Origins: The Reich (20 page)

Frank hated to
admit it, but he had to give credit where credit was due.  Chin knew the area surrounding the first Chinese emperor’s burial mound like the back of his hand.  The man guided Alex to park the van along the southern side of the pyramid with a whole forest of pine trees leading all the way to the pyramid and up the steep sloping sides.

The additional cover was most definitely required.  Two men sneaking their way across open terrain was tough enough.  Four individuals lugging equipment, weaponry and backpacks full of explosives would have been impossible to hide.  Detection by the anemic Alpha patrols was easy to avoid among this dense thicket of trees.

Locating the crater was not nearly as difficult as Frank had envisioned.  Finding a single depression in the soil inside of a quarter mile square area seemed daunting, but the two archeologists were able to spot the telltale tracks of drainage runoff that led them right to the spot.

Chin produced a battery-operated drill with the longest bit Frank had ever seen.  The corkscrew drill bit was eight inches in diameter and was eight feet long.  Chin had to sit on top of Frank’s shoulders to operate the thing and drill a vertical shaft in the middle of the twelve-foot wide crater.  The two repeated the process five more times in a circular pattern that, when completed, looked similar to the loading cylinder of a six-shot revolver.

The Chinese operative set aside the drill and looked at the four fully loaded backpacks resting on the ground for a moment. 

“That one,” he said pointing to the one with red electrical tape along the side to indicate the type of explosive device inside.  Frank set the pack upright and loosened the top for Chin to reach in and pull out a cylindrical object two feet long and six inches around.  Next, he pulled out a ream of detonation cord, wired the device and lowered it down one of the shafts he had dripped.

“Are you sure these will do the job?” Alex whispered.  “Explosions usually go outward, not down.”

“An EFP is a shaped charge designed to propel a copper slug through walls and armor,” Frank explained while Chin labored to fill the other five holes.  “They should be able to punch through ten or twenty feet of packed dirt.  If it’s much thicker than that, then we’re gonna have a problem.”

“We haven’t made much noise up to this point, but these things don’t have a silencer.  They’ll be heard all over this complex; there’s just no getting around it,” Frank added with a finality to his words.

He then looked up at Alex and Professor Russell with real concern in his eyes.  “You do realize that this is a one way trip right?  If this works and we get in that tunnel, then we’ll be trapped between those ceramic pots coming at us from the chamber we’re trying to reach and our rear when they find this hole.  There is no realistic chance of anyone who goes in making it back out.”

Frank shrugged his head toward Chin.  “For him and I this is our duty.  You two need to get the hell out of here and let the professionals do their thing.  You’ve done your part.”

“Who is going to navigate your way around down there, carry all of these backpacks, and cover your back while you guys set up the explosives?” Alex demanded.  “Just because you work for the government doesn’t give you a monopoly on a sense of patriotism or duty.  You have a much better chance if we go down there with you, so we’re all in this together until the job’s done.”

“Never argue with a passionate lady I always say,” Frank sighed and turned his attention to Chin who held a bright yellow detonation control box with six wires running out of it.

“We’re ready.  Everyone grab a pack, get back fifty feet, find a tree to hide behind, and cover your ears,” Chin ordered.

Chin wedged one ear against his scrunched shoulder and plugged the other with his index finger.  He checked to see that everyone else was ready and then used his free hand to depress the firing trigger. 

A moment later, Frank’s ears were ringing and his body ached from the concussion wave.  He fought through the pain to bring himself to his feet and managed to run toward the smoking crater.  He expected to find a circular shaft leading to darkness below.  Instead, he found pretty much the same sight that he left before detonating the explosives, except each of the six holes was now smoking profusely.

Out of frustration, Frank jumped high into the air to land with all of his weight dead center among the six smoking holes.  To his great relief, but sudden horror, Frank felt the ground beneath his feet fall away.  He swung his arms out to the side in an attempt to catch the sides of the shaft, but his weight and momentum were too much.  His backpack was thrust upward against the back of his head as it grated along the back wall of the shaft all the way down.

His landing was somewhat softer than expected, at least as soft as a twenty-foot drop could feel.  He landed atop a pile of loose dirt and fumbled around for his flashlight to examine his surroundings.  He quickly realized that he was sitting on a ten-foot tall pile of dirt extending almost all the way up to the ceiling of a tunnel that was twenty feet wide and branched out in three directions.

