The God of Fire
A lot happened at once. The Panzerbot on the left end of the hall opened fire, its built-in MG-42 shredding what little remained of the windows as it walked in its fire. The Panzerbot on the right end of the hall opened fire as well, its bullets rapidly stuttering across the floor towards the team.
Hans and Paul threw themselves around the corner, back into the hall they'd come from, unable to do anything for Klara, if she was even still alive. The two of them ran back to the nearest cover, Paul ducking into the closet and Hans scrambling into the women's bathroom, their guns at the ready. The good news was that the hallway was only wide enough for one Panzerbot, so they'd have to fall in line to pursue the two of them. The two bots reached the corner at the same time and turned, one bringing its MG42 to bear and the other bringing up its rocket launcher.
Hans and Paul opened fire. Paul's STG tore into the left bot's side, an errant shot hitting the rocket launcher. The pod exploded, the blast crippling both bots, but they were still in the fight. The right bot adjusted its aim and fired, the sharp report of the 8mm buzzsaw drowning out all other noise. The bullets shredded the wall by Hans' position, showering him in bits of plaster and wood and lead. He ducked back into the bathroom and watched Paul lean back out to return fire, the cases from the STG bouncing off the wall next to him.
Hans reloaded and peeked back out in time to watch the left side bot take a storm of bullets from around the corner. Klara was still alive and was hitting the bots from behind. The bot began to turn when one of the bullets struck something vital, and it turned back the other way. Hans watched in amazement as the left bot turned its turret and began pouring rounds into the other bot, tearing it up. Hans and Paul wasted no time finishing off the frenzied Panzerbot, the fight ended by the sight of its electronic guts spilling onto the stained and torn carpet.
Hans stood, blew out a breath, and nodded to Paul. The two of them walked down the hall to the Panzerbots, Klara standing behind the left side bot, hand on her hip and Erma in the other. "I don't suppose either of you are strong enough to push a Panzerbot?" she asked, and Hans shook his head. Paul slung his STG and began fiddling with the right side of the bot's turret.
"How the Hell did you survive?" Hans asked.
"Same way you did. I just dropped to the ground. I guess Panzerbots can't see you if you're close and prone."
Hans nodded. "We'll have to find another way around. Take a look down the hall and see if there's a stairwell you can use to get up to the third floor, or maybe back down to the first. We'll continue the search on our end" he said, and Klara nodded. She took off at a light jog back down the hall she was trapped in and disappeared around a corner.
Hans was about to ask what Paul was doing when a panel popped free of the robot's turret and fell to the floor. Paul grinned and, with the quick release of some clasps, pulled out a helical spool of 8mm Mauser ammunition, military-grade. Despite its age the brass still had a dull shine to it, the nickel-coated bullets clean. "These are for you" Paul said, and handed the case to Hans, who nodded. There wasn't time now, but later he'd strip the ammo out and divvy it up between him and Walter. Paul stripped the other bot of its ammo and then they were free to move on. Klara hadn't returned, so Hans assumed she'd found a staircase and was waiting for them on the floor above. With the path ahead blocked the two men had no choice but to head back down the hall and round the corner to the left, opposite the landing to the staircase, and proceed down the hall there.
Here, along the wall, were offices, most looking like a tornado had gone through them. Everywhere Hans looked junk littered the floors of the offices; burnt books, clipboards, pencils, coffee cups, decorations like knick-knacks and picture frames and clocks, loose papers and even an intact snow-globe. advertising St. Catherine's Church right here in Hamburg. If there was anything of use buried in it all, Hans couldn't know, and he certainly wasn't about to start rummaging through it all.
Paul was, though. He stepped into each office that was still at least somewhat intact and picked his way through the junk and debris that was trying its best to become the new carpet. Every once in a while he'd come back out carrying something; pencils, intact cups, a pre-War book, tools like wrenches and screwdrivers, or bobby pins. "You look like a hoarder" Hans said.
Paul smiled. "You wouldn't believe how many bobby pins we go through" he said, stuffing crap into empty pockets and pouches. They moved on from the offices and eased up to the corner at the end of the hall, the coast clear. The hall turned left, away from the windows and back into the depths of the building. The hall ended in a dead-end, a table and some chairs set below a window. On both sides of the hall, leading up, were two stairwells, both intact.
