Our Future
True to Paul's word the hall ended in a pump room, the water tanks filled with smashed Croaker eggs. On the right side as they came in, between two water tanks, was a hatch on the wall that opened up on a drainage tunnel. The heavy stench of stagnant water and God-knows-what else came through as Paul pulled the hatch open with one hand, STG at the ready in the other.
One by one the team had dropped into the tunnel and followed it away from the Peenemunde power plant, the tunnel stinking of stagnant water and God-knows-what else. The team encountered only a few juvenile Croakers in the tunnel, the abominations easily cut down by machine gun and shotgun fire. They were in the tunnel only twenty minutes before at last they saw sunlight, filtered through a locked gate at the end of the tunnel. A quick smack of a rifle butt against the aging and rusting steel snapped the steel and the chain holding the gate fell to the ground.
The drainage tunnel opened up on a rocky and marshy beach, a decaying wharf a dozen yards or so to the left. The five of them carefully stepped out of the tunnel and turned back towards land, a gentle hill sloping up away from the beach. There was no sign of any Croakers, though Hans noticed a frail feral ghoul wandering aimlessly near a copse of trees. There was a dirt road ahead, an open field on the other side.
"At last," Paul said, and slung his STG. "These supplies and medical appliances we've looted will be invaluable to the people of the Final Order, as well as ourselves." He rooted through his pack and rationed out some of the medical supplies to the team before sealing it back up. "I'd give you one of the microscopes, but I can't imagine you'll have a need for it."
Hans nodded. "On to Munich, then?" he asked. "What do you think we'll be doing once we get there? Helping with Projekt Natursturm?"
"Yes, that's right," Paul said, and folded his hands on top of his gear. "Munich is the capital of the Final Order, as you well know. The seat of the Order's influence, and the place where Germany will be reborn. I did some digging around before we left Hamburg, talked to some people I know, and was told some things I probably shouldn't have been told. Do you remember when I told you that the Order's been rooting around in pre-War government tunnels dug into the Alps?"
"Yes" Hans said, suddenly nervous.
"What they found down there is the key to Projekt Natursturm, I was told. A device capable of purifying the wastes, and restoring to our country the resources we so desperately need to survive. I heard a rumor about an 'Operation Atomsturm,' too. The two projects are meant to operate in tandem, apparently.
Hans shared a look with his friends. "I don't understand."
"Neither do I. Projekt Natursturm, as we were told, has a goal of bringing clean water and fresh food back to Germany. The Order's scientists have supposedly been working on this for a few years, aided now by whatever this device found in the Alps is. I didn't hear about Operation Atomsturm until I talked with a Sturmtruppe friend who was deploying to Munich. Chancellor Karl Dietrich is apparently seeking to expand the Order's influence to areas controlled by 'forces hostile to the body and spirit of Germany'" Paul explained. "I figured it wasn't important enough to share with you lot, but after giving it some thought I'm beginning to think there's more going on than we were told."
Hans rubbed his chin, unsure of what to make of what Paul was telling him. Projekt Natursturm was one thing, but Operation Atomsturm sounded like something else entirely. From what Paul said, it was the second half of Project Natursturm. A military action to accomplish what, exactly, he couldn't say. "Maybe Operation Atomsturm is supposed to protect the Natursturm device?"
Paul shrugged his shoulders. "I can't say. All I know is we'll learn more when we reach Munich" he said, and pulled out his flare gun. "Is everyone ready to go?"
Walter put a hand on Hans' shoulder. "We have something to discuss."
The two of them stepped away from the group, Walter leading Hans back to the shore. The team had spent most of the afternoon at Peenemunde, and the sun was beginning to set. Clouds hung among a purplish-orange sky, casting long shadows everywhere. It was beautiful, in a way, and for a moment Hans could almost forget the Wasteland and everything that happened since The Bomb.
He turned to face Walter, who looked back at him. "Something stinks about this whole damn thing, Hans. I thought joining up with the Final Order was going to be a good thing until I saw what they were doing at the Hamburg Airport. This Projekt Natursturm shit sounds great and all, but the Order doesn't strike me as the defensive type."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that people are going to go to war over what the Order has. Maybe the Order can defend Natursturm, but if my gut's right they're going to reach out and crush those who will threaten it before they can get a chance to do so" Walter said.
"Can you blame them? Clean water and crops are the Holy Grail of the Wasteland. People kill and die everyday for the stuff, ourselves included, in case you've forgotten what life was like before we were accepted into a U-Bahn station" Hans said.
"This is different. You saw what the Order, what Hilda, did to those raider ghouls at the airport. You heard what Director Jaeger said; ES-886. The execution on sight of any of the abominations that plague our country. Ferals and Sturmutants are one thing, but I think the Order's going to reenact the past to establish our future" Walter said.
