Soldiers of Tomorrow: Iron Legions

by Michael G. Thomas

  The Waffen SS trucks skid to a halt ahead, and troops poured out. Eager to get into action, they swarmed towards the defenders. One vagrant stopped and pulled a weapon from beneath his coat. He swung it to his shoulder and fired.

  “RPG!”

  The warhead streamed past and slammed into one of the trucks. The massive blast lifted the front of the six-wheeled machine and smashed it over onto its side. Then many more appeared from behind the four vehicles jammed together into an improvised roadblock.

  “Kapitän. I see fifteen plus contacts, some with heavy weapons. Should I engage?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Standartenoberjunker Herbert.

  Marcus hesitated. He could see the danger, but something was not quite right.

  The street is narrow. So four vehicles are no real threat to me, or are they?

  “Antipersonnel support only.”

  The gunner turned to him.

  “The main battery?”

  “Charge the system, but keep the safety on.”

  “Kapitän,” said Standartenoberjunker Herbert, “You have heavy weapons. And I suggest…”

  Marcus gave him a withering stare.

  “I have fought on multiple battlefields and killed more men than you’ve had hot meals. Shut your mouth, or get off my ship. You are going to get us all killed.”

  The mood in the ship turned in an instant. None of the crew liked the SS man, and for now they basked in the glory of their Kapitän. There would be consequences, but right now it was all about the mission.

  The two lower cupolas swung around and opened fire. Unlike other Kriegsmarine landships, Thor was actually quite lightly armed. With the exception of the experimental railgun cannon, the remaining weapons were the pair of cupolas. These were small motorised units equipped with two old-fashioned Rheinmetall MG3A5 machine guns. Bullets hammered into the roadblock, and in an instant the enemy ducked down.

  “They are supressed.”

  “Good,” said Marcus, “Let the infantry do the work.”

  He watched as the men of the Waffen SS did what they’d been trained to do. They moved fast, ignoring the gunfire and suffering for it. Luckily for them, whenever an enemy fighter tried to shoot back, his gunner returned fire.

  What’s that?

  Something glinted in the eight-storey building to his right. He swivelled the cameras and zoomed in. The glass was broken, but there were shapes moving about. He opened his mouth to speak, but then the shapes vanished.

  Odd.

  As Marcus turned back to the barricade, he noticed a number of the fighters turning to run. Some rushed into the buildings, where helping hands pulled them inside. Others ran off down the street. The Waffen SS were clambering over and around the barricade. Without hesitation, Marcus grabbed the intercom.

  “Everybody back…move it!”

  The channel cut, and instead the sound of an SS officer drowned him out. Two of the soldiers hesitated, and one started to move back as a pair of junior officers intervened. One looked back at Thor and shook his head. They were shouting, and then the men returned to breaching the barricade.

  “What is it, Kapitän?”

  The barricade and the Waffen SS men vanished in a fireball that engulfed the street. Men, cars, rocks, and metal disintegrated. Thor would also have suffered heavy damage had they not been further down the street.

  “Switch to thermal imaging!”

  The video displays served as the windows of the machine, though they were at present completely obscured by smoke. The change in vision modes took a moment, but then they could see the devastation via the thermal optics. The barricade was gone, as were the lead vehicles of the SS. Thor’s gunner tagged a location higher on one of the buildings, not far from where Marcus had been looking.

  “The third floor, to the right. Looks like…”

  “I see it,” said Marcus, “Target that location with the main battery, and fire!”

  The gunner made the adjustments, and the powerful electromagnetic railgun rotated on its special mount. Thor filled with a low hum, and then the machine shuddered. Moments before, Marcus was sure he could see something being pointed at them. The large calibre slug slammed into the building at hypersonic speeds of nearly three kilometres per second. The entire floor of the building ripped apart, sending glass and brickwork into the street.

  “New contact. Rocket fire from behind us.”

