by Len Gilbert
“Mein leutnant,” Kasha shouted over the noise, “feed the ballista arrows into the cartridges. I can fire this.”
The lieutenant, Kasha’s superior, dropped his spear and shoved three ballistas into the cartridge one-by-one. Up above, the Raiders already had the wolves panicking and running back to the trench.
“Aim at the middle now,” Kasha thought to himself. Trembling, he launched the first ballista only for it to sail past one of the Greenskin’s head.
“For the love of the gods, hit them!” The lieutenant shouted.
It was too late. The first monster pounded into the trench next to them. Kasha shook his head and trained his sights to the still-charging monsters, picked the closest target and launched the ballista. This time it slammed against the Greenskin’s chest and slid through, killing him. Kasha looked over and saw the lieutenant had abandoned the position and joined the trench fracas that seemed to be closing in like a vice from both sides. Just ahead a Greenskin jumped for the trench and aimed directly for Kasha and the tripod. Kasha closed his eyes and pulled the trigger one last time. He felt the tripod kick back and the Greenskin fell down dead, covering the trench as the fighting closed in around him.
He heard a crash and thud to his left. It was Kristiyan, leading a small pack of wolves.
“That you in there Kasha?”
“Yes Herr Kristiyan!” He shouted, pulling the tripod out and shoving the monster’s cadaver to the front of the trench.
“Does the tripod still function?”
“Jawohl.”
“Good, set it back up and then pick up a spear. Your platoon commander was killed. I am putting you in charge. There are fourteen left plus yourself. Our Kompanie is going on the attack. Choose ten of them to advance, and four to stay in the trench.
Even as they spoke, the last of the hand-to-hand combat was winding down within earshot. Kasha had never lead anyone before. He felt queasy, and Kristiyan must have noticed it.
“You don’t have a choice, Kasha.”
“Sir, I know. But if I may ask, why are we attacking when we are so outnumbered?”
“Poetschke’s Kompanie broke through in the south. He is driving to retake Balaton and take out Oxbane’s camp. We must push forward in the north, too, to cover his flank during the attack. I’ve decided we must advance some one hundred Terras, and then we’ll dig in there.
Ambassador
A crowd had gathered outside the bunker, and they all hushed when Peiper walked through them up to the bunker door, with Hans following closely behind.
“Please wait here,” Peiper said to Hans, then turned to the crowd.
“Kameraden, I will address our situation shortly. Gefreiter Hepner has some personal matters, and I ask you for all to respect his privacy.”
Peiper opened the bunker door and Hans entered the cavern. Peiper followed him though and shut the door. Tex glanced over at them. Dr. Bruestle was focused on the patient on the table, Sarah.
“She’s going to make it,” the doctor said.
Hans felt a huge weight leave his shoulders when he heard the good news.
“But,” he continued, “she has damage to her voice box. She won’t be able to speak for a long time, maybe never again.”
Hans looked down at his mate. She looked as relieved as he was.
“Everything’s going to be alright now. See? These humans are nice. They will help to protect you and you will live with me.”
Sarah looked up and smiled, then nodded softly and shut her eyes.
“She’ll need time to recover, I believe,” Dr. Bruestle said.
“The good thing is that she isn’t too scared of us anymore. I still have a little more work to do, but she’ll be able to finally rest this evening.”
Hans thanked the surgeon, and then Peiper joined them by the table.
“Herr Hepner, if you don’t mind, I owe it to everyone to explain what’s going on. And I will need your help to do so.”
“Oh. Hm. What would you have me do, Herr Standartenfuehrer?”
“Hopefully nothing. But the men outside need to know what’s happened to them, and you’re the man to best answer any questions they may have.”
Hans nodded and gave Sarah’s paw one final squeeze. He went back outside with the commander. The crowd had grown larger. It looked as if around 200 men were gathered around. Most of them wore SS collars.
“Kamerads,” Peiper took their attention.
“We were all very mistaken about our situation. This is not Bavaria. To you this may sound strange, but we are in some other world. Some other place. And the injured woman in that bunker is living proof of that.”
