A Gift from the Gods

by Martin Gunn

  “I don’t like the sound of this, Sir,” fretted a worried Yelagin.

  “Nor do I Captain, nor do I,” was all Dementyev had to say in reply.

  The next day at three-thirty in the afternoon, Dementyev and his men were travelling to a nearby airfield where four Lisunov Li-2D transport planes, American Douglas DC3s built under licence, were waiting, engines ticking over. The sky was heavy with dark clouds and flurries of snow were just beginning to fall. This compounded the sense of foreboding that the major felt. With everything he had been through, maybe he wasn’t going to make it after all.

  ***

  Lighting a cigarette in the cold winter air, von Brandt turned and glanced at the concrete henge and the Time Machine at the centre, covered in a camouflaged tarpaulin. It had been operational for over a year but had been left sitting on its launch site doing nothing, pending orders. Von Brandt had slowly become increasingly frustrated and bored. Being stuck in this godforsaken backwater, he hadn’t seen any action at all. And fascinating though this research might be, he wished that something exciting, anything, might happen just to relieve the monotony.

  The sound of aircraft reached his ears and von Brandt looked up but could see nothing but heavy, low clouds. The wind was blowing snow into his face making him squint but as he continued to peer at the sky, he slowly began to discern what initially looked like large snowflakes descending, and then as realisation dawned on him it became apparent, to his horror, that parachutes were dropping and were about to land less than half a mile away – dozens of them. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned and ran towards the main building to raise the alarm.

  Sprick looked up from his work, startled by the siren which he had heard only once throughout the war. He stopped what he was doing and left the laboratory to find out what was going on. In his panic Sprick nearly collided with von Brandt as he came in through a side door.

  “What’s going on?” he shouted over the noise of the siren.

  “Parachutes are dropping!” exclaimed von Brandt.

  “Russians?”

  “Who else – we must set up a line of defence to buy us time.”

  “I knew they were close, but not this close.”

  “We don’t have much time – you must destroy as much as possible. We can’t let it fall into enemy hands.”

  Von Brandt ran back outside to marshal the guards, whilst Sprick made his way back to the lab to organise his staff. The guards, having had an easy time of it during the course of the war, would be no match for seasoned Russian troops in overwhelming numbers, and von Brandt knew it. He had to act fast.

  Organising a line of men close to the perimeter, von Brandt counted up no more than thirty men, four of which were in flanking observation towers. He had no idea how many Russian troops they were up against, but knew that his men would not hold them off for long.

  “You must hold this line at all costs,” von Brandt ordered the sergeant.

  He nodded and saluted. Von Brandt returned the salute and made his way back to the main complex. Eventually he found Sprick and his staff gathering up paperwork to be destroyed.

  “We can burn all this,” quaked Sprick, momentarily distracted by the machine-gun fire outside in the distance, “but what about the Glocke, there’s no time to destroy it.”

  Von Brandt had no intention of destroying it.

  “I’m going to pilot it out.”

  “You?”

  “Why not,” reasoned von Brandt, “you’ve shown me how to control it and it’s ready to go, isn’t it?”

  “Well yes,” he mused, then snapped out of his reverie, “you had better get ready then, before we are overrun.”

  Major Dementyev and his men ditched their parachutes, regrouped and started to make their way towards the perimeter fence. They hit the ground as the alarm went up and the major cursed. There goes the element of surprise. The two guard towers were spraying them with machine-gun fire. They must be taken out first. Captain Yelagin marshalled two groups of troops to creep up and place grenades under the tower legs. Within minutes the grenades exploded and destroyed one leg on each tower. They toppled over almost simultaneously, crashing to the ground and forcing some of the German guards to shift out of the way. As they did so, the exposed guards were picked off. More grenades were hurled and the paratroopers rushed the perimeter fence and finished off the remainder of the resistance. Dementyev and his men stepped through a breach in the fence and as he looked around his gaze fell on the strange concrete construction in the distance.

