ah screw that.

I had the worst case of writers block ever, so I'm gonna continue the power of hands. a post will be forthcoming in the near future.

The Eyes of Terra

Chapter 1: The Encounter.

     Just ten ships. That's all the United Terran Navy can manage right now. We built them as large as we could, Kilometers long, hundredmillions of man hours. Over-engineered beautiful pieces of work. Used to police the trade routes for contraband. Boring. Contraband like the independents' manifesto. Excessive. No merchant ship could really challenge us. Not even a match for a fighter wing from one of these ships. 30,000 men crammed on board, just to look for data slates.

     We jumped into the system. We've been pursuing these bunch of pirates for about a week now. right to a habitable planet this time. An interesting discovery to say the least.

     “Captain Cross!” a comm line crackled. “They've moved into the asteroid field!”

     Asteroid fields aren't nearly as dense as people think they are. Not worth firing our big gun at it though. So I decide on a more conventional method.

     “Launch the shrikes.” shrikes are interceptors. Well armed, quick accel. Used to fly one myself, back in the day. Those days are over now. Too damn old.

     My hands are rough. Fighter pilot's hand. Shakes. Only thing that helps is whiskey. “Put 'em on screen. Front, gun view.” I order. The Mainscreen switched on, giving a view of the top of the main gun, a 900 meter railgun. I like a good view. The asteroids travelled at low velocities. Perfect place to hide. I figure it's time to end this pursuit. “Arm the swivel guns.” More railguns. A secondary battery beneath the main gun. 3 cannons. Good, solid slugs. “Give 'em hell.” I say. A few shots headed in the right direction. The large asteroid the pirate freighters hid behind exploded. It rustled the nest. “Give commander Danik the word.” He's been flying fighters for about 5 years. He's earned this hunt.

     Explosions rocked the pirates' hulls as plasma rockets from the fighters detonated. We set about dealing with the planet. I order an away team, and a pair of ore miners to deal with the resupply. Lastly, I order the star examined. It's a red dwarf. Might be a decent resupply point, though. I order one of the FIS batteries ejected. Need 'em to get out of system. Not even enough for one jump right now. Ion engines are slow to accelerate, efficient for sublight, but not fast enough for interstellar travel. Nothing really is, actually.

     The Sword of Truth is the name of my ship. She's done well thusfar. A Mars class, she Polices quite effectively, as the navy does. The three systems know her well. Sol, Alpha Centauri, and Barnard's star. Wolf 359 has no planets, so it was never colonized with more than a military outpost and science station. An interesting star, or so the science boys tell me.

     “I'm heading to my quarters. Let me know of any interesting discoveries on the planet.” I say. My XO, Commander Adams took over. He's a tall man. A good, bass voice. Black hair, with a well-trimmed beard... a pointed, Honest Abe. The bridge itself is something of a panorama from myself. Helps for voice projection, and so I can see everything going on. I can see we'll be here for a while.

    “Radio the flight deck. Send a few orbital landers down, and a science shuttle. On screen.” a few black shapes launched from the hangar. Drop pods full of power-armoured soldiers, among plenty of scientists. Good practice for them. They aren't really used that often. Hopefully this place can be colonized. The science shuttle holds all the amenities they'll need. Large for a shuttle, it's a bulky craft, full of specialized electronics. At the front are a number of sensor antennae. If this place doesn't have any sentients, this will be a great addition. A lot of green. A lot of blue. A couple moons, too... ah well. My old bones can rest for now.

     The ship's huge. Two kilometers of Steel. One of the advantages of a captain's position is a short walk to work. Gotta be close to the command deck. I take a quick shower. I say good night to my cat, Floyd. A tortoiseshell cat. Always been there for me. A nice, affectionate cat. He slept on my bed.

     I was rudely awoken. I had to run to the command deck. I dumped Floyd right onto the floor. Sorry, cat.

     It was about ten hours after we arrived in system when two unknown ships jumped in. We had never found another spacefaring race. I order the comm officer, Gordon Ericson to hail them. We get no response. I don't take kindly to uninvited guests.

     “Threat assessment.” I tell the sensor officer, Roger Henricks.

     “Sensors picking up nuclear weapons,” Henricks said, “And from the look of 'em, plenty of torpedo tubes and secondary weapons. They'll be in weapons range in an hour. All in all, they'd be difficult for us to counter.”

     “Magnify” I say. Two large trapezoidally-shaped ships came into view. Large batteries at the front of missiles, between them what appeared to be a fighter bay. Two double turrets of what appeared to be railguns also came into view, at the back of them. A large number of secondary batteries dotted the hull, which looked to be for anti-fighter duty.

     “Arm the Slammer. Prep all fighters for combat. Status on the away team?” I say.

     “No way we could get them back before they get here.” Ericson says.

    My hands start shaking a little. “Where are they on the planet?”

     “They touched down near the equator, in a mountainous region near the coast of the central continent.”

     “Tell them to sit tight, Ericson. We can't get 'em back. But we might be able to stake our claim. I have a plan. Adams, ready room, now. You too, Jacob.” Jacob Riggs is the tactical officer. Can't do this without him.

     “Alright gentlemen. Here's the story. Right now, we have a few objectives. First, we need to stake our claim. Second, we need to make sure they can't destroy our claim. Third, we have to get reinforcements, and fourth, we need to get that battery back, and jump out.”

     “Sir, shouldn't we try to negotiate with them?” Adams says.

     “We tried that. We will give them one more chance. This is our planet now. One way or another. We're holding onto this one. That's our mandate.”

     “Right, then.” he says. “I'll give orders to the flight leaders.”

     “We'll prioritize enemy weapon systems. Those nukes and rails have to be disabled. At least a month's damage. We'll grab the battery first. Just have to make it to the planet, and drop the base. Then we jump out.”

     I go back onto the command deck. Gut's pounding. Grit my teeth. First real combat action. Do me proud, men.

     “Alright. Ten minutes, give them their orders, get a move on! Come on you bastards, you wanna live forever?!”

     A thousand things happened at once. The hustle of the men was a sight to behold. Hundreds of voices went to all corners of the decks. The ship's on red alert for the first time. This is what we trained for. Let's see what the old girl can do.

     We made it to the battery. A massive, black shape, with extended solar panels all around. Lots of gold connectors at the top, slips right in at the aft-port quarter after folding the panels. The docking process started, magnetic clamps sealing to the surface of the battery. We started making a quick turn around when the unknowns launched their first salvo from about a million kilometers. Test shots, undoubtedly. Countermeasures deployed. Jets of green plasma fired from our turrets, and fighters scrambled to launch. Many explosions ensued as the warheads were detonated by the plasma. “I think we have our answer, Adams.” -- “They must not know about our claim on the planet, if they do, they don't care right now. Turn as fast as possible. Fire on the first ship possible.” Each ship is about 1500 meters in length. This should be a challenge.

     “Fire the slammer! Target the second ship's guns with the trips, and fire!” I ordered. “Scramble all fighters. Have them fly escort duty. Keep firing, then make ready for a broadside! We must reach that planet!” Our rails hit them hard. Looks like we cooked a few magazines, but not enough to destroy them. The slammer's kiloton slug took down one of their rail turrets in a single shot. Good girl.

