“Relax, Leutnant,” Baumeister said.
“I shall see you later, Herr Major,” Leutnant Tessler said. “After I dream some of your dreams.”
Müller laughed at Baumeister’s confusion. “I told him that I would prefer to dream of sunny Italy rather than duty in my cockpit.”
She nodded. “The training has caused many difficulties, I know.”
He shook his head, “But no, Frau Major. We – all of us – congratulate you. Your work has lifted a great burden.”
She smiled sadly. “But not all the burden. I have done but half the job at best.”
And with that to forewarn him, he made no reaction when she looked straight in his eyes, and completed what he knew she would complete.
“And you know that, Herr Major. You know that, and know that this changes nothing. We will have to dock at one of our stations, and carry the fight on from there. We will not be able to re-supply here, nor repair damage – not if we go against the North Americans.”
She stood, waiting. He looked at her face, and saw the warmth that hid beneath the expressionless exterior. Or did he merely want to see that warmth? Nonetheless, he decided to give her something in return – something which could mean nothing, which could never be used against him.
“Yes, I know this. But you are mistaken. It changes something – it changes the hours of uncertainty, and that Frau Major, is a gift precious and rare.”
He clicked his heels together and made a stiff Prussian bow, which finally brought a smile to her face.
“You do me too great an honour.”
“Very likely,” he agreed, causing her to laugh.
“I had not known you possessed a sense of humour,” she informed him.
“I don’t.”
And with her laughter echoing in his ears, Müller thought it a good time to take his leave. She had a nice laugh. As he walked down the hallway to his quarters, he thought that he would like to hear it more often.
He lay down on his bed, put his hands behind his head, and contemplated the ceiling. The memory of Erika Baumeister pressing herself against him in that very room came upon him. He reached over and turned out his light, but left the one in the hallway burning – just in case.
* * *
Erika Baumeister returned to her own quarters, passing his on the way. She noted that he had not extinguished the indicator light, and her eyebrows went up a fraction, but she did not slow her pace, nor did she look to his door or to the inviting light.
He had responded. But he remained careful, so careful that she might have recognized a response when none truly existed.
The waiting grew increasingly stressful, especially after the conversation she had had with her father. The General had imparted his news in the family way, such that none not of his children might understand. The wily old man could teach the youngsters of today much about spycraft.
“Have you at least found someone with whom to share your off-duty hours?” he had asked.
“No, sir.”
His look of sadness at that simple statement told her more than she truly wanted to know. And if he had sent that message, then she might look for just that – some happiness, be it merely fleeting, before happiness disappeared as a possibility.
Karl, Karl had a strength about him that she could appreciate, could admire. And he had once made a suggestion, which she had turned down. But he no longer seemed the same man. And he had put in for transfer. Definitely not the same man. Now she began to doubt her wisdom in turning him down that time. Surely some good memories were her due. Command did not frown on liaisons – after all, better that they fraternized with those of their own kind than someone outside, whom Command could not control. Hauptmann Weber attested to that.
“Karl, I hunger,” she whispered in words too soft for a microphone to pick up. It took a long time for her to fall to sleep. When she awoke, she decided that she would not allow her career to define the rest of her life. Her father had given good advice, though unspoken.
Yes, if sufficient time still remained, she would somehow remove Müller’s doubts about her, and then they might achieve something worthwhile.
THIRTEEN
DENVER
Saturday, July 3rd
Christine Burnett sat in front of her computer screen – well, really the Army’s computer screen – hoping to achieve the interest of the other. She had no doubt at all that Colonel Westorn sat in front of his own screen and watched her words as she put them on the page. She wanted to smile, but the fear of what she had gotten herself into; the plan she had made and now carried out; the likely fallout from that operation; and the niggling thought that perhaps the Colonel had put a camera in her room, prevented that smile from ever reaching her face.
The study had succeeded, she wrote in conclusion. However, it worked on a part of the brain other than that which controlled motor movement and muscle memory – the areas which the Army had contracted her to experiment with.
The process showed promise, but she needed to carry out more study and experimentation before it could be used effectively. She listed the effects of her new method without giving any detail as to what had caused that improvement.
Finally, she wrote an official letter, thanking the Army for the contract, explaining how she had fulfilled it, and hoping they might do business in the future. As filler, she explained that she would return to her own labs, and continue the work she had begun here. Perhaps by next year she would have results which might merit another contract.
And that, Christy thought to herself, should put the pressure on – if Jensen and the others told the truth, which she believed they did. Westorn, under pressure, would react, which would dig her deeper into the conspiracy, less able to extricate herself should things go awry – unless she followed through on her ‘threat’, and abandoned Jensen and his people. She pressed her lips together tightly. She couldn’t do that.
She hit the button to print, and the printer obligingly spat out four copies of the document, and the letter to Westorn as representative of the military. The copies of the document, she bound in the ready folders; the letter, she signed and placed in an envelope.
