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.

Chapter 4: Lili Marleen

Vor der Kaserne,

Vor dem großen Tor,
Stand eine Laterne,
Und steht sie noch davor,
So woll'n wir uns wieder seh'n,
Bei der Laterne wollen wir steh'n,
Wie einst, Lili Marleen...

     Jennings was tuning to radio Belgrade, just for that song, it seemed. A brief chance at escapism, something longed for, something now unobtainable. For some perhaps. I have my goals. Still... say what you will about the Germans... they do have good taste. It was about 10 O'clock. It had been a while since my initial stay – the Germans hadn't let up. They were close. That aircraft carrier was ruining our days. Our nights, too. Maybe not all our nights. Laura smokes. It calms her nerves. I do too, I think. I never touch 'em though. Tomorrow I'm back in the fight. I might just start. Best to make the most of the time we have now. Make it last for as long as we can. You never know which way the world will turn.

     The brass wanted to keep the unit together. Petersen has been off and about lately. Keeps on muttering that they're coming. I think he's terrified. He's right to be. That job we did was important though. If we hadn't, they'd be here right now. Auchinleck's waiting. Not nearly as competent a commander as Monty. But he's the best we have right now. Those bloody yanks. Still sitting on the sidelines. They aren't even moving against the Japs. That old saying, evil only truly triumphs when good men do nothing. Do nothing yanks. I've got my own problems.

     The job we're to do is simple enough, Auchinleck's got his plan. But it wasn't Auchinleck. Apparently he learned from Monty's charred corpse. Fight from 250 km away. That's the commander's way. The guy he's sent is a major, Duncan Albert. Scot. Fresh out of military school. To be expected. So, what is Auchinleck's plan? – sink the Zeppelin. How we do it is carefully. Frog suits. Plastic explosives. Magic. It's a temporary measure. The Germans will no doubt raise the ship. War situation is not good though, so this is a necessary step. The British fleet in India has been knocked out of commission, courtesy of the Japs. Gibraltar is contested. The U-boat industry and the German Kriegsmarine have been pumping out ships at an astonishing rate. Magi-tech factories are spewing these things out, at least one capital ship or U-boat being launched per day by the briefing's estimates. Stalin's reeling from his attacks. Stalingrad is going badly for them. So, our job is to destroy that aircraft carrier to regain some semblance of control over the Mediterannean. Without that ship, we might have a chance in taking North Africa back.

     Laura's waiting for me after I get out of the briefing. She's frowning.

     “Don't go.” she says. I wasn't expecting that. “I know something terrible will happen if you do. Something's going to go horribly wrong if you do. I don't know what it is, but it will happen to you, your men, and all of us.”

     “My hands are tied. I can't say no to this mission.” I try to console her. “If I don't go, they'll send somebody else. The rest of the unit will go with him. I know my boys better. I know how to get us out of a tight spot. Besides that, even if I don't go, we'll still have that problem. If I don't go, you might die instead. I can't bear that. I know our time here has been short. I know this mission is practically suicide. But somebody has to do this mission. Better me than somebody with kids.” Tears started flowing from her eyes.

     “I saw my father die during the blitz. He went back in to save my ten year old brother. The bomb hit the room. The roof collapsed, and I nearly died that day too. You tell me his suicide was justified. Don't go. Please don't go.” she keeps on begging.

     “Listen... I'm not doing this for me... I'm doing this for you. Jerry doesn't care about firing on hospitals or anything like that. It's harder in the air. I can't... I won't let them or anybody else hurt you. And I'll come back. One way or another, I'll come back...”

     She can't dissuade me. She keeps crying for the rest of the night. I hold her tight. In the end, I give her only these words: “Fortuna Fortes Adiuvat.” – Fortune favours the bold. And by god, I feel lucky.

Chapter 3: wounds.

