by C. E. Martin
Jimmy dragged them away from the crumpled wreckage of the German saucer. He really regretted destroying the craft. Flying it had to be the greatest experience of his life.
The wind was still blowing across the glacier, stirring up ice crystals that were like powdery snow. Visibility was reduced to just a dozen or so feet. The tactical goggles the Colonel had given him were lost somewhere in the wreckage, so Jimmy had no idea where they were. Maybe thirty or forty miles from the bunker.
Even in his werewolf form, he was cold here—a painful, injurious cold his cursed form struggled to resist. The Colonel had said the temperatures on the glacier dropped well below zero. Already the blood on Laura Olson was freezing on her skin. He wondered if a vampire or a werewolf could get frostbite.
The crash had been spectacular. When the saucer slammed into the glacier, Jimmy had tried to pull the nose up—if you could call the leading edge of a flying saucer that. Metal had exploded out from under them, the airframe had shook and buckled. They had skipped along like a stone on water.
From outside, the wreckage was a long trail of debris, disappearing into the swirling whiteness. What was left of the saucer was a crumpled mess, bent panels flapping like sails in the fierce wind. Jimmy wondered if there was even enough to make a decent shelter.
The creaks and groans of the ship increased, drawing his attention. Curiously, the whole airship was moving. Jimmy panicked, wondering if he'd cracked the ice with his crash and they were about to plunge into cold water.
It was far worse than that. The wreckage was rising up, revealing an überwolf beneath it, bleeding from a dozen cuts, barbs of metal sticking out of its body and limbs. It curled its lips back and snarled at Jimmy.
"Good aim," Colonel Kenslir said, pushing himself up into a sitting position. The stone of his injuries was turning to flesh, but the rest of him was taking on a grayish tinge. No doubt from the extreme cold.
***
Daniel Smith was tearing off his boots and unzipping his vest when Josie Winters ran into the dock chamber. She skidded to a halt, mouth open in surprise at the sheer size of the area.
"Winters!" Smith yelled, throwing down his vest.
Josie looked around, taking it all in—the headless body of the überwolf on the dock, Javi Wallach being drained of all her blood by the German on the far shore. The cluster of stone soldiers on the edge of the canal, wanting to shoot, but holding back for fear of hitting the Mossad agent.
"I got here just in time!" Josie said, panting from the run down the ramp.
She concentrated on the surface of the water and it began to turn white, vapor rising up like a cloud. A sheet of ice formed, cracking and groaning as it spread out from the dock—eight feet wide and at least two feet thick.
Smith looked at the rapidly expanding ice, stretching out into the water like a bridge, then back to Josie Winters. The girl's powers were definitely growing with time.
Smith pulled his knives and ran out onto the ice, struggling to keep up with the expanding surface as it raced across the canal.
***
Once more, the Colonel was holding his own. He spun, jumped and kicked at the überwolf, landing bone-crushing kicks on its head, chest and knees. And instead of hands, he now swung his vicious tomahawk and one Bowie knife, hacking and slashing, drawing both gouts of blood and chunks of flesh.
The überwolf was enraged. It clawed and bit at the Colonel, its attacks parried by the knife, tomahawk and several well-placed kicks. Any leap it made, the Colonel nimbly avoided, countering with knife or tomahawk and scoring deep wounds.
The two combatants seemed too evenly matched. Every wound the Colonel inflicted, the überwolf rapidly healed. Every attack the überwolf tried, the Colonel blocked or dodged. If either of them could tire, the fight would soon end. But that didn't seem to be coming anytime soon.
Jimmy needed to do something.
He quickly reverted to human form, instantly regretting it as the intense cold stabbed him like thousands of tiny daggers. He dug around in Doctor Olson's pockets, quickly finding a small set of nail clippers. Fingers going numb from the intense cold, hands shaking, he slashed at his forearm with the clippers, drawing blood. Then he placed his bleeding injury over Olson's mouth.
