Keppler bounded through the doorway of the ruined apartment block and hurled himself to the right. A ravening beam of intense heat followed him incinerating the doorframe and the stairs in front of it. Turning them to charcoal before Keppler could even draw breath.
He pulled a stick grenade from his satchel, his last he noted with a grunt, pulled the cord and threw it out of the doorway before sprinting down the passageway towards the back of the building. The explosion rattled the broken window frames and sent shards of wood and glass after him. From outside came an agonised 'wee-ooo!' that signified that the Martian Heat Ray gunner had come far too close to the building while pursuing the light-footed Major.
By then Keppler was already out of the back of the building and in three strides across the service alleyway was entering the building behind. He didn't stop running until he had put another building between him and his kill.
He knew only too well what happened when a Martian Patrol was ambushed. The nearest Tripod would rush to support its fallen comrades and it would turn the houses used for the ambush to rubble. In fact, he was depending upon it.
With the patrol trying to recover its dead and wounded, and the Tripod busy with suppressing any further attacks on them it would be vulnerable to the 8cm Krupp Howitzer concealed three hundred meters away in a ruined church.
He reached the church just as the Tripod began firing its much more powerful Heat Ray into the buildings the ambushers had used. At over two-thousand degrees the ray disintegrated wood, caused bricks to explode and iron to wilt.
Jäger Schiller was sitting in the gunner's seat and was biding his time, waiting for the Tripod to turn and expose its more vulnerable rear. The range had already been measured and there was no crosswind. As he waited several members of the ambushing group appeared in the back of the church. Keppler counted them in. He went down his roster and then said "Bachmann?"
Feldwebel Schmidt stepped forwards and handed Keppler Bachmann's collar badge. It was sticky with blood. Keppler nodded, pocketed the badge and then wrote a date and time next to Bachmann's name.
"Flechettes," said Schmidt. No more need be said, Keppler had lost over half his original company to Flechette Guns. Deadly at short range, they shredded anyone foolish or unlucky enough to get caught by one.
"I would commend him for a mention in despatches Herr Major." said Schmidt.
Keppler looked up, interested.
"Go on Hans." he said.
"Bachmann didn't die immediately. His revivifier was damaged by a flechette, but despite his injuries he actually effected a field repair upon it as the enemy advanced on his position. Then he stood up and shot the nearest Martian through the eye with his Mauser. They gunned him down of course but got a hell of a surprise when he got up again and charged them carrying three live grenades." said Schmidt.
The whole squad were utterly silent, something they never were except when lying in wait. Bachmann was sixteen years old and had been recruited only three weeks before from the Citizen Volunteers.
"Cover your ears," said the laconic Schiller, giving the squad barely a second before the Krupp roared. Jäger Klimt reloaded it with mechanical precision. In less than ten seconds, three shells tore down the street and impacted on the rear of the Tripod.
The first caused its force shield to flare, the second overloaded the shield and the third was a direct hit on its crew compartment. The Tripod lurched from side to side for a few seconds and then collapsed, the explosion of its engine and weaponry tearing the remaining Martians beneath it to shreds.
"For Bachmann." said Schiller.
"For Bachmann." repeated the squad.
"Alright you lazy bastards lets get this gun dismantled and down into the sewers before that Tripod's brothers come knocking on the church door!" shouted Keppler.
"Herr Major, what was Bachmann's Christian name?" asked Klimt as he lifted the bag with their five remaining rounds in.
"You know Klimt, I honestly do not have a clue" came the reply.