An abandoned German airfield
Sgt. John Raines
June 4th, 1945
Unbroken silence within utter blackness.
“Is anyone with me? Goddammit, is anyone out there?”
Sergeant Raines felt around the dark cockpit, searching for a recognizable element of the plane's interior, or better yet, any sign of life. Luckily for Raines, a fire had not started from within the plane. There were no bullet holes throughout the aircraft; instead, the plane had suffered a crippling malfunction and flown off course.
As he felt around, broken shards of glass from the cockpit window and coarse gravel grazed against his palms. Raines could now be sure that the plane had flipped prior to the crash, with the ceiling lying below him. At least now he was sure how the dark plane was arranged; maybe now he could see a way out.
It was a simple escort mission. Following Germany's surrender, Raines' unit was pulled out of the Pacific to ensure the safety of a spy by the name of Peter McCain. As for the plane's malfunction, it seemed purely random. With the German military now defunct, it is unlikely this was sabotage on their part. But the organization Peter was set to infiltrate, Group 935, may have had something to do with the crash. None of his men could have been double agents; higher ups kept a close eye on the Marine Corps for that kind of thing. It was beat into their heads right from basic training the consequences of double agency. But perhaps it all truly was a random freak accident, and American forces will be back to recover Raines and any survivors of the crash.
Peter must be one hell of a spy for the US to send three escort planes and four squads of marines. Details were very hush-hush, especially in Raines' position, but the mission was to plant Peter McCain into Group 935, posing as a scientist without any loyalty to the US. With the treaty signed, Germany's Wehrmacht was no longer a threat, but the US could not legally take over Group 935's holdings, given they are an independent organization. With Peter on the inside, the US could have eyes and ears on 935's scientific achievements.
Raines could now see faint moonlight seeping in where the plane had crumpled upon crashing. Cautious, the Sergeant drew his Colt and crawled to the hole. His ankle had been badly damaged after being flung around the plane. He eyed the moonlit landscape through the breach in the hull. There was no one in sight. He waited another few minutes for any sign of movement or sound. Radio silence.
Raines crawled out from the debris onto the harsh gravel outside, and a sudden stench wafted towards Raines' nostrils. He was so taken aback by the scent his arms crumpled beneath him and his eyes watered profusely. It was the rotting stench of human flesh, far worse than anything of his battles in the past. Balance regained, Raines raised up, eyeing his surroundings. No Germans, but none of his fellow soldiers either.
On the other side of the plane was a seemingly abandoned bunker, worn and rusted from many hard fought battles of the past, but now lying still in this foggy airfield. The thick fog prevented Raines from spotting anything in any direction besides the bunker. On closer inspection, the bunker was caved in and heavily damaged due to falling debris from the plane, but the structure was still standing, lying dormant and silent midst the fog.
Surrounding the small bunker were rusty metal barrels and power lines leading outwards towards civilization beyond the fog. Along with barrels were a few German army trucks, their beds full of cargo. Crates in these trucks were marked with the insignia of the German Wehrmacht as well as another symbol: it looked like a gear with a hand in the middle and neurons spinning around the center; the arm of the hand was made up of the Waffen SS symbol, and the center was marked with the number 935.
At the nose of the plane, a similar truck was seen destroyed by the plane's impact, its cargo spread out along the flat ground around the plane. One such crate had been flung several yards near where Raines had exited the plane. From a large hole bashed into the side, strange, glowing red rocks could been seen inside the crate, which gave off an enormous amount of heat.
Raines waited a few moments before attempting to get back to his feet. The pain was nigh unbearable, yet Raines stood up, deciding to take a chance to find the others in his squad.
Only the wind.
“Philips, are you with me?!”
“McCree! Come on, anybody?!”
For what seemed like an eternity, there was only silence. Faintly from the bunker, a voice called out to Sergeant Raines.
“Sarge! Come quick!”
The voice was coming from the bunker, and Raines could not quite catch whom the voice matched. He lifted himself up on his good leg and began limping towards fellow life but stopped dead in his tracks from the sound that came next.
It erupted like a long, drawn-out boom. Groans and yelps from far off, but loud and clear as day. A group of yellow-orange lights appeared in pairs deep in the fog. They started small and grew ever larger until the outline of the bodies became clear. Several dozen, around the size of grown men, with piercing orange eyes and a hellish moan stumbled across the field towards Raines.
Raines headed for the plane to find a gun with more ammunition for the ambush, but the shambling bodies had transitioned into a full sprint, shoving each other away to try and reach his position. Raines was forced deeper and deeper into the plane as the beasts piled into the tiny, cramped hole in the side of the wreckage. There was no route of escape as they pushed even further inward like a wall of flesh. Raines ran his hand along the walls to find what he was looking for. Finally, the compartment where rations were held was before him. Raines desperately scooped the weeks and weeks worth of rations out and stuffed himself inside the tiny compartment. He could barely fit his head in, being forced into the fetal position with his head in his lap. Raines shut the door in a panic, dropping his Colt on the floor outside, and wedged the handle to keep the door closed.
The sound of banging, crashing, groaning, and clawing were heard outside the compartment for the next hour. Raines had begun to panic internally from his claustrophobia, but his fear of the beasts that wished to reach him inside was far greater. Sweat and tears soaked the shaking man within the plane, trapped by an unknown evil.
From within his prison the soldier heard the faint sounds of gunfire outside. Surely that was his squadmates coming to his rescue. They could kill the things outside, and finally this Hell could be over. Or at the very least the beasts would leave to find the shooters, and he could make a break for it.
But the banging and screaming continued. Sergeant Raines stayed within the plane's rations compartment for 4 days before finding peace in death. He had water on his person which lasted a short time, but the rations, only inches away from him, were beneath the feet of the dead, and thus, were nigh unobtainable. His body was never recovered, and his squad's screams of terror were heard by no one else but the undead.