Jimmy shuddered from the cold, feeling his eyes beginning to frost over. Even with full protective gear, he knew a man could die in minutes in this Antarctic weather. He had to hope what he'd given Olson was enough. He transformed back into a werewolf.
His wound was instantly healed and Jimmy felt invigorated. Where the cold had been painful, like fire, burning away at him, now it was just a mild annoyance. Gauging the distance, he waited until the monster's back was toward him, then flung himself forward, tackling the überwolf as it and the Colonel continued circling one another, trading blows.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
His name was Dietrich and he was not going to fail. Letting go of the drained body of the Jewish woman, he turned to face the Golem running toward him. He wiped blood off his chin with the back of his hand and smiled. One Golem. These Americans never learned.
The knife wielding Golem launched himself into the air, cracking and breaking the ice bridge growing under his feet. He vaulted through the air, knives ready as Dietrich stood there watching him, the woman's body at his feet.
At the last possible second, Dietrich transformed into his überwolf form and sidestepped. The Golem landed heavily, rolling and coming up in a crouch, knives at the ready.
Dietrich raced forward, all eight hundred pounds hitting the Golem at full speed. He was lifted off his feet and carried backward. He stumbled and fell, sliding on his back.
The überwolf clawed and slashed at Smith, trying to knock the knives from his hands. Smith pulled his legs up and drove them into the beast's stomach, then pushed.
Dietrich was flung backwards, but rotated in midair then landed gracefully, roaring. A hail of bullets then began to tear into him from the far shore.
With Javi Wallach dead, there was no longer any reason for the men on the other shore to hold back. They were pouring all their gunfire into the beast. Daniel Smith charged forward again, his knives ready.
Dietrich was slower now as bullet after bullet tore into him, sending neurotoxin and phosphorous into his blood. Smith slashed with both knives, one raking across the monster's face at eye level, the other removing four of its clawed fingers.
The überwolf lashed out with its good hand, striking the Bowie in Smith's right hand. The blade cracked and broke, flying away. Then the beast tackled Smith and drove him into the ground.
The monster was in a frenzy now, howling and almost barking as the bullets continued to pour into it. It clawed and slashed repeatedly at Smith, gouging and scoring his stone skin. He tried to bring his good knife up, but the monster's bulk kept him from doing so. He began jabbing it over and over again into the überwolf's side, just under its ribcage.
Teeth raked across his face, and Smith felt his granite-like skin crack and break. He dropped the handle of his broken knife and grabbed the beast by the throat, trying to push it back. But it was simply too powerful.
Smith glanced to his left. If he couldn't defeat the monster on land, maybe he could in the water. He pushed off from the ground, rolling to his left and somehow managing to get the überwolf to roll with him. They tumbled over each other for several feet, then rolled off the rocky ledge and right into the water.
***
It had seemed like a good idea. Two versus one was a lot better odds. But when Jimmy had tackled the monster, it had immediately shifted its attention to him.
The larger, more powerful werewolf had ripped Jimmy off its back and thrown him onto the ground, pouncing and biting at him, great chunks of flesh tearing out of his arms and shoulders. Jimmy tried to fight back, but the creature was double his size.
In just seconds, the beast was up on its hind legs, holding Jimmy, battered and bleeding in front of it, one clawed hand wrapped around his neck.
It swung him around in front of it like a shield.
Colonel Kenslir was in a fighting stance, Bowie knife and tomahawk ready, legs bent at the knees, ready to jump in.
"Enough!" the überwolf roared, shrinking back to human form. "Drop your weapons or I will kill him!"
Despite now being a head shorter than Jimmy, the German was still far stronger. His long nails were thrust deep into Jimmy's neck, ready to sever his arteries. Its other hand was digging into his back, fingers punctured through his fur and skin, wrapped around his spine.
The Colonel could see the fear in Jimmy's eyes.
***
Smith and the überwolf thrashed and punched, kicked and slashed at each other as they sank. Their combined weight carried them down quickly into the water. In mere moments, they had reached the bottom, sinking into the thick muck, sending up clouds of silt.