"Let's split."
The two of them broke off and walked up the two stairwells, coming out at the same place. The landing was at the end of the third floor hall, a large brown stain on what remained of the window at the end of the hall. Beneath it was a skeleton, a pile of brass all around it. The two men rounded the corner, the hall running back opposite the stairwells. A Panzerbot grinded by down the hall, through an intersection of four halls; north, south, west, and east. Hans heard machine gun fire on the floor above and the Panzerbot turned around and headed back the other way, alerted. There was no sign of Klara, but she or Walter was still alive.
"This is becoming a kind of game, no? Endlessly chasing your friend, up and up, always one step ahead of us. Maybe he should just stay where he is" Paul said. Hans had to admit it was amusing, in a way. Like a game of cat-and-mouse, complete with the little wind-up tinmen patrolling back and forth across the floor. As if to prove the point the Panzerbot came back, rolling by and down the east side hall.
"Next time we're all stuck in a crumbling pre-War building being chased by killer robots and we get separated, I'll tell him to just stay put. Until then, let's actually find him and Klara" Hans said, and they moved down the hall to the intersection. The north hall was partially collapsed, the walls fallen in towards each other, but at least one room was still accessible. A bathroom, the first aid kit containing stimpaks, Rad-X, along with a chem that Hans hadn't seen before. There was no label.
"Never any fucking labels..." Hans said as he carefully placed the needled flask into a special case. No labels and no sleeves to cover the needles left Hans wondering just how messed up things really were pre-War if people thought it was safe to leave unlabeled drugs around in public bathrooms. Hans and Paul had just left the bathroom when an explosion on the floor above shook the whole building, shards of glass from the already-broken windows dropping to the floor and shattering. Hans looked up at the ceiling as it buckled but, thankfully, held.
"We're missing the fun" Paul quipped.
"Good. Keep it that way."
The two of them left the bathroom and headed back to the intersection. The Panzerbot was minding its own business in the west hall, so they went east. The floor was home to more offices, conference rooms, break rooms, a cafeteria ('have fun, or else!' a banner declared), and dingy bathrooms. The gunfire above continued, and a few shell cases dropped through holes in the ceiling, rolling around the floor.
"8mm and 9mm. Looks like Klara and Walter have hooked up" Hans said, crouched and inspecting the shell cases. He dropped them to the floor, stood, and stepped through a doorway into an office. Paul was already inside, pawing his way through the debris for any worthwhile salvage. There was a terminal on the desk, working and powered up. Hans sat down and took a look, finding the usual office nonsense within. There was something of note, however. An inter-office email, titled 'the end.' It was worth checking.
To: All Employees.
From: Director Eckler
They're at the doors. Begin.
How enlightening. Hans shut the terminal off and stood. Paul was by the door, picking through a bookcase. "Anything worth taking?" Hans asked, and Paul shook his head. He picked his STG up off the desk and sighed. Outside, the hall gently shook and the Panzerbot rolled by, failing to see them through the closed but partially destroyed door. The two of them waited for it to go back the way it'd come from before they left the office and headed down the hall. The east hall ended in a staircase, and up they went. The hall at the top went left and right, a door directly ahead. Whatever was beyond was anyone's guess, as the room inside had collapsed. Hans and Paul split up again, Hans going left. The hall ended in a T-shape, the right side a victim of the ceiling's collapse. To the left was...
"Walter!"
Down the hall, maybe twenty feet, were Walter and Klara, guns aimed down the hall at a smoldering Panzerbot. Another one was pushing past the shot-up chassis of its rivet-mate, bringing its turret to bear. Hans prepared to duck back to avoid the rocket when he noticed the Panzerbot didn't have a rocket launcher. An electrode at the end of the machine gun barrels glowed red and fired, bright beams flashing through the air and leaving a heavy odor of ozone behind. An Energie-Gewehr. The robot said something in Chinese and opened fire again, and Hans ducked back around the corner. Paul came up behind him, keeping low. "The other way is clear. Let's flank it."
Hans nodded and the two of them headed down the right side of the hall and around the corner. Down the hall they went to the next junction, the hall to the right leading to the target. Klara and Walter had apparently retreated, the bot still focusing on them. Hans and Paul took up positions by the corner and opened fire, the Panzerbot caught in a crossfire from the two teams. It wasn't long before it too was knocked out of action, bullet holes punched in over a hundred different places. The two of them jogged down the hall to its wreck and a moment later Walter and Klara joined up with them.
