Blood Red Sand

by Damien Larkin

  Jenkins glanced down at the blood-stained knife in his hand and wiped it on the dead German’s trouser leg. He slipped the blade into his own belt and picked up his Lee-Enfield when a small group of MEF soldiers surged into view. Major Wellesley fired his pistol and took to a knee to reload when Jenkins dragged himself to his feet.

  “You there,” the major called out. “Jenkins! Are you injured?”

  Jenkins ran the back of his hand across his cheek and examined the small trail of blood.

  “Not seriously, sir.”

  “Then let’s hop to it, Private. The enemy lies ahead!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Up ahead, the Army of David crashed into the Nazi trenches yet again, refusing to slow down their momentum. As bullets bit through the smoky air, Jenkins fired at any target that he could see. MEF soldiers fought viciously to gain ground, and the defending Nazis shot back at them from positions mere metres apart. Both sides lobbed endless waves of grenades at each other, until a thick fog enveloped the lines.

  Jenkins rolled into the nearest section of the Nazi trench, startling two wounded Jewish insurgents. The old men nodded to him after seeing his uniform. Speaking in German, they pointed towards the sound of fighting. Jenkins rushed past them and came across the bodies of several MEF, Army of David, and Nazi soldiers alike. Each of them bore horrific wounds from combat. He supressed a shudder at the pained expressions written across their faces and continued his advance.

  Three Germans landed in the trench ahead of him. Jenkins dropped to a knee and unleashed what was left in his clip. He caught two with the first barrage. The last he wounded in the stomach. Needing to reload, Jenkins charged before the German soldier could raise his weapon. He punched his bayonet into the Nazi’s chest and twisted the blade. Then he ran the bayonet through the dying man until the light faded from his eyes. After sliding in a fresh clip, Jenkins made to carry on when the ground shook in a thunderous earthquake.

  A sequence of booms sounded. Pillars of smoke, dirt, and shrapnel shrouded the trenches in front of him. Jenkins tumbled to the ground from the force of the detonations. Moaning, he pulled his battered body upright. A moment later, enemy soldiers rushed his trench. He lifted his Lee-Enfield and shot two at point blank range, forcing the others to pull back. The surviving Germans shouted at one another as two grenades landed beside Jenkins. He dove towards them and threw the devices out a split-second before they exploded. Pain cut through him when small pieces of shrapnel ate into his skin. Stunned by the noise and the pieces of metal dotting his arms, he barely had enough time to bring up his rifle before two more Nazis threw themselves into the trench.

  He caught the first Wehrmacht soldier with a shot to the face, sending his lifeless body crashing into his colleague. Without a clear shot, Jenkins surged towards the surviving soldier and slashed at him with his bayonet. The edge of the blade sliced across the German’s face. Jenkins aimed again and smashed its point straight through his enemy’s throat. He twisted the bayonet, and pulling the blade out, he reached for the edge of the trench.

  With his entire body aching, he rolled out and crawled towards the nearest cover he could find. He sheltered behind chunks of metal jutting from the ground, his body numb to the pain and exhaustion. As bullets raged above his head, Jenkins peeked towards the next line of enemy defences.

  Just as before, the Army of David were intent on leading every thrust. MEF soldiers trailed close behind, eager to utilise the Jewish insurgents’ seemingly unrelenting drive. British, French, Irish, Russian, and American flags, dangling from radio antennas, waved in the artificial wind. Company after company advanced with unyielding determination as the invading forces pushed deeper and deeper into New Berlin, ever closer to the centre of the city.

  Willing himself to move, Jenkins pushed to his feet again.

  A series of shrill whistles pierced the air.

  “All units hold positions and cease fire. Repeat, cease fire.”

  Jenkins blinked at the words coming across the MEF’s common comm channel. The sound of fighting abruptly died off, lowering to sporadic shots. Even the German defenders ceased firing. Unsure of what was happening, Jenkins broke into a mad dash and dove into the latest series of trenches seized by the allied forces. On either side of him stony-faced Jewish warriors of all ages kept their guns trained on the enemy lines. Dragging himself up, he took a vacant spot beside the Army of David fighters. He aligned his eye to his Lee-Enfield’s sight.

