"We see that hate destroys the soul
Of anyone who tries to teach it."

Yes, The Ladder (Homeworld)

XV

AFTERMATH

Sometimes it's like if as though Fate itself likes to play with its little pawns in ways they'd never expect.

Stationed alongside the main road, hidden by the surrounding stumpy hills and underbrush, the American tanks fired wildly at the escaping German units. One bulky Panther was hit in its flank, catching fire immediately. The executioner had been Naomi's gunner, who finally managed to vent away the frustration caused by the Panzer IV's escape earlier on.

Small formations of German tanks stopped one at a time, the vehicles turning their guns to fire at the American lines, in an effort to keep the invaders put. They had no way to know that there wouldn't be a persecution, and tried as hard as possible to defend their comrades.

One Sherman climbed to a hill to get a better angle of fire. Down in the valley, one Jagdpanther saw its round turret pocking from behind the summit and opened fire. The top of the turret shattered, metal debris and the remains of the main gun jumping into the air and quickly disappearing from sight. In return the other Sherman hit one of the infamous Tigers, which exploded in a huge fireball, the turret jumping ten meters before crashing beside the ruined hull. Another Panther had a few wheels ripped out of their sockets, the track breaking in two and letting the machine completely immobilized.

In spite of the volcanoes of mud erupting all across the landscape, the German formation was spread out enough for most of its units to escape unscathed. It was easy for Anglerfish Team to understand why Colonel Messner had decided to divert them to join the SS before returning to the 77th. The American superiority was simply too great. Alone they wouldn't be able to survive much longer.

They met the command Tiger of one of the SS squadrons once they left the farmer trail and started rolling in reverse alongside it, firing into the distant American tanks. They were too far away for them to hit anything, though.

Once the countryside between both formations started exploding due to a new artillery barrage, the battle was as good as over. The Americans used the lull in the fighting to pull back to their defensive lines. On the other hand the Germans scattered and hid in the surrounding woodlands and farms, where they would wait for the night to slip away under the cover of the darkness.

Always rolling alongside the huge Tiger tank, Anglerfish Team entered a field of apple trees on the outer edge of a farm complex. They followed the heavy tank into an area where the canopies were thicker, thus providing some cover from air surveillance. Airplanes were starting to overfly the region, so any open area would quickly become a killing field.

In spite of having failed their objective, the fact remained that all girls of Anglerfish Team had managed to survive the combat, even though things had gotten fairly grim somewhere along the line.

So, as the engines were killed and an eerily silence fell around them, the turret crew opened the hatches to peer outside and catch some fresh air. The interior of the tank was stinking with the strong scents of burned oil and cordite. Exhausted, Meike fell asleep on her post, while Simone actually got out and leaned over the gun's mantlet to get closer to Maria. She seemed to have recovered her usual cheerful demeanor.

"You are indeed a miracle maker, Mariechen!" Simone exclaimed. "I'll be honest, for a moment I thought we wouldn't make it."

"How can you say that?" Ysabelle retorted. "I always knew Führerin Nitzschmann would find a way!"

Always the moderator, Hanna decided to intervene in the conversation. "We all knew she would find a way to bring us back to our friends, Ysabelle. But you must admit things got pretty serious back there."

Realizing that, in fact, she had also lost her hope more than once during the course of that morning, Ysabelle held on to the open loader's hatch and sighed.

"I guess…"

"We can all agree on that, I think." Simone added, with a big smile on her lips.

Looking at the smiling faces around her, Maria could barely believe that, just a little while ago, they were all tense and scared. She hid her trembling hand under the roof of the turret, unwilling the let the others know she was still filtering her adrenaline, the encounter with the lonely enemy observer still fresh in her mind.

"We were all miracle makers back there." She finally said. "I wouldn't have done anything if it weren't for you. You've managed to keep your cool and fight even at the worst moments. Thank you."

Everyone's smiles became wider, the girl's faces now beaming with the joy of being alive. While they were at it, Ysabelle recalled something that made her clasp her hands.

"That reminds me! By this point we've destroyed five enemy vehicles! Now we're aces, right?"

With a melancholic smirk, Maria nodded at her.

"I think so."

Ysabelle smiled with pride. That was an incredible achievement for someone like them. They've killed five enemy units, including two tanks and two tank destroyers, thus making them, surely, the first female tank aces of Germany.

The short stop in the conversation made the girls realize the snoring now echoing inside the tank. Everyone looked at the driver's hatch for a moment, and then burst out laughing, washing away the dark emotions still lingering in her hearts.

