The Black Gate

by Michael R. Hicks

  Peter peeked above the cover of his desk and saw two flaming figures get to their feet and twirl about, screaming, as the other guards pulled back from the flames, now firing more in his direction than the woman on the floor, now wreathed in flames.

  With one last longing look toward Mina’s cell, Peter retreated down one of the corridors that led from the hub of the burning laboratory into the maze of cells. He said a silent prayer for the poor wretched woman in the lab as her screams subsided into silence, the flames at last taking her life and, he hoped, granting peace to her tortured soul.

  Moving as fast as he could, he made his way through the labyrinth. The prisoners had been stirred up by the excitement, and the air was filled not only with acrid smoke rolling outward from the lab, but the wails, cries, and grunts of the unearthly things behind the doors that he passed. The things that had once been human.

  They all were making a deafening racket. All save one.

  Peter came to a stop before the door to Ivan’s cell. It was deathly silent inside, and for just a moment Peter wondered if the creature hadn’t suffered an unexpected calamity. Looking through the slit, he found that the thing was peering right back at him, one of the orange-sized eyeballs pressed right up against the door.

  “I need your help,” Peter said in English, having to shout above the din. He paused, unable to quite believe he was about to go through with this. But he had no other choice. “I need you to keep the guards occupied while I try to destroy the gate.”

  The thing made no sign of acknowledgement, but stepped back to the rear of the cell, his massive feet crunching on the bones of his past meals. His fists clenched and unclenched in nervous rhythm.

  With a silent prayer, Peter spun the wheel and pulled the door open a fraction before his courage crumbled and he turned and ran.

  Behind him, the massive door slammed open so hard the reinforced metal hinges were torn from the concrete wall. With a roar that drowned out his fellow prisoners, Ivan stepped into the corridor.

  Peter looked over his shoulder as the huge creature began to pound its way down the corridor after him. He hadn’t realized just how big it was. Ivan’s squat, gray scale-clad body filled the entire corridor.

  Just as Peter turned back around, he collided headlong with a guard detachment that emerged from one of the spoke corridors. He bowled two men of the squad to the ground. Another pair grabbed Peter while the rest turned their weapons on him.

  Ivan roared.

  The men looked up at the approaching Titan and completely forgot about Peter.

  The squad leader didn’t have to order his men to open fire. Peter threw himself to one side as the squad blasted away at the creature, who did not so much as flinch as the bullets struck his body. A few of the slugs found chinks in Ivan’s armor, but most of them just bounced off his armored hide and ricocheted off the concrete of the corridor.

  Peter got to his feet and ran.

  At last, he reached the vault door closing off the service tunnel that would take him to the second level. Punching in the combination that Baumann had used on the opposite door with shaking hands, he pounded on the unyielding metal as it slowly swung open. “Faster, damn you!”

  As soon as it had opened enough to slip through, he stepped across to the far side and hit the controls to close the door behind him. As the thick metal slid home and the bolts engaged, the sounds of the battle on the far side fell silent. Here in the service tunnel, all Peter could hear was his own labored breathing, but he could still feel the vibrations through the concrete and steel.

  He limped up the curving incline of the tunnel, which was lined with thousands of boxes of supplies, equipment, and spare parts. He stopped just before the tunnel entrance to the bottom of the ring chamber, right next to the doors for the massive freight elevator that brought cargo down from the loading area adjoining the rail tunnel a level above. Peeking around the corner, he saw that preparations for the next transit were underway. Baumann, wearing loose blue coveralls rather than his SS uniform, was on the command platform, while Hoth and the members of his operations team worked at their consoles. There was no sign of von Falkenstein.

  Peter ducked back into the tunnel at the sound of running feet approaching. He tightened his grip on the rifle, but the footsteps came to a halt just on the other side of the entrance.

  “Ja, I know!” A deep voice called. “I am checking now!”