"Finally! I didn't think I'd ever see you again" Walter said as he reloaded his Madsen. Paul crouched by the Panzerbot and set about opening the ammo compartment for its MG42, and Hans reached into his backpack. He produced one of the 8mm ammo canisters and handed it to Walter, who nodded gratefully. He wasted no time in fishing out his empty magazines and beginning the slow process of reloading them.
"Everyone alright?" Hans asked, and they all nodded. "Good. Paul and I have been searching the rooms and we've come up empty, but we've still got one more floor to go. Let's head up and see if we can find anything and, if not, we'll head back down to the first floor and look for a basement. Let's go."
The top floor was, simply put, a mess. Not in the way the other floors had been, though. The other floors had clearly and simply been the victims of age and neglect. On the top floor things had clearly been intentionally wrecked, books and ledgers and folders all burnt to ash, the carpet singed by the fires, explaining why the third floor ceiling had been so weak. Terminals were smashed, safes left open, and drawers ransacked. Whatever had happened here it was clear someone had something they didn't want other people to know about.
The top floor was roughly oval shaped, with doors every twenty feet. Executive offices, if Hans had to guess. They followed the gently curved hall from the stairwell opening around to the backside, where a pair of double doors waited for them, one cocked open on broken hinges. The four of them moved in, the room clear. A large, U-shaped desk dominated most of the room, bookcases lining the walls to the left and right. Beyond the desk was a massive window, running the length of the wall. There was a single jagged hole in the center of the window, directly behind the desk. Big enough for a person to jump through. Hans carefully peered out the hole and down to the surface, the building's awning four stories down. Between the hole in the window and the broken skeleton on the awning it wasn't hard to piece together what happened.
Hans turned back from the window and sat at the desk. The terminal had been smashed, but some of the drawers were still closed. While the rest of the team searched the room's various bookshelves and cabinets Hans began tugging open desk drawers, finding most empty. There was one near the floor, however, that was locked. He crouched down, the drawer rattling slightly. He yanked and it gave a little, but otherwise was still solidly locked. He sat in the office chair and gave the drawer a solid whack with his boot, the wood chipping. The handle snapped off and he kicked it again, the drawer cracking open. He crouched down and pulled on it again, and the drawer split in half, the side with the lock still held in place. He reached in, a few sheets of paper the reward for his troubles. He pulled them out and began to read.
'Copy of invoice HP-4110c.
==Contents==
USA Flag ZRIN-418 | 1 (one)
Paperweight, lead | 450 (four-hundred and fifty)
Throw rug, retardant | 1 (one)
Place content(s) inside supplied fire retardant suitcase and ship to LOB Enterprises, 15032 Falls Church, Washington D.C, United States of America.'
There was no suitcase anywhere near the desk, so Hans set the paper down and began reading the next one.
'Project Zhu-Rong. April 2077.
This office and our comrades at LOB Enterprises have been tasked by Home Office with producing a weapon for the war effort, a sidearm capable of discharging incendiary ammunition without regard to the type of ammunition loaded into it. At first I was skeptical of this project. Modern incendiary ammunition is already perfectly capable of performing this task, and is already in widespread use. Soon, I began to see the merits of such a project. A firearm that can impart an incendiary effect upon the bullet regardless of ammo type used could be extremely useful. Imagine incendiary hollow-points; bullets that enter the target and set it on fire from within. Truly a devastating and fear-inducing weapon. Trouble is, how best to go about this? In initial tests we experimented with proprietary ammunition types and hardware associated with traditional flame-projecting weapons, but none of these prototypes panned out. What was needed was an integrated and light-weight solution.
By using this firm's cover as an international importer and exporter, we were able to acquire a near-unlimited quantity of common pistols for testing purposes. We started with 9mm Lugers and P38's, but these firearms were not well-suited as test beds and were nearly impossible to scale up to the 10mm cartridge common in the intended operation zone. We instead opted to select the 9mm Mauser C96, a design that had previously been successfully upscaled to accommodate the .45 Auto cartridge. After much trial and error we produced Prototype 418, the key solution being an acumist barrel that partially liquefies the bullet as it travels down the barrel. Using the machinery on-site in the basement we successfully converted a C96 to 10mm and installed the acumist barrel. The results were exactly as requested, and the prototype's weight, accuracy, and reliability were all within specifications. As a matter of fact, the increased weight of the acumist barrel over the standard barrel reduced felt recoil and led to a 20% increase in accuracy.
