time.
“Understood,” Postel turned around and got back in his vehicle, unwilling to push any further the man who rescued them.
This time, the able-bodied men of the 320th helped bury the badly mutilated ambulance drivers. and did so without a word.
The improvised bridge looked able to at least hold the ambulances. In a rickety clatter, vehicle after vehicle carried the wounded and crossed into safety. Men of the Peiper battalion also pulled wounded comrades across the ice in sleighs. Within 90 minutes, the entire 320th, able-bodied or not, crossed the Udy. Only Postel’s large wagon was left behind with the SS, because the bridge couldn’t support its weight. That was the last Jochen hoped to see of Postel.
As the last vehicle reached the opposite bank, Jochen ordered his battalion back south. Those heavy halftracks stood no chance of crossing the hastily rebuilt bridge. Instead, Peiper drove back to Zmiev to later reach German lines in a long, sideways sneak parallel to the Russians. That, too, was successful.
“I’m proud of you, Jochen.”
The coarse, but oddly-soothing voice of Sepp Dietrich greeted him through the phone as he got back. Dietrich would request a Gold Cross for this, and Berlin never said ‘no’ to the Fuehrer’s commanding bodyguard.
“Thank you, sir…”
Emotion cracked through Jochen’s voice.
“…That means a lot… To me.”
Potato Masher
Cawing seagulls lead Hans to the port of Deltia. The turquoise bay was dotted with galleys and other sailing vessels, many of which crowded around various wooden docks. The other day, James had given Hans a map of the world, but Hans hadn’t looked at it until now. As Hans unfurled the map and saw three ports on the northern continent to disembark at. The map showed very little of the Northern Continent beyond the ports.
Hans decided on two things. First, he would make for biggest port on the Northern Continent, a place named Ostia. Second, he would not sneak on the boat. The jackals, which Hans learned were the main canine species in Deltia, were manning the busy port, and they soon helped Hans find an available merchant ship to Ostia. In about an hour, a planked ship with one bright red sail waded in to the nearby dock.
“There’s your ship, human. The one with the swan head on the bow, good luck.” A jackal pointed.
“Thanks! Thanks for your help,” Hans smiled and jogged up to the dock.
“Woah! You gotta wait for the cargo first!” the jackal said, putting a paw on Hans’ shoulder and pulling him back.
Men came down the bridge with sacks of grain atop big platforms, carrying them as if they were large pieces of furniture. Hans watched them as a warm gust of salty wind blew in his face. This sea journey might not be so bad.
Hans was the the first person to board the ship, with a long line of furres behind him. He stood on the deck and watched them file in. Most of them were a species he finally recognized; foxes.
The ship disembarked without so much as a word. Even still, For Hans it was a magnificent sight. He’d been to Hamburg and Kiel, but this felt so much more welcoming. Warmer, too. The sun’s rays bounced off that turquoise water and bathed everyone in warm sunlight. If only the others were here: Wollers or Wals, or anyone. They would probably be ecstatic. It would have been better with them, or even James, but today Hans was all by himself.
“Mom, why is that Human wearing potato mashers?”
A red-furred canine child pointed out at Hans. The mother scurried her boy away and avoided eye contact with Hans.
Deltia gradually faded from view and the monotony of the sea brought him back down into the cabin of that planked ship. At a time like this, there was only one good thing to do: Sleep. It was a pity that one couldn’t store up sleep for when the body couldn’t do so later.
Hans slept continuously, for the next few days only waking up to eat and relieve himself. His diet was just a few hard-tack vitamin
“Understood,” Postel turned around and got back in his vehicle, unwilling to push any further the man who rescued them.
This time, the able-bodied men of the 320th helped bury the badly mutilated ambulance drivers. and did so without a word.
The improvised bridge looked able to at least hold the ambulances. In a rickety clatter, vehicle after vehicle carried the wounded and crossed into safety. Men of the Peiper battalion also pulled wounded comrades across the ice in sleighs. Within 90 minutes, the entire 320th, able-bodied or not, crossed the Udy. Only Postel’s large wagon was left behind with the SS, because the bridge couldn’t support its weight. That was the last Jochen hoped to see of Postel.
As the last vehicle reached the opposite bank, Jochen ordered his battalion back south. Those heavy halftracks stood no chance of crossing the hastily rebuilt bridge. Instead, Peiper drove back to Zmiev to later reach German lines in a long, sideways sneak parallel to the Russians. That, too, was successful.
“I’m proud of you, Jochen.”
The coarse, but oddly-soothing voice of Sepp Dietrich greeted him through the phone as he got back. Dietrich would request a Gold Cross for this, and Berlin never said ‘no’ to the Fuehrer’s commanding bodyguard.
“Thank you, sir…”
Emotion cracked through Jochen’s voice.
“…That means a lot… To me.”
Potato Masher
Cawing seagulls lead Hans to the port of Deltia. The turquoise bay was dotted with galleys and other sailing vessels, many of which crowded around various wooden docks. The other day, James had given Hans a map of the world, but Hans hadn’t looked at it until now. As Hans unfurled the map and saw three ports on the northern continent to disembark at. The map showed very little of the Northern Continent beyond the ports.
Hans decided on two things. First, he would make for biggest port on the Northern Continent, a place named Ostia. Second, he would not sneak on the boat. The jackals, which Hans learned were the main canine species in Deltia, were manning the busy port, and they soon helped Hans find an available merchant ship to Ostia. In about an hour, a planked ship with one bright red sail waded in to the nearby dock.
“There’s your ship, human. The one with the swan head on the bow, good luck.” A jackal pointed.
“Thanks! Thanks for your help,” Hans smiled and jogged up to the dock.
“Woah! You gotta wait for the cargo first!” the jackal said, putting a paw on Hans’ shoulder and pulling him back.
Men came down the bridge with sacks of grain atop big platforms, carrying them as if they were large pieces of furniture. Hans watched them as a warm gust of salty wind blew in his face. This sea journey might not be so bad.
Hans was the the first person to board the ship, with a long line of furres behind him. He stood on the deck and watched them file in. Most of them were a species he finally recognized; foxes.
The ship disembarked without so much as a word. Even still, For Hans it was a magnificent sight. He’d been to Hamburg and Kiel, but this felt so much more welcoming. Warmer, too. The sun’s rays bounced off that turquoise water and bathed everyone in warm sunlight. If only the others were here: Wollers or Wals, or anyone. They would probably be ecstatic. It would have been better with them, or even James, but today Hans was all by himself.
“Mom, why is that Human wearing potato mashers?”
A red-furred canine child pointed out at Hans. The mother scurried her boy away and avoided eye contact with Hans.
Deltia gradually faded from view and the monotony of the sea brought him back down into the cabin of that planked ship. At a time like this, there was only one good thing to do: Sleep. It was a pity that one couldn’t store up sleep for when the body couldn’t do so later.
Hans slept continuously, for the next few days only waking up to eat and relieve himself. His diet was just a few hard-tack vitamin
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