Eye of the Storm

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“What is this, Feldwebel?” Frederick asked, accepting the strange device from Harz.

“It’s a ‘Buckley,’ ” the juv replied. “It’s a human artificial intelligence machine. We just received a supply of them. We are to begin using them for personal messaging as well as general orders. You will not lose it, Ox.”

“Yes, Feldwebel,” Erdmann said, pocketing the strange device.

The company had been gathered in front of the barracks in preparation for movement. Their personal baggage had already been stored in shipping containers. All that remained was loading up in the vehicles and matching up with their shuttles.

It was raining, naturally. But it was a light rain, comfortable rather than unpleasant. Frederick looked over the next company’s barracks at what they had come to call ‘the Tiger,’ the massive jut of granite on which had once sat Fortress Ehrenbreitstein and now sat the headquarters for the Vaterland Division and Freiland. This might be the last time he saw the Rheinland. He wished that he could visit Marta one more time.

“Company, attention!” Senior Oberfeldwebel Bansbach boomed. Like Harz, Bansbach was a juv. But he was one of the few of the SS who had actually come over from the Bundeswehr. Originally trained as a Leopard crewman, the company’s senior NCO had been incredibly helpful in the transition to the new systems.

“All present or accounted for,” the Oberfeldwebel said, saluting the company commander.

“There is not much to say,” Hauptmann Thayer said, looking the company over. He was not a juv but this was his third company command. The scars on his face had come from a long ago encounter with a group of feral Posleen that had been gathered by a God king. “In fifteen minutes we are scheduled to fall onto our vehicles. Get a good look on the way up; some of you won’t be seeing the return trip. But we have all faced danger in securing Freiland. Though we are on far planets under alien stars, we shall still be securing Freiland. Be true to your comrades and true to your Fatherland and most of us will return, God willing. If not, we shall die in Panzers and that’s not all that bad, is it?”

“Fall out and fall into your vehicles,” Oberfeldwebel Bansbach shouted.

The company had marched to the motorpool and now the group broke up and pounded to their various equipment.

Frederick clambered onto the Leopard, unslung his personal weapon and dropped into his seat. The small compartment had a rack for his weapon and he locked it down carefully. The R-28 Vehicle Crewman Rail-System Submachinegun had what he felt was a pleasant similarity in appearance to the WWII Schmeisser machine-pistol. The difference being that its long, thin, ribbed magazine carried two-hundred rounds of 1mm mini-flechettes and that it could dump them all out in under a second.

He picked up his crewman’s helmet and buckled it on then swung the microphone into place. “Driver is up.”

“Ox, if you screw this movement up… ” Harz growled.

“All we are doing is driving to the pick-up zone, Feldwebel,” Frederick pointed out, hitting the start button. The Leopold rumbled into life and all was well.

“That is what I mean,” Harz said.

As Two Track pulled out, Harz pulled out behind it, falling into march position.

“Feldwebel, we were not briefed on whether we should use ground effect,” Frederick said.

“If they want us to use ground effect, they will tell us to use ground effect,” Harz said. “Now shut up and pray for your soul. I just had an update.”

“Yes, Feldwebel,” Frederick said then thought about what the sergeant had said. “May I ask what the update was?”

“We are not boarding shuttles,” Harz said.

“Excuse me, Feldwebel?” Frederick said as there was a sonic boom overhead. He looked up and then frowned, tilting his head quizzically. “Feldwebel… what are those?”

“Those, my yellow-shit friend, are Myrmidon assault shuttles,” Harz said, apparently quoting. “They are a medium armor lifter variant of the Hellion combat shuttle, designed for moving medium armor units rapidly into and out of battle from orbit or in atmosphere. Aren’t they pretty?”

“They aren’t big enough to load… ” Frederick started to say then stopped.

“Ah, you just saw the lifting clamps did you not?”

There were only eight of the Myrmidons available. Thus the tanks of the battalion had to wait as one flight after another lifted off. That gave those still on the ground a degree of comfort and discomfort. They could see that the clamps actually held the tanks and didn’t let them drop to the ground from thousands of meters in the air. On the other hand, they could see the tanks being lifted up into the air, their crews still inside. And then, presumably, up into space and into a ship.

It was not going to be fun.

The remaining family and friends of the Michael Wittmann had turned out to see the battalion off. Frederick searched and searched for Marta but could not see her. Certainly her superiors would have given her time off?

“I can’t see him,” Marta said.

“I can, barely,” her mother replied. “If I could get some of these idiots to get out of our way… ”

“I need to get through,” Marta said, elbowing an oldster.

“Marta?” former Oberfeldwebel Brutscher said. “Here, here, let Marta through! She cannot see the Ox.”

