“I urge you to implore your men to stand together on this Final Solution to the Jewish question. Save your sympathy for the German people alone. The Jews must be exterminated; the basic expectation is that the Jews will disappear. Liquidate them all for the good of the Führer and our Third Reich.”
**********
“By your own admission, one of your crewmembers implemented the most devastating act of genocide our civilization has ever known,” Mark said, his anger evident. “He devised and oversaw the murder of over six million Jews!”
Dr. Holmes observed Hastelloy absorb the magnitude of Mark’s accusation, and the hit devastated him right down to his core. He could not even bring himself to look up from his chest as Mark spoke.
“Tomal and his Nazi party’s acts of barbarism go well beyond the Jews. Eleven million Soviet and Polish civilians were worked or starved to death inside labor camps. In fact, the Soviet Union lost over twenty-seven million people during the war, and only nine million of those were combat deaths. Other than Goron unleashing the bubonic plague upon the Earth, I cannot think of a more devastating act of pure evil in the entirety of human history.”
“And somehow I am supposed to believe that you are on our side?” Mark demanded, to no immediate response.
When Hastelloy composed himself enough to speak, it was with a cracked voice laden with emotion. “I failed; plain and simple. Tomal’s mental condition grew worse than I could have ever imagined, and Gallono was unable to contain it. I took corrective action, but it only quickened Tomal’s deranged efforts. It was an impossible situation for all of us.”
“Tell that to the millions who died because of that man under your command,” Mark spat with venom and leaned in to say more, but the soft touch of his brother’s hand gave him a moment of pause to unwind his outrage.
Chapter 37: Stealthy Approach
Terrance always prided himself on being the picture of calm during high stress situations. From afar, he had directed countless incursions into hostile territories that sometimes involved entire Army Ranger battalions. He never even broke a sweat in those circumstances.
On one of those occasions, he stood across the street from an arms dealer in Yemen as a truck loaded with explosives leveled the building without his pulse going up a beat. Coordinating the efforts of a few Navy SEALs on the ground and four radar evading aircraft in the air was nothing. Why then were his palms clammy? Why did he have to consciously work to keep his breathing and heart rate under control?
The fact that Colonel Azire and his men had broken free from their containment was certainly a factor, but deep down he knew the answer. It was the stakes involved. The life of every living thing on the planet depended on what transpired over the next few minutes.
The ideal outcome was the world would lose two irreplaceable treasures that have endured in the Egyptian desert for ages in exchange for guaranteed safety. If the B2s were detected, it could mean an international incident ranging from some harmless name calling to World War III in exchange for neutralizing the alien threat. Worst case was the alien machine somehow survived the attack and the beings made good on their threat to end the world. Nothing to be nervous about he concluded.
Terrance glanced down at his Rolex while standing behind the communications officer. It was as if the second hand was dragging Father Time against his will to progress forward. Every tick drew out longer than the last.
“A watched pot never boils,” the communications officer said to lighten the mood.
Being nervous or impatient was a weakness, and Terrance detested being caught in his moment of weakness. Fortunately, the only one in the tent with him was a lowly communications officer who had his own nervous tick. The young man periodically removed his hat, smoothed back his hair, and then replaced the cap on his head. It was maddening to watch and caused Terrance to direct his eyes toward the radar display instead.
Technically the B2s were invisible to all but the most powerful radar systems. However, since his side had the Identify Friend or Foe transponder frequencies, they showed up as blips over the Mediterranean just like any other aircraft. There they flew in circles with their devastating payload just waiting for the order.
“SEAL team is in position. All four targets are lit,” Commander Allen reported over the comm. channel.
“Acknowledged team leader, hold position and targets,” the communications officer responded and looked toward Terrance. “Everything is ready. General Austin is standing by to give the order.”
Terrance pushed hard through his hesitant impulse to speak confidently into the microphone. “The mission is a go. I repeat; we are a go.”
“Roger that,” came a flat reply from the general.
His eyes moved back to the radar display. Owing to overlapping AWACS coverage, he had a real-time view to see the flight of four stealth bombers turn south.
“Patch through their communications,” Terrance ordered the comm. officer.
A few keystrokes followed which brought the sound of flight mask muffled voices coming through the speakers.
“Crossing into Egyptian airspace. Target is four minutes out.”
“Distance to fighter patrol is thirty miles. Come right to course 113 for optimal evade vector,” came a warning from US Central Command and control operator located in Tampa, Florida.
“Adjusting course,” a calm pilot responded overlapped by a frantic shout. “Someone has a radar lock on us! Missile inbound; break hard left!”
A harsh snap of static blasted through the speakers followed by the announcement, “Flight leader is down. Two more missiles are incoming.”
“Drop countermeasures and reverse course back to neutral airspace,” the unmistakable voice of General Austin shouted over the commotion.
Terrance wanted to protest the order since hundreds of flares being discharged would light up even the most antiquated radar system, but he knew that no longer mattered. Somehow, the Egyptians already had their positions pegged.
