South of the San Diego Border, Mexico
January 1st, 1920
Captain Ludwig Steiner regarded the sight of American soldiers standing just a few hundred meters away, with great curiosity, and more than a little surprise. When the bright wall of light had severed the Mexican-American border, a great many people were justifiably terrified of what it could be. Most thought it an act of God against the sinful and despicable Americans. At least he and many of his fellow officers seemed to think so.
He did not think very highly of Americans, most in the German military did not. They were a nation of illiterate farmers, immigrants, negroes, and playboys. They had an inept, pathetic president, and an even more pathetic excuse for an army. It had irked the Kaiser that the United States delegated a peace treaty between Germany and its enemies, before they could exact what they wanted out of them by occupying more of France.
But that was something that would soon change. It had taken six years of hard work building up a military presence in Mexico, and the American president, Woodrow Wilson, was too weak, and too afraid to stand up to Germany to stop them. His unwillingness to go to war worked to Germany's advantage, and allowed them to station nearly a quarter of a million men all across Mexico. America was the last possible threat to German hegemony, and they would soon be cut down to size.
So when Steiner heard reports about masses of American troops across the border in San Diego, he simply laughed them off. The American Army was a rabble with rifles, a disreputable joke compared to the great powers of the world. The wars they had fought in the past impressed no one but themselves, and when compared to the mighty Imperial German Army, they were no match.
But that soon changed when those reports kept on flooding in, from California and Arizona, that large concentrations of American soldiers, wearing strange uniforms, and equipped with even stranger weapons and vehicles, were engaged in standoffs with German and Mexican army units sent to investigate the situation.
Now as Steiner stared across the border, he understood how the initial scouts must have felt, facing down that many soldiers and vehicles. Soldiers, White, Black, Mexican, and from what he could tell, even Asiatic, stood among the ranks, wearing strange, but elaborate uniforms that would blend in very well with their surroundings. Vehicles of tan coloration, and even some in a mixture of green, black, and brown splotches, in configurations he'd never before seen.
This was not the American Army he was familiar with, not by a long shot. They were better armed and equipped, and from a glance at least, looked far more trained and disciplined than the American Army. The only problem was they called themselves the United States Army, or more specifically, identified themselves as the California National Guard, and had set up a cordon around the Port of Entry, and all major roads leading to Mexico. Among their ranks were small contingents of the United States Marine Corps, as well as the San Diego Police Department, whose members seemed just as well armed and armored as the soldiers.
Something wasn't right about all of this, he could feel it in his bones. He had felt victory in his bones during the Battle of the Marne in 1914, and the same when they laid siege to Paris. But now? He felt despair and dread.
"Well Captain, what do you make of all this?" a voice said from behind him. Turning, Steiner was met by the imposing figure of Major Wolfram Von Richthofen, member of the 2nd Guards Uhlan Regiment, and decorated hero of the 1914 War.
"I don't quite know, sir." Steiner replied. "By all accounts, they are nothing like the American Army we know of. These aren't the poorly equipped or trained militia and soldiers we've seen on the border, or watched on maneuvers in the past. These soldiers are very different.
"Even the police officers are wearing armor similar to these soldiers," Richthofen noted, his eyes drifting from the checkpoint ahead, and wandered over the surrounding area. Absolutely nothing looked as it did the last time he was here but a month ago. "This is not the San Diego I remember. There was none of…this!" he said, gesturing to the construction all around the border, and the very much new checkpoint where the American soldiers stood watch.
"Agreed. It makes me wonder just what purpose that wall of light had, and what it did." Steiner said. "We've picked up some odd radio intercepts from up north, as well as some from Ecuador of all places. The operators keep hearing 'New Years Day, 2020' over the wireless, and are confused. What have you heard, sir?" Richthofen's face grew sour as he took in what Steiner had to say, before replying.
"My cousin is a member of the Imperial Air Service, and was the first pilot to go across the border when the wall of light disappeared. What he reported to us made no sense. Downtown San Diego, according to his reports, was filled with buildings of immense height and size, and was far larger than was possible. More pilots were sent up, and they reported the exact same thing. It wasn't until-"
He was interrupted by a loud roaring sound in the air, as three dagger shaped aircraft without any propellers, flew overhead at great height and speed, and darted past the border. The two men, as well as a great many of the nearby German soldiers, looked up in astonishment at the strange planes. Some of them however, like Richthofen, looked up in fear. Fear of what these unknown and ungodly fast planes could do, would do, if the situation with the Americans wasn't resolved quickly.
