A column of three staff cars was approaching. They were all too familiar, and making the miniscule journey from the ferry landing area next to the cable car station to the Kampfläuferdepot. It would take them some time, as there were security posts at three points before they could get anywhere near him. To make it this far they must have navigated the security on the ferry, as well as the patrol boats constantly circling the area.
If they want me, they can find me. I have work to do.
The island was cut off from the rest of Manhattan, and that was perfect for the Kriegsmarine and their secretive machines. Cable cars were all that provided access to the mainland or, of course, the ferries that waited for those with special clearance. Most would arrive via the cable cars. Those using the ferry were generally coming here with urgent business. Marcus pulled his coat down tightly and then walked to the tall doors leading into the hangar. One opened as he approached, and two guards saluted smartly as he entered.
“Herr Kapitän.”
He returned the salute and stepped inside. The first point into the facility was onto a wide gantry leading to a flat platform. He walked to the centre of it and waited. The platform shuddered and began to descend. It didn’t take long, but as it moved down, he could see through the gaps in the rectangular shaft. With each passing metre, his smiled grew wider. Finally, it stopped, and he stepped off onto yet another metal gantry. He walked away to a viewing platform that looked out into the vastness of depot. Three of his officers were already there, waiting for him. They saluted smartly as he approached, but he removed his hat and moved in alongside them. There were all Korvettenkapitän, junior to him, but commanders of their own walking machines.
“Gentlemen. You have received your orders?”
Each nodded in agreement. The oldest of them, Korvettenkapitän König was a veteran of the Afrika campaign, and it showed in the grim look on his face. He’d seen things that no civilian could ever imagine, from his own side, and the enemy. His smart uniform looked as though it had never been worn before, yet he sported a beard that would make a Spartan proud. Like Marcus, he was a professional Kriegsmarine officer, and ever disdainful of the Nazi hierarchy.
“All four are prepped and ready for operations, Kapitän. I don’t understand why we are being activated, though.”
He indicated to the large screens to their right, where they showed the outline of the four heavy landships, as well as their status, weapons load, and readiness. Each was very different, though they were all roughly the same height at around fifteen to sixteen metres.
“I thought we were not here as protection against external threats? We protect the North East Coast, and we have our barracks in Oregon to do the same for the West.”
“Yeah,” said Korvettenkapitän Thaddeus Kyle, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “And you can trust Reich command to try and use us against civilians.”
The man was one of few landship commanders recruited via the Afrika draft programme. He was a native of his continent, originally from Egypt, and with mixed African and British heritage. His love of all things mechanical outweighed his bitter distrust of the political machinations of the Reich. He’d encountered racism and hostility from the start, with just his technical skills keeping him in the unit.
“So what?” Clayborn said, “What harm is there in sending in twenty-metre-tall machines marching though Manhattan? It’s not like we’re the SS, is it?”
Kyle shook his head.
“I heard the stories when I was a kid, of the Reich military and their SS death squads. Trust me…it’s not something…”
Clayborn raised his hands and shook his head. It was something he often did when Kyle said something he disagreed with.
“Stop talking nonsense, Kyle. Afrikans do love as good fairy tale.”
“Enough!” Marcus snapped back, “I’ve told you both before. Keep politics out of the unit.”
His eyes shifted to the grinning Clayborn.
“But…saying that, unlike you, both Korvettenkapitän König and I were present in the Afrika Campaign. And I can tell you we saw things you cannot imagine. Do not believe everything you hear from the Information Ministry.”
“Perhaps.” Clayborn was the youngest of the group, with a soft round face and blond hair. In some ways he might be the best landship commander of them all, but he was also the single one with no combat experience.
“So what exactly do they want of us? We’re not expecting C.R.U. to attack any time soon, are we?”
It was evidently a jest, but Marcus remained uneasy as he listened. Clayborn was always a worry to him. There were fewer candidates for the Kriegsmarine landship programme each year, and he had to fight to pull them away from the Naval commands. The walking machines were generally relegated to garrison duty like this unit, or joining the ever growing numbers of units along the border with the C.R.U. Who would choose that over sailing the world in the powerful vessels of the Kriegsmarine?
What’s he doing now?
Clayborn indicated the distance behind them. Though hidden by massive metal gantries, locking arms, and platforms, it was still easy to see the line of fighting machines. These were not the crude landships he’d used in the War, but the faster and much more advanced Series III machines of the twenty-first century Kriegsmarine. Gone were the tank and Naval guns, and in their place specialised weapons designed to annihilate tanks, fortifications, and aircraft. Hull-based weapons could include laser-guided missiles, backed up with smaller calibre motorised smart guns that could fire directional shells.
Marcus Klenner sighed.
“I know, trust me, I know. What could any of these four machines be needed for here?”
He pointed at the nearest machine.
“Our newest Victoria Class landships are fast and carry more missiles than our standard frigates. They’re for defending the sea and the skies, and they excel at that. But they would be useless in a city.”
“And what about Thor?” Clayborn asked.
They all looked at the fourth and final machine.
