Today We Die (The Killing Sands Book 1)

by Daniel Wilde

  Copyright 2017 Daniel P. Wilde, all rights reserved.

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  Cover

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • 20 • 21 • 22 • 23 • 24 • 25 • 26 • 27 • 28 • 29 • 30 • 31 • 32 • 33 • 34 • 35 • 36 • 37 • 38 • 39 • 40 • 41 • 42 • 43 • 44 • 45 • 46 • 47 • 48 • 49 • 50 • 51 • 52 • 53 • 54 • 55 • 56 • 57 • 58 • 59 • 60 • 61 • 62 • 63 • 64

  Author’s Note

  Author’s Note #2

  Preview: Tomorrow We Rise

  About the Author

  Publication Details

  This story is a work of fiction. Its contents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Nothing in this story is intended to convey factual information. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental, except for those historical figures so identified.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a physical, digital or electronic newspaper, magazine or journal.

  This book is dedicated to my wife Chandi and my six children, Sage, Roston, Aspen, Rader, Porter (deceased) and Loch. They love me unconditionally, and that’s more than I deserve.

  The town of El-Alamein, Egypt is located at the seaward (northern) end of a 40-mile-wide bottleneck that is flanked on the south by the largely-impassable Qattara Depression—part of the Libyan Desert. The Depression lies below sea level and is covered with thick saltpans and extensive sand dunes. This arid region covers about 19,605 square kilometers (7,570 square miles).

  The Second Battle of El-Alamein was a historical turning point in World War II. During October and November, 1942, British troops operating under General Bernard Law Montgomery fought German troops led by General Erwin Rommel, one of Germany’s most proficient generals. The Second Battle of El-Alamein, one of many battles fought between the Axis and Allied forces in North Africa, was a struggle for control of the Suez Canal, and of gaining access to the Middle Eastern and Persian oil fields via North Africa.

  El-Alamein was the only direct land route (avoiding the Qattara Depression) eastward to the Suez Canal. This crucial east-west corridor became a vital defensive line held by the British Army, and marked the farthest point of penetration into Egypt by German forces. This battle is of significant historical interest, and was a major turning point in the war in favor of the Allies.

  November, 1942—Berlin, Germany

  “Hauptmann Roehm, thank you for coming. I always enjoy our talks. Please, sit down, and share with me this marvelous meal.”

  “Thank you for inviting me, Reichsführer; the pleasure is mine,” replied Günter Roehm, a tall, thin, balding man, 34 years of age.

  The room in which they met was relatively spartan save for the white-laced tablecloth draped over the round table where they sat. A single kerosene lamp in the center cast shallow shadows behind the plates and cutlery, doing little to ward off the evening’s chill. Pointedly empty bookshelves seemed to decry their state, pleading to be filled once again. But after the burnings . . . well, there was little chance that the shelves would be replenished any time soon. Apparently, Reichsführer Himmler did not approve of personal memorabilia, for no evidence of his family hung on the walls or stood on the desk in the far corner. Could this man even have a family? Who would marry such a man? Günter shuddered at the thought. Only a red German flag bearing a black swastika and a picture of the Führer adorned the walls.

  The meal laid out between the men sat in stark contrast to the furnishings of the dark room. Roast beef, steaming boiled potatoes, and several kinds of cheese and breads were piled high—enough to feed Günter’s family as well, had they been invited. Germany’s ranking officials, it seemed, were getting fat while its population slowly starved.

  “While we eat, I would like to discuss with you an assignment of the greatest importance. But please, have some drink.”

  Günter took a drink, but it did little to calm his nerves. The glass shook slightly in his hand, something he hoped didn’t give away his unease at being in the presence of someone he believed to be mostly evil.

  “You have been assigned to join Generalleutnant Böttcher in Egypt to aid in our offensive attack at El-Alamein,” Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler stated, so matter-of-factly that there remained nothing for Günter, a Captain in the German Schutzstaffel (“SS”), to do but nod his understanding.

  Plain to Günter were the consequences of failing to accept Himmler’s “request” to join him for supper. However, aware of his lack of combat experience, and knowing the importance of securing El-Alamein from various briefings in Himmler’s office, Günter hesitantly asked, “What will be my purpose in such travels, Reichsführer? You certainly must be aware, to my shame, that my combat experience is of little merit.”

  Reichsführer Himmler did know that. It was exactly why Captain Roehm was selected for this assignment. He was not too bright and was known to follow orders. And without real combat experience, he would not get in the way of Böttcher’s operation. His real weakness, however, was his dedication to his family. He would do anything to protect his wife and daughters. Himmler needed just such a commitment to ensure the success of this operation. Himmler decided, nonetheless, that a little more insurance was needed. So, in a forceful, but quiet voice Himmler replied, “It is of small importance to you, except that you should obey your orders, and I expect that you will do so.”

  “Yes,” Günter replied, “Of course I will obey orders Reichsführer. I only hope that I am the right man for this assignment.”

  “Perhaps it will do some good for you to understand your assignment, in order for you to also understand the critical nature of its success, and the consequences of its failure,” Himmler thought aloud.