  Then the soldier was there, nearly nose to nose with Peter. He was roughly the same size as Peter and perhaps five years younger, with a face that would have been more at home on a twelve year old boy.

  Peter slammed his right fist up under the soldier’s jaw before the younger man could shout a warning, driving the soldier’s teeth closed on his tongue. Blood spurted from between his lips as Peter grabbed the younger man’s combat harness and yanked him farther into the tunnel, out of sight of anyone in the main cavern.

  The soldier quickly regained his senses and drew a knife from his belt, but never got a chance to use it. Peter slammed the butt of his rifle square into his face, smashing his nose and driving him to his knees. One more butt stroke and the soldier fell forward onto the floor, unconscious.

  Peter snatched up the knife and quickly dragged him back behind some nearby crates. He knelt down and held the knife to the man’s throat. Then Peter remembered the old man and the girl he had killed in cold blood. He’d had no choice then, but he did now. He lowered the knife, then slammed his fist into the soldier’s face to make sure he didn’t recover any time soon.

  A voice called from the cavern. “Heinz?”

  Doing his best impression of the unconscious soldier’s voice, Peter shouted, “Give me a minute. I need to check one more thing.” He hoped that empty answer would suffice.

  “Hurry up! We have to head down to Level Three!”

  “Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you!”

  With a muttered curse, whoever it was went away, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

  He quickly stripped the soldier out of his uniform, then took off his own. He couldn’t take a step anywhere in his own uniform without being recognized, as there were only a handful of officers here and he was the second highest ranking after Baumann.

  But in the Waffen-SS combat fatigues of an enlisted man, he could disappear in plain sight, if only for a short time. After all, nearly every soldier here was close to his height and weight, with blond hair and blue eyes, and the men of the security detachment and the recently arrived company that were to go through the gate weren’t well acquainted with one another. Confusion and uncertainty were his allies now.

  The only problem was his limp. Leaning over, he took the knife and made a small jagged rip in the fabric of the pant leg on the outside of his right knee, big enough to see the skin but not so big as to reveal his brace. Then he smeared some of the blood from the soldier’s partly amputated tongue onto the skin and the fabric around the tear.

  Nodding in satisfaction, he snatched up the soldier’s hat and crammed it on his head. Taking a deep breath, he headed out into the cavern, trying as best he could to keep out of direct sight of Baumann, who was in a heated conversation with Hoth on the command platform.

  Peter had almost reached the elevator station on the lower level of the chamber when a voice barked from behind him. “What happened to you?”

  Now wearing the rank of a lowly Oberschütze, or senior rifleman, Peter turned to face a burly Scharführer, a sergeant, who jabbed a thick finger toward Peter’s leg. Peter had seen the man before. He was one of the newly arrived supermen-to-be, but wasn’t the same man who had called out to Heinz earlier.

  “My apologies, Scharführer.” Peter put on a sheepish expression. “I caught my leg on some improperly secured equipment in the tunnel. It’s nothing.”

  The man scowled. “Idiot. The Brigadeführer is going to open the gate soon and he wants everyone who doesn’t have to be here down on Level Three containing that mess.”

  Peter bob
bed his head. “Yes, Scharführer.”

  “Is anyone else behind you?”

  “I don’t know, Scharführer. I was supposed to check the main doors in the tunnel. No one is in there.” Aside from the soldier I beat senseless, he didn’t add. “I’m not sure about the rest of the chamber.”

  “I’ll do it myself,” the man said, disgusted. “Get down to Level Three and make yourself useful!”

  “Jawohl!”

  Peter got into the elevator as the Scharführer began to make the rounds of the lower half of the chamber. Peter could only hope that he wouldn’t bother checking the tunnel. Oddly, the man who normally operated the elevator was absent. Peter moved the controls to close the door and hit the button for Level One.

  He tightened his grip on his weapon and held his breath as the indicator light chimed for the command level where Baumann was. A moment later, the light went out as the elevator continued its ascent, and Peter began to breathe again.

