Tyranny of Steel

Fritz Fischer was an average soldier in the Imperial German Army. He had long since been dispatched to Iberia, and had spent the last three years under the smouldering sun of the region. Sure, he had been given leave, and returned to the reich, to witness the monumental changes that occurred after each deployment. However, with each passing day, he was convinced that Iberia would become his grave. 

Currently, the man sat inside an armored stagecoach, which was fitted with a turret that utilized a mk 2 Schmidt gun. This was just one of many such vehicles that strode through the war-torn streets of Toledo. He was currently loading several shells into his trench gun, while the men beside him kept a lookout through the small slats for potential hostiles. 

The Catholics of Spain had adopted the same strategy as the Portuguese. They were colluding with the catholic church, and because of that, they shared the same intelligence network. Brutal urban warfare was the state of affairs within the Iberian Peninsula.

The Catholic fanatics, emboldened by the pope with false decrees of eternal glory in the afterlife, fired upon the German troops from their rooftops with a mixture of matchlock firearms, and black powder rockets. Truthfully, these rockets were more akin to fireworks, but could still prove to be a deadly weapon if caught in their blast radius. 

Thus, the implementation of armored stagecoaches became a common sight among the German ranks. Interestingly enough, the military engineers in the Kufstein Royal Armory had come up with an alteration of the steam tractor, and created mobile steam engines that were capable of propelling these armored stagecoaches at a speed of roughly 5-10 miles per hour. It was slow, sure, but the soldiers were protected from the enemy's weapons. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. For the moment, Fritz thought about this. A rocket lit off from a rooftop above and propelled downward towards the armored stagecoach. It erupted and sparkled against the vehicle, but did little damage. Meanwhile, the man in the turret above adjusted the side of his weapon, and began to crank on it, propelling a few dozen rounds towards the target in a matter of seconds. 

The hostile who had fired the rocket was shredded to pieces by the sheer volume of fire the mk 2 Schmidt gun was capable of producing. Fritz wiped the sweat from his forehead, partially due to fear from the attack, but also because these damned vehicles were nothing more than sweatboxes. Under the glaring sun, the steel exterior acted as a heat sink. He could not wait for the convoy to arrive at its target so that he could conduct the raid. 

Walking into enemy fire was preferable to sitting in these steel armored stagecoaches. After suffering a few more rocket attacks, the convoys finally arrived at the location, where the soldiers opened the large steel door and quickly deployed. The moment they did so, smoke erupted from a window, and a musket ball hit the man in front of Fritz in the face, drop him to the floor dead on the spot. 

Fritz cursed at the Iberian rebel and hopped out of the vehicle with his shotgun in hand, unloading six shells into the building rapidly as he slam fired the gun as fast he could manage. After the first round of buckshot, the perpetrator was shredded into swiss cheese, but that did not stop Fritz from continuing his assault. 

"Fucking bastard!"

This was another drawback of the Stagecoaches. Only one man could exit from one side at a time, and they naturally became the targets of the hidden rebels. Soon Fritz's fireteam deployed from the vehicle, and covered him with their rifles while he reloaded his weapon. After doing so, he fired another three rounds into the lock on the door before kicking it open. 

Once the door was breached, a woman came charging at Fritz with a knife, where he quickly pointed his trench gun and fired a round of buckshot straight through her chest, killing her instantly. He cursed at the madwoman who tried to claim his life while loading more shells into his gun.

"Crazy cunt! Get fucked!"

After reloading his weapon with six plus one rounds, Fritz took point as he carefully progressed through the building. The foyer was clear, but that did not mean the kitchen was. As soon as he turned the corner, a musket fired its shot straight towards his head, where it bounced off his Stahlhelm, causing him to react to the shooter with another round of buckshot. This time it took out the man's head, turning it into a bloody mess.  A soldier in Fritz's squad ran up behind him and checked on him.

"You alright sarge?"

Fritz did not respond and merely clanked his helmet with his fist, showing that he was fine, just a little rattled. After doing so, the soldier nodded and took over Fritz's position, leading the rest of the troops with his trench gun, as Fritz fell to the back to protect their rear. 

The men kicked down another door, only to be fired upon by another musket. This time the shot missed, causing the target to be shot full of holes not only from the buckshot of the pointmen, but also from the rifle rounds fired by the other members of the squad. 

The soldiers reloaded their weapons before advancing further into the house. While their squad cleared this one building, others worked throughout the street, undergoing the same level of resistance. Some buildings were hostile, others were peaceful. It was impossible to know the difference. 

After clearing that one house, Fritz ordered his soldiers to take the lead after he breached the next one. The door swung open, and this time the German soldiers were not fired upon. Things appeared rather peaceful at first glance. That, however, did not make Fritz any less cautious as he walked through the halls.

The pointman approached a door, where he quickly kicked it open. Only to reveal a Spanish woman immediately screaming in fear for her life while clutching her child in her arms. The pointman instantly shouted his commands, unafraid to open fire on the two of them if they made the slightest movement.

"Hands! Show me your fucking hands! You god damn cunt, I swear to god I will blow your freaking brains out in front of your child! Show me your damn hands!"

Naturally, he was speaking in the local tongue so that the woman could understand him. The woman quickly did as was instructed, occupying the man's attention. Meanwhile, the five-year-old girl that was in her arms was hiding something sinister. With the pull of a drawstring, a grenade detonated in the room, killing the pointmen and two other soldiers in the doorway.

Fritz felt the house shake as he looked over at the bloody scene. Those who were within the room were blasted into meat paste by a grenade that was most likely scavenged from a German's corpse at some earlier date. The mother had given it to the child and ordered the kid to pull the cord while she occupied the soldier's attention. Killing her, her child, and three German soldiers. 

The sergeant of the squad could not help but curse. This was not the first time something like this had occurred. The Catholic Church had brainwashed thousands of men, women, and children into martyrdom. The use of child soldiers was common among the Iberian rebels, and it was not surprising in the least that a mother would coerce her young daughter into doing something so barbaric. 

"God damn fucking savages!"

The soldiers in the squad said their own curses towards the woman and the entire Catholic population.

"Fucking catholics!"

"They're all the same!"

Fritz did not let his fallen comrades deter him from his aim. There was still much of the house that needed to be cleared. However, he was even more cautious than he had previously been, giving strict orders to his troops.

"I don't care if it's a man, woman, or child. If you come across a group of people huddled up, make sure they're all facing you with their hands up, or fill them with lead!"

The german soldiers nodded their heads in agreement to the Sergeant's orders, before going through the rest of the house. The only other incident in that building was finding the husband of the crazy cunt, who fired a musket at them, but ultimately missed his shot. He was promptly filled with holes.

The war in Iberia was brutal for everyone involved. The more Germans that fell in combat, the more their weapons and munitions would end up in the hands of the enemy. Though they could not be reverse engineered, they could be wielded against their former masters. It seemed like Iberia was becoming one giant battle of Fallujah. 

It was no wonder Berengar was planning to end it via a chemical strike on a major city. He had lost many soldiers as the years went by, and the number only continued to grow as the enemy came to possess more devastating weapons. Encouraged by the pope to give their lives without thought, in a desperate attempt to drive the Germans and Moors from their lands. Against such zealotry, one could not dare to be merciful, for if they were, they would lose everything.