Len Gilbert - The Furred Reich

“Those weapons! Tell me where you got those things!” Siptrott shouted at the wolf, who had sticks of dynamite strapped to his waist. One of the sticks had an eagle and Swastika.

“Siptrott! Put the gun down. Let me speak with this one,” Hans interjected.

The SS man grunted at Hans but did as he said. Then Hans turned to the wolf and showed him both of his hands.

“Those explosives. They came from our country, you know,” he talked to the wolf in a voice much calmer than Siptrott’s.

“These? You mean boomsticks,” the wolf corrected Hans.

“Yes. Boomsticks. These boomsticks. Did you get them from another human?”

“We came here to destroy Greenskins. That’s all I have to say.”

Hans also noticed the ‘SS’ painted on the black wolf’s chestfur. It was hard to miss.

“Hey, look,” Hans signaled Kindler over and pointed to his collar, which bore the identical insignia.

The wolf huffed out and gestured at Siptrott and Kindler. “Those two. They must be good warriors. Because they run in Master Sepp’s pack.”

“’MASTER’ Sepp?” Siptrott blurted. He and Kindler stared at each other for a moment. One other explosive-strapped wolf came up to the conversation and stood before the humans.

“Yes. Master Sepp. You are the ‘good’ humans? We have a human with that collar, too. His name is Hair Petch-Key. Do you know of Hair Petch-Key?”

“We… Had a comrade named Werner Poetschke. Some time ago.” Siptrott nodded.

“Hmm. Our Petch-Key has flaxen hair, flame-wielder, and a bad temper.”

“…That’s probably him…” Siptrott and Kindler both responded instantly.

“Yes. If you are from the ‘good’ humans, then Master Sepp needs your help,” the wolf said.

“No time to lose. Keep you heads down and follow me. Axthrowers about.”

Hans nodded to the other SS men, although Siptrott and Kindler probably wouldn’t have listened to Hans even if he’d commanded them otherwise.

Hans followed behind Siptrott, Kindler and the two wolves, with Tex still walking by his side. This whole thing seemed suspicious. It could have been a setup. Morbid curiosity kept Hans and the others following, even as the noise of clanging metal, screams and explosives grew louder. He saw wolves swarming in and around a dugout. Some were loading thick arrows into cartridge-powered crossbows. The wolves noticed Hans’ party of humans and stared wide-eyed at them, stopping in their tracks.

The wolf took them to a man in officer’s uniform, but with animal skins draped over his shoulders. The man had his back turned to them, and couldn’t have been more than 170 cm tall; at least a head shorter than the wolves around him.

“Master…” The explosive-strapped wolf muttered with his ears lowered.

“Rokura?”

The ‘master’ turned around.

“What happened… What. I recognize those faces! Siptrott? Werner Kindler!”

The ‘master’ shook young Werner Kindler by the shoulders and beamed as if he were re-uniting with his son.

“Rokura how in the hell did you miraculously bring me these men! Tell me. Tell me you got those wolftaurs!”

“They’re gone, Master, but one escaped.”

The ‘Master’s’ face brightened at their sight. Hans noticed oak leaves on the ‘Master’s’ collar. This man had the residue of this world all over him, as if he’d been here for as long as Hans had.

“And who are these two?”

“Sir, um, Herr-Master-Sepp,” Hans spoke up.

“We are a scouting party for a Kompanie-sized unit led by Standartenfuehrer Jochen Peiper.”

Another explosion rocked the ground not far away. ‘Master Sepp’ put down his crossbow, pulled out an empty cigarette carton and began scribbling on it.

“Young man,” he said to Hans, “You go back to Jochen Peiper. Give him these instructions. He will know what to do.”

Hans took the carton and pocketed it. Flaming stones were raining down all around the trench, causing tremors all over the earth and hurling dirt and snow atop all their heads.

“We’re outnumbered here!” Sepp shouted with sudden urgency. “Bring the Leibstandarte, it’s our only hope,” he yelled to Hans.

“Yes, sir! What of the three with me?”

Master Sepp looked up, his face now caked with dust. “Werner and Siptrott stay! Take the American with you, you’ll never make it back on your own. Axthrowers everywhere. Follow me!”

Sepp lead Hans and Wheelis down a path and pulled up the wolf they had found on their expedition.

“Rokura!”

“Yes, Master Sepp!”

“These two Kamerads! To the relic!”

“You mean Petch-Key’s relic?”

“That’s the one! Go!”

Rokura pulled Hans and Tex to the far end of a trench and toward a thicket behind the line. The three of them doubled over and darted from tree to tree.

“I don’t think the Greenskins got to it yet. No! They didn’t. There it is, the Petch-Key relic!”

Perhaps Master Sepp hadn’t told his wolves the otherworldly term for this ‘relic.’ Right there stood a BMW ‘Steib’ sidecar, collecting snow and looking lonely.

“You DO know how to drive one of these, right?”

“Eh, yeah. I mean, kind of. I’ve driven a light tank once before. Heh. So how hard can this be?”

Tex did not look reassured. Hans straddled the motorcycle and ignited the engine only for it to cough and sputter.

“Teufel!”

“Give it another try, sir?” Rokura pleaded as he stood by them in the snow.

Hans revved the handlebar one more time. The motorcycle spurted to life and then hummed along as if it were brand new.

“Mister Hans?”

“Yes.”

“Please get your humans here as soon as you can.”

“I will.”

Tex was already seated and had his rifle rested on the mount.

“This’ll have to work,” he said, fixing the gun on some imaginary target.

“You ready?” Hans queried.

“Now or never,” Tex replied.

“Alright hold on.”

Hans hit the gas and revved forward in fits and starts, practiced a turn or two, then roared off in the direction he came, watching Rokkura get smaller and smaller in the distance. The wheels’ traction slid in the slippery snow.

“You’re gonna have to speed up! Or the axthrowers will get us!” Tex drawled out as loud as he could over the engine.

“Jawohl!”

“What?”

“I mean, ‘OK!’”

Hans hit the accelerator and the BMW quickly went from 40 kph to 50 and kept climbing. Wind blew on his face as he darted between mossy trees and their speed grew. Until Tex gave a shout.

Hans looked over to see Tex’s face covered in snow. He spit out pine needles and cursed at Hans.

“Watch it!”

“Sorry!” Hans looked back sheepishly.

“Shit…” Tex grumbled and pulled his rifle back into position. “Oh shit!”

An ax flew at the sidecar but missed widely.

“Damnit…” Tex looked out ahead and fired a shot that punched right through a tree. Hans shook his head and told himself to focus only on avoiding the axes. Tex’s bullets would either hit or they wouldn’t.

A giant old growth tree came out of nowhere and collided with the front of the motorcycle, jolting both of them and smashing out the front light. Tex quickly stood up in the sidecar and fired the rifle, and the pursuing axthrower dropped.

Hans blinked, looking over to Tex as seeing him in double. He shook his head and noticed the engine was still humming. He pushed hard on the accelerator and the tires spat snow into the air, vision returning just in time.

“Now cover for me while I regain speed!”

“Roger that!”

“What?”

“I said ‘OK!’”

“Oh!”