Frank kicked some of the larger chunks of earth out of his way as he scampered down the pile.  He would have loved to take his time to look around and guarantee everyone’s safety down there, but he knew time was short.  The Alpha would have heard the explosion, and the rising pillar of smoke from the blast site would not be difficult to find.  They had at best five minutes to get good and lost among these meandering corridors.

He scrambled part way up the dirt pile to holler up the shaft, “I’m fine, now get your butts down here so we can get movin’.”

Each landing got progressively more jarring as the dirt pile became more compacted.  Chin was the last one down and hit like a ton of bricks.  He tumbled head over heels down the mound and came to rest staring straight up at Frank and his extended helping hand.  “Anything broke?”

“No,” Chin groaned on the way to his feet, “but I feel like I was sat on by a sumo wrestler.”

Frank ignored the comment and took charge immediately.  “Prof., this is where you and Alex come in.  Get us to that chamber without too many wrong turns before we have company.  Now which way?”

“North,” they said together and marched on leading the way with their flashlights sweeping from side to side.

“
This way,” Professor
Russell ordered as the group moved past yet another three-way fork in their dimly lit subterranean path.  He focused the beam of his flashlight onto his compass to verify they were still heading in the general direction of north.  They had already made two wrong turns that initially headed north, but eventually turned in the wrong direction.

Without a true map of the catacombs, the only reliable piece of navigation for the group was the mausoleum’s orientation toward the cardinal points of the compass.  Since they entered along the southern side of the pyramid that meant the burial chamber lay to the north.  As they walked along the six-foot wide path, Professor Russell watched the compass needle turn to the west.

“Stop, go back,” Brian said with a frustrated huff.  “This is taking us the wrong direction again.”

“How did the workers have time to dig out this maze?” Frank asked while executing an about face.  “I mean it probably extends all the way around the burial chamber; it’s huge.”

“You forget, they built the maze and palace first, then buried it under the mound,” Chin instructed.  “Still very impressive though.”

“And time consuming,” Frank added.

Professor Russell, now back at the crossroads, shined his flashlight down the other two passageways to see if either made a turn northward.  The one on the right appeared to do so after about fifteen feet.  He turned his head back to the others to give the order, but Frank’s outstretched palm cut him short.

“Shhh, I think I might have heard something coming from behind us,” Frank whispered.

Brian closed his eyes to focus on his sense of hearing and felt his knees go weak with panic upon hearing heavy footsteps echoing through the corridor at their rear.

“Does anyone else feel like we’re in the Cretan Labyrinth with the Minotaur stalking us?” Alex whispered.

“I said quiet,” Frank snapped.  “Everyone but the Prof. kill your lights.  Now move.  Quickly, and no more wrong turns either.”

“How are we ever going to find our way out?  We didn’t bring a ball of string like Theseus,” Alex asked.

“Like I warned you up top, it’s a one way trip, darling,” Frank answered with a grim finality to his words.

Their chosen path did indeed turn north and stayed on that course for another fifty feet.  All the while the sound of footsteps echoed after them growing in volume to rival claps of thunder between the narrow walls and low ceiling.  The corridor eventually opened up to a twenty-foot wide expanse that abruptly ended in a copper sealed door impeding their progress.

“I don’t suppose you thought ahead to bring an acetylene torch to crack those seals,” Professor Russell managed to utter through a full body shiver; they were trapped.

The cadence of thunderclaps suddenly fell silent.  Brian was about to extinguish his flashlight, assuming their adversary may have seen the light, but seeing Frank and Chin both turn theirs on gave him pause.  Chin dropped his backpack to the ground and brought his shotgun to bear on the tunnel opening.  Frank shrugged off his pack as well, but chose to arm himself with a fire axe at the end of a three-foot handle.

A light, shuffling sound came from the corridor right before a clay soldier rounded the corner and charged into the larger chamber like a raging bull.  Chin blasted the creature in the left shoulder from point blank range with his shotgun.  The blast was absorbed by the clay figure’s body without much effect, other than sending it stumbling backwards into the path of Frank’s swing axe.

The hit succeeded in cutting off the creature’s right arm, which was immediately followed by an upward swing that cleaved off the soldier’s left arm as well.  Unfortunately, the beast was not alone.  Three more clay soldiers entered the fray from around the corner.  Chin managed to get off one more round with the shotgun before having it confiscated.  For his part, Frank was separated from his weapon by a shoulder led tackle from one of the creatures.

