Elwetritsch
The team retreated from the stairs as the alien came running at them, followed by another. Paul stayed long enough to throw a grenade before he followed the rest of Pariser Team back to the second floor. A heavy thunderclap slammed the building as the grenade detonated, rattling the walls and bringing fresh debris down from the ceiling. The team fanned out, taking cover in the various door ways of the second floor, and waited.
The first alien came plodding down the steps, blood dripping from its chocolate-colored hide. It snapped at the air and yelped, a strange and shrill call, and then it was running down the stairs towards the team. The five of them opened fire, a drowning thunder that tore the alien apart from head to toe. It pitched forward on momentum and slammed into the water fountains, smashing them into pieces.
Hans was reaching for another magazine when the second alien came around the corner, its featureless head peering down the stairs. No eyes, no visible nose, no visible ears, but the creatures could seemingly track them with ease. The alien's heavy feet struck the floor as it walked, the talons biting into the steps. It crouched low and took off for the team, teeth bared. They opened fire, bullets tearing the flesh and teeth from its head. It leaped deftly over the corpse of its kin and rammed the doorframe Hilda was crouching by, knocking her back. Hans turned and opened fire into the alien's back, shredding it. It screamed and howled and fell to the ground, dead.
Hans stood, heart pounding in his chest, and saw Hilda stand, unharmed. She looked at the alien, eyes wide with fear, and picked her Erma up. The building fell silent, no sign of any other aliens coming to investigate the battle, giving the team a moment to reload and catch their breath.
"Really wish we'd have brought some Panzerfausts with us" Walter said, filling up one of his empty magazines with ammo. Hans stepped over the body of one of the aliens and looked warily at the stairs, ready for anything.
"Fuck the Panzerfausts. I wish this building had been hit directly by the nuke" Paul said, charging his STG. The five of them got moving again, heading back up to the third floor. Hans could hear more aliens walking around on the fourth floor, alarmed but not immediately a threat.
Hans blew out a breath. "Alright, you know the drill. Check everything, but keep an eye on those stairs. I don't want to get caught by surprise by one of those abominations" he said. He and Hilda again teamed up, stepping through a hole in the wall into an office. They were finally above the shroud, sunlight finally visible through the overcast sky. It was approaching noon, as far as Hans could tell, meaning they had plenty of time to find what they were looking for and get out.
He began pulling open drawers and cabinets, pawing through them and glancing at the papers for any mentions of the words 'jet', 'engine', or 'fuel.' And, after that glimpse on the second floor, 'project Elwetritsch.' There were little morsels here and there, but nothing concrete. Nothing that told him if there were still functioning jet engines somewhere in the facility. He set down a yellowing sheaf of papers and looked at Hilda, who shook her head. Outside, in the distance, he could see Maximilian One circling, waiting to swoop in and pick them up. Hans approached the window and looked out across the wasteland, wondering if he'd see any other signs of the Final Order. The side of the building they were on faced away from the Munich Residence, not that it mattered with the building almost five miles away.
Hans heard the distant chatter of gunfire and looked in the vague direction it had come from, wondering. Munich was the safest city in the country, according to all the travelers and caravanners(not to mention the Order itself.) Of course, safest didn't mean safe. And there was still Operation Atomsturm to consider. Even if they found the engines they were looking for, got the Natursturm device working(if it even worked at all), there'd still be a long road ahead to purify the wastes.
Let's start here Hans thought. He didn't want to return to the BMW complex, necessarily, but eradicating these aliens would be a nice start. He stepped back from the window to continue his search when he noticed Hilda sitting at a desk, looking at a sheet of paper. Her reading lessons were slow, intermittent, but he hoped they were paying off. She noticed him looking at her, looked up, and then looked back at the paper.
"Wanna... Mingle?" she said, and looked up at him. He blinked once, twice. Was she asking him out? Not exactly the best time, but she was nothing if not forward.
"Are you asking me, or is that what the paper says?" Hans asked, and Hilda nodded. "It's probably the note of some long-dead office worker asking a coworker out. I doubt it's important."
"But there's this mark on it. It looks like the BMW logo, and a blue Iron Cross with an Eagle holding a spear next to it" Hilda said. She held the paper up for him and he looked it over, taking it out of her hands after a moment.
'The board and the Luftwaffe have asked for an update. This is a preliminary report, and not exactly official, but it should be enough to satiate their questions. As of right now, Project Elwetritsch is set to continue as scheduled. Messerschmitt has sent over their prototype bomber, and Rheinmetall has sent over the canisters. We affixed our prototype fusion jet engines to the bomber and conducted a series of tests in our on-site wind tunnel, and the plane is perfectly capable of withstanding and maneuvering in the high speeds the Luftwaffe has requested.
