Blood Red Steel

PART 1:-4

As she stood at the abyss of uncertainty, her dream fading before her very eyes, someone behind the scenes threw them a lifeline. Combat medic. They’d allow females to participate if they trained as combat medics.

Some quit soon after, and Watford couldn’t blame them. Bitterness lingered at realising they wouldn’t be regarded the same as their male counterparts. Watford persevered. She took the sneering disdain and used it for fuel. Understanding she had to prove herself, to work harder to receive equal treatment, she threw herself into the medical course, and it paid off. Five months of scrubbing bedpans in New Berlin’s military hospital, and there she was. Finally on the frontlines, attached to an actual combat unit. Shirley Watford – a soldier.

“Next.”

Exhaling, Watford ordered her thoughts, approached the desk, and stood to attention.

“Papers.”

She saluted the seated lieutenant, noted his name tag said Barrymore, and passed him her orders and identity documents. While he perused everything and studied a list, she picked an imaginary spot on the wall and stared. A corporal behind Lieutenant Barrymore smirked and blew her a kiss.

“Right, Watford, I have you here,” Barrymore said. “Same as the rest. You’ll be reporting to Lieutenant Tracy in the medical bay for nursing duties. Next.”

“If I may, sir,” she said, accepting her documents back. “How long until we get to go into the field?”

“Nurses don’t get to go on ops,” Barrymore said without looking up. “No matter what good old Fighting Bill Tracy says about it. You’re assigned to the medical bay, and that’s where you’ll stay, twelve hours a day, five days a week. Next.”

The woman behind Watford tried to step past, but she stood her ground. Unadulterated fury pumped through her veins. She had done everything they asked and more. Every task completed to the maximum standard, no stone left unturned. Absolutely every objective exceeded without a flaw. For this?

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, fighting the urge to scream until her lungs burst. “I’m a combat medic, not a nurse. I’ve been trained to perform battlefield surgeries to stop men from dying before they can be evacuated. I was assured this assignment would involve me being attached to a combat unit.”

Barrymore dropped the pen from his hand and met her gaze. His jaw tightened when he stared into her eyes, but she refused to flinch. They’d promised her. They made her jump through hoops. She earned the right to be treated with the smallest amount of respect.

“Listen here, missy. This is the Mars Occupation Force, not a little princess party for your dollies. You have been assigned as a nurse at the medical bay, and that’s exactly what you’ll b****y well do. Now, be a good girl, unscrunch your panties, slip into something a little less comfortable, and run along.”

It took every ounce of Watford’s reserves not to punch him there and then. Her entire body trembled from the sheer flood of anger rushing through her limbs. Balling her hands into fists, she imaged pounding Barrymore’s face into the dust and tearing his innards out with her fingers.

“Walk it off,” a voice whispered from behind.

She turned about and glared at the woman standing there. Half-expecting a smug smile, she readied herself to throw a punch. Instead, she looked over the faces of a dozen angered women, jaws set, shaking their heads, and staring in contempt at the officer.

“Walk it off,” the soldier closest to her said again. “Don’t let them get under your skin. Take a deep breath, exhale, and we’ll figure it out later.”

Somehow, those words cut through the tsunami of frustration smashing through her body. She turned about and, biting her cheek to stop from screaming, walked out of the line to find the medical bay.

“Smile more, darling,” Barrymore called after her, half-chuckling. “You’ll look prettier.”

Nipping the inside of her mouth harder until she tasted blood, Watford ignored his words.

“I’m a soldier,” she whispered to herself. “I am a soldier.”

EISENHOWER COLONY, US ZONE OF OCCUPATION

12:03 MST

DAY 743

(-7 DAYS)

Devoid of his SS uniform, Reichsführer Ernst Wagner felt almost n***d. For years, he’d commanded the SS across the colonies, but those days were long over now. He ran a gloveless hand down his shirt and tie and fixed the creases on his jacket. The fabric itched against his skin, but he pushed such irritations aside. That day marked the pinnacle of his achievements, and it wasn’t like he’d be in that body for long. The longer he stayed in any given time period, the higher the chances Anna Bailey or the Core Cadre would attempt to kill him. His death wouldn’t have a serious impact on the primary timeline, but he enjoyed being alive and admiring his work. After years of experiments and failures, his dreams were finally coming through.

“When you’re ready, Herr Reichsführer,” Dr Elizabeth Rimes said in her bastard American accent.

Forcing a smile, he gave the slightest of nods. “Thank you, Doctor.”

They walked through a narrow corridor in the underground facility and stepped into the training hall. Wagner paused mid-step, gasped, and gazed across the rows of uniformed teenagers all standing at attention, eyes straight forward, unmoving. Tears welled up in his eyes when he took in those youthful faces, each one representing the next generation of soldiers. Engrained warriors, all.

“Is it everything you imagined, Herr Reichsführer?” Rimes asked.

He held up a finger to silence any other questions and took a cautious pace forward. Not since activating Anna Bailey had he experienced such joy. His run-in with the group of Core Cadre soldiers in the last moments of the Battle of New Berlin confirmed his righteousness. The Hollow Programme would be a resounding success. All the trials, all the errors. All worth it.

