Len Gilbert - The Furred Reich

“And the south?” One of the wolves asked.

“That! Is for the Granatwerfers. They will follow us into the wedge and continue the bombardment. Meanwhile! Five Human platoons will hold the wedge. The three remaining platoons will move onto the grasslands to where we believe the generals are camped. Those will include my platoon, and it will be joined by Unterscharfuehrers Vahn and Werner Wolff. Our goal is to get our paws on Oxbane before ‘Master Sepp’ does. I know that you’re already exhausted, and that I am demanding more from you nevertheless, but if we succeed, understand we will remove the monsters for a whole generation.”

Craters and slivers of wood were strewn all over the forest. Vahn scanned through the white-barked trees for the enemy, but the only enemy he saw was already dead. He and the two humans, Poetschke and Wolff, continued toward the line of the woods. A chorus of clicks and clanks followed behind them in a mad dash to their final goal, Oxbane.

“I promoted this one for a reason, Wolff,” Poetschke grimaced as he spoke to his long-time comrade.

“Vahn killed three wolftaurs with nothing more than a spear and a hand-knife, and grenaded a nest of throwers. Nobody else in this Kompanie or the other two can boast what Vahn can.”

It was true that Vahn and the others had been through a lot. Yesterday their attack was routed, and the kompanie was turned back by a huge attack. They’d been on the run for almost a day, but then Werner Wolff, whose last name still confused many, and 150 other well-armed humans attacked head on out of nowhere. The humans’ weapons made an impact that was almost magical. Vahn used to have little respect for humans, but Poetschke’s humans were different. Vahn had doubted that wolves could ever stand against the invincible Grimeskins, but Master Sepp had shown them another way.

Even still, there were some things that Vahn didn’t understand.

“Um, Herr Sturbannfuehrer?”

“Yes,” Poetshcke replied.

“Forgive me if I ask, but why are you all fighting so hard?”

Poetshke raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

“It’s all we know. That’s all.”

“Sir. I’m sorry, I just don’t believe that,” Vahn shook his head.

“The Grimeakins gave you an offer for peace that would cost your race nothing. A hundred-year peace. You could have lived out your lives without being bothered. You’re risking your lives only for us, not for your country anymore. And I deserve to know why.”

Poetschke stopped marching and the whole convoy of troops stopped abruptly behind, some cursing as they bumped into each other. He set the nozzle of his flame thrower onto the ground and turned slowly to face Vahn and his query.

“…The Greenskins are an army of rapists. It’s either us or them. No treaty. No coexistence.” Poetschke picked the nozzle back up, winked and turned back around to continue their march.

“Come on,” Wolff patted Vahn on the shoulder. “We can explain more about this later. Our vengeance lies ahead.”

Wolff was right. Vahn looked down into a snow-covered golden valley, and saw the Greenskins’ camp before them. A field of cylindrical tents with pointy tops jutting heavenwards. Layers of fencing corralled the sprawling camp. A tower rose up from the entrance, an entrance that faced the east; the exact opposite of their imminent attack from the west.

“Should we wait for the Gra-nut-ver-furs to blast a hole in the fence?” Vahn asked.

“Oh no. It will be too late by then. We go right in through the gate. It will be your job to remove whoever is in the guard tower, Vahn. Wolff and I will take care of the tents.”

Vahn swallowed hard and picked five of his better wolves for the tower. Vahn would go with them. The remainder of his platoon would follow Poetshke. By now, the humans were all out of supply for their hand-cannons, and were all using the knives attached to them.

“It’s now or never,” Poetshke said. “The Greenskins are already pulling back to fortify this camp. I only hope they’re all too far behind to get here…”

Poetschke blew the whistle and they dashed out of the forests and into the fields. The camp was at least 30 paces away. Vahn swallowed hard, as he realized the monsters could see them coming. The whole Kompanie broke into a gallop.

“This is it,” he breathed out as they neared the high fence and its thick, wooden posts. They ran with heads down and arrows began flying at them from the tower.

“Agh!”

A human fellow next to him was gored through by an arrow and fell into the hardened ground. One of the wolves stopped to help the human, and Vahn barked out.

“Keep moving! We can’t help him here.”

The attack had already begun ahead of them. Two peach-colored monsters guarding the east gate had spotted the attack. The tall monstrosities went to work, smashing two wolves with their bare fists. The guards were unlike any Grimeskin Vahn had seen.

The wolves circled around one of the hulking beasts while one of the Leibstandarte jammed a bayonet into its side. An arrow screamed by and hit one of the humans nearest to Vahn, dropping yet another of them. Vahn and four other wolves attempted circling around the other monstrous guard. He released his fist again and killed another. Vahn leaped up, hooked his arm around the monster’s neck and tore into its throat with his own teeth. His mind blanked as he was slammed onto the ground with unstoppable force. Yet, when he looked up, he saw the other four wolves piling on and bringing the powerful guard down. Poetshke and his wolves were already scurrying past the gate and into the camp.

Vahn jumped to his paws and blew the whistle twice. Four wolves reported to him and they entered together.

“Down!” They ducked by a tent, then together sprinted to another tent for cover. A slender Greenskin with black eyes emerged from the tent with his hands up. He didn’t have a weapon. Vahn glared at the diplomat, but ignored him and continued on toward the tower until they were just one tent away.

“Go! Charge the stairwell!” He motioned.

The wolves ran forward and ducked under the tower for cover. Vahn could see arrows pouring out from the tower and onto the three Kompanies. Just as they got there, the stairwell detached and the guards threw it off the tower.

One of them groaned out, “what now?”

A fire started at a nearby tent.

That tower was so high up. They would either have to climb it or chop down the wooden stilts. And the guards would have time to kill many comrades.

“Sir! Sir I have one.”

“One what?”

“One left,” The wolf grinned, brandishing a ‘boomstick.’

Vahn hushed and looked over to him.

“Four paces out, understand?”

“Yes.”

The wolf sprung out of his cover, took out the lit boomstick and lobbed it into the tower just as he took an arrow to the heart and dropped. The four of them ducked for life as thunder ripped into the sky and debris rained down shortly thereafter.

“Got it.”

Vahn felt his head swimming after the concussions rocked through the air. Everything looked hazy. He blinked hard and his vision returned. The air was still hot with the dynamite’s firey powder. He slowly looked up to survey the damage. Poetshke was leading his pack of wolves on a rampage, setting ablaze tent after tent while his wolves slaughtered every diplomat, strategist and courier caught inside. Even the concubines were in danger of Flame Wielder’s conflagration.

“Come on!”

Vahn barked out and made for the tents, then pounced upon a beady-eyed Greenskin and shoved his lance clear through him. All around him the Greenskins were falling to spears and bayonets, and Poetshke’s vengeful fires were spreading everywhere. The air was only getting hotter, and breathing became difficult.