by Andrew Iddon
Inside, Greg was inspected for wounds, health problems, and other imperfections from the battle. They were shocked to see he was already patched up. Greg explained in great detail the entire freak trip to the Cerebronian labs, and his “test” with Friedrich. The Emperor, along with his staff, just listened unhindered. Greg was unsure if they believed him, or they were just too shocked to comment.
Victavius’s scholars were writing the whole account in their logbooks. This could be the first discovery of the Cerebronians. Greg wasn’t even sure if they were still alive, after the Nazi war against all but the Aryan race reached them. They quickly finished the inspection, got Greg into a fresh clean officer’s uniform, and hurried him to the council chambers. Greg didn’t know why everyone was in such a hurry, but he didn’t resist.
CHAPTER 27
Once they all reached the Imperium council chamber, everyone took their seats in their appropriate spots; Greg was seated three seats down from the Emperor’s throne. Greg was eager to see what this meeting was about; almost every ambassador from every faction and species belonging to the Imperium were there, all waiting impatiently. Greg looked across the room, and saw an old friend, the Patriarch of the Amarosians himself. This was incredible; the Patriarch hadn’t left his planet since the Amarosians were first inducted into the Imperium, after the occupation of their planet, maybe ten years earlier.
Greg was still pondering everyone’s presence when something hit his mind like a brick wall, the broadcast. The Nazi broadcast was today, in a few minutes as a matter of fact.
The Emperor finally stood, and hushed everyone in the council.
“People, good citizens of my Empire, the Imperium, everyone must calm down. I thank all of you for making your presence here possible. We would like to welcome the Patriarch of the Amarosian peoples, as well as the President of the New United Colonies of Mankind, even though his nation is not a part of our glorious Imperium. The King of the Slavorians, the Chieftain of the Groffs, and even the CEO of Universal Incorporated, The Chairman himself!” began the Emperor.
Immediately, a spark went off in Greg’s head. The Chairman dared show himself here, after Greg witnessed him helping the Nazis in their cloning facility? Greg had to say something; he couldn’t just sit here as some Nazi spy sat in on their meetings!
Greg finally stood up, and yelled across the room, “You there! Chairman! How much are the Nazis paying you to make their clones? How dare you show your face here, after what you did in that cloning facility?”
“What are you talking about, Lieutenant? The Chairman, and Universal Incorporated have been nothing but allies to the Imperium, and we all know that. Sit down!” yelled the Emperor.
“No! I will not sit idly by, as this Nazi spy sits in on our meetings!” replied Greg.
“I assume you have some freak evidence of this?” asked the Chairman.
“As a matter of fact, I do. Well, I don’t personally, but Colonel Carlin, my old friend, and the son of the Patriarch, were both there with me. They can both testify. He has all the evidence on his person. The last time I saw them both, however, was on the platform!” said Greg.
Upon hearing this, The Chairman slumped back into his chair, and his face grew pale. He whispered to his associates, before something appeared in the main hologram projector in the centre of the council chamber. The Nazi broadcast had begun.
The whirring and buzzing of the static stopped, as the signal was coming in clear now. It was showing the command centre of the control platform that fell. There were a row of regular Nazi infantry, standing in a straight line in the back ground, with three hooded figures sitting in chairs in front of them. From off screen approached a fancily dressed Nazi officer, in a stylish grey commander’s uniform with a red stripe on the sides of pant legs, with dozens of merit badges and medals. He walked towards the three hooded figures, and turned around to face the camera. He put on his officers hat, and shined the Reichsadler emblem on the front of it, so it gleamed in the light.
He began to speak, “Greetings, citizens of the galaxy! I am General Rudolf Fleischer of the Fourth Reich, and commander of the Luftwaffe. I am here to make an example of you, and your precious Imperium of dogs. Here I have with me three Imperial men of importance.”
He reached over, and revealed the three prisoners. There, sitting in front of the whole galaxy, were Colonel Carlin, Karaliskos, and Roy Darius. Everyone immediately broke out in uproar, mainly the Patriarch and his ensemble of advisors, at the sight of his son. As the general began to speak again, everyone began to hush and listen.
