Today marks the 66th anniversary of the Battle of the Bulge, the last German offensive of World War II on the western front. It was, at best, a great gamble; at worst, a futile, last ditch effort to stem the Allied advance, and I wanted to try to capture that mood in an image! I also really wanted an excuse to draw a King Tiger :3

But mainly this is a tribute to the men on all sides who fought and suffered through that dreadfully cold winter. May the forests of the Ardennes remain peaceful evermore.



When I showed the initial sketch to  fernin, he surprised me by writing a whole story to accompany this image! Sorry - 'character sketch,' so I've been told ^^; The (TF-free, believe it or not!) vignette that follows is his. Thank you so much again, sir!

EDIT: Fernin surprised me with a fantastic sequel/prequel to this, featuring art by  spacehunk! It's well worth checking out!

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Feldwebel Herman Luther kept his head down, trying to bury his freezing muzzle deeper into the woolen scarf. It didn't do much good; the scarf had seen nearly as many campaigns as its owner-- but it was better than nothing.

Frozen ground crunched under the soles of his dilapidated boots as he followed along the tracks of the tanks. The armored monsters had chewed up the ground, leaving ugly brown scars on the pristine landscape as their treads sliced through the flawless white blanket of snow. Still, with his boots in such bad condition, Herman was glad of some respite from the merciless, clinging cold of the drifts.

The Feldwebel's squad-- if it could still be called that after their recent casualties-- marched doggedly along behind him. They looked as tired as Herman felt, sagging so much it was amazing they could still advance. The squad kept in loose formation, staggered between the relatively shallow snow left in the tanks' wake. One of the replacements-- barely more than a pup-- cried out when Gefreiter Kaufmann gave him a clout on the helmet. "Don't stand so close, you idiot!"

The offending soldier whined and rubbed his head as some of the other new recruits laughed. Feldwebel Luther wheeled on his squad and glared. His breath smoked through the holes in his scarf. "Shut up, all of you. Keep it down."

It wasn't their fault, Feldwebel Luther knew. The stupid young Scutze-- what was his name again? Deiderich, wasn't it?-- didn't know any better. It seemed like Hauptmann Fenstermacher was sending them greener and greener troops to replace the losses, these days. But green or seasoned, they'd all been beaten down by their latest "glorious victories" for the Reich. The Feldwebel waved them forward before their limbs started to seize up. "Come on, you curs. We can't be far behind the armor now…"

In the distance, occasional crackling exchanges of rifle fire or the staccato burst of a machine gun broke the tomb-like silence of the frost-wreathed forest. Herman raised his arm and signaled his squad. The replacement Soldiers groaned as they fanned out into a loose V-formation, with Feldwebel Luther at the tip. The more experienced troops didn't grumble so loudly-- they remembered how effective the American mortar fire had been two weeks previous.

Shooting the grumblers a searing glance, Feldwebel Luther pointedly stepped out of the comfort of the tank track and very carefully waded through the deeper snow between the packed-down grooves. The grumbling quieted somewhat, and the squad continued on-- until there were no more trees. Herman waved up his team leader, Gefreiter Kaufmann, and pointed. The squad had finally caught up to their armor support.

Across the achingly white snow of the clearing, the squad could see several dark, boxy shapes. They were painted white to help camouflage them, but no shape in nature was as blocky as that-- or as large. There was no hiding a platoon of King Tigers.

Herman bent his team leader's head down until the latter's ear nearly brushed against the Feldwebel's muzzle. "I'm making contact with our Waffen-SS friends out there. You've got the squad while I'm gone. Stay here and secure this area. If I get attacked I'm sprinting back to you. So don't shoot me, you damned cross-eyed wolfhound. If you get attacked, break contact and don't bother about me. Any questions?"

Gefreiter Kaufmann grinned. "I'll try not to shoot you, Herman. Finally some armor support, eh? What's next? The Luftwaffe might even make an appearance at this rate!"

The Feldwebel grinned back. That would be the day. "I'll give the tank commander your love then, shall I?"

Shifting slightly to work some heat into his limbs before he moved, Feldwebel Luther steeled himself, then rose to his feet and broke into a sprint. Frozen lungs went from frost to fire as he ran, staying low. He had no intent of falling to a sniper just as his objective was in view.

It seemed like an eternity, but a few seconds later Herman reached the hulking, squarish shape of the nearest King Tiger. The thing's engine was shut down. Idiot tankers, didn't they know it would freeze up if left alone? The Feldwebel raised one fist to bang on the side of the tank, then thought better of it. The tank's armor clanged as the butt of his rifle thudded against the Tiger's hull. "Hey!" he called. "It's your infantry support!"

No answer was forthcoming. Feldwebel Luther's brow wrinkled. Shouldering his K98, he clambered onto one of the King Tigers and felt carefully around the edge of the hatch. There were no hidden wires. He opened it slowly, straining to shift the frozen hinge.

The tank was empty. The Feldwebel felt his heart sink as he tried the next tank. It was empty too. Every King Tiger in the platoon, the finest steel the Reich could produce, all abandoned like a careless child's playthings. They hadn't been destroyed or booby-trapped. The Waffen-SS had just… left them there. Herman couldn't believe it. He slumped against the side of one useless, silent machine and felt his blood congealing in his veins. So, that was it. Even the vaunted SS was giving up.

Herman tensed when he heard crunching footsteps. Just as he started to raise his rifle, Scutze Deiderich rounded the corner of the tank, out of breath but smiling hopefully. "Gefreiter Kaufmann sent me, Feldwebel! What does the Waffen-SS want us to do?"

Feldwebel Luther shook his head. "We're not getting any help out of these today. They're out of fuel."

The Scutze's enthusiasm couldn't be curbed so easily. Deiderich looked at his squad leader, obviously expecting the veteran to confirm his optimism. "Well do they need someone to run back and get some? With tank support… we… could…"

Little Deiderich looked so young. Had Herman ever been that young? The Feldwebel tried to find the words, but what could he say? He opened his mouth to explain, then closed it again. What kind of idiotic army sent out children in place of infantry and dispatched tanks with barely any fuel on a drive to the sea? No.

It wasn't good for the soldiers to see their squad leader dithering. "No, Here's what we'll do, Scutze… Get your team leader to send up two men with some grenades. I know he has a few left. He'll provide overwatch with the rest of the squad until I'm done here."

The young soldier gaped, staring first at his squad leader, then the tanks. "B-but…"

Deiderich winced as the Feldwebel smacked him across the head. "Do it. Now."

The little Scutze nodded and scampered back to the tree line. Feldwebel Luther didn't bother watching him go; he had more important things on his mind.

Herman thought of kicking the useless King Tiger, but thought better of it-- he would break his foot. Instead he shook his head. What a waste. What a stupid, stupid waste. Climbing into the turret of the tank, he found some wire. With Kaufmann's grenades, this would do for a booby trap. Even a Feldwebel could see that the war was lost-- but that didn't mean the damned Americans weren't going to pay for every inch.

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Story by  fernin!
Art by me