Distracted as they were with the conversation, they didn't notice the commander of the Tiger descending from the tank. He promptly started walking to the Panzer IV, in his fury for babysitting what was obviously a juvenile crew he went on ranting, for a moment oblivious to the shocking truth behind the Baderberg Tank Squadron.

"What were you thinking back there?" The man yelled. "Standing behind alone while the enemy has free reign to take the other crews one by one? Do you even know what a tactical retreat is?"

He halted as soon as the girls laughed and their crystalline voices called the attention of all tankers hidden among those trees. They were shocked, and traded uneasy glances while their commander stood still beside the Panzer IV.

When the girls finally noticed him and turned, he saw the face of their commander. And his stoic façade shattered as he recognized the girl who should be somewhere safe, dozens of kilometers away from those battlefields. His mouth gaped open and the only thing he could mumble was the girl's name.

"M-Maria…"

The leader of Anglerfish Team was also in shock, cold shivers running down her spine. On her post, Ysabelle measured the man beside the tank. Rather short but still handsome, he was young, not even out of his teen years yet. His eyes and his hair were brown, and he wearied the black SS uniform. With a sudden sense of vertigo, she realized she knew him, although not in person. A final glance at the Tiger tank only assured her she wasn't dreaming. Besides the standard Balkenkreuz was another emblem, an Iron Cross with the word 'Spitzen' painted over it. The emblem of the famous Waffen SS 504th Heavy Panzer Battalion, nicknamed "Shwarzwald Spitzen".

Here he was, right in front of her. Her hero.

Maria uneasily croaked his name at same time Ysabelle looked back at him.

"M-Marco… brother…"

The man was Captain Marco Nitzschmann, Panzer ace of the SS, and Maria's older brother.

While everyone around gasped with the realization, the two siblings simply stood there, staring at each other while their bodies trembled in shock. Their paths shouldn't have crossed. And yet they did.

Contrary to what others had feared, Private Moritz Götz survived the destruction of the Char B1 Bis. When the tank was hit and caught fire, he rapidly opened the driver's hatch and followed Master Sergeant Aschenbrenner while he abandoned the tank. Like him, he managed to jump to the ground before a large ammo explosion threw flames and debris through the opened hatches and the hole punched in the side of the vehicle. The shockwave threw the fourteen year-old into the ground and into unconsciousness.

Everyone assumed he was dead, like his friends who were still inside the tank when it exploded. But, although he was bruised and burned, Moritz still survived.

When he woke up the battle was already long over. He was surrounded by American troops, a medic inspecting his burns and apparently deciding they weren't all that severe and moving to other wounded. They still hurt, and as the afternoon drew longer he started trembling under the blanket the American doctor had placed over his shoulders.

Moritz wasn't alone, though. There was an American soldier in front of him, sitting in some empty ammo crates. The man had a normal build, but, to Moritz's horror, he had dark skin and full lips. His dark eyes were constantly measuring the German teenager with looming resentment. He kept aiming his Garand to the sky, the rifle's butt on his lap, always ready to bring it down and aim at the prisoner.

While Moritz could sometimes consider the possibility of trying to escape, the fact remained that he was simply too scared to even attempt it. He was scared of all the Americans around him, moving back and forth, still collecting bodies and inspecting the surroundings, some of them looking with awe at the burnt remains of the captured French tank. He was certain someone would eventually come to torture him and force him to tell everything he knew about the German defense. He swore he would never say anything, even if the Americans ripped his fingernails one by one.

Moritz was also scared of what he imagined would happen to him once he returned to the German ranks and had to deal with the fallout of his own failures. The Party didn't dealt much well with failure, and Moritz had always been told that no true German ever fails. That was something for the lesser peoples, like the Americans or the Russians. Having lost his mount and allowed his friends to die was simply too shameful. It made him certain that the only reception he would ever have would be a firing squad.

Finally, he was scared of that black man in front of him. His dark skin was frightening to his Nazi-educated sensibilities, and he failed to realize that the spite he saw in those eyes was there because Moritz was part of the enemy that had been killing his friends all morning. The same kind of hatred Moritz would be feeling if he was in his position.

A man approaching from the left caught the attention of both Moritz and his sentry. He was an unremarkable man, with white skin and brown hair, and wearied a ragged uniform, covered in dirt and sooth. He would look quite miserable, actually, if not for his confident posture. In his hands was a mug with something hot spewing vapor into the air. Furthermore, Moritz noticed he was wearing the Union Jack on his left shoulder. What was a British officer making among the American ranks?