Done. Now to make the call.
“Hello, Lieutenant Phelps,” she said. “I’d like to make an appointment with Colonel Westorn at his earliest convenience.”
“Please hold,” the lieutenant asked her. “I’ll just pop in and speak to him.”
Someone had prepped him for the call. Always before he had taken the request, and informed her that he would return the call to let her know her appointment time. Never had he asked her to hold.
“Hello, Dr Burnett?”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“You’re in luck. Colonel Westorn says that he’s free at the moment. He can see you right away.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Wonderful. Please tell him that I’m leaving now. I should be there in ten minutes.”
“Not necessary. He has already ordered a vehicle to pick you up. It should arrive within the minute.”
Anxious, indeed. Her threat of leaving without giving him the actual fruits of the experiment worried him. Why couldn’t he wait? Did he fear the soldiers whom the unauthorized use of her techniques hadn’t adequately conditioned, or did he need more conditioned soldiers soon? If so, for what purpose?
“Please thank the colonel for me.” Christy disconnected, put on her jacket, and walked to the door.
As promised, conveyance awaited. She took a deep breath. ‘Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more,’ she quoted Shakespeare’s Henry V to herself. Smiling at the driver, she stepped in, and found herself whisked to Colonel Westorn’s office.
“Good afternoon, Colonel,” she said, taking the hand he offered, as he rose from behind his desk. “I have the results of the experiment for you.”
“Good, good. And I have a surprise for you … if your results merit it.”
No doubt,
he did. She raised her eyebrows. “You do?”
“Take a seat, take a seat,” he said magnanimously.
She sat down after handing him three of the four copies of her report – which, again no doubt, he’d already read. She opened her copy of the booklet to the report summary with him.
“As you see, I’ve experienced a significant gain over the norm – as compiled by my institute. I’m not sure you realize just how significant this gain is. Every one of your men placed in the top 20 percentile. That’s unheard of for a random sample of twelve, and the chances of it being an anomalous occurrence are infinitesimal. I hope you understand the implications.” He did, though he’d allow her to believe otherwise. “I’ll go through it with you.”
When she finished, his face lit with a smile. “That sounds wonderful.”
She pulled out the envelope with her resignation, so to speak, but he waved it away before she could present it.
“Now, for my news. I trust you, Dr Burnett; I believe in you.” She allowed pleasure to cross her face. “Therefore I’ve made enquiries.”
“Enquiries, sir?”
“Yes, and I’ve advocated for you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “In what regard? I’ve completed my contract. My institute awaits me, and I long to get back to it – especially with what I’ve learned. Next year, I hope to be able to–”
“Hear me out first,” he interrupted.
Christy withdrew the proffered letter, and sat back. “Very well.” She composed her face to a receptive listening expression.
“I’ve been around scientists enough to recognize when they believe they have a workable idea or solution to a problem. You did. So I contacted Supply to see if we could support you – after all, you’re doing this for us. If we can get a higher compliance ratio from our test subjects, it’ll cost us far less in the long run.”
“Yes?”
“When I found out that Supply could get what we needed, I made a proposal on your behalf to my superiors.”
Christy widened her eyes. “You shouldn’t have done that, Colonel. If the experiment had failed, they’d never look at me again. I appreciate the contracts I do get, and I object to you endangering them in any way.”
Westorn waved off her protest.
“I do what’s best for the Army. This was best.”
Christy pressed her lips together, but indicated that he should continue.
“So, I’ve requisitioned not two, but fifteen bio-back suits.”
Christy leaned forward. “My God! The cost.” He waved that off, too. Her eyes sharpened. “If we use your base’s swimming pool as an alternate to the flotation chambers, we can emulate weightlessness, and make full use of the bio–” she stopped at his upraised hand.
“And I’ve requisitioned space on Topside One. You did say that a zero-g environment would be most conducive to your tests, did you not?”
She blinked twice. “Space?” Then her tongue came out and licked at her lips. “Space!” She came to her feet, and glanced around the room. “But the cost!” She thought a moment. “We’d need almost a ton of equipment. I’d like to have Arch … Dr Grant, but I don’t know that he could get away, would want to go up.” Her eyes darted here and there, finally coming to rest on Westorn’s smiling face.
“Then I can assume that you’ll agree? I can have a contract drawn up.”
She looked at him, eyes wide. “Agree? Good God, Colonel, draw up your contract! I’ve got to talk to Arch, make lists, consider what we’ll need – once there, you can’t just go down the street to the hardware store and pick up a screw or something.” She began pacing back and forth. “Zero-g is perfect. Fifteen suits? We’ll need more monitoring and recording equipment – or perhaps a multi-channel unit, if you can get one.”
She stopped short, stared at the wall, then turned for the door. Hand on the knob, she turned back. “Oh, anything else, Colonel?”
He started laughing. “No, no. I’ll have Legal draw up a contract. Go do whatever you have to do.”
