Author's Note: All properties are the rights of their respective owners, Sledgehammer, Activision, LucasArts Games, etc.
We are now at the point where "It just works" would be better than most AAA game releases.
Big finale time, buckle up and have fun.
The Devil's Company
Chapter 16: … And Into the Fire
No. 63 Commando and 824th Tank Destroyer Battalion
4 Miles East of Strasbourg, France
0738 Hours, January 20, 1945
Laying flat with her eye pressed to her scope, Polina scanned the road that ran east from the French town they were to defend. There had been a rush of American vehicles clogging up the entire road, until Strasbourg. There, the group had waited overnight, and that morning had received word that there was a German attack underway, heavy tanks breaking through the American lines on the other side of the Rhine River. The 824th, held in reserve specifically to counter a German armored thrust, was sent to head off the advance, and the dozen Hellcats of Able Company were in prepared and camouflaged firing positions overlooking the main road towards Strasbourg, with the Commandos forming a perimeter. Polina was the farthest east, around a bend in the road, serving as a lookout for the first signs of the approaching SS armored column.
There had been no sign of the approaching Germans thus far, just the staggering survivors of their assault falling back as the distant echo of eighty-eights rolled over the fields. Somewhat disconcertingly, there did not seem to be much fight from the Americans, the skies overhead were clear but for a few clouds, and their artillery remained surprisingly silent. The more time passed, the flow of GIs moving west slowed to a trickle, and the few that did pass the concealed Russian did so with obvious urgency. It did not take long for the reason to become obvious as German shells began to whistle overhead before crashing back to Earth, their impacts bracketing the road.
A tense silence replaced the subsiding bombardment as Polina heard an approaching vehicle and strained to identify the make of it as it came up the road. When it drew closer, the Russian recognized it as one of the American 'Sherman' tanks as it approached, followed by more vehicles kicking up snow and dust in their wake. As the third Sherman drew close, Polina could tell that it was lagging behind the others, ominous smoke rising from the tank as it doggedly drove on until the thunderous report of a cannon split the air. Before Petrova could whip her head around to find the source, she saw the retreating Sherman stagger before a geyser of flame erupted from the top of the vehicle, followed by the entire turret popping off, the 15,000 pound construction cartwheeling through the air and crashing alongside the tank it was formerly attached to, both coming to a stop after veering off the far side of the road.
Tearing her eyes away from the smoldering ruins of the American vehicle, Petrova saw the great bulk of a slab-sided steel behemoth appear through the settling dust and snow. Its sheer size lent the machine an imposing aura, this tank was larger than any other type Polina had seen, its massive long barreled gun sweeping over the terrain. Even as the muzzle crept towards her, Lady Death held her nerve, counting on her fieldcraft to keep her hidden from the crew inside the King Tiger. Going completely still, even subconsciously holding her breath, Petrova watched as the Nazi tank scanned the road ahead of it before beginning to move once again. Behind the lead vehicle, Polina could see more monstrous tanks with other types of vehicles trailing behind.
The Soviet Sniper took a quick count of the oncoming vehicles and checked to see if any had a man with his head 'up' and out of the turret. When she saw that all crews were buttoned up, Polina carefully slid back from her hide and rolled behind some bushes before scampering along the foliage up the slope and then sliding down the other side. Once safe, Petrova cut across the snow covered ground towards the hidden Hellcats on the next hill.
Slipping through the Commando perimeter, Polina found Arthur alongside Marsland's Tank Destroyer. "Is that the Bosch coming?" asked the Oxford man as the American vehicle commander looked down from inside the turret, surprise etched on his face.
Polina nodded, "Three large tanks in front, some other vehicles behind, trucks, or maybe halftracks."
"Those'll have their infantry support. Probably the fourth tank in the platoon is bringing up the rear," supposed Marsland before he reached back down into his vehicle and came up with a radio handset. "Look alive fellas, company's coming, three big bastards up front, little ones in the middle, and another big one in back. Let them come all the way into the kill zone and wait for my shot."
The Hellcats, with their engines silent, lay in wait as Polina slunk away and found a new position, her rifle resting on a fallen tree. The rumble of Maybach engines and grinding of tracks announced the arrival of the SS column as Polina watched the lead vehicles pass by and the guns of the Allies turn to follow them, the racket from German vehicles drowning out any sound the hidden defenders made as they lined up their guns. Peering over her shoulder and seeing the nearest American Tank Destroyer lay its gun onto the trailing King Tiger that had just rounded the bend, Polina swung her rifle towards the German troop carriers, finger resting against the trigger.
All of the noise made by the German armored column were drowned out by the reverberating report of the nearest American 76mm cannon that signaled the start of the fighting. Polina saw the sparks and spurt of flame flare out the side of the stricken tank as it ground to a halt. Shortly after, a second cannon shell slammed into the trailing tank, and Petrova could see the imposing machine shudder from the pair of impacts as it veered off the side of the road. At the head of the convoy, the lead tank fared no better, as every other American anti-tank gun fired upon him. The barrage of sounds intermingled, the reports of the guns, impact of metal on metal, and the detonation of the bursting charges inside the shells that caused thick black smoke to belch out of the front King Tiger's shattered engine. With the leading and trailing vehicles rendered immobile, the SS column ground to a halt right under the guns of the Allies. The two remaining tanks turned their turrets to either side, their cannons roaring in response as they fired erratically into the hills where the Allies were situated. The impacts of the massive 88mm shells threw up geysers of debris and shattered trees, sending splinters tearing through the air as Polina felt caught in the midst of a clash of titans.
Unable to do more than scratch the paint on the King Tigers, Petrova turned her attention to the trio of halftracks, seeing that the German soldiers in them rushing to get out and into the fight. Ignoring the ringing in her ears, Lady Death took a breath and picked out the man toting the bulky machine gun before firing, picking him off and causing his comrades to falter, if only for a second. While Polina cycled the bolt of her rifle, she didn't see the nearby Hellcat turn its turret to take aim at the halftrack, and it was only when a high explosive shell tore through the thin skinned vehicle, shredding the thin steel armor and sending hot shrapnel into the fuel tanks, causing them to burst into flame that the muzzle blast knocked her scope off target. The fires began to consume the vehicle as the men still inside were blown clear, and those huddled nearby flailed as ignited gasoline spattered across their prone forms.
As they stood up, their flaming clothes made them obvious targets for the Commando riflemen hidden amongst the trees. Polina's rifle joined in, and Lady Death passed over the flailing body of a burning German for the head of one poking up from the ditch he had taken cover in, her crosshairs resting just above the brim before she fired. The 7.62x54mm rimmed projectile punched a neat hole through the thin steel, and Polina watched the head wearing it slip down below the lip of the ditch.
