SecondWorld

by Jeremy Robinson

  Adler opened the duffel bags containing white snow gear and an assortment of weapons they’d commandeered from the USS George H.W. Bush. The four of them stripped down and donned their winter gear, perhaps the first people in the history of the modern navy to change clothes on the bridge of an aircraft carrier.

  Vesely grinned as he pulled up his white thermal pants. “We are like the Allies,” he said. “People from around the world, joining forces. The new Allies. No?”

  Miller shook his head with a grin, which felt completely inappropriate, considering what they were up against and what had happened on this ship. But the man was right. They were a ragtag group of allies going up against a technologically advanced Nazi force with the world hanging in the balance. The difference was, there were only four of them—five if you included the kid—and he had no doubt this flight would take them into the heart of the enemy’s preparations.

  He could be dead within the hour.

  He looked at his watch, still set for eastern time.

  The whole world could be dead in sixty.

  43

  “You all right?” Miller said into his headset microphone. He sat in the helicopter’s copilot seat, across from Hammaker. The large CH-53 Sea Stallion transport helicopter had lurched hard to the left as they descended over mainland Antarctica.

  Hammaker gave his nose a twitch, like it itched, but refused to take his hands off the controls. “Sorry about that. Felt like we flew into a wall of wind.”

  “Katabatic winds,” Vesely said from his seat in the back of the helicopter. “Cold air from the mountains is denser and pulled toward the coast by gravity.”

  The chopper could hold up to twenty soldiers and equipment. Right now the only passengers it held were Vesely, Adler, and Brodeur. Ensign Partin had offered more men, but Miller still had trust issues. Though the men and women of the George Washington were true patriots, there was no way to know if any of the enemy still lurked among them. And seeing as how most of them were deck crew, engineers, galley staff, and cleaning crews, they’d be more likely to shoot each other than the enemy. They might be good with kitchen knives and broom handles, but Miller’s four-person team now carried MP4 assault rifles, 9mm sidearms, and had enough ammunition to stage a mutiny of their own.

  “Whatever it is,” Hammaker said, “I’ve got it under control.”

  Miller noticed that Hammaker’s lack of confidence had disappeared when he sat down behind the helicopter’s controls. The kid’s claim to be a helicopter pilot proved true. While the cockpit contained a lot of buttons, switches, and gauges he didn’t recognize because they had to do with weapons and defensive systems, the flight controls for most helicopters were universal.

  The GPS coordinates recovered from the previous flights made by the mysterious missing aircraft carrier crews had been punched into the helicopter’s GPS system, which had a larger-than-average display screen. The target area showed as a green pushpin. The red blinking circle representing the helicopter was almost on top of it.

  Miller leaned forward, but couldn’t see much over the nose of the helicopter. “Take us around,” he said to Hammaker while twisting his finger around in the air.

  The kid gave a nod and banked the helicopter, taking them in a clockwise circle that gave Miller a clear view of the land below. He felt thankful he’d thought to wear antiglare sunglasses, because all he could see was white snow blazingly bright. Of course, the bright white snow would soon fade to pitch darkness. Night would arrive soon and last well into the following day. If they didn’t locate Vesely’s Nazi hideaway quickly it might be eighteen hours before they got another chance.

  “Can you take us lower?” Miller asked.

  Hammaker replied by dropping the helicopter down to just one hundred feet above the surface.

  Miller saw what he was looking for right away—a square of white that didn’t shine as brightly. The white-painted landing pad would be impossible to see by satellite. He pointed to it. “There. Take us down.”

  Hammaker saw the landing pad and gave a nod. The Sea Stallion swung around, leveled out, and dropped down onto the landing pad. A tornado of snow churned by the rotor whipped around the helicopter.

  “Good job, kid,” Miller said. “Keep her warmed up and ready to go.”

  “I’m not coming with you?” Hammaker said, clearly not pleased about being alone.

  “If we need to make a quick exit, I want you ready.” Miller handed Hammaker a 9mm Glock. “If you see anyone that is not one of us, shoot them. No questions asked.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Miller climbed into the back of the helicopter, joining Vesely, Adler, and Brodeur, who were dressed in white from head to toe and held their MP5s at the ready.

