Metal Man

by Ben Stevens

  ‘Russians?’ said Weber, his face hard. He began quickly checking over his machinegun.

  ‘Wait,’ said Mayer. ‘Sounds like only a couple of vehicles – three or four at the most. I don’t get it…’

  The group consisting of the four SS soldiers, Brucker, Schroder, the five Poles and the accompanying inmates, had already moved to behind the large, brick-built building that was next to where the rail-track leading into the camp terminated.

  Weber moved quickly, skirting round the side of the brick-built building. He returned in a few moments.

  ‘It’s Ackermann,’ he informed Mayer. ‘Ackermann and the rest of his unit. Got the three tanks spread out in a line. Looks like they’re getting set to blast this camp to kingdom come. Another soft target, I guess – their swansong before they head back over the border into Germany.’

  Mayer nodded – and then looked directly at Brucker.

  ‘So – what do we do, sir?’ he asked his resurrected commanding officer.

  29

  Ackermann’s unit had found this camp without any difficulty. Now they took notice of the barbed-wire fences and the many huts and buildings behind these fences, but it stirred nothing within them.

  A couple of SS troopers, using binoculars, observed a few inmates shrinking away further inside the camp, obviously trying to hide.

  The SS troopers reported this to Ackermann.

  ‘Let them just try to hide from the shells these tanks are about to fire – and then we’ll go straight in and tear whatever’s left of this place to pieces,’ growled Ackermann.

  The tank commanders stood from the top of the turret of each tank, looking to Ackermann to give the order to unleash their lethal salvo. Although there were only seven shells in total, that would still be sufficient to cause plentiful devastation.

  Then they could just drive straight in, demolishing anything in their path, the SS troopers fanning out behind them and shooting anyone they came across. It was hardly as though they’d meet with any resistance, in any case – not in a place like this…

  The tanks’ engines rumbled, as Ackermann slowly raised his right arm. When he brought it down, the tanks would commence shelling and –

  ‘Sir!’ called out one of the SS troopers, who’d been scanning the front of the camp through binoculars.

  But now Ackermann could see what had left the courtyard area just inside the camp’s main entrance, and was walking in that curiously ‘steady’ manner towards them.

  But – something was…

  Wrong –

  ‘He’s got a face – the Metal Man has got a face!’ spluttered the SS trooper holding the binoculars. ‘He’s human…’

  Then, as the trooper again put the binoculars to his eyes, he uttered what was almost a shriek.

  ‘No – Christ, no way…’ he moaned. ‘He’s dead…’

  Ackermann opened his mouth, to demand to know what the man meant. Then he decided that it was simplest if he just took a closer look for himself. So he put his own binoculars to his eyes –

  And was instantly transported to some shadowy, nightmare world, where a man he’d murdered months before now walked towards him with a new body of metal. Only the face remained the same – and yet also somehow different…

  ‘Ackermann!’ called out the apparition now. Lieutenant Colonel Karl Brucker – the Metal Man – whoever the hell this was – had raised his voice to be heard above the fearsome racket of the tanks; but there was no emotion at all contained within this voice.

  And that somehow made it sound even worse…

  The troopers gathered behind the tanks had started to chatter, sharing the two pairs of binoculars and so taking it in turns to take disbelieving looks at the SS officer whose dead, blood-covered body most of them had observed months before...

  ‘Shut up,’ growled Ackermann, trying desperately to keep both his voice and his thoughts steady. ‘Just shut up. This is some sort of trick, that’s all. Some foul experiment…’

  Yes – already he was starting to recover himself. To take notice of certain important details. Such as the fact that the Metal Man wasn’t carrying that huge weapon of his. It seemed as though he was walking over to talk –

  To talk…

  To tell Ackermann’s men, perhaps, just what had really taken place that day in the Polish village with the building on fire…

  ‘Sir!’ called out one of his men again, who was now using one pair of binoculars to look past the Metal Man and again into the camp. ‘I can see one of Brucker’s men – one of the ones who deserted the other day…’

  Ackermann realized he had to act quickly. Perhaps the Metal Man – if he still possessed some memory of his previous life as Karl Brucker – had already informed the man named Mayer and the three others presumably skulking within this camp of just how Brucker had met his end.

  And now the Metal Man was walking over, possibly to give Ackermann’s men the very same information…?

  How would they react to that – exactly?

  ‘It’s a trap!’ yelled Ackermann suddenly. ‘They’ve sided with the kikes – remember how the Metal Man behaved back at that ghetto?’

  As the troopers stood behind the three tanks that were spread out in a line exchanged confused glances, Ackermann called out to the commander of the central tank –

  ‘Ram it – ram him! Don’t let him get near us!’

  The tank commander turned to stare perplexed at his officer.