  An unnerving stillness descended across their portion of New Berlin. In the distance, he could hear the constant blasts of machinegun fire, but that too sounded fainter. Artillery shells no longer howled overhead. Jenkins considered asking the Jewish insurgents if they knew what was happening, but then he spotted it.

  From around a street corner on the left, a German officer emerged brandishing a large white flag in his left hand. Flanked by two other soldiers, he kept his right hand up to show he held no weapon as he marched. The Army of David fighters broke into angry exchanges at the sight, but none made any move to shoot at the approaching Germans.

  A strange sense of hope washed through Jenkins. After a day and a half of fighting, could it be over?

  Could the Germans be surrendering New Berlin?

  CITY CENTRE DEFENSIVE LINES

  16.51 MST

  DAY 2

  General Schulz fidgeted on the rickety seat in the back room of what two days ago had been one of hundreds of grocery shops dotting New Berlin. For over thirty minutes, the Allies kept him and his retinue waiting. A soot-covered lieutenant had offered him tea, which he respectfully declined. Aside from that, no one had come to inform him of when a senior officer would join him.

  After checking his watch, Schulz shifted in his seat again, causing an ache to lance through his wounded left arm. He adjusted the sling and winced. With his good hand, he fumbled in his pocket for his packet of cigarettes. He selected one, placed it in his mouth, and flicked his lighter on. Taking a long drag, he tried to relax back into his chair.

  When he couldn’t get comfortable, he leaned forward and patted the satchel he had placed on the desk in front of him. His heart pounded at the thought of the task that lay ahead. He and some of his officers had drafted what he considered to be a fair and responsible list of points to negotiate with the Allied commander. Some concessions remained inevitable, but he hoped to maintain the Wehrmacht’s honour with anything short of an unconditional surrender.

  Schulz’s thoughts raced towards the days to come. An Allied victory seemed guaranteed given the betrayal of the SS. Cut off from resupply and reinforcements, the Allies would need his Wehrmacht to keep the peace on the streets, especially if the SS refused to maintain order in the colonies. Like his predecessor, he suspected Reichsführer Wagner of having ulterior motives for stabbing the Wehrmacht in the back. Scenarios abounded through his mind at Reichsführer Wagner’s overall plan, but Schulz doubted the Allies would ever do business with him. Once the Jewish slaves stepped up and demanded justice for the crimes of the SS, the Allies would have no choice but to arrest them all. Then the SS, realising the error of their ways, would fight back.

  Taking another drag on his cigarette, Schulz tried to see things from the Allied perspective. He raked his brain in the hopes of anticipating anything they could throw at him. They would want to extract as much as possible from him, but they needed his Wehrmacht, of that he was sure. His soldiers, who had fought with such honour, bravery, and distinction, remained the glue that could hold the colonies together or the hammer that could smash them apart.

  Schulz dropped his cigarette to the floor and reached for another one when the door to the back room swung open. He rose to his feet and examined the officer in British army attire. To his surprise, he recognised the rank markings of a major. His gaze darted to the ranks of the other two officers accompanying the British officer. His heart sank when he noted a French lieutenant and an American captain. Were the Allies trying to
insult him, or was this a sign of how little interest they had in a negotiated settlement?

  The three Allied officers filed in towards the opposite side of the desk. Their solemn faces betrayed no hint of emotion when they took their seats and placed several pieces of paper in front of them. Schulz took his seat wordlessly as a filthy-looking corporal filled glasses of water for them. When the corporal exited, a man with slicked-back hair in a plain black suit and tie entered.

  Schulz did a double take, surprised at seeing a civilian looking so well—in the middle of a warzone. The stranger stepped into the room without a word and took a seat at the side of the desk between him and the Allied officers. Schulz noticed a slight quiver of unease cut across the opposing officer’s faces, but they ignored the civilian’s presence.

