The Furred Reich Read online

  “What are your names?”

  “It’s Valvela, sir.” The first sister replied, “and this is Sabrae.”

  Sepp caught his breath.

  “And what are we fleeing from?” He asked.

  “Raiders, sir. Don’t you know? They showed up in the forests last month.”

  “That monster there… Was he a Raider?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, could you tell me how to get to Koblenz?”

  “Ko-huh? No sir I’ve never heard of that place.” Her face remained solemn and serious.

  “Paris? Antwerpen? Strauss-burg?”

  “No sir I don’t know. Would you like some autumn nuts?”

  Sabrae reached in her satchel and pulled out some walnuts and cashews. Sepp took them.

  “I need for you both to help me with something.”

  The girls both fixed their eyes to the human in silence.

  “Lead me to a safe place. Lead me there, and I’ll take care of any Raider who comes for either of you. Could you do that for me?”

  The girls nodded in unison, Valvela’s bushy tail swaying behind her. This was the first chance he’d gotten to really look at the girls. Their firm, young bodies took the shape of a human woman, but they were both covered in thick fur. Long, white snouts, pure white hair that cascaded to their shoulders. No, this definitely wasn’t Antwerpen.

  Out of the Woods

  “Get back here you!”

  Hans jogged down the clover-lined dirt path before bolting into the nearby woods and out of the foxens’ sights. If the foxen wanted him, they’d have to pay with several more lives of their own – Hans would make sure of that.

  He wasn’t sure how long he ran. Panting, he sat down against a tree. Already he was close to the northern reaches of the map James had given him. The only question now was how to get out of this country and into the Cottonwine Lands, which was north of the lapines. He’d have to go through lapine lands first. At least that was what he had scribbled into the side margins.

  The map didn’t show any lapine towns to the east of him. It looked like he’d have to go all through the foxen realm to even get to the lapines, and he could be caught anywhere along the way. But to the west of him were felines, at least that’s what the map said. There were some trade paths from feline lands to other places. That route seemed like the safer one. According to the map, all he had to do was get to the west side of these woods undetected and he’d be out of the foxen’s country.

  Hans got up and continued west under the leafy green canopy that covered him. This continent was something he could get more used to. It reminded him more of home, which by now seemed forever out of reach.

  Night was about to fall and Hans didn’t want to travel at such a disadvantage to his yellow-eyed adversaries. He wouldn’t make the tent tonight, either. It would be too easy for the foxen to spot.

  After chewing another lamb stick he dug a trench, lay down in it and listened to the foreboding calls of nearby owls. It only made him clutch the Mauser that much tighter.

  For some time Hans drifted somewhere between unconsciousness and alarm. It was at some point in the night that he heard approaching footsteps. He would have buried himself completely if he could have. His body went into an intense panic as the footsteps neared his dugout and as his thoughts stopped. A supplementary sense took over and told him danger was very near. Suddenly he saw a man no more than five yards from him. He could feel his skin crawling. Then a second man approached behind the first. They both froze for a moment, took a few steps and turned away. Silently, Hans raised his gun from the dugout.

  Should he shoot? That would make a huge sound. Let them go? They could just as easily track him down later. Hans pondered it for a split second.

  His instincts made the decision for him.

  “Stop right there. Hands up. Both of you. Now.”

  The foxen both halted and raised their hands. The foxen did understand his language after all, it seemed.

  “I know you both have knives. Drop them.”

  They both dropped the knives. Hans put the foxes up against the tree while he shouldered his stuff and crawled out of the trench.

  “Now how many else of you are out here tonight?”

  The foxen didn’t answer. Hans nudged one of them in the back with the steel tube.

  “Six or seven.” The vulpine squawked out.

  Hans knelt down and picked up both corsairs. They were pretty fine blades.

  “You’re going to walk straight west. This is the edge of your race’s country, is it not?”

  The lead fox nodded.

  “Then once I reach the edge of your forest I’ll let you both go.”

