by Brian Parker
The pilot seemed to accept his fate, describing the graceful way the Americans rolled out of his line of fire, never allowing him to get a clean shot. He reported killing one fighter and then the wireless lost signal. Presumably, he’d been killed. And with the loss of his fighter, the long-range transmitter was gone as well, which was why they couldn’t reach anyone else.
“What are your orders, sir?” the feldwebel asked as he chewed on a piece of seal jerky.
Gregory stared blankly at the older man for a moment. He didn’t know him well, but he knew that Anders had been in the Heer much longer that he had, opting to stay unfrozen and earn promotions along the way before finally being forced to go into hibernation. He knew he should ask the feldwebel’s advice, but he’d been trained as an officer. As such, he was in charge.
“We will leave Yankee Flight at dusk tonight and travel to the Bravo Flight location.”
“It is a long way,” Feldwebel Anders replied, sucking at the gap in his teeth before using a fingernail to pick at a piece of meat. “I don’t know if the men will agree to such a long march.”
Gregory noticed the way the feldwebel’s eyelids dropped low as he glanced sideways at the men sitting a few meters away. He was weighing whether to side with the men or with the officer.
“It is a long way, Feldwebel, however, we were trained to enter a nuclear bunker and disable the launch computers so they couldn’t use the weapons against our forces. That mission has not changed. Yankee Flight was a poor bit of intelligence work, but the Americans are defending the Bravo Flight location. To me, that means the site is still active and we now have a new objective.”
Anders nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. You’re right. We can still accomplish what the other fallschirmjägers could not. We will carry the victory for Germany!”
“Yes, of course. For Germany,” Gregory replied out of habit. He’d never been to Germany and didn’t have any illusions of returning to the Fatherland. The current residents wouldn’t welcome the men and women from Argus once the war was over. They’d be worldwide rejects with no land to call their own; an army bred for the singular purpose of carrying out an almost century-old vendetta against the Americans. His illusions of returning to the Fatherland died long ago.
“Tell the men to eat and sleep,” Gregory ordered. “We will march tonight and in two days, we’ll arrive at Bravo Flight.”
The feldwebel saluted smartly and Gregory returned the salute before pulling out his map to plan their route.
*****
05 July 2025
Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Colorado Springs, Colorado
The convoy of SUVs drove into a tunnel that burrowed into the side of a mountain. Barbed wire and heavily armed soldiers lined the roadway and they saluted as the cars drove by. Javier watched through the window with a mixture of interest and disgust at the sheer amount of government funding that must go into a place like this—funds that could have gone to social programs to help America’s citizens.
They passed through a comically giant rectangular door that was at least ten feet tall and four feet thick. The door alone made him think this place was built specifically for war, which they were somehow involved in back east. Then they passed through a second door of the same design before winding their way deeper underground to a large parking lot filled with gun trucks and more armed soldiers.
The president stepped out of the SUV into a lighted tunnel, surrounded by a full contingent of Secret Service agents that he’d never seen before yesterday. They’d arrived at his home in Stockton, California the day before, waking everyone and scaring his children with their drawn weapons and platoon of Marines outside.
Fortunately, Congress was in a five-day recess and the Speaker of the House was back out west to attend the local Independence Day parade and festival. With the time difference between East and West Coast, Javier Sanchez and his family were asleep; they hadn’t heard of the early morning attacks on Washington.
Javier was still wiping the sleep from his eyes when a federal judge arrived and administered the oath of office. He discussed options with the agent in charge and they decided that flying wasn’t the safest option since the enemy appeared to have air superiority. They would drive from Stockton to Colorado Springs.
The president stretched his legs. Even in the spacious SUV, he’d begun to get cramped on the trip. They’d been on the road for over twenty-four hours, only stopping three times for gas and restroom breaks. Despite the severity of the situation, he couldn’t help but grin when he thought of the sleepy gas station attendant in Utah when their ten-vehicle convoy had rolled up at 5 a.m. and the agents swarmed the facility to clear it. That poor guy had no idea what was happening.
“Welcome to Cheyenne Mountain, Mr. President,” a military officer stated. He whipped his hand up to his eyebrow for a salute, startling Javier. He hadn’t been around the Army much and was naturally distrustful of them anyways.
“Thank you…” He examined the uniform quickly. He had a lot of ribbons and a set of wings like an airline pilot on the chest of his suit. Three stars on each shoulder meant six stars—which told him nothing. “Uh, Captain?” he ventured.
The man dropped his hand and offered it to Javier. “I’m General James Sullivan, sir. I’m in charge of the facility here.”
Javier felt foolish as he gripped the general’s hand. He didn’t know anything about military ranks. Is a general higher up than a captain? “So, ahh… This is my wife, Becky, and the boys. What happens in this facility?”
“It was originally built for NORAD back in the 1960s, sir,” General Sullivan replied. “The Mountain is designed to protect against a nuclear blast and the entire facility is shielded from EMP. We conduct cyberspace operations and house the US Northern Command, partnered with Canada.