  The British officer cleared his throat and spoke first. “General Schulz, my name is Major Jack Wellesley. May I also present Lieutenant Pierre Deschamps and Captain Roland Miller. Also present is Mr. John D. Myers. On behalf of the acting Supreme Commander of the Mars Expeditionary Force, Major General Alexander Hamilton, I have been instructed to begin discussions with a view to ending all hostilities within the New Berlin military district. If I may ask, sir, are you here at the behest of your government?”

  Schulz looked over the officers in turn before his eyes focused on the stranger, who appeared disinterested in what was happening around him. The civilian fidgeted with his hand as his thumb probed a hangnail. Returning his focus to Major Wellesley, Schulz chose his words with care. “I speak for the German people and the Armed Forces, Herr Major. That should be sufficient.” He reached into his satchel and removed a paper file. He flipped the pages open with his good hand, and turning the file around, he pushed it towards the Allied officers.

  “After consultations with my officers, there are some points of interest I’d like to discuss before we bring up any talk of extending the current ceasefire—”

  Major Wellesley shoved the file back towards him. “Pardon me, General, but there seems to be a misunderstanding here. Sir, I have been authorised to accept nothing less than a full, immediate, and unconditional surrender. Hostilities will resume without anything less than that.”

  The words struck Schulz in the gut. He had expected the Allies to play hardball, but the resolve leaking from Major Wellesley’s eyes told him this man wasn’t playing any games. The Allies wished for the unthinkable. He returned his own cool gaze back to Major Wellesley as he conjured the words needed to safeguard German honour.

  “Need I remind you, Major, that there are several thousand of my soldiers within this colony and outside it,” Schulz responded, trying to add steel to his voice. “They would rather die than face the disgrace of an unconditional surrender. Many times that number of your own soldiers will join them in the process. The journey to this world must have taken you a year. Can you really hold out that long for reinforcements?”

  Major Wellesley leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were unblinking. “Need I remind you, General, that we have full aerial superiority. We have obliterated your soldiers outside the colonies. Should we wish it, we could annihilate your colonies outright. We will reduce New Berlin to rubble if we must, General Schulz. Even if we fail in our mission, more soldiers will come from Earth, as many as it takes, until we have hunted down every single one of you. Do not test our resolve, General. We are here to stay.”

  Schulz curled his hand into a fist. He remembered Generalfeldmarschall Seidel’s outbursts and found himself at the precipice of launching into a tirade himself. He had no other option than to surrender in order to preserve the civilian population, but his pride stung at him.

  Major Wellesley picked up one of the papers in front of him. His brow furrowed as he checked the contents of the paper, and nodding to himself, he placed it on the desk. With a slow push of his hand, he slid the paper towards Schulz.

  “We know the SS are in the process of staging a coup,” the major said, softening his tone. “We know they are quite happy to sit back as you and your men get slaughtered. We also know that a large portion of your civilian population are sheltered in the area between our forces and the government district. Your casualties are mounting, General. You have thrown everything you have at us and haven’t been able to slow us down, let alone stop us.”

  Major Wellesley extended his hand and tapped his index finger on the document in front of him. “Sign, General Schulz, and you have my word that your soldiers will be treated within the parameters of the Geneva Convention. Surrender now before any more of your men or civilians pay the consequences of your pride.”

  Schulz picked up his cigarettes. With a shaking hand, he selected one. At the last moment, he held out the pack to the gathered Allied officers. The major and the French lieutenant shook their heads, but Captain Miller accepted one. Schulz leaned across the table and lit the captain’s cigarette before sitting back and lighting his own. He inhaled the tobacco as his gaze ran over the Instrument of Surrender document in front of him.

  “Your countrymen signed something similar a decade ago,” Lieutenant Deschamps said, and a small smile crept across his face. “Your war is over. Surrender now or we will butcher you to the last man.”

