Their plan had worked.
Almost.
Susan gazed at the battlefield below. Five German tanks sat motionless, flames gushing from open hatches. Showers of sparks burst from them as their ammunition exploded.
That still left five more tanks intact, their hatches closed. The gryphons had no hope of pouring oil inside them. The tanks just sat back and bombarded the Narnian positions.
Susan flinched as a crash and explosion rocked Cair Paravel. She whipped her head to the right. Rubble from a tower cascaded down the side of the castle, trailing dust and smoke. Below, fountains of dirt and smoke shot up in and around the trenches. Tracers criss-crossed the smoky battlefield, many more from the Germans than the British.
A sick feeling slithered through Susan's stomach. The Germans and White Witch followers couldn't be more than hundred and fifty meters from the gates of Cair Paravel. Puffs of smoke came from the Boys anti-tank rifles in the trenches, though none of their rounds appeared to penetrate the German tanks.
Susan launched an arrow. It struck a Minotaur in the chest. Other archers around her also fired. Some hit their targets. Others missed.
It did not halt the enemy advance.
Susan snatched another arrow from her quiver. She caught sight of a helmeted head poking over a battlement to her right. Private Chaffee, the young soldier she'd been flirting with. He took aim with his rifle and fired three times before ducking down.
Probably reloading.
Susan let fly her arrow. It went through the throat of a machine gunner in one of the armored cars.
Chaffee reappeared. He rested his rifle atop the battlement, aimed and –
A flash of orange and black, followed an instant later by a crash, consumed the young private.
Susan gasped, her eyes locked on the charred, smoking pile of stone where Chaffee had been. Her throat clenched. It couldn't have been more than twenty, thirty minutes ago she had been having a pleasant conversation with him, thinking how nice and handsome he was. Now . . . now Chaffee was dead. Barely older than her, and he was dead.
The base of her throat tingled. She held her breath, thinking of the bullet that had struck her there and almost ended her life. Lucy's cordial had saved her.
Susan slowly moved her gaze from the remains of Chaffee's position to the advancing Germans and White Witch followers.
Had her little sister only delayed the inevitable?
She spotted one of the Vickers machine guns in the trenches sweeping back and forth. Tracers cut down Germans and Minotaurs and goblins. A few rounds pinged off armored cars.
The gun of one of the tanks boomed. The Vickers and its two-man crew vanished in an explosion of flame and dirt.
The enemy kept coming. One hundred meters from the gates of Cair Paravel.
Susan's jaw quivered. The trenches would be overrun. The surviving soldiers would be massacred. She very much doubted the Germans and White Witch followers would be inclined to take prisoners.
Tears stung the corners of her eyes and she looked down at a gray messenger owl.
"Dultho. Tell the guards manning the gate to open the doors and get our soldiers in the trenches in here."
"At once, Your Majesty." The owl bowed and flew off.
Susan looked up to find Edmund and Lucy staring back at her. Her sister opened her mouth, almost hesitant to speak. Several seconds passed before she found her voice. "Wha . . . what are we going to do?"
I don't know, was what Susan wanted to say. That was the truth. But she couldn't. A queen had to appear in command all the time.
She straightened up. "We keep fighting. We have better cover inside the castle than we do outside."
Cair Paravel shook again. Susan turned back to the battlefield, wondering how much protection the castle would afford from German tanks. Her dread grew when she saw another tank in the distance. At least it looked like a tank. But instead of a turret, it had armored shields mounted around the front.
It also had a very large gun pointed right at Cair Paravel.
XXXXX
Niven grimaced as he peered through one of the viewing ports of the SIG 33. Several columns of smoke rose from Cair Paravel. British and Narnian soldiers dashed through the castle's main gate. The Nazis and their monstrous allies advanced as tracers from vehicle-mounted machine guns laced the battlements. Five German panzers, PzKpfw III Ausf Es best he could tell, rolled up near the trenches and halted. They elevated their 37mm guns and fired.
He looked over his shoulder at King Peter. The poor lad wore an expression of fear and anger as he gaped at Cair Paravel. Niven had no doubt first and foremost in the young monarch's mind was the safety of his brother and sisters. Even he had to wonder if any, or all, of them had been killed.
Focus, David.
He scanned the battlefield. It didn't appear as though any of the Germans or monsters had noticed them. All their attention was focused on Cair Paravel. Even if they had noticed them, they would probably think this SIG 33 was here to provide them more fire support.
His eyes settled on the panzers. A smile flickered across his lips. All five of them sat in place, banging away with their guns. Best of all, their rears, the weakest part of any tank, faced them.
They made for easy targets.