The problem, however, lies within Elwetritsch itself. The Wanamingo. These things, once fully grown, are absolutely gigantic. They're fast, powerful, and aggressive. The perfect killing machine, and if the plane works the way the LW wants it to, it'll be capable of delivering five of these monsters onto any battlefield on Earth within hours. Even faster if the combat zone(s) happens to be near the airfield. Housing and feeding the Wanamingos has proven to be a significant challenge, of course, but the folks at West-Tek have been all too happy to help us with that.
But like I said, they're heavy. VERY heavy. And very large. Juvenile Wanamingos are easily as tall as a man, and adults are easily as tall as two men. They're very resilient to gunfire, as we discovered(the hard way), but weak to fire. Because the creatures are so heavy, the plane has trouble generating lift when the canisters are fixed within the bomb bay. Weight and density goes up by 400%, making the plane very sluggish to respond. When banking the plane has a tendency to dip with all the extra weight in the center, and its flight ceiling goes down by at least 7,000 feet, leaving it vulnerable to contemporary anti-air weapons. If the bomber(s) can get to the target and drop the Wanamingos, then escaping the danger zone is trivial(and anyone on the ground not inside a tank will be dead within seconds), but with things the way they are currently I suspect many bombers and their crews(and worse, the Wanamingos) will be lost to AA fire.
But, on paper, everything does work.'
Hans sat down, stunned. Memories of the Genetics Institute and their hand in creating the Rovers came back to him, only the monstrosity here was far worse. West-Tek was clearly not a German company, that much was obvious. Probably American, if he had to guess. They had created the 'aliens', the Wanamingos, for use on the battlefield, and German companies had bought them up to drop them from airplanes. It was beyond horrific and incomprehensible.
"You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost" Hilda said, and he looked up at her.
"We have to go tell the others," he said, and stood. Hilda followed him as he went back out into the hall and started poking his head in doors, looking for the rest of the team. He found them assembled in a break room, standing over a skeleton, and they all looked at him as he marched in. He stuck the sheet of paper out and Walter took it, reading it over. "The aliens aren't aliens. They were created before the War as biological weapons."
Klara and Paul gave him a look before turning their attention to Walter, who was frowning. He nodded and handed the paper to Paul, who began to read. "Just like how the Genetics Institute created the Rovers. My fucking God..." Walter said, and ran a hand through his hair. "Where does this madness end? Just what the Hell else was our government working on before the bombs dropped? Hell, learning shit like this is starting to make me think the nukes were a good thing!"
"It says here they're weak to fire. Did you find out anything else about their weaknesses?" Paul asked, and Hans shook his head. Paul pocketed the sheet of paper, no doubt intending to report the creatures and their weakness to the Order.
"They're probably weak to ten thousand flaming tons of stone and steel" Walter said, and turned to Hilda. "This is the building you should've blown up, not that ugly tower at Fernsehturm." Hilda rolled her eyes.
"I hadn't even heard of BMW back then. If I'd known that this place was going to be as bad as it is then, yes, I would've brought some bombs with me. A lot of bombs, actually."
Hans let out a sigh. "No one's going to be blowing up anything any time soon. Let's just continue on. I bet the information we're looking for is near the top of the building, where the real executive offices are. Let's start making our way up there, carefully. The juveniles are pretty easy to kill, it seems, but if there are any adult Wanamingos here, like the one in the basement, then we're in trouble."
Up they went again, and again, making their way through floor after floor of the BMW tower. Everywhere they went, ruined offices, breakrooms, bathrooms, closets, conference rooms. Glass, plaster, a few skeletons here and there. They'd actually managed to sneak past the Wanamingos on the fourth floor, and every floor since then had been clear of threats save for the danger of exploring a severely damaged and potentially unstable office tower.
After a short break to eat, hydrate, and use the bathroom, the team was on the move again, heading up. They had just cleared the eighth floor when the stairs opened up on a large circular plaza, somewhere in the center of the towers. From the passes they'd made before landing Hans remembered that the corporate offices were four towers, joined at the center by a single shaft. Hans had assumed that the shaft had been for support and maybe an elevator, but the sight of the plaza dispelled that notion. There was an elevator in the plaza, yes, but it only went up. Around the still-magnificent plaza were four stairwells, including the one they'd come up, leading to the towers. The elevator looked like it was the only way up to the executive offices.
There was also a Wanamingo in the plaza.
