Die Glocke

by M C Drake

Brezhnev waved a dismissive hand, “You worry too much.”

  Marshal of the Soviet Union Matvei Zakharov stood, he was in command of the Soviet armed forces, “Even if they do strike against us I am confident that signal will work, maybe we should activate it now as a precaution?”

  Andropov now looked horrified, he thought carefully. ‘Signal was a system that could be used to create thirty pre-made orders from headquarters to missile units; these could then be used to start retaliatory strikes against predetermined targets. It was an attempt at mutually assured destruction.'

  Before Andropov could say anything Brezhnev had agreed with Marshal Zakharov, “Do it, turn Signal on!”

  Yuri Andropov sank into his chair.

  The orders were given and the Signal system was activated but it had never been tested properly so nobody knew for sure if it was online or even if it would work at all.

  As the Soviets finalized their plans for a swift and decisive end to this war prying eyes and ears listened with interest from within the control room at Wright Patterson.

  "That boast of power emanating from the Soviet nuclear facilities confirms they have activated their mutually assured destruction device, our satellite is passing overhead now. From our calculations, we don't believe the system is working as intended."

  Sporrenberg, who had his feet crossed up casually on the desk smiled, “This technology really does amaze me, we can watch and listen to events happening in real time. “ He shook his head, “If only we had this back in the 1940’s the world would have been ours.”

  The tall Advisor interrupted Sporrenberg’s musings, “Sir I advise we strike first, the weapon is ready to go on your orders.”

  Sporrenberg nodded, “Do it, I am looking forward to seeing this weapon in action for the first time.”

  The technician who had been monitoring the Russian communications was given the go-ahead, he began typing commands away furiously into his computer terminal.

  Sporrenberg was directed to the window of the control tower by his advisor to watch the launch. The view over the base was magnificent, most of the new buildings were up and running now; with only a few still being constructed by the captives in the labor camps.

  ‘It isn’t right that the Aryan descendants are being worked to death like this, we should be the ruling class!’ Sporrenberg thought; he almost brought it up again with his advisor but he decided to leave it for the time being.

  The doors of the newly rebuilt hanger one opened to reveal a large vehicle that drove slowly out to the outer edge of the base, once it came to a stop the tall frame of the mobile missile launcher slowly raised skywards; the frame gleamed in the late morning sunshine. Attached to the frame was a long thin missile. It was jet black apart from the very tip of the warhead that glowed brightly with a menacing violet.

  It took roughly five minutes for launch platform to reach the fully vertical position, once it had eight metal legs descended from the front, middle and rear of the vehicle until they hit the ground; then they raised the vehicle and launch platform off of the ground and locked into place about six foot clear of the tarmac runway.

  A quick automated systems check went through and sent the all-clear message to the futuristic computers in the Aryan control room.

  "That's it, the missile is ready to go. You just need to select the target Commander and then scan your fingerprints and the missile will be armed."

  Sporrenberg raised an eyebrow quizzically, “That was quick?”

  “Ten minutes exactly Sir.”

  “Very good.” Sporrenberg smiled, “Where are the scum leadership having their meeting?”

  “The Kremlin, Commander.” Advisor A said.

  “That is our target.”

  The technician nodded as he added the coordinates for Moscow into the targeting computer.

  "Please place your hand on the left-hand terminal Sir." The technician said to Sporrenberg.

  The former SS man did as instructed, he placed his open palm flat onto the small screen, immediately the device light up with a warm orange glow as it scanned his fingerprints and indentations on his hand.

  Approximately ten seconds later the device beeped once and then switched off.

  “Missile armed Sir, please step away from the console.”

  “Why has it not fired?” Sporrenberg said alarmed.

  “The missile is only armed Sir, now the firing button needs to be pressed to confirm the order. Advisor A is poised to do this on your command.”

  Sporrenberg's face wrinkled and flashed a bright red for a split second, “And how come I am not the one to fire the weapon?”

