Untitled

This was the version that I sent for a short story comp. the word count was retardedly low. As a result I had to butcher the original version down to this. I'm not happy with it, but I lost the original, and this is all that's left.

 

Franz Augsburger walked down a shadowy corridor under a burned out cathedral in the outskirts of Berlin. The last time he had made this trip was over 50 years ago as the allies were over running Berlin. He’d been a Brigadefueher then. An officer of the SS. The elite, of the elite. The most feared military force in Nazi Germany.

His men had fought valiantly to defend Fatherland and Fuhrer. In the end they had all fallen. He’d managed to get four of his men to this cathedral before it was shelled.

He hoped they had remained undisturbed. If they’d been discovered by the allies, all the years of waiting would be wasted. He settled himself with grim resolve. He was Brigadefueher Augsburger! He was SS! Thought of failure was for cowards, and weak-minded fools. For that brief moment, He was a SS storm trooper again, full of the honor, zeal, and commitment that had gained him his rank and title.

Walking on he found what he was looking for. A large door with a massive lock that was still in place. A sigh escaped his lips as he saw that. It meant no one had been here. His comrades were inside, waiting in death, to be brought back to this world. He had promised them all, he would come back for them. Together they’d undo what the enemies of the Fatherland had done.

The lock was rusted. Reaching into his coat he pulled out the Luger he’d received during his time on the eastern front. He squeezed the trigger twice, blowing the lock off. It fell inward slightly, and Franz pulled a flashlight from another pocket in the coat, and stepped inside.

Tears came to his eyes as he saw his brothers where he’d placed them all those years ago. The dryness had slowed the decay, but they still were rotten skin pulled over bones. Their black uniforms were eaten away and rotted in places. All around was the smell of stale death.

He laid them side-by-side on the ground, pulled out their SS daggers, and placed them on their chests. His heart was hammering with the effort. He had to calm down. He wouldn’t die. Drawing a slow deep breath he got back to his feet.

Reaching into his pocket he took out eight black candles with SS runes in silver at their bases. He placed them at the head, and feet of each man. Standing above them he chanted meine ehre heist treue three times. Each time he put a drop of silver oil in the eyes and mouth of each man. Several officers had been given this oil towards the end with instructions they had to memorize, to be carried out tonight, April 20th.

Augsburger could feel his heart heaving, and beating off time. He knew he wouldn’t survive. Just a few minutes longer. As the pain in his chest grew worse he noticed blue smoke start to issue from the rotted soldiers. He smiled. He was almost done.

He pulled his dagger out. Memories of battle, and honor filled his mind, the glory of the Reich, of Germany, and of the Fuhrer. He hardly noticed the blade go into his arm, Blood poured over the SS men, and as it fell on the dead flesh, it was absorbed.

Stirring slightly they breathed again. The men of the SS rose to their feet. Where empty sockets had been, were now green and blue eyes. The small amount of blood hadn’t fully restored them. But it was enough for them to regain sight, and move again.

None of the men could speak though they all faintly recognized one another. The one thing that they all felt was hunger. Hunger they had never felt in life. Almost as one they turned on the body of their former commander. Ripping chunks of flesh out they devoured him in minutes. Leaving nothing but gore covered bones, and intestines littering the floor.

 

 

Author's Note

It has lots of problems; I know.

Reviews

[Roger Ferguson II]

i thought it was really good.