One Minute to Midnight (16 page)

"It's accurate, Mr. President. We've
seen craft entering and exiting a subterranean opening on the Nazi
base. These saucers are quick, too. Our fighters couldn't touch 'me
the way they zip around." Doug said.
"Mr. President, I think we should send a team of highly trained
operatives up there and take that base down. That way we don't have
to acknowledge the Third Reich never completely died, declare
official war on the Nazis again and start World War III. We can do
it nice and quiet." Frank said.
"If we attack that base, and this gets out to the press, the
backlash could destabilize our relationships with our foreign
partners." Sherry Cummings said.
"Sir, if we attack that base you'll be a world hero. These bastards
have been on the run for seventy years, and it looks like they're
arming themselves for something big. We need to strike now." Doug
said.
"Let me see video of these things flying. Any of you got something
like that?" The President said.
"Yes sir, I've got it on my laptop. One second." Doug
said.

Moments later President Yates was
watching a satellite feed of three saucers hovering above the base,
and then in formation, they lifted off and were gone before he
could blink. He sat back in his fine leather chair, a hand on his
chin, and thought about his next move.
"This is great!" President Yates yelled.

"Sir?" General Ashby asked.

"I want that technology for our space
program. General Ashby, do you have any people that would volunteer
for a suicide mission to get the job done? We need to get some of
those scientists, too." The president said.

Everyone could see he was serious, and
the General thought for a minute.

"I know a guy. He goes by the name
Major Cataclysm, and he calls his band of misfits The Hell
Razor’s." General Ashby said.

"That's a hell of a name. Do you trust
him?" Dick asked.
"I trust him completely to get this job done, but I guess a little
background wouldn't hurt. His real name is Major Pete Dexter, and a
few years back he was on an extraction mission in Baghdad, when his
helicopter was shot down by insurgents. In the fire, one of his
grenades went off and destroyed half of his body. Pararescue got
him out, and our surgeons were able to save him, thanks to advanced
cybernetics and skeletal reconstruction techniques. Ninety percent
of his skeletal structure was replaced by titanium rods, and
millions of nanobots were injected to bind the muscle tissue to
those rods." General Ashby said.
"Sounds like some kind of Robocop." Doug laughed.
"The Major does not work or play well with others. He was a fine
combat tactician, but after the incident, he was discharged and
became a MERC. We still use him as a contractor though; the man is
an efficient killer. His most recent mission was for the military
down in Ecuador; they were having some trouble controlling the drug
trade, so they requested Major C. by name. They needed someone who
would get the job done, and not ask questions, but his methods are,
and I hate to say it but, a bit unsound." General Ashby
said.

"He doesn't have to be a boy scout,
General. He just needs to get in there and get us a flying saucer,
and some of them guys who make it work. Can he do it?" The
President asked.

"Mr. President, I'll be on the next
plane to South America. I have a feeling Cataclysm won’t turn down
the chance to kill some Nazis. He's probably going to want a lot of
money to do it, though."

"Excellent, General. We
make
money all day long, so that's no
issue. Give him what he wants, and after we get what
we
want, we'll inform
Interpol of the Nazi presence, and let the UN take care of that
mess. Meeting adjourned, thanks for coming everyone!" President
Yates said.

General Ashby caught a ride on a C-130
the next morning, bound for an unmarked airstrip in the middle of
Panama’s dense jungles. When he landed, he was greeted by a Spec
Ops Captain named Walthorp, who had been assigned to the drug task
force detail and was one of Major Cataclysm’s subordinates. The
Captain was in jungle fatigues, and had a combat beard that was
well on its way to reaching his chest.

"Welcome to Hell, General. The Major’s
out on a scouting detail right now, but he should be back within
the hour. He was informed that you were on your way and told me to
let you know he wouldn't be long. We’ve got a great air-conditioned
trailer for you to wait in, too. The Major stole it from some
cartel guys a few weeks back." Captain Walthorp said.
"Thank you, Captain. That’ll be great. You boys stopped shaving
down here, huh?" General Ashby asked.
"Oh no sir, we shave pretty regularly." Captain Walthorp
replied.