For all the danger that the infantry were exposed to, all the bullets and shrapnel did little to the remaining King Tigers as the monstrous tanks moved off the road, treads throwing up mud and snow as their machine guns flickered, stitching rounds across the hills as the Germans turned to face the Hellcats. The American tanks roared to life, radial engines thrumming as they pumped another salvo of 76mm M62 shot into the front plates of the massive King Tigers before the Germans responded with their devastating 88 millimeters. The high explosive rounds lashed out blindly at the hidden Hellcats, tearing apart the landscape in a vain effort to score a lucky hit against the camouflaged tank destroyers.
But as the smoke settled, it was clear to Petrova that the King Tigers had fared little worse, the heavy tanks' tough hides had withstood the American shells with little more than gouges in the thick steel. Even at a distance that Polina estimated to be less than 200 meters, the American guns had not been able to penetrate the armor of the German tanks. But the smaller guns on the Hellcats were reloaded faster as their crews hurled fresh shells into the breeches, and the gunners quickly sent them down range. Petrova saw the rounds shatter against the turret as they tried, and failed, to force their way inside.
The King Tigers lashed out again, and while the 88mm shell from the trailing tank splashed ineffectually against the forest floor, the forward one turned its turret and fired. Its shot found its mark, and Polina saw the fireball erupt from one of the American Tank Destroyers further forward. But to fire this deadly shot, the tank had to turn its turret, and Petrova looked back to see Marsland's turret crank over and fire into the exposed flank of the King Tiger's turret. The back of the German tank's turret burst as the ammunition inside detonated, and Petrova could see the blast petal the thick steel armored plate.
Despite the tank clearly being knocked out rather spectacularly, Polina could see a hatch on the hull of the heavy tank get thrown open as a man tried to pull himself out. When the German's torso was barely clear of the lip of the hatch, Lady Death fired, and the impact of her bullet caused his lifeless body to collapse back into burning hulk of the tank. While cycling the bolt of her rifle, Polina's eye turned to the last German King Tiger as its diesel snarled and the hulking behemoth trundled towards the bluff. Despite its size, the heavy tank covered the muddy 200 yards with surprising speed, shrugging off any American shells that landed on it. Unable to do anything but watch, Polina did, eyes wide, as Marsland's Hellcat roared to life, the radial engine ejecting a plume of exhaust before the vehicle surged forwards, racing down the slope and quickly getting around the flank of the King Tiger before skidding to a halt, its turret twisting before it fired a shot right into the weaker side armor of the German vehicle.
Polina watched the King Tiger stagger and slow, its barrel drooping as it went still, but the Hellcat quickly reloaded and fired again, and the results were spectacular. Flames flared out of the seam between the turret and hull, smoke belching from the smoldering tank as the Hellcat reversed back up the slope, German small arms fire pinging against the thin armor of the American Hellcat. While it retreated, the others lay down covering fire, their 76mm guns sending shells in amongst the ruined vehicles and surviving troops that hid amongst them while the Commandos pinned them down with rifle fire.
Polina's ear heard the whistle of incoming artillery despite the cacophony of tracks and gunfire enveloping the battlefield. Throwing herself to the ground just as the shells landed, Polina looked over her shoulder to see the German shells splashing down behind the bluff the Allies were situated upon, but the fire had come in quickly and accurately. Experience told Polina that the Germans would correct their fire and the next salvo would land upon their heads.
Crawling to the edge of the high ground, Polina's scope panned over the remaining infantry as the American Hellcat crested the bluff, still in reverse, and ground passed her. Even as the ground shook beneath her, the Soviet Sniper focused on her task, and she soon picked out the distinctive aerial of a German backpack radio sticking up from behind the smoldering ruin of a halftrack. "Come out you little shits," hissed Lady Death, and the Fascists obliged, a man holding a handset popped his head up to observe the fall of shot, only for Polina to remove the top of his head. Pulling the bolt back, Petrova saw the man holding the radio recoil away from his dead comrade, and she slammed the bolt closed before snapping off another shot that caused the radioman to fall away from his cover, his body laying exposed on the muddy road. For good measure, Polina fired a third shot, planting the round straight through the radio pack, rendering it useless.
German shells continued to errantly fall behind the bluff, causing the Commandos to keep their heads down, and Polina was certainly content to continue picking off SS soldiers when she felt someone shake her from behind. "We need to go!" shouted Kingsley over the gunfire as he pulled her up, "The Germans broke through to the North! We have to fall back!"
Reluctantly, Polina followed the officer back to the nearest American Tank Destroyer, climbing up on the vehicle as the rest of the Commandos did the same. Soon, all of the surviving Hellcats were covered in soldiers as they began to roll backwards, their passengers all clinging tight to the armor. After a spurt of action, the American vehicles fell into a rough formation and retreated westward along the reverse slope of the bluff, fleeing despite their successful ambush. German artillery continued to fall near their previous positions, and Polina could hear more in the distance, but the Hellcats soon picked up speed and put the intermittent thunder further away. Once clear, the vehicles then moved back to the road and used their considerable speed to relocate towards Strasbourg, but Petrova peered back to see someone on a trailing vehicle point skywards at something. The Russian looked skywards, expecting to see the star adorned American airplanes swooping in overhead, but instead saw a bright yellow nosed airplane screaming down on them, nose twinkling just before the snow around the convoy splashed with each impact.
Instinctively, Petrova ducked her head close to the armor of the vehicle, only looking up when she saw the flash of movement in the corner of her eye. She could clearly see the Iron Cross markings painted under the wings as the aircraft pulled away as the German fighter circled around to make another pass.
RAF No. 675 Squadron 'Battlehawks' Vought F4U-4 Corsair
2 miles East of Strasbourg, France
0827 Hours, January 20, 1945
"Tally ho!" called out Wright, "I see twin engine fighters, strafing ground targets at our 2 o'clock low!" The four Battlehawks were the first Allied fighters on the scene due to heavy fog that had set over most of the Allied forward airbases, delaying the launch of the 9th Air Force's Thunderbolt fighters and Marauder bombers. Knowing that there would be plenty of aircraft following them up to do ground pounding, Rork had decided that the Battlehawks would be performing a fighter sweep and so the four aircraft were all clean wing, meaning their planes were at their lightest and most deadly.
"Chase, Wright, you two go down after them. Trevor and I will stay high," ordered the Squadron Leader. The Marine Aviator's eyes picked out three of the German aircraft, and as soon as Rork let him off the leash the Corsair was snapped over and swooped down on the trailing Luftwaffe attacker in a descending right-hand turn.
"You take tail end Charlie, Curtis, I'll go for the first two," called Chase as Wright saw the silver Mustang streak over his canopy. Kicking right rudder while swinging around 180 degrees, Wright dropped in behind the last of three German aircraft right as the twin engine plane nosed into a shallow dive. Throwing the stick back over, Curtis leveled the bent wings of the F4U and opened the taps to run down the diving German plane. Supercharger screaming, the Vought's four blade Hamilton-Standard propeller chopped through the air to close the gap with Wright's quarry as he saw a stream of yellow tracers arc from the nose of the German ahead of him down towards the collection of black shapes that stood out from the white snow coating the ground below.