  Russian partisans had taught Hans a thing or two. He intended on using the two foxen as a bargaining chip if he ran into more of their kind. He walked behind both of the furres. It would only be a few more hours until they were out. Definitely by morning.

  “Have either of you heard of a black ship in the sky?”

  The foxen looked at one another.

  “…A black ship? No. Nothing like that, sir.”

  “Alright.”

  The three of them trudged on.

  “You aren’t like other humans.” The lead fox warmed up, probably because he knew he wasn’t going to die.

  “Yeah. I just want to get home. That’s all.”

  “You must be a warrior at your home? I can tell that much.”

  Hans never thought of himself as a ‘warrior.’ But of course, these furres didn’t know that Hans had run from the Don all the way to Kharkov.

  For the next three hours they marched in silence. He saw the stark orange morning sun as they broke free of the treeline. Hans glanced into the foxens’ bright yellow pupils as he passed them onto the narrow trade road. He wondered how best to part with them. Not even the Wehrmacht manual had a word for etiquette in this situation.

  “This is it… Thanks…”

  “Uh, sir? May we get our corsairs back? We’ll get in big trouble if we show up without them.”

  Hans looked down at the two knives strapped against his waist. He took one and slid it across the dirt road back to them.

  “Sorry. I’ll need this one.”

  Hans backed away and walked in a nearby ditch until the foxen were out of sight.

  Undefeated

  May 9th

  Jochen stood in front of his tank crews, the gentle spring light glowing all around their blackened faces. He looked into the eyes of each one of them as he stood straight as an arrow before them in tank trousers, a leather jacket and weather-bleached officer’s cap.

  “Kamerads. Thank you for everything. For your loyalty. For your years of willingness. Today Germany surrendered to the Allied powers. The… war is over…”

  The thickness in Jochen’s voice was mercilessly cut into by the birds’ joyful singing. For the last month, whirling dust kicked-up from the Panzers hid from them the bursting spring. But the Panzers wouldn’t be doing so much longer.

  Jochen Peiper’s division, the Leibstandarte, had been fighting almost nonstop since 1939, and after innumerable losses many in the Leibstandarte were just boys: Boys who had grown up during the war and knew little else. Battle was a reflex and the regiment had replaced their families. Everyone was prepared to go on.

  Many of them looked on as if in a dream. Some couldn’t hold back their tears. For so long they had all longed for peace with a passion difficult to comprehend. Now it was here.

  He watched them and relaxed his stance. This was no longer about combat-readiness. Or even morale.

  “Please. Don’t do anything rash. There’s no sense in suicide… Because Germany will need all of you.”

  At least Jochen thought so.

  Soviet artillery gave its parting shots from the distance. Even after surrender there was a need for haste. Jochen’s Panzer regiment began its retreat through the dandelion-covered meadows and the radiant green grass of the Austrian countryside, away from the
Soviets and toward the Americans. Unit after unit crossed the Enns River where they were to go into captivity. Jochen watched their backs disappear forever into the Panzers’ dusty wake. He ordered the men of the last four ‘Tigers’ covering the retreat to blow up the tanks. Only then did Jochen and his staff cross.

  On the other side there were no Americans to be seen.

  For Jochen, the war was finally over, and he had only place in mind: Home. While most of the crew went north, Jochen’s destination had him going west and into the safety of the mountains. To do so he would finally have to part with his staff and travel in a smaller group further into the mountains. It was hard to imagine that now was the last time they would be together. Everyone had tears in their eyes. One by one he said goodbye to them with a handshake.

  Two battalion commanders, Knittel and Rettlinger decided to follow Jochen. So did his adjutant Koechlin. The fourth to follow was Paul Guhl, who now commanded a separate regiment, but was an officer of Jochen’s back in Kharkov with the half-track battalion.