    More shots were fired. This time it was their rails. No time to dodge. Four hits hit the top of the sword near the fighter bay. “Damage report.” I say. “Significant damage to the armour, but it's holding” Riggs says.

     The battle continued for a while. The flak guns and plasma projectors kept the missiles from being too big a threat. The plasma projectors didn't seem to have much effect on the fighters. Must have EM shields. These ships don't have a large fighter complement, fortunately. Neither do we, but we appear to have invested in more anti-fighter technology. Then they fired again. The slammer took a hit. Temperamental gun. The fighters kept 'em busy though. Our flak guns did enough damage to the magazines. The fighters kept at the rail turrets, and took 'em down. Our rails are down, too. I have questions. Lots of questions. But no chance right now to answer 'em. The ship's taken a beating. So have they. And nobody, them or us, is willing to commit their ships to this one engagement. But I've got my orders.

     The drop pods are all loaded and on standby. Company holding transports... an entire division's worth. Even drops the mess-hall in with 'em. Massive numbers of men, all crammed onto fifty odd ships, with all the proper amenities for the army. Even tanks, helicopters and pads. Lovely technology. The city ship is about to say goodbye to ten thousand men. Many families are split up. Thousands of people killed in the combat. But we held. I give the order.

     The pre-fabricated base was dropped. The drop pods were fitted with heat shields. They'll go right into the mountainside. A great way to defend themselves against whoever the hell these guys are.

     A white tunnel into subspace opened. The FIS-drives thrummed with power. After a few seconds, we jumped out.

Chapter 14: Sin

    We reached the outskirts of El Alamein at about 2 in the morning. We did so intentionally. We had no headlights. It was eerie driving up to the city like that. Numerous spotlights spotting for aircraft... the occasional highlighted 88... it painted a very bleak picture. We knew it'd be suicide going straight in. so we didn't. Instead, we looked at an alternative: driving through the freezing cold desert, and trying to find any remnant of the task force. Well, we found it. About 50 miles from the city, just outside the range of the German heavy artillery, we found medical tents. The first things we found were the blackened hulks of German and British tanks. A bit beyond them were enough tents for about two hundred people.

     The cowards have fled. Our cowards. All that remain are the nurses and the wounded. The good nurses. Some of them fled too. Can't blame them, but this is atrocious. The nurses have guns. Deadly nurses.

     “That's far enough!” a familiar voice yelled.

     I get Walid to stop the car. The boys do the same with the truck.

     We come out with our hands up. Unarmed.

     That red hair I'd spot anywhere.

     I saw the look on her face when she dropped the gun. Somewhat teary eyed. We ran towards each other.     

    We embraced.

     “What happened?” Laura asks me.

     “We won. We shouldn't have, but we won.”

     I tell her our story.

     The boys and I all crowded around a table. Laura put on a kettle. It's still late.

     “We can't stay here, Laura.” I say. “And we can't take all the men with us.”

     “Some of them shouldn't even be moved.” she says. “When the army retreated, they took as many men as they could. They only kept those who could fight. They left us nurses here to look after these men. At least jerry's got a good track record here with how they treat prisoners. Why the hell are you here? I never expected to see you again.”

     “I'm here for you.” and I whisper the other reason into her ear. Don't want the others hearing.

     She looked at me. She looked at the boys. She looked at the nurses, and finally at the wounded.

     “I never knew Petersen” she says. “But I can't see how you justify running now.”

     “Laura, we've lost. El Alamein is a stone's throw from Cairo. They get Cairo and we're done. Five men won't make a difference. We took down one aircraft carrier, it's true. But we'll never have another shot at that again. That's a job for the navy. And the navy's shot to hell. I can assure you, we'll keep on fighting. One way or another. But not here.”

     “You've lost your senses. Where else could you fight? Russia?! You'd die before you get there! Any other way I see it the entire Mediterranean's surrounded! You'd be shot by the British, shot by the Germans, shot by the Italians, shot by the Spanish, not to mention the Germans! Where is there to go?!”

     “Southern France.” Meyers pipes in. “From there, we see where else we can go, and what we can do. There is a resistance movement there. They've saved many downed British pilots. And it isn't occupied by the Nazi's. Seems like quite the gap.”

     At this, laura relented somewhat. “How in hell are you going to get there?”

     “Boat. There are a few fishing villages nearby, and I suspect there might be large enough vessels to get us there.” Walid says. “I have a friend who was in the French merchant marine. He helps out the British on occasion. He might still be there. If not, a fishing boat may be available. Maybe a miracle at Alamein is possible.”

     “This...” laura starts. “I don't like this. I can't say you're wrong. I know what the Germans did to our soldiers earlier, and we've lost so much... I don't think we can resist theme here for more than ten minutes, should they invade, and we all know they will. I think... I think you're right. If I may say so, however... you must get rid of those uniforms.”

     At that, we turned in for the night. For a whole three hours of sleep.

     Navittas woke me up. Along with the rest of them. A German column was approaching. There was no time. I got Laura and the rest of the men into the Truck and Jeep. I floored it out of the medical camp. We couldn't load any of the wounded. And we couldn't tell the nurses. It's an ulcerous feeling in my gut. This is the worst. Leaving a man behind is bad enough. Leaving more than a hundred men to the Nazi's... that's the worst. I'll never forgive myself for this, I know it. Soldiers aren't supposed to leave compatriots behind.

     We head for the coast. Another dawn. Another death. Red sky at morning. Walid is on the radio. He's speaking French. Almost certainly code. I hear a bass voice coming through it. Walid's moustached face perks up. “My friends, we are golden. He's ten miles off the coast. If we're lucky, we may make it yet.”

     “Make your own luck” Pyre says. “Get us there, sir.” he says to me.

     I give him a nod.

     A long way down a hill we go. Right to a beach. Right to a small fishing village. I just hope they aren't Nazi sympathizers. We see the ship. There's a rowboat coming ashore. To a dock on the eastern side of this village. Just a small hamlet. About 50 or so inhabitants. And there's an APC behind us. A German halftrack.

     They're in range right now. But they haven't fired. I'm wondering why. I tell everybody to stay low. I keep the jeep immediately in front of the truck. And that's when things all go to hell.

     We've run out of gas.

    I order everybody out. We don't have much in the way of guns or ammo. Not that we don't have it, but more that we couldn't get to it in time. I've got a schmeisser. Navittas and Pyre have a couple of bolt action rifles. Walid has a Sten gun. Meyers has a revolver of some kind. Pathetic. And Jennings has a single drum for his MG 34. They've got better guns, and more of them. I order Pyre to switch with Jennings. Get him firing incendiaries. We we aim for the halftrack's gunner, then the driver. We manage to get them both down. But then the men come out. It's a stalemate. We can't move, but neither can they. We can't stay here. They've undoubtedly called for backup. Or worse, artillery. So, I order the boys to do the one thing I wished I'd never have to. Split up, multiple directions, get to the town. Groups of two, 20 feet between them. Prone every five seconds. I give them covering fire. Laura and me, we're the last to go.

