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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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RGL e-Book Cover©
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Fantastic Adventures, April 1945, with "Dragons Behind Us"
Out of the dawn came the thud of monster feet, the gnash of horrid teeth.
Siegfried and the Dragon is a legend of heroism and
justice—and thus it didn't quite fit modern Germans!
A SMALL group of officers were standing in the vast hall. They were attired in their finest dress uniforms, for this was a rare event. They had just finished a special banquet presided over by Field Marshal Hermann Goering.
All of them were a bit nervous. They awaited Goering's presence in the great room below the winding stairs. Later there would be dancing. Before that, however, something was to happen. Something they had not been told about, but they knew it was important from the very way Goering waited to make his entrance.
Lieutenant Karl Müller spoke in a low voice to his companion, Captain Richter.
"I think it may be another medal," he said. "The Field Marshal has not delivered a speech or given medals for a long time. And the departure for Italy is scheduled tomorrow."
Captain Richter nodded gravely. He was a young man, as was Müller. In the field, they were good companions. Here, it was necessary to remain formal in each other's company.
"The Field Marshal will do well to read more of the history of Germany before delivering speeches. He has a charming way of garbling an event until it backfires and causes the people to laugh at him."
His voice dropped to a whisper and died completely as his eyes caught the stout figure that came slowly down the wide stairs.
Hermann Goering had donned his most gaudy uniform. Medals covered the jacket until it showed signs of breaking away from his massive body. A smile appeared on his lips as he reached the bottom of the stairs, took two steps out into the room and halted.
"Your attention."
The officers arranged themselves before him in a neat line. "Heil Hitler!" Goering snapped. Their arms went up in salute. "Heil Hitler."
Goering relaxed. He fished a small package from his pocket and untied the blue ribbon around it. As he did so, he started talking.
"You will be in the field in two weeks," he said. The message was delivered as though it was a great secret. The details were already familiar to these men. They watched the package in his hand. "Last week I was honored by decorating members of the Condor Legion of the Luftwaffe with a medal designed by our great Führer."
He hesitated and silence settled over the hall. One officer cleared his throat, trying to hide the sound behind his open palm. Goering glanced at him suspiciously, the smile fading for a moment. Then he resumed his speech.
"I have designed a medal also."
He waited for the important words to sink in.
A few men applauded politely and Goering's smile widened to full capacity.
"You officers will have the honor of destroying a great force of American troops who plan to establish a beachhead near Rome."
IT wasn't news to them. Details of the planned invasion had
been on the dispatch board for weeks. Every phase of the defense
was planned. Troops had been moving out for a month to cover that
section of the Italian coast.
"In Germany," the Field Marshal announced in a lofty voice, "there have been many heroes. Down through the ages, Germans have been fighting men. Our folk-tales are glorious records of a past that we must fight for."
He had the wrapping off his package now and opened a small brown box.
"I have caused a medal to be prepared for each of you officers who will stop the American attempt to reach Rome. Once, according to our great legends, there was a vast hoard of gold hidden under the Rhine. The man who reaches that gold and who makes a ring of it would, with the power of that ring, have the strength to rule the world and make weaker men flee before him.
"Our heroic figure of the past is Siegfried, who slew the dragon. Siegfried, who was all powerful, played a vital part in the legend of the Rhine gold."
He removed the first medal from the box and stepped toward Captain Richter.
"I pin on Captain Richter's coat this golden symbol of Siegfried's sword and dragon. May it carry him to a great victory over the barbarian allies and establish Rome as a stronghold for the German army."
He moved down the line of men slowly, pinning each medal in its place, taking the hand of each man in his own great paw.
When he had finished, he snapped to attention once more.
"And now there will be dancing in the ballroom."
His arm snapped aloft. "Heil Hitler!"
They answered him mechanically, some of them admiring the new medal, others wondering just how easily they could preserve Rome for the army of occupation that would be ready to take over in a few weeks.
Slim, chestnut-haired Captain Richter did not smile at the thought of dancing in the ballroom. He was struggling in his mind to recall the legend of Siegfried. It was true, he thought. No medal could better represent courage and honor than the golden dragon and sword.
CAPTAIN RICHTER held his wrist watch close to his face and
tried to check the time. It was dark, and fog covered the Italian
countryside. The Anzio beaches were completely hidden from sight
three miles to the west. Richter smiled softly. Ten after
midnight.
