by C T Glatte
He stepped into the water again and he realized his legs were numb, he didn’t feel the cold. He trudged through the water, coming to the first soldier. He was facedown and had a gaping hole in his back. Jimmy felt around for the weapon he must’ve been holding. His foot bumped something solid. He got his foot beneath it and lifted his leg until the stock appeared.
He dropped the Thompson and clutched the enemy weapon, it was an impressive looking submachine gun. He pulled the dead soldier to the bank and turned him over. His eyes were open and milky. He searched his body, seeing the Union Jack symbol of the British on his lapel. Limeys, he thought. He found an ammo belt attached to his waist. He unlatched it and slung the whole sodden mess onto the bank.
There was a whooshing sound overhead followed immediately with an explosion. More followed and Jimmy wondered what was happening. The booming fire from the Pershings dropped considerably. There was constant small arms fire and the booming of the gunboats never ceased. He realized there was another sound and he looked up, hoping he was wrong. He saw an aircraft angled in a steep dive. He didn’t recognize the plane, but knew it wasn’t friendly when rockets blazed from beneath the wings and sliced into the ground with rippling explosions.
He pulled his attention back to the weapon he’d found and quickly figured out the different mechanisms. He released the magazine, it was big, he figured it held at least thirty rounds. He pulled the bolt, it didn’t seem to be worse for wear from its brief stint on the muddy bottom of the ditch. He liked the feel of it.
He took a glance down the canal, he could see twenty yards and there were no more soldiers coming his way at the moment. The ground shook as more rockets exploded. He chanced crawling up the bank until he could see what was happening.
He saw burning tanks. Some still firing despite being hit. A few of the massive Pershings were still maneuvering, firing their lethal shells. He watched one center punch a gunboat, the explosion lifted it and dropped it violently. The burning boat listed, the bay water filling the hull and it tipped over, exposing its still turning screws. But the planes were still attacking and the rockets were taking their toll.
He watched a wounded Pershing, its left track gone. The forward machine gun continued firing and the cannon sent out another shell with a long tongue of fire. Jimmy ducked when the whooshing of rockets engulfed the tank, shrouding it in debris and fire. When Jimmy looked again the tank was burning and hatches opened and tankers flung themselves to the ground. They stumbled and looked around in dazed confusion.
Jimmy got to his knees and waved and yelled, “Over here! Over here!”
The nearest tanker saw him waving and called the rest of the men and waved. He staggered toward Jimmy and he saw the others turn his way. Enemy soldiers popped up and fired.
Jimmy aimed the submachine gun and fired a long stream their way. He was impressed with the balance and slight kick. The weapon was steady and easy to control. He didn’t know if he hit anything, but the enemy soldiers ducked down and took cover.
The tankers got to him and saw the safety of the ditch. They lunged for the water. The last man was nearly to him, his one-piece tanker suit was smoldering and he looked wounded. He suddenly arched his back and Jimmy saw his body vibrate with multiple bullet impacts. He flopped onto his face, only a foot from Jimmy. He reached for him and pulled him into the ditch, but he knew he was dead or would be soon.
Jimmy joined them in the bottom of the ditch. He noticed the bars of a Lieutenant sewn onto one of the tanker’s lapels. “Sir,” he said, “you okay?”
The lieutenant wore soot and grease smudged goggles over his eyes and Jimmy wondered how he could see at all. With blackened, shaking hands he removed the goggles exposing white skin and wide blue eyes. Jimmy thought he looked just like a raccoon. The officer nodded and sat on the bank, his legs in the water. He held a pistol. “I — I think so.” Another whoosh of rockets followed by explosions made all four of them cringe. “Fucking Luftwaffe,” he muttered.
21
Korth Lieutenant FromKor Guth was exuberant. It had been far too long since he’d experienced combat, and he’d almost forgotten the feeling of power. After flying from the launch ships, landing among the hapless North Americans and Laying waste to their front lines, the fighting had continued almost nonstop. He’d stopped counting how many Americans he’d cut down with his MG42 at sixty-two.
