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King and Country

by Richard Marsden

They had said he followed his orders without question or hesitation. They had been right, but that didn’t make Brian Willox feel any better about his situation. Patriotism tended to wither under the heavy automatic fire of a Kaiser-Guard, though he was sure it would return later. His teeth rattled as another spray of ammunition pelted the feeble cover he hid behind, sending bits of concrete past his face. He gripped his Webley revolver and laughed at how puny it seemed in his hand.

His squad was doing the same as he was; desperately hugging every bit of masonry or dirt they could find within the ruins of a building they incorrectly thought was safe from prying eyes. The sky was overcast, giving everything a gray tinge to its appearance. In-between firing at the armored figures of Germany’s best, his men would glare at him. Their uniforms were khaki and spattered in mud from the hours of nighttime crawling that had gotten them this far. They had made it beyond no-man’s land, through the Kraut trenches and had managed to elude or stay hidden from enemy sentries and patrols for three solid days. It was just their rotten luck to stumble across the near-invulnerable soldiers of the Kaiser only an hour away from their objective.

“Sir, forget King n’ Country! We’re 'n Krautland as it is,” Sergeant Lemwill shouted over the roar of automatic fire. “Leg it fast n’ we’ll be sippin’ champ-e-anee n’ Paris n’ a few days time.” He popped up from the bullet-ridden wall he was using for cover and fired his trench-gun. The boom was deafening, and in response Lemwill was forced to curl up tight as sprays of gunfire dashed about his position.

Brian was sorely tempted to take up his Sergeant on the offer, but he had a reputation to maintain and a career to build. While saying ‘yes’ to suicide missions had not exactly propelled him up the ranks, he was damn sure saying ‘no’ wouldn’t help much either.

He nodded his head in the direction of the enemy. “Sergeant, keep those Kaiser-Guard still. There are only three of them. I’ll close.” Brian glanced around the hunk of wall he was crouched behind. On the far side of the ruined building he could make out three lumbering shapes. The armored plates they wore were decorated liberally with rivets and their breastplates were marked with chipped, worn, but a very evident iron cross. Their faces were hidden behind armored gasmasks and they wore the distinct helmets the Germans were so fond of, proudly displaying the spike that most soldiers abandoned because it made hiding difficult. Kaiser-Guard didn’t need to hide. The three hand-picked warriors of the German Emperor moved confidently through the rubble, firing their multi-barrel chain guns in destructive, swaying patterns.

“Only three, he says!” Sergeant Lemwill looked upon the five other men in the squad. “Kenny, Sam,” he barked. “Grenades. Rest of you lot, covering fire for the officer.”

Kenny and Sam licked their lips. They waited for the others to open up with their feeble bolt-actions before producing grenades. They pulled the pin and waited a moment, a dangerous maneuver which if done improperly. Before the explosives detonated in their hands they stood, tossing the primed weapons and ducked.

Brian waited until he heard the twin crump of the grenades. He darted forward through raining bits of brick and earth and a cloud of debris. He severely doubted the grenades and small arms fire of his men would stop the trio of walking tanks—something more personal would be required for that. He dived behind the remains of a chimney and let out a shuddering breath. The chain-guns started up again. While the grenades hadn’t slowed them, it had provided him a shield of smoke to advance through.

He heard the heavy footfalls of the Kaiser-Guard. “Christ,” he whispered as he saw the skeletal walls rattle with their inevitable approach. The chimney would be a tight fit, but with force, effort and a sucking in of breath, Brian pushed himself into it. The chimney vibrated and a few bricks tumbled loose from his desperate burrowing and that of the footsteps of the advancing soldiers.

The next burst of automatic fire deafened him as the sound echoed within the tight, sooty confines of the chimney. He could barely here his men’s return fire. A few pops and the occasional plink of a round deflected by the German body-armor was hardly uplifting. Half the chimney collapsed and Brian stifled a cry as a few bricks bounced upon his helmet. They hadn’t fallen from too great a height, but a brick to the head was a brick to the head. His helmet crunched atop his skull and his teeth clamped shut. Through holes in the chimney he saw the three gargantuan soldiers stomp past, weapons blazing. He could hear their heavy intakes of air and see steam and exhaust belch from their over-sized backpacks. One paused, as if sensing an enemy to its rear.

