by Andrew Iddon
Not soon after, aboard the Nazi flagship, The Iron Cross, Friedrich von Richthofen and his highest ranking officers discussed their future plans for the galaxy-wide genocide. He stood at the head of his own version of the round table; around him sat many sadistic, bloodthirsty German officers, with hologram versions of the officers who were currently occupied, such as Colonel Ostheim. His most trusted friends and staff were all present, from the Reichsmarschall Kristof Albrecht to his Minister of the Interior, Ludwig von Vershtad of Hamburg.
Friedrich began the briefing with a concerned tone, “Gentleman, we have a long way to go before our conquest is complete. We need to discuss what to do from here. We need to act fast, but we also need to take care; if we rush into it, we will surely fail.”
“You’re mad, Chancellor; our invasion is going swimmingly. There is nothing that can stop us,” replied General Kristof Albrecht, Richthofen’s second in command.
“You challenge my theories, Herr General? I would have expected that, with all the success I alone have brought to this regime, that you would trust my judgement a little more,” snapped Friedrich.
“My apologies, sir; please continue,” said Albrecht, as he slunk back into his chair.
“Now, as you all know, our SS Elite clones have been completed on time, and are currently performing to their expected abilities. The SS Aryan clones are in production as we speak. I have seen a few of the prototypes, and I am impressed. Even though they are doing as expected, they are, however, not good enough. The enemy infiltrated our cloning facility not two days ago, and exploited a vital weakness in their programming.”
“Weakness? Mien Fuhrer, I don’t understand,” questioned Ostheim.
“Our clones have been constructed to be super human, but they were never human to begin with. Thus, they have not developed human emotions, which, in the cases I have seen, can be imperative to success in war,” Friedrich said.
General Fleischer then perked up, and spoke, “Chancellor, if you haven’t forgotten, the last time we tried cloning with human emotions, the subjects became too smart, and rebelled against us. Wanting to be independent.”
“Yes, yes, of course. We all remember the failures of Project Genesis, and those hundred subjects have almost all been destroyed, as I ordered. There are only twelve left, and there are two who have agreed to help us in our conquest, realizing the strength of the German peoples,” replied Friedrich.
On the left hand curve of the table sat the newest member of this council of Nazis, the Chairman, who then interrupted, “With all due respect, gentlemen, my company has been researching this process since the failure of Project Genesis. I do believe we can fix these problems, in due time, without having to compromise the already finished clones. With the help of your scientists, and with my outstanding contribution to the funding of your empire, I am certain we can fix this glitch in no time at all.”
“What exactly is this glitch?” asked Regnier Schieffer, the Minister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, who was sitting on the far side of the table.
“It appears that the clones cannot determine, for lack of a better term, sneaky, tactics. They cannot distinguish the difference between a decoy and a real enemy.
In the case I stated before, they could not tell the difference between a corpse, and a man playing dead. The list could go on, but the gist of the whole thing is, if the enemy plays dirty, then our clones are useless. We have already lost one clone to a single Imperium soldier, and the same soldier fooled a squad of nearly seventeen SS,” stated Friedrich.
“Who is this man, or do you not know?” asked General Fleischer.
“We looked into the Imperium databases. We found their recently occupied regions, and discovered he is a recently promoted Sergeant Gregory Simons from Earth. He killed the SS assassin we sent to Heilagur by himself, most likely using the playing dead tactic he used against our guards at the cloning facility,” replied Friedrich.
“This Gregory Simons must be destroyed,” said Fleischer. “I shall deal with him myself. I, General Rudolf, the Butcher, Fleischer shall burn all in my path to get to this upstart. If he gets back to the Right Hand of God, he could get all the Imperium legions to use these cowardly tactics on our so called perfect soldiers.”
“Very well, General, I am confident that you will do very well, as you always have. Good luck in dealing with this Sergeant Simons, but, perhaps you could bring him to me alive?” asked Friedrich.