The alien-looking abomination was a full-grown adult, like the one in the basement had been. Unlike the one in the basement, however, this one got to enjoy a very tall ceiling and spacious floor. Hans thought he'd had a pretty good idea of their size, between their experiences with the one in the basement and the juveniles, but he still wasn't prepared for the sight of the creature before him. Massive didn't even begin to describe it, its pale gray hide reflecting the sunlight outside. The way its muscles flexed as it walked belied its true power, hidden inside its closed jaws.
Any thought of sneaking back the way they'd come vanished when the Wanamingo spotted them. It crouched, snarled, and screamed, and then the team was thundering back down the stairs to the eighth floor. The Wanamingo followed them, effortlessly squeezing into the wide halls. Hans had just found cover when the Wanamingo came down the stairs at a full sprint, the floor shaking with each powerful step. The team opened fire and the alien creature stood, slamming its head against the ceiling. The whole floor shook, pieces of the walls and doors falling over and throwing them off balance. An errant blast from Klara's shotgun went wide, the pellets skating across the surface of the Wanamingo's head, leaving green-oozing lashes.
Walter was first into action, his Madsen barking harshly as he unloaded on the creature. Round after round struck it without effect, and then it was off again, shooting down the hallway. Hans scrambled to the door, rifle trained down the way at the alien. He opened fire and it flinched, its tendrils in the air. There was a short burst from Hilda's Erma, from somewhere behind the Wanamingo, and it spun and lashed out. Hans heard a sharp *crack!* and the walls shook, and Hilda screamed. Klara fired again, her shot slamming into the alien's left side. It shrieked and butted the wall, collapsing it into the room and pinning Klara underneath. The Wanamingo roared and thundered down the hall, back towards the stairs, and disappeared from sight.
Hans could hardly breathe, the taste of blood in his mouth from biting his tongue so hard. He could hear the Wanamingo stomping around in the plaza, the floor and ceiling shaking, and he stood. He slowly stepped out into the hall, gun trained on the stairs as he made his way back. "Klara, are you OK?! Hilda?!"
"I'm fine, just pinned!" Klara said, lying on her stomach. When the wall had collapsed on her it had fallen apart, thankfully, and Paul was already picking the heavy pieces up to free her. Hans backpedaled to the offshoot Hilda had taken cover in, and found her crouched on the ground, pistol in hand. Her Erma was on the ground next to her, the stock shattered into toothpicks and the action bent into a boomerang shape. She looked up at him, face pale and sweating.
"I want to leave" she hissed. Hans offered a hand and she took it, standing on shaky legs. She brushed herself off and looked forlornly at the Erma. "I've had that gun for years. I'm going to miss it." She pulled the magazine out with some effort and pocketed it, taking some of the 9mm ammo out and using it to fill up the spares for her P38.
Once Klara was free the five of them stood in the hall, watching the stairs. The Wanamingo hadn't come back down, which gave them a moment of reprieve, but it was still blocking the only known way to the upper levels of the building. Hans checked his rifle and sighed, unsure of what to do.
"Let's call in the vertibird and get it to shred that thing" Walter said, rocking in a fresh mag to the Madsen. The girls nodded, but Paul looked a little incredulous.
"I'm sure that would work, but it'd also rip the elevator shaft apart. You saw it, it's almost entirely glass, with a thin steel framework to support everything. There's no other way up to the executive offices, unless you saw a map and didn't share it with the rest of us."
"Hmm" Hans said, rubbing his chin. "The steel frame is what the elevator rides in, right? So the glass shaft is just decorative. Even if it was gone the elevator would still work, assuming it does still work."
The others seemed to think about it for a moment before Paul sighed and reached for the radio. "Maximilian One, this is ground team, come in."
"I read you, ground team, this is Maximilian One. Go ahead."
"We've got a very large and dangerous abomination blocking our progress, in the sky plaza above the eighth floor. Any chance you could take care of that for us?" Paul asked.
"Sure thing, ground team, we're coming in hot."
Hans and the others crept up the stairs to the sky plaza, hunkering down in the stairwell and waiting for the vertibird to approach. The giant Wanamingo was still in the center of the plaza, stalking around. It noticed them but didn't attack, instead just watching. The building began to shake and vibrate gently as the helicopter approached, and the Wanamingo noticed. It paused, looked up at the ceiling, and then at the windows. Hans watched as the vertibird gunship hovered into view, nose pointed into the building. The pilot opened up with the chin guns, the heavy rounds shredding the plaza and the Wanamingo equally. The bullets punched clean through each side of the creature, tearing the flesh and limbs from its body, it collapsed against the glass elevator shaft, shattering it into a million glittering pieces, the shards falling into the spreading pool of green blood. The pilot let go of the trigger and buzzed off, the building still again.
"Target down, ground team. What the fuck was that thing? You'll have to tell us once you get back."
