Soldiers of Tomorrow: The Winter War

by Michael G. Thomas

  “What the hell can we do against that?” Mickey asked.

  Hundreds of people were in the park. Many were Maquis fighters, and they all looked to Woody, when they noticed him at the riverside.

  “We can’t fight this.”

  “What? We have to do something!” Mickey screamed.

  “We must make them think they have allies here.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just spread the word, I want a riot. Get some Reich flags out. I want them to see people opposing us in the streets.”

  “Why, I don’t understand?”

  “I already told you. They must think they have allies here. Now do it!”

  Mickey and the woman with them rushed to the spread the word. Woody started to run amongst them.

  “Start fighting. They won’t shell their own supporters! Start a riot!”

  He was beginning to get through to them, and several began fighting one another. One drew out a Molotov cocktail and threw it at a parked car. The idea soon spread as others began passing the word, and the crowd broke out into chaos. Woody kept running. He rushed into the foyer of a building. Isaac was waiting for him beside a radio set and phone.

  “What on Earth is going on out there?”

  He had stayed at his post as ordered.

  “A Reich fleet is entering the bay and has started shelling the city.”

  “What?”

  “We’re gonna need help, big help. Get me Marcus.”

  Isaac nodded in agreement and punched in the numbers. He passed the handset to Woody. The phone was ringing and ringing.

  “Come on, come on!”

  * * *

  Kriegsmarine Kampfläuferdepot, Roosevelt Island, New York

  The alarms sounded from deep inside the vehicle hangar. They were much further underground than normal, a precaution Marcus himself had chosen due to the vulnerability of the landships. They were big, and not particularly easy to hide in the tight confines of the city. Luckily, the Kampfläuferdepot had been specially constructed to withstand incredible punishment from both the air and the ground. In addition to the surface structure, thick concrete and steel barriers protected the underground pens. Only tailor-made bunker busters would have any chance of damaging the place, assuming that a missile or bomb could even breach the air-defence systems.

  Marcus opened his eyes and rubbed them as he came awake. He’d assumed he was in bed, but as his vision cleared, realized he was still sitting in the wooden chair a few metres from Eiserner Gott’s legs. Red lights flashed on and off, and dozens of crew and technicians were rushing to their places.

  “Report!”

  Korvettenkapitän Mose König appeared as if from nowhere. His beard looked even bushier than usual, and Marcus might have laughed at him had he not understood the urgency of their situation.

  “The waterfront perimeter warnings have activated. There’s trouble.”

  “What?”

  Mose König nodded quickly as Torsten Urs approached.

  “The Reich Naval blockade has changed.”

  Marcus swallowed uncomfortably as he listened. Most rebels seemed to think they’d already won this fight, but he knew better. The Reich was a massive, inter-continental entity, and almost ninety percent of its forces were tied up in Eastern Europe and the Pacific.

  They saw events merely in North America, but the world was much bigger, and even the Reich had dangerous enemies. A small-scale rebellion was a minor irritation to the planet’s most advanced super-power. But at some point they would be dealt with, and that was what kept him up late at night.

  “Go on.”

  “Scouts confirm several units have moved from the blockade and entered the bay, multiple warships with air cover. Woody has mobilised the militias. He says it could be a Naval assault to retake the city.”

  “Which militias?”

  Torsten lifted a single eyebrow before replying.

  “All of them. It looks like they made contact with the other groups, even with the communications blackout. The Long Island, Albany, and Newark militias have answered the call. It’s finally happened. We’ve got support well outside the city now.”

  “We’re going to need them. If this is the attack we’ve been expecting.”

  Mose König shook his head.

  “Who knows? It could be a diversion to pull our fighters from the south. Last I heard Ray was giving the SS a good run for their money. Attacking here could encourage him to fall back to help us. They want us bottled up here instead of spreading out and looking for new allies.”

  Marcus frowned.

  “I doubt that. Ray’s mission is an important one. He’s collecting intelligence on the area, and mobilising fighters throughout Delaware and Maryland. Coming back here would compromise that mission. We can’t win this coming war in New York alone.”

  He then raised his eyebrows.

  “Don’t forget. Ray is our first line of defence if the attack from Norfolk ever comes. He can buy us the time we need to prepare.”

  “If?” Mose König said sarcastically, “Don’t you mean when?”

  “True. Still, we’re pretty secure here right now. The militias in the suburbs have done well against the ORPOs. You saw the reports from yesterday’s action. Backed by our Militants they drove them out pretty easily.”

  “ORPOs are not the SS. You know what happened when we saw them last. They hit us hard, and killed the leaders of this entire operation. The next hit will be bigger and harder.”

  Marcus should have been reasonably happy, but unlike the others, he knew that so far they’d managed to evict a few police units, and little else. The Reich had relatively few military units on the East Coast, after all, why would they? ORPO units should have been more than enough to maintain order, and now the local citizens were evicting them at every opportunity.

  “This is the beginning,” he said grimly, while pulling on his belt and holster, “It’s just the crisis to the west that stops them sending multiple divisions from California to end this. And trust me…they could do that in a matter of hours. If they did, this would turn into a bloodbath, and fast.”