As requested, the ZRIN-v418 prototype has been shipped to LOB Enterprises, 15032 Falls Church, Washington D.C, United States of America. Remaining 9mm Mauser C96 pistols have been interred in basement storage, to be used to arm partisans, saboteurs, and spies operating within the German state.
Glory to the party, glory to the motherland, glory to the cause.'
Hans set the papers down and stood. "Jackpot," he announced, and the others turned to face him. "There's a stockpile of 9mm C96's in the basement according to this paper. It doesn't say how many, but there should be a good amount of them stored down there." Walter and Klara walked over to the desk and Hans handed the paper to Walter, who looked it over.
"Fuck is an acumist barrel? Sounds like witchcraft to me" Walter said.
"Ignore that part, it doesn't matter. That gun got shipped to America, but there's still plenty of guns in the basement, so let's get going," Hans said, and picked up his G41. The three of them reached the door, Paul still picking his way through the bookcase on the right side of the room. "Paul, coming with?" Hans asked, and Paul held up a hand. Hans watched as Paul felt along the edge of the bookcase with his other hand until he apparently found what he was looking for and pushed. The bookcase sunk against the wall for a moment before being slowly pushed out on an unseen hinge, exposing a hidden elevator, one of those ancient ones with the folding gate. Paul smiled at them and stepped into the lift.
"Coming with?" he said. Hans smiled back.
As expected, the elevator had taken them all straight down to the basement. The lift opened up in the usual nondescript hallway, the grated metal floor clanging loudly under their footsteps. A faint hum of a generator filled the air, the lights dim but working. To the right, halfway down the hall, was a door. At the end of the hall the path turned to the right. Hans and Klara headed down to the corner, the hall leading to a staircase, which Hans was pleased to see. He'd had enough of winding halls and wild goose chases for the week.
The two of them headed back to the door, Paul and Walter standing by it. "How the Hell did you know about that hidden elevator anyway?" Walter asked.
"Didn't. Just took a guess. Agents of the Order have found other buildings with hidden elevators and secret passages throughout Hamburg, usually in office buildings. Guess people were pretty paranoid before the War, and with good reason, if the state of the world today is any indication" Paul said.
"Mmm, you don't know the half of it. Things were pretty well fucked before The Bomb came" Walter said, his arms folded over his chest. Paul was crouched by the door and looked up at Walter.
"You're an Uberlebende?" Paul asked. Walter nodded with a grunt. Atomare Uberlebende. Atomic Survivor. The common title for anyone old enough to have been alive before the bombs dropped. At age thirty Walter was the oldest of the group. "How long's it been? Twenty years?"
"It'll be twenty years next month. I was ten when the sirens began to wail. I grew up in a little town east of Berlin, Muncheberg. The bomb that hit Berlin was way off, landed in Bohnsdorf. Those Chinese nukes? Not really that powerful. Dirty as Hell, though" Walter said. He nodded at Hans. "He's one, too."
"Hardly. I was six when the bombs dropped. Not exactly a lot of time to make memories, but what little I do remember lines up with what Walter remembers. Life sucked then, sucks now" Hans said. "Don't tell me we're the only two Uberlebenden your Order has found."
Paul shook his head. "Of course not, but you're a rare breed. Shame you're both not older; the Order really values the knowledge of Uberlebenden. Helps the higher-ups get a better perspective on how life was like back then." He focused back on the door, inspecting the knob. "Door's locked."
"Of course it is" Walter said.
Hans leaned forward to take a look. It was one of those weird industrial doors, with the wheel on the front that spins to release the door and drop it into the floor. Not hard to pick, if he had any skill at lockpicking. He'd sooner try blowing up the door; the way his lockpicking skill was he'd probably make the door more locked if he tried anything else.
"I found a key, if that'll help" Klara said, and reached into one of her pockets. "When we were searching that office." Paul took it, stuffed it into the lock, and turned. It released with a satisfying *click* and Paul turned the knob. He spun the wheel, the panels on the side of the door released, and it slid into the floor.