"Will do, Maximilian One. Thanks for the assist" Paul said, and returned the radio to its pocket. "If that destroyed the elevator, then you're climbing the cable by hand."
"That's fair" Hans said, and they all walked up into the plaza. Hans still thought the whole complex was ugly, but he had to admit it was an engineering marvel. With the room clear he was able to take more of it in, realizing there was more to it than just the glass elevator shaft. The plaza was the center of the room, but between each of the four stairwells was an amenity of some kind. A lounge, a bar, a diner, and a pair of bathrooms. Four towers, joined at the center, four stairwells, four spots reserved entirely for the recreation of both employees and visitors. And then there was the elevator, rising up to the upper levels of the building. While somewhat ugly and utilitarian, it was absolutely impressive.
Klara and Hilda headed for the elevator, weapons at the ready, and pressed the button to call it down. Hans and the other men took a look around, the four terraces clear of anything more dangerous than a radroach. There were a few skeletons in the bar, empty bottles in hand. Sad.
Hans heard a bell chime and turned back towards the center of the plaza, the elevator waiting for them, perfectly intact. He joined the rest of the team by the open doors of the car, the four of them staring at the Wanamingo's corpse. "Such power and ferocity, even inside a building. Imagine facing one of these on open ground" Walter said. The others looked grim and tore their gazes away from the creature's body. The open doors of the elevator car beckoned them, and they checked their weapons again as they all filed in. There was just the two buttons, up and down, and Hilda pressed the up button. After a moment the doors to the elevator closed and it lurched skyward, ascending the shaft. A single naked lightbulb cast the only light inside the elevator, the atmosphere claustrophobic and constraining.
After a few minutes the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened up on the executive offices, the floor a plush red carpet and the walls finished in a rather nice cream color. The doors to the offices were heavy wood, only a few of them hanging off their hinges. The walls, floors, and ceiling were just as cracked and warped as elsewhere in the building, but it was clear even at a glance that the executive offices had fared much better than the lower floors.
Hans was about to open the door to the first office when an adult Wanamingo came plodding around a corner down the hall, slowly turning to face them. It yipped and shrieked, and other Wanamingos began to trickle out of open doors. The floor was cross-shaped, the hall ending in a wide staircase that undoubtedly led up to the next floor, leaving them with few options to maneuver.
Paul flung two grenades down the hall, the Wanamingos crying out as they watched them. The grenades detonated and the ceiling collapsed, blocking the hall, and the abominations screamed. The team split up, entering the first two doors on the right and left side of the halls. Hans rushed into the right office, rifle at his shoulder, and stopped, horrified by what he saw.
Egg clutches, dozens of them, spread across the floor. A small part of Hans' mind told him it made no sense that there were Wanamingos on the upper floors, much less their eggs. What were they eating? Each other? It was the only explanation that made sense; the Wanamingos trapped on the upper floors were locked in a vicious cycle of mating and eating each other, no natural prey to go around.
There wasn't time to smash or burn all the eggs. He and Hilda made their way across the sticky floor to another door, cracked but still intact. Gunfire from the rest of the team erupted, rattling the walls and quickly drowned out by the shrieks and cries of the Wanamingos. Another explosion shook the floor, sending debris falling all around them. Hans pushed the door open and peeked out, a Wanamingo in the center of the floor where the four halls met. It was behind one of its kin, just waiting for its chance to chase down the fresh prey. Hans lied down and peered through the G11's scope, the upper half of his body out the door as he sighted in on the back of the creature. He rode the trigger a little long, the rifle steadily pumping rounds out with next to no recoil, punching through its body and exiting out its throat. It fell to the floor, dead, and its mate turned to face the new threat.
Hans scrambled to his feet as the Wanamingo leapt over the body of the first one and charged at him, the floor trembling with each powerful step. The abomination reached the door, reached up with one of its tendrils, and ripped the door straight off its hinges. It screamed aggressively, tearing the doorframe apart to get into the office. Hans emptied the rest of his magazine into the creature's head, spraying the wall with its blood, and then he and Hilda were back out the main door and crossed the hall to the second office, following the rest of the team. The corner near the halls was scorched and warped, a Wanamingo's mangled body lying next to it, weakly moving. That they could survive being on top of a grenade, albeit barely, was a horrifying testament to their resilience.
The two of them exited the office and entered another, making their way around the cubicles. The information they were looking for could be right there, in the desks, but there was no time to search them. Out in the halls the battle raged, a never-ending storm of gunfire. Hans and Hilda reached the office's second door, right by the staircase, the rest of the team backing up it. Hans looked right and saw a Wanamingo, missing a leg, using its tendrils to pull itself across the floor towards the team, and scurried to the stairs. The din of battle faded as the team reloaded, keeping their guns trained on the wounded abomination.
