“It has already been taken.”
“Which means it’s time to get it back!”
The room fell silent, and everyone felt the tension. None of them knew Ray well, although his reputation was enough to make them at least listen to what he had to say.
“You know, he might just have a point,” said Lisa.
“Not you as well?”
“Come on, we’ve seen what they do in response to any of our resistance activities. Can you imagine how bad it’ll get after we pull this one off?”
“That’s a price we have to pay.”
“But it won’t be us paying it, will it?”
Ray was nodding in agreement, knowing what the reprisals would mean. They didn’t realize how bad it would get, which meant they had little idea of the horrors they would face.
“This is war. We can’t hold back for fear of what the enemy might do.”
“But it isn’t a war, is it? You are fighting in the streets of your own city, against the men who rule it.”
“It is a war, and you damn well know it,” Weathers snarled. He looked to Woody for help, but he seemed torn. Finally, took a deep breath, determined to go on no matter what.
“We have a good plan, and we have a duty to keep moving ahead, so hear me out. A transport ship carrying heavy weapons essential for our primary mission is docked at the Brooklyn Naval Yard. This is our best hope of getting the tools for the job. Alpha Squad will undertake the mission to secure those weapons. Meanwhile, Delta and Echo will carry out diversionary attacks to buy Alpha enough time to get in there, do the job, and get out. Is everyone clear on that?”
There were a few muted noises of agreement.
“Are you still up for this, Woody?”
“Sure,” he replied, but he looked anything but confident.
“Then let’s get this done. You all know what you have to do. This is the first step towards everything we have worked for. Let’s get it right!”
CHAPTER FIVE
Brooklyn Navy Yard, Brooklyn, New York
15th November 2017, 11.20pm
“Keep your eyes open,” said Marcus, “The protection of this yard is down to us.”
The Kriegsmarine Landship Hansa moved slowly as they threaded through the massive facilities of the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Decades ago the place had been a hive of activity as the Americans raced to maintain their dwindling fleets of ships. Latterly, it had become one of many important ship maintenance and loading bays in New York. Huge spotlights lit up the area as dozens of ships waited patiently for the numerous cranes to do their job.
“Kapitän?” Karl the vehicle’s driver asked.
“Yes?”
“We’ve done this patrol more than a dozen times and never come across any trouble. Why are we here?”
Marcus sighed.
“Because, Karl, the SS and their friends like to play boss. And if we’re stuck here guarding ships, they can have a free hand on the island. It’s all about playing power games with them.”
Karl did not seem impressed.
“With a machine like Hansa, you’d think they’d…”
“Wait. What’s that?”
Hansa came to a halt, and Marcus began scanning the area. The video cameras provided a crystal clear view of the area around them, without having to use lights.
“What did you see, Kapitän?”
“Remain at your stations. I’m sure I…”
He paused, and then he spotted something moving near the long, red-bricked buildings beside the water. Next to them a ship was tied up at the wharf, the SS Heidberg, a cargo ship eighty-five metres long. Reacting on instinct, he reached for his radio.
“This is Kapitän Marcus Klenner, of the landship Hansa. I have possible infiltrators near the transport ship SS Heidberg. Request base security to secure the Naval Yard at once.”
He looked back at his tiny crew waiting inside the hull of the walking monster.
“Activate your weapons, and prepare for combat. Batten down, this could be it.”
Any hatches still open locked shut, and the air circulation system changed in sound as it diverted more air into the habitation section. Marcus licked his lips, watching the tagged building ahead.
“Okay, move us in.”
The massive four hundred and fifty tonne machine moved closer and closer, like a predator stalking its prey. The diesel generators were off, leaving the machine to operate on batteries. At nearly sixteen metres in height, it towered over the depot building of the yard, giving them a high position to scan the area.
“Kapitän, somebody is unloading vehicles from the ship and into the yard. Look,” said Hans, the main gunner.
“Okay, be ready.”
Marcus hit the external lamp button. Dozens of exterior flood lamps activated, filling the area with bright yellow light. The dark shape of the cargo ship changed, and they viewed the craft in minute detail, packed with containers. Even Marcus was surprised to see dozens of military and civilian trucks, but all painted in the standard military field grey.
“Nothing out of the ordinary, not so far,” he said quietly, “Trucks are loaded all the time here. Wait…What’s this?”
He moved to the next ramp. People were moving vehicles from the waiting lines of trucks. He couldn’t see weapons or equipment in evidence, but something was suspicious about it all happening during the hours of complete darkness.
“Let’s take a closer look.”
A twist of the camera controls brought him in closer so that he could make out the shapes of the machines. Most were covered in tarpaulins, but then he found one at the far end uncovered, and with two people on top of it.
“Pumas?”
The longer he watched, the more he was convinced by what he could see. They were Puma II armoured cars lined up alongside the ship. He recognised them at once as the wheeled vehicles used for provincial policing in Afrika and the other distant colonies. Sturdy four and six-wheel drive machines with light armour and gun turrets, they were frequently exported from the American Union to be used throughout the Reich.
