Time War: Onslaught Read online

Corwin ran out from the doorway towards the cover of their vehicle. Hotwell was close behind as machine gun fire struck the ground at their feet, and they leapt into the cover of the vehicle. They each sheltered behind one of the tall wheels as glass shattered and showered them. Their truck was riddled with fire, and a number of shots went right through the wooden coachwork and landed past their feet.

  "Keep it together," said Corwin.

  A shot rang out from the farmhouse and was followed by Sten bursts. The enemy machine gun stopped firing for just a moment before opening up once more, but this time it was not directed at them. They saw a hail of bullets strike the stonework and tear holes in the exterior, blowing the windows out. They watched Lecia jump for cover. Corwin prayed she had not been hit, but he also knew it was their opportunity. He prised one of the rear doors open and crawled inside, trying to hide his presence.

  He reached over the back of the bench seat, grabbed an ammo box, hauled it over, and passed it to Hotwell. He went for another. But just as he got a hold on it, several bullets struck the vehicle. He was not willing to leave it behind, lifting it out as he fell back out of the vehicle amid a hail of gunfire.

  "What, are you crazy?"

  "We don't get ammo, then we are dead in the water."

  He opened the first ammo box and found it full of loaded Sten magazines. Then the next, and it was stacked with cotton bandoliers of stripper clips for the rifles. He opened the front passenger door of the vehicle, and to his shock their driver was cowering in the footwell. Amazingly, he seemed to have not been hit. An Enfield rifle was held in mounts beside the seat, and Corwin sighed in relief as he took it in hand.

  "Thankfully someone came prepared. You okay?"

  The driver was shaking. Corwin grabbed him, hauling him out of the cab and shut the door. He patted him down, looking for signs of injury, but there was nothing.

  "You're okay, but you won't be if you don't get with the programme."

  The man looked into his eyes blankly. Corwin simply slapped him in the face, to the horror of Hotwell, and yet it seemed to have the desired effect. He lifted his hand to his aching jaw, but looked at them as if he had just stepped back into reality.

  "Are there any more weapons in this truck?"

  "A...a...a Sten on the driver's side, that's all."

  "Did you pack all this ammo?"

  He nodded.

  "Good job, you might have just saved us."

  A little hope appeared in the man's eyes. Corwin reached into the vehicle again and sprawled across the front seat until he could reach the Sten. With a quick tug, he ripped it from the canvas straps holding it in place and ducked back out. He thrust the weapon into the driver's hands and another three magazines out of the ammo box. He threw two bandoliers over his shoulders and cocked the Enfield. It wasn't his style at all, but he had no choice but to make do.

  "What's your name?"

  "Corporal Badcock."

  "Badcock?" Corwin laughed.

  It lightened the situation, and the man relaxed a little.

  "Any relation to Sergeant Adcock? Billy?"

  He shook his head.

  "You sure struck out there," he joked, "Okay, Badcock, here's what is going to happen. We can't run back inside and cower there forever. We have to close the distance between us and them, and then give them a good kicking, you got me?"

  He seemed surprisingly confident now.

  "You are going to stay here and lay down covering fire while the three of us move, you got that? Three, two..."

  He was interrupted by the coarse screeching sound of jet engines.

  "What in the hell?" Hotwell shouted.

  A German soldier floated overhead. The heat from two engines strapped to his back almost scorched their eyebrows off. His armour was made up of multiple overlapping plates, and not even his face was visible. An eagle and swastika adorned his chest plate. The ominous soldier swooped in for a rather rough and flaky landing, and just managing to stay on his feet as he touched down. Smoke bellowed out from the pack on his back, and he staggered a little before getting stable. It was clear that his suit was at least powered in some way, as its weight alone was more than any normal man could bear. He held a box-fed machine gun in his hands and lifted it to take aim. Corwin quickly responded by raising his rifle and firing a shot into his centre body mass.