"Until those damned things chased our planes off, and scared our pilots half to death." Richthofen finished, his face slightly more pale than it had been previously. As the two men looked back up to the north, they saw yet more strange American aircraft, the ones with top and rear propellers, which allowed them to hover in midair, and perform aerial feats a Fokker couldn't hope to match. "Do you believe those radio reports, Captain? The ones proclaiming to be from a century in the future?" Steiner sighed deeply.
"I don't know what to believe, sir. Logic says it's impossible, yet look where we are now." Steiner replied, gesturing to his north. "We're facing an American Army on the border to San Diego, that looks nothing like any army in the world! Driving strange armored vehicles and flying planes that move at incredible speeds! How else can one explain this?"
"I completely agree, Captain." Richthofen said, nodding. "Which is why I believe that the Kaiser, and president Carranza, are about to be very unhappy men, really soon." Captain Steiner just nodded in agreement.
While the Americans may have been blind as to Germany's intentions, the majority of German soldiers in Mexico knew they would be fighting the United States at some point. The Kaiser wanted California and its oil, and Mexico wanted its old territory back. But if this California, as well as Arizona, was from a century in the future, those plans were completely rubbish now. Modern Germany, if sent back to 1820, would dominate the entire world with trivial ease!
Muskets and black powder cannon versus Mauser rifles and large howitzers was not a fair fight, and he tried to imagine the disparity in technology a century from now. The thought didn't form in his head, something he supposed he was thankful for.
"I don't suppose we should at least try and talk to the Yanks, right?" Steiner suggested. "Maybe a few of our questions can be answered." Richthofen grunted in response.
"Do as you see fit, Captain. I am going to contact headquarters, and tell them what we've found out so far. Once you have useful information, bring it to me, and I will relay it to them as well." With that, the man strode off back to his horse, and his detachment of men, and made their way back to the rear. Once they were gone, Captain Steiner called out.
"Sergeant Major!" he bellowed in the direction of his company, and within seconds, Sergeant Major Gunther was standing before him.
"Yes sir!?" The nearly 40 year old senior NCO stood erect before him, awaiting his orders.
"Grab a dozen of the best men in the company, and tell them to meet me over here at once! Also, find me a white cloth I can use to flag down the Americans so they don't shoot me the moment I walk over to them!"
"Yes, Herr Captain, right away!" Sergeant Major Gunther turned on his heels and began barking orders at the company. "Alright you sorry lugs, I want a dozen of the best shooters over here right this second! Captain's got a use for you sorry lot, so you better fucking move! And grab a white cloth to use as well! Do not disappoint the Captain or make him wait!"
It didn't take long for the company to do what they were told, and in less than a minute, he had a dozen men, and a giant white table cloth tied around one of the men's rifles. They were well disciplined German soldiers, and they knew the consequences of dallying around. Sergeant Major Gunther could become a very angry and unpleasant man if given a reason to.
"What is next, sir?" Sergeant Karl Fiehler asked, an MP-18 submachine gun in his right hand, and rifle draped with the tablecloth in his left.
"It's time we find out just who these people are."
—------------------------------
"Anyone else have time traveling to the past on their 2020 bingo card?" Corporal Charles Danforth asked as he looked in astonishment at the sight before him.
At the San Ysidro Port of Entry, on the Mexican side of the border, hundreds of German soldiers stood menacingly just a few hundred meters away from the border checkpoint. But they weren't the German soldiers of the Heer, but of the German Empire. Their weapons, their uniforms, and even their vehicles, were at least a century out of date. Among those soldiers were a large group of cavalry. But they weren't any regular cavalry, they were the distinguished German Uhlans, the Elite Cavalry of the Imperial German Army.
"I had a great many things on my list, but this wasn't on it." Specialist Kowalski answered, deadpanned as he aimed his M249 at a cluster of Uhlans that were eyeing him intently. "Come on you bastards, give me a reason!"
"No idea, Kowalski, just keep your eyes peeled." Sergeant Mathew Abrams replied, eyeing his opposite number intently from the other side of the border.
"I had a giant meteor or volcanic eruption on my bingo card, deadass." Private First Class Esmeralda Martinez answered from the cab of her M939 transport truck. The Marine cracked her neck before hopping out of the cab, and proceeded to stretch her legs, before grabbing her M16, and leaning against the truck. "So what the fuck are a bunch of ugly ass Germans doing in Mexico?"
