by M C Drake
“No.” Moose was despondent.
Falcon flight moved in closer.
“There they are.”
“Where?”
"Directly ahead, twelve o'clock slightly low," Miller said.
“I see them…”
Four more ME 262’s appeared just above, promptly followed by four more.
“Shit…shit…shit…” Moose said as he watched the dots on the radar screen multiply in an instant. “Am I seeing this right?”
Sweat rolled down the front of Brooklyn’s face and pooled on the tip of his nose, “You’re seeing it right.” He said trying to hide his growing panic.
Falcon flight split into pairs and were immediately put on the defensive, the odds were not in their favor.
Eye of the Storm
“Get that artillery ready, pummel their defensive line then we will get our tanks to overrun the position and push them back!” Commander William Marlborough ordered.
All armored vehicles scurried into their predefined positions, they waited with engines running; the crews inside began to sweat as the adrenaline rushed through their veins. It felt like a few minutes had passed when in reality it was only a few seconds before the large caliber self-propelled guns opened up with a thunderous boom that echoed across the hills.
The M110A1 203mm Howitzer was basically a long-barreled cannon on tracks, the well trained and highly motivated crews started to pump out two to four rounds a minute while using the hand-operated manual rammer; a heavy steel pole with a hard rubber pad on one end that they used to 'ram' the shell into firing position.
This manual loading was physically demanding on the crews but it meant they did not have to keep lowering the barrel, which they had to do when using the hydraulically operated rammer. There were ten of this howitzers lined up nine miles behind the front line, they spat high explosive rounds down range on the coordinates that the Sheridan light tanks were scouting.
Explosions detonated through the mist that was now mixed with an ever-thickening smoke, the ground shook and trembled as if a huge earthquake was assaulting the area; the bright pink return fire suddenly stopped. The Americans continued to carpet the area with large high explosive rounds for the next ten minutes.
A smile crept across Commander Marlborough's wrinkled face, he took a picture of his grandchildren out of his wallet that he always carried into battle as a good luck charm; the beaming, smiling faces of two small girls and a slightly older grumpy boy looked back at him.
He gave the order for the artillery to cease fire and then the tanks spread out from the relative safety of the town into the open fields below.
The Commander was old school and always had to be the lead tank into battle, he refused to have it any other way. The M48 Pattons got a good spread out across the field and they quickly advanced unopposed over the damp ground, churning up the soil as they went.
The Sheridan light tanks could not see any movement through the mist and the Aryan forces had not returned fire since the initial artillery barrage had ended.
The battle net crackled into life, “We have suffered heavy losses...air...not arr...pulli...to...defensive...” The transmission ended. Commander Marlborough looked grim things were obviously not going well for Army group two. 'If we can't end this quickly then the enemy could have reinforcements on the way, they need to hold on if they can so we can press the advantage on this front.'
The Sheridan's advanced gingerly towards the area that the self-propelled guns had turned into a crater filled landscape, the mist was thicker here and made it hard for the crews to see anything. The light tanks edged slowly forward but as they did this all hell broke loose again.
Out of the rising smoke filled mist glowing purple rounds flew forward, the lead Sheridan was struck; the round penetrated the thin armor and detonated. The crew inside were instantly vaporized and the metal hull burnt slowly from the inside sending a plume of thick black smoke into the already dense air.
The Sheridan's instantly pulled back towards the advancing Patton's. A few seconds later the silhouettes of advancing Tiger I's appeared out of the gloom.
"That's it follow us you bastards." Paul Kursk shouted from the commander's hatch of his retreating light tank.
Commander Marlborough was just out in front in the lead Patton he called out the target and his gunner took aim and fired, the shell span in the air as it shot forward until a few seconds later it hit the Tiger I dead on the Upper Glacis.
The Aryan tank stopped dead in its tracks as Marlborough shouted, “Direct hit!”
“Yeah.” Paul Kursk shouted as he and the other light tank battalion looked on with pleasure.
The Tiger I turret suddenly begun swiveling left as it brought its gun to bear on Marlborough's Patton.
“Brace yourselves!” Was all the wily old Commander could say before a bright flash of purple washed over his tank. There was an explosion and the next thing Marlborough knew he was laying on the floor, he felt pain in his chest and his vision was blurry. He could not remember being thrown from his tank.
The sounds of battle were distant to Marlborough but he slowly and gingerly sat up and began to look around. He could see his tank was on fire a few meters in front of him. The Commander could hear shouting coming from all directions but he could not make out what they were saying.
Several M48 Patton's rolled passed the ailing Commander; they all fired simultaneously at the enemy tank. Two rounds ricocheted off of the tough armor before the Tiger could return fire, the Aryan's round was slightly off target but the air around the advancing Patton's hissed and crackled from the intense heat.
Two more Patton's fired and finally a shell punctured straight through the lower plate of the Tiger I, dense grey smoke poured out of the hole. Two of the crew opened the cupola and jumped out onto the hull of the tank.
