Oberstleutnant Konrad von Zehntner moved through the streets of Havana with his rifle in hand. He and his battalion had been the amphibious spearhead to lead the Central Powers forces into the Cuban capital.
An amphibious light tank with a 105mm high-velocity gun led the charge, escorted by a pair of amphibious IFVs.
The new turrets that had been developed in response to the failures of Airborne units in Manila rotated precisely towards a nearby building where a Cuban machine gun nest was posted.
Its thermal sights imdiately picked up on the hostile life signs, even though the sky had gone dark, and the gathered storm clouds blocked out the light of the moon.
Konrad heard the news through a nearby radio operator. Confirming from the n inside the closest IFV that the targets had set up an ambush in wait.
He did not hesitate, nor did he show any rcenary, his orders were swift and cold, as was his expression that lay concealed beneath his painted face.
"Light those fuckers up..."
What ca next was a thunderous explosion as the low-velocity 105mm main gun lobbed a HE shell towards the building.
Blasting it and its stucco to bits, as the coaxially mounted 30mm auto-cannon fired its own HE shells. Engulfing any living being still breathing in a fury of fire and shrapnel.
Having confird the life signs were terminated, the IFVs began to advance forward, while the Light Tank took the lead, forming a small V-like formation.
Keeping the infantry covered from multiple angles as they provided support between the vehicles. Konrad could not believe how quickly the Cuban forces on the beaches routed after initial contact was made, and instead fled back to the city.
Nor could he quite understand how few n they had fought on their way here. Holding up his hand, he ordered the unit to halt.
"Hold on... it’s too quiet... Are we walking into a trap?"
Before he could finish his thought, the echo of gunfire in the near distance crackled through the streets.
Konrad and his n imdiately ducked low behind the skirts of their armored vehicles, finding no trace of fire in their direction.
He quickly shot a glance at his radio operator, who was already doing his job trying to confirm where the gunfire was coming from.
All the while, the rest of the soldiers ensured they kept their eyes open. Then, the radio operator’s voice cut through the chaos in the background.
"The local guerrillas are fighting Batista’s loyalists. It would appear intelligence cut the heads off of both snakes without telling us, and now the bodies are trying to eat each other. Our orders are to proceed as planned and treat anyone with a weapon who doesn’t imdiately surrender as a valid ard combatant, uniford or not...."
Konrad nodded his head and advanced with the vehicles. Completely ignoring the streets and any barricades that blocked their path, the armor advanced with impunity, until coming over a bridge, where they found an almost comical scene in the streets below.
As previously confird, the guerrillas were engaged in a firefight with Batista loyalists. Making use of old smuggled rifles, improvised explosives, and stolen machine guns. They combated the regulars of the Cuban army while shouting at each other in Spanish.
Konrad damn near let his rifle rest against his body upon realizing the enemy had no idea they were there. And he probably would have it if weren’t for the fact he was currently in an active Warzone.
"You heard our orders! Open fire on all those assholes!"
The tank imdiately targeted the Cuban armored vehicles that were wedged in the streets, finding it difficult to pass through the guerrilla ambush point.
The explosive blast only caused further chaos to unfold, as both sides realized the enemy had breached the city’s defenses and were actively inside.
There was no verbal exchange, but both the guerrillas and Loyalists imdiately redirected their gunfire towards the Germans on the bridge above, who quickly relocated to more stable ground.
And just as they did an anti-tank gun fired a shot, collapsing it behind them. All the while the IFVs peppered the guerrilla and Loyalist forces, as well as the buildings they hid behind.
Konrad himself aid down his sights, and opened fire on a man who seed to be wearing a leather jacket and not much else.
A red armband tied to his arm, and a bandana wrapped around his face in the colors of the Revolutionary Cuban Flag.
He fell by the wayside as quickly as any other dead combatant. And Konrad did not hesitate to move on to the next.
The German marine forces, however, had superior equipnt and armor, and began to push the Cuban forces back into the city streets. As they ran away from the sweeping explosive fire of the IFV’s auto-cannons.
One unlucky guerrilla in particular found herself running away, dropping her rifle altogether as she fled as quickly as possible through the city streets. Only to be run over by a Spanish armored car.
Konrad broke out into laughter as he saw the woman get flattened by the vehicle that had been recklessly speeding through the streets. Almost as if its drivers were attracted to the sound of gunfire like a moth to the fla.
It was a disturbing sight to be sure, but considering he was just about to shoot the woman in the back as she fled, only for her to be hit by an armored car and swatted like a fly. The man’s only response was a humorous chuckle.
"Goddamn.... Tell whoever is driving that fucking armored car to slow down, or the next bug he squashes might be one of us!"
The radio operator quickly translated Konrad’s words into Spanish and relayed them through the proper channels, causing the armored car to co to a screeching halt, as its turret scanned the battlefield and found only a few targets available to pick off.
If it were at all possible to witness the dismay of the gunner expressed through the grill of the armored car, Konrad swore he saw it at that mont. As it began to fire a few shots towards the fleeing Cuban forces, whose defense had completely collapsed around them.
With the enemy on the run and the city surrounded by German-led coalition forces, Konrad watched the smoke pillars rising over the city’s streets, feeling the aftershock of a battle that had already been decided elsewhere.
Batista’s regi was gone; the guerrillas who had helped delete it were gone too. The Aricans had abandoned the continent. And now the proxies had simply expired.
Konrad’s battalion wasn’t fighting resistance; it was cleaning up what remained when entropy consud all.
Above the city, the Luftstreitkräfte finished the equation the navy had started. Fighter silhouettes knifed through storm cover, their engines cracking the sky not in celebration but in transit.
The battalion continued to move through the city forward in an armored wedge in a relentless pursuit.
They would not wait for what remained of the city to defend itself from the air. What little existed of the Cuban air force was decimated in the opening exchanges of the conflict. And their flak guns had died before radar could register the enemy.
The battle for Havana was won, even if the city hadn’t recognized it yet. Konrad’s forces were ultimately ordered to a halt after securing the presidential palace.
There they found the forr President Batista lying dead in the gardens beneath the balcony of his master bedroom. His body was riddled with bullet holes, while the building itself was filled with the dead.
So of them were loyalists, mbers of Batista’s personal guard. Others were corpses belonging to the rebels.
From the perspective of the German marines, the Cubans had turned against one another and killed their leader before the German ard forces and their allies could finish the job.
Desperation and fear drove n to commit crazy acts. And this appeared to be one of them.
Nobody knew who had really pulled the strings. Who had caused an end to Batista’s reign of terror, nor did they care.
Any survivors from the guerrillas who might know sothing about who was truly responsible for the attack had long sensed fled the scene of their cris.
And judging by the ruins that were now Havana, it would be damn near impossible to track them down.
While Konrad rested against the walls of the Presidential Palace, watching the sun rise over the Caribbean, the radio operator approached him.
He didn’t speak formally. Instead, he sat down next to Konrad and bumd a cigarette from the man. Smoking what remained of the tobacco before relaying the information he had received.
"Sir, the beaches are secure, and the air grids are dead. Anyone firing now is firing on instinct, not command."
Konrad nodded once. " Then I suppose they’re a problem for the Spanish to worry about. They wanted the glory of being in the vanguard after all..."
The radio operated chuckled and sighed as he shook his head. And then made not another sound as the two n sat there and watched an otherwise beautiful scene tarnished by the blood, smoke, and gri of a battlefield that should have never existed.
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