“Negative, our location is clear.” He turned back to his partner.
“You aren’t gonna report this?”
“And spend the rest of the night doing the paperwork, you’ve got to be kidding. The wife’s gonna have dinner on the table in less than an hour, and I ain’t missing it.”
They returned to their car, and Ray was relieved to hear the doors slam a moment later. They pulled away, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“We aren’t out of it yet, not by a long way,” he warned.
“We were lucky, Woody,” said Lisa.
“Lazy ass cops, they have to be useful sometimes,” replied Ray.
“How’d they even know we’d be in O’Neil’s?” Charlie asked.
“That’s a damn good question.” Woody looked at both Charlie and Ray with accusing eyes.
“We don’t have the time to worry about that right now.”
“No, Lisa, but we might not be so lucky when the next ORPO spots the van. The fact it was our vehicle must be out across the radio net. We need to get as far away from here as possible.”
Nobody needed to hear another word as they went on along the stinking alley. Ray glanced back at the teenage girl he’d trampled on. She looked desperate and forlorn. He wanted to do something, but what could he do?
“Go, get away from here. Get as far as you can,” he said as loudly as he could.
She had been frozen ever since he’d silenced her, but now she understood the danger. She sprang onto her feet, threw a small bag over her back, and took flight in the opposite direction to them. He hoped he’d done enough to stop her attracting the attention of the cops. They had already ruined her night. He just prayed they hadn’t ruined what was left of her life, too.
They soon reached the end of the alleyway. They could hear the echo of sirens as ORPOs hurried to the sight of the shootout, and probably plenty of other crimes in the area.
“Well, look at that.” Woody pointed to a station wagon and a sedan parked at the side of the road.
“It’s gonna attract a lot of attention. Are you sure you want to be riding in a hot car?”
“We don’t have a choice, Lisa. We’ve got to move.”
He checked both ways, and satisfied they were clear, holstered his pistol, and darted across the street. Lisa hid her grease gun beneath her long coat, and they all followed suit. They took cover behind the two cars as Woody drew out a small metal tool from his pocket and manipulated the lock.
“Come on, come on…” he muttered, trying to get it open.
They heard the roar of engines, but Woody didn’t pay them any attention. Ray looked over the hood of the sedan. Two Sicherheitspolizei trucks roared into view. The six-wheeled heavily armoured Grizzly assault vehicles were coming towards them.
“Woody, we have to go. Move it!”
She grabbed hold of him and hauled him from the car. His eyes widened in shock when he saw the armoured trucks heading for them. Black diesel smoke belched from their exhausts as they accelerated.
“Maybe they aren’t here for us?” Charlie asked.
But it was clear that it wasn’t the case, and that fact was reaffirmed soon after when a loudhailer rang out from a truck.
“Stop right there!”
That was the sign to do precisely the opposite, knowing what it would mean if they were caught. They had killed ORPO officers, a crime punishable by death, and not by trial.
“Come on!” Lisa shouted.
They sprang into action and reached a sprinting pace. Automatic gunfire rang out at their backs, and shots landed all around them. Ray felt a ricochet skim his calf. It stung, and he winced in pain, but he didn’t contemplate slowing his speed.
“Into the park!”
A densely wooded public park was just up ahead, and they made a break for it. Tall embankments and tall iron railings, and just a narrow pedestrian entrance surrounded it. They all hoped the vehicles wouldn’t be able to follow them in and sprinted across the street. The vehicles swerved to make the bend, gunfire from the turrets peppering the street. As they reached the entrance to the park, a bullet struck one of the stone pillars marking the entrance. They were showered with fragments of the structure.
They didn’t stop and ran on, covering the ground quickly. Other vehicles were approaching in the distance, and they would be pursued on foot before long. They came to a stop for a breather, trying to work out how they were going to get out of it.
“You’ve been hit,” Lisa said to Woody.
He was cradling his left arm with his right, and blood dripped down his hand and jacket. She pulled it away to check the wound. The bullet had gone through cleanly just below the shoulder. Knowing it wasn’t too bad was a relief, but both were aware of how difficult it would be to get out. Mark panted. He was horribly unfit and couldn’t keep up with the pace any longer. Charlie was bleeding, and he hadn’t even noticed. A bullet had gone through his neck, but missed his windpipe. He noticed them staring and reached for the wound, wincing before drawing his hand back to see the blood. He looked faint from loss of blood.
Lisa frantically looked around in every direction for a sign or idea of something to do. They were beside a water fountain with a statue of Adolf Hitler at its centre. A proud and heroic looking figure that nobody dared deface even though many thought about it.
“We have to split up.”
“No, that’s not the plan,” Charlie protested.
“Whatever the plan, this surely wasn’t it,” said Ray.
“We stick together,” said Woody.
Lisa was already shaking her head.
“We do that and we all die. Ray and I can keep pace. The rest of you find somewhere to lay low.”
“What are you gonna do?” Woody asked.
“Something stupid.”
