by Andrew Iddon
The clone tried punching with his other hand, but it brushed off Vulture’s flesh like his arms were made of paper. Vulture bent the blade so far that it snapped off before it reached the clone’s face; the momentum of his pushing threw him forward a little, pushing the German off balance.
The German regained his fighting stance, and he thrust forward with a right jab. Vulture caught his arm once again, and swung his other hand downwards like a hammer, breaking the clone’s arm like a twig. Without hesitation, Vulture hurled his leg into a side kick, railing the clone in the head, shattering his already weak visor and knocking him to the ground.
Vulture was ready to finish the job. He stood over his weakened enemy. He unplugged the Ecclesia serum tube that fed out of the dispenser, and jabbed it into the German’s throat. He began to turn the knob, and punch the button. He pushed the button over and over; faster and faster, the serum poured from out of the dispenser, directly into the clone’s blood stream. More and more, until the dispenser was empty, nearly thirteen doses of Ecclesia now flowed through the German’s body. The SS Elite stood up, began to scream loud, so loud, and so hoarse, that Drake and Sabre began to cringe, and Sabre feared nothing.
The SS began to tear off his own armor, throwing his body around, trying to stop the pressure, and the pain. It felt as though he was twenty thousand miles below sea level, as if the water pressure was crushing his bones. He held his head, trying to stop the most insane painful migraine ever imaginable. He was so strong he began tearing the flesh off his chest trying to reach his heart. Blood and bone began to fall from his hands, as he ripped out his ribs, and tore out his own lung. No man could survive this, but the serum turned him immortal; he continued to scream in pain before his heart finally pumped so hard it exploded from his chest. The remainder of his ribs and his left lung launched from his chest like a rocket. He stopped screaming. His arms dropped, and before his body fell, he opened his eyes once more, before his head began to split, and then finally exploded as well. Brains, bits of skull, and teeth scattered around the battlefield, as multiple fluids sprayed and flowed all over the ground.
Sabre and Drake both covered their eyes, never before had they seen someone take this many doses of Ecclesia. Never had they seen a man tear away at his own flesh, ripping out his own bones, before his heart and brain detonated like a grenade.
They turned their attention to Vulture, who stood there, emotionless. He finally fell to his knees, and then to his back. He fell unconscious, for his body was unable to sustain itself from all the energy it had expunged. Drake and Sabre ran through the multicoloured mess from the fallen drugged up Nazi, towards Vulture’s limp body. They picked him up, and carried him through the ruins and debris, back towards the Skullz’ headquarters. There he could rest; there he was safe.
Before they left, Drake rigged up the propaganda tower, and set off the explosion, hoping to cripple the taint of fascism on this neighbourhood. The Germans soon returned from the diversion to lay their eyes upon the most horrid sight they had ever seen.
The regular infantry all groaned in disgust, many of them holding back their breakfast as the medics examined the damage. They discussed it amongst themselves; they had not seen this kind of death before. They picked up the remains, but then turned their attention to the bright liquid on the ground in front of the corpse. They took the Ecclesia extract and put it in vials; they had to report this to the German scientists. If the enemy could take out an SS Elite with this much damage, then their campaign was at stake.
The Germans abandoned the now useless propaganda tower; there was nothing left to defend. They returned to the barracks at Colonel Ostheim’s newly constructed citadel. A battle had been won for the resistance; just barely, but the war hadn’t even begun yet.
CHAPTER 18
On Planet Seven Greg prayed to whatever deities he could think of hoping his plan would work. As Carlin and Karaliskos bolted for the transports, Greg stood in the open when the Nazis poured out. He raised his firearm, and fired a few rounds in their direction. They all took cover, except one, who stood alone, and lifted a modern version of an old German gun, an MG82. The clone howled before the flashes of fire and destruction erupted from the barrel.
Greg gasped, and tried running towards the trees, as the massive bullets sprayed all across the tree line literally cutting many down in their wake. Greg dove, and buried himself in a pile of tree chips next to a now bullet ridden log awaiting the Nazi’s patrol.
The loud ringing noise of soaring bullets and splintering wood began to fade as the Nazi’s ammo belt had run out. He placed the weapon down, ejected his arm blade, and started walking towards the wooden wasteland. Greg waited for the perfect time to hold his breath, the perfect time to try and fool the Nazi into believing he had been killed. With all the carnage the Nazi had laid upon the trees, it would be near impossible to know if you had hit your target or not.
So Greg lay there, waiting, his heart beating hard; he was extremely nervous, and could hear the Nazi’s feet crunching on the wood chips. He was getting closer, but Greg couldn’t look to see; he had to gauge by sound, but, with his helmet on, it muffled his hearing. The Nazi took care to not make much noise, but it was inevitable with all the broken branches and trees strewn about.
The smell of burnt wood began to fill Greg’s nostrils, and it distracted from his other senses; the Nazi was so close Greg could feel his essence. The Nazi then grazed Greg’s leg with his boot, stopping when he noticed something soft, and began to examine his kill. He didn’t bother checking his pulse, or collecting any loot. He saw Greg’s motionless body got to one knee and stared at his kill. He examined before huffing and reaching for his gun… but sheathed his weapon and stood back up. He scanned the horizon one last time and then walked away grunting in satisfaction.
