Jenkins examined the weapons at their disposal. Many of the men, women, and older children carried rifles and light machine guns captured from the Nazis, although some sported older shotguns and pistols. Children, as young as four or five, carried backpacks filled with ammunition or Molotov cocktails. Each of them wore homemade helmets and the same flag of Israel wrapped around their left arm.
“The Army of David is mobilising all across the front,” Zofia spat at the major, with contempt dripping from her voice. “We will fight the Nazis. You may join us, or you may try and stop us, but you will have to kill every last one of us. The Nazis take no prisoners, so we do not surrender, and we will never stop.”
Shaking his head, Major Wellesley called for a radioman when Zofia turned her back on him and waved her soldiers towards the front.
“Where are you going?” Major Wellesley called after her. “I’ll need Major General Hamilton’s authorisation to allow some limited form of—”
“You talk too much,” Zofia shouted without turning her head back towards him. “We’ll be in the vanguard when you have your authorisation.”
A cheer went up from the Army of David when they marched towards the frontlines, while a flustered Major Wellesley began barking into his handset.
FREDRIKPLATZ, 1.5KM FROM THE CITY CENTRE
11.32 MST
DAY 2
Sergeant McCabe accepted a mug of tea from one of the West Germans. He took a sip and started pacing around the abandoned Nazi church. For the last few hours, he and most of the company had sought refuge in it from the increasing chaos outside. After they emerged from the underground tramlines, this building sat as the closest one to their location. Initially, he thought it a bad idea to bunker down in a place of worship. A part of him half-expected desperate souls to interrupt them as they sought solace in this trying time. But on the streets of New Berlin, things continued to escalate at an alarming pace. The sounds of battle had increased in tempo closer to the government district. It didn’t take long for the scouts to see the Wehrmacht and SS soldiers engage in intense gun battles with each other.
To make matters worse, the adjacent streets had remained thronged with people. Confused and terrified civilians ran in every direction, searching for safety but finding none. The SS gunned them down if they approached the government district, and the Wehrmacht tried to keep them hunkered down in the city centre. All the while, MEF shells and bombs burst around them. The Wehrmacht had since restored a fraction of order and cleared the surrounding streets of civilian activity, but the tension and fear hung heavy in the air.
After confirming that his platoon kept doing what they should be doing —eating, standing guard or sleeping — McCabe sipped on his mug of tea and glanced up at the stained-glass windows behind the church’s altar. He examined images of Jesus’s life on display and shuddered at Hitler’s likeness being used in his stead. Swastikas replaced church crosses and covered every wall. Out of morbid fascination, McCabe flipped through the book the Nazis used as their version of the Bible. Although his written German wasn’t as good as his verbal skills, he was horrified to see the changes the Nazis had made to the gospels. Everything had been rewritten to fit the National Socialist agenda, with Hitler made out to be mankind’s saviour and salvation.
Lighting up a cigarette, McCabe returned to his pacing. In his peripheral vision, he spied Wehrmacht uniforms approaching him. Out of instinct, he reached for his Lee-Enfield but stopped himself when he identified the soldiers of the West German contingent. With the situation deteriorating outside, sending the West Germans out to scout in captured uniforms was the only way to move without being detected.
“Sergeant McCabe,” Colonel Henke called out from across the room.
Falling in behind the patrol, McCabe crossed the church and joined the West German commanding officer. The colonel sported his own captured uniform but looked disgusted at the thought of having to don it again. In truth, it bothered McCabe just as much. He couldn’t help but question the leadership and judgement of someone whose former army had committed such gross atrocities in the war. Despite his misgivings, he grudgingly couldn’t fault the colonel’s actions so far, although he kept a close eye on him.
The Black Visors joined the small group of British, French, and West German officers and NCOs. Even hiding behind his balaclava, McCabe could sense the agitation emanating from Dub. Whoever this MI6 operative Anna Bailey happened to be, the Black Visor leader appeared beyond impatient to jump into action and rescue her.