"Ladamire!" He called over his shoulder.
Niven stepped aside to give his sniper some room. Ladamire peered over the gun. "Left fifteen degrees."
Fleming turned the SIG 33 left.
"Another two degrees . . . bit more . . . stop!" Ladamire lowered the barrel five degrees. "There! Right on target! Fire!"
Everyone covered their ears as Niven pulled the trigger.
A thunderclap enveloped them. The SIG 33 rocked backwards.
A fiery geyser ripped the turret off the panzer and sent it tumbling onto the ground.
"Direct hit!" Niven shouted. "Pike! Another round!"
Niven opened the breech, expelling the spent casing. Sergeant Major Pike rammed home a new shell. Ladamire lined up on a second panzer and . . .
"Fire!"
Niven pulled the trigger. A fireball tore apart the panzer.
They loaded another shell. Niven watched the panzers, nervous tendrils creeping through his insides. Some of the Germans must have noticed them by now. Most of their vehicles carried radios. They must have warned the panzers.
Ladamire lined up on another panzer. Niven pulled the trigger. Flames ripped through the rear of their target.
The remaining two panzers moved forward, then wheeled right, their turrets rotating toward them.
"I think they found us out, gentlemen," Niven stated. "Commander. Evasive maneuvers."
Fleming jerked the control handles and stomped on the accelerator. The SIG 33 lurched forward, then cut left.
Flame and smoke spat from one of the panzer's guns, followed by a crump.
"Down!" Niven dropped to his knees and balled up. The others did the same.
The ground erupted twenty meters behind them.
The second panzer fired. The round shrieked past them and exploded in the woods.
Fleming zigzagged the SIG 33. Another panzer round missed them. Fleming drove around one of the burning panzers. Hopefully the smoke would make it harder for the Germans to get a bead on them.
Perhaps we could also use it to our advantage.
"Commander! Halt!"
Fleming stopped just a few meters from the burning panzer. Niven immediately jumped off the chassis.
"Lieutenant!" King Peter blurted. "Where are you going?"
Niven didn't answer. He darted past the burning panzer, coughing on smoke that carried with it the stench of burning metal, rubber . . .
And flesh.
He reached the rear and squatted, peering through breaks in the smoke. Both panzers raced toward them, one coming from their left, the other to their right. Niven bit his lower lip, expecting them to fire.
Thankfully, they didn't. He assumed neither crew could see them through the smoke. Since Jerry was buttoned up, the viewing ports in those panzers gave him a rather limited view of the outside world. All that bouncing around while moving also didn't help matters.
The smoke clogged Niven's nostrils and stung his throat. He coughed again. His eyes watered as they flickered between the panzers. The one on his right appeared to be outpacing its partner.
He dashed back to the SIG 33, coughing as he ran. He scrambled onto the chassis.
"There's a panzer that's going to be clearing the rear of that one," Niven pointed to the burning panzer, "right quick. Commander. Come about. Soon as Jerry comes into the clear, we'll give him a right good kick in the trousers."
"Coming about, Lieutenant."
Fleming swung the SIG 33 around. Niven manned the 15cm gun, a round already in the breech.
"Get ready to roll as soon as I fire," he said to Fleming. "That other panzer will be coming up on our rear."
"Yes, Lieutenant."
Niven stared dead ahead, swallowing, praying he hadn't misjudged the distance and speed of the other panzer. If it snuck up behind them, they were done for. Hell, if he missed the panzer about to appear in front of them they'd be dead. The SIG 33's armored shields could withstand machine gun fire all well and good. A panzer round, however, would go through it like a knife through butter.
The hazy smoke and distant trees in front of him were suddenly replaced by gray metal and a black iron cross.
"Fire!"
The 15cm gun thundered. A horrific explosion tore through the report of the big gun. Shrapnel pinged off the armored shields like lethal raindrops on a tin roof.
The SIG 33 rolled forward. Niven looked over his shoulder.
The remaining panzer appeared, its turret rotating toward them.
"Left! Turn left!"
Fleming wheeled the SIG 33 left, rounding the panzer they just destroyed.
The other panzer fired. The round whistled past and burst in the ground near the woods.
They cleared the burning panzers. Niven poked his head around the left armored shield. The surviving panzer backed up, trying to parallel them. Its turret turned nearly 180 degrees, tracking them.
Fleming increased their speed and started zigzagging. The panzer fired. A chill went down Niven's spine as the round screamed past. It exploded twenty meters away.
"Halt! Pike! Reload!" Niven quickly opened the breach. They only had a few seconds to do this before Jerry reloaded, sighted them and fired.
Pike rammed the shell into the gun. Niven slammed the breech shut.
