As the view opened up, he gasped at what lay before him. Three walking machines, not unlike the one he had manned in London decades before. Dozens of people were working on them, and they looked near a state of completion.
“What? How?”
“We heard what happened in London, even after the Reich did everything in their power to keep the secret quiet; the machine that allowed you to fight back. A lot of lives were lost to get these plans, and those with the skills and abilities to make it happen.”
“That’s why Weathers wanted me here?”
It was all beginning to fit together in his head.
“One of the reasons, sure, but there were many. You were a soldier we could not afford to be without, and Weathers was right, wasn’t he?”
“Well…I…”
He couldn’t find his words as he marvelled at the hulking mechanical monsters standing before him. They looked primitive and unfinished, and not a world apart from the one the rebels had built in London.
“You had these so close to completion, and still went ahead with the Library?” he asked in disbelief.
“Sure, because Weathers understood that we need more than just these machines. We need the men and women who’ll serve in and alongside them. The Library was a chance to send a message. Not just to the Reich, but the New Yorkers who have had enough.”
“And look where that got him?”
“He is a loss that will be dear, but he isn’t finished yet.”
“No, but you think the Reich will let him live?”
“For as long as he is useful, yes.”
“And he could give this place up anytime.”
“But he won’t.”
“And how could you know that?”
“Because I know Weathers. He is tougher than you can imagine, believe me.”
“All right, so what do you have in mind?”
“These machines, we call them Militants. I say we fire them up and get them into action. If we can get these working, we can raise hell.”
“Have you even field tested them?”
“Not yet, but they are nearly ready to go. This has been a long time coming.”
“But they aren’t ready, are they?”
“How can we ever know if we don’t test them?”
“He’s right. We need to do something. Something big,” said Lisa.
She had hobbled in with a crutch under one arm, and she didn’t let up.
“We have to do something. We need to make a statement. We need resources beyond what we have with our own hands, and these are it.”
“Do you have any idea what you are getting yourself into?”
“Says the man who has seen what a machine like this can do?”
“Sure, Woody, but where did it get us?”
“You saw the potential, though, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, Lisa, I guess, maybe.”
“Then it’s true,” said Woody.
“Yep, and for just a moment we kicked ass, but we needed fifty of those machines, not one. Then we could have made a difference.”
“Yeah? Right now we have three.”
“And it’s not 1997 anymore, the Reich is more powerful than ever.”
“So what are you saying?”
“Take whatever time is necessary to do this right. These machines aren’t finished, and you know it. A few weeks or months, however long to do it right.”
“We don’t have that long,” Lisa claimed.
“They both knew Woody had the final say, and he was rubbing his chin as he thought it over.
“I wish we had all the time in the world, but we don’t. The fight is here now. There are people out there who need us. The Militants are more than ready for a field test.”
Ray was shaking his head.
“Don’t be hasty here. It isn’t the right move. This is the wrong time,” he protested.
But he was ignored.
“This is exactly the right time. It has never been better,” insisted Woody.
“What do you want to do?” Lisa asked.
“We are going to fire these machines up and get them into action.”
He led them into a small control room with a tempered glass screen. It looked out onto the walkers. They looked so similar to what Ray had experienced twenty years ago. Smaller and more agile than what the Reich used, but they lacked the heavy guns, too. Heavy machines gun barrels protruded from ball joint housings on the shoulders and torso of the humanoid-shaped machine. Smoke launchers were mounted on top, and banks of Panzerschrecks fitted to the forearms in a makeshift manner, allowing them to be used once engaged in combat.
Ray had his doubts, but there was no question at all that they looked menacing. Yet he couldn’t get over a niggling feeling that history was repeating itself, and not in a good way. Woody lifted a microphone and began giving orders. His commands were echoed around the huge hangar like room from speakers all around.
“Every one listen up. I want to thank you for all the work you have put in, and I know Weathers would as well if he could be here today. I know you want more time to work on these marvels of technology, but time is the one thing we do not have. Last week we were told the Militants would be ready for operational tests today, and I presume that is still the case?”
Nobody seemed to question him.
“Then it is time to power these up and put them to the test. Get to it!”
The work crews raced to pack their equipment away.
“You’re rushing things, and these things do well not to be rushed,” said Ray.
“I wish that was a choice we had, but the war is upon us.”
“It has been for as long as I have been alive, so what difference will a few days or weeks make?”
Woody turned angrily towards him.
“These machines will never be as ready as we want them to be. We don’t have the resources that we need. All we can do is our best.”
“But this isn’t your best. You are pushing them too hard.”
He refused to listen. Two men at console screens beside them were issuing orders as the crews prepared the Militants. It wasn’t long before the room was empty and everyone waiting for the final command.
