Published at 21st of December 2025 9:23 am

Chapter 792: No Retreat

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The ash had barely stopped falling when Major Bruno von Hohenzollern began the descent.

The Hyblaean peaks behind him glowed faintly in the dying light, their crags lit orange by the thermobaric pillars still rising across northern Sicily.

Ahead, the valleys filled with smoke, shattered earth, and smouldering embers from the hellfire that had descended upon Sicily just moments before.

His boots crunched over loose stone and brittle shrubs. Behind him, his 120 men moved in practiced silence, light, fluid, and deadly.

The Gebirgsjäger did not march; they flowed, scaling slopes and drifting from cover to cover with a grace that belied their rifles and rocket launchers.

"Eyes sharp," Bruno murmured into the hand mic clipped to his shoulder. "Stragglers will be desperate. Cornered animals bite hardest."

A dozen quiet affirmations clicked back over the wire.

Below them, the surviving pieces of the American convoy were scattering, half-blind from dust, half-panicked, but still trying to obey instincts drilled into them since boot camp: regroup, reform, and find higher command.

Except the higher command was now a crater somewhere off the coastal road.

His squad sergeant, Krüger, scurried up beside him, breathing smoothly despite the steep slope.

"ISR picked up three light tanks headed north, sir," he said clutching his radio in his hand. "They’re dragging wounded infantry behind them. Probably trying to reach the Reserve Line at Vizzini."

Bruno scanned the shifting shapes, small silhouettes trudging through the smoke. The tanks weren’t Liberties; they were newer medium tank models that were more agile while still retaining a larger bore gun.

However, the terrain was bad for them, and their timing was even worse.

"Range?" Bruno asked.

"About seven hundred meters and closing. For the time being, they believe the valley is safe."

Bruno smiled faintly.

"Then let’s strip them of that hope."

He toggled his comm.

"Panzerfaust teams, forward. Fire on my mark."

The Gebirgsjäger broke apart like cracks in ice, small clusters maneuvering into firing positions among boulders and outcroppings.

At the same time, machine-guns were deployed low and fast, bipods settling against stone, barrels angled over the valley floor.

The Americans kept coming. Their engines coughed, sputtered, choked on dust. The wounded limped beside them or clung to hulls, blood streaking the armor like melted paint.

Bruno raised his hand.

"Stand by..."

The nearest tank rumbled into clear view, its turret rotating weakly, not searching aggressively, just... confused, disoriented.

The thermobaric strikes had shaken their senses. Radios were down. Command was gone. These vehicles were acting on the last scraps of doctrine they remembered.

The perfect moment.

Bruno’s hand fell.

"Fire."

A dozen Panzerfaust heads streaked from the hillsides like burning comets.

The first tank vanished in a blossom of fire that peeled its turret upward like the lid of a tin can. The shockwave knocked wounded soldiers flat.

A second volley cracked the air, smashing into the two remaining vehicles. One spun violently, tracks ripping free; the other erupted from the underside as a warhead detonated through the driver’s compartment.

Infantry screamed. Engines shrieked. Steel buckled.

"MG teams," Bruno said quietly. "Clean it up."

The mountains thundered with German fire.

The Americans scattered, some firing blindly, some dropping their weapons entirely, some sprinting into the rocks and being cut down before they made it ten paces. A medic waving a white cloth was the last to fall.

Within forty seconds, silence reclaimed the valley.

Krüger joined him again, wiping soot from his cheek.

"Poor bastards didn’t stand a chance," he muttered.

"Nothing stands a chance today," Bruno replied. "Not anymore."

He motioned his men forward with two fingers.

Further Down the Valley

The terrain dipped, revealing a ravine where another cluster of Allied vehicles was attempting to regroup, half a dozen halftracks, a command jeep, and a bulldozer whose operator was in the middle of clearing debris from the road.

Bruno crouched beside a rock and lifted his binoculars.

"These ones have some fight left in them," he said. "Weapons readied. Positions disciplined."

Krüger nodded. "Veterans, most likely."

"Then let’s give them a veteran’s death."

Bruno unrolled a small map and jabbed two points.

"We flank from both ridges. I want crossfire and enfilade. Panzerfaust teams hit the carriers first. MGs suppress anyone who dismounts. Snipers target officers and radiomen. Leave one man alive per squad if possible, panic spreads faster when someone survives to describe the massacre."

"Understood."

Orders rippled through the company. Shadows moved along the slopes.

Bruno positioned himself high, resting his rifle across the crook of a boulder. Through the scope, he caught the face of an American lieutenant shouting orders beside the command jeep.

The man looked tired. But determined.

"A shame," Bruno whispered. "You could have done well in another life."

He squeezed the trigger.

The lieutenant fell backward, a mist of red hanging where his head had been.

That was the signal.

Panzerfausts roared again. Vehicles erupted in gouts of flame; a carrier flipped sideways from the force of multiple impacts. Machine guns spat controlled bursts, turning silhouettes into crimson sprays.

A few Americans attempted to mount a defense, deploying machine guns, shouting for covering fire, but they were shredded before their weapons finished unfolding.

The bulldozer operator tried to run.

Bruno shot him in the leg, watching him collapse behind the machine before a second rifleman finished him cleanly.

Within minutes, the ravine was quiet, save for the crackle of burning petrol.

Krüger jogged up, face grim.

"That’s another sixty down... maybe seventy," he reported. "We’re cutting their retreat lines faster than they can understand what’s happening."

Bruno nodded once.

"Good. Confusion is our ally today."

Across Southern Sicily scenes like this unfolded. On this day, the Americans would realize they had walked into an enormous trap.

For over a year they had fought and bloodied themselves in Sicily, sustaining insurmountable losses believing that if they seized the island, they were one shot away from breaking into Europe and ending the war.

Today, however, for the first time Americans learned that the Central Powers had been playing with them. And had possessed the ability to end the theater at any moment of their choosing.

And finally, the moment had come.

By Christmas Eve, the remaining American units would be either taken prisoner or eliminated, and Sicily would be free from its invaders.

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