Rage, pure blinding rage, consumed Klaudia. It overwhelmed her capacity for rational thought. All that existed in the world was her wrath and the man who had ignited it. The light of the distortions was so bright that Klaudia could not see the American any more, only feel how his flesh twisted and shuddered under her gaze. Finally pain began to claw past the barrier of anger that Klaudia had wrapped herself in. With her injuries crying out for attention she was forced to return to reality. Exhaustion followed along after and Klaudia released her halo as she tried to centre herself. She instantly regretted it.

With the distortions gone Klaudia could now clearly see just what she had done to the American. Retching she closed her eyes and turned away. The corpse in front of her was only vaguely human in appearance, as if it had been conjured from the diseased mind of a degenerate artist. His internal organs had been made external, twisted up in the splayed open lattice of his rib cage, and his head had split into two segments that arched up and away from the rest of him. Laying nearby were his still intact arms, oddly juxtaposed with the devastation of the rest his body. Struggling to force that image out of her mind Klaudia took hold of her head between her hands. What have I done?

No, Klaudia realized after a moment, what did he make me do? This was the American's fault. He was the one who had started to fight dirty, not her. Klaudia could still feel where his hands had been wrapped around her neck. It was his fault that she had lost control. He was the one to blame, not her. It did not take many repetitions of that mantra for Klaudia to fully believe it.

Knives were dancing along the nerves in Klaudia's shoulder, where the American's distortion had hit her. She reached up and laid a tentative finger on the wound. No sooner had it made contact than she jerked her hand away. Gritting her teeth she rotated that arm. Other than the pain it was stiff but functional. Had she turned a moment later that distortion would have landed right along her neck. That would have been far worse to endure if she survived it at all. Though she could not see the damage she felt that her face and throat would be also bruised for weeks to come.

"Burn in hell you bastard." Klaudia spat back at the body of the American. Yet he was dead and she was alive. That was all that mattered. A large distortion cresting the buildings nearby told Klaudia where she could find her fellow Battleship. Marching in that direction she considered what to do with Markus when she caught up to him.

The plan had been simple. Somehow it had been discovered that the Allies not only had ubermensch of their own but also a newly completed Battleship. While there were other reasons to attack Antwerp drawing out and crushing the Allied ubermensch was the primary purpose of Klaudia's mission. In order to ensure success Markus and nearly two hundred panzermensch had been secretly rushed to the coast and then made to swim down the Scheldt estuary in the dead of night. If everything lined up right they would have arrived just before Klaudia, early enough to lay an ambush but not so early as to risk discovery. Truthfully the panzermensch were there only to take care of their Allied counterparts. Killing the Battleship was to be left to Klaudia and Markus alone.

Theoretically any one of the German Battleships should have been able to overpower the Allied Battleship on the basis of having matured longer. While Klaudia had ended up proving this it had been considered too risky during planning to engage the American one on one. Klaudia would act as bait, drawing him out so that she and Markus could overpower him. The whole plan, she now realized, had been doomed to failure from the beginning. It relied too heavily on the unreliable elements of timing and Markus. If only Werner had not been bogged down with securing Romania's oil then he would have been her support. Markus had been undertaking some kind of 'security' action in Poland and had been quicker to retrieve. Klaudia swore that she would never again allow herself to be put in a position where she had to rely on the boy.

There was little sign of any American panzermensch, or anyone else at all for that matter. As Klaudia stomped along she kept a sharp lookout for movement. All she got was a glimpse of a man's jacket fluttering behind him as he fled into an alley, no doubt some dock worker cursing his luck at being caught up in all this. Klaudia let him go. If he was stupid enough to not keep his head down someone else would punish him for it, she had more important things to do. It was a few streets later that she found her first group of German panzermensch. They were moving slowly and cautiously, keeping behind cover. It was a sure sign that they had only recently finished their maturation. That and how they started when they saw Klaudia. Being in the presence of a Battleship would be an unfamiliar and daunting prospect for them.

"Battleship Sieglinde!" The closest one greeted her as the group saluted. Klaudia did not return the gesture.

"Where's Markus?" Klaudia asked in a flat voice. Both her expression and her tone made it clear that she was not in the mood for small talk.