     When I woke up, we weren't in the medical camp anymore. I was sitting down in a half-track. Everything was... wavy. Dark. A lot of yelling again. Why wasn't I in an ambulance? None left? I looked out the back. A long line of vehicles stretching back for miles. Somebody was beside me. I recognized him. It was Jennings. Brown hair, not too long, glasses. Part of his face was torn off. I could see his teeth through his cheek. “It was a close shot.” he said, half-slurping as he did. “Monty's dead.” his head kind of ticked. Something in my stomach dropped when I heard that. I'd just lost one of the best generals I've served under. Always with the boys. Not like one of those bastards from the first world war up high. My dad died because of one of those. The Somme. My uncle went with him. Told the story. He got wounded, too. Right with him and twenty of his friends. 'Pals battalions' they called them. Stormed a machine gun nest. Said only he and one other guy came back from all that. Uncle lost an arm and a leg. The other guy carried him. That man was Bernard Montgomery.

     I ask Jennings what happened to the rest of the squad. Says some have been hit. Pyre went out the back for a smoke when the attack hit. That smoke saved his life. He's on the gun now. Temporary assignment. Petersen was just behind me when the attack hit – he went to man one of the bofors 40mm guns. Unlucky bastard came out with a hit to the shoulder. He's across from Jennings and myself, lying down. Navittas was with Jennings when it went down. They were on their way to the mess hall when the Stukas hit it. A few minutes later and they might have been dead. They did what I did, in the end. But their bunker didn't get hit. Navittas is the one driving the half-track. Jennings thought it better not to split us up. Good man. “Shame Petersen couldn't join us for this little heart to heart.” I say. Nope, couldn't keep a straight face. “'ow did you get that beauty treatment?”

     “Shrapnel did this.” Jennings says, pointing to his butchered face. “One of those 30 mils hit right near us while we were running to the bunker. Right now, we're on our way to the back o' the line. They'll get us patched up. Field hospital is better than nothing.”

     “Sir! Spotted something!” I hear from the gunner. I look up to the platform. Pyre is on the gun. “Looks like an 'eavy weapons team, setting up. 'ard to be sure though.” I tell him to do what he's trained been for. He unloads the belt on his M2 browning. Puts his hands over them, focuses his mind on the bullets. A few seconds later, they're glowing. “Spotting shots first. Know where they are.” I command him. “We the only ones with a machine gun?” I ask rhetorically as I look over the half track . Some private's using the radio. I tell him to have the column concentrate their guns in the direction of Pyre's shots.

     “Anti-tank rifle team. Pair of them.” Pyre reports.

     I give him the go ahead. Moments later, I hear the shots of about five machine guns. Deafening roar. Petersen's awake. Can tell by his screams. Nurse tells him to calm down, take it easy. We'll be at the hospital soon.

     When we get to the hospital, the medics finally put a bandage on Jennings' face. Wonder what they gave him for the pain. Did they give him anything for the pain? Man's got more stones than anybody I've known if they didn't.

     Navittas helped me in. Visiting hours were almost over. But I had to know a few things first.

     “How bad is the damage, Navittas?” I ask.

      “Damage was significant. Got half the Armour. Got lots of the defensive positions. Worse, they have an aircraft carrier. Graf Zeppelin.” He looks at his bandaged hand. I look at his eyes. Blonde hair, brown eyed. Almost Aryan. He's a bit sunburned. Not surprisingly. “My magic won't be working its wonders now. At least, not from this hand. Academy always said don't fuck up your hands. Cornerstone to any application of magic to technology. Feel... useless, sir.”

     “Don't sweat it. You're more useful than me today. You'll be fine in a little while. It takes a real man to do the job while injured. You drove us here. That says something. Even without the magic.” I give him a pat on the back, and he goes to another section of the medical camp.

