* * *
“We let him down, we failed,” muttered a rebel as Ray wandered past.
He didn’t have the heart to stop and tell him he was wrong. The room was a hive of conversation, not of organised debate and planning, but of chaos. It was as a room of school children separated into secret little conversations, none wanting to share or speak up. It was sad to see the lost expressions on the faces of those around him. Weathers had been the anchor that kept them together and gave them hope. Some looked to Ray to step up and take the reins, even though he’d made it clear it wasn’t what he wanted. He reached Lisa. She was still in shock and hadn’t spoken a word in ages.
“We’re in deep shit, aren’t we?” Zoey stepped up beside them.
Ray sighed, acknowledging it was the case.
“What the hell happened out there?”
“We were played. Our forces were divided. They were stronger than we thought, and they hit the column with a pre-emptive strike. We underestimated the SS, so did Weathers, and it has cost us all dearly.”
“How did you not see this coming?”
Ray was surprised to hear Lisa speak, but she was looking deeply into his eyes with an accusing expression about her face.
“I am no tactician. I am just a soldier, and that is all I have ever been. If people want my advice and help, I will do all I can. But I’m not perfect.”
“We let him die…Weathers. The man who did all this, who started it all, what hope is there now?” Lisa began to weep.
A number of others nearby fell silent, listening in to her morbid assessment. Many were feeling the same, but nobody wanted to say it publicly. They could see she hadn’t wanted the attention, but now she had it, she had to say something.
“Samuel Weathers was the best of us. He was the beginning, and the reason we have this movement today. He gave us the chance to fight back!”
They seemed to be in agreement, but there was no celebration, just a melancholic silence.
“Weathers was a brave man and a brave leader, but this cause doesn’t die with him. It isn’t over. It has barely started!” Ray joined in.
“You saw what happened out there. We got our butts kicked!” Zoey cried.
“You think a war has ever been won without losses? You forget that I have been here before, and I’ve seen what can happen.”
He leapt up onto a table in the middle of the grandiose and lavish old hall of Grand Central Station that they had made their home. American flags hung between the archways, and over a hundred Maquis rebels lay scattered about the room. He had gotten their attention.
“I was there in London all those years ago! The first rebellion against the Reich! I saw brave men and women fight and die for what they believed in, just as you do. But there was never much hope back then, not like I have seen here today, and all the days that led us to this point! Weathers will be remembered as a hero, and so he should be. But if you want to honour him, you won’t weep and run and hide. You will do what he set out to do. You will fight! And you will keep fighting until the job is done!”
In that moment he spotted Mickey looking up at him, the young son of Weathers who had never shown him much respect.
“What do you say, Mickey?”
“I say we fight, and we kill every last one of those bastards!”
“How? How can we fight against these numbers? What we saw today was just a small amount of what the Reich can throw at us. How can we fight against that?” Zoey protested.
“I think you’ll want to hear this!” Isaac growled.
He had been listening in on a radio as a medic patched up his neck. His gruff voice carried well across the room, and Ray was glad the attention had fallen on someone else. He was all out of ideas.
“What is it?” Woody asked.
Isaac coughed to clear his throat and pushed the medic away. He stood up to address them all. It was hard to tell whether the news was good or bad. He showed no emotion at all. He was calm and collected, and it was killing them.
“Spit it out,” said Ray.
Isaac gave him a daggered look, finally addressing Woody and the others.
“I have just received confirmed reports that an uprising has begun in the state capital, Albany,” he said in a monotone manner.
“What? Really?” Woody asked.
“Yes, and we are also receiving confirmed reports, together with several other unconfirmed, that other towns and cities in the area are overthrowing the ORPOs. They want to sign up to the cause.”
They couldn’t believe it.
“What does that mean?”
“It means, Mickey, that a whole lot of people just stood up and declared for us,” said Woody.
“There is an uprising in Albany!” Zoey yelled for all to hear. Her words were repeated around the vast room. Many leapt to their feet with excitement. Others clapped and whistled.
“What now?”
Ray offered his hand out and hauled Woody up onto the table they were using as a podium.
“That’s up to you, Woody.”
Ray leapt off before Woody could say a word, leaving him to address the crowd. They were still busy yelling and clapping.
“What? What am I supposed to say?”
“You were Weathers’ number two around here. You’re in charge now.”
“What? I didn’t want this.”
“No, but you got it, and I’m pretty sure that’s what he would have wanted.”
“What about you?”
Ray held up his hands and shrugged.
“Hey, I ain’t no leader, I am just here to fight.”
They both looked to Mickey for endorsement. They had never talked about who would take over in the event of Weathers’ death. It never seemed like something they would have to worry about. The young man had been listening to what they’d said. Ray prayed he wasn’t going to make a run at taking his father’s place. He was emotional right now, and also an inexperienced hothead. But he was relieved when he nodded his approval at Woody for the decision they had made.
“Hey, listen up!” Mickey shouted.
He leapt onto the table beside Woody.