The überwolf pushed away from Smith and rose to its feet. From out of the cloud of silt, Smith's knife slashed, opening the überwolf's throat.
The beast pushed away from Smith, its blood spilling out, mixing with the cloudy water. It immediately shrank, reverting to a human form and trying to paddle away.
Smith bent his legs and pushed off from the bottom, shooting out of the silt cloud like a torpedo.
Twisting in place, Dietrich turned in the water, narrowly avoiding contact, and touching back down lightly. Then he sprang up, off the silty bottom, rocketing upwards.
Barely away from the bottom, his rapid ascent was brought to a halt when another figure slammed into him from the side, cracking his ribs. It was Isaac Jacobson, and he brought the German crashing back to the bottom.
***
Reluctantly, Mark Kenslir pitched his tomahawk and Bowie knife away, into the swirling white around them.
"The other one as well!" the vampire holding Jimmy demanded.
Kenslir reached slowly back and pulled his other Bowie knife from the sheath on his back, then tossed it away. He could see that Jimmy's wounds were healing, but much slower than normal. The werewolf had reached his limits in the harsh Antarctic climate—his inhuman endurance was nearly run out.
"So now what?" Kenslir asked. "We stand here, looking at each other? It'll be a long time until the sun sets. I can last that long—can you?"
The German sneered. "You have no weapons. Maybe I will just kill you."
"What about him?" Kenslir asked easing to his left, circling the German.
"He is weak. I can feel the life fading from him." Bernhart squeezed Jimmy's spine, causing the young werewolf to whine like an injured dog.
"What then? Where will you go? We've taken your base."
"The continent is a big place," Bernhart said, turning to keep Jimmy between himself and the Colonel.
"What, no running back to your Nazi masters?"
Bernhart spat at the ground, his saliva freezing long before it reached the glacier. "They are not my Masters! They abandoned us long ago."
"And yet, you're still doing their bidding—killing for the Führer."
Bernhart's eyes narrowed and his grip on Jimmy's throat tightened, causing fresh blood to trickle out of the holes his fingers were deeply embedded in.
"We killed those responsible—if they had not mettled in the affairs of the Kreis, the Reich would have been reborn and I would not be in this frozen wasteland!"
"The Kreis?" Kenslir asked. "That's German for circle, isn't it? What circle is that, exactly?"
Bernhart frowned, angry at himself for his slip up. The intense cold was sapping his strength just as it was the injured werewolf he was holding. If only the American watching him would weaken—then he could finish this.
"Cat got your tongue?" Kenslir said. "This is the part where you're supposed to tell me your nefarious plan for world domination."
Bernhart heard something behind him. The crunch of ice. He had been tricked.
He shoved Jimmy away from him, spinning around and transforming back into his überwolf form.
***
They had him now, Dietrich knew it. The two Golems were strong. Not as strong as he was in his wolf form, but strong enough that two of them were able to hold him down.
The silt from the bottom of the channel was all around him now. He couldn't even see anything. He snapped at the water, thrashed and twisted, trying to break free. But the stony grips on his wrists were unyielding.
The silt made the water he was swallowing taste truly terrible. A mix of metal and dirt—the former from the remains of the rusting U-boats scrapped to make the Circle's base so long ago. A bitter metal that tasted far too much like defeat.
Dietrich changed back to his vampire form, hoping his smaller wrists would let him break free. But the stone soldiers holding him merely tightened their grip, like vises squeezing the strength from him.
His struggling was growing weaker now. As a vampire, he needed the lifeforce of others to survive. He had used that all up. As a werewolf, magic sustained him, the energy of the cosmos repairing his body and making him stronger. But that cursed body still needed oxygen to function.
Dietrich's efforts redoubled and he turned back into the wolf again, ignoring the breaking of his wrist bones as they lost the fight to grow larger in the Golems' grips. He kicked and thrashed, desperate to break free.
His lungs were saturated with water now. He realized his vision was not dark due to the silt his struggle had kicked up, but because his eyes were failing. The processes of his body were breaking down, faster than he could regenerate.