  “What is plan, Survivor?” Vesely asked.

  “I’m going to take a look,” Miller replied.

  Adler put her hand on Miller’s arm. “Not by yourself.”

  “If there are snipers, I don’t want all of us exposed,” Miller said. “And we still don’t know where we’re going.” Before Adler could object, Miller slid open the side door, jumped out into the bitter cold—made worse by the rotor-fueled wind—and closed the door behind him. Now on the ground, he could see a one-foot-tall rim of snow that had been cleared from the landing pad. With his assault rifle up, he scanned the area, searching for targets, and clues. Thankfully, he found the latter and not the former.

  A portion of the snowy rim looked trampled. He headed for it and found a trail of footprints that led to a white metal hatch large enough to drive a truck through, had it been on a wall instead of in the ground. He waved to the chopper. Vesely, Brodeur, and Adler quickly joined him.

  “We’ll never get that open,” Brodeur said when he saw the hatch. “There has to be another way in.”

  “Always so negative,” Vesely said, inspecting the hatch.

  “You see an alternative?” Brodeur asked.

  “Other than knocking,” Adler added.

  Vesely and Miller scoured the hatch, checking every crack, rivet, and indentation.

  “Here,” Miller said. He’d found a circular recess with a bar across it, perfectly sized for a human hand. He tried turning it, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Vesely dashed to the far side of the large hatch. “There is another here.” He knelt by it and gripped the bar. “Perhaps if we turn at the same time?”

  “On three,” Miller said. “Counterclockwise.”

  “Lefty-loosy, as you Americans say,” Vesely replied with a nod.

  “One, two, three.”

  Both men twisted.

  The bars rotated ninety degrees and sank in an inch. But nothing else happened.

  “Twist again,” Vesely said. “One, two, three.”

  The bars rotated another ninety degrees. This time a dull clunk sounded from beneath the door. Then it shook.

  “Get off!” Miller said, diving away from the hatch, which had already begun rising. Four massive hydraulic posts pushed the door skyward. It stopped twenty feet from the surface, leaving a square hole in the ice large enough to drive a tractor trailer through. Miller stood and approached the hole. A ramp descended into the ice, and then stone, where it merged with what could only be described as a road—a paved road, under the Antarctic ice.

  “Watch our backs,” Miller said to Brodeur, then headed down the road. Twenty feet from the surface he found a large metal switch he suspected would open and close the hatch, but let it be. He wanted the hatch open for the same reason he left Hammaker behind with the helicopter.

  The tunnel, which had been cut through solid stone, made a sharp right turn one hundred feet down. Miller slid his head around the corner, ready for a fight, but instead found something amazing.

  The road continued down in a series of switchbacks, but it was no longer encased in stone. The road led down the side of a massive gorge, perhaps five hundred feet deep and half as wide. Huge steel beams cut across the top of the gorge, supporting a wire mesh. Ice and snow,
which glowed white from the lingering sun, covered the mesh, making the gorge impossible to see from above.

  As Miller stepped out of the tunnel and into the gorge, the temperature shift struck him. His thermal winter gear, rated for negative fifteen degrees, suddenly stifled him. He peeled off his white mask, which no longer provided camouflage, and took a breath. The air was humid and smelled of wet earth, and … flowers? The roar of flowing water reached his ears as he crept toward the edge of the road and looked down.

  “My God,” he said. The giant crevice stretched for half a mile in either direction. Far to the right, a waterfall emptied, perhaps carrying fresh glacial meltwater. The waterfall ended in a large pool that became a fast-moving river. The water cut through the center of the valley, billows of steam rising from its surface. And lining the shores—son of a bitch—were leafy green plants. Patches of mushrooms grew near the walls. Green algae coated most stones, and the gorge walls fifteen feet up. The gorge was like a tropical oasis, except instead of being in the desert, it was beneath Antarctica.

  “Wow,” Adler said as she slid up next to Miller.