"GO! GO!" Walter shouted, and they all beat feet up the stairs. There was a landing halfway up, switching back into two stairwells, completing the ascent to the next floor. The floor was clear for the moment, the only sounds that of the team's labored breathing and the cries of the wounded Wanamingo. The hall was Y-shaped, ending with another staircase going up. The team quickly checked the two rooms on the floor, conference rooms, and headed up.
The 19th floor, second to last, was home to a dozen individual offices and three Wanamingos, milling about in the offices by passing through holes in the walls. They didn't seem to be aware of the team's presence, much to Hans' astonishment. For all their power, speed, and aggression, it didn't seem like they could hear very well. The team quietly hurried down the hall towards the final staircase, a wide and spiraled affair. Wide enough for the Wanamingos to traverse, but only one at a time. The team reached the stairs and proceeded up, their feet a blur as they went. At the top of the steps was a single and once-grand office, the walls made entirely of glass, cracks spidering along it. There was a single desk in the center, a terminal on top, and an array of wood cabinets. To the right, between two bookshelves, was an elevator, a black-and-white version of the BMW logo on the door.
Without a word the five of them spread out and began searching the room, pulling out drawers and rifling through them. Hans sat at the desk and turned the terminal on, immensely glad it still worked. He went back and forth between clicking through the terminal and watching the stairs for any sign of the Wanamingos.
'April, 2077
Despite the collapse of the European Commonwealth and the general decay of global society, I have to admit that the company has modestly flourished these past two decades. Of course, most of that is thanks to our good friends in the Reichstag and Bundeswehr, supplying us with contract after contract for vehicles and engines. Of course, it wasn't enough for them, and that's when they approached us and the other major firms about Project Elwetritsch. Naturally I felt like this was something that IG Farben or the folks at the Max Planck Molecular Genetics Institute would be interested in, but IG Farben's busy with Porsche over their stupid replicator pipe dream, and the people at the Genetics Institute are still busy producing Rovers for the Bundeswehr, leaving the proposal to us, Rheinmetall, and Messerschmitt.
The concept was simple. Create a high-powered bomber plane for delivering unconventional weaponry onto enemy targets. Naturally I thought they meant chemical or biological weapons, but when I saw the drafts for the bomb bay the Luftwaffe envisioned I knew they wanted something entirely different. They wanted a bio-organic weapon. This was something unlike anything we'd ever seen before, and we had to seek foreign help for it.
Enter West-Tek. Despite having their hands full with the Forced Evolutionary Virus, the New Plague pandemic, and Power Armor they still found time to accommodate us, and sent over medical information and test data of one of their results in experimenting with FEV: the Wanamingo. An unbelievably fast and powerful monster, capable of shredding a man to ribbons within seconds and highly resilient to small arms fire. No soldier on Earth would be able to take one in an open battlefield. After some modifications, it was clear the canisters that Rheinmetall designed would be capable of carrying the creatures and make it safe for them to drop from a plane, preferably with the aid of a parachute.
Luftwaffe is going to pay us enough money to last us three decades if this project succeeds. Needless to say I can't wait.'
Hans felt a chill run up his spine. What the Hell was the 'Forced Evolutionary Virus'?! The part about IG Farben and Porsche working on a replicator piqued his interest, however. Their work had undoubtedly made it into the Natursturm device, assuming they'd finished it. There was a chance that it was the Natursturm device, even.
'October, 2077
It took a few months of modifications, but with the help of our friends at Messerschmitt and the genius of BMW's engineers we've completed work on the Elwetritsch plane. A twin-engine fusion-powered jet bomber capable of delivering four adult Wanamingos to any battlefield on Earth. The engines are the most powerful yet, thanks to the work of our engineers in modifying the original, heavy American designs. The LW wanted five canisters, but they'll have to make do with four. Really, just one could slaughter a hundred soldiers in minutes and still be ready for more, but clearly they're not taking any chances.
The engines, serial numbers W-001 and W-002, are in the reserved section of the basement, packed up and ready to ship to Messerschmitt on Monday. Tomorrow, representatives from the Luftwaffe are coming by to see the prototype engines as well as our esteemed museum. I have no doubt they'll be delighted.'
There was nothing else of interest. He stood and picked up his rifle. "The engines are down in the basement, in the 'reserved section', whatever the Hell that means. Let's get going" Hans said, and the others nodded. Paul pressed the button to call the elevator and they anxiously waited, eager to leave.
