Blood Red Sand

by Damien Larkin

  Jenkins looked on as the aerial craft dodged the enemy anti-aircraft fire, until it didn’t. The side of the craft lit up like the morning sun. Within seconds, it rolled about before plummeting downwards and disappearing behind New Berlin’s towering apartment blocks.

  “Contact Front!” someone shouted, and those hands released him to snatch up a weapon.

  One of the medics beckoned him from the ruins of the beerhall. Jenkins shook his head and waved the medic off. Raising his Lee-Enfield, he stumbled back towards his foxhole. Inside, he took aim alongside Corporal Brown.

  UNDERGROUND TRAM LINES, 1.5KM FROM THE CITY CENTRE

  05.49 MST

  DAY 2

  Sergeant McCabe blinked as light stung his eyes. His ears rang out in a high-pitched sharp whistle, and his head pounded like a drum. His arms and legs throbbed. Groaning, he lifted his head up.

  “Easy,” Noid whispered. “Easy, Sergeant.”

  He turned to look up at her. A few seconds passed until his pain-addled brain registered that his head rested in her lap, and her left hand cradled him. Embarrassed that he had fallen asleep on the Black Visor, he made to sit up, but she held him in place.

  “Relax, Sergeant,” she said in an unusually soft voice. “Everything’s fine. You just took a blow to the noggin.”

  McCabe lifted a bloodstained hand to rub his face, unsure if he was dreaming. The pain that rippled through his body told him otherwise. With curiosity eating at him, he peered into Noid’s eyes. For the first time, no unbridled contempt leaked from them.

  “What happened?” he asked and fidgeted for his water flask.

  With her free hand, Noid unstrapped her own. She unscrewed it and held it out for him. Her gloved fingers lingering on his hand for a second longer than expected.

  “You don’t remember?” she asked. An uncharacteristic smile emanated from the cut-out in her balaclava.

  “No. Where are we? What happened?”

  “We hit a mine,” she said with a casual shrug. “Blew the whole front carriage to pieces and nearly flipped the others over. The Germans hit us straight away. I was trapped under some wreckage when they stormed in to get us. You bayonetted one Nazi dickhead and clubbed another to death before pulling me free. When you were dragging me out, you got winged by a piece of shrapnel. I had to haul your arse to safety.”

  Flashes of broken memories flickered in McCabe’s mind. He had a vague recollection of the scene, but the images remained jumbled and distorted from the ache carving through his skull.

  “How many did we lose?” he asked, dreading the answer.

  “Four,” Noid said with a slight shake of her masked head. “Another three injured. It turned into a running battle to get to safety. Those Nazi bastards kept on coming. Thankfully, it’s like a maze down here, so we managed to shake them off for a while. But for all intents and purposes, they have us pinned down. It’s only a matter of time until they tighten the noose.”

  McCabe tried to sit up again, but his head spun.

  “Easy,” Noid said as she guided him into a sitting position. “You don’t have a concussion, but that was some blow to the head.”

  His eyes refocused as he leaned against the cold concrete walls of the underground tram lines. Noid reached into her pocket and slipped out two cigarettes. She placed the butts in her mouth, lit them with her lighter, and then handed one to him. Trying to ignore the pulsating ache bashing through his cranium, he smiled his thanks and took a few quick drags.

  Noid flicked ash onto the filthy ground. “I took these off a dead German.”

  Despite himself, McCabe couldn’t help but smile at the mysterious Black Visor.

  Catching his glance, she cocked her head and exhaled cigarette smoke. “Something funny?”

  “Yes, actually,” he said and tapped the ash from his own cigarette. “This is the longest conversation we’ve had without you reaching for your gun.”

  Noid chuckled to herself before quickly bringing her hand to her mouth to muffle the sound. She lowered it again, but her smile remained. “This conversation isn’t over yet, Sergeant.”

  They finished their cigarettes before tossing the extinguished butts away. Despite the dull pain throughout his body, McCabe dragged himself to his feet. He nodded his thanks to Noid for her unexpected kindness and slung on his Lee-Enfield. After slipping in a fresh clip, he made his way past small groups of West German soldiers huddled together until he found Colonel Henke.

