“I would suggest Gruppenführer Barkmann will have something to say about that, Herr Untersturmführer,” Bauer observed coldly, as angry as his colleague but controlling it better.
“The Gruppenführer has been relieved of this command, Mein Herr,” Wisch countered, paraphrasing what Schmidt had advised a little loosely but nevertheless cutting to the crux of the matter. “Our orders are coming direct from the OKW now via the Schlageter, and those orders are for withdrawal…”
“I will not turn my back and walk away while our own men lie dead and wounded not two hundred metres away…!” Stahl snarled viciously, putting on a show of sincerity Wisch almost believed.
“I cannot disobey orders, Meine Herren,” Wisch pointed out matter-of-factly, doing his best to resist his own rising temper, “nor can I allow you to proceed in disregard of those same orders.”
“Untersturmführer, we may not be able to force you to advance any further,” Bauer replied with pure ice in his words now to match his cold gaze, “however neither can you stop us from doing something to assist those men… unless, of course, you intend to shoot us?”
Wisch resisted the urge to do exactly that, tempting as the thought was. Neither Bauer nor Stahl cared one whit for the wounded German troopers at the crash site, a fact that was well-known to both men and Wisch, yet the lie served a purpose in lending legitimacy to their true intent: one last attempt at recovering the escaped prisoners they suspected might still be involved in the same situation just down the road.
“If just one more of those men dies because you stopped us from rendering assistance, Herr Untersturmführer, they’ll line you up against a wall along with your entire unit,” Bauer hissed sharply, allowing his façade of control to drop for a few seconds. “To hell with you, and to hell with the fucking Reichsmarschall too!” He spat finally before banging loudly on the outside panel of the Fennec’s cab door. “Driver: forward to the crash site…!”
“Scheisse…!” Wisch breathed softly as the Fennec powered away in a cloud of blue exhaust. “Berndt…!” He added, opening transmission on his personal frequency. “Those fools are going in anyway! They’re going after our men…”
“The hell they are,” his CO replied angrily, not believing that for a moment either, “but perhaps they’ll do some good anyway… You heard me: immediate withdrawal…! Let’s get moving…!”
“We’re just going to let them take off like that?”
“You remember the farmhouse don’t you…?” There was a short pause. “You know which one I mean, Milo…”
Both men knew exactly what Schmidt was referring to: a farmhouse two years earlier, outside which they’d been left disgusted and ashamed as a younger but no less brutal Pieter Stahl and his equally depraved senior NCO had raped and murdered a French woman and her young daughter. A farmhouse outside which they’d looked on moments later as an enraged Luftwaffe officer had done what they’d wanted to do (but not had the courage) as he’d tried to kick the screaming Stahl to death, leaving him with broken ribs and that terrible scar on his cheek.
“Yes,” Wisch replied eventually… reluctantly… as a grimace formed at the edges of his lips. “I remember…”
“Stahl always was a vile creature, and the other one’s as bad, if not worse…” Schmidt shot back immediately, and Milo could hear the shrug of cold disinterest in his voice “…with any luck, they’ll get their bloody heads blown off into the bargain and do us all a favour…! We have our orders, Milo… let’s get out of here before a bloody war starts…!”
The three-man squad approached cautiously along the grass verge on the eastern side of the road, making as much use of the stone walls and low trees lining that side. All the while, the second trio of troopers kept cover from the front yards of the houses opposite, their assault rifles ready to support the concentrated fire of the MG5A further back near the wreckage. They moved with sure-footed purpose, their weapons ever ready as they advanced in alternating turns, ensuring there were two of the three able to provide ‘overwatch’ on the advancing third man at any one time.
They were just a few yards from where Kelly and Lowenstein stood waiting in the middle of the road when the corporal in command called for them to halt.
“Are you all right, Meine Herren…?” He called out sharply, his eyes darting this way and that in search of any danger. “Are you hurt?”
“We’re all right, unterscharführer, but we have a wounded NCO here,” Lowenstein replied quickly, fighting to keep the fear from his tone. “His legs are broken: we need your assistance to carry him.”
