Kriminaldirektor Mattias, it has to be. Him and his Gestapo lackeys.
That was it, the final straw. Even though it pained him to do so, he activated the channel back to his barracks. It took a moment before it was answered.
“Yes.”
“Get me Hauptsturmführer Meyer.”
The man mumbled on the other end, causing Müller to rage back at him. At the same time, three wounded SS men staggered from the building. Others helped move them to safety, while teams positioned machine guns along the bonnets and tops of cars. Both sides looked to be settling in for a siege, and Müller had no interest in dragging it out any longer than necessary.
“I want him, at once! You have ten seconds, or you will meet a firing squad!”
It took half of that time before the familiar voice answered.
“Standartenführer?”
“Meyer. Are your tanks ready?”
“Of course. All three are operational, and one is on standby, as per your orders. My crew await your orders.”
“Good. I need armoured support, immediately. It is time to bring on the pain, Hauptsturmführer.”
He was slow to answer.
“You want me to put tanks onto the street?”
“Yes, dammit. Get here fast, and bring support with you. Terrorists have seized the Reichsbibliothek. If they will not come out and fight, we will bury them inside it.”
“Jawohl, Standartenführer.”
The radio fell silent, and Müller looked back to the old Public Library. A number of small fires were burning, but the brightest lights came from the numerous Schutzpolizei vehicles and their flashing lights. A long shadow ran across the structure, and the sun disappeared behind the top of the taller buildings.
We will wait for utter darkness, and then end this. I’d like to see these terrorists deal with my shock troops.
CHAPTER EIGHT
New York Reichsbibliothek, 476 5th Ave, Manhattan, New York
17th November 2017
The Information Ministry team moved closer and then dropped down behind an overturned truck. At the same time, a squad of Waffen SS sunk down beside them and positioned their MG3A5 machine guns. The big weapons looked out of place in the city, with their large boxes of bullets and long, heavy barrels. The men mounted the weapons as though running through little more than a drill, taking aim with practised speed and precision. The guns then opened up, firing buzzing sounds as they showered the old building with bullets. The anchorman glanced across to the guns and then spoke loudly into the microphone.
“We’re reporting live from New York Reichsbibliothek, 476 5th Ave, Manhattan. As we watch, the elite soldiers of the city’s Waffen SS are fighting metre by metre to clear the street.”
The cameraman twisted about and lowered himself so that he could film below Müller’s head height. The resulting video feed would make him appear larger than life, in addition to putting the Reichsbibliothek squarely behind him.
“Standartenführer, can you tell us what is happening inside? Is it true that traitors have launched attacks on several Reich buildings inside the city?”
The man was calm, like he was out on a walk or a shopping trip, when he was actually in the middle of a battle. The IM units were not like the reporters of all in the United States. Many were military trained and had experience of the Reich’s numerous war zones over the last decades. Müller’s automatic reaction was to rip into the propaganda unit. He was the man in charge, yet it was his duty to carry out the will of the leadership. If he made decisions that reflected poorly on them, he could expect no mercy. He grimaced and did his best to look suitably heroic.
“It is true. Terrorists have killed many of our citizens across the city in an attempt to bring fear and war to our streets. They have made a grave mistake, though, and are now trying to escape after their disastrous failure.”
A loud boom shook the ground, but Müller didn’t even flinch. He knew what the sound actually was, and it was nothing he needed to worry about. The Information team didn’t understand what was happening, and they ducked down as though under fire. A small fusillade of shots raced overhead, adding further tension and drama to the situation.
“They executed our officials and then looted their way through the structure. This is a place of knowledge. Look at it now!”
He studied the library structure with a grave expression.
“These terrorists want nothing more than to spread fear and panic through the city so they can bring back their old mongrel regime of corruption and failure.”
“Is this a failure of local policing?”
Standartenführer Müller sensed an opportunity to attack his rivals, and he went for it without giving it any thought.
“The Ordnungspolizei are beat police. They patrol the streets, protect citizens, and prevent street crime. That is all. When it comes to organised crime and criminality, a more professional and better motivated option is needed.”
The anchorman smiled as he listened.
“And that option, Standartenführer. That would be you? You are here to try and take it back?”
Müller stared back at him.
“No. I am no more than the commander of the city’s Waffen SS. We wait for when the call comes, but when it does, my brave Waffen SS soldiers will always do what has to be done.”
He pointed to the machine gun team pouring fire into the building.
“They are the finest SS unit in the American Union, loyal soldiers to the Reich and to our people. They train daily to ensure they are ready. No matter the…”
A carefully aimed shot struck one of the crew, and the man flew backwards. The cameraman tracked to the left, following the body as it hit the ground. He turned the camera back to Müller as he sunk down behind the wreckage of the Grizzly armoured vehicle. He struggled to breathe when more shots struck around him. Never had he been defied in such a way, and it left him stunned and speechless. The fusillade of shots clattered all around his men, yet he refused to give the order to withdraw.
“Standartenführer!” yelled one of his men.
