by Ahern, Jerry
Damien Rausch saw his face and turned away. It was Akiro Kurinami, alive. He dropped into a crouch on the walkway there, the wind and blowing snow swirling around them. He removed the magazine from his rifle, pretending there was something wrong with it.
It was a stroke of luck that he had made it to Eden Base, the helicopter he and his ill-fated party had used to reach the area near the Retreat so well camouflaged that it was never discovered by the J7-Vs of the Germans or the long-range gunships of the Soviets. Luck, possibly bad luck in light of the fact that he was trapped here now, trapped in Eden.
After the night of freezing there in the rocks near
Doctor Rourke’s Retreat, he’d been faced with escaping the advancing Soviet forces. He could have entered the Retreat if he’d had the proper explosives available to him, but then what? He went back to the German helicopter instead, the gunship one of the helicopters given over by the German command to Eden Base for its use.
He flew back, told Dodd most of what had happened. But by that time, the area was swarming with German personnel under the command of the traitorous Wolfgang Mann.
He could have escaped the base, but to where?
Anti-Nazi forces all around him and more coming ins Soviet forces virtually surrounding Eden Base by then, in stronger numbers now.
It would be very easy to shoot Kurinami off the wall. The Japanese naval aviator moved very stiffly, evidently taking a bullet in his side there at the Retreat of Doctor Rourke.
But he would have to wait until the heat of battle to do it. And the heat was turning up. In the distance, to the north, through the telescope mounted on his rifle through the carry handle, he could see a growing force of black Soviet gunships, a solid wall of black that would be falling down upon them. It would be ironic, Rausch realized, if he and everyone else here were killed, fighting in this battle.
But the historic destiny of National Socialism would only be postponed, never stopped. He pulled up the hood of his parka, closer around his face as he resumed his position on the wall. Kurinami would not realize he was here, not until it was too late.
Sarah Rourke, her coat closed over her swollen abdo
men, her pistol belt in place, an assault rifle in her hands, moved along the base of the breastworks, her eyes searching for a German officer so, through him, she could find Colonel Mann..
She had decided something. They didn’t need her tending the sick, but they needed people who could shoot because there were a significant number of Eden personnel whose only experience with a gun was familiarization firing when they entered some branch or another of military service, or the familiarization given the Eden personnel five centuries ago before they left. None of them had survived the heat of battle as she had, none had fought like she had.
She found a senior non-com. “Do you speak English?”
“Yes, Frau Rourke.”
“You recognize me; good. Where’s Colonel Mann, Herr Colonel Mann?”
And he pointed above them as there was a roar, a J7-V squadron going airborne from the improvised field just outside the compound where the shuttle craft were stored, once a road.
She closed her eyes for an instant, opened them, saying to the German non-com whose sleeve she still held, “Where on the wall do you need more people?”
His eyes showed surprise. And they drifted down, to look at her obviously swollen abdomen. “So, I’m pregnant. What the hell’s that got to do with it?”
And now his eyes looked a little frightened. “There, Frau Rourke. Fifty meters down.”
“Right!” and she let him go, walking in the direction he’d pointed.
As she narrowed the distance, she felt herself smile. She would be right near Akiro Kurinami, could look out for him for Elaine. Sarah Rourke quickened her pace.
Paul Rubenstein sat beside the J7-V’s radio operator, Han Lu Chen, the Chinese Secret Service Agent, standing next to him. A German officer translated as the coded transmission was deciphered. Paul could smell the smoke from John’s cigar, John sitting at the copilot’s controls.
“Soviet gunships have just gone airborne, circling the compound, firing missiles into it. The squadron of J7-Vs under the personal command of Colonel Mann has sustained ten percent casualties. A breach in the breastwork wall surrounding Eden Base, precipitated by a missile strike, cannot be repaired. The compound defenders are currently holding the area. Soviet ground troops are advancing against Eden Base under cover of heavy mortar, missile and machinegun fire. Casualty rates for the compound defenders to follow. Colonel Mann instructs that support elements make all good speed to Eden Base.”