“Understood, sir… we’ll take care of that for you…” he snapped in return, instantly signalling to the men behind him with a short sequence of sparse and quite efficient hand signals before he and another of them jogged forward, slinging their rifles as the last trooper continued to provide cover. “Where’s your man…?”
“Back here a few metres, unterscharführer…” Lowenstein half-turned and cast a hand back toward one of the front yards. “There are children here also: I’ll thank you not to frighten them too much…”
“As you wish, Mein Herr,” the corporal replied with a shrug, not having any real interest in the well-being of a couple of Irish brats, but ready to obey the orders of a superior as required.
Without another word, the group moved back to Brendan’s position and proceeded to lift him as carefully as they were able between them. Levi and Evelyn had managed to find an old broom lying nearby in the front yard in which they’d taken cover and the handle, once snapped in half, had served well enough for a makeshift splint for his broken leg. Only semi-conscious through pain and loss of blood, he moaned loudly as they hoisted him and began to slowly and awkwardly carry him back into the centre of the road.
“He’ll be difficult to carry if his legs are broken…” the corporal observed, breathing heavily with exertion. “Without a vehicle, we may need to…”
His voice trailed off in that moment as everyone suddenly picked up the roar of an approaching vehicle was suddenly heard from north. All heads turned in that direction, just in time to catch sight of the P-5A Fennec armoured car burst through the smoke between the helicopter’s wrecked main fuselage and the still-burning tail section. It powered past Strauss’ position, deftly swerving around the gun team lying in the centre of the road, and continued toward Lowenstein’s and Kelly’s position at high speed.
“Reinforcements are here, Meine Herren…” the corporal observed with what was clearly a relieved smile, completely missing the momentary fear flashing across both men’s faces. “It seems we’ll have a ride after all.”
The Fennec skidded to a halt just a few yards away from their position and in his peripheral vision, Kelly also noted with great concern that the rest of the SS troopers from the crash site had taken their cue from the vehicle’s appearance and taken it upon themselves to advance behind it as the hatch above the P-5A’s turret flew back. Rather than the black, double-breasted jacket of a panzer crewman, the SS colonel that rose from that opening instead rather unexpectedly wore the grey uniform of the Germanische-SS.
“Unterscharführer, lay that man on the ground and step away!” The shouted order was laced with the faint waver of nervousness, something both Kelly and Kransky easily picked out, and that fact made neither man feel any happier. They knew all too well that fear led to mistakes, and that mistakes could often result in someone getting killed.
“He’s badly injured, Mein Herr,” the corporal advised, not understanding what others saw coming far too clearly.
“Are you deaf, man? I gave you an order: put him down, damn you…!” Bauer snarled as the vehicle’s rear access ramp crashed to the ground, allowing Stahl and a pair of border guards to burst out and circle around to the front of the Fennec, weapons raised. At the same time, the car’s turret tilted slightly, bringing its 13mm heavy machine gun to point directly at the men standing in the centre of that road.
“What’s going on here, Mein Herr…
?” Strauss demanded as he approached, too tense and stressed from the exertion of running to pay Stahl the respect he technically deserved as a superior. “The man needs urgent aid… anyone can see it…”
“These ‘men’ here before you are imposters…!” Stahl shot back immediately, not turning his head for a moment
“‘Imposters’, Mein Herr…?” Strauss repeated, uncomprehending. Tired and still slightly groggy from the crash, his mind wasn’t processing information as quickly as it otherwise might have.
“Fucking IRA volunteers…!” Stahl snarled venomously, this time breaking his gaze just long enough to cast the man a vicious glare as the pistol in his hand waved this way and that. “Irishmen wearing stolen SS uniforms… is that clear enough for you? The only thing stopping me from blasting them all to pieces right now is your men standing in the bloody way!”
“We’re dead the moment those men are clear,” Lowenstein hissed softly at Kelly in German.