Knuckles white, Curtis held his finger over the trigger on his stick until he was so close he couldn't miss. Only when he was about to fire did the German plane act, his nose pulling up and to the left. "Get back here you bastard," snarled Curtis as he yanked the stick back and matched the move, easily pulling his nose ahead of the lethargic German attacker before cutting loose with his six Brownings. The machine guns dispensed a short burst at the German, the half inch slugs peppering the Luftwaffe airplane and chipping off pieces of the craft. Despite the damage, Wright's target tried to shake the American by cutting his power and trying to nose right in an effort to force the Marine to overshoot. Curtis reacted by pulling back on the throttle and throwing his left while stomping on the right rudder pedal, causing the Vought to skid through the air. Cutting loose with his guns while balancing stick, rudder, and throttle, Wright dragged his Corsair's nose across the Luftwaffe attacker that hung in his windscreen, streams of tracers cutting through the wings and fuselage.
Feeling his Corsair shudder as it verged on the precipice of a stall, Wright centered his stick and flew past the stricken German aircraft, engine belching smoke as it tumbled out of the sky. Keenly aware of the vulnerable position he was in, being both low and slow, the Marine rammed the throttles to their stops to try and gain speed before someone pounced on him, but it was too late. "Curtis, break right!" called Chase over the radio, and Wright heaved the stick over before pulling back hard, grunting as he was pressed into his seat.
Twisting against the g-forces, Curtis looked over his shoulder just as two streams of yellow streaks cut through the air, the shells the size of baseballs passed behind the turning Corsair. While Wright was easily outturning his foe, he didn't have the speed to keep up the turn for much longer. "Get this guy off me!" growled the Marine into the mic as he watched his airspeed indicator tick down.
"I got my hands full as it is!" snapped back Chase, prompting Curtis to look up and see the Mustang barrel rolling with another German plane locked on his tail.
Sitting back in his seat and taking as deep a breath as he could, Curtis then threw the stick over and ruddered down, dumping the nose towards the ground. As the snow covered countryside rushed up at him, Wright clenched his jaw before pulling back on the stick, muscles straining as his nose came up and the Corsair raced along at treetop level. Twisting around in his seat, Curtis looked right and failed to see the German, fear surged through him as he quickly whipped his head around to look left and saw the twin engine plane falling behind.
Wright realized that this big airplane chasing him was underpowered compared to his Corsair, and so he took the fight into the vertical. Leaning into the yoke, Wright wrenched the F4U into a climbing left hand spiral, "Come on you sumbitch, take the bait, come and get me," he encouraged his pursuer, intentionally keeping his turn loose.
When the Daredevil saw the Kraut's nose come up to follow, he began to gently tighten his turn while continuing to ascend. Keeping his head up, Curtis scanned the sky around him for any other enemy planes before finally settling his gaze on his pursuer, seeing that the German was already lagging well behind after one full turn. All 2,300 horsepower of the Pratt & Whitney powered the Corsair skyward as Wright cranked around through the second turn, neck straining as he watched his pursuer doggedly follow.
Gamely, the German kept up the chase, trying vainly to bring his nose up and around, and Curtis watched as the heavier, underpowered twin-engine plane shuddered on the verge of a stall before the inevitability of gravity finally won out. When Curtis saw the nose of the German fall, he stomped hard on the rudder to whip his plane around and shoved the stick forward to dive down after the floundering German. With the negative g forces pushing him up out of his seat and against the leather straps, Wright bore down on the enemy plane before he had a chance to recover, pulling back on the throttles and extending his flaps to avoid building up too much speed in the dive, preventing him from overshooting before he lined up his prey. Watching the German spin out of control, Wright put his crosshair right at the center of his target and fired, watching the stream of .50 caliber rounds chew through the aircraft's fuselage and tail surfaces until the German plane's structure gave way, and the aft section was totally severed by the force of the spin.
Pulling back on the stick, Wright flew past his stricken victim as he plummeted towards the town below, the Marine's eyes scanning the skies around him for any more targets, or anyone who saw the Corsair as a target. Finding none, Curtis began to climb back to altitude, wondering if the ground pounders were having as successful a day as he was so far.
No. 63 Commando and 824th Tank Destroyer Battalion
3 Miles East of Strasbourg, France
0834 Hours, January 20, 1945
Crouched atop the engine deck of the Hellcat, Arthur Kingsley tried to make sense of the group of airplanes above them, the aircraft locked in a series of aerobatic maneuvers that the Commando struggled to keep up with. After being strafed, the remaining vehicles had quickly sought refuge under the nearby trees and come to a stop, all watching the aerial combat between the aircraft that had attacked them and the friendly airplanes that had bounced the Germans. Now they all watched, enthralled, as a blue colored plane swooped down on the spinning German before the Nazi plane fell apart and plummeted towards the ground. "Curtis got him!" exclaimed Polina.
"Are you sure?" asked Arthur right before the blue airplane flashed overhead, engine howling before it nosed up and climbed away.
"That is his airplane," answered the Soviet Sharpshooter, her eyes still locked on the fleeting form of the American fighter. "And taking a risk like that is something he would do."
"At least the flyboys didn't forget about us," muttered Kingsley as he finally turned around and leaned over the open topped turret of the American Tank Destroyer. Reaching out and shaking Marsland's shoulder, the GI turned around as Kingsley leaned in and yelled over the din of the radial engine under his boots. "We need to get moving! Those planes aren't going to be bothering us anymore!"
As if to emphasize the urgency, there was the distant rolling thunder of landing artillery shells falling on Strasbourg. Marsland brought his radio to his mouth and depressed the button, "Driver, move it out," he ordered. Kingsley felt the vehicle lurch under his feet as the Hellcat trundled towards the town. Looking back, Arthur saw that the other vehicles, with his men latched on, follow Marsland's machine eastward towards the town. With the small buildings at the edge of the city visible over the crest of the berm, the American vehicles all came to a halt and Marsland turned back to Arthur. Over the low thrum of the idling engine, Marsland shouted, "The Kraut artillery's stopped, and I think their tanks are already in the town."
Arthur understood at once, and made a quick decision. "Polina!" he barked as he turned to face the Russian, "Get up there and take a look, find out what's waiting for us."
Without a word, Petrova slipped off the side of the Hellcat and scampered up the hill while the men watched the woman with tense expressions. The Sniper crawled up to a rock and spent a few minutes completely still as she scanned the town the group was about to enter while everyone looked on in anxious silence. Finally, Lady Death rolled behind the rock and started making hand signals that Kingsley translated. "German tanks, three, already in the town. Infantry… dismounted infantry, company strength, is with them. They're concentrated on the north side, but the south is clear."
"Then that's how we'll approach the town," decided Marsland, laying a folded map on the top of the turret bustle and pointing to it. "We use this road here, should be able to catch them in their sides if they're coming through from here. You and yours with us Art?" asked the American. Kingsley nodded, prompting the GI to grin, "Good man, recall your scout and let's get moving."
