Fragmented Evil

by Craig Wrightson

  With a cruel smile, Hans turned and addressed the assembled spectators who were sat silent in total shock.

  ‘What you are about to witness next may for some of you seem somewhat unorthodox. Place your trust in me. We have trialled and researched this subject for two years now, as hundreds of sacrificed corpses will lay testament to. With the Allies now pushing us back, everything has been accelerated over the last months. We have run final field trials this last week, and what you are about to see is nothing short of scientific perfection.’

  He turned again and nodded to the orderly, who immediately jumped to life with a sparkle in his eyes. He eagerly wheeled his medicine trolley to the first prisoner. He tied a thin rubber hose around his arm tightly and watched as the veins began to sprout out of his skin. Quick as a flash, he inserted a syringe into his arm and pushed the plunger, sending a clear white fluid into his bloodstream. Without looking at his patient any further he moved on and repeated the process on the next unsuspecting victim. The first prisoner lifted his head up slightly, his eyes blinked momentarily, then he shuddered as his head dropped and his chest stopped rising and falling. Less than five minutes later, after checking the victim’s pulse, death was confirmed by a simple nod of the head. The orderly’s job was complete and he was back in his original position with a look of pride on his face. All six prisoners were now clearly dead.

  Outside, Corporal Morris was white faced. Had he witnessed murder or the execution of medical trials? He had no idea. His bladder was at bursting point but still he was rooted to the spot.

  Hans addressed the senior SS officers before him, also struggling to come to terms with what they had just witnessed.

  ‘Gentlemen, please relax. I need you to have a full understanding of what you are about to witness next. I have pushed the boundaries of science as far as any doctor or scientist has ever done. The results you are about see will blow your minds. I am going to give you a weapon, the likes of which you have never seen. Something that you won’t have dreamt about in your wildest dreams. Something that will strike fear into the souls of all mankind and something that will turn the tides of this war. What we, as a superior nation, achieve today will be history in the making and will revolutionise how future wars are fought and won.’

  Captivated, the audience waited for the next stage. Holding up a glass vial of yellowish fluid, Hans proclaimed,

  ‘The injection they are about to receive will bring them back from the dead. Please do not be afraid. Instead, be proud of the fact that you are here today to witness one of the greatest achievements of mankind. I am going to administer a cocktail of drugs mixed together with an extremely high amount of adrenalin. The cocktail will promote accelerated growth and recovery. Their speed and strength will be unmatched by our enemies. Injuries like minor bullet wounds and knife cuts will not slow them down or require them to be withdrawn from the battlefield for medical help. They will simply power on regardless of the situation. Obviously, a head shot or a shot to any of their major organs will kill them; they are not monsters, merely super humans, modified and enhanced to suit our needs and the needs of the fatherland.’

  Another pause, whilst a sip of water was taken, slowly for effect, as he looked over those who had assembled.

  ‘Sadly, there is a limitation as to their use in the field. They only have a lifespan of six weeks. During this time, they will be highly effective. After six weeks they will slow down and develop symptoms similar to the bubonic plague, a disease so potent it has wiped out millions of people over the years. Their skin will rot rapidly turning black, gangrene will set in, and their organs will shut down, causing diarrhoea and internal bleeding. I won’t lie to you, they will suffer an unbearable, agonising death. No specimen yet has lasted more than seven weeks. But now, the moment you have all been waiting for. The final act.’

  Without the need for further instruction, the orderly wheeled his trolley out one last time. Stopping in front of the first prisoner, he selected a vial of the yellow cocktail, fitted it to a new syringe and plunged it deep into his lifeless arm. Again, the task was completed in seconds. The assembled crowd held their breath, and Corporal Morris stood outside trembling in fear.

  After a minute, the body of the first prisoner started to move. First his restrained arm began to tremble, hardly noticeable at first. His whole arm soon began to twitch, the veins threatening to burst through the skin as they grew, fighting against the restriction of their skin. He flung his shoulders back, forcing his chest forwards and slowly began to come back to life. The colour crept back into his face and his mouth opened slightly to take in air. Without warning, his head straightened and his eyes opened.

  Outside, Corporal Morris struggled to contain his shock and warm urine trickled down his legs. The specimen looked him straight in the eyes, they connected, and once again Corporal Morris witnessed the red eyes of the devil.

  Chapter 8

  Once all the prisoners had returned to life, a proud Hans delivered his final speech.

  ‘Gentlemen. I present to you our first members of the soon to be infamous SS Satanic Brigade. I trust you will use then wisely and to their full potential. I will, of course, be monitoring the results.’

  He stood staring at his audience then flung out his arm in rigid salute. ‘Sieg heil and good luck.’

  Corporal Morris had seen enough. He was stricken with fear but he knew it was his duty to do something. As Hans shook hands and chatted with his fellow SS officers, he pulled away from the viewing point at the window with a plan in mind.

  In double time, with his gun at the ready, he made his way to the entrance of the church. He stood to the side listening for sounds before slowly peering around the corner. Inside was a stone porch that appeared to be in better shape than the rest of the building. Lit candles were on the wall and paintings of Christ and his apostles had been straightened. The stone floor had been swept clean by the new occupants and a thick oak bookcase brimming with old literature stood to the side of the open original door which led into the church itself.