  The heavy .303 round caused the German airborne soldier to twitch slightly, but the shot ricocheted from his armour. Beyett and Badcock opened fire on full auto with their Stens. Hotwell quickly joined them with his pistol as Corwin cocked his bolt-action rifle. He took aim at the face and fired, but still to no avail.

  The soldier was struck by weight of fire and knocked back two paces. He could not raise his rifle from the sheer number of impacts. But the Stens soon ran out of ammunition, and Corwin could see that not even his rifle could penetrate the armour. He threw down the rifle and jumped into a full sprint towards the soldier. He closed quickly enough that the trooper could not get his weapon up through the confusion and shock of the fire he had been subjected to. Corwin struck him like a freight train, and the two of them burst through the wall of one of the farm's barns.

  As they crashed through, they struck one of the main supports, and part of the roof collapsed in on them. Corwin coughed and spluttered as the dust began to settle, and he tried to wipe his eyes clear.

  "Are you okay, Captain?" Hotwell hollered.

  Corwin coughed again and looked around for the German, but there was no sign of him. He took a few paces back and looked around in every direction. The pile of rubble began moving in front of him, and an armoured hand appeared. The German soldier lifted himself up out of the rubble as it slid from him. He looked awkward and clumsy, but with a lot of strength provided by the suit. He looked around for his weapon, but it was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t appear to be carrying a sidearm. Corwin thought to reach for his pistol, but knew the .45 rounds would do no better than anything else they had thrown at the armoured trooper.

  They stared at each other wondering what to do, until finally the German stomped towards him.

  "Right, you son of a bitch, let's play," said Corwin.

  The German swung a heavy hook. Corwin easily ducked under, and the weight of the throw almost took him off his feet. Corwin drew his knife as he came back up and thrust it into the man's armpit, where the articulated joints looked weakest. The blade penetrated just a little, but his opponent swung back around and smashed him in the face with an elbow.

  Corwin was thrown aside and felt his jaw almost crack from the weight of the impact. As he hit the ground, he lost his grip, and the knife slid across the barn floor, well out of reach, but then he saw a pulley and hoist hanging from the ceiling. It looked heavy enough to haul an engine, though it was almost ten metres up and hanging close to the rafters. As he looked up, the German's foot was about to crush him, but he rolled out and leapt to his feet. He grabbed hold of the chain hanging from the hoist and kicked out the German's legs from under him. The strike was just powerful to throw him off balance, and he crashed down to the rubble. He tried to get up but seemed to be stuck like a turtle on its back.

  "Not so funny now, is it?"

  Corwin casually wiped the blood from his mouth as the gunfire still echoed from outside. He stepped up to the stranded man and placed the chain of the pulley around his legs. He hooked them together, turned to the pulley chain, and began hauling the man up. Corwin kept lifting him high and higher, and he began to squirm. But Corwin showed no remorse. He got him to the highest point so that he was dangling helplessly from his feet.

  Corwin stepped up to the release clamp, casually lifting it so that the chain was released, and the man plummeted head first towards the ground. His head snapped flat against his shoulder as he landed. The body remained upright for a few seconds and finally toppled over to one side. Corwin chuckled to himself for a moment. It was a kill Harland would be proud of, but he soon realised how devastating the armoured soldier could h
ave been, and how much of a lucky escape he’d had.

  "What the hell was that?" Hotwell rushed in through the hole in the barn wall.

  "Airborne."

  "Fallschirmjäger? No, not like I have ever seen before."

  "Yeah, well you better get used to seeing new things. Something tells me there will be plenty more of these heading our way before long, and we are gonna need something meaty to deal with them."

  "True enough, but let's worry about this problem we have on our hands first, ey?"

  Corwin was digging around the rubble and finally drew out the machine gun the German had been carrying. He then pulled the magazine bandolier from the dead body.

  "I'm getting tired of these bastards being one step ahead, you with me?"

  Corwin nodded and rushed out of the other side of the barn. They made a quick run to the tree line unnoticed as the firefight still raged at their backs. The undergrowth was dense enough that they could make their way around the farmhouse perimeter at speed without being seen. Soon they were coming up on a position where assault rifle fire could be heard. Corwin ran out from a hedgerow and found himself facing three German airborne soldiers, all laying down fire with assault rifles. Another in the distance was preparing a Panzerschreck, a shielded shoulder-mounted anti-tank launcher.