  The advisor jumped in, “Well Commander you are the only one who can arm the missile but we need a safety system in place where if you were captured, for example then the missile couldn't be used against our own forces as it would need another person in authority to actually fire the weapon.”

  Sporrenberg folded his arms, “Makes sense, ok permission to fire.”

  "Thank you Sir." The advisor replied as he punched in a code on the touchscreen pad, then without a second thought he pushed the enter button.

  A vibrant indigo flame burst from the bottom of the missile which immediately broke free of its restraints, it hung in the air for a millisecond before it rocketed vertically skyward. There was no smoke trail as it flew ever higher. Soon they could no longer see the bright light emanating from the engines.

  “How long until it hits?” Sporrenberg asked.

  “About two minutes.”

  “That is very quick.” Sporrenberg said as he turned and smiled to his aid, “They will never know it is coming.”

  Advisor A gestured to the viewing screen, "The satellite will give you a front-row seat Commander."

  No early warning system that was in place was sophisticated enough to detect the incoming threat. No warning was delivered to Moscow as the missile plunged through the outer atmosphere and fell vertically downwards at some speed towards the unsuspecting politicians.

  The missile sliced through the evening sky and the sporadic cloud cover, it reached just under ten thousand feet when the tip suddenly separated from the rest of the body.

  “What happened?” demanded Sporrenberg with concern.

  “Just watch.” His advisor responded.

  The tip continued to plunge towards the target but from the body, a violet-colored mist started to disperse into the air, it drifted slowly outwards to the ground.

  The tip fell ever faster until it penetrated the roof of the State Kremlin Palace. It smashed through the floors, taking concrete, brick, and mortar with it; The large panels of glass on the exterior cracked and splintered.

  The Soviet leadership cast who were inside the building as it began to fall apart did not know what to do. They dived for cover as the roof above them caved in.

  Leonid Brezhnev gingerly picked himself off of the floor; he coughed painfully as he cleared the dust from his lungs. He surveyed the carnage. The large wooden table in the middle had completely collapsed under the weight of the large conical object that was stuck vertically out of the floor; the two people who had dived for cover underneath it were dead but surprisingly everyone else was unscathed.

  “Matvei, what the hell is that thing?” Brezhnev said to the commander of all the Russian army.

  Matvei Zakharov shook his head, dust and debris spread out like pollen. “Should we not get out of here Sir?”

  Yuri Andropov had also survived the impact and was about to say something when the metal cone started to flash a bright shade of lavender that rapidly progressed to an alarming red that illuminated the whole room.

  Suddenly the very tip of the cone shattered violently sending shrapnel across the room. Yuri was covered with a warm liquid. He reached up and wiped his face with his hand, he looked down at the thick red-tinged fluid that glowed on his fingertips.

  The room was coated in the substance which caused the area to glow menacingly. Zakharov pulled Brezhnev to his feet, the
y needed to get out of there. They turned to Andropov, “Get out of here Yuri...Yuri?”

  The two men looked at their comrade who was stood deathly still, staring into his palms. Without warning he let out a quiet groaning sound, he began to shake and the groaning got louder.

  "What's wrong Yuri?" Brezhnev said but his voice sounded funny, he went to hold his throat but to his horror, he could not feel his hand or his throat. He looked down at his hand which had started to wrinkle rapidly.

  Brezhnev looked over to Andropov who was shaking uncontrollably, he hands had turned black. He grasped one hand with the other but they just mashed up into a form of horrific goo that was a similar consistency to melted tar.

  One of the men let out a brief squeal before his tongue turned into the same goo, it bubbled and ran from his mouth in a slow-moving tide. Everyone who was left alive in the room was having the same reaction to the liquid.

  Andropov began to melt away on the spot as his whole body turned to the black tar until all that remained of him was a thick black puddle with a suit and stained bones mixed in with it.