The men were dressed in intimidating black body armor; they raised their machine guns and to the surprise of the Americans began showering their tanks in bright purple rounds.
“What do these assholes think they are doin?”
“They are stubborn aren't they, open up on them!”
The .50 cal machine guns mounted on the turret of the American tanks fired on the exposed Aryan crew, they were shredded almost instantly and their dead bodies slumped onto the hull of their crippled tank.
The Tiger I was still smoking heavily but to the disbelief of the Patton crews, its gun started to line up on the closest target. The American tank was too close and could do nothing as the bright purple ball of plasma washed over it, the Patton immediately exploded.
"Shit...Shit...shit why won't that fucker die? All available units concentrate your fire on it."
The American armor flanked the motionless Tiger I on both sides, they aimed their 90mm cannons on the exposed side of the tank and the four Patton's opened fire simultaneously. The weaker side armor of the vehicle was torn apart easily and the Tiger I exploded; what remained of the hull burnt brightly.
Out of the mist a group of Tiger I's attacked the American armor, another group of ten Tiger's opened up on the opposite side. They were attacking the advancing American's on their vulnerable flanks; it was a trick to trap the Patton's in the open and it had worked marvelously.
Commander Marlborough had regained his senses by now and had suspected what was going on, he ran as quickly as he body would allow to the nearest Patton. The Commander climbed aboard with the help of the tanks Commander.
“Sir it's good to see you, we were sure you had bought it.”
“I'm alright Curtis, get on the radio and order all vehicles to halt the advance and reinforce the flanks, the bastards are trying to line us up in a shooting gallery.”
"Yes, Sir," Curtis said as he started to relay the orders.
Out of the mist and dense smoke, a bright light broke through and raced forward. Curtis noticed it but it was too late as the round impacted near the front of his Patton, the shockwave caused by the exploding plasma washed over the
front of his tank with an intense heat; Commander Marlborough caught the brunt of it and he briefly squealed in agony.
A warm liquid splashed over Curtis as he saw the horrific scene of Commander Marlborough's head and chest ripped apart. Curtis closed the cupola and slumped into his tank he sat there in shock, drenched in his Commanders innards.
A gigantic dull silhouette slowly came into view out of the mist, followed by another and then another.
Command
The early morning sun sliced through the slightly open, dull curtains. A pleasant warm feeling washed over Commander Sporrenberg's face. He sat at the edge of the bed half naked, enjoying his morning smoke.
The former SS man let the smoke billow from his nose as he savored the flavor. Jakob stubbed out the cigarette, stretched a couple of times and then went to have a shower, he smelt and he knew it.
Ten minutes later Sporrenberg was in full military uniform, it sparkled and was in pristine condition. The German slicked back his damp hair and then placed his officer's hat on perfectly, the shimmering skull caught the sun.
Commander Sporrenberg left his quarters, he turned to one of the men guarding the door and gestured over his shoulder.
“Get rid of this one, before she starts to smell.” A wicked grin crept across his face.
The two guards entered the room, the women lay on her back completely naked. Her body was covered in bruises and burn marks, there were ligature marks on the wrists and a particularly deep one around the neck; the women had been strangled.
The guards dragged the corpse outside towards a group of men being forced to dig foundations for the nearest building. They dumped the body into the freshly dug hole.
Several of the men had to look away and one of them physically threw up. The Aryan guard overseeing the work did not hesitate and shot the men where he stood.
The Aryan guards laughed, “Bury this garbage!” They ordered.
Sporrenberg strode into Wright Patterson Air Force base's freshly rebuilt command room with his usual air of absolute authority. The Commander was about to scold his men for not noticing his arrival but he glanced around the room and all the monitors had live battle action on them.
Sporrenberg saw tanks engaged in combat on screens one and two, screen three showed aerial dogfights dotted across the sky; while a huge monitor in the center of the room had a large map showing the real-time positions of combat.
“What the hell is going on here advisor!” Sporrenberg shouted as he flew into one of his trademark rages.
The tall advisor barely gave his Commander a glance, "This Commander is the counter-offensive against the Americans, who had the audacity to try and attack us in a pincer movement. I gave the order for our units to smash through their attack and crush them."
“I gave you express instructions that I am informed of any offensive," Sporrenberg growled as he took a firm step towards his advisor.
“You were asleep Commander.”
“WHY DIDN'T YOU WAKE ME!” Sporrenberg shouted and showered spit in all directions, his right hand fiddled with the pistol holster on his hip.
“Careful.” His advisor said calmly, “You would be even angrier if I had disturbed you. Now see for yourself how well the offensive is going.”
The advisor managed to calm Sporrenberg down as he showed him the real-time images of Tiger I tanks engaging exposed American tanks on the East while on the Western front the American's were in complete disarray and in full retreat.
Commander Sporrenberg slumped back into a chair, he gave a dismissive wave. “Good work advisor.” He said begrudgingly, “Carry on.” Before adding, “Your technology never ceases to amaze me.”
The tall advisor slightly bowed his head, “Thank you Sir, we have more good news.” He gestured towards a radio set broadcasting the BBC world service.
