The
Wrecker
By Lee Strong
Schloss Bellevue, Berlin, German Empire
June 1917
Leutenant Frederich Wilhelm Eric von Mendeldorf und von Horst shifted his weight quietly. As the junior officer present at an Imperial General Staff briefing on the course of the war, he devoutly wished to avoid attracting the unfavorable attention of his superiors. And, in this setting, everyone else was his superior.
Normally, when the Staff briefed the Kaiser in his role as Supreme Warlord of the German Empire, they would meet in the Royal Palace. However, this briefing was “merely” for the Warlord’s son, the Crown Prince, in the latter’s role as Inspector General of the Armed Forces. The top leadership of the Army, Navy and Air Forces had sent deputies to the Prince’s residence. Even so, those present were encrusted with gold braid. Von Horst was merely present to receive the Knight’s Cross from the Crown Prince for gallantry during a zeppelin raid on England and to….
“Answer the telephone,” rapped Air Forces Generalmajor Hermann von Rathenau. A palace butler had entered the ornate conference room and whispered in the general’s ear. Apparently, the general did not want to miss any face time with the Crown Prince. Von Horst nodded and followed the butler out of the room, leaving the generals explaining Russian morale and its effect on operations.
The telephone was a few steps away in the neoclassical hallway. Von Horst picked up the telephone and introduced himself to the caller.
“Willi, thank God it’s you!” shouted the caller. “Can you hear me?”
“Barely, sir. What is that infernal racket in the background?” replied Von Horst. If he had not served with Hauptmann Ernst Rudel for many months over England and France, it was doubtful that he would have recognized his superior’s voice. The captain’s shouting was almost drowned out by an earsplitting whine combined with a crunching sound like the frost giant Thyrm dining on the skulls of the dead.
“Listen, Willi, you must immediately move the Crown Prince to safety! The future of Germany depends on it! American commandos have entered the Royal Palace and kidnapped the Kaiser! The Kaiser is a prisoner of the Americans! They have enormous machines that are destroying the Royal Palace as we speak! Get the Crown Prince to…!”
The crunching sound rose to a thunderous roar and the line was suddenly cut off.
Von Horst stared blankly at the instrument in his hands as if it were a hypnotic snake for mere seconds. Then he dropped the receiver and raced back to the conference room. There are times when the most junior soldier may properly interrupt the most senior and this was one of them.
Von Horst burst into the staff briefing, the noise of his heels clattering on the floor interrupting a proposal to occupy Russian islands in the Baltic Sea. “Highness, gentlemen, your attention, please. I have just received a report from the Palace that American commandos have captured His Majesty. I urgently recommend that His Highness move to a safer location at once.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. The Crown Prince turned to Army Generalleutnant von List, the senior military officer present. “Americans? In Berlin? Is it possible, general?”
“Impossible.” Von List paused. “Unless…. Hermann, can the Americans have landed commandos from zeppelins?”
Von Rathenau shook his bullet head imperiously. “Never! The Americans have no zeppelins to attack Berlin with! With respect, general, I believe that young Von Horst has been the victim of a foolish prank.” He turned back to the map spread on the table surrounded by the Prince and generals. The others began to follow his example.
Von Horst swallowed, his career in his hands… and mouth. Wheels turned in his head like Thor’s chariot crossing the sky. “General von Rathenau, I must respectfully disagree. I recognized Captain Rudel’s voice. He does not engage in foolish jokes. He stated that the commandos had captured the Kaiser and were in the process of destroying the Royal Palace. He respectfully but strongly suggested that the Crown Prince would be the next target of the attack.”
Von Rathenau turned back to his junior, his face darkening. “Lieutenant von Horst, your report is noted. I believe it to be a prank and have so stated to my superiors.” He bowed slightly to the Crown Prince and von List. “Now, unless you have something to add, your post is there – beside the door – where you can prevent any American commandos from entering the room.”
German military discipline did not permit a second argument. Von Horst saluted and marched, stiff legged, to the door. He turned around, automatically falling into a regulation guard’s posture. From this position, he could both survey the entire room and prevent anyone from coming thru the doorway.
Von Rathenau nodded briefly in satisfaction and turned back to the table. “Highness, gentlemen, the proposed Operation Albion completes our briefing on the Eastern Front. I would now like to turn to the Western Front, with a special emphasis on the Americans.”