“Listen up!”
They soon fell silent.
“I know my father and I didn’t always get on. But I loved him, and I respected him, even though I didn’t always show it. I know he would want us to go on, and we need a man that can lead us the same way he did. There is only one who has been here from the start, and that is Bradley Hughes-Haywood.” He pointed to Woody.
“Damn, that is a mouthful,” Ray joked.
That at least got a few laughs.
“Woody is the man to lead us forth, and that’s all I have to say,” he said, as he leapt back off the table and into the crowd. Everyone waited for Woody to say something.
“I…I will do this if you want it, if you want to put that trust in me. We don’t exactly have a system for choosing who leads us. It always fell to Weathers…any objections?”
Nobody said a word.
“You are the commander of the New York Maquis, what are your orders?” Ray asked.
Woody was nodding along, as he rubbed his head, trying to decide. He coughed to clear his throat.
“Operation Hammer is over, but it wasn’t a complete failure. We can’t take the Bronx back, not yet, but we can hold on to what we have. The Reich is gonna come out swinging, that much is clear now. We fortify Manhattan, and make this place a fortress. I want all bridges and tunnels shut. When they come for us, I want everyone ready, and groups sent out to make contact with these other factions that are fighting the Reich. Let’s find out what friends we have out there!”
“You heard the man. Get to it!” Ray yelled. The captains leapt into action and began barking their orders.
“Ray Barnes!” a voice called out in a taut English accent.
Ray recognised it, but he couldn’t remember why. He turned to see a man he hadn’t seen in twenty years, but could never forget.
“Gerry? Gerry Baker?”
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The Brit approached under armed guard and shook his hand firmly. Ray hauled him in, wrapping his arms around the former British officer. He looked most uncomfortable as he hugged him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Ray stepped back to get a good look at him. He was wearing a long, brown trench coat that seemed as old as he was. His face was weathered and worn from what looked like many hard years, and a scar ran from his forehead up under his hairline. He still wore the perfectly shaped pencil moustache. Four others were with him, but the rebels held their seized weapons and kept their guns trained on them.
“We heard about what was going on here. It was pretty hard to establish if it were true or not, but when I got word that you were at the centre of it, I knew it had to be the case.”
“Not really at the centre, I barely just got here.”
“That’s bullshit,” Zoey said in support of him.
“So what are you doing here?”
“We came to join up, old boy. The war never ended in my eyes, and if this is where it’s going to continue, then this is where we will fight.”
“You’ve come to join us?”
“That’s what I just said.”
“Well, damn, give them back their weapons. These are friends.”
The rebels around them didn’t seem keen to oblige.
“What are you waiting for? Give them up!” Ray insisted.
“The Limey’s have been under Reich rule for decades,” said one of the rebels.
“And so have we,” replied Lisa.
“How do we know we can trust them?” asked another.
Ray looked at the man scornfully.
“This man, Lieutenant Gerry Baker, he was fighting the Reich before you could even read or write, if you even can!”
But the young man ignored Ray and looked to their new leader.
“What’s it gonna be, we don’t know these guys?”
“You trust them?” Woody asked Ray.
“I would trust Gerry with my life, and if he is vouching for the men with him, then that extends to them, too.”
“Give them back their weapons,” ordered Woody.
The rebels begrudgingly handed over the weapons. An old Enfield sniper rifle, two German Steyr submachine guns, and a farmer’s double barrel scatter gun. Gerry himself just had a Browning automatic pistol.
“Woody, I mean…uh,” Isaac stuttered, not sure what to call him.
“What is it?”
“It’s Baltimore, Sir.”
“What about it?”
“The people there have risen up. They say they have overthrown the ORPOs and freed the city.”
“Great.”
But it was clear that was not all.
“They say they have reports that regular SS units are en route to the city. They can’t hold what is coming their way.”
“What do they want us to do about it?”
“They are asking for help. They won’t hold by themselves and fear for the lives of everyone in the city.”
Woody shook his head. It was the first tough decision he was having to make, and Ray didn’t envy his position.
“We can’t afford to send anyone south. We have enough on our plate, as you well know.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Woody looked to Ray with questioning eyes. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. He wanted someone to play devil’s advocate.
“People need our help, isn’t that what we are here for?”
“Sure, Ray, but we can’t afford to take resources away from Manhattan. There is a battle coming, and we need everything we’ve got.”
“A small party, just to help, to give them hope, and maybe rally more to our cause?”
Woody could see Ray wasn’t going to let up.
“You volunteering?”
Ray smiled and nodded in agreement.
“Guess I just walked into that one.”
“We can’t spare much. Take two others with you, and take them a message of hope. Do what you can. I am sorry we can’t send more.”
“We’ll go,” Gerry said eagerly.
Ray was clearly in agreement.
“Your call,” said Woody.
“You know my answer, nobody I would rather have to watch my back.”
“Then I wish you every luck. Do what you can in Baltimore, but remember, you are a recon unit, nothing more.”
