Pulling up to the city street corner in the passenger seat of a troop transport truck, Sturm took in the chaotic scene. The sidewalks were crawling with two and three-man SS patrols, while a group of police officers stretched a barrier across the road ahead. Several sing-file lines of civilians stood in wait on either side as soldiers meticulously searched each individual. Even those who were cleared, however, were unable to exit the area due to the lockdown.
Sturm thanked the driver and stepped out of the vehicle before circling back to its canvas-covered rear bed. He then undid a few clasps and folded back the tent doors, casting the outside light onto Max’s rounded shield of a helmet.
“We’re here. How was the ride?”
“Fuckin terrible!” spat Max, slowly creeping toward the edge of the truck bed, his weight shifting the entire vehicle back on its rear axle. “It’s like rattling around in a jar or something…”
“You’ve been in a jar?”
“Shut up, man,” groaned Max, bracing himself to hop out of the transport as the screech of metal strained to its limit reverberated from each wheel housing. “Ya know what I mean. It’s loud, it’s uncomfortable, and thick as my armor might be, it doesn’t do shit to keep me warm.”
Suddenly, the driver poked his head out of the window and cried to the boys, “Hey, watch yourself! Don’t stand on the damned ledge for too long!”
Max huffed deeply, then leaped from the truck bed, impacting the asphalt below. His full weight bore down on one foot before the other, shattering the road beneath his toe claws. Almost immediately, panicked reactions erupted from the detained citizens within view, causing them to break ranks and seek shelter inside nearby buildings and alleyways.
“What the hell is that thing?!” one man shouted, backing away in terror.
“A-a monster!” shrieked a woman, falling back onto her rear in wide-eyed shock. “Someone, please help!”
Realizing that he was the cause of the sudden hysteria, Max raised the segmented fingers of his calcium-gloved hands into the air and attempted to calm their madness. “I’m one of the good guys! Don’t worry, we’re gonna help!”
Many of the onlookers took Max’s echoing, acoustically-modified voice and giant wrist claws, hoisted into the air, as a threat. As such, his attempt at coming across as an ally only exasperated the panic.
“Max!” Sturm exclaimed, “It doesn’t help that you sound like a demon with that thing on your head- take it off so they can see you’re a person!”
“I won’t be able to replace it!” the boy protested, “Haven’t I said that a hundred times, already?!”
Focused on Sturm, Max didn’t catch sight of a half-full bottle of vodka flipping through the air before it shattered over his helmet. The enraged knight candidate’s bestial roar did little to help the situation. The SS troops, unable to keep the civilians under control, dispatched a man to retrieve backup. Moments later, reinforcements arrived in the form of two fully armed squads under the command of a familiar officer.
“We ask for knights and get a freakshow,” the commander growled, stepping forward to confront the boys.
The tangle of metal wires wrapped around his uniform identified this officer as Major General Dietrich’s adjutant, Section Leader Eldrich.
Eldrich was an enigma. The brief dialogue held between him and Dietrich two weeks prior, as well as Max’s subsequent insistence that the latter was an exceptional, was all the young swordsman had to go on. He was stout, he was crass, and he had a peculiar fashion sense. Aside from that, Sturm could be certain of nothing.
While the newly arrived soldiers rushed to take control of the area, Eldrich eyed the knight candidates with suspicion. “I remember you from the diner…” he said, glaring toward Sturm. “What I don’t remember is a three-meter cockroach. Explain yourself.”
“Cockroach?!” Max exclaimed, taking offense.
“Excuse me, section leader!” shouted Sturm, snapping to attention, “This is Iron Knight Candidate Max Allemann, a fellow member of the Third Hunter Team! The form he has taken is due to his aberrance!”
Eldrich shifted his judging gaze toward the carapaced candidate. “An unfortunate aberrance it must be to turn him into a giant insect.”
Sturm knew that the longer they were in Eldrich’s presence, the higher the chance Max might press the issue of “exceptionals in the SS.” Seeking to avoid such a confrontation, he quickly sought to veer the conversation towards business.
“We were directed to rendezvous with Major General Dietrich at this location, section leader. Do you know where we might find him?”
“Change of plans,” answered Eldrich, crossing his arms. “The general is meeting with your captain, west of here. Your orders will come through me.”
The remainder of the Third Hunter Team had been told to report to a more central position, relative to the greater perimeter, since they were less suited to close range, direct combat. Sturm and Max, however, thrived under such conditions, and were thus posted on the north edge of the lockdown zone. If an enemy attempted to vacate the area or enter it to retrieve a stuck ally, the boys would be ready to react with force.
“See that apartment block over there?” asked Eldrich, pointing a finger toward a four-story building at the end of the street and across a three-way intersection. “You two are to take position atop that building. That road just in front of it is the end of our security perimeter. Detain anyone who tries to cross it.”
Tilting his armored head inquisitively, Max replied, “What if they don’t stop?”
“Then kill them,” the section leader shrugged nonchalantly.
Caught off guard, Sturm blinked and shook his head. “Sir?”
“You heard me,” said Eldrich. “Those apartments are Jew houses. They know the consequences if they defy you. Understand?”
Sturm was frozen. He was certain that such a remark would push Max to the limit of his patience. After all, he had already been insulted and had a strong hatred of SS men to begin with. If Max lashed out now, how could the swordsman possibly react? Would such a fiasco expose Max’s Jewish heritage and jeopardize the lives of their entire team? Sturm’s heart pounded a painful rhythm as he weighed the implications.
“Yeah, we understand,” Max answered coldly, “They fuck around, they find out.”
In total disbelief, Sturm snapped his head toward his friend. He was at a loss for words.
“Perhaps I misjudged you, cockroach,” chuckled Eldrich. “It seems we speak the same language.”
“Job’s a job, right?” said Max, eerily calm.
The section leader nodded in agreement. “That’s right, now go do it. If the issue is resolved in the meantime, it will be announced over the loudspeakers, so pay attention.”
Eager to get away from Eldrich and continue their mission, Sturm started toward the apartment block with Max stomping along in tow. Just as the swordsman opened his mouth to inquire about his friend’s uncharacteristic response, Eldrich hollered from behind them, drawing their attention.
“Paint some sig runes or a bar-cross on that thing’s head before you cause a riot! There’s a hardware store around the corner, just commandeer the paint!”
The two returned a simultaneous nod before continuing onward. Upon leaving the earshot of the section leader, Sturm began to question his teammate on his prior behavior.
“I can’t believe you went along with that. I thought for sure you were going to lose it.”
“I’m not an idiot, ya know,” scoffed Max, his heavy tail and hard claws scraping against the concrete. “Better we get posted there than somebody who might actually do it, right?”
“Fair enough…” said Sturm. “So what do you want me to paint on you?”
Max sighed heavily, his voice warped by the hollow annals of his wide helmet. “Well, definitely not fuckin sig runes.”
ns 15.158.61.20da2