"Go! Go! Go!"
Fleming mashed the accelerator, then twisted the SIG 33 left and right.
The panzer fired. Miss.
"Come around!" Niven shouted.
Fleming spun the SIG 33 in a half-circle. Niven took quick aim at the panzer and fired.
The round struck the first burning panzer. A brilliant fireball blotted out its front half.
"Go! Go! Go!"
Fleming cut the SIG 33 left. The panzer fired and missed, then sped after them. Fleming weaved the self-propelled gun through the smoky battlefield, driving it like a racing car. An ungainly, 12-ton racing car at that.
The panzer stopped and fired. An explosion went up less than ten meters away. Shrapnel whizzed around them and pinged off the shields.
A tortured cry went up. Niven whipped around. One of the fauns clutched a bleeding leg. Sergeant Davis hopped over to him and pulled out bandages from the medical kit taken from the late Corporal Taylor. Niven looked past them to the panzer. The damn thing was gaining on them.
We have to end this now. Much as he hated to admit it, the Germans had the best tank crews in the world. He and his men had been lucky so far. But he knew luck could only last so long against a skilled, experienced panzer crew.
Niven racked his brains for a plan.
"Lieutenant. I may have an idea." Fleming quickly laid it out for him. At first Niven thought it utter lunacy. Unfortunately, they had no time to sit around and come up with something better.
"Do it!"
Fleming nodded. "Stand by that gun."
He yanked down one of the control levers. The SIG 33 jerked to a halt. The engine roared again and the vehicle shot backwards. Fleming looked over his shoulder as they neared the panzer, then sped past it.
Niven looked over the gun, his eyes locked on the panzer's exposed rear. The enemy, though, turned to the right.
"Ladamire!" Niven called out.
The sniper jumped behind the gun and shouted to Niven. "Stop! Traverse ten degrees . . . fifteen degrees . . . Panzer's coming about . . . got him! Fire!"
Niven pulled the trigger.
The round struck just under the panzer's turret. A pillar of flame burst from it.
"Got him!" Ladamire raised a fist in the air. "All their panzers are flaming heaps!"
Cheers went up from the other Commandos and the fauns. Even Niven couldn't help himself. He let out a triumphant whoop.
"Thank you, Lieutenant." King Peter shook his hand. "Well done."
"No trouble, Your Majesty. Just wish we could have knocked out these blighters a bit sooner."
"Um, Sir," Rowling muttered. "I don't think we're out of the woods just yet."
Niven followed the Corporal's gaze. His chest tightened as he saw several squat objects racing across the battlefield toward them.
Armored cars. About a dozen of them.
"Commander! Get us out of here!"
Fleming gunned the engine sped off.
Orange flickers came from the German armored cars. Bullets buzzed and cracked around them. Everyone laid flat of the chassis. Ladamire fired his rifle and Rowling opened up with his Bren Gun.
A German round cracked over them and pinged off the armored shield, inches over Fleming's head.
"We're too exposed like this!" King Peter said.
"I can fix that, Your Majesty." Fleming wheeled the SIG 33 around and drove in reverse. The armored shields now faced the Germans and absorbed the machine gun fire.
Niven looked over the gun. The armored cars split up, some going left, some going right, all of them staying out of the gun's line of sight.
He thought about stopping and trying to take out one of them. Unfortunately, it would be a futile gesture. Those cars were smaller, faster and more maneuverable than the panzers. Even if they did hit one, that would leave eleven more to deal with.
The armored cars drew closer, coming at them from both flanks. Niven could guess their plan. Surround them and rake them from behind with machine gun fire. Or maybe drive alongside and lob a couple grenades onto the chassis. And they had no chance of outrunning them. Those armored cars could easily do over thirty miles per hour. Their self-propelled gun could barely do twenty.
More rounds pinged off the shields. Niven's teeth clenched. Primmie's face floated before his mind's eye. He turned and looked at his men. Pike and Davis were both married with children. He mentally sent out apologies to both families for never having another chance see their husbands and fathers. Ladamire was engaged to a lovely university girl. Now they would have no future. Rowling was single, and would never have the chance to marry. He had no idea as to Commander Fleming's marriage status, or family situation. Surely someone would miss him. And King Peter! Narnia was about to lose its monarch.
Sorry, lads. Anger festered in him. He'd led his men through this strange world inside a wardrobe, fought against overwhelming odds, had already suffered the loss of Corporal Taylor. They had just turned the tide of battle, and now likely wouldn't live to see the outcome.
Niven gripped his Thompson. If he had to go down, he'd make bloody sure some Germans went with him.