With a quick hand signal of his own, Kingsley watched the Russian retrace her steps back down to the Hellcat before he helped pull her on board. Once she was, Marsland waved back to the other Tank Destroyers before speaking into his radio, "Driver, move out!"
The man in the hull of the vehicle gunned it, and the eighteen-ton vehicle lurched forwards before it veered left, crossing a ditch before coming up on a road that the convoy followed around the outskirts of the city. After minutes listening to the distant chatter of gunfire punctuated by the thunderclap of a tank cannon, the convoy reached a crossroads and came to a halt. "Alright Art, I need your boys to jump off my vehicles and help us clear these buildings while we roll into town. Your boys find those Kraut tanks, and mine will kill 'em."
Kingsley nodded, the request was a good on,e and he slipped around the side of the turret to one of his sub-section Sergeants who was sat upon the front glacis plate. "Disembark sergeant, move down this street and keep an eye out for Jerry." The man picked up his Sten gun and slid down the thin steel armor, followed by the others on the Hellcat. Kingsley then stood tall and waved back at the remainder of his troops, prompting the other two subsections to disembark and form up on either side of the street. Kingsley slipped back around to the engine deck and alongside Petrova. Glancing down at the Sniper, Arthur made a snap decision, "You do what you feel is best Polina."
The Russian woman nodded and shouldered her rifle while Kingsley picked his leg up and swung it over the rim of the Hellcat turret, sitting on the bustle as he settled in behind the ring-mounted Browning M2. Pulling the cam-aided charging handle twice to chamber the first round on the belt, Kingsley leveled the air-cooled heavy machine gun and looked to see that his three 10 man subsections were ready to push into the town. Tapping Marsland on the shoulder, Arthur pointed forwards, and the GI understood the gesture. Raising his handset, the Hellcat commander ordered, "Driver, advance, nice and easy."
With the tank destroyers advancing down the snow-covered cobblestone roads and commandos on either side of the street to cover their flanks, Kingsley's eyes swept over the town ahead. As the Allies approached an open square nearby a church, marked as such by the belltower that cast a shadow across the road, their convoy began to slow when a stream of machine gun bullets pelted the front of the vehicle and swept across the street. The commandos ducked for cover as the vehicles came to a halt, and Kingsley spotted the bright muzzle flash flicking in the third story window of a building across the square. The Lieutenant twisted the machine gun around to return fire, the big half inch slugs kicking up dust as they tore chunks out of the building's brickwork.
Steadily throwing out bursts from the Ma Deuce, Kingsley saw the crew inside the turret of the Hellcat throw open the breech of the cannon and swap out the loaded shell. Even as German 7.92mm slugs tore by his head, Kingsley kept his gun steady while the American crew trained their main gun on the MG-42. With a thunderous report that echoed off the buildings, the Hellcat's cannon blasted the wall off the building, sending rubble crumbling to the ground and permanently silencing the German machine gun.
Turning around to signal one of the dismounted Commando subsections to move forward, Kingsley saw a window shutter on the second floor of a building overlooking the convoy be thrown open and a grenade came flying out, arcing down into the open topped M18 behind the one Arthur was in. Kingsley saw some of the crew try to hastily escape the vehicle before the grenade exploded, the force of the detonation ejecting one man out of the Hellcat before the ammunition stored under the turret cooked off. A geyser of flame erupted from the top of the vehicle, the heat so intense that Kingsley brought his hand up to shield his face, but still felt his forearm burn.
The nearest commandos needed no prompting, kicking the door down and hurling grenades of their own through any unobstructed windows. Submachine guns chattered from the upper floor of the same building as the Germans inside sprayed down the commandos that were still in the street and not already rushing into the building. One of the German soldiers leaned out of the window with his weapon in hand, but before Arthur could bring the fifty cal to bear, Polina's rifle was up and had fired. Kingsley saw the German slump, machine guns on the trailing Hellcats began stitching rounds across the building while gunfire and grenade blasts echoed from inside.
Yet Arthur knew that the lightly armored vehicles were distinctly vulnerable while sitting idle in this narrow street. Waving down a subsection NCO, Kingsley signaled him to get moving, and soon the lead Hellcat followed suit all the way until the end of the street when the first commando stuck his head around the corner, only for the corner of the church to explode. The Hellcat came to an abrupt halt as the subsection rushed to pull the bodies back, one man poking his head out before rushing back to the M18. "There's a tank around there!" he shouted up at Arthur.
Kingsley looked around and saw an alleyway behind the blasted building that looked just big enough for the M18 and pointed it out to Marsland, "Can we go through there?"
The American grimaced, "If we know what's waiting for us."
That seemed to be all Polina needed to hear, without having to be ordered, the Russian hopped down and darted into the church, followed by a few intrepid commandos.
"Driver, reverse," urged the Hellcat commander as the vehicle lurched back, "Halt, left turn, take us through that alleyway, slow and steady." The Hellcat easily crushed the German motorbike parked in the alleyway and trundled forwards, gun trained dead ahead while Kingsley kept his eye on the church, able to hear the chatter of machine guns coming from the other side.
A flash of movement caught his attention, and Kingsley craned his neck up to the belltower, where the Russian woman was leaning out a hole in the stone. "Take the next right!" shouted Kingsley after seeing the gestures Petrova was making. When the Hellcat reached the next alleyway, the machine came to a halt, with Kingsley seeing the big side profile of one of the German King Tigers filling the gap between buildings. Marsland didn't have to give any orders as the turret of the Hellcat swung around and the cannon was fired, causing the whole vehicle to rock on its suspension.
"Reload! Reload and fire again!" roared Marsland as Kingsley saw the King Tiger's turret, and the formidable 88mm gun it housed, begin to slew around. The German tank's hatch was flung open, and a figure began to emerge from it, only for Kingsley to cut it down with a burst from the fifty right before another 76mm round slammed into the hull. The effect was immediate, with the whole tank going still and licks of flame beginning to rise from the engine deck.
While the loader rammed a fresh 76mm shell into the breech, Arthur saw Polina frantically gesturing from the belltower above them. "There's another tank coming! Go straight!" roared Kingsley, and it seemed that his shout was loud enough for the driver to hear him through Marsland's radio, because the M18 jolted forwards towards the end of the alley like it had been stung by a hornet. "Go right! Go right!"
"Driver, right stick neutral!" barked Marsland as the agile Hellcat swung around the corner and onto the next street, quickly finding itself at the edge of the town square. When the vehicle emerged, they couldn't miss the ominous presence of a second King Tiger, gun pointing towards them. "Straight ahead driver, foot down!" snapped the TC, and the Hellcat surged forwards again, racing across the square.
"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Kingsley, ears ringing as the German 88 fired, and the building behind the fleeing tank destroyer was blown apart by the high explosive shell that sent dust and debris raining down on the Hellcat. Unscathed, if only barely, the Tank Destroyer reached the far side of the square, behind the next buildings and out of sight of the German tank before arriving at a crossroads.