Brian’s vision was still swimming from the bricks that had fallen, and still remained, atop his helmeted head. He held his breath and closed his eyes. If the Kaiser-Guard saw him, there was nowhere to hide; he had sealed himself in his very own coffin. He tensed up, waiting for the roar of the chain-gun and prayed that his death would be at least merciful, if not pleasant.

“Come on then, ye bastards!” Sergeant Lemwill howled. The distinct booming of his trench-gun thundered.

Brian popped an eye open. The three Kaiser-Guard were moving slowly, but unerringly, towards the insults of Lemwill. “Bless you, Sergeant,” Brian whispered before wriggling his way out of the chimney. Getting in was easier than out, and he had to sit down and push to finally free himself. He shook his head as the weight of the bricks left him and still had a hard time seeing clearly. It would be impossible to miss the giant forms of the enemy, however.

Sparks flew from their bulk, and they answered each round fired their way with a buzz-saw chatter of their own and a cascade of glittering, brass shell casings. From the front, they were as indestructible as tanks. They could stride across no-man’s land and were often at the fore of grand assaults. Brian had seen more than a few killed before, usually with a direct artillery strike or a blast from a flame-thrower. He currently lacked in both of these. Grasping his revolver, he advanced.

The first of the armored soldiers was stepping over a pile of wood that once perhaps was a piece of furniture. Brian crept up behind him, saw the gap beneath the man’s helmet and stuffed the muzzle of his weapon between the helmet and back of the neck. He pulled the trigger and felt the recoil. The round sped through the man’s head, burst through his skull and made a distinct metallic thunk as it imbedded inside the crown of the helmet. The German fell face first.

Moving, Brian hopped over the dead man and closed on the rear of the next soldier. His men, only a few yards off, caught sight of him and ceased fire. The Kaiser-Guard leveled his chain-gun, but before he could fire, Brian repeated the precise shot between helmet and neck. He was already running towards the last soldier before the other hand fallen over dead.

The exhaust pipes on the backpack belched out a cloud of vapor. The hulking form half-turned, and upon seeing two of its comrades dead and Brian rushing him, let out a bestial roar. The chain-gun sputtered to life, obliterating everything in its path.

Brian saw the spinning barrels and could see the glittering tracer-rounds spit past him. The animal inside him cried out for him to cower. To do so was to die. Training over rid instinct, and Brian replied with his own roar, not nearly as menacing, but certainly primal. He leveled his pistol and squeezed the trigger again and again. The revolver bucked while he jumped away from the automatic weapon that was seeking him out. Brian’s squad stood up, lending throaty cheers, saving their fire.

His two shots bounced harmlessly off the armored plates of the Kaiser-Guard. In desperation, Brian rushed the man, jamming the barrel of his weapon against the eye-piece. He pulled the trigger just as the heated barrels crashed into his side, flinging him away under its weight and the enhanced strength of the elite foe.

Brian rolled in the rough earth, hissing in pain as his leg went numb from the blow, and several bits of concrete and splintered wood bit into his flesh. He glanced up, raised his pistol and pulled the trigger.

Click.

It didn’t matter. Smoke ghosted up from the German’s shattered eye-piece. He waivered, took two blind steps, and collapsed heavily, causing his armor’s engine to sputter out with a rattling cough.

Brian panted. He felt fear, worry, panic and all the other human emotions rush back into his veins. While his men cheered his bravery and called him mad, Leftenant Brian Willox vomited. He had performed dozens of such ‘heroic’ acts, and each time he felt sick afterwards. In a few days time the madness of it all would fade, and he would accept the next assignment.

As if reading his thoughts, Sergeant Lemwill hauled him to his feet with a grimy hand. “You’ll be dead n’ no time, beggin’ your pardon, sir.”