Hans frowned. "A pogrom?" he said, and Walter nodded. "Against mutants and abominations? I imagine most Germans would approve of that, myself included."
"Yes, if the targets were just ferals, Sturmutants, Croakers, Rovers, and Heaven knows what else. But they're going to go after normal ghouls. Communists too, probably, not that I give much of a damn about them. My point is, I think our future's going to get a lot bloodier before it gets better."
"I have to ask. Why the love for ghouls?"
"They're victims of The Bomb, same as us. The sane ones just want to live their lives as best as they can, and we both know that rounding them up and putting them down is a little too familiar to be comfortable. Hell, even Sturmutants can speak German and are probably at least as intelligent as humans. They're just a little too damn bloodthirsty for our own good. I mean, for God's sake, the Order's even feeding people that same line about them 'not being human' that the Nazis liked to do" Walter said.
"The Nazis existed, and were destroyed, over 150 years ago. I doubt many Germans even know the word, let alone what it means, these days. As far as I can see, what's happening in our country today is nothing like what happened with the Nazis."
"Ignorance to history is the surest way to see it repeated."
Hans was about to answer when he heard a short burst of gunfire nearby, the sound echoing. He looked over his shoulder and saw Hilda standing near the copse of trees, bent over by the body of the ghoul he'd seen earlier, looking it over. He looked back at Walter, who looked grim. "And I'm afraid the Order's thinking is beginning to seep into our group."
"I told you I'd talk to Hilda about what happened in Hamburg" Hans said.
"You didn't say what you were going to tell her, though. I'm not accusing you of anything, but it looks to me like you're coming around to the Order's thinking. Tell me that's not who we'll become; little goose-stepping mass murderers, building our future on a foundation of corpses" Walter said.
Hans thought about it for a moment. "I can't see the future. All I can do is hope and pray our convictions will see us through whatever comes our way, and that we will survive long enough to see peace and stability return to Germany."
"But at what cost?"
"Is there any cost too great?"
Walter frowned. "I never ask that question, because I'm always afraid of the answer I'll get."
Hans looked back at the rest of the team, Klara and Paul with their backs to the two of them as they talked to Hilda, and turned his attention back to Walter. His friend looked at him expectantly, a glimmer of hope and apprehension in his eyes. He adjusted the straps of his suspenders, his Madsen hanging at his side.
"We'll be OK, Walter," Hans said at last. "Everything will be OK."
With everything said and done Hans and Walter returned to the group and Paul had shot off his flare gun. Within a few minutes the vertibirds came, the VB-03 they'd flown in on, and another model that Hans didn't recognize. A much larger model with a cargo bay. Paul had passed on his rucksacks filled with ophthalmoscopes, microscopes, beakers, hot plates, and all other manner of medical tools to the men on the cargo vertibird and they'd taken off to the west, back towards Hamburg. According to Paul the pilots were going back to the city to pick up some medical personnel before they'd head on to Munich.
The team then boarded the VB-03 and took off to the south, for Munich. A little under an hour after they were airborne the sun finally went down, shrouding the European Wasteland in darkness. Hans had strapped himself into a chair near the aircraft's side doors, Hilda sitting right next to him. She was taking the trip much better than her earlier ones, as far as Hans could tell.
"What did you and Walter talk about, anyway?" she asked, and Hans turned to look at her. She brushed her red hair back, behind her ears, her short bangs draped over her forehead. Walter and Klara were sitting at the rear of the troop compartment, occupied with the books they'd pilfered from the office at Peenemunde.
"Walter's nervous about me having only a handgun, though I can't imagine why, since he saw what it did to that juvenile Croaker that attacked us" Hans lied, and Hilda gave him a look.
"When did that happen? When you were looking for me?" she asked, and Hans nodded.
"This pistol tore that Croaker's head clean open, it was amazing. He's right about one thing, though; the gun's not good at range. When we get to Munich I'll have to hit up an arms merchant, buy a new rifle. Haven't decided if I'll stick with one chambered in 8mm Mauser or get something new."
"Get something in 8mm Kurz, friend" Paul chimed in, standing behind one of the pilots. "Assault rifles are versatile, effective, and light. You can't go wrong."
"Thanks, but I prefer the one-shot one-kill approach. Though you might be on to something when it comes to weight; the Mars Automatic is heavy enough to be a rifle" he said, and turned his attention back to Hilda. "We'll be OK until we get to Munich, though. If what Paul told us is true then we have a lot more work ahead of us."
"I guess I'll need an upgrade too, then. I really like Erma, though" Hilda said, and looked down at her SMG.
"Maybe you'll find something better."