     I order Navittas to get up and go. He goes about ten feet, then gets shot in the leg. I run over and carry him while the rest of the men give covering fire. Then I hear 'out.' from several of them. Nearly there. There's only five of them left. We enter the town. Town for salvation. And then I notice the blood on my face. Some of it's mine. Some of it's Navittas'. I've lost my ear. Navittas has been shot through the femur. Can't think about it. Gotta keep going. Hand's still on Laura. She's still there. She's still there. We get to the dock. The Frenchmen are firing at the last of them. We're alive. We're all alive. My god, we're alive.

End of book 1. I'm taking a break from this serial for a while. There will be a new one coming up soon. So stick around, the whole 4 people who read this.

Chapter 13: Some Sunny Day

     This is probably only the second time it's ever rained while I've been here. When we look to Tobruk, the Germans are hard at work in the mud and rain trying to fix the damage to the city. Knock a building down, they'll rebuild it. Like ants. There's something admirable in that. Well, admirable if they didn't just hit El Alamein. Our job is going to be hard. We attach the spare tire. Hopefully it holds out. Wonder why Rommel's still in the city. Seems to me he should be with his men. Maybe he's sick?

I look out the binoculars again. Jerry's getting a convoy together. Probably the worst kind of day to do so. Probably the worst kind of day for a victory. But a general needs to be with his men. If Monty's any example... god dammit Monty. Why did you have to be with us that day?

     We can't get out of here right now. Not with that convoy. They'd undoubtedly see us trying to leave. Maybe in an hour.

     I check on Meyers. It hadn't occurred to me whether to salute him or not. So... I ask him what his rank is.

     “Technically” he starts “It's First Lieutenant. But you got me out, and I'm still wounded, so... I'll leave command to you for now. I'm putting you in for one, by the way. That was top notch improvisation. We need men like you.”

     It's nice to know I can keep command of my unit. But I wonder how long until I can't...

     “They're leaving.” Pyre yells at us. There's no dust. But it looks like one of their Kuebelwagens has gotten stuck. That's what happens if you take too long to leave. Good thing our truck's still in the cave. I'm guessing they figure it isn't worth finding one truck. Or maybe they just didn't see us do this. But, hopefully we'll be fine. I'm going in Walid's car. It's a Jeep. Good suspension, at least. Yanks know how to make a decent car. We're going to Siwa, then directly to Cairo, if the plan holds. At least, that's the hope. Hopefully, no axis patrols. There should be a contact there. Tell us if we're needed elsewhere... and hopefully, a sit-rep.

     We wait another half hour. We keep ourselves busy. By the time they've gotten the Kuebelwagen out, we've covered up most of the axis markings. When they're well off, we start the truck and Jeep. Thank god that truck had gas. Navittas might have been able to power the APC for a couple clicks, but he can't do that for too long. Needs to eat a lot to do his magic.

     We're making good time. The desert all looks the same. The roads aren't good though, when there even are roads. Off-roading isn't comfortable. At least this thing's suspension is doing its job.

“How long have you been in North Africa, Arnold?” Meyers asks. He's behind me. I turn to him. (Navittas, Pyre, and Jennings are in the truck.)

     “About ten months thus far. Been a pain in Jerry's arse, I guarantee you.” I say. He smiles.

     “It's a pity we never met. A damn shame about Petersen, too. I could have got you places. Intelligence has its perks.”

     “Tell me, Meyers, what do we do if we lose North Africa?”

     “There are a few options. None of them good. We need the oil here. Without that... things get much more difficult. Furthermore, India and Australia get cut off. Churchill has plans in case of such an emergency, but I surely don't know them.”

     “An honest assessment. Have we lost north Africa yet?”

     “Yes.”

     I stare at him for a moment. Then I lean my head back a bit. I didn't think things were so bad. I hate it when I'm right. What the hell was all this for?!

     “I'm going to ask you a question. Strictly off the record.” Meyers says. Walid looks at him briefly, then back on the road.

      “Would you be against the idea of getting out of here?”

      “you mean... deserting?”

      “Precisely. We wouldn't be throwing our lives away meaninglessly. We wouldn't be captured by the Germans. We wouldn't be shot, except by our own men.”

      “You know what we'd be doing right. We could never go back.”

      “We'll see about that. I have my ideas. For that matter, it's not like they'd be surprised if we were all dead. Being missing has its advantages.”

       I pause for a moment. “Let me think about this. There are a number of things we need to think about here. And I have unfinished business near El Alamein. And we've got the perfect way in.”

     “Righto. Just... don't breathe a word of this to anybody else.”

     We get to Siwa. Walid knows the place. “It's my hometown, my friend. Here, you are my guest. Please, Enjoy our hospitality, but be careful. The Axis have eyes and ears everywhere. I will bring you to the contacts' house, then I will have to leave you. He will point you in the right direction, and give you some supplies.”

     It's an oasis town. Interesting place. More ubiquitous mud-brick housing. Eventually, we get to something kind of like a garage. It's not much, but it will do. There are a bunch of women clad in veils, and a few men with white robes eating at a small cafe table. One of them waves at us. Or more accurately, at Walid. Walid and him start speaking back and forth in Arabic. I get back to the squad.

     Navittas is powering a radio. More specifically, the Radio Walid had. I suppose Walid didn't need it anymore.

    “Gents, we'll be here a short while. Don't stray too far. Need to get rest while we can. Also, feel free to take in the local cuisine... though I might suggest you make them eat it first. Make sure it isn't poisoned. We don't know anyone.” I say.

    “Roger. Anything's better than field rations, at least.” Jennings pipes up.

    “Get what you can. Just try to get it from people Walid recommends.”

    “Anything else we should know about?” Pyre asks.

    “We won't have enough time to get to Cairo today, or even tomorrow. Pack food.”

    Walid comes back to me. The men wander off.

    “If I may speak freely, sir.”

     I tell him to go ahead.

     “If I were in your position, I would not desert until absolutely necessary, and with knowledge your men are on your side. I understand its appeal. I will not oppose you in your endeavour. But... be sure it is a wise decision first. It's about five right now. I would not advise going to Cairo in the dark. Plenty of time for rest. Plenty of time to talk to the men about it.”

     “Thanks for the advice, Walid. I will do as you say.”

     Then I spoke to the men about it. The next day, we made our way to the coast of Northern Egypt.

Chapter 12: News.

    Jennings is driving. I'm up front as well. Pyre and Navittas are in the back of the truck. It's damn hard to see out here right now. Our goal isn't so much to get to Walid's place, as to make sure we aren't spotted by the Germans. At this point, we're running at about 80 kph. A damn fine way to get seen. But speed right now is more important. Offroading isn't comfortable. We're going over many a sand-dune. Then a thought occurs to me. We've got German uniforms. If we end up being seen by Walid... oh shit.

     One of our tires blows out. I forgot about the escarpment. We get out.

     “WALID! STOP SHOOTING!”

     “You are late my friend! I shall come down! Do you need assistance? I saw smoke from the harbour from here!”

     “Damn right we need assistance! Klaus has been hit!”

     “Who is Klaus?”

     We get Klaus out. He's breathing, but barely. We get the truck into the Cave.