Brian nodded. He took in a great lungful of air, but found it tainted with the smoke of the endless war. “We’ll all be dead in no time, Sergeant. That’s how these things work.” A war that started in the time of his Grandfather was unlikely to be merciful to any of them, no matter how brash or conversely cautious they were. He looked upon the fallen Kaiser-Guard. His eyes strayed over his squad. They were shrouded in dust, but otherwise unharmed. “We are fortunate none of us are dead right now.”

Lemwill walked over to one of the corpses and nudged it with his boot. The motor on the backpack grumbled and he racked his trench-gun, sneering. “Bad luck, blunderin’ into them, I still says, sir.”

Brian pursed his lips and swept a hand across his brow, tipping his bowl shaped helmet back. “I do not think so, Sergeant. We’re an hour from our rendezvous with the spy, and finding a trio of Germany’s elite this close is hardly coincidence.”

“Spy been found out, sir?” Private Kenneth Jameson asked. He rubbed his nose and peered around with narrowed eyes.

“Might be a good reason to call it off, sir. If our spy—”

“No.” Brian cut off any excuses they might have to return to their lines. He had his orders, and he shared with his men only the basics; that they had to rendezvous with the spy in a hamlet just within Germany proper. He was not about to have crawled all the way into Germany, defeated three armored monstrosities with a pistol, only to turn back. Besides, his orders were explicit, and as the fear and exhaustion of combat wore off, he felt compelled to follow them through. He gaze the men a stern look and set his jaw. “King and Country.”

They were silent. Sergeant Lemwill lowered his gaze. “Right you are, sir. King n’ Country.”

The other men of the squad echoed him and bowed their heads in submission. It wasn’t too difficult to reassert control and remind them of their duty. They had accompanied him on plenty of tasks that most soldiers would write off as insane. What was one more? For a single moment, a part of him whispered that he should agree with them. It was unusual for Brian to feel hesitation. The moment fled, he felt the swell of pride in his chest. He had a career to think of and a nation to defend from the deprivations of the Central Powers.

“You all right, sir?” Lemwill asked, raising a brow.

Brian swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Sergeant.” He nodded more vigorously to convince himself. “Come on, the hamlet is this way.” He loaded his pistol, snapping shut the chamber.

The gray skies continued to dominate and the hamlet looked sinister in Brian’s eyes. Every building could house a sniper; every alleyway could be shielding a German guard. He kept close to the line of hedges leading up the cobbled road to the seemingly quiet town. He heard his men shuffling behind him, their equipment rattling, their bodies brushing into foliage. He waved his hand for them to quiet down.

“Sir, someone is going t’ be wonderin’ where them three walking tin-cans are off to now.” Lemwill scooted alongside him. “Where’s the spy, sir?”

A small, flickering smile passed across Brian’s features. “In the hamlet, Sergeant. You’ll know him by the cane he uses to get around with.” He blinked. “He’s younger.”

“Young man with a cane. Right, sir. Plan?” Lemwill sniffed and leaned up, fixing his eyes on the small village.

Brian examined the hamlet for a solid minute. His paranoia was telling him to be cautious, but as far as he could tell the town was undefended. He was about to order a general sweep of the town, when he saw a cherry-red glow in the window of a building overlooking the main road. Peering, Brian could just make out the muzzle of a machine-gun and the outline of a man smoking. He pointed and whispered. “Down the road, Sergeant. Top window, look for the glow.”

The man sucked in a breath between his yellowed teeth. “I sees ‘im, sir. Where there’s one …” he trailed off.

“There’s lots,” Private Lewis whispered from behind them.

A machine-gun covering the road and the likelihood of further guards. Brian mentally weighed their options. “Sergeant, you’re with me. I’ll need your trench-gun when we sneak in there.” He looked back at his men crouching in the hedges. “The rest of you, do not fire until you are positive we have been detected.”

“Sir,” Private Corey said softly. “If you get captured, should we get back to our lines?”

Brian stifled a laugh. “No, Private. Should Sergeant Lemwill or myself end up in enemy hands, I’m leaving it up to you to personally risk your life and that of your squad in a daring rescue. I have no intention of spending the rest of my life in a work camp.”

“Worry not, sir,” Lemwill said. “They’ll exchange officers. Not so sure ‘bout me though. So, you ‘eard the officer. Save my ass if it gets caught.”

