Ashes of the Dawn

The next day Hans awoke at first light along with the rest of the slaves. He sat up in his cot, a creaky and thin affair that could only be described as a bed by an overly-generous person. He rubbed his forehead, swung his legs out onto the floor, and grabbed his boots. Others in the shanty were beginning to stir as well, crawling out of their beds and putting out their candles.

The door to the shanty opened and a ghoul guard stepped in, MP28 slung over his shoulder. "Everyone up?" the Former Human asked as the workers began to stand. "Good. Today's breakfast is hash and water, so let's get to it."

Hans got in line with the other workers and they followed the Rotter out of the shanty. The park was home to dozens of shanties, makeshift huts, and even a few camper trailers. They formed the bulk of the housing for the camp's workers, the park's sole pre-War building reserved for the Rotters and Sturmutants. The Rotter led them down past rows and rows of shanties to the pre-War building, an embassy if the fading sign was to be believed, and inside to the dining hall.

As Hans found a seat and sat down he looked at the other workers, all human. Conditions at the park had ended up being better than Hans had thought; they were fed regularly, the water was alright, and the guards didn't berate or abuse them. They were there as much as to keep them in line as to protect them, which confused Hans. With all the workers being human he'd expected the guards to regularly beat them, but they rarely touched a worker.

Their breakfast was brought on carts and distributed to the workers, all 63 of them, and they ate together in silence. Hans had barely been able to eat at all, but very quickly he realized that if he didn't at least try to eat then he'd be dead within days, the way the mutants were working them. It wasn't slavish, but it was still hard work.

Since Hilda's death he'd done his best to assimilate with the others and keep his head down, but lurking in his mind was the anger, helplessness, and guilt. A maelstrom of emotions, directed at both Hilda and Queen Ilse. For the former, he wanted to beg forgiveness and explain why he'd been unable to help her. For the latter, he wanted nothing but death.

With their breakfast finished the workers were led out of the dining hall, out of the building, and out to the fields. Not all were farmers. Some were in charge of maintaining the park's wells and pumps, some were machinists in charge of producing and fixing parts, and some had other skills. A few doctors, some carpenters, et cetera.

Hans was led to his assigned plot, a small carrot garden by the wall, and got to work. The carrots were nearing harvest time, and it'd be up to him to both harvest and arrange them as well as replant them. For the time being all they required was a little care, to ensure their soil was properly moistened and free of weeds.

There, alone by the wall, he was free to think. After Hilda's death her body had been taken somewhere in the camp and cremated, according to Queen Ilse. She had offered the urn to Hans, who'd refused in a curse-laden rant of vitriol, and now he didn't know where his wife's ashes were being kept. If he'd ever see them again, he didn't know. If he ever wanted to see them again, he didn't know.

There was only one errant weed growing in the carrot patch, which he pulled. Otherwise all they needed was a bit of water, which he dispensed liberally on their soil. A guard walked by just as he was finishing, checked to see what he was doing, then continued on his way. Hans watched him go, wondering not for the first time if he'd be able to quietly kill a few and then sneak out of the camp. There were a few gates around, not that he'd use one. The wall wasn't much higher than eight feet; it and the barbed wire at the top would be easy to deal with.

Hans set the water kettle down and stood, brushing his hands off. Apart from some occasional chatter, the camp was quiet, as it always was. With the carrots tended to he was free to move on to his next assignment, harvesting the tomatoes. Luckily for him, they were right next to the carrot garden, on the other side of a row of outhouses. He walked around the small structure and got to work there. With the tomatoes held up by iron stands Hans didn't have to crouch or kneel, and instead was free to stand by the plants and pick them. Three empty baskets sat next to the garden, and he picked them up and hung them on his arm as he started to pick.

Killing Ilse would be easy, even in his current predicament, he figured. Of course, he wouldn't survive the outcome, but if it meant her death then that'd be enough to satisfy him. The trouble was getting his hands on some kind of weapon, preferably a gun, and then getting close to her. As far as he could tell she lived in the Reichstag, but she made semi-regular visits to the Spreebogenpark. If the guards saw him carrying an SMG or shotgun they'd stop him on the spot, but a pistol would be easy to conceal. None of the guards seemed to carry pistols, though, leaving him to hope he could find or make some kind of knife or shiv, somehow get close enough to Ilse, somehow find a gap in her armor, and then stab her. Not an ideal plan.

A gun went off right next to him and Hans ducked, looking up. The tomato garden was right by one of the camp's few guardtowers, and the Sturmutants in them took a shot here and there at passing wildlife, hoping to score some meat for the camp. The mutant fired again, and again, then switched to full-auto. Hans stood up, still looking at the tower when it suddenly exploded, chunks of wood and gray-skinned flesh raining down on the garden. He dropped to the ground and covered his head, wondering who'd be stupid enough to assault a Sturmutant camp.

A dozen guards came running at the sound of the explosion, a few of them pointing their weapons at Hans. One of them was about to say something when the concrete wall exploded, the blast shredding the tomato garden and forcing the guards to scatter. Hans crawled back from the garden and tried to squeeze under the outhouses, desperately wishing he had a gun.

