Domination

March on England

Chapter 9

Ludwig returned that night in a blaze of glory. A message was transmitted to the Wolf's Lair, it was not encoded.

The British received the message along with the Germans. The German commanders in turn spread the news around in joy, Ludwig and Gilbert earning very high praise.

The British on the other hand were not so happy. To hear Russia had fallen crushed their hope. The little side note Gil added crushed them even worse. Their tactical unit was not returning. Churchill himself was openly miserable, he had trusted that Arthur would return alive.

Arthur arrived home nearly three hours past the time the message was received.

His arrival was not entirely welcomed either. As the leader it was his fault the other men were dead. It was his fault there were now ten widows in London. It was his fault ten men were killed in brutal nightmarish ways. He knew that, he didn't need reminding.

Churchill was indifferent in appearance. He heard Arthur out, he listened calmly as the blonde man sobbed and howled his anger and rage.

When Arthur was slightly more composed, the two began to talk about the defense of England. While they both thought of great plans, they both felt deep in their hearts it wouldn't be enough.

Back at the base, Ludwig was talking to Gil.

"In the fight we lost some ironclads. But more importantly, we lost several wolves and a few zombies."

Gil scowled. He didn't want to waste his precious time rebuilding trivial creations like those. Not when he could build his fantastic new monster.

"How did they die?" Gil questioned, beginning to pace.

Ludwig was standing still, his hands behind his back. "In battle." He answered shortly. He wasn't in the mood to be lectured by his brother about the importance of scouting.

Gil knew his brother and knew that Ludwig was at fault for the loss of the creations. Both were pissed off at the fact this would burn up time. They had wanted to spin around and hammer England. They had time sure, but their bloodlust was insatiable. They wanted to take the little island country for themselves. Do what even Napoleon didn't do.

"You're on your own with the zombies. I'll get you five more wolves. The ironclads I'll force some worthless underling to do." Gil growled, returning to his work table.

Ludwig might have held more power than Gil, but Gil was still his older brother. And the Prussian did have one hell of a temper. He scowled angrily and left, abstaining from a fight. It would just waste more time anyway.

Gil yelled and got some technician to make the gear-works for the ironclads. He easily got a few bodies and uniforms and began casting metal. It didn't take him to long with the ironclads, an hour perhaps to get twenty more made. They had many more, a few thousand still. He more grudgingly began on the wolves, making five more in two hours.

Finally he created seventeen more of his red beasts, making twenty in all. Gil had no clue what time it was, but he called Ludwig and reported he was done working.

Within the half hour the entire Nazi force at the base was outside and marching west. They were at a break neck pace again. His new creations were walking in their groups. Gil and Ludwig decided to name the new beasts Reds, because the color and the fact they were built in Russia.

Only maybe fifty humans remained in the force, the rest had died or become super humans. Ludwig and Gil rode in a truck at the back of the pack. It didn't take them very long to get to Germany, from there; they headed to the small strip of German coast. The majority of the forces were in France. The Germans were going to launch their navy from three areas: The North Sea, the English Channel, and the Atlantic Sea.

They would smash England and turn to America, possibly meeting them at sea. Gil was concerned how the beasts would react to the water, considering they would have to swim part of the way to shore. He and Ludwig read over the Blutstein book and put a special charm to them, making sure their creations could take the water.

It would have been embarrassing if they couldn't.

In a week, all was ready. The Germans were ready to launch and take England.

England was in no way ready for the assault from hell.

Arthur had fortifications on the beaches. He had gone all out truly. The beach was littered in rocks; they had built bunkers all around, with machine guns. Three armies were on the beaches, ready. The arterially and air force were ready to deploy in a moment's notice, and the south half of England was evacuated.

The shore line had sharped sticks closed together, stuck in the ground as another barrier. Arthur had tried to explain how much fire played a role in the Nazi advances, but they couldn't build with anything other than wood and steel. The bunkers were concrete at least.

Land mines had been planted under the sand, and oil was stuck in planes, ready to be dumped on the water. It would be lit on fire while the Nazi's were in the water.

The British navy was in sections all over, out of radar reach. When the Germans came, the Brits would come full throttle to surround them. Arthur was hoping dearly that his navy could hold off the Germans. After all, he had one of the best navies in all history. The Germans never mastered the sea.

He prayed they never did.

Arthur was also awaiting news from America, wanting to know if he would have help. So far, he had no word.

He also had no hope.

Thoughts for the battle?