On their way to trailer, the General
noticed that over two dozen men had been buried up to their necks
in dirt. Separated into two rows about three feet apart, the dead
men formed a path to the trailer, and each head was adorned with a
large white candle attached by melted, dripping wax. The effect was
like something out of a Wes Craven movie. Gaping eyeless sockets
stared up at the sky.

"You like the path lighters, General?
These are some of the cartel guys we were sent down here to get
control of, but there are some men you just can't be reasonable
with. The Major thinks they give the place some atmosphere at
night, plus the candles keep us from tripping in the dark." Captain
Walthorp said.
"Lovely." General Ashby replied.

They saw a Jeep heading their way with
a four soldiers inside. The Jeep pulled up next to the General and
a rather tall, good looking man with a large scar on his right
cheek got out of the vehicle. His fatigues were rolled up to expose
heavily muscled arms covered in tattoos.

"General Ashby! To what do I owe this
pleasure? The boys said you were coming all the way down here to
our little paradise, but they didn’t tell me why. My guess is it's
not to hand out Christmas cards. You like what we've done with the
place?" The Major asked.
"Yeah, it's nice, and you're right, I do have a job for you. It
looks like you've been busy down here." The General
said.

"Yes sir, we've dropped drug
production by thirty percent in the last few months. The boys and I
have been so effective that the cartels sent these candleholders
you see in the ground to try and shut down our little operation. I
was offended by the attempt, and well, now they're my lawn
decorations. But, you're not here to see these guys. What's up?"
Major Cataclysm asked.

"The CIA found a Nazi base in the
South Pole, and President Yates wants you to go in and retrieve
some advanced technology, and a few of the scientists that created
it." General Ashby said.

"Nazis? We got rid o' them som'
bitches seventy years ago."

"They resurfaced, and now they've got
a flying saucer plant of some kind down in Antarctica."
Major Cataclysm fixed General Ashby with a look of suspicion and
distrust.

"You sure about this? I
mean, this ain't gonna' be like Baghdad is it? Because that war was
some bullshit all the way through. The last time I was sent in to
gather some
important
technology
, I ended up ordering my guys to
blow up a car full of civilians. We didn't find shit inside that
car except burned up dead people. I can still smell those women and
children burning when I go to sleep at night. At least here, lost
in the jungle, I can lie to myself and pretend we're doing
something good for a change."
"Major, that occupation was crap all the way to the top, and you're
not the only one with blood on his hands. This is for real, and we
need your help." General Ashby said.

Major Cataclysm rubbed his beard for a
minute, and looked at his ten men, who had been listening to the
conversation intently and glaring at the General. General Ashby
began to feel the intensity of this conversation building, and
judging by the looks he was getting from Major Cataclysm's men, he
felt he might not walk out of the jungle.

"What’s in it for us? We've got a
sweet deal going on down here. We get paid well by the Panamanians,
and keep a good bit of the cash we find at each one of these little
cocaine processing operations. That shit's retirement money. Right
boys!" Major Cataclysm said.
"Hooah!" Was the resounding response.

"What do you want?" The General
asked.

"Two hundred and seventy million
dollars and I'll split it with the boys here." Major Cataclysm
said.
"Well shit. That ain’t cheap, but I think we can handle that. You
have three days to get it done. I'm assuming you can put your
project here on hold for a week or so?"

The General had been carrying a
dossier and handed it over to Major Cataclysm.

"That's it. Photographs, location,
everything. Your team will parachute in, infiltrate the base, get
the saucer, and retrieve Goel Fisk, the man who built it. You
either get the craft, or you don't come back, and the U.S. will
officially have no position on this. You're on your own if you get
captured, Major.

Transportation has been arranged, and
you'll be flying out of New Zealand."

