The fog over the Rhine was thick, unnatural. Lieutenant Karl Jäger of the German Wehrmacht peered through his binoculars, watching the eastern bank. Something was moving out there—shapes, dark and silent, unlike any vehicles he had ever seen.
“What is it?” his sergeant whispered.
Karl shook his head. “I don’t know.”
The shapes emerged from the mist—tanks, but not German tanks. Not Russian tanks. They were sleek, angular, covered in symbols that glowed faintly in the gray light. And they were flying. Not driving. Flying.
“Mein Gott,” the sergeant breathed.
The tanks hovered over