“Thor,” Marcus said, his voice trailing off, “That thing is a monster, a true animal.”
Clayborn laughed, but it was strained. Thor was the name they’d given to their single Viking Class landship. Though the same chassis as the Victoria Class, it was being used to test the experimental new 8 MJ railgun, firing 3.2kg shells. The only one in the whole of North America, and it was Marcus’ job to thoroughly test the machine over the next few months. It carried one heavy weapon, a railgun. A pair of small lower hull sponsons provided defence against possible enemy infantry, and fully articulated arms for close-combat against buildings and fortifications.
“If we put that thing on the street, you can expect trouble. It’s not a machine for policing,” said Mose König, “It’s for smashing armour, no matter its strength. Come on, we’re testing that for use against the Communists. It’s supposed to help us counter their numbers.”
“You don’t say,” said Marcus.
Clayborn remained enamoured by the iron monsters and leant over the railing for a better look at the four machines. From here it was inconceivable that a mere handful of men could control such war machines.
“Just look at them. Look at what the Reich can create.”
Marcus looked at the other two officers in mock despair.
“You said the natives in Afrika called them iron giants.”
He turned back to Marcus.
“Well, they were right about that. They truly are. Vast walking machines that can crush buildings, men, tanks, and fortifications without firing a shot.”
The nearest machine was the oldest of the first three, and known as Freya. She was no more than twelve-years-old, a veritable infant when it came to weapons of war. She’d been destroyed twice, and after her third rebuild there was little left of her original superstructure. The basic shape was much like an overweight ape, with pairs of 20mm chain guns instead of arms. The upper part of her hull carried a pair of Fir
estorm anti-tank missiles batteries in rotating launcher systems, while a vertical back mount carried a cell of long-range Phoenix missiles for air defence. A crew of three men could handle these machines, a commander, gunner, and driver. Computers controlled the balance and motor controls, making them move and fight like large humans rather than lumbering machines.
“We are the swords of the Reich, Marcus. And we use our blades on our enemies, foreign and domestic,” said Clayborn.
Before they finished, the elevator platform began to descend. They watched it halt at their level. Two men stepped out and walked towards them. Marcus sighed upon spotting two similar, while being very different men. On the right was Standartenführer Müller, commander of the Waffen SS, and beside him the civilian-dressed Kriminaldirektor Mattias.
“You know these men?” Clayborn whispered.
Marcus nodded slowly.
“Let me talk.”
“Kriminaldirektor. I was not expecting to see you so soon.”
The two men moved closer and then stopped uncomfortably close.
“Kapitän Marcus Klenner, and the commanders of the East Coast Stoßtrupp Kompanie. It is good to meet you. Your reputations precede you.”
The men stood politely while he extended his arm in the party salute. Standartenführer Müller hurried to join in, like a lackey snapping at his heels. The Kriminaldirektor paused, and then lowered his arm.
“I see none of you are party members.”
Marcus merely raised an eyebrow at this and refused to be drawn on it. Not even Clayborn would submit to such politicking. Not right in front of him. And that gave him some measure of hope.
“How may we help you, Kriminaldirektor?”
The Gestapo man moved away from the others, without even a word to excuse himself. The Standartenführer came with him, standing a short distance from his flank.
“Your success against the terrorists at the shipyard has caught the ear of the Deputy Führer. Your machines have proven more useful than we ever expected. He has seen the reports and wants any hint of insurrection crushed…immediately.”
“Yes. And what does that have to do with me?”
The Kriminaldirektor smiled.
“You have seen the latest report from the Information Ministry?”
Marcus said he hadn’t. The Gestapo man whistled, and a technician appeared almost from thin air.
“Television, put on the public channel.”
The man quickly moved away. A moment later the panels showing the status information on the landships vanished, to be replaced by multiple feeds from around the city. A flat panel on the wall lit up. The unit showed reports from the Information Ministry, and each looked worse than the next. There were car bomb attacks, bank robberies, and even attempted assassinations. The camera lingered on a particular attack that showed multiple SS transports burning and surrounded by bodies.
“Standartenführer Müller’s forces have encountered…well, let’s say difficulties in the last few days. The enemy are preparing for a major attack, and they are growing in strength and confidence. I intend on showing them why that is not going to happen.”
Marcus opened his mouth, but the man kept on speaking.
“Under the authority of the Reich Chancellory, I am activating the East Coast Stoßtrupp Kompanie, and putting your walkers onto the streets.”
Marcus gasped. The Kriminaldirektor seemed to find that amusing and pointed at his chest.
“I want two of your machines in Manhattan in the next five hours, Kapitän. You will support the Standartenführer and make this city safe. The remaining two will wait for the call. If they are needed, they will move into the city immediately.
“Kriminaldirektor, the Kriegsmarine are here to…”
The Gestapo man stopped Marcus speaking with little more than a look. His eyes seemed to almost burn with fire, and Marcus knew right away that refusal would result in him vanishing, as had so many dissenters in the past.
“Five hours. Kapitän. This is not optional. Or resign your commission and let the Standartenführer and his men commandeer your machines. I suspect they might be a little…less than vigilant in their use than your own people.”
