He smiled. Ever since they had found the hidden Jewish family from the future records, the Dutch had been cowed before the German heel. It was their own fault for not seeking an agreement with the Germans, led by the noble Adolf Hitler, before they ran out of time.
A noise echoed across the sky. He stared into the sky, and then westwards, towards England. The sky seemed to be glowing, sending a strange eerie glow into the night. It was awesome and he wandered away from the headquarters, looking at the light. Half of the population seemed to be on the streets, wondering what the hell was going on.
An explosion billowed out behind him, sending him to his knees. He instinctively grabbed for his weapon, rolling over to shoot the man he confidently expected to be behind him, and saw the entire German headquarters was in ruins. As he watched, three more German buildings in Amsterdam exploded; the SS headquarters, the Kriegsmarine navy base and the Workers Bureau, which had arranged for Dutchmen to go work in Germany for a pittance.
“We’re under attack,” he breathed. The sudden destruction of the German infrastructure was shocking, but he knew his duty. Staggering over to a telephone box, he tried to call for help, but the lines were down. Power was out all over Amsterdam; the fires were burning in all their awful majesty.
A blow connected with the back of his head. He had only moments to recognise the presence of a Dutchman armed with a heavy stick, before his assailant brought it down again, and crushed the life out of his skull.
“Not bad,” Squadron Leader Shelia Dunbar breathed, as the display revealed itself. The Germans had to be reeling under the bombardment; the British had struck thousands of targets, some of them with dumb bombs, others with massive MOAB weapons that had an utterly devastating effect on anything they struck.
She stared down from her lofty height. Fires were burning all over the Netherlands, tiny flickers from her height, each one signifying a hit with a British weapon. Her display showed flights still impound, missiles swooping along the ground, utterly unstoppable by anything known to the Germans.
“Just have to hope we don’t have to destroy the country in order to save it,” she muttered, as the flight left the carnage behind and returned to Britain.
The SAS team was nearly half a mile from the battleships’ targets, but they could still feel the ground shake as four battleships poured fire into the defences along the coastline. Captain Dwynn shivered as another barrage crashed into the ground, shaking everything. Hunkering down in a German trench wasn’t protecting them from the shock, even as they tried to do their jobs.
“I have targets designated,” Chang muttered. Dwynn glanced through Chang’s unit; the massive German guns were still firing. “Transmit?”
“Hit them,” Dwynn ordered. Chang transmitted the fire command to one of the orbiting Hercules; two of them, with the largest bomb loads, had been assigned to support the main landing. Seconds later, the guns were utterly destroyed.
“I have the other targets,” Vash snapped. “Designating now.”
Dwynn hit the ground as a rolling thunder of explosive force blasted over the ground. The Germans had dug an entire battalion of infantry in to support the heavy guns; they weren’t there any longer. As the crescendo went on and on, he covered his ears and cringed down. It ended seconds later, but his ears still rang.
“Report,” he snapped, and waited for their acknowledgements. “I think we got them all,” he concluded. “I’m sending the signal now; they can come in and take over now we’ve done all the hard work.
Brigadier Hampton sent the order and HMS Ocean, supported by HMS Albion and HMS Bulwark, both new construction, began to launch their landing craft. Captain Yates shivered as the LST carried the 1st Armoured Infantry Battalion to the shore, knowing just how vulnerable even the Challenger was to being hit while on the LST.
“I think we must have suppressed them,” Corporal Benton said, as the LST grounded and lowered its landing ramp. Their service in Turkey during Redemption had earned them more and better equipment, enough to expand the Marine force to include more tanks and more Marines.
“Looks that way,” Yates said. “Move us out; we have orders to secure a bridgehead before marching to Amsterdam.”
He scowled at the map. They were on the right side of a river with an unpronounceable name, but they had to secure a city with the equally unpronounceable name of Beverwijk before they could move into Amsterdam. As dawn rose, the Germans had to know that something was up… and there was a German battalion of armoured infantry, perhaps even some Panzers, in the Beverwijk region.
“Control, can you confirm that the Germans have no tanks?” He said, as they received their final orders. He scowled; he had to move quickly, with the nine tanks of the first group, while the rest of the force was receiving new orders. Confusion was already setting in; he could only hope that it would be handled before the Germans managed to mount a counter-attack. It had been nearly four hours since the attacks had begun – they had to know that something was wrong.
“Negative,” the voice of the dispatcher came back, after a long pause. “We cannot confirm anything at the moment?”
“Can you confirm my orders?” Yates asked sharply, and cut the connection. He muttered orders into his radio, detailing the formation. Even if the Germans hadn’t all been killed, they would be hardly likely to have anything that could really bother the Challenger.
“I came here with a girl,” Benton said. “It’s… very different.”
Yates sniggered. “Let’s not go to the red light district,” he said. “It would only upset them.”
Without warning, the Challenger shuddered. “What the hell was that?” Benton snapped. “Sir…”
“There’s a Panzer dug in ahead of us,” Yates said, taking a moment to admire the German commander’s bravery. He had to have known that his position, dug into a Dutch building that had been ruined the first time around, was suicidal, and he’d done it anyway. Even as he watched, the German tank moved backwards quickly, moving faster than he would have believed possible.
“Armour piercing,” he snapped. “One round, rapid!”
“Firing,” Gunner Grant said. Sergeant Josephine Grant was one of the toughest Marines; Yates, who knew that all female marines had been offered the chance to withdraw from the mission, respected her. “Target destroyed.”
Yates nodded; the wreck of the German panzer burned merrily. He refused to think about the men trapped inside. “We’re moving on to Beverwijk now,” he said, and issued orders to the other tanks. “We don’t have much time, but we can make it if we push it hard.”
“We have plenty of time,” Benton said. “What’s the rush, boss?”
“At this rate, everyone else will get to Berlin first,” Grant said. “Pour it on, Sam.”
Field Marshal Kesselring knew that he was lucky to be alive. His change of headquarters, two days before the invasion had begun, had saved his life; the British intelligence services hadn’t caught up with him yet. He also knew that the communications network had been badly damaged, but enough survived for him to pierce together what was happening.
“They’re coming, Mien Fuhrer,” he said, wishing that that communications cable had been cut. Testing suggested that a lot of the lines into Amsterdam and Rotterdam remained intact; there was just no one there to receive the calls. “We have missile and aircraft attacks all over Germany and France, and they’re making a major offensive in the Netherlands.”