"Cool design, but I never understood how you're supposed to close it. I guess you're just meant to lift the door and then hold it up while fucking with the knob?" Walter said.
"Who cares. Let's go" Hans said, and they all filed into the room. It was about the size of a living room, the left side dominated by various machines. Presses, lathes, vises, drills, etc. Still in decent shape and working, as far as Hans could tell. On the right were two wood crates, painted a plain green. "Ah, here we are."
A quick pry of their knives and the lid of one of the crates popped free, a sheet of wax paper stretched across the opening. Hans tore it open, yanked out all the straw underneath, and there lied their treasure. Arranged vertically, tightly packed together with wax paper between them, their muzzles pointed towards the floor, were twenty 9mm Mauser C96 pistols. Brand new and completely unmarred. Hans lifted one up by its broomhandle grip, slick with a thin layer of oil, and Walter let out a whistle.
"Beautiful piece of gear there."
"Indeed. Despite the setbacks, this was a job well done. Replace that box top and let's get back to the Rathaus to let the Director know we've finished our mission. I'll lock the door back up behind us" Paul said. Hans placed the lid back on the crate they'd popped and the four of them left the room. From there it was a quick jog down the hall, around the corner, and up the stairs. The door at the top opened up to the first floor, just outside the collapsed bathrooms and near the lobby. They had just walked out into the lobby when Klara spoke up.
"Hey, I just realized something. We never saw what was behind that chained-up door on the second floor."
Hans stopped, along with the others. "Hmm, you're right. Is it really worth a look, though? We got what we came for."
"Could be more guns up there. Or other loot" Walter said, and Hans nodded.
"Yeah I got a sneak peek at how much of a pack rat the Final Order encourages its members to be" Hans said while looking at Paul, who grinned. "Might as well take a look, then." The four of them bounded up the lobby stairs to the chained double doors and Walter wasted no time smashing open the lock with the butt of his LMG. He tore the chains off, pushed one of the doors open, and crouched low.
The hall beyond was wide, stretching back to the end of the building, two doors on either side. Hans peeked into the door on the left, a kitchen and dining room inside. There were some deflated balloons on the floor, along with some streamers and the remains of a banner. He pushed the door open further, the room seemingly empty.
"Goddamn..."
At Walter's exclamation behind him Hans stood and turned. Walter had pushed the other door open with the barrel of his Madsen. What looked to be inside was a conference room, a large circular table in the middle. There were a few overturned chairs visible, along with a single skeleton. "What's wrong?" Hans asked, and Walter stepped aside. "It's just a skeleton... Oh, it's just a lot of skeletons."
Hans guessed there were twenty in total, all sprawled around the circumference of the table. Next to each was a knife or gun, with some of the skulls having holes in them. The four of them entered the room proper, Paul picking up a few of the guns as they did. At the end of the room was a white sheet on the wall, a projector on the floor. Written on the sheet was something in Chinese.
"What do you think happened?" Klara asked. Hans, and the other men, had no answer. There were a dozen possibilities, but between the suicide victim in the lobby, the suicide victim on the awning, and the suicide victims in the room, it wasn't hard to speculate.
"Finished their project, the bombs came, and then...they all killed themselves? They made that fire-shooting pistol and then shipped it out in October, right? The bombs fell in October. Don't know why they didn't decide to grab those guns in the basement and try to fight it out. Between them and the Panzerbots they would've been pretty well protected" Hans said.
"Damn commies were all fucking whacko anyway, as Hilda has told us from personal experience. Still, maybe the bombs came and they all decided it wasn't worth trying to keep going. The world was ending, as far as we knew. That any of us survived was due to sheer human stubbornness" Walter said.
"Maybe... Doesn't matter now, I guess. Time to go, unless Paul wants to pilfer anything else" Hans said. Paul stopped mid-crouch, his hand reaching for one of the knives on the floor. Hans rolled his eyes and turned away as Paul picked it up, stuffing it into a metal can strapped to his leg. As many of them as were in there Hans was amazed he could fit any more in.
"Just how many fucking pockets and pouches do you have on you?" Walter asked, and Paul smiled.
"Not enough, friend. Not enough..."