He paused for approval and continued. “The Americans entered the war three months ago in response to our unrestricted submarine warfare against the British Islands. They have transported elements of a division sized battle group plus equipment to the Argonne region of France where they are engaging in probing activities. However, since their entire Army consists of 85,000 men, we believe that they will have little impact on the war during the remainder of 1917.” He pointed to the solitary brown American division marker almost hidden among 60 British red markers and 100 French blue markers. The Allied line was opposed by 200 German field grey divisions. “The British forces in the north are of greater concern because of their commander’s aggressive….”
Von Horst continued to absorb the high level briefing even as he stared across the map table and out of the windows overlooking Tiergarten, the park surrounding the Bellevue Palace. He was sure that General von Rathenau would have words for him later. What would be the nature of the words? Fatherly advice? Or a transfer to the Eastern Front?
A sudden erratic movement outside the window attracted his attention followed by automobile horns blaring, muted by distance and closed windows. He focused his attention on the traffic in Charlottenburger Chasussee south of the Tiergarten. Eastbound automobile and trucks were screeching to a halt and turning wildly around, frantically driving across the dividing median strip to go west towards Charlottenburg. Already, vehicles were slamming into each other, creating further chaos. Pedestrians on both sidewalks looked eastward, turned, and ran westward as fast as they could. A police officer pulled his revolver and began firing at some unseen menace.
A high pitched whining sound split the outside air, growing louder as seconds passed. Von Horst tensed.
A gleaming metallic cylinder hove into view, passing along the Chasussee from east – the direction of the Royal Palace! – to west, looking like nothing so much as a submarine cruising sedately on the surface of an ocean. A gigantic drill tipped the cylinder’s nose, blurring with the speed of its revolutions. As the drill touched the motor vehicles trapped in its advance, they disintegrated, flying apart into shrapnel. The police officer was shredded into a pink mist. One truck, lucky or unlucky, was seized whole and hurled into the air to crash down somewhere behind the steel monster. It advanced remorselessly until its tip struck the Siegessäule southwest of Bellevue Palace. The Victory Memorial commemorating Prussian valor in the wars of 1864-70 shattered instantly, stone blocks crashing into the street and blocking it. The machine twisted so that its whirling lance pointed towards the Palace.
“Schürfer!” screamed Von Horst, his brain working again. The Prince and generals looked up at him. Absorbed in their briefing, they had apparently not noticed the sounds from outside the building.
Before his leaders could object, Von Horst raced over to the window shouting as he ran. “Highness! Gentlemen! The Americans are here! In the street outside the Palace! They came in their prospector machines! They tunneled thru the Earth’s crust to raid Berlin and capture His Majesty!” He pointed frantically at the scene unfolding outside the broad windows.
In seconds, he was joined by the Crown Prince of the German Empire and a handful of generals, all gawping like schoolboys at a circus.
A wedge of prospectors raced thru the sandy soil of the Tiergarten park toward the palace as fast as a man could run. Trees, paved walkways and occasional statuary splintered and disintegrated as their drill tips advanced. The gigantic machines slowed to a halt a few dozen meters from the palace front, confident in their power. Their savage drills slowed but did not stop. They resembled nothing so much as a colossal firing squad, ready to execute Germany itself.
A hatch popped open in the lead steel giant and a man dressed in the brown of the American Army appeared. He had a loudhailer in one hand and a telephone in his other. He held the former up to his mouth.
A voice of thunder roared at the palace. Thanks to Father marrying an American woman and insisting on an American education, Von Horst understood English perfectly. “YOU IN THE PALACE. THIS IS THE FIRST SUBTERRENE CAVALRY OF THE UNITED STATES ARMY. WE KNOW THAT YOUR CROWN PRINCE IS IN THERE. SURRENDER HIM AND YOUR GENERALS OR WE WILL DESTROY THE PALACE WITH EVERYONE IN IT. SURRENDER AND NOBODY GETS HURT.”
While the enemy commander was bellowing, more American soldiers were leaping out of the prospectors’ hatches and filling the lawn in front of the Palace. Every one carried Springfield rifles or submachine guns and other equipment. Von Horst was appalled at the numbers inserted into the heart of the German Empire. Given the size of the prospectors – he estimated that each was 125 meters long – the five machines desecrating the lawn might be carrying an entire regiment of men.
