Saturday, September 1, 2007
Penitence - 2
2:32 AM | Posted by
Warwriter Widow
As they strapped him down to the table he heard his commanding officer’s voice in his head: “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Heinrich Wachtner was a techno-geek before it was considered cool. In 1943, he was one of the first houses on the block with a new “moving picture in a box.” He had motion picture cameras, repeating automatic pistols, even a hand held radio. So when word came down of a new technologically advanced program looking for volunteers, Wachtner begged his CO to let him go.
Major Kurt Kohut wasn’t too thrilled with losing his most able adjutant to the results of an experiment, but he was young himself, and understood the yearnings of trying new and exciting things. So he reluctantly agreed.
Before he got on the train to Munich, the major asked one more time. It was that voice that Wachtner heard as the pieces of the metal suit were strapped onto him. It came even louder and clearer as he saw the look of sorrow in the doctor'e eyes as they strapped the helmet on.
There was pain. Then blackness.
They called it the Panzermenschen Projekt. Personal body armor that protected its wear against anything. It would keep them warm in Siberia, cool in Tunis; plus it had firepower, and it was comfortable. Most of it turned out to be true except for one thing. They didn’t tell him the armor was possessed.
When he awoke, his vision was crystal clear. He certainly felt heavier, and he felt stronger than he ever had been. He turned his head.
I believe they can remove the helmet now.
Wachtner nodded and waited. “Go ahead,” he said.
Suddenly people flocked to his bed. He could see them through the visor of the helmet, staring at him with all looks of concern and fear. “This one’s alive! And talking!”
Someone removed his helmet and a doctor asked, “Do you know who you are?”
“Heinrich Wachtner--” Dark Matter.
“What do you do?”
“I’m the adjutant to Major Karl Kohurt in 5. Panzerdivision Wiking.” I am a hunter and destroyer of the so-called Peacebringer faction of the Kheldian race.
“Where are you?”
“Munich, I think.” Yes, this is Munich.
Two people helped him sit up at the doctor’s direction. “Disoriented? Dizzy?”
“No, not really—“ No.
“Good!” came a voice of a man in an army uniform. He wore the red tabbed color of a general, and Wachtner saluted him. “Heil Hitler!”
The general waved his hand in acknowledgment. “It is indeed rare for one of us to survive this procedure,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his purple eyes. “What is your name?”
“Heinrich Wachtner—“ Dark Matter. “Who are you?” Who are you?
The man’s eyebrow went up. “Really. You have assumed your host’s name. Very interesting.”
“That is my name,” Wachtner protested. That is his name and I happen to like it better than Dunkel Materiel.
The general began laughing. “Excellent. Your host doesn’t even know he’s being used. Your name will bleed out in its own time. Now come with me.” He turned on the ball of his foot and headed toward the door. Wachtner slowly swung awkwardly off the bed, not used to the armor. They put the helmet back on him as the general opened the door to let himself out.
Heinrich Wachtner was a techno-geek before it was considered cool. In 1943, he was one of the first houses on the block with a new “moving picture in a box.” He had motion picture cameras, repeating automatic pistols, even a hand held radio. So when word came down of a new technologically advanced program looking for volunteers, Wachtner begged his CO to let him go.
Major Kurt Kohut wasn’t too thrilled with losing his most able adjutant to the results of an experiment, but he was young himself, and understood the yearnings of trying new and exciting things. So he reluctantly agreed.
Before he got on the train to Munich, the major asked one more time. It was that voice that Wachtner heard as the pieces of the metal suit were strapped onto him. It came even louder and clearer as he saw the look of sorrow in the doctor'e eyes as they strapped the helmet on.
There was pain. Then blackness.
They called it the Panzermenschen Projekt. Personal body armor that protected its wear against anything. It would keep them warm in Siberia, cool in Tunis; plus it had firepower, and it was comfortable. Most of it turned out to be true except for one thing. They didn’t tell him the armor was possessed.
When he awoke, his vision was crystal clear. He certainly felt heavier, and he felt stronger than he ever had been. He turned his head.
I believe they can remove the helmet now.
Wachtner nodded and waited. “Go ahead,” he said.
Suddenly people flocked to his bed. He could see them through the visor of the helmet, staring at him with all looks of concern and fear. “This one’s alive! And talking!”
Someone removed his helmet and a doctor asked, “Do you know who you are?”
“Heinrich Wachtner--” Dark Matter.
“What do you do?”
“I’m the adjutant to Major Karl Kohurt in 5. Panzerdivision Wiking.” I am a hunter and destroyer of the so-called Peacebringer faction of the Kheldian race.
“Where are you?”
“Munich, I think.” Yes, this is Munich.
Two people helped him sit up at the doctor’s direction. “Disoriented? Dizzy?”
“No, not really—“ No.
“Good!” came a voice of a man in an army uniform. He wore the red tabbed color of a general, and Wachtner saluted him. “Heil Hitler!”
The general waved his hand in acknowledgment. “It is indeed rare for one of us to survive this procedure,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his purple eyes. “What is your name?”
“Heinrich Wachtner—“ Dark Matter. “Who are you?” Who are you?
The man’s eyebrow went up. “Really. You have assumed your host’s name. Very interesting.”
“That is my name,” Wachtner protested. That is his name and I happen to like it better than Dunkel Materiel.
The general began laughing. “Excellent. Your host doesn’t even know he’s being used. Your name will bleed out in its own time. Now come with me.” He turned on the ball of his foot and headed toward the door. Wachtner slowly swung awkwardly off the bed, not used to the armor. They put the helmet back on him as the general opened the door to let himself out.
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