"Driver, halt! Gunner, turn this turret around!" ordered Marsland, and while the Hellcats turret was slowly cranked around, Kingsley could hear the oncoming clattering of the King Tiger's treads as the German behemoth drew closer. Just as the SS tank's great bulk began to nose around the corner, the Hellcat's gun was trained and Marsland snarled, "Fire!"
Even at point blank range, the 76mm couldn't punch through the front plate of the King Tiger with anything but HVAP, but the gunner didn't try, instead firing low and putting his shot in the running gear of the German tank. Without its track, the steel behemoth ground to a halt just before the imposing 88mm could be brought to bear. Past the King Tiger, Kingsley could see the olive drab and white star splayed across the front of another M18, right before it fired and a fireball erupted from the King Tiger's turret.
The echoing report of the other 76mm was soon replaced by the familiar sound of the third and final King Tiger approaching. "Driver, right stick forward!" hollered Mardsen into the radio, and the Hellcat turned on the spot, "Forwards!"
Charging down the street, Kingsley was keeping an eye out for any sign of the German tank, twisting behind the machine gun. Arthur didn't see anything, but everyone heard the roaring thunder of a German 88 from the square in front of the church. "Left here driver!" The Hellcat whipped around the next corner, and Kingsley now heard the staccato of small arms fire and readied the machine gun for the next turn.
Kingsley saw German troops advancing across the square towards the church and immediately cut loose as the Hellcat slowly rolled forwards. Advancing into the square, Kingsley looked up towards the belltower, seeing the muzzle flash of a rifle before Polina's silhouette appeared in a window.
She gestured towards one of the streets and Kingsley quickly shook the American's shoulder, "Third street on the left!"
"Loader, HVAP!" called Marsland as the breech was flung open and the tungsten cored shell was shoved inside. When the 76mm gun was readied with a clang, the American ordered, "Driver, forward, slow. Gunner, train left." Like it was stalking its prey, the Hellcat crept forwards, even if Kingsley kept his fingers on the triggers of his machine gun, letting out bursts at the fleeing German soldiers. As the Tank Destroyer neared the third left, a plume of smoke, dust, and snow was kicked up as the King Tiger's 88 roared, and the shell tore a chunk out of the church. "Floor it driver!" shouted the TC, and the M18 put on a burst of speed to leap out around the corner, barely fifty yards from the imposing 70 ton King Tiger before grinding to a halt. "Gunner…."
Marsland was cut off by the bark of the 76mm as the M1 sent the tungsten-carbide cored round into the 150 millimeter upper glacis plate. There was a flash of sparks as the penetrator dug into the angled armor and punched through, sending spall from the armor as well as fragments of the shell careening through the fighting compartment of the German tank. The razor-sharp bits of steel tore through the flesh and bone of the men who crewed the King Tiger while the Hellcat's loader hastily slung in the next HVAP round. That one immediately followed up its compatriot, cleaving through the armor, but even at point blank range, the shell barely had enough kinetic energy to pierce the King Tiger's thick hide. This second round must've sent fragments flying into the ammunition stowage that lined the sides of the German tank, since 88mm rounds cooked off, sending jets of flame out of every crack and crevice the 70-ton vehicle had.
With the last German tank reduced to a smoldering wreck, the Hellcat turned on the spot and backed across the square, coming to a stop beside the blasted-out church. After jumping down from the tank destroyer, Arthur picked his way through the rubble and inside the cavernous structure, crossing both crumbled bricks and overturned pews when he saw Polina emerge from a stairwell. "Anything to report?"
"Only that I could see no more Germans," replied Petrova with a hint of bitterness. "The infantry who survived retreated eastwards when the last tank was destroyed."
"Understood, keep a lookout while we regroup, if the Germans have not counter-attacked before we have, then we will go after them and find Freisinger," decided Kingsley.
"Do not dare to leave me behind," warned Polina before the Russian returned to her post.
Heading out of the church proper and into the attached offices, Kingsley found that was where the commandos had congregated, their wounded being seen to. Carefully picking his way through the sorry sight, Arthur pushed his way outside to find one of his sergeants, who saluted him. "We've cleared the last of the hun from this street, sir," reported the NCO. "A few casualties, but we're still in fighting shape I'd say."
"Very good, fortify this church while we wait for support to arrive," tasked the officer. And then, as if on cue, he could hear a drone in the distance, looking up and squinting, Arthur saw a veritable swarm of black dots coming in low.
The sergeant saw them too. With a mix of humor and bitterness, he muttered, "How kind of the Yank flyboys to finally decide to show up."
RAF No. 675 Squadron 'Battlehawks' Vought F4U-4 Corsair
5 miles East of Strasbourg, France
0911 Hours, January 20, 1945
"Ain't that a pretty sight," mused Wright from his perch well above the action that was taking place. The first planes from the Ninth Air Force had arrived and swooped down on any German vehicles they could see, the first squadron of P-47s had bombed and strafed tanks on the frontline before returning to their airfields to get more bombs and left the ground below a sea of craters and smoke, it was likely that whatever assault Freisinger's SS tanks had been making was well and truly blunted.
Over the western horizon, the Marine fighter ace spotted more incoming aircraft, American B-25 Mitchell medium bombers, the same type made famous by the Dolittle Raiders, who used them on their Tokyo raid. They would drown any surviving Germans in a deluge of 500 pound bombs while the Battlehawks patrolled high above, serving to ward off any German interceptors. Rork and Trevor had already tangled with an intrepid group of -109s that came to challenge the Allies and were quickly seen off after the Britons each claimed one.
Head up and out of the cockpit, Wright was scanning the skies when his radio crackled to life. "Tally ho chaps! I see planes coming in from the east!" called Trevor, "Low and fast… very fast! Must be German jets!"
Wright's eyes went wide, and his hands flexed on the controls of his Corsair while he made one last check of his gauges. Bringing the nose of the F4U around to point east, Curtis strained to pick out the incoming jet fighters, but could see his fellow Battlehawks all converging on one area. Looking back over his shoulder at the incoming Mitchell bombers, Curtis threw open the throttle and yanked the stick over, placing his plane between the vulnerable bombers and the marauding Nemesis jet fighters. Once in line, Curtis brought his plane back around to go nose to nose with the incoming aircraft as they rapidly approached, and the Daredevil was able to make out some of the details of the four black jets. For the first time, Curtis saw the Me-262 in person.
The lack of a propeller on their rounded nose looked indescribably off to the Marine, while the gently swept back wings gave it a streamlined sleekness that made it look just as fast as it was. Shoving the stick forwards and putting his aircraft into a dive, Wright was astonished at the rate of closure and steepened his dive until his vision began to tint red from all the blood rushing up into his head. It seemed that the black jets, yellow lightning bolt emblazoned on the sides of their fusalages, had no interest in the Battlehawk fighters and were making a beeline for the Mitchells, with only Wright left to stand in their way.
Just as he was about to line up a shot, the oncoming Nemesis jets made a simple, but brilliant, move, pitching down to go into a shallow dive of their own as they continued to close with Wright. Already on the verge of a red-out, Curtis couldn't push his nose further downwards, but he had to do something, anything, to break up the attack before the much faster Messerschmitts got passed him.