  Zakharov fiddled desperately with the pistol on his belt but his hands would not work, one turned black and washed away across the legs of his pants. He finally managed to get the pistol loose and push it to his temple, the gun fired but it felt like the bullet was flying through treacle and it longed halfway into his head; that side of his face quickly melted away.

  There was nothing that Brezhnev could do but look on in horror. He tried to run from the room but he legs slowly stopped working, he felt the briefest sensation of burning pain before his body forcefully exploded; sending black tar and bone in all directions.

  In less than five minutes everybody who was present in the room was dead.

  Not one step back

  The midday sun was beating down onto the battlefield, the area was covered in a thick layer of black smoke as the scorched hulls of burning Patton tanks littered the area. The remnants of army group one had taken shelter in the town.

  The American forces had taken shelter in the houses and had set up a defensive perimeter. The antiaircraft Gatling guns had been firing almost none stop for the last ten minutes. The Aryan's had free rein in the skies since routing the Phantoms earlier.

  “Sir, with all due respect we need to get out of here while we still can.” A young private said.

  “He's right Sir, we only have a handful of tanks left and our forces are less than half strength. If we don't leave now, then we will be encircled and we will all be slaughtered.” The Sergeant spat on the floor, “Those bastards don’t take prisoners.”

  Sergeant Major Wills had heard enough; he had unwillingly been thrust into command after the morning's leadership cast had been decimated.

  He got onto the battle net radio, “This is Sergeant Major Wills, I know the situation we are in is direr and some of you want to retreat. I don’t blame you, that would be the smart option; live to fight another day...”

  "But the thing is if we run now then there probably won't be another day. The scums forces would have an unopposed run on Washington. Our capital is not ready to defend herself yet. We need to give her the best chance to repel these bastards..." Wills paused again, "We need to stand and fight here, I would rather the enemy shoot me in the face then in the back, I am going to fight for my countries very existence and I am going to do it here!"

  Every man let out a cheer that was barely drowned out by another explosion in the background.

  “I am glad you boys agree with me, my final order then. Not one step back!” Wills clicked the radio off.

  “That was some speech Sir, This is sergeant Peters of the artillery unit, we have decided to stay and give you some cover. What are the coordinates?”

  “Nice to have you!” Wills said, “Danger close, fire on the leading edge of the town, I don’t have my map fellas but don’t fire any further into the town than that until I say otherwise.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Tiger I tanks approaching the town from the North and Southern edges.” Reported a light tank commander.

  Moments later the distant crack of fire washed across the fields. A few seconds later the telltale whistle of artillery shells filled the air. The ground around the advancing Tiger's erupted as mounds of dirt and shrapnel flew into the air.

  A steady stream of high explosive shells continued to fall on the Aryan tanks, one was hit dead on and exploded instantly with a force so strong that the turret was blown clean off. Another was grazed on its side which caused the right-hand track to break; the vehicle started to move on circles until the commander realized the problem.

  A line of ME 262 fighters roared in for a strafing run. The M163 Vulcan Gatling cannons opened fire again, spraying a stream of lead into the air. The leading ME 262 was already in attack position and either could not or would not abort the attack. He was hit straight on, the nose crumpled immediately as the rounds tore further into the aircraft; eventually, the pilot was hit and the fighter span out of control until it smashed into the ground.

  The rest of the squadron was quick to avenge their fallen comrade, the swooped in fast and low with their cannons blazing. The bright purple rounds impacted all around as the area was completely sprayed; two Vulcan anti aircraft vehicles were set ablaze while a third was knocked out of action.

  The Tiger's continued to advance through the hail of artillery shells, they fired on the move with unnerving accuracy. A group of Americans on machine guns were vaporized in a purple hew.

  Private Martinez was sweating profusely but he held his nerve as a second tank rolled passed his concealed position. The young Private steadied his shaking hands and aimed his anti tank launcher, he counted two more seconds in his head and then fired; the self-propelled grenades raced outwards and struck the exposed rear of the tank.

