Time War: Invasion (18 page)

But Corwin slammed the magazine in and cocked the weapon, lifting it to the shoulder like he would a rifle. He held it in place with a perfectly calm grip, where any normal shoulder would be shaking in seconds. He squeezed the trigger and fired a three-shot burst at the twenty-five yard range target, then another, and another. Wadd looked in amazement to see a two-inch grouping sustained throughout.

"I must say, Captain, I have not seen that before."

"This will do as our standard rifle."

"Rifle? That is no rifle."

"Far as I'm concerned, this is an assault rifle. Have you not seen what many of the German troops are now carrying? They're ahead of the game."

"But the Bren is more for any one man to manage in that way."

"You let us worry about that."

He looked past the Sergeant Major to see Rane lifting a huge water-jacketed machine gun off the table. He couldn't help but think it looked like something from the nineteenth century, not the twentieth. The size and heft brought a smile to his face.

"I like this already," he said and hauled it over to the range, placing it down on the table.

"The Vickers gun, I must insist that you mount this on a fixed platform."

Rane shook his head, and Wadd sighed in acceptance.

"May I?" Wadd asked.

Rane took a pace back as Wadd pulled out a metal ammunition tin and placed it beside the weapon. He opened the receiver and pulled an ammo belt from the box, placing it onto the breech before shutting the receiver and cocking the charging handle back. Wadd looked astonished when Rane picked up the weapon with as little effort as Corwin had handled the Bren. He held it at hip level and pushed the trigger. Light flashed from the muzzle as the gun fired into life. Its slow pulsing rate of fire kept going and going as Rane ripped several targets apart, finally stopping after fifty continuous shots.

Wadd couldn't help but look at the accuracy they had been fired at and marvel.

"That'll work, but it'll need a mount for the ammunition boxes, and a front grip. Something like that," he said, pointing to the wooden carry handle on top of the Bren.

Wadd looked at Hotwell for confirmation, but the Captain only nodded in approval.

"I will have it ready by the end of the day, Sir."

Vi picked up the Bren that Corwin had been using. She could handle the weight just fine, but she looked unimpressed by how unwieldy it was.

"Got something in between?" she asked.

"You ladies will not surely ever go into a combat zone?"

"We cannot give you operational details. Please just provide us with what we require," Hotwell intervened.

Wadd nodded, went over to a racking unit, and came back with a Thompson submachine gun. Most of them recognised it immediately. It was hard not to recognise the gun of all the gangster movies.

"Oh, hell, yes."

Vi almost swooned when she saw it.

"Firing the .45 calibre bullet, it packs a rather larger punch than our Stens," said Wadd.

In his other hand he carried three magazines.

"Twenty, thirty, and a fifty round drum magazine."

"Side arms?" Nylund asked.

"You sure are taking an awful lot of firepower for a twelve-man section."

"Yeah, well we punch above our weight," replied Corwin.

Wadd led them to a table of handguns. There were a few revolvers of varying size. Porter picked one up and looked at it and laughed out loud. He snapped open the barrel to reveal the cylinder for loading it and spun it with his fingers. He smiled like he was playing with a child’s toy. Then he picked up the .38 rounds that it used.

"What are these gonna do, piss the enemy off?"

Corwin reached immediately for the Colt automatic, an icon he was at least familiar with.

"We'll take one of these each."

"Two for me," added Chas, picking up one in each hand and twirling them for fun.

"We're gonna need plenty of ammo. I'd say about three thousand rounds of the .303, two thousand of the .45, and two hundred 9mm."

"Are you intending on fighting this war singlehandedly?"

"You can never have too much ammunition," he replied.

"Americans," Wadd muttered. He shook his head and wrote down the figures on a notebook.

"Grenades?" Harland joined in the conversation.

"The venerable Mills bomb, how many do you require?"

"Four per man," Corwin answered.

"And the women?"

"Them, too. This supply will keep us in action for a day. Hopefully, that's all we'll need for now. If we're out there any longer, you know it all went tits up."

"Tits up?" Hotwell asked.

"It's what we'll be if this operation falls apart."

"Anything else I can do for you, gentlemen?"

"That'll be all, Sergeant," replied Corwin.

They stepped out of the building and headed on their way.

"What would you have me do in this operation?"

"You aren't coming with us, Captain."

"I won't? That’s a relief."

"You're more valuable to us here. Keep working to find out when Villiers started showing up, and where he could be now."

"You think finishing him will make enough of a difference?"

"Yes, every day he helps the Nazis is another step closer to their victory. He must be stopped."

* * *

The day of the operation had finally come, and it was late afternoon when they stepped out into the courtyard of the building. Williams and his people were loading their gear onto a line of trucks. Many of the paratroopers stopped and stared at them. For all the uniform and discipline in how they wore it, Corwin's Luckers looked like a rag tag bunch of hooligans. Gone was the need to blend in; now they were ready for just one thing, a fight.

