No Man Should Do Such Things Part II
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother
--William Shakespeare, Henry V, Act IV, Scene III
Excerpt from Metallhelden Rosten Nie [Metal Heroes Never Rust] by Dieter Haas
…The British pilots attacked us in echelon formation. We were untested. We were all young and inexperienced — even me, and I was titanenkommandant. As the planes approached, I leaned into the speaking tube and said, “Here they come, boys! Remember your training. Trust in our armor. Do not be afraid! Arm gunners, find range five-zero-zero meters. Set weapons to attack positions. Prepare for anti-aircraft measures. Hold for my command!”
My navigator was watching them through the periscope. He said, “Thirty-five marks bearing two-zero-two, range five-seven-five meters and closing.”
As the British came within range, I gave the order to open fire, weapons free. The pings of their Vickers rounds increased but was lost in the din of our own firing. As the navigator called out the range and positions, I manipulated the gyroscopes that moved the torso of the titan to give the gunners the ability to track the aircraft. In our testing runs, it was not clear that we would be fleet or flexible enough to track aircraft, but here in our first trial combat, the gunners were having no difficulty staying ahead of the British pilots and taking them down.
The flying warcorns of the Einhornwaffe had done an excellent job as the vanguard force in sowing chaos and confusion among the British. Resistance to our advance became stubborn as we approached the massed bärenvolk infantry. As we neared them, the pilots began their bombing runs. I yelled, “Bombs! Evasive maneuvers! Brace for impact!” Two of their high explosive bombs struck us at once. The temperature inside the titan — stifling already — became oppressive. My left gunner yelled, “I’m hit! We’re on fire.” I ordered him to deploy the fire retardant. He did, and later I learned that his left arm had fused to the cockpit in the explosion. It was amputated after the sortie, and after several weeks, he died of an infection from his injury.
We fared better than the Toter König from the 4th Pomeranian Titan-Giganten, one of whose arm gunners was lost when the arm was severed in an explosion. As we neared the bärenvolk, we saw the havoc the Einhornwaffe was inflicting them, the effects of their acid spray and toxic flatulence from above. The best thing we could do was eliminate them as quickly as possible in order to limit their suffering. They soon saw the hopelessness of their situation and began swarming us and starting to climb upon us. Our hatches were secure, but we knew that the strength of the bärenvolk was legendary. I ordered the gunners to sweep the ground with the flame projectors. I can still hear the screams that issued from them, in my nightmares of this time. And the smell, it was unforgettable. No man should do such things to another. But we thought our survival depended on it, that it was us or them. And we had our orders directly from Generaleutnant Knobelsdorf: “…The Imperial Engineers have taken much trouble to prepare your table. Leave nothing left upon your plate.” When battle hardened bärenvolk — those who escaped the flames climbed up our sides, I ordered, “All points titan: seal hatches!” The men complied, but a few determined bärenvolk somehow managed to climb 30 meters to the left gunner’s cockpit hatch, and together they tore it open. The gunner aimed his pistol at them and fired several times. The bärenvolk were too big to climb down into the entry shaft, but their long, powerful arms easily grabbed Hans, the gunner. They pulled him out and tossed him off the side like a piece of rubbish.
Through my scope I saw something similar happen to the Toter König from the 4th Pomeranian. But several warcorns swooped in, spitting streams of acid in the bärenvolks’ faces, blinding them, and causing them to pitch off the sides to their deaths. Unfortunately, some of their acid got into the hatch, burning their gunner, but he lived and fought in other battles.
About 25 minutes after we took to the field, there was nothing but the bodies of the bärenvolk a few human officers, and wisps of smoke spiraling silently into the air. We later learned that three of the British pilots were saved, but that was all. The three titans that took to the field were heavily damaged and scarred, but intact. After the Einhornwaffe cleared off, we fired a salute in honor of the enemy dead. We were shocked at the carnage we created, but we were expected to act as triumphant heroes when we returned. Only in private, years later, at a reunion of titan crews, and only after more than one bottle of schnapps had gone around, did we ever speak of how we really felt about what we did at Verbrande Molen.
Your Camel Wants to Kill You
By Henry Ransom
Our friend the Sopwith Camel
She is a cruel mistress
She’ll lift you up to Heaven
Put out your lights
And send you west
Oh, your camel wants to kill you
Let me count the ways
She will surprise in death’s disguise
And end your earthly days.
She will buck to the right
When you wish to go left
And if you don’t
Then say goodnight!
If you drop to 45
You’ll spin and then lose power.
But go too fast
She’ll break in two
And fling you from your tower!
Our mothers gave us castor oil
The camel spits it in your eyes
But light it up, your skin will boil
Without a soul to hear your desperate cries
And if she doesn’t catch on fire
Her paper frame, piano wire
Just cut one cord, or play her false
And you will find
It’s your last Waltz
‘Till you join the angels’ choir
Oh, the Vickers in her bosoms
Will save you, this is true
But when they’re jammed,
They aren’t worth a damn
When Fritzy gets the drop on you!
Oh, your camel wants to kill you
Let me count the ways
That she will surprise in death’s disguise
And end your earthly days.
She’s a tiger with arthritic bones
A feral horse without a saddle
And if you fail to check her rage
You’re up shit creek without a paddle
Bury me in clouds
Above the icy blue
Wisps of vapor for my shroud
‘Midst the dragons that I slew
Oh, your camel wants to kill you
Let me count the ways
That she will surprise in death’s disguise
And end your earthly days.
Care to read a hilarious account of Theodore Roosevelt hunting Bigfoot? Find it here: https://www.amazon.com/Squabble-Titans-Recollections-Roosevelt-Rainforest/dp/B097X4R4LN
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