An unarmed Chin was sent flying against the copper door when a clay soldier connected with a blow to his stomach.  All Brian and Alex could do was stand there in terror and try not to wet themselves.  The situation was hopeless and made doubly so when one of the clay soldiers picked up Chin’s shotgun and pointed it at Brian.

To his great surprise, Professor Russell did not collapse, scream, or beg for mercy.  The situation was out of his hands. The only thing he could control was how he met his end; he chose to do it with dignity.

However, the end did not come.  Brian watched, through the light of his flashlight, as the warrior standing before him was smashed to the floor.  Where it once stood, a fiery red and yellow shadow lingered for a brief moment before vanishing to reveal the sight of a well-built man in his thirties wielding a sledgehammer
.

Still using the advantage of surprise, the stranger dispatched the other two fully formed clay soldiers with ease, leaving only the one with no arms lying helpless in the corner.

“Next time bring a smashing weapon rather than an axe,” the stranger declared while helping Frank back to his feet and then moving on the get Chin back on his feet as well.

“Who…who are you?  How do you know that?” Frank stammered.

“Did you lose your memory when that thing hit you?” the man asked while still holding onto Frank’s hand.  “Commander Gallono.  Hastelloy sent me, remember?”

“I see you also didn’t have the good sense to bring a cutting torch to get through those seals,” Gallono went on while walking back into the dark corridor from which he came.  He returned carrying a heavy backpack with a gas line leading to a blazing nozzle.  “Fortunately, I’ve been down this road before and came prepared.  Just keep an eye on that worthless thing in the corner while I work.”

“There’s your Theseus,” Professor Russell whispered to Alex.

“Don’t I know it,” Alex replied, smitten down to her core.

For most of
the flight, Doctor Holmes had remained quiet; content to simply listen to Hastelloy and his brother Mark verbally duke it out.  To be honest, it was about all that he could do.  His head was awash with confusion and conflicted emotions.

Less than a day ago, Jeffrey was an everyday middle-aged man: wife and kids at home, saw his brother over the holidays, and nobly worked his day job.  Twenty-four hours later, his family was living in a hotel for safety, his brother turned out to be an NSA agent, and his job treating a mentally ill patient spinning insane stories turned out not to be the least bit crazy.  One could safely say his world had changed a bit, and he was still struggling to come to grips with it all.

Making matters worse, the conversation had ventured into mankind’s history during World War II, not one of Jeffrey’s stronger subjects.  He had better things to do during his high school days than memorize dates and names.  He was busy working up the courage to ask Jennifer Holts to the prom instead.  Still, he always harbored one question about Hitler, the Nazis, and World War II. 

It appeared that the man seated before him could provide the definitive answer, and Dr. Holmes took advantage by asking Hastelloy, “With everything going so well for Germany, why on earth did they attack the Soviet Union before crushing England first?  Tomal, and particularly Gallono, had to know better than to open up a two front war.  Hell, even I know that’s a fool’s errand, and what do I know about military strategy?  Why did they do it?  It makes no sense to me.”

“Given how dangerous Tomal and the Nazi leadership of Germany had become, it made perfect sense,” Hastelloy answered, and settled back in his chair to elaborate.

**********

Tomal could feel his stomach tighten ever so slightly as the driver navigated the car around a hairpin turn.  He was not prone to acrophobia, but staring out over a two thousand foot drop-off as the car’s centripetal force pushed him toward the abyss was unnerving.  He looked away from the stunning view of the Austrian Alps to look at Adolf Hitler seated next to him in the back seat of a Mercedes-Benz. 

The Führer was not his strong, calm and composed self, quite the opposite in fact.  The man’s body was as rigid as a piece of steel with his knuckles turning white while gripping the door handle for extra support. His head angled away from the turn with his eyes slammed shut and his face running pale as a nurse’s uniform.

It was only after the car began moving straight forward again that Hitler opened his eyes.  When he did, those dark orbs shot daggers toward the front passenger seat where Martin Bormann sat.  Herr Bormann had designed and overseen construction of their destination.  Hitler bore the man much love for the gesture, but also cursed him for it every time he made the journey up the mountain from his mansion down below in Obersalzberg.

Hitler relaxed noticeably as the car rounded one final turn to face the last of five tunnels carved into the mountain to reach the D-Haus; the Diplomatic Reception House.   At the end of the ride, and lording over the arched tunnel entrance up a steep five hundred foot rock face, sat a small stone house nestled next to the mountain peak.  Appropriately dubbed the Eagle’s Nest by a visiting French ambassador, the D-Haus sat as an engineering marvel.  It was unfortunate for Herr Bormann that this marvel tested several of Hitler’s many phobias.

