Soldiers of Tomorrow: The Winter War

by Michael G. Thomas

  The engine of the truck roared as they made up the distance. Several off the SS troops in the nearest Stryker were readying their weapons, but Ray squeezed the trigger. The gun chattered, and bullets spewed from the barrel, to riddle the SS troops with bullets.

  The burst cut them to pieces, but Ray kept his finger on the trigger. The Skoda truck veered suddenly, and due to its high centre of gravity, launched into the air and tipped over. Some of the troops inside were thrown clear, but most were already dead from the machine gun fire. The truck rolled and crashed through a storefront, coming to an abrupt halt as it hit an inside wall. They raced past the wreckage, knowing if any troops had survived, they were in no shape to put up a fight. Strewn across the street were a number of bodies, and even severed limbs lying in the road.

  The driver grinned at him. “Nice work!”

  His reply was solemn as they tore past the wreckage. “Nothing nice about it, Isaac.” The smell of diesel fuel filled his nostrils, and he noticed fuel that had trickled out from the wreckage onto the road.

  “What do you want to do?” Isaac asked.

  “Finish them, kill them all!” Lisa yelled.

  He was surprised to hear such a violent outburst, but she’d been hardened to the violence for so long it had become second nature. They had slowed as they drove past the carnage, perhaps because Isaac wanted to make sure the enemy was neutralised. The SUV that had been behind them stormed past; Mickey was hanging from the sunroof and clutching his rifle.

  “Come on!” he yelled, caught up in the fury of the chase, “Get the bastards.”

  “Floor it, get after them!” Ray roared, “Before the silly bastards get themselves killed!”

  Isaac floored the gas pedal. They caught up and ran alongside the SUV.

  “Come on, let’s kill these fuckers!” Mickey shouted. They came to a junction, and before he could speak, Mickey yelled, “You go after the cruiser. We’ll take the truck! We’ll split up and go in opposite directions.”

  Ray was already shaking his head.

  “No, we stick together! Don’t be a fool.”

  Mickey looked angry, but Ray didn’t need to explain anything to Isaac. He was old and wise enough to understand how it worked. The two vehicles swerved into the street together and followed the truck. Ray watched the car tear off into the distance, and his anger rose at the folly that had let them get away. Still, he wasn’t willing to split their small force to pursue both.

  “This is all wrong,” Mickey shouted across to him as the trucks came up beside one another.

  “We stick together. That’s an order.”

  He looked angry, and Ray knew his anger would boil over very soon, and he’d be a serious problem.

  Lisa was watching both men, and she got the message. “That boy is going to get us into a lot of trouble, isn’t he?”

  “Damn right he is. His heart is in the right place, Lisa, but he acts like a gung-ho asshole.”

  They turned another bend and were closing the distance on the last Stryker. Gunfire rang out from the vehicle in front. Two SS soldiers had opened fire on them. Ray ducked down as a shot clanged into the roof above his head. Another hit the windshield, and he flinched when glass showered over him. He put his head up enough to look through the windshield of the cab. Blood spurted onto the glass, and Isaac put his hand up to the wound, applying pressure on his neck as he kept on driving.

  “You’ve been hit!” Zoey screamed.

  She reached over to help him, but he pushed her aside with his elbow, wincing with pain.

  “I’m fine!” he insisted in his usual grouchy tone.

  She knew there was no sense arguing with him. She looked ahead to the SS truck.

  “Light those bastards up. Let’s do what we came here for.”

  Ray nodded in agreement and returned to the MG3. Several more shots landed around them, but he ignored them, lifted the stock to his shoulder, and opened fire. The first burst ripped through the SS truck, but the range and violent movement meant a great many shots missed. The butt slammed into his shoulder with the vicious recoil, throwing off his aim even more. Another enemy soldier fell from the truck after a burst had riddled him with bullets. Another man staggered back, to be caught by his colleagues, after two bullets slammed into his chest.