“I don’t know this world at all, but one of our comrades has trekked in it for months to the place we now stand. He told me stories of animals that stand upright like we do. Some friendly, some not. He says this world has empires, large cities on far-off shores, magic, of expansive forests and terrible beasts. We also may not be alone. Someone is flying one of our aircraft over the cities of this world. These are all things we may face, or perhaps not.”
“But, more importantly, for you, I want you to know that our war is over. The ancient virtues we rekindled and held up were hated by various governments of the world. Luckily for us, the indolence and hate of those nations are not present in this world, and in good time I believe you’ll find that a blessing. You all deserve long, prosperous, lives. That’s what I intend on creating here. A place made in our image, by our ideals and ours alone.”
“Starting tomorrow! We will begin building a modest place for every man here, and we will not stop until every one of you has a roof over your head that you can call your own.”
Within the crowd many faces turned to smiles at the commander’s last statement.
“I want to introduce you to Gefreiter Hans Hepner.”
Hans looked down as all eyes shifted to him.
“Gefreiter Hepner is the one who has journeyed in this world for several months. He has had contact with many races. Consider Gefreiter Hepner to be our guide and our ambassador to the outside world. He is from the Grossdeutschland and, from my impressions, he is a good man worthy of your trust.”
Blunt
“Over there,” Sturmbannfuehrer Poetschke’s voice directed Vahn’s attention to a hillock crowned by an old wooden drinking trough. It looked abandoned.
“Search that area. There has to be some people hiding around here.”
Poetschke’s Kompanie had pushed out of Wolven territory, but even still their commander was trying to evacuate villagers as their battle group drove east, closer toward Oxbane’s encampment.
Vahn and three others scaled the hill and soon found a small collection of huts pressed together in a valley.
“Let’s go,” he said over the noisy mooing of a nearby cow. The spearmen followed close behind.
They approached the hovel without making a sound. Vahn craned forward and edged inside. It was dark. Utensils lay on the table, and there was a bowl sitting on the counter, as if those things had been recently used.
“Hello? There are battles coming. We’re here to move you further west. Rock bombs could hit this home at anytime.”
The three of them stepped in, one of them opened a cupboard and the other lifted up a pallet. No one was here.
“Strange. The people here must have fled before we arrived.”
“Come on,” Vahn said, “forget about these furres. They’re probably just Lapine rabbits anyway.”
He was right. There was no time to spare because Poetschke was already moving toward the nearby spring and even further on to Oxbane’s encampment.
Vahn and the others followed Poetschke’s boot tracks into Balaton forest. After an hour of walking they found their leader in a clearing with many others buzzing around him.
“We found only empty huts, sir. No sign of anyone,” Vahn explained. A cloud of white vapor puffed from his snout as he breathed.
“That will have to do,” Poetschke replied. “Come on. Let�
��s keep moving east.”
The Kompanie continued its march. Wherever the enemy was, it wasn’t in this forest any longer. The ‘Khanate’s’ warriors must have retreated hastily, because the sun was already at its apogee, and still the wolves had seen nothing since the opening attack.
“We take this place. The edge of this forest. Then we send scouts to the plains. Who knows what they have ahead.”
“YIPE!”
A line of axes flew into the forest, one of the axes hit a wolf from the front and cut him down. Vahn jumped onto the snow and flattened himself with the rest of the Kompanie. Poetschke fired back in the axes direction and ran over to one of the fallen canine, who was screaming in pain.
The ax cut into the wolf’s spine and through the ribs, and now he was flopping uncontrollably on the ground. He was in shock and would never walk again. Poetschke knew what he had to do: He took the spear tip and jammed it through the back of the fallen wolf’s neck and through to the brain, and ended his suffering.
Vahn peeked up to see several ax-hurlers, maybe five, behind a brick lain barrier, with some dozen monsters around guarding the nest. He heard the whistle to pull back deeper behind the trees, where Poetschke huddled his ‘Kapitans.’ The blonde human unhooked his belt of ‘mashers’ and called Vahn over.