"All right, lads. Get ready to -"
"Look!" Rowling pointed skyward.
Niven looked up. His eyes widened.
Nearly twenty gryphons dove at the armored cars, each one carrying a barrel of fuel oil. Niven spotted a couple Germans waving their arms or tapping their friends on the shoulder or pointing to the sky. Most of them, however, were too focused on their SIG 33 to notice the threat from above.
The gryphons tilted their barrels. With no roofs to protect them, the oil splashed onto the armored cars, soaking their open interiors.
The gryphons pulled up. One German raised his machine gun and fired. A flash of orange blotted out the compartment. Flames gushed from the armored car as it gradually rolled to a stop.
Dots of flickering orange soared through the air. Flaming arrows. They fell in and around the armored cars. One of them vanished in a fiery plume. Then another. Another. Soon most of the armored cars were ablaze. Two of them crashed into each other. A German leapt out of another one, his entire body on fire. He staggered a couple meters before collapsing.
Another barrage of fire arrows arced through the sky. The remaining armored cars that escaped the first attack unscathed turned into wheeled funeral pyres.
The men and fauns let out a cheer. Even King Peter roared in triumph, raising his sword over his head.
Niven simply let out the breath he'd been holding forever.
Another swarm of gryphons flew over the battlefield, spilling oil on the infantry. Dozens of fire arrows flew from the castle. Trails of fire snaked across the open ground, cutting off enemy troops or burning them alive.
The doors to Cair Paravel opened. Narnians and British soldiers rushed out, reclaiming the trenches they had abandoned mere minutes ago. Arrows, without fiery tips, tore into the enemy ranks, as did machine gun and rifle and mortar fire.
"Commander, halt!" Niven ordered. "What say we give our friends a helping hand?"
They fired one shell after another from the SIG 33's gun. Explosions flung Germans and White Witch followers into the air. At one point, Niven spotted a small group of monsters and wolves, led by a goblin with a necklace of what looked like rather large marbles, charging them. The goblin waved its sword in the air, saliva flying from its open mouth.
"They must be mad." Niven shook his head. Well, if those buggers wanted to charge a rolling artillery piece, he'd be more than happy to show them the folly of their ways.
He shut the breech as soon as Sergeant Major Pike rammed home a new shell. Ladamire lined up the shot, and Niven pulled the trigger.
A geyser of dirt and smoke erupted in front of the White Witch followers. Something spiraled through the air. The veins in Niven's neck stuck out when he noticed it was the goblin's torso.
"Look!" King Peter pointed. "They're retreating!"
Niven squinted, peering through the smoke hovering over the battlefield. SS troopers fled into the woods, alongside goblins and Minotaurs and dwarves and wolves.
"We did it!" Pike slapped his thigh. "By God, we did it! We routed those blighters!"
All the humans and fauns got to the feet and cheered.
"Run all the way back to Berlin, you Hun bastards!" Rowling shouted.
"Give Uncle Adolf our warmest regards!" Ladamire laughed.
Niven pressed a hand against the armored shield, relief flooding his body, turning his legs to jelly. He offered up a silent prayer for the new lease on life for him and his men.
Despite the dull hum in his ears, he heard boisterous cheers from the trenches and from the battlements of Cair Paravel. He checked over the gun barrel, surveying the battlefield. The only Germans and White Witch followers he saw lay dead.
We won. We really won.
XXXXX
Peter thought back to the end of the battle, how he cheered like mad when he saw the Germans and White Witch followers fleeing into the woods.
Now, just a few hours after, as he walked through the corridors of Cair Paravel, his celebratory mood had vanished.
He toured the hospital wing, packed to the gills with wounded. Lucy's cordial helped revive the most gravely injured, while the centaur healers worked on the rest.
Then he went to the Grand Hall, which now served as a makeshift morgue. Sheet-draped bodies lined the floor from one end of the hall to the other. Peter's throat tightened, thinking of the creatures lying here. Centaurs, fauns, bears, cheetahs, gryphons. Half the British soldiers ferried here from General Montgomery's lines also laid in the Grand Hall.
So many. Peter took a shaky breath, trying to push back the tears that stung his eyes. Would there be fewer here if I was a better king? A more experienced king?
Hanging his head, he turned away and left the Grand Hall behind.