  “What on earth is that?” he enquired.

  Yelagin shrugged,

  “There’s only one way to find out.” He started to move forwards but Dementyev stayed his arm.

  “No, send some men in first. We don’t know what we are dealing with.”

  Inside the complex the commotion intensified the sense of urgency.

  “We need to deal with Piotr,” urged Sprick, “he knows too much.”

  “Kill him,” demanded von Brandt callously, “get one of your men to do it.”

  Sprick decided to do it himself. He couldn’t ask one of his men to carry out such an odious task. Resigned to his captivity, Piotr had proven to be a model prisoner and Sprick had no concerns about entering the cell and giving him a lethal injection. Piotr had heard the gunfire and knew that this was his moment and as Sprick entered, Piotr lunged forwards and threw Sprick to the ground. The force of the attack dazed the scientist, who had underestimated his strength. He looked up to see Piotr running at great speed down the corridor. There was no time to go after him, he was on his own.

  Back in his barracks von Brandt changed into a set of light grey overalls, placed his pistol, stiletto and a few other personal effects into a carry bag and ran across to meet Sprick at his laboratory.

  The gunfire was dangerously close now and von Brandt could just about make out movement close to the perimeter. Sprick entered his lab and minutes later von Brandt emerged panting for breath. He noticed a large bruise on the side of the scientist’s face.

  “What happened?” enquired von Brandt.

  “It was Piotr, he overcame me – he’s escaped.”

  Von Brandt had no time to deal with this; he turned to Sprick and asked,

  “Before I go, is there anything that I need to know?”

  “The machine is set to land in 1985, somewhere in the Nevada desert in America,” stated Sprick.

  “The desert, why?”

  “I chose the desert to ensure it lands in an area that is unlikely to be built on in forty years’ time. Plus, you don’t want to be seen.”

  Von Brandt nodded, it seemed to make sense.

  “There is also over one thousand karats of diamonds in one of the compartments and the sides are lined with gold bullion. You will need money when you arrive, diamonds and gold are exchangeable in any country. Plus they don’t lose their value.” Sprick continued, “one more thing, take this folder, it contains schematics of some of the more complex electronics. Where you’re going they might make more sense.”

  Von Brandt took the folder and extended his right hand in farewell.

  “Well, this is it.” He had enjoyed working with the scientist and knew that he would never see him again.

  “Good luck,” replied Sprick with a withering smile.

  Placing the file in his carry bag, von Brandt made his way towards the henge. Russian soldiers were now inside the base and as he opened the door to the courtyard close to the concrete henge, a spray of bullets hit the door, narrowly missing the officer.

  “Shit,” hissed von Brandt out loud, and pondered his next move.

  The henge was tantalisingly close, one hundred metres away, but could he get to it. Then he remembered that he had the speed and strength of the serum running through his veins. He sprang out of the doorway and sprinted towards the time machin
e, bullets flying past him. It seemed to take an eon to get to the concrete posts of the henge, as if everything was moving in slow motion. He saw bullets whistle past his face but none hit their target. In fact, it only took a minute to make the dash and he immediately set about removing the tarpaulin behind the cover of a concrete pillar. As von Brandt pulled the covering off, bullets were raining in and ricocheting off the Glocke’s outer shell. With the time machine exposed, he noticed that the restraining belt and chains were not attached. There was nothing he could do, it would have to be launched without them. He opened the hatch and climbed in and as he closed and locked it, he could hear bullets hitting the hatch. He had made it inside, just in time. As he settled into the seat, von Brandt switched on the power and looked at the controls. Outside he could now hear the muffled voices of Russian soldiers trying to find a way in.

  Von Brandt strapped himself in, placed the dark lens goggles on his face and pressed the large red button in front of him to launch the time machine. Instantly the vessel started to rotate, quickly attaining high speed and flinging all of the soldiers who were close to it outwards. One soldier had his hand jammed in the opening mechanism of the hatch and was dragged around with the vessel. As it picked up speed, he was eventually hurtled across the henge, hitting one of the posts with such force that it broke his back.

