“Sir, we have to get off the ship,” said a voice to his left. He struggled, pushed, and finally separated from those helping him move. He held himself upright alongside a small tower outside the bridge.
“Kommodore!” Korvettenkapitän Hoth yelled.
He refused to be helped, and even as crewmembers rushed past them, he kept moving back. Korvettenkapitän Hoth stepped closer, but then the older man pulled a pistol from his belt and pointed it at him.
“Get off my ship!”
Korvettenkapitän Hoth didn’t want to leave the Kommodore behind; neither did he want to die. He hesitated, but after looking at the gun for a second time, thought better of it and chased after the others. The Kommodore staggered back. He stumbled twice before reaching the unblocked side door to the lower deck of the bridge. Once inside it was simply a matter of pulling his weight up the steps and then to the bridge. Every piece of glass was broken, and a dozen display units flashed repeatedly. He hesitated, and then looked out through the windswept window frames. The waves smashed against the side of his ship, and off in the distance a number of tiltrotor craft were heading his way.
“Now they come to assist, when it is all over.”
To his surprise, the radio system burst to life.
“This is a message from Generalleutnant Curt von Kluge to Kommodore Ulli of the Panzerschiffe Admiral Borckenhagen. Aircraft are being sent to assist your crew. You will report to the General as soon as you reach the base. Or if you would prefer to avoid the red tape…”
The message continued, but none of it meant a thing to the Kommodore. He’d already raised the automatic pistol to his temple and closed his eyes. His meeting with the supreme military commander in North American would be to discuss one thing, and one thing only. He’d not humiliate himself in that way. He reached out with his left hand, placed it against the cool steel of the ship, and gently squeezed the trigger.
“Goodbye, old friend.”
* * *
Reich Atlantic Naval Station, Norfolk, Virginia
Generalleutnant Curt von Kluge sat in silence as Kriminaldirektor Mattias looked out towards the water. Even from where he was sitting, the General could easily make out the columns of thick black smoke belching from the fleet of Kommodore Ulli, smoke that marked the man’s failure and by association, his own. When the Gestapo man turned back around, he could tell there was going to be trouble.
“Generalleutnant, this is not what we expected from you. I was sent here with express orders from the Chancellery itself. To ferment the conditions for revolt, as a means to crushing any and all resistance before it could be organised.”
He looked back at the ships.
“And now look at us. ORPO units are being forced out of cities across the East Coast, and even rag-tag units of militia are fighting our own Waffen SS units in open battle. And to make matters worse…I have this.”
He held up a piece of paper and dropped it onto the desk.
“Reich Meteorological reports show a massive cold weather front heading this way. There is a chance it will hit within a week, and if it does, it will be with us for weeks, maybe even a month. That is the worst possible timing.”
“Indeed it will be. Fighting an entrenched enemy in heavy snow introduces all kinds of problems. Luckily for us…I ensured cold weather gear was shipped with us. We learnt our lessons from the Eastern Front well, Kriminaldirektor.”
The entire conversation was little more than a power game. The Kriminaldirektor used his Reich power and wielded it like a god, whereas the General relied upon his experience and reputation as a military man of no equal. They needed each other to succeed, so neither man pushed the other further. Kriminaldirektor Mattias stared from the next window, looking at the lines of soldiers and vehicles. Generalleutnant Curt von Kluge licked his lips, knowing the worst was yet to come. Thankfully, he was saved when the door opened, and in walked Reichskommissar Wilson, the leader of the American Union puppet regime. An overweight SD officer in a dark green uniform, the same as the regular ORPO units, accompanied him.
“Inspector Miller, it is about time you returned to us.”
The two moved closer, but Miller interested Kriminaldirektor Mattias the most.
“Last we heard, you had gone missing at the end of the Columbus Circle debacle, along with most of your department.”
Miller tried to look confident, but from his position at the far end of the room, Generalleutnant Curt von Kluge sensed he was worried.
“My unit is not designed for combat operations. I pulled back all Ordnungspolizei from front-line operations against these insurgents.”
“I can see that,” said Kriminaldirektor Mattias, “As always, the SD have proven themselves merely adequate at best. You will mobilise all your remaining units and make them available for coming security operations. You will support Sicherheitspolizei units, as and when requested. Understood?”
Inspector Miller sniffed, yet struggled to answer. He was a man accustomed to operating with impunity, but here he was another part of the old system, and nobody rose above the SS in the new hierarchy.
“Of course. I will have all local Ordnungspolizei brought here so…”
“No. You will bring all your forces under the direct command of SS-Oberführer Sigismund Erwin. As he secures cities, it will be your job to reinstall Reich control. Do you understand?”
Again Miller sniffed, giving the impression he had a cold, or more likely, a nervous twitch.
“Yes, Kriminaldirektor Mattias. We will reinstate full police control.”
“Good. Now go.”
The overweight SD man hesitated but then headed for the door. Not a soul spoke until the door closed behind him.
“Well,” said the General, “That was rather unpleasant, was it not?”
The Kriminaldirektor sneered.
