They need help.
He aimed the pistol carefully, aware that by opening fire he’d be warning them of the threat. He could see them better now they were closer. They carried military style webbing and pouches, but their shapes were hidden behind layers of fabric, worn loosely to disguise their identities. A third rottmeister leapt in front of them, partially blocking Marcus’ view. He waited for the moment, and then fired. The snug pistol jerked back, but even in one hand, he had little problem keeping it steady. Three more shots followed, and the first of the men hit the ground hard.
“Get him!”
A second of the attackers paused, but that just made him an easier target. Rifle fire from more rottmeisters cut him down. With two of their number dead, the other three dropped back, moving to their comrades. Marcus aimed at the one appearing to be giving the orders and fired, this time hitting him in the leg. The man hit the ground hard, forcing the others to open fire in wild bursts.
Damn it!
Bullets slammed into the steps, ripping off chunks of masonry. Some landed among the pillars, but the rottmeisters were out in numbers, and they were not wasting time. The last two dragged their leader to the truck, but then ran past it. A third leapt from the back, brandishing a much heavier duty looking weapon. Marcus recognised the muzzle brake.
“Machine gun!”
He rolled to the right, covering his smart coat in dust as he tried to get away from the line of fire. The gun opened up with a roar, almost a buzzing sound. Two rottmeisters were hit, and the rest scattered. They might be keen to fight, but Marcus could tell they’d never seen combat before. Shots hammered around him, so he did the unthinkable. Rising from his prone position, he began moving closer to the enemy. In one fluid motion, he reached for and grabbed another magazine, simultaneously ejecting the first.
“Drop your weapon,” he said calmly.
The gunner saw him coming and turned the weapon towards him. Marcus didn’t flinch and advanced one step at a time, taking aim with the reloaded weapon. He didn’t wait long before squeezing the trigger, firing aimed shots with each step. One missed, but the second struck the stock of the gun. The man cried out, dropped the weapon, and ran.
Marcus looked back to his own people.
“Stay back until we’ve secured the area.”
One rottmeister took a step closer, and Marcus sent him a withering look.
“Get back, move!”
The tone of his voice worked better than any rank, weapon, or threatening gesture. The rottmeisters fell back, dragging the dead or wounded with them. Marcus made his away around the vehicle, and then stopped.
What?
The door at the back was open, and inside were multiple barrels, all lashed together and with a box of electronics fitted on top. For a second he remained there, paralysed by what he could see. The remaining attackers were already at the trees, and a unit of Schutzpolizei engaged in a brief skirmish with them.
“Run!”
Marcus ran from the vehicle and up the steps of City Hall. He made it twenty metres and passed the columns when the truck exploded. Some of the others remained outside. The last he saw of them was the bright flash of light, followed by a massive concussion wave. He lost his footing and slammed against a wall, the impact almost knocking him out cold. Luckily, his shoulder took the worst of it. He pulled himself up. His vision was blurred, but his pistol was gone, and he had no idea what was happening. Klaxons sounded, and he heard soldiers moving about. He held onto the wall and staggered back to the light to peer down the steps.
“Stay back, Kapitän!” said a man in black.
Marcus ignored him and moved out between two of the pillars. Flames and smoke obscured his vision, and he rubbed his eyes. When he lowered his hands, he saw the blackened crater and the shattered metal; all that remained of the truck. Bodies lay littered around it, most of them young members of the Schutzpolizei.
“What a waste,” he said under his breath.
He moved carefully, putting one foot in front of the other as he worked his way down. He made it halfway when he spotted the last few enemy fighters. They had their hands up in the air and were being marched back to the steps. Police units were not moving them, but the grey uniforms of the SS Polizei. The dreaded 4th Panzergrenadier Division. Marcus stopped and watched as their leader moved closer. Even from the back, the right-side collar patch was in plain sight. Black, and without insignia, as was the uniform cuff band. He wore the same uniform as the SS, a necessary precaution to avoid being mistaken by a civilian.
Gestapo.
There were many positives about the modern, forward-looking Reich. Their approach to technology, medicine, and public service was to be commended. But Marcus Keller had a deep-rooted distrust of the SS, and more important, the Gestapo. And here they were working together, and doing what they always appeared to be doing.
“Kriminaldirektor!”
The man looked to Marcus, his eyes glancing fleetingly across his dusty coat and almost invisible Naval insignia on his lapel. He snorted and then looked to his men.
“Against the wall.”
The Gestapo agents pushed the two prisoners and the wounded leader up to the front of the City Hall. Marcus moved closer and called out again.
“Kriminaldirektor, we need these men. They must be…”
Before he could say more, the Gestapo officer called out the order. The Waffen-SS troopers reacted fast, and without pause for thought, raised their rifles, pulled back the bolts, and waited for the order.
“Fire!”
The guns opened up, slaughtering the prisoners with far more shots than were necessary. Once they’d slumped to the ground, the Gestapo man turned and looked to Marcus.