  Torsten turned away as a junior officer ran towards them. For a second Marcus sensed betrayal. Not all the rebels welcomed the Kriegsmarine, and many of them had been fighting the same people just months earlier. The two chatted for a few seconds, and then Torsten shook his head with surprise.

  “Woody is up to something Downtown. He wants you to get the squadron ready but out of sight. Every Militant that is operational, and of course, he wants the beast.”

  “For what? Tell me he’s not sending everybody to the shoreline? A perimeter defence in conventional battle will get every one of them killed.”

  Torsten’s smile widened.

  “Looks like he’s going for the asymmetric plan you proposed.”

  Marcus looked equally surprised and relieved.

  “Finally, a man that will listen to common sense. How many times have we explained that our strength is in avoiding the conventional battle? At least for now. Let him know we’re on the way.”

  Marcus moved to the ladder waiting below the great iron machine, and then looked up. The fresh Allied stars on her hull looked strange, especially as the central Imperial German Cross remained on the thick armour plating. It was all very odd, but he had a greater attachment to the walking weapon of war than towards any individual. As he considered that, he began to laugh.

  * * *

  Panzerschiffe Admiral Borckenhagen, Upper New York Bay

  The flotilla of six ships moved into the bay, a single helicopter hovering overhead to provide low-level reconnaissance of the area. The warships sported the same dull grey paint scheme used by the Kriegsmarine for generations. Behind each of them fluttered the proud black, red, and white ensign of the Reich Navy. Five of the vessels were relatively modern by current standards. Although none matched the size and technical advances of the ships held back around Europa.

  Three were actuall
y little more than corvettes; small warships suited for counter-piracy and coastal protection, but ill-equipped to deal with true warships. Then came the single front-line vessel, a 1980s era destroyer, with a raking hull and smooth lines. At the rear of the flotilla came an old 1951 era cruiser, together with a modern assault ship. They looked impressive as they steamed into the bay, but their commander, Kommodore Gervas Ulli knew different. This was a show of force and nothing more. The main ships of the East Coast Fleet were either at the main port in Virginia, or still out in the Atlantic to escort the transports.

  Kommodore Ulli pulled his heavy coat tightly around his body as he looked out to the island of Manhattan. He should have been inside, but there was something about this view he needed to see without interruption. He took in a deep breath of the cool air and thumped his hands together. To the left was the infamous Statue of Liberty; a monument that remained untouched since the occupation, and to his right the large space known as Governor’s Island. But all of this paled to insignificance next to the gloomy looking tall buildings of Downtown Manhattan. Boats and ships would normally have occupied the place, but not today. Now the entire place was on lockdown and protected by his command.

  It is an impressive city, even if it is among the most backward and corrupt.

  Kommodore Ulli spotted movement and moved his head slightly to watch a modern frigate enter the waters. The ship was smaller than his own, and though it lacked both the armour and guns of the older ships, it was still an impressive vessel. Gone with the heavy turrets, and in their place a number of smaller automatic cannons, and the deadly supersonic missile batteries. The helicopter clattered overhead, and he raised his gaze to watch is pass. The aircraft moved slowly, and he was sure the crew would be keeping a careful eye on the surrounding area.

  A great roar from the cruiser Admiral Borckenhagen accompanied the vibration as her powerful engines helped slow the ship. He dared not travel too much further into the bay, for fear of leaving himself vulnerable and unable to manoeuvre. Admiral Borckenhagen might look impressive, but she was hopelessly oversized for this operation. His antiquated vessel was built in the early years of the War, back then the threat to the smaller Reich fleet the numerous British and American enemy cruisers. That was why the P class cruiser was designed. Twelve were built for the War, and each tailor-made to be a cruiser killer. With high speed, heavy armour, and guns more befitting a battlecruiser, they were known as the lions of the Atlantic. Now the ship was old, a relic from a time when guns were more important than technology.

  A young officer in his early twenties approached and saluted.

  “Herr Kommodore, the blockade is complete.”

  “Good, very good. At least we can control the southern sector. This is all getting out of control.”

  He regarded the island of Manhattan as the man continued to speak.

  “The forward spotters say they can see rioting in the lower streets.”

  “Rioting?”

  “Yes, Kommodore.”

  As usual, any pretence at speaking German soon faded. Neither he, nor his junior officer was actually from Europe. He was a Virginian, born and raised. The name came from his family who emigrated shortly after the War, to take advantage of the new opportunities in the great colonies of the West.

  “I see them, in the lower streets.”

  He lowered the field glasses and rubbed at his forehead.

  “The official story is that this uprising is limited to Manhattan. The reality is much more worrying. The actions of this one city have started similar actions across the coast.”

  The tall buildings were an unending fascination to him. Like every other man of his generation, he knew the city well, a thriving, yet decadent metropolis where crime and poverty ran rampant. The Reich police units did their best, but it would need a concerted effort if anything were to change.

  “If they had access to the information we did, they would be stunned. Soon the entire East Coast could be encouraged to resist, and we are ill prepared to deal with this.”

  Once more he lifted the binoculars and scanned the water line. The old fort appeared abandoned, as it had been for decades. Behind it was one of the few flat, open areas on the island.