What the Marine did was throw the stick over, rolling inverted before yanking back hard on the yoke, the blood which had just filled his head quickly drained from it. Even as his vision went from red to white, Wright was able, just, to keep his head up, and on gut instinct alone, pulled the trigger. The six fifties cut loose, spraying slugs down into the path of the oncoming Germans as Curtis screamed down at over 500 miles an hour. When Wright saw the -262s next, they streaked out to his left, having turned out of his line of fire, but the Marine had done what he wanted to do; delayed their attack.
Wrapping both hands around the stick, Curtis pulled back hard, burying it in his gut as he pulled out of his dive. "Come on baby, hold together," Wright ground out between shallow breaths, visioning darkening from the g-forces of the move while the nose of the Corsair cranked around. Once Curtis saw blue sky through his windscreen, he eased off his pull out, leveling the nose of the F4U as his vision returned and he saw the four black jets reversing their turn to come back across his windscreen. After his Split-S traded speed for altitude, Curtis was speeding along at speeds in excess of 520 miles an hour and able to reel in the Nemesis jets as they banked back into line with the bombers, slowing down to do so. Once within range, Wright opened fire, his six machine guns opening fire and sending a hail of bullets through the German formation.
Wright saw one of the jets sparkle from the impacts, but all four broke formation, turning in different directions. "Good work Wright!" called Rork over the radio, "All fighters, engage those -262s, shoot them down before they get to the bombers!"
Picking out one of the Nemesis jet fighters, Wright threw the Corsair into a right turn to go after him, slowly bringing his nose around as the -262 bled speed. Before Curtis could line up a shot, the black jet suddenly reversed its turn, causing Curtis to throw the stick over and keep up the chase, his nose quickly coming around to point at his foe. Instinctively, Curtis twisted in his seat and checked his six right as a frantic call came in from Trevor, "Jink Curtis! You got one on your tail!" Right as the call came in, streams of big, slow moving tracers flashed past the Corsair, sending a chill down Wright's spine.
Leveling his wings and kicking right rudder, Curtis let his quarry go before pulling back on the stick, his Corsair looping up in a dare for the -262 to follow so he could slam the brakes on the German Jet. Only when he looked back, Wright saw that the German hadn't totally taken the bait, nosing up slightly before flying past while Trevor's Spitfire pumped a burst of fire into the Nemesis plane.
With his six o'clock clear, Curtis twisted the stick around, pirouetting the Corsair around as he scanned the skies below for any sign of the jet he had just been pursuing, not wanting to end the day without nailing one of his own. Against the white snow-covered ground, he saw the dark blur streak westwards, towards the Mitchells. Pulling back on the stick, Wright looped over the top, trading all the altitude he had gained for airspeed once again, descending on the -262 with his fangs out.
But the Nemesis jet flashed by before Curtis could line up a shot, and the Marine rolled his fighter and gently pulled out of the dive. Feeling his aircraft shudder under the force being put on the wings, Wright kept his head up and eyes locked on his foe while bringing his own plane into line, sliding in behind the German jet. With his pipper floating over the Messerschmitt, Wright squeezed the trigger and watched the jet sparkle as the rounds chewed into the aluminum skin. Wright could see bits of debris fall off the Me-262, and squeezed off another burst before the jet made an effort to shake the Marine, making a climbing left turn.
Wright violently jerked the stick over and pulled back, laying onto the trigger and firing a long continuous stream of bullets into the sky ahead of the -262. As the German tried to use his speed and power advantage to pull away from the Corsair, he turned to give Wright a larger profile, and flew straight through the hail of bullets that the Marine had unleashed. Curtis could see several hits, and noted that the German jet seemed to stagger through the air, slowing and steadily losing altitude as smoke trailed behind one of the engines. "Gotcha now," snarled the Daredevil as he kept the throttles wide open and closed in on the stricken -262. Knowing that he had to be perilously low on ammunition, Wright waited until the fighter practically filled his gunsight, the wounded plane limping along in a loose left spiraling dive when Curtis fired.
His guns fired for only half a second, emptying the last few rounds they had, but it was still enough. The smoking engine sparkled before bursting into flame, and Wright watched as the Nemesis pilot threw open his canopy and leapt for his life before the doomed jet rolled onto its back and tumbled towards the countryside. Wright circled as he watched it go down, relaxing only when it crashed in a spectacular fireball, leaning back and his seat and letting releasing the trigger of his long empty guns while taking a deep breath. "Wright here," he called into the radio, "I got one of those jets, but my guns are dry and I'm heading back to rearm."
"Understood. That was the last of them," answered Rork, "Return to base Curtis, and that was some damn fine work everyone, if I may be so bold."
No. 63 Commando and
4 Miles East of Strasbourg, France
1152 Hours, January 20, 1945
After what felt like far too long to Polina, the Allied troops had finally begun their counterattack on Freisinger's forces. From her previous position in the church tower, she had a great vantage as she watched a seemingly unending stream of aircraft fly over the battlefield, bombing and strafing with impunity for over an hour. It was a display unlike any the Sniper had ever witnessed on the eastern front, but what followed was more familiar to her, because after the aircraft had departed, the artillery began their bombardment. The Americans expended munitions at a prodigious rate, continually hammering the German forces, and Polina feared that they would merely shell the Fascists rather than advance on them.
But then the rest of No. 63 Commando had arrived at the church, and Major Price had taken overall command, reorganizing the company while they waited for orders to attack. Petrova had wanted to go immediately, but there had been another hour of waiting, and during that time more Americans had arrived. Infantry in their long coats and carrying their M1 Garand semi-automatic rifles and the large M4A3 Sherman tanks were now gathered in the town square in front of the church, all waiting for the word to be given to move eastward.
When the word had come down, Polina had joined the other Commandos in the push forwards. In addition to her Mosin sniper rifle, Petrova was carrying a MP-40 she had taken from a fallen German soldier, more than familiar with the stubby sheet-metal submachinegun after using it in Stalingrad and wanting the extra firepower. It had been a pain to lug the extra weight over the last few miles, doubly so since the group had encountered no Germans, none left alive at least. The utter devastation left by the bombs and shells had left so many craters and wrecks that it made the roads almost impassible to the Sherman tanks, and so the infantry had gone on alone.
"Bloody mess those flyboys made," observed Lucas Riggs, "I'll have to buy those wankers a cold one when we see them again."
Polina silently agreed with the obnoxious Aussie, sidestepping around the twisted, smoldering remains of a Nazi truck while keeping her eyes scanning the countryside around them. For the last two miles, she had failed to spot a single living Nazi, and Petrova felt a growing anxiety that Freisinger too had fled like the rat he was. Or, perhaps worse, he had perished in the bombardment and his remains lay, somewhere, unrecognizable, so much so that Polina had walked past them without a second glance.