“Consider it done, Chancellor. I shall try to bring him alive, but do I have full permission to use brutal and murderous tactics in order to get him to submit?” Fleischer asked.
“Of course, General; we are Nazis, and you aren’t nicknamed the Butcher for being merciful.
Now, we have much else to discuss, but time is of the essence, and I have previous engagements to deal with.
Colonel Ostheim, I trust you have already devised a plan to deal with that mercenary resistance? Doctor Groebner told me of their leaders, and their so called super powers, and I trust that will not stop you.”
“Yes, mien Fuhrer, the resistance has already been cornered, and strangled out of resources and support; it is only a matter of time before we find their hideout and crush them. They liberated one propaganda centre and killed an SS clone and his squad of infantry, but that was one mistake we have learned from. Consider the Nazi hold on Omega and Gamma sectors complete,” stated Colonel Ostheim.
“Good. Gentlemen, we shall reconvene this briefing in two weeks after we attack the Delta control platform to which I shall personally participate in,” said Richthofen.
“Are you sure you should lead the attack yourself? We mustn’t underestimate the enemies’ defences and to claim your life in the first major battle of the war would absolutely dwarf our cause and progress,” asked Hermann Strauss, concerned for his master’s well being.
After he finished, the room creaked and rustled with the sounds of chairs moving, and people standing. The hologram officers vanished, and the present officers began leaving the room, ready to resume their missions.
General Fleischer and Colonel Ostheim spoke briefly to the Supreme Chancellor before returning to their ships, or turning off their hologram communicators, leaving Richthofen alone with his thoughts.
CHAPTER 21
Whilst the Germans were plotting their domination over known human space, Greg and his followers were on their way to the closest Imperium control platform to warn them of the massive Nazi fleet that was well on its way towards them.
Greg sat next to the strangely silent Karaliskos, making an attempt to get to know him better.
“You don’t talk much, do you, Karaliskos?” asked Greg.
“What is there to talk about? We Amarosians are here to help solve your problems, problems we shouldn’t associate ourselves with,” he replied.
“Well, you are wrong there. I have read about these guys before. The Nazis were a bunch of fascist, murderous creatures, who would stop at nothing to purify Earth of anything that wasn’t them. They had factories where they bred Aryan born children. They tried finding magical relics in order to help their cause; even after they had long lost the war, they still fought until their capitol’s utter ruin. That is the measure of their resolve. After the Imperium falls, they won’t stop. They will hunt down everything they can, for sport. They will find Heilagur, and destroy it, eradicate everyone, and everything you love and hold dear. If you weren’t here now, you wouldn’t be there tomorrow,” stated Greg.
“Why is it you humans cannot seem to find a common cause to fight for, a common government, or a common religion to focus on? If you humans weren’t so busy killing each other, I can barely imagine where you would be now,” replied Karaliskos.
“Well, you may have answered your own question there. If humans weren’t so busy fighting each other, we would be busy fighting everything el
se, with all our combined power. Ha, I cannot even imagine how crazy that would be. In all seriousness, though, Karaliskos, it really is an honor to have you with us. I have never fought alongside an Amarosian before, and you have some wicked skills with a blade, almost as cool as that Sabre guy I met on Baronium.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, I haven’t had so much fun in centuries; it feels good to kill again. Perhaps fate has brought us together; and perhaps we can make a difference, and stop these Natties,” said Karaliskos.
“It’s NAZIS! Ha, but I agree with you. Who knows, with a fleet that size, you are going to be putting your blade to good use,” finished Greg, as he stood, and headed back towards the cockpit.
As Greg and his small group of ships approached the platform, they noticed that the Imperium was very much aware of the incoming attack, and the floating fortress was buzzing with activity. Hundreds of fighter ships, transports, and cargo ships were zipping back and forth, all around the area. Thousands of soldiers were running around on the platform’s surface, setting up defensive barricades, and guns.
