The Furred Reich

by Len Gilbert

  “The ambassador is right in here,” she said, opening the door.

  The chair on the other side of the room turned around as they entered.

  “Mayrose, has this man requested an audience?” The ambassador asked.

  “Sir, it’s Hex. He’s here,” she replied.

  Suddenly the ambassador looked at them like he had just eaten a lemon.

  “Hex? Your Excellency! It’s such a burst of hope to see you. Of course, we will do everything we can for you. You said you needed some specific help from us?”

  “Yes. One thing above all,” Hex replied.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Have you seen any sharp-faced humans wearing gray uniforms?”

  Tex

  Their spades barely scratched into the ground, but hard work gave Hans a chance to think about his situation. Unless Diefanthal was lying about the Americans killing surrenderees, it would be wise to stay here with the SS. Of course, he could just discard the Grossdeutschland armband, but—

  “Don’t worry about Postel,” the mechanic Heinz Mertens chuckled and dug in to the hardened soil.

  “It isn’t personal. Postel is actually the highest-ranking person in this whole cell, but the commander of this place doesn’t trust him, or anyone else that isn’t Leibstandarte.”

  Postel had stormed off when Diefanthel ordered the Kompanie to dig a bunker for the SS officers and staff. The three of them, Mertens, Gustav and Hans, toiled away while keeping an eye on the American prisoner who sat in silence. Mertens seemed the most agreeable person there by far. His cheerful disposition was a stark contrast to the harsh hearts commanding all of them. The mechanic’s bright blonde hair and red cheeks only added to the personification.

  “Can’t say I blame him, though. Postel, I mean. The aerodrome didn’t prepare me for these people’s unforgiving discipline, either.”

  “So how’d you wind up here?” Hans asked. “Escaped a prisoner camp?”

  Mertens laughed, “Heck no. I was in Crimea, in 1944. My pilot was the last man to evacuate when the Soviets came. There were three of us left, and only a single 109-E. You know, the fighter plane.”

  “Right, but, isn’t that only a one-seater?”

  “Yes! My pilot had to tear out the radio, then the cockpit armor plate. I crawled into the fuselage when my pilot fired up the plane. I could feel the engine lifting us with no difficulty. Then—”

  “A white light? We’ve all seen it. Including myself,” a drawling voice retorted from behind them. It was the American prisoner.

  “We can’t speak with you, prisoner,” Mertens retorted to Wheelis in a semi-official tone.

  “…Not at least while the SS is watching,” the mechanic muttered out loud enough for Hans to hear and understand.

  As the sun sank down beneath the evergreens and turned the sky pink, members of the Leibstandarte began making their way to the officer’s bunker. It was dinner time. General-major Postel put down his spade and unexpectedly shot orders at the Kompanie.

  “Herr Mertens, Gustav, you will come with me to eat. Herr Hepner has guard duty today and we will bring him his share of the ration. Los!”

  The three of them looked hesitantly at one another, but both Gustav and Mertens followed Postel out of the half-dug bunker and toward the crackling fire where the crowd was gathered.

  With a sigh Hans continued digging by himself when a howl rose up from the distance and pierced the darkening sky. A wolf? That couldn’t be. Not in Bavaria. A rush of sudden understanding fell on him like a torrent of kicked-up debris.

  “There wolves in your country, Herr Hepner?”

  The American prisoner interrupted Hans’ thoughts. Hans turned around and stared into Wheelis’ dark blue eyes.

  “No. And why do you ask?”

  “…Not many wolves in my country either. Who knows where we really are. You ever thought of that?”

  Hans threw his spade onto the ground, walked up to the tall Texan and grabbed his uniform by the collar.

  “Listen to me goddammit, because I’m only going to say this once. There is no American occupation here. This isn’t even our world. It’s some other realm. This might sound crazy to you, but we’re in a world where animals talk and walk on two legs. There are all kinds of creatures but I must get out of here right now because my mate is hurting and she needs me. And I don’t care whether you believe it or not.”

  Wheelis stared back at Hans and didn’t budge as the young Landser berated him.

  “I believe you. But the Fuehrer’s Leibstandarte never will. They’re going to keep you here just like they’re doing to me.”