“We’re fookin’ dead anyway if their gunner opens up,” Kelly whispered back with equal tension. “What choice have we got?” His German, although passable, wasn’t quite as fluent as Lowenstein’s and the strange accent and poor grammar wasn’t lost on the SS corporal beside them, the man casting him a surprised glance.
“Eoin…” That strained call of warning came from Kransky, still invisible on the other side of a low stone wall.
“Not yet…!” Kelly replied sharply, this time in English.
“They ain’t takin’ you…!
“Try anything and we’re dead…!” The Irishman shot back. “We weren’t expecting a bloody tank…!”
“You got the tank guy,” Kransky hissed to Turner as he lay his rifle carefully on the grass and instead took up his silenced MP2K. “I got the sons-o’-bitches on the ground…” he added with a lopsided grin, slipping into character now that battle was imminent.
“Understood… Turner acknowledged with a single nod, readying his rifle and slipping off the safety.
“Once you’ve taken yours out, you can have some of what’s left…”
“Drop him and step away…now…!” Bauer screamed, drawing a small Walther from the holster at his belt and snapping back the slide.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Franz…!” Stahl muttered in exasperation, adrenalin coursing through his system and making him feel far more excited and courageous than usual. “Let me take care of these fools for you…”
Without a moment’s thought, Pieter Stahl broke ranks with the men flanking him and strode forward, crossing the distance between the Fennec and the standing men in a few long strides.
“Mein Herr, the Obersturmbannführer…” That warning call from the Fennec’s gunner beside him suddenly filled Bauer with the stomach-churning realisation that Stahl’s movement forward had placed himself directly in the firing line of the armoured car’s guns, effectively screening the men behind him.
“Mein Gott, Pieter…!” Stahl called, the sudden stab of fear ripping through his gut. Then, louder: “Pieter…! Get back…! Get out of the way…!”
“‘Badly injured… badly injured’… Stahl snarled angrily, oblivious to Bauer’s call of warning as he came to a halt between the two SS troopers carrying the wounded man. “You think that is ‘badly injured’, unterscharführer…?” Without waiting for an answer, Stahl raised the pistol in his outstretched arm and fired a single shot straight into Brendan’s forehead. Blood, flesh and bone sprayed onto the road behind Lowenstein and Kelly as the slug continued on, howling away off the bitumen in a loud ricochet.
There was no logical reaction from any of the four men holding Brendan’s now lifeless corpse in the seconds after that shot was fired. The pair of SS troopers on either side of Stahl, their instincts still not quite able to accept that the man they held wasn’t a fellow German soldier, immediately released their grip on the body’s legs and turned toward him, the corporal reaching out and forcing Stahl’s gun hand away to one side as if to avoid any further danger.
It fired in reflex all the same, the wayward slug smashing into Kelly’s left side and sending him falling sideways with a sharp cry of pain as Brendan’s body fell to the road with a wet, sickening thud. Lowenstein was already drawing his own pistol, the silenced Browning tiny in his hand but dangerous enough at close range as he fired two shots into the back of the unterscharführer and hooked his free hand around the back of Kelly’s collar, hauling the wounded Irishman backward along the road toward safety.
Kransky and Turner each rose to one knee simultaneously in that moment, the American raising his MP2K in both hands and sighting through the weapon’s large reflex sight with both eyes open. With the machine pistol set to three-round-burst, he carefully and precisely set about dropping every enemy in sight, starting with the two riflemen near the Fennec who’d originally accompanied Stahl out of its rear. The soft, suppressed bursts of fire were almost inaudible amongst the rest of the action as he took both men down and moved on to the nearest of the SS troopers – the third man of the screaming unterscharführer’s squad who’d moved back to provide cover.
Turner at that moment was lifting the SSG4C to his shoulder, the weapon almost an extension of his own body as the Zeiss scope came easily to his eye at the same time that the central aiming post of the sight’s #1-style reticle lined up on Bauer’s chest. From his position at the commander’s hatch above the Fennec’s turret, Bauer was in the midst of screaming an unheard last order at Stahl as he caught the unexpected movement in his peripheral vision. He turned his head, saw two men appear behind the stone wall, and began to raise his pistol in return, although at the last moment he realised with dismay that his reflexes just weren’t quick enough.
