by Joe Buff
More undersea nuclear blasts. A liquid natural gas ship detonated. The picture panned the horizon. Three dozen mushroom clouds? The convoy and escorts were decimated.
The picture cut to a container ship, no, a troopship, sinking in a spreading inferno of flaming fuel. Black heads in the water, struggling amid the flames, without lips or fingers. A soldier, burned beyond recognition, being lifted into a helo. A woman soldier.
The picture cut to a nuclear submarine, pulling into a dock at an underground hardened base. A brass band played on the pier. On the sound track, the martial music continued. Jeffrey studied every detail, desperate for clues on the sub's location. The camera zoomed to a man in dress blues on her bridge. A voice-over kept saying Deutschland. Deutschland. Germany. Germany.
The camera zoomed in more. No. Not "Germany." Deutschland, the nuclear submarine. Jeffrey's heart raced. Him.
The naval officer waved, self-satisfied and smug. He puffed a cigarette. Jeffrey knew that face, that arrogant look. He seemed a little older, and even more sure of himself — as if that were possible. It was three years now, but Jeffrey still felt the hate. The man who had tried to ruin Jeffrey's career at the Pentagon, through deceitful office politics, and trumped-up charges of sexual misconduct. The man who thought himself, even then, the best natural submariner in the world.
A man with an evil secret, even then. One of the main long-term conspirators behind the Double Putsch. Now Freggatenkapitan, full commander, Kurt Eberhard.
* * *
Ilse had to wipe her eyes. She blinked as the lights came on. Good, let people think it's eyestrain, not grief and horror.
The fat man stepped to the lectern again.
"Naval Intelligence estimates the Allied losses at between fifteen and twenty thousand killed, and thousands seriously wounded or burned, along with the sinking of nine escort warships and over three hundred thousand tons of merchant shipping." The audience grew even more excited. Several people cheered.
"As I mentioned, this was accomplished with Mach two point five missiles, against which Allied defenses are paltry enough. That, and of course Deutschland's state-of-theart nuclear torpedoes. In your mind, ladies and gentlemen, picture what we shall accomplish once our Mach eight weapon system becomes operational in the field."
He paused.
"I am very pleased to inform you that the latest wind tunnel test, just this evening, was a complete success."
More people cheered.
"Your senior director, now at a meeting in Berlin, has been informed. The High Command, I am proud to announce, has made the decision to go to full-scale mass production at once…. Work will begin immediately to ship the jigs and dies to our impenetrable factories dug into the Alps."
"With this big step, through all your efforts, we usher in a new age of warfare! Victory draws near! Long live the Fatherland! Long live our beloved Kaiser, Wilhelm the Fourth!"
A new picture came on the screen, the post-Putsch national flag: a two-headed black Germanic eagle, clutching the Hohenzollern crown, on a background of blood red. The audience rose to attention as one, and sang the new national anthem. Ilse forced herself to mouth the words.
* * *
As the crowd dispersed, Montgomery and Jeffrey approached Ilse.
"Follow me," she said, in German. She led them toward a ladies' room. Jeffrey carried the welding gear. Montgomery carried Ilse's briefcase, whose weight he seemed to hardly feel.
"Wait here," Ilse said. "I need to use the bathroom."
Ilse made sure no one else was in the restroom. Then she went into a stall, and bent over the toilet. To mental images of the burned woman soldier dangling on a stretcher in midair, her flesh all black and blistered, cracked and oozing blood, Ilse vomited. She thought of ARBOR — not a code word but a person, a pregnant woman with a name — also dangling in midair, and the pair of Turks.
Eventually there was nothing left to cough up. Ilse felt a little better. Ilse opened the ladies' room door and waved Jeffrey and Montgomery in. Montgomery propped the door open with a spare welding rod, while Jeffrey searched nonchalantly for a security camera. Satisfied there wasn't one, Jeffrey plugged the welding transformer into a utility socket, where it could be seen through the restroom door. He had to make this look good — and also test the rig.