Greg’s ships landed in the very crowded star port. He and his comrades disembarked, and headed towards the command centre, where General Roy Darius was preparing.
As Greg entered the command centre, he was immediately swarmed by a group of troopers, who began frisking him, searching for weapons. Darius looked up to realize who it was, and called the soldiers off, waving for Greg to approach the briefing table.
“Well, Sergeant, it seems your crackpot theory was right. Better yet, Colonel Carlin’s trust in you has helped us to prepare for this attack. We are overstocked in weapons and medical equipment; you name it, those damn Nazis are going to need one hell of a fleet to beat us”, stated Darius.
“The funny thing is, Darius, they do. We just came from the fleet, and saw it firsthand. We made a vague estimate, and assume they have nearly eight hundred battleships alone. Their battleships, as you well know, are much stronger than that of our own. This is going to be one hell of a fight on our hands”, responded Greg.
“You’re serious? Son of a bitch! All right, Captain, prepare fighter squads Charlie and Foxtrot; we are pulling them out of the reserves. As for you, Sergeant, the Emperor had sent us a message, not two hours ago, telling me to promote you to Lieutenant, giving you direct control over one of his personal battalions.”
“Lieutenant? That’s ridiculous! I have no experience leading a force of that size”, said Greg.
“Look, I can promote some other dumbass to do your job, but, the fact of the matter is, the Emperor believed your theory and is grateful you stood up. So he wants you to lead his men. You have experience fighting the Nazi’s new SS Elites; he wants you to teach these men how to fight the regime!” ordered Darius.
Greg accepted his fate, nodded, and agreed. All of them, including their new Amarosian comrade, bowed their heads towards the mini map of the station as they discussed the battle.
“There is a lot of room for error here, we haven’t seen the full extent of the enemy fleet or its armaments yet, and we do not know exactly how they will approach this siege. There are a few primary ports where they can get in; the rest of the platform is too highly fortified, and would take days to blast through, so the ports are where our infantry make their stand. We have a multitude of AA turrets and emplacements in the area, as well as an armor division stationed in the motor pool. Now, you, Greg, will lead the defence at the landing platform 401 Omaha. It is one of the larger ones, so it will probably be a target of high value,” said Darius.
“Will our air force be sufficient to allow support against landing pods?” asked Carlin.
“I am afraid not. The air forces are going to combine with the Imperial navy, here, and help to strike at the German battleships’ weapon systems and navigations. They are too few in numbers, at this point, to do a head-on dog fight with the Germans. The rest of the air force is scattered across the sector, hunting down supply caravans,” replied Darius.
“They are going to focus mostly on infantry drops here. We have seen it before. What kind of anti personnel weaponry do we have, besides our basic troopers?” asked Greg.
“Not much. We have erected some walls, and towers on the landing pads, which should give you a bit of a stronghold to garrison when their drops come, upon the walls we have a few IAI MG8s bolted, and we also have a few teams with mobile versions to assist you, as well. There are also a few mortars left in storage, but they will not do too much good. If the arc is too high, the shell will leave the gravity field, and be lost without hitting a target,” said Darius.
“We have an abundance of basic weaponry; this will be a one sided battle in the sky, but on the ground is where the Imperium gets its reputation, and it will be on the ground where we hold them. Let’s get ready,” said Greg.
“Oh Greg? Your new uniform is in your quarters, down the hall; I hope it fits,” directed Darius, with a grin on his face.
After the briefing, Greg separated from Carlin and Karaliskos, and headed towards his new battalion. He retrieved his new officer’s uniform, put it on, and observed himself in the mirror. He felt proper and distinguished in his new attire, felt as though, with this uniform on, he looked a proper gentleman. He stroked the sleeves of the dark blue fabric leading down to his golden cufflinks; it was not a battle uniform, although it did have small armor plating underneath the chest and shoulders. He didn’t take that much more time; he had a job to do, and the fate of nearly twelve thousand soldiers was at stake.
