by Len Gilbert
“Rokura,”
“Yes sir?”
“Gather the platoon.”
Sepp’s wolf swallowed hard and went for the explosives box. He had no estimate, but Sepp was sure the monsters would send yet more fresh troops to attack his exhausted line and finish them all off.
The weathered Gruppenfuehrer gathered his company around him for a moment. All of them were exhausted, and stained with either blood or earth. Sometimes both. Now Sepp had to make a decision.
“The enemy has broken through and are likely going for a village. You know what they will do after that,” he said, pulling out the dynamite sticks.
“For the children and women behind the lines, it is an honor to die.”
Each of the company nervously drew a straw. The task of suicide fell onto Rokura and two others. Sepp quietly handed each one of them a boomstick.
“Remember that you are the innocent’s last line of defense. Find the wolftaurs and explode them with your dynamite sticks.”
The three of them stood by with dry throats as the others hurriedly strapped explosives to the wolves’ white belts.
“This is how it has to be,” Sepp shook each of their paws. Rokura looked down but said nothing.
“I’ll see you in heaven.”
The Relic
Hans clutched his Mauser to his body as he led his newly-appointed hunting party into the forest. After just a few days, feeding a couple hundred men during the winter left commander Peiper with no choice but to send hunting parties eastward, to the place Lapine grandma said never to go.
This time Hans was prepared. His party of four included Tex, who was as good a shot as Hans had ever seen, and two men from the Leibstandarte. He was confident that they would all be enough to handle whatever they might encounter, especially being heavily armed as they were.
“So what’re we looking for, Herr Hepner?” Tex said quietly.
“Game would be ideal, but I’ll settle for fowl. Also be watchful for berries or nuts. We need another source.”
The two Leibstandarte men stayed well behind, content to speak among themselves. Their names were Hans Siptrott and Werner Kindler. In many ways Siptrott looked like an SS man from the movie reels, with blond hair, blue eyes and a square jaw. Kindler looked even younger than Hans himself, and had big eyes and a boney face.
“These tracks look pretty fresh,” Tex got Hans’ attention.
“Just let me hunt it myself. If we all follow it’s going to notice and get away.”
Hans turned back to the SS men and told them to follow behind Tex on the opposite side so that they formed a triangle. Siptrott said nothing. He looked none too pleased to be taking orders from a Gefreiter in the Wehrmacht. The two of them marched off and Hans followed Tex from the other side as the American tracked his game.
After a few moments Tex stopped in his tracks. Hans felt tempted to call out, but picked up his binoculars and saw the peril ahead: Burly, green-skinned monsters mounted atop what looked like giant feral wolves with six legs. The feral animal looked about three meters long.
“Mein Gott… TEX! TEX fall back right now!”
There wasn’t even a need to tell the American. He was already sprinting back to Hans.
“It’s them!” Hans whispered. “It’s them, it’s the monsters, they’re already here!”
“What do we do?”
“We must get back to Peip—”
An abrupt explosion rumbled through the air and made the snow jump. Hans picked up his binoculars and saw one of the three steeds blown to red chunks in the snow. This caused the other beasts to take off to direction of where the SS men were stationed.
Shots rang out from the underbrush in two different places. Siptrott must have seen the monsters in advance and prepared accordingly. The second greenskin fell off his beast. Hans watched the third wolf turn back to leave with the green warriors on foot.
“Halt, Wolfie!”
The voice sounded like Siptrott’s. Hans and Tex came running over to the SS men, who had a wolven warrior at gunpoint.
“Those weapons! Tell me where you got those things!” Siptrott shouted at the wolf, who had sticks of dynamite strapped to his waist. One of the sticks had an eagle and Swastika.
“Siptrott! Put the gun down. Let me speak with this one,” Hans interjected.
The SS man grunted at Hans but did as he said. Then Hans turned to the wolf and showed him both of his hands.
“Those explosives. They came from our country, you know,” he talked to the wolf in a voice much calmer than Siptrott’s.