Brian smiled as they all nodded their agreement. They were good men and true, though he was unsure if they would be devoted enough to stick around if things went to hell. He tucked his pistol in his holster and crawled along the hedges towards the edge of the hamlet. He heard the rustling of Sergeant Lemwill behind him and the occasional heavy breath. The stalwart was an old soldier and experienced, but not quite up to the physical tasks Brian routinely subjected his men to.

The pace was slow and steady as they passed under the shadow of white-brick homes with deep brown roofs, built in the sweeping Germanic style. When a breeze whistled past, Brian crawled faster using the sound to cover his movement. Once they were past the first home, he stood. Silently, he motioned Lemwill to follow him.

The hamlet had a single road bisecting it. On either side were a collection of homes, any one of which could house the spy he was seeking. He had little to go on besides the description of a young man with a cane. A door to a small home opened. Before he could slink into the shadows, a young woman emerged. She smiled in a friendly manner. Her eyes widened as she must have realized the pair of soldiers she saw were not countrymen.

For his advanced age, Lemwill moved swiftly, bounding past Brian and swinging his trench-gun up into the blonde woman’s face. She opened her mouth to scream.

“Shhhhh,” Lemwill whispered. He raised a brow, and when she trembled silently he said in broken German, “Sed gut, frauline. Shhhh.” He pushed her back into the house and Brian followed.

The doorway led to a kitchen. Bread was cooking, and a hallway led to a room from which Brian could hear men talking. He shut the door behind him and scooted past Sergeant Lemwill, who still kept the oversized muzzle of his weapon trained on the woman. For her part, she rubbed her hands in nervous patterns over her slim apron.

Risking a look into the room, Brian was relieved to see not two men, but rather two boys. They had their mother’s looks and were coloring a book together while sprawled out along the wooden floor. A small fire burned in the hearth, and they chatted with one another.

Confidently, Brian strode into the room. “Sergeant, bring the woman if you please.” He drew his pistol, and in the international language that had served Lemwill so well, said, “Shhh.”

Nosing her in with the trench-gun, Lemwill guided the woman into the house and pushed her onto the floor. She wrapped her arms about her children who whispered excitedly.

“Speak English, my dear?” Brian said in his most soothing tones.

She knew enough to shake her head. Brian sighed and looked around the room. He walked over to the fireplace and picked up the iron fire-poker from a bin. He used it as a cane and walked up and down the room. “Sergeant, ask her if she’s seen a man like this.”

Lemwill’s German was about as subtle as his thunderous weapon, but between his butchery of the language and Brian’s charades, the woman was able to nod. She crept to the window, which was partially shuttered and pointed to a house across the street.

“Figures it would be on that side,” Lemwill groaned. He lowered his weapon, and in that moment one of the children sprinted. The youth was spry and out the main door before the older man could even let out a, “Ah ‘ell”.

Brian’s pistol snapped up and he trained it through the window on the child as he started to shout and point in their direction. He felt a surge of annoyance and hardly felt the boy’s mother wrap her arms about his leg and start babbling. Shooting him wouldn’t matter. He could already hear the shouts of men’s voices.

“Damn it all.” He gripped the woman by the hair, taking out some of his frustration and flung her back. Several men in iron-gray uniforms emerged from the house at the end of the road. Before they could make sense of the situation, Brian squeezed off two rounds. He had no idea if they hit, he was already moving for the kitchen.

Back through the door they came he barged, turned and ran not away from the hamlet but further into it. He heard Lemwill cry out.

“Not that way, sir!”

The mission hadn’t been accomplished yet. His duty to his nation was not done. He heard a desperate whispering plea in his mind. Part of him urged him to run and give up the fool’s errand, but something profound crushed his reservations. He didn’t even feel like he was commanding his own voice as he shouted, “God save England!”

“What ‘bout us, sir!” Lemwill said, panting as he followed.