He paused and then smiled.
“The Standartenführer is sending Waffen SS men here in the next hour to assist you. I want them integrated into your crews the moment they arrive.”
He turned away, leaving the Waffen SS man looking right back at him. He waited there with words hovering at his lips. Then one eye nearly blinked. He waited until the Kriminaldirektor was on the elevator platform. Only then did he speak.
“This facility is mine, Gentlemen. I will give you an hour to make the arrangements. When I get back, we will discuss how to make the necessary changes.”
He then pointed to the machines.
“It’s time those beasts bore the true markings of the Reich. Nothing puts fear into the locals more than the insignia of the Waffen SS.”
He then marched away. The elevator began to move up, and at the same time the imagery on the display shifted back to Europe, and to Welthauptstadt Germania. The colossus of concrete was the renewed city of Berlin, the centre of the Reich. There was a massive parade, as there often was in the city. The ticker along the bottom of the screen mentioned the upcoming visit by the Deputy Führer and his entourage.
“Men. I suspect we are about to witness another great tragedy. The rebels are growing in number, and the Thanksgiving military parade for the Deputy Führer is just days away.”
“What do you think will happen?” Thaddeus Kyle asked.
Marcus pointed to the screen.
“If you were a rebel and wanted to make a statement, what would you do?”
“Yeah. And what about the SS? How can we work with them? What do they even know about our machines?”
Marcus didn’t need to think about that before he answered.
“They’ve been working on their own landship programmes for years. I’ve been expecting this for a long time. We will cooperate no further than the law of war allows.”
He looked to them in turn.
“I expect all of you to act in the manner as befits a Kriegsmarine officer. We are not tools of the SS, and never will be. Understood?”
CHAPTER TEN
Canal Street, New York
Two days later
Thor moved with surprising speed, its powerful legs shifting the six-storey machine almost as fast as the wheeled vehicles behind it. Right behind the column of Waffen SS armoured trucks, each filled with the foot soldiers. Marcus could see the smaller buildings below him, though many more towered over his machine. The heavily armoured machine left deep indentations in the road, damage that would take time and money to repair afterwards.
“I told them we should not be here, didn’t I?” Kapitän Klenner muttered.
They made it two more blocks when the trucks began to slow down. An alert flashed up, coming from the SS commander in the area.
“Units engaged in Mott Street. Reports of heavy weapons fire, the terrorists have dug into the apothecary. Need backup right away!”
Kapitän Klenner wiped the sweat from his face and adjusted his position in the command seat. Thor might be a new, more modern war machine, but it was still a military landship and lacked many of the niceties he was familiar with. Just being there reminded him of London, and he lifted a hand to touch the scars still visible on his face.
“Okay, people, get ready for this. Play it smart and play it safe. Do not fire except under my express orders. This is New York City, not Afrika.”
“Yes, Sir!”
The SS-Standartenoberjunker watched with interest from the executive officer’s position. He was junior to Marcus, and not the captain of Thor, but acted as if he was.
“You will fire upon any suspected terrorist. The standing orders from the Reich Chancellor are clear on this matter.”
Marcus looked at him, frowned, and moved back to his crew. The four acknowledged from in
side the heavily protected crew area. They were all young, and none had seen combat like this before, not even during action in the colonial wars. They were professionals, and went about their duty just as he’d expect any member of the Kriegsmarine to do. Unlike the earlier machines, all of them were positioned roughly in the same place. It made communication and control much easier, but at the cost of putting them in the line of fire. One lucky hit could incapacitate them all. Marcus hit the communication button so that he could use the SS channel.
“This is Kapitän Klenner, of the Kriegsmarine Landship Thor. We’re moving in. Clear the streets.”
It didn’t take them long to travel another three blocks, and soon they were in the heart of Mott Street. The place was narrow, with tall buildings strewn with Chinese text. This was the largest concentration of Chinese in New York, and Marcus felt as though he was in some alien environment. Everything from the decorations to the people looked different to him. Civilians scattered, and then he spotted them. Two groups of people dressed in layers of cloth, his first impression they were nothing more that vagrants.
“Slow down, activate secondary weapons.”
Thor slowed, moving to a walking pace as they reached the next intersection.
“Roadblock!” called out his gunner.
Marcus swung the camera controls around and spotted the roadblock.
“Shields up! Move us back fifty metres.”
“No!” SS-Standartenoberjunker said, “You will…”
Marcus lifted a hand and pointed at the man.
“Enough, Standartenoberjunker Herbert. When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it.”
The driver looked confused as the two men argued, but didn’t even hesitate. The metal schürzen dropped down into position, giving the machine the look of a porcupine. Additional shutter sections rotated from the flanks to protect the front. Landships carried lots of armour, but also up to ten percent more mass in movable plates fitted to the hull on thick rails. Careful management of the armour could make the machines almost invulnerable from one direction.
“Ready!” replied the driver, who doubled up as the landship’s engineer, “We’re protected.”
Soldiers of Tomorrow: Iron Legions Page 16
