Read Online Necrocide by Jonathan Davison - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jonathan Davison
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defensive installation. A reinforced concrete shelter of some kind although in the darkness it was difficult to make out. There appeared to be no light, no sounds of occupation no movement of traffic from the road. Hawkins took point and crouched, leaning back against the ridge. He made eye contact with his friend as if to telepathically communicate his intentions. George decided to stick with his prearranged hand gestures to make it clear that they were going to proceed to the bunker-like building and take a look. Hawkins felt naturally anxious about this but it did seem that anyone who had been here had clearly left and there was more sense in moving forward than back.
Still stooping low and remaining as concealed against the line of the ridge as possible, the soldiers followed it as far as they could before climbing up to the roadside and along an overgrown verge where brambles snagged their clothing. As the bunker came clearly into view, Hawkins could see that it was set off the roadside a little and that a series of small steps led toward the entrance. At the front, the long pointed muzzle of an MG42 protruded ominously from a narrow slit and was likely one of the weapons which claimed so many lives earlier that day.
Nearing the building, the two soldiers readied their weapons and hovered their fingers over their triggers. Hawkins edged silently towards the small reinforced wooden door which appeared to be slightly ajar on closer inspection. A sliver of yellow light emanated from the gap which heightened Hawkins senses further. It was not unimaginable that the occupants were still inside, perhaps asleep, tired from the rigours of the day. Creeping down the small steps, Hawkins took one side of the door and Granger the other. They glanced at each other to confirm the synchronisation of their incursion and with self control and a significant amount of courage, they rolled around the corner and Granger nudged the door of the bunker slowly open with the muzzle of his long barrelled machine gun.
Rushing into the dimply lit chamber, neither soldier offered a battle cry or other obscenity which might attract attention. Silently and swiftly, they surveyed their surroundings, objecting to the urge to unload a magazine of bullets into the room just to be sure. They were soon rewarded with their restraint when it was clear that no living thing remained in the machine gun nest.
The chamber was fairly spacious, a good six or seven square metres. It was lit by a small battery powered lantern that was at the end of its usable life. As expected, a used and now silent MG42 rested in a horizontal slot in the thick front wall and boxes of spent cartridges lined the floor around it.
In the centre of the room there was a table and upon it, there were dishes, metal mugs and eating implements, some half eaten food stuffs and several bottles of French beer. It was however the least eye-catching thing about the room for around the table, splayed awkwardly across the chairs and slumped forlornly over the table were the very still and deceased bodies of three German soldiers wearing Wehrmacht uniform. Their bodies punctured by high velocity rounds, their untimely demise was explained by a number of bullet holes not in the far wall opposing the entrance, but in the wall where the thick portal was set.
“Jesus. They were shot while they were taking a spot of Tiffin.” George exclaimed with the blackest of humour. Hawkins examined a series of bullet strikes in the wall from which they had just entered.
“Executed more like...by someone inside.”
George looked down and picked up one of the German's arms by his sleeve. The dead man still clutched a tin mug with some alcoholic residue inside.
“Looks like they were celebrating their victory and POW!”
Hawkins furrowed his brow. He was certainly glad of the Germans' demise but found the whole scene odd to say the least.
“While we're here, grab anything you can eat.” George said
Still stooping low and remaining as concealed against the line of the ridge as possible, the soldiers followed it as far as they could before climbing up to the roadside and along an overgrown verge where brambles snagged their clothing. As the bunker came clearly into view, Hawkins could see that it was set off the roadside a little and that a series of small steps led toward the entrance. At the front, the long pointed muzzle of an MG42 protruded ominously from a narrow slit and was likely one of the weapons which claimed so many lives earlier that day.
Nearing the building, the two soldiers readied their weapons and hovered their fingers over their triggers. Hawkins edged silently towards the small reinforced wooden door which appeared to be slightly ajar on closer inspection. A sliver of yellow light emanated from the gap which heightened Hawkins senses further. It was not unimaginable that the occupants were still inside, perhaps asleep, tired from the rigours of the day. Creeping down the small steps, Hawkins took one side of the door and Granger the other. They glanced at each other to confirm the synchronisation of their incursion and with self control and a significant amount of courage, they rolled around the corner and Granger nudged the door of the bunker slowly open with the muzzle of his long barrelled machine gun.
Rushing into the dimply lit chamber, neither soldier offered a battle cry or other obscenity which might attract attention. Silently and swiftly, they surveyed their surroundings, objecting to the urge to unload a magazine of bullets into the room just to be sure. They were soon rewarded with their restraint when it was clear that no living thing remained in the machine gun nest.
The chamber was fairly spacious, a good six or seven square metres. It was lit by a small battery powered lantern that was at the end of its usable life. As expected, a used and now silent MG42 rested in a horizontal slot in the thick front wall and boxes of spent cartridges lined the floor around it.
In the centre of the room there was a table and upon it, there were dishes, metal mugs and eating implements, some half eaten food stuffs and several bottles of French beer. It was however the least eye-catching thing about the room for around the table, splayed awkwardly across the chairs and slumped forlornly over the table were the very still and deceased bodies of three German soldiers wearing Wehrmacht uniform. Their bodies punctured by high velocity rounds, their untimely demise was explained by a number of bullet holes not in the far wall opposing the entrance, but in the wall where the thick portal was set.
“Jesus. They were shot while they were taking a spot of Tiffin.” George exclaimed with the blackest of humour. Hawkins examined a series of bullet strikes in the wall from which they had just entered.
“Executed more like...by someone inside.”
George looked down and picked up one of the German's arms by his sleeve. The dead man still clutched a tin mug with some alcoholic residue inside.
“Looks like they were celebrating their victory and POW!”
Hawkins furrowed his brow. He was certainly glad of the Germans' demise but found the whole scene odd to say the least.
“While we're here, grab anything you can eat.” George said
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