by Jaxon Reed
Besides, he thought, the French are arrogant in every alternate. It never hurts to take them down a peg or two.
“Be careful, mon ami,” Pierre said as Rick slipped rubber fins over his feet.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back before daylight.”
Rick splashed into the water from their secluded pier, the noise blanketed by waves sloshing in.
The port city of Lorient was one of several Nazi sub bases, but it was special. It used to serve as headquarters for Karl Dönitz, the commander of the German submarine fleet.
When Admiral Raeder fell out of favor with Hitler after some embarrassing setbacks at sea, Dönitz found himself promoted to Grand Admiral. Now heading up the entire Navy, Dönitz was back in Berlin, far from the easy reach of bombers and assassins.
If Dönitz followed the pattern of his doppelgängers on other alternates, Rick thought, he would serve at least a decade in prison for war crimes after the Nuremburg Trials, then die an old man in the 1980s.
Right now, Lorient had been bombed nearly to oblivion by waves of British and Texan planes. Yet still, U-boats docked here. They were repaired, their crews rested, and the vessels restocked for additional forays in the Atlantic where they hunted convoys supplying Great Britain with desperately needed food and supplies.
Rick swam, splashing as little as possible, and slowly rounded the rubble of a bombed-out quay. In the gloom ahead, three submarines were dry-docked underneath massive concrete bunkers meant to protect them from aerial assault: U-166, U-384 and U-901.
U-166 was a second generation vessel, deployed early in the war. A hardy veteran, it had sunk 68 ships and damaged dozens more. It had been rammed twice by British destroyers, limping away successfully both times and staying afloat long enough to return to Lorient for repairs.
Rick had no idea how many lives had been lost to U-166’s torpedoes, but he hoped to avenge some of them tonight. The sub was top on his list of targets.
U-384 was a third generation sub, and had already racked up 12 kills over two deployments. Its elimination would also greatly help Allied shipping.
U-901 was the latest model, brand new. In fact, it was due to head out on its maiden voyage tomorrow morning. With longer range, bigger batteries, more torpedoes, and a deeper diving depth than its predecessors, U-901 promised to be much more effective at sinking Allied ships.
Rick hoped the explosives he was planting would at least delay 901’s departure, if not completely derail it altogether.
Slowly he neared the bunkers, making as little noise as possible. He started from the left, with U-166. Fixing its position, he sank into the port’s relatively still water and swam in the proper direction with the primitive scuba gear.
Soon, in the inky darkness ten feet under, he sensed an even darker shape before him. Reaching out, he felt concrete from the edge of the bunker.
He surfaced slowly and looked around. No one seemed to notice.
A woman’s voice spoke in the implant inside his head.
“Two guards, about twenty feet to your left and right. A third at the corner to your right. You came in at an ideal location.”
“Thanks, Cait. When are the bombers going to be here?”
“They are showing up on radar as we speak.”
Sure enough, the low long wail of an air raid siren started up, slowly growing louder.
He heard the guards on the concrete above him converse quietly.
One of them said, “Schnell!”
They withdrew, heading to shelter.
Rick waited in the water a few more minutes until the buzz of airplane engines could be heard as hundreds of bombers filled the sky.
He reached up and grasped a metal hand bar, pulling himself out of the water. The concrete dock was deserted. He pulled off his flippers and clipped them on the back of his belt, then he quickly moved to the huge hangar housing U-166. There were no lights and the workers had all evacuated.
“Submarine pens suck,” he thought as the approaching planes grew louder.
They served as huge concrete bunkers to protect the subs from bombings while they were serviced. The pens at Lorient doubled as dry docks. The subs were hoisted out of the water on rollers, and pulled inside the bunkers while they were serviced.
The planes approaching were British Manchesters. Rick suspected they were similar if not identical to Lancasters on his world. They shared the distinctive double tail that British designers seemed to favor across all the alternates.
The Manchesters also had the widest bombing doors and could handle the biggest ordnance the Allies could produce.
Thus far, the British and the Texans had not developed bunker buster bombs, although the “Tallboy,” a 12,000 pound monstrosity, was on the drawing board.
But tonight, Rick thought, he would “help” the Brits by blowing up the three subs in dry dock, even though they remained under impregnable cover.
The drone of Rolls-Royce Merlin engines grew much louder.
At least those names remained the same, Rick thought. Lancasters and Manchesters used engines by the same name.
He heard the first Thump! of a bomb exploding over Lorient as he raced inside the giant darkened submarine bunker.
Rick stopped to unstrap his waterproof backpack and retrieve plastic explosives. He pulled out several chunks of green putty labeled “808,” carrying a distinct almond smell. He slapped three along the length of the sub, running wires between them.
“Thank you, Alfred Nobel,” he muttered to himself, as he connected the last wire to a timer, setting it for 15 minutes.
He jogged out of the bay and jumped into the water to swim to the next one. Around him the night sky flashed as bomb after bomb exploded.
FLABOOM!