The überwolf kicked and thrashed several more times, then went limp. He felt his body drift back down into the thick silt. His heart slowed, then stopped.
***
Bernhart was ready for anything, or so he thought. But the monster that charged at him from the swirling ice crystals was something even he hadn't imagined. A demonic face, with three inch fangs and four short horns. Purple and pink skin riddled with throbbing blue veins and corded muscles ready to burst forth. Wings like some hideous, enormous bat.
The monster that used to be Laura Olson smashed into the überwolf, taking him down to the glacier. Her claws wrapped around his neck and her head ducked in, taking a huge bite out of the überwolf's shoulder.
Bernhart panicked, bucking and rolling to his side, kicking the winged nightmare off of him. As he scrambled to his feet, it leapt on him again, wrapping hideous arms and legs around him then sinking fangs into the side of his neck.
Bernhart threw back his head and howled in pain as the blood was sucked from him. He felt cold spread over his body as blue light flashed and sparked from the winged monster's mouth.
Mark Kenslir stepped forward, reaching down and drawing a Kabar from his boot. With a quick thrust, he drove the knife through the überwolf's forehead, into its brain. It shuddered and died.
Laura Olson released the huge werewolf, letting it fall lifeless to the glacier. She stood, spreading her wings wide, then shrank quickly back to human form.
"I wasn't done with him," she said, eyes rolling up in her head as she fainted.
The Colonel rushed forward and caught Olson, lifting her up and over his shoulder. He couldn't feel his feet now. Not because they were frozen, but because they were petrified. Antarctica was slowly killing him.
He walked over to where Jimmy Kane had reverted to his human form. Ice clung to the unconscious young man, and his skin was starting to crust over. Kenslir grabbed one ankle, then dragged Kane back to the wreckage of the German saucer.
He laid Kane and Olson on the ground beside the vessel, then grabbed at a thick metal plate. Pulling, he peeled it back, creating a large opening. He carefully laid each of his comrades inside, then fumbled with a pocket on his vest.
With fingers turned to gray stone, he managed to unfold an emergency, silver foil blanket and lay it over them. From another pocket, he managed to retrieve what looked like an ordinary cellular phone.
"Command!" Kenslir said into the device. "Mark my location and send a retrieval t
eam as quick as you can. The überwolf is dead, and I think we aren't too far behind."
The phone slipped from his fingers, which would no longer move. The Colonel sat down just inside the crashed airship, blocking the wind and closed his eyes, waiting for frostbite to turn him completely to stone.
EPILOGUE
The water was warm and relaxing, and all around her. Javan Wallach opened her eyes, startled at her location. She kicked and paddled, panicking, and began to swim. Following the bubbles coming from her mouth, she swam upwards, at last breaking the surface and gasping for air.
A gray hand reached down and she took it. She was immediately lifted out of the water.
Javi reached for her neck, to feel for the puncture wounds left by the vampire. There were none. Wiping the water from her eyes, she looked around and was astonished to see she was back in Florida, in the Fountain of Youth chamber.
Josie Winters, Doctors King, Olson and Guerrera were watching her.
"Sorry about that," Commander Daniel Smith said behind her. "We couldn't get to you in time."
Javi turned and saw that the Commander was standing beside Colonel Kenslir—both men wearing fresh multicam uniforms.
"Was I-?" Javi asked, a horrified look on her face.
Dr. Olson stepped in, putting on a stethoscope and pressing it to Javi's back. "Dead. As a doornail, my dear. Deep breaths."
Javi breathed in and out, several times.
"All clear," Laura said, taking off the stethoscope. "She's absorbed the excess into her lungs. Fit as a fiddle."
"Where? How?" Javi asked.
"You've been dead for about two weeks," Colonel Kenslir said. A splashing in the water caught his attention. Javi turned to see what he was looking at.
A man was coming up out of the water now. Thin, wiry, with brown hair. And naked. Commander Smith stepped forward and helped the young man out. He was about thirty years old, Javi guessed.
Dr. Guerrera held out a robe and the man took it, looking around the room, bewildered.