  Vesely crouched at the edge of the road, balancing on his hands. He pulled his mask off and revealed a huge grin. “The Antarctica Shangri-La. Is real.”

  Brodeur said nothing. He removed his mask and looked out at the valley. “I think we should move.”

  Miller stepped back from the edge, realizing that the beauty of the place had distracted him and endangered them all. “Lose the suits.”

  The four shed their white outer gear, revealing the black BDUs beneath. Feeling less conspicuous and much cooler, Miller led the team down the switchback road. He hugged the walls all the way down, looking for trouble, but only seeing paradise. He stopped at the bottom. A bridge led across the steaming water, which he could now see bubbled with heat.

  Vesely stopped next to him and pointed to the water. “Geothermal vents. Whole river is heated.”

  “That’s great,” Miller answered, “but I’m more interested in what’s on the other side of the river.” A massive door, like an oversized bank vault, had been built into the wall of the gorge—locked tight.

  A modern-looking keypad was attached at the side of the vault door. There was no way to figure out the combination, so Miller dug into his supply belt and took out some small bricks of C4. The vault door looked tough, but he wasn’t going to blow the door. He was going to blow the stone around it.

  While Miller assembled the charges, Brodeur walked up to the keypad.

  “You’re not going to get it open,” Vesely said. “Not without code.”

  Brodeur ignored him and kept fiddling. No one bothered watching as Miller handed each of them an armed explosive charge to hold while he rigged more.

  A sharp beep spun them around toward Brodeur.

  The vault door slid open silently. Brodeur stepped aside, revealing the now pried-open keypad. “Standard code lock. FBI trains on them. Piece of cake.”

  “I’m impressed,” Vesely said. “FBI is more competent than I believed.”

  “Glad you approve,” Brodeur said sarcastically.

  Miller quickly switched off the detonators and plucked them from the C4. With everything back in his supply belt, he crossed the bridge and stood in the open door. A tunnel, lit by hanging bulbs, led deep into the stone, no end in sight. No guards, either.

  Miller led the team in, feeling like he’d entered the throat of a giant who might swallow him whole. But he had no choice. Answers waited in the darkness.

  Though he suspected more than answers lurked beyond, Miller began to jog. Then ran. He reached the end of the tunnel a minute later and stopped. He heard the footfalls of his team approaching from behind, but when he looked at the open space around him a bomb could have detonated and he wouldn’t have heard it.

  44

  A cavern bigger than Miller thought possible opened up before him. Hanging stalactites meant the cavern was at least partly natural. But the walls and floor had been smoothed. And a grid of metal poles held a maze of beams from which hung an endless sea of grated lamps.

  While much of the floor was smooth matte stone, shiny walkways had been buffed into the floor. The path Miller now stood on ran toward the center of the space where it split and wrapped around an octagonal control center lined with modern computers. Miller noticed that while the lights were on, there wasn’t a soul in sight. He headed for the command center.

  “I think we’re alone,” Miller said to the others, keeping his voice quiet. “But stay ready for anyth—”

  A distant high-pitched whir filled the air. It reminded Miller of the remote-controlled car he had as a kid. So he wasn’t surprised when the small, modern-looking vehicle rolled into view. To Miller it looked like a land mine on wheels, but sleek and modern.

  The device spun around, stopping when a small red LED light faced their direction. Miller got the distinct feeling that the device was looking at them.

  “Looks like Roomba,” Vesely said.

  And he was right. The device did resemble the robotic maid, but Miller didn’t think it was left behind to keep the floor looking good, clean as it may be. He tensed when the device approached. When it closed to within twenty-five feet, Miller raised his weapon.

  Brodeur shoved the weapon down. “Might be explosive!”

  Miller held his fire. Brodeur was right.

  Miller scanned the area. One hundred feet to the left of the walkway was what looked like an empty hangar bay. Large metal frames, now empty, lined the walls. An assembly line, like that of a car factory, complete with robotic arms, stretched down the center of the hangar. This massive fabrication plant had been operating for seventy years, employing scientists recruited from America, financed by American dollars, and hidden by American politicians and military personnel.