“One hundred in total,” Rimes said. “No losses. Every one of them from the genetic profiles you provided, all aged between ten and fourteen years and in perfect health. Interestingly enough, a significant portion were strays and orphans. The rest, well, as far as their families are concerned, they simply vanished. Each specimen has had their memories wiped to remove any attachment to their previous lives.”

Wagner approached a boy of not more than twelve years and studied him. Aside from his chest rising and falling and the odd eye-blink, he didn’t move, even with his proximity. He pushed on, strolling down the front line, taking in each face as he passed, heart threatening to burst with joy.

“Are they combat-ready, Doctor?”

“Yes, Herr Reichsführer. Since their activation five months ago, they’ve endured rigorous preparation in the Rigs and the real world. All of them are trained up to the level of special forces operatives. They are beyond proficient in every weapon at our disposal and hand-to-hand combat. Don’t let their young faces fool you, Herr Reichsführer. These are flesh and blood killing machines. Would you care for a demonstration?”

“Nothing would please me more,” Wagner said and stepped back.

“Holly, Ashe, step forward.”

Two girls from the first line stomped their feet, marched, and came to a stop in front of them. Raising an eyebrow, Warner looked them over and turned to Rimes.

“You gave them names?”

“Designations, Herr Reichsführer. Although we’ve removed their memories and conditioned them to obey, our early psychological studies indicated a certain…subconscious rejection of being labelled as numbers. We may treat them like machines, but they are still human. We found they gel together more efficiently if they can relate to each other on a more natural level. Hence, designations.”

“Very well. Proceed.”

Extending a hand, Rimes pointed out the girl on the right. “This is Holly. One of our first activations. We located her outside a Choctaw reservation. She’s one of our finest trainees. To her left, we have Ashe, originally from Mexico City and a top contender to become senior private within the company. Both girls are quite close to each other and spend a lot of time training together. I’m hoping this will make this a bit more interesting. On your command, Herr Reichsführer.”

“Very well. On my order, you will fight. The victor is the one still breathing at the end. Begin.”

Holly lunged first, her fist a missile aimed at Ashe’s head. Ashe pulled back and swung a hook, catching Holly on the jaw and forcing her back. She threw another punch, but Holly blocked and countered with a spinning kick to her head. Again, Ashe dodged and, with spectacular speed, closed the distance and levelled a vicious whack to the gut. Holly managed to grab her wrist, turn her arm, and force Ashe face-first to the floor, but she wrenched her limb free, rolled over and threw a kick.

Holly evaded the blow, and both young women scrambled to their feet again. She closed the distance, jabbing while Ashe deflected every strike. She fell, swung her leg, and swept the legs from under Ashe, who thudded down but lashed out a foot, catching Holly in the stomach. Undeterred, Holly surged forward again, slapping away Ashe’s legs, and dropped her weight onto her, smashing her knee into her groin.

Ashe grabbed her shoulders, hooked her legs around Holly, and attempted to hurl her to the ground, but Holly held her position. She slammed her knuckles, the shot absorbed by Ashe’s forearm. She slipped a hand under her guard and inched up closer while she drove her forehead downwards, smashing her on the nose and splattering blood across her face.

With Ashe dazed from the blow, Holly raised her hand and punched, catching her again on the face. Fists pounded against flesh, a slapping noise echoing throughout the room. Following every attack, Ashe’s body turned limper, her face deteriorating every second. When her arms collapsed unmoving to her sides, Holly paused, primed to strike, but frozen as she stared down at her colleague.

“Finish it,” Wagner said.

Devoid of the slightest hesitation, Holly rained her knuckles down, splitting Ashe’s face. She punched until she hammered through bone and brain and then stood bolt upright. Splatters of blood dripping from her hands, she came to attention.

“Excellent,” Wagner said, clapping his hands. “How absolutely spectacular. You have outdone yourself, Rimes. MAJESTIC-12 will be most pleased with your progress.”

Double doors on the side wall of the training room opened, capturing Wagner’s interest. Rimes turned about and nodded as an MOF officer strolled in, pausing for a second to stare at the body before approaching them.

“Herr Reichsführer,” Rimes said. “May I present General Hatfield, the US MOF liaison for the Hollow Programme.”

Wagner extended his hand, but Hatfield glared back, his eyes narrow pinpoints of hatred. Taking the hint, Wagner lowered his hand and flashed a smile instead.

Hatfield turned to face Rimes. “Tell this baby murderer the signal he’s waiting on came through. I want him off my installation ASAP. There’s a lot of people here, myself included, who’d love to cut this SS sonofabitch into tiny pieces, nice and slow.”

Hatfield spat on the ground and turned to exit the room.

“Herr General,” Wagner called after him. “Be sure to send my regards to your superiors. Their assistance has been most exceptional.”

Grinning to himself, Wagner turned his attention to Rimes. “It appears I must leave now, Doctor. Keep up the excellent work. I look forward to reading your reports. Please also ensure my Hollow body is maintained in this timeline. Should the Core Cadre attempt to disrupt my plans here, I may need to enact countermeasures.”