Dub flashed McCabe a cool glare before turning his focus to the colonel.
“Here’s what we have so far,” Colonel Henke said as his fingers moved across a map. “Our patrols have confirmed that the Wehrmacht have withdrawn from any contested areas around the government district. Although there have been several reports of both sides exchanging fire over the last few hours, the SS have made no serious move to advance beyond their current positions.”
“It’ll happen,” Dub said. “Both sides will try and gut each other, and soon. You can count on it.”
Colonel Henke nodded politely and returned his attention to the map.
“It appears a Nazi operation launched in the early morning has failed. I believe that’s why the MEF artillery, mortar, and aerial bombardments have increased. It seems that an MEF offensive is underway, with the main thrust of the attack having recently broken through Nazi defences roughly three kilometres east of our current location.”
The NCOs and officers mumbled words of thanks and patted each other on the backs in celebration. If their allies kept up the momentum, they could reach the centre of New Berlin within hours and end the bloodshed.
“What’s it like in the areas around here?” Smack asked.
“Some patrols but not many. It looks like civilians have been moved to the underground bunkers, and most of the units have been evacuated to bolster the lines. There’s rumours that the Jewish insurgents are mobilising to link up with the MEF and launch their own offensive from the east and north-east.”
“Have we anything on the pilot?” McCabe queried. “Any updates if he’s alive or dead?”
“Yes,” Colonel Henke said. He gestured at a nearby waiting soldier and took a slip of paper from the scout. After skimming its contents, he gazed at the map again. It took him a few seconds until he pointed out an area close to their church base. “My patrols have discovered the crash site roughly a kilometre north of here. Rumours are that a pilot survived and was moved to a site several streets across from where we are. Unfortunately, none of my soldiers have been able to get close enough to confirm this without arousing suspicion. My plan is to lead a team and investigate it for myself.”
“That’s far too dangerous, sir,” McCabe said. “A few soldiers wandering around is one thing, but a colonel enquiring about a POW may be too much. I’ll lead a team to check. You said it yourself, the streets are deserted. I’ll stick to these back alleys, have a quick peek, and if it’s our boy, I’ll bring him back safely.”
Colonel Henke rubbed his chin.
McCabe knew they had a limit on how many uniforms they had and could use with going undetected. Even in a city as large as New Berlin, it stood as a fact that no new arrivals had come to the colony over the last decade. The slightest misstep or misspoken word could cost them all their lives.
“Very well, Sergeant,” Colonel Henke said after deliberating. “Lead a small team and report back.”
“We’ll go,” Smack volunteered out of nowhere. “We’re no use to anyone sitting here.”
McCabe eyed her and the rest of her associates, but he nodded his consent. He took the map from Colonel Henke, and removing any unnecessary equipment from his belt, he checked his ammunition supply. He selected two other West German soldiers to accompany him, and stepping in beside the Black Visors, he walked towards the side exit adjacent to the alleyway. After the sentries confirmed the all clear, McCabe and the Black Visors jogged at a r
apid pace toward the end of the alley. Without prompting, the Black Visors moved into all-round cover when he scanned the street. Several buildings lay blackened and charred, but he could see no signs of enemy activity. Breaking into small groups, they raced across the street into the opposite alley, covering each other as they ran.
They repeated that exercise several times, stopping to allow small groups of forlorn-looking Wehrmacht soldiers to pass them as they trudged towards the frontlines. After crossing several streets, they located the area marked on the colonel’s map. From the outside, it looked to be a small grocery shop off one of the side alleys. The windows and doors remained intact, but no goods sat on display in the cracked shop window. McCabe peered through the glass and seeing no signs of movement, he led his team to the rear of the shop. Again, as the group covered each other, he crept to the single pane of glass in the back door and peeked through.
Anger rushed through him at the sight. Four dishevelled and inebriated German soldiers swigged bottles of wine and laughed in merriment. In the centre of the room, a young pilot stood on a rickety stool with a noose around his neck. The Nazi soldiers had torn the US Airforce shirt from his body, revealing a bruised chest. Standing on a chair beside him, one of the Germans held a funnel to the pilot’s mouth and poured the contents of the wine bottle in as the pilot struggled and shook, unable to resist with his hands bound.
