Len Gilbert - The Furred Reich

Kasha ducked a blow from the other side and rolled back to his footpaws. He could hear the snarls all around him. Two monsters fell and the others were now swinging at Kasha’s third group. They had the Greenskins outnumbered now, and Kasha’s faster wolves leaped and tore into the enemy, with only one of his men falling to a deadly axing to the chest and then the head.

Everyone hugged the ground waiting for the ax-throwing monsters to attack, but none came. Kasha looked out and picked up his field glass only to see the Greenskins departing.

“Everybody up.”

Eight stood up.

“Kristiyan’s platoon is in that forest. Chances are the enemy is already there and waiting for us, so beware. stay in groups.”

But in the forest, all that greeted them was the hooting of owls. If drawing the wolves into the forest was the Greenskins’ plan, it was a very subtle one. No axes flew at them and no Greenskins emerged from the trees.

They marched in tight triangles through the woods, their eyes darting around for the first sign of an attack which could have come from anywhere.

“Hey, there he is!”

One of them pointed to a wolf digging into the ground with a spade.

“Kristiyan must have cleared out the enemy already!”

“Come on,” Kasha said, leading them to Kristiyan’s platoon. Their estimations were right. Kristiyan’s group had already driven out the Greenskins. His wolves were at work setting up a perimeter.

“Kasha! Tell them to dig in.” Kristiyan instructed.

“Once we get the trenches up we’ll bring in the tripods. We hold up this place so that Master Sepp may advance without worrying about an attack from this end.”

Kasha joined in the task but then received a note from the courier. Things were going well. Both Master Sepp and Poetschke withstood the first onslaught, and now Poetschke’s group in the south was driving forward for Balaton. If Poetschke got through the lakes, there would be little between himself and Oxbane.

“No!” someone shouted. “Wolftaurs coming! Get out of there!”

The platoon scrambled out of their work and grabbed their spears. Kasha picked up his field glass and saw it for himself: Four ‘wolftaurs’ with another line of green stomping through the forest floor behind them. The enemy outnumbered wolves’ at least two-to-one. Kristiyan blew a whistle and lined up the dragoons. Kasha’s platoon had two, and Kristiyan’s had two including himself.

“Into positions, this line here! This line here!” Kasha shouted at his nine-strong Kompanie.

Kasha himself picked up a rope and got into position. This would have to go perfectly, and even then, the odds weren’t good. The Wolftaurs came fast, and when they did, Kasha roped one and his dragoon leaped through and took out the Greenskin.

A blood-curling scream then shot up. It from the other end. Kasha turned around to see Kristiyan in a wolftaur’s clutches, being dismembered and mangled right before them. His ripped-up body fell to the forest floor.

Hollers and screams surrounded Master Sepp in the trenches, but the weathered leader’s reflexes were well-honed. A quick shot of his crossbow chopped down a Greenskin as it went hand-to-hand with his guard.

“How many fallen?”

“Five, sir. And one tripod smashed.”

“Clear the trench of the dead. We’ll keep holding this line.”

“Master Sepp…” Rokura pointed off to the other end of the trench. Sepp lifted up his binoculars to see for himself.

He watched helplessly from a distance as the wolftaurs hopped over an empty trench behind his line. A small number of Greenskins ran by on foot as well. They had broken through one of Sepp’s lines. They were now crossing over.

“Rokura,”

“Yes sir?”

“Gather the platoon.”

Sepp’s wolf swallowed hard and went for the explosives box. He had no estimate, but Sepp was sure the monsters would send yet more fresh troops to attack his exhausted line and finish them all off.

The weathered Gruppenfuehrer gathered his company around him for a moment. All of them were exhausted, and stained with either blood or earth. Sometimes both. Now Sepp had to make a decision.

“The enemy has broken through and are likely going for a village. You know what they will do after that,” he said, pulling out the dynamite sticks.

“For the children and women behind the lines, it is an honor to die.”

Each of the company nervously drew a straw. The task of suicide fell onto Rokura and two others. Sepp quietly handed each one of them a boomstick.

“Remember that you are the innocent’s last line of defense. Find the wolftaurs and explode them with your dynamite sticks.”

The three of them stood by with dry throats as the others hurriedly strapped explosives to the wolves’ white belts.

“This is how it has to be,” Sepp shook each of their paws. Rokura looked down but said nothing.

“I’ll see you in heaven.”

Hans clutched his Mauser to his body as he led his newly-appointed hunting party into the forest. After just a few days, feeding a couple hundred men during the winter left commander Peiper with no choice but to send hunting parties eastward, to the place Lapine grandma said never to go.

This time Hans was prepared. His party of four included Tex, who was as good a shot as Hans had ever seen, and two men from the Leibstandarte. He was confident that they would all be enough to handle whatever they might encounter, especially being heavily armed as they were.

“So what’re we looking for, Herr Hepner?” Tex said quietly.

“Game would be ideal, but I’ll settle for fowl. Also be watchful for berries or nuts. We need another source.”

The two Leibstandarte men stayed well behind, content to speak among themselves. Their names were Hans Siptrott and Werner Kindler. In many ways Siptrott looked like an SS man from the movie reels, with blond hair, blue eyes and a square jaw. Kindler looked even younger than Hans himself, and had big eyes and a boney face.

“These tracks look pretty fresh,” Tex got Hans’ attention.

“Just let me hunt it myself. If we all follow it’s going to notice and get away.”

Hans turned back to the SS men and told them to follow behind Tex on the opposite side so that they formed a triangle. Siptrott said nothing. He looked none too pleased to be taking orders from a Gefreiter in the Wehrmacht. The two of them marched off and Hans followed Tex from the other side as the American tracked his game.

After a few moments Tex stopped in his tracks. Hans felt tempted to call out, but picked up his binoculars and saw the peril ahead: Burly, green-skinned monsters mounted atop what looked like giant feral wolves with six legs. The feral animal looked about three meters long.

“Mein Gott… TEX! TEX fall back right now!”

There wasn’t even a need to tell the American. He was already sprinting back to Hans.

“It’s them!” Hans whispered. “It’s them, it’s the monsters, they’re already here!”

“What do we do?”

“We must get back to Peip—”

An abrupt explosion rumbled through the air and made the snow jump. Hans picked up his binoculars and saw one of the three steeds blown to red chunks in the snow. This caused the other beasts to take off to direction of where the SS men were stationed.

Shots rang out from the underbrush in two different places. Siptrott must have seen the monsters in advance and prepared accordingly. The second greenskin fell off his beast. Hans watched the third wolf turn back to leave with the green warriors on foot.

“Halt, Wolfie!”

The voice sounded like Siptrott’s. Hans and Tex came running over to the SS men, who had a wolven warrior at gunpoint.