.