Len Gilbert - The Furred Reich

Within minutes the two SS men returned with an improvised wooden stretcher and laid it on the ground. Hans carefully deposited his mate onto the stretcher. Sarah trembled in shock, but only coarse noises came from her maw.

“It’s OK, just lay back…”

“SHUT UP!” Diefanthal screamed in Hans’ face. “Prisoners remain silent!”

Diefanthal turned to his men. “Get the animal girl to #1 officer bunker. Alert Dr. Bruestle! Hepner may come with us, but get this American cowboy out of my sight!”

“No,” Hans retorted.

“Herr Wheelis is to come with me at all times. Escaping was my idea and so what you do to him you will also do to me.”

Diefanthal bit his lip at Hans’ open defiance of his orders, and clenched a fist at the boy Landser.

“…Siptrott, bring the American to the bunker as well.”

With fluidity the men ran through camp with the two prisoners and a stretcher. The group followed a guidepost bearing the name ‘Peiper,’ then shouted as they kicked open the bunker door.

“Achtung!” one of them boomed out into the dark. Three more men entered with torches and illuminated the dark space. A cot was already there and they laid Sarah down onto it.

At least a dozen men stood gathered around Hans’ mate as she lay frightened on the table. Sarah kicked her hindpaws into the bedding and tried to shriek in fright, but again only a hoarse cough escaped. Hans remembered Sarah’s story earlier about how ‘angry humans’ were wandering about. Now he knew who she was referring to.

Hans again ignored Diefanthal’s orders and took Sarah by the paw. A man with a toolbox, gloves and a big white jacket came in the room and covered his mouth when he looked at the snow leopardess for the first time.

“Oh my,” the surgeon looked over and spoke to a tall, blonde man in a camouflage overcoat. “This will be interesting.”

The surgeon looked down to Sarah.

“Where does it hurt, dear?”

Sarah looked up at him but said nothing.

“Doctor,” Hans said, “she was bit in the neck by a wolf. So far she hasn’t been able to speak.”

The camouflaged commander standing next to the doctor looked at Hans with suspicion, his eyes burning a hole in the Lander’s heart.

“How do you know her?” The commander asked.

“She’s my, uh, my, um, she’s my mate, Herr Standartenfuehrer.”

The man scoffed and peeled back his hood.

“Everyone out! Except Dr. Bruestle and the Grossdeutschland. Remove the American prisoner as well.”

“Ah, Herr Standartenfuehrer,” Hans blurted out, “if I may please keep the American prisoner in my sights. I am responsible for Herr Wheelis’ and my escape.”

“That’s fine. For now, the prisoner may stay, then.”

The others filed out of the bunker without even a word of chatter.

“I’m going to have to look at her throat,” Bruestle said. “I need to see what it is we are up against.”

This time the white-haired snow leopardess looked up and nodded to Dr. Bruestle, and the doctor proceeded to remove the blood-soiled gauze. A yelp of pain rose up from the cot. Hans tightened his hand around Sarah’s paw.

“Interesting. Under the fur she’s not too different from a human,” Bruestle said. “Herr Wheelis, could you please turn on the flashlight.”

“I’ve got it.” The Standartenfuehrer jumped to get the light before Tex could do so.

He shined the light on Sarah’s bitten throat and shook his head.

“All this time. All this time we thought this was Bavaria. Bavaria!” The Standartenfuehrer lamented.

“Why in the world are we in this place,” he mused aloud then turned to Hans, as if expecting an answer from him. Hans, however, was fixated on his mate as she struggled to breathe.

“Gefreiter. How long have you been in this world?”

“Months. This is a — uh, an interesting place, with many species of animals.”

“It looks like you’ve done your share of exploration then, Gefreiter.”

“I — yes sir, I have…”

The thin-faced commander smiled at Hans, and Hans blushed. The German army had instilled in him both admiration and mortal fear of its officers. Now one was chatting with him.

“Herr Wheelis, you are free to go or stay. You are no longer our prisoner of war, as there is no more war to be had.”

Wheelis nodded, “Yessir.”

“Is that good enough for you, Gefreiter?”

“Um, yes, Herr Standartenfuehrer.”

“Actually, could you please keep the American here?” Bruestle interjected. “I will need the help.”

Peiper handed the flashlight to Wheelis, then looked down to Hans’ mate.

“Don’t worry, Fraulein, Dr. Bruestle is a good surgeon.”

Sarah looked up in fear, but nodded her head to the Standartenfuehrer.

“Is it alright, Fraulein, if I speak with your mate outside?”

Sarah nodded again and the commander led Hans out of the bunker.

“They told me your name was Hans Hepner?”

“Yes, Herr Standartenfuehrer.”

“The name sounds familiar. Have we met before?”

Hans looked down to the ground, “No, sir, we haven’t.”

“Well, I know I’ve heard your name somewhere.”

The commander reached in a coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Hans.

“I’m Jochen Peiper,” said the commander, reaching out a hand.

Click!

“You got it?”

Master Sepp was full of good ideas, it seemed, and this contraption was yet another one of them: A tripod, with a mechanical bow attached to the head. Below the tripod were three cases, each holding a thick ballista arrow. The bow fired at the pull of a lever, and the machine loaded in a new one all by itself.

“Don’t rely too much on this,” Sepp continued. “It’s good when Raiders are attacking in big numbers, but it won’t do against the Wolftaurs, and it’s too heavy for an attack weapon. When you shoot, aim for the Raider’s chest. One hit will run the Raider clear through.”

“Yes, Master Sepp,” Kasha replied.

“Good man. You’ll do well. I’m placing you in the north with Kristiyan’s Kampfgruppe. Go down to the blacksmith’s and practice on this. After that, report to Kristiyan and prepare to move out. Heil Hitler!”

“Um, yes sir Master Sepp!”

Kasha shouted with perplexed enthusiasm. This ‘Hitler,’ who the Master and Petch-Key frequently commended, was still a mystery to Kasha. He still knew of no one in their new tribe named ‘Hitler,’ but figured he would see that warrior soon.

Kasha followed the path signs to the forging hut and new training grounds. It looked like a previously abandoned village that had been reconstructed overnight. A blacksmith had turned up in the ever-swelling ranks of fleeing wolves, and Master Sepp then ordered this village to be refaced and crowned with an armory. Boys, older males, and even some womenfolk were hard at work perfecting Master Sepp’s contraptions. Kasha approached the blacksmith in his workshop.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for a tripod and the firing range?”

“Just three paces from here. Over that way,” the burly fox pointed and then returned to his work.

Three paces behind the armory was, sure enough, a small clearing in the woods with wooden targets and marks for practice. Among other things, a tripod sat waiting for his use.

The contraption felt strange at first, but after a few shots Kasha realized that he would have no problem using it and using it well. Back in the armory, one of the foremen gave Kasha a strap of boomsticks and ordered him to carry the tripod out to Kristiyan. He left the bustling village and followed the signs north into the thick forests.

So this was where the battle would soon take place. It seemed an unforgiving place for Grimeskins. On the other hand, this was the wolves’ natural habitat, and his nose told him many things about the surroundings. After half an hour of walking, Kasha came across three young wolven girls digging a deep, narrow line through the ground. Two of them looked up and smiled.