The inaudible third reich echo

The utilization of the jupiter V2 rocket engine in space flight has created a golden age of exploration. Atrocity has found its niche regardless. Terror reigns on a new plane of existence.

The good ship glided upward through mercurial waters, never touching the liquid. The ship made use of squid technology to evaporate and extract oxygen from the water, before injecting the oxygen into vacuum. This created a mode of locomotion that was wssentialy like gliding on a cushioin of air. the vessels occupants remain unaware, and ungrateful, of the expensive machinery working to keep them alive.

Glen billite pressed his form against a smooth steel surface, and raised his arm in salute, a difficult thing to do in the cramped quarters of a U-boat. His commrade, gunter sykes, who was a electrolysis mechanic on the good vessel, returned the salute, squeezing uncomfortably past Glens well starched uniform. This man was celebrating the percieved end of conflict with a bottle of homemade wine picked up while in port.

If he'd known any better he would have been worried at the scientists prescence on the ship. Intelligence isnt something usually entrusted to a hit and run outfit. The previous day they had been burning hard for acadia where talent tended to stay in troubled times, but glen brought the ships meistro to his sences, and they were now all set to intersept an UN fleet about 400 miles out of thier way.

"So, does life below the somatille suit you nicely", he slurred. Glen smiled " well it s a far cry from air fare, but It affords a certain flexibility that zeplins do not". Zeplins remained the mainstay of air travel on mars's thin atmosphere, as the technology that the UN held was held firm.

That and he genuinely enjoyed the strategy involved in navigating the halls of the submersible. It kept his brain healthy, wich was hard to do while travelling without company. Besides, the boring and constant atmosphere of the somatille sea kept the traveler desperate for the large body of water to end. The discoverer of the sea had a sense of humour. The machinist tipped his cap and staggered slightly to the left before teetering around the razor sharp corner.

After a series of butt to butt and crotch to crotch encounters, Glen finally made it to the captains quarters. He was greeted by the smell of wine, finer than gunters, but unlikely to entail the same jovial spirit. The captains own room differed from his and his commrades rooms in that the decor was self contained, each finely crafted piece, wood ,maple or any number of conifers, had been dissasembled and hauled into the sub from the mans reserve office.

The furnishings were paired neatly with the bare metal floor by carpeting. This was a reflection of the mans wealth as, glen thought, the fuher was known for his frugality when it came to pampering NCO's. "Keep your fledglings off deck, and make sure your flying those coulors at full mast" said Glen admiring the lack of protruding plumbing and adhoc dart boards on the walls. The captain replied resentfully "weve de-weaponized the deck and Ive entrusted my best to the croews nest". (The colours were the distress call signal stuck indefinately.)

The crows nest was the suicide watch tower made nesscesary by the compromised manual and auto parascopic system.) Glen took a long draw from his pipe. Not opium, but the tobbaco(probably more thread fibre than organic material) would have to do.

Glen sniffed at the foul odour "Are you aware that your best are currently swilling cheap wine and playing poker?", Gunter put down his pint and howled a threat perforated with obscenities down the telocommunication tube mounted on his desk. " I wouldnt worry about thier good cheer anymore"he smirked sardonically at glen. Glen smiled thinly. He had to admire the mans draconian rule. a positon on deck was a formidable threat now that a well placed sweep from a air surfer could leave you in pieces. The vessels commander understood this all too well, and cursed his new role as a pret to the skies.

"You learn to hate the heavens when you live in a 50ft long bubble of air" gunter mused. Glen luaghed and slapped a hand over the captains shoulder. He wasnt sure if he felt respect or unease for the captain. " things that kill will do that to you" he said pushing in his chair and striding for the door. He had to finish getting his identification together. He swept piles of desecrated looseleaf into a black leather moulded attache case in his small room. The table he stooped st was an integrated tin and chrome core with celluloid siding.

The plastics prescence meant they were probably shipping in a U-boat built after 1950, important in wartime. Now though he didnt need the ships long term submersive capabilitys. They rode high in the water on an obvious wake drawn over the water by the wide bodied ship. They needed this visibility in order to make an successful exchange with the CIA, and Glen new this more than anyone.

He didnt look like a man whod been waterlogged for two years in service. He didnt look like a grunt, pounding the dirt for a mile of regained land, countless casualties at cost. He didnt even look like the NCO a man burdoned by responsibiltity of his mean, taught and strung out from the prodding and pulling of questions and decisions.

Glen lay the ghastly research on the lavender fire blanket of his cot. The cot joined as well to the monsters belly. He relished his atrocities. He laughed in glee at the fools who condemned his brethwren and shrugged at genocide. A vile oppurtinist out for his next host his eyes reached the only peice of furniture in the room that was his own, alone from the heavy stench of death, fear and lives swapped for imperialist desire. He didnt like it. It was a particle board coffe table he used to shoot opium.

He pulled it over to the rough welded cot. It left no mark as it had rested for a work week. He let the smoke fill him, and it ordered his despondent brain to release dopamine and other endorphins. He then began to reminisce on his days of feeding off the 3d reich.

His work was pain tolerance, a tried and tested science that had proved itself again and again as a grant winner. Although he could, and had, punch holes in his own research, Adolphs fanatisism for a new supersoilder kept his pockets deep. Now he would turn this dirt science over in exchange for a legitamite job in a peacful time, and he would never have to use 'just following orders' as the flimsy excuse it was. A sharp knock on the door, it was Gunter, wanting opium, he supplied it seeing little reason to deprive him of his last true moment of ecstacy for months.

" I feel null", he said, "I thought I would feel relieved, but I feel empty", said gunter. "Shell shock?", suggested Glen. "No, Ive only been at this job for a few months". "All it takes", Glen said, accepting the pipe and taking a long draw of the smoky humour, "Is a few bad expieriences". "Your bodys cut you loose, but thats left you feeling nothing". "We can treat this ailment nowadays, as soon as you reach the mainland".

They both watched the dim light from the single bulb escaping its pewter cage, and drifting lazily through a particularly thick section of haze. At least he thought thats what they saw. The opium often gave him a feeling of omnipotence that he liked. The smoke made everything more distant, the light of his eyes struggling to break its sheen. The ocean rose and fell menacingly behind the tempered glass port, depositing its greatest secrets in the perforated shell of the outer hull. Suddenly he felt apart from the dull grey of the room. The walls were not stamped out for the occupants, but to keep the ships heart private.

The sea and the ship had a friendship, and he loved them for their fruitful pairing. He suddenly realized that he had become inert
mid-conversation, but it did not matter to him, nor did gunter seem to mind his companions poor manner. He saw the waves win a losing battle, and the klaxon added its vibrations to the noise of the engine, the ship beleasgured by waves. He gave his fellow traveller a good throttling to draw in his senses and they sideled dreamily through the ships connections mounted the stairwell, and emerges into the staging area.

The red sky, red sea, red dirt of mars did not allure the eye so Glen stared instead at the unusual markings on the approaching destroyer. Red like the environment that surrounded it. Several soilders rushed aboard carrying crude weapons. A russian deathsquad most likely. He wasnt scared, he simply offered his hand. the last thing that glens eyes stared at was the barrel of a ppsh. Glens brain whirled for a new manipulation before he was cut down in a hail of lead and rage. The opium pipe hit the solution below, sizzling. Endophenal haze mixed with flash powder as the predator missed his mark.