“Flares away, reversing course.” A few silent moments passed and eventually gave way to a final report. “Flares diverted the missiles. All three birds are over neutral airspace again.”
“Any survivors?” General Austin inquired.
“Negative. We saw no chutes,” came the grim response.
Terrance threw his headset across the room and yelled, “What the hell just happened? There is no way their ancient radar network could have picked up those aircraft. No one could see them coming.”
The comm. officer spun around in his chair to face Terrance. “They were on our radar plain as day.”
“That’s because we had the IFF frequencies and encryption. They would need to hack our encrypted communications channels, which is impossible to do,” Terrance countered while fighting the impulse to bust apart every piece of equipment inside the tent.
“What if there was a man on the inside?” the comm. officer pondered while looking thoroughly amused. “Maybe a certain individual who set up all of the communications equipment in the first place?”
Terrance felt his face contort into a vicious snarl an instant before his brain processed the meaning of the words spoken. More out of reflex than conscious choice, he drew the pistol from behind his back and leveled his two handed aim at the young man’s head.
“Just a thought,” the young officer laughed as he removed his baseball cap for the last time, then dropped the jovial act to make a deadly serious statement. “You didn’t really think the Sphinx chamber was the only exit point from the Nexus for us now did you? How uncharacteristically shortsighted of you.”
While the two men held their contemptuous stares, a dozen Egyptian soldiers kicked in the rickety front door of the tent. Terrance stole a glance from the corner of his eye to see Colonel Azire duck through the entrance and declare, “You and your men are under arrest.”
Terrance didn’t move a muscle as his eyes ventured back to the communications officer still seated in front of him. “This isn
’t over.”
“I know,” the young man managed to say right before Terrance pulled the trigger, but only heard the anticlimactic sound of the firing pin hitting an empty chamber.
“Missing something,” his target mocked as he produced a full pistol clip from his left breast pocket and offered it to the nearest Egyptian soldier.
“On the ground, face down. Now!” Colonel Azire ordered of Terrance, ignoring the communications officer for the moment.
“What are you doing, he’s one of them?” Terrance demanded on his way to the ground. “Shoot him! End this thing now.”
Colonel Azire walked around to stand in front of Terrance and knelt down to say softly, “Why would I do that? He saved my country from you and your men. That earns him at least a little trust with me, which is more than I can say for the likes of you.”
Chapter 38: Bar the Door
Frank stood behind Commander Gallono as he worked the business end of his cutting torch along the seals running down the middle and around the edges of the copper door blocking their path. The commander was the only one with dark welding glasses, so Frank made do with brief glances at the blazing nozzle to judge their progress; he was almost through.
As Frank stood there holding one of the thirty-pound sledgehammers Gallono brought for the group to defend themselves with against the clay warriors, he could not help but marvel at the circumstance. He had spent his entire career within the NSA trying to verify and locate the source of alien activity on Earth. He deemed it a noble quest to root out and eliminate the ‘bad guys’.
He imagined many times what these beings might look like and what he would do to one of them once captured. Now here he was with an alien, who looked completely human, kneeling before him with his back turned. All Frank needed to do was swing his hammer to bring an entire lifetime of labor to an end.
He could not bring himself to take that swing. It was not just the fact that they needed the extra manpower to destroy the Alpha’s regeneration chamber. Deep down he was now questioning if this man really was the ‘bad guy’. He had no doubts about the Alpha and their clay bodies; they were evil and dangerous in a way only storybooks could convey. These Novi though, what was he to make of them and their motives?
“Five more seconds, then I’m through,” Gallono announced, ending Frank’s moral debate for the time being.
Alex and Professor Russell moved up to grab hold of the one-foot diameter looped handle controlling the left door. Chin stepped forward carrying his own sledgehammer and leaned a second weapon against the right door next to Gallono for the man to arm himself once the task of cutting was complete.
Frank stood midway between the door to lend assistance if needed and still be able to keep an eye on their armless clay captive in the corner.
Gallono extinguished his cutting torch, picked up his weapon and looked to the professor and his assistant, “Now.”
Together they heaved against the heavy copper door with all their collective might. The fixture remained stubbornly closed for a few grunt-filled seconds until a teeth-wiggling screech gave way to movement.
Not satisfied with the pace, Chin grabbed the revealed edge of the door and yanked with every ounce of strength and weight his diminutive frame could generate. The tiny gap widened to three feet and Gallono dashed through the opening followed by Chin.
Frank expected to either hear a tremendous tussle on the other side of the door, or see the two men ejected from the chamber with arms and legs flailing about. Instead, it was neither, only a maddening silence. That silence was shattered by an ancient groan from the door hinges as it rotated open to reveal Gallono and Chin both pushing it with their shoulders. Beyond the open doorway, Frank spied a rectangular room covering over 40,000 square feet housing a mesmerizing sight.
In the center of the burial chamber rested a solid bronze coffin overturned and laying on its side with the remains of the Chinese nation’s first emperor, Qui Shi Huang, spilled out across the stone floor. Surrounding the coffin was a detailed three-dimensional map of the nation complete with rivers of mercury representing the Yellow and Yangtze Rivers.