This would be one of the biggest triumphs for the German army, since that first swift march across the little countries. For once, the allies were going to walk into the perfect trap. A trap that German Intelligence had planned weeks ago. The army had carried it out to the last detail.
In his trench, three miles back of the beaches, Captain Richter was looking forward to mass slaughter. His right hand itched to use the automatic in his belt.
The Americans were scheduled to land in force. The number of boats was known. The time of landing and the number of men who would storm the beach had been ascertained by a flawless system of spies.
The country for five miles behind the beaches was bristling with guns. Machine guns and trench mortars were so thick behind the wire barrier that stretched down the beach, that men were in each other's way when they manned them. Rocket projectiles would cover the beach. The Luftwaffe would get none of the honor. The German Air Forces were busy to the south and in Russia. Their very absence would erase any suspicions the Americans might have.
Yes, Richter thought, it was all very well planned. He touched the gold dragon and sword medal on his chest. Goering was right. Germany itself was a sign of great strength. Germany had nothing to worry about. He turned and walked down the long steps into a well-lighted dugout. Lieutenant Karl Müller was seated behind a desk, making a last minute check-up on the work that was expected of his men.
Richter leaned quietly over his shoulder.
"It is after twelve," he said. "In another two hours we shall know how well we are prepared."
The lieutenant looked up. He had been a schoolboy when the war started. Now he was a murderer. The medals on his chest proved just how well he could kill. He remembered a ragged line of troublesome civilians that had gone down under the fire of his machine gun in Poland. His platoon had taken care of three hundred of them in less than ten minutes.
"I am to go to the beach in a few minutes," he said. "You should envy me, Captain. I will be in a position to see the enemy go down on his knees and cry for mercy. You are unfortunate to be placed in the rear."
Richter smiled.
"The overall plan is important to me," he said softly. "I do not care to see them dying. The fact that they are destroyed will satisfy me."
Müller made an impatient gesture with his hand.
"But to sit behind a gun in a pill box," he said. "To watch the sand spurt up around their knees as they run straight into the barbwire. It will come so fast that they will be in a panic. Then the tanks will land. The trap is ready?"
Richter nodded.
"But of course," he said. "A wide trap and a very deep one has been dug along the entire section bordering the beach. When the tanks drop in, fire throwers have been placed where they can destroy the crews within seconds."
Müller leaned back, slapped his knee with his gloves and arose. He sighed.
"Wonderful," he said. He shook hands with his companion. "I will leave when the slaughter is over. Shall we lunch together in Rome?"
Richter nodded. His eyes glistened with excitement.
"I have arranged a short leave for us both," he said. "Lunch in Rome."
LIEUTENANT KARL MÜLLER was in an ugly mood. It had taken an
hour and a half to drive half way to the beach. He had not
anticipated the number of stops he must make to identify himself.
He had not fully realized the extent of operations, even though
they had been drilled into him for three months.
Often he had been forced to wait until troops and heavy tanks crossed the road. At the tank trap, a ramp was let down and he crossed. At last he was within sight of the beach.
The moon was hidden. It seemed as though even the darkness was in favor of the German army. The landing enemy would walk into those lines, completely blinded by the night.
The car crept forward in low gear. Voices spoke to him almost in a whisper and he answered the challenge curtly. He wanted to find his group.
The car stopped, wheels buried deep in dry ruts.
He spoke urgently to the driver.
"Hurry! We have but half an hour."
The driver turned half around in his seat. Then something—a terrible unseen force, wrenched him free of his seat and hurled him into the darkness. An oath whipped from Müller's lips. He started to stand up. What had gone wrong?
Before he could escape, a huge, shadowy thing struck at him. A gasp of horror escaped his open mouth.
Lieutenant Müller stared straight into the red, fiery eyes of a huge dragon. He was aware of an open, slavering mouth and long, fang-like teeth. Then a blast of fire hit his face.
Müller released one long horrified scream and clutched at his burned face. He fell forward over the seat, his lungs seared by the flame, his body lifeless and inert.
THERE are many versions of what happened that dark morning,
just a few miles south of Rome. Of course, authorities would
hardly release the story as Captain Richter told it. The captain
was crazed and half-dead himself, and could not be relied upon to
remember exactly how events took place. Yet, in spite of the hush
that followed the defeat of the German army, some great force
must have been at work.
Bits of the story came through. It was impossible to keep men from talking. Men who had seen death like nothing they ever imagined. Death that allowed no escape and gave no quarter.