“They can’t hold out much longer,” Paul said, feeling stupid for saying it, stating the obvious.
John said nothing. Sarah was there, might be dead. Paul looked at his watch. They were an hour off from reaching Eden, at least that. “Shit,” he snarled, standing up.
Han Lu Chen said to him, “I am reminded of a story I once read concerning a group of brave Americans in a place called Texas. For many days they held out. The brave defenders at Eden Base must only wait one more hour, Paul.”
Paul Rubenstein looked away, saying, “That was the Alamo. Santa Anna’s forces didn’t have helicopters and missiles and automatic rifles and mortars. And anyway,
Han, remember the end of the story?” He wished he still smoked.
The Chinese nodded soberly. “All of the Texans died.”
Paul Rubenstein began to say something. But the German officer who had been translating for them began again to speak. “This message still being decrypted. Something about the three elements of the relief force from New Germany. Yes!”
Paul leaned over the radio operator’s shoulder staring at the code books and cipher pads, as if he could read them. And he smelled the cigar more strongly now, looking up. John Rourke, stonily silent, stood behind him.
The German officer cleared his throat. “Relief force cannot proceed from the Yucatan Peninsula. Grounded by tropical depression off the Gulf of Mexico now at hurricane force. I repeat, the relief force is grounded. When they hear of this, I know the men and women fighting from the wall, those courageous pilots still in the air, will continue to fight. Until the last.”
The German officer looked up. “It is personally dispatched by the Herr Colonel.”
Paul’s eyes left the young officer’s face, followed John’s hand as he snatched up the radio headset the operator had just set down. “Give me the right frequency. Now. I want to reach all elements of the Special Operations Group.”
“Yes, Herr General!” John’s eyebrows raised, but he said nothing. “I have it now, Herr General!”
“This is John Rourke, to all elements of Special Operations Group One. For those who require it, please provide simultaneous translation. We have just received a communique signed personally by Colonel Mann, commanding the defense of Eden Base. The relief force from New Germany is trapped on the Yucatan Peninsula by a hurricane. That means, we’re all the help Eden Base is going to get. Brave men—and women too—are fighting there, dying. We’re one hour off. When we reach Eden, we go in. Well be heavily outnumbered. But we’re the only hope they’ve got. God bless us all.”
John Rourke threw down the headset, then smashed his fist against the bulkhead.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Sarah Rourke brushed away a crease in the mound of drifted snow as she peered through the firing niche in the wall beside her.
Her ears rang so with the explosions all around the Eden Base compound now that all she heard any more was a dull roar.
The Soviet gunships were massing for another assault. The lead elements of the Soviet ground forces were within five hundred yards of the wall. Their next charge would take them to the base of the wall and over it. There was a second breach in the breastworks on the north wall.
Fewer and fewer of Colonel Mann’s J7-Vs were able to get airborne again, mortar fire and missiles having all but closed the roadway airfield, destroying many of t
he craft while on the ground for replenishment of armament; two of the J7-Vs were landed within the compound itself.
The word had traveled along the wall faster than wind. The three prongs of reinforcements from New Germany in Argentina could not get through, some storm or something. She told herself it was a rumor, only that. They could fly above the storm or around it and that might necessitate a minor delay, but—
Wolfgang Mann’s voice came over the base loudspeaker system. He spoke in German and she couldn’t understand, but as she stared at the faces of some of the less seriously wounded German aviators who had come up to the wall and assumed firing positions, she could see the meaning of his words in their eyes. And then he spoke in English. “A hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico has grounded the anticipated relief forces at their staging area on the Yucatan Peninsula for an unspecified period of time. The only relief force we can expect is the First Special Operations Group from Mid-Wake. They are currently ten minutes overdue and we have received no communication from them for the last half-hour. We cannot surrender. We must fight here and win or fight here and die. I have never known persons whose bravery and personal courage I respected more.”