  The Glocke was now a rotating blur and rising off the ground. Captain Kirill Yelagin had approached and ordered his men to stand back. From a safe distance they observed it rise into the air about fifty feet making a loud droning noise. The spinning got faster and faster until it became a ball of white light, then with a deafening thunder-like crack the contraption disappeared, leaving a white halo which expanded outwards until it dissipated.

  “What the fuck was that?” exclaimed Major Dementyev, approaching the captain.

  “I’ve no idea sir,” replied Yelagin, still staring at the sky in disbelief, “I think we had better secure the building before we lose anything else.”

  The officers gathered the platoon together and made their way into the main complex. As they cautiously walked down the corridor, soldiers checked out side rooms, securing them as they went.

  Sprick had lined his men up and opened a tin containing some small capsules. He invited each man to take one and then took one for himself. Then they set about burning all the documents, schematics and files, to prevent them from getting into enemy hands.

  Eventually the Russian troops arrived at the lab which Sprick and his staff were occupying. As they burst in, the troops were met with thick smoke that made them cough and splutter. With much haste they marshalled Sprick and his men out of the room. They were lined up against the wall outside, whilst Dementyev ordered his men back in to salvage what they could.

  “What is this place?” demanded Yelagin, who spoke German fluently, “what work have you been doing here?”

  “You’re too late,” grimaced Sprick, glancing at his men, “it’s all gone.”

  As if on cue, Sprick’s men put the capsules into their mouths and bit down. Within seconds they gave out a gasp and dropped to the floor dead.

  Yelagin grabbed Sprick by the lapels in anger and frustration, but the scientist already had the capsule in his mouth. He bit down hard and Yelagin smelt the acrid aroma of almonds. Sprick gave one final gasp and collapsed on the ground to join his colleagues.

  “Cyanide!” growled the captain in frustration.

  He entered the lab which was now clearing of smoke through open windows. One of his men approached.

  “There’s nothing sir, they destroyed it all,” he advised nervously.

  Yelagin walked around the room calmly inspecting the mess, checking the odd charred remnant, then with an outburst of rage he cried out and threw over a table and flung a chair against the wall.

  Major Dementyev entered the room, then turned in shock as they heard an explosion in the basement. They rushed down the stairwell to arrive at a store room, the door hanging off its hinges. Captain Yelagin peered inside, before stepping in. Small fires were burning around the room and there was smoke and broken glass everywhere. He stooped and picked up a partly- damaged ampule; studying what to him looked like a vial of water, he sniffed at it – nothing. Then he poured a little on his finger tip and raised it to his mouth. He paused, thinking better of it. Eventually the captain turned the ampule upside down and watched as the remainder of the fluid dripped to the floor.

  “Sir, over here.” It was one of his men standing over a body.

  Yelagin approached and knelt down at the body. The man wore blue and white striped pyjamas and the blast had ripped them to rags. His skin was covered in red and black charred burns. Dementyev walked up to the body and pushed it with his foot. Piotr’s lifeless body gave no response.

  “Whatever was in here,” conceded the major, looking around at the complete destruction, “he was making damn sure that we didn’t get our hands on it.”

  As the troops worked their way through the installation, they alerted the two officers to a munitions store room on one of the lower levels. They approached the doorway and inspected the opening closely.

  “This door looks like it has been kicked in,” stated Dementyev.

  “But that’s impossible,” mused Yelagin, “it’s metal and must weigh a ton.”

  “Well that prisoner got in here somehow,” continued the major, “he was determined to destroy that room.

  “It’s all gone,” pronounced Yelagin, stepping back from the munitions store, “we were supposed to capture this place intact.”

  “I know, but that was always an unlikely scenario,” replied a pragmatic Dementyev, “all we can do is salvage what we can and hold on until we are relieved.”

