Domination

Introduction to Hell

Chapter 4

Early in the morning, the Generals Bielschdmit went out, their iron clad soldiers in single file marching behind them. The creations had guns that were loaded, hanging on straps. They had ammo pouches and grenades, just like any soldier. Their new uniforms shined in the early morning light, their boots tramped, but the metal they had on never clinked.

Soldiers stopped and started at the iron clads, believing they were totally steel creations. Gil just chuckled and Ludwig remained stoic. They approached the resting battalion to which the new soldiers were assigned. Their numbers had fallen due to battle casualties, but a few had died of dysentery. The soldiers stirred around their camp fires, unaware of their commanding officers.

Ludwig faked a cough and the effect was nearly instantaneous. Like a wave ripple, the entire battalion was on their feet and saluting, first the front, then the back.

Ludwig dealt with the soldiers more, so he spoke "The war has taken a toll on your numbers it seems. That is unfortunate. Many great Germans were lost. But now, your brothers, have ben resurrected! They may serve the Third Reich at your side once more!"

Watching the soldier's faces, Gil could tell they did not like this. Hate burned in their eyes. As did distrust, wariness, and fear. So he took over.

"Now, before you fools throw your lives out the door, get that knot out of your panties and listen. These soldiers are steel. They are clockwork and steam. I can make an entire army of them in a week with only minor help. So you rats better feel honored. We keep you. They are just fillers to your ranks, much like a fresh reserve. But they will not eat your food. They will not sleep, they will guard you as you sleep. They will have your back. They will shoot much better, they will take the heat. They will not fear or back down. They are the perfect soldier. So why keep you, if I can make them? The answer is very simple. You have proved yourself very useful. You are the star battalion. We found it fit to replace your fallen. Note I said the fallen, not you."

With the words Gil had picked, they seem more comfortable. After all, he had praised them very highly. Why have men when you can have machines? Why feed men, or give them sleep when you have machines? They really had to be top notch soldiers to be kept around, they all felt it. They were going to boast, to rub it in any other German soldiers face.

Ludwig smirked faintly. Their plan had worked perfectly. The soldiers would be human. They would brag. They would boast of their skill. They were the best, because they weren't replaced by machine. They would call themselves better than another. It would make the others jealous. It made stocking new iron clads in very easy. It would make the new creations even easier. The new ones were a step up, it would start this jealous spark and completion all over.

Gil turned to walk off, shaking his head and smiling a bit. Of course they loved the iron clads. It was an ego boost to them. Men were easy to deal with. Feed their ego, play their minds without them knowing it. It was an art, he had long since perfected.

Ludwig had stuck the iron clads in the battalion now, and was now instructing the battalions squad leader on how to deal with the simple iron clads. It was easier than instructing men.

Before he could leave however, a scout came running and shouted "BRITISH FORCES ON HORIZION!"

Ludwig went into action, barking orders loudly, sending heavy artillery up to their lines, which were a mere 1,000 from the camp. The Brits were rolling in with their Patton tanks, behind them were unknown numbers of soldiers. No aircrafts were heard or seen.

Soon thundering shook the ground and black smoke took over the sky. Mortars were shot up, plummeting off near the forces, sometimes too short, sometimes too long. But within minutes, the men had them set better, and had the explosives destroying ranks of infantry men. Once the tanks rolled closer, the soldiers began firing at the soldiers behind them, sometimes throwing grenades.

The Brits were answering fire, but the Germans had long since built a wall of sandbags and cement blocks, which stretched fairly far. All three battalions crouched behind the ball, or in front of it in a narrow trench. The tanks shot their projectiles, but they were not well calibrated for the shorter range. The missiles were landing either behind the boundaries of camp in the woods, or was blowing up empty tents.

The iron clads had much better aim, in fact several threw their grenades, getting four under one tank. They had run the timers down, so nearly as soon as they rolled under the tank, they exploded. The iron beast was hard to destroy, but with four highly explosive and fragmenting grenades, it blew up, killing not only the tank crew, but at least twenty men. It even destroyed its neighboring tank's launcher, rending it basically useless. The underside was not nearly as protected, and the four blasts were enough to destroy it.

Ludwig watched with a cold grin. The machine gunners propped up behind the wall and started firing, mowing down the platoon of Brits that had lost the tank cover.

They were about 100 yards off now, but with the mortars, infantry, machine guns, grenades and snipers, they would advance no farther.

The ironclads used their accuracy to blow up another tank, leaving only one left. The machine guns and infantry took care of the exposed British platoon. The last tank was the one unable to fire, and it simply ran out of gas, leaving a decent cover, but it offered no threat to the Germans.

The three snipers worked on picking off the few Brits seeking cover there, while the machine guns just left a bloody trail of the charging British forces.

Ludwig was still watching, and he was still grinning. It was perfect. It was music to him. He was the greatest composer to ever live. He was Beethoven, he was Mozart, he was Bach. The machine guns were his violins. The infantry were his woodwinds. This battle was his symphony, and he was its composer. The blood and bullets, the cries of pain, the boom of explosions, the smoky sky, the bleeding earth; this was his composition, his sick and twisted symphony of war.

It didn't take much longer for the British to give up. The Germans had too firm of a grip, they were too well prepared. Had the iron clads not destroyed the tanks, it could have been a different story.

Gil had been gleefully watching, standing with active wolves. There were only maybe three or four dead Germans in the trench, the living had already left for the concrete and sand bags. While he had different things in mind, he ordered them to fetch the bodies, giving the soldiers a good view of the beasts. They were elated with the ironclads, and there was a large cluster around them, admiring the creation like they were young boys, admiring a toy.

Gil couldn't wait for a siege battle. He wanted to see a trench situation. He wanted to watch a platoon surprise a scout group, he wanted to see the wolves retrieve. He wanted to see them melee and burn. He grew excited for phase three. He couldn't wait to Blitzkrieg a town with the hyped up zombie beasts. He hoped this war would last forever.

It was so much... fun.

Yup so the morbidity continues !

Anyone creeped out yet?

What are your thoughts and feelings on chapter 4 or overall?