  Schulz fought to control his temper as he read the text of the document. The fate of the civilians kept his anger in check. The weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders, threatening to crush him into the dust.

  “Come on, General,” Mr. Myers said with a smarmy look plastered across his face. “These gentlemen are right, and you know it. There’s a reason why the SS didn’t tell you a thing. It’s the same reason they’re content to let you slug this one out with us. They don’t care about you, General. You and the Wehrmacht are a means to an end, and they don’t need you anymore. Why do you think we are here on this godforsaken rock?”

  Schulz met Mr. Myers’s gaze, but he couldn’t force any words out.

  “Because your precious Führer wants us here,” Mr. Myers continued. “He’s found something in this hellhole, and he wants to do a deal. He knows what Majestic-12 want more than we know it ourselves. Everything you’re seeing here is a pantomime, nothing more than a show to grab MJ-12’s attention.”

  The three officers facing him shifted in their seats to glare at the civilian. Mr. Myers shrugged off their angered looks and kept his gaze on Schulz. He slid his hand into his jacket, and producing a pen, he held it aloft.

  “Sign, General Schulz. Have your forces lay down their arms and comply with all orders given by the leadership of the Mars Expeditionary Force. Once you’ve been thoroughly de-Nazified, I’m sure we can find a place for you and your men in the new world order.”

  “Mr. Myers!” Major Wellesley jumped to his feet. “This goes way beyond your remit. You cannot—”

  Mr. Myers banged his fist down on the desk, cutting the major off. He stood slowly, and the smile evaporated from his face. His nostrils flared as he stared with laser-like precision at the British officer. “Sit down, Major, or I promise you, before this day is through, I’ll have you scrubbing latrines with a toothbrush.”

  Major Wellesley’s jaw dropped at the sudden venom in the civilian’s voice. His face flushed red, and his hands tightened into fists. Nevertheless, the major slowly lowered himself back into his seat. He glared at Mr. Myers, causing a wicked grin to cut across the civilian’s face.

  “You three,” Mr. Myers said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Get out. Dismissed.”

  The three Allied officers’ jaws dropped at the same time. They exchanged glances, their eyes wide in surprise. Major Wellesley was the first to rise to his feet, with the lieutenant and the captain following close at his heels. They launched one last fury-filled look at Mr. Myers as they exited.

  “Much better.” Mr. Myers stood and unbuttoned his jacket. “Now, where were we?”

  “You will spare my men and the civilians?” Schulz asked as he picked up the pen on the table.

  Mr. My
ers smiled. “I promise you. And your people will be treated a hell of a lot better than you ever treated the Jews. Now sign. I’m starting to lose patience, and I need your men out of the way so I can get closer to the government district.”

  Schulz blinked at the words on the paper. He imagined his heart turning into a lump of ice. Many of his fellow officers and countrymen would despise him for his actions. Even though he wished to serve his people and spare them from further suffering, he knew he was signing away his honour. With a sad shake of his head, he placed pen to paper and signed his name.

  “Excellent!” Mr. Myers exclaimed and snatched back the document. “Now, there’s only one thing left to do.”

  He bounded to the door and gestured at someone standing just outside. The same grubby-looking corporal from earlier strolled into the room carrying a radio pack. His fingers worked the dials as he tuned in to the correct frequency.

  Mr. Myers put his hand into his jacket, pulled out a piece of paper, and unfolded it. “Here.” He handed the paper to Schulz. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a speech outlining the details of the surrender. Feel free to make any cosmetic changes as you see fit so it appears more natural, as long as the meat of it stays the same.”

  With his head spinning from the consequences of his actions, Schulz barely even noticed the paper in his hands. He looked down at the words, but no matter how many times he tried to read them, he couldn’t make sense of it.

  Mr. Myers took the handset linked to the radio and extended it towards him. “They’re ready for you, General Schulz. New Berlin is listening.”

  NUREMBURG VICTORY ARCH AND MEMORIAL – NORTH OF THE CITY CENTRE

  17.12 MST