“None of this is very pleasant. These rebels are learning to enjoy successes, and that we cannot allow. Tell me, General. Are your forces ready?”
The old man shook his head.
“Not quite. We unloaded half of them from the ships, but the panzer units and my landship detachment are still not ready for deployment.”
“I see. Ensure they are ready as fast as possible. I want the entire unit ready for combat operations.”
“That is the plan.”
Kriminaldirektor Mattias moved to the General’s desk and then smiled.
“Yes, I’m sure it is. Perhaps you would remind me of it?”
Generalleutnant Curt von Kluge started to speak, but the Kriminaldirektor lifted a hand and waved over the Reichskommissar.
“You should see this, too, Reichskommissar Wilson. This is, after all, your province, is it not?”
“Yes.”
The three men moved to the desk and around the map of the immediate states of the old United States. Generalleutnant Curt von Kluge pointed to the bottom of the map, tracing his hand along the newly constructed autobahn.
“Nothing fancy. SS units will advance ahead of us, drawing in insurgent supporters, thereby allowing us to weaken them. Wehrmacht units will continue towards Manhattan, with the goal of assaulting the city from three directions, and a distant Naval blockade of the south. Smaller craft will move in first to draw out any of their surprises, and then the main assaults will begin.”
“And what if they decide to put their own plan into action?”
Generalleutnant Curt von Kluge grinned.
“No plan survives past the first engagement. There are two goals. The primary is to engage the hostiles wherever we find them, and nothing will stop that. With that in mind, I require you to declare full-scale martial law in the east. You will also declare war on any who oppose us. You will make it public that you are either with us, or you are an enemy.”
The Reichskommissar looked stunned.
“By doing this we sow discord and fear into every village, town, and city along the east coast. To not assist us is to risk death.”
“And the second?”
Generalleutnant Curt von Kluge grinned as he pointed out a location on the map.
“The utter eradication of the enemy’s primary combat power by taking the one place they hold dear. We take Manhattan, no matter the cost. And if they try to stop us, we will leave the place a charred wilderness. Just like London, and Moscow before that.”
His hand rested on the map and then drew north.
“We follow the path of the autobahn, taking every town and city along it until we reach New York.”
Kriminaldirektor Mattias knew the map and route well enough to not even look at it.
“That means passing through the disputed city of Baltimore.”
The General barely acknowledged the name of the city.
“Baltimore will assist us or be the first to welcome our fires. Trust me, every city will assist us, or burn. There is no other option.”
Kriminaldirektor Mattias nodded as he listened. He said relatively little, because everything he’d heard so far sounded exactly as he would have planned it. He knew of the Militants in Baltimore, and the other urban settlements on the way to New York. The more he thought on it, the happier he became.
“Excellent, General. This is exactly what we need. A decisive plan with a goal every soldier can understand. I look forward to watching you and your men marching to war.”
“As do I, Kriminaldirektor. As do I.”
CHAPTER NINE
1 Km South of St Mary’s City, Maryland
13th February 2018
The small column of vehicles wound their way along the icy road. This was not the large force still fighting throughout Maryland and Virginia, but a single zug or platoon led by a Puma II armoured car. Above each flew the flag of the Reich, bright red with the typical white and black detailing. They slowly traversed the treacherous ice and snow to the entrance of the historic city.
The Puma II slipped on the ice and slid across the road before the driver was able to regain control. Mud sprayed from the thick tyres, covering the side of the vehicle in a mixture of ice and soggy brown dirt. Standing upright in the commander cupola of the armoured car, SS-Oberscharführer Felipe Tomás watched the horizon with great care. His goggles kept steaming up, and every minute or two he’d remove them for a few seconds to ease the fogging of the glass. He wore the standard winter smock and combat gear of the Waffen SS, and in this cold he was thankful for it.
Tomás had not visited the city before, but his notes seemed to indicate it was something of importance. His radio activated, turning his attention from the route. He nodded repeatedly as he listened to his order. After a full thirty seconds he spoke, and then placed the unit back in its cradle in the cab of the truck. His NCO, SS-Unterscharführer Mathews raised his eyebrows and looked across to him. He was a battle-hardened SS man from Virginia with more twenty years combat experience.
“Any news?”
The Oberscharführer sighed.
“Nothing good. Hauptsturmführer Krosigk is still fighting the insurgents. He says they’ve split up and are fighting in more than eight cities south of Baltimore.”
“And this place?”
The gruff NCO nodded to the direction they were travelling.
“Our orders haven’t changed. We will secure the city and search for collaborators. Intelligence from the Hauptsturmführer confirms the terrorists have operatives in the area. They must be receiving help from the city. We will find them.”
“And then what, Oberscharführer?”
Tomás pointed to the closed old, wooden gates across the entrance to the city. They looked relatively new and were attached to the fencing running all along one side of the street. He consulted his notes and the mapping information for the area.
“Then we will ensure the city is loyal to the Reich. Any resistance, and we will remind them of the consequences.”