She grabbed Ray’s arm and took off before another word could be spoken. Woody wasn’t happy with the situation at all, but neither was he in any position to argue over it. They tucked into the cover of some bushes, watching Lisa and Ray run on. Before long they were at another exit to the park. They had to get out, not just for their sake, but for those they had left behind. They broke out into the open and came across an armoured truck unloading troops. Lisa lifted her submachine gun and opened fire. She caught one of them and forced the others back behind the cover of the vehicle.
It was their chance to keep running, and they took it. They rushed on to the next piece of cover. As they reached it, a number of shots landed around them. Lisa leant out from the corner of the building they’d sheltered behind and kept firing, but her magazine soon ran empty. She ran on without another word, tossing the gun away.
“That’s all the ammo you brought?” Ray asked in disbelief.
“We hit and run. We aren’t here to fight for days on end!”
They ran on, travelling along what would normally have been a bustling street. Although there were several hours before the shops opened, and few people were around. Those that were scattered, so as not to be caught in the crossfire, or associated with those running from the cops. Gunfire rang out at their backs, and two bullets struck a well-dressed businessman in front of them.
“Come on!” Lisa turned sharply into another street.
They soon came to a standstill, facing a patrol car and two ORPOs pointing pistols right at them. They looked around for some way out, but the building walls either side were twenty metres high. There was nothing to be done and nowhere to go. They raised their hands and froze. It seemed like the end.
“Up against the wall!” a voice roared.
They were grabbed by the Sicherheitspolizei and thrown up against the wall of a building. They knew what was going to come next. An SS officer stood in front of them. He had a wicked grin on his face as though enjoying every moment. Six men with Mauser assault rifles were lined up beside him.
“The crime for the killing of an officer of the law is death!” yelled the officer.
The officer backed away for what was c
oming next. Everyone knew they were the ones involved in what happened at O’Neil’s. There was no denying it, and it would fall on deaf ears anyway.
“You have been found guilty, and may this be a message to all!” The sadistic officer shouted.
He spoke as though getting some vengeance, but he just loved every moment of his job. Dozens of people were watching from the street they’d come from, their morbid curiosity getting the better of them.
“Any great last words?”
“No, Ray, I don’t wanna die.”
He smiled, but he could see she wasn’t joking.
“Aim!”
“Well, it was nice knowing you,” said Ray.
A burst of gunfire rang out, but they were not hit. Two Sicherheitspolizei collapsed in a pool of blood, and gunfire was landing around the others as they ran for cover.
“Come on!” a voice yelled.
It was coming from beside the patrol car that had stopped them. The two officers lay dead beside it, and a woman in plain clothes was gesturing for them to follow. They needed no further incentive. Ray glanced up to see muzzle flashes from the rooftops, and another cop fell. He’d seen enough and was glad to get the hell out of there.
They ran on after the dark-haired woman. She was carrying a German manufactured Mauser assault rifle.
“This plan seriously went to shit, didn’t it?”
“You bet ya,” replied Lisa.
They were led around several turns until they reached an open sewer cover with two armed men waiting guard. Nobody said a word, and Ray didn’t question it. He just wanted to be away from there. They clambered inside, and the manhole cover was pulled back into position. Ray landed in shallow filthy water. His shoes let it right through, and it felt disgusting, but he was glad to be out of the line of fire. It was quiet there, away from the bustle of the street and the fighting that still raged after they had gone.
“Come on!” yelled the woman, as if there was still a massive sense of urgency.
They travelled for several hundred metres along a narrow tunnel. It opened up into a large and relatively dry area of the sewer. Three men were standing in the centre of the room. Two equipped with Mausers captured from the enemy, but the third in the middle, was empty-handed.
“I guess you’re Mr Big?” Ray asked.
It had been a whirlwind of a day since he had gotten out. Not even a full twenty-four hours yet, and he wasn’t in the mood to stay quiet. He was free, and he was going to enjoy that freedom. The man in the centre was about fifty-years-old. He had almost no hair left at all, but he had chiselled strong features and carried himself like an officer, and a tough one at that.
“Samuel Weathers,” the man said.
“Well, shit.”
He knew the name. He just didn’t know the face.
“So you’re the guy behind all of this?”
“I am one of them,” he replied, “Detain him.”
The two men beside him strode forward, and one bound his hands with handcuffs behind his back. The other watched cautiously with his finger worryingly close to the trigger.
“What is this?”
“Just take it easy. It will be okay,” Lisa insisted.
“Word is you were something special over in England, but that doesn’t mean anything here. It’s time to find out who you really are, and what it is you are doing here.”
* * *
New York City Hall, New York
Marcus looked out from the darkened windows of the staff car as they travelled along Broadway. The city bustled with people from all walks of life, though the increased number of security operatives was plain and obvious. Many of the side streets were blocked, and police vehicles and trucks waited at key points to run checks. Marcus had not seen the place in this state for many years, and it left him feeling uneasy. New York was not his birthplace, but after so many years here, it was his new home. He had friends and contacts, all who carried out their day-to-day lives much like him.