The drive up and stunning view from the mountaintop aroused the Führer’s fear of heights.  What’s more, the car had to drive four hundred feet into the center of the mountain down a narrow, single lane tunnel, which taxed Hitler’s extreme fear of confined spaces.

At the end of the tunnel was an elevator whose shaft was carved through four hundred feet of solid granite to reach the building above.  Once everyone exited the vehicle, Tomal had to suppress a laugh upon seeing the car pull backwards out of the tunnel.  Hitler had a fear of being in cars driving in reverse as well.  To get around this issue the driver would, upon exiting the tunnel, turn around and back his way into the tunnel.  That way when Hitler wanted to leave the car could drive straight out of the tunnel.  Yet another design flaw by Herr Bormann.

An elevator inside of a mountain presented a considerable challenge for Hitler’s claustrophobia.  In an effort to alleviate the situation, the elevator car was twice the size of any normal carriage and the interior lined with polished brass whose reflective surface made it feel even larger.  Despite the extra effort, Hitler boarded the brass elevator and closed his eyes along with the doors and did not open them until reaching the top.

When he was safely inside his diplomatic house, Hitler seemed to settle into his usual commanding presence.  They walked past the dining room and down four stone steps to reach the featured room of the small yet impressive structure.  The main receiving room was octagonal in shape with large windows recessed into two-foot thick stone walls.  To the right of the entrance steps sat a strikingly beautiful red Italian marble fireplace that had been a gift from Mussolini himself for Hitler’s fiftieth birthday.

In the center of the large room was a circular table with twelve chairs around it.  The men seated in those chairs rose to their feet and greeted Hitler with a crisp salute, “Heil Hitler.” 

The sight gave Tomal reason to smile as these were not Nazi party officials or diplomats.  These men were admirals, generals, and field marshals; military men who did not salute civilians, yet they saluted their Führer.

Tomal was almost disappointed when his eyes fell upon Gallono standing at attention along with the others with his hand held high.  The man’s dislike for the Nazi party salute was well known and Tomal hoped it would be a point of contention on this day.  Alas, Gallono was too smart to insult the Führer in his own house; seeing the pained looked on his face while delivering the party salute would have to do for now. 

It almost offset the jealousy he felt when seeing the numerous medals upon Gallono’s chest.  Tomal worked wonders and wielded significant power behind the scenes, but he stood small in Hitler’s shadow without much recognition.  Gallono, on the other hand, was a revered war hero to the masses and troops alike.  This impudent buffoon managed to stand alone and bask in the limelight, and it ate away at Tomal to no end.

“Have a seat, gentlemen,” Hitler commanded.  “I have brought you all here today to discuss the next operational phase necessary to ensure Germany’s prosperity into the future.  The German people are running short of resources: oil, steel, rubber and  land. To both alleviate these shortages and remove a great plague from this Earth, we must turn our attention to the east.”

“You mean the Soviet Union?” Army Chief von Brauchitsch asked for clarification.  “The nation we signed the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact of non-aggression with little more than a year ago?”

Tomal was ready for this argument and handed Hitler the intelligence report before the Führer delivered his reply. “Yes, the nation whose leader recently declared to a graduating class of the Moscow Military Academy that, and I quote, ‘A war with Germany is inevitable.  If we can manage to postpone the war for two or three years that will be our good fortune, but you yourselves must go off and take measures to raise the combat readiness of our forces.’

“They are gearing up for war; and we must strike first before they are ready,” Hitler concluded.

Silence reigned over the room as Hitler stared down each of his military leaders until his eyes reached Gallono who asked, “What about England?  Without completing that operation, we could face a two-front war if we attack the Soviet Union.  Three fronts if you include British colonial forces gearing up for an offensive in northern Africa.”

“It is not as if I’m ordering you to begin the assault tomorrow,” Hitler patiently countered.  “The tiny island of England will fall in a few short weeks.  This will leave you plenty of time to achieve my target date of mid-May to relocate, train, and stockpile supplies for Operation Barbarossa; the conquest of the Soviet Union.”

Gallono never knew when to shut up.  He pressed forward with his protest as everyone else in the room cringed.  “We share a border with the Soviet Union that spans over 1,800 miles.  To launch an assault on such a vast territory will require…”

“Five million soldiers backed by a million trucks, tanks, artillery, and aircraft,” Hitler interrupted with his legendary temper rising to a boil.  “It will be the largest military operation in the history of warfare, and I have every faith in the ability of every man in this room to plan and execute such an offensive.”