  “That’s what they think.”

  “HOWDY STRANGER!”

  Just then Gustav hopped into the trench and gave Hans a share of Venison chunks. It had been the first time in awhile that his mess tin had gotten much use. Postel and Mertens weren’t far behind. Neither was Diefanthal.

  “Gentlemen,” the Sturmbannfuehrer instructed, “tonight guard duty is assigned to our newcomer, Gefreiter Hepner, who will remain on post until 04:00 hours to watch the river for activity and ensure that prisoners do not escape. For the rest of you, I expect sleep at no later than 21:00. Heil Hitler!”

  “Hah-HAAA!” Gustav roared in laughter at Hans’ repeated misfortune. For his part, Hans tried to look upset. He and Wheelis nodded to each other discreetly.

  That evening at about 11:30, Hans began kicking dirt in Tex’s direction. Tex opened his eyes and Hans motioned him up. Gustav and Mertens remained sound asleep. Hans climbed out of the trench and motioned for Tex to hand him the Mauser. Hans hoisted himself up and offered Tex a hand, but just then a figure emerged in camouflage from around the corner.

  “I knew you two were up to something.”

  It was Postel. He unsheathed his officer’s pistol and pointed it upwards at Hans.

  “Listen,” Hans came back into the trench and pleaded.

  “We’re not doing anything bad, Herr General-Major. I’ll tell you what’s happening: This isn’t Bavaria. We’re all in another world right now. I don’t know how, but it happened in a white light. This is a world where animals can talk and stand upright. The SS won’t believe us, but you have to, Herr General-Major!”

  “Nonsense, you traitor. You’ll both hang for this. AUSBRUCH! HELP! AUSBRUCH!”

  Suddenly Wheelis jammed the side handle of Hans’ rifle into Postel’s head. The impact knocked the Great War Veteran onto his face and sent his officer’s cap flying, exposing his thinned hair and pronounced scalp. Hans stood in horror at the sight of an officer down, but this was the only way. He pulled Tex out of the trench and they ran onto the frozen river. Shots were already ringing out from the camp. They could hear the shouting. Tex fired a few shots their way as they scrambled across.

  “Come on, Tex, don’t aim so well.”

  “Sorry Herr Hepner,” he whispered back as they both crawled into the darkness.

  “You have an idea where we’re going?”

  “Yeah. Across the river and to the east. A single tree. My mate is there.”

  The lone pine tree was visible in the pale moonlight, and it took the two of them a few moments to get there. Perhaps half an hour. There was no indication that the SS were close behind.

  “This is it,” Hans whispered and shoved the needle branches out of the way to behold Sarah’s lifeless body.

  Convergence

  Sarah’s eyes opened and she jumped up, reaching for her mate. Hans embraced her in silence. She opened her mouth, but only a faint squawk came from her voice box.

  “She doesn’t look well, Herr Hepner,” Tex drawled behind them, standing just outside the tree while glancing over his shoulder.

  “I know. That’s why I have to take her back.”

  The dressing Hans applied to Sarah’s neck was now stained in red.

  “Umm—”

  “Don’t worry Herr Wheelis,” Hans said. “I appreciate your help. You don’t have to come back with Sar
ah and I. If the SS wants to hold someone responsible, let me be the one.”

  The tall American spun around and stared at the rising sun on the horizon and the sharp crags in the distance. He stood silently for a moment before sighing and giving Hans an answer.

  “I… Couldn’t do that to ya, Herr Hepner. I’m gonna come back with you.”

  “Are you sure? The SS hangs their own men for this. They won’t hesitate to do the same to us,” Hans told the American.

  “I know. But what about the animals here? What’d you call them? ‘Furries?’”

  “Yeah…”

  “Well the ones here don’t seem any nicer than the SS.” Tex mused, stepping into the tree to rummage through Hans’ first aid kit.

  “Besides, maybe now the SS will realize we aren’t in Germany anymore. Oh—found it. This’ll be perfect.”

  Tex took a white dressing cloth, cut a hole in it and ran a long stick through. Together they lifted Sarah up and Hans carried her on his back into the nipping winter wind. Why an American would risk his life to help Hans still made little sense to him.