*Thump* *Thump*

Hans looked up. The smoke cloud around the hole in the wall was clearing, a large shape in it. An overwhelming feeling of awe swept over him as a fully-loaded Panzertrooper stomped into the camp, crushing what remained of the tomatoes under his steel boot, his armor hand-painted in black. The plates were scratched and dented, the hoses attached to the back of his helmet stretching as he turned his head, sealed in a bucket helmet. The joint servos of his Semi-Powered Armor Suit whined as he stepped in. Held in his iron-clad grip was some kind of plazmagewehr, held at his hip like a minigun or flamethrower. A few of the guards leaned out and opened fire. The last mistake they would ever make. The Panzertrooper brought the plazmagewehr to bear, the barrel glowing blue.

Hans watched with glee as the plazmagewehr spun up, hesitated for just a second, then discharged a hundred searing blue orbs of fire into the ghoul guards, plucking huge hunks of flesh from their bodies. The Panzertrooper bathed the guards' positions in a stream of liquid blue death, his suit bathed in a soft cyan light. He lumbered further into the camp, a second Panzertrooper right behind him, carrying a PlazmaGewehr-60. Hans recognized the gun from his time with the Final Order; the receiver and stock of a G3 mated with the barrel and associated shroud of an MG-42, the shroud home to the magnetic inductors that forced the superheated plasma down the barrel. The battery was flush with the magazine well, as easily changed as a normal G3's mag. As his ears stopped ringing Hans heard more and more guards rushing to the battle.

"HANS AND HILDA ECKHART!" the trooper with the PG-60, a woman from the sound of it, shouted. Hans slowly crawled out from under the outhouses, and the two Panzertroopers turned towards the motion. "There he is," she said, and approached. "Cover us," she said to her comrade.

"With pleasure."

"Hans Eckhart, we're here to get you and your wife out of here. Are you injured? Where's your wife?" she asked.

"She's dead... Who the Hell are you, and who sent you?" Hans asked.

"Your commie friend, but we can discuss that later," the woman said. She reached into a case attached to her hip and produced a 9mm H&K P7 pistol, which she handed to Hans. "We're going to rescue as many prisoners as we can, tear up all their shit, and slaughter some of these shit-eating grays before we go."

"Fine by me," Hans said. The female Panzertrooper joined her partner again and the two of them were about to get moving again when Hans saw a squad of guards run up behind them. "Five behind you!" he yelled, and fired the 9mm at the guards, distracting them just long enough for the Panzertroopers to turn around and bring their weapons to bear. The guards vanished in a storm of blue fire, the wood of the shanties smoking and the grass blackened.

"Find some prisoners, rescue as many as you can," the female trooper told her partner. He nodded and quickly stormed off, the ground shaking as he went. The woman moved closer to Hans, who was still crouched by the outhouses. With just the P7 to defend himself he wouldn't be running off to get in any protracted firefights soon, but with the Panzertroopers there he wouldn't have to. The woman turned around to check the gap in the wall just as a Vengeance Trooper appeared, zweihander in one hand and an FG-42 in the other.

"Behind you!" Hans said, and the woman turned. The Vergeltungstruppe, his face hidden by his helmet, was smart enough to rush forward to close the gap and hopefully get the jump on the Panzertrooper; his weapons were useless against her armor. The Sturmutant reached the woman just as she finished turning and made a grab for her gun. She continued her turn, holding her gun low. The Vengeance Trooper grabbed her right arm and tried to pin it against her body, but she effortlessly twisted back the other way and clubbed the mutant square in the head with the butt of her rifle. The monster staggered back and then lunged again, trying to wrestle the plasma gun away from the woman. She headbutted him, her helmet partially caving in his, and she kicked his left knee, dislocating the lower half of his leg. Dazed and off-balance the mutant could only sluggishly resist as the Panzertooper shoved him onto his knees, held his head back, and rammed her steel fist into his jaw. His helmet shattered, jagged pieces cutting at his throat, and the few teeth of his lower jaw not broken were shoved up into the roof of his mouth. He flailed and groaned in pain, unable to open his smashed jaw, blood dripping from his lips. She flung him face down into the mud and crushed his head under her foot, killing him.

"Jesus Christ..." Hans said. The woman just stepped back from the mutant and kept an eye out for her partner, who soon returned with seven workers in tow. Hans stood as he returned, blue vapors drifting off the muzzle of his plazmagewehr.

"This is everyone I could safely round up. Too dangerous to rescue them all. Left a parting gift for the grays, should be enough to cover our escape," the man said, and his female partner nodded. The two of them lumbered towards the hole in the wall, Hans and the other workers right behind them. Hans was the first one out after the Panzertroopers, having just cleared the wall when two tremendous explosions went off behind him from somewhere deeper in the camp, one after the other. He followed the troopers as they thundered down the hill from the camp and towards the banks of the river Spree. Hans looked over his shoulder and saw black smoke and blue fires rising up from the Spreebogenpark, the camp in chaos as guards ran to and fro. They stopped by the destroyed Kronprinzbrucke, the BMW building visible across the river.

"We're going to the theater. Stick close to us, and if we run into any trouble, let us handle it," the female Panzertrooper said, and her partner giggled darkly. The group got moving again, heading along the river. When they reached the Marschallbrucke they turned left, away from Brandenburg and Pariser Platz, and past the hotel that Hans and Hilda had been captured in. Hans tried not to think about it, tried not to think about anything but how glad he was to have been rescued.

And about how glad he was that he now had a chance at revenge.