     Walid sets to work. Didn't know he was a medic.

     “Tut tut! Don't you people know anything about medicine?!”

     We look at him kinda... gawk eyed, I suppose the yanks might say.

     “No.” we say, simultaneously.

     He mumbles a number of what I assume are Arabic profanities. He gets Pyre to help him as a nurse of sorts. I'm glad Klaus is unconscious for this. I would not envy him.

     Navittas, Jennings and I are all waiting outside the impromptu operating cave. All this damn waiting. I look around Walid's cave – there's a radio, a couple beds, and a small armoury. Some food, too, not too much though. Probably a day or two's worth. Makes sense. We've got nothing to do right now. Time to just rest. Exhausting work, war is. Times like this are few. I decide to turn on the radio. It's Mozart.

A few hours pass. We've been asleep. Walid has woken us. Klaus will survive. It's time to debrief him. He's got a cigarette in his hand. Don't blame him.

     “My name's not Klaus, by the way.” he says.

     “Of course it isn't. I'm not Hans either.” I say.

     “If you must know, my name's Reginald Meyers.”

     “Right, Reg. So, did you turn up any juicy details on that carrier?”

     “A number of things. I can't be sure if intelligence doesn't already know this, but, that those aircraft carriers came in is a very bad thing. They're much ahead of schedule. I think Mussolini's been getting those magitech engineers to do quite a bit of work. The good news is, if our navy can hit that shipyard, they lose a large chunk of infrastructure. The bad news is, now there's aircraft carriers to deal with. And you can bet they'll defend that place with more than enough firepower. It'll be tough. As for the Zeppelin itself, it's good to have it out of the way. But those other two, they're going to make life hell. They probably can't strike the Russians, not with the mines of the Dardanelles in the way, but if and when they can, we can assume the Soviet Caucasus is gone. Right now, what we really need, is the US. The soviets can't do it on their own. Or even with us. If Hitler conquers to Moscow, well... we'd better brush up on our German.”

     At this, I'm worried. But he's right. If the Germans conquer Russia, we have completely and utterly lost the war. At least, without the United States, it will be...

     At the end of all that, we hear a news broadcast on the BBC. News from the front. El Alamein has been captured. Cairo's next. I wonder what happened to Laura. I need to know.

     An aura of despair kind of sets in. No one is in a good mood right now. We relax though. Take our pleasure in the little things. We have some chocolate. We have a fair amount of other supplies, too. We make it into something approaching nice. It's sweet, at least. And we're alive. Everyone that matters.

     I decide to break the silence. “For all our dire straights, men... we have done a fantastic job. I'm proud to have served with you. Non nobis Domine, sed nomini tuo da gloriam.”

     We have our rum ration. A toast to the victorious dead. We get a good night of sleep, for once.

Chapter 11: Escape

     The Wehrmacht's hot on our heels. We're half a step ahead. Need to find some place to hide. Mud brick houses aren't good enough. All we have is a Schmeisser and a Kar98. Scarcely forty rounds between us. This is not good. We're zigzagging through these streets. Worse yet, I'm running out of breath. We hear the Germans yells, they sound like Wagnerian knights. They're terrifying. Gotta get out of here. Those men that were on the tank... they weren't like this... were they?

     We burst through the door of some house. A woman is in here. She's screaming. Can't let her scream. I get Pyre to get a pillow, make sure she won't keep on screaming. Baby's screaming. God dammit why did it have to be kids. I hate kids.

     Then everything is quiet.

     The jackboots of the Wehrmacht eliminates the silence with earth-shattering clonks. All the weight of the world is upon us. We're dead silent. As are the people we're with. There's nothing for it.

They break down the door of the house immediately opposite us. We've still got their uniforms. I'm making a huge gamble.

     “Da drueben Komraden! Komme! Komme! Los!”

      I motion to Pyre to start booking it. We're running in some kind of direction. No germans have seen through us yet. It looks like my ruse worked. The simplest distraction is often the best.

     We keep on going. There's no real reason to run so fast. So we just keep at a light pace for now. Make it look like we're out of breath... well, we are out of breath. But it's still working.

     We start walking. We don't know where we went. I mean that both literally and figuratively. Where the hell are we?

     I tell Pyre to start looking for Kuebelwagens.

     We keep on sneaking around. I think we make pretty good Krauts. Then three German soldiers come up to us and start raising hell.

     Jennings, Navittas, and Klaus. Klaus is unconscious. They're carrying him between each other. I take Klaus's pulse. His cauterized body isn't leaking much. But his pulse is still weak. He might get through this. My responsibility. Shouldn't have let this happen. Petersen... that bastard.

     “Bloody glad to see you're still round here gents. Situation, Jennings?” I say. His eyes are bloodshot. He's tired. I'm tired too. It's getting late. No sleep last night.

     “Sir, looks like everybody in the company we liberated is either dead or recaptured. I wouldn't envy them. We need to get to Walid's place. We can either walk during the night, or try something gutsy. Considering Klaus' situation, I'd recommend trying to capture a truck. Preferably one with some gas.”

     “Roger. Let's find a road.”

     We're in back alleys right now. We get to the outskirts of the city once more. There aren't many convoys coming by, which is both good and bad. It's about 8:00 now. I'm damn exhausted. Hungry, too.

    Jennings and myself are on one side with Klaus. Navittas and Pyre are on the other. There aren't a whole lot of people around here right now. Looks like the Wehrmacht has gone someplace else for the night. The sun is setting to our rear. Jennings and I start talking.

     “Did you know anything about Petersen?”

     “No more than you. He hid it well. Every time we tried talking to him, he played himself well. The man was slick like grease. He had us fooled from the start. Bastard knew he was playing us. Bastard knew just what to do. None of us picked up on it. You didn't either.”

     “Damn right I didn't. But I bloody well should 'ave. I'm in charge. I take the heat. It's my damn job. Dammit.”

     “Sir, we're only human. If court-martials are involved, I'll stand with you. None of us knew. None of us were close enough to him. Frankly, none of us liked him. The man was a fuck-up to our eyes. We finished our objective under the direst of circumstances. We took down a crew of thousands in return for a single company of POW's, using captured (and now destroyed) equipment. I don't think command has a single complaint to make, except that we've done our job better than anybody else in this damn war. Intel especially. Bloody bastards.”

     “...Thanks Jennings. I needed that. Ninth layer.”

     “Ninth layer.”

      Over the horizon we see something coming. Black smoke. Exhaust. We get ready. Gas trucks always come in last.

      We're behind a couple of abandoned houses. Navittas and Pyre spot the convoy. They're heading the right way. So are some Wehrmacht to meet them. This is one of the side roads they're liable to take.

     Large number of Panzers coming through. Mostly panzer III's. Two Tigers. Those things are dangerous, as you well know. A few up-gunned Panzer IV's, and a few Stugs. We cannot get detected. If we are, we're dead.