Jeffrey powered up the rig. He clipped the heavy ground cable to the stainless steel side of a toilet stall. He pulled a pair of dark goggles out of the rig's side compartment. He put them on and turned his face away. He applied the welding tip for a split second. There was a blinding flash, a sizzling noise, and an acrid smell. Droplets of hot metal spattered and burned his forearms through his coveralls. He held his breath and prayed, but the smoke alarm didn't go off. The smell lingered enough to give the scene authenticity: maintenance guys at work.
Jeffrey knelt by the side of the stall, ready to do it again if someone tried to enter the restroom. He waved for Ilse to stand in a corner, out of sight from the door. Now they had a place where the three of them could speak safely in English, to plot strategy. For Jeffrey, Montgomery and Ilse summarized the head of security's speech.
"Someone in there knew me," Ilse added. "I don't think he remembered from where, not right away."
"Who?" Jeffrey said.
"A South African naval officer."
"Great. One more time bomb ticking on our heads."
"How'd you make out with Lieutenant Clayton and Salih?" Ilse said.
"We got separated. We don't know where they are."
"You think they were arrested?"
"If they were, we have a major problem. You heard what Shajo said: One bomb isn't enough to make an end to this whole place…. If they're okay, they'll head for the emergency rally point."
"How do we get back there? Going through the interlock again tempts fate too much."
"Salih said there was an air duct," Jeffrey said, "but we couldn't find it. It's not on the floor plan."
"Are you satisfied with the ROEs?" Ilse said.
"What did you find so far?"
Ilse told him and Montgomery about the missile test. They listened raptly. She also mentioned what Gaubatz said, that key people worked on this side of the interlock, in a separate computer-aided-design lab.
"Okay," Jeffrey said. "The ROEs are met. We're all expendable."
"But—"
"We just heard of three people martyred here, and saw tons of thousands slaughtered in combat. We can't let them down, nor everyone else who's counting on us."
Ilse hesitated only a moment. "I agree."
Jeffrey was surprised how determined she sounded. We were just starting to really know each other, our moods and dislikes and desires, and now we're going to die.
"Chief, you head upstairs. Find a guard. Ask them outright where's the air duct. Also, ask if they've seen a guy in a welding mask."
"That's risky, Skipper," Montgomery said.
"We'll have to chance it. Then come back here." Montgomery left.
"Ilse," Jeffrey said, "I'll stay put, and keep pretending to weld. I want you to go back out there with your device. Find the computer center. Arm the bomb, then hide it somewhere good."
"It's already armed."
Jeffrey's eyebrows raised.
"I had some trouble with the checkpoint guards."
"Did you start the timer?"
"No. I almost had to use the instant-firing switch."
Jeffrey felt himself shiver. "Emplace it. Set the time delay for nine zero minutes, and start it running."
Ilse began to leave, then looked back. "Um, I, I want you to know, Jeffrey, it's been an honor working with you."
Jeffrey gave her a poignant smile. "It was good for me too, Ilse. I'm sorry if I seemed hard on you before, on the ship."
She came closer. "I, if only…"
"I know. In another life… I guess it just wasn't meant to be." She turned to go, then turned back again.
"What if we can't find Lieutenant Clayton?"
"Then your bomb
's all we've got. Half a lab's better than none."
* * *
The first A-bomb was ticking. On the upper level, hiding behind a row of roaring fan blowers, Jeffrey and Ilse and Montgomery looked up at the entrance to the air duct. It was two meters off the floor, protected by a grating.
"Salih said he needed his ID to get inside," Jeffrey said.
"Want me to see if I can force it open?"
"We have nothing to lose, Chief."
"Yeah, that's for sure. Give me a boost, please, sir."
Jeffrey knelt and put his hands against the wall; Montgomery climbed onto his shoulders. The chief reached for the grating.
"It's open. Held with shims."
"It might be a trap," Ilse whispered.
"We have to take the chance," Jeffrey managed to grunt. He was still supporting Montgomery's full weight.
Montgomery jumped down. "Ilse, you go first."
Ilse climbed on Jeffrey's shoulders, and Montgomery helped her reach the air duct. With the grate swung open now, she chinned herself up and climbed inside. Montgomery took the welding transformer and climbed on Jeffrey's shoulders again. Jeffrey almost collapsed from the weight. The chief pushed the transformer into the opening. They might need the welder to emplace the other bomb, and abandoned somewhere here it might warn guards there were intruders.