“There can be no future for the enemies of the Reich.”
And with that, he walked away from the carnage and back inside the building. Marcus was astonished. Even after all these years, he couldn’t accept the brutality of the SS and their related units. He looked at the destruction outside such a beautiful building. A young ORPO constable stopped near him and saluted. His uniform looked almost black in the light, even though Marcus saw the green tinges.
“Herr Kapitän. Your pistol.”
He took it and nodded to the man. There wasn’t a spec of dust on him, and he had to assume either the man had just arrived, or he’d been in hiding during the violence. Not that he blamed him, only a fool would actively seek to be a part of such carnage.
“Thank you. Do you know who they were?”
The man gulped, as though he knew something he wasn’t supposed to know.
“Well?”
“Sir,” said the nervous constable, forgetting the niceties of the German language. A sure-fire way to demonstrate he was a local man, “There are rumours that the Maquis are here.”
“The what?”
The man licked his lips.
“The resistance. There were leaflets in Times Square, dropped from vans.”
“Saying what, Rottmeister?”
Again the man gulped. He leaned in close, probably nervous that the Gestapo might hear him.
“They say they are here to fight any of us that help the Reich. They say…they say…”
“Yes?”
“They say the revolution is coming. And that all collaborators will pay the price.”
That part didn’t bother Marcus so much. He was a German citizen, one of a few elite people in the Americas with a full native Reich passport. As such, he could travel anywhere without question, never facing the angst native Americans faced when working for the Reich. He watched the young man leave and then entered the blackened doorway into the building, as though he’d seen little more than a minor scuffle.
CHAPTER FOUR
New York City Hall, New York
15th November 2017
The rotunda was beautiful, and Marcus took his time moving up the steps as he soaked in the details. The circular structure, with its elegant domed room, winding steps, and tall column
s was a true sight to behold. Many buildings like this suffered in the early years of the occupation, but unlike most of Europe, the American Union had been spared most of the ravages of war, following its capitulation after the atomic destruction of Washington and Boston. A unit of police constables raced passed, ignoring him because of his clothing and rank.
“Kapitän.”
Marcus looked up and spotted another man looking over the edge and staring at him.
“Yes?”
“Your presence is requested urgently in the Governor’s room.”
Marcus continued upwards up to the top. The guards led him through the building and to the wide doors. As he stepped in, he hesitated, busily taking in the sweep of the grand room. It was not particularly massive, but the tall ceilings and pale blue walls marked it out as significant. American artwork adorned the walls, though he noticed a few had been replaced with other figures, perhaps those considered more fitting to the current regime. A long, wooden table ran along the centre of the room, surrounded by eight red-clothed chairs.
“Herr Kapitän. Excellent,” said Inspector Miller.
“As requested, I’ve brought the documents.”
The Gestapo man watched him with interest, those eagle like eyes always looking for information that might prove useful. Marcus felt uncomfortable, but he could do nothing about that. Each of them watched as he moved to the map. The map of Manhattan was huge and covered almost the entire surface. He walked closer, stopping to examine it in detail. He then looked to the others in the group. Inspector Miller signalled to each in turn, even though Marcus already knew who they all were. The oldest was the Mayor, a native New Yorker called Dougal Finn. He was short, overweight, and with a sweaty looking face. Marcus had seen him on the television enough to know he was a politician through and through. He went where public opinion went, and seemed to lack any specific policies that he’d ever noticed. Then came Kriminaldirektor.
Kriminaldirektor Mattias. Who hasn’t heard of this man?
At this distance, Marcus knew exactly who he was. The infamous Gestapo man moved silently through New York, leading his men on various unnecessary missions. He was tall and a perfect example of Aryan perfection. He also had a reputation that terrorised the city. Kriminaldirektor Mattias was a major figure in the SS, one of the many officers who revelled in their dual role. Marcus had heard rumours that the man was a favourite of the administration back in the Berlin, but those were unsubstantiated.
The others were regional commanders, of little note or importance, apart from Standartenführer Müller. The senior member of the New York based Waffen-SS Police Division, part of the 4th Panzergrenadier Division. He looked at the Mayor and smiled.
“It would appear there are troubles in paradise.”
Inspector Miller snorted with amusement at his words.
“Indeed, you are correct, Kapitän. New York is…”
The Gestapo man lifted a hand, instantly compelling him to silence.
“Inspector, perhaps it would be wise to look at more pressing matters?” said the Kriminaldirektor. “The information about the landships. Tell us, how easily can they be constructed?”
Marcus looked at him carefully, soaking in the details of the man. He’d seen him from outside, and even though his long coat was missing, it was evidently the same individual.
“Which landships? Kriegsmarine machines are bigger and more powerful today than even a decade ago. We have access to…”
“No,” said the man, shaking his head. He then lifted a piece of paper showing the same design the Inspector had shown him earlier.
“How about these?”
Marcus moved closer, stopped, and lifted the paper. The schematic was beautifully drawn, showing a large bipedal machine much like those he’d commanded.
