Soldiers of Tomorrow: Iron Legions

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Good luck.”

  He didn’t say another word and followed the others out. Less than a dozen were left in the rebel base that had been filled and alive with activity since he had arrived. At present it was solemn and quiet as those who remained slumped down. They were in for a long wait and all tense, even though they weren’t the ones risking their lives. Two were huddled around a radio.

  “Police scanner.”

  Lisa had noticed him looking at it.

  That’s a relief. I feel cut off from the outside world.

  “The cells, and Weathers, can you reach them if you need to?”

  “On that one, sure.” A woman at the radio pointed to another one in the corner of the room. It was unmanned and covered in dust.

  “We cannot risk communicating on open channels. It is too dangerous. We’ve made it this far because we kept out of the spotlight. We work in the shadows, where nobody can see us.”

  “Except for what is planned for tomorrow.”

  “Yes, except that,” said Lisa.

  “Do you agree with what Weathers is doing?”

  “I think it is risky, but this is war. Risks have to be taken.”

  “Mmm,” Ray groaned. It was true, but he wasn’t at all convinced of the timing.

  “You know I never thanked you for saving my life. Those ORPOs you took out. They’d have thrown me right back behind bars, if I’d survived at all.”

  “Truth is they were there for us, not for you. They must have got wind that something was going down. Capturing Woody would have been a real boon for them. They could have paraded him about as the face of the resistance, the black face that is. They’d love to be able to show us that way.”

  “What way?”

  She looked uncomfortable, but finally responded.

  “The Nazis aren’t exactly known for their kindness to the coloured among us, not that many of our own folks are either, but the ORPOs are the worst for it. They already call what we are doing a ‘nigger resistance.’ As if to suggest it is just a few mad coloured folk bucking against the system.”

  “To be honest I’m surprised there aren’t more here fighting with you.”

  “I don’t blame them. They have suffered more than most, and if they were caught working to destabilise the Reich’s regime here, well, I wouldn’t want to think about the punishment they would face.”

  “You think it would be any worse for them than for the rest of us?”

  “Sure, I know it would.”

  Ray shrugged. He couldn’t imagine things being any worse than what he had seen, but then he’d been out of touch with regular New Yorkers for a long time.

  * * *

  Weathers climbed onto the side of one of the four trucks Woody and the others had recently procured. All were marked up as Reich Postal Service, and he reached inside, pulled out one of their uniform caps, and put it on.

  “Post boys?” Mickey sounded disgusted.

  “It’s smart. They travel by night all the time,” he replied, nodding towards Woody in appreciation. They all knew he’d have to hide in the back of the truck with the others. There was no way a black man would be allowed to wear that uniform and drive one of their trucks.

  “Everyone keep calm. Keep your speed down. Do nothing to draw attention. Avoid trouble at any cost. Keep your tempers in check. If we get stopped, I don’t want to hear any smart-ass comments. The mission is all that matters. Load up, and let’s do this!”

  He climbed into the truck. A nervous young man was at the wheel.

  “Rowdy, that’s what they call you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’ve always wondered why?”

  “It’s…on account of my short temper after a few beers, Sir.”

  “You have a bit of fight in you, do you?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good, because you’re gonna get plenty tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Nervous?”

  “Yeah…yes, Sir.”

  “Yeah? Well, you should be, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  “You, too, Sir?”

  “That’s right. Only a fool wouldn’t be. This is the biggest day of our lives so far, the culmination of all our hard work. It has all led us to this moment.”

  “You think we can pull it off, Sir?”

  “I think we’ve done everything we can to give us the best chance, yes. That’s the best any of us can ever hope for, son.”

  Rowdy turned the engine over, and the clattering diesel sprang to life. Woody banged on the cab from the back, and they heard his muffled voice echo, “Good to go.”

  Rowdy waited for Weathers’ acknowledgement. He nodded, and that was enough. The truck lurched ahead, and they pulled out of an old doorway scarcely large enough for them to fit through. The ground around them was a wasteland. There was no lighting, and they dared not put their headlights on, so they crept on at a snail’s pace, making their way for the open road. It took them ten minutes, but they turned into a poorly lit industrial road. Rowdy sped up, but stayed just under the speed limit at all times. Soon, they were cruising smoothly towards their target.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “To be doing something big at last? It sure does. Got to say I’m more than a little excited, Sir.”

  “Yeah? Well, good, but make sure you stay focused.”

  They passed little traffic, but as they approached the Queensboro Bridge, they could see a checkpoint ahead. Several ORPOs stood before a small security gate with their cars parked nearby. They were armed, but didn’t look like they were expecting trouble. They’d not stand a chance against the force the rebels brought with them, but they couldn’t afford to attract attention, not yet.

  “Easy now, just stay calm. You’ve done this a thousand times. This is your job. You have a right to be here. Remember that.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Relax,” he added.

