Soldiers of Tomorrow: The Winter War

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Black Panther. All of our light Militants are big cats.”

  When he looked back there was a deep grin on his face. Marcus almost burst out laughing, but Torsten Urs missed the humour of the situation.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Deadly.”

  The man walked around the machine and stopped beside them.

  “We’ve been working on them for years now. The designs are simple and easy to reproduce.”

  “Yes,” said Marcus, “I’ve seen them before. The basic structure is an industrial loading machine.”

  “Exactly. And the weaponry is based on whatever we can get our hands on.”

  He then leant against the left leg of Black Panther.

  “We built these to tackle ORPO units, and to fight off regulars in the streets. Taking on tanks and other landships is not the plan. Not with the little guys.”

  His eyes moved to the strange curved bullet deflector plates installed over the rear fenders along the haunches of the machine.

  “The designers came across these in plans from the 1920s. You see, the idea behind these plates is that the machine can move over trenches or rubble, and the rear machine guns could then fire directly onto plates; the bullets would deflect off them and into the trench or the area behind the tank.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen them before. It’s an interesting idea, but it won’t keep you alive against heavier weapons.”

  “True. That’s why we’ve been working with some of your own people on the bigger ones. Like Bertha, here.”

  All three turned their attention to the biggest of the three. It towered over the light landships like a wolf among its cubs. The legs were similar, though fitted with much thicker pistons and plates. The chassis was almost fifty percent bigger. Something else marked the machine out as very different.

  “Field guns,” said Marcus, “Where on Earth did you find those?”

  Kibwe Tafari laughed.

  “I didn’t design her. But from what the engineers have told me, the guns were stolen more than ten years ago. And they are pretty powerful.”

  “Interesting, very interesting. They’re not of our calibre, but they will cause some discomfort. I’ll be intrigued to see how they perform.”

  With that, he nodded to the line of landships.

  “It is time. Don’t forget, blanks only for this exercise.”

  “Of course.”

  Kibwe Tafari walked away to his own machine, and Marcus waited for a second as he made his way up the steps to reach the crew area. The image of the large black cat stood out against the plain paint of the hull.

  “Black Panther, indeed.”

  He then moved his attention to his executive officer.

  “Shall we?”

  The two clambered up the ladder and into the aged and battered interior of Eiserner Gott. He slipped into his seat and pulled on his harness. The other crew were already inside, checking their systems.

  “You all ready for this?”

  “Yes, Sir!” they replied in unison.

  “Good. Very good.”

  Torsten Urs started up the main systems, while Dougal powered up the engines.

  “What about Thaddeus and Mose? Should they be working on this?”

  Marcus checked the control screen and watched as the status indicators popped up. There were a number of warnings, but nothing that warranted much more than a cursory note.

  “No. They’ve got their own work to do. Right now, they’ve got no landships to command, and that’s no good to us.”

  He returned his gaze to the militants waiting patiently alongside the old machine.

  “If what they say is true, we could have quite a few more of these machines joining us over the next few weeks. And experienced commanders are few and far between. So for now they will continue training the new crewmembers.”

  It took another few seconds before the engines fired up. Thick black smoke belched from the exhausts, and Marcus winced when the engines skipped a beat. In the cold air it took some time for them to warm up and settle down.

  “Okay.” His voice was more relaxed now that Eiserner Gott had settled into her old routine. The onboard batteries were already at five percent and rapidly climbing.

  “This is Kapitän Marcus Klenner of Eiserner Gott. All captains report in.”

  Each of them sat in silence as the other three captains replied. First to answer the call was Kibwe Tafari’s Black Panther.

  “Good. Now, it will remain standard practise to carry live ammunition, even when training. The worst scenario would be to find us exposed and vulnerable, and armed with nothing but harsh language. Today we use blanks. We cannot afford mistakes in training. So double check your loads and keep the live ammo on lockdown. Any man that uses an incorrect charge will forfeit his place in the landships.”

  He twisted back to look at his own crew, in particular to his gunners Hans Hendrik, Raffael Siegmund, as well as Heribert Linus, operator of the two banks of onboard machine guns.

  “That goes for you three as well. Let’s lead by example. We’re the experienced men here. We can’t expect them to follow our example if even we can’t get it right.”

  By the time they were ready, all four machine were busy thundering away. Each sent smoke up into the cold air and filled the island with the roar of engines. Marcus checked each visually for signs of trouble, and did not speak until he was satisfied.

  “This is a simple training exercise. You have fifteen minutes to position yourselves in and around the Tramway. Watch the headroom out there, and don’t destroy the place. I’ll send up a flare to mark the start of the action.”

  “All of us?” Kibwe Tafari asked.

  Heribert Linus burst out laughing at the man’s surprise.

  “Yes, and even then I feel this will be an unfair fight.”

  He looked to his own men and winked at them.

  “They’ll have to learn…the hard way. It’s one thing building a machine of war, but quite another to handle it in combat.”

  “Is there any other?” Torsten Urs agreed.