“Vahn, we’re going to charge the fort. You’re the one best suited for this. They have a good defensive position, but our force is superior here, and we have to keep going. You just find your way to the throwers, and use the mashers to get rid of the enemy.”
It was best not to think much about these things before they happened. Vahn strapped on the mashers and picked up a spear with the rest. When Poetschke’s whistle blew again, the wolves looked nervously at one another and dashed for the light, only to be met with another wall of flying axes and even blades. There was another scream and the wolves scurried back into the protective slope of their wooded position.
Upon seeing the wolves back away, Poetschke’s face turned beet red. Gripped by a towering rage, he reloaded his hand cannon and pointed it toward one of the shocked Kapitans.
“One step to the back, any of you, and I will personally shoot you myself.”
One of the fellows stared at Vahn in silence, pleading for him to do something about the mad human commanding them. Vahn ignored the fellow and looked on through the trees at the monsters, who made a loose shield around the throwers.
Then the whistle blew again. Vahn stared into the abyss and darted out again into the light. A Grimeskin was coming right for him when Poetschke’s cannon went off. Vahn winced and half expected Poetshke’s aim to be for him, but instead the cannon knocked down the Grimeskin. Poetschke had created an opening for Vahn. Vahn dropped to the ground and began crawling his way forward.
All around him he heard snarls emerging from various sides of the forest. This time the wolves ignored the threat of murderous axes and descended onto the Grimeskins in packs. In the mayhem Vahn crawled forward, stalking in on the square of red bricks that sheltered the throwers.
Poetschke then sprinted from the cover of the trees and fired bullets at the throwers, keeping them down. The tiny cannonballs whizzed over Vahn’s head and confused the enemy.
Now was the time. Vahn got up and charged, pulling the plug on one of the mashers. The monsters saw him and one of them gave chase, but it was too late. Three more seconds. He sprinted wildly at the pinned-in axe-hurlers, tossed the masher in and rolled into the snow. With a crash the stick exploded, hurling soil and stray earthen bricks in every direction.
Flying debris blocked the light as Vahn stayed put, hearing snarls and screams from several places. When the smoke settled, Poetschke was the first person Vahn saw.
“You alright?”
“Yes,” Vahn coughed out a cloud of dust as he answered, and Poetschke reached down to help him up.
“We’ve got to keep going,” was all he said.
“But I’ll recommend Sepp put you on the honor roll for this…”
“Sir, what’s an honor roll?” Vahn said, dusting the soil off his ear.
“Heh. You’ll find out. Now come on.”
The snowy field was littered with death, mostly the Grimeskins. Poetschke demanded his wolves to attack like selfless ants, or bees. It was a different style than Vahn and the wolves knew, but no one could argue with the outcome. Packs of wolves that comprised Poetshcke’s Kompanie trudged through the pock-marked field and on towards Oxbane’s camp. Wherever that was.
Vahn’s ear flicked as he heard a faint snarl in the distance. Then another, then a whole line of them.
“Reinforcements?” He said to himself.
Soon he got his answer. A line of black wolftaurs appeared on the horizon and came charging toward them. Each mount was crowned with a Greenskin.
“Raiders…” A fellow chanted out.
“Raiders! Raiders! There has to be tens upon tens of them!” Another panicked.
Just nearby, the Sturmbannfuehrer picked up his field glass and shook his head. Sobriety had descended over him.
“We need to get out of here. Now.”
Blunt pt. 2
Kasha picked the ten most able-bodied warriors, brought them out from the trench and looked at each one of them. Most were young like him. Many were afraid.
“We are going on the attack now.”
Kasha dug the butt of his spear into the snowy ground.
“Engage the Grimeskins in groups of three, stay in heavily-wooded areas. We won’t give them an advantage unless its necessary. Our goal is to head forward some 100 Terras, where we’ll await instruction from Master Sepp. The whole Kompanie is going with us. Be brave and fight with all the hate in your heart. Remember who this is for. We meet up with Kristiyan 100 terras from here.”