One hit the harbor and water splashed everywhere as Rick climbed up the second concrete pier.
“That was close,” Rick said, jogging for U-384.
He quickly strung together three more patches of green putty and set the timer for ten minutes, then he jogged back to the water.
“Glad I’m not doing this in my first body,” he said.
FLABOOM!
The next bomb scored a direct hit on the first bunker, showering the area with dust and small chunks of concrete. The structure remained intact, as did the sub it sheltered.
Rick dove into the water and swam for the third dry dock, housing the newest vessel.
Lights flashed through the water as more bombs fell while the British airmen tried to nail the submarine pen.
Rick pulled himself up out of the water smiling.
“This is fun!”
He ran across the concrete pier toward the newest sub as more bombs fell in the harbor behind him.
He paused for a moment at the tail end of the sleek new submarine to catch his breath. Then he unzipped his bag and began pulling out the last of the plastic explosives.
“Halt!”
He looked up to see a guard running in the dark, submachine gun aimed at him.
“Aw, man. What is the matter with you?”
As the guard approached Rick glared at him.
“Hands up!” the man yelled in German.
Rick decided to fake him out.
In German, he said, “What is the meaning of this? You are supposed to be in shelter! Explain yourself, soldier!”
A brief look of surprise crossed the guard’s face.
“What? I am guarding this facility. What are you doing here?”
“I am running an exercise to test this unit’s defenses during an air raid! You are completely out of line! Get back to shelter this instance!”
Reluctantly, the soldier lowered his weapon. Then he came to a decision.
He said, “I will accompany you during your exercise. And I will need to see some papers as well.”
“Yes, yes. No problem. Let me finish.”
Rick slapped a chunk of Explosive 808 on the sub and strung wire from it to the midsection. The guard followed, his suspicions gro
wing deeper as they progressed.
“What are you doing? What is this?”
“This is part of the simulation. Do not interfere. I will provide full documentation in a moment.”
Rick slapped a patch of explosives to the middle of the sub, and strung wire to the front, where he attached the final chunk.
“This is not right,” the guard said, protesting a final time.
“Quiet.”
He reached down and set the timer for three minutes, allowing for delays.
“Now, we must step away for the simulation to be complete.”
“You will follow me.”
The guard lifted his gun again, pointing it at Rick.
“Fine, fine. Naturally. But, we must step away to complete the simulation.”
Far away, Rick thought.
They walked to the end of the hangar, deeper inside, bombs still falling in the harbor. One hit the meters of reinforced concrete almost directly above them in a deafening explosion. Dust and cement chips rained down on them, but still the two walked forward.
Rick knew from his own world’s experience with German subs that the concrete pens would remain impervious to multiple bombing runs. He walked confidently forward in the aftermath of the explosion while the guard behind him glanced up with a much more apprehensive look on his face.
Over his mental link, Rick said, “It’s about time to make my exit, Cait.”
“If you escape, I am showing a high probability of negative consequences for your captor,” Cait said inside his head.
“So? What’ll they do, send him to the Eastern Front? Execute him on the spot?”
“He is only 14.”
Rick raised his eyebrows. He stopped and turned, giving the guard a closer look in the gloom. The German stood about the same height as Rick, but now he could make out the boy’s youthful features.
In his mind, Rick said, “Man, war sucks. Alright, I’ll get captured.”
The timers on all three subs clicked at that moment.
Behind them U-901 blew open like a cracked egg.
PHLABABUMPH!
The force of the explosion knocked the guard over.
Blam!
A round in his Mauser discharged as he hit the floor, ricocheting off the concrete.
Rick, who had crouched with the explosion, straightened up. He looked back at the smoking submarine with satisfaction. Then he looked at the teenager passed out on his stomach and sighed.
He bent down and rolled the boy over.
“Come on. Wake up. Come on.”
He slapped the kid’s face. The boy’s eyes fluttered open.
Whistles sounded in the distance. Rick looked up and saw the distinctive headdress of SS guards running toward them.
“Get up,” he said, helping the boy to his feet. “You’ve caught a saboteur. Good job.”
He raised his hands as they both stood up. The boy looked dazed.
He said, “Is this part of the simulation?”
“Aim the gun at me. Good. Stand still and wait until they get here.”
The whistles sounded closer as the SS moved in.
3
A slit of blue-green light appeared in a bare and bereft Wildflower Room. When it grew wide enough, the Walker stepped through.
He frowned at the banality of the surroundings. Everywhere he looked, he saw little else but brown dirt.
“Cait, let’s restore the main passageway area to its former glory. And by ‘let’s,’ I mean you.”
“I am already on it.”
As the Walker strolled down what used to be a path to the rowan door, green shoots and English daisies sprouted, overtaking the dull brown color of the ground.
By the time Jason made it to the exit, the room began to look more like its old self again. It even smelled like springtime.
He nodded, looking back in satisfaction, and went through the door.
Inside a large reception area lit up in the gentle flames of old style gas lamps, Cait sat at her desk facing a holographic computer station.