"Battleship Siegfried? We saw him a short while ago, he may have moved since then but if you'll allow me to guide you..." The unfortunate panzermensch nearly fell over his own feet when Klaudia waved her hand for him to get moving. Nervous as they were the group made good time leading Klaudia along towards her target.

Not that tracking Markus on her own would have been that difficult. He kept on blasting things in a particularly visible manner. When Klaudia finally caught sight of him he was setting fire to some warehouses for the amusement of a small group of panzermensch. That only made Klaudia's temper grow hotter. While crushing the threat of the Allied ubermensch had been the primary goal of the mission securing the city and the supplies within was almost as important for continuing the war. Yet here Markus was, far from where and what he was supposed to be doing, playing at arson as if he did not have a care in the world.

One of Markus's companions saw her coming and gave him a word of warning. Turning he smiled and walked towards Klaudia with open arms.

"Sieglinde! I take it that we were victorious?" Markus asked. As he looked at Klaudia's injuries his smile got a little broader and far nastier. That decided it. He had done this on purpose.

"'We?'" Klaudia marched right up to Markus and did not stop there, forcing him to stumble backwards. Catching Markus on the back foot Klaudia got right into his face and literally loomed over him as she continued. "There was no 'we' you little idiot, I killed the American and nearly died for it! So fuck off with your 'we!'"

"I, well, let me-" Markus had clearly not been prepared for this harsh of a verbal assault. He tried shrinking back from Klaudia but she kept right on top of him.

"No, no excuses this time. Did you somehow forget the plan in the time it took you to get here? Should I have written it down for you? I didn't think it was that hard to remember! And as for this," Klaudia swept her arm towards the burning buildings, trying to ignore the pain it caused her. "How are we supposed to put these supplies to use if they are on fire you moron! People in Germany are starving and you are burning food!"

"It was just a bit of fun..." Markus replied in what he must have thought was a placating manner. It had the opposite effect on Klaudia.

"Fun. Just a bit of fun." Klaudia resisted the urge to hit him right then and there. "This isn't one of your stupid war games. It isn't supposed to be fun."

"Oh, is that your opinion as a soldier Klaudia? You barely know the first thing about war," Realizing that the eyes of the panzermensch were on him Markus finally found his spine again. A vicious smile worked its way back onto his face as he straightened himself. "Poor little Klaudia, did the big bad American scare you that much? Or maybe you are just hysterical from having a man's hands on you again-"

Markus was cut off by Klaudia's fist slamming into his jaw. The sudden movement sent fresh waves of pain out from her shoulder but she was beyond caring. All that mattered was that she was going to wipe that smile off his face for good.

Though staggered by the first blow Markus came back up snarling and with his halo active. Klaudia was ready and met his distortion with one of her own. Just as had happened in her fight with the American the distortions collided and Klaudia took advantage of that momentary confusion to hit Markus in the stomach, sending him to his knees this time. Grabbing him by the neck she rained blows down onto him.

"You worthless little mongrel, your mother should have strangled you in the cradle rather than burdening the rest of us with you!" Klaudia began to shout insults at the boy while continuing her assault. It appeared that Markus was an even worse fighter than she was. As she hit him his halo flickered away and was replaced by pitiful sobbing. Someone grabbed hold of Klaudia's arm but she threw them off. This would end when she wanted it to. "You waste of skin, you pathetic fucking bully! Why aren't you still smiling Markus? Not having fun anymore? After all this, after you abandoned me? You- dammit!"

Bringing her fist down one last time Klaudia released Markus and stepped back, panting more out of emotion than exertion. Not all of that had been meant for Markus, though the stupid bastard had made himself a fine target for her excess anger. With her throat now thoroughly hoarse and her shoulder screaming with pain Klaudia saw that her knuckles were raw and bleeding as well. Disconcertingly there was far more blood on her arm than there should have been from the assault. Looking around she quickly discovered the source. The panzermensch who tried to intervene was now splattered across the ground from the force of her throwing him off. All the rest, both Markus's escort and her own, had taken cover further back. No sooner did Klaudia look their way than they disappeared behind whatever they could.

Someone would have words for her over this. Maybe Goering or one of the generals, maybe even the Leader himself. Taking a deep breath Klaudia tried to calm herself. The day was enough of a mess already, no point in making it any worse. She had gotten some satisfaction at least.