  “Perhaps you are right, Reichsführer,” Günter replied, so quietly that only one much closer to him than Himmler could have heard it, had there been anyone else in the room. That was usually the scariest part of these kinds of meetings—being alone in a room with a man who had no scruples about killing. The old chair creaked as Günter shifted. The meal had not been touched.

  “The purpose for this assignment can be stated simply,” Himmler said. “You will carry to Egypt a sample of bacillus anthracis, ‘borrowed’ from the so-called ‘Epidemic Prevention and Water Purification Department’, which is operated by our Japanese friends in Manchukuo, China. This vial will not leave your person. You will show it to no person and no person will ask you about it so long as you keep it hidden and secure.

  “This biological agent has, for the past several months, undergone various adaptations to render it more effective. More lethal. Once in Egypt, at a location of which you will be informed later, you will release the agent into a nomadic population center.”

  “Our objective”, Himmler continued quickly as if anticipating an interruption by Günter, “is to understand the efficacy of the agent to be able to better use it against our enemies at the appropriate time. Two weeks after you have released the agent, you will return to the site of the release to observe the results of our test, and then report back to me.”

  Shocked by the contrast between Himmler’s demeanor and the cold act of violence suggested by his words, it took a few heartb
eats to realize that Himmler was expecting a response. Günter finally stammered, “I understand, Reichsführer,” not really understanding at all. “When do I leave?”

  “Tomorrow morning. This evening, you should return to your home and tell your family ‘good-bye’. We will, of course, see to it that Hanne and the children are cared for in your absence. You will report to Unterleutnant Shafer at 0900 hours. He will have the package and your instructions.”

  With those final words, ignoring the meal sitting before them, Himmler picked up a paper from a stack on his left and began reading, dismissing Günter summarily. Günter remembered to salute smartly before turning to leave the office. He closed the door quietly behind him. Himmler never looked up, but a crooked smile played briefly on his lips.

  Unlike his failure to understand this bizarre assignment from Himmler, Günter understood very well what Himmler meant when he said that he would “see to it that Hanne and the children would be cared for” in his absence. Günter had seen several officers’ families removed forcefully from their government housing with just the clothes on their backs, only to be left in the street to fend for themselves when their husbands and fathers failed to complete an assignment given by Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler. Oftentimes, the circumstances were even worse. These words, of course, stirred within Günter an energy and sense of purpose which he would not have been able to describe to another person, if he had tried.

  Günter loved his wife dearly, and his two girls were the light of his life. Hanne was just out of school when they met. They had a whirlwind romance and married while Hanne was still 19. To Günter she was beautiful, with blond hair and dark blue eyes that twinkled when she laughed, which she did often. Where Günter was quiet and serious, Hanne was lively and socially adept. Her presence was a delight to husband, friends and strangers alike.

  Günter’s daughters, Anja and Klara, six and three years old, looked just like their mother. Günter often marveled that, in a land teeming with hate, bigotry and ugliness, he could be so fortunate to have a home life so wonderful! It was for his family that he joined the SS. Such service to his country ensured his family certain protections not afforded to other “less-patriotic” Germans.

  Günter had heard some disturbing reports recently about how the government was treating the Jews—reports that made the apparent solution to the “Jewish Problem” something entirely different than they had been led to believe. But he could see that this was where he and his family needed to be. And even though he questioned some of his leaders’ methods, in order to have such protections, he sacrificed certain of his own values. The sacrifice left him internally conflicted, with feelings of guilt despite the happiness that reigned in his home.

  He wrestled with his internal conflict daily to ensure the survival of his family. He fully understood that a failure at this assignment could surely end that safety and the protection that he had sacrificed so much for. Even more than this, however, was a new and uncomfortable feeling as he pondered this assignment.

  Death.

  The unspoken result of the assignment forced upon him by Himmler would be the death of innocent people. Günter heard and felt it between the commander’s words.

  November, 1942—near El-Alamein, Egypt

  Three days after his meeting with Himmler, after too many hours on trains and small airplanes, Captain Roehm joined Generalleutnant Karl Böttcher’s ranks in Egypt, on their march into El-Alamein. While the temperature of the air hovered around 20° Celsius (68° Fahrenheit), neither the cool air nor the hard winds blowing south from the Mediterranean Sea provided any relief as the heat rose from the blistering sands beneath his feet.

  The high humidity in the air was surprising, given his belief about the aridity of desert climates. Günter did not realize before he arrived that El-Alamein’s proximity to the Mediterranean coast afforded it a somewhat milder climate than places farther south, notwithstanding the vast expanses of sandy desert in the area. Despite the humidity, swirling dust filled his lungs and dust-caked drops of sweat clung to his brow. The sky lay void of rainclouds that might provide moisture sufficient to dampen the billowing dust that encircled him and his comrades.

  General Böttcher, unaware of the purpose for which Roehm was thrust upon him, but understanding, as Günter did, the consequences of any breach of loyalty or obedience to the Nazi party, unreservedly allowed for this change of plan.