Those thoughts were drowned out by a distant but intensifying whistling shriek that pierced the midday sky, causing the infantry to crane their heads skywards, hands shielding their eyes from the sun as they all tried to discern the source of the noise. "How did a bloody Stuka get through?" cried Riggs as some of the commandos took cover under the wrecks of the smoldering Nazi vehicles.
Polina on the other hand, remained firmly planted in her spot. "That is no Stuka, that's Curtis," she returned when she spotted the familiar gull-winged silhouette of the Corsair barreling earthwards. The navy blue airplane streaked down on some spot ahead and to the groups right when the chatter of its machine guns drowned out the whistle, tracers arcing towards the ground before the Corsair banked away. No sooner had the Corsair pulled up than a second airplane made its own diving attack, strafing something nearby. "The pilots have spotted something."
"Something worth attacking," mused Price as he waved towards the front of the group. "Leftennant Kingsley! Pick up the pace and take us in that direction, we'll finish what they started!" he ordered.
"Sir!" answered the Oxford educated officer before the entire company jogged around the next bend and arrived at a crossroads, departing the main eastwards road and heading southeast. Overhead, the last two Battlehawks made their own strafing runs, the chatter of the guns giving them a direction to travel when the woods they passed through blocked the aircraft from sight. When a thunderous explosion rolled over the countryside and a towering cloud of smoke erupted from up ahead, visible even through the trees and brush, the company drove straight towards it, crossing over a hill and to the next stretch of open ground. With a hand signal from Major Price, No. 63 fanned out in their advance to the next bluff, the only terrain feature between the commandos and the mushroom cloud.
Pushing herself to get to the front of the group, Petrova was one of the first on the slope of the semicircular high ground, dropping down to crawl to the crest of the way to the top. Waiting on the other side was a road where a large contingent of vehicles were jammed together, some having driven off the road, one at the front was still burning, and one at the middle was a twisted, shattered wreck, with a crater behind it and the remains of a trailer scattered across the ground. The intact vehicles were a mix of cars, trucks, and half-tracks, some of which were towing long trailers loaded with either fuel tanks or some sort of massive rocket that Polina recognized as the much afeared V-2.
Peering through her scope, Polina steadied her hands and scanned the halted convoy, seeing some men trying to push damaged vehicles off the road or unload equipment from those that were immobile. Lady Death looked past them all however, only wanting to see one man amidst the convoy. "Oof," grunted Kingsley as he fell beside the Sniper, "Looks like the flyboys found something alright, those must be the V-2s with Nova. See anything of note?"
Lady Death felt her lips curl and breath stop as her scope settled on the sole armored car in the convoy, numerous radio aerials protruding from the top. Leaning over the hood at the front of the vehicles was a man in a black SS General's uniform, and when he looked up to yell at someone, she saw his face. "Freisinger," she hissed, finger poised over the trigger. But before she could line up a shot, the General stepped behind the bulk of the armored car.
"Freisinger is here? Where?" asked Kingsley, having heard Petrova.
Lowering her rifle, Polina slipped back from the crest of the bluff. "Yes, behind the armored car near the front of the convoy. I will not let him live."
"We won't let him get away," assured Kingsley as the commando slid back and turned towards Price. "We'll be attacking soon. Cover us Polina, if you don't get a shot on him, don't worry, I'll make sure he doesn't get away."
With that, the officer departed to rejoin his men and Polina watched as they prepared to attack, moving through the wooded area that led to the front of the convoy while some of the company machine guns took up positions on the bluff. To Petrova's chagrin, Freisinger did not expose himself while she waited for the Britons to commence their assault, but the Sniper remained ready, laying prone with her rifle pointing at a man speaking into a radio and waiting for the attack to begin.
Through her scope, she could see the confusion and panic break out just a moment before there was a string of muted explosions, British Mills Bombs that were tossed at the convoy. Taking that as her signal, Polina let out a breath and settled her sights before pressing down on the trigger, her rifle bucking against her shoulder. When she had finished cycling the bolt and looked through the scope, Polina saw the body of the radioman sprawled across the road and began searching for another German to shoot.
Many SS troops dropped what they were doing and took up arms as the commandos stormed the road, exchanging small arms fire with the oncoming British. Settling into a familiar, gruesome rhythm, Polina picked out a German soldier and fired a single, decisive shot before working the bolt of her rifle, confirming the kill, and moving onto the next. In short order she had fired the last of five shots held in her rifle's internal magazine and was about to reload when she saw movement in the corner of her scope. Quickly moving her aim over, Polina saw the distinct figure of Freisinger dashing between vehicles, just as she had no bullets in her gun. Quickly sweeping her scope towards the back of the convoy, Polina saw a few operable vehicles, "He's going to escape," she realized, and with so many vehicles clogged on the road, getting another shot was far from guaranteed.
Getting to her feet, Polina scampered back down the bluff, hastily stuffing new rounds into her rifle as she worked her way around the semi-circular high ground, pushing herself to be faster than the Fascist she hunted. Coming around the bend, Petrova tried to find another shot on her quarry, but couldn't pick him out of the chaos, but did see that the vehicles he might use to escape were still present. Polina could not see Freisinger either, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins was not content to wait for the Nazi to expose himself to her, and so when she spotted a ditch that led from the bluff to the road, the Russian instantly made up her mind.
Slinging her rifle over her shoulder, Petrova readied her captured submachine gun and slid down the slope, dropping into the low ground. Stumbling slightly and extending a hand to steady herself on the slope of the ditch, Polina steadied herself and took a breath before moving towards the road, ignoring the hissing of bullets passing overhead from the British Bren guns. Reaching the end of the low ground, Polina crawled up out of the ditch and found herself face to face with a young boy in a black SS uniform who stared at her with wide eyes. Leveling the MP-40, Polina snarled as she triggered the German gun. It chugged along, emptying a few bullets into the soldier's stomach before he slumped over and Polina slipped past him.
Stepping around a truck, Polina found herself face to face with three German soldiers, and quickly ducked back as bullets prattled off the vehicle. Dropping down to the road, Petrova crawled under the stuck vehicle, stopping at the back tire and poking her head and gun out, spraying a long burst at the Nazis. One fell, writhing in pain, and Polina fired the last bullets in her magazine into his face, pulverizing his head before he went still. The other two turned and fired down at Polina, bullets kicking up dirt and tearing into the thick tires of the truck as Polina cowered behind them.
In quick, jerky motions, Polina ripped out the spent box magazine and slammed in a fresh one, yanking the bolt back just before a German stick grenade rolled to a stop beside the wheel. Eyes wide, Petrova dove away, rolling and crawling frantically out the way she had come. When the grenade went off, Polina's ears were left ringing as she worked her way around the front of the truck when she saw the shadows cast by the last two Germans on the ground. Springing to her full height, Petrova brought the Schmeisser up and laid on the trigger, cutting one down before he had the chance to react. The other dove to the ground, getting under Polina's line of fire as automatic fire came back at the Russian woman.