  And it certainly came as a relief to the major when forty hours later the base was surrounded by Red Army troops as they pushed on relentlessly through the East German borders towards Berlin.

  ***

  As the time machine rose into the air von Brandt noticed that the inner shell was beginning to glow and become translucent. He now understood the need for dark goggles, as the light became intense. Then just as the light was penetrating the goggles to the point that von Brandt had to close his eyes, the intensity dissipated and he felt the vessel slowing down before descending.

  Setting down gently, von Brandt sat there for a few moments before furtively opening the hatch. It was dark and the air was cool. He stepped out and looked around him, then up at the night sky. A moon, partially obscured by clouds glowed dimly, barely illuminating the desert landscape. For miles around, all he could see was sand and scrubland. Stepping back into the craft he looked around to see how the machine had been equipped. He was pleased to find the diamonds and some camouflage netting and a small spade. Further investigation brought forth a cache of ampules, von Brandt counted over a hundred of them. Eventually he stepped outside and began digging a hole near a distinctive Joshua tree, placing the bag of diamonds and the box of ampules in it, then filling the hole in again.

  He didn’t know it yet, but von Brandt had landed in the Mojave Desert, close to the border of Nevada and California. All that was left to do now was to cover the time machine with the camouflage netting and hope that it wouldn’t be discovered. While he waited for dawn, von Brandt sat in the craft and ate a simple meal of bread and cheese, washing it down with some of the water supplied. He contemplated his escape, realising that he had got out by the skin of his teeth. The coming hours could be a test of his strength and stamina since he had no idea how long he would have to walk for.

  As it began to get light, it was time to set off. He decided to head west, and as the sun came up he knew which direction to head. Climbing to his feet von Brandt picked up his carry bag, put it across his shoulder and started walking, in the hope that he might find a road, and soon.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A Toss of a Coin

  Fuertev
entura – The Canary Islands

  26th April 1945

  The Focke Wulf fw200 Condor throttled back its four engines and started to make a final descent through the clouds. For the first time Sturmbannführer Kolbeck could see the Jandia Peninsular of the southernmost part of the island and the lights of the airfield, as the aircraft banked to make its final approach. Heavy rain had blighted the flight and he was relieved to see that the storm had cleared, as they touched down on the runway.

  Kolbeck stepped down to an awaiting staff car, a Mercedes Benz G4 six-wheeled vehicle of the type favoured by Hitler, except this one had two machine-guns mounted fore and aft. The driver gave him a Nazi salute, and Kolbeck reciprocated.

  “My orders are to take you to your hotel and pick you up at 0900 hours tomorrow, sir.” stated the driver.

  “Very good,” replied Kolbeck simply, as he climbed into the rear of the vehicle. Much to his relief the hood was down; the air was warm and humid after the storm, and it was good to feel the breeze blow over him as they sped away.

  Born into a middle-class family, Erich Kolbeck’s parents ran a tailor shop in the centre of Hamburg. Business was good, and he was expected to take over when the time came, but alas the years after the Great War and the depression that followed, took its toll on the family finances. In desperation his father went to a Jewish money lender to shore up the failing concern. When it became clear that they could no longer pay the instalments, the money lender foreclosed on the business, effectively transforming their once comfortable life into one of poverty. With fascism on the rise, it was at this point that Kolbeck bought into the Nazi doctrine that the Jews were to blame for most of the evils of this world and had to be eradicated at all costs. Becoming an ardent member of the SS, he quickly rose through the ranks to eventually become a major. In the autumn of 1940, after a tip off, Kolbeck and his men raided a Jewish safe house in Hamburg to discover the money lender and his family hiding in a basement. He didn’t even remember Kolbeck and his parents, which only added to his hatred. So, it was with great satisfaction that he learned that the money lender and his family were all sent to Auschwitz concentration camp, never to be seen or heard of again.