     Those Tigers drive by; the ground and buildings shake. The 60 tonne monsters churn everything in their wakes. Behind them are recovery vehicles; they're towing a number of Panzers. Of curious note are a pair of Shermans and a pair of M3 Grants. One of them's a command tank. Big antennae for the radios. Three of those recovery vehicles together are towing a final knocked out Tiger. Those things must be a nightmare to maintain. Magitech can only go so far. A few half tracks go by. We duck out of the way for these ones. Can't let them see us. Last comes a pair of trucks with a large number of barrels. We wait for the first truck to go by.

     I give the instructions by hand-signals. I toss my last potato masher as far as I can (which is about two blocks down, through a number of alleyways.) Navittas lines his sights. I duck back in. One shot. Two kills. Boy's a damn good shot. The Wehrmacht's heading in the wrong direction. We dump out the bodies. We turn off the lights. We load up Klaus's body. Maybe our luck's finally turning up.

  

chapter 10: Sink the Zeppelin!

    They're 150mm artillery pieces. Some of the largest field guns the Germans ever produced in quantity. If anything can do it, it's these. That damn ship mounts the same cannons. I get MacDonald's men to capture them and put them to good use. We have to get closer to the zeppelin. Where these pieces should be towed by horse and tractor, they're being pushed by men. These men... they're magnificent bastards. We might just make it.

    Then we saw the stukas launching. A little part of me died. It's too late. Those men we ended up butchering – what did it all matter? What was it all for? Those people on the tank – those people before my very eyes slaughtered – god dammit. Can't think about that now.

    “YOU ON THE STREET! GET THE ACK ACK FROM THAT ARMOURY AND SHOOT! SHOOT OR WE'RE DEAD!”

    They don't say anything. They just do it. Quad 20mm flak. Not much. But it'll do.

    The stukas hit the men. A few of those 150's go down. We take down a pair of those Stukas though. Ten left. Just... ten...

    The zeppelin's in sight. The 150mm guns it has are intimidating. Our 88 is more important though.

    “Pyre! Incendiary ordinance! Let's cook that damn ship up!”

    Sir yes sir! Ordinance loaded!

    I get on the gun this time. Steady hands. I line the triangles of the sight with the casemate-mounted gun. It's best cook that armoury. The first shot bounces. My heart pounds.

    “REVERSE! GET US OUT!”

    The house beside us bursts into splinters of mudbrick. It's gone. I view through the scope again. Another part of my heart drops. There are a hell of a lot of those 15cm cannons on that damn ship. I make a quick count. At least half a dozen on this side. What the hell was intel thinking?! I... I just sent a full company to its death. And... there isn't a damn thing I can do about it!

    I hear the screams of men. About a dozen of them. All dead. Macdonald's hit. The tiger's fine. Because they missed this tank.

    “LOADED SIR!”

    I fire another one. This time, my aim is true. I managed to hit one of the casemates. We should have stuck to the plan. Should have gone onboard. God dammit.

    The casemate cooks up. It's not enough to get rid of the ship though.

    Then another hit from a different gun. Must have been one of the 15cm cannons. It hit near the rudder. If we can't kill it, we'll cripple it.

    “LOADED!”

    I keep on planting these incendiaries in that ship. They keep on shelling us. The stukas have taken out more than half the men. Surprised they haven't hit us yet.

    That's when they hit us. We feel the 30mm shots hit the top of the hull. The engine's on fire. I make Pyre see what he can do. One solitary fire extinguisher for the entire tank.

    I fire the final shot and order the men to evacuate the tank. It's been good to us. But we can't stay here.

    I yell at the men manning the flak to shoot down those damned stukas. But they're dead.

    A horrid realization comes into my mind. Everybody in that entire company is dead or dying.

    There's only one artillery piece left. The tiger's useless. There's only one thing left to do.

    “Lads.... We aren't getting out of here.We have two choices: Sink the zeppelin, or surrender.

Victory or death, men. We destroy that damned ship, or we die trying. We probably will anyway. But we'll go down swinging. You men go. All I need is one volunteer.”

    “I'll do it, sir.”

    -- It's Pyre.

    “Get to Walid's place. If we aren't there within two hours of you, we're dead.”

    “Alright. Load it.” This thing has huge recoil. This time we hit the bridge.

    The ship's burning in the water. Those stukas are out of ammo. They've stopped shooting us.

    We keep firing. Three more shots before some people start coming at us. Wehrmacht.

    We run.

    As we run, we see the zeppelin. It's been battered, damaged beyond repair. The sacrifices of these men... they might not be in vain. The rudder's gone. It's dead in the water. Its guns damaged, fighter bays inoperable. We might just have done something heroic.

    But then something in my gut drops. I see something coming through the harbour.

    Two more aircraft carriers.

    They're flying Italian colours.

    I think we may have just lost the war.

  

Chapter 9: Fortuna Fortes Adiuvat.

    Adrenaline's pumping through my veins. The Germans have been distracted pretty well. Our disguises are working. We're walking through the streets. Can't get through the checkpoints. They aren't looking for us... but we can't stay in these clothes though. Need to change into some civvies.

     “Sir.” it's Klaus. He's bleeding. Not sure how bad it is. Need something hard. Whisky.

     “I told them nothing. I think he was more interested in making me feel it than anything else.”

     “I couldn't ask anything more from you than that. There'll be a medal for you when we make it out.” I tell him. Not much, but it's something.

     “One more thing. That ship is going to be on high alert. We're running out of time.”

     “Right. We still have a job to do. Gents, plan's still on. Petersen's probably told them everything, but that doesn't mean we can't throw a few monkey wrenches into the mix.”

     We were still speaking when we turned a corner. Immediately we doubled back. A tiger tank was less than thirty meters from us.

     I peak around the corner.

     It isn't running.

    The Tiger's turret doesn't turn fast. The 88mm shells are heavy. The sights are extremely accurate. Jennings is driving. Klaus is taking it easy on the hull's machine gun. Pyre is in the gunning seat. Navittas is loading. I'm commanding.

     Jennings doesn't know the tank. He's having a hard time. We plow right through a mud-brick house. I'm sure they're pleased.

     “Orders sir?!” Jennings asks.

     “Get us to the harbour!”

      I open the cupola. There's smoke coming from the harbour. Lots of gunfire too. Our troops are going straight for the Zeppelin and they don't even know it -- this is perfect!

     “Sir, we might have a problem up ahead.”

     Checkpoint. A number of machine guns. A small guard house beneath an overpass.

     “Gents! Prepare to argue with them!”

     Navittas loads an HE shell.

     “Loaded!”

      I look through the view ports. I give the order. The tank stops.

     “ARGUE!”

     The HE shell blows the guardhouse to pieces. Klaus unloads the machinegun on the overpass.

It's over in thirty seconds flat. After all is said and done, all we hear are their screams. We lay another shell into the overpass as we keep on going. We hear the bang. But then we hear a crash. The entire overpass smashed to the ground. I think Navittas shed a tear. We don't have time for that now though.

    The Harbour is a mess. We're behind the Jerries. They're across from our boys. Our boys are losing. There are a few other tanks. A panzer IV, a Stug III, and a few half tracks. I figure our boys could use a little help right about now.