"Get up." Klaudia ordered Markus. When the whimpering young man did not respond she added a boot to the ribs. That got him to scramble to his feet. Markus looked quite the mess now. At least one tooth appeared to be missing and his nose was certainly broken. Not that Klaudia was about to let things end there. "You've got a job to finish. The harbour still needs to be sabotaged and the defences outside the city taken care of. Don't worry though, I'll be watching your back the whole time. Once you are so tired that you can't even stand I'll take over."

Grabbing Markus by what was left of his collar Klaudia got behind him and marched him towards the harbour, though away from the body of the American. She had no desire to look at that again. Getting the panzermensch to follow along took more effort but after a bit of yelling Klaudia had them all back on task.

Overseeing Markus as he continued the work of breaking the docks proved to be a thankless task. Every time Klaudia so much as looked at him Markus started blubbering again. It was so pathetic she was tempted to give him a second beating out of disgust. Between his whining and her injuries Klaudia desperately wanted to just lay down somewhere and try to forget it all. Yet the day was still young and the battle far from over, much less the war. She would rest when death finally managed to catch up with her.

When Top awoke in darkness, stars wavering in his vision, he figured that he must have been out for the whole day. The stars slowly faded away and he came to realize that it might not be nighttime after all. Something was on top of him, pinning him down at the waist. Activating his halo to get some light brought on a stabbing pain in his head. He was able to keep it together long enough to see that he was surrounded by rubble. There was a sufficient void around Top that he could breath but otherwise he had no way of knowing how much crap was above him or what was waiting outside. Closing his eyes in the darkness he tried to focus. Even without the halo his head ached and it was not the only thing hurting. From the feeling in his chest a couple of ribs were broken. Taking shallow breaths he started to piece together how he had gotten here.

Fucked up beyond all recognition. Guys liked to throw that phrase around for almost everything but today was the first time that Top well and truly felt it. The day had started alright. He had been in position to ambush the German tankmen. Just before the order to attack was given all hell had broken loose. Suddenly there were Germans coming out of the woodwork, in such numbers that the Americans had nearly found themselves surrounded. Then it had become a mad dash to try and fall back to regroup. Top and a few other tankmen had cut through a building trying to shake the Germans off their tail. Bastards had ended up just bringing the whole place down on top of them. He wondered if the other guys had made it out or if they too were stuck under here, perhaps only a few feet away. Might as well have been in China for all the help Top could give them.

Hard as it was going to be Top knew that he could not stay where he was. If the battle had continued as it had before he was knocked out then Antwerp was not going to be in Allied hands for much longer. Bracing himself he activated his halo again. The pain was not as bad this time, and his head did not implode so he must have still had some juice left in him. He was aware that once he started cutting the whole pile might just fall in on him but it was a risk that he was willing to take. Tensing his legs he began to burn away at the debris in front of him. As the bricks shifted and tumbled he could see flickers of light beyond. Pushing forward Top managed to free himself and scramble out into the open air. Out in the open once more he lay there gasping.

Lifting his arm Top found that his watch had been shattered to the point of uselessness. Figured, he had just gotten it adjusted to fit his wrist again after the activation. From the position of the sun it could not have been more than a couple hours since the ambush. Hopefully that would mean that there were still Americans around. Scanning the street Top made a grisly discovery. The headless corpse of a tankman, in an American uniform, lay a short distance away. It looked like he had managed to make it through the building just to run straight into the Germans anyways. Top could not even tell who the poor bastard had been. Of the others there was no sign.

"FUBAR. Jesus fuckin' Christ." Top muttered to himself as he realized just how close he had come to death. And the day was not even over yet.

Between his head and ribs Top found that sitting up took much longer than it should have. Trying to keep an eye out for anyone coming his way was tricky when he could hardly keep his eyes open. Leaning back onto the ruins of the house Top looked up into the sky. It was strangely quiet. Then he noticed the flashes. They were far off, probably from the outskirts of the city. If he could see them from here then the German Battleship must have moved, which meant...

"Shit, Patrick!" The realization burst into Top's mind. Patrick was supposed to have squared off against the big German bitch. There was no way that he would have let her continue her attack unless he was hurt bad or maybe even dead. Struggling to his feet Top resolved to head to the docks. He would be able to track down his friend from there.