They each wore a mix of the wool clothing they had been supplied with, and elements of the equipment they’d brought back with them. Corwin had no jacket at all and had his wool shirt rolled up above the elbow, with his body armour over the top. On his hip he wore a Colt in a low-slung tankers holster, like a cowboy would carry a gun. In one arm he carried his new Bren gun, and in the other a Bergen chocked full of magazines for it.

Rane looked even more ridiculous. He had cut the sleeves of his tunic off at the shoulders and wore his armour over the top like the rest. He had ammo belts slung over his body, and a Bergen on with boxes of ammunition stuffed so high that they were almost sprawling out the sides of the lid.

Lecia's long form-fitting coat fluttered in the wind and had been re-sprayed a camouflage mix, not unlike the Denison smocks worn by the paratroopers. Yet she wore the British battledress beneath and carried her scoped Enfield rifle with two cotton bandoliers across her body. Her hair had been dyed a mix of brunette and green so that it blended into her jacket, as it had done before in the desert.

The British soldiers could not work out what they were looking at, or what the team had to do with them.

"Everyone listen up!" Williams ordered.

The Colonel leapt onto the bonnet of a nearby jeep so he could be seen and heard by all. He was in full combat attire with a jump helmet on and pistol on his webbing, along with pouches filled with Sten magazines.

"I want to introduce you all to Captain Corwin and his squad. They'll be coming along with us. They volunteered for this mission. They're somewhat unconventional, but my understanding is they can be more than a little help when you find yourselves in a tight spot. I am well aware that their inclusion in this mission, and in this Battalion, is a long way from protocol or tradition. But, gentlemen, we live in strange and dark days, and we must look for hope in all corners of life. I ask you extend them the same respect you would your fellow soldier. They are, after all, part of the Battalion now. Load up, and move out!"

He jumped off the hood of the jeep and rushed over to Corwin's side.

"Really think you can handle that gear? This is going to be a rapid deployment with vastly developing lines. We aren't in this for the long haul."

"Don't worry about it, Colonel. We are no rookies in this."

He led Corwin to the back of one of the trucks where he pointed to crate loads of explosives.

"Each platoon will carry enough charges to bring this structure down, providing we can reach structural supports. Trouble is we still don't know exactly what we'll find inside. Rule of thumb here, we take far more than we need, and blow the whole facility to kingdom come."

"My kind of plan."

I want your squad to work with two sections of my own boys, forming Seventh Platoon, A Company. They're good lads, and they'll appreciate your presence. As your commission is rather more symbolic than anything else, you will be under A Company's platoon leader. Lieutenant Burr. I presume that will not be a problem?"

Corwin shook his head.

"This is your operation, Colonel. We are just along to help."

"Corwin, I know you have your mission to think about, but please, don't hold anything back. Your people know a lot more about the inner workings of what’s going on over there than you let on. If you see or find anything that could assist us in this war, please share them with us."

"Of course. Ultimately we're only here for one thing, and that is to make sure the Allies with this war."

Williams smiled as he walked back around to the troops.

"Load up!"

Just a few minutes later they were loaded into a convoy of eight trucks and four jeeps and hitting the road. Corwin’s squad had a whole vehicle to themselves. It was a clattery and rickety truck that groaned as it hit any minor trough in the road. A few minutes into the drive they could hear the smattering of rain on the canvas overhead, and it wasn't long before water began seeping through a hole in the skin and drop in between them.

"This sucks, Boss," said Vi, "This ain't even our war. I don't know why we bother."

"Why did you ever sign up in the first place?"

She shrugged as she couldn't fully remember or understand why, but Beyett stepped in to reassure her with some hard facts.

"Do you know what the Nazis thought of homosexuals?"

She shook her head. "If it's anything like the fuckers we've met so far, I doubt it was too great."

"It's true that the Allies were often not kind, but the Nazis believed homosexuals were the lowest form of scum. I remember some quote from one of their key leaders as describing your kind as mentally diseased, cowardly, liars, traitors, irresponsible, and disloyal. They believed men and women existed to breed, and therefore homosexuals were a threat to society."

She spat on the floor between them, but Corwin could only smile, understanding what Beyett had done.

“They really are the bad guys, Vi,” added Nylund.

“What the fuck would you know?”

She turned to Corwin to look for some confirmation.

“If Beyett says it is so, you better believe him. Everything I ever learnt about the Nazis tells me they are the real deal. Just the sort of scum we fought against, and if good men, and women, hadn’t fought this war, we’d not have been able to ever fight our own. These are good people, and they need our help.”

“They surely do, now more than ever,” Beyett agreed.

They all thought on it for the rest of the journey, eventually arriving at the airfield. It was hammering with rain as they leapt out from the back of the truck and slashed into the surface water at their feet. Corwin looked up at the sky to feel the rain beating down on his face. It felt fantastically refreshing, and he could not look away. Not until he heard Williams’ voice.

“This isn’t going to work!”

Corwin looked over to the Colonel.

“We can’t fly in this weather!” he shouted.

Corwin shook his head. It wasn’t extreme enough to ever have affected an operation in his life.