“Almost there,” said the driver.
Marcus suspected he knew the layout of Manhattan better than the driver probably did. Unknown to him, he commonly walked dozens of blocks every day. He enjoyed seeing and experiencing the sights and sounds of the city.
“Thank you. I know.”
They moved to the next block, when an argument taking place drew his attention. Several locals were shouting at police, while others were being manacled and bundled into the back of a truck.
“What’s going on, driver?”
The man shrugged.
“All I know is what I see on the streets. The news networks say it is an increase in crime.”
“And you agree?”
The man looked back at Marcus, soaking in the details of his coat, and the discreet military insignia at his lapel.
“Navy?”
Marcus nodded.
“Okay.”
The man relaxed upon confirmation. There had always been a marked difference between attitudes towards the Wehrmacht regular military, the police units, and of course the SS. He knew that look; he’d seen it many times before.
“Word on the street is not good. There’s a lot of anger.”
“Anger? Why? There is employment, the ports are all busy, and the Americas have never been more prosperous.”
The driver looked nervous, and Marcus was not surprised.
Why would he speak of things that could spell disaster to him?
He tried to calm the man by changing tack.
“Tell me, what have you seen recently? Riots, violence, protests?”
The man hesitated before speaking.
“The Sicherheitspolizei are everywhere. They’re rounding up anybody and everybody. And I’ve seen shootouts. Rumour has it…”
“Yes?”
The man inhaled deeply before continuing.
“Well, this is just rumour. But I’ve heard people saying the Reich has gone too far. Some are talking about violence. Bombings, assassination, murder.”
“I see. That is...unfortunate.”
They were moving along the section of lower Broadway in the old Financial District of the city. A place where the tall towering buildings on each side gave a dark, cool feel that sometimes blotted out sunlight. To some it might feel oppressive, but Marcus enjoyed the view of the architecture. It reminded him in many ways of the vast city complexes of Europa, where so much time and money had been spent revitalising the cities of the Old World.
The Canyon of Heroes.
The name sounded strange, especially after the ignominious defeat of the United States. The place was still used for ticker tape parades, but these days under the auspices of a client state of the Reich. They turned to the right towards a large park thick with trees. Black iron fences blocked the area from the street, and two armoured cars waited at the gates.
This is not good.
The driver spoke with them for a few seconds, and after checking the car and the paperwork, they were waved through. The journey to the front of the City Hall was short, and they arrived at a magnificent structure of gleaming white, the seat of New York’s government. They stopped at the front, where the stained steps led up to the central structure. Six tall columns rose to the next floor, and narrow arches containing paired doors marked the way inside. Multiple flags flew from the top of the building, while long red Reich banners hung from the flat roof, almost touching the ground. On each side of the steps they’d mounted two flags. One Reich flag, and the other the flag of the United States.
He looked back, but the driver had already gone, taking the black staff car around the building and away from view. When Marcus looked around, he found the dark shapes of Sicherheitspolizei, in addition to numerous public officials, and even several SS men heading inside. A single Hauptmann of the Schutzpolizei, along with his unit of armed constables waited in a loose line at the top of the steps. They looked little different to any from the other Reich security units, a thought that always amused Marcus.
&
nbsp; He tightened his grip on his briefcase and then moved up the steps. He heard a noise, a powerful diesel engine, and it was getting louder. He looked to the gravel road leading to the street. A large truck was heading towards City Hall. Men were on the back, holding on tightly. Then he noticed weapons.
“Hauptmann! Insurgents!”
“Alarm!” yelled the Hauptmann, “Rottmeisters, forward!”
The accent was thick Brooklyn, and his men responded at once. The constables raced down the steps, raising their firearms. Those few civilians and officials still in the open began to panic, some racing inside, and others descending the steps. The truck was heading for the steps, but Marcus’ warning had come just in time. Two opened fire. One of them must have hit the driver because the truck lurched to a stop as it hit the first step.
“Take cover!” Marcus shouted.
Some of them listened to him and joined him on the ground, but others continued to mill about. The guns opened up, and Marcus was taken back to that dark time in his past. Though on the ground, he instinctively reached for his concealed weapon. Like all members of the military, he was entitled to carry a firearm, even when off duty. Resting against his thigh was a tough leather holster, and inside a Mauser HSc 7.65mm automatic pistol and two spare magazines. The weapon was sleek in design, with the trigger guard moulded up to the short, stubby barrel. The weapon was older than him, but remained a popular choice among officers in the Kriegsmarine. It was simple, reliable, and beautifully proportioned for use as a concealed firearm.
“Get back!” yelled the young Hauptmann.
The few on the steps were no longer listening to the vain cries from the officer. A gunshot rang out, and five men in drab clothing, their faces hidden behind hoods, leapt from the truck. They moved to the steps, holding strange submachine guns in their hands. Marcus didn’t recognise the design, though they were definitely of crude, simple construction. Two rottmeisters were hit by gunfire, clearing the lower step for the attackers.
Soldiers of Tomorrow: Iron Legions Page 5