Len Gilbert - The Furred Reich

“Let us in! We’re here from Master Sepp!”

Kasha came over to them when they jumped into the trench. The two looked like a strange couple. One human was tall, about as tall as the average wolf, the other was shorter. One looked older, while the other was quite young. The taller man wore a pea green uniform and a helmet that looked like a turtle shell. The shorter man looked like a gray knight with a boyish face.

“Where is your commander?” The ‘gray knight’ asked.

“I’m right here,” Kasha said, shuffling through the smokey trench.

“You look familiar. I think I’ve seen you somewhere.”

“You might have,” Kasha replied.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We have reinforcements coming by foot. ‘Master Sepp’ thought you might like more of these.”

The young man opened the handbag and showed Kasha a pile of Stihlhandgranates.

“I’m Gefreiter Hans Hepner. This here is Oberleutnant Jack Wheelis.”

“Please to meet ya’ sir,” Tex offered a hand, Kasha dubiously accepted.

“Why does this man have a turtle helmet?” Kasha pointed to Tex.

“Um, well, he’s from another country,” Hans replied.

Kasha frowned. “Yes I’ve heard about these people. Master Sepp tells us theirs is the bad country.”

Hans laughed uneasily. “Uh, well, let’s not worry about that right now.”

“How many humans are coming? And are they also from the bad country?” Kasha said.

“No! No, they’re all from the good country. There are another twenty of us on the way.”

“Good. Here, follow me.”

Kasha led them to an empty segment of the trench.

“We abandoned this part, but now I can open it again. I can spare you only four warriors, but you may use your explosives.”

“That’s fine,” The ‘turtle head’ responded and tapped his gun, “I’ve got plenty of bullets here, and Hans can throw the stick grenades.”

“How many monsters are there?” Hans asked.

“Unknown. I estimate about 120 remain.”

“And how many of us are there?”

“With you two, 56.”

“My god… I hope the SS are fast runners.” Tex mused aloud.

The two humans filed off into the empty trench and four of Kasha’s wolves followed. Six men was hardly a platoon, but from what Kasha had seen, the humans’ weapons could make up for some of what they lacked in bodies. It would have to. There was no other way.

It only took a few moments. Soon the ground began to rumble and the first flaming boulder hurtled down near the trenches. Rock bombs were back. Everyone ducked. Kasha pulled the ballista off his tripod and clutched the trench floor. This would be it. It was either die, or hold. A tidal wave of green was coming for them. He looked up over the edge and saw the enemy running at them, ready to chop the wolves to pieces and destroy their contraptions.

Bang!

Already the humans’ cannons were popping fire at the line. In a moment the tripods joined in. As before, nothing stopped the monsters. The explosive wall went up and claimed yet more of the monsters, but as before, Kasha was helpless to stop them from pouring into the trenches regardless. The fracas grew stronger and louder. Within a moment there was no point to giving orders. Kasha could hear clanging and screaming on both sides of him. He took his weapon and charged at a Greenskin lowering himself into the trench.

The Greenskin swung at the right moment and chopped Kasha’s spear in half. Kasha ducked but felt the Monster’s fist slam into his face and knock him into the frozen trench wall. His vision was blurring, but his body still dove forward and reached for his hand-knife. Suddenly the Greenskin fell backwards. Kasha rolled out of its way just in time to see a flash of boots and pea green cloth, then a scream from the enemy atop him. The human drove the butt of his gun into the monster and then leaped over both of them, sprinting to some other point in the trench.

Kasha still felt dizzy from the blow to his face.

“Hey! Hey! Jump back! Raus, raus raus, get out of here!” A voice above shouted.

Kasha felt a pair of hands on him. Someone was pulling on him. He looked up to see Gefreiter Hans dragging him out of the section.

“Hold the line, keep the enemy in!” The ‘good human’ shouted to someone unknown.

“Now! Pull the plug!”

Sensing danger, Kasha sprang to his paws and tried to dart back. In a second the humans’ entire trench sector exploded. Concussions pounded through the narrow trench and threw back Kahsa, Hans and another. The explosion left all three of them piled together.

“We… got them…” Hans gasped for breath.

“We got those bastards good…”

A hail of projectiles railed through the sky above them and more screams followed in their wake. Now it was humans that were assaulting the trench, this time from behind. Had the Good Humans come? Kasha slowly got back up and looked for any monsters. There were none alive. He looked down at Hans, who was still reeling from the blow, and offered the human a paw. Hans took it and staggered to his feet. He smiled at the wolven leader through a dirt-covered face.

“There were… at least a dozen of them…” Hans muttered below the sounds of clanging and growling.

“Any left?” Kasha asked the ‘gray knight.’

“No. The invaders are all dead.”

He saw new faces, human faces shuffling through the trenches, and all of them had lightning runes on their collars. They had been saved.

“Sir, you alright?” One of the platoon commanders looked closely at Kasha, and Hans as well.

“Just a little shaken. Tell Steyn he is in command for a few hours…”

As the screams died down, the scout’s adjutant returned and handed Kasha a message from Master Sepp. The tape read:

1. Master Sepp back on the offensive, driving toward forests’ edge

2. Poetschke reinforced, counter-attack successful, has broken past Balaton

3. Kampfgruppe Kristiyan: Attack and harass enemy. Do not let them escape to reinforce crumbling lines elsewhere.

“He did it,” Kasha breathed.

“What?” Hans asked, still standing behind him.

“Poetschke did it.”

“Distance!”

“Ein Tausend meter!”

“—Ein Tausend meter!”

“Ready…!”

“Feuer!”

Werner Poetschke lifted his binoculars. With little more than a puff of smoke, the mortar crew sent a deadly shell hurtling at the monsters. He watched from a distance as one of them was blown to bits without warning. Poetschke’s old Kamerads from the Leibstandarte, who he thought he’d never see again, had shown up out of nowhere and turned the tide of his retreat. Now the remnant of Grimeskins was running through the last patch of woods and spilling out onto the snow-covered plains.

“Well done. Keep fire concentrated in the middle. Ten more minutes. Stop bombardment at 13:30,” Poetschke said.

Poetschke’s fourteen platoon commanders were waiting for him: Eight humans, five wolves, plus himself. They all gathered to hear his instruction.

“The Greenskins are running, but we must not let them rest. We attack as soon as the mortar stops. For the final victory I plan that we divide the retreating armies. The Granatwerfers are concentrating on the middle of this patch of woods. Soon they will halt, and when they do, that’s when we drive the wedge.”

He paused to let another shell launch past them. To the Germans, mortars meant nothing, but the wolves fought their instinct to fix eyes on the flying projectiles as if they were birds.

“Then we split. Four wolven platoons and two human platoons enter the north sector and form a Kompanie. You will enjoy the numerical advantage and friendly wooden terrain.”