As Von Horst translated the enemy demand for the generals, a shot rang out from the ground floor. The enemy commander jerked like a broken puppet as the bullet hit home. His men responded with savage fury; a storm of gunfire smashed into the palace’s neoclassical exterior, soldiers and servants. In the heart of Berlin, hundreds of kilometers from the fighting fronts, no one had thought that the Imperial Family needed more than ceremonial guards. A whistle shrilled and lines of brown uniforms ran forward, into the building.
Von Horst spotted an American squad aiming at the second story window that the Crown Prince was gaping thru. He turned in place and forced the royal person to the floor as the window shattered above them. Flying lead and glass flayed a half dozen generals to ribbons.
“Highness! Can you move? Are you alright? We need to evacuate at once!” screamed the young lieutenant over the inferno of noise.
“Yes, yes, young man. Let me up and we’ll go. Immediately!” agreed the Prince.
As the Prince, the surviving generals, and Von Horst scuttled to the door and out into the hallway, they heard an ominous crunching sound beginning to the east. Von Horst suspected that the Spree Wing of the building was being destroyed by the great mining machines turned oversized war wagons. If that were true….
“To the Ladies’ Wing of the Palace, Highness. We can leave the building on the west side and either withdraw to Charlottenburg to the west or cross the Spree River and reach Tegel to the north,” suggested Von Horst.
“An excellent idea,” agreed von Rathenau. A flying piece of glass had furrowed his cheek but he ignored it as he drew his officer’s pistol. “Von Horst, lead the way.” He turned to his fellow generals. “Hans, you and I will flank His Highness. Max, protect our rear. Gentlemen, march…!” Those that had not drawn their pistols did so.
The palace servants were running heedlessly about as the military party began quickstepping down the long hallway connecting the palace’s wings. Portraits of Hohenzollern nobility from the time of Prince Ferdinand looked down on the hope of the German Empire. Von Horst reflected briefly that more than one Prussian leader had had to conduct strategic retreats until fortune again smiled on sacred Germany.
The small party was about to enter the western wing of the palace when the menacing crunching sound broke out ahead of them. Von Horst thrust out his hands to stop his leaders. The building beyond was caving in. Unseen prospectors must be tearing the first floor apart, collapsing the second floor and attic spaces. The young lieutenant gestured to retreat. They had passed several cross halls leading to the north side of the building. They needed to backtrack and….
“Halt!” sounded from behind them. The word was the same in German and English.
Brigadegeneral Max Fritsch, tailing the party, spun in place and fired a snapshot at the brown uniforms down the hall. They returned fire. The three generals were easy targets. They went to the Valhalla that awaits warriors who die to save their prince.
Von Horst was no less brave, but, perhaps, luckier. His line of fire was obstructed by the Crown Prince’s body. He sidestepped, gun coming into line….
… and flying wildly into the air as an American bullet smashed his shoulder. Caught off balance, he fell heavily. Stars flared in his brain followed by blackest night.
When Von Horst came to, he was moving erratically. His head cleared slowly and he looked up to see the ornate ceiling of the Bellevue Palace pass overhead. As he focused, he saw two brown uniforms, one ahead of him and one behind him. He was being carried in a stretcher. His shoulder was bandaged and his thinking cleared further.
The stretcher bearers carried him outside where they set him down on the lawn. An American with a red cross on a white armband bent over him. That symbolism was common to all of the fighting forces.
The American inspected Von Horst carefully and stood up. “He’ll live. His collar bone is broken and he’s lost blood but nothing that can’t be fixed.” He turned and addressed someone that the young casualty couldn’t see from his angle. “Colonel Byrne, this man will survive until the Germans get here. Should we leave him or take him with us?”
“Take him,” rasped the answer. Another American hove into Von Horst’s skyward view. It was the enemy commander, now with a blood stained bandage covering half of his head. Most soldiers with a head wound like that would be lying on the ground waiting for a doctor. This man was ready to wrestle gorillas. “He was guarding the Crown Prince. He might know some important stuff. We take him.” He jerked his head at the stretcher bearers waiting for orders. “Load him on board Battling Barbara. We’ve got everyone we came for plus a platoon of brass.” He grinned at the wounded German. “Let’s get out of here before the ginks react.”