  They slowed as they reached the barrier, but to their surprise the ORPOs drew the gate open when they saw the symbols on the hood of the vehicles. It was fully clear before they even came to a halt. One gave a casual salute as they went past, a Nazi salute. Weathers instinctively mimicked him. It made him feel sick to do so, but the ORPO smiled back, and they rolled past the checkpoint without a single word. He checked the wing mirror to see if the other vehicles were still on their tail, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Woody sure called it on this one.”

  “Bet your ass I did,” came his muffled voice in response.

  Weathers smiled.

  “This is really happening, isn’t it, Sir?” Rowdy asked.

  “Yes it is,” he responded with a beaming smile.

  They were flying across the bridge, and it seemed like nothing could stop them.

  “They’ll never know what hit ‘em,” Woody said excitedly.

  The mood was so positive, they were all feeling invulnerable and on top of the world. It was as if they had cast off their chains and been set free. They were soon rolling into Manhattan. The streets were busy compared to what they were accustomed to on the outskirts.

  “People aren’t afraid to come out at night around here?”

  “If you’ve got the right friends, or enough money, Rowdy, it ain’t no problem at all,” replied Weathers.

  They passed a few SS officers prancing along a sidewalk in full uniform, with their wives window-shopping. The storefronts were lit up and full of expensive clothing, the jewellery none of them could ever hope to even hold, let alone buy.

  “It’s a nice life if you can afford it,” said Woody.

  “And you are willing to sell your soul. All you’ll find are proper Nazis around here, or those who will run with them for risk of losing all that they have.”

  “Aren’t they just as bad, Sir?”

  He shrugged.

  “If you had a few million in the bank, would you risk it all, or would you get by with them as best yo
u can?”

  “I guess I don’t know.”

  “Indeed.”

  They library was up ahead. The lights were off, but the streetlights lit up the beautiful old grandiose structure.

  “Look at it, the New York Public Library, a marvel of our golden days. That was built a long time before the Nazis ever existed, and it will outlast them. I promise you that.”

  It almost brought tears to his eyes to behold the magnificence of the architecture, all the while huge Nazi banners hung between the columns and fluttered in the wind. He wanted nothing more than to tear them down and burn them before the building, but he had to keep his anger in check.

  “You know what to do.”

  The trucks split up, and Rowdy brought their vehicle alongside the library, the rear of the vehicle nicely out of view from the main street. Weathers looked out in every direction through the windows. There was a look of suspicion on his face, as if he expected an army to come crashing down on them any moment. But he soon got out and got a better look, smiling as he realised it was clear. He went to the end of the street for a better view of the others, and made out the vehicles moving into position on both sides of the street. A paradise compared to the place they called home. The streets were clean and the air clear, besides the fumes of the few vehicles going past.

  Next to a building on the far side of the street they’d positioned a twenty-metre-tall recruiting poster for the ORPOs. The poster featured a fair-skinned, blonde-haired young man who looked elegant in the uniform, grinning like he’d won the lottery. He was standing upright with shoulders drawn back, the very picture of a proud and strong citizen, or so they saw it. Weathers wanted to spit on the street even standing in the presence of such propaganda, but he dared not attract any attention.

  He was satisfied it was clear and made his way to the rear of the truck. He opened the tailgate. Woody was the first out, and a dozen others followed. They lowered a trolley using the tail lift, a trolley full of Nazi marked weapons crates.

  “Come on, let’s get inside.”

  Woody rushed up to a side door of the library. It had nothing more than a single lock, as if nobody ever believed somebody would dare to break in. That was how the Reich and the ORPOs worked. They played on people’s fears. Woody had a lock pick set out and had the door open in no time at all. He prised it up a fraction, reached in above the doorway, and yanked a cable out, before throwing the door open fully.

  “I need to get to the main alarm system, but we’re in,” he said, striding in without another word.

  “Come on, get inside.” Weathers ushered them in.

  They heaved the trolley up through the doorway and shut the door behind them. They stopped and waited in the entrance for Woody. It felt like a long wait, but he wasn’t long at all.

  “We good?” Weathers asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “You all know what you have to do. Take up positions, and remember, no radio communication unless things really go to shit. Once the firing has started then the game is up, but if possible, we want a quiet night. Settle in, and be watchful, any questions?”

  They shook their heads as they heard footsteps. Another team came in from a different doorway. Nobody had a word to say. They all knew the plan to the smallest detail, as though they had done this a dozen times already.

  “We have got this far, and we’re going to make this work. Get to it.”

  They split off in all directions, but Woody stayed with Weathers, and they made their way up to a balcony.

  “Feels like a bank heist, doesn’t it?” Woody asked.

  “Sure does, but we’re going to take a lot more from them than money.”

  They reached a main reading room and found Nazi symbolism plastered all around. A huge eagle on the far wall and banners hung everywhere. The books in sight were all party approved.

  “This used to be a magical place, you know.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “In time you will. We are going to take it back, all of it. This is rightfully ours.”