     Pyre plants a shell in the Panzer IV. Klaus starts gunning the Jerries down by the score. The StuG III turns to face us. I order Jennings to angle the tank to the shot, and the crew to brace. They hit us. I hear the shell hit. A great metallic clang. Pyre loaded another shot. The Stug fired again. Still not through the armour. Can't let them hit us again. “FIRE!”

     Looks like we hit the ammunition storage. It cooked right up. Klaus has run out of ammo on his current belt though. We'll have to do the rest by the coaxial gun – no way he can reload, not with those wounds. We keep on gunning the ones we can down. Only problem is, they're close. Too close.       They're on top of the tank when something happens. A shower of body parts and bullets hits the tank. I see what happens. I look out the scope. Something clicks inside me. Not sure what. It isn't good though. It's nothing I can worry about now. Gotta do this.

     A man starts pounding on the cupola. I open it up, with my luger out.

     “Judging by the fact that you shot your own men, you're either on our side, or a traitor. So, which is it?” this boy says.

      “Your side. Sergeant Arnold Maddock. XIII corps. Commando. The Graf Zeppelin is what we're after.”

     “Right. Sergeant Stephen MacDonald. You saved our sorry asses. What can we do?”

     “Anything you can do to keep the Zeppelin here.”

     “Roger. We'll see what we can scrounge.”

     We keep on going toward the harbour. It's a bit of a fool's errand at this point. But we need that ship destroyed. And fast. I start hearing German radio signals. Sounds like they're about to launch some Stukas.

     We keep an eye out for anything of use. The tanks we destroyed were out of commission. Plenty of machine guns though. Those men we liberated could surely hold out for a while... provided we could get them a few anti-tank guns. Those would solve our problems, too.

     I get over to Klaus. He's lost a lot of blood. He's out cold.

     “Jennings, stop the tank. Gotta get Klaus out of here.”

     “Sir, that seems highly dangerous.”

     “Risky but necessary. He must know something about the zeppelin we can use.”

     “...roger.” Jennings said, quietly.

      We pull Klaus from the tank. I call over a medic to tend to him, but he doesn't have much to work with. Pyre cauterizes a few of his wounds, everything the medic couldn't do. Nothing more we can do for him. Man's a credit to the army.

      Those people that were shot off the tank... they weren't much different from us. Language, perhaps. Culture, maybe. But we would have done the exact same thing in their situation. All ended up shot. All of them.

     We started combing the area. The Tank's got about a half-full tank. Gas, not diesel. Those shots that hit us made some pretty intimidating dents. If one of those had penetrated... well, I don't think we'd have gotten out without a little cooking.

     Mud brick house after mud brick house. Very bland city. Still, the ocean air is nice. It might be a bit obscured by the engine smell in the tank, but outside, it reminds me of home. Except for how the sand is. It's... different here. A different grain.

     Jennings Keeps the tank running forward. The mud brick houses abruptly end. I order him to hang a left around, to get a better look at this sheet-metal building. This one's big. A warehouse. And we know why it's big. It's an armoury. There are around twenty men in there; Pyre starts picking them off with the machinegun. The rest of them run. And then we spot just what we need.

Chapter 8: Liberations and Libations.

    I should have seen it coming. Petersen played us well. Played me well. We have the plant, this is bad. Gun still to my head.

     “Surrender, sergeant.” Petersen says. God damn traitor. I’ll get you for this. No matter what, somewhere, some day, I’ll get you for this. Knife to the throat. Cut him good. Make him feel it first though. Thinking… knife through his wrists. Split them down the middle. Let him bleed out from the wound. It’s what he deserves. The ninth level of hell is too good for him.

     I grind my teeth. “Petersen, what'd it take to grease your palms? Or were you just born a Nazi?”

     “A bit of both, if you must know.”

     Can’t get out of this mess. Not right now. Too many of them. Don’t have my guns. Have my knife. Never leave a knife behind. And not where he thinks it is, either.

     “…alright. Men, surrender.” I hand Petersen my P-38.

     The German troops surround us. This mission just got a whole lot more complicated. They march us into their trucks. Bind us in manacles. Behind our backs.

     They aren’t stupid.

     But we’re smarter.

     The German captain, Friedrich Johannes, is in charge of our interrogation. We have a bit of time before he starts though. I overhear a couple of guards saying something about a dinner party with Rommel. Probably means it’ll be easier to get out of here. Senior officers make troops stand at attention, if only a little.

The complex is made out of a variety of materials. Some of it’s sandstone, some of it’s concrete. It was probably some old fort, fought over hundreds of times. These Germans are the newest owners. The Germans strip searched us. They took my sock knife. A Skean Dhu. Not very comfortable. But it was my great grandfather’s. Would have been damned useful. “Ye shan’t separate a Scot from his sword” my grandpa used to say. Pyre and I have a cell to ourselves, Navittas and Jennings somewhere else. Klaus was brought directly to the interrogator, or so I surmise.

     “Sir, they made a mistake” Pyre whispers. “They must not have known that I’m a flame knight.”

     Even I had forgotten about that.

      “Okay Pyre, you know your abilities better than I, what’s the plan?”

     “Simplest ideas are often the best ones. Just wait for my signal -- you‘ll know it when you see it… have to escape now sir. We either escape today or we‘re held for a long, long time.”

     A few hours passed. Klaus was being interrogated. Can still hear his screams. He’s close. He’s not talking. He’s screaming. Only screaming. Guess that’s what traitors get. Amate proditionis sed proditorem odite. This is a bitter pill to swallow. Still… he might be our best chance.

     Some jackboots clonk down the cell block’s hall. They must be bringing Klaus back. Pyre, whatever you’re planning, you have to do it fast.

     They went to the room next to ours. I hear Klaus’s voice in the scuffle. Gotta do something. He knows too much. Can’t do anything. Not yet.

     “Follow my lead.” Pyre whispers to me.

     Pyre starts a fire. Beds. We yell for the guards’ help.

     “Hands against vall.” pidgin English. Great.

     It’s too easy. They come right in. We’re no use to them dead, I suppose. I get on the wall. There are two of them. They have manacles. When One takes Pyre’s hand, I see a small flash of light. The other one’s distracted by the scream. I kick his knee. Break it. Trip him. Pyre’s burned this other guy’s hands good. He’ll never pull another trigger. He’s still screaming. Pyre breaks his nose while he’s on the ground, screaming stops. I could swear I saw him smiling while he did it. Just who is this lad? I wonder what the Magitech academy taught him…

     We take their keys. The other guards no doubt heard the screams. Take their guns. Magazines too. Lugers. Fantastic.

     We Get Klaus and the rest of the squad out of their cells. Tell them not to look at what we did. Bad way to go. Have to act fast. Alarm’s on.

     We’re running. Lots of empty cells. Good cover. We find a few compatriots. No idea who these guys are. But better to let them escape too. A few of them die. But none of us do. We’re lucky.

    Armoury’s heavily defended. Worse, they have grenades. Potato mashers. One of them nearly gets us. Kick it back in. good thing it’s a T-junction. Small crater formed. Love the sandstone.

     Give Navittas my gun. Give him a wink. Armoury grate’s making it awkward to throw those things. There are about five of them in there. One of them’s arming a machinegun. I see Navittas using his magic. One of them is about to throw a masher when he fires. Man looks like he’s in an electric chair, only standing. Explosion is perfect. Kills them all.