“Ready to start initialising sequence.”
“Do it,” Woody ordered without hesitation.
“Militant One, begin engine sequence.”
They heard a high revving gasoline engine roar to life and rev up to high RPMs. Ray felt a shiver run down his spine. It was all happening again, just as he remembered it. The diesel engines sprang into to life. They were a little more refined than the one they had back in the London Uprising, but smoke still poured out across the open floor. The fumes gushed into their control room soon after. Whatever ventilation they had set up, it wasn’t doing a great job.
Cheers and claps rang out, and others wolf whistled at the success of the start-up.
“You see, we are ready for this,” said Woody with a huge smile on his face.
Ray wasn’t convinced.
“Militant Two, begin engine sequence.”
Another of the gasoline starters opened up, but it coughed and sputtered. Something was wrong, but the engine still revved into life. A fuel line burst, and petrol poured down one of the legs of the second walker. Sparks flew from inside the machine.
“Cut it off!” Ray yelled.
It was too late, and there was nothing he could do. The petrol ignited, and flames lit up along the walker’s leg. It began to spread.
“Get them out of there!”
“All crews evacuate!” the order rang out.
The crews of Militant One and Two leapt out onto the gantries beside their machines, sliding down the ladders.
“Out of here, right now!”
“But we can’t…” Woody began.
Ray wasn’t willing to hear it. He grabbed Woody and pulled him out of the room. Lisa hobbled along to catch up. They looked back for a moment to see the flames spreading.
�
��Go!”
Ray pointed to the tunnel they had come from. Many had already got through, but about a dozen were still rushing towards the doors. They ran on as fast as they could, and Ray let go of his hold of Woody to help Lisa. He was almost lifting her off her feet as they ran on. They heard an explosion erupt at their backs, but they didn’t look back, and burst through the open security door inside the tunnel. He dropped Lisa and grabbed the door, heaving it shut as he saw a fireball soaring towards them. Woody held the other side of the door. The fire smashed into it at the moment it closed.
They stepped back as if concerned the door was going to buckle, but nothing came of it, and Ray slumped down with a sigh of relief. But not for Woody, his expression was one of despair.
“What the hell happened in there?” Lisa asked.
Woody was shaking his head.
“You tried to move before they were ready. I told you not to rush this.”
Ray looked accusingly at Woody. He had no response, and that angered Ray more. He leapt to his feet to confront the man.
“I told you this was a mistake. You just risked all our lives, and whatever work was done here back for God knows how long!”
Still no response. Ray grabbed Woody’s jacket, but he knocked his hands down and pushed him back.
“I heard you, okay!”
Ray didn’t go back at him, as he was looking increasingly sheepish.
“I fucked up, and I am sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry just ain’t gonna cut it here!”
“Enough, both of you,” snapped Lisa.
They sat at the sides of the tunnel. Ray noticed a red light beside the door.
“What is that?”
“When it’s green, it’s safe to go inside,” replied Woody.
“The fire crews will be in there,” added Lisa.
“You’ve got fire crews?”
“We’re not complete amateurs.”
Twenty minutes went by when the light changed to green, but nobody wanted to get up. They didn’t want to see how bad the damage was. Lisa sighed and went forward. She punched in the code, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. White foam and powder was scattered all over the floor, and firefighters decked out in decades old FDNY suits went back and forth with CO2 extinguishers, checking for any last issues.
Militant Two was still smouldering. There was a gaping hole in its torso and its left leg buckled. It was twisted and leaning against the scaffold it had been secured in.
“My god,” said Woody.
The other two machines were still standing and looked undamaged besides some superficial burns.
“How bad is it?”
Several of the crews who had been working on the machines raced to their consoles at the foot of the Militants.
“It could be worse. We can recover from this, but Two is fried.”
There was a numb feeling in all who looked upon the scene of carnage.
“It could have been a lot worse,” said Lisa.
Before she had even finished, a runner approached at a quick pace. They all turned to see what news was coming their way.
“They’ve declared martial law, martial law!” he yelled.
Ray’s heart sunk, and a feeling of sickness overcame him. He knew what that meant, and what was about to come.
* * *
Reich Main Security Office, 175 Fifth Ave, New York
18th November 2017
Kriminaldirektor Mattias gazed through the corner window into Madison Square. Automobiles trundled along the street as though nothing of note had happened in the last few days. From here on the higher levels of the twenty-storey building, he could look out to the city and soak in the stone, metal, and glass. The building was known locally as the Flatiron Building, but in recent months he’d heard it had taken on a much more sinister nickname, and that amused him. A hand knocked at the door, and in walked one of his adjutants. Like him, the man wore civilian clothes, yet his posture and movement betrayed his senior position in the Sicherheitsdienst.