  They cleared a flight of stairs and reached a doorway. It led out onto a balcony on the front of the building. They went through and stopped to peer out over it. Weathers made out a glimmer of movement on a building off to the right, as another of the teams took up position.

  “This is it, weapons, explosives, all are set. All we have to do is wait.”

  “It’s gonna be a long night.”

  “And a long day tomorrow, and by the end of it, the Reich will know that this city is not theirs. The people of the city will not submit to them, and they will know there is still hope.”

  * * *

  17th November 2017, 6am

  The first rays of sun were hitting the street. Their time was coming. The streets were filling up with vehicles and taxicabs. There were plenty of ORPOs among them, too.

  “Collateral damage could be heavy if this gets out of hand too quickly,” said Woody cautiously, looking at the crowd below.

  “We’ll do what we can to limit that, but we can’t let it stop us.”

  It was clear Weathers would kill as many as he needed to get the job done. It was an unsettling feeling, and not something Woody had ever needed to worry about before. Their leader would do it for the right reasons, but that didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

  A huge saloon car pulled up outside the front of the library. It was black, with black privacy glass and small swastika flags flying from the front wings. It was the kind of lavish limousine that they rarely saw.

  “This it is,” said Woody.

  Several other expensive cars drew up, and moments later a man in a perfectly cut and stylish three-piece suit stepped out from the first vehicle. He wore the party armband and carried a leather briefcase. He was a weedy man in his early fifties but carried himself with an arrogant cockiness.

  “That bastard, I am going to enjoy this bit at least.”

  “Just imagine the number of books that have been burnt on the orders of a man like that. It’s a sham to even call him a man,” replied Weathers.

  “How did we ever get into such a state?”

  “I don’t know, but today is the day we say enough is enough. Come on. I want to be there for this.”

  He picked up his rifle that was propped against the wall, slung it over his shoulder, and ran down the stairs to the atrium where they came in. He took up position behind a large column where he could not be seen, and Woody did the same. Other rebels were hidden in positions either side of them, none of them visible from the entrance. Weathers acknowledged each of them, and a final reminder to stick to the plan. He drew out the Colt from his belt holster, taking a deep breath as the locks opened on the front doors of the library.

  “This is it, you Nazi bastards,” he whispered to himself. His grudge ran deep, far deeper than for most New Yorkers, which was saying something.

  The doors slid open, and they heard the click of footsteps from the metal heels and toecaps of the suit-wearing Nazi official. He strode into the building with all the arrogance and swagger they would expect from such a man. A number of others accompanied him, and they were approaching at speed. They heard the doors close, and that was the signal. Weathers smiled. The time had come. The day they could stand up to the enemy. The clicking of the heels and toes was very close now.

  Weathers stepped out into the open room slowly and confidently. He lifted the pistol and pointed it directly at the Nazi official who stopped in shock. He looked like he had never seen a gun before. Two of his staff reached for weapons hidden beneath their suits, but they soon stopped; Woody and five others stepped out with submachine guns and assault rifles pointing right at them.

  “Put them down on the ground, slowly!” Woody roared.

  They did as asked with little hesitation, but the chief official looked at Woody with utter scorn.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing? You are dead men if you do not let us go.”

  “And you are?” Weath
ers asked.

  “I am Julian Sanders, and I am…”

  Weathers struck him with a sharp backhand that almost knocked his glasses off. The man looked stunned.

  “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  Weathers struck him again and opened up a cut on his lip.

  “I know precisely who you are, and you should know I take great pleasure doing what nearly everybody in this city has wanted to do for a long time.”

  “You will hang for this, or worse.”

  “Maybe one day, but you won’t live long enough to see it.”

  The official could find no words, knowing anything he said would get him struck a third time.

  “Let’s move them out. You know what to do!” Weathers ordered.

  The rebels around them approached with zip ties, secured them all, and led them into a reading room. As they stepped through the doors, more rebels were running cables from drums. Another two passed by with a trolley and several weapons crates.

  “Go with them, Woody, and see it is done right.”

  He followed the men and women heading for the elevator. They just about squeezed inside before the doors shut, and it began the ascent to the upper floor. A few seconds later, they rolled out towards a window looking out onto the main street. They opened a crate and lifted a heavy metal frame out, placing it on the floor. It was a mounting platform for a heavy weapon system.

  * * *

  17th November 2017, 10.45am

  We’ve got company!” a voice cried.

  Weathers rushed to the stairway and went down enough steps to catch a glimpse of what was going on. Two ORPOs were banging on the door. Automatic gunfire rang out, and one was hit. The other soon hauled himself away from the doorway.

  “This is it, at last.”

  It took less than ten minutes before they heard a tide of sirens as vehicles approached. Weathers was watching from his position at the balcony, well concealed but able to see everything that went on from the front of the building. They gathered outside with eight cruisers and two trucks for five minutes, planning their next move. They’d completely underestimated the rebels, and that was about to cost them dearly.