“This is…interesting. It is not a Reich design.”
“Yes, that much we know. But what else can you tell us? Is this something that should concern us?”
“Well, the design is very similar to that I encountered during the British Mutiny. It is larger than our standard front-line machines, but much cruder. Where we use sophistication, heavy angular armour, and electrical systems, this uses simpler systems.”
“Explain.”
He turned the sheet around to show them the design.
“The design principles are little changed to British tank design of the fifties.”
Standartenführer Müller laughed.
“Then we have nothing to worry ourselves with. Slow, underarmed, and unreliable.”
Marcus could see everything he despised in the man. He was young and arrogant. But those were not the traits he hated so much. The arrogant superiority he didn’t bother to conceal was what marked him out as SS.
“You have faced British armour before, have you?”
The man’s expression shifted, and Marcus noticed a slight crinkle in the Gestapo man’s cheeks.
They love nothing more than rivalry, don’t they?
“Continue,” said the Kriminaldirektor.
“Well…this design is simple and modular. You see how it is made in separate components, each simple enough to make in any well-equipped factory. Their electrical systems are not advanced, and neither are the diesel engines. Weapons and ammunition will be harder to locate for the machines.”
He placed the paper on the table.
“I don’t see the benefit to an enemy in constructing such a weapon, though.”
The Mayor looked to the others with interest, and back to Marcus. Of them all, he seemed to be the only one telling the truth.
“Well, they could use these machines to attack us.”
Marcus frowned.
“No, Standartenführer Müller has more than enough units in the city to protect it. Is that correct?”
“It is. My infantry are trained and equipped for any insurgency. I have units throughout the city, more than enough to protect our citizens. I also have two squadrons of civil protection vehicles, and a single reserve unit of armour.”
Marcus nodded politely.
“Exactly. Even if the rebels were to make a landship, what could they do with it? Standartenführer Müller could deal with several of them with ease.”
“Several?” laughed the man, “How dangerous do you think they are?”
“I fought one in London, in the ruins of the…”
“Yes, Kapitän,” said the Kriminaldirektor, “We are all aware of your heroics in the Mutiny.”
The Mayor made his presence known by placing a hand on the map.
“Kapitän. As you undoubtedly know, we are not far from the traditional American Thanksgiving.”
“Yes.”
“And as we have done since the War, we will run the parade next month. At the same time, we will use it to demonstrate the continuing strength and power of the Reich administration here, in the American Union.”
Marcus nodded, almost goading him on with his eyes.
“But we have a special visitor from Berlin. The Deputy Führer is coming for the celebration, and will be joining Reichskommissar Wilson.”
Even Marcus was surprised to hear that.
“The second most powerful man in the Reich, and the leader of the American Union, in one place?”
Each of the men looked to him, but none more so than the Kriminaldirektor.
“Exactly. And that is why security is to be so important.”
He licked his lips.
“I have agents moving throughout the State, and inside the city even as we speak. As information comes in, I will need you to assess its validity. I have authority to secure and to punish any that are a threat to the Reich. You will report directly to my office.”
Marcus opened his mouth to object, when the door flung open and in came a man in a long brown coat. The man was the spitting image of Mattias, the Gestapo man. Marcus instinctively reached for his sidearm, as did the Kriminaldirektor, but Mattias then relaxed at seeing who it was. Neither drew their weapons, but ke
pt their hands resting on the holsters.
“Mayor Finn… Kriminaldirektor. We have information from one of our informants.”
He paused, but for some reason focussed on the Gestapo man.
“Go on,” said Mattias.
The man nodded politely, then continued.
“It would appear the terrorists are planning on seizing a public building. The intelligence is not complete, but we do have the approximate area, Midtown, in the vicinity of the East 41st Street. They are taking heavy weapons into the area.”
“The Public Library!” said the Mayor.
“New York Reichsbibliothek,” Mattias corrected his terminology.
“We must act, and fast. When is this taking place?”
The civilian commander of Manhattan rose to his feet and moved towards the man. He then glanced to the Inspector.
“Get your police units in action. We must maintain order. We cannot allow...”
The newly arrived man shook his head.
“Mr Mayor, two SiPo units are already in position and monitoring the streets. The attack is expected within twenty-four hours.”
The Kriminaldirektor looked briefly at Marcus. Something about his eyes unnerved all of them there. It was as though he was scanning them, looking for signs of weakness, perhaps even disloyalty.
“Return to your unit. All leave is cancelled for combat units.”
His eyes moved to the Mayor, a man who held total authority over the city.
“Uh…yes, Kriminaldirektor. Whatever needs to be done to maintain order.”
“Good. Kapitän. Recall your crews, and prepare your machines. I want them available for service with minimal activation time. With our special visitors coming to the city, it will be imperative that all and any signs of…disorder are removed.”
Standartenführer Müller stepped between them, clearly mortified.
Soldiers of Tomorrow: Iron Legions Page 6
