Soldiers of Tomorrow: The Winter War

by Michael G. Thomas

  He paused, lifting a hand to his mouth as though struggling to recall some distant piece of information.

  “For those with the time for rabble rousing and troublemaking.”

  The accusation was modest, but already the mood among the group had transformed. The Professor took a step forward, but immediately stopped when two of the SS men raised their rifles. Seeing the guns pointing at the small group of civilians sent a shudder of terror throughout them all.

  “Are you insane? We’re citizens of the…”

  “American Union, and loyal to the Third Reich, yes. I know.”

  Tomás gave his men a nod and looked back to the old man.

  “On your knees.”

  “What? Uh…”

  Before he could say more, two soldiers were at his side, and one kicked at his legs. The old man dropped to the ground, partially held up by the soldiers. One student screamed and rushed to help, but for a third soldier swung his rifle butt into her stomach. She went down hard, grunting in pain from the heavy impact. A friend helped pull her back until Tomás shook a finger.

  “Uh…uh. Both of you stay right there.”

  Tomás pulled off his helmet and the attached visor, exposing his young, almost boyish face to the elements. He checked each in turn before stopping once more before the Professor. Tomás then reached to his side and withdrew the standard issue service pistol. He’d trained with it for years, and could remove and fire it without thinking. He lifted it as though about to point it to the man, but moved away at the last moment and walked across to the young woman. She was in her early twenties at the absolute most, with loose trousers and a borrowed jacket over her shoulders. Her long auburn hair lay scattered about her shoulders while she continued to retch from the rifle impact.

  “Now…I will ask only once.”

  Tomás pointed the pistol towards her face. At first the woman must not have noticed, but when she did she began to hyperventilate.

  “Let us help her!” yelled another.

  “All in good time,” said Tomás, “First…to the question. Tell me who the collaborators are in this town, right now. Every minute you take trying to lie will be one more life you will sacrifice.”

  He then pulled back the safety with a satisfying click.

  “Young woman. Look around you.”

  She did as he ordered, still choking and groaning.

  “Who has been helping the traitors? Passing on the location of my soldiers and ships? Help the Reich, and you will be rewarded. Resist the law, and suffer the consequences.”

  She panted and then tried to speak. Tomás listened carefully, though he didn’t expect anything close to the truth, at least not yet.

  “Answer my question. Who here has been speaking with outsiders?”

  “Every one of us here.”

  Even Tomás was surprised at her words. He leant back and tilted his head.

  “All of you? You’re saying the entire faculty of what? Thirty of forty people have been working against the Reich?”

  The woman nodded ever so slowly.

  “That is exactly what I’m saying. You have no right coming here with weapons and threatening us. St Mary’s is a peaceful city. We will talk to who we want, when we want. You have no authority over…”

  “Wrong, little lady.”

  Tomás pushed the pistol right up against her temple and moved his finger to the trigger. It depressed by a millimetre when the two soldiers next to him flew backwards and dropped to the ground. A single, loud crack filled the air, sending what few birds remained in the area to flight. Further rifle fire broke out, cutting down more of his people.

  “Open fire!”

  Tomás made it to the armoured car as the Waffen SS soldiers began shooting back. The small group of civilians, including the Professor had scattered, but the open windows on the upper floors of the building, and even its roof were of more concern now. He tried to make it to the hatch, but a rocket of some kind slammed into the vehicle, sending sparks and flames all around him.

  “Traitors!”

  He took aim with his pistol and loosed off half a dozen rounds at an open window. Somebody yelled, and he had the satisfaction of seeing a person being dragged out of sight. With a well-practised motion, he released the magazine and slid in another one. He took aim but then another weapon appeared, this time on the roof. Before it even fired, Tomás knew the danger. The gun fired and then kept on going, flames spewing from its fat muzzle. More bullets hammered into the ground, and this time he turned and ran. Tomás had never run so fast and desperately as this before. He ran right past Scharführer Mathews who was busy aiming his rifle from behind the rear of a truck.

  “Run. You fool!”

  Tomás steamed right past as a long burst of fire hit around them. Scharführer Mathews took multiple rounds and hit the ground hard, leaving Tomás to run alone. He didn’t hesitate and kept on going, tensing and waiting for the bullet that would end his life. He made it another fifty metres before he started to weave left and right. He was well past the abandoned trucks and near the first building before he dared look back. All three vehicles were on fire, and other people fanning out. They were not the students, and not his men. He stumbled onto the main road and then felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. A rifle bullet had slammed into the muscle. He lost his footing and hit the ground hard.

  “There he is!” yelled a distant voice, “Don’t let him escape!”

  Engines roared loudly, but Tomás would not give up. He rose back to his feet and fought past the pain.

  The water, I have to get to the water.

  Summoning every last ounce of strength, he forced himself into a run even though every step was agony. Bullets hit all around him, but they could not stop him making it to the icy water. Without checking to see how close they were, he leapt in and vanished beneath the surface.

  * * *

  Manhattan, New York

  “Sir, these report’s we’re getting, they’re true, aren’t they? The Reich is assembling an army to crush us?”