  The colonel confirmed Noid’s story about the ambush and the subsequent clashes with the enemy. Colonel Henke ordered him to check on the Black Visor’s progress with finding a way out of the underground tram tunnels. A few paces into his journey, he came to a halt when a call came through on the division’s common comm channel. He listened to the report ordering all advancing units to be on the lookout for a downed atmospheric troop transport. Thanks to the intermittent jamming from the Nazis, he couldn’t make out the full details, though. He tapped on his left arm console and checked the readouts as he tried searching for the crashed transport’s transponder signal. If the craft had landed behind enemy lines, that left the West German contingent and their MEF allies as the closest group to render assistance.

  As he made his way back down the underground tunnels, McCabe looked over the small pockets of wounded soldiers stretched out along the tram lines. Most of the injuries were minor, but some lay unconscious with worried medics refusing to leave their sides. He lit another cigarette as he lingered at an intersection. A nearby patrol pointed out the tunnel to reach Dub and Big Mo’s position. Nodding his thanks, he unslung his weapon and threw his cigarette away before stalking along the tram lines.

  It didn’t take long for him to locate the two Black Visors at a point where the tunnel curved to the right. Dub lay sprawled on the left-hand side, his body concealed by the thick metal beams of the tram line. Only his eyes and the muzzle of his HK-17 stood visible, but in the dim lighting, McCabe doubted the enemy would be able to make him out until it became too late. From somewhere ahead, the sound of Germans whispering back and forth to one another echoed through the tunnel. On the right, Big Mo knelt on a prayer mat, out of the line of sight of prying eyes. His lips moved in silent prayer.

  “Don’t interrupt him, Sergeant,” Dub said in a hushed tone, without taking his gaze off the tunnel ahead. “He gets cranky if he misses his prayers.”

  Finishing off, Big Mo stood, carefully folded his prayer mat, and placed it gently into his backpack. “Forty years and it’s still not funny, asshole,” Big Mo mumbled as he slung his weapon into his hands.

  “It’s still funnier than your impression of me. Don’t think I don’t hear you trying to imitate my accent every time I have my back turned, you muppet.”

  “And I’m the cranky one,” Big Mo said with a smile.

  “Gentlemen,” McCabe interrupted before anyone else could get a word in. “This isn’t the time. The Germans are on the way.”

  “I wouldn’t be too concerned,” Dub said in a dismissive tone.

  “Oh? And why not?”

  “Because I don’t think they speak English. I shouted loud enough for them to hear that we booby-trapped the tunnel ahead. I don’t speak much German, but I think they shouted something back about my mother.”

  McCabe made to speak when a high-pitched creaking noise emanated from above them. Lifting his Lee-Enfield, he readied his finger on the trigger. He relaxed when he saw the black and red uniform of another Black Visor. From a hatch, Smack made her way down a rusted metal ladder fixed to the side of the tunnel. She jumped the last few steps, landing with ease, and swung her HK back into her hands.

  “Any joy?” Dub asked, his gaze locked on the tunnel ahead.

  “Sergeant,” Smack nodded at McCabe in greeting before answering Dub. “I think so. The hatch opens onto an alleyway on a side street. I couldn’t scout around, but it looks like it’s pandemonium out there. Civilians running in every direction.
Best guess is we’re about a klick or two out from the government district. I have no clue how we’re going to break in, though.”

  “Leave that up to me,” Dub replied.

  “Yeah, ‘cause this plan worked out well,” Big Mo muttered.

  The words had barely escaped Big Mo’s mouth when a string of explosions rocked the tunnel. The three Black Visors and McCabe flinched and readied their weapons. The dull lights of the underground tunnel flickered as dust trickled from the concrete roof.

  Within seconds a medley of pained wails resonated through the tunnel as the German patrol set off the boobytraps. Smaller secondary blasts drowned out those agonised cries as bullets from panic fire struck the concrete wall. Shrill screams pierced over the sound of frantic orders being shouted by NCOs as the advancing Germans halted to render aid to their wounded colleagues.