“I am pleased to announce to you that your defence of this so called impenetrable fortress has been crushed, and all survivors are being executed, or thrown into work camps on our various territories. These three put up quite a fight, refused to tell us anything about your plans, or even the location of your other platforms, but we will find them in due time. We have all your data and records on these computers here. That is beside the point. I am here to teach you guys about manners, especially when meeting, or talking to your superiors.
This, ladies and gentleman, is a war hammer, found in the dungeon of a castle dating to the Holy Roman Empire, used primarily to crush the heavy armor of European knights of the time; it’s heavy, but versatile, and easy to use. With this I will be showing you how to bow to your superiors,” Fleischer continued.
He stood Carlin up, took his hammer, and swung it with all his might directly at Carlin’s left knee. It made a loud pinging noise, then the squish of flesh collapsing under his weight, as Carlin fell on his knee. Then Fleischer swung again, shattering Carlin’s other knee. Carlin screamed in pain, as he lay down on his side, blood spewing from his shattered knees. He was lying in a pool of his own blood within seconds.
Fleischer then walked over to Karaliskos, grabbed his arm, and laid his hand out on a small end table in front of the camera.
“It is also impolite to point fingers when you blame others, like when you blamed the Nazis for being evil, or for killing innocent people,” Fleischer continued.
The Patriarch cringed, and stood up, reaching his hand out to his son, trying to grab him from the hologram, and bring him back to safety, tears trickling from his large orb eyes.
Fleischer grabbed one of Karaliskos’ fingers, and held it firm, before ripping upwards as if he was revving a chainsaw. A loud bellowing howl shook the room, as the cracking sound of Karaliskos’ long slender finger snapped backwards. Fleischer continued down his hand; one at a time breaking the fingers, slowly and painfully. Karaliskos’ hand was trembling; the pain was unbearable. He was squealing like a possessed animal, as his entire hand was disfigured, and bleeding, from the broken skin of bone fragments.
The Patriarch moaned in agony, as if he could feel the pain his son was enduring, as if his own fingers were being broken. Fleischer kicked Karaliskos to the ground before making his way to Darius.
“Ah, we come to the highest ranking officer here, General Roy Darius. What do we do when we are being promoted to your rank? We place our hand over our heart, and repeat the pledge of honor, and then we accept our ceremonial sword!” laughed Fleischer.
He took Darius’ hand and placed it over his heart; he then picked up a nail rifle, not commonly used in combat until recent years, and placed it over the back of Darius’ hand. Darius begged for him to stop, offered him money, services, anything, but Fleischer didn’t flinch. He grinned as he pulled the trigger, blasting the nail through the back of Darius’ hand, and through his chest.
The head of the massive nail stopped at the top of his hand, the nail punctured through his chest, and barely missed his heart. Darius moaned in pain, as his hand was stapled to his chest, blood was oozing out his hand and chest, dripping to the floor below. He dropped to his knees before Fleischer, who then drew Darius’ sword, placed it on Darius’ shoulder as if he was knighting him. He then turned i
t on its side, sharp end down. He raised it high into the air, and swung down plunging the blade into Darius’ collar bone. It sank into his flesh like butter, and was pulled back out, cleaned, and placed on his other shoulder. Darius was now spitting blood all over himself; his whole body shook terribly, and he could barely speak. He grew extremely pale as Fleischer raised the blade, again roared before he swung, “I DUB YOU, SIR ROY DARIUS, OF THE COWARDS ALLEGIANCE OF THE IMPERIUM!” and chopped into his other shoulder at equal depth. Darius shuddered one last time, before his maimed corpse fell to the floor, lifeless, still pooling blood at an extreme rate.
Fleischer was panting with glee; he was maniacally grinning and laughing under his breath, as he walked back over to Karaliskos.
“Ah, you disgusting alien, you don’t look much like an Aryan, do you? You don’t have blonde hair and blue eyes? Let us change that.
Fritz! Bring me the replacement eyes,” Fleischer said. He held two blue glass eyes in his palm. “Now, how are we going to get these in there?”
He turned to the camera, almost looking the Patriarch dead in the eyes, “First those beautiful orb eyes of his are going to have to come out, isn’t that right, Daddy?”
