And even if they retreat, we will have given them their first true battlefield defeat, he thought, darkly. That will teach them that they’re not invincible after all.
“The commandos have begun their assault, Herr Generalmajor,” Winckler reported. “And our aircraft are on the way.”
Gunter nodded. He’d held back every aircraft he could, conserving his strength as much as possible while the SS controlled the skies over Berlin. Now, his men would clear the SS out of the skies – winning air supremacy – or die trying. And even if they failed, the SS would no longer be able to call on its flying artillery. Their pilots would have to fight to defend themselves, rather than support the stormtroopers on the ground.
“Inform me when the main offensive encounters opposition,” he ordered. “And keep a close eye on our logistics. We don’t want to run out of ammunition midway through the battle.”
“Jawohl, Herr Generalmajor,” Winckler said.
Hauptmann Felix Malguth braced himself as the HE-477 roared eastwards, skimming the ground as he hunted for targets. Anything military outside Berlin, he’d been told, was fair game, even though the Heer was on the move for the first time in decades. The prospect of accidently strafing or bombing his own men nagged at him, even though he was fairly sure he’d outraced the panzers long ago. As long as he was careful not to cross the lines into Berlin, he could be reasonably sure he was attacking the right side.
And if I fly over Berlin, I might well be shot down, he thought, remembering the warning the pilots had been given, over and over again. Berlin’s air defences were good, but they had no way to tell the difference between friendly and unfriendly aircraft. I’ll be shot down by my own side.
He gritted his teeth as the city came into view, obscured by a growing haze of smoke. The battle was still underway, the SS fighting desperately to break into the city even though they had to know that relief forces were on the way. Felix had no idea why they thought they could still win the battle, but none of the SS stormtroopers he’d encountered had been the sort of people who just gave up. And yet, getting hundreds of thousands of soldiers – and civilians – killed for nothing was pointless. Surely they would be wiser to set up defence lines to the east?
Don’t go feeling sorry for the bastards, he told himself, sharply. You know what they’ve done to the Reich.
Cold hatred blazed through him as he caught sight of a convoy, a handful of armoured vehicles and trucks moving westwards. There was no way to know just what they had in mind – blocking the counterattack or escaping before the jaws slammed closed – but it hardly mattered. He twisted towards them, spraying cannon fire over the vehicles as he passed overhead. Five of the trucks exploded in quick succession, followed by two of the armoured cars. The remainder scattered hastily, a handful of soldiers drawing their sidearms and firing after him. It was futile, but he found it hard to care. The more bullets expended uselessly, the fewer there would be to shoot at the men on the ground.
He cursed under his breath as he stumbled across an air defence position, then yanked the HE-477 to the side, avoiding a missile that passed far too close to his aircraft. The SS gunners had to have been equally surprised, he noted; they’d have set the missile for proximity detonation if they’d had longer to prepare before opening fire. But they’d be on the alert now… if they hadn’t been on the alert already. The fast-jets had raced ahead of him, trying to sweep the SS fighters from the air. He would have been surprised if the SS stormtroopers on the ground didn’t know that they were under attack, even before he’d arrived.
You should be running now, he thought, as he caught sight of a line of soldiers scrambling for cover. You’re as naked as the day you were born.
He resisted the urge to spray cannon fire over their position – it was poor tactics – as he headed east. A helicopter – clearly marked as SS – flashed in front of him, settling down somewhere below. He blew the craft apart with a burst of fire, then caught sight of a line of panzers moving west. They had to be trying to take up position before it was too late, hoping to block the oncoming storm. He expended his handful of air-to-ground missiles on them, following up with a hail of cannon fire. The panzers exploded into fireballs, one by one.
Armour is useless when it doesn’t have air cover, he thought, as his cannon ran dry. And there’s nowhere to run.
Turning, he headed west, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction as he retreated from the battlefield. The makeshift airfield was just behind the lines, the ground crews already preparing ammunition and fuel for the planes as they returned home. He would land and take a quick piss while the crew hastily reloaded his aircraft. And then he would go back east and do it all over again.
Better make sure I know where the lines are, he reminded himself, as he overflew a pair of panzers heading east. There was no way to tell which side they were on. Or there will be accidents all along the lines.
“Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer,” Sturmbannfuehrer Friedemann Weineck said. “The enemy is attacking to the west!”
“I have eyes,” Alfred snarled. He could see the map as it was hastily updated by the staff, red arrows slotted into place to represent the enemy advances. And even if he couldn’t he would have known what was going on. The sudden arrival of hundreds of enemy aircraft was more than enough warning that a major offensive was underway. “They’re trying to entrap us.”
“They’re hitting the blocking forces hard,” Weineck reported. “Commando and airstrikes have already weakened them badly.”
Alfred nodded, grimly. The traitors had had ample time to turn every last town and village to the east into a strongpoint, but his men had had only a few days before the storm broke over their positions. They would fight, he knew, and they would bleed the traitors, but it wouldn’t be enough to stop them. Despite everything, the traitors had succeeded in transferring a sizable force from west to east.
And while my men are tired, theirs are fresh, he thought. He had no idea who was in command of the enemy counteroffensive, but he had to admire his nerve. Instead of feeding the reinforcements into the battle piecemeal, he’d held them back – along with his aircraft – until committing them at the best possible moment. And while my men are running short of ammunition, theirs have access to the largest stockpiles in the Reich.
“Order the blocking forces to engage as best as they can,” he ordered, thinking hard. “Is there any update from Berlin?”
“They’re gaining ground,” Weineck said. “We can still win!”
Alfred swallowed the sarcastic response that came to mind. The plan had failed. Indeed, perhaps it had been doomed to fail from the start. Even if they did take Berlin – and it was clear that the defenders were fighting like mad bastards, bleeding his men heavily and counterattacking whenever they had a chance – it would be pointless. The jaws of the trap were rapidly closing around him… his men would, at best, wind up fighting to defend Berlin themselves. And at worst, they’d be trapped between three fires and doomed to destruction.