Time War: Onslaught

by Nick S. Thomas

  Corwin was nothing but calm, only a little agitated if anything.

  "Colonel, I might ask you the same question. We are supposed to be operating with the utmost security and privacy. If the Germans can hit us this far into our own lines, what is going on with security round here?"

  Williams slumped down in his chair and shook his head in disbelief.

  "I won't doubt there are some flaws in our defences, but we are here to defend against armies, not these clandestine little operations. Just the sort of operations you and your people like to conduct."

  "And have proven rather successful at," added Corwin.

  "Yes, well that remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "One has to wonder if what you achieve is worth the grief you bring with you."

  "Don't tell me you want to hold us back because you are worried about repercussions! This is a fucking war!" Corwin snapped.

  "Don't tell me what this is and what this is not, Captain!" Williams barked, "What you have to understand is there is more to this war than you and your people, and your own little private war that you seem to be so fond of."

  Corwin shook his head. He’d really had enough of this.

  "You know every time there is a little success around here you can't get enough of us, and any time there is a little hardship it's all on us. Well, fuck you!" He got up and stormed off.

  Hotwell seemed firmly glued in his chair and appalled by what he had heard, but Corwin stopped beside him. "Come on." Hotwell knew he shouldn't leave, but he was glad of the opportunity he had been given. He jumped out of his chair and followed on with Corwin.

  "Still need to work on your powers of negotiation," he said as they left the room.

  "No, I really don't!"

  Corwin stomped on back to their billets to find his people lying about. The two recon cars were parked outside. They walked in to see a few were cleaning weapons and sorting equipment. Harland was sitting back with a cigar in his mouth, and Lecia just stared out of one of the windows at nothing he could see. Opposite them were the two recce crews and Badcock, who looked the most uncomfortable. It was as if neither side wanted to interrupt the other, and so they sat in silence.

  At a table in the middle of the room was a pile of intelligence photos and maps that looked as if they had been flung there without any regard whatsoever.

  "What is this?" Hotwell asked and raced forward with eagerness to check them.

  Nobody answered him. A few of them groaned, but not even Beyett looked interested enough to look over them. Hotwell picked a few up, and even from a distance Corwin could see one of them showed a number of high-ranking German officers engaged in conversation.

  "You know the kind of danger our agents go through for this sort of information? How many risk and lose their lives for it?" Hotwell asked in astonishment.

  Still no one responded, but Corwin squinted and looked closer at the photo Hotwell was holding up over his head, trying to convince them to take an interest.

  "Show me that," said Corwin. He stepped forward and snatched it from Hotwell's hands.

  "What is it? What do you see?"

  Corwin ran his finger from face to face on the photo.

  "You see that, the Fuehrer himself," said Corwin, pointing to Hitler at the centre of the image. Corwin said nothing, but it was obvious. The face of the Fuehrer and his ridiculous moustache were just about the only thing he would recognise in any photo of the Germans in WW2.

  "If our people were able to get this close to him, just imagine..."

  "The photos could have come from anywhere. They could have been stolen from a lab or passed on to anybody. Getting them in hand doesn't mean you have an operative within spitting distance of that asshole," said Beyett.

  "What a shame. Get me line of sight anything up to two klicks, and he'd be finished," said Lecia.

  "Nobody can hit a man at that range, no matter how good they are," said one of Travers' crewmembers.

  Lecia just smiled in response, for she didn't feel she had anything to prove.

  "Hitler can't win this war," added Corwin, "I am looking for someone much more valuable."

  The man who had questioned Lecia laughed at him also.

  "You're kidding, right? He's taken our trousers down and given us a bloody good thrashing. It will take a miracle for us to turn this around."

  Corwin stopped and looked up for a minute, making direct eye contact with the man.

  "Who are you?"

  "I...uhh...I am Private Wright."

  Harland laughed.

  "Sure got the right name to go with that big mouth," he said.

  Wright looked at him but dared not speak out. He could see the murdering eyes looking him up and down and not showing an ounce of fear. Corwin continued.

  "Well, Private Wright, firstly, shut up. Secondly, I will not have a man or woman under my command that does not believe in victory. Don't think it can happen, it won't. If you can't deal with that, get out and go back to your unit."

  Travers began to laugh.

  "He never could keep his mouth shut, but he's not without his uses."

  "Oh, really?" Corwin sneered.

  "Who do you think shot out the engine on that aircraft?" Wright asked.

  Corwin looked to Travers for confirmation, and he simply nodded to give it.

  "I guess you aren't a total asshole, then, but if you are going to stick around, you are going to have to start believing in what we are doing."

  "And what exactly is that?" Travers asked.

  Corwin looked back to the photo and studied it one last time. He panned across the image and suddenly stopped. He slapped the image down on the table and placed his finger on one of the men with the side of his face to the camera. He appeared to be lurking in the background while two other officers address Hitler. Hotwell looked down to he was pointing to as if expecting to recognise him, but he shook his head.

  "I have no idea who that is...but it could be anyone."

  Corwin shook his head, and Beyett rushed to his side out of curiosity.