Top was hardly able to make it half a block before the darkness started to close in on him again. Taking cover in a nearby doorway he shut his eyes for a moment, intending just to rest for a moment before continuing on.

Next thing Top knew someone was trying to shake him awake.

"Private Spinelli, can you hear me? Hey, we got a live one here!" Someone was yelling right in front of Top, the noise ringing in his ears. Opening his eyes again he saw a medic, looking worse for wear, inspecting him as other men rushed up. At least it had been Americans that found him.

"It's Top. I mean call me Top. I'm fine, I'm fine. Just needed to get my bearings." It was a damned lie and Top knew that the medic would see right through it.

"Well Top, I'm Glenn. And you are a far ways from fine buddy. You realize your scalp is split open?"

Reflexively Top reached up to confirm that only for Glenn to push his hand back down. He really must have been in bad shape if a normal guy could handle him like that. This whole super soldier thing was turning out to be much less super than Top had initially thought.

"How many made it out? Or Patrick O'Connor, the big fella?" Top realized that particular description might not be very helpful. "The really big fella. Was supposed to be closer to the docks."

"I don't know about him but from the sounds of it we got hit hard. Real hard. Not sure how many of you tank fellas are left but its not good."

"God dammit." Top shook his head as Glenn continued to inspect him.

"Keep still now, I'm not even sure if I'll be able to stitch this but I might be able to bandage it at least."

"Hey Glenn! They say if he can still move they need him!" A nearby soldier with a radio called over.

"Tell them it'll be a minute!" Glenn was cursing under his breath as he put together a makeshift bandage over Top's head wound. Once he was satisfied that it would not get any worse he looked Top straight in the eye. "You feel like you can get on your feet alright?"

When Top nodded the medic helped him up. His vision was swaying again but with the other man alongside him at least he was sure that he was not about to fall on his ass.

Following the instructions coming in over the radio the group began to move towards the harbour. Once Top got a good look at it he was surprised that it was still in decent shape. A barrier of spines now jutted out from the wharves, thicker than a man and most nearly twenty feet in length. Most of the cranes had been demolished as well but other than that everything else was largely untouched.

"The hell were they trying to do?" Top asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Beats me but things are a lot worse outside the city. The Germans have cut off the way south so it is going to be a bitch for anybody trying to retreat over land. As you can see no ship is going to be landing here for a long time either. We got lucky, orders were to grab as many of you guys as were still standing then there is a couple of planes waiting to evacuate us all." Glenn had a sour look on his face. Even if it meant his own survival it left far more men in the line of fire.

All that effort and training and Antwerp was still lost. For a moment Top wondered how much of a chance they had in this war, before crushing those doubts. They might have taken a beating but America was not about to back down. Not with the stakes having been raised so high.

Shortly they found themselves passing through a dug in group of soldiers around what looked like a machine shop. Much to Top's surprise a grey-faced General Morton was the one waiting for him.

"Shit, of everyone it could have been," Morton muttered to himself as he approached Top. It was hard to hear over the high pitched shriek of machinery coming from inside the building. Most of the soldiers looked like they would give anything to not hear that noise anymore. "Private Spinelli, good to see that you made it through in one piece. You have enough left in you to do some work with your halo?"

"Thank you sir, and I do." It would be true so long as they did not need Top to do anything too strenuous.

"Good, good. Now this is not going to be easy, as I know he was a friend of yours, but Patrick did not make it through his battle with Sieglinde," Regret was the strongest emotion present in Morton's voice as he spoke. "You'll need to see for yourself. It isn't pretty."

The news that Patrick was dead devastated Top. What exactly was left to be done? As the General led him inside Top let out a groan of disgust as he saw what they were doing.

The noise Top had heard was that of a large industrial drill. It was almost smoking as it struggled to penetrate the centre of a disgusting mass of flesh and bone being held up beneath it.

"What the fuck is that?" Top asked, losing what little decorum he still possessed as he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing.

"The remains of Private O'Connor." Morton began quietly.

"What? No, no that can't be him." Top interrupted, his voice disturbed. This all had to be some kind of sick joke. Or it was his head. Maybe he was still blacked out and this was just some kind of nightmare.