Lieutenant Müller's glimpse of a fire-breathing dragon naturally was not recorded. But others saw the same thing, and they talked. Mostly they babbled their stories in some prison camp, after the American landing.
The tank trap had been dug deep, they said. It was but thirty minutes before the "V" hour. The German army was ready for the attack.
Men who were to use the fire throwers to destroy tank crews saw mysterious shapes moving in the depths of the long tank trap. Before they could escape, a horde of dragons moved up the side of the trap and overcame them. They fought back as best a man can fight when he recognizes death close at hand. The dragons were very real, the survivors assured newsmen. They had long, snake-like bodies covered with green and red scales. Batlike wings added to the terror and when the tongues of fire failed to erase all life, huge claws dug deep into the flesh of men and left them lying in mounds of bloody, crushed flesh.
In fifteen minutes, the entire German army was routed. Captain Richter, three miles away from the beach, laughed when the reports came to him. He laughed no longer as the entire army started to move back.
They came faster, rushing past his post without their weapons. They were so frightened that they dared not stop even to explain what had happened. At last, standing by his dugout, the captain had to admit the truth. Those who escaped were in headlong flight. Then he saw the hills covered with hulking, slithering bodies of green- and red-scaled dragons. He could not run. It was too late. A great fright shook his body and he dived underground like a rat, waiting to be dug out.
SATURDAY—two o'clock—the "V" hour for the landing
of American forces on the Anzio beaches. The first barge hit the
sand. At first a few men went into the water creeping forward
under cover of darkness, seeking a place where they could cut
through the wire.
The rest is history. There is no point to be gained by repeating how easily that beachhead was established. A few snipers hid in the towns, firing halfheartedly at the invading Americans. A few men were blown up by mines along the beach.
As for the Germany army? It simply did not exist. Americans who landed at Anzio that dark morning thanked God that they didn't run into another Tarawa. Their job was tough, but it turned out to be a picnic by comparison.
The Anzio beaches, a Brooklyn boy said, reminded him of Coney Island on Christmas morning. It was completely deserted.
A unit of machine gunners sat around their gun, waiting for a possible chance to score on Hitler.
"Them Goimens," Brooklyn said, "sure got a surprise dis time." But that wasn't quite true. Some insist that the dragon story was hatched up secretly by Goebbels and it is agreed that it wouldn't be beyond the little club foot to dream up such a yarn. Still, a lot of the boys talked with prisoners when they reached Rome.
There was, in particular, a crazed idiot who saluted them stiffly in prison camp and introduced himself as Captain Richter. Richter wasn't in very good shape. He had been dragged out of a dugout behind the beaches. They took his medals for souvenirs, but allowed him to keep one, a golden circle with a dragon and sword inscribed upon its surface. They let him keep it because he cried like a baby when they tried to take it away.
"This is a symbol of the power of Germany." He cried and laughed at the same time. "Perhaps you gentlemen didn't know about our Field Marshal's gift to change history for his own purpose."
It didn't make sense to the boys who talked with him, but they humored him anyhow.
"Goering is a wonderful historian," Richter said, and after each sentence they had to wait while a fit of laughter shook his weak body. "I should have known what would happen. For a long time I didn't understand."
There wasn't anyone in the crowd of American soldiers who wasn't interested. A kid from Maryland stepped forward and shook the captain's shoulders.
"Talk sense," he said.
Richter sobered. He shook his head sadly from side to side.
"No," he said. "Goering gave us the medal of the sword and dragon and said they would give us the power to conquer you. He read the legend of the Rhine Gold. It is true about the gold. It did give great power."
He paused, and tears ran down his cheeks.
"Goering is like that. He read that the gold gave power to conquer the weak, but he put the symbol of the sword and dragon on the medals. Goering forgot that his hero, Siegfried, wasn't trying to conquer the world. Siegfried killed a dragon while fighting for justice, not for power. Goering has made a great mistake this time. If someone will tell him just how bad his mistake is, he'll be more careful about reading legends in the future. He expected Siegfried; instead the dragons came!"
The Maryland boy shook his head and turned away.
"Dragons," he said in a little wistful voice. "That's like a German. If he can't lick a man fairly, he blames it on something like dragons. My God, what an imagination."
When the party left the prison camp, Captain Richter stood alone by the gate watching them go. With his fingers, he played with the gold medal that dangled from his chest.
"Our Goering should not try to outdo Hitler," he said softly. "He is only mad enough to be a fool, while Hitler is completely mad and therefore a genius."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.