  Their collective destination was Bavaria. The group marched over rising mountain paths and crossed through forests and glades. For the first two nights they slept on haystacks. The next day it rained, but that night Jochen found an Austrian farmer who fed all five of them and gave them a sheltered barn for the night. It was the first time in months that they went to sleep without hunger or stress. The SS men graciously accepted a modest meal of chicken and eggs and then trudged off to their temporary refuge.

  Sleep came quickly, and not long afterward Jochen’s subconscious went to work, spitting back all it had experienced over the years, but until now had no opportunity to talk about. He saw the faces of men he held dearly. He saw the faces of many he had lost. Visions of dead comrades and dead enemies appeared together, and in death there was no distinguishing the two. Poetschke, August Wien, Michael Wittmann, many others. He also saw men he had to leave, men who looked to him for guidance: Micheluzzi, Horst Schumann, Dinse, Paul Zwigart. And others.

  But in his dream there was one face that he didn’t recognize. And it kept appearing between those he knew, as if the man had been dropped inside Jochen’s dreams from some place outside his mind.

  “Hans.” “Gefreiter Hans Hepner! Roll call!”

  “…Hansie?”

  Jochen felt himself jolted out of sleep. He rustled around and sat up, noticing shreds of pale moonlight seeping into the barn. Knittel, Rettlinger and Koechlin were all asleep. Guhl was sitting by himself in the far corner. Jochen roused up to his feet and sat next to him, the two of them staring out through the cracks.

  “Can’t sleep, sir?”

  The two were now of equal rank, yet Guhl still addressed him as a superior. Actually, there were no ranks anymore.

  “No…”

  “Bad dreams?”

  “Yeah. Something like that. All of them keep coming to me in my sleep.”

  His former subordinate nodded. “Me too…”

  “I miss them already.”

  “Yeah…”

  There wasn’t much either could do, except just be there. After a moment Guhl glanced over to him.

  “Jochen, do you know of a Landser named Hans Hepner?”

  Peiper stopped staring out of the barn and whipped around to Guhl. “…Not until I fell asleep tonight. I assume you know of him?”

  Guhl shook his head. “No. This Hans guy appeared in my dream, but for the life of me I’ve never seen or heard of the man.”

  “It’s funny. I was about to ask you the same question. He also appeared in my dream. I’ll ask Teddy Wisch about it when I’m able to.”

  After some two weeks of walking through the Alps on back roads, Peiper and his comrades crossed into Bavaria. He was finally home.

  Through much of their journey the five of them marched in silence, and this gave Jochen plenty of time to think about the life that awaited him. It was impossible to know what lay ahead, and that unnerved him. His young wife, son and daughters were in for a surprise! And until his four comrades could find their way home, the Peiper house would be entertaining some guests, too. That thought made him chuckle to himself.

  “What are you thinking about?” The tall, bald-headed Knittel asked, shuffling up from the back.

  “Oh, not much. Just looking forward to having four house guests for awhile.”

  “We… Er… I won’t burden you for too long sir.”

  “I almost wish you would.”

  Peiper smiled. Springtime in Bavaria made one forget even the darkest of worries.

  “FREEZE!”

  Jochen had heard English spoken in the past, but not of this kind. It sounded obnoxious, chummy and irritating all at the same time. About twelve American soldiers surrounded them on a tennis court. There was no point in even trying to run.

  The Americans searched all five of them, but seemed more interested in the two officers. In a few minutes an American army truck showed up, a Studebaker, from what Jochen could see.

  “You two,” the captain said, pointing to Peiper and Guhl, “come with us onto the truck.”

  The Americans separated the officers from the other three and loaded them into the back. Jochen looked out between the wooden bars at Koechlin, Knittel and Roettlinger, who were receding into the distance forever.

  Gott Mit Uns

  Food was running out, yet Asril and the others had made it to the lands bordering Ahuran. Desert sands shifted into deep chasms of russet mountains and cliffs. To Asril, this place looked mythical, a place of stories that never reached the ears of anyone in Aolom. Hex told them that this land had several names to different peoples.