  “That’s what you get for insulting my mother, you racist pricks!” Dub called out.

  Bullets lashed at the concrete wall of the tunnel in response, away from Dub’s position.

  “C’mon.” Smack turned to McCabe. “We need to move everyone up while we can.”

  “Understood,” he said with a nod. “Just one thing, though. When we get topside, we need to keep an eye out for a downed transport. The American pilot could still be alive.”

  “Not our problem,” Dub snorted and raised himself into a kneeling stance.

  “I say it is our problem,” McCabe barked. “Some of those pilots are kids, and they’re risking their necks for us. I won’t leave any of them in the hands of those Nazi butchers.”

  “Bollocks to that,” Dub roared as he rose to his feet and whirled around to face him. “We have a mission to complete, and we’re running out of time. We need to get to the government district before it’s too late.”

  Anger coursed through McCabe’s veins like molten lava. Even with the enemy a few hundred metres away and no doubt regrouping for an assault, Dub irritated him more with every passing moment. McCabe closed the distance between them, never taking his gaze from the Black Visor.

  “We are not leaving anyone behind enemy lines,” McCabe roared.

  Smack raised a hand and stepped between them.

  “You two need to knock this off now,” she shouted. “It’s like I’m babysitting children! Dub, back the hell down and stop acting like a stubborn git. Sergeant McCabe is right; we can’t leave a pilot behind. They’ll string him up if they catch him.”

  Dub glared at Smack like a scolded child. She met his gaze head on, refusing to look away, until Dub averted his eyes and fidgeted with his HK-17.

  McCabe couldn’t help shining a victorious smirk at seeing Dub put in his place. As soon as it appeared, Smack fired her laser-like stare upon him, wiping it from his face.

  “I don’t know what you’re smiling about, Sergeant,” she snapped. “You’re a grown man and a senior NCO. You should know better. Now, contact Colonel Henke and let’s get moving. Do I make myself clear?”

  An unmistakable shudder of fear worked its way through McCabe when he found himself on the receiving end of Smack’s ferocious glare. He had known many tough and headstrong women in his lifetime, but none compared to Smack and Noid. He had seen them in action. Although it stung his pride to even think about it, he didn’t doubt that they could take him down should they so choose.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. He activated his comm and relayed Smack’s findings to the colonel.

  Smack turned her attention to the tunnel ahead while they waited for the company to join them. Dub remained standing but waited until Smack stepped out of earshot before turning to McCabe. “You know what, Sergeant?” he said in a hushed tone. “I’m starting to take a serious disliking to you.”

  “Do something about it,” McCabe growled back.

  “When this is all over.”

  “Until then.”

  They eyed each other for a few seconds longer and only broke eye contact when the rest of the company arrived.

  MITTE DISTRICT COMMAND POST, CITY CENTRE

  06.37 MST

  DAY 2

  The senior officers of the Wehrmacht stood in uneasy silence around a single table. The field officers wore uniforms stained with the blood of their enemies and their own soldiers. The staff officers, wearing cleaner uniforms, looked haggard and worn. Each of them stood motionless with their chins tilted upwards, avoiding Generalfeldmarschall Seidel’s gaze.

  He curled his hands into fists. “Children.”

  No one spoke a word. Only the sound of artillery smashing the buildings closest to the government district seeped in from beyond the bunker they utilised as their new headquarters. Some of the officers barely breathed, no doubt hoping to avoid his fury.

  “Children,” he snarled. “Children strapped with bombs. Children. German children.”

  The door to their meeting room creaked open.

  A young lieutenant pushed into the room with a cart laden with tea and coffee. Oblivious to the tension, he made his way around the table and placed the first tray in front of Seidel.

  “Children!” Seidel bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth.

  He grabbed the tray, and flung its contents across the room, drenching the stunned lieutenant with hot coffee. The lieutenant’s cries of shock disappeared when Seidel banged the wooden tray against the table. After three impacts, the tray splintered, sending wooden shards in every direction. Seidel glared at each of his officers in turn.