  A burly member of the SS field police stood inside the church, presumably meant to be keeping guard. Neglecting his duties, he had his back to the door having been inadvertently caught up in the floor show delivered by his inspirational officer. Oblivious to the danger he was in, his sub machine gun hung loosely from his shoulder.

  Acting on the spot, Corporal Morris withdrew his dagger from its sheath. It had been unused so far during the war and was as sharp as the day it had been manufactured. With slow and deliberate footfalls, he approached the SS field policeman. When he was close enough to smell his prey, he flung an arm around his face, clasping his mouth and nose firmly shut. With a strength he did not know he possessed, Corporal Morris drove the blade into the side of his exposed neck where it severed his jugular. He held onto the dying man who, after a minimal struggle, went limp. Corporal Morris gently dragged him back into the porch out of sight. As he was dragging the dead SS field officer, he noticed a second medical trolley pushed away into the darkness, presumably spares. He released his grip and gently picked one of the yellow vials free. He gingerly placed it in the pocket of his smock and continued to carry the body out into the porch.

  He closed the thick wooden door leading into the church behind him, praying that it would not squeak. Once shut, he drove home the thick bolts located at the top and bottom. These were aged and he had to use all of his strength to close them securely. A centuries old wooden gate bar stood to the side of the door. He pulled the bar down and fitted it firmly into the door bracket. No one was going to escape from here in a hurry.

  As a final measure, Corporal Morris moved the bookcase in front of the door. He turned to leave, but a sudden thought caused him to stop. With madness in his eyes, corporal Morris began to tear out the pages from the books. He rolled the sheets into balls and spread them across the barricade. Satisfied, he took a match from his pocket and dragged it along the stone floor. He stood loo
king at the curling flame and then placed the match against the papers. Centuries dry, the paper easily ignited and spread to the remaining books. Soon the whole door to the church was ablaze and the small stone reception began to fill with dense black smoke.

  He jogged back to the peep hole and peered inside. All the gathered SS officers and Hans were huddled together chatting, unaware of the inferno generating close to them. Soon the thick smoke made its way under the locked door and danced into the church. It was the orderly who spotted it first; he struggled to get his words out, before he finally composed himself and shouted out a warning to the others.

  When they turned to see what the panic was, Corporal Morris threw his last two remaining hand grenades into the church, one after another. He didn’t know how accurate his aim had been but he hoped that the close confines of the church would help maximize the devastation.

  He ducked down under the window. The explosions were almost simultaneous, and they rattled the stone church. Smoke and dust were strewn from the windows. Corporal Morris waited a second for it to settle then looked again, surveying the total devastation that was taking place. The fire had burnt through the church door in seconds and engulfed the inside. Searching out the oxygen in the room, it grew stronger by the second. Everything in its way was obliterated as the orange flames grew thicker. They climbed up the walls and streaked across the ceiling. Everyone in the room was in total panic, jostling and searching for a way out of the inferno. Bodies lay strewn on the floor from the explosions, some dead, some dying, all ignored as the panic intensified.

  The prisoners remained manacled to their seats, unflinching. They showed no obvious signs of concern as the fire closed in around them. The flames licked at their feet and ignited the wooden chairs. The smell of singed and burning skin could now be detected in the smoke that poured through the window. Corporal Morris had seen enough. His job here was done.

  He stubbed the nozzle of his Sten gun inside the small opening and opened fire. Screams could be heard from inside mingled together with shouts of fear. Once he had emptied all his rounds, Corporal Morris simply dropped his gun, turned, and legged it as fast as he could. His last memory of looking through the opening was of Hans shaking with anger as baby tears ran down his cheeks.

  Chapter 9

  Just as he had prayed for, all the guards had been alerted to the smoke and had abandoned their posts to help rescue the others and put the fire out, which by now had taken a strong hold. Flames danced through the roof tiles and squeezed their way out of the boarded up windows.

  Corporal Morris flew past the guard house and kept running; he never looked back, expecting to hear a warning shout or to receive a bullet in the back at any moment. Thankfully, this did not come and he safely made it to the cover of the woods. He nearly ran face first into an old tree but managed to stop himself just in time. As soon as he stopped, the energy drained from him, forcing him to hold onto the trunk of the tree to stop himself from keeling over. As he struggled to get his breath back, the enormity of what had just occurred hit him. He swivelled his head to the side and vomited into the undergrowth below. He then lowered himself to the floor, made himself comfortable and closed his eyes.

  It must have been close to dawn when he awoke with a start. The first light of the new day was slowing creeping into the woods, grey, gloomy and depressing. Sat on the floor, Corporal Morris cleared his eyes and listened tentatively. No birds chirped and nothing moved. It was as if the wood was dead, unable to sustain anything living. He took a sip of tepid water from his bottle and relished the coolness it brought. He was just about to dig out his map when his ears caught the faintest of sounds and the hairs on his neck pricked up. It was the unmissable sound of barking dogs heading his way.

