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Introduction...

Raising the dead. Reanimating the deceased. These have been the fevered dreams of madmen and geniuses. Controlling those which can not be killed in an army to destroy their enemies. As the ranks of the confused and panicked enemy lessen, the ranks of the dead are bolstered. There would be no stopping them.

Their need for rest, unknown.
Their need for hunger, they have none.
Their need for flesh, a craving desire.
Their numbers... Near endless.

What entire armies and weapons could not do, an army of those who have passed on could do in days. In a blitzkrieg, a lightning war. The perfect weapon. A wunderwaffe. They would be man's crowning achievement of destroying each other. A monument to all the years of advancing in weapons to kill man's enemeis. They would be the beauty of annihilation.

Many theorized after the second world war what the Germans had had in store. It had been proven for a long time that the Third Reich had commissioned experiments on nuclear warfare. But what else, exactly, had the -blam!-s been planning? Designing? Creating?

Conspiracy theories of propulsionary flight, weapons capable of razing cities and rooting up entire armies. The discovery of lost journals and reports are still today giving more of an idea of what the Third Reich could've created, had the war not turned sour for them...


December 13th, 1941...

A plane flies high above the clouds. Its cargo: an experiment on the way to "the Giant." To a specific scientist who plans to utilize them to help turn the tide of the war, in the name of the Fuhrer. The plane had departed only just two hours ago, from a deep swamp on an uncharted island off the coast of Japan.

The night is black as pitch. The winds are near gale-like, and the clouds have turned dark in threaten of a storm. Below, there are abandoned homes and structures. Old military outposts from Japan's spread into China, and burnt out hiding places where the fleeing Chinese had attempted to take refuge.

Lieutenant Yager and Captain Amherst lounge quietly in the ****pit of the cargo plane. Yager reads a small book that he had withdrew from his coat pocket and Amherst holds the controls of the plane, allowing it to glide through the air.

Taking into consideration the highly serious and volatile cargo they were carrying, they were rather calm and nonchalant.

Corporal Haswell sits on one of the seats attached to the lower wall in the small metal room that seperates the ****pit from the rest of the aircraft. He rests his back against the wall, sleep clinging to him at the edges of his mind. He closes his eyes for a moment, to gain a little concentration and focus.

Haswell thinks of home, and of the events that have taken place since he last saw his family. Were they still back in Germany? Had they evacuated? Were they still alive? These thoughts brought him no comfort.

Haswell could not but fear for what may have happened to his family. They were unwanted. Undesirables of society. He had joined the army to hopefully throw off the trail and convince the Reich that his family was truly German. A feeling of discomfort and loneliness comes over Haswell as he clutches the Star of David hidden underneath his layers of clothes. Sleep clang to him, and he succumbed to it willingly...

A clang of metal. Somewhere nearby, the twisting of steel seemed to screech through the depths of Haswell's mind as he jumped with a start, awakening from his slumber. He looked around, confused. The noise continued, louder now, as metal raked against metal like nails on a chalkboard.

The ****pit hatch opened, Captain Amherst standing in the opening with a worried look on his face. In his hand, he held a Walther pistol, his finger brushing the trigger. Haswell jumped to his feet, and spoke hurriedly to Amherst in German, "What is it?"

Amherst only rose his finger to his closed mouth, signalling him to be silent. Amherst made his way over to Haswell, and stood right in front of him. Amherst, a large man standing at 6' 3" and weighing 230 pounds, made Haswell pale in comparison, only standing at 5' 7", standing before the giant.

Haswell looked into Amherst's eyes. They were filled with some sort of burning hatred. Haswell saw the fire that only filled the eyes of those few in the ranks of the German military forces that truly hated people of Jewish kin. They were the ones that truly believed every word Hitler spoke, and hated the Jews as much as their Fuhrer did.

Haswell was shocked. How did Amherst know? He must know, there was no other explanation. Amherst pointed at the floor of the metal cabin. Haswell looked down, and the Star of David was there at his feet, looking up at him. The necklace must've fallen from his neck when he had fallen asleep holding it.

He looked back up at Amherst, who had moved the sidearm up to Haswell's head. Haswell braced for the end. He knew it was over, that Amherst was about to fire the round through his skull and cause his brain matter to spew out all over the wall of the cabin.

Amherst would land with Yager, and he would be decorated as a hero for eliminating the scheming Jude who had planned to sabotage the plane and cause the cargo to fail. All lies, but Amherst would tell it his way, and the others would believe him. Haswell would never see his family again, and would die hundreds of feet in the air, thousands of miles from home.

However, in this shocking turn of events, both Amherst and Haswell had forgotten about the screeching metal. Haswell still didn't know what it was, but suddenly the thick steel door that sectioned off the cargo hold from the rest of the plane was torn open. A pair of bloodied hands ripped through the metal, grasping with sickly palms and shredded fingers. Open sores that had no blood running from them were riddled on the backsides of the hands.

More hands quickly joined the first pair as Amherst and Haswell looked on in terror. The hands grasped at open air, and continued to try to rip through the door with an inhuman fury. Bone-chilling moans and terrifying growls could be heard from the other side.

Amherst knew immediately what had happened: The "experiments" who had been in the next room along with the other cargo had been bound to the walls by welded metal and put into cages. They must've broken free of their binds and begun seeking to quell their hunger by searching for the nearest living beings, those, unfortunately, being the three-men flight crew.

Haswell was stuck in a shocked stupor, unable to move. He was rooted to the ground, only able to stare on at the evil that was clawing in to get at him. Amherst ran back through the slightly ajar hatch that led to the ****pit.

