Blood Red Sand

by Damien Larkin

  When the captured German light machine gun ran out of ammunition, Jenkins shoved it out of the way. Risking a glance to the left flank, he sighted several more swastika-sporting panzers racing towards them. As the Nazi formations bombarded the MEF lines, an image of a hammer and an anvil came to Jenkins’s mind, with his comrades and him caught in the middle.

  With bodies dropping from the Nazi onslaught, the MEF lines floundered. Their advance task force stood at a fraction of its total strength to engage in an offensive operation, let alone defend against heavily armoured panzers. Even with reinforcements being ferried towards the outskirts of the government district, it left a lot of unfriendly territory to their rear and flanks. If the Germans took advantage of their deceitful manoeuvre, they could easily cut their supply lines and leave them stranded.

  When the first panzer swung out onto the main street in front of them, Jenkins aimed his rifle at the Wehrmacht soldiers jogging behind the armoured beast. While the turret swerved towards the men of the MEF, he tracked an exposed German soldier and squeezed the trigger. The round caught the Nazi in the chest, causing him to flail backwards. One of his colleagues leapt out, grabbed him, and tried to pull him into the protective shadow of the panzer. Jenkins fired again, blasting the second German in the side of the head. Blood splashed across his comrades, and they pointed their weapons in Jenkins’s direction. With an unknown number of guns and a few panzers bearing down on him, Jenkins kept on firing. Activating his comm, he opened it up to the battalion channel and shouted as loud as he could.

  “Kill them all! Kill every last one of them!”

  Hundreds of voices thundered back in unison as the MEF prepared to exterminate every Nazi that came their way.

  NEAR ALEXANDERPLATZ, MITTE DISTRICT, CITY CENTRE

  19.14 MST

  DAY 2

  For hours, Sergeant McCabe and the MEF, their West German contingent allies, and the Black Visors had searched for a way to infiltrate the government district. Although the fighting hadn’t spilled over to their area of the city centre, the presence of Nazi patrols and wandering civilians hampered their efforts. Even the West Germans disguised in Wehrmacht uniforms found it difficult to seek a way through without exposing themselves.

  Eventually, they discovered that the areas facing the government district looked to be thinly guarded. From what they could uncover, the SS had turned on their former Wehrmacht colleagues and civilians alike and carved out a no-man’s-land around their personal fife. With the bulk of their strength dispatched to slowing the advancing MEF, the Wehrmacht left under-strength units to protect their rear while they slugged it out with the Allied forces.

  Then the news broke. Despite intermittent communications due to jamming, the broadcast came through as clear as day. A ceasefire had been declared when the Wehrmacht agreed to an unconditional surrender. The abandoned church they used as a temporary hiding place erupted in excitement at the prospects of the fighting drawing to a close. Even the Black Visors who sat protectively beside Lockhart let out a cheer.

  As an uneasy stillness blanketed New Berlin, McCabe and the rest of the company moved through the colony. Darting across exposed streets in small groups, they stuck to the back alleys as much as possible and took turns carrying their wounded. The Black Visors assumed the lead, spurring them on at every slow-down. Their impatience to break into the government district intensified with every passing minute. In hushed whispers, McCabe overheard them mention Anna Bailey on multiple occasions. He couldn’t be sure if she truly happened to be an MI6 agent, but he saw in their animated movements that her safety remained important to them.

  Dodging a Nazi patrol, the combined group of soldiers pushed onwards, edging closer to where the MEF were setting up a staging area. McCabe hoped and prayed to see familiar faces. At least half of his original platoon lay dead so far. More than anything, he wished the ones who had stayed with Corporal Brown and Junior Sergeant Alexeev were alive and well.

  As they surged several hundred metres behind the Wehrmacht’s defensive lines, communications came through more clearly. McCabe tapped at his arm console, but he couldn’t open a clear channel. Gritting his teeth, he spurred on the stragglers at the rear of the group, helping the wounded where he could. Minutes dragged on like hours. Finally, they rounded a corner. McCabe nearly cried out with joy when he saw his country’s flag swaying in the light breeze, draped outside a massive building. Beneath that flag, he estimated hundreds of Mars Expeditionary Force soldiers stood occupying defences and stripping surrendering German soldiers of their weapons.