  The two of them marched in silence for a few moments.

  “How’d you find these people, Herr Tex?” Hans’ voice barely rose above the crunching of snow under their boots.

  “Oh, that. Well. The war was already over. I’m not sure if you know about this, but there were some trials right after the war. Really big ones.” The American gestured.

  “I was put in a prison guard unit.”

  “Really. So, uh, did you see anyone?”

  Tex nodded, “Yes, about two dozen of them—”

  Just then a bullet cracked through the morning sky and whizzed over their heads.

  “HALT! ACHTUNG! HALT!”

  It hadn’t taken the Fuehrer’s elite long to find the two escapees. Really, he and the American were lucky to even have gotten to Sarah.

  Tex hoisted up his impromptu white flag and put Hans’ Mauser on the ground. The two of them kept marching at the line of men in camouflage and black waistcoats. At the front stood Diefanthal, who looked to have worked up a murderous fury.

  The Leibstandarte’s anger soon turned to bewilderment when they saw the female snow leopard atop Hans’ back. They looked at each other, then to Diefanthal.

  “…Mein gott…” Diefanthal’s face turned pale.

  That was when Hans summoned up courage enough to give the Fuehrer’s best men a dressing down.

  “Achtung! You see?” he said, walking in front of them.

  “This isn’t our world anymore.” Hans trudged up to them with Sarah on his back. “Put those damn guns down and help me, this one needs to see a medic now!”

  Again the men looked to Diefanthal, who struggled to regain his composure.

  “…Zwigart, Siptrott! Get back to the Standartenfuehrer. Tell him we need a god-damn stretcher! The rest of you, march these two prisoners back! Not a word from either one of you criminals or it’s der Todt!”

  Within minutes the two SS men returned with an improvised wooden stretcher and laid it on the ground. Hans carefully deposited his mate onto the stretcher. Sarah trembled in shock, but only coarse noises came from her maw.

  “It’s OK, just lay back…”

  “SHUT UP!” Diefanthal screamed in Hans’ face. “Prisoners remain silent!”

  Diefanthal turned to his men. “Get the animal girl to #1 officer bunker. Alert Dr. Bruestle! Hepner may come with us, but get this American cowboy out of my sight!”

  “No,” Hans retorted.

  “Herr Wheelis is to come with me at all times. Escaping was my idea and so what you do to him you will also do to me.”

  Diefanthal bit his lip at Hans’ open defiance of his orders, and clenched a fist at the boy Landser.

  “…Siptrott, bring the American to the bunker as well.”

  With fluidity the men ran through camp with the two prisoners and a stretcher. The group followed a guidepost bearing the name ‘Peiper,’ then shouted as they kicked open the bunker door.

  “Achtung!” one of them boomed out into the dark. Three more men entered with torches and illuminated the dark space. A cot was already there and they laid Sarah down onto it.

  At least a dozen men stood gathered around Hans’ mate as she lay frightened on the table. Sarah kicked her hindpaws into the bedding and tried to shriek in fright, but again only a hoarse cough escaped. Hans remembered Sarah’s story earlier about how ‘angry humans’ were wandering about. Now he knew who she was referring to.

  Hans again ignored Diefanthal’s orders and took Sarah by the paw. A man with a toolbox, gloves and a big white jacket came in the room and covered his mouth when he looked at the snow leopardess for the first time.

  “Oh my,” the surgeon looked over and spoke to a tall, blonde man in a camouflage overcoat. “This will be interesting.”

  The surgeon looked down to Sarah.

  “Where does it hurt, dear?”

  Sarah looked up at him but said nothing.

  “Doctor,” Hans said, “she was bit in the neck by a wolf. So far she hasn’t been able to speak.”

  The camouflaged commander standing next to the doctor looked at Hans with suspicion, his eyes burning a hole in the Lander’s heart.

  “How do you know her?” The commander asked.

  “She’s my, uh, my, um, she’s my mate, Herr Standartenfuehrer.”

  The man scoffed and peeled back his hood.

  “Everyone out! Except Dr. Bruestle and the Grossdeutschland. Remove the American prisoner as well.”