  When the doors slid open on the living quarters level, the corridor was empty. He made his way at a limping trot toward von Falkenstein’s quarters. Rounding the last corner, he saw that two guards were posted at the entrance to the Herr Professor’s suite.

  “You men!” He shouted. “Report to Level Three at once!”

  The two soldiers looked at one another, then at Peter.

  “I was hit,” Peter gestured at his leg, “and the Brigadeführer sent me here to relieve you. He needs every able-bodied man down there — Ivan’s loose!”

  “Oh, no,” one of them muttered as they bolted past Peter, who took up a position of attention on one side of the door.

  As soon as they disappeared from sight, Peter turned and opened the door to von Falkenstein’s suite. “Herr Professor?”

  “Peter, is that you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Peter came in and closed the door behind him.

  Von Falkenstein got up from his desk where he’d been studying The Black Gate. “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you to be my executioner. Baumann had promised to do the deed himself.”

  “I’m not here to kill you,” Peter told him. “I came to set you free. Baumann is planning to go through the gate, and once he’s through, he’s planning to send his men through the gate quickly, in a group. I think you know very well how that’s likely to end.”

  Von Falkenstein glanced back at the ancient book lying open on his desk.

  Peter stepped closer to him. “You and I both know what happened with the gate the ancients built after they sent through too many people at once. That one was far larger than yours, and it took them quite some time to reach the point of no return. But sending a single individual through a gate this size was already a risk, wasn’t it?” Slowly, von Falkenstein nodded. “Just think what will happen when a full company of soldiers leaps through it in rapid succession.”

  “I tried to warn him,” von Falkenstein said miserably. “Hoth and I both tried to tell him what could happen if he did not follow the protocols exactly. We have always carefully managed the risk by spacing out the transits. But that fool Kleist filled Baumann’s head with rubbish, and after I told him he would not be going through the gate…” He shrugged.

  Peter reached out and gripped von Falkenstein’s arm. “He could unleash Armageddon if we don’t stop him. This isn’t an isolated island continent like Atlantis, and we have no doomsday failsafe weapon to protect the rest of the Reich, let alone the world, should things get out of hand.”

  With a bitter laugh, Von Falkenstein shook off Peter’s hand. “There are only two of us. Baumann controls two companies of SS soldiers. What would you have me do?”

  “Actually, there are three of us at the moment, and the third member of our party is currently helping to even the odds.” Von Falkenstein raised his eyebrows. “Ivan is loose on the third level.”

  “What?” The older man recoiled. “You set him loose?” Peter nodded. “You’re more of a madman than Baumann!”

  “Without that little diversion, I would be locked in one of Kleist’s cells and we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Peter said in a dry voice. “Besides, Baumann’s men subdued him once, they’ll do so again.”

  “Then that leaves us back where we started.” He made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “You may as well have given yourself up.”

  “There is one other who might be able to help us,” Peter persisted. “But we must act now. Even as we speak, Hoth is preparing to open the gate for Baumann’s transit.”

  Von Falkenstein cocked his head, curious. “Who? Who would be of any real use against Baumann’s men?”

  Peter stared at him. “Mina.”

  “You are insane,” von Falkenstein hissed. “I would not help that creature if you held a gun to my head.”

  “You’ll live only so long as you’re useful to him,” Peter said. “After that you’ll be nothing more than a snack.” He stepped closer. “We only have this one chance to stop him. If he goes through the gate, we’re all as good as dead. And if his men go through and destabilize the gate, we’re all finished. The Reich will suffer the same fate as Atlantis, or worse.”

  That, Peter saw, finally got through to him. “If he goes through the gate,” Peter went on, “Mina will be the only one who might be able to stop him. We must have her help.”

  “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” von Falkenstein whispered. After a moment, he gave a slow nod. “Very well. What did you have in mind?”