The Patriarch snarled in disgust, as he stood out of his chair, throwing paper, writing instruments, anything he had, at the screen.
Fleischer laughed to himself, and brought out a spoon. Two Nazi soldiers came up, and grabbed Karaliskos by his shoulders, and held him firm. Fleischer held Karaliskos’ eyelid open, and took the spoon to the corner of his eye. He then sunk the spoon into the corner of his eye, and began twisting and curving around, laughing as he did it. The sound of an egg cracking seared through everyone’s minds as they all turned away, crying and yelling in hatred. Karaliskos made a sound never heard by human ears, feeling more pain than anyone could imagine. Soon an echoed pop was heard as Fleischer plucked his eye from its socket, like he was scooping ice cream out of the tub.
He then took one of the glass eyes, and shoved it in the empty hole, turning it as if he was screwing it into place. He then took the spoon, and began the same procedure to the other eye, sinking the spoon into the corner, and turning and plucking it out and replacing it with the other glass eye.
Karaliskos was crying out of his artificial eyes, unable to speak, or even breathe properly. The Patriarch was sobbing; his son, and heir to his throne, was being played with like a toy doll; the rest of the council were either crying or trying to hold back their lunches. Greg sat there emotionless; he couldn’t believe how far these men were willing to go. How could a human being possibly do that to another person, even an alien?
“Yes! Oh the power of being able to play God with these people’s lives, like your Imperium did, and is still doing?
WE WILL NOT BE STOPPED THIS TIME… NOT THIS TIME!
Our ancestors were defeated by Earth’s combined alliance. The German Army was perfect! The Aryan time had come! You had to play God, though, and STOP that which is destiny. That is why you will suffer more than your ancestors ever did. Your people will be ripped apart, PIECE BY PIECE. Take a look at what we will do to every one of your citizens! Say hello, Bobo!” roared Fleischer.
Karaliskos was being propped up like a scarecrow puppet. Fleischer was playing with his jaw, imitating a ventriloquist. Bobbing him up and down, flailing his head around like he was a ragdoll.
“You know what; he is not quite Aryan, for he’s not human. Well, I had my fun; say good bye, Bobo,” joked Fleischer.
He sat Karaliskos back down, drew a pistol, held it to his head, and pulled the trigger without even hesitating. Karaliskos’ head plummeted to the ground with great speed; chunks of brain and skull were all pouring from the gaping hole in his forehead. Karaliskos, the son and heir to the throne of Heilagur, was dead.
“Ah, did you think we forgot about our elderly friend here. He has been so polite to bow before me this whole time. Let us light a fire in his honor.”
Fleischer picked up a case of ship fuel, and began pouring it over Carlin. He sat him back in his chair, and wiped the gas from his eyes. Carlin choked on the taste, and almost vomited on himself, from the smell. He looked into the camera, swearing to himself from the pain of his knees that were now also being filled with dripping gas. Fleischer then took a calabash pipe from his pocket, and placed it in his mouth, lighting it with a match. He looked towards the camera, gave thumbs up, and tossed the match on Carlin’s lap, igniting him in a fast flurry of fire.
A few Nazi soldiers jumped back from the extremity of the blaze, and how fast it ignited. Carlin bellowed, and roared in pain, as he could feel the skin curl up, and fall off his flesh. He sat there like a bonfire by himself, as pieces of his body began to fall off, fingers and toes, then an entire arm, the bottoms of his legs from his knees, but still he lived.
With a last breath, he screamed through the blaze, “LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR! LONG LIVE THE IMPERIUM! LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR! LONG LIVE THE IMPERIUM! LONG LIVE… LONG LIVE THE… emperor.” His head bowed, and fell silent; the flames had almost stopped. Fleischer picked up the camera, and placed it on a higher rest, facing it towards him.
“Your pride will be your downfall. This is just a taste of what will happen to each and every one of you pathetic fools. HEIL FRIEDRICH VON RICHTHOFEN for the Fuhrer and Fatherland!”