  ‘Now!’ demanded Ackermann, his narrow wolf-eyes blazing with hatred and fear.

  The tank commander abruptly disappeared inside his vehicle and closed the turret hatch. A moment later the tank started forward, gaining speed as it headed directly towards the Metal Man.

  ‘Fire – fire!’ Ackermann bellowed at the two other tank commanders. They also disappeared back inside the vehicles – and a few moments later the first shell shot into the camp and exploded, as these tanks also started to rumble forwards.

  30

  ‘Shit!’ shouted Weber, as nearby a large building disintegrated into a ball of flame and flying debris.

  ‘Everyone – get back, right to the back of the camp!’ called out Mayer then.

  With Arnold and several others hurriedly translating, the inmates began to follow Mayer’s instructions. They moved almost as one, in a large crowd, the stronger ones trying to support the weaker. Getting rid of his bulky radio set, Amsel then put one arm around the waist of the woman carrying the baby, helping her on.

  Then another explosion, near the edge of the group. Several inmates fell down; two did not then move, while the others began moaning, clearly injured. Amsel left the woman carrying the baby to run over to them, checking them over, trying to help one man get back up.

  ‘It’s no good, Amsel,’ yelled Mayer. ‘We have to leave them – get these others out of here, and into the forest behind – we’ll only be able to lose Ackermann’s unit that way…’

  Then another shell landed in almost the same place as the last one had. Mayer stared in disbelief as Amsel’s body described a crazy cartwheel in the air. Then Mayer was running, heading towards the place where the stocky radioman had landed…

  31

  It was all over. Bach knew that. Now it was just every man for himself. He remained near the front of the camp, taking cover behind the various structures, emerging for a split-second to give quick bursts of fire at the SS troopers running behind the tanks.

  Bach pressed his trigger only when he thought he had a good shot – ammunition was too scarce to do otherwise – but still he was certain he’d not actually hit anyone as yet...

  Those German SS troopers. Men from the same country, the same army as himself – even their uniform identical. But still (appreciated Bach), men who were wholly different from himself…

  It had been Brucker’s decision – if that metal thing actually was still Brucker – not to take that huge gun of his when he’d walked out there. He’d said he’d talk with Ackermann, persuade him
and his unit just to drive on. Try to avert yet more bloodshed that way. If he took his gun, said Brucker, Ackermann might just get the wrong idea as he approached.

  And…

  Brucker had also muttered something about how he’d used that gun too much already. Seemed like he was tired of all the killing, despite the impressive jet-black armor and the shiny red swastikas on his shoulders that made him appear like the ultimate machine of destruction…

  Bach had seen the tank drive into Brucker. Brucker had tried to move out of the way but – given how relatively slowly he walked – that had proved to be impossible.

  So approximately twenty-five tonnes of metal had smashed into Brucker at around thirty kilometers an hour. There was a hideous rending, grinding noise of ruptured metal as Brucker disappeared underneath the tank’s tracks…

  But now the tank was stuck. Unable to drive forwards as Brucker was pushing the front of it upwards with his mighty arms. Bach thought he heard Brucker actually yell out, that previously emotionless voice now actually registering the sheer effort of what his mechanical body was trying to do – and perhaps also the pain it was feeling…

  Slowly – as Bach took cover, fired and then took cover again, the two other tanks now smashing through the outer barbed-wire fence, their shells obviously exhausted – Brucker pushed the tank that was on top of him over onto one side. The top of the turret opened, the five-man Panzer crew yelling as they attempted to get out before the machine completely turned turtle…

  Bach emerged from behind cover once more. He had a clear shot – he could shoot down all of those five men with just one burst from his sub machinegun…

  Yet something was stopping him. The men were yelling with fear – they appeared to have no weapons, except perhaps a solitary pistol carried by the tank commander. To open fire, now, whatever the circumstances, felt too much like murder for Bach’s tastes –

  Then he gasped, several bullets tearing into his own body. He turned to see three of Ackermann’s men running towards him. They’d got into the camp behind these tanks and spread out, and he’d been so busy looking on at Brucker’s own battle that he’d failed to notice them creeping up on him…

  Stupid, stupid…

  He raised his gun, somehow managing to fire off a second-long burst. He had the satisfaction of seeing one of Ackermann’s men stumble and fall, before more bullets ripped into him – also coming from behind him, now.

  He fell to his knees, his sight dimming. Feeling a curiously distant sort of amazement that he was even still alive. He put his hands to his belly and then removed them.

  Yep – stained bright-red, just as he’d thought.

  And –

  ‘He’s dead,’ grunted one of the SS troopers who’d first caught Bach unawares. He prodded Bach’s bloody body with the toe of his boot.

  ‘There’s only three of them left, now,’ continued the trooper. ‘We shouldn’t have much – ’

  ‘Look!’ cried out another soldier – one of the ones who’d fired at Bach from the rear.