As usual, the advanced technology seemed out of place in this room, styled after something from the 19th century.
Toya stood behind Cait. She waved at Jason as he walked in.
Toya died in the late 1980s on her alternate. She was an incredibly attractive African-American woman, and could easily find success as a model in just about any timeline were she so inclined. Like the other hunters, though, she was much more interested in killing fae.
“We don’t know where Tiff is,” Toya said with a frown.
“Are we looking for her?” Jason said. “What’s going on?”
“Booker went after her. Eb and Cait narrowed down the possibilities. We sent Niko with him since he’s still green.”
“That’s good. What have they found?”
Both Toya and Jason turned to look at Cait.
She looked back at them, her plain face emotionless.
“They have not found much. They planted sensors for me on six likely alternates. So far I have not received much data, nor have I found any traces of fae activity.”
Jason rubbed his chin, deep in thought.
He said, “Hm. Maybe we can stir some things up. When are they due back?”
Cait glanced at the holographic terminal and said, “They are stepping into the Wildflower Room as we speak.”
A few minutes later, Booker and Niko walked through the rowan door.
Booker looked extremely disappointed. Niko was not smiling, but she did not look completely disheartened, either.
Booker said, “I can’t believe she’s not in any of those, Cait. You and Eb were so sure one of them has to be the place.”
Cait said, “We cannot rule out her absence yet. It is always possible the fae are using a new spell I have never encountered. Properly configured, such magic could elude my sensors.”
“How can we figure that out?” Niko said.
Cait shared a glance with Jason.
He nodded and said, “Like we did in the beginning, when Cait and I first started out. Before I recruited anybody, and it was just me and her.
“We’d drop sensors on a newly discovered alternate early, shortly after creation. Then we’d take data readings throughout its timeline. If fae are present, they generally divulge themselves one way or another over time.”
He nodded back at the computer, allowing her to continue the explanation.
Cait said, “There are certain points in the timeline where slight alterations can speed a world’s drift toward chaos. Fae enjoy exacerbating these critical moments. Doing so can cut short the natural chain of events on a world. At the very least, they cause many more problems than normal.
“So, through observing an alternate’s timeline we can usually uncover a fae’s presence by seeing what effects they wield at these critical moments. The longer the timeline lasts, the greater the opportunity for fae influence to be observed. The temptation to interfere in a world usually proves too strong for them, as time goes by.”
Booker wore a confused expression on his face.
He said, “So, we’re just going to wait? How long will that take? Are we talking thousands of years here, or what?”
Jason raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, obviously waiting is different for us outside of time. You put those sensors in place on each planet before the Flood, right?”
Niko and Booker nodded.
Jason pointed toward the terminal and said, “Cait will take snapshots of the planets’ timelines. You understand that we are outside of time right now. That gives us certain advantages. We can follow an alternate for thousands of years in a few moments. Think of it as a DVR. We can skim through a two hour movie at very high speed, pausing every now and then for a look.”
Booker gave him a blank expression.
“Oh, right. You haven’t seen that technology yet, have you, Darius? Think of it as a VCR, and we press the fast-forward button . . . No? Hm. Cait, help me out here.”
Cait said, “In the 1930s, Mr. Booker would be familiar with films presented in theaters. But the concept of ‘fast-forwarding’ through a movie is foreign to him.”
“Yes, I just realized that. Okay, Darius. Think of it this way. Every world’s timeline is like a book. We are flipping the pages and peeking in every chapter or so to see how the plot develops, but we’re not reading the entire thing. We just take a spot check every so often. Does that help?”
“Um . . . I guess?”
“Right. Higher technology can be difficult to grasp. Sometimes you’ve just got to go with it. I’ll jump in a car and drive without thinking too much about how the engine works. But horses are a lot simpler for me to understand. Same thing here with chronologistics and so forth.”
They both turned their attention back to Cait, staring at the holographic monitor. Her hands moved as she adjusted some controls, and data flashed in the air above the terminal.
As if sensing their observation, she said, “I have not found any evidence of fae manipulation yet.”
“Alright. Keep looking.”
The Walker grinned sheepishly at Booker and said, “I don’t actually have to tell her to keep looking. She’ll do it anyway. But, she is programmed to tolerate human foibles in conversation.”
Booker nodded and said, “Tiff told me she’d argue with Cait all the time.”
The memory sparked a mood shift in Booker, and his face fell.
Jason put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Hey, buck up. We’ll find her. These fae can’t resist interfering in human events. It’s like a moth to flame with them. If they’re anywhere on one of those worlds, Cait will find them.”
Booker nodded again, but stared glumly at the holograph as data flew by. Inscrutable numbers raced across the top of the terminal. Cait watched them without even blinking.
Jason said, “Come on. Let’s go eat and get our minds off this. It’ll take Cait some time. Not thousands of years, but time nonetheless. There’s no point standing around watching her. There’s nothing we can do yet. Let’s go to my place and we’ll have a meal.”