Their hopes of a peaceful exit were dashed when a juvenile Wanamingo came traipsing up the stairs, its tendrils waving. It 'saw' them and hissed, its tendrils high in the air and pointed at them. Hans and Walter opened fire, the rounds punching dozens of holes in the relatively small creature. It tumbled down the stairs, pouring blood. The other Wanamingos on the floor below howled and Hans could hear them coming.
The elevator arrived with a pleasant chime and Hans was already moving towards it, keeping his eye on the stairs. He glanced at the elevator once, then a second time, his blood turning to ice. The elevator was tiny, barely big enough for two people. They were going to have to take multiple trips.
"Fucking Hell, nothing ever goes right. Paul, Hilda, get going and send it back up. We'll hold our own here" Hans said. Paul nodded and stepped into the small car, his hand on the control panel. Hilda hesitated for a few moments, looking at Hans, fidgeting with her free hand. With only a P38 to her name she was in no position to defend against the abominations. "Go, Hilda, please."
That was all it took. Hilda crowded into the elevator car and then she and Paul were gone, the light above the elevator blinking as it descended. Hans crouched behind the desk, bipod deployed, and the others spread out. Klara took up a position behind a ratty leather couch to the left of the stairs, shotgun pointed at the entryway. Walter knocked over a cabinet to the right, by the glass wall, and set up the Madsen on it. They were ready.
The second Wanamingo, another juvenile, came bounding up the stairs, howling for blood. The three of them fired, and the creature ducked. It spun, ready to attack. It lashed out with one tendril at Klara, who threw herself to the floor, and Hans and Walter fired again. One of Hans' rounds tore through the creature's left leg where it met its body, tearing the limb off. It crashed to the floor, writhing and screaming. Its right tendril slammed into the ceiling, the impact point crushing and shaking the whole room, and it put its intact foot on the floor. Using its left tendril for support the abomination began limping towards Hans, who fired until the rifle ran dry. The alien monster dropped to the floor again, dead.
Klara stood and reloaded, looking shaken but unharmed, and the elevator returned with a chime. Hilda was standing inside, gun at the ready. "The basement's clear, for the moment. Come on!"
"Klara, go!" Hans barked, and their former councilor ran to the elevator. She and Hilda disappeared down the shaft, and Hans and Walter were left alone in the room. Hans looked at him and Walter nodded back, adjusting his glasses. "How are we on ammo?!"
Walter checked quickly. "Five mags, I'm golden! You?"
"Three! Target the legs, they're almost harmless with a leg crippled!" he shouted, and Walter nodded. The last Wanamingo, an adult, came tearing up the steps, its talons ripping the carpet as it went. It shrieked and charged Hans, who fired. The abomination lowered its head and rammed the desk, sending it and Hans across the floor. His G11 was knocked from his hands and bounced off the window, landing in his lap. He scrambled behind the overturned desk and picked the gun back up, taking aim as the Wanamingo turned.
Walter opened fire, aiming for the creature's legs, but the angle was off. The rounds stuttered across the floor, missing the target, and the Wanamingo lashed out. A tendril swung through the air, missing Walter by inches as he ducked, and the Wanamingo kicked the cabinet into the wall, shattering it. Walter scrambled away and Hans opened fire, hitting the creature in its left side. It turned to face him and charged, mouth open, a hundred razor teeth gleaming at him. Round after round struck the monster without effect, and he dived towards the couches as it neared him, running by and hitting one of the bookshelves, crushing the books into pulp. Hans rolled onto his back and took aim, ready to fire, when the Wanamingo jumped. It drew its legs up and slammed them down into the floor, rocking the entire room. The floor buckled and pitched, fresh cracks appearing in the glass wall by it. Hans' burst was fired into the ceiling, raining chunks of stone.
The Wanamingo turned again and charged at Walter, who was getting into position. Hans saw the elevator arrive, beckoning for them, and he scrambled into a crouch. Hans would be able to reach it easily, but he couldn't leave Walter behind. He scrambled to his feet, rifle at the ready, and the Wanamingo scooped up the desk and flipped it, smashing it into splinters and crushing the chair Walter had been using for cover. Walter turned and fired, hitting the creature in the mouth. His rounds punched through the abomination's teeth, creating massive holes in its alien grin. It howled and attacked, its tendrils striking forth, and Walter ducked. The alien was wide open.
*BAM-BAM-CLICK!*
"Fuck" Hans said, reaching for another magazine. Walter rolled onto his back, aiming up, and fired. The Wanamingo leapt back, snarling and bleeding, but still ready. It charged and Walter rolled away, the alien hitting a cabinet and crumpling it. Hans finished reloading and took aim, but Walter was blocking his shot. "MOVE!" Hans shouted, and Walter scurried towards the stairs. The Wanamingo tracked him and charged right as Hans fired, his rounds hitting the remains of the cabinet the monster had just destroyed. The office was just big enough to give the creature room to move, but still small enough to limit what it could do, and Hans thanked whatever higher power existed that they weren't fighting it in the open. Even in a city's streets the Wanamingo would have the advantage.