  “Ah, Herr Standartenfuehrer,” Hans blurted out, “if I may please keep the American prisoner in my sights. I am responsible for Herr Wheelis’ and my escape.”

  “That’s fine. For now, the prisoner may stay, then.”

  The others filed out of the bunker without even a word of chatter.

  “I’m going to have to look at her throat,” Bruestle said. “I need to see what it is we are up against.”

  This time the white-haired snow leopardess looked up and nodded to Dr. Bruestle, and the doctor proceeded to remove the blood-soiled gauze. A yelp of pain rose up from the cot. Hans tightened his hand around Sarah’s paw.

  “Interesting. Under the fur she’s not too different from a human,” Bruestle said. “Herr Wheelis, could you please turn on the flashlight.”

  “I’ve got it.” The Standartenfuehrer jumped to get the light before Tex could do so.

  He shined the light on Sarah’s bitten throat and shook his head.

  “All this time. All this time we thought this was Bavaria. Bavaria!” The Standartenfuehrer lamented.

  “Why in the world are we in this place,” he mused aloud then turned to Hans, as if expecting an answer from him. Hans, however, was fixated on his mate as she struggled to breathe.

  “Gefreiter. How long have you been in this world?”

  “Months. This is a – uh, an interesting place, with many species of animals.”

  “It looks like you’ve done your share of exploration then, Gefreiter.”

  “I – yes sir, I have…”

  The thin-faced commander smiled at Hans, and Hans blushed. The German army had instilled in him both admiration and mortal fear of its officers. Now one was chatting with him.

  “Herr Wheelis, you are free to go or stay. You are no longer our prisoner of war, as there is no more war to be had.”

  Wheelis nodded, “Yessir.”

  “Is that good enough for you, Gefreiter?”

  “Um, yes, Herr Standartenfuehrer.”

  “Actually, could you please keep the American here?” Bruestle interjected. “I will need the help.”

  Peiper handed the flashlight to Wheelis, then looked down to Hans’ mate.

  “Don’t worry, Fraulein, Dr. Bruestle is a good surgeon.”

  Sarah looked up in fear, but nodded her head to the Standartenfuehrer.

  “Is it alright, Fraulein, if I speak with your mate outside?”

  Sarah nodded a
gain and the commander led Hans out of the bunker.

  “They told me your name was Hans Hepner?”

  “Yes, Herr Standartenfuehrer.”

  “The name sounds familiar. Have we met before?”

  Hans looked down to the ground, “No, sir, we haven’t.”

  “Well, I know I’ve heard your name somewhere.”

  The commander reached in a coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Hans.

  “I’m Jochen Peiper,” said the commander, reaching out a hand.

  Doomsday

  Click!

  “You got it?”

  Master Sepp was full of good ideas, it seemed, and this contraption was yet another one of them: A tripod, with a mechanical bow attached to the head. Below the tripod were three cases, each holding a thick ballista arrow. The bow fired at the pull of a lever, and the machine loaded in a new one all by itself.

  “Don’t rely too much on this,” Sepp continued. “It’s good when Raiders are attacking in big numbers, but it won’t do against the Wolftaurs, and it’s too heavy for an attack weapon. When you shoot, aim for the Raider’s chest. One hit will run the Raider clear through.”

  “Yes, Master Sepp,” Kasha replied.

  “Good man. You’ll do well. I’m placing you in the north with Kristiyan’s Kampfgruppe. Go down to the blacksmith’s and practice on this. After that, report to Kristiyan and prepare to move out. Heil Hitler!”

  “Um, yes sir Master Sepp!”

  Kasha shouted with perplexed enthusiasm. This ‘Hitler,’ who the Master and Petch-Key frequently commended, was still a mystery to Kasha. He still knew of no one in their new tribe named ‘Hitler,’ but figured he would see that warrior soon.

  Kasha followed the path signs to the forging hut and new training grounds. It looked like a previously abandoned village that had been reconstructed overnight. A blacksmith had turned up in the ever-swelling ranks of fleeing wolves, and Master Sepp then ordered this village to be refaced and crowned with an armory. Boys, older males, and even some womenfolk were hard at work perfecting Master Sepp’s contraptions. Kasha approached the blacksmith in his workshop.