  “We made it,” he muttered to himself and leaned against the wall of the back alley. His gaze scanned up and down the street, checking for any sign of hostile enemy activity.

  “Yes, we have,” Colonel Henke said from beside him, “but we have much to do. We can at least have our wounded seen to and stock up on supplies.”

  “The job’s not done yet, Sergeant,” Dub grumbled and gave the all-clear sign. “We still have to break in there and—”

  “Anna Bailey,” McCabe grunted. “I get it.”

  Dub opened his mouth to speak when all hell broke loose. Tank guns boomed to life, heralding death and destruction. Buildings tore apart from direct hits from panzer rounds, and men disappeared in fogs of brick and dust. Machine guns banged to life, spewing death. From along the road, circling the government district, a dozen panzers swung headfirst into the street packed with the MEF.

  Panic fire rang back in reply, pinging off the thick armour of the panzers. Wehrmacht soldiers sheltering behind the metal monstrosities sprinted towards nearby barricades and hurled themselves at the MEF soldiers. Screams and cries died as the Nazi forces continued their push, slamming shells into the MEF defences. German soldiers who had surrendered minutes before rushed the Allied guards, overpowering them. Other MEF units, seeing the chaos breaking out around them, trained their weapons on groups of disarmed POWs. They blasted on their Lee-Enfield’s and Bren’s, cutting down the Nazi soldiers before they had a chance to turn on them.

  “We need to do something,” McCabe shouted.

  In the sky above, a transport swooped down like a falcon ready to grasp its prey in its talons. It unleashed a half a dozen missiles, catching the lead panzers head-on and leaving seared metal in their place. As Wehrmacht soldiers rushed from the side streets, the panzers focused their wrath on the Allied transport. Anti-aircraft rounds zipped through the sky, forcing the craft into a series of evasive manoeuvres to escape.

  “You have your damned orders,” Dub shouted back at McCabe. “Anna Bailey is the most important person on this rock. We need to get to her now.”

  McCabe envisioned ramming his fist through Dub’s face. The chaos of the unfolding situation helped him to maintain his composure.

  “We will render assistance here,” Colonel Henke said, leaning in between the two men. “Then we will proceed with the rescue effort.”

  The Black Visors gently placed Lockhart amongst the wounded soldiers. They each leaned in and patted the unconscious boy, whispering soft words to him. Smack dipped her hand into her pocket, pulled something out, and rested a small device on his chest. She slipped two small buds into his ears and clicked a button on the device while whispering something about “Song 2.” Strange music emanated from the two buds, causing a small smile to creep across the drowsy pilot’s face.

  “First Platoon, on me, double time,” McCabe called out.

  At his command, the two dozen MEF and West German soldiers of the makeshift First Platoon edged up. Pointing out the positions they needed to take, McCabe wasted no time and threw himself into the battle.

  Bullets whistled through the air, gutting men on both sides when McCabe stormed up the left flank of the street. Seeing a small group of Wehrmacht soldiers sneak ahead, using doorways for shelter, he took aim as he ran. He pulled on his Lee-Enfield’s trigger, dropping two soldiers. His platoon unleashed a wall of lead on the enemy, tearing them
to shreds as the remaining West German and MEF soldiers spilled out of the back alley. The transport swung low again, turning another pair of panzers into a hellish inferno.

  Having regained their composure, the MEF started to shove the Nazis back. Bolstered by reinforcements brought in by acquired trucks, they battered Wehrmacht and Volkssturm units with persistent fire. Their panzers in flames, McCabe noticed the German assault wane. Their soldiers flung themselves into the fight, but fewer and fewer enemy units seemed willing to brave the murderous onslaught. Screaming at the top of his lungs, McCabe kept up his pace. Working as one, the sections under his command took turns in laying down covering fire and pressing forward.

  Bounding through the wreckage blanketing the street, McCabe sighted several civilians fighting alongside the MEF. Each of them carried German weaponry and wore homemade Israeli flags wrapped around their arms—Jewish insurgents. Given that Israel had been founded six years previously, he wondered how they could have learned of its existence while trapped here. Dodging a bullet, he filed that information away and watched them charge the Nazi forces with no regard for their own safety.