Müller looked to the right just as a bullet from a sniper struck the man in the shoulder. He staggered back and fell to the ground. Behind him came two more of the heavily protected Grizzly armoured fighting vehicles. Their turrets blazed with fire as they skidded to a halt. Doors swung open, and man after man ran out.
Finally! My Stoßtruppen are here.
The camera turned and filmed the scene as the men spread out, even as the bullets struck around them. They were part of Müller’s SS unit, but their armour and gear marked them out as his elite assault troops.
“Look who has arrived!”
He had hundreds of rank and file Waffen SS soldiers available for use in the city, but the Stoßtruppen were specialists, his reserve for when things became too difficult even for his regulars. They practised conventional soldiering, but these men were equipped to advance into heavy fire. Heavy helmets that were fully enclosed protected them. Large plated aprons ran down their fronts, and over the shoulder and part of the upper arm. Some were hit, but they kept on going, ignoring the bullets, and advancing closer to the building. A four-man team headed right for him.
“Standartenführer. We’re ready for the assault.”
He licked his lips with anticipation, but something deep down nagged at him. He studied the public building, a place bathed in harsh illumination from distant searchlights. The odd flicker of pinprick sized lights marked gunfire from inside.
“Look!” said a soldier.
Müller raised his gaze. There were shapes atop the building. He activated his helmet radio to contact all of his unit commanders, but before he could speak, he received a message from Hauptsturmführer Meyer. It was short, but just what he needed to hear.
Finally, he is here.
“All units stand back and dig in. Prepare to give covering fire. Stoßtruppen will advance to the outer perimeter and wait for my command.”
The ne
arest man nodded and rushed to get closer to the building. Bullets glanced off their armour as they neared the building. Some even dug in around the abandoned vehicles littering the sidewalk, and then they opened fire. They carried the same weapons as the other Waffen SS, though there was a much greater ratio of heavier weapons. The guns roared, filling the sky with superheated bullets and tracer fire.
“What is that?” asked the anchorman.
Müller knew exactly what the object was at it was hurled over the side of the building. A man called out over a megaphone, but Müller was not interested in what they wanted to say.
“Keep firing!” he shouted, “Drown them out…all of them!”
Two large flags dropped down over the front of the building and were immediately hit with machine gun fire. The bright light from the flood lamps lit up the white sections, making both flicker in the darkness. Seeing the flags of the old American regime made his blood boil.
“The money loving mongrels think there is a place for them here, in the Union!”
Müller’s eyes widened in rage, and he might have moved from cover had he not seen the massive war machine heading right for him. As the shooting continued, he looked back at the dark shape moving in from the North. The object came closer, and the lights from across the street lit up the machine. The vehicle was a tank, but not the conventional sort. The great machine clanked along the road, smashing anything that happened to get in its path. It even drove over a shattered Grizzly as though it were little more than a plastic crate.
“Krokodils!” said the anchorman excitedly, “I can’t believe it. The Standartenführer has brought in the super-heavy panzers!”
Müller chuckled as the massive machine slowed down and then spun about to face the building. Its arrival was as momentous as he’d hoped, and even his own soldiers looked at the thing with awe.
“Indeed it is. Say hello to Hauptsturmführer Klaus Meyer, and his friend, the mighty machine.”
He said the words bitterly, even though he knew the man should be admired. Although on the same side, they were completely different men. He had worked his way up through the ranks in peacetime, but Meyer achieved his position through fighting in Afrika. Due to his lack of family connections, and dubious ancestry, Meyer had found the glass ceiling early in his career. Yet even though Müller surpassed him, he always felt a nagging irritation that he’d never been able to prove his own skills in battle.
Until now. When the public sees me raise the standard of the Reich over the ruins of this American idolatry, they will know me for who I am.
All eyes shifted to the machine, and even the defenders seemed to reduce their fire as the great beast waited for them. It looked like a box on tracks, bigger than anything ever seen before on the streets of Manhattan. A canted slope to the rear carried a single large gun, along with a small coaxial gun. Two much smaller and more conventional turrets protruded at the front like pairs of eyes, each fitted with multiple light guns. The anchorman pointed to the machine and chatted excitedly to his viewers.
“The Waffen SS are bringing in the mighty Krokodil, a machine known to many of you as the scourge of Afrika. You will recall they proved a battle-winning weapon in combat against the heavy weapons and armour of that conflict. Yet, for all its history, the name appears insignificant when facing the machine for real.”
Even Müller was impressed as the turrets moved into position. The Henschel-built E-200F Super heavy tank was known to its crew as the Krokodil, due to its armour and fierce bite. To the outsider, it had much in common with the venerable Tiger II tanks of the past, but vastly bigger. At over two hundred tonnes, and with 240mm of frontal armour, the standard machine was a terrifying prospect. This was the F variant, the sixth iteration of the fifties design. The engines and electrical system were all improved, as well as fitting reactive armour, additional point defence guns, and upgraded guns. A machine built specifically to deal with the Red Threat to the East; it looked utterly out of place on this street. The anchorman ignored the bullets striking close around him to continue describing the machine.