The slightly domed ceiling stood twenty feet overhead with embedded seashells, pearls and gemstones depicting the sun, moon and star constellations of the sky. Hanging from the ceiling at evenly spaced intervals were a hundred whale oil lamps, which had either been refilled recently or still functioned admirably today.
The only imperfection to the ceiling’s portrayal of the heavens was an antenna the size of a man’s head. It extended down from the chamber above, and allowed the Alpha to reanimate into the form of the Terracotta warriors standing guard over a mile to the west.
If the sight impressed Gallono, he did not show it. He retrieved a blue disk from his pocket and activated the device to produce a 3-dimensional rendering of an aging man’s head inside the cone of light. “Tonwen, are you ready to test your ability to interfere with the Alpha’s regeneration process?”
“Yes, the Nexus has been reconfigured to emit interference, but I must warn you commander,” the floating head responded but stopped speaking when Gallono interrupted.
“I am aware of the related issues, proceed anyway.”
“The interference is now active,” Tonwen responded a moment later, which prompted Gallono to terminate the conversation and put the disk back into his pocket. He then took twelve efficient strides over to the corner, hoisted the armless soldier made of wet clay to his feet, and gave it a shove toward the open doorway. Before the clay soldier could catch its balance, Gallono swung his sledgehammer parallel to the ground and sent the clay body flying through the air toward the wall.
Frank watched the once wet clay harden in midflight and shatter upon impact with the wall leaving three-inch thick shards of broken pottery strewn about the floor. Where the creature once stood, a vibrant flame with the consistency of flowing metal now appeared. The flame began floating downward until settling into a gentle hover an inch off the floor.
“Looks like the interference Tonwen is putting out using the Nexus is working,” Gallono declared with great satisfaction. “Otherwise this worthless runt, using that antenna, would have vanished like the others back into their regeneration chamber to take over another clay body.”
Frank heard a deep, guttural series of growls and snarls emanate from the flame. He had no hope of interpreting the alien language, but Gallono’s response gave him a good idea of the meaning. “I’m not about to go procreate with myself, I have a job to do. Now you be a good boy and stay there while I get to work.”
“Death is only the beginning,” the flame declared in perfect English that dripped with false bravado.
“Today it will be an ending; I guarantee it,” Gallono countered on his way into the burial chamber.
“For both of us,” Frank overheard the flame say as the rest of the assault team entered the expansive burial chamber.
“That other set of doors open along the western wall leads to the clay warrior pits. You can bet your last dollar or Yuan that reinforcements are on their way,” Frank declared.
“How could they know?” Chin asked. “You dispatched all of their guards and electronic communications are all being jammed.”
“A wise man once told me to always hope for the best, but prepare for the worst,” Gallono countered. “Frank, I need you, the professor, and his lovely assistant to cover me while I work to seal that door closed. Chin, I want you to start wiring up the explosives you carried in with you.
“Consider it done,” Chin responded while Frank lugged the heavy gas canister of the acetylene torch over to the west doorway.
Chapter 39: Other Motives
Professor Russell poked his head between the set of copper doors Gallono was feverishly working to weld shut. The man knew what he was doing and worked fast, but at this moment even the time it took to blink an eye felt too long. The prospect of more of these clay soldiers storming the burial chamber was terrifying.
He h
ad witnessed these creatures overtake an army barricade and assimilate an entire military base with no casualties. Up until just a few minutes earlier, they seemed indestructible. This Gallono person had shown otherwise with his blunt instrument, but he was just one man who, at the moment, had his hands full welding a copper door. That gave Brian little comfort considering how many clay statues resided at the other end of the dark tunnel.
There was no sign of light or sound coming from the corridor just yet, but it was only a matter of time. Brian pulled his head back in to inspect Gallono’s progress for the thousandth time in the last thirty seconds. He was about halfway finished sealing around the edges of the left door and making good time.
“What is with that slab of stone along the north wall over there?” Alex asked. “There are shards of broken clay and discolored flooring all around the thing and I think I see some wiring coming out of it.”
“That’s what started this whole mess in the first place,” Gallono answered without turning attention away from his welding. “When hooked up to a powerful enough battery, it harnesses a dying Alpha’s life force so it can continue to exist in the form of a relic; that flame we saw earlier.”
“It only works on the Alpha?” Alex pondered.
“We’re not really sure. A few hundred years ago, we were in this very spot facing a similar shortage of time. I destroyed the batteries driving that device before we got to examine or test it.”
“So what you’re telling me is if I hooked up a car battery to those wires it might still work?” Alex attempted to clarify.
“More like a nuclear reactor or two,” Gallono chuckled as he came to the end of his welding line. He released his thumb from the gas supply valve, extinguishing the torch in his hands with a sharp pop.
Without the constant sizzle filling the air, the group was able to hear the rhythmic pounding of heavy footsteps approaching from the corridor.
Origins: The Reich Page 24