  “You vile, wretched cretins! How dare you? How dare you!?” he screamed, causing some of the officers to wince. “I will know who gave that order. I will know the name of the man who sent those children to die such pointless deaths. I will know who sacrificed German children on such a foolish, idiotic attack doomed to fail. Who?”

  The trembling lieutenant scampered from the room like a scolded dog. Everyone else remained perfectly still. The building shook from the impact of an enemy shell landing somewhere near their makeshift headquarters. The lights flickered, threatening to die, but stabilised. The screams of wounded civilians outside reverberated through the walls of the bunker.

  “They sacrificed their lives for Germany!” Oberst Brandt called out. “Those children gave their lives for the glory and honour of the fatherland!”

  Seidel turned his gaze on the panzer commander. Moving from where he stood, he paced around the table. The sound of his boots clicking against the concrete floor remained the only sound in the room. “So, you gave the order, Oberst Brandt?”

  “No, Herr Feldmarschall.”

  “But you know who did?”

  “No, Herr Feldmarschall. I believe the children of the Volkssturm and the Hitler Youth acted out of patriotic fervour and commitment to their—”

  Seidel held up a hand, muzzling Brandt. Without breaking eye contact, he unholstered his pistol and cocked it. He kept the weapon at his side while his eyes bored through his subordinate. A slight tremble betrayed Brandt’s stoic disposition.

  “Herr Feldmarschall,” a voice said from a few metres away.

  Seidel turned his interest towards Major Roth, who stepped a pace forward from his fellow officers. With his gun at the ready, Seidel moved towards Roth and paused in front of him.

  Roth cleared his throat and reached for the files under his left arm. He selected one and held a single sheet of paper aloft.

  Seidel holstered his still-cocked weapon and snatched the paper.

  “One of my operatives retrieved this from the body of a Volkssturm commander,” Major Roth said. “Several more have since fallen into my possession. It is an order signed by the Führer himself ordering all available Volkssturm and Hitler Youth units to launch an immediate attack upon the enemy lines. The order explicitly states that you and the Wehrmacht chain of command are not to be informed or consulted. My sources within the SS confirm that this order is authentic.”

  Seidel examined the paper in his hands. He read and re-read the text before his gaze
rested on the signature at the bottom. Just as Roth had said, the order looked to be signed in the distinctive scrawl of the man they had sworn loyalty to. Too stunned to do anything else, he crumpled the paper up in his hand. As his mind raced with the implications of being officially subverted in such a way, he made his way back around the table to his original position. The second he took his seat, the door to the room swung open again.

  A young, grim-faced corporal entered and hesitated at seeing so many officers standing at attention. He fixed his eyes on Seidel, crossed the room, and saluted before handing over a dispatch from the front.

  Dazed from the revelation, Seidel gave an absentminded flick of his hand after accepting the dispatch. He unholstered his pistol again. He rested it on his leg and opened the dispatch. His tired eyes analysed the contents as he leaned back into his chair.

  Seidel lowered the paper in his hands as he recited the key points of the dispatch. “The SS have carved an exclusion zone around the government district. They are firing on civilian and soldier alike. We have most of the surrounding areas evacuated, but the Allies are maintaining their thrust towards the city centre. Civilian casualties are mounting due to the sustained artillery and aerial bombardments.”

  “We should continue to do our duty,” Oberst Brandt said. “We have sworn an oath to the Führer to give our lives in defence of the Reich. We should fight till the last man and the last bullet. The strength of our arms and the purity of Aryan blood shall render us the final victory.”

  Seidel gazed at Brandt, while his mind explored the few options left to take. He picked up his pistol again and placed it on the table in front of him. He turned his focus to the weapon and shook his head slightly from side to side. Outside, another series of booms shook the ravaged streets. The piercing howls of the wounded followed close behind.

  “We have been betrayed by the Führer,” he whispered. “The SS have turned on us all. They concealed the arrival of the Allies and destroyed their own fleet, rendering us defenceless. They said nothing while we continued with our exercises, leaving the colonies ripe for the picking. They armed the Jews. They withdrew their forces when we needed them most. They have turned their guns on us, the last defenders of the Reich. To compound their treason, they are content with letting the German people suffer. This, I cannot abide.”