  He jumped up, drawing the collar of his smock around his neck to protect him from the morning chill. The barking became louder. Corporal Morris could imagine the two huge Alsatians from the camp gates straining at their owner’s lead, spit erupting from their jaws, desperate to track down their prey. Him.

  He picked up his trusted Sten gun and checked the side-mounted magazine. It was empty, just as he feared. He flung it into a bush and set off, jogging deeper into the woods. Soon the noise of the barking dogs became distant and he forced himself to slow down. The light struggled to penetrate through and the floor was cast in shadows. Nervously, he continued.

  #

  At exactly the same time that Corporal Morris was fleeing through the woods, a lone US Willys Jeep headed slowly to the same area.

  Private First Class Joe Carter of the US 101st Airborne Division sat steadily behind the wheel, carefully manoeuvring the jeep over the uneven ground beneath him. Beside him sat Sergeant Robert Cole, a veteran since August 1942. He was perched over a map but had his M1 Garand rifle close to hand. They had been out scouting the area ahead since first light. The rest of their division was laid up two miles back. Enemy activity had been reported as low, but strange stories had emerged, and their commanders had requested a fast in, fast out recce of the area before he committed to moving his men any further.

  Bouncing up and down in the small jeep was becoming irksome. They had been travelling for an hour now with no sign of enemy activity.

  ‘Hey, Sarge, what do you say to a quick coffee? I’m needing a jizz with all the bumping around.’

  A parched Sergeant Cole looked at his young fresh-faced trooper who still had lots to learn.

  ‘Sure thing, Joe. Pull over by the top of that ridge. Quick piss and a coffee, then we hit the road again. I want to be outta this shit hole as soon as we can. Got myself a poker game with the boys this afternoon.’

  #

  Corporal Morris raced through the woods, trying to put as much distance between him and his pursuers as possible. With the end of the wood in sight, he slowed his pace down to a slow walk. He had no idea what was waiting for him on the other side but knew he could afford a few minutes to check that the coast was clear. Still the wood was deathly silent. He was just about to move on when a crack of a twig sounded in the air to his right-hand side, interrupting the stillness.

  Corporal Morris slowly swivelled his head, conscious not to make any sound of his own. Miraculously, Hans Weisthor was standing less than ten feet away from him. He was looking in the opposite direction and had not yet seen Corporal Morris. The minute he turned around he would see him in an instant. His cap was missing, and his previously immaculate dress uniform was stained and singed from the blaze. Corporal Morris could not figure out how he was still alive. The last time he had looked the fire was well and truly blazing. Either the guards had put the fire out and rescued the occupants or there was another exit that he had not been aware of. Regardless, he was here now, and Corporal Morris knew he was going to have to deal with him once and for all.

  He ran his hand down his leg in search of his Fairbairn-Sykes double-edged fighting knife. His fingers ran over the sheath and his heart sank as he realised it was missing.

  As if he had a sixth sense, Hans Weisthor straightened his back and turned around to face Corporal Morris, who recoiled in disgust when he saw his face for the first time since the fire. The entire left side of his cheek had burnt away and the wound was raw with blackened skin. Had the flames continued any further up his face then Hans would have definitely lost an eye and would possibly be dead. His right hand, which he had used to beat out the flames, was now just a useless red stump.

  Hans smiled sadistically when he saw the look of disgust on Corporal Morris’ face. His good hand reached down. He pulled out his SS dagger and started to close the distance between the two. His eyes never left Corporal Morris’ gaze. The dagger was held out in front of him and the sharp tip never wavered from its target.

  Hans jabbed with his dagger and Corporal Morris, who had been expecting the move, only just managed to pull back out of the way. The sharpened point missed his smock by millimetres. As he stepped back, Hans followed up with a stabbing motion. This time, hi
s timing was perfect and the blade struck home, deep into Corporal Morris’ thigh. Hans ran the blade up his leg, further opening the wound. Corporal Morris screamed out in pain. He knew he was in trouble. Blood pumped from the gash. Pushing it from his mind, he stood up and faced his attacker head on.

  Hans’ confidence was flying; he knew it would soon be over. Without giving Corporal Morris any time to recover, he stepped forwards again, arm outstretched, ready to deliver the killer blow.

  In sheer desperation Corporal Morris flung out his hand and dug his nails into the side of his attacker’s burnt face. His nails easily pierced through the raw skin and Hans screamed like a stuck pig, dropping his dagger. Corporal Morris dragged his nails further down causing the raw skin to peal open. Pus and blood dripped down onto his wrist. Still he kept clawing away. Hans dropped to the floor, withering, his hand firmly clasped against his gaping wound.

  Corporal Morris turned and ran, flinging himself through the last of the trees where he landed at the bottom of an embankment. He looked at his thigh; it was bleeding heavily and he could feel himself going into shock. Driven on by the sheer will to live, he sluggishly hobbled up the embankment. Behind him, he heard Hans exit the tree line, also, stumbling and falling. Corporal Morris never looked back, he just pushed on further.

  #

  The two GI’s had parked their Willys Jeep at the top of the embankment and were crouched down waiting for their cup of coffee to boil. They had filtered some chicory beans into a metal cup and were just waiting for it to drip through. The aroma was driving them crazy.