  The SUV beside them drove over the trooper who’d fallen from the Stryker, and he disappeared beneath the wheels. If he wasn’t dead from the gunshot wounds, he certainly was now. Mickey smiled as he watched the body tumble past, but Lisa was stone-faced. Ray couldn’t tell if it was from the gory, visceral sight of so much death, or that Mickey seemed to enjoy it so much. He didn’t have time to ask. He opened fire once more, but the magazine ran empty after the first few shots. He let go of the weapon on its mounting and picked up his rifle, but the range was still long. He tapped Isaac on the shoulder.

  “Get in closer!” The truck accelerated even more, and he rested his rifle on the cab and took aim. Squeezed off two shots and then had to duck down. Gunfire hit both vehicles again, and a second later he rose to return fire. Before he could pull the trigger, a truck tractor appeared from the intersection ahead and smashed into the SS Stryker. The collision split the military vehicle into several sections. Each piece cartwheeled along the street, disintegrating into hundreds of chunks of scrap iron. Isaac slammed on the brakes, and smoke rose from the tyres as the wheels locked. They violently fishtailed to a halt, and around them the bloody carnage was horrific.

  “That’s right, you bastards!” Mickey cried, shaking his rifle triumphantly in the air.

  Ray ignored him. He didn’t feel like celebrating.

  “What now?” Zoey asked.

  Before he could reply, explosions rang out in the distance. Aircraft thundered across the skies, and the continuous thump of heavy weaponry was enough for them to know what was happening.

  “Shit,” said Ray.

  They were a long way from their intended target. “Back to the stadium!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Yankee Stadium, East 161st Street, Bronx, New York

  7th February 2018, 8.25am

  Kapitän Marcus Klenner watched carefully as the heavily armoured landship Eiserner Gott, or Iron God as the Americans now called her, moved down the main street. Ray Barnes and his unit were far off to the northeast and engaged in battle, leaving him to guard the remainder of the heavily equipped force. Each step drew unwelcome attention, and he could just about see the large intersection alongside the famous Yankee Stadium. Long red, white, and blue standards hung down from the building in much the same fashion as those displayed in the Reich the preceding year. Karl, his experienced and ever-reliable driver, glanced back at him.

  “Kapitän.”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you sure this is wise, travelling in the open, in broad daylight? Surely it’s madness.”

  Marcus shrugged.

  “You know how it is, my friend. We go where we’re told. And you heard what Ray said.”

  “That this attack by the largest cells is a necessary show of force against the Reich?”

  Marcus struggled to hide a smile as the driver continued speaking.

  “Because if you ask me, it’s like waving a red flag at a bull. All we’ve done is taken the Island and started a movement. It’s not over yet.”

  Marcus couldn’t disagree with that sentiment. However, instead of worrying, he turned his attention to the screens and the view from the periscopes. Torsten Urs, a new member of the crew, smiled as he listened to the exchange. He was almost the same age as Marcus and had served for more than a decade as an E-Boat skipper in the Virginia Coast Guard. He was in his early forties and like many officers came from a wealthy, relatively comfortable background. According to some of the livelier rumours, he collected British military relics from the War.

  When there was no reply, Karl tried again. “Basic military strategy tells us that splitting our force is not the smartest move. There is a time and a place for such gambles,
but that is not now.”

  Marcus conceded the point.

  “Yes, Weathers is becoming reckless, that much is obvious. It’s what happens when you’ve had a string of victories.”

  Karl shrugged.

  “A couple of skirmishes since Columbus Circle are hardly major victories, are they?”

  Marcus rubbed his tired eyes.

  “I’m not disagreeing with you, but it doesn’t change the fact that Samuel Weathers has made a promise to all New Yorkers.”

  “Yeah, to return New York to New Yorkers. But is that likely to happen so soon?”

  Marcus almost laughed at the relentless questions.

  “I doubt it. But then again, if you’d asked me the same about Columbus Circle a year ago, I’d have said the same. I suggest we do what we always do. Concentrate on the task at hand. There’s no sense in worrying about what we can’t change.”