It had come with a cost, however. He’d lost eight warriors to the pathetic human weapons, but it was a small price to pay and the fallen warriors would be honored along with their families for generations to come. Besides, each warrior would rather die fighting than of boredom.
The beachhead was well established in his zone of responsibility. He and the warriors in his platoon wanted nothing more than to push forward, but Major Korto had stopped their advance, reminding him that the purpose of the entire war was to keep the humans occupied and that meant letting them take on most of the fighting and dying.
After two days of fighting, Lt. Guth ordered his warriors to move back, letting the German and Norwegian Infantry take over their positions. His warriors resupplied and were jubilant as they replayed the battles and described the killing in vivid detail.
It was the morning of the third day. The humans had pushed further inland against stiff resistance. The Korth had to satisfy themselves firing at low Allied aircraft. Guth and his warriors were getting bored. The battle was tantalizingly close. Moving forward a half mile would put them at the front lines where they could continue doing what Korth warriors did best, kill indigenous people on their own planet. But Major Korto had not issued new orders and Lt. Guth wouldn’t dare disobey a direct order, no matter how much he wanted to.
He watched a fight break out between two Korth warriors. He had no idea what it was about, but he knew the root cause was boredom. He didn’t interfere, knowing the fight would be settled with a winner and loser and the issue would be resolved. It was a joy to watch trained warriors using their craft to try to kill one another. Of course, it wouldn’t get that far, one would best the other and that would be the end of it. The Korth had survived too long to throw lives away uselessly, particularly elite warriors.
Major Korto and Captain Krangmut were suddenly upon him. Guth hadn’t sensed their proximity, his mind wholly engrossed in the fight. He snapped to attention and gave an order, which stopped the brawling warriors immediately and brought the rest of them to braced positions of readiness.
Major Korto assessed the situation and spoke, “I know your men are restless, Lieutenant. I can see they are finding ways to entertain themselves, but you’ll be happy to know we’re moving forward.” Guth’s head expanded and went deeper red with the prospect of coming combat. Gorto continued. “Your warriors fought valiantly and will get more chances. The defenders have repulsed a unit of German Paratroopers at a bridge crossing Field Marshall Rommel feels is vital to the push inland. A large force of gunboats and LVTs are hitting the bridge defenders from the water in two hours. The defenses in front of us here are strong but they continue to be pushed back. Rommel has asked for our assistance to break the line open and ensure the bridge is taken intact.”
He looked at Captain Krangmut. Though all Korth were exactly eight feet tall, Krangmut seemed much taller. He was powerfully built with muscles that rippled and flexed with each tiny movement. His upper shoulders were as wide as he was tall.
Krangmut’s clicks and hums were deep and had an odd resonance. The massive scar running from his upper chest, across his neck and through his lower mandible was the obvious cause. Rumor had it, he’d gotten the injury from the glorious invasion of TaymanKur over two hundred earth years ago, fighting the Kur hordes.
He was an intimidating warrior, one who’d refused any rank increase after captain. He made it clear, he didn’t have any interest in upper command, he was a claws on the ground commander. The warrior’s revered him. “Lieutenant Guth, I want your platoon to lead the attack.” Guth couldn’t keep his head from expanding and turning dee
p red. He noticed his warriors puffing their chests, some looking as though their heads would actually explode with pride.
“It would be my deep honor to do so, Captain. Thank you.” He lowered his head in a slight bow, something only done for Premiers, Generals and Captain Krangmut.
Krangmut clicked, “You leave immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” Krangmut turned and Major Korto followed. Despite the officership hierarchy, Krangmut was the superior officer in every sense except rank. Guth waited until they disappeared over a rise then turned and barked, “You heard him, gather weapons and ammo, we’re going to kill more humans!”
There was a roar of approval as they clacked their mandibles and gnashed their needle teeth together, like snapping alligators.
Lieutenant Guth had his platoon in a loose combat spread. They moved forward quickly, their long strides taking them ever-closer to the constant din of battle. Guth watched a string of German Stuka bombers diving and dropping their deadly explosive eggs. It was helpful to see exactly where the frontlines were. When his platoon was within a quarter mile, he ordered, “Pedestals up!”