"A great question, one we don't have an answer to unfortunately." replied Captain Alex Kavanaugh. "Anything new to report, Sergeant Abrams?"
"Not yet, sir," Abrams replied. "The Germans are just as jumpy as when this standoff first started, and it doesn't look to be ending anytime soon. But if something does happen, we finally have them outnumbered, sir." he said.
When the standoff first began, there was at least a whole company of German infantry, with assorted armored cars, a unit of cavalry, and even some artillery pieces, aimed directly towards the platoon and assorted police officers who had been on the American side of the border. Now the situation was reversed, with more than a company of infantry, backed up by multiple humvees, two Bradley's, plus the additional forces being brought in by the Marines from further north. As it stood, the US Army and Marines had a 3-1 advantage over their German opposite number, in both men and vehicles. But despite this, the Germans on the other side of the border didn't back down, and didn't try to open contact with the Americans. In fact, they seemed even more aggravated by the continuous arrival of American troops to the border.
"Yall see those cannons over there, right?" A Marine Lieutenant by the name of Maxwell asked, pointing to the German lines.
"Yeah, they got me pretty worried, all things considered." Kavanaugh replied. "They only had two when this showdown started, now they got five. Looks like they want to bring in more too."
"Well we best not let them do that," Maxwell replied, in a now noticeable Louisiana drawl. "Them's the only guns that got a chance of doing us real harm. Those are FK 96 field guns, 77 millimeter type. They might not do much to a tank, but we ain't got any tanks here yet."
"It's a good thing I got men watching those gunners in case shit pops off then."
"Smart move," Maxwell said. "They might be a century out of date, but they clearly know what targets to hit first. Not that it'll help them now." as he finished speaking, the sound of helicopter blades tearing through the air got closer and closer.
As the two officers turned, a flight of three AH-1Z Viper attack helicopters roared in from the north, taking up positions in the sky around the border, and their weapons aimed directly at the German lines. This, combined with the continued arrival of more Marines from up north, the buzzing of news helicopters overhead, only served to make the Germans even more nervous.
In response, trucks with anti aircraft guns mounted on the back began moving forward, their guns aiming at the strange aircraft hovering above them, defying all they knew about what airplanes were supposed to do.
However, right as the situation seemed to be deteriorating, a group of German soldiers began to make their way over to the American lines at the Port of Entry. A man, waving a rifle with a giant white cloth draped around it, flanked by a dozen men. Half of them took up positions to cover the other half, who steadily advanced forward, stopping roughly a few dozen feet away.
"Who is in charge here?" The German called out in heavily accented, but understandable English.
The Army Captain and Marine Lieutenant glanced at each other for a few moments, nodding in understanding to each other, before turning to their respective units, and calling out for volunteers. Three Marines and Three Guardsmen made their way forward, standing beside their respective leaders.
"Well, let's go see what Herr Kraut has to say." Kavanaugh said, advancing forward with his rifle down in his right hand, and his left arm up. Lieutenant Maxwell repeated the gesture.
"That would be the two of us!" Lieutenant Maxwell called out. "And who might you be?" The German smiled proudly at the question, and stiffened before answering.
"Captain Ludwig Steiner, of the Imperial German Army's 3rd Division, Second Army Corp! Who am I speaking to?"
Again, the two Americans glanced at each other, each raising an eyebrow at the other. The German was certainly pompous and full of himself, and considered himself higher status than those before him.
"Captain Alex Kavanaugh, 160th Infantry Regiment, California National Guard." He replied coolly.
"1st Lieutenant Elijah Maxwell, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines. Now might we inquire as to why you and your men are sitting opposite the border in Mexico?" Maxwell asked, getting straight to the point. " And more importantly, why the hell yall are rocking uniforms and weapons a century out of date?"
The Marine lieutenant was certainly blunt, no way around that. It was something Kavanaugh found amusing, and Steiner seemed irritated by.
"I'll excuse your rudeness given the circumstances, as I doubt events of late have any of us thinking straight," Steiner said sternly. "That said however, I have a feeling there's some mutual ignorance here, as we haven't seen your kind before."
"Likewise, Captain Steiner," Kavanaugh said. "But that still doesn't explain why you're here, in Mexico, with an army staring down the American border, and once again, your weapons and uniforms." Steiner's brow furrowed, and he took a deep breath before replying, and asking a question he dreaded the answer to.