“Kriminaldirektor.”
“You have my information?”
The man looked uneasy as he answered.
“Partial information, Kriminaldirektor. The man is known as Weathers, and we have paperwork linking him to several major investigations throughout the city.”
“I see. And what of his plans?”
The man licked his lips.
“He is proving resistant to the usual methods. Psychological methods got us nowhere, so we moved onto the drugs. His mind is a haze, and yet even under their influence he is stopping us. It is clear he has been trained in counter-interrogation techniques.
“How so?”
“So far he has offered up a dozen different scenarios for this week alone. He has been trained to offer us what we want, but hidden inside a web of lies. Even he does not seem to know the true scenario, assuming he even has one.”
“Interesting, so tell me some of them.”
The man lifted the folder from under his arm and began shifting through paper. It was old-fashioned, yet for the Gestapo the use of paper was no mere anachronism. They had a reputation to live up to, and there were few things more terrifying than an officer armed with information.
“Here. The first is a bombing attack on the Statue of…”
Mattias waved him on.
“Uh…okay. A subway…”
Again he gestured, making the man race through multiple scenarios. On they went until he reached out one that piqued his interest.
“Repeat that one…again.”
“Destruction of the Brooklyn Bridge so that…”
“No, not that one. The Thanksgiving…”
“Ah. A full-scale military assault on the parade.”
Kriminaldirektor Mattias moved back to his tall leather chair and sat down. It let out a puff of air from its lightly padded seat as he made himself comfortable. He signalled for the man to sit down in front of him.
“Our special guests arrive in four days’ time, and will be here especially for the military parade through the city. It is the largest public event of the year, and will present the most significant targets in the last decade.”
He considered his own words and then glanced back out to the city.
“There is a mood, I can sense it, inside the city. We’ve been softer on the Americans than anywhere else. The British suffered during their mutiny. We turned their cities to ash, and when it was over…”
He clenched his fist tightly.
“We crushed them with an iron fist.”
As he relaxed his hand, he nodded.
“But look at this place. We defeated the Americans at sea, and then we atomised two cities to force their surrender. They’ve never been truly broken, have they?”
“No, they have not, Kriminaldirektor. Their lives are little changed. Well, apart from the deportation of the undesirables.”
Kriminaldirektor Mattias placed his chin in his hands for what seemed like an age. When he turned his chair back around, his expression was resolved.
“The Chancellery suspected this might be the case, especially with our primary assets mobilising on the borders against the C.R.U. in readiness for what is to come. We’ve had information suggesting an attempt at a national resistance movement forming. What could be better for them than to strike at the second most important man in the Reich, and the leader of the American Union?”
He nodded with growing satisfaction.
“Yes. If it was me, I would attack at this point.”
“So, we stop the parade?”
Mattias’ expression soured.
“When a bull challenges you, do you turn and run?”
“Of course not. You…”
“You stare the beast down. You look big, impressive, and dominant. You force the other animal to back down. And if it doesn’t, then things have to get physical.”
The two men exchanged looks, but it was Mattias that continued to speak.
“Contact the
Mayor’s office, and the head of the Information Ministry. I have an announcement I want them to make.”
He rose from his chair and back to the tall windows.
“It is time to introduce a curfew on behalf of our rebel friends. If they want to stir up trouble, then let’s show the city how it inconveniences them.”
His head turned slowly back.
“And bring me Standartenführer Müller. I want his military units on the streets and supporting the city Schutzpolizei. Let the citizens feel what it is like when terrorists use their name in vain.”
* * *
Kriegsmarine Kampfläuferdepot, Roosevelt Island, New York
18th November 2017
Kapitän Marcus Klenner walked towards the rear of the Gothic revival building. The beautiful old hospital had fallen into ruin in the 1970s, to be later restored for use by the Kriegsmarine to house their elite landship crews. The three-storey building consisted of a nine-bay design in a U-shape, faced in granite, and covered in crenulations. The entrance was featured in the centre of the front façade, with its porch open at three sides and oriel windows above. As he reached the end of the long corridor, it opened out into a wide hall, and then into the open. In the past, this would have been the rear of the building, but currently it served as the connecting point between the Kriegsmarine barracks inside the old hospital, and the colossal armoured hangars that housed their powerful war machines. He paused to look up at the nearest structure. Unlike the first building, it lacked the décor and styling prevalent throughout the Americas. Instead, it went for the same brutish, industrial design that had spread from the Welthauptstadt Germania and beyond. Tall concrete structures, reinforced, and capped with smooth rooftops. The hangars looked alien compared to the American architecture spread throughout Manhattan.
This place always fills me with awe.
Soldiers of Tomorrow: Iron Legions Page 15