The Eisern Schlange

An armoured train carries a secret weapon through enemy territory, its crew unaware what they deliver.

Plot

PRIORITY: ALL FREQUENCIES ORIGIN: SECTOR VII COMMAND CLASSIFICATION: PUBLIC MORALE — APPROVED FOR CIVILIAN DISTRIBUTION Citizens of the Empire. Soldiers of the Continuation. Loyal servants of the Iron Sun. This is a message of triumph. A Class-IV armoured supply train, designated Eiserne Schlange, has successfully completed a high-priority delivery to Fortress Point Halo, an Alpha-Priority stronghold on the eastern front. The cargo—a weapon of unprecedented strategic significance—has been delivered on schedule, under harrowing conditions, through contested territory infested with Axis partisans and enemy saboteurs. The crew of the Eiserne Schlange faced ambush in the mountain valleys. They faced assault from the shadows. They faced the cowardly tactics of a defeated enemy who knows he cannot match Imperial steel in open combat. They did not falter. They did not retreat. They delivered their cargo. They completed their mission. They are the pride of the Continuation. The weapon they carried—developed by the finest scientific minds of the Empire under the direct supervision of High Command—will strike a decisive blow against the Traitor Province. It will cripple the enemy's industrial capacity. It will shatter their will to resist. It will bring the Continuation one step closer to its final, glorious conclusion. We cannot disclose the nature of this weapon. We cannot disclose its target. Operational security demands silence. But know this: the end is coming. The Axis will fall. The Traitor General Roth and his band of deserters will be brought to justice. The eastern mountains will be integrated. The Continuation will be won. This victory belongs to every citizen who works the factories. Every soldier who mans the trenches. Every loyal heart that beats beneath the Iron Sun. The Eiserne Schlange has delivered more than a weapon. She has delivered hope. She has delivered the promise of victory. She has delivered the future. Remember her name. Remember her crew. Remember what they carried through the rain and the fire and the dark. Glory to the Empire. Glory to the Continuation. Glory to the Iron Sun. END TRANSMISSION

Opening scene

The locomotive screamed. It was not a whistle—not the clean, shrill note of a departure signal. It was a scream, steam tearing through a cracked seal somewhere in die alte Dame's ancient iron throat, and it echoed off the vaulted iron ceiling of the rail yard like a wounded animal calling for help that would not come. You stood on the wet platform with the others, your boots already caked in the grey-black slurry that passed for ground in this part of the heartland. Rain fell in a constant, tired drizzle, the kind that had been falling since before you were conscripted and would still be falling after you were dead. Arc lamps buzzed overhead, casting pools of harsh white light that made the shadows deeper, the darkness thicker. Searchlights swept the perimeter in slow, patient arcs. The Eiserne Schlange waited on the marshalling tracks. One hundred and forty metres of riveted steel. A locomotive armoured like a warship, its cowcatcher thrust forward like a battering ram. A forward gun car with an 88mm naval cannon that had once belonged to a cruiser. Lead-lined cargo cars behind it, windowless and silent, their steel plating streaked with rain. A rear gun car with twin anti-aircraft cannons, their barrels pointed at the grey sky as if daring something to descend. Your squad stood in a loose formation near the forward cars. Henning, the veteran spotter, leaned on his rifle like a walking stick, the faded white skull on his mask catching the arc light. Gerda fidgeted beside you, her gloves working at a loose thread on her coat sleeve, her chatter a low murmur you could barely hear over the rain. Corporal Malik stood slightly apart, straight-backed and still, his silver-striped mask betraying nothing. Captain Vogt stood on a raised platform near the locomotive, his naval greatcoat dark with rain, addressing the assembled crew. You caught fragments—high-priority cargo, seven days, classified, do not ask—but the words blurred together, the way orders always did, a litany of things you were not permitted to know. Then the cargo arrived. A convoy of armoured half-tracks, their engines growling. Military police in gleaming black masks, their rifles held at ready. A sealed crate on a flatbed trailer, larger than any ammunition crate you had ever seen, winched slowly toward the lead-lined car by a crane that groaned under the weight. "Face away," Malik ordered, his voice calm and final. "All of you. Now." Henning turned without hesitation. Gerda turned, her hands finally still. The other riflemen turned. You had a choice. You could obey. You could face the other way, stare at the rain-slicked platform, listen to the crane groan and the crate settle and the lead-lined door seal with a heavy, final thud. Or you could steal a glance. Just one. A glimpse of what you were carrying into the mountains. The crane groaned. The crate swung. The rain kept falling. What did you do?

Characters

Tags: MalePOV War Military Soldier Apocalypse Angst Tragic Mystery Suspense Historical Fantasy Supernatural Horror Violence Redemption Love Hate Grimdark Steampunk AnyPOV Philosophical

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By: onlyheskuin

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