  A whistling sound filled the area, and the warhead came close, but was destroyed by the onboard anti-missile countermeasures. The small, fully automated system looked like a cut-down mortar, and detonated an explosive device a few metres from the hull. The system worked as expected, disintegrating the warhead with ease.

  “Re-evaluate the area. What’s our status?”

  Thor moved on the spot, its scanners looking for signs of the enemy.

  “New targets!”

  Thor twisted effortlessly and stomped away from the fire ripping through the street. A group of five insurgents were ahead of them, and one knelt to fire another missile.

  “Fire at will.”

  The machine guns roared once more, the sound almost inaudible inside the armoured crew compartment. One was cut down, another injured, and the others dropped their weapons to run. They weaved in and out, desperate to avoid the chasing gunfire.

  “Pursue them.”

  The machine lumbered down the street, its heavy legs crashing into the ground. One insurgent slowed down and turned back, dropping to his knees. An SS truck zoomed up and deposited six more soldiers. They moved in fast, holding their rifles to the four remaining enemy.

  “Slow down. They’re trapped,” said Marcus.

  The driver altered their movement pattern, and Thor slowed, stopping in the street. More SS trucks blocked the far end, cutting off the enemy and sealing them in.

  “All clear, Kapitän. We got the ones in the building. And our friendly neighbourhood SS will take care of these.”

  “And the others?”

  The young gunner shrugged.

  “Gone, Sir. Scanners show they disappeared in the middle of the street. Must be faulty readings. Or…”

  “Maybe,” said Marcus, though he had other ideas racing through his mind. There were many places to hide in the city, but not all of them were above ground. He lowered his eyes to the street and then noticed the SS forcing the prisoners to their knees.

  “What? Get the hatches open!”

  He reached up and Standartenoberjunker Herbert aimed an automatic pistol at his chest. Marcus glanced at the screens and could see the struggle on the ground below them.

  “You fool! Can’t you see what’s happening? You’re winning this insurgency for the enemy. We have to maintain…”

  “Enough,” said the SS man, “I’m taking command of this ship.”

  He then pointed at the kneeling figures below.

  “Target the prisoners with the machine guns. It’s time that these…”

  A wrench appeared from nowhere and struck the Standartenoberjunker on the side of his head. The impact was heavy and knocked the man out cold, but not before he loosed off a shot. The bullet glanced Marcus’ shoulder, bounced around the machine before disappearing inside. Without waiting, Marcus hit the release lever, and the two upper hatches opened. He clambered up the narrow shaft and onto the upper armour. The smell of smoke and dust flooded into Thor’s hull. Marcus kept scanning for the signs of trouble, and then spotted the figures down below. They looked much further away than they’d appeared inside Thor.

  “Sturmscharführer!”

  The senior enlisted man on the ground looked back at him, his eyes soaking in the details of the machine and then its commander. It seemed like he might listen, but then he realised he was looking as a Kriegsmarine officer, and not the expected SS-Standartenoberjunker.

  “Where is the Standartenoberjunker?”

  Marcus outranked him by a significant margin, but as usual, the SS operated independently. They were supposed to listen to
him, but the SS retained their belief that they were superior to other military units in every way. Their ideological misbelief was infuriating at best, and downright callous and cruel more often than not. Marcus chose to ignore his question and pointed to the prisoners.

  “They have surrendered and need to be taken in for questioning.”

  “No,” said the man, “My orders are the same as yours. Use your guns on them.”

  Marcus couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “I told you, Sturmscharführer. You will take them prisoner. Those are my orders, and you will…”

  The SS man chose to ignore him and barked a single order to his men. Marcus watched in astonishment as the SS gunned down their prisoners. The shooting was at point-blank range, and the splatter of blood on the road soon spread from where their fallen bodies lay. Marcus felt shocked with disbelief as he slumped back inside the walker.

  “What’s wrong, Kapitän?” asked the gunner.

  “We’ve just lost the moral high ground, and at this rate, we’ll be setting ourselves up to lose the city.”

  He rubbed at his chin, even as more orders arrived via the radio system. At the same time, an urgent alert came over the public information channel.