  Corwin opened up on full auto, and the barrel of the gun rattled to life, cutting the three down with one long burst before they even knew what had hit them. The one carrying the launcher spun the weapon around towards them, but Hotwell fired two shots with his pistol. The man's legs went out from under him. He fell forward as he pulled the trigger, and the rocket hit the ground in front of him and exploded. Dirt and foliage showered Corwin and Hotwell as they were ducking down for cover. When the dust settled, there was nothing left of the man besides one boot. Hotwell breathed out a sigh of relief.

  "Nice work," Corwin said, picking up one of the assault rifles and thrust it into Hotwell's hands. He looked at it in amazement, as it was superior to anything the Allies were using.

  "We could do with a few more of these," he said, picking up more mags from the bodies. He hurriedly followed Corwin who was reloading on the move. He burst through another few trees to find three more Germans laying down fire on the farmhouse. He fired as he had done before and riddled them with bullets just as Hotwell caught up, and they immediately carried on. As they came through, another a burst of gunfire from a submachine gun hit Corwin. The first few shots ripped through the receiver of his gun, and the rest hit his body armour. The broken weapon flew from his hands, and he immediately reached for his Colt with a quick draw. He fired two shots at the officer who had been firing at him, and both struck him in the face.

  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a flash of movement; a stick grenade landed in front of him. He leapt with all his strength towards the cover of a fallen tree, just making it as the charge blew. As he got back, Hotwell fired three shots into an advancing German. Then it all went silent. He nodded to the Captain but then heard a single gunshot ring out from the farmhouse, followed by someone slumping down behind him. He turned around quickly. A dead German lay on the ground only two metres behind him. Corwin was just able to make out Lecia at a window on the rooftop. He gave her a casual salute in gratitude before going to the body and picking up the rifle.

  Just when they thought they had caught a break, they heard the roar of jet engines once again. Three armoured airborne troopers skirted the canopy overhead.

  "Fuck me, how many more of these sons of bitches are there?"

  He looked down and noticed the MG42 and several boxes of ammunition lying beside two bodies. He threw the rifle on his back and picked up the gun in one hand, the boxes with the other, and made a dash for the house. Bursts of gunfire hit the ground around them, but it seemed uncontrolled and inaccurate from the descending airborne troops. The first landed ten metres behind Corwin. He turned and fired a burst single-handedly, but he knew they wouldn't be able to make it to the house.

  An engine roared to life and wheels spun off to their side. A jeep raced out from behind their wrecked truck and slammed into the German who had been pursuing them. Badcock was at the wheel. The German collapsed over the bonnet, but the jeep did not stop. It went another ten metres and ploughed into the front of a parked tractor, crushing the man beneath the weight of the two vehicles. The front end of the jeep caved in. Badcock was rocked so violently that his nose hit the wheel and blood burst out over his uniform.

  Corwin rushed to his side and hauled him out of the jeep. He was still stunned from the impact but soon got a sense of the danger they were in. Gunfire ripped into the ground beneath them as they sprinted for the door. The scene erupted into chaos from their people returning fire. Corwin shoved the Corporal through the door and leapt after him. A hail of bullets struck the wall behind them, and one ricocheted from his body armour. He crashed in through the entrance, and Beyett slammed the heavy wooden door shut and slid the bolt across.

  "That could have gone better," he said.

  "Still alive, aren't we?" Corwin asked, looking down at the graze on his armour. If it had been just a little lower, it would have clipped his hip. Badcock was lying back against a kitchen work counter with his Sten across his lap and trying to light a cigarette to calm his nerves.

  "Saved our asses back there, you know that right, Corporal?"

  "It's Tim, my name."

  Glass shattered once again from a burst of gunfire hitting the window, but Badcock continued to light his cigarette. He finally drew back on it, sighing loudly as he blew out the smoke.