     Get their Schmeissers. The other boy’s we’ve liberated are itching for pay-back. Give ‘em all we can. Tell them to Make lots of noise. We have a whale to hunt. I keep Klaus close to me. This armoury has most of our stuff, too. Even the Frogsuits.

     The fighting’s brutal. Use grenades to tunnel through the sandstone. We’re losing men. We just need to get out though. We find some stairs. Perfect. We toss a satchel charge down. Explosion shakes the foundation. A bit insane. But it works. We’re on the ground floor. Motorcade’s not too far off. Let the boys make that distraction. Too obvious for us. We get ourselves a few more uniforms first. Raid a barracks. No navy uniforms, but this deception is good enough. We’re out. Gene Kruppa eases on the drums.

Chapter 7: Lies

     There are a few checkpoints from here to the aircraft carrier. I can do a pretty good German accent. Still, this is going to be difficult. The Kübelwagen’s a good touch though. Comfy, at that. I’m riding shotgun. Jennings is driving. Petersen’s in the middle, Pyre and Navittas are crammed in with him. They’re not particularly happy about that, I think.

     The first checkpoint is about a kilometer out of town. (You’ll forgive me if I translate for this chap now)

“Guten tag Unterfeldwebel.” -- Good day, sergeant. “Ausweispapieren, bitte.” -- identity papers, please.

     I hand him my papers, as do the rest of the boys. Make or break for us. Gene Krupa’s on his drums again. He goes into his office, then comes back out. The sun’s cooking us. Hopefully that masks the real sweat.

     “Wo waren Sie?” -- where were you guys? He asks.

     “Wir waren von unser einheit abgetrennt. RAF. Wir müssen mit deine befehlshabender Offizier sprechen. Wir haben wichtige Information.” -- so here’s our cover story: We were separated from our unit, thanks to the RAF. We need to speak to their commanding officer, because we have important information.

    “Okay. Gehen Sie in, erste Recht, dann beachtet die Schilder.” -- First right, then follow the signs.

    “Danke.”

    Seems everything’s going well. Good thing nobody blew our cover. We’ll take that first right all right. Then we’ll do our own thing.

    We have to make a pit-stop for the boys. We stop at a café. Good coffee. Just what we need. Keeps us on our toes. Especially since we hadn’t enough sleep last night. We gotta pass the time anyway. Can’t very well do the mission until we make contact anyway. Petersen’s got the shits. A couple Kriegsmarine officers come in while we’re waiting. The signal’s simple. Cross the knife and fork. See if one of these guys is the plant.

    “Hans?” A man behind me says. His shirt’s black. Has a blue collar, white stripes.

    “Ja, Klaus, das bin ich!” -- We’ll play our parts. I stand up and give him a good handshake.

    We chat it up for a while in German. When the morning rush ends, we switch to English. Quietly.

    “Good eggs, eh chaps?” he says.

    “Indeed. Klaus, what‘s going on?” I say.

    “Well, they’re putting out faster than scheduled, it looks like. They worked throughout the night. The commander’s not dumb enough to stay for long. Too easy for us to sneak in.” He took a sip of his coffee.

    “Okay then. I don’t think we’ll be getting through that way then… all the same, I think we can still pull this off.” I took a sip.

    “You have frog suits, yes?”

    “In the trunk. Along with the rest.”

    “One problem: I doubt you have enough explosives to crack the tanks from the outside.”

    “What do you suggest?”

    “Well, here’s the thing. I have a few Kriegsmarine uniforms I can get you. But probably not enough for all of you. That might look too suspicious. From there, we can plant a number of them on the fuel tanks, and the engines.”

    “Bigger is better. Remember that. We should also try to plant some in the magazines.”

    “You’re right. But we’ll need a distraction.”

    “I think Navittas can handle that.”

    “Roger” Navittas pipes up. “What’s the signal?”

    “Pyre will send something burning over the side. It’ll attract attention, but yours will do much more.” I say.

    “Righto. I’ll take a pair of satchels. One on each side should create enough confusion, and it’ll attract them far enough away to get them off your asses.” Navittas finished his tea.

    “Sounds like a plan. Those shaped charges will do damage, just not sure if enough. It‘s a big ship. Pyre and Petersen, You’ll get the Magazine. Jennings and I will get the engines. Klaus, You going to be able to get out okay? Or do you want to come with us? -- I doubt you’ll be of much use on a ship that’s been destroyed.”

    “When I can, I’ll join you. Barely five seats in a Kübelwagen. I might be able to procure something on site though. Jerry does like his motorcycles. I‘ll retrieve Navittas when it‘s necessary. The crew has the night off. It shouldn‘t be too heavily guarded, except for those on the welding crew.”

    “Alright gents. Schmeissers for everybody. Navittas, don’t get any guns wet. Cartridges won’t fire. Find somewhere to keep them dry. We’ll scope out the place today.”

    The Graf Zeppelin is anchored in the natural harbour of Tobruk. Plenty of patrols here and about. Our disguises work. Nobody’s the wiser. Good thing the boys know when to keep their mouths shut. Petersen has a grim look on his face. We find ourselves a pair of benches. The sun sears our skin slightly as it starts to slowly set. Then something happens. I hear the sound of trucks, and people disembarking from them. I feel a gun to my head.

     I look to my left.

     It’s Petersen’s gun.

Chapter 6: Alea Iacta Est.

    My team is on the plane. We're parachuting in about 20 clicks south of Tobruk. We've got uniforms. A Kübelwagen, even. Command thought this one out well. Things never go according to plan, though. Fortunately, there isn't some airstrike that's coming in. No real time limit. Other than the fact that we need to have the job done in 48 hours or less. We have a plant on-board the carrier. He let us know the time frame. It's a probable ETC of resupply, plus or minus 8 hours. She's putting on mostly food supplies and fuel, with some repairs of the fuel tanks probably taking the longest.

     There are two planes. One went ahead with the equipment drop. Night drop. One man and a glider with the kuebelwagen. He's not going on the mission with us; he's there to make sure of what happens. A small mountainous outcrop. He fits the part. Abdul Walid, an Egyptian. Wears a turban. A stereotype, perhaps. But a useful deception, definitely. Hopefully he'll be able to blend in. Just hope he makes it out.

    The team is ready. Even Petersen has that look on his face. It won't be long now. The luftwaffe hasn't spotted us yet, nor have their ground forces, or so it seems. We're flying high though. This is only my second drop. First one out of training. The hum of the engines, the rattling of the plane, it all comes back. The claustrophobia. I'm short of breath. A little. Something in me is sinking. I don't think I like flying. Too late now though.

     The man at the front of the plane is yelling over the engines.

     “FIFTEEN SECONDS!”

    My heart is beating like Gene Krupa. American swing music at a time like this. I look out the window, and see some skylights. An ocean of sand. Oh boy, what am I getting myself into. This is bad. Very bad.

     “TEN SECONDS!”

