Authors: Len Gilbert
Then the whistle blew again. Vahn stared into the abyss and darted out again into the light. A Grimeskin was coming right for him when Poetschke’s cannon went off. Vahn winced and half expected Poetshke’s aim to be for him, but instead the cannon knocked down the Grimeskin. Poetschke had created an opening for Vahn. Vahn dropped to the ground and began crawling his way forward.
All around him he heard snarls emerging from various sides of the forest. This time the wolves ignored the threat of murderous axes and descended onto the Grimeskins in packs. In the mayhem Vahn crawled forward, stalking in on the square of red bricks that sheltered the throwers.
Poetschke then sprinted from the cover of the trees and fired bullets at the throwers, keeping them down. The tiny cannonballs whizzed over Vahn’s head and confused the enemy.
Now was the time. Vahn got up and charged, pulling the plug on one of the mashers. The monsters saw him and one of them gave chase, but it was too late. Three more seconds. He sprinted wildly at the pinned-in axe-hurlers, tossed the masher in and rolled into the snow. With a crash the stick exploded, hurling soil and stray earthen bricks in every direction.
Flying debris blocked the light as Vahn stayed put, hearing snarls and screams from several places. When the smoke settled, Poetschke was the first person Vahn saw.
“You alright?”
“Yes,” Vahn coughed out a cloud of dust as he answered, and Poetschke reached down to help him up.
“We’ve got to keep going,” was all he said.
“But I’ll recommend Sepp put you on the honor roll for this…”
“Sir, what’s an honor roll?” Vahn said, dusting the soil off his ear.
“Heh. You’ll find out. Now come on.”
The snowy field was littered with death, mostly the Grimeskins. Poetschke demanded his wolves to attack like selfless ants, or bees. It was a different style than Vahn and the wolves knew, but no one could argue with the outcome. Packs of wolves that comprised Poetshcke’s Kompanie trudged through the pock-marked field and on towards Oxbane’s camp. Wherever that was.
Vahn’s ear flicked as he heard a faint snarl in the distance. Then another, then a whole line of them.
“Reinforcements?” He said to himself.
Soon he got his answer. A line of black wolftaurs appeared on the horizon and came charging toward them. Each mount was crowned with a Greenskin.
“Raiders…” A fellow chanted out.
“Raiders! Raiders! There has to be tens upon tens of them!” Another panicked.
Just nearby, the Sturmbannfuehrer picked up his field glass and shook his head. Sobriety had descended over him.
“We need to get out of here. Now.”
Blunt pt. 2
Kasha picked the ten most able-bodied warriors, brought them out from the trench and looked at each one of them. Most were young like him. Many were afraid.
“We are going on the attack now.”
Kasha dug the butt of his spear into the snowy ground.
“Engage the Grimeskins in groups of three, stay in heavily-wooded areas. We won’t give them an advantage unless its necessary. Our goal is to head forward some 100 Terras, where we’ll await instruction from Master Sepp. The whole Kompanie is going with us. Be brave and fight with all the hate in your heart. Remember who this is for. We meet up with Kristiyan 100 terras from here.”
Kasha divided the platoon into three parties. They slipped into the woods next to Kristiyan’s platoon. The dark northern woods were no place to be a Greenskin, but even Kasha knew his warriors were outnumbered, and their attacking nature meant open battle would almost certainly happen.
He spotted five monsters treading side by side, through the snow, and ordered two of his groups into the woods flanking both sides. His nose told him there were other Greenskins right behind. This was likely a trap, but it was also the one chance they would have to actually preempt the Monsters. Kasha and three others charged the monsters head on, and already the two flanks knew what to do. They leaped out and surprised the party of Greenskins.
Kasha ducked a blow from the other side and rolled back to his footpaws. He could hear the snarls all around him. Two monsters fell and the others were now swinging at Kasha’s third group. They had the Greenskins outnumbered now, and Kasha’s faster wolves leaped and tore into the enemy, with only one of his men falling to a deadly axing to the chest and then the head.
Everyone hugged the ground waiting for the ax-throwing monsters to attack, but none came. Kasha looked out and picked up his field glass only to see the Greenskins departing.
“Everybody up.”
Eight stood up.
“Kristiyan’s platoon is in that forest. Chances are the enemy is already there and waiting for us, so beware. stay in groups.”
