Tin Universe Daily #127
There are so many versions of some stories,
Especially when a prospective to the title of
The Pledge is screwing with reality in Utah,
The
date seems to be April 16th 1945, though reality is twisted a little by the
previous events in creation and by that previously mentioned very powerful
young mind in Utah.
In
Berlin the Nero Order has just been given. A dictator mad with defeat only sees
the failures of his people to achieve victory and sets out plans to make all of
them suffer for not achieving his goals.
In
the surrounding hills near a concentration camp coded Valhalla you would find a
crow like creature sitting in a tree watching events unfold in an information
gathering flight to this little planet we call Earth.
That
though is a story for another time.
But
also nearby, as within the same country, near by a young man of war had this
false hope. The hope was a hope of sorts where he was making his thoughts
delusional to get through the minutes. A dream, no a wish to change his
surroundings from a place of hiding and maybe surrender to a place of his old
life. The place of his life before the war. But all of that is fantasy and he
knows all too well the facts walking nearby.
Last
year he was in Budapest and also spent time near the Austrian border in
December working as an operations guard, all being the good soldier for his
country. Now the cold chill he feels off the walls and the floors remind him of
that December but also of the winters when he was younger. He grew up in a
small farming village in Germany. He does not have to think or make wonder of
questions at what they are planning to do to him because he knows exactly what
he would do if he was in their position and they in his.
He
always told himself the things his peop… the things he did…that they were acts
of war. Over and over in his mind for the past hour was that it was simply a
case of orders he took and had to follow.
Orders
given to him.
Lies
to oneself can be the most horrid to create.
Things
we cannot take back the most damming to survive.
Put
both together and that combination can be a most damaging one to humanity.
The
American soldiers who put him in here, in this metal box, they were tired when
they caught him and locked him folded up and smashed into the box to give
themselves a chance to rest. Every time they question him he sees in their eyes
parts of their humanity drift away. He knows that look because he put that look
into so many eyes. That look was in an innumerable set of eyes as they passed
him into the camp to never walk back out.
The
American soldiers got separated from their unit. He ran when a tank group
attacked the camp where he served as an outer wall guard. He ran for what
seemed to him to be no less, could not have been no less than 4 days when he
saw the mighty, the told to be undefeatable fall.
A
number of Germans believed in ‘Versilles Diktat’. This thought was one where
Germans believed the peace terms dictated by the Allies were unjust at the end
of WWI. Actions given excuses for actions unforgivable in nature.
In
a way the Gods of old had been reborn to only be found out to be as false as
paper.
Running
into the forest, running in the snow, running from the horrors he had taken
part in and no longer having the protection of bigger guns or stronger arms to
defend his actions, to defend his thoughts. It was as if Angels from Heaven had
come down to judge the quality of Hell and they would not let one escape from
the filth they had created.
He
came into contact with this lost group of soldiers while hiding out in the hull
of what once was a farm house burned to ruins by war. Which side it was a part
of did not matter. They walked in through the back kitchen door as he stashed
his self away in a storage side door in a bathroom. All of the soldiers were
talking about the very camp he once proudly walked outside the walls of. By
members of the tank group who shut down the camp they had gotten all the
information, they knew all of what had been happening there. The experiments,
the mass burials, the rituals, all were known now. As he hide in fear from a
crack in the storage area door he saw them walking, searching the house and
they talked and he saw the anger which came off their lips with each word
spoken about what they had been told.
The
camp was part of The Final Solution. It contained twelve hutted structures
containing many prisoners-Jews, trade unionists, gypsies, homosexuals, Beyond
Humans before anyone knew what those were, Protestants, Catholics, and those
subjected to “protective custody.”
At
the time when the tanks had arrived not one prisoner remained living in the
huts.
Now
from within the farm toolbox they put him in he hears them as they are
discussing ways of killing him. Pay back is shouted, justice is screamed, and
tears are felt going down tired faces in the cold winter air as the soldiers
discuss what they have seen and what others have faced.
Three
of the five soldiers were very young. In appearance before they landed in the
country they now find themselves in they would have looked not a day over 18
but now they had aged in the weeks they had spent fighting in this war. The other
two soldiers were older and stood for the most part outside the house and would
ever so often bark out an order to the younger ones so they must have been of
higher rank. That at least was his thinking.
‘What
is your rank?’ asked one of the soldiers.
‘I…I…’
‘Who
cares what his rank is. I just want a name. I need a name so we can call out
the demons you people are!’
‘My
name is Deltaish Sermon.’
One
of the older soldiers burst through the front door of the house. He rushed over
to where Deltaish was sitting in the metal box and slapped him on the side of
his head with the pistol that was still in his hand. Then he shoved Deltaish
back into the box and shut the lid and began firing off rounds all around the
box.
Deltaish
just laid in the box feeling the blood slide down his face from the gun handle
striking the side of his head. He was afraid to move an inch and could barely breathe
with the fear filling up within his whole body.
For
minutes that seemed like hours all Deltaish could hear outside of the box where
footsteps shuffling around. Then a loud shouting voice rang out from the almost
deadish quite,
‘Go
ahead and kill him if you want to! I have killed probably more than a hundred
men since touching ground from our jump in so one more will not haunt my dreams
any more than the rest but he’s a prisoner and we are not an executioner
squad!’
‘I
can be,’ Was barely heard coming from outside the box.
The
lid flew open and three pairs of hands grabbed Deltaish and pulled him from the
box and began to drag him outside the house where they threw him down the front
steps of the farmhouse.
He
looked up from his position of looking down at the ground to see the three
young soldiers staring down at him. He could also see back into the house where
the older soldiers now where sitting on the metal box lighting cigarettes.
He
turned away from them and gave a slight glance towards the forest that was nearby
the farmhouse. He asked himself questions of whether he had the strength to run
and if he did was that what they wanted, to shoot him as he ran?
Was
it what he wanted?
In a way he thought about it just to make it
easier for them.
From
behind he could hear footsteps slowly coming down the houses wooden front steps
and then boots began kicking him. At first he tried to at least shield his face
but after a few to the ribs he no longer had the strength to raise his arms and
just laid there on the ground as they continued to kick him for over 20
minutes.
He
was gasping for air from the beating when one of the soldiers spoke to the
other two, ‘Pick him up. I want to get this over with because I’m starting to get
sick from just being around him.’
Two
of them picked Deltaish up by his arms. The force of them doing so cracked already
damaged ribs. One of the young soldiers pulled his Army issued rifle from his
shoulder where it was hanging by a overused thinned out strap and pushed it up
to be right in front of this German soldiers face and aimed his sights right
between the blue eyes of a soldier and another soldier pulled the trigger of
his gun.
The
death was in war.
(c)System * Publishing
brian c.williams
brian c.williams
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Tin Universe Month #24
Featuring A FIRST SHOT FIRED, Part Six
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