“For now, the most important thing for you to know, sir, is that we can communicate with anyone and this facility is completely secure. My airmen have us locked in tight and nothing will get through.”
“Oh, this is an Air Force base?”
He regretted it the moment he’d said it. For a full second, the general looked at him like he was the dumbest person on the face of the planet before he composed himself. “Yes, sir. This facility is owned and managed by the US Air Force. We do have members of all the services working here, but almost all of the support and security functions are conducted by Air Force personnel.”
Javier swallowed his pride, telling the general that he knew next to nothing about the military and apologized for his lack of knowledge.
“No worries, sir,” the officer replied. “You had a lot thrown on your plate without warning.” He glanced back at Becky and the children. “Why don’t we go inside Building Two and get your family situated in the apartments there? Is an hour too soon to conduct the initial briefing on what little we do know about our enemy?”
“No. That seems fine, thank you for your hospitality, General.”
General Sullivan gestured to a petite woman wearing a similar uniform as his, except with a skirt and not nearly as many ribbons. “This is Captain deBoer. She’ll be your military escort while you’re here. Anything that you or your family needs, ask her directly. Your security detail will begin working with my security staff to get their billeting arranged as well.”
The captain saluted him as well and he awkwardly returned the motion. “Good afternoon, sir. If you and your family will follow me, we have prepared a suite for you.”
They walked toward the entrance to what appeared to be a cinder block building inside the mountain. A large number “2” was painted on the side.
“So, there are buildings inside the mountain?” Javier asked.
“Yes, sir. There are fifteen buildings in the facility, connected by a series of passageways through the granite. Thirteen of them are three-story buildings and two are two-story. It’s quite amazing what they were able to do down here before either of us were even born.”
The president reached across and g
ripped his wife’s hand as they walked. Becky and the kids hadn’t signed up for this. They’d been happy with Javier as a congressional representative for the people of California’s 9th District, a social reformer who’d been elected to his fourth term on promises to cut government spending to outdated programs like the military and increase funding to federal social programs. Now, their world had changed dramatically. By some strange twist of the rules of succession, he’d been third in line for the presidency—sufficiently removed that he’d never paid much attention to the practical aspects of the job. He hardly even knew the difference between the Air Force and the Army for Christ’s sake.
The suite that Ashley, the military aide, brought them to was nice, not fancy, but clean and well-appointed with an adjoining room for the two boys. She made sure the Sanchez’s were comfortable and had some food brought in. Then, it was time for Javier to get the briefing on the situation in Washington.
Captain deBoer brought him to the operations center, a large room filled with enough technology to run a small country. As he looked around the room, Javier wondered how many of these operations centers existed and how much money had been spent creating them. It was a shame.
“Please sit here, Mr. President,” the aide said as she indicated the vacant seat at the head of a table in the front of the operations center.
“Thank you, Ashley.” He sat and did a quick assessment of the men and women around the table. Except for General Sullivan, seated immediately to his right, he’d never seen any of them. They were mostly military, but a few civilian suits were sprinkled amongst the fifteen members of the briefing.
“I hope the accommodations are to your liking, sir,” General Sullivan opened.
“Yes, they are. Thank you, James.” He took a deep breath. This was where he was supposed to say something about standing strong and defeating the enemy. He was an excellent public speaker, but he was totally out of his element here. Was he supposed to give orders about where to attack and how?
“Uh… Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to set up this briefing,” Javier began. “I’m sure all of you are extremely busy.” He looked around the table again. “So, who the hell are we at war with and what are we doing about it?”
The general sighed. “Honestly, you’re not going to believe it, sir. It’s taken me a lot of video footage and satellite imagery to come to grips with the fact that we’re at war with the Nazis.”
“The Nazis?” he snorted. “Really?”
“Yes, sir,” he paused. “Maybe we should start at the beginning. What do you know about the Joint North American Defense Branch and why it was formed?”
“Literally nothing,” Javier admitted.
General Sullivan nodded before he spoke. “In 2020, the attack in Florida killed sixty-three thousand Americans and tourists. It was the largest loss of life on a single day in our history.”
“Of course I remember that,” the president stated.
“We discovered then that there was an unknown enemy consisting of a rebuilt Nazi army—”
“Rebuilt? As in, this is the same Nazi army that we faced in World War Two?”
“Exactly, Mr. President. I apologize that I’m the one who has to give you this condensed brief instead of your National Security Team and that it’s out of the blue like this.”
“Don’t apologize. It can’t be helped. Go on.”
The general spent seven or eight minutes detailing one of the wildest tales he’d ever heard. The Nazis had established a base in Antarctica during World War Two and we nuked it ten years later. There were more than 150,000 casualties that were removed after the fact and we thought we’d put it to bed until almost seventy years later when they attacked Fort Lauderdale. Since the attack, we’d beefed up our interoperability between the services and added thousands of sailors to the US Coast Guard, expanding their role. All the while, we’d searched the globe to determine where our enemy had originated, but we’d been unable to find anything beyond a lot of odd military surplus purchases with no information on who was buying it.