“Contact!”
Black shapes moved around the vehicles, and then one swung its turret around. The automatic cannons opened up, sending heavy shells against the armour of Hansa.
“Return fire!”
Shells slashed the heavy armour of the landship, but achieved little. The shoulder gun mounts turned and fired. Each had a single gun mount that carried four 20mm chain guns. These automatic cannons were fed via a chain drive, and clattered away as the rounds ripped into the vehicles.
“Infantry moving in from the right.”
Marcus knew what was happening and was ready for it.
“Strafe right, target the trucks with the Firestorms…fire!”
The lumbering machine stepped sideways three times and loosed off four missiles. The missile battery was overkill at this range, and blew three of the armoured cars into the water with the blast. Two more exploded, and a third caught fire. The bright flames panicked those standing close, and several rushed inside the red brick depot. Gunfire erupted from a dozen different parts of the building, from the ground level to the higher windows, and even the roof.
“Keep firing!”
The guns from both sides fired almost continually, lighting the place up with gunfire. Occasionally a rocket would race towards them, to be knocked down by the defence system, or by the overwhelming firepower. The gunners started from the left and tracked down the length of the building, hammering the place with cannon fire. Holes appeared in the stonework, and entire sections collapsed down to the ground. The firing kept going until a Firestorm missile brought the roof tumbling down in a cloud of dust.
“Good work, damned good work. Bring us around…that’s it, nice and slow.”
They could see the line of ruined vehicles, as well as around a dozen figures clambering onto the ship. Smoke belched from the vessel’s smokestacks, and then something heavy smashed into Hansa’s right leg. The landship
shuddered and almost lost balance. The driver made a quick correction and then stumbled to the right. A pair of the armoured cars raced away, travelling right between the long legs of the walker. They moved fast, taking advantage of the slow turn rate of the landship to escape.
“We’re taking damage!” yelled the driver. “We need to…”
“No. The perimeter guards can deal with those two. I want that ship.”
“Yes, Kapitän.”
Ignoring the armoured cars, Hansa moved back into the fray, and towards the water in the middle of the large Wallabout Channel. The space was big enough for multiple ships, and presently housed four separate transport ships. One was moving, and it was the SS Heidberg. Hansa took aim, but as her chain guns opened fire, the machine took a fusillade of gunfire from the ruins of the depot building. Marcus snarled as the bullets bit into the machine’s thick hide. One must have found a weak point because it triggered a breach warning.
“Damn them. Very well, destroy that building, once and for all.”
Hansa fired one last time, cutting apart the building in a cruel volley of bullets. More missiles slammed into the structure, and then the shooting stopped. Fires burned along the quayside, and with the ship heading out to sea, several dozen trucks lay abandoned.
“What now, Kapitän?”
Marcus checked the vehicles carefully for signs of the insurgents. A single armoured car was left in the group, the rest little more than trucks and forklifts. He was tempted to open fire on them, but what was the point?
“We stop the ship. Take us into the water.”
The driver gasped.
“Do you know the depth, Kapitän?”
“No, but it’s a dock, not the main channel. I won’t ask again. Take us into the water.”
“Yes, Kapitän.”
The driver boosted power to the articulated legs, and the diesel generators kicked in. They had enough electrical power for the fight, but the diesels would give them much extra horsepower, as well as boosting the energy reserve. Hansa moved fast and then jumped out into the water. It was ungainly, and hit the water like a rock crashing into a pond. All of them, Marcus included, held their breath as they sank down deep into the water. The feet went in, followed by the ankles, knees, and then up to the thighs. Hans reached for the belt clasps to release himself, but Marcus stopped him.
“Patience, we can make it.”
On they sank until finally stopping a metre below the armpit.
“Report?”
The crew all confirmed their stations were still functional. Marcus leant back slightly and exhaled slowly.
“Good. Stop that ship!”
Hansa pushed ahead with surprising speed. Her heavy legs thrust down into the bedrock and pushed on faster and faster. The transport ship tried to increase speed, but she was old, perhaps even a hundred years old. Her triple-expansion steam engine was no match for the massed power of Hansa, and soon the landship was twenty metres behind and closing.
“Guns!”
Twinkling lights along the stern marked the presence of guns. They couldn’t have been more than rifles, or perhaps light machineguns, but they did strike the water around Hansa. Small puffs of water marked where they hit, and many glanced off the machine’s armour.
“Return fire. Disable her weapons, and then take out her engines.”
The batteries of chain guns did their work, chewing great chunks from the rear of the ship. They were five metres from the stern, and so close Marcus felt he could reach out and grab the ship.
“What?”
Figures leapt from the ship as the crew jumped for their lives. Deep down his gut told him something was about to happen. He opened his mouth to speak again just as a blinding light obscured his view. The entire ship rose from the water as a mighty explosion hit, sending Hansa flying backwards and onto her back. Lacking any buoyancy, the heavy machine sunk down into the murky waters of Wallabout Channel.