Laughing, the German discarded the empty bottle, allowing it to smash to pieces on the floor. He removed the funnel and chuckled again when the young pilot threw his head forward, splattering the contents of his stomach onto the floor and gasping for air. When the German picked up another bottle to do it again, McCabe got a look at the pilot’s bruised and disorientated face. He immediately recognised the captive as Crewman Lockhart.
Furious at the treatment of the young man, McCabe signalled his orders to the waiting Black Visors. Dub and Noid took positions on either side of the door with their HK-17s locked and loaded. Noid reached a hand towards the doorknob and, as quietly as she could, twisted it. But she shook her head to show it was locked, so Dub pulled his right leg back. He crashed his foot against the door with enough force to break it open. Noid leapt into the room, bringing her weapon to bear on the Germans. Dub trailed close behind. As McCabe jumped into the shop, the Black Visors fired in cool, methodical fashion.
Noid cleared the right side of the room, tapping her trigger twice. She shot the first soldier in the back and caught his colleague square in the head when he spun around in surprise. Dub blasted the soldier pouring wine into Lockhart, sending his body hurtling backwards onto a nearby table. The last soldier, far stockier than the others, snatched at his own weapon and dashed behind the captured pilot for cover. Dub dove forward, hit the ground with a roll, and swung himself into a crouched firing stance. He fired once, catching the enemy soldier in the stomach and knocking him into an empty display.
Making a beeline for the young pilot, McCabe slung his weapon. He grabbed at Lockhart’s legs, terrified the chair he perched on would give out at any second.
While Noid and Dub worked on clearing the other rooms of the shop, Big Mo drew his knife. He slipped it under the rope and gave it one clean slash to cut Lockhart free. Smack and McCabe gripped the captured pilot under his arms and eased him to the ground. Lockhart’s battered head bobbed up and down as an uninterrupted stream of vomit poured from his mouth, pooling across the floor. Smack patted him on the back while keeping him from collapsing face-first onto the lake of sickness.
“Place is clear,” Dub said when he returned to the room, Noid close behind.
“It’s going to be okay,” Smack said in a soothing tone to the young pilot.
Lockhart’s body shuddered and trembled in reply. He groaned in between coughs and spluttered the alcohol forced into his body. A thick stream of saliva fell down his chin as his arms and legs continued to shake.
“Animals,” McCabe cursed as he too patted the traumatised lad.
“You got a name?” Smack asked.
The young pilot groaned again. He moved his lips as if to answer, but another waterfall of vomit sprayed out.
“I know him,” McCabe answered. “He’s one of the pilots from the North Carolina. His name is Lockhart.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Smack’s body flinch, as if struck. He looked up out of curiosity. Even with the balaclava concealing most of her features, her eyes were wide open in surprise. She turned to gaze up at her colleagues. The mood in the room changed as the other three Black Visors shifted closer to the vomiting pilot.
“No shit,” Noid exclaimed as she took to a knee.
Oblivious to the waves of vomit around her, she leaned in and gently tilted the young pilot’s face up. Lockhart gave her a vacant stare back as he raised a hand to his mouth. He wiped the mess from his lips and chin and squinted at the masked strangers surrounding him.
“Cap-Captain Lockhart,” he grunted and spat onto the ground. “I…I have a sh-ship now. That m-makes me a…captain.”
“Captain Lockhart,” the four Black Visors exclaimed at the same time.
Surprised at their sudden change in attitudes and the softening of their tones, McCabe looked over each of them. “You know him?”
Big Mo took McCabe’s place and helped the bruised pilot to his feet. “He’s one of us.”