Because of the Nazi’s Blitzkrieg strategy, attacking fast, and leaving little in their wake, on several planets at once, the control platform’s soldiers had been spread thin to help battle them all. This is what the Nazis wanted; they wanted the platform to be weak, so, when they struck, there wouldn’t be much of a fight, and would have few casualties. What the Nazis didn’t anticipate was Greg’s paranoia of conspiracies forced the platform to strengthen its defences, even without a substantial amount of troops or ships.
Greg entered the large area from which his battalion would hold their ground; it was the landing platform nicknamed Omaha. He walked out, and, before he could turn his head, heard the enormous shout of his battalion going to attention. He glanced over, startled, and then regained his composure to address his troops. He hated public speaking; he was never comfortable giving speeches to his high school buddies, let alone Imperium soldiers.
“All right, men, the Nazi Regime is at our doorstep, and we are going to see the primary attack force. This isn’t like the movies or fairy tales, where the heroes will always prevail in the end; this is real. This is the moment we have trained for; this is the moment when humanity proves to the universe that we can, and will be, strong. This is where we show that the greater good can prevail. When those fascist, racist assholes come down here, they will show no mercy. They will tear the skin from your bones with their bare hands. So, I say, let’s get ourselves a little payback for all the pain they have caused us, for all our fallen comrades, and family members. Let’s take them, and tear them apart, piece by piece, and send their Fuhrer a message, that the Imperium is not to be fucked with, and that the Imperium is here to stay. This is Omaha port, and this is the port that that Nazi horde is going to run away from, with their swastikas hanging out their asses!” he exclaimed.
The men all roared with triumph, throwing their guns and helmets into the air. Greg was happy that he didn’t need to speak anymore; his speech was short, sweet and right to the point. After his men returned to attention, he announced the battle plans. The Nazis would enter through the terraformed, artificial, gravitational bubble from the north, and come straight towards the main open port, which was Omaha.
Omaha port was the largest area, perfect for the Germans to start deploying their infantry and armor divisions en masse, and then use it as a staging point for the siege. Omaha port was also the primar
y access point to nearby ports, including the command centre. It was a key location, and a high priority target, and the Germans would be foolish to not attack there.
Greg started leading his troops into their positions, still basking in the glory of his really short speech; the soldiers were all revved and pumped, but scared. They saw what happened to their compatriots and civilian brethren at the hands of the Nazis. They saw the skinned bodies piled up in the streets, as the cities burned around them; they watched as the Nazis consumed their souls. They did not want to meet the same fate, but it was a part of the Nazi’s strategy to lower the morale of their enemies by stripping them of all hope, and flesh.
The platform was on high alert; its weapon systems were fully activated, and its troops were mostly entrenched, awaiting the gruesome battle to follow. General Darius remained in the command centre, watching the hologram video of the battlefield. It showed exactly what was happening in real time, so he could issue his orders on the spot, while being in the safety of his command centre. Greg stood there behind a Behemoth artillery battery, wondering where Carlin and Karaliskos were, wondering if he would see them at the end of the battle, if he survived.
CHAPTER 22
At that moment, alarms began to sound off. Loud, long, piercing hollers came from the large speakers on the rooftops, sounding off in patterns. They were indicating that an enemy had been spotted, and, sure enough, as Greg raised his head towards the sky, he saw the alarms were right. Far off into the distance, small black objects began to take shape as they approached them, getting bigger and bigger as they neared.
Greg made sure his men were on their toes, but he didn’t have to try hard. Every Imperium soldier on the platform was silent, staring at the horde of incoming ships. The alarms still blared, before coming to a stop, leaving the only noise to be heard being the engines of the Nazi ships. The low humming of the ships vibrated the men’s ears, as they stood there holding their breath, beginning to sweat under the pressure. The black dots turned into rigid edged black falcons, ready to swoop on their prey. They began to multiply, more and more.