A flash of movement to her left caught her eye, and Petrova whipped around to see another German charging at her, bayonet fixed to the end of his rifle. Spraying from the hip, Polina hosed the SS Soldier down with the MP-40. As soon as he fell face first in the mud, Polina drew her Tokarev pistol and bent her knees, and with the handgun held in one extended hand, stepped to the corner of the truck. Scanning the area, Polina carefully slipped out from around the corner and found only the body of the German she had killed, his comrade was nowhere to be found.
On instinct, Petrova whipped around just as the missing SS trooper burst around from around the other side of the truck, but Lady Death's gun was on target first, and she fired a few quick shots into him. Seeing the red that darkened his tunic as he slumped against the vehicle, Polina took a step closer and fired a fourth bullet into the back of his head, and the German collapsed immediately.
Without sparing him a second glance, Polina's head went on the swivel while she dropped her empty MP-40 and reloaded her pistol. As soon as the TT-33 was ready, the Russian darted to the next vehicle she saw, a towing halftrack. Behind the vehicle was one of the imposing rockets, looking left, she saw the camouflage uniforms of the British. Realizing that Freisinger might have already slipped past, she doubled back and rushed along the length of the rocket. Coming around the fins at the weapons' base, Polina saw a man in a black vanish around the next half-track and fired a round that shattered the windshield before sprinting after him.
Turning right, Polina saw the man look back at her before slipping through the gap between the vehicle and trailer, ducking as Petrova fired a shot into the trailer behind him before resuming her chase. Easily squeezing through the space between half-track and trailer, Polina dug in her heels and sprinted towards the running vehicles, ducking around an overturned motorcycle as she frantically looked for any sign of Freisinger.
The staccato crack of a gunshot and the snap! Of a bullet flying past her head far too close for comfort had Lady Death's eyes snapping open as she twisted left and fired back, watching as Freisinger ducked behind a half-tracked motorcycle. His pistol was stuck up to fire a few errant rounds at Petrova who ignored the shots and steadily advanced, holding her fire until the rat exposed himself for the last dash to a car.
Trekking over the churned up, muddy road with short, surefooted strides, Petrova closed the gap, pistol poised to fire at Freisinger the moment he exposed himself. But she wasn't so focused on the General that Polina failed to hear one of the intact Kübelwagens come to life. With the fuel tank in her way, the Russian darted forwards and quickly turned to bring her pistol to bear. Closing one eye and steadying her aim, Polina loosed a single shot that struck the driver in the side of the head, and he slumped over.
Lady Death did not stay by to watch, instead she turned back in time to see Freisinger sprinting towards another vehicle and quickly fired three shots. The first was rushed and went wide, but the second hit the man's back and he tumbled to the ground, so even though her third shot was aimed true, it missed and hit a gas can that was sitting atop the vehicle. Made of thin sheet metal, the can was easily pierced by the 9x18mm bullet, and the hole began to pour gas out onto Freisinger's crawling form. Striding forwards, scanning for any other sign of Germans, Polina was soon looming over the German general as he crawled through the spilt gas and tried to pull himself up into the vehicle.
Seeing the subject of her anger caused fury to flare in her chest, and Petrova took two long strides before sweeping her boot into the back of the man's leg, ripping the limb out from under him. The man fell into the growing petrol puddle with a muttered german curse before rolling himself over and looking up at Petrova, a snarl engraved on his face before he burst into a grating bark of laughter. "A filthy Slavic Fräulein!" he said in Polina's native tongue, to her great surprise. The shock must've shown on her face, because the man's twisted into some self-satisfied beam when he spoke again. "You are Lady Death, are you not? So far from home, you are."
"I have come here for one reason, Herr Freisinger," she replied as she holstered her pistol. Pulling her lighter and cigarette box from a pocket, the Russian extracted one of the cigarettes and asked, "Do you know what that is?" While she lit the cigarette, he did not answer, instead propping himself up against the car and shrugging, "It has to do with you."
At once, the man's expression changed, "Of course, your nation will ensure I am well taken care of, so that I may share what I know. They wish for you to whisk me away from the Anglos and deliver me to them."
Polina took extra care to school her expression, to avoid showing the vile hatred and disgust that were tumultuously intermingling within her. Thankful for the tobacco to provide some calming effect on her nerves, the Russian held her tongue, and the German took her silence to mean something far different than what it actually did.
"While I would prefer a life of American luxury as payment for my cooperation, I am sure even your people would be able to accommodate my desires," mused the Fascisti, arrogance imbuing every word, even as he winced from trying to shift, due to the bullet Polina had put through him. He then met Polina's eyes and said, "I heard that Stalingrad was once a beautiful city, perhaps I would make my home there after all. Maybe I would start a new family and my children would play with yours, Lady Death."
Polina had finally had enough, and stowed her lighter before crouching down next to the wounded SS General. "For you," she hissed, removing the cigarette and blowing smoke in his smug face, "There is no starting over." She savored the way realization crawled up his face and began to fester in his eyes, and when he extended an arm to try and grab Petrova, she had already stood and taken a step back. Inhaling one last whiff of tobacco from the cigarette. "This is your new beginning, fashistiskayasvin'ya." Extracting the cigarette and holding it in her hands, seeing the soft scarlet glow of the paper at the end and thinking of the memorial candles she had lit for many comrades lost, she looked down and met the eyes of the wretched excuse of a man responsible. "My name is not 'Lady Death,' it is Polina Petrova, and I. Will. Have. My. Revenge!" she enunciated with exacting finality.
Freisinger opened his mouth to respond, but Petrova had already flicked the cigarette towards him, and it was more than enough to ignite the gasoline coating his clothes. The flames quickly took root, and the arrogance that had once flowed freely from Freisinger's mouth was replaced by terror as the fire began to spread. The wounded man attempted, in vain, to shed his burning clothes and roll about to put the flames out, but his wound prevented him from doing either.
Polina stared pitilessly at his feeble efforts, just watching as the target of her anger slowly succumbed to the fire, screaming all the while. Entranced by the dancing flames and the writhing SS General who eventually fell still and silent after several long minutes, Petrova failed to notice the approaching Kingsley until he was at her side. "I got what I came for," she said, surprised at how empty her words sounded. And Polina wondered where the joy and satisfaction at what she had finally finished was.
"We've secured the rockets, the threat of NOVA is over," returned Kingsley. Polina noted that the Briton was pointedly avoiding looking at Freisinger, or her. "We won, I guess," supposed Arthur, and Polina turned to look at the officer, but couldn't muster a response before he spoke again. "I suppose all that's left is to celebrate."
For some reason, that thought did not seem as appealing as it ought to in Petrova's mind. Casting one last glance down at Freisinger's smoldering corpse, Polina felt something stirring, but it was not something she wished to dwell on in that moment. "Let's just leave this place," she whispered lowly before turning away and leaving it all behind.
Closing Notes: This is the last big chapter of this story, with the next one going to function as an epilogue, so I kinda went all out, and I hope everyone enjoyed it.
See y'all in two weeks for the conclusion, Stay Frosty, Misfit Delta out.