The British man told something to the soldier that made him relax a little and place the Garand against the box he was sitting on, the butt in the grass and the muzzle pointing upwards. Still, he continued glaring distrustfully at the prisoner.

Turning towards Moritz, the British man extended him the mug.

"Chocolate?" He offered.

The teenager hesitated. He looked at the man, but saw no malevolence in his eyes. He seemed more curious than anything else. More importantly, the sweet scent of whatever was in the mug was reaching his nostrils. It felt wonderful, like nothing he remembered of having tasted in a long while. Carefully, he reached for the mug and held it, bringing it to his face so he could soak up the sweetness of that aroma. Then he took a tentative taste at the thick brown content. It was like drinking hot honey, or something like it, but even better.

But it was quite hot too, and Moritz grimaced as he felt to have burnt his tongue.

"Careful," the man said calmly, "it's hot."

"Danke sehr." Mortiz told him, having no idea whatsoever about what to do in that situation.

"Gern geschehen." The man replied, crouching in front of the boy. It was only then that Moritz realized it. The man was speaking in clear German, although with a foreign accent.

"You speak German." He still couldn't believe it.

"Know your enemy and know yourself…" The man retorted.

"Why are you here with the Ami? Shouldn't you hate each other? Because of their War of Independence and all of that?" To the boy the idea of men from the ancient colonial power and their liberated colonies working together after what said liberation had cost their respective countries was bizarre. He remembered the higher-ups always talking about the frailty of the Alliance and how close it was to breaking apart, requiring just another German push for it to happen.

The British man grinned.

"That war was a long time ago, soldier. Now we have new things to hate."

"You do?"

"Indeed. You."

"Oh…" Moritz's eyes descended to the mug in his hands. "And the black men are also your friends?"

The question made the officer look back at the guard, before turning to face the prisoner again.

"I'm a soldier, like you." He told the boy as calmly as possible. "I partake in the Great Hunting, and I believe all of those who fight alongside me are my brothers in arms. The rest doesn't matter. The color of one's skin, their religion, their gender, all of that is inconsequential as long as they are beside me, fighting and shedding blood and tears with me."

Realizing he had no way to reply, Moritz glanced again at the hot chocolate. The things that man was saying seemed strange to his ears. He was still too young and too indoctrinated to understand what he truly meant.

"My name is David Blake, by the way. What's your name?" The British man said after a while.

"I'm Private Moritz Götz, and I won't say anything." He said, his shaky voice betraying the pride he wanted to imbue his words with. "Torture me as you want, I won't speak."

David blinked at those words.

"Why would we torture you? We already know everything we need about your forces."

That was an absolutely demoralizing idea, that the Ami and the Tommy already knew everything about the German defenses. Moritz wanted to refuse to believe in that, but he couldn't hold any hope anymore. He felt defeated.

"Then… then why are you talking to me?"

"Because there's something I need to know, something that isn't a military secret, but that I feel I need to know about on a personal level."

"And what would that be?"

David moved a little closer to the boy.

"What can you tell me about that tank commander girl?"

At first Moritz hesitated, deciding that he wouldn't tell David even that. But then he opened his mouth and said, "She's Maria Nitzschmann." And then he kept talking about the little he knew about her, the British officer listening with the utmost attention while Moritz told his tale.

TO BE CONTINUED

CLOSING NOTES

And thus we reach the end of one more episode of this ongoing series.

I'll admit that this one was somewhat different from what came before, but in the end I felt that it needed to be this way in order to set the stage for what is to come in future installments. Originally this episode was meant to be somewhat shorter, the same size of the other two, but things got out of control, so to speak, once I started to inform myself of the true power of the forces fighting in Germany in those last days of World War Two in Europe. Basically, I had not only to pan things out, but also choose the ideal historical day (April 15, 1945) to do so, otherwise we wouldn't have more episodes, if you catch my drift.

Furthermore, I also drifted away considerably from the girls in order to present my namesake. Again, this will all fit together once the story comes to its end. On the other hand, I was really interested in making a colorful portrait of the Western Allies, and I hope to have gotten it right. There will be more girly antics in the next episode, so don't think that is over!

Albeit sometimes frustrating, this project has being one of the most exciting things I've done in quite a while. World War Two is fascinating, and realistic combat is eerily enjoyable to plan and write. Its results, though, are never pretty, and one can only wish our generation doesn't get to see what a true industrial war is really like. We can all hold on to that wish, I think.

As usual, see you in the next episode:

"MAN OF WAR"