“Our turn,” Harz said as the shuttles descended again. Most of the battalion had already loaded into shuttles. Lucky them.

“I don’t see Marta,” Frederick said.

“If you don’t pay attention to your job, Schutze, you will see nothing but my fist.”

The clamps had specific contact points. Frederick had been briefed on them but had assumed they were for cranes or internal lifting systems on ships. Not for lifting him up into space.

“I have clamps one through six set and locked,” the private said, looking at his tell-tales.

“Confirm, one through six set and locked,” Harz said. “Pilot, we confirm set and locked.”

“Roger,” a female voice said. “Standby. All shuttles set and locked. Lifting.”

Then Frederick saw her, struggling to the front of the, on average, much taller crowd. He wasn’t sure she saw him but he waved, wildly. Then her eyes caught his and he could only hold his arm overhead.

“You look as if you are giving your girlfriend a Nazi salute, Schutze,” Aderhold said. “Blow her a fucking kiss, man!”

Frederick shook himself and did just that.

Marta caught the kiss and held it for a moment as her fiancee’s massive tank lifted into the air then waved in farewell.

“She’s out of sight, Schutze,” Harz said. “And since we’re getting rather high, you might wish to close and lock your hatch. Because if you pass out, you will then be subject to space’s cold and vacuum. And we will be sending your fiancee a corpsicle as a present.”

“Thank you for that reminder, Feldwebel,” Frederick said, dropping the hatch and dogging it. Supposedly the environmental system of the tanks were rated for brief exposure to space. Supposedly.

“This is great,” the gunner said. “Swivel the vision blocks around. It’s a great view.”

“I will take your word for it, Gefreiter.”

“This is easy stuff, Schutze,” Harz said. “This is the easy part.”

The shuttles dropped the eight tanks in a cavernous hold that was open to space.

“Wait until Three has moved out then follow the red line,” Harz said. “Keep it centered on your treads.”

Frederick followed the orders following Three Track down the red line. Just as he was approaching a massive hatch the red light above it started to blink.

“Stop,” Harz snapped. “We have to wait for the others to get cycled through.”

The hatch closed and they waited for a moment in the, presumably, vacuum and cold of space. The temperature in the panzer had dropped slightly, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Feldwebel?” Frederick said.

“Ja?”

“How is it that the engine is running?” Frederick asked.

“I’m going to take the manual and shove it up your ass, Schutze,” Harz growled. “Section Thirty-Two, sub-paragraph nine. There is a pressurized air system to feed the engine. Remember the big bottle, idiot?”

“I thought that was our air,” Frederick admitted. “For if there was poison gas. I never expected to be in space, Feldwebel.”

“Ours is being recycled by the scrubbers, yellow-shit,” Harz said. “You will learn that fucking manual by heart, Schutze, if I have to feed it to you page by page.”

The hatch opened and Frederick started forward.

“Pull it well to the right,” Harz said. “That is the hand you beat your tiny dick with.”

Frederick complied, pulling the tank in hard against the right wall. Two track pulled in next to him on the left and there was a rumble through the floor.

“Right, pressure coming up nicely,” Harz said. The doors in front of them opened and Frederick almost gasped. The interior of the ship was filled with platforms and ramps onto which the whole mass of the Michael Wittman was being loaded.

What he at first took to be a green teddy-bear walked out in front of the panzer and waved red-lit wands at him. It took him a moment to realize he was looking at an Indowy.

“Follow the Kobold,” Harz said. “Slowly. Do NOT run him over. They get very particular about that sort of thing.”

Harz followed the Indowy down the length of the hold and into a hard right turn. There was a ramp that the Kobold gestured him up and for a moment he hesitated. It seemed impossible that the fragile looking ramp could hold the full weight of a Leopard.

“What are you waiting for, Schutze?” Harz asked. “Follow the Kobold.”

Frederick gunned the tank gingerly onto the ramp then all the way up onto it. The rickety looking thing didn’t even flex.

“The Indowy can build fine materials,” Aderhold said. “Too bad they can’t fight worth a crap.”

“If they could we would be outnumbered about sixty billion to one,” Harz noted. “And we’d be up against the guys who make all our stuff. Let them make the weapons; we will use them just fine.”

Finally, the vehicle was juggled into position, hard between Two and Four track. It was on a shallow platform that looked like aluminum but was probably some GalTech super stuff. As Frederick watched a line of similar, if slightly smaller, platforms were laid down by a team of Indowy in front of the line of tanks. The platforms had small boxes on their rear. If he had to pull out, he was going to break the box off.

“You can pop your hatch, now, yellow-shit,” Harz said. “We’re home.”