Noid and Dub turned their wrath on the remaining wounded Nazi, guarded by the West Germans. They stomped across the room, and Noid ordered the two guards to lift the Nazi to his feet. The wounded soldier begged and pleaded for his life, but the Black Visors were in no mood for mercy. While the West Germans held him up, Dub and Noid slung their weapons and drew their knives. Like animals pouncing on wounded prey, they drove their blades into the injured German with savage ferocity. They stabbed and hacked until they stood dripping in his blood.
The West German soldiers released their grip, allowing the dead prisoner to slip to the floor. McCabe expected them to leave it at that, but Dub took to a knee. Using the point of his bloodied knife, he carved lines into the Nazis forehead. McCabe recognised a bloodied Star of David cut into the soldier’s skin when the Black Visors sheathed their knives and snatched at their HK-17s.
“Reicher son of a bitch,” Dub screamed and kicked at the disfigured corpse. “You string up pilots. Do you shoot people in their beds, too? You scumbags killed Nordie.”
The Black Visor leader lashed out with his foot again, booting the dead soldier. With his teeth bared in a ferocious snarl, he drove his foot down repeatedly, further bloodying the mangled body. While Dub seethed with rage, Noid placed her hand on his arm, causing him to stop. As if jolted back to reality, he shook his head and nodded at his colleague. Chests heaving from the frenzied attack, the two MJ-12 operatives re-joined their comrades and assisted with aiding Lockhart.
Dub thumped his chest. “Kill them all.”
“Kill them all,” the three Black Visors replied together.
They pulled the tatters of Lockhart’s shirt over him, and Smack let him sip water from her flask. With Smack and Big Mo carrying him, the Black Visors walked towards the door. McCabe took point after glancing over the battered pilot.
“We have him, Sergeant,” Dub said in an authoritative tone. “He’s one of us.”
Lockhart groaned again as his groggy head rolled from side to side. With his eyelids half closed from intoxication, he tried to focus on the masked soldiers around him. A strange smile cut across his face. “I…I kn-know you, d-don’t I?” he mumbled. “I…I dr-dreamt…dreamt…dreamt…”
“You’re one of us,” Smack whispered.
“We have always been here,” Big Mo said, with a hint of sadness in his eyes.
Lockhart laughed at that. Then his body shook again with another bout of dry retching.
Confused by their cryptic conversation, McCabe opened his mouth to speak when Noid’s cool gaze stopped him. “Questions can wait, Sergeant,” she muttered. “Right now,
we need to get back so we can carve up some more Nazis. Lead the way.”
Deciding not to force the issue, McCabe said nothing as he reached for the door. Answers could wait. Right now, they had to get Captain Lockhart medical attention.
COMMAND AND CONTROL BUILDING, GOVERNMENT DISTRICT
13.56 MST
DAY 2
Anna Bailey stood as rigid as a statue. Reichsführer Wagner admired her as if she were a piece of art deserving to be on display in one of New Berlin’s galleries. His gaze soaked up every contour of her body in the skin-tight jump suit he had ordered her to change into. While the lab technicians and scientists scurried around him, running various tests and scans, he wanted to admonish them for not appreciating the full glory of their work. So many people sacrificed, so many lives lost, and yet everything had been worth it. He savoured the moment as he would a fine wine.
When his team finished their last series of checks, Wagner moved closer to his prize. The fragrance of her hair sent a tingle of electricity through his body. His sheer proximity to her caused him to tremble as he brought his lips close to her ear.
“You may relax now, Miss Bailey.”
Her shoulders slumped with immediate effect. Fingers flexed and curled into fists. She snapped her head around to face him, her burning eyes drilling through him.
Smiling, Wagner took a step back as she continued to stretch her muscles.
“Do I have the honour of knowing what this particular test is about, Herr Reichsführer?” Her voice no longer sounded soft and feminine. She made no effort to flirt with him or toy with him to gain an advantage. All that emanated from her was an unbridled hatred.
She started pacing the room again as she often did before she fought the guards. Her gaze moved across the working technicians and scientists. Slight nods of her head made Wagner guess she was listing off how and in what order she planned to murder each of them if given the chance.
Blood Red Sand Page 17