Bauer saw the muzzle flash from the rifle at the same time he felt a sudden, crushing blow to the centre of his chest. With an almost eerie calm, he looked downward and stared blankly at the dark stain spreading with remarkable speed across his tunic. He raised his eyes again and stared once more at the man who’d shot him, but the sniper had forgotten him already and was instead firing on other targets off to the left of the armoured car.
He felt as if he should shoot that man now… now that he was defenceless… but for some reason the action seemed beyond his capability. With no more than a soft groan, Standartenführer Franz Bauer slumped forward across the lip of the turret hatch, the Walther PPK slipping from his fingers and clattering down across the side of the Fennec’s front fender. It slid off the side and skittered across the bitumen beneath, finally disappearing in the grass on the western edge of the road as its owner died with the wheeze of one final, ragged expelled breath.
The Fennec’s gunner at that moment still wasn’t aware that Bauer was in fact dead, although the way his commander had slumped down into the turret suggested that he was at least very badly wounded. Either way, it now fell to him to take command of the vehicle and salvage something from the mess they were all now in. The only good thing that had come from the action so far was that he now had a clear field of fire through his forward arc as all friendly troops left alive were all now flat on the ground and taking cover. With the whine of electric motors, he turned his guns to the left and lowered them to their full depression.
“Take cover…!” Kransky howled, leaping to one side as the Fennec’s turret turned in his direction. He intentionally collided with Turner, taking the younger man down with him as the armoured car’s main- and co-axial guns filled the surrounding area with the raucous clattering of machine gun fire, the heavier, 13mm slugs chewing up the stone wall and earth where Kransky and Turner had been kneeling just seconds before.
On the opposite side of the road and a few yards further back, Michaels and McCaughey took that opportunity to rise from their own positions of cover and send a few well-aimed bursts from their own assault rifles to keep the enemy’s heads down and hopefully draw enough fire to allow the others a chance to escape. That being said, they were well aware that their weapons were no use at all against an armoured car, and t
hey fired just a few bursts before diving back down under cover and crawling off to fall-back positions as the turret of the P-5A now swung in their direction to deliver a second, devastating barrage of heavy machine gun fire.
Stone and wood, brick and mortar were shattered and torn apart in clouds of dust and stinging debris as a torrent of 13mm slugs tore through the houses on the western side of the road, quickly reducing their frontages to ruin under the onslaught. It was only as the gunner became aware of a sharp banging against front of the Fennec’s hull that he ceased fire for a moment to listen more clearly.
“Nicht schiessen…! Nicht schiessen…!” He could hear Stahl’s screamed order faint and dull through the car’s armoured hide as the officer continued to slam the butt of his pistol against the hull. “Hold your fire, damn you…!”
As the firing finally stopped, Stahl turned back from his crouching position of cover by the vehicle’s front wheel and rose to full height, his Walther up and ready to fire. A dozen yards away, so far ignored by everyone else amid the firing back and forth, Lowenstein continued to drag the wounded Kelly toward the side of the road, a thin trail of blood staining the asphalt behind them.
Kelly was no lightweight, and Lowenstein had been forced to cast aside his own weapon and apply all his strength to moving his fallen comrade. To his credit, the Irishman was mostly bearing the intense pain in silence, although the sharp breaths between clenched teeth gave a clear indication of the pain he was experiencing.
“Leave me here, y’ mad bugger…!” He hissed angrily. “Fook off and save yerself…!”
“Not a chance, old mate,” Lowenstein growled back between grunts of exertion.
Both men realised at that moment that firing had suddenly ceased on both sides, and both flinched a second later as a single shot sizzled past Lowenstein’s head and howled away off the bitumen behind.
“Both of you halt…!” Stahl screamed, barely rational as he advanced on their position with pistol aimed, flanked on either side by a pair of SS troopers. “Move again and you die… you all die…!”
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 19