  Marcus stared at the screen, watching the direct feed from the multiple periscopes fitted around the command area of his walking landship. Three machines were walking away. The larger vehicle moved quicker than expected, but there was no doubt the driver was unfamiliar with the gearing and mechanics of the machine. The limb placement was slow and inefficient. Then came the smaller, more nimble machines, and they darted ahead like a pack of dogs. Marcus rubbed his hands together and then checked the clock.

  This is going to be interesting.

  * * *

  Chambers Field Landing Ground, Norfolk, Virginia

  8th February 2018, 9.00am

  The ground shook beneath the weight of armoured trucks. These were not the heavily armoured Grizzlies used by the SS and elite police units in New York, but modified civilian vehicles of the local conscripts. At first glance they looked impressive, but a cursory look would reveal the unprotected crew area, and light armour on the doors. The grey military paint scheme was perhaps the most military thing about them. Behind them came a trio of armoured cars, each actually a heavily remodelled pickup truck chassis. These at least had slats over the windows and thin steel cupolas on the bed. Some carried machine guns, and others primitive anti-aircraft guns of unknown vintage.

  Hauptsturmführer Jack Krosigk rubbed his hands together, waiting patiently for the rest of the soldiers to march past. SS-Oberführer Sigismund Erwin was there, along with the company commanders for the entire division. The parade ground was the taxiing area for the landing ground, but set aside for the airborne units assembling in the area. He’d been there for almost fifteen minutes and was becoming quite irritable as the regular soldiers passed by. He watched the men of the newly raised loyalist regiment being paraded, and the more he saw of them, the less impressed he became. They were similarly equipped to the SS, though their uniforms looked much cleaner and smarter. The majority carried standard issue
rifles at their shoulders, with their heads protected by the same helmets as his men.

  Ah, here they are.

  The waiting had seemed like an age, but seeing the first men of the 80th approaching filled him with pride. Due to their recent success, the SS Stoßtruppen Kompanie 66 was at the front, moving with precision that looked utterly out of place with the regulars. Their boots stomped smartly on the ground, each stepping in perfect unison. Their battered but well maintained body armour and long coats marked them out as something different, almost sinister compared to the others.

  “Excellent, Hauptsturmführer Krosigk. Excellent. Your men are to be commended,” said the SS-Oberführer.

  “Thank you, Oberführer.”

  The man nodded smartly.

  “Are you and your men ready for this operation?”

  Jack Krosigk answered without hesitation.

  “Yes, we’re ready.”

  “Good. It will be weeks before the main body of Wehrmacht units arrive. And even then, they will spend weeks preparing for operations. By the time they are ready, the enemy could have taken control of half of the coast.”

  Hauptsturmführer Krosigk waited and listened. They’d already gone over the plan, but he was still surprised to have received the honour of playing such an important part. He’d have liked a few days down time, but not a single man there would consider asking for such a delay. If the SS Stoßtruppen Kompanie 66 were needed, then they would answer the call.

  “We will ensure this does not happen. Regular soldiers do not know how to fight an enemy such as this. Not like we do.”

  Jack wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he remained silent. The man stepped closer and lowered the volume of his voice.

  “The Generalleutnant wants me to use my division to support his forces when they arrive. When he’s fully mobilised, he will strike New York, with my division to assist in the attack.”

  His mouth changed into a hard, cruel smile and Jack knew this was not what he intended on doing.

  “But I have our own orders from the highest office, and they are…well…not quite compatible. And you, you understand yours?”

  Jack nodded in a single, quick gesture.

  “Yes, Oberführer, a terror campaign against their strongholds. I will hit the enemy wherever they offer resistance. I will turn them against their own terrorists and weaken their will to fight.”

  “Good, very good. We will fight terror with terror. And the first targets will be those traitors that fired upon you. We cannot have civilians firing upon Reich aircraft.”

  “Baltimore,” Jack said under his breath.

  “Exactly,” replied the SS man, “Aerial reconnaissance shows they’ve obtained several surface-to-air weapon platforms. I suspect our C.R.U. friends might have something to do with that. And the city is a large obstacle in our way to their stronghold of New York.”

  The man’s lips quivered as he spoke.

  “That makes it risky for aircraft. But still, the citizens of that city need to learn that colluding with the enemy comes with a price tag. If the regulars are to advance on Manhattan, it is critical we secure the access roads to New York.”

  He pointed at Jack’s chest.

  “Remember my basic rule, Hauptsturmführer. The one way to maintain real order in a region such as this.”

  He waited, but Jack looked confused.

  “For every life they take of yours…”

  The Oberführer circled his hand, encouraging Jack to explain.

  “We take one hundred of theirs.”

  “Perfect. I expect your report in seventy-two hours. March into the city at daybreak, and if they offer any resistance, you will punish them. Am I understood?”

  Jack swallowed uncomfortably. He had no issue with fighting the terrorists, but executing random civilians left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew they were the ones responsible, but he’d still rather fight those that chose to fight.

  “Yes, Oberführer. I will return with good news.”

  “Excellent. Both men turned and looked to the marching soldiers. The SS were gone, and each company now waited for inspection. The Oberführer moved first, and Jack stepped just alongside him.

