With a new army coming together, time for a bit of background fluff....



It was one of those miserable drizzles, light but incessant, saturating.
Private Lahm had to continually wipe clean the plas-glass eye pieces of his respirator hood.
He thought momentarily of taking the blasted thing off, to breathe the night time sea air, but the rebels were known to be using gas weapons, so on it stayed.
Yes, the sea air would be a joy, but the men of Krieg had no time for joy.

Lahm’s company had been deployed in the east of the city, near the docks (he couldn’t remember for the life of him the name of the place nor even the planet). Things had been quiet now for a fortnight or more, but there were repeated break ins of the quayside warehouses and equipment was going missing rapidly.
It didn’t look good.

He had almost completed the fourth circuit of his rounds and he could again make out the muffled growl of the chimera engine on the quay.
These old MK. 7 gas hoods were a pain. The peripheral vision was non-existent and you could hardly hear a damn thing.

As Lahm rounded the corner of the brooding warehouse, he saw Kessler, still tinkering with the chimera’s engine. He had been for a week.

As he approached, Lahm rapped the crete pavement twice with the butt of his lasgun, as was the way.
Kessler turned and raised an arm, then went back to the open engine cowling.
“Any good?” asked Lahm.
“All good, all good!”
From within the engine compartment, Kessler retrieved a bottle of pepper schnapps!
Steaming in the cold air, now that truly was a joy!
Kessler’s eyes beamed through the eye sockets of the gas hood and Lahm imagined his big stupid face grinning away like an imbecile.

He’s an idiot, but useful at times, thought Lahm as he neared the corner of the warehouse for casual stroll number five.

Then, something stopped him in his tracks.
A sound, not an unfamiliar one, but…

It was the tolling of a ships bell.
But there was something wrong with it, he couldn’t quite pinpoint what, but the sound was horrible, disturbing, like an utterly mournful groan from a loved one.

The ship passing by was an ugly, rusty thing, dark from bow to stern.
Again came the tolling of the bell, a strange, uncomfortable resonance that raised an overwhelming sense of dread and drained the blood from the face.
It was as if the passing of the thing threatened to disturb the long still waters of things best left forgotten.
Inexplicably shaken, Lahm rounded the corner and leaned against the wall.
Forcing himself to breathe deeply, he slowly recovered his equilibrium.

Finally, he resumed the patrol, not really sure just what it was that had spooked him so. But, this time, his pace was quickened, he had an overwhelming urge not to be alone, have a quick chat with Kessler about something, anything, and have a drop (or two) of that warm schnapps.

He stopped dead in his tracks. There! Again! The unmistakable crack of lasgun fire!
He flattened himself against the warehouse wall and made his way to the corner. The chimera was still grumbling away to itself.

Lahm stole a quick glance of the quayside.
Damn it, Kessler was down!
Lahm scanned the expanse of crete and grim windowless sheds, but could see nothing amiss.
Crouching low, he made his way along the base of the wall toward the chimera.
Kessler hadn’t moved.
All was quiet.

Damn the thing, he thought, wiping away the rain drops and squinting through the steam forming on his eye pieces.
It had become uncomfortably hot.

Still at the base of the wall, he was about ten yards from the chimera.
Lahm had a horrible feeling that there was a sniper on the roof of the ware house above him.

He couldn’t hear a thing except the pounding of his heart and looking up into the rain would be futile.
After three quick breaths, he sprinted toward the chimera and dived onto the crete behind it.
Nothing happened, so he risked a look along the roofline…nothing.

He was sweating like a pig near the hot engine and cold trickles ran down his back.
There was something wrong here.
Some vague, creeping unease that only just registered on his senses.
A nettle that barely touches raw nerve endings.

He crawled over to Kessler and shook his arm, no response.
He turned him over and gasped in shock.
His face had gone.
Just a ragged hole remained from which fluid seeped onto the crete pavement to puddle with the water.

He seemed to entirely forget himself and the danger he was in, became entirely removed, remote.
Drifting off into an odd dreamlike state, a thought struck him as he gazed into the puddles.
That stuff, seeping out of Kessler’s head must have been the remains of his gas hood, as it formed oily circles in the water.
Perfect circles, seven of them.

Suddenly, Lahm recoiled in shock, broken free of the reverie by…by what?
It must have been some freak of physics, the rainfall, surface tension of the oil water mix, but the seven circles simultaneously divided into fourteen.
Fourteen perfect circles.

It looked less like an oily puddle than bacteria dividing in a chemo dish.

Then, in a moment, there were twenty eight.

Gas weapons? No, plague weapons!

Lahm’s mind raced.
The chimera! It’s airtight!

Quickly he opened the rear hatch and climbed inside, slamming it shut behind him.
He stumbled about for a moment in the pitch black interior until finally he found the glow bulb switch.
The subdued red light was comforting, familiar, but not for long.
There were oily wet patches on his eye pieces!

Frantically, he tore off his gas hood, and shoved it through the view slit of the rear door.
Got to get out of here!

He clambered through to the drivers seat and gunned the engine.
“Don’t let me down, sweet Emperor, don’t let me down!”
He smiled as the engine roared and the whole vehicle shuddered and lurched forward, he laughed hysterically, couldn’t help it.

Lahm drove off along the quayside and into the night.

Little more than a mile away, a rusty old ship glided along the glass waters of the river and ever onwards, deeper into the heart of the city.
It’s approach was heralded by the inexplicably disturbing toll of a bell.
The crew went about their business in silence.

Lahm’s flight came to a shuddering halt as the rain was now so heavy he couldn’t see where he was going. The city was in darkness, what’s wrong with this place?

He fired up the vox, but got nothing.

Squinting out of the view slit, angry and frustrated, he realised that there was some kind of greasy residue on the plas-glass. Oily stuff that, before his very eyes, divided and doubled in mass.

“No, no, no!” he wailed.

The dividing bacteria was not on the glass of the view port.
It was on his eyes.

Aqueous humour- indeed

Ooooh! Had to look that bit up.
Very humourous!!!

killmaimburn wrote:Aqueous humour- indeed

The aqueous humor is a thick watery substance that is between the lens and the cornea
"But you see, the dividing bacteria was not on the glass of the view port.
It was on his eyes."

An aqueous solution is a solution in which the solvent is water
"It was one of those miserable drizzles, light but incessant, saturating.
Private Lahm had to continually wipe clean the plas-glass eye pieces of his respirator hood."

Humour or humor (see spelling differences) is the tendency of particular cognitive experiences to provoke laughter and provide amusement
"With a new army coming together, time for a bit of background fluff...."

A triple entendre!

timewizard wrote:A triple entendre!

Then tis a triumph!

(kmb sent me a pm, suggesting an alternative ending involving eyeballs and attendant fluids)

I can only imagine what he thought up!

timewizard wrote:

Religions start this way (trust me )

killmaimburn wrote:Religions start this way (trust me )

I must confess that I have the utmost faith in the truthfulness of that statement! But I will try not to make a habit of religiously agreeing with you!

@ruffian - got so caught up in the entendres, forgot to mention that I really enjoyed the short story! Can't wait for the next installment!