Seidel lit his cigarette and took a long drag. Forty minutes. He needed to hold out for forty minutes until his returning Wehrmacht forces could grind the British into the blood-stained dust.
Checking his watch, Seidel noted that five minutes had fully expired, but the British forces held. They were hauling their wounded and dead from the battlefield and readying themselves for the next action. Seidel didn’t dare authorise the guns to open fire on them without provocation, hoping they would delay their next move for as long as possible, buying the colony the time they desperately needed.
“Report from General Schulz, Herr Feldmarschall,” another lieutenant said, appearing beside the other one and clicking his heels together. “The General reports that Jewish resistance has stiffened. The Volkssturm units under the General’s command have, so far, been unable to penetrate any deeper into the ghetto. Repeated assaults on the enemy’s defences have been beaten back. The General reports that without additional reinforcements or armour support, he may be unable to pacify the ghetto.”
Seidel stood abruptly, causing the young officers to flinch. “He can have all the damned reinforcements he needs in forty minutes!”
He moved to the nearest window, waved away the officers, and set his sights on the government district on the opposite side of the street below. Already the SS had erected barbed wire fences and fortified gun emplacements along the perimeter of the colony’s centre. Black uniformed SS guards stalked back and forth, their guns at the ready, and the helmets of the snipers on top of the buildings above lay clearly recognisable. With a single word, Reichsführer Wagner could unleash his armed goons on the Jewish populace and remove their intransigence once and for all. Yet, he and the rest of the high-ranking party members sat huddled behind their ring of steel while the colony burned.
Returning his attention to the screens in front of his desk, Seidel flicked his cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out with his boot. As he exhaled a cloud of smoke, he rapped on the desk again, wondering how long the British would wage their war of nerves. It would take one soldier to fall into range of an empty or damaged gun to realise how vulnerable the German colony stood.
“Herr Feldmarschall,” General Franke said with a puzzled look on his face. “I’ve just received a report that a drop in atmosphere has been detected in one of the ventilation rooms connected to the refinery.”
Seidel raised his hand dismissively and gestured the general away. “Let the civilians worry about maintenance. I have no time for—”
The words died in his mouth. A long-forgotten titbit of information floated in his mind as he recalled a tour of the lower levels several years ago. Moving from behind his desk, he approached General Franke and guided him towards one of the many map-laden tables in the centre of the room. He pushed aside schematics of the colony’s internal workings, scattering them to the floor until he found one that outlined New Berlin’s ventilation and air filtration system.
“Where?” he demanded.
General Franke studied the report in his hands and traced his finger along a set of thin lines. He paused on a side room attached to the refinery, which led to an axis corridor connected to the eastern entrance’s command complex. General Franke’s eyes widened.
He snatched the nearest headset and thundered into the mic. “The British have gained access to the colony. Lock down the eastern entrance command complex. All available units, defend the command complex to the last man. The British must not gain control of the eastern entrance!”
Seidel stood back and glanced at his watch again. Thirty-eight minutes.
They just needed to hold on for another thirty-eight minutes.
REFINERY COMPLEX – EASTERN SECTOR, NEW BERLIN COLONY
17.12 MST
DAY 1
The Black Visors stood guard at the exit and waited for the small band of MEF to finish climbing down the shaft. McCabe signalled at the soldiers under his command to move into their order of march, and then he nodded towards the Black Visor leader.
Noid took point, quietly opened the airlock door, and stepped into the corridor beyond. Atmosphere hissed from the passageway as the small group of soldiers took up firing positions and crept towards either end of the dimly lit hallway. Once everyone filled the corridor and the door sealed behind them, the Irishman addressed McCabe.
“That way leads directly to the refinery,” he said and pointed towards the southern corridor. “I’d recommend delegating some men to hold that entrance, so the Nazis don’t try and hit us from the rear.”
“Johnson, Horowitz, McManus, Sheik, hold that door at all costs,” McCabe ordered. “Use the comm if they make a concerted effort to break through. Everyone else, prepare to move.”