  “What’s happening?”

  The image showed an SS team moving into the basement of a large building. There were multiple insurgents in shackles, while soldiers moved through from room to room. The imagery shifted to an interrogation room, where two SS men waited either side of a civilian. Marcus recognised one as the commander of the Waffen SS inside New York, the ever-present Standartenführer Müller.

  Not this man again.

  The captive’s face was bloodied, and beneath his face a scrolling ticker said his name was Samuel Weathers, leader of the New York terror cell. The man was almost completely bald, and though beaten, he had the look of a man that would not back down. Marcus knew the look well. His eyes drifted to the left, and Marcus could see movement reflected in them. Clearly a threat, but he didn’t flinch. Then something changed, and the expression softened.

  What have they done?

  Marcus was all too aware of the kind of mental tricks played by the SS. But they were also capable of much less subtle and often more effective methods. To his astonishment, the camera panned to the side of the room where two young civilians were on their knees. An SS man held an automatic pistol to the head of one. The camera moved back to the man, and this time Marcus could see the defeat in his eyes. He stared into the camera and began to speak.

  “My name is Samuel Weathers, and I am the leader of the New York Marquis. I am responsible for the attacks on the New York Public Library, City Hall, and other public buildings. But I…”

  He winced as something happened off camera. He tried to move, but chains held him tight. Then Marcus saw his facial muscles tighten.

  What’s this?

  “Rise up and fight. Get these Nazis off our streets. Do whatever you…”

  The feed cut, but not before a rifle butt swung into view and struck the man in the forehead. Marcus visibly shook as he watched the impact. He’d seen violence on hundreds of occasions, but he was never ready for the sheer brutality of the SS. He looked away from the video feed and back to his crew. The driver reached over and tapped the video display.

  “Kapitän. We have an urgent request from Standartenführer Müller. He wants to speak with our SS advisor.”

  The young man hesitated before speaking, and Marcus looked at the unit. It showed the SS man inside a vehicle, and he looked agitated. Marcus tapped the unit and watched carefully. It was short and exactly what he hadn’t wanted to hear. The crew looked to him expectantly.

  “The Standartenführer says he’s located several cells in the city. All units are being called in to assist. We’ve been assigned blockade duties at the Brooklyn Bridge.”

  Marcus sighed.

  “It’s beginning.”

  His crew looked back, and he could tell they had little idea as to what to think or say. They were too young to have fought in the War or the British Mutiny. They were all native Americans that had grown up under the yolk of the Reich. Yet they were equally uneasy.

  “Okay, set course for the bridge, and check your guns. If we run into trouble, you need to be ready. I suspect there are more of the rebels out there than we thought.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  In their excitement, they’d forgotten to use the regulation German, and for a change, he didn’t mind. The great machine lumbered away, leaving the signs of the fight far behind. As they rounded the next corner, Marcus began to relax. But then he noticed the faces of the citizens of Manhattan scurrying out of his way. The city was his home, but as they stomped their way along the streets, they were once again the occupying power.

  How quickly it falls apart.

  He glanced over to the still unconscious SS man. He could easily manage to run Thor indefinitely without this man. Although deep down he knew this was probably his last mission. He was tempted to simply leave the vehicle and disappear into the city, but he’d seen the ruthless efficiency of the Reich’s security agencies. So, he stayed exactly where he was, in charge of Thor for no matter how much longer than might be.

  “Karl, put a bit more power into the engines. Let’s get there before the rebels, huh?”

  “I’m on it, Kapitän.”

  They moved away at an ever-increasing speed. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the famous bridge, and Marcus was already looking out to the tall buildings in the South of the island.

  I’ll miss this place.

  * * *

  135 W 91st St, New York

  5 hours later

  Standartenführer Müller waited patiently as the long black car moved gracefully along the street. There were three more similar vehicles behind them, though on these roads they neatly blended in. He reached down, checking that his pistol was within reach and ready. The street was in a nicer part of the city, with an attractive old school on one side. On the other were a series of half-built apartment blocks, each surrounded by a lattice of metalwork and cranes.

