Len Gilbert - The Furred Reich

“Ugh. Another one of you pointy-nosed humans.” The young wolf scoffed, “What do you want?”

Poetschke nudged the wolf with the barrel. Doing so elicited a growl.

“Tell me where you’re running from.”

“South and east.”

“From who?”

“I don’t have to tell—”

Poetschke turned the muzzle around and flames went roaring out to swallow up some nearby pine cones and green needles.

“You’ll be next if you don’t talk.” Poetschke grimaced at the young wolf, who sighed.

“I’m running from the Grimeskins.”

“Grimeskins? What about ‘Raiders?’ You seen any of them?”

The wolf stared blankly at him.

“They’re the same thing.”

“So,” Poetschke smiled, “Do you want to kill these Grimeskins?”

The wolf stared at Poetschke once again. He could probably have jumped the human if he really wanted to.

“The Grimeskins did terrible things before my eyes. So yes. I want to kill them.”

Poetschke grinned at the wolf and pointed down his flame nozzle.

“I think you’ll fit in well here…”

The young wolf tilted his head and stared blankly at the human.

“Unless. You already have a pack?” Poetschke said.

“…A pack? Didn’t know Humans had packs…”

“These ones do. Humans and wolves. It’s up to the Alpha. But I think he’ll take you in. What’s your name?”

“Kasha. used to be of the Goldgrass Tribe. What’s your tribe’s name?”

“We’re a new tribe,” Poetschke said, gesturing for the young wolf to follow him. “Of humans and fleeing wolves. Don’t have a name yet.”

“We got a raid tomorrow after dusk. Can you fight?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Well come on.”

Poetschke lead Kasha through the dark, snow-covered woods.

“So where were you headed, wolf boy?”

“I came up here looking to find a new pack, among the forest wolves. Before the Grimeskins got here,” Kasha answered.

“Hate to tell you this. But the Raiders are already here.”

Poetschke brought Kasha deeper into the woods, until they reached a snowy cavern encircled by a trench.

“Here it is,” he looked back to Kasha before shouting aloud.

“Herr Generaloberst! I found another straggler!”

The fire-starting human led Kasha to a narrow “moat” surrounding their lair. Kasha couldn’t understand why the waterless moat was there. That surely wouldn’t stop the Grimeskins. The two hopped over the man-made ditch. A small handful of other wolves were there, staring at him. Some male, some female. The flame-wielder pulled Kasha along until they found another human dressed in the similar, otherworldly attire. This one had a coat made of animal skin.

“This is our alpha. You may call him Master Sepp.”

For an alpha, ‘Master Sepp’ was awfully short, but his weathered face spoke of long, intense wars and sudden intrigue. His being looked strangely invigorated by the struggle, not weighed down by it like most would be.

“What’s his name?” The ‘master’ asked.

“Kasha. I tracked him in the woods. He’s a refugee.”

“A refugee, eh? Do you smoke?”

Kasha jumped back. “Uh-ah. N-no! I don’t do Cottonwine, with other men.”

Both Flame Wielder and Master Sepp looked confused.

“I don’t know what Cottonwine is. I’ll tell you a secret, though, Herr Poetschke and I are from another world.”

Master Sepp took a tubular twig from a packet and lit the tip ablaze.

“In our world, smoking calms the nerves. And by the way, I also only like women.”

Master Sepp seemed honest, but there could have been anything inside those twigs.

“Ah. If you don’t mind I’ll pass.”

“Alright.” Master Sepp exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“Fleeing from the monsters, I take it?”

“Yes, Master Sepp.”

The human smiled, illuminating his weathered face.

“You from a tribe?”

“Yes. The Goldgrass. I’ve been fleeing for months since the rest of my party was killed.”

“We’ll take you in. As long as you don’t shrink from war. For us, war is life, and as men, the greatest thing we can do is exude warfare. Understand?”

Kasha nodded and Sepp smiled at him.

“Besides,” he continued, “our enemy is the same as yours.”

Master Sepp was strangely likable, especially for a Human. Perhaps this ‘Sepp’ was worthy of a chance.

“Thank you for taking me in, Master Sepp.”

That night the alpha called the whole pack together. Master Sepp and Flame Wielder, whose name was hard to pronounce, were the only two humans in the pack. The other seven members were wolves. Five males and two other females, both of whom tagged right behind Master Sepp. Only the moonlight illuminated them in the crisp winter air.

“Ahem.” Master Sepp spoke up in a grunt.

“Everyone, we have a new member of this pack. His name is Kasha. He will help us tomorrow when we take back our loved ones. The loved ones that scream for our help right now.”

The others nodded to the newcomer. Their eyes carried anger and fear, probably much like his own eyes.

Later that night Kasha learned his job was the most simple one: Follow Sepp and keep harm away from him. Simple, but probably not easy. The alpha spoke of their task as if it were already etched into history. The little pack had blind confidence in this man. Such beliefs in a lowly human did seem foolish.

ZAP!

That was the only sound Jochen heard when he fired that American pistol at William Perl. But now Perl was gone, and so was everything else: The judges, the looming American flag, Everett, the Leibstandarte. He was all alone in a plain white space.

“Hallo?”

‘Our world needs you…’

A firm, feminine voice called back to him.

“My family needs me!” Peiper yelled back indignantly to whatever was responsible for this hallucination.

After another ‘ZAP’ Jochen found himself back in his own world. Perhaps the Valkyries themselves were talking to him. Whoever it was, it was fortunate he came back, especially to a location where there were no Americans in sight. He looked around to see a snow-capped mountains with pines and firs all around him. The forest’s edge sat in the distance. Behind him was a desolate, frozen river.

“Commande—” a familiar voice carried through the cold air, but Jochen saw no one.

“Commander!”

A tall, bald man flashed before him, then disappeared like a flicker on a film reel.

“Knittel?”

Yes, it was Gustav Knittel, an officer who walked with him to Bavaria, and his voice was wracked with panic. Knittel appeared again and was thrown violently to the ground by an unseen hand. His body flopped down and then was still. Jochen bound over to Knittel and looked down at the unconscious, uniformed body.

“No…”

This was his fault. Somehow. Peiper knew that he caused Knittel’s suffering here, but he didn’t know why, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Sick to his stomach, he considered getting on one knee and praying, but to what? Even in the worst moments of Kursk he never believed praying would do any good.

“………Don’t take this man’s life on account of my insolence. Take mine instead if you must.”

He’d never prayed before in his adult life. Those words just flew out.

There was no response, but a dune of snow kicked up in the distance. Was that an omen?

Knittel groaned and then put his bare hands in the snow. Jochen got back to his feet and stared down at him. Unable to to get up, Knittel reached his hand up from the snow. Jochen reached down and pulled him up. The stricken soldier stood gaudily for a moment, then reached out to shake his hand, but Peiper grabbed the 6’4” man and hugged him anyway.