The Black Visors took the lead and jogged down the corridor at a quick pace, pausing once at the door that linked them to the control room complex. After ensuring the airlock was secure, the four Black Visors turned their backs on the MEF soldiers and, to McCabe’s surprise, started removing their EVA suits. They slipped their black visor-tinted helmets off first, revealing face covering balaclavas with gaps for their eyes and mouth. McCabe opened his mouth to question their actions, but the Irishman got there first.
“There’s atmosphere from here on out. I don’t know about you, Sergeant, but I’ve had my fill of fighting in these bulky bastards.”
The Black Visors snapped off the top and bottom sections of their EVA suit’s, revealing unusual black and dark red khaki uniforms unlike the standard British battledress.
With a reluctant flick of his hand, McCabe disconnected his helmet and held his breath, half expecting a ruse. Seeing that none of the Black Visors were choking, he exhaled and took in a breath of New Berlin’s air. It struck him as stale but undeniably breathable, so he nodded at his soldiers to proceed.
They stripped down to their battledress, stuffing their backpacks and pockets with the equipment and ammunition from their EVA suit’s compartments. As they had rehearsed hundreds of times, they slipped their comm pieces from their helmets and placed them into their ears. Next, they removed the left-arm consoles from their EVA suits and fixed them to their left forearms over their uniforms. The MEF soldiers grinned from ear to ear at finally getting to remove the cumbersome EVA’s and flexed their tired muscles in appreciation.
With their EVA suits discarded, the Black Visors ran through a quick check of their equipment before facing McCabe and the near-readied mass of MEF soldiers.
“Okay,” the Irishman started and nodded towards the sealed entrance. “This leads into a corridor with several storage rooms and offices. We need to take the stairs at the end of the corridor and make our way across the upper level towards the entrance to the command centre. Chances are they’ve detected the drop in atmosphere from the way we came in, so they may be waiting for us. Ready?”
The Black Visors took up stances on either side of the door and prepared to move, but one of the MEF soldiers cleared his throat and spoke up.
“I just got one thing,” Private Dobson said, glancing warily at McCabe. “Not a big thing but…you know…what do we call you? Like, say I see something you don’t or a German is coming at you or something. Have you fellas got names?”
“That’s not important,” the Irishman snapped back.
“I think it is important,” McCabe said, stepping closer to the MJ-12 operatives. “I get that you need to keep your identities secret, but if we’re going into a firefight, you need to give us something to call you.”
The Irish Black Visor shook his head in disbelief and glanced towards his comrades. They each returned his stare and shrugged their own shoulders in response. With a loud sigh, Noid faced McCabe.
“I’m Noid,” she said and then pointed at her colleagues. “You can call that Irish son-of-a-bitch Dub. The stocky lad is Big Mo and the tall blonde with the great rack is Smack. We good now, people?”
The MEF soldiers nodded in agreement and lined up closer to the entrance.
Dub and Noid took point. After a three-count, they sprang into action. Dub yanked on the door release, and Noid threw herself into the corridor first. Dub moved to follow her when a succession of shots rang out. Noid jumped back behind the cover of the door frame and pounded on her trigger while Dub took to his knee and blasted on his own Lee-Enfield.
“Move!” Noid screeched as she charged back into the corridor.
The Black Visors lead the way. McCabe counted three fallen enemy defenders from the initial engagement. Confirming they were dead, he kicked away their weapons. Without waiting to be told, the MEF advance party broke into smaller groups and cleared the vacated offices and darkened storage rooms. McCabe charged ahead, following the Black Visors towards the set of stairs leading up to the upper level.
A small group of Nazi soldiers appeared at the top of the stairway. They dropped to the ground and opened fire. Bullets whizzed through the air. Private Denny wailed when a bullet punched through his shoulder, sending him skittering across the corridor floor. His colleagues dragged him out of the line of fire as more enemy bullets riddled the ground where he had fallen.