  Miller turned to the right and found a tall, metal, capsule-shaped object. Its smooth surface appeared to be copper, or lead, and had a sheen like brushed metal. A vertical seam, framed by strips of silver, ran around the outer edge, disappearing around the top and bottom. Its metal base was bolted to the floor. Next to it stood another. And another. There might be a hundred of the things. The rows of metal cylinders looked like giant capacitors arranged on a circuit board.

  Miller was about to order the group into the maze of cylinders when the red light atop the Roomba-thing began blinking. Not good. The round device was composed of two sections. Wheels could be seen at the fringe of the outer ring, so Miller assumed it also held the engine and whatever else it needed to function. But the disk at the center could be anything. When it began to spin, Miller assumed the worst. “Get down!”

  Miller, Vesely, and Adler dropped to the floor. Brodeur dove toward the cylinders, which he was closest to.

  The spinning disk sprang into the air. There was a sound like a thousand puffs of air, which was immediately followed by the ticking of metal balls bouncing off the wall and rolling over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos, Brodeur shouted in pain. The center disk fell to the floor next to Miller, spinning like a flicked coin. He slapped his hand down on it, silencing the thing.

  Free of its payload, the rover just sat in place, its red light now extinguished.

  “Is modern Bouncing Betty,” Vesely said, standing up.

  Miller picked up one of the marble-sized metal balls. They were everywhere. Vesely was right. The Bouncing Betty, formally known as an S-mine, was used extensively by the German army in World War II. When triggered, the spring-loaded mine would bounce two feet into the air and explode, sending a ring of metal balls and shrapnel flying into anyone standing nearby. Unlike conventional mines, enemies didn’t need to be close by to be injured, and those close, well, some men were cut in half. This device was more sophisticated. It fired its payload of metal balls as the disk launched into the air. The attack was silent compared to the explosive force of the other mine. And as demonstrated, this device didn’t have to wait around to be triggered, it could seek its enemies out.<
br />
  The question nagging Miller was whether or not this was some kind of automated defense, or was it sent?

  Movement in the field of metal cylinders reminded him that he’d heard Brodeur shout. Had the man still been standing? Why didn’t he duck with the rest of them? “Brodeur, you hit?”

  A blur of motion, black like Brodeur’s clothing, caught Miller’s eye. But Brodeur wasn’t responding. Why would he be running, but not talking? Was there another mobile Bouncing Betty?

  The black blur passed through another opening as it closed the distance.

  Then it was followed by a second.

  Acting on instinct, Miller drew his knife and whipped it toward where he expected the first man to appear.

  Adler began to protest. “Miller, wh—”

  Thuck. The blade buried in the chest of a tall man whose face and head were covered by some kind of solid mask that reminded Miller of a luchador wrestler, but the eye slots were covered by some kind of tinted glass. The man also wore body armor, but like all bulletproof vests, which stop the blunt impact of bullets, it proved ineffective against the slicing power of a sharp blade. As he spilled to the floor, he pulled the trigger of his Sturmgewehr 44 assault rifle. The cacophony of rounds, fired into the stone wall, acted as a kind of catalyst. At least ten men, most dressed in white lab coats, shouted and charged through the maze of cylinders. The second man dressed in black saw his partner drop and ducked back in time to avoid being shot by one of Vesely’s high-caliber pistol rounds. The shot, however, ricocheted off of two cylinders and struck one of the white-clad men in the chest. He fell to the floor, gasping for air. The man next to him shouted in fright.

  They’re not soldiers, Miller thought. The two dressed in black were killers, no doubt. But the rest were science personnel, or maintenance. A few carried handguns, but most held whatever tool had been in their hands when they became aware of the team’s presence—a wrench, a screwdriver; one man even carried a ceramic mug. Vesely and Adler could handle them. But the soldier, Miller knew from experience, needed his personal touch. He’d been lucky with the first, who probably assumed they had been injured by the Betty. But the second, with time to regroup, could be dangerous.