     My nurse's name is Laura. Nice redhead. Long, nice legs. Blue eyes. Rare that I've seen a redhead with blue eyes. Freckles, but not too many. Definitely a nice nurse to have. Started putting boric acid ointment on my legs. Disinfectant. Hard to “ignore,” to say the least. She keeps looking me in the eyes. I can't tell if it's pity or if it's love. Those hands are soft. Delicate. Every time she looks into my eyes I can tell there's something there. That is, every time I look into her eyes. So at one point, I ask her the question. When I'm better... say, a week or two... she says yes before I'm even finished. I'd like to say I know her. But I don't. All in good time though. All in good time.

chapter 2: Cacti

    We got back to base about twenty minutes before dawn. Marshall Montgomery was waiting for us in the regimental headquarters. It was once a small hotel on the outskirts of El Alamein. It looked like a fairly nice place. The cacti were in bloom, birds had just begun to sing. Monty asked us if we wanted a drink. I asked for a whiskey, as did Jennings. Pyre is a teetotaler. Screws up with his magic focus. Poor lad, just water. Navittas only drinks sparingly. But rum's his drink. Petersen got a schnapps. Who the hell orders a schnapps in the British army? I gave him a frown, but that's the least of my worries.

     Monty's got questions. How many tanks, secondary targets, prisoners. I answer him with at least five tigers hit by the RAF, and about two or three tank companies, mainly stugs and panzer III's and IV's. Fuel stores were hit, as you well know. I tell him unabashedly about Petersen's fuckup. He looked at Petersen, and frowns, then started speaking. “As you well know here son, we are the front line. The enemy is often too close to us. Every now and then, they have patrols about. We need to snag these patrols. Find out what jerry is up to. Find out what Rommel's thinking. If we know what he is thinking, well then we will know what his mistakes are. I didn't see what you saw. Nobody can say that they did. Just be aware that there are larger things at foot. That way, all the bad times will be over. And stay over. Understand, lad?”

Petersen nodded. He had the look on his face like some dog with its tail between its legs.

    When we got out of the debriefing room I started hearing some sirens. Then the ground shook. I looked outside and saw a gout of flame coming out of a crusader tank that had been hit. The stukas were tearing the camp apart. I ran to the nearest bunker. The dawn son was in my face, so it was hard to see. The stukas were coming for another pass. The bofors weren't doing much to them. What the hell was taking the RAF so long?

    I finally made it to the bunker. The Stukas had stopped shooting. Probably going round for another pass. A brief respite, at least. I went prone under a table near the door. Most of my body fit. The dawn sun made things... somewhat clearer through the dust and smoke. The regimental headquarters took a heavy hit. I tried getting up, but before I could a 30mm round exploded overhead. Part of the ceiling fell on my legs. They were not broken. But that didn't help me much. There was nothing I could do. Nothing I could do. Nothing I could do...

    The medic had a flashlight in my eye. That's what woke me up. He told me to stay calm. I tell him they aren't broken. He yells at a few of the boys, and they all get ready to heave these pieces of concrete off of my legs. I ask him how long I was out. He says about thirty minutes. Probably shock. My back hurts. He tells me that's the least of our worries. Jerry's hit the RAF, he says. He gives me a bit of morphine, and the boys just give it a good heave. I started screaming a little, but the morphine took hold, and well... it just didn't seem to matter anymore.

    In the stupor between the bunker and the triage tents, there was a lot of shouting. People kept on saying Monty. Something about Monty. My abdominal muscles contracted and the medics rushed into the tents, and laid me down next to a burn victim.

    It was night when I came to. My legs were burning. I don't mean that figuratively. They were burned. I hadn't been hit by incendiaries... had I? I crunched up on my abdominals, gritting my teeth as I did. I took off the sheets and looked at my legs. They were indeed burned. “Cauterized.” Pyre tells me, a cigar firmly clenched in his jaw, soot rimming his face and dusty, black hair. “I saw you were losing too much blood. Had to do it fast. It's gonna be rough. Especially if we have to move. Which is bloody likely. Those bastards hit Monty.” He pointed to the man beside me. This small husk of a man. His face was blackened, singed. His moustache burnt off, along with the rest of his hair. He might be screaming if not for the morphine. Speaking of morphine...