Private Bingham threw himself behind the door frame of a vacant office and raised his Bren light machine gun to his hip. Squeezing the trigger, 7.62mm bullets burst from the weapon, forcing the Germans to clear the top of the stairs. Using the wall of the corridor they had emerged from as cover, the German soldiers continued to rain bullets down on them.
McCabe scurried from his cover in a bid to reach Bingham. Bullets cleaved through the air, but through sheer force of will, he braved the enemy lead and slid down behind the private. Ahead, the Black Visors grouped themselves on either side of the stairs, firing at the Nazis above.
Bingham slapped in a fresh magazine and prepared to unleash a short burst when McCabe stopped him. “We need to move closer,” he said and squeezed his Lee-Enfield’s trigger. “Those Black Visors are going to rush the stairs. We need to get suppressive fire on the Germans.”
“Suicidal bastards,” Bingham shouted back as he prepared to follow.
After signalling at the neighbouring MEF soldiers to lay down cover fire, McCabe rushed from behind the doorframe and shot up at the enemy. A wave of bullets obliged the Wehrmacht defenders to seek shelter, and the MEF soldiers were able to move closer. Swinging into a cleared room at the bottom of the stairs, McCabe tapped at Bingham to take up a firing stance using the door frame for protection. The private raised his weapon again and squeezed on the trigger, battering the wall at the top of the stairs with a barrage of murderous lead. Careful to stay out of his line of fire, the Black Visors ran up the other side of the stairs with their weapons held high.
Managing to get a clear line of sight on the sheltering Nazis, they blasted on their Lee-Enfield’s without mercy. One of the enemies slumped into McCabe’s view and hit the ground at the top of the stairs. A grenade slipped from his blood-slicked hand and tumbled towards the MEF soldiers at the lower level.
“Grenade!” McCabe shouted and grabbed Bingham to drag him to safety.
The grenade exploded before the private could get to cover. McCabe roared when the strength of the blast sent him crashing into the room, but Bingham took the full brunt of the grenade’s explosive fury.
Ears ringing, McCabe stumbled towards the smoking remains of the young soldier. Gazing into Bingham’s lifeless eyes, he shook his head. Then he took a moment to close the private’s eyelids. A rush of anger at the bloodshed burst through him, and he vowed revenge on the defending Nazis.
“We have the stairs!” Dub called out.
McCabe patted what remained of Bingham, and slinging his rifle, rose to his feet. He exited the room and experienced a wave of rage at the sight of the bodies of three more of his men. He pushed his emotions aside and, forcing calm, focused on the task at hand. He grabbed the stair rails and heaved himself up the stairs two steps at a time until he reached the top.
“Which way?” he asked, looking down at the bodies of the dead Nazis.
“Follow me,” Noid said, nodding to the left.
With Big Mo toting a Bren light machine gun, the surviving MEF soldiers fell in behind the Black Visors. They moved quietly down the corridor, clearing every room as they went. When they reached the end of the hallway, McCabe ordered them to halt at the sound of boots banging on the tiled floor.
Using the wall for cover, Smack pulled out two grenades. She waited for the sound of the enemy boots to bound closer before ripping the pins out and hurling them. Distraught shouts burst forth after the grenades exploded.
The MEF invaders swung around the corridor and fired their weapons, cutting down any survivors. Enemy soldiers screamed as bullets punched through their bodies before collapsing to the ground in silence.
Like a well-oiled machine, the MEF soldiers and the Black Visors forged ahead as one. They screened the enemy dead and carried on securing the building. At the intersection of another corridor, Noid raised her hand, and the entire group stopped before going into all-round cover.
“Is this the place?” Dub whispered to her.
“Looks about right,” she mumbled.
“The right place for what?” McCabe asked.
Big Mo took to a knee. “Resupply.” He drew his knife and began jabbing it into the wall.