Hans took aim again, firing as the Wanamingo moved. Walter crouched and knocked the empty magazine from his LMG, frantically fishing for another as the Wanamingo attacked again. Its right tendril lashed out, swinging wide, and Walter dropped to the floor. The alien kicked out with its left foot, missing Walter as he scrambled away. The Wanamingo spun and stood, slamming into the ceiling and knocking the two men off balance again. Hans could feel the entire office buckle and shift, pieces falling from the walls and ceiling. Walter lied on his left side and fired, his angle off again. The Wanamingo roared again and rushed forward, blood trailing in its wake. It stomped with its left leg, the talons digging into the floor, and then again with its right. Walter rolled back and forth, dodging the heavy blows. The Wanamingo hopped and spun, its tendrils waving wildly, and Walter took the opportunity to rise into a crouch. Hans was about to fire when the monster ducked and spun again, blood and drool dripping from its maw, and whipped a tendril around. Walter ducked and dove, and the monster responded by kicking again. Hans watched in stunned horror, his heart dropping into his stomach, as the kick connected and Walter was sent flying through the glass wall and out of the building, quickly vanishing from sight as he dropped twenty stories to his death.
Whatever scream Hans let out was drowned out by the trumpeting roar of the Wanamingo, its tendrils pinned firmly back against its body as it belted out a piercing howl. It turned, ready to charge down Hans, when he scrambled into the open elevator and slapped at the control panel. The Wanamingo screamed and charged as the doors closed and the elevator began to descend, the car shaking as the Wanamingo hit the wall of the office. Even as he rode the elevator down Hans could hear the creature shrieking, whether in triumph or despair he couldn't tell, and he slumped against the wall, heart hammering in his chest and a cold sweat across his body. His best friend of a decade was gone, sent plummeting to his death. Hans ran a hand through his head and tilted his head back, anger and anguish sweeping over him.
He collapsed to the floor, unable to believe what a nightmare the BMW building had turned out to be. The elevator ride seemed to go on forever, the car gently shaking as it descended the length of the building and went down into the basement. With hands that were slow to respond he checked the magazine of his G11; seventeen rounds, plus two full mags. 117 rounds. If there were more Wanamingos in the basement then dealing with them was going to be a problem.
The elevator reached the bottom and the doors opened, and there was the rest of the team, anxious. Hilda took sight of Hans and rushed into the car, dropping to her knees. "HANS! Hans, oh God." Hans looked up at them and slowly stood, picking up his rifle. Klara fidgeted nervously and Paul gazed at him with a knowing look, his shoulders slumped, already knowing what the girls were desperately trying to deny. "What happened?!"
Hans gently pushed her aside and stepped out of the tiny elevator car, eyes staring blindly at some corner of the room. "He's dead. Walter's dead. The Wanamingo, it... It kicked him, and he went through the window..." he said, unable to go on. Klara put a hand over her mouth, the room falling silent. There was nothing anyone could say.
"Let's go."
The elevator opened up in a small room, a closed door opposite it. The door opened without incident and there they were, back in the basement. Between the markings on the walls and the brighter lights Hans guessed they were in a different part, one completely separate from the tunnels that connected the museum to the offices. The hall beyond the door stretched on for twenty feet before turning left, and they walked its length in silence, the four of them feeling both wired and weary. They'd been fighting for their lives for hours, almost since the moment they'd touched down at the museum, and it was beginning to take its toll on them.
They reached the end of the hall and Hans carefully pushed the door open, the team emerging into some kind of warehouse or loading dock. There were large, empty glass tanks arranged in a row to the right, no doubt to house the Wanamingos while they were in the experimental plane. To the left was a number of crates, both steel and wood, each bearing an assortment of labels, stacked up next to a large glass tank. Hans looked it over, the inside clearly lit, and decided it was a storage room for the Wanamingo canisters. Opposite the door to the elevator hall was a wide, tall threshold, the floor slanted downwards, the area beyond too dark to clearly see in. Hans began looking the crates over while the rest of the team spread out, checking the room.
The horror at losing his friend was starting to fade, replaced by an unfeeling numbness. He'd seen it happen and was still having trouble coming to terms with it, the battle becoming a frantic blur in his mind. Part of him wondered if there was anything he could've done, anything at all, to save Walter, and he kept coming up blank. It had seemed like complete happenstance, something completely outside his or Walter's control, and he wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse.