  A large hole had been cut in the rear of the Tiger and smoke started to pour from it. The Commander's cupola flew open but it was too late as the rocket detonated inside and the crew was engulfed in flames.

  Private Martinez let out a sigh of relief and then turned to relocate. The third Tiger in the column had noticed his firing position though and had lined up his gun. He fired and the bright purple orb flew into Martinez's hiding place; it detonated causing the young man to fly through the air. His charred body landed eight foot down the road.

  The desperate battle continued to rage within Parkersburg, the Americans were fighting in every street, within every house. The Tiger I's were inside the town now where the artillery was unable to target them safely.

  A group of Patton tanks burst from their hiding positions inside the houses, they stopped and aimed at the vulnerable side armor of the Tiger's; they all fired one after the other. The first round bounced, the second knocked off a track. The third hit the turret mechanism and stopped it from turning.

  The Patton's now fired on the move, they hit another Tiger square in the side and must have hit its ammunition rack as the tank went up in bright flames. The Tiger's turned and returned fire. A bright orb penetrated an advancing Patton, the vehicle stopped as smoke poured from every nook and cranny.

  The Tiger's frontal armor was too strong for the Patton's but a group of soldiers with anti tank launchers had raced forward and now fired on the enemies exposed flanks.

  The Tiger's Cupola opened and Aryan Soldiers scrambled out to man the machine guns on top of the tank's turret.

  Streams of pink-tinged plasma sprayed out over the infantry.

  Three of the Americans were hit, two were killed instantly, the third lay screaming while trying to hold his burnt intestines inside; they billowed out through his fingertips. The rest managed to fire the launchers and several rounds flew true and smashed through the tanks weaker armor; four went up in flames.

  One of the Americans was hit as he was pulling the trigger, he was knocked off balance and the self-propelled rocket spiraled towards an Aryan soldier manning the machine gun on top of his tank; he was hit square
in the chest and was thrown from his vehicle. Blood poured from the cracks in his chest armor.

  The battle had descended into chaos, the streets were on fire and a thick layer of smoke hung in the air. The smell of burning flesh was nauseating and it was getting harder to reliably pick out targets. The American forces were being pushed ever further into a tightening net as the Aryan's greater numbers started to overwhelm them.

  Stars

  Sergeant Major Wills machine gun positions let out another burst of suppressive fire, a three-man team armed with anti tank launchers raced to cover.

  “Sergeant Peters, this is Wills. Over.”

  “Come in Wills.”

  “We need the packages to come in even closer all around the town center. We are located in the Church, with a few units spread out up to ten meters out.”

  There was a pause, “That is extremely close Sir.”

  “I know but we have no other choice!” A burst of rifle fire interrupted the transmission.

  “Roger that Sir, Good luck! Peters out.”

  The advancing Aryan tanks were approaching from all sides; they tore straight through houses to avoid the flaming roadblocks. As they drove towards the church they spotted the last remaining Patton tanks; there were three left motionless outside the small but beautiful building.

  The telltale whistles of falling artillery shells filled the air. The area around the town center was bombarded heavily. The high explosive shells destroyed buildings and trees; sending shrapnel everywhere.

  The Tiger's continued to advance, the first two tanks took direct hits and were knocked out. Another Tiger raced recklessly towards the church. It fired and the orb smashed into the building; its windows shattered.

  The anti tank team lined up on the Tiger and fired, all three rounds penetrated and the tank went up in flames. The cupola opened and an Aryan soldier jumped out. He hit the floor and rolled once to his feet. He aimed his machine gun at the antitank team and pulled the trigger.

  The lead American took the brunt of the hit. His body fell to the floor, burning from the plasma. The last remaining Vulcan anti aircraft vehicle opened fire on the soldier; the powerful rounds from the Gatling gun cut him in half.