  “Hauptmann Roehm, while your companionship at this time is certainly of no inconvenience,” General Böttcher said, the lie apparent in his voice. “I advise you to stay out of my way!”

  Günter barely made out the general’s barking through the screams of artillery fire whizzing around their position on the right flank. The look on Böttcher’s face spoke more than his words. It was well known that the general did not allow diversions or detractions from the fulfillment of his duty. The man had proved ruthlessly focused in his assignments. Nevertheless, on this occasion, despite his obvious belief that a scrawny SS man from the Motherland could be of no use—and more likely would get him killed—Böttcher apparently thought it wiser to accept the inconvenience than to face Himmler’s wrath.

  “Indeed, Generalleutnant, I will stay out of your way insomuch as I am able,” Günter yelled. He would have crawled into a hole in the sand to hide, so great was his fear for his life. Instead, he crouched low and covered his ears to avoid losing more of his hearing, jumping at every new report from the artillery.

  Günter had lost a great deal of the hearing in his right ear as a child following an accident on his bicycle. Since that time, his left ear had provided adequately for his needs, but now, on this great battlefield in Egypt, with the wind howling and artillery and small-arms fire wreaking destruction all around him, he feared that he may lose his hearing entirely. He thought how sad it would be to not be able to hear the giggling and laughter of his young daughters—that laughter that grounded him amid such great internal conflict.

  “FALL BACK!” General Böttcher shouted. “FALL BACK TO THE PANZERSCHRECK LINE!”

  Being lost amid the commotion of battle, and his own thoughts, Günter had failed to notice the enemy quickly approaching directly in front of them. He responded slowly to the orders given by General Böttcher, who was stooping less than three feet to his right to avoid enemy fire. General Böttcher was not yelling at his men—he was yelling directly at Günter. Seeing Günter respond, Böttcher turned and moved quickly away.

  Finally realizing the danger that threatened to engulf him, Günter began running, for his life, following Böttcher back in the direction from which the Germans had advanced. In the chaos, Günter tripped over a downed man, landing heavily on his Mauser M712 and splitting his left hand open from the tip of his thumb to his wrist. Dimly aware of the pain and the blood now pouring from the wound, but not paying either any heed, Günter attempted to leap up. His backpack snagged on his fallen comrade’s Maschinengewehr 42, a fairly new, and greatly improved weapon introduced during this battle. Greatly improved or not, the rifle brought him back to his knees, where he struck his left knee on a jagged rock protruding from the sandy desert floor.

  “Wait comrades!” Günter shouted, as he whipped a kerchief from his pocket and hastily wrapped it around his left hand to slow the bleeding. He stumbled forward with pain shooting up his left leg. He could see that he was falling behind as his fellows retreated from the advancing British forces.

  Günter had heard that the Germans were outnumbered at El-Alamein, by at least two to one. From his vantage point, it seemed that the odds were much higher. Between the wind and the retreating feet of his comrades, the dust became so thick that his vision and breathing, along with his hearing, suffered immensely.

  Finally, unable to see, choking on dust, and able to hear only the loudest blasts and detonations around him, Günter sank to the ground, desperate for air, and even more desperate for a miracle. Remembering the gas mask in his belt kit, he pulled it out, lifted it one-handed over his hea
d and awkwardly fitted it over his mouth and nose with his right hand to filter the air he was breathing.

  Still disoriented from the noise and dust swirling around him, and favoring his injured knee, he crawled in the direction he perceived to be the one that would lead him away from the enemy. Sand filled the voids in his bloody hand, despite its wrapping, as he slowly crawled farther away from the battlefield. Eventually, the cacophony of battle faded—either that or his hearing failed altogether.

  After 40 or 45 minutes, that seemed more like hours, he barely spied a rock outcropping. Knowing that it could be hours before the dust cleared enough to see, if it ever did, he crawled forward and lay against the rock. During this respite, he checked the damage to his hand and leg. Unwrapping the bloody kerchief from his left hand, he was shocked at how mangled his hand looked. His stomach lurched and he had to swallow quickly so as not to vomit.

  With little attention to trying to close the wound or clean the sand out of it, he wrapped it back up and turned his attention to his left leg. The pant leg was torn slightly and there was blood below the knee. He carefully took his knee between his right thumb and forefinger and tested the knee for bone damage. It was painful and the knee felt squishy, as if the bone had been crushed. His stomach lurched again and he had to remove his hand.

  With a deep sigh, he put his right hand to his head and noticed immediately how much sand was in his tangled hair and on his face. He must have lost his helmet somewhere in his struggles. “I must look terrible,” he said to himself. He thought about the mirror that he forgot to place in his backpack. Actually, the more he thought on it, the more he realized that he didn’t want to see what he looked like. With that thought, he would have laughed if he didn’t hurt so much. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain—and to keep his stomach under control.

  He remembered the pain medicine in his first aid kit and was just reaching for his pack when he became aware of significant ground movement. A quick look to the right revealed the hazy, gray shapes of several Sherman tanks sent from the United States to Egypt to shore up the English forces in the region. Their close proximity did not bode well for his continued safety. The medicine would have to wait until he removed himself from danger.