“Yes, Sir.” Ray saluted and grabbed his rifle.
“I always knew we’d be rolling out together once again,” said Baker.
“Let’s hope it’s not for the last time. Lisa, Zoey, on me.”
Lisa still looked mortified from what they had been through, and he wanted to keep her close. She was a good fighter, but he didn’t want her doing something stupid while he was away.
“I see you are still a hit with the ladies.”
“Trust me, Gerry, you get in a jam, you want these two by your side.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Kriegsmarine Kampfläuferdepot, Roosevelt Island, New York
8th February 2018, 8.50am
Marcus looked up at Eiserner Gott and soaked in the details. Sometimes he forgot quite how massive she really was. At sixteen metres, she towered above most buildings, and dwarfed the tanks and armoured vehicles used in the Reich military. Her paintwork was a mess, and the combat damage still visible. The machine waited in silence in the open ground of the Roosevelt Island. Nearby were three of the five recently restored and built Maquis landships known as Militants. They were big war machines, though not quite as massive as the monstrous Kriegsmarine landship. Two were little over half the height of Eiserner Gott, although the biggest was almost as big when fully upright and extended.
“Good morning, old friend. You’re a tough lady, aren’t you?”
Karl Lothar and Hans Hendrik were already there and checking the legs before moving inside. Torsten Urs waited patiently as Marcus examined the machine from top to bottom.
“She’s intact and fully operational,” he said proudly, “Though a few more days to tidy her up would be helpful.”
Marcus spotted the marks on the hull, as well as three parts where new armour had been welded on to cover damage. The closer he looked, the more damage he found. Luckily, the bulk of this was relegated to dents and gouges from bullets and shells.
“Good work. Eiserner Gott is an old machine, and she deserves rest.”
His eyes drifted across to his executive officer.
“But I fear that is never to be her fate. She was built during the War, and I suspect she will end her days in another one.”
Torsten Urs placed a leather-gloved hand on the metal plates of the machine’s legs.
“If that is her fate, so be it. Eiserner Gott is a proud machine, and there’s no better fate for a war machine than to burn in the fire of combat.”
Marcus lifted an eyebrow as he listened.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m quite looking forward to a long life. If Eiserner Gott could speak, I’m sure she’d say the same.”
Torsten Urs chuckled.
“What about the Militants? Are they up to snuff?”
Marcus stepped away from his personal machine and turned his attention to the repaired and heavily modified landships. They were brand new, yet in their own way looked older and more basic than Eiserner Gott. They were around two-thirds the size, bipedal, and equipped with a simple, yet sturdy looking chassis. At first glance they looked the same, but Marcus’ expert eye soon picked out the subtle differences between each of them. He could also see the covered up fire damage, an important reminder of the dangers they were all still in.
“They’re interesting. The designs were brought to me by the SS before all this started. Our New York friends have been very busy.”
“The SS?”
Marcus closed his eyes for a moment. Just months earlier he’d been a loyal member of the Kriegsmarine. In fact, as far as he was concerned, he still was. Now he was par
t of the revolutionary movement and deemed a traitor by his own people.
“Yes. They’d uncovered several designs, in addition to some partially built prototypes. They remind me very much of the 40s tank designs of the Americans.”
Both gazed at the machines, as though in a tank museum and soaking in the details of some old, famous machines. Torsten Urs pointed at the nearest of the group, one of two smaller machines.
“I see what you mean. The chassis has much in common with the old American medium tank design, does it not? The M2, if I’m not mistaken.”
Marcus moved closer to the machine and pointed to the armour. It was an oddly shape, with lots of sloped surfaces and deflector plates that would have been more at home on an early tank design.
“None of this is going to make much of a difference against anti-tank weaponry. The sloped armour will help against light weaponry, and these…”
Marcus couldn’t reach the plates, but he could stretch far enough to point them out.
“The deflector plates are a very strange idea, but that’s about it.”
“True,” said Torsten Urs, “And what’s with the weaponry? Lots and lots of machine guns, and that thing.”
His lifted his arm up and pointed to the barrel pushing out from the front.
“Panzerschreck rocket system. I’d like to know where they found that.”
Torsten Urs still looked unimpressed.
“If I had to guess, I’d say these machines were designed by engineers with little or no combat experience.”
Marcus seemed to be in agreement as he ran his eyes along the weapon mounts.
“Perhaps. This machine has the hallmarks of an improvised design, built upon a civilian loader chassis, and equipped with commonly available weaponry.”
“It’s not designed to fight landships,” said a dark-skinned man, wearing fatigues, and carrying a revolver in a low-slung leather holster. His tan shirt lay half open, in stark contrast to the smart uniforms of the Kriegsmarine crew. He was older than many of the rebels, and a thin scar ran from his left ear down to his neck. The two Kriegsmarine men looked to him with interest.
“And you are?”
“Kibwe Tafari. Captain of Panther.”
He turned and pointed to the machine.
Soldiers of Tomorrow: The Winter War Page 5