  The firm tone of his voice made it clear the conversation had ended. Each man returned to their station and focused on the mission. The sixteen-metre-tall landship marched onwards, its heavy feet thumping down into the street. Water continued to drip down from their crossing of the Hudson. Ahead of the giant walking machine was a captured Waffen SS Grizzly, the six-wheeled vehicle their ground units commonly used. Its insignia had disappeared, replaced by the white Allied Stars painted on the top, rear, sides, and hood. It carried the toughest armour of all the vehicles in the column, and it was no more than necessary. Marcus knew exactly who was inside, and it left him feeling nervous as they kept on.

  “Ray and I both advised against this mission. We told Weathers and his people that making a move in the day is madness. We should not be engaging the SS in open battle. We need to fight the enemy to our advantage, not theirs.”

  “It just means we’ll have to do double the work,” said Torsten.

  They had four trucks, led by a Waffen SS armoured car, now commandeered by the rebels. Further back, yet more vehicles followed, many carrying rebel fighters. A show of force in the city, and it didn’t go unnoticed. People emerged to wave American flags, or simply to wave their arms at what they hoped were their liberators.

  “I don’t like this,” Marcus’ expression was gloomy. “This is showboating, not a military operation.”

  He glanced through the rear-view periscope and checked the other convoy vehicles. His eyes scanned the distance, looking for any sign of the enemy, but there was nothing untoward. The walking machine slowed when they reached their waypoint. The rest of the column continued onwards to the distant stadium.

  The radio crackled to life. “This is Kapitän Klenner of Iron God. We’re in position two blocks west of the stadium, but I see no sign of the enemy.”

  The radio crackled to life. The data channel display showed the transmission as coming from Manhattan Command. With Bowery Bay gone, all command and control has shifted to the bigger facilities beneath Grand Central Terminal.

  “Affirmative, Iron God. Latest intel confirms Reich forces are attempting to move into the Bronx. We need to drive them out.”

  Marcus stifled a groan as the faint voice continued.

  “Latest information points to three large SS raiding parties in your vicinity. Reports suggest they are securing the subway stations and tunnels two blocks to the east. Two units are on the tracks, and the third is at ground level.”

  “What are they up to? What is their objective?”

  “Unknown at this time, but this changes nothing. We need to make a statement in the Bronx. Manhattan is ours, and these SS must be stopped. Wait…new information is coming in.”

  Marcus looked to his crew, each of whom stared right back. Their expressions were uneasy. There were seven crewmen inside the cramped interior of Eiserner Gott, and none liked what they were hearing.

  He made an acknowledgment. “Understood.”

  “Some observers report they’ve spotted heavy weapons around the stadium. We’re diverting a unit to take care of them now. Wait for support to arrive.”

  Marcus was not impressed. Even before the man on the radio finished speaking, he looked down at Karl.

  “Move us further from the stadium. Tactical…I want you to shift the movable plates to the left side. Put space between us and the building.”

  His glance fell on Torsten as he gave the gunners their orders.

  “Load HE and get the machine guns online. Looks like we may be in business real soon. I don’t want the enemy getting too close. Stand by to open fire.”

  His eyes shifted to Marcus.

  “We’re up for this fight. No matter what they throw at us, we can take it.”

  Marcus gave him a curt nod. He needed no reminder his abilities, and certainly not Eiserner Gott. But he’d suffered losses at Columbus Circle, including three of his crew. That had left him with Karl and Hans, but the newcomers had yet to be tested. Raffael Siegmund and Heribert Linus were former Kriegsmarine, although they'd been marines, not crew. They lacked the technical skills of his last gunners, but they had fought alongside Eiserner Gott in battle. Which meant they knew the machine’s strengths and capabilities. Then there was the Irishman, Dougal Leary, a stoker and chief engineer on a civilian tanker. What he lacked in military knowledge or discipline, he made up for with a wide knowledge and skill with machinery. If it came to a fight, the baptism of fire would hone his military skills.