“The 122nd Heavy Panzer Battalion has a history dating back to the 1960s, a time when they were used extensively in the Colonial Wars of Afrika. Every one of them has a long list of battle honours, some fought in every single battle of the campaign. Seeing one of these war heroes on the streets of Manhattan is a rare privilege.”
He looked to the Müller.
“The 122nd are an elite SS unit, are they not?”
“Indeed they are, as is every unit under my command. The SS Polizei Division is the finest unit in Americas.”
The man didn’t seem completely convinced, but this was his chance to shine. It was imperative he was successful here, but also that the public understood his role in the battle.
“My division includes battalions of regular SS soldiers, each one of whom is the equal to ten ordinary soldiers. They are ideologically and genetically pure, and will do whatever is necessary.”
“And these?”
The anchorman pointed to the heavily armoured Stoßtruppen. Their armour plates and heavy weapons looked very different to those of the SS men.
“Yes, I also have several small units of Stoßtruppen, and of course the entirety of the 122nd to support my units in combat. They are actually a three-company unit of thirty-six E-80C Super Tigers and E60 light tanks.”
His eyes moved to the massive tank before them.
“And of course a three-tank platoon of E-200 Krokodils.”
“Incredible,” said the anchorman, “Your division is performing just as every citizen of the city of New York would hope for. Currently, it has never been safer thanks to the SS, and the heroic leadership of Hauptsturmführer Klaus Meyer and his Krokodil.”
Müller’s mood soured, but before he could speak, he heard the calm and confident voice of his rival from inside his metal monster.
“Standartenführer. We are ready and in position. What are your orders?”
Müller relaxed at hearing his comrade’s voice.
“Excellent work, Hauptsturmführer. Load high-explosive ordnance and target the building’s façade.”
“Standartenführer, you wish the destruction of the Public Library?”
Müller rose from cover. A flurry of shots struck nearby, but he ignored them as though little more than annoying insects. He extended an arm and pointed to the building previously known as the New York Public Library. He spotted the anchorman watching him, along with the cameraman.
“Betrayal of the city is a betrayal of our very own Reichskommissar Wilson. And betraying him is a direct betrayal of the Reich and the Führer.”
He swallowed before moving to his order, knowing it would be controversial.
“All Waffen SS units will wait for my command. Once the building has been breached, we will enter and execute the will of the Reichskommissar.”
Müller looked up to the gigantic tank. He’d much rather have taken control of the building without the heavy armour, but he was not an idiot. Only one thing was worse than having to rely on the war hero Meyer, and that was failure. To see footage of him crawling away from the battle would be his end. Victory would be to his merit, and victory it would be.
“Hauptsturmführer Meyer. Begin your bombardment.”
The 203mm L11 gun was a beast, a true monster of the battlefield. While the Super Tiger main battle tanks of the heavy panzer battalion carried upgrade tank guns, this machine carried something very different. The L11 was originally the main battery gun used in 1940s cruisers of the Kriegsmarine. The barrels were little different, though the mechanical and targeting systems were all state of the art. The autoloaders forced in the heavy twenty-four kilogram shells into the breech, and then fired.
“Wow!” yelled the cameraman as he filmed the action.
Müller could see his mouth moving before he was cast to the ground like a ragdoll. The muzzle blast was like an explosion, and the ground shook violently near the tank. It took so
me time for the dust to clear, but when it did, the Waffen SS soldiers let out a cheer. Two of the columns were gone, and part of the façade lay shattered along the steps. A rocket screamed towards the tank, but just before it could hit the armour, a defensive rocket launched. The two hit about ten metres from the Krokodil, sending debris all over the tank.
His eyes glowed bright with satisfaction.
“Continue firing. The Führer’s work remains to be done.”
The massive tank opened fire again. Followed shortly by its secondary battery of cannons; then every few seconds another would fire. The battle for the New York Public Library was over before it had properly begun, the structure breaking apart as shell after shell smashed into the stonework. Müller laughed as yet another large section ripped apart, and some of his soldiers were forced to move back to avoid the broken stonework.
“On my command, all Stoßtruppen will enter the breaches. Assault teams will follow them inside. Machine gunners will remain outside to provide fire support. One last volley!”
The tank unleashed fire from each of its guns, in addition to a torrent of fire from the machine guns of the SS. Then the sound stopped, to be replaced by the harrowing drone of the echo reverberating through the city. Müller lifted his armour-plated mask and placed a whistle in his mouth. It was old school, but there was something animalistic about the sound, and the violence that would follow. He blew it hard and then let go, letting it fall to hang by its chain.
“Attack!”
* * *
New York Reichsbibliothek, 476 5th Ave, Manhattan, New York
17th November 2017
The streets were in absolute chaos. Troops moved in towards the library, and others worked to help the wounded as further explosions rang out. Ray rushed out in the street, passed an empty truck, and got into another alleyway. The others were close behind. Armoured vehicles and tanks were in front of the entrance of the library, but at the garden rear entrance there were a few ORPO units guarding it.
Soldiers of Tomorrow: Iron Legions Page 13