Kasha divided the platoon into three parties. They slipped into the woods next to Kristiyan’s platoon. The dark northern woods were no place to be a Greenskin, but even Kasha knew his warriors were outnumbered, and their attacking nature meant open battle would almost certainly happen.
He spotted five monsters treading side by side, through the snow, and ordered two of his groups into the woods flanking both sides. His nose told him there were other Greenskins right behind. This was likely a trap, but it was also the one chance they would have to actually preempt the Monsters. Kasha and three others charged the monsters head on, and already the two flanks knew what to do. They leaped out and surprised the party of Greenskins.
Kasha ducked a blow from the other side and rolled back to his footpaws. He could hear the snarls all around him. Two monsters fell and the others were now swinging at Kasha’s third group. They had the Greenskins outnumbered now, and Kasha’s faster wolves leaped and tore into the enemy, with only one of his men falling to a deadly axing to the chest and then the head.
Everyone hugged the ground waiting for the ax-throwing monsters to attack, but none came. Kasha looked out and picked up his field glass only to see the Greenskins departing.
“Everybody up.”
Eight stood up.
“Kristiyan’s platoon is in that forest. Chances are the enemy is already there and waiting for us, so beware. stay in groups.”
But in the forest, all that greeted them was the hooting of owls. If drawing the wolves into the forest was the Greenskins’ plan, it was a very subtle one. No axes flew at them and no Greenskins emerged from the trees.
They marched in tight triangles through the woods, their eyes darting around for the first sign of an attack which could have come from anywhere.
“Hey, there he is!”
One of them pointed to a wolf digging into the ground with a spade.
“Kristiyan must have cleared out the enemy already!”
“Come on,” Kasha said, leading them to Kristiyan’s platoon. Their estimations were right. Kristiyan’s group had already driven out the Greenskins. His wolves were at work setting up a perimeter.
“Kasha! Tell them to dig in.” Kristiyan instructed.
“Once we get the trenches up we’ll bring in the tripods. We hold up this place so that Master Sepp may advance without worrying about an attack from this end.”
Kasha joined in the task but then received a note from the courier. Things were going well. Both Master Sepp and Poetschke withstood the first onslaught, and now Poetschke’s group in the south was driving forward for Balaton. If Poetschke got through the lakes, there would be little between himself and Oxbane.
“No!” someone shouted. “Wolftaurs coming! Get out of there!”
The platoon scrambled out of their work and grabbed their spears. Kasha picked up his field glass and saw it for himself: Four ‘wolftaurs’ with another line of green stomping through the forest floor behind them. The enemy outnumbered wolves’ at least two-to-one. Kristiyan blew a whistle and lined up the dragoons. Kasha’s platoon had two, and Kristiyan’s had two including himself.
“Into positions, this line here! This line here!” Kasha shouted at his nine-strong Kompanie.
Kasha himself picked up a rope and got into position. This would have to go perfectly, and even then, the odds weren’t good. The Wolftaurs came fast, and when they did, Kasha roped one and his dragoon leaped through and took out the Greenskin.
A blood-curling scream then shot up. It from the other end. Kasha turned around to see Kristiyan in a wolftaur’s clutches, being dismembered and mangled right before them. His ripped-up body fell to the forest floor.
———
Hollers and screams surrounded Master Sepp in the trenches, but the weathered leader’s reflexes were well-honed. A quick shot of his crossbow chopped down a Greenskin as it went hand-to-hand with his guard.
“How many fallen?”
“Five, sir. And one tripod smashed.”
“Clear the trench of the dead. We’ll keep holding this line.”
“Master Sepp…” Rokura pointed off to the other end of the trench. Sepp lifted up his binoculars to see for himself.
He watched helplessly from a distance as the wolftaurs hopped over an empty trench behind his line. A small number of Greenskins ran by on foot as well. They had broken through one of Sepp’s lines. They were now crossing over.