Montgomery let Jeffrey stand, then linked his hands to make a stirrup. He boosted Jeffrey up.
Jeffrey clambered inside, and pushed the transformer forward — it was too tall to roll upright in the ductway. The metal case scraped loudly along the concrete. Jeffrey saw Ilse crawl further in, on hands and knees. When there was room, Montgomery leaped and chinned himself into the ductway.
"I can't reach the grate to close it," Montgomery said. "Leave it," Jeffrey said. Soon enough, it wouldn't matter. Nothing would matter.
They crawled on. Eventually, past Ilse, Jeffrey could make out the other end of the duct, with another grate. Right in front of him, partly blocking his progress, was a constriction in the ductway: the visible edges of a titanium frame for an automatic blast door.
Jeffrey kicked himself; he wasn't thinking. Of course there'd be a blast shutter here. He tried to get the welder past the bottom edge of the frame. It was very awkward, in such confined space. Ilse couldn't possibly turn around, and Montgomery was behind him. Jeffrey had to do this by himself.
He levered the heavy transformer onto the lip of the frame, almost crushing a finger. He began to shove the rig forward. A little further… a little further.. The transformer slid through.
Crap!
Jeffrey pulled back just in time. The transformer dropped off the frame with a heavy thud, and the edge of the thick blast door snapped down like a guillotine. An alarm began to sound. Trapped, on the same side of the lab as Ilse's bomb.
Jeffrey heard guards running to the air duct. There was noise as someone positioned a ladder. He heard rifle charging-handles pulled back and released. Rounds slid into chambers, and selectors clicked off safe to fire — six or seven men. A guard shouted something angry in German.
Montgomery shouted, too, then said something apologetic.
Jeffrey glanced back. Montgomery was holding his ID card over his shoulder so the guard on the ladder could see. Two other guards held assault rifles over their heads, aimed into the duct; Jeffrey just saw their forearms and their weapon muzzles ― 5.56mm caliber, the same as M 6's. Jeffrey displayed his own ID, though he was too far in for the guard to read it. Montgomery pointed to the blast door, and shouted something more. He pointed again for emphasis.
The guard stepped down from the ladder. Another took his place, and covered them warily with his rifle. The alarm stopped. The blast door rose and reset. There on the other side was the welding gear. Ilse was gone. Montgomery pointed at the transformer, past Jeffrey's body, and spoke to the guard.
The second guard said something, nodded, and climbed down from the ladder. The rifles aimed into the duct disappeared.
Jeffrey heard a radio hiss and crackle. They must be talking to guards at the other end of the duct. Ilse's end.
Jeffrey climbed out headfirst at the other end of the air duct — that grate was swung wide open. Montgomery held his ankles till Jeffrey's hands could reach the floor. Awkwardly, Jeffrey stood. Montgomery handed down the transformer.
Jeffrey had an idea. He checked the coast was clear, so he could talk. "Chief, can you jam open the blast door with a welding rod?"
"Good thought, sir. Be right back." This way one bomb might be enough to kill both halves of the lab — or it might not.
Jeffrey saw a socket. "Chief," he said in a whisper. Jeffrey plugged in the extension cord and lifted the rig to Montgomery. "Weld the rod in place. In fact, try to weld the door open."
Montgomery nodded. He backed in, dragging the rig. There were blue-white flashes, then more scraping of metal on concrete. The end of the rig reappeared. Jeffrey grabbed it, then helped Montgomery down. He knelt so Montgomery could get back up to shut the grate, and remove any traces of the shims.
Ilse stepped out from behind a big steam manifold. It hissed and dripped. "Guards came by and did a sweep, but I evaded round these pipes till the ones on your side called them off."
Jeffrey smiled with relief. He gave her a hug, and she squeezed back.
"Let's get to the rally point." Jeffrey turned to Montgomery as they strode along, wheeling the welding rig, looking over their shoulders nervously, hoping they wouldn't be apprehended too soon, before they could turn the missile lab into a double nuclear Hell.
"You did it again, Chief," Jeffrey said to try to lighten the mood. "Faking out those guards."