  “That is why we show them how strong we are…even when we are not. Tell me, Oberleutnant. If you were in their position, and knew we had ten divisions of ground forces and unlimited Naval and air assets, what would you be expecting?”

  The Oberleutnant gulped nervously before answering.

  “I…uh.”

  “Go on. You’re a civilian, maybe being an insurgent appeals to your young, adventurous soul. But the Reich military is massive, advanced, and everywhere. What would you expect to happen?”

  “Well, Sir, a counterattack immediately.”

  “Yes?”

  “Troops on every corner, and police and Gestapo units trawling homes and ships for traitors. I’d expect there to be no safe places, and to be living in fear.”

  The Kommodore seemed to like that answer. He then pointed off into the distance.

  “Look at them. One sight of our ships and they are already panicking. Why is that?”

  This time the Oberleutnant answered more confidently.

  “They know we have come, the Kriegsmarine are in control, and that their revolt is going to cost them their lives.” Then he looked confused, “But, Sir, I have a question.”

  Kommodore Ulli gave him a nod to keep speaking.

  “Yes?”

  “What happens when they realise it’s just us, and that we have a handful of ships? Our ground forces are not ready in Virginia, and the rest are in their positions on the West Coast.”

  Kommodore Ulli examined the shoreline one last time and then turned completely around to face the young officer.

  “You are correct. Every hour we let them think they are in charge, the closer to the reality it will become. I see an opportunity here. Return to your post.”

  The man saluted and then marched off, leaving Kommodore Ulli alone on the deck. The cold wind lashed across the deck, and he soon withdrew back to the bridge of the old warship.

  “Kommodore. The task force is in position, as you requested,” said his second-in-command, Korvettenkapitän Hoth.

  The man looked older than the Kommodore, with an almost bald hair covered by his cap. Faint wisps of white ran along the cheeks, a reminder of his age and also his experience. Hoth was an old-school officer with service experience going back three decades.

  “Excellent. And what of my request?”

  “Generalleutnant Curt von Kluge has granted authority for a limited engagement. He says we are to secure the Downtown area if possible. We are not to progress further unless local support is forthcoming. Local ground units cannot assist for at least a week.”

  Kommodore Ulli beamed as he listened. He had little interest in what the regulars could offer in a day, a week, or even a month. This was not a war, but a police action. As far as he was concerned, it needed to be snuffed out and soon.

  “Excellent. We will show the General that Oberführer Erwin and his SS dogs are no match for the Kriegsmarine. It was the SS Police Division in the end that lost the city, was it not?”

  He tilted his head in a questioning manner.

  “The Kriegsmarine are known to the public, and they know our worth. We do not terrorise, and we do not act as political police either. No…I suspect that once we eradicate the small insurgent elements in the city, we will be greeted with open arms, my friend.”

  He rubbed his hands together, trying to massage some warmth into his frozen hands. Korvettenkapitän Hoth remained emotionless and merely nodded to the city.

  “Perhaps that is correct, Kommodore. Our numbers are limited, however. The sole ground forces at our disposal are those aboard Vitiges. And our orders from High Command were supposed to be for containment only.”

  Kommodore Ulli turned his glance towards the assault ship. It was small, little over twenty thousand ton
nes even when loaded; yet it provided him with a small but powerful ability to project force. Arguments between the different armed services in the Reich meant all of them fought for their own domains. The Kriegsmarine were unable to use full-size carriers unless they carried Luftwaffe squadrons onboard. Vitiges was different, though. A Gothic Class assault ship, she was designed for an entirely different mission. The ship carried nearly five hundred Kriegsmarine soldiers onboard. They comprised a single heavy battalion, equipped with Landwasserschlepper Testudo amphibious assault vehicles.

  “True. But as you know, the mission can change. Only the first units have arrived at Norfolk. The main forces including heavy armour have yet to arrive.”

  He shook his head in mock amusement.

  “And the SS have utterly failed to maintain control in Maryland. The reports from the outlying areas near Washington and Baltimore are not positive.”

  He licked his lips, clearly preparing to make his main point.

  “Every passing days strengthens this new enemy. They become emboldened. If they can stop Reich peacekeepers at will, then what might they do next? No, we are the true professionals here. If we’re successful, we could break the back of the rebellion in Manhattan.”

  He paused, as though needing to convince himself of this course of action.

  “And if we succeed, this could stop the fighting before it truly begins. The last thing we need is a war in the Americas. It would be the perfect distraction for our enemies overseas. So ensure everybody is ready, it is time.”

  Korvettenkapitän Hoth once more said and did nothing as he listened. Only when the Kommodore had finished speaking did he nod, and then passed on orders to the other officers. There was relatively little to do as the men of the Kriegsmarine boarded their vehicles and waited for the order to advance. It took another fifteen minutes before the huge deck of the assault ship Vitiges was full of seawater, and the motorised Testudo amphibious assault vehicles began to power up their engines. Korvettenkapitän Hoth gave the Kommodore a short nod, indicating everything was ready. The Kommodore lifted the intercom from its cradle, an archaic yet surprisingly effective communications tool from another age. He beckoned to his communications officer.