  "All right, Tim, that was some quick thinking."

  "Give me a gun, and I can just about use it, but put me behind the wheel, and I can do anything."

  "What did you do before the war, Corporal?" Hotwell asked.

  "I raced cars, would have had a great career in it, were it not for bloody Nazis."

  Corwin smiled; they had an adrenaline junky on their hands.

  "Anything else you are good at?"

  "Anything that goes fast. Bikes, cars, planes, that's where I am at home."

  "If we make it through this, you want a job?"

  "I have a job."

  "One that doesn't involve ferrying officers around the countryside. Do what you do best, for us. We go into the most dangerous situations, and we need someone who can get us in and out quickly. I figure you could be just the man."

  "Based on what?" Hotwell questioned him.

  "The Corporal has got skills, and he's got balls. That's good enough for me. And besides, looks like you're out of a job now."

  "You get me out of here in one piece, and make it right with my CO, and I'll drive and fly you to hell and back anytime you want."

  "I hate to break this up, but we have more pressing matters at hand," said Beyett.

  He pointed out of one of the shattered windows. Corwin rushed to his side. Two of the armoured soldiers were approaching.

  "Shit me, they don't give up, do they?"

  Dozens of bullets bounced off their armour, but they relentlessly drove forward. One was equipped with an MG42 as Corwin now carried, but with an ammo belt feeding out to a huge pack on his back in what appeared to be an absurd amount of ammunition. But he seemed to struggle to fire it on the move, due to the restrictive nature of the armoured suit. He stopped, took aim, and strafed the building. Everyone inside ducked for cover. The ridiculous rate of fire caused hundreds of rounds to strike over the farmhouse, but the thick walls made of stone held firm.

  "This is really getting old," said Corwin.

  "What the hell are we going to do when they reach that door?"

  Corwin watched the one still on the move. He was close now.

  "Captain, did you hear me? When he comes through that door, there'll be no stopping him," Hotwell shouted.

  Corwin didn't respond. He simply went to the doorway and peered out through a bullet hole. He could see the armoured trooper stomping towards them. He ducked back and th
ought for a moment, looking down at the gun in his hands and seeing how useless it would be. He looked around the room at his own gear and finally to his knife. Something came to him. He looked back. The soldier had sped up to a jog now to smash through the door, and he had no doubt the bolt and hinges would not hold. He slid the bolt across slowly and quietly.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  But he did not answer Hotwell. Just as the German reached the door, he heaved it open and stepped aside. The soldier almost lost his footing. He had expected to make contact, and he stumbled in, crashing into the wall on the far side of the entrance hall. He landed in a seated position with his back against the wall, a little stunned and disorientated. Corwin slammed the door shut and quickly slid the bolt across. He then leapt onto the soldier, pinning his rifle against him. The German could not move under the weight and strength of Corwin. The others looked on in horror. They seemed to be at loggerheads, for Corwin could not hurt the German, who in turn could not move.

  "Knife!" Corwin screamed and pointed to a long thin blade hanging beside the stove.

  Beyett grabbed it and passed it to him. The German was fighting to get his hands free.

  "Help me hold him down!"

  Beyett grabbed one of the man's arms; Hotwell and Badcock took the other. Corwin was still sitting on his legs. He lifted up the knife to look at its almost stiletto toothpick shape and placed it into one of the narrow eye slits of the soldier’s helmet. He drove it home until he felt the tip strike metal at the back of the helmet. A short scream rang out, and blood dripped out from the hole. The man soon stopped fighting as his head slumped, and Corwin slowly slid off him.

  A short silence in the room was broken when Badcock threw up beside the corpse.

  "You have the stomach to race but not a little blood?" Corwin asked.

  But he could see in Hotwell's face that the shock and horror was not unique to the Corporal. It was a particularly gruesome scene, but he had just been desensitised in a way that most hadn't.

  "This isn't a nice way to wage a war," he said.

  "Kill or be killed, whatever you have to do to win," he replied.