The screen disappeared. Everyone was silent, still processing what had just happened. Greg stood from his chair, but the room began to spin; he fell to the ground gasping for air. He couldn’t help himself anymore; he began to cry profusely, sobbing like a little girl who just lost her mother. He lost three of his close friends, all who were toys to this madman, and he wasn’t even in charge. Richthofen was responsible; he gave all the freedom Fleischer wanted.
Greg stopped crying, and swelled with hate. He could have killed Richthofen on that Cerebronian planet, and saved billions. He blamed himself for his mistake; he felt he was personally responsible for the death and pain that was soon to come.
It was coming hard and fast; it was a Blitzkrieg. The Emperor then stood in front of the whole council, and yelled with pride, “Those men, and a brave Amarosian prince, all served the Imperium, and, in retrospect, me! They served me unto their dying breaths, and I PROMISE you these Nazis will all pay; these inhuman genocidal monsters are going to all be destroyed by the GREATER GOOD! We have suffered a serious defeat at the platform, and the countless planets and colonies that have been conquered so quickly by the Nazi Blitzkrieg. Now we have but one option in order to ensure our safety, and the safety of all sentient life in this universe. WE MUST ATTACK!”
The entire council roared with applause; they screamed battle cries and yelled, “LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR! LONG LIVE THE IMPERIUM!” The dying cry of an old war hero.
Greg stood amongst the blood thirsty mob, and looked over at the Chairman’s booth, to find nothing but an empty seat. Greg chuckled to himself, as he looked upon the thunderous applause, and the raised fists of the council members, and that of the Emperor, who truly thought he was God. Greg knew this was going to be a messy war, and, from what he had seen, the Imperium had little chance.
Gregory prepared to leave the chambers, before he was stopped by someone who grabbed his shoulder lightly. He turned quickly, and his mouth dropped. It was his father, Gryphon Simons, who stared back at him with soft eyes. Greg couldn’t help himself; he threw a hug around him.
“Father! I thought you had perished upon the sands of Nassau. It is good to see you still breathing,” he said.
Gryphon was a little startled. He hadn’t hugged someone in a long time, but he let go of his arrogance, and hugged back. “I know…”
The Emperor then stepped in, and interrupted their reunion. Greg wiped a tear from his face, and then saluted his highness.
“Greg, this is a dark day for us all. The Imperium shall not forget this,” said Victavius.
; “I shall bring justice to the barbarian horde that is responsible for this,” said Greg, with a smile on his face.
“Well, if you are going to do that, you could use some help,” replied the Emperor. “I think it’s time we brought the three heroes of Fraxinos and the 1991st out of retirement, so they can bring the fist of Imperial justice straight to the heart of the Nazis.”
“The 1991st!? My lord, it has been years since they fought in your name. Are you sure they are ready to fight again?” asked Greg.
The Emperor laughed back at him, “I would ask the Nazis that; they are the ones who will need preparation.”
Greg, Gryphon, and the Emperor laughed amongst themselves, a small glimmer of hope that shone through the seemingly endless darkness that had shrouded the universe. Greg was ready; he knew what had to be done. He was ready to fight and defeat the regime.
CHAPTER 28
As the broadcast ended, the Nazi officers all gathered in the meeting room of the Reichstag, the heart of the Fourth Reich on New Germany. Friedrich von Richthofen fresh from his trip stood there amongst his officers, as Fleischer’s image buzzed in via hologram.
“Mein Fuhrer, it is done. The Imperial platform is now under our control, and the commanders have all been eliminated in the name of the Fourth Reich. What are we to do now?” Fleischer asked.
“We have all done that we can; you have all done well. Colonel Ostheim reports there is an uprising on Baronium. Send a detachment of our new Aryan Clones, and some regular infantry, to support. I should excuse myself to rally the people, who await my blessing in the courtyard. New Germany will see that even a faceless horror can inspire a nation and destroy a titan. The Imperium will not slip up again,” said Richthofen, before turning to his other officers.
“Admiral Sigmund Reinhardt, make sure the navy is prepared to secure our assets. I want all our supply lines safe. Doctor Groebner, resume your research within Colonel Ostheim’s citadel on Baronium. Ernst Kruger, see that the Richthofen youth has a fresh batch of volunteers by month’s end; those young men are our future, after all.”