"My dear Captain, what year is it?" Steiner asked bluntly, watching as the Americans looked at him in confusion, before turning back to him.
"Captain Steiner, it's New Years Day, 2020." Kavanaugh said, gears in his head turning, and putting the last pieces to the puzzle he was piecing together in his head. Steiner's face drained of color ever so slightly to the point it was almost unnoticeable. Almost.
"And I'm guessing he's about to tell us it's 1914, right?" one of the Marine Privates joked from behind.
"Quiet, Feldman!" Lieutenant Maxwell snapped.
"Juden?" One of the German soldiers said, gazing over at the Marine who made the comment.
"Oh hell no!" another Marine said, watching as the gazes of the various soldiers turned rather disdainful or outright hostile towards the young private.
"Yeah, he's Jewish, is that a fucking problem?" Maxwell challenged the German who spoke earlier, who was now glaring at the Lieutenant.
"Yes, I do!" The German snarled, stepping forward a pace before Steiner thumped his arm, stopping the man in his tracks.
"That's enough Corporal! Get back in line, now!" Steiner barked towards the young man, who reluctantly obeyed the command, and stepped behind his commanding officer.
Steiner had no love for Jews, in fact he despised them. But he realized that despite their skeeviness and greediness, they were a necessary evil required for certain fields such as finance and the like. Some in Germany even put forth the idea of deporting them to somewhere in Africa, despite how utterly impractical it'd be. If situations were different, he'd let his corporal say what he wanted to.
But not now, the situation wasn't right for such a move. Steiner's worst fears, in fact the fears of a number of officers, had just been confirmed by what the American had just told them, and he'd now need to act accordingly.
"Forgive my subordinate, he can be a bit brash at times!" Steiner said quickly, before turning back to Lieutenant Maxwell. "But I unfortunately have to say your subordinate is incorrect, but not by much. It is New Year's Day, 1920, Lieutenant."
Now, it was the turn of the Americans to turn pale in the face, while a few of them began muttering softly enough that he couldn't make out what they were saying.
"Jesus Fucking Christ!" Maxwell cursed, looking over at Kavanaugh, whose expression wasn't much different than.
"That still doesn't explain what you're doing here, Captain Steiner." Kavanaugh pressed. "In our 1920, Germany never had troops in Mexico. Hell, the German Empire was dead for two years at that point.
Steiner blinked a few times at the statement from the American. The German Empire not existing in 1920? What had happened in 1918 that resulted in such a thing? Steiner had questions, and he planned on getting as much information out of the American as he possibly could.
"Forgive me, Captain, but what you just said makes no sense to me. What exactly happened in…your world that precipitated the fall of my country?" Steiner inquired, noting the change of facial expression of the American, which seemed a cross between annoyed and curious.
"The end of the First World War," Kavanaugh said. "Germany was ground down by the Entente, which had been bolstered by the United States in 1917, and by mid 1918 Germany was on the backfoot, and eventually signed an armistice that ended the war, and utterly humiliated Germany. But I'll take a guess and assume that never happened here, did it?"
Kavanaugh couldn't help but enjoy the looks of absolute disbelief and horror on the faces of the German soldiers who understood English, especially Captain Steiner.
"Dear God, no! The War of 1914 ended that year! Some peripheral fighting lasted until 1915, but major fighting was over with, and the Treaty of Princeton was signed that same year! It sure as hell didn't last four damn years!" Steiner replied, obvious horror on his face at the thought of a four year long war. "Good lord, how many men were killed in that god forsaken war?!"
"40 million casualties total, half of them dead," Lieutenant Maxwell answered. "Although it paled in comparison to World War Two, where the death toll alone was four times that number, with half the world lying in ruin by the end." He smiled innocently as he finished speaking, no doubt getting a kick out of the little white lie he told the German, and how startled the man was.
"I see," Steiner replied hoarsely, doing his best not to show what he felt on his face. If even half of what the Americans were saying was true, the German soldiers in Mexico, and Germany's plans for the United States, were in very serious danger. "I believe we both have much to report back to our superiors with, Captain Kavanaugh. Perhaps we could continue this conversation at a different time, one where both our men aren't pointing rifles and cannons at each other."
"That much we can agree on, Captain Steiner." Kavanaugh agreed. "Although I can't say my superiors will be any less thrilled about your men across the border, Captain Steiner."