  “Be ready.”

  He keyed the radio button.

  “Command, that’s not good enough. Our brief was to contain a raiding element in the area and to open the Bronx Offensive. Not to engage a major SS incursion with the limited forces we have available to us. According to your own data, we now have multiple units with unknown assets in three different locations. We don’t have the manpower to engage three hidden SS units.”

  He instinctively scanned the screens to check for signs of the enemy. Still nothing.

  “We need air cover and real-time tactical reconnaissance. They could be anywhere right now. Do you want to lose our best units for a single raid?”

  The voice on the radio didn’t answer for several seconds. In that time, the six-hundred-tonne machine moved another twenty metres. It travelled with a grace that defied its ungainly shape and mass. Long gone were the Reich crosses and markings. In their place the machine displayed the single white star last borne by the Allies in the War. Ahead and on his right they passed an old baseball ground, with tired and worn grass that could but hint of better days. Directly ahead lay the metro station and overhead line, a wide-open space, with three main roads linking and creating a plaza effect beneath the high walls of the stadium.

  Eventually, the voice on the radio answered. “Understood, Eiserner Gott. Our air cover is grounded today. There are too many Luftwaffe patrols in the area. We control the ground, but the air belongs to them.”

  You think I don’t know that? Marcus thought to himself.

  “Attention. The enemy have been located, and the mission is a go. All local units are converging.”

  “Idiots, those people are not soldiers. They shouldn’t fight as though they are.”

  “Still, it’s not a bad place to be, Kapitän,” said Karl, his ever-reliable driver, “It means a lot to our people.”

  Marcus looked down at the man who handled the controls. Eiserner Gott might have sustained major damage in battle three months ago, but now she was back in action and fully operational. And for that, Marcus was ever thankful.

  “You’re right. This place is impressive. Though, if you recall, the ground was used for party rallies during the last ten years.”

  Karl grimaced.

  “That will change. You’ve seen the speeches by Weathers, haven’t you?”

  Marcus nodded.

  “I have. He sure talks the talk, but I think we’d all agree he’s no strategist.”

  A transmission flooded in through the internal speakers, interrupting their conversation. The speaker didn’t announce his name, but all of them recognised him right away.


  “Weathers,” Marcus murmured under his breath, “The fool thinks he’s invincible.”

  The voice on the radio was calm, but he detected an underlying urgency. Weathers was a force of nature. A man with the will to dominate; yet he was just one man, and Marcus had seen others just like him fail. He wanted to rein him in, but Weathers wouldn’t listen to his own people, let alone a German Naval officer.

  “Okay, we have contact,” said Weathers, “We have visual confirmation of a single platoon on the road below the underpass to the east. Six trucks and one armoured car, and most of the troops are on foot. They’re SS, no question.”

  His next few words were obscured, drowned out by shouting from other unit leaders.

  As the shouts receded, they heard him say, “We’re going in hard and fast. I want you to take the ground level and deploy units to block the stairwells on both sides of the building.”

  The staccato crackled of rifle fire sounding from outside, but the shooting was short and sporadic.

  “Ray, this is Weathers. Where the hell are you?”

  Marcus grabbed the intercom.

  “Do not use real names! This is a military operation.”

  Either he didn’t hear him, or he chose to ignore him.

  “Ten blocks to the northeast. We’re still engaged at Claremont Village.”

  Heavy gunfire drowned out his voice, and Marcus felt the urge to fire up his engines to go and help.

  “…heavier resistance than they led us to expect. The SS are out in force. Something big is going on.”

  Marcus had seen this kind of chaos before, and he felt his irritation rise. Ray and Marcus were the two most experienced commanders in the outfit. Yet they were ignoring both men, blindly pursuing the mission for what he considered were ambiguous objectives. He hit the radio button, an archaic piece of equipment compared to much of the tech around them.