The ammunition hoppers were full. Where Tigers like Anna and her sisters carried a mere fifty rounds, the comparatively infinitesimal bulk of this tank’s magnetically propelled projectiles allowed the portage of no less than 442 mixed rounds. The range on its gun would allow taking out Posleen ships even in fairly high orbit.
Fuel was obviously not going to be a problem.
“You know, gentlemen,” observed Prael, “this tank needs a name.”
“Pamela?” queried Mueller, thinking of his wife.
“Deutschland?” offered Schlüssel, thinking of the ship.
“Bayern,” asked Breitenbach, “for where she was built?”
Prael laughed. “You louts have no culture. Have you never attended the opera? Bah! ‘Louts,’ I say! Think, men. What is she but a Valkyrie, a chooser of the slain? What are those Mauserwerke bulbs on front but a Valkyrie’s tits? And what are we but men on a death ride? No, no. This tank must be ‘Brünnhilde’!”
Rinteel did not get the joke. He rarely understood human humor, and what it was about the two weapons mounts on front that raised such a terrifying show of teeth from the humans was completely beyond him.
But that it was humor, he recognized easily. Indowy ideas of “funny” were different from those of humans but that they had a sense of humor was beyond dispute.
They are about to die and they laugh. They are about to kill and they laugh. Truly they are a subject worthy of study.
Rinteel reached a sudden decision. Walking up to Prael in the head downturned, insecurely shuffling, Indowy way, he asked, “Friend-human Karl?”
“Yes, Friend-Rinteel?”
“I was wondering… do you think you might have room for one more?”
Prael seemed to think for a bit. Then he answered, eyes twinkling, “We’re riding a Valkyrie to Valhalla. Why… Rinteel… it would be just plain wrong not to take along a Nibelung.”
Rinteel did not at all understand the fresh gales of laughter, though he understood that he was welcome to come.
Vicinity Objective Alfa, between Dessau and Halle,
Germany, 21 December 2007
What the Posleen thought about the megadecibel playing of “Ride of the Valkyries” as the 47th Panzer Korps smashed into them, Hans had no idea. But he figured it couldn’t hurt anything.
The Korps advanced with, as usual, Panzeraufklarungsbrigade (Armored Reconnaissance Brigade) Florian Geyer in the lead. At a high price in blood and steel, this group had mapped out the enemy’s posture, running rings around them and determining that this was by no means a single landing, but gave every indication that it was composed of no less than three different, apparently noncooperating, groups. In any case, the daring men of Florian Geyer got away with things during their reconnaissance that they never should have had the Posleen worked together.
Hans was quite certain that Army Group Reserve could simply roll over the enemy. But he saw Mühlenkampf’s cleverness. If they were noncooperating, as the Posleen often — usually — were, then they might well be reduced one at a time rather than all at once. It would cost a little more time but was very likely to save precious blood and steel. Hans wholly approved of saving both, where possible.
Not that he thought it would make a rat’s ass of difference to the ultimate outcome of the war.
With his panzers spread out over thirty kilometers, behind and covering Divisions Hohenstauffen and Frundsberg, Hans awaiting the rising of the Posleen ships to meet the armored spear even now plunging through their collective skin in search of the vitals.
But not one Posleen ship arose from this group to contest with the humans. So fast was the thrust, so apparently unexpected, that the enemy were simply crushed asunder with frightful haste. Having a little time for himself, Hans stroked his left breast pocket.
Hans was somewhat surprised at Sol’s vehemence towards the men who shared the hut. Certainly the chewing out he was giving them bore some relation to their clumsiness and torpor when the camp had been struck a few nights before. But it seemed to Hans extreme. Nonetheless, he could not fault Sol for insisting that the crew spend an entire night in punishment drills for their laxity. Perhaps it would help next time.
He did wonder why Sol had waited so long, however.
He had been trying very hard to get Anna, and that look of horror on her face, out of his mind ever since. His effort was without success so far. He had wondered too if she would spread the word of his origins. It would make life impossible here, he knew. Perhaps that would be for the best though. He’d have to be moved if his past became widely known. At some other camp — the Israelis ran a few others like this one — perhaps he would have a chance to continue his work of making what poor amends he could, without being in agony over the daily presence of a woman he adored but could never have.
He had been trying to forget Anna, and the sins inflicted on her, but without success. She filled his mind and his heart, yes and also his desires, more profoundly than any woman he had ever even imagined. Walking from the training field to the little hut, he was awash in emotions he had never really believed existed before.
In this state of distracted misery, he entered the darkened hut to hear, “There is something I must know.”
“What?” he asked of the shadows. “What did you say? Anna?”
“Did you work the camps? I must know.”
He realized from the voice that it was her. “Not the way you mean it,” he answered.
“It is a simple question,” Anna insisted. “You were either there or you were not.”
“I was there once, at Birkenau, for about three days. But I didn’t, couldn’t, stay.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because it sickened me.” And Hans told her of his very brief sojourn into efficient and organized murder of the helpless.
“Did you kill Jews?” she asked, expanding her interrogation.
“If so, and it is very likely,” he admitted, “not because they were Jews, but because they were armed partisans trying to kill me. That, or Soviet soldiers.”
There was a long silence as the girl digested the information. Finally, she announced, simply, “Fair enough.”
Again the hut was filled with emptiness for long moments. With eyes adjusting to the dim light, Hans saw Anna place a pistol on his makeshift nightstand.
Hans asked, “What was that for?”
“To kill you, if you had been one of them. And then to do the same to myself, for having to live in a world without you.”
Hans began to approach her. “Anna, I…”
“Wait!” she ordered, holding an open palm towards him. “Before you come closer there are things you must know. Ugly things. Please, sit.”
Hans did so, taking Sol’s rickety chair from next to his bunk and placing himself on it, facing the girl.
“I am from Berlin, a Berliner Jewess,” she began. “My father was a professor, my mother a housewife. My father had once been a promising violinist, but he was also a reserve lieutenant and when the Great War began he joined his regiment and went off to serve. He fought for almost four years, before losing an arm and winning a second Iron Cross, an Iron Cross First Class, for bravery. Of course, he could not play violin anymore but the talent was still there. He could teach and he did. And I remember he was very proud of those medals.”