"And the same to you, Captain Kavanaugh." Steiner barked something to his troops, and they began to turn around and head back towards their positions. "Good day, Captain." he said as he left with his men.
—---------------------
"It is confirmed, sir." Captain Steiner said as he walked into the command tent, and saluted. Major Richthofen and the other officers and senior enlisted in the command tent turned to face him, grim expressions on many of their faces.
"We know, Herr Captain," Richthofen replied darkly. "More reports are coming in from Germany about Sweden and Switzerland having undergone the same situation as the Americans have. And more than that, Admiral Hipper reported an attack on his fleet in Indochina from an unknown submarine, and has sighted multiple unknown vessels in the waters of the South China Sea."
"The reports are quite disturbing, and have since removed any doubts as to what is going on up north in California and Arizona." Colonel Konrad Balck said. "And what's even more disturbing is that these aren't isolated incidents either. We have just received word we lost contact with most of our East African colonies. Only a small portion, which thankfully was home to the headquarters of the local garrison and radio tower, of the territory is still in contact with Berlin. But the latest news we received paints a dire picture indeed."
"Might I inquire as to what that picture is, sir?" Steiner asked, dreading the answer.
"The garrison has reported themselves under attack by African soldiers of unknown origin, fielding weapons and vehicles never before seen. Before the station finally went off the air, they said something about 'Giant Metal Monsters' that were immune to gunfire and cannon shells, before the signal was lost." Colonel Balck replied. "And that's not even the worst part. When the Königsberg received the distress message from General Vorbeck, they attempted to offer assistance alongside the Pillau and Elbing. However when they got to the coast, they were attacked by multiple fast attack craft. Königsberg and Pillau took light damage, while the Elbing was sunk."
Steiner and his escort looked downright appalled at the news, while the officers in the command tent wore crestfallen expressions on their faces.
"Did we even sink any of the enemy ships?" Steiner asked, dreading the answer.
"Reports say they sunk one small ship before our fleet was forced to withdraw," a communications Lieutenant replied. "Reports also say Captain Raedar was severely injured in the attack."
"Dear God!" Steiner said. "It's been eight hours since those walls came down. Eight hours and everything seems to be going to hell!"
"Nine and a half hours, sir." the same Lieutenant corrected, earning a glare from Steiner.
"My point still stands, Lieutenant," he growled. "Everything we've worked so hard to accomplish, to say nothing of what we have yet to accomplish, has gone up in smoke!" Steiner exclaimed, just as a series of explosions boomed in the distance. Everyone in the tent turned northward and froze, before screams and yells broke out throughout the camp, and they all sprinted outside.
Once they got outside, what they saw made their hearts sink. A dozen miles north, at the border crossing with San Diego, smoke billowed up into the sky from multiple locations. The chattering of machine gun fire and cannon could be heard, before being silenced at a frighteningly fast pace. They all recognized what their own guns sounded like, and the ones they heard continue to fire, were most certainly not their own. Then a series of explosions rippled through the sky, all in a tight grouping together. Some had surmised it was the Fokker 7's that had been deployed at the border to investigate, and prevent American aircraft from violating Mexican airspace.
Above them, another flight of five Fokker 7's raced towards the front, followed by a single Gotha bomber. Some of the men cheered at the sight of German airpower going north to fight the upstart Americans. Others, like Captain Steiner and the men who had accompanied him back from the border, knew better. Those pilots were being sent to their death.
A thought that was proven right as two small objects appeared on the horizon, accompanied by an ever growing roaring sound. The objects moved extremely fast, and before anyone could react, slammed into the Fokker 7's leading the bomber. All five of the bombers, even those not directly hit, either disintegrated upon impact, or tumbled apart as they fell from the sky. The lone Gotha bomber banked hard to the right, attempting to pull back from the unseen force that was attacking them.
Then, another of the objects was seen, again racing down south towards the lone bomber. But this time, the men on the ground watching noticed something frightening. The Fokker's were all in a tight and straight moving formation when they were attacked, which meant their path could be predicted. The bomber however, pulled away from the fight, and off of its course north. The deadly object followed the bomber nonetheless, guiding itself towards the bomber, before slamming into it, and obliterating the aircraft.
"Impossible." a nearby Sergeant muttered in disbelief. "The Americans shouldn't be able to do this."
"What in God's name just happened? Sergeant Fiehler asked no one in particular.