A segment of Korth gathered quickly and pulled pieces of metal off their backs and soon constructed a series of large metal slabs. They were identical to the ones that had launched them from the ships, only much smaller. After five minutes the Sergeant in charge of the Pedestal Warriors yelled, “Launchers ready, sir.”
Guth set a forward guard, standard procedure during launches. The only real threat this far back from the lines would be enemy fighters and bombers. The Luftwaffe had done a good job keeping the skies clear most of the time. Lt. Guth surveyed the sky and saw only friendly aircraft. He held up his upper right and his lower left arms and moved them up and down and ordered, “Mount up!”
He waited until most of them were upon the launchers then mounted the furthest one back. It would be the last one to launch, meaning he wouldn’t be the first to land. He hated the thought, but as an officer he needed to be able to direct his troops. He heard Sergeant TurKul click. “On your order, sir.”
The Korth warriors crouched on the pedestals, their clawed feet clicking in anticipation. Guth yelled, “Launch in sequence!” He crouched and heard the first compression engine fire with a dull thump. It was followed immediately with another and another. He was on the tenth pedestal. He felt the familiar shimmy then the full compression as the pedestal sprang upward creating eight times earth’s normal gravity. The pedestal reached its zenith, stopped and once again Guth felt the exhilaration of flight as he spread his four arms and the thin skin connecting them caught the air and snapped open.
His MG42 was tight on his back and the bandoliers of ammunition strung across his body whistled in the wind. His platoon was spread in front of him; nine lines of flying warriors. The lead element angled into a dive and Guth noted where First Squad’s Sergeant YukHan was aiming; a group of enemy tanks backing away slowly. They looked like the older Sherman tanks. From up here, Guth could see the value of the target. The defenders were using them to cover their retreat. If they could destroy them, the orderly retreat would turn into a panicked free-for-all. His head expanded and he communicated with Sgt. YukHan’s mind. “Good target, carry on.”
He ‘listened’ into Sgt. YukHan directing the heavy weapons warriors, the ones carrying Panzerschreks and Panzerfausts, where to land. He was landing them right behind the Shermans. The rest would land and defend them as they took them out.
Lt. Guth stayed airborne as long as possible watching his warriors. There were six heavy weapon’s warriors and each landed behind an unsuspecting tank. The American Infantrymen were so engrossed in their retreat they never saw the flying Korth until they were landing amongst them and killing them in scores.
Guth watched each tank destroyed, the Panzerschreks and armor piercing grenades penetrating the thin metal surrounding their engines, and exploding. The Korth ignored the incoming fire, trusting their infantry comrades to protect them while they reloaded Panzerschreks and pulled more disposable grenade launchers from their backs. Soon there were ten burning tanks.
Lieutenant Guth landed lightly and pulled his MG42 from his back and hefted it as though it were a toy. He quickly loaded it and fired into a fleeing soldier. He took delight, seeing his bullets walk up the man’s back and send him sprawling onto his face as a thin plume of mist settled over him.
The Germanic forces watched the Korth ripping through the stubborn lines as though they were fighting Kindergarteners. They yelled their approval and ran into the breech, killing any GIs still alive and filling the gap. They pushed outward, expanding the breech steadily, until the lines finally broke and despite the exhortations of their officers, the Americans broke and ran, some dropping their weapons.
Lieutenant Guth walked forward steadily, his organized, lethal platoon killing anything in range. Soon there were no targets and the incoming fire had dropped to a trickle. His Pedestal Troops caught up after dismantling the pedestals and were allowed forward to get some killing in too. He clicked and hummed, sensing the joy and mirth emanating from his warriors. Not a single Korth warrior had been killed or even hit. It was not the most important thing to Guth, completing the mission was, but it was an excellent start.
Sergeant YukHan reached out from the front of the lines and connected. “I can see the water. The bridge isn’t much farther, sir. It looks like the attack from the water is well under way but they haven’t taken it yet.”
Lieutenant Guth replied, “I’ll be right there.” He trotted forward, the warriors around him keeping their intervals but increasing their pace to keep up with their platoon leader.