But in the forest, all that greeted them was the hooting of owls. If drawing the wolves into the forest was the Greenskins’ plan, it was a very subtle one. No axes flew at them and no Greenskins emerged from the trees.
They marched in tight triangles through the woods, their eyes darting around for the first sign of an attack which could have come from anywhere.
“Hey, there he is!”
One of them pointed to a wolf digging into the ground with a spade.
“Kristiyan must have cleared out the enemy already!”
“Come on,” Kasha said, leading them to Kristiyan’s platoon. Their estimations were right. Kristiyan’s group had already driven out the Greenskins. His wolves were at work setting up a perimeter.
“Kasha! Tell them to dig in.” Kristiyan instructed.
“Once we get the trenches up we’ll bring in the tripods. We hold up this place so that Master Sepp may advance without worrying about an attack from this end.”
Kasha joined in the task but then received a note from the courier. Things were going well. Both Master Sepp and Poetschke withstood the first onslaught, and now Poetschke’s group in the south was driving forward for Balaton. If Poetschke got through the lakes, there would be little between himself and Oxbane.
“No!” someone shouted. “Wolftaurs coming! Get out of there!”
The platoon scrambled out of their work and grabbed their spears. Kasha picked up his field glass and saw it for himself: Four ‘wolftaurs’ with another line of green stomping through the forest floor behind them. The enemy outnumbered wolves’ at least two-to-one. Kristiyan blew a whistle and lined up the dragoons. Kasha’s platoon had two, and Kristiyan’s had two including himself.
“Into positions, this line here! This line here!” Kasha shouted at his nine-strong Kompanie.
Kasha himself picked up a rope and got into position. This would have to go perfectly, and even then, the odds weren’t good. The Wolftaurs came fast, and when they did, Kasha roped one and his dragoon leaped through and took out the Greenskin.
A blood-curling scream then shot up. It from the other end. Kasha turned around to see Kristiyan in a wolftaur’s clutches, being dismembered and mangled right before them. His ripped-up body fell to the forest floor.
———
Hollers and screams surrounded Master Sepp in the trenches, but the weathered leader’s reflexes were well-honed. A quick shot of his crossbow chopped down a Greenskin as it went hand-to-hand with his guard.
“How many fallen?”
“Five, sir. And one tripod smashed.”
“Clear the trench of the dead. We’ll keep holding this line.”
“Master Sepp…” Rokura pointed off to the other end of the trench. Sepp lifted up his binoculars to see for himself.
He watched helplessly from a distance as the wolftaurs hopped over an empty trench behind his line. A small number of Greenskins ran by on foot as well. They had broken through one of Sepp’s lines. They were now crossing over.
“Rokura,”
“Yes sir?”
“Gather the platoon.”
Sepp’s wolf swallowed hard and went for the explosives box. He had no estimate, but Sepp was sure the monsters would send yet more fresh troops to attack his exhausted line and finish them all off.
The weathered Gruppenfuehrer gathered his company around him for a moment. All of them were exhausted, and stained with either blood or earth. Sometimes both. Now Sepp had to make a decision.
“The enemy has broken through and are likely going for a village. You know what they will do after that,” he said, pulling out the dynamite sticks.
“For the children and women behind the lines, it is an honor to die.”
Each of the company nervously drew a straw. The task of suicide fell onto Rokura and two others. Sepp quietly handed each one of them a boomstick.
“Remember that you are the innocent’s last line of defense. Find the wolftaurs and explode them with your dynamite sticks.”
The three of them stood by with dry throats as the others hurriedly strapped explosives to the wolves’ white belts.
“This is how it has to be,” Sepp shook each of their paws. Rokura looked down but said nothing.
“I’ll see you in heaven.”
The Relic
Hans clutched his Mauser to his body as he led his newly-appointed hunting party into the forest. After just a few days, feeding a couple hundred men during the winter left commander Peiper with no choice but to send hunting parties eastward, to the place Lapine grandma said never to go.
This time Hans was prepared. His party of four included Tex, who was as good a shot as Hans had ever seen, and two men from the Leibstandarte. He was confident that they would all be enough to handle whatever they might encounter, especially being heavily armed as they were.
“So what’re we looking for, Herr Hepner?” Tex said quietly.
“Game would be ideal, but I’ll settle for fowl. Also be watchful for berries or nuts. We need another source.”