Greg smiled with glee; his plan had worked. His assumptions were correct; the clones had no instincts, a trait crucial to a soldier. They calculated their kills, their shots, and they calculated the odds of winning, and carried out their assumptions. They didn’t know about playing dead, or other cowardly, but effective, tactics, and the Emperor would want to know about this.
Even though they had this massive flaw, the fact that they existed at all still remained. Richthofen now had a completely brutal and completely loyal army of ten thousand strong at his command. The Imperium was in dire need of help. With the standing Nazi forces, and now a secondary army of SS Elites, Friedrich could very well take control of the galaxy.
Greg stayed still, waiting for the perfect time to get up and leave. The Nazis weren’t making any noise, but he couldn’t tell if they were waiting for movement. He remained still until the sky began to grow dark. He grew tired and weak, waiting for so long.
As his nerves began to calm down, and his adrenaline returned to normal, he mustered up enough energy to sit up. He sat up slowly, and brushed himself off. He quickly shot his eyes in a complete circle around him, looking for his enemies, but he found none. He brought up one knee, and leaned on it behind a stump, slowly got on both knees, and then stood up straight.
He didn’t waste time waiting to be caught, so he ran towards the direction of his ship. Upon reaching his comrades, who were eagerly awaiting his return, Greg had to tell them what he learned, “Carlin I have a theory that seemed to be proven correct back there.”
“Are you alright? Greg, it has been hours!” exclaimed Carlin.
“Yes. Just listen; we don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get on the ship first,” said Greg, panting.
They boarded the ship, and the small fleet got ready to take off. Greg sat with Carlin and Karaliskos, and began, “Ok. So, back on Heilagur, the big dude I fought there only allowed me time to defend myself when he thought I was dead. I fell hard after he cut me, but I landed in water since the street was flooded. The Nazi didn’t factor that as a variable, so he figured I was dead. I played dead for a bit,
and then I got my chance.
Back there, I did the same thing. I simply lay down, and held my breath when he came to confirm his kill. He once again figured that, with the amount of ammo he sprayed in my direction, that I had to have been killed. Hence, my presence here now,” explained Greg.
“Hmm, this is good. We have to alert high command as soon as possible. Mind you, I don’t think the Chancellor will let this go ignored for too long. He is going to want to see your body for himself, and, when he discovers our escape, he is going to be pissed. Also, there is something else I learned today that gives me great sorrow,” said Carlin.
“What?” asked Greg.
“Dr. Groebner is here; he is working for the Nazis. This is bad.”
“Wasn’t Groebner the best scientist the Imperium had?” asked Greg.
“He was. He was also the lead researcher into cloning technology, which I am guessing is what those big ass SS dudes are. That explains the lack of physical attributes and complexion. Dr. Groebner is a friggin’ genius; there is no telling what he can do for the Nazis. Not only new creations, but helping the Nazis understand our secrets as well.
Dr. Groebner’s head is filled with so many secrets and innovations, that he alone could change the tide of the war,” said Carlin who shifted his eyes to the floor.
Greg frowned himself, as he tried to clear his mind, and process everything that was happening.
CHAPTER 19
Back in the facility; Friedrich was getting antsy while awaiting his soldier’s reports. He stood straight and proper, occasionally straightening the wrinkles in his leather trench coat, getting more and more impatient. He was about to give up, but the doors slammed open, and his clones entered the room. He straightened up, gave a salute, and asked for the progress report, to see if the intruders had been dealt with.
“We eliminated the intruder, mien fuhrer”, said the SS Leader.
“Very good, Sergeant, and where are the bodies?” replied Friedrich.
“Well, we left the body in the woods; we levelled the entire forest with SS Thirty Two’s MG82.”
“You didn’t find the others, and, at least, bring the body as proof of his demise?” asked Richthofen.
“Nein.”
Richthofen turned his head, and cracked his neck. He was not happy with this report.
He then spun around, with his Luger pistol drawn, and shot the SS Elite right between the eyes. The body plopped to the floor, limp and empty. The other clones all straightened themselves out, terrified to meet the same fate, for they were programmed not to fear anything besides their master.
“From now on, my good soldiers, you will make sure and confirm your kills MY way. You will check the status of all small arms skirmishes or shootouts; large battles will be dealt with by normal infantry. You will make sure to bring the bodies of any spies or intruders to me, or your commanding officer. They now must know you are clones. They know you have no feelings, and, in turn, no instincts, so you must give yourself some. Substitute your lack of human feelings with actions depicting them; we must keep these enemies fooled, if we are to finish our cleansing of the galaxy. The cleansing must not be stopped”, lectured Richthofen.
The clones all saluted. They understood their orders, and resumed their objective, as they all boarded their assigned ships, and soared off into the vastness of space.