     It shouldn't be rattling this much should it? Those engines look like they could go any minute, the way they're rattling. Rattle rattle rattle. All they do. They fly? I'm amazed. Gotta get out. Oh wait, that's the idea. Get out of an airplane while going around 500 km/h. This is an amazing idea. Greatest idea ever. Whose idea was this?

    “FIVE SECONDS!”

     I sigh. There's no way out but out. I can barely breathe. My lungs close for a moment.

     I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's Jennings. He has a cigar in his hand.

     “For when we make it down there.”

     All that nervousness is still there. But I bite my lip. I squeeze my thumb in my fist. I clench my jaw.

     GO GO GO!

     We're out. I'm out first. This is by far the most frightening and exhilirating thing in my life. Dead of night, we're still going. It's hard to make out those landmarks. But those lights that jerry has, plus that blue one on the ground are enough. Wind's everywhere. Our parachutes are painted black. So are our uniforms. This is the best command can do for camouflage. Once I'm in the air for a few seconds, it isn't so bad. My heart still beats, but... it's not nervousness anymore. I feel alive. Alive and hurtling towards earth like a meteor.

    The team's out.

    When we land, we cut our chutes off with our knives. Gather them, leave them with Walid. He has brown eyes. Black, short beard. Moustache, and a very good one at that. A walrus.

    “My friend,” he says. “I will be here for to-day and the 'morrow. If you survive, you are to meet me here. From here, we go to the south, and attempt to get out of the country. From there, it's up to us how we meet back up with command.”

     He never stopped smiling. I thought this curious. He even had an ornate tea-cup. Maybe he was a man who really appreciated a good cup? Well, no problem with that I suppose. We should all appreciate the finer things in life.

Chapter 5: Unity.

      The next day was our last day at the medical camp. Then we were to parachute in just outside of Tobruk. I give the squad our briefing in full. I leave out the stuff they do not need to know. I doubt it would have gone over well. As it is, they aren't enthusiastic about this suicide mission. Getting in will be a hell of a lot easier than getting out though. The boys are scared. I know it from their faces. I tell them they are right to be scared. He who goes into battle unafraid is a fool. He who goes into battle afraid knows his limitations. I'd prefer they know their limitations. They won't do anything stupid that way. We might just make it.

     Petersen's jittery. “Here, take this.” – I give him some rum. He coughs a lot as he tosses it down. He has a guilty look on his face. It looks like he's finally started shaving. Brown eyes, black hair. Skinny. His cheeks are how I know he's guilty. His bony face keeps on moving.

    “Sir, about those men... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shot them. I... I didn't know what was happening. It was...”

    “Don't worry about it. But don't let it happen again. I give the orders. We can't have a fuckup like that on this mission. If any one of us fucks up, it might mean all our lives. On the bright side, if we pull this off, medals for all of us.”

    His face perks up a little, but he still looks a bit guilty. Poor lad has it rough. Gunning down surrendered soldiers isn't something I'd like to be responsible for.

     Pyre is flipping a coin as I'm walking in. I ask him how he is.

     “Just dandy. I've been counting. I've lost 75 of the past 90 flips.”

     “You make your own luck. Nothing to worry about.” I say, consolingly.

     “Sir, with all due respect, if I've been making my luck, I've done a fantastically shitty job of it. I go to war, it's in the wrong place. I go out of a building, my commander gets killed. We retreat from a raid, we get hit.”

     “Listen. Cut the pessimist bullshit. That isn't the attitude that wins. And We're winning this one. No matter what. We might be the luckless five. But by the power of our hands, we will cheat luck. There will be no fuck ups. For we won't allow it. We fail, we die. We fail, our side falls. So we will not fail. I'm not in a dying mood. There is only one way this will end, with us laughing our asses off at a certain aircraft carrier in flames. That's all it will be, and that's all we're allowed to do, Fortuna be damned.”
     “Sir yes sir. Fuck luck. No Fortunes.”

    “Pyre... I know things are bad. But if we don't do this, they'll be worse. It's all we can do. Try. It is better to try and fail than to do nothing and let them win. At least this way, we learn from our mistakes, and prove we have learned from past ones. So get ready to learn. And get ready to set Jerry on fire.”

    “My magic's been itching for some payback... that'll be good enough for me.” With that he took his coin and melted it with his hands. It looked like water drops on a hot pan before he had it land on the floor.

Navittas is carving a piece of wood. I sit down next to him.

    “Whittling, sir. Eases my stresses. There certainly are a lot of them.”

    “What are you making, then?”

    “I intend to make a pipe. It gives a certain... air of class. And a certain amount of satisfaction – it's good to know that you've created something. Especially since we are soldiers. I do not enjoy the fact that we destroy far more than we create. I suppose that's why I'm an engineer then.”

    “I'm certain you'll create a great many things. A real Pontifex Maximus.”

    “Bridges are actually my specialty. I feel like they're important. When I see them realized, well, that is as good satisfaction as one can ever expect.”

    “Right. Well, be sure to get back home then. I know you'd do me proud.”

    “Jerry won't have me, sir. My hand's feeling much better now.”

    “Good man.”

     I slip him a token of command's esteem, and head off.

     Jennings is sharpening his knife when I start talking to him. He's smoking like a chimney. He turns to me, then goes back to his knife sharpening. It's making a grinding, rusting racket. Hasn't oiled the block.

    “I know you're nervous. I know you got the worst out of us all in that attack. I know your face hasn't fully healed. I just want to know. Do you want out of this mission?” I say. His face is looking better, now just a rather large stitched-scar across it. Fine for combat. But otherwise...

    He chipped the knife on the block and started speaking to me.

    “Arnold, I wouldn't have anything to go back to if I did. My family is dead. I just received this in the mail.” he points to a paper. “House got bombed. Wife and son were both in it.”

    An awkward silence crept in.

    “Don't say you're sorry.” he says.

    “Okay. I won't say I'm sorry – But I will say this: you're the best man out of this team we've got. You're the best marksman I've ever seen. You nailed three of those Germans in two seconds on that mission. You're the man we need. You're the man for this job just as much as the rest of us are. There is no man on this mission I trust more. And for that, I've got something for you.”

    I pull out this thing from my pocket. It's a sergeant's badge.

    “Effective immediately. I'm still in command of this unit. Navittas is promoted to corporal. I've been promoted to colour sergeant. I know that nothing can bring your wife and son back. But perhaps you can take some solace in what we've done and what we're about to do. Perhaps that can ease the pain, even if only somewhat. Just be ready for what comes next. That is all.”

    “That isn't much.” He paused for a moment. “But I suppose it's this, or nothing at all. I'll see you tomorrow. I'll be ready. If we get through this, drinks on me.”

    “I'm sure we'll need them.”

    “Arnold... One last thing.” He paused once more. “Thanks.”

     We shook hands. I headed to Laura's tent. One last thing I need to do.

     We light some smokes. Laura isn't happy. I can tell that. I tell her only that if it were not us, then who would? – This isn't good enough. It isn't good enough for me, and it isn't good enough for her. But as much as I would love to stay with her for as long as I could, I would be a coward to myself if I didn't. And I might end up in a court martial hearing. Worse, they'd be right. I would be a coward.

   I will not be a coward. And I will not die one either.

   It's time.

   Do or die.