  Woody looked lost as he stared out of a window of an office in the station. The pressure placed on his shoulders was crippling him. The snow was coming in heavy, and there was a thick blanket of white across the buildings and streets. The sky wasn’t even visible through the thick fog. A heavy storm was setting in, and he wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing, but it seemed to reach them as if a precursor to something terrible.

  “Sir? Are you okay?”

  “How can I be okay?” he replied faintly.

  “Then it is true? We are doomed.”

  “Bullshit!” a voice roared.

  It was Isaac. He furiously stormed into the room, looking as though ready to punch the man questioning their leader.

  “Everyone is thinking it. People are scared, and they want to know what to do.”

  “They do what they are told!” Isaac boomed.

  The man nodded in agreement and scurried from the room.

  “He is right. We are in trouble, aren’t we?” Woody asked.

  “Sure, but when haven’t we been? We had it shit before the rebellion, and we’ve had it shit ever since. I don’t see how this changes anything. You had to know a fight was coming?”

  “Something sure, but this…this is more than we can handle.”

  “Why? They have numbers? Well, hell, so do we. We have more support than ever before. We have an army!”

  Woody appreciated the sentiment, but he didn’t feel any better about it.

  “Listen, the captains and others have gathered. They want to talk this over.”

  “Now?”

  “Has to be. We have no idea how long we have, but I shouldn’t think it’s long.”

  Woody nodded and gestured him to lead the way. It was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t have the confidence or the answers to give the group. More than ever before he wished Weathers was still around to do it. As he approached the central hall of the station, he could hear
a hubbub of activity, as people argued about what should and shouldn’t be done.

  “Quiet!” Isaac roared.

  They soon turned their attention to Woody, who wished Isaac had given him a little time to think. A hundred of the Maquis were formed up, including most of the captains. They looked better equipped than ever before. Many carried captured German weapons, and some even wore battered and beaten Stoßtruppen armour. Yet they looked uneasy, and he didn’t blame them. They were a resistance movement, guerrilla fighters, and word had spread. They now faced open war. A fight against an army of regulars, perhaps even veteran troops.

  “What are we supposed to do now? We can’t fight a whole army!”

  Many groaned and cheered in support of the man’s words.

  “Then what do you suggest we do?” Woody asked.

  “We should abandon the city! If we stay, it will be blown to hell. We should move to outlying areas, keep fighting on our terms, when and where we want to!”

  But before anyone could respond, another of the captains spoke up.

  “This city is where we made our stand, and this is where we should break them. We dig in; use the cover of the city to our advantage. They will have to fight for every block, for every metre of ground!”

  “Don’t be a fool. The Luftwaffe would flatten the city. Can you imagine how many would be killed? Not just Maquis, but civilians!” said a woman.

  “There are no civilians anymore! You are either a fighter or a sympathiser!” yelled another angrily.

  “We can turn this city into a fortress, and break them over our walls!”

  “It’s madness. We can’t stay here!”

  Woody lifted his hands to call for silence, and eventually he got it.

  “Please, please, calm down.”

  “How can we be calm at a time like this?”

  He didn’t reply, waiting for crowd to be quiet and listen.

  “Firstly, let me tell you this. We can fight an army, and we will, at a time and place of our choosing.”

  Groans rang out from those that did not agree.

  “What did you think this was going to come to? Did you really think we could shake our fists at the Nazis, and they’d leave us be? Don’t tell me any of you believed that? Because if you did you might as well leave now, and never come back. We are in this for the long haul. It’s gonna get gritty, and it’s gonna get nasty, for some it already has. Our brothers and sisters are out there fighting right now while we talk. They know what is expected of them, and so should we all.”

  They weren’t wholly convinced. He noticed Mickey in the crowd and gestured for him to come forward. He was a naive young man, but a fighter, and a dedicated soldier. His relationship to their former leader held weight, but so did the reputation he had gained for himself. Mickey had become a solid ally and even a good friend, but he had never put him under this pressure. He desperately needed a trump card, and this had to be it. He enthusiastically leapt up onto a step beside Woody.

  “Mickey here knows all too well the price which has to be paid to for freedom. He has not only fought hard for it, but lost a lot. I suggest we see what he has to say.”

  The room fell silent. Mickey looked uncomfortable, and Woody didn’t blame him. He knew what it felt like to have the spotlight shone on you, when you weren’t expecting it, and didn’t want it.

  “My…my father…well,” he began.

  It wasn’t a confident start, but Woody gave him time and space. He coughed to clear his throat, looking out in wonder at how many eyes were on him. Finally, he seemed to calm down, and the words flowed as though he were talking to a group of friends.

  “My father knew one thing. We had to fight. We had to fight, no matter the cost or how long it took. He knew there would be great sacrifices, but that in the end, we’d be the ones still standing. Not all of us, but many. This is bigger than all of us, and bigger than him. He knew that, and we must believe it, too. If the absolute destruction of this city is what is required for the next step forward, then that is a price we must pay. We can re-build a city, but what we are fighting for now is our lives.”