  "I don't believe it," he said, and as he reached Corwin, he knelt down in front of the photo to get a good view.

  "Could it be?"

  "Could it be who? That is not any key member of Hitler's inner circle that we know of."

  "Of course it isn't," added Corwin.

  "Why?"

  "Because, Captain, you are looking at the very reason we came here. That there is Maximilian Villiers, the most dangerous man on Earth."

  Hotwell picked up the photo and studied it even more carefully than Beyett had. Finally, he looked up at them confused.

  "How? Just how on God's earth can you tell it is him from that photo?"

  He held it up, and all you could see was the side of the man's face in the background. He was a little out of focus due to the depth of field.

  "Maybe he looks a little like your man, maybe he doesn't, but don't tell me you can know for certain from this. Do you know how many thousands of staff the Fuehrer comes into contact with? And do you know how many of those could look a little like your man Villiers from the side in a blurry photo?"

  Corwin shook his head. He wasn't willing to accept the Captain's negativity.

  "It's him."

  "How? How can you know that for sure? You are about to ask the Allies to commit an awful lot of resources to get that man. I know you are. Guarantee me that it's him, beyond any doubt."

  "Come on, Captain, you know that isn't how war works," replied Beyett.

  "No, it works on numbers of enemy, weapons, bombs, and the percentage chances of success or failure based on those numbers. Tell me what percentage chance there is of that actually being this Villiers character?"

  "All this doubt, and yet many operations in history have gone forward to achieve success with less information," said Corwin.

  Hotwell was getting agitated and could see he wasn't getting anywhere.

  "You know I am behind yo
u on your efforts here. I am that because I know you are heading in the right direction to help us win this war, but I cannot let you deviate based on what is nothing more than a guess. You hope and pray that it is him, and therefore your mind if willing to accept it is, but that doesn't make it true."

  "And you've never done anything based on a little faith?"

  Hotwell groaned.

  "Yes, but nothing as serious as this. I don't know what kind of crazy mission you are going to want to pull to find that man, but I know it’s going to be dangerous, and I know it’s going to involve committing an awful lot of resources."

  "And you won't back it?"

  "I cannot...not in good conscience."

  "Then you are no good to me."

  Hotwell could not believe what he was hearing, but Beyett was the only one who seemed to feel any sympathy for him. Because Beyett understood how useful he was.

  "If you aren't willing to help us with this, then leave," added Corwin.

  Hotwell looked back at the photograph one last time before shaking his head and dropping it back onto the table. He stepped to the door and stopped to look back at Corwin one last time, but he wasn't even acknowledged. He put on his cap and left.

  It was Beyett who finally broke the silence.

  "He is right, you know. There is as much chance that the man you see there is just another random officer, maybe even more chance. You want it to be Villiers, and so do I. We all do, but that doesn't make it the case."

  "Don't you doubt me, too!"

  "This isn't doubt, this is common sense. We need to see clearly, or as clearly as we can on this."

  Corwin turned to the others to get a feel for their opinion. Lecia didn't seem to care.

  "You know Villiers better than any of us. If you think it's him, then what are we waiting for?" Nylund asked.

  Though his opinion was worth close to nothing to the Captain, he was a useful soldier, but far from intelligent.

  "Vi?" Corwin asked.

  "It's a lead, and the only one we have seen yet. I say we get over there and start taking heads. We're bound to find him soon enough."

  "Fucking right," Harland agreed in an unusual turn of support for her.

  "Anything to not have to hear this eternal bitching and whining," Porter said.

  Frasi added nothing as usual, and Rane only shrugged, not seeming to care at all. Finally, he came to the last voice that could add anything, Chas. She came close to plain nuts most of the time, and yet just occasionally she had more to offer than her pretty smile and deadly skills. It seemed as if she had nothing to say, and Corwin opened his mouth to speak when she leapt onto the table at the centre of the room, with a turn of speed that shocked the new comers among them. All remained still and watched her in silence and opened mouthed.

  She bent down at the hips without using her knees at all so that her butt was thrust out and her hair fell over her eyes. She certainly had their attention. She picked up the photo and slowly rose up. Vi was licking her lips at the sight, and only Lecia seemed to be free of the trance she held the rest of them in. Her face scrunched up in a cute way as if she was studying the photo, and then she threw it back down to the table.

  "None of us can say for sure that the man there is Villiers, but there is one way we can be sure. We are hunters. We always have been. We catch a scent, and we follow it until we take down our prey. This is the first lead we have had, no matter how weak it might be. I say we follow it, and see where it takes us. If that path takes us on a bloody journey through a thousand enemy soldiers, then so be it. Seems to me like every single one we kill helps in this war, so what if we find Villiers or not. Time we stopped lurking around this little island and weighed in on the fight for real."

  Travers couldn't believe what he was hearing.

  "Didn't you see what happened yesterday? We tore those Germans apart, and your Captain here, it was incredible."

  "It’s a little taste of what we can do. The war in this country is being fought in the air and on the sea, and we are neither fighter pilots nor sailors. We are fighters, warriors, and gladiators. We use our own hands around the enemies’ throats if need be. We can't be this side of the water any longer."