  THIRTY SECONDS

  They couldn’t hope to pass von Falkenstein off as anyone but himself, so they didn’t try. The professor strode down the corridor with Peter right behind him, his weapon trained on the older man’s back. For all appearances, von Falkenstein was a prisoner being moved under armed guard, except for the pistol tucked into von Falkenstein’s waistband, hidden by his suit coat.

  The ruse, however, was entirely unnecessary. Level One was completely deserted.

  “Wait,” Peter said as they were about to pass the door to his room. He darted inside and retrieved the two journals and shoved them into his tunic.

  Von Falkenstein’s eyes narrowed. “Now is not the time.”

  “There may not be another,” Peter told him as he shut the door and gestured for von Falkenstein to move on.

  Their footsteps echoed in the empty corridors as they made their way to the main elevator that would take them down.

  The plan was simple. Von Falkenstein would do what he could to delay Baumann from sending his men through the gate while Peter freed Mina. With Ivan wreaking havoc on Level Three, Peter was hoping that only a few guards, or perhaps none, would remain on the command platform.

  The elevator slowed as it approached Level Two.

  “Good luck, Herr Professor,” Peter said.

  Removing the pistol Peter had given him from his waistband and holding it in a firm, confident grip, von Falkenstein growled, “I have no need of luck.”

  The door hissed open and von Falkenstein stepped out. Peter heard some shouts of surprise before the door slid closed and the elevator continued its descent toward Level Three.

  When the doors opened and he stepped out onto the third level, he found no one there to greet him. The sounds of gunfire, screams, and Ivan’s rage-filled bellows echoed from the concrete and rock walls. Despite overwhelming numbers, the SS soldiers still had not been able to subdue their quarry.

  Peter made his way to the still-smoking wreckage of the laboratory, which had been transformed into a makeshift triage station. Injured and dead soldiers and a handful of Kleist’s minions who must have been in the cell block and got in Ivan’s way were arrayed in orderly rows in the parts of the lab and adjoining rooms that hadn’t been burned. A pair of men in white lab coats that were now streaked and smudged with blood were treating the injured as best they could, even as more casualties were hauled in by their comrades.

  The laboratory was rocked by an explosion, then another. Ivan’s roar turned into a warbling scream that was drowne
d out by a non-stop orgy of automatic weapons fire.

  Ignoring everyone around him, Peter stepped over the dead and the dying, intent on his goal.

  He turned down the first hallway of the cell block and began to unlock each door as he passed, quickly spinning the wheels to draw back the locking bolts before pulling the doors partway open. He did not stop to see what might emerge, and could only hope that the newly freed prisoners would be drawn toward the laboratory and the possibility of freedom, or food, rather than running him down.

  The hallway behind him was quickly filled by grunts, squeals, and warbles that sent a shiver of fear down Peter’s spine. Heavy footsteps, the scraping of something hard against concrete, the flapping of membranes, and frenetic tap-tap-tapping marked the movement of the prisoners, and Peter hurried faster toward Mina’s cell.

  Screams from the direction of the laboratory, followed by gunfire, punctuating the frenzied howls and mewling of the creatures as they fell upon the unsuspecting wounded.

  Kneeling down, he skid open the thick hatch over the feeding slit in Mina’s door. “Mina,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “Peter,” she gasped, “what’s happening?”

  “It’s a bit of a long story,” he told her as he began to spin the wheel on the door. “The most important thing is to get you out of there, and then we need to…”

  “Peter, no!” She cried. “Stop! Don’t let me out!”

  Peter stopped spinning the wheel. “Why? We have to…”

  “I need more food,” she rasped. “I…I killed that last man they left in here, but I’m still hungry. Starving. I might…I might hurt you. I can’t control myself.”

  Peter felt like the world had just dropped away. Kneeling down so he could look at her through the feeding slit, he said, “Mina, Baumann’s opening the gate as we speak and plans to go through and take his men with him. It’s just as you said in von Falkenstein’s study that night. Too many men going through in a short time could destabilize the gate and allow whatever’s on the other side to come here. We’ve got to stop him.”