President Richard Nixon along with some of his closest advisors sat in front of a large TV aboard Airforce One. They were flying down the Atlantic coast towards Costa Rica.
The beady-eyed Nixon slumped back in his chair as he listened to the radio presenter announce the headline world headlines.
“Fighting has broken out in many German cities today, groups of armed men have tried to seize government buildings. The army has beaten back most of the assaults however there are sketchy reports coming in that at least some of the aggressors are military personnel themselves. We will bring you more on the story when we can.”
…"More concerning news comes from South America as least three countries including Argentina, Chile and Colombia have given their military support to Commander Jakob Sporrenberg in the wake of his address declaring war on America."
Nixon shook his head, “Turn it off.” He demanded.
“How is the offensive going, have we managed to break through their lines?” He asked.
"No Sir, in fact, the assault is going badly. Our troops on the Eastern front are on the defensive but are at least holding their ground." He shook his head, "We have lost contact with the army on the Western front but from what we can gather a large Aryan force has broken through and is advancing at quite a speed.”
President Nixon wiped the sweat from his deeply furrowed brow. He picked his gauze up from the floor and cleared his throat.
“Get me a line to the Russians, we need their help and we need it now! We also need to get the message out to start evacuating the civilians; ask Canada and Mexico if they are willing to take people in. Try and get as many people from the West coast over to Hawaii as possible.”
President Nixon told his advisors it was time for him to appear on Television. His team set up the broadcast as quickly as they could.
In the emergency room in the White House, the two men in black let out a small smile, "Finally he is going to act. There may be hope yet."
Call to Arms
President Richard Nixon appeared in front of the camera, he looked longingly into the lens and then sighed deeply.
“Citizens of America today is a dark day. A terrible enemy is striking right at the heart of our country, they are not just trying to destroy our way of life or our country. No, they are on a path of genocide, they have started a race war; a type of war we hoped we would never see again!"
Nixon looked to the floor before his shark-like eyes stared into the camera with renewed vigor.
“Our brave soldiers are taking the fight to this evil right now, even as I speak, they are against almost impossible odds but yet they will continue to fight, not for me, not for their commanders and not for the flag but for each other and more importantly for every American!”
Nixon took a step forward, “We have initiated martial law, and we ask all citizens to pack only essentials and to evacuate. Canada and Mexico have opened their borders to you. You may think this is a sign of us giving up but be assured this is far from it!"
“We need our boys to be able to concentrate on the fight without having to worry about loved ones.” The President paused, “Finally we have asked our allies for assistance. Sporrenberg and his army is not just a threat to us but a threat to the whole world; he invoking ideals that should remain buried in the past!”
Nixon raised his fist to the camera, “Anyone who wants to fight then we support you. Remember the British once thought they could conquer us but we smashed their spirit and kicked their asses so we will do the same against a crazy ex-Nazi! God bless America!”
The broadcast was seen by many in America, those who wanted to leave got out as quickly as they could but others collected weapons and arrived at the nearest military outposts.
“How was that?” Nixon said down the telephone.
A familiar eerie voice responded, “Brilliant, just brilliant. It has had the desired effect; you have got the Soviet’s attention.”
Nixon smiled, “Are they sending their forces?”
The man in black paused, “Not exactly, Leonid Brezhnev would like to speak to you. He is on line one.”
The smile quickly disappeared from the
Presidents face, “Ok put him through.”
Signal
Leonid Brezhnev was a hard looking man who always bore a stern facial expression; he had a broad nose and slim eyes topped with thick dark eyebrows. The Soviet leader placed the phone down after a long but ultimately futile conversation with President Nixon.
The Russian shook his head as he uttered the word, “Fool.”
“I take it the talk did not go well?”
Brezhnev shook his head, “It is time Yuri.”
“I understand Leonid.” The Chairman of the President of the Supreme Soviet replied, he did not actually say it but Brezhnev could see his comrades’ deflated body language.
“I don’t take any great pleasure in this but it is the only way to protect our Country from the looming threat in America.” He gave his colleague his best reassuring look.
The Soviet leader asked for a direct line from the State Kremlin Palace to the nuclear missile silo in Kresy, which would later become modern-day Belarus. All the highest members of the Soviet leadership cast were already waiting in the rectangular box-shaped state palace.
The orders were quick to come and the launch codes were sent to the nuclear missile silos, within ten minutes the intercontinental missiles were live, the button was armed.
The coordinates were input for Wright Patterson Airforce base and Brezhnev was ready to launch the attack.
Yuri Andropov stood and placed his fists down on the table, “What if Sporrenberg's forces retaliate with the captured nuclear missiles?”
Brezhnev sighed heavily, “We have been through this, they won’t. Most if not all of their leadership will be killed in this attack, which will leave them in disarray. The American's can then surround the cut off nuclear facilities and regain them.” He paused a smiled, “If a few more nuclear missiles are set loose against them from their own facilities then so be it.”
Andropov looked worried, “But what if they do launch against us?”