“These? You mean boomsticks,” the wolf corrected Hans.
“Yes. Boomsticks. These boomsticks. Did you get them from another human?”
“We came here to destroy Greenskins. That’s all I have to say.”
Hans also noticed the ‘SS’ painted on the black wolf’s chestfur. It was hard to miss.
“Hey, look,” Hans signaled Kindler over and pointed to his collar, which bore the identical insignia.
The wolf huffed out and gestured at Siptrott and Kindler. “Those two. They must be good warriors. Because they run in Master Sepp’s pack.”
“’MASTER’ Sepp?” Siptrott blurted. He and Kindler stared at each other for a moment. One other explosive-strapped wolf came up to the conversation and stood before the humans.
“Yes. Master Sepp. You are the ‘good’ humans? We have a human with that collar, too. His name is Hair Petch-Key. Do you know of Hair Petch-Key?”
“We… Had a comrade named Werner Poetschke. Some time ago.” Siptrott nodded.
“Hmm. Our Petch-Key has flaxen hair, flame-wielder, and a bad temper.”
“…That’s probably him…” Siptrott and Kindler both responded instantly.
“Yes. If you are from the ‘good’ humans, then Master Sepp needs your help,” the wolf said.
“No time to lose. Keep you heads down and follow me. Axthrowers about.”
Hans nodded to the other SS men, although Siptrott and Kindler probably wouldn’t have listened to Hans even if he’d commanded them otherwise.
Hans followed behind Siptrott, Kindler and the two wolves, with Tex still walking by his side. This whole thing seemed suspicious. It could have been a setup. Morbid curiosity kept Hans and the others following, even as the noise of clanging metal, screams and explosives grew louder. He saw wolves swarming in and around a dugout. Some were loading thick arrows into cartridge-powered crossbows. The wolves noticed Hans’ party of humans and stared wide-eyed at them, stopping in their tracks.
The wolf took them to a man in officer’s uniform, but with animal skins draped over his shoulders. The man had his back turned to them, and couldn’t have been more than 170 cm tall; at least a head shorter than the wolves around him.
“Master…” The explosive-strapped wolf muttered with his ears lowered.
“Rokura?”
The ‘master’ turned around.
“What happened… What. I recognize those faces! Siptrott? Werner Kindler!”
The ‘master’ shook young Werner Kindler by the shoulders and beamed as if he were re-uniting with his son.
“Rokura how in the hell did you miraculously bring me these men! Tell me. Tell me you got those wolftaurs!”
“They’re gone, Master, but one escaped.”
The ‘Master’s’ face brightened at their sight. Hans noticed oak leaves on the ‘Master’s’ collar. This man had the residue of this world all over him, as if he’d been here for as long as Hans had.
“And who are these two?”
“Sir, um, Herr-Master-Sepp,” Hans spoke up.
“We are a scouting party for a Kompanie-sized unit led by Standartenfuehrer Jochen Peiper.”
Another explosion rocked the ground not far away. ‘Master Sepp’ put down his crossbow, pulled out an empty cigarette carton and began scribbling on it.
“Young man,” he said to Hans, “You go back to Jochen Peiper. Give him these instructions. He will know what t
o do.”
Hans took the carton and pocketed it. Flaming stones were raining down all around the trench, causing tremors all over the earth and hurling dirt and snow atop all their heads.
“We’re outnumbered here!” Sepp shouted with sudden urgency. “Bring the Leibstandarte, it’s our only hope,” he yelled to Hans.
“Yes, sir! What of the three with me?”
Master Sepp looked up, his face now caked with dust. “Werner and Siptrott stay! Take the American with you, you’ll never make it back on your own. Axthrowers everywhere. Follow me!”
Sepp lead Hans and Wheelis down a path and pulled up the wolf they had found on their expedition.
“Rokura!”
“Yes, Master Sepp!”
“These two Kamerads! To the relic!”
“You mean Petch-Key’s relic?”