Oberscharführer Tomás lifted a hand and gripped on tightly as the armoured car slowed to a halt. He checked behind him, making sure the two trucks were with him. After the most recent reports throughout the state, he was taking no chances. Most towns and cities remained loyal, or at the very least showed no signs of outward aggression. But this new barrier across the road piqued his interest. His vehicle stopped in the middle of the road, and the two trucks fanned out to either side. As soon as they stopped, their squad leaders called out commands. SS soldiers dismounted in seconds, moving into open positions on either side, ready for trouble.
“Check the fence,” said Oberscharführer Tomás.
Two men moved away from the group and examined the long wooden barrier. One placed a hand on it and found something.
“There’s a sensor on the ground.”
Unterscharführer Mathews hit the ground hard and pointed to the barrier.
“Everybody back! Now!”
He didn’t need to repeat himself. They all moved away from the gate and waited for what was to come. Mathews reached to his side and pulled out a shock grenade. It looked much like the old British Mills Bomb, and he activated it by twisting the top. With the minimum of effort, he tossed it towards the gate, a metre from the sensor. The device rolled along the ground and stopped alongside the unit. A fraction of a second later came a click, like that of a powerful solenoid.
“I heard something!” said a soldier.
Mathews lifted a hand to silence the man, and they waited quietly. Remembering their training, they pulled the visors down from their helmets to fully cover their eyes and faces. The grenade exploded, sending a shockwave into the ground. Snow blasted away in all directions, showering the men and the three vehicles with the wet substance. Part of the gate ripped apart, as well as shattering the sensor. The dust and smoke cleared, leaving little of the obstruction, but more important, nothing else had been triggered. Mathews looked back to the armoured car, and the upright figure in the single turret.
“Well?” Oberscharführer Tomás asked.
Mathews shook his head.
“Just a contact sensor. They obviously put it here as a warning device. They know we’re coming.”
Oberscharführer Tomás laughed at that.
“Preparation will not save them. Everybody, back in your vehicles. It’s time the citizens of St Mary’s were given a chance to explain their actions.”
Scharführer Mathews signalled to the men who quickly clambered back inside. They sped through the broken barrier and towards the city. Oberscharführer Tomás checked his information for the last time, and found himself laughing at the description of the place. Unlike in Europe, the Americans appeared obsessed with describing every small hamlet and village as a city, even when its population numbered in the mere hundreds. This place was no different, and that amused him far more than it should have. The road was even worse here, and they slipped on the ice and snow before finally reaching a crossroads. The main road continued along the water’s edge, the left heading to what the signpost described as the Historic City of St Mary’s. Tomás bent down and called out to his driver.
“Right!”
They swerved into the large parking lot, most of which was barely visible due to the thick coating of ice and snow. A very small part had been cleared closer to the nearest buildings. The first of them came closer, but the column continued on past and turned right.
“There it is, St Mary’s College. And look what we have here.”
They drove on up the almost navigable track and then halted in the exact same position as they had at the road. The building was old by American standards, perhaps a hundred and fifty-years-old. It had seen better days, with some of the windows boarded up. Smoke drifted up from a pair of tall chimneys, serving as a reminder that the small number of occupants remaining was using the place.
As they slid to a halt, the SS men jumped from the vehicles and spread out. The front door of the college opened, and a number of citizens made their way out. Oberscharführer Tomás hesitated, before leaping from the armoured car and rushing to the front of his men. He wore a pistol at his side,
and appeared more concerned with rubbing his hands together to stay warm than with the people coming out of the college. An old man, perhaps in his late sixties wandered out. He wore an old brown suit, with a heavy coat thrown over the top. His grey hair lacked almost all colour, yet his eyes burned brightly behind the narrow-rimmed spectacles.
“Good day…officer. How may I help you?”
The SS men continued to spread out, forming a loose line of twelve. Several remained in each truck, as well as the drivers. One rose up into the turret of the armoured car and swivelled the unit around, instantly drawing the attention of the growing group of civilians. There were now what appeared to be four members of staff, plus a dozen, perhaps more students.
“Good day indeed. Mr?”
“Professor Thackston. I am the…”
“Yes. I’m sure you are,” said the Oberscharführer, cutting him off. He then walked along the line, taking off his gloves. He looked at each of them with interest before moving to the next.
“I am here on the specific instructions of SS-Oberführer Sigismund Erwin. He sent units like mine to check on the safety of citizens along the East Coast of the Union. Perhaps you are aware of the recent terrorist attacks?”
The old man slowly shook his head.
“No, we are not.” He looked up to the skies, “Communications access has been difficult for months now, and with the storms coming in, we might as well be out in the desert. Perhaps you can explain what is happening, Herr?”
“Tomás… Oberscharführer Tomás.”
He moved back along the line and stopped before the Professor.
“This is a college of the liberal arts, is it not?”
The Professor nodded.
“Of course. Our institution is known...”
Tomás feigned disappointment.
“The liberal arts…what a shame. The Reich is built upon ingenuity, engineering, skills, and strength. The liberal arts are a flaccid subject, suitable for…”
Soldiers of Tomorrow: The Winter War Page 14