Above them the aged steamship came back down and settled into the water, her spine broken in two, and fires burning throughout the ship. In a matter of seconds, she’d started the grim process of sinking, fires spreading through the upper structure.
“Kapitän, we’re lost!”
Marcus remained calm as he checked their position on the computer system.
“Rotate the gun arms and prepare to lift. We’ll use them to push up.”
“What? We can’t do…”
“Enough! Carry out your orders!”
Water started to pour in through the gaps in the machine. For all her advanced features, Hansa was far from watertight, and as the seconds ticked by, the leaks became a deluge.
“Arms ready!”
“Push!”
The machine used its reversed gun arms as a piston and pushed hard. Hansa rose, but then started to settle back.
“Now bend and twist the right leg. Put us in a kneeling position.”
The driver did as ordered, even as the others started to yell in panic. The torrent of water had become so great the crew compartment was half full of water. Marcus’ legs were covered, and Karl was scrambling around for a respirator.
“Leave it! By the time you need it, this will be over.”
Karl looked confused, but Marcus was all business.
“Send all power to the legs and torso. Lift us out of this!”
Hansa groaned but then started to rise. It was a slow process, made more difficult by the weight of the extra water, and the failing motors as water reached the electrical system.
“I need more power,” said Karl.
Marcus reached for the controls.
“You’ll have it. All reserve generator and battery power is yours. Do it!”
With the scream of motors and pistons, the great machine pushed harder and harder, and then to cries of joy, the head and chest of the beast emerged from the water. Marcus settled back into the water-filled compartment and breathed with relief. He could see the burning, half sunken ship, but more important, he and his crew were alive.
“Get us back on dry land, quick as you can.”
They moved to the edge of the quay. Five of the trucks had gone, and in the distance a small gun battle raged at the security gate. It was soon over, and before Hansa could leave the water, the column had gone.
“Can you hit them?”
“Negative. All systems are offline.”
The machine groaned as Karl lifted them back to dry land, and Marcus swung his floodlight around to survey the scene of the battle. There were more than a dozen destroyed vehicles and many bodies. The depot was gone, and behind him the ruin of SS Heidberg moved silently beneath the water.
* * *
Rebel Base, Bowery Bay, New York
16th November 2017, 6.15am
Lisa was tapping her right foot anxiously. She felt as hopeless as everyone else left behind. None of them had managed to get any sleep, kept awake by the tense wait for news. It was clear to Ray that for all of their talk, they were not as experienced as they implied. This was obviously the biggest thing they’d ever done.
“Where are we?”
She couldn’t find her words for a while. He teeth were chattering, and she looked more worried than those who’d gone off to fight. He didn’t doubt she had what it took to stand and fight, but she would be unable to help. A feeling he knew all too well.
“Bowery Bay,” she slowly muttered.
“Seriously? All that time in Rikers, and I’m just across the water from that damn place.”
She nodded in agreement.
“This sewer connects to the old Bowery Bay water treatment plant. If you went up onto the surface, you’d have a clear view of what was your home until a couple of days ago.”
“It was never that.”
“No, I shouldn’t imagine it would be,” she said apologetically.
He sighed.
“You know how long I was looking forward to this day. I thought I’d be coming out in a little more style. A nice burger at a
bar with a beer, kick my feet back, watch the world go by, and where am I? In a shitty sewer, waiting for my chance to get my head blown off, and food no better than I got in prison.”
“You seriously thought it was going to be like that when you got out? That somehow life was going to be great again?”
“I kinda hoped so. It’s been shit for long enough.”
“And it will be unless someone does something about it. You know that, don’t you? You always knew it.”
“Yeah…I did,” he muttered.
They could hear a hive of activity as voices echoed through the hallways of the sewers. The teams had returned, but they couldn’t tell whether it was good or bad news. They leapt to their feet in anticipation, none more so on edge that Weathers himself. The man who had orchestrated it all, and would be held responsible for both the good and the bad.
Woody was first to appear, his face bleeding as though he’d been showered with glass or other debris. His right arm was covered in blood, but it was not his own, but that of the woman he was supporting as they hobbled in.
“Well this doesn’t look good,” Ray grumbled.
“A little help here!” Weathers yelled.
A handful of wounded were there, and they helped them to chairs and one onto a table. He was bleeding profusely from a stomach wound. They all wanted to know the result of the operation, but Samuel had a responsibility to help the wounded first.
“Did you get them? Did you get what you went for?”
It was as if Ray showed no compassion at all, but the fact was he was being realistic. He’d grown accustomed to loss. He’d accepted that death and injury were a part of life, and an acceptable part, providing they achieved results.
“Yeah, we got them, weapons, vehicles, everything we need,” replied Woody.
He didn’t look entirely satisfied, and the reason was clear. The scene was bloody, with the wounded groaning in pain. Cheers rang out and many were clapping triumphantly, but for those who had been there, it was a different story. Their faces were stern. Even Woody looked mortified, and Ray had seen him hold up plenty well enough under strain before.
Soldiers of Tomorrow: Iron Legions Page 8