A figure in gray stepped out from a gap between two houses. Brian ducked and fired his pistol. The weapon kicked, and the enemy solider staggered back, clutching his stomach. Lemwill rushed past him and delivered a kick to the stricken man, sending him sprawling. The Sergeant spat once and glared at Brian. “Come on, sir, let’s save the King’s bloody spy.”

Weapons fire from the other end of the hamlet echoed. Brian smiled. His men were at least attempting to follow their orders. His heart filled with national pride. “The boys won’t sit by for this one.” He smiled and ran through the alleyway the enemy soldier had emerged from. He paused and saw the house with the machine-gun opening up. It wasn’t far now and he could clearly see the man wielding the wall-mounted gun. A pistol shot would be difficult, and Lemwill’s trench-gun would was well out of range. The Sergeant pressed himself against the wall of the alley and glanced either way.

“The lads have their attention, but not long, sir. We need t’ do this fast n’ melt away.” Lemwill wheezed deeply.

Nodding, Brian did the only sensible thing. He ran across the road. He sprinted and kept his eyes focused on the house the woman had nervously pointed to. He heard an alarmed cry to his right from above. The machine-gunner had seen him. Fear started to rise, but training forced it away. Pumping his legs, Brian speed along the cobbled street. Puffs of smoke and bouncing rounds traced after him. The wooden door to the house was closed, but he had no other options. Brian lowered his head and brought his shoulder up. He hit the door like a train off the tracks, and pain burst through him. The door fell backwards off the hinges, and he landed atop it as if it were a sled. Instinctively he drew in his feet, and a flurry of bullets showered the area outside the doorway.

A thin figure peered over an upturned couch. He stood slowly, using a cane to support himself. His eyes looked Brian over, and he said in smoothly spoken English, “My cover can hardly stay intact with you mucking about in the open. You better have a good reason for being here.”

A sigh of relief whistled through Brian’s teeth. He rose to his feet, and with the immediate danger passed, nausea threatened to claim him. The inner-voice shouted the sickness down. The mission wasn’t over, yet. Nodding, Brian walked towards the man. “Yes. The country no longer has need of your services.” He shot the spy in the face.

Lemwill waited for Leftenant Willox to emerge from the house. Soon as he saw the lanky frame of his officer he leaned around the alleyway entrance and fired his trench-gun. The pellets burst against the window of the machine-gunner. He highly doubted the man would be killed, but that wasn’t Lemwill’s objective. He shouted across the street, “Run, sir!”

The officer sprinted and made it to the safety of the alley before the gunners bullets chewed up the brickwork. Lemwill grabbed the panting man and hauled him firmly into the protective shelter between the houses. “You find our spy?”

“I did. I’m afraid he is dead,” Willox said. He turned a ghastly shade of white and braced himself against the wall. His eyes widened, and he shuddered. “Oh, God.”

Lemwill steadied him. He often became sick and dizzied after one of his ‘moments’. The men all knew what was wrong with him; everyone knew it except the Leftenant. For a moment, Lemwill wanted to tell him then and there while under fire. Tell him that he was cursed, that some spell from the Prime-Minister’s agents had his mind twisted up in knots. He had no proof, none of the squad did, but the tales of soldiers were not to be discounted. Magic was afoot, of the worst variety, he was sure of it. There were tales told of spells that countered a man’s wishes and filled them with the desires of others. They were all certain that is what afflicted poor Leftenant Willox. Only the mad or possessed would behave as he did, and Lemwill did not think Willox mad.

“I shouldn’t be here,” the Leftenant whimpered. “I shouldn’t be here.” His eyes fixed upon Lemwill’s.

The Sergeant frowned. “The nation needs you, sir. We need t’ get back now.”

Leftenant Willox’s eyes glassed over. He stood tall and shrugged off Lemwill’s hand. “Quite right, Sergeant. Come on then, we cannot leave our boys waiting, and it is a long walk back to France.” He winked. “King and Country, Sergeant.”

He clutched his trench-gun and watched the officer jog towards the sound of gunfire. “King n’ Country, sir.”

Richard Marsden was born in Canada and currently is a resident of Arizona. He has been fencing with the rapier for fifteen years, dabbles in economics and holds a Masters Degree in Land Warfare courtesy of AMU.