  There was a stunned silence. Woody could hardly believe how well he had spoken. He patted the young man on the shoulder to thank him, but before anybody could respond there was a flurry of activity at the front door. Several people ran in shouting some news.

  “They’ve attacked Pittsburgh and Ohio!” A woman yelled, pushing her way through to reach Woody. She was clutching several camera tapes and holding them high as if to present them.

  “It’s been confirmed? We haven’t heard anything.”

  He looked to Isaac for assistance, but he shrugged as if it were the first he’d heard of it. The woman and another man with her reached Woody and passed him two tapes.

  “Here, this was smuggled out of the cities.”

  He reluctantly took them, and could see by the faces of all those before him they would not leave without seeing them. He passed them over to Isaac.

  “Show them.”

  “Without checking them first? We have no idea what is on those tapes. We should check and authenticate them first,” he said quietly.

  “They are real. They are legit,” said the woman as if she had seen enough with her own eyes to confirm it.

  “Do it,” added Woody.

  Isaac reluctantly handed them over to another who was rather more savvy with the equipment. They had a projector ready.

  “This could be a huge mistake,” said Isaac.

  “We don’t have a choice. Look at them. Ready to break and run in any moment. They need something, hope, anger, anything.”

  “And if it breaks their will?”

  “Well, then they were never going to stand when the time came anyway. We have to rely on people, and if we can’t, then it is over.”

  The projection flashed to life, several metres tall for all to see.

  “That’s Columbus. I grew up there!” someone in the crowd shouted.

  The video was shaky and shot handheld. It showed hundreds of people protesting in a city street. There were cries and shouts all around the cameraman. People were chanting and holding banners. The crowd began to disperse. A line of ORPOs and SS were approaching. Some with riot shields, others opened fire with live ammunition. Cries of panic ran out, and the camera shook more as the user ran. A few moments later it settled as the user found shelter in a side street. SS soldiers rushed in towards them, but were tackled by civilians who kicked them to death before the camera.

  A line of soldiers appeared in the main street, firing on full auto. There were bodies in the streets. Glass bottles and bricks were landing all around the troops. The cameramen edged forward to get a full view of the scene. Dozens of bodies were on the ground now. SS and ORPOs chased down all those who ran, shooting many in the back. Several buildings were on fire. It was absolute chaos, like some apocalyptic event had occurred. Shots landed close to the camera, and once more the images shook as the user ran. The film ended soon after.

  Nobody said a word as the next tape was put in. It was shot from a rooftop in a similar handheld fashion as those around narrated.

  “Oh, my god, they killed that guy,” said one woman in panic.

  An old man lay dead in the street with a pool of blood around his head. An ORPO officer stood over his body with a truncheon in his hand. A roar rang out as fifty civilians rushed him and his line of ORPOs. They clashed onto their shields; using nothing more than bats, their bare hands, and anything they could find. But gunfire rang out, and the camera panned to show a squad of SS moving in on the flank. They were choosing their targets carefully and gunning down all who opposed the ORPOs. The survivors ran, only to be pursued. The video went on for another minute, and they heard gunfire and explosions ringing out in the distance. It panned to the few on the rooftop who looked terrified.

  “They are going to kill us all. They don’t care. We are the enemy now. They are coming for us.”

  “Stop right there!”
a voice cried out in the distance.

  The video cut off, and the room was once more plunged into a deathly silence.

  “That was Pittsburgh,” the woman who had delivered it said solemnly.

  “What’s your name?” Woody asked her.

  “Hope.”

  He couldn’t help but smile.

  “Your parents still believed there was a chance for us all, then?”

  “Yes, they did. Were they wrong?”

  She was a feisty young woman in her early twenties. Her red hair reached down to her worn down and scuffed dark red leather jacket. She wore a military style short brimmed baseball cap with pin badges all over it. It looked like she had been collecting them since her childhood. There was a toughness to her that could only have come from growing up in difficult times. Beneath her dirty attire was a pretty face. She should have been living a carefree life style at college, not fighting a war.

  “There is always hope, you hear me?”

  “Both cities are now in lockdown. It’s hell over there.”

  “We must broadcast this footage to the world. They must know what the Reich is doing and understand why we fight.”

  “What happens when they hit New York?” yelled one of the captains.

  “We could be next. They could roll right over us!” another shouted.

  Panic was setting in, and they had every reason to feel it. Conversations erupted throughout the room, and he could hear many wanting to leave, to run. It was chaos, and he didn’t know what to say or do that would help. He looked around for some inspiration, and that was the moment Marcus strode through the doors. He was bolt upright and almost marching with a proud confidence. It seemed out of place with the fear and panic that had overtaken the station. He strode up to Woody, catching the attention of many who were silenced by his presence. Some feared him, others admired the German, but all knew he commanded the most powerful weapon in the Maquis, earning him the respect of all.

  “What is it?” Woody asked.

  “May I?” He gestured towards the crowd.

  “Of course.”

  He was relieved that someone was doing something, as he was all out of ideas.

  “I’ve got a plan, a plan to get us through all of this.”