The two Leibstandarte men stayed well behind, content to speak among themselves. Their names were Hans Siptrott and Werner Kindler. In many ways Siptrott looked like an SS man from the movie reels, with blond hair, blue eyes and a square jaw. Kindler looked even younger than Hans himself, and had big eyes and a boney face.
“These tracks look pretty fresh,” Tex got Hans’ attention.
“Just let me hunt it myself. If we all follow it’s going to notice and get away.”
Hans turned back to the SS men and told them to follow behind Tex on the opposite side so that they formed a triangle. Siptrott said nothing. He looked none too pleased to be taking orders from a Gefreiter in the Wehrmacht. The two of them marched off and Hans followed Tex from the other side as the American tracked his game.
After a few moments Tex stopped in his tracks. Hans felt tempted to call out, but picked up his binoculars and saw the peril ahead: Burly, green-skinned monsters mounted atop what looked like giant feral wolves with six legs. The feral animal looked about three meters long.
“Mein Gott… TEX! TEX fall back right now!”
There wasn’t even a need to tell the American. He was already sprinting back to Hans.
“It’s them!” Hans whispered. “It’s them, it’s the monsters, they’re already here!”
“What do we do?”
“We must get back to Peip—”
An abrupt explosion rumbled through the air and made the snow jump. Hans picked up his binoculars and saw one of the three steeds blown to red chunks in the snow. This caused the other beasts to take off to direction of where the SS men were stationed.
Shots rang out from the underbrush in two different places. Siptrott must have seen the monsters in advance and prepared accordingly. The second greenskin fell off his beast. Hans watched the third wolf turn back to leave with the green warriors on foot.
“Halt, Wolfie!”
The voice sounded like Siptrott’s. Hans and Tex came running over to the SS men, who had a wolven warrior at gunpoint.
“Those weapons! Tell me where you got those things!” Siptrott shouted at the wolf, who had sticks of dynamite strapped to his waist. One of the sticks had an eagle and Swastika.
“Siptrott! Put the gun down. Let me speak with this one,” Hans interjected.
The SS man grunted at Hans but did as he said. Then Hans turned to the wolf and showed him both of his hands.
“Those explosives. They came from our country, you know,” he talked to the wolf in a voice much calmer than Siptrott’s.
“These? You mean boomsticks,” the wolf corrected Hans.
“Yes. Boomsticks. These boomsticks. Did you get them from another human?”
“We came here to destroy Greenskins. That’s all I have to say.”
Hans also noticed the ‘SS’ painted on the black wolf’s chestfur. It was hard to miss.
“Hey, look,” Hans signaled Kindler over and pointed to his collar, which bore the identical insignia.
The wolf huffed out and gestured at Siptrott and Kindler. “Those two. They must be good warriors. Because they run in Master Sepp’s pack.”
“’MASTER’ Sepp?” Siptrott blurted. He and Kindler stared at each other for a moment. One other explosive-strapped wolf came up to the conversation and stood before the humans.
“Yes. Master Sepp. You are the ‘good’ humans? We have a human with that collar, too. His name is Hair Petch-Key. Do you know of Hair Petch-Key?”
“We… Had a comrade named Werner Poetschke. Some time ago.” Siptrott nodded.
“Hmm. Our Petch-Key has flaxen hair, flame-wielder, and a bad temper.”
“…That’s probably him…” Siptrott and Kindler both responded instantly.
“Yes. If you are from the ‘good’ humans, then Master Sepp needs your help,” the wolf said.
“No time to lose. Keep you heads down and follow me. Axthrowers about.”
Hans nodded to the other SS men, although Siptrott and Kindler probably wouldn’t have listened to Hans even if he’d commanded them otherwise.
Hans followed behind Siptrott, Kindler and the two wolves, with Tex still walking by his side. This whole thing seemed suspicious. It could have been a setup. Morbid curiosity kept Hans and the others following, even as the noise of clanging metal, screams and explosives grew louder. He saw wolves swarming in and around a dugout. Some were loading thick arrows into cartridge-powered crossbows. The wolves noticed Hans’ party of humans and stared wide-eyed at them, stopping in their tracks.
The wolf took them to a man in officer’s uniform, but with animal skins draped over his shoulders. The man had his back turned to them, and couldn’t have been more than 170 cm tall; at least a head shorter than the wolves around him.