McCabe watched in confusion. He opened his mouth to ask what was happening when a chunk of the wall gave way. Big Mo redoubled his efforts and chipped out pieces of plasterboard until a secret compartment behind the wall crashed open. He swiped aside the excess debris and reached inside the wall. He pulled out a large metal case, and gently placed it on the ground in front of his colleagues. Wiping away the layer of dust, he took off one of his gloves and pressed his thumb onto the front of the mysterious container.
McCabe and the MEF soldiers looked on in amazement as the locks on the case clicked open. Big Mo lifted the lid, and, through the gap in his balaclava, the Black Visor smiled.
McCabe craned his neck for a better view. “What are those?”
Noid picked up the body of one of the weapons and slammed the butt-plate on before inserting the barrel. After fixing her sling, she attached the sight, slapped in a magazine clip and stood. “This,” she said, with a hint of excitement in her voice, “is what we call a HK-17. Hybrid Killer in the house, baby. Come to momma.” She cocked the weapon with single hand movement and reaching back into the case, began shoving as many magazines as she could carry into her pockets.
After assembling their own HKs, the Black Visors pulled equipment and backpacks from the crate. They attached strange headsets to their heads and lowered a single circular glass over their right eyes. The Black Visors took turns moving about and tapping at their headset controls before reaching for the last of their equipment.
“What is all this?” McCabe demanded. “How did you get this into the colony?”
“A friend left it here for us a long time ago,” Dub said, flatly.
“God bless Intense Dan,” Smack said with a smile.
“I miss the little dude,” Big Mo chuckled.
Noid held up a padded black shirt, as if to change the subject. “This is body armour. Not as good as an Exo-suit, but better than nothing.”
“Shut it with the references, Noid,” Smack hissed.
Noid made to say something in reply when her gaze crossed the MEF soldiers surrounding them.
“Here,” she said and tossed her body armour towards the nearest soldier. “You probably need this more than I do.”
She nudged Dub in the ribs. Following Noid’s lead, he flung his body armour to the nearest grateful soldier, as did Smack and Big Mo. Those that happened to be lucky enough to grab one dragged the black padded armour over their battledress and stepped closer to the front of the group.
“Disable particle chargers,” Dub said to his colleagues. “Standard ammo only. Remember the rules of engagement. We get in, we get out, we go back home.”
“Unders
tood,” Big Mo said and pressed a button on a control panel on the side of his HK-17.
Smack walked to the front of the group. “Let’s do it.”
“Kill them all,” Noid chimed back in a grim tone.
Dub faced McCabe and lowered his mysterious weapon. He unstrapped his water flask, took a quick swig and held it out to McCabe.
McCabe shook his head and waited for the Black Visor to return the flask to his belt.
“Okay,” Dub said. “Last hurdle. The command complex is at the end of this corridor. They’ll have sealed themselves in, so we’re going to blow the doors, and then take the room. Have your men stay behind us and watch our backs.”
After McCabe peeked around the corner to get a sense of direction, he gave his men their orders. They reloaded their weapons and prepared to move.
With a single nod from Dub, the assembled force swung around the corner and pushed on. When they reached the entrance to the command complex, they split into four groups. One covered the way they had come, and another situated themselves facing the opposite end of the hallway. The other two columns, each with Black Visors at the lead, hunched over at either side of the door.
Big Mo slipped a hand into one of his belt compartments and slid out a square rectangular device. He fixed it carefully to the centre of the door, pressed on the controls, and motioned at everyone to pull back. The two groups by the door wasted no time in withdrawing from the explosive and readied themselves to spring into action.
Ten seconds passed, followed by a deafening boom that engulfed the corridor, causing the lights to flicker. The brunt of the explosion burst into the room, tearing the reinforced metal door from its hinges with enough force to kill anyone unlucky enough to be within proximity of the blast. Dub and Smack were the first to jump into action, throwing themselves into the smoke-filled room. They fired their semi-automatic assault rifles in short bursts. Noid and Big Mo trailed close at hand, with McCabe the next to rush through the door.
Blood Red Sand Page 8