“Five million,” Gallono repeated.  “The Red Army is fifteen million strong.  An attacking force should have a three to one advantage to expect victory, not the other way around.  If anything, the Soviet Union should be attacking us.”

“They plan to, and that is why we must strike first and strike hard,” Hitler bellowed, his angry streak now on full display along with animated gestures.  “They have fifteen million warm bodies, but they are anything but strong at the moment.  Half do not even have rifles, and the others handle ancient equipment from the Great War era.  Plus, our men are now battle hardened.  We will not lose.”

For the first time in the meeting, Gallono showed some semblance of smarts.  He raised his hands in deference and spoke in a soft voice of acquiescence.  “With all due respect, I believe you underestimate the abilities of the Soviet commanders.  I point to their border skirmish with Japan last year in Mongolia.  They managed to coordinate five hundred tanks, fighters and bombers along with a hundred thousand ground infantry to not only hold off the Japanese offensive, but send them running all the way back to the emperor’s palace with their tails tucked neatly between their legs.”

“These are not backwater rustics any longer.  They have modern machinery and appear to know how to use it.  Maybe not as well as us, but they are learning by our example,” Gallono concluded.

Tomal was well aware of the Soviet victory in the Far East.  It was Valnor’s victory.  He showed them how to conduct modern warfare and was declared a Hero of the Soviet Union for his efforts.  It was one of the primary reasons Tomal had pushed Hitler to initiate war with the Soviet Union.  Valnor may have proven competent against the Japanese and their old ways, but he would be smashed under the boot of the Third Reich and shown his proper place.

“They are growing their industrial complex by leaps and bounds with every passing year,” Hitler continued, bringing his animation level down from an enraged bull to that of a prizefighter engaged in a boxing bout.  “Suppose we do wait and those fifteen million men in the Red Army receive modern machine guns and tanks.  Maybe we even give their commanders time to study and imitate our Blitzkrieg techniques.  They will be a far more formidable foe then than they are right now.”

“It will divert too many resources away from the other fronts: England, and the growing threat in North Africa,” Gallono fired back to everyone’s astonishment.  They all knew the Führer had not called them there for a discussion; this was a directive.  Many in the room may have even agreed with Gallono’s position in the argument, but for the sake of their careers, they kept their mouths shut.  Instead, they simply marveled at Gallono’s complete lack of political acumen.

Hitler was not the least bit amused and came completely unhinged.  “For the good of Germany, and by order of your Führer , Operation Barbarossa will begin in mid-May.  Since I clearly do not have your support in the matter and you seem so concerned with the worthless sands of northern Africa, you are hereby reassigned to command that region while the rest of these fine men fight on to glory in the east.”

Gallono moved his mouth slightly upon hearing the order, but Hitler gave no opening for further words.  “You have your orders, General, now get out of my sight.”

Banished to northern Africa.  Tomal could hardly contain his elation with the pronouncement. 
Let’s see Gallono earn any more medals down there.

Discretion finally took hold of Gallono.  He held his tongue, rose to his feet and delivered a salute before exiting the room.  “Heil Hitler.”

**********

As Valnor looked out the window of the car driving him to a meeting with Stalin in his office, he felt like a prisoner making his final walk to the gallows.  If Valnor had any hair on his shaved head, he would have pulled it clean out by the roots upon reading the latest status reports from the front lines.  The Germans had launched a ‘surprise attack’ near the end of June and had made nothing short of astonishing gains since that time.

How any man with even half a brain could consider the invasion a ‘surprise’ was beyond Valnor’s ability to comprehend.  Multiple reports from numerous sources inside Berlin indicated plans for an attack were under development.  They disregarded all of them as British disinformation designed to spark a war between Germany and the Soviet Union.

That was perhaps reasonable thinking, but the very presence of four million German soldiers along the Soviet border was evidence enough that an attack was imminent.  Add in the numerous aerial surveillance missions flown over Soviet territory, and the Germans may as well have sent Stalin a telegram accompanied by a singing barbershop quartet to declare war.

Regardless, Stalin held strong to his belief that the Third Reich would not attack only two years removed from signing the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact.  Moreover, he could not be persuaded otherwise that the Nazis would finish their war with Britain before opening hostilities on a new front.