  They braved the hail of enemy fire and fought to get close enough to shower their enemy with Molotov cocktails. Several Germans vaulted from their foxholes as the homemade explosives found their mark. MEF bullets pounded the burning Nazis when they tried to flee. On the right flank, regrouped Allied soldiers fired anti-tank rounds from their modified Lee-Enfield’s, hitting the sides of several lumbering panzers.

  Turning about, McCabe noticed Colonel Henke close behind. The colonel pushed through the wreckage and bodies that carpeted the street, directing light machine guns towards groups of defending Nazis.

  In the sky above, the transport dodged anti-aircraft fire to slam another volley of missiles at approaching panzers. This time, though, the craft came too close. A German heavy machine gun pummelled the transport with high calibre rounds, denting the sides and punching through the cockpit. The entire ship shuddered before crashing to the ground like a meteorite. A column of Wehrmacht soldiers disappeared beneath its burning mass, squashed like bugs.

  With more German soldiers streaming from the side streets, the now-rallied MEF charged the last of their defences in well-timed movements. Bren light machine guns punched endless streams of lead on the enemy, and rifles banged out at anything that moved. With bloodthirsty roars, the MEF and their Jewish allies leapt over their dead, keen to close the distance and crush the last scraps of Nazi resistance.

  Urging on his platoon and the assortment of soldiers that gravitated to the left flank, McCabe rushed at the nearest barricade. Men fell to the ground when bullets cut them down mid-step. Grenades flew out from both sides, bursting men apart and splattering blood over the skeletons of panzers. Shrapnel whistled through the smog-filled air and sliced through flesh and bone, gutting entire sections. Howls from the wounded pierced the constant sound of gunfire as soldiers cried out for help that would never arrive.

  With a furious roar, McCabe was the first one to dive over the Nazi barricades lining the top of the street. Surprised German soldiers swung their weapons about, but he reacted first. He emptied his rifle’s ammo clip, sending Nazi soldiers crashing to the ground. Without even a moment to stop and reload, he lunged at the nearest Nazi and buried his bayonet deep into his stomach. He twisted and kicked the soldier to the floor and managed to raise his rifle in time to block a knife swipe from behind. A Volkssturm soldier with a bloody face moved to strike at him again when bullets tore through his chest. The German staggered and hit the ground seconds before MEF soldiers scrambled through the holes in the barricades, gunning down grey and brown uniforms in equal measure.

  The German soldiers who could retreat ran towards the trickle of panzers flowing from the side roads for cover. Streams of lead continued to lash out at the oncoming MEF soldiers as they grappled with the few die-hard Nazis refusing to abandon their posts. Like crazed berserkers, the Jewish warriors mobbed what German machinegun nests continued to crack fire at them. They dodged around the ruins of the burning street and fired without remorse or hesitation, even as their brethren collapsed around them. Those who could throw themselves headfirst into the enemy foxholes did so. They piled onto the defending Nazis and lashed out with knives and axes.

  The ground under McCabe rocked and thundered when another transport made its presence known. Wehrmacht soldiers firing from the adjoining side streets disappeared under a pillar of dirt and blackened smoke. McCabe struck the ground from the force of the explosion. He clawed himself back to his feet and rallied all who could hear him.

  He slipped in a fresh magazine into his rifle and took aim. Three German soldiers raced around the corner and fired on the Jewish warriors who had overrun one of the nearby machinegun nests. He caught two of them in the chest while two of the insurgents dealt with the last Nazi. They pelted the German with Molotov cocktails, and, as he burned, they cleaved through his feet with axes. The burning soldier writhed in pain as the flames charred his flesh.

  “Forward!” someone screamed from the rear. “Forward! Let’s break the bastards now!”

  Having seized the defensive line that faced the government district, the MEF dragged their wounded into cover and reloaded their weapons.

  Columns of roaring Wehrmacht soldiers charged from both streets to the left and right, despite the near-continuous blasts from guns of all calibres. Several panzers disappeared under an avalanche of concrete and steel when the transport above bombed the apartment blocks and structures.