He found two large metal crates labeled W-001 and W-002, and figured they were the engines. They weren't locked, and they opened with ease. Inside each, submerged in a layer of straw, were the engines. He closed and resealed the engines and nodded, glad that their time hadn't been wasted and that Walter hadn't died for nothing. With the engines the Natursturm device would have more power, maybe enough power, and they could finally begin the work that would restore Germany.
"Hans...?" Hilda called, her voice filled with concern and worry. She was in the slanted tunnel, it sounded like, and he unslung his rifle and slowly walked over to join her. He could see her cast faintly in the glow from the lights of the loading dock, pistol in hand, and as he approached his eyes began to adjust to the low light. Two modest floor lights flickered to life, filling the tunnel with more light. What he saw, what had Hilda so concerned, made his breath hitch in his throat.
At the end of the tunnel was a massive gear-shaped door, a black-and-white version of the BMW logo on it. There was a small control panel next to the vault door, covered in dust. Above the control panel, in the corner of the ceiling, was a camera. It turned to face them and stopped, a red light on it blinking. Hans and Hilda stared at the camera, weapons in hand, unsure of what to think. There was no activity of any kind; no alarms, no announcements, no response. The camera just watched them and there the vault door sat, silent and sealed. Sealed since October 23, 2077.
"Do you think...people are in there?" Hilda asked, and looked at Hans, who just stared at the door. Just a few inches of steel, that was all that separated the vault from the outside world. Inside was...who? BMW execs, reps from the Bundeswehr, and their families? He stared at the door thoughtfully, wondering what kind of little world the people inside had built for themselves.
And, what kind of experiments they were cooking up.
"I hope not. I hope they all starved to death, or suffocated, or were eaten by Wanamingos" Hans said, and turned away from the door. Hilda followed after a moment, joining Klara and Paul in the loading dock. There was a ramp to the left, leading up to an open garage door. The bright light of the afternoon sun beamed down into the room like a beacon; they were just minutes away from leaving the horrid place.
"We know where the engines are now. Let's get out of here and back to the Residenz, tell the Kommandant what we discovered. I seriously hope all of this was worth it" Hans said, and the others nodded. They started heading towards the ramp leading up to the garage door when a bell in the loading dock rang, and they all turned to look. Nothing seemed to have changed, from what Hans could see. He looked the large room over, everything still in place and exactly as they'd left it. In fact, it seemed like the bell was just for-
The floor to the storage tank was missing.
Hans felt his blood turn to ice, realizing what was happening. It was no storage tank, it was an elevator. The floor of the giant glass tank began to rise back up into view, an adult Wanamingo standing on it. It saw them through the glass and bared its teeth, its tendrils waving, and a horrified anger spread through Hans at the implication.
"RUN!"
The four of them turned and hightailed it out of the loading dock, rushing up the ramp to the open garage door. Hans heard the Wanamingo scream behind them and he found it in himself to go faster, desperately praying they'd make it out before the abomination caught up to them.
They reached the end of the ramp and Paul frantically pulled the door down, slamming it to the ground as the Wanamingo gave chase. He snatched up the radio and yelled "Maximilian One, we are outside the building! Get us the fuck out of here, quick!"
The Wanamingo slammed into the garage door, howling stupidly to itself. The door was holding, but it wouldn't for long. Paul fired his flare gun into the sky and Hans prayed that the vertibird would see it. He could faintly hear it in the distance but couldn't see it.
"Roger that, ground team, I see your flare. Maximilian One coming in hot."
The garage opened up on a cracked road, long dead hedges lining it. There was absolutely zero cover anywhere, meaning they'd be dead if the Wanamingo got through. It shrieked and rammed the door again, the metal tearing and buckling. Hans listened to the sound of the vertibird coming closer and watched as it appeared from around the towers, circling. The others waved their arms frantically and then the helicopter was moving in, descending. Klara and Hilda didn't even wait for the vehicle to touch down before they hoisted themselves up into the troop compartment, guns trained on the garage door. Hans and Paul quickly followed, scrambling up into the aircraft, the girls helping them in. Hans hadn't even pulled himself all the way into the vehicle when it lifted up into the sky.
Hans stood and pulled the side door shut, watching as the Wanamingo smashed through the garage door and emerged out into the afternoon sun. It howled with fury, faintly audible through the hum of the vertibird's engines, and then it took off running into the black shroud of smoke that smothered the BMW facility, disappearing from sight. Hans blew out a ragged breath and collapsed onto the troop compartment's bench, his head in his hands. He felt Hilda take a seat next to him and put her head on his shoulder, their grief and suffering unspoken.
We'll make it worth it, Walter Hans thought, promising himself that his friend's death would mean something.