Guth came up beside YukHan and warriors moved forward to form a buffer. Guth signaled the Pedestal Warriors to move back and ready the pedestals. He doubted he’d need them again, but wanted to be ready just in case. He listened to Sgt. TurKul showing his squad where to build the pedestals.
Guth stopped and considered the battle field. They’d killed many American soldiers as they moved forward but he knew many had probably made it to the bridgehead and warned the defenders they were coming. It wouldn’t do them any good, but he didn’t expect to surprise them again.
There was smoke everywhere mostly from burning tanks and bunkers. The bay water was littered with boats in various condition. Some were on fire and sinking, others without a scratch firing their main guns. He saw they were targeting a group of Pershing tanks on their right flank. They’d created a pocket and were threatening to roll up the flank.
Guth looked up at the sound of diving aircraft. They weren’t Stukas this time but red-nosed fighter/bombers. Their wings bristled with rockets and he watched them unleash them upon the advancing tanks. “That’ll slow the tanks. We’ll attack them and finish whatever the Luftwaffe leaves for us. Forget the pedestals, we’ll attack on foot.”
The German and Norwegian soldiers behind them spread out, seeing the battle raging along the water’s edge and not wanting to run headlong into it, but Guth reached out and tweaked the first officer he sensed, to move in support of his attack. His head discolored slightly at the thought of their cowardly caution.
By the time the last of the planes unleashed their rockets and disappeared over the horizon, the Korth were forty yards away. The heavy weapons squad unleashed Panzerschreks and Panzerfaust grenades, killing the remaining American armor. All that was left to do was overrun the remaining bunkers and trench-lines and the bridge would be theirs.
Lieutenant Guth walked forward, his MG42 mowing down anyone who dared show himself. His head swelled and colored red wondering if the enigmatic Captain Krangmut would decorate he and his warriors with a unit citation.
He stepped into the ruins of a bombed-out bunker and surveyed the remains of dust covered humans. Few were intact, missing limbs and heads. He noticed a live one and he leveled his smoking muzzle and was about to squeeze the trigger and end his miserable existence, when the soldier looked up and sent withering pain into his head. Gut
h’s confusion at being assaulted in such a way by a human made his head deflate and blacken.
Sergeant YukHan stepped into the carnage and sensed the human’s attack. He darkened and aimed, meaning to fill the human with many holes, but Guth stopped him with a thought, then clicked, “Don’t kill him. The TRs told us to watch for such humans.” The mention of TRs got YukHan’s attention. There was only one thing equal to combat and that was fucking. He lowered his weapon and moved on.
22
Captain Clancy McDermott barely had time to scarf down a sandwich and a glass of water before the buzzer in flight ops lit up and the voice of the mission control blared. “Now hear this, now hear this. Readiness level three. Repeat, readiness level three.”
The harried pilots moaned and shoved food and drink into their mouths. Around a mouthful of sandwich, Captain McDermott said, “Don’t choke. We’ve got a few minutes. Don’t want anyone having to turn back because of a sour stomach or cramps.”
One of his pilots, Lieutenant Whipps swallowed and asked, “That’s an option, sir?” The others snorted and laughed. They all had sour stomachs and cramps every time they went up to face possible and likely fiery deaths against the Luftwaffe and Royal Air Force pilots.
McDermott grinned. He’d lost count of how many missions he’d flown over the past three days. He’d gotten some sleep the night before but only a few hours. He was thankful that at least the upcoming mission would be in daylight. The night missions were frankly, terrifying.
He grabbed another half sandwich from the pile stacked in the center of the room and poured himself another cup of coffee. He had to be careful, having to take a piss during a mission made it all the more miserable. The action was close and things happened quick, leaving little time for such trivialities.
The door to the ready room banged open and in walked Colonel Hastrap. The men started to brace, but he stopped them with a wave, “At ease, continue eating.” The men continued chewing and chugging coffee. “Intel’s been going over the photos and film of the attack on the beachhead and naval units yesterday. The results are good, although we lost a lot of bombers and fighters, we put a crimp in their offensive. You men have done an outstanding job, and you deserve a rest, but that ain’t happening.” He gave a sideways grin, showing some of his Wyoming upbringing.