“Right.” She opened the door, then stopped again. “We’ll need volunteers,” she said.
“Already taken care of.”
“Ah, good.” She exited, closed the door behind her, and breathed a sigh of relief. That caught Lt. Phelps’ attention.
“Problem, Doctor?”
“What? No.” She’d have to exercise extreme care. “Well, yes. I have to talk someone into doing something he probably won’t want to do.”
“The colonel?”
She laughed. “No. My assistant. My problem, not the Army’s.” She put on a face of intense concentration, and left, barely waving to the lieutenant as she walked by. She hoped she’d pulled it off. Westorn would likely question him.
Now she’d have to find some way to discourage Arch from volunteering to go up with her. No need to involve him in something that could get him killed, or sent to prison for life.
* * *
AZORES
Tuesday, July 6th
Oberst Dreschler entered the conference room, and all the officers stood. He waved them back to their seats after he’d taken his place at the lectern.
“Meine Dammen und Herren,” he began. “I have received an important briefing from General Schlager of ETO Military Headquarters. Now I must pass it on to you. But it must go no further.”
Major Müller felt the tension in the room increase, and his eyes caught sight of the brown hair two rows in front of him. Her father worked at the ETO Military Headquarters. Did she already know?
“The United States of North America has begun preparing for war – against us.”
Müller heard the indrawn breath from two score of officers, his own included.
“They think that they move in utmost secrecy, but we have discovered certain anomalies in their production orders that make this more than a guess, rather a near-certainty. Thus, our training regimen will increase. You will exhort your teams to greater efficiency without betraying what you now know.” He looked out over the grim faces. “I know your questions without you having to ask them,” he said with a small smile. “I know them, for I asked them myself.
“Can we not make known to the North Americans that we have discovered their intentions, thus informing them that they will obtain no surprise? No, unfortunately. We have only just made the final connections, and they have been preparing for some time. We need a few months to counter their moves. If we were to inform them, they would react violently and immediately, before we could ready ourselves to effectively meet them. We must have this time.
“When we have concluded our own preparations, then we will inform them of such, and they will be forced to stop their madness.”
Dreschler caught their eyes one by one, ensuring that each had received his unspoken order. He took a deep breath, and then continued.
“What brought this about? We don’t know as of yet. Our analysts have begun going over everything our agents have brought them, everything they consider pertinent – everything that has occurred during the last decade. Surely such a step cannot be deemed necessary.
“What can we do to prepare our little island for the coming assault? Not much I fear, though we will receive an extra anti-missile battery within the next month.”
And they would need it, Müller thought, for without a doubt, their Azores base would top the USNA’s target list in the Atlantic.
“Our anti-submarine forces will attempt to hold their submarines out an effective distance – such that we will be able to launch all our fighters.”
And they would fail, making the anti-missile batteries their only defence that could save the fourth and fifth flights. The only question: could they overcome the American electronic countermeasures and bring down those missiles?
Müller went back to his room, walking with the crowd. No one seemed to feel much like talking. He had five men in his crew, and he couldn’t tell any of them. It seemed unconscionable. A hand touched his arm, and he became aware that Maj
or Baumeister walked beside him.
“It does not look good.”
“We will win through in the end, Frau Major,” he replied, and received a sideways look for that. He regretted the necessity to rebuff her once again, but he had not yet decided if he could trust her, if she were not setting him up for something.
“Yes, Herr Major, we shall.” She slowed, and allowed him to get ahead of her.
FOURTEEN
AZORES
Saturday, July 10th
Karl Müller climbed the hill to the house where old Paulo lived, knowing he should not do so, that a watcher would report this to Oberst Dreschler. Only days earlier, he would not have come. Now? Now, with war imminent, he no longer cared. Besides, Command had already denied his request for transfer. Consorting with the devil – in the form of Old Paulo – could hardly hurt him.
As he approached Paulo’s house, he saw the man sitting on a chair outside his front door. The bewhiskered face broke into a smile when he saw the soldier coming. Müller returned the smile and gave a little wave.
“Welcome to my house, Karl,” Paulo said as he pushed his way to his feet and stretched out a hand.
Karl took the hand. “Thank you, Paulo. It was very kind of you to invite me, even after the mess at your party in town.”
The old man led him inside, out of the hot, bright sun, and into the cool dimness. As his eyes adjusted to the lower level of light, he saw that Paulo kept a very simple house. Not quite Spartan, but close to that.
Paulo indicated a chair, and Karl sat, then rose again as Gabriella stepped in.
“No, please sit,” she said. “Would you like a beer, Major Müller?”
“Thank you, I would. But, please, call me Karl. When I come to town, I like to leave my rank behind – though I must wear the uniform.”
She smiled brightly at him. “Very well, Karl. Two beers coming up. Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes.” She walked out of the room.
Not With A Whimper: Destroyers Page 8