    “I'll give you a shot. You'll need it.”

    I tell him to wait a moment. I remembered something. “What's the business of those Japs in your homeland?” He smiles at me grimly. “fleet's a write-off. Americans aren't pleased. They might well be drawn into the war.” As I lay in bed, and the needle took hold, I just looked over at the calendar. 

October 13^th, 1942. One month until my birthday. One month until I'm 36.

----

So,  very long stretch between updates. Delay was more a result of editing troubles than of writing troubles. will be more frequent updates from now on. probably one more update this week, then back to the schedule. German part indefinitely suspended. don't have editor to help with that. so maybe that will come into being at some other point.

Til then,

Carpe Diem.

Chapter 1: Trades.

       The Magitech soldiers powered our APC. It had sustained a hit to the engine earlier that day. Our flame knight, Pyre, did what he could to seal up the damage, but in the end it could not be completely fixed on the field. So our electro-technist, Navittas, did what he could to get a few last pumps out of it. There were too many shorts though. He nearly burned himself out trying to keep it going. It's a good thing we had him though. We would have been stranded nearly a day away from camp in the freezing cold desert – now we were mere hours. Damned desert. Monty and the empire really knew how to pick these campaigns. Well... we piled out of this APC and started the lonely trek back to base. We had succeeded at least. Those damned Germans never knew what hit 'em, a lovely little combination of comp B and magic – blew their fuel stores sky high. Never seen quite such a barbecue. 'Course, getting out was a hell of a lot harder than getting in, what with the increased light... but still, we made it. Thank you air corps. You did a lovely job of messing up those tigers. We might have a chance in this next battle.

       I suppose I had better tell you who I am. I'm Sergeant Arnold Maddock, British army, part of the thirteen corps. Might call me a bit of a jack of all trades in this outfit – I've done just about every job there is and more. So, that's probably what made me a good choice for leading this commando team. I might not have magi-tech like those two do, but I know plenty on how to work with them and get the job done. Alright then... Gents, on your feet. Full gear. Never know what we might run into on the way back. Jerry's been all over the lines, just as we 'ave. That said, unless you want to starve, this cushy ride's over.

      We get out of the APC, the five of us left. These aren't men, they're boys. Barely old enough to shave. At least they could still hold their Enfields, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of us. Corporal Edward Jennings is the only other man in this squad. Demolitions is his specialty. As much as I like being a jack of all trades, sometimes you want the right man for the right job. If it weren't for him, this mission we just did would have ended in disaster. He had the brilliant idea to use a bit of pitch from our APC's stores to disguise our charges. Germans didn't know what hit 'em. Then there's a boy I have no respect for. Private Derek Petersen. I hope to god that he never gets above that rank. Having him leading people into battle would be disastrous. Barely has the stomach for fighting. How he even got in on this commando unit is beyond me. Must have some friends up above. Why he isn't a lieutenant in that case is anybody's guess. Maybe he pissed those people off? Ah well. If worse comes to worse, there is something I can do about it.

     It was about a four hour march back into our base. It was not without incident. We encountered a small group of German soldiers, displaced from who knows where. About ten of them to our five. Normally, we wouldn't have bothered with them, but command had standing orders to capture any if possible on the raid. Plus we had the initiative. And an ambush position. I ordered the troops to take their positions, and take their marks. I asked around, and found out Petersen had just gone to take a leak. This could not wait. A few seconds more, and they'd be gone beyond the sand. This dune was perfect for the shots. So I ordered them to take their shots. We nailed six of them before they realized where we were shooting from. I yelled at them that if they surrendered, they wouldn't be harmed. The kraut yelled back “Wir abtreten” – we surrender. So I sent Navittas over the top. Then Petersen started shooting them with his Bren. By the time I got to him, the deed was done. There weren't any more prisoners to be had.

     When we got back to base, we heard the news on the radio. Australia was under attack by the Japanese.

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German chapter delayed. Will likely be up by next week.