"So I'll get an Oscar, posthumously…. This maintenance worker act is wearing thin, sir."
Jeffrey nodded. The guards might double-check and see there was never anything wrong with the duct that needed welding, and that Salih's ID, not a repair authorization, had opened the grates.
"Also, sir, the guard asked me if we'd seen a late-twenties woman with shoulder-length brown hair. You, Ilse."
"They're on to me."
"How did you get down from the duct headfirst so fast?" Jeffrey said.
"The grate didn't look like it could hold me, so I tried to do a parachute landing fall."
"You've had jump training?" Montgomery said.
"No. I told myself this was no time to clutch, and just did it…. I don't think I broke anything."
"The grates," Jeffrey said. "It's been nagging on my mind. I think Salih and Clayton are still on the loose. The way they left the ductway clear, those shims — it's like they were trying to plant a message for us…. I'm starting to have a new plan."
"There's another problem," Montgomery said. "That automated checkpoint we came through near the utility space, you remember, with Clayton and Salih. How do we get Ilse past it now? I'm sure they've invalidated her ID."
"We have to knock out the videocamera," Jeffrey said. "Then one of us can carry her on his shoulders through the floor-to-ceiling turnstile."
"Won't breaking the camera set off another alarm?" Ilse said.
"Sir, let me use the welding rig real quick, since they'll be watching on the fish-eye. I'll zap the camera cable."
"I like it. Then, if we can move fast enough, the alarm should work in our favor."
* * *
The alarm must have been silent. Past the turnstile, the threesome ran as fast as they could. They came to the spot where the rest of the SEALs were hiding. It was an especially hot, humid, and noisy cul-de-sac, where few lab workers or guards were likely to go, well concealed by big steel cooling pipes that also gave good cover from enemy fire. SEALs One and Nine brought their weapons to bear, then waved Jeffrey through as soon as his group was recognized.
Clayton and Salih were there, huddled over a floor plan and recon photos. Clayton was suited up for battle.
Salih held a pistol borrowed from a SEAL. Twenty other Gastarbeiter were there, also armed with borrowed pisto
ls, or borrowed knives or grenades, or lengths of pipe. They weren't a rabble, but a disciplined formation in two squads.
"When we couldn't find you, sir," Clayton said, "Salih alerted his people. We were hoping you three would make it back on your own."
"I think there are guards right on our tail," Jeffrey said. It was better tactically for the first wave of guards to come to them. "Where's the toolbox?"
"Inside a T-joint access hatch, in a cooling bypass loop we closed the valves to isolate. Where's Ilse's briefcase?"
"In a supply room in the other half," Ilse said, "down on the third level. Behind cartons of printer paper and water-cooler refill jugs."
"I know what's in your boxes," Salih said. "I'm a building engineer, remember? You'd never come this far just to spy. Do what you have to do."
"ROEs have been satisfied." Jeffrey checked his watch. "Lieutenant Clayton, arm and start your bomb, seven five minutes timer delay."
"Arm and start it, seven five minutes, aye." Clayton rushed off.
SEALs One and Nine moved out to deepen the perimeter. One of Salih's squads followed each SEAL, crouching low.
Jeffrey and Ilse hurried into their black drysuits and flak vests. They pulled on urban warfare camo smocks — a pattern of broken shapes in white and black and gray, like shattered concrete and asphalt. SEALs Seven and Eight helped them don the rest of their battle gear. Jeffrey double-checked Ilse from head to foot, feeling very protective of her, especially now that they might have a chance to survive. She stood still for his close inspection, and made quick eye contact from very close, and there was something very intimate and special in her look.
Jeffrey turned to Salih. The Turk's stooped posture was long gone. His eyes sparkled in a way Jeffrey hadn't seen before.
"You held something back from us, didn't you?" Jeffrey said.
Salih grinned. "Need-to-know, Commander. In case you were captured yourself. After the first hangings, we reorganized from an ersatz labor union into infantry platoons in secret. A lot of the men did national service in the army, in Turkey or in Germany. I made corporal before I got out of the Bundesarmee." The German Army.
"Did your two men really confess about the guard?"