Peter continued to wander the castle, giving well wishes to the Narnians he passed for their part in the battle. He climbed the winding stone stairs, his eyes lingering on the holes and rubble and other battle damage whenever he passed it. One stairway he took ended halfway up, the walls around it gone. Probably hit by an artillery shell, he thought. He stood near the edge, gazing out at the quiet battlefield. Smoldering wrecks of tanks and armored cars littered the scarred, blackened ground. Many bodies lay among them. Mostly Germans and White Witch followers. The Narnian and British dead and wounded had long since been removed. Peter chewed on his lip, wondering if they should give the enemy soldiers proper burials. It would be the civilized thing to do. But it was hard for him to think civilized thoughts when he recalled the death and destruction caused by German bombs falling on London, or the sight of that severed goblin torso with the disgusting necklace made of eyeballs.
"A bit worse for wear, I guess."
Peter turned around to find Susan walking up the steps. He frowned and stared at the scorched edges of the walls. "Have you seen all the damage? Cair Paravel's a mess. I can't even imagine how long it will take to fix."
"It could be worse. Had things gone differently, there could be a Nazi flag waving from the top of the castle."
Peter said nothing. What could he say? His sister was right. As bad as the carnage had been, had the Nazis and White Witch followers won, a lot more people and creatures would be dead now, he and his siblings likely among them.
He sighed and turned back to the battlefield. "Was there anything more we could have done? A better plan we could have come up with? A way to not have made this battle so costly?"
Susan came up alongside him and gently touched his arm. "I've asked myself that as well. I don't know what more we could have done differently. We didn't have any tanks or artillery to fight the Nazis. But still we managed to beat them and keep Narnia safe. And you also proved something."
"What's that?"
"That you are a good king." Susan smiled.
Peter drew a breath and smiled back. "Thanks. You're also a good queen. I couldn't have done any of this without you, or Lucy or Edmund."
Susan's smile grew wider as Peter hugged her.
A flapping sound caught their attention. They turned and saw an owl land at the edge of the shattered stairs. "Forgive me for interrupting, Your Majesties."
"No need to apologize, Dultho," Peter responded. "What is it?"
"King Edmund sent me. He and his party are returning with prisoners. He asks that you meet him outside the castle."
"Thank you, Dultho," said Peter. "Tell King Edmund we're on our way."
"Yes, Your Majesty." The owl flew off.
Minutes later, Peter and Susan stood near the charred remains of a German tank as Edmund, Lieutenant Niven's Commandos, and fifteen Narnian soldiers emerged from the woods. They flanked a line of around thirty prisoners, mostly Germans with a few goblins and dwarves sprinkled in.
"Sorry, Your Majesties," Niven gave a slight bow, "but this sorry lot's all we could bring back. Looks like the others scampered back to the Fatherland."
"Quite all right, Lieutenant," Peter replied. "Were you able to get any information out of them?"
"Oh, quite a bit. Didn't take long for their tongues to loosen up, not when a couple of your bears stalked around them, snarling and giving them the evil eye."
Both Peter and Susan grinned as Niven continued. "First and foremost, we learned the location of their entry point into Narnia."
"Outstanding!" Susan bounced on her heels. "Maybe we can send some of our forces through there, do to Germany what they wanted to do to England."
"Well, I suppose that will be up to the generals and Prime Minister Churchill back in London. But unfortunately, we have another pressing matter."
"What is it?" Peter asked.
"This wasn't the only bunch of Germans in Narnia," Edmund answered. "There's more of them, headed toward the wardrobe at Professor Kirke's home."
Susan's mouth fell open. Peter stood still, his mind absorbing his brother's words. More Germans? Headed toward their wardrobe?
Headed toward England?
Dread and anger swelled within him. He thought they had defeated the Nazis and their allies. Now they had to fight them again? Even more Narnians and Britons would have to die?
"How many?" Peter thought he noticed a slight quiver in his voice.
"About a regiment's worth," replied Niven. "Between a thousand and two thousand."
"And they're equipped just like the blaggards we fought here," said Sergeant Major Pike. "Tanks, artillery. They have General Montgomery's lads severely outgunned."
"And if they break through his lines," Susan said, "then we'll have a thousand or more German soldiers running loose in England."
"Not just any soldiers," Fleming spoke up. "SS. Worst of the bunch. Mark my words, they'll wreak havoc if they make it through to England."
"We have to go after them." Lines of determination wrinkled Peter's forehead. "We have to give General Montgomery all the help we can."
"Peter." Edmund spread his arms out to his sides. "It'll take us more than a day to march there. By then the battle will likely be over."
"We might have a quicker way," said Niven. "Jerry left some of his trucks behind when he hoofed it. We could use them to bring troops to General Montgomery's lines."
"We could also use the gryphons to ferry soldiers there," Edmund suggested.
"Actually . . ." Fleming raised a hand. "I think we can use the gryphons for a lot more than just ferrying people."
The Royal Navy Commander laid out his plan.
TO BE CONTINUED