  She slumped down into a cross-legged position on the table and waited for some response. Corwin coughed to clear his throat and to try and break out of the trance she had gotten him into.

  "Quite right. Captain Hotwell has been valuable to us, but he simply doesn't understand the way we work."

  He turned to the new recruits.

  "We are hunters, just as she says. We don't fight defence. We don't skulk in bunkers or safe back behind the lines. No, that is not our way. We fight the enemy on their soil, at the time and place of our choosing. When they least expect, where they are most vulnerable, and we do not stop until we have achieved our goal."

  "And if that still isn't the man you want?" Travers asked.

  Corwin looked at the photo again for a moment and thought it through his head, finally turning back to them. He seemed to have found an even higher sense of purpose and confidence now.

  "It doesn't matter."

  Nylund scoffed. "Doesn't matter? He is the reason we are here."

  "What I mean is it doesn't matter if that is him or not. It's a good enough lead to go on. We cut a path to that man. If it is Villiers then good, and if it isn't, we beat the information out of every son of a bitch we come across until we do find him. This is a strange place to us no doubt, but have we forgotten our ways? We are the terrors that lurk in the shadows, and that strike at any and all targets as and when we please. We strike fear into the enemy because they do not know where we are and when we strike. But look at us now! Sitting around a training camp, taking scraps of missions when our new leaders think we need to be tested."

  "It's about time you grew your balls back," said Harland.

  Porter laughed, but Corwin only agreed.

  "Our balls, our teeth. Time to become the unstoppable bastards we really are."

  He looked to the seven new recruits.

  "Are you up for this?"

  "Whatever you’re planning, it sounds like both a barrel of laughs and an absolute nightmare...I'm in," replied Travers, and his people agreed, "This is Corporal Coates, and Privates Daniels, Mershon, Piper, and Carver," he said as he went along his line of crew for the two vehicles.

  Corwin nodded in appreciation before turning to Corporal Badcock who sat alone.

  "What'll it be?"

  "I told you before, Sir. I can't shoot for shit, but put me in the seat of something fast and I'll prove my worth. Fly, drive, ride, anything you like. I'd fly you to Berlin on a bomb with Adolf Hitler's name on it if you asked me to, and I'd be sure to ram it down his throat."

  "Then we're agreed, enough dicking around. I tell you this man is more dangerous than Hitler himself, and we have to stop him, are you all with me?"

  There was overwhelming agreement as grunts of approval resounded around the room.

  "Let's get that son of a bitch!" Corwin shouted at the top of his voice, and they erupted with a roar of excitement.

  He had riled them up all right, but it was time to back it up with action. He turned to the door and found Hotwell blocking the way.

  "Don't ever stand in my way," he snarled.

  "It's not me," replied Hotwell calmly.

  "What is it, Captain?"

  "The Colonel. He has asked for you to report to him immediately."

  "Good, because I have a few things to say to him myself."

  Hotwell left as Corwin turned back to his people.

  "What are you going to say?"

  "Exactly what I just told you, Beyett. It's time for us to do what we do best."

  * * *

  Corwin strolled across a parade ground alone now, making his way to see the Colonel. But he stopped and hesitated for just a moment as he noticed two staff cars and a number of personnel and MPs ahead. It made him suspicious, and he felt his fists clench. It was t
he defensive reaction that made him want to reach for a weapon, but he could not see any threat yet, but something was afoot.

  Two MPs were watching him carefully now, and it was clear that he was acting suspiciously. His right hand hovered near a pistol, that by all accounts he shouldn't be carrying, and his hesitation to approach them only made them more suspicious. One of them began to take a few paces towards him to intercept. Most likely the man had never seen anyone look like he did. He still wore the body armour he had brought from the future, but over a British wool uniform. His pistol hung from a drop leg holster; part WW2 origin and part his own gear. His was dirty from the day before, and he had not had time to clean it yet. The cuts on his face had only just started to heal.

  "Identification!" the man called to him.

  "I am Captain Corwin... 7th Parachute Battalion."

  The MP didn't believe him, and that was hardly surprising, for he didn't really believe it himself. The MP reached slowly for his sidearm and stopped just at the flap of the cross draw holster.

  "Don't!" Corwin yelled.

  Hotwell rushed out from the base HQ ahead and saw what was going on. He rushed forward frantically.

  "Halt!"

  But the sharp call only caused the MP to respond, sensing the situation was about to escalate. He pulled the flap of his holster and began to draw. Corwin snapped his own pistol out of his holster and fired a single shot. The bullet hit the cylinder of the man's revolver. It snapped out of his grip and fell until it hung only from the lanyard around his collar.

  A dozen soldiers ran forward to confront him, but Hotwell was already ahead of them. He rushed in between the MPs and Corwin who had raised his pistol to confront the rest.

  "Stop, stop right now. He's one of us!" Hotwell shouted frantically.

  Only two of the camp soldiers were amongst those now pointing weapons at the two them. The rest had clearly come with whichever VIPs had recently arrived.