  “I am giving you a company of the loyalist conscripts to assist you. Use them as you wish, but be in no doubt, Hauptsturmführer, I expect results. I believe we can stop this little insurrection before the regulars even step foot on the mainland.”

  He pointed directly at Jack.

  “I’ve heard many good things about you and your men. So clear me a path from here to Baltimore. In three days I will join you, and together we will pacify everywhere from here to New York.”

  The Oberführer moved away at a brisk pace, leaving Jack looking out at the assembled soldiers. After a few barked orders, they began to leave until just two large groups remained. He looked at them, examining their uniforms, weapons, and stature. Over two hundred men, all of whom had sworn loyalty to the Führer, the Reich, and the SS. He had no idea of the strength or location of his enemy, or even who his enemy was. But deep down his faith in the Reich had never been stronger. He took in a long breath of cool air and smiled.

  We can do this. We will do this. And the Reich will be better for it.

  * * *

  Kriegsmarine Kampfläuferdepot, Roosevelt Island, New York,

  8th February 2018, 9.05am

  Eiserner Gott moved slowly along the eastern side of the island; the large expanse of the famous Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge directly ahead. Beneath it, and on the other side was the odd shaped building housing the Roosevelt Island Tramway, along with its cable cars that crossed the East River.

  “Reduce forward speed. Watch for targets.”

  “Yes, Kapitän,” replied the driver.

  The monstrous machine stomped ahead, though the strides reduced in length to match the drop in speed. The area was strewn with buildings, most of which now empty or partially demolished since the island’s occupation by the Kriegsmarine. Roosevelt Island was a strange section of land that ran alongside the island of Manhattan. There were two bridges connected to the landmass, though just one was a road bridge that crossed directly to Brooklyn. The other carried rail traffic, and ran between Brooklyn and Manhattan, and over the island. The cable cars were the sole route for pedestrians, each trip checked at both sides by ORPOs and Kriegsmarine. Today they were all gone, replaced by Maquis volunteers.

  “Anything yet?”

  Torsten Urs double-checked the periscopes before answering.

  “Nothing yet. They’re too big to be using the tramway station for cover.”

  Marcus gave him a curt nod.

  “Very well, keep moving forward.”

  Torsten relayed the orders to the driver, freeing up Marcus to watch the island for signs of trouble.

  “Look for engine smoke in the air and tracks on the ground.”

  Almost immediately Torsten Urs spotted something.

  “There, on the opposite side of Firefighters Field.”

  “I see it, a single smoke trail. It could be them…”

  “It has to be.”

  Marcus looked dubious.

  “Or it could be a ruse to bring us in closer. Look at the field. If we advance in the open, we’ll be exposed to attacks from all directions.”

  “It’s not like we can hide on this island, is it?”

  Marcus did not seem very impressed.

  “With compressed limbs and reduced speed, we can drop our height down to little more than twelve metres. That’s more than enough to get below the height of the ruined apartment complexes. Take us back towards to the cable car station.”

  “Jawohl, Kapitän.”

  The heavy landship sidestepped and then moved away from the open ground, and towards the vast bridge. Before it, and substantially smaller, was the cable car station and the tall pylons fitted with cables.

  “Contact!” Torsten Urs yelled.

  “Good eyes,” Marcus acknowledged.

  A s
hape emerged from the shadows and moved higher to take a shot. Marcus knew right away that the landship was not Black Panther, but a smaller machine.

  “Fire!”

  Both powerful arm-mounted cannons unleashed great gouts of flame, followed by streams of smoke. A second later the top-mounted howitzers joined in, unleashing even more firepower against the target. Had they been using iron shot, the walker would have been torn apart. Instead, it was splattered with dust and powdery paint.

  “Perfect. Move us back to the open ground.”

  Eiserner Gott lifted a heavy leg to move away, just as the return fire from the much smaller Militant swept past them. With its low-velocity anti-tank launcher, it had just the one shot, and narrowly missed before splattering the ruined apartment buildings with paint.

  “Give them another shot for good measure.”

  Hans Hendrik had already loaded the main guns with blank charges, yet even Marcus was impressed with his targeting and firing time. Another shot blasted out and struck the small walker in the centre mass. The paint shell exploded and showered the machine with paint.

  “Perfect. Now, let’s find the others.”

  The gigantic machine moved away, its engines roaring with pride. Marcus twisted in his seat to adjust his position for maximum comfort. Ahead was a road known unsurprisingly as Main Street, with a second lesser western road running down the one side, near the water. They advanced forwards and passed Firefighters Field on their right, and through the next set of tall ruins.

  “Boost the engines. I want the batteries at maximum capacity.”

  Torsten Urs pointed to the armour and plating controls.

  “Armour?”

  Marcus shook his head.

  “Not yet.”

  The buildings ahead were three quarters built and now abandoned. They had been part of the many complexes under construction before the Kriegsmarine moved in. With the landship hangars, crew areas, and training grounds, there was no place for civilians anymore.

  “There, that is where they will be.”

  Marcus pointed towards where Main Street passed through three large eighteen-storey apartment blocks. They were complete in structure, just missing glass and other such niceties. The gap between the buildings was the smallest part of the island at this particular point, and also blocked off visibility both to the left and right.