  “Once we cross the Surobi River we’ll be there.” He told the three cats one night. “Last time I was here there were roving gangs scouring the lands, and I don’t see a reason for things to be any better these days.”

  The next morning Tari distributed the few scraps of food that remained. Although the situation seemed dire, Hex wasn’t worried, and that held everyone together.

  While they scaled one of the many steep hills, the Kitsune pulled something out of his brown bag. It was a paw-held cannon of some kind. Asril squinted. She’d never seen anything like it before. It looked like a shiny tube attached to a curved, wooden handle. Hex stuck the paw cannon into a hilt attached to a belt he was now wearing. A belt with a funny crown on the buckle. Tanjung must have noticed it, too.

  “What’s that? ‘Gott Mit Uns?’ What does that mean?”

  “Actually, I’m not sure what it means. This was a parting gift. From a friend of the family. It might come in handy. Now let’s go.”

  By the next day, Asril was beginning to feel light-headed. She wasn’t sure where the border was, only that it was close, and that she wouldn’t be able to make it much farther before her body just gave out. This world was much bigger than she had imagined. Fleeing through deserts and gorges on an empty stomach introduced her to new depths of exhaustion.

  “There it is,” Tanjung called out from ahead. “Down there!”

  Down there was right. The greenish blue Surobi meandered beneath them as the four of them stared down. It was hard to believe that Ahuran was the gorge on the other side. For so long, Ahuran was just an idea planted in her mind. Now the idea was the reddish crag on the other side of the river, same as the reddish crag they stood upon.

  Hex broke the silence. “We just have to find a flat surface. A border crossing will likely be there. If worse comes to worst we can just swim it.”

  That sounded like a terrible idea.

  “There should be one up this way.”

  There was. Sure enough, in the distance Asril could see a boat parked on the misty, red embankment on the other side.

  “Aaagh!”

  It was Tanjung. An arrow flew out from behind a cropping of rocks, and gouged into his ribs. Two feline-looking bandits jumped out at Tanjung.

  “Get back!” he screamed to the girls behind him. The attackers sprinted at Tanjung, but the air s
oon cracked, and one of the attackers flew back to the sound of Hex’s cannonball and landed with a thud. The other bandit froze in place. Tanjung gutted him and made the assailant pay for his hesitation.

  The bandit’s scream was broken by the woosh of another arrow, this one gored through the young cat’s thigh. Tanjung fell to the dust in silence.

  Hex’s keen sight returned the favor, though, and Asril heard another cannonball roar up from the ground. It cut through the thicket and thumped into the fur and flesh hidden inside. Another scream came from there. An arrow grazed over Hex and two burly men emerged. They had clubs crowned with nails.

  “Nice job fox…” One called out from just a few paces away.

  “Give us the two girls and we’ll let you go right on through. If not… a couple more of us die and we get what we want anyway…”

  Asril shrieked silently and waited for the Kitsune prince to fire another round. He didn’t. Instead, she saw him stand up and raise his hands. Hex was…

  “Get the fuck out of here here, pretty boy. Before we change our minds.”

  No! He was just walking off… Hex disappeared behind the thieves and made for the river. The nailbat brutes approached Asril’s thicket. Tari sobbed quietly, unable to control the fear anymore.

  “Shh, shhh. We should have never trusted Hex, you hear me?!” Asril hissed.

  “Just shut up! Get yourself together – we’re gonna get over to that side yet, understand?!” She continued.

  Tari looked to Asril with tear-filled eyes.

  “We wait for them to come close, grab us. Then you stick the dagger in. There’s only two of them left. If we both do it there’s only the archer. Aim for the thigh. Right here, OK?” Asril pointed to the inner part of her leg.

  “Just one hit. That’s all you need.”

  The footsteps approached and Tari’s breathy cries gave the two cats away.

  “Well-look-at-this… Fresh meat…”

  One of the thugs yanked Tari by the hair and pulled her like a ragdoll. Asril felt another hand grasp her by the scalp, too.