Now we knew.
“So that brings us to the present,” General Sullivan concluded the history lesson. “We have a lot of video evidence from citizens uploading cell phone videos to the internet and camera crews recording images before getting themselves killed. It’s the Nazis. They’re back, and they have a technology far beyond anything we’ve ever seen.”
Javier resisted the urge to cut in. He’d done that enough, prolonging the meat of the briefing. Part of being a good leader was knowing when to keep your mouth shut.
“So far, we know they have some sort of device that makes their base and larger transport ships invisible to radar and satellite, and presumably the human eye, but we don’t know that for sure. The main attack was launched from the Atlantic Ocean yesterday morning. The Navy fired ship-killer missiles at the point of origin and satellite imagery shows a massive debris field in the ocean where the missiles impacted. We don’t know what they hit, or how they did it, but they killed something out there.
“During the attack, the Nazis targeted DC and the surrounding Air Force and Naval facilities to destroy our rapid response capabilities. They are using an advanced fighter craft—bring up the video,” the general said over his shoulder.
A video of a series of sleek, round objects zoomed by the cameraman. They resembled every UFO-conspiracy theorist’s definition of what aliens flew around space in. The fighters fired their weapons and rockets into buildings, crowds of people, anything they saw. They seemed incredibly fast and maneuverable compared to anything Javier had seen before. The video lasted for about forty seconds and then began again on a loop.
“This is their fighter jet,” the general stated. “It appears to be a multi-role fighter, capable of both air-to-air combat and air-to-ground—you’ll notice the rockets they’ve fired into buildings—and it can also drop munitions on targets. The fighters are extremely difficult to bring down due to their maneuverability, but it can be done. We have reports of several shoot-downs, especially out west where they appeared to be targeting our nuclear launch.”
General Sullivan looked over his shoulder at the computer operator once again. “Bring up the tanks.”
The UFO video stopped, replaced by a new video of several large tanks driving and hundreds of soldiers walking through what appeared to be the Rosslyn neighborhood in Arlington. The video was shot from an apartment window, so the perspective was a little hard to understand, but the tanks didn’t seem to be touching the ground and as they passed over the tops of cars, there was some type of pressure that crushed the vehicles. The tanks fired several rounds into the buildings around them, creating havoc.
“These are their hovertanks. You can see they operate on some sort of lift capability that crushes metal objects underneath them, so it may be magnetic. Our analysts say those guns are 205 millimeter, outclassing anything we have on the ground. It’s assumed that these hovertanks can move over water or bypass obstacles, making them a formidable weapon—much like the Panzers of World War Two were extremely dangerous, but not unbeatable.
“As I mentioned, there have also been airborne attacks across the United States on nuclear launch facilities. The attacks seem to be targeting every facility that was operational before the 1991 and 1993 START initiatives to reduce the number of warheads. Since then, we’ve closed more than half of our sites, but those vacant locations are still being targeted. At the locations where we do still have launch facilities, we’ve been lucky. So far, all attacks have been repulsed, but we believe it’s only a matter of time before they gain control of at least one facility.”
Finally, the president had heard enough. “Okay, you’ve given me a quick rundown of everything these bastards are doing to us. What’s our response?”
“Well, sir, the Air Force was the first to respond, but we’re hopelessly overmatched. As of two hours ago, we’d only managed to shoot down thirty of their fighters and we’ve lost seventy-one
of ours—that’s not including what was destroyed on the runways and on the three Navy carriers at Norfolk. We’re doing our best to calculate where these fuckers—excuse me, sir.”
“No, it’s alright,” Javier assured him.
The general nodded and continued, “We’re doing our best to figure out where the Nazis came from. Our analysts think it’s either some deep, dark shithole in Africa or they had a second base in Antarctica that we didn’t know about when we nuked the first one.”
“Sir? If I may,” a man with a slightly different uniform than General Sullivan raised his hand from two seats down the table. He had what looked like light blue shoulder pads from his suit on the outside of the fabric instead of the inside. An eagle emblem sat in the middle of the shoulder board.
“Go ahead.”
“Good morning, sir. I’m Colonel John Halverson, US Army FORSCOM liaison officer to the Cheyenne Mountain facility. The Army’s initial response met with failure as well, but we’re going to overcome it. We tried to parachute two Army battalions from the 82nd Airborne Division at Fort Bragg into the area surrounding DC. All ten of the C-17s were shot down, killing nine hundred and eight-seven paratroopers and the crews of the planes.”
“So, parachuting a bunch of soldiers into the fight isn’t going to work.”
“No, sir,” the colonel agreed. “Airborne operations are off the table. However, we’ve begun moving our light forces in from New York, Kentucky and the rest of the 82nd from North Carolina to staging areas surrounding the known landing sites near DC, Baltimore and Norfolk. We’ll move cross-country until we can engage the enemy. We’ve also begun moving heavy troops up from Fort Stewart, Georgia—”