"They're free! They're trying to break in!" He shouted in German. Yager turned and looked at Amherst, a horrified expression on his face. "What will we do?!" Amherst queried, still yelling in panic.

Yager knew that he had to land the plane. The chances of making it to the ground were slim, but he still had to try. "We will land." He replied quietly, and turned back to the controls.

From the other room, shots could be heard discharging from a Kar98k, a more or less standard bolt-action rifle that had been issued to Haswell for special cargo operations for use in situations just like this. Haswell shouted a cry of terror, and Amherst looked back through the open door.

The monsters had broken through the metal door, and were shambling towards Haswell and the men in the ****pit. Haswell ran to the ****pit door, stopping only to glance at his Star of David before just barely avoiding one of the monster's flailing arms, and running into the ****pit. Amherst and Haswell sealed the thick metal door just before the first of the terrors could reach them.

Haswell looked over at Amherst, who, even in this dire situation, glared at him with that same fiery hatred. Haswell attempted to avoid making further eye contact with Amherst.

The loose monsters outside were banging and smashing the door, trying to get in. Yager calmed himself, trying to focus on the plane's controls. "You may want to take a seat," he advised the two standing men. They quickly sat down where they could best manage a seat, and braced themselves.

The plane began to dip, heading almost straight down. Through the ****pit window the clouds were moving quickly, evaporating from their sight as they sped out of them. The lightning from the storm had become, and they could see distant flashes of the light as they sped, ever faster, downward.

Suddenly, one of the streaks of hot lightning collided with the back end of the plane. The aircraft shook violently, throwing Haswell out of his seat and sending Amherst sprawling against one of the metal walls of the ****pit.

Their downward descent became a chaotic spiral as the men were thrown around inside the cabin as the plane circled to the ground, falling out of the sky. The clouds and fog dissipated only two hundred feet from the ground, and they all got one good glance at the earth before they smashed into it. Everything went black...

STORY UPDATED, AUGUST 3RD 2009 AT 5:36 PM EASTERN!


December 14th, 1941...

Amherst woke with a start. He looked around, confused. He saw the concrete walls around him, and suddenly felt cold. He realized he was lying on a hard floor, the cool concrete prickling at his back with icy fingers.

His eyesight was still blurry, and he could just barely see a tall figure walking nearby him. His ears felt stuffed with cotton, and he could hardly hear what he assumed was two men speaking. As he came more to his sense, he realized that the two men were Haswell and Yager.

Amherst sat up and tried to take in more detail of his surroundings. In the corner of the room was a staircase. To his immediate left was a window boarded up with nails and rough planks of wood, as if they had been haphazardly sawed and nailed onto the frames of the now windowless opening. Outside, there was only fog.

He looked down at his wristwatch, but it was cracked and the fingers had stopped turning. He assumed that dawn must've been approaching, for a strange hue of light emitted from the fog, as it would on an early morning in Berlin, where the mists crowded the streets and made it hard to see, and blocked out the rising sun.

Yager looked over at Amherst, and realized he had regained his consciousness. Yager rushed over to the man, and helped him up. Amherst felt sore all over the place. Yager asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Amherst replied, feeling his back, trying to locate the main source of his soreness and misery. Amherst looked over at Haswell, who was sitting on a crate, and immediately felt the same burning passion of hatred he had on the plane, "You! Juden!"

Amherst felt for his pistol, but it was not there. He instead rushed over to Haswell and kicked him off the crate and grabbed him by the collar of his tattered uniform. He was on the verge of smacking Haswell and sending him sprawling, but as he lifted his arm Yager grasped his hand with his iron grip, refusing to let go.

"No." It was only one word, but Yager said it with such serenity and authority that Amherst unintenionally relaxed his arm and let go of Haswell. Yager let go of his arm, and returned to his seat after helping Haswell up off the floor and helping him retrieve his seat.

"But don't you realize, he is a Jew! He is undesirable!" Amherst shouted, regaining his sense of confidence and hate.

"Yes, I know. But he is not a bad man. He saved your life." Yager replied. Amherst looked over at Haswell in shock, but Haswell only returned the look with a blank face, empty of expression.

"When the plane went down, the... Um..." Yager paused, unable to think of a word.

"Zombies," Amherst said blankly, his face turning pale at the thought of them clawing out of the metal door back on the plane.

"Right, the zombies. When the plane went down, the zombies began to shamble towards you. They were completely unaffected, given that the plane had just crashed. They don't suffer from shock like we do."

"Yes." Amherst replied.

"They began to shamble towards you, but Haswell regained his sense in time to fire a few rounds into the first few, and then dragged you to safety. Luckily for us, we found ourselves just outside of this abandoned structure. We assumed it was some sort of outpost, being maintained by the Chinese just before the Japanese ran them out, and then retreated back into central China."

"And where are the zombies now?" Amherst asked, looking around with apprehension. His mind began to imagine them, coming down the stairs and tearing at the windows. He thought he heard noises, their muffled moans above him and around him. Yager's voice snapped him back to reality.

"They retreated into the fog. You were unconscious for a day. While you were gone, they returned. We were out looking for lumber to board up the windows, as you see we have, when we discovered them trying to get into the outpost when we got back. They were trying to find us, but you were the only one inside. We managed to repel them, and a few escaped back into the fog."

"Strange," was all Amherst could manage to say, "How many were there?"

"About a dozen. Considering the five or so Haswell killed when he rescued you, and the six that we counted that were dead from the impact of the crash, there were -" Yager began, but Amherst cut him off.
part 2 below