"Listen to me Spinelli," Morton got in front of Top to get his attention, raising his voice as well. "Patrick is still alive. Now they tell me-"

"Jesus Christ no. This isn't, that can't be, no..." Even as Top denied it the picture was coming together. Those two bits there were each half of a head. That drill was going into the chest, the organs mostly exposed at this point. On the floor nearby was a pair of arms, still in perfect shape other than being detached from their body.

"Now they tell me," Morton repeated himself, louder once more. "That it appears that he has no higher brain function left. All this is just running on instinct. There is nothing left for us to do but to try and ease his passing as much as we can."

"With a goddamn drill!"

"Sergeant Dobson was the one who found him, he was able to use his halo to clear away some of the tissue over the heart but he was not able to penetrate it before fatigue set in. The drill is making progress but it is slow going. If you can finish the job then it will be that much easier."

Top stood silent. He covered his mouth with one hand, fingers pressed into his cheeks so firmly that they turned white. Squeezing his eyes shut he prayed to wake up from this nightmare. This was an impossible choice. Either he had to help kill a good friend or leave him to suffer in unimaginable agony. Finally Top dropped his hand.

"I'll do it. But he needs a priest for his last rites. He'd want it." It was both a serious request and a way to buy a little time. Just a few more minutes so that he could steel himself for what he had to do.

"Chaplain was already here," Morton must have picked up on the twinge of regret that Top felt. "I can't order you to do it but if it were me, I know what I would want."

That was it then. There was no other plausible way for Top to delay it. The drill was stopped and the crew manning it stepped back. Walking up to Patrick Top looked into the ruin that had been his friend's face. Patrick's eyes were still whole, though the pupils had constricted to such a degree that they were barely pinpricks on the surface. They darted around wildly, in jerking spasms rather than smooth movements, with no pattern. When Top moved his hand in front of Patrick's eyes there was no change. He really was already gone.

Patrick's chest was in even worse shape than his split apart head. His organs were mostly wrapped around the warped ribs that jutted out at odd angles. Now that Top was close enough the smell hit him. The smell of raw meat. He thanked God that rot had not yet set in or he might not have been able to stand it. Focusing on the divot that had been formed in Patrick's misshapen heart Top activate his halo and began to cut away.

Progress was painfully slow. Effective as Sieglinde's halo had been at butchering Patrick Top was only a tankman. Every millimetre of tissue that he was able to shave away took an incredible amount of effort. All the while Patrick's heart kept its irregular beat, hardly noticing that it was under assault. The pressure was building inside of Top's skull. He feared that what he had left would not be enough but he could not give up. Not now.

If Top had been able to sweat still he would have been drenched. His vision began to blur as fatigue built towards its breaking point. Still the wall of Patrick's heart refused to give in. Top cursed the bastard for being so tough in the end.

"You did your best son," General Morton came up beside Top, laying a hand on his arm. "Time to pack it in."

"I got this. I can do it." Try as he might the strain leaked out into Top's voice. He would finish this even if it was the end of him.

"Stand down. That is an order. Enough men have died today and I don't want to add anymore to that list. You've done enough that they can finish the job." Morton's tone was sympathetic but firm.

Top kept at it for a few moments more. Patrick's heart was still beating and Top's head felt like it might burst any second now. Releasing his halo he dropped his gaze.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Was all Top could say as he stared down at his boots.

"There is a truck that will take you out to the evacuation point. You did everything you could. Wherever Patrick is I'm sure he knows that."

"I'm staying until its done. I won't leave him behind" Even if Top had failed to put Patrick out of his misery he was determined to be there to the end for him.

General Morton nodded and squeezed Top's shoulder before leading him back a few steps. The soldiers returned to their places around the drill, a few bracing Patrick's body to keep it in place. Then the shriek began again. As the drill droned on the strength left Top's legs. He sunk to the ground.

It was a little over a half hour later that the drill succeeded, and a short time after that Patrick O'Connor was finally declared dead. No further prayers were said as his body was loaded up to be evacuated. Leaving Antwerp behind the few remaining American tankmen formed a grim honour guard for their fallen friend. Not a single one could think of a darker day than this one had been.