“That’s the one! Go!”
Rokura pulled Hans and Tex to the far end of a trench and toward a thicket behind the line. The three of them doubled over and darted from tree to tree.
“I don’t think the Greenskins got to it yet. No! They didn’t. There it is, the Petch-Key relic!”
Perhaps Master Sepp hadn’t told his wolves the otherworldly term for this ‘relic.’ Right there stood a BMW ‘Steib’ sidecar, collecting snow and looking lonely.
R75
“You DO know how to drive one of these, right?”
“Eh, yeah. I mean, kind of. I’ve driven a light tank once before. Heh. So how hard can this be?”
Tex did not look reassured. Hans straddled the motorcycle and ignited the engine only for it to cough and sputter.
“Teufel!”
“Give it another try, sir?” Rokura pleaded as he stood by them in the snow.
Hans revved the handlebar one more time. The motorcycle spurted to life and then hummed along as if it were brand new.
“Mister Hans?”
“Yes.”
“Please get your humans here as soon as you can.”
“I will.”
Tex was already seated and had his rifle rested on the mount.
“This’ll have to work,” he said, fixing the gun on some imaginary target.
“You ready?” Hans queried.
“Now or never,” Tex replied.
“Alright hold on.”
Hans hit the gas and revved forward in fits and starts, practiced a turn or two, then roared off in the direction he came, watching Rokkura get smaller and smaller in the distance. The wheels’ traction slid in the slippery snow.
“You’re gonna have to speed up! Or the axthrowers will get us!” Tex drawled out as loud as he could over the engine.
“Jawohl!”
“What?”
“I mean, ‘OK!’”
Hans hit the accelerator and the BMW quickly went from 40 kph to 50 and kept climbing. Wind blew on his face as he darted between mossy trees and their speed grew. Until Tex gave a shout.
Hans looked over to see Tex’s face covered in snow. He spit out pine needles and cursed at Hans.
“Watch it!”
“Sorry!” Hans looked back sheepishly.
“Shit…” Tex grumbled and pulled his rifle back into position. “Oh shit!”
An ax flew at the sidecar but missed widely.
“Damnit…” Tex looked out ahead and fired a shot that punched right through a tree. Hans shook his head and told himself to focus only on avoiding the axes. Tex’s bullets would either hit or they wouldn’t.
A giant old growth tree came out of nowhere and collided with the front of the motorcycle, jolting both of them and smashing out the front light. Tex quickly stood up in the sidecar and fired the rifle, and the pursuing axthrower dropped.
Hans blinked, looking over to Tex as seeing him in double. He shook his head and noticed the engine was still humming. He pushed hard on the accelerator and the tires spat snow into the air, vision returning just in time.
“Now cover for me while I regain speed!”
“Roger that!”
“What?”
“I said ‘OK!’”
“Oh!”
With two bangs ringing through the air, Tex fired the rifle and just missed an enemy ahead, but the loud ratchet of the gun kept the the axthrower on the ground while they chugged by. Hans weaved between the trees, growing confident in the Texan’s ability to spot any threats before they could act.
50-60-65
Even still the BMW’s handling carried them through that snowy forest. Occasionally Tex blasted the rifle, but Hans’ mind was now synced with the ground beneath his wheels, and his maneuvering became actions without thought.
70-75-80
Then they saw light and broke out into a glade, and still the trusty sidecar had yet more to show Hans and his passenger.
85-90-95
“One hundred!” Hans yelled out. Tex arched the gun around, but this time there was nobody to be found, friend or enemy, only a quickly-changing horizon. They belted into the open foothills and soon descended from them. The icy river, and Peiper’s bunker, finally came into view. The sidecar came screaming down the hills and startled everyone as Hans screeched to a stop in the camp.
Delay Doctrine
“Get out of here now!”
The last explosion cracked nearby evergreens and showered Kasha’s platoon with splinters and pine needles. He found himself shouting at the seven men still under his command to retreat. He blew the whistle in three successions to make sure everyone understood him over the fracas.