That was all he said.
“John,” she whispered.
The black insect shapes of the Soviet gunships came now from over the-northern horizon and the ground forces started moving.
She checked her rifle, the man beside her handsome, the kind of face that wouldn’t have been easy to forget, but somehow she couldn’t remember ever having seen him here at Eden before, said something to her in English almost too perfect. “It appears that your famous husband is otherwise engaged, doesn’t it?”
She wouldn’t look at him again.
The Soviet ground forces were three hundred yards off now. The helicopters of the Soviet fleet flew zigzag patterns over them, protecting them. German gunships were going airborne, the few remaining J7-Vs as well. She placed the muzzle of her rifle through the niche in the wall.
The Soviet ground forces were now just slightly more than two hundred yards off.
Akiro Kurinami, captain of the wall sheerly because of the respect that everyone at Eden and all of the Germans as well held for him because of his courage, stood about ten yards from her. He gave the order, “Fire!”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
John Rourke walked at the head of the ragged wedge of men, the snow thigh deep here on the side of the hill to the south of the Eden Base encampment. Over the brow of the bill, he knew, would be the roadway which had become the runway for the landing Eden Project space shuttles, the hope of mankind. Not much so far.
The radio receiver in his ear buzzed and he heard Paul’s voice coming in from the J7-V command ship. “John. Everything’s set. I say again, everything is set.”
John Rourke kept walking, speaking into the teardrop microphone. “The order is given. Attack squadrons one, three and four, go. I say again, go. Ground Force elements Bravo and Charlie, move up. I say again, move up. Airborne elements one, two and three, commence drop. I say again, commence drop.”
John Rourke stripped away the ear piece, clipping it to the collar of his parka, waving his left hand toward the brow of the hill. The sounds of explosions, mortar rounds, missile impacts and gunfire grew louder as they neared the height of the hill. There were no Bravo and Charlie ground force elements, only this single
unit composed of the Marine and Naval personnel from Mid-Wake and the Chinese forces under the command of Han Lu Chen. Nor were there multiple elements of paratroopers or J7-V fighter bombers, but the more the enemy believed were coming the more confusion Rourke hoped he could cause.
At the top of the hill, they stopped. There were audible gasps as the Americans and Chinese saw the Eden Project space shuttle fleet, assembled there on the roadway, snow piled high on the wings and tail sections, covering the windshields. Jason Darkwood almost whispered, “I never imagined they were so beautiful.” There were the wrecks of more than a half-dozen German J7-Vs there as well, some of them still afire. On closer examination, one of the space shuttles itself had been damaged by a missile strike or mortar round. To the side of the road, the snow-covered, partially complete permanent structures of Eden Base stood, empty, lifeless. Across the flat expanse to the other side of the road lay Eden Base, gray walls surrounding it, in places breached, in other places merely blackened.
German helicopter gunships and precious few J7-Vs were engaged in aerial combat with black Soviet gunships, missiles’ contrails streaking through the snow-swirling sky like lightning bolts.
John Rourke looked at Jason Darkwood, then at Aldridge, Stanhope and St. James. “Captain Aldridge, like we talked about please.”
“Yes, sir. Stanhope, take your people across that road quick and easy, using the space shuttles for cover until you reach those partially finished buildings over there. I’ll be accompanying you.”
“Yes, sir!”
“St. James.”
“Sir!”
“Cover Stanhope’s people as they cross the road. We’ll do the same for you after we’re in position. Then we hit the right flank of those Commies out there.”
“Yes, sir,” she answered.
“Both of you, move your people out!”
Stanhope and St. James rendered quick hand salutes, Aldridge nodding as he snapped one back, Aldridge breaking into a run beside Stanhope, rifle at high port.
John Rourke looked to Han Lu Chen and Jason Darkwood. “Just like we said. Let’s go.”