Paul turned around and stepped up into the troop compartment. "You'll be amazed by what you see in Munich, I'm sure. The Order's scavenged all types of guns over the years, let me tell you. I've seen some truly amazing pieces of firepower in my time, mostly in the hands of Fieldmen and Sturmtruppen passing through on their way to assignments. MP5's, G3's, FAL's, P90's, G11's, M72 Gauss Rifles, Hell even some Chinese and American guns, though they're not quite as common, as you can imagine. Mostly AK-112's and General Liu rifles. I once saw a-" Paul said, cut off when he heard a chime from the cockpit. He looked over his shoulder and saw one of the pilots reaching for a switch. "Excuse me."
Paul stepped back down into the cockpit, leaving the rest of them alone again, and Hans turned back to face Hilda. "Sounds like you actually will find something better" he said, and Hilda looked down at her Erma with a frown.
"Doesn't mean I'll like it as much as Erma. I've never even heard of some of those guns" she said, and Hans nodded. He'd seen plenty of G3's and MP5's in his time, but the others were much rarer. He hadn't seen a G11 in years, and had only ever seen the M72 in Waffen und Munitionen magazines. Commie guns weren't rare, but it was true that most Germans picked German guns when they had a choice.
"Why are Commie guns even in Germany?" Klara asked, and Hans looked up.
"For the same reason Germany was targeted by Chinese bombs during the Great War. Despite the horrific instability and chaos Europe suffered during the Resource Wars there were still American military bases spread throughout the continent, which were prime targets for Chinese insurrectionists. Second-rate guns like the AK-112 and the General Liu rifle were rechambered for cartridges common in Germany, like 8mm Mauser and 8mm Kurz, and smuggled into the country for Chinese spies to use. When The Bomb came, those guns ended up in the hands of survivors" Hans explained, and Klara nodded.
"What about SMGs?" Hilda asked, and Hans thought about it a moment.
"Can't say I've ever seen or heard of any Chinese SMGs in the country. All the really good stuff, like Type 93 assault rifles, was smuggled into America and is now lost. I doubt we'll ever see any Chinese gun that could be considered truly amazing" Hans said.
"You really think China and America were completely destroyed by The Bomb?" Hilda asked, and Hans nodded.
"Can't see how they would've survived, seeing as how they were the ones that launched the nukes."
"I wonder what it'd be like to visit another country. How many survived the war, anyway?" Hilda asked.
Walter answered. "Hard to say. America and China can be written off, for sure, but the Great War hit the entire world. I've seen the shores of Great Britain, and what used to be France still exists. We saw the shores of Denmark and Sweden while we were at Peenemunde, and even saw smoke from campfires and lights from buildings and such, so people still live there, at least on the coast. Don't know anything about any country outside Europe, though. People don't travel much these days, not unless they've got one of these vertibirds."
Hans adjusted his position on the seat and crossed his legs the way he always did, and was about to say something when he heard a sharp metallic ping outside the vertibird, followed by another. He looked over at the cockpit and saw the three Final Order men in the vehicle looking at the control console. "The Hell was that?" Walter asked.
Several more pings followed, and Hans saw Paul point to something on the console. "I think we're being shot at..." he said, distracted by what he was looking at. A dozen more pings followed, all on the left side of the vertibird, and the vehicle pitched to the left slightly before the pilots corrected it. "Probably just some asshole raiders or skittish settlers. We'll be fine. Except... We're losing altitude. Can you correct it?"
"I'll do my best" one of the pilots said, and flipped another switch. Paul joined the rest of the team in the troop compartment and strapped himself into one of the seats near the doors, his body turned toward the cockpit.
"See if you can get someone on the radio, let them know we've been fired upon and our position. If we go down then I want to know someone will come looking for us" Paul said, and the copilot did as asked. "Just a precaution. These birds, while old, are military vehicles. They're pretty well armed against small arms fire."
"Not against 88mm flak cannons, as we discovered" Klara said, and Hans nodded, his expression grim.
"I'd still love to know where those raiders found that thing. Had to have been a museum, for sure. I saw a Panzer Four outside a museum once, covered in rust and graffiti. Imagine if you got one of those running again" Hans said, and Paul smiled.
"The vertibirds and Hanomag halftracks are good enough, I feel, but I would like to see one of those old Panzers running again. Or, better yet, a Tiger or Panther. It'd be great if we could find one that worked; we'd really be able to put the hurt on all those abominations then. Imagine seeing a Croaker and-"
Paul was cut off again by the vertibird dipping to the left, much harder this time. The pilots turned the vehicle's pitch back the other way, correcting the list. "Must've hit a hydraulic line or a control arm. We'll be OK until we get to Munich, folks, don't worry. Just keep yourself strapped in."
Hans felt the vehicle pitch back to the right as the pilots corrected the flight and adjusted his position on his seat. He decided then that he hated flying for more than just physical reasons. Putting his life in the hands of a pilot, unable to do anything to protect or defend himself should the aircraft come under attack, was a terrible feeling. He settled in and just tried to focus on staying comfortable, praying their flight would go smoothly.