“Sir, the orders were to hold here!”
“I don’t—!”
Just then another bomb hit the ground and thundered through the air. Those explosions were joined by the ‘dynamit’ sappers targeting the Wolftaurs which Kristiyan and the other dragoons hadn’t killed. That sacrifice gave Kasha time, and he was going to take advantage of it. To continue this attack against a much larger force was insanity. It would only get his platoon killed.
“Fall back! Do it now! I’ll answer for it!” He blew the whistle again in three successions.
His platoon listened to him and scurried back into the dark forest.
Soon Kasha heard other whistles, and looked over to the pockmarked landscape to see lines of canine warriors shuffling back through the evergreens. The other platoons were retreating, as well. Soon, the whole Kompanie was away from the line.
“What in the hells are you doing!” Steyn, the new leader of the whole company since Kristiyan’s death, was furious. “Kristiyan said attack and that order came right from Master Sepp!”
“I’m saving people, that’s what!” Kasha growled. “Poetschke got too far ahead. Our whole line is failing and we need to fall back on our tripods!”
“That’s not your order to give,” Steyn responded in kind.
A crowd of warriors gathered around Steyn and Kasha. Master Sepp had a book of protocol that said Steyn would be leader in this situation. But that was a human book, written for human warriors. Steyn growled at Kasha and circled around to settle the question of leadership in a more indigenous fashion.
“Wait,” Kasha said.
“For what. You want to lead, go through me.”
“This is exactly why the Greenskins have beaten us every time. We don’t even know the force we’re attacking. For all we know there could be twice or three times as many of them!”
Steyn took a step away from Kasha, who the others were now listening to. An enemy arrow whizzed over them, interrupting their ad hoc meeting.
“The courier is coming. Let’s wait until we hear from him, then decide from there.”
Steyn relented.
“Fine. Drop back another five Terras and hold the line until we know the situation,” he ordered.
The warriors picked up their weapons and backed further away. Kasha’s platoon was demoralized, but he could tell most were relieved to be out of the impossible situation behind them. After half an hour of walking, the sound of hooves closed in from behind. It was the scouts’ ad
jutant they had been waiting for, and he handed Steyn a tape of parchment.
The Kompanie leader scoffed at the tape, and stood there dumbfounded before reading it aloud.
“The force ahead of us in the north is at 400 people. Battle group Poestschke is in retreat. Master Sepp is holding.”
Steyn’s expression went blank. The wolves were more than twice outnumbered, and with Poetschke on the run, attacking was pointless. Steyn shook his head.
“I transfer Kompanie command to you, Kasha.”
Steyn acted like a wolven pack leader in any tribe would have, and turned over leadership to the person who was not only right, but obviously more trusted by the pack. Once again, Master Sepp’s manual wasn’t consulted.
“Anything else you want to tell me?” The adjutant asked from atop his steed.
“Yes,” Kasha replied. “Write down that we are in full retreat back to our original defensive position. We are outnumbered, but we will hold there. Tell them reinforcements will not be necessary.”
The scout’s adjutant jotted the verbiage and took off southward.
Kasha gathered the five platoon leaders and addressed them.
“Retreat back to the main trench now, and put the reserve platoon into action on the line. We should have one tripod for each of five groups.”
Kristiyan’s adjutant counted some 80 warriors that could man the line. The Kompanie picked up its pace westward through the Northern Forest. Distance between the monsters and the Kompanie seemed to be growing as the canines moved swiftly and deliberately back.
After an hour of silent trekking they finally came within view of the trenches and foxholes from where the battle began. A few faces peeked over the precipice and from the tripods. A look of surprise spread throughout those who were left behind to defend, their surprise turned to disappointment once they realized what had happened.
Kasha wasted no time. He jumped over the trench and hauled out the box of ‘boomstick’ explosives. There were a few mashers, too. It looked as if the box was delivered recently.