John Rourke started into a run diagonally across the slope, skidding through the snow, catching himself, running, looking back, Han Lu Chen’s small force of Chinese Commandos, Han himself and Jason Darkwood right behind, toward the road.
They reached the road, well beyond the position from which Aldridge and Stanhope and Stanhope’s platoon were already starting to cross, cutting across the road as quickly as they could, Rourke calling a halt in the ruins of the old bridge Natalia had blown on the day the space shuttles had first landed.
Rourke grabbed up his armored binoculars, focusing them skyward. The J7-Vs under his command were split into three elements, closing from the east, the west, and the south, the aircraft coming in from the south, directly over his head now, releasing jumpers, the sky above the hillside and over the road and over the bridge where Rourke and his element waited filling with German airborne commandos.
The elements which converged from the east and, west were already engaging Soviet gunships.
John Rourke had planned ahead. Despite the fact that terrain following had cost them precious time, they had successfully evaded detection by Soviet sensing
equipment. That was clear now as the Soviet formations broke, the air attack falling apart.
Paratroopers were landing now, some of them within the Eden Base walls, others just outside. But others of the German Commandos died on the way down, Soviet ground forces and Soviet gunships strafing them with machineguns.
John Rourke looked at Darkwood. “Are you ready?”
“You mean maybe I should have stayed at home on my submarine?” And Darkwood grinned. “I’m ready.”
John Rourke whacked the front handguard of his M-16 as he stood, starting to run as he shouted in Chinese, “Kuril”
He ran, Darkwood, Han Lu Chen and the Chinese Intelligence Commandos forming up around him.
Rourke heard the Whistle, looked up, shouting, “Liu-shen!” Incoming mortar round. John Rourke hit the snowy ground, the mortar impacting, a shower of snow and dirt and rocks. But Rourke was already on his feet, shouting again to Han’s men, “Be quick!”
Already, the rhythm of the gunfire had changed and, as he looked to his left, he could see Aldridge’s two platoons of United States Marines engaging the farthest right flank of the Soviet ground forces.
The closest side of the wall surrounding Eden Base was some three hundred yards away, German commandos scrambling over it to the relative safety inside.
Rourke kept runnin
g.
From the north, a phalanx of Soviet gunships was coming in low. “Liu-shen!Liu-shen!” Rourke shouted, nearly exhausting the few Chinese phrases he’d picked up, pointing skyward, alerting the men.
They kept running.
There was a large bomb crater and, nearby, the charred remains of a J7-V and a Soviet gunship, apparently the two having crashed in mid-air. Rourke dropped down into the bomb crater, calling to the men, “Zai zhe-li ting!”
The wall was less than two hundred yards away now.
The Soviet gunships coming from the north streaked overhead, spraying the ground on either side of the crater, the wreckage from the two aircraft rocking under the bullets’ impacts. “They must have held them in reserve,” Darkwood said, panting for breath. “I’m getting a track installed in my submarine first chance I get.”
Rourke looked after the Soviet gunships. They were banking, coming around for another pass. “We’ve got to reach that wall. Fast.”
Rourke pushed himself up, the M-16 in his right fist over his head as he called to the Chinese commandos, “Kuai! Kaui!” He ran, the beating of the rotor blades on the cold air louder, stronger.
Over the compound, one of the J7-Vs under Rourke’s command made a quick pass from under a Soviet gunship, a burst of gunfire, the Soviet gunship exploding as the J7-V rolled out of the way of the fireball, parts of the ship, burning wreckage, tumbling from the sky.
John Rourke stopped, signaling the others on, shouldering his rifle, firing toward the lead chopper. Machinegun fire strafed across the ground and he ran, catching up with Darkwood and Han Lu Chen, urging the Chinese commandos on toward the wall.
The gunships streaked past above them, a missile firing toward the already breached wall, bullets churning the black smudged snow on the ground on either side of them.
And, by the breach in the wall, he saw her, Sarah. She was screaming something.