The sound of aircraft roared through the air as a pair of HE-477s raced westwards, hunting for targets. Kurt braced himself, fearing the aircraft might spot their position, but the two SS aircraft merely headed onwards. Behind them, a pair of helicopters held position over the advancing panzers, their weapons ready to engage any threat. Kurt muttered orders to two of his men, both of whom were carrying MANPADS. They were nowhere near as good in combat as he’d been told – they’d found that out the hard way – but at least they’d force the helicopters to back off. The SS wouldn’t have an unlimited supply.
And we don’t have an unlimited supply of weapons either, he reminded himself. It had practically become a mantra as the Waffen-SS continued its advance. Get in, land a blow and then get out.
“Take aim,” he ordered, quietly. The lead panzer was slowing as it approached the town, its main gun shifting position to cover the buildings. They’d already hurled HE shells into houses snipers had tried to use as firing positions, if rumours were to be believed. Kurt had no trouble believing them. “Brace yourselves…”
He tensed, silently timing it in his head. It was the same problem, one that had played itself out time and time again. The closer the panzers, the greater the chance of scoring hits… and the greater the chance of being discovered ahead of time. A hail of fire from the panzer’s machine guns would be more than enough to slaughter his entire command before they could fire a single shot. But if they fired too soon, the missiles might not kill their targets.
“Now,” he snapped.
Loeb fired the antitank missile. It lanced through the air and struck the lead tank, burning through its armour and exploding inside the hull. The second missile took out the second tank; the third missile struck its target, but glanced off and exploded harmlessly. One of the helicopters was hit at practically point-blank range and exploded into a fireball, the other jerked back so hard it nearly stood on its tail.
“Run,” Kurt snapped. The third panzer was already rolling forward, machine guns spitting fire. “Move it, now!”
He turned and ran for his life, hoping desperately that their escape route remained clear. The SS stormtroopers behind the panzers would be already jumping out of their transports and advancing forward – and there was nothing to stop them. Perhaps, in hindsight, they should have targeted the trucks instead… but taking out the panzers would do more to blunt the advance than killing random stormtroopers. He heard shots behind him, but none of them came near to his men. The SS had definitely been caught by surprise.
And yet we’re still falling back to Berlin, he thought, as they slipped out of sight. And they’re still advancing.
“We hurt them,” Loeb said.
“Yeah,” Kurt said. He heard more aircraft high overhead, but they didn’t seem interested in dropping bombs. Rumour had it that Berlin was being bombed savagely, yet rumour was known to lie. “But did we hurt them enough?”
Obersturmfuehrer Hennecke Schwerk cursed savagely as he rolled out of the transport, rifle at the ready, then ran forwards, past the ruined panzers. Two of them were nothing more than scrap metal now, he noted, while a third had a nasty scorch mark on the hull. His squad followed him as he charged the enemy firing position, then slowed as it became clear that the enemy had made their escape. They’d run into the undergrowth, skirting the town and then headed west. Chasing them down would be futile.
The panzers rumbled forward again, heading into the town. Hennecke and his men followed, keeping their heads down, but no one tried to bar their way as they drove through the puny barricade and down the road into the town square. It was a typical town; a town hall, a church, a few hundred homes and shops… the sort of place that would be ideal, if one wanted a quiet life. But not now.
A shot cracked out. He ducked, instinctively, as a bullet pinged off the side of the nearest panzer, then looked towards the source. Someone was lurking in an upper bedroom, aiming a gun towards them. A panzer fired, a second later. The shell detonated inside the house, blowing it into rubble. Hennecke heard, just for a second, someone screaming before the sound cut off abruptly. Dead, injured or silenced? There was no way to know.
“Clear the houses,” he bellowed, as more stormtroopers flooded into the town. The town was in revolt and he knew how to deal with it. “Get the population into the damned church!”
He kicked open the nearest door and led the way into the house. An old man – probably old enough to remember the days before Hitler – stared at him in shock. Two younger women looked terrified; behind them, a handful of children lay on the floor. There were no boys older than fifteen, Hennecke realised, even though there was a photograph of two boys wearing military uniforms on the mantelpiece. They’d have joined the traitors, he thought, if they weren’t serving in South Africa.
“Get out,” he snarled at them. “Now!”
The old man met his eyes with a kind of dignified resignation that had Hennecke’s blood boiling in rage. He lived in a town that had dared to stand against the SS, that had dared to allow one of its buildings to be used against them… how dare he show anything other than complete and total submission? Growling, he caught the old man and thrust him towards the door, silently daring him to make a fuss. The women followed, both looking even more terrified. They were older than he’d thought, he realised. They’d be daughters or daughters-in-law, not teenagers. And perhaps they were mothers too…
He bit off that thought as he glared at the children. The admiration he’d always received from children in the east was lacking; instead, they stared at him in fear. They hadn’t deserved to be raised by traitors, he tried to tell himself, but he was too angry to care. It was his duty to ensure they were passed to the Lebensborn officers for transfer to a new family, where they would be raised properly… he shrugged. They were at war. The normal rules could go to hell.
The children hurried out, following their mothers; he ordered his men to search the house and then hurried back outside. Hundreds of civilians – old men and women, younger women, children – were being marched out of their homes and ordered into the church. Behind them, their homes were ransacked and anything incriminating – weapons, stashes of money or treacherous propaganda – was removed. The panzers moved through the town and back onto the road as it became clear there would be no more resistance, leaving Hennecke and his men in charge of the town.
“They’re all in the church, Herr Obersturmfuehrer,” the Strumscharfuehrer said. “Orders?”
Hennecke glared. He knew precisely how to treat towns and villages that supported insurgents and terrorists. It was what he’d done, time and time again, in Germany East, where the Slavs took advantage of every hint of German weakness. Doing it here, in Germany Prime, bothered him more than he cared to admit, but the townspeople had supported the traitors. They didn’t deserve to live.
“Lock the doors, then burn the church,” he ordered, shortly. “Kill them all.”
He watched, grimly, as his men carried out his orders. They’d done it before, in Germany East. The doors were sealed, then incendiary grenades were hurled through the windows, triggering a firestorm. Hennecke shuddered, despite himself, at the screams as the flames lashed out, the wooden church catching fire with terrifying speed. The trapped inhabitants battered on the door, but it was already too late. Moments later, the building started to collapse into burning debris. There were no survivors.