  Screaming German soldiers tried to flee, but their bodies disappeared under a mass of bricks. The air turned thick, black, and heavy from the fires raging around the government district.

  Surviving Wehrmacht soldiers flung down their arms and raised their hands in surrender. Unwilling to take any more risks, the MEF gunned them down where they stood. Cries of “Kill them all” rang through the air as they shot, hacked, and stabbed any Nazi who fell into their hands.

  Just as McCabe and the MEF were about to push on towards the perimeter of the government district, a thunderstorm of noise erupted. Gun emplacements, snipers, and RPGs spewed death. Like a monster waking from a slumber, SS forces fired upon everyone who came into their sights. Green and grey uniforms collapsed together as snipers shot at anyone out in the open. Machine gun bullets chewed up the concrete streets. Bullets eviscerated soldiers without mercy.

  While dashing for cover behind a burnt-out panzer, a piercing sensation ripped through McCabe’s shoulder. He lost his footing from the shock and stumbled a few paces before glancing down. Blood trickled from a bullet hole. Seeing that intensified the pain that throbbed through him.

  A hand grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed him onwards. McCabe turned and saw Dub blasting his HK-17. “I’m getting sick of saving your ass, Sergeant,” Dub said as he hauled him behind the metal carcass.

  “The feeling’s mutual,” McCabe groaned.

  He reached for the oozing wound as the Black Visors and some of the West German contingent fell in around him. Noid moved closer and methodically probed the gash with her gloved fingers.

  “Looks like it went straight through,” she said as she applied antiseptic and started bandaging it.

  Looking across the Black Visors, McCabe saw blood splatters across their dark red and black uniforms. Each of them sported cuts across their arms, legs, and torsos. The West Germans and MEF soldiers looked no better. As SS bullets pinged down at them, he risked a quick glance towards the government district ahead. It didn’t look good.

  “Barbed wire and barricades across the whole perimeter.” He fumbled for a cigarette. “Machine gun nests every twenty metres or so. Snipers on the apartment roofs. Heavier weapons spread out in interlocking arcs of fire. And that’s only the first layer. They could have hundreds, even thousands of soldiers in those buildings.”

  McCabe flicked on his lighter and was raising the flame to the tip of his cig
arette when shots rang out from his left flank. Smack yelped and tumbled backwards onto the concrete.

  “Smack!”

  Dub jumped to his feet and searched for the location of the shots. McCabe spotted two Wehrmacht soldiers hunkering behind chunks of fallen concrete and scrambled to raise his rifle. Dub acted first and squeezed the trigger in two short bursts, killing the German soldiers. With their flanks and rear clear, he spun about and dove at his comrade.

  Smack let out a howl and clutched at her wound. Dub and Noid grabbed at her. Fear leaked from their eyes. Smack clamped her jaws shut as Dub tore her hand away and checked her wounded side. He and Noid set to bandaging her wound as the MEF soldiers took pot-shots at any enemy that came into their sights. After a few minutes of furious work, they managed to patch Smack up and lifted her to her feet slowly. She winced from the effort and kept her hand protectively to her bandaged side, but she could move.

  “Can you walk?” Dub asked, his tone surprisingly soft.

  “Yeah,” Smack said and gave a frantic nod of her head. But she bit her lip and closed her eyes when she tried to take an unaided step. Even with her face masked, the skin around her eyes tightened, and her lips curled tight to mask her pain.

  McCabe turned to gain a better view of the SS forces in front of him. On their right flank, Colonel Henke and a collection of MEF soldiers had used the burnt-out panzers to advance closer to the SS lines. That left a large quantity of open ground, leaving the MEF as easy pickings for the hundreds of enemy guns trained on them.

  “We’d need a tank regiment to break through there,” McCabe said as his mind searched for a solution. “We could probe other points in their defensive ring for weak spots, but considering the amount of effort they’ve put in, I doubt we’ll find any.”

  Just above them, another transport unleashed its payload against SS targets. The transport exploded in a massive fireball at the same time as its missiles struck two anti-aircraft batteries. Flaming wreckage and burning metal rained down on the streets around them in a savage hailstorm.