"Our plans for the United States going up in smoke, Sergeant. That's what we just saw." Colonel Balck said with a heavy sigh. "The Kaiser is not going to be a happy man."
---------------------------------------------
"As you can see, Dave, there is a large, if outdated force, seemingly of German origin, just opposite the Mexican-American border, and by all accounts, they do not seem very happy. Even as we speak, more and more of them keep arriving, bringing more and more men, trucks, and pieces of artillery to the border. They are also-"
The helicopter jerked hard to the left as the pilot noticed the AA gun focusing in on them, forcing the cameraman to lose his shot on the German soldiers as he flew back in his seat. As the helicopter regained stability, and the cameraman was able to refocus his camera on the scene below, a number of shapes in the distant sky caught his attention.
A dozen small, fast approaching fighters were making their way towards the border, breaking off into three separate formations each, and splitting off. Behind the helicopter, the roar of jet engines was heard, followed by three California Air National Guard F-15 Eagles streaking past, and towards the German planes, which were now identified as Fokker 7's.
They watched as the Eagles kept a respectable distance from the Fokkers, as to ensure the backwash from jets didn't send the fragile biplanes careening to the ground. But despite the incredible speed of the Eagles, the German pilots refused to back down, and tried to chase the jets. Something the Eagle pilots noted rather quickly, and began toying with the German flyers. Each F-15 banked sharply upward, and began climbing at a rate of acceleration no biplane could even dream of. Two Fokkers attempted to repeat the maneuver, arching themselves vertically, and trying to climb after them.
Tried, and failed. The two Fokkers quickly began to stall out, and plummet to the ground. One of the Fokkers, whose paint scheme looked exactly like that of the Red Baron, pulled itself out of the stall and subsequent fall, with literal feet to spare as it skimmed across the ground, and banked upward. The second pilot wasn't so lucky. He was unable to recover from his stall, and spiraled out of control towards the ground, right towards a convoy of German trucks that was approaching the border.
The Fokker slammed into a truck which was carrying an artillery gun behind it, which exploded in a shower of flame and shrapnel which tore into nearby trucks, and forced many off of the roads to avoid the wreckage ahead.
—------------------------------
Time slowed to a crawl as soldiers on both sides saw the whole incident unfold, as a simple aerial accident due to pilot error. But not everyone was paying attention. Many German soldiers kept their focus on what was in front of them, including the AA gunners, the armored trucks, and machine gunners. When they heard the explosion behind them, all they saw was a fire burning in the middle of the convoy, and three F-15's flying back across the American border, which were turning back for another pass.
That's all it took for some of the more nervous German soldiers to begin firing on the Americans. First an AA truck opened fire on a news helicopter, scoring multiple hits through the fuselage, killing the news crew instantly, before being silenced by one of the newly arrived Marine Corps AH-1Z Vipers from Miramar. Its 20mm gun tore through the offending truck, as well as the ones near it.
"CONTACT FRONT!" Sergeant Danforth screamed as he began squeezing off shots towards his German opposite number. A fusillade of bullets from the encamped Germans made the National Guardsmen, Marines, and San Diego police officers duck for whatever cover they could find. Many however, weren't so lucky. The rifles the Germans had might have been old, but they would still kill you. Judging from the bodies he could already see sprawled across the ground, the Germans had gotten lucky at least a dozen times, half of which were the local police.
Even their cannons, which were sighted in by the Bradley's, LAV's, and snipers earlier in the day, had managed a few shots off before being silenced. A blown apart humvee and severely damaged Bradley were proof of such.
But the return fire against the Germans was far more devastating.
"The hills are alive with the sounds of," Kowalski let out a long burst of his M249, tearing through a group of German Uhlans, who tried an ineffectual charge against the American lines, and paid for it in blood.
"Even in a fucking battle, you never lose that sense of humor you got, Kowalski," Captain Kavanaugh said as he returned fire with his M4 Carbine.
"That bastard's never gonna lose his sense of humor," Corporal Danforth laughed as he returned fire as well. "I think we're gonna need it a lot more now!"
"Finally, someone who appreciates me for my lovely sense of humor." Kowalski said dramatically as he swapped his empty magazine for a fresh one. He'd burned through 200 rounds like they were nothing, but the rounds spent weren't wasted. The sprawled bodies of dead and dying Germans, and German horses, was proof enough of that. But the majority of dead Germans wasn't due to Kavanaugh's squad.