  The other soldiers looked in the direction the man was pointing, and then swore and staggered backwards.

  The Metal Man was advancing upon the camp. His chest armor split in several places, smoke billowing from a great metallic rent near his right shoulder. His face was expressionless; but a short distance behind him lay the bodies of two of the tank crew, their heads smashed almost to pieces. The three remaining men were running in the opposite direction, away from the camp…

  ‘Quickly,’ said the soldier who’d prodded Bach’s body with his toe. ‘Get further into the camp – we can lose him in there.’

  ‘But how do we stop this bastard, if a bloody tank can’t?’ demanded another soldier, his face white as he stared at the ever-advancing figure. ‘And where’s his gun?’

  32

  He was angry. Angrier than he’d ever thought possible. He’d gone out with the intention of talking peaceably to the man who’d murdered him – in his previous existence – and instead a tank had been driven into him. Ackermann presumably wanting only his destruction – again.

  Along with the destruction of everyone in the camp. The inmates; Mayer and the three other soldiers…

  He’d crushed the heads of two of the men fleeing the tank. Had managed to get hold of them and smashed them together. He felt no regret about this. He’d thought he would but he didn’t. They’d been bad men – just as their commanding officer was a bad man…

  Like attracting like.

  Now he wanted only to get back inside the camp and protect those prisoners, and in doing so to fight alongside his own men. Again. And if doing this would result in the destruction of all of Ackermann’s men, then so be it.

  Fool to have left his gun behind. What had he been thinking? He fully recalled what sort of man Ackermann was and still he’d told Mayer and the others that it would be best if he just went out to ‘talk’.

  So now he’d suffered considerable damage, from having had that tank driven into him. He couldn’t feel anything – this word ‘pain’ – but still he could somehow sense the ruptured, torn armor and the damaged internal mechanisms and wiring. Some sort of difficulty operating the fingers of his right hand. They felt slow – sluggish.

  But he could still walk, talk, think – and fight. As he entered back into the camp he saw those soldiers belonging to Ackermann’s unit flee before him and then…

  He saw something else. A few bullets, fired by the retreating soldiers, bounced harmlessly off his armor as he bent down and almost tenderly used his still fully-functioning left hand to turn the bloody body of Bach over onto its back.

  Then he again stood back up, his expression unchanging but still somehow terrible as he resumed his advance after Ackermann’s unit.

  33

  Amsel groaned, trying to hold in his intestines with blood-stained fingers. He wasn’t having much success.

  ‘Ah, shit…’ sighed Mayer, crouched over the stocky radioman.

  ‘Get… out of here… Mayer,’ rasped Amsel, gritting his bloody teeth against the pain. ‘It’s all… over… with me…’

  ‘I’ll help you up,’ began Mayer; but instantly he knew how stupid his words were. Amsel was dying; he just didn’t know how long that death would take.

  ‘Ackermann’s men… they’re coming,’ declared Amsel, his face contorting with the sheer effort of speaking. ‘You should – go… No use… just to stay here and… watch me die…’

  He was right. Had their roles been reversed, Mayer would have said exactly the same thing. But to just go, and leave his colleague to bleed out in the middle of this hellish camp, sprawled out in the foul sludge that passed for ice and snow…?

  ‘Wait…’ said Amsel then. ‘Have you… a grenade…?’

  ‘Two,’ returned Mayer quietly.

  ‘Give me one… and go.’

  ‘But – ’

  ‘Mayer… just shut… up… and do… it…’

  Mayer gave Amsel the grenade, and patted him twice on the shoulder before leaving.

  34

  Weber was busy trying to shepherd the group of inmates towards the back of the camp. Something had been said about hiding out from Ackermann’s men in the forest – but still that required cutting through the two barbed-wire fences. Also many of the inmates were in wretched condition, starving and shaking from fever and cold…

  As such, Weber’s group was making slow progress.

  They were cutting along a narrow path between two large buildings, near the towering chimney and its half-demolished twin, when two of Ackermann’s men suddenly appeared behind them. They gave a yell of triumph at their find and opened fire, hitting several of the inmates.

  Weber moved away from the group and raised his own weapon to return fire – and discovered that his sub machinegun had jammed. It would take only a second or two for him to put this right – but this was a second or two he didn’t have…

  Ackermann’s men grinned at him, one mouthing the word
‘Traitor’ as he aimed his gun in Weber’s direction –

  Then he gave a grunt of pain, hitting the ground. His partner looked around quizzically, and the portly, slightly Jewish-looking man who Weber and the others had seen accompany the Metal Man (or rather, Karl Brucker) out of the large military lorry, smashed the length of wood he held in both hands into the soldier’s side.

  That man, too, fell to his knees…