A hail of machine gun fire chattered in the near distance. An American with a radio on his back ran over to the enemy commander.
“Colonel Byrne, the Lucy Goose reports that the Germans are reacting. A dozen armored cars are advancing east on Charlotte Street.”
Von Horst and the enemy commander both turned to survey the developing battle. South of the savaged palace, the original prospector was half hidden behind the ruins of the Victory Memorial. A torrent of sparks showed where the Berlin garrison’s bullets were hammering the machine’s metallic walls.
Byrne grunted. “O.K., boys. We’ve overstayed our welcome. Cabot, I order the moles out of the building and into position to load the men. Have Lucy dive now and tear up that street. Signal Esau to fire when ready. Paxton, get the wounded ready to load. Sawtelle, get everyone ready to board. Now!”
Von Horst was one of the last of the wounded loaded. He had an eyewitness seat to the military evolution. For all their cowboy verve, the Americans executed their maneuvers like true professionals.
The prospector under fire from the as yet unseen armored cars twisted and dove into Berlin’s sandy soil like a gigantic dolphin, disappearing from sight in seconds. Thru the crunching sounds of the other prospectors withdrawing from the remains of Bellevue Palace’s wings, Von Horst could hear the “Hoch! Hoch! Hoch!” of the garrison cheering their enemy’s retreat. The armored cars advanced into view, still spraying the smashed Memorial with lead. They slowed as they encountered the scattered Memorial stones blocking the street and turned towards the Bellevue Palace and the unarmored men racing to reenter the prospectors. Von Horst suddenly realized that the mining machines weren’t well protected against gunfire. There was a pause as the garrison gunners reloaded.
Thunder clapped across the Tiergarten and flame erupted, bracketing the armored cars. One was thrown high in the air to come crashing down on the ruined street like Thor’s hammer striking the trolls. The other vehicles simply disintegrated under the sudden barrage.
Von Horst stared southward, across the Charlottenburger Chasussee, deeper into the Tiergarten. While the first wave of prospectors had attracted the attention of palace guard and city garrison alike, an even larger monster had crept unnoticed onto the field of battle. Thru the huge hatchways, Von Horst could see the muzzles of full sized field artillery. Fiery death belched forth. Esau annihilated the armored fist of the Berlin garrison in a matter of minutes. If any German escaped, Von Horst didn’t see him.
Silence fell on the stunned city.
The monster prospector drove in an arrogant circle, further wrecking the Tiergarten lawns. Its guns challenged each sector of Berlin in turn.
No one dared respond.
Cabot, the radio man, relayed reports that everyone and every machine was ready to go. Colonel Byrne nodded in satisfaction, surveying the scene like Siegfried after defeating the dragon Fafnir. He signaled the final evacuation.
The palace’s civilian staff was turned loose. Most of them were too shocked to actually move away from the invading machines. A few hardier souls began running to an imagined safety… somewhere. Was anywhere in Germany truly safe now?
The American commandoes filed swiftly on board their machines, frog marching recalcitrant prisoners but carrying the injured gently. Von Horst’s last view of the outer world was two prospectors twisting and diving into the earth, again like so many metal dolphins.
He was carried into a huge compartment, over 50 meters long and proportionately wide. It was crammed with men, weapons and other equipment and poorly lit with electric lamps. It hadn’t originally been designed to hold men. Room was found for the lieutenant and the other wounded. Paxton warned the conscious ones to hold fast to the grips welded to the machine’s inner shell even as he strapped the unconscious ones in. A klaxon very much like a warship’s siren whooped. Heavy metal clangs resounded thru the machine. Von Horst guessed that hatches were being slammed shut.
The huge prospector shuddered and the drill’s whine increased in pitch. The floor of the compartment lurched and tilted. Germans and Americans held fast to their handholds. The great steel dolphin dived into the earth. In a matter of minutes, its descent changed to horizontal movement. Apparently the raiders thought themselves safe from German vengeance. Von Horst suspected that they were right. The great iron mole settled onto a steady course to the west, towards hostile France.
Von Horst made himself as comfortable as possible. Riding a prospector under Germany wasn’t that different from riding a zeppelin over England. He had a lot to think about. He might as well put his time in the underground world to good use.
~ The End ~
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This story was originally published in the National Capital Panthans Journal #154, August 2009, and is reprinted here with permission of the author. All rights reserved.