It was June, and Antarctica was
experiencing a period of twenty-four hour darkness so, one day
later, under the cover of night, Major Cataclysm and his team of
highly trained commandos parachuted out of the back of a C-130
Hercules gunship over the frozen wastes, undetected. Their landing
brought them within two miles of the Nazi base, and with the
location set in their GPS, the team moved forward.
"These guys probably already have the place wired for sound, so we
need to be prepared for ground heat signature sensors and
microphones. I've got a disruptor ray that can take out the mics
and sensors, but if we do that chances are the bastards'll be onto
us early. Sergeant Hall, be ready with the thermite charges to blow
an opening in the hangar door. Lt. Gonzales, you've got rocket
launcher duty in case those saucers come at us. We've got the
rocket’s internal computers set for target motion acquisition, so
even if they don't have a heat signature we'll still hit something.
I'm going for the saucer once we breach the base, and remember, we
have no idea what it looks like inside the hangar, so be prepared
for anything." The Major said.

"Do we have an approximate head count
of Nazi bastards, sir?" Sergeant Wilco asked.

"That's a tricky one.
There may be a hundred or a thousand of those rats in the tunnels.
Keep in mind these guys have been gearing up for the last seventy
years, so for all we know they've been breeding the master race
down there." Major Cataclysm said.
They equipped their night vision glasses and began walking across
the frozen barrens as a cold breeze picked up. Each man was
equipped with heavy white winter gear that allowed them to blend
into the snow, and anti-IR foil inside the lining of their clothing
to avoid detection from surveillance equipment. Later that night,
they came upon the base and found the above ground fuel tanks and
strange-looking towers. There was no exterior lighting, but they
could see soldiers walking around in the darkness though their
night vision glasses. A hangar door opened, and as the light from
within spilled out onto hard packed snow, the team saw a flying
saucer exit the opening. Major Cataclysm motioned for everyone to
follow him and they dashed for the hangar. They passed a steel
access door by the hangar and stopped. Sergeant Hall reached into
his pack for one of the thermite charges, but Lt. Gonzales placed a
hand on his arm, and tried the door handle, which easily swung
open. Gonzales cut his eyes sharply at Hall, and smirked. Hall
rolled his eyes and gave him a finger twirl, as if to say,
'yeah, yeah, get on with it'
.

The hangar appeared empty, save for
two men in jumpsuits standing by one of the three saucers. These
machines looked like they would be big enough for two or three men
at most. Major Cataclysm saw the one he wanted hovering by the
hangar entrance. The body was cylindrical in shape and he estimated
the length to be over a hundred feet long, perfect for him and his
Hell Razor’s to get out of there alive.
"Now, we need to find the architect. You've all got a picture of
him on your phones, so keep an eye open. There's an elevator over
there, and I'm just going to go floor by floor if I have to.
Gonzales, Speedman, and Ruiz, you come with me." The Major
said.
They each carried an eight round revolving grenade launcher that
resembled a very large .357 Python. With silenced AR-15's strapped
over their backs, combat knives in their boots, and six fully
loaded magazines a piece, they were ready for a limited fire fight.
A door to some stairs leading down into the catacombs was the only
other opening beside the elevator. The Major walked over to check
it out and suddenly realized the design flaw in their hangar.
"These guys have an elevator, and only one set of stairs, unless
they got another one hid around somewhere else. So, Hall, I want
you to set charges around the supports for those stairs, and burn
that stairwell free: collapse the whole damned thing. Then set some
charges on the elevator cable. If we ain't back in an hour, blow it
to hell, grab the ship, and get out of here."

"Yes sir." Hall nodded.

"You Hell Razor's are a fine bunch of
men and it's been a pleasure doing business with ya'll. It's a
fucked up world we live in these days and I don't know if any of
the craziness we've been through has made it any better but we can
go raise hell on these Aryan assholes before hanging up our hats
and maybe make up for some of it."