The armored vehicles brought by the Army and Marines had torn bloody swathes through the Germans like a scythe through wheat. What few armored cars the Germans had, if they could even be called that, fared no better.
"2 O'CLOCK HIGH!" one of the Marines yelled out as a group of Fokker 7 fighters appeared in the distance, and came in fast. The fighters flew towards the Americans, firing their machine guns towards targets on the ground. A few unlucky soldiers and police were hit, and a few humvees and trucks were strafed, albeit to little effect.
Then, they began to explode, one after the other. The Vipers raced forward, as nimble as a grasshopper compared to the slow, fragile biplanes. The 7.92 machine guns on the Fokkers were little threat to the Vipers, whose armor easily shrugged off the rounds. The same could not be said in reverse, as the Fire Control System of the Vipers allowed their 20mm cannons to traverse wider and more accurately than the German planes. One quick burst was all that was needed, and the planes were sent tumbling to the ground.
In less than a minute, the 11 Fokker 7's were reduced to three, who were fleeing at full speed back across the border, including the one with the Red Baron's paint scheme, who tried to get away, climbing as fast as they could, hoping to escape the Vipers. The Red Baron's wings were clipped by chaingun fire, forcing its pilot to bail out, and parachute to safety. The other two were sent spiraling downwards after an F-15 made a close pass at near supersonic speed. Neither pilot had a chance to react before they made contact with the ground.
The rest of the battle didn't last much longer. The LAV-25's 25mm chain guns, the assortment of 7.62 and .50 machine guns on the humvees, and rocket pods on the AH-1's, tore through the German ranks. All that, in addition with the assortment of infantrymen on the ground, made quick work of the German troops on the Mexican side of the border.
In only a few minutes, the entire German force facing them was either dead, wounded, or retreating rapidly, many without weapons. They were desperate to get away from the American defenders who chewed up their forces. Even the mighty Uhlans, which tried a desperate charge against the Americans, were cut to ribbons by massed machine gun fire. Not a single of them had survived after their suicidal charge against American lines.
Afterward, the area smelled of blood, shit, cordite, gunpowder, and burning rubber and metal. Many Germans lay wounded, crying out for someone, anyone to help them. Many were dead, torn to bloody rags by indifferent machine gun rounds. The rest were retreating, not looking back to see if the Americans were following them. But they weren't.
The Guardsmen and Marines had to hold the border until the situation was assessed, and the higher ups could figure out just what was going on. There was more ground to secure, wounded to get medical treatment, and the dead to be given proper rights.
"So what the fuck do we do now?" PFC Martinez asked as she finally got up from her squatting position behind her truck, and looked it over for any damage. She frowned when she found a few bullet holes in her baby, but took solace in the fact that the men who did it were very likely dead. "LT?"
"I reckon I ain't got much of an answer for you, tell you the truth," Lieutenant Maxwell replied, his native Bayou accent creeping out more and more. "What I can say is that ain't none of us ever going back home. And those of us that still got a home ain't going back no time soon."
"What makes you say that sir?" Martinez asked, making Maxwell turn to her and raise an eyebrow.
"PFC, I know for a fact you ain't stupid. I also know for a fact at least half my platoon ain't from out west, including myself. I also know half my platoon would run the risk of being lynched in the 1920's era United States, for many reasons. There might be a United States here, but it sure as hell ain't one we'll be welcome in."
"With an accent like that, you'll fit in well with the local Klan chapter." one of the San Diego SWAT officers chuckled.
"Disrespectfully officer, go fuck yourself, and the horse you rode in on." Maxwell said without hesitation. "I'm a fairly backwood motherfucker by most standards, I have a black fiance with a kid on the way, black in laws, a Jewish mother, and a whole host of views and beliefs that'd land my ass in jail, or hanging from a fucking tree in the Jim Crow south. So once again, fuck you." as he finished, he fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Pulling one of them out, he returned the pack to its proper place, took a lighter from that same pocket, lit his cigarette, and took a long, deep drag. "Thank fuck my family came to visit for New Years." he said as he puffed out a cloud of smoke, which he followed up with another drag.
"Can I get one of those, sir?" Martinez asked, to which Maxwell replied by grabbing the pack from his pocket, and tossing it toward the sound of her voice.
"Shit's about to get real interesting, Lance Corporal Martinez." Maxwell said with another puff, and still staring south of the border, towards the ever shrinking form of retreating German soldiers. "Really fucking interesting."
