An abandoned German airfield
Sgt. John Raine
June 4th, 1945
Unbroken silence within utter blackness.
"Is anyone with me? God damn it, is anyone out there?!”
Sergeant Raine felt around the dark cockpit, searching for a recognizable element of the plane's interior to orient himself, or better yet, any sign of life.
As he felt around, broken shards of glass from the cockpit window and coarse gravel grazed against his palms. Raine could now be sure that the plane had flipped prior to the crash, with the ceiling lying below him. He was now sure how the plane was arranged; Maybe now he could see a way out.
This was not how the mission was supposed to go. Following Germany's surrender, the OSS had enlisted Raine and four other men in his squad to ensure the safety of a spy by the name of Peter McCain as he was escorted into the country. Their primary objective was ensuring McCain infiltrates Group 935, a scientific research organization partnered with the Germans in the war, without arousing any suspicion that he was stealing their secrets.
As Raine crawled towards a source of light, he began to remember the moments leading to the crash. All the systems aboard had malfunctioned and the engines gave out, seemingly at random. With the German military now defunct, it is unlikely this was sabotage on their part. If this truly was a freak accident, American forces will be back to recover Raine and any survivors of the crash soon.
McCain must be one hell of a spy for the US to send three escort planes with four squads of marines, Raine thought. With the treaty signed, Germany's Wehrmacht was no longer protecting their facilities, but the US could not legally take over Group 935's holdings, given their swift denouncement of the Nazi Party after the treaty was signed. With Peter on the inside, the US could have eyes and ears on 935's scientific advancements and leadership. Details on the target were kept out of reach from everyone but McCain himself, but there were rumors in the lower levels of the OSS that the Group had been responsible for numerous war crimes and had been manufacturing super weapons.
Raine could now see faint moonlight seeping in where the plane had crumpled upon crashing. Cautious, the Sergeant drew his Colt and crawled towards the hole. His ankle had been badly twisted after being tossed around the plane. He eyed the moonlit landscape through the breach in the hull: No one in sight. He waited another few moments for any sign of life. Radio silence.
Raine crawled out from the debris onto the harsh gravel outside, and a sudden odor wafted towards Raine's nostrils. He was so taken aback by the scent his arms crumpled beneath him and his eyes watered profusely. It was the stench of rotting human flesh, reminding him of Guadalcanal. Balance regained, Raine raised himself 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 Raine from seeing anything in any direction besides the bunker and a couple of power lines. 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 a few German army trucks, their beds full of cargo. Upon a closer inspection, the 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 logo, and the center was marked with the numbers 9-3-5.
At the nose of the plane, a similar truck was seen destroyed by the crash, its cargo spread out along the flat ground around the plane. One such crate had been flung several yards near where Raine had emerged. From a large hole bashed into the side of the crate, strange, glowing red rocks could been seen inside.
Raine waited a few moments before attempting to get back to his feet. The pain was nigh unbearable, yet Raine 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. Then, faintly, a voice called out to Sergeant Raine.
"Sarge! Come quick!”
The voice was coming from the bunker, and Raine 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 Raine. Distinguishing features could now be seen: Flailing arms, flapping jaws, and grey skin. As they came closer, the monsters' intent became clear: They were heading straight for Raine.
Raine dived into 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. Raine dropped his Colt in the darkness, and 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. Raine ran his hand along the walls to find what he was looking for. Finally, the compartment where rations were held was before him. Raine desperately scooped the week’s and week’s 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. Raine shut the door in a panic, and wedged the interior handle to keep the door closed.
The sound of banging, crashing, groaning, and clawing were heard outside the compartment for the next hour. Raine had begun to panic 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 force.
From within his prison the soldier heard the faint sounds of gunfire outside. Surely that was his squad-mates coming to his rescue. They would kill the things outside, and finally this Hell could be over.
But the banging and screaming continued. Sergeant Raine stayed within the plane's rations compartment for four 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 boots of the creatures. No one came back for Raine, and his squad's screams of terror were heard by no one else but the undead.