  “This is it,” he said both to his men and to himself.

  He looked over his shoulder to check the others were in formation. This was to be a rapid raid, designed to catch the insurgents off guard. He had two units waiting in Grizzlies close by if needed. The driver looked back to him in the rear of the car.

  “Standartenführer. There are reports of groups trying to escape over the bridges and tunnels to Brooklyn. Police units have blocked the tunnels and killed those trying to leave, as per your orders. Current total is over twenty killed, and more fleeing back into the city.”

  “Excellent. The time for taking prisoners is over. Now it is time to exterminate the enemies of the Reich, in time for the visit of our two VIPs.”

  “Also, the Kriegsmarine stopped two incursions at the bridge. Reports in the area from our SS field commands say they stopped the vehicles, but their commanders refused to fire on the insurgents and instead offered them terms for surrender.”

  “What? They are refusing to carry out their duties?”

  The man shrugged.

  “I see. The Kriegsmarine have failed the Reich for the last time. We need men who will act. This is not a gentleman’s club. Send the command to our units at the Kriegsmarine Kampfläuferdepot on Roosevelt Island. I want the place locked down. If they will not fight, then I will find people who will. From today, the landships of the Kriegsmarine will be operated under SS control.”

  He considered that for a moment and smiled to himself. He could already envisage the mighty walking machines strolling through the city, with his troops and colours flying behind them.

  “And tell them to start with the markings. It’s time people knew that these machines represent the power and might of the Führer and his servants in the SS.”

  They were just metres away, and already Müller could tell this was the place. His attention moved back to the missi
on, though he still found it hard to conceal the rage he felt toward the upstart Kriegsmarine.

  “I will deal with this later.”

  He’d checked their photographic maps of the area back at command, and he knew all of the escape routes were sealed. He reached to the side of the car and pulled on the dreaded helmet and mask. Probably they weren’t needed for a raid, but he enjoyed the intimidation factor.

  “Five seconds,” said the driver.

  Müller took several deep breaths, and then they were there. The doors swung open, and his men were running. Müller struggled to keep up as they surged out from the four black cars and around the half-built structure. A handful of workers scattered at their approach, and Müller ignored them. The SS men spread out, with one squad following him into the foyer. The building might not be finished, but this part looked ninety percent complete. Müller stormed past the security man, who was left looking confused and impotent. It took seconds to move through the winding passages and down two levels, and then they were there, directly before a large, out of place door.

  “Do it!”

  Two of the SS men placed a frame on the door and leapt back. A series of bangs like firecrackers echoed through the building, and the entire door collapsed inwards.

  “Get inside!”

  Time appeared to slow down as the SS men stormed inside. They were clad as always in their intimidating long coats, helmets, and gasmasks. Three were cut down as they moved through the breach, but the rest kept on going. Müller followed them, pistol in hand and looking for his enemies. Gunfire slashed back and forth, and more bodies hit the ground. An enemy tried to fire at him, but he sidestepped and fired repeatedly, putting his target on the floor. A few more shots fired, and then the sound faded.

  “Clear!” shouted one.

  “Secure the facility. Bring me prisoners.”

  He lowered his pistol and slid it back into his holster, a cocky and arrogant thing to do, but one that matched his character perfectly.

  “What do we have here?”

  The dust was already clearing, and he could see two men and a young woman in her twenties. They were dressed in normal civilian clothes, but were betrayed by the stack of old rifles leaning against the wall. Much worse for them was the large map on the wall. Müller walked up to it, soaking in the details. A hidden insurgent leapt from the shadows, somehow missed by all of them. The figure stepped between Müller and the map, but the SS man had already whipped out his automatic in a single, fluid motion. Unknown to any of them, Müller had spent months practicing that very move when on his own. It was an odd obsession with old American cinema, and today it paid off. The gun fired twice, and the man dropped to the floor, leaving a blood trail on the map.