Richthofen saw them off, and then went towards his own ship, docked in another part of the underground facility. He walked up the ramp into the behemoth ship of destruction, and towards his room.
He entered his room, sat down at his rotating chair, and spun it around facing his desk. He took off his hat, and placed it on the wooden head on the corner of his desk. He began writing in his journal, where he had been depicting his actions and his life since he started the regime many years ago.
He wrote two or three pages, releasing his stress, before he sat back and slunk down in his chair. He reached up to the side of his mask, turned three separate knobs, and unhitched three other metal buckles on the opposite side. His mask hissed as the purified oxygen filter released the excess air. He slowly pulled the face off his head, placing it on the table in front of him.
His mask was made up of four pieces, two for the top half of his face and two for the bottom, but he usually left the top and bottom pieces hitched together. He repeated the process, and placed the back part of the helmet mask on the desk next to the front. He stared into the mirror, hating what he saw. He swore at himself in German.
He took off his gloves and moved his fingers across his rough, skinless face, feeling the bone of his jaw and cheeks, and scratching at the loose muscle tissue. His eyes began to dry; they started to crust up, so he took a spare pair of goggles in his desk, and placed them over his eyes. He sighed with sadness, for all he really wanted was to see a sunrise on a beautiful veranda without having to look through metal and glass.
He began to feel dead, feel empty; there was an empty spot that he could not fill. He felt his neck where the skin ended, and his demonic face began. He looked at the hat on the dummy head on his desk. He glared at the Reichsadler crest, and he smiled.
This was his dream now, the Nazi dream, the dream of every man in his army. He felt confidence rise inside him; the sun rose in his heart once again, and he remembered his true purpose.
He turned on his ancient record player, and triumphant opera began to play. He tapped his feet, and swung his hand along with the beat, occasionally cocking his head from side to side, personifying the emotion the orchestra was portraying.
He stood up abruptly, took the pieces of his mask, and securely fastened them on once again, with strength and fluidity. He then mimed dancing with a woman, as if he was at the annual Reichstag ball he held, back on New Germany. He swung around, moving his feet to the beat. He switched hands with his invisible partner and spun around gracefully before the song finally ended. He turned off his record player, and placed his hat back atop his head. His mind had returned to its original state, and he had become once again the man he was born to be.
He threw on his leather trench coat, fixing the iron cross medallion in under his collar, and moved towards the bridge. He entered, and gazed out the window of the observation level. He caught a glimpse of Greg’s Imperium transports as they sped off into the distance like terrified jack rabbits.
He chuckled to himself as he moved towards his navigator, whispering to him instructions in German, and sat in his chair as the ship took flight. His ship shrank into the darkness of the abyss. Where they were going was between the Chancellor and his pilot.
Back on board the Imperium transport fleet, Greg tried to debrief his comrades about what had taken place.
He was still shaken up at almost being killed a second time by these new super soldiers the Nazis had created. He had exploited a weakness in their new soldiers, a weakness that most likely wouldn’t last long, so Greg thought hard about how to continue this momentum.
The ship began to enter hyper space, an ordeal Greg hated over and over. He strapped himself in tight, trying to distract his mind from the turbulence, and back onto the task at hand. He discussed what had transpired with his men.
He told them about the clones’ inability to sense, or to use their instinct to detect a flaw in the combat system. They were probably trained not to see things clearly, either, making it easier for them to kill innocent people and aliens. Perhaps they saw demonic creatures, bent on feasting on their flesh, but, in reality, they were young children, almost as if they were brainwashed, or hallucinating.
He described their massive size, their incredible organization, and reflexes. He also mentioned their lack of hair, and other unique features he had seen in the autopsy from before. Their being created artificially disabled the genetic code, or DNA, that their “parents” would have given them. So, instead of having different coloured ha
ir and eyes, they grew up normally hairless, with plain, pale eyes.
As he continued, the ships came to an abrupt halt. Greg stood up from his seat to see what was wrong. He moved to the cockpit, and placed his hand on the pilots shoulder, asking him what he was looking at.
The pilot pointed straight ahead, and said, “Invasion fleet sir, and they are moving towards the Delta Quadrant’s Imperium space platform.
Sure enough, as Greg peered through the glass, all that filled his vision were battleships. There were thousands, more than thousands. He could not even begin to imagine how many and how terrifying they were.
They were all incredible: colossal, and armed to the teeth. Each Nazi battleship was also accompanied by dozens of smaller fighter jets and bombers. They were on full speed towards the platform, but a fleet this large could take on two, maybe three, platforms at once.
The next action by the fleet made Greg gulp in disgust. As he thought that, the fleet sure enough broke apart; a large group of maybe eight hundred ships or so turned eastward, heading towards Gamma Quadrant. A third fleet then branched off the first, and headed towards Alpha Quadrant. They couldn’t possibly attempt both Gamma’s and Delta’s platforms, as well as the Right Hand of God, all at once, could they?
Little did he know, it wasn’t in the Nazi’s best interest to conquer the galaxy in one swoop. They wanted to take it piece by piece.
CHAPTER 20