M. C. Drake

DIE GLOCKE

I dedicate this novel to my first son who is due to be born at the end of October 2018.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The wonderful works of Michael Crichton have inspired me; Especially Jurassic Park and Congo. If you have not read any of his work then I highly recommend that you do.

Along with Stalingrad by Antony Beevor which is a great non-fiction account of one of the most horrific battles of World War Two.

-

The Second World War had been raging for five years. Germany’s Blitzkrieg warfare had overrun Europe at the beginning of the decade, but now the World’s great superpowers were beginning to converge on Germany herself. The Allied powers from the west, along with the great and seemingly endless Red Army from the east.

The Nazi party grew progressively desperate to stem the tide; increasingly they turned to the mysterious ‘Wunderwaffes’ – super weapons that they believed would swing the balance of the war in their favor.

The United States, along with their British allies, fearing the potential of the war changing ‘Wunderwaffe’, had destroyed the Vengeance rocket V2 testing facility at Peenemunde, nearly killing the brilliant scientist Wernher von Braun in the process. This had set back the weapons program critically but the allies knew it had not stopped the threat. Allied commanders became obsessed with intercepting the Nazi’s coded messages and finding any other secret weapons programs.

The Nazi’s, fearing the complete destruction of all of their technological and material assists began work on ‘Project Riese’ – ‘The giant’, which consisted of multiple underground structures and bases. Hundreds of thousands of tons of earth and rock were dug from beneath the Owl Mountains, Bielawa, Poland. Hans Kammler -German engineer and SS commander, personally oversaw the construction with brutal efficiency. Thousands of Jews and prisoners of war lost their lives in appalling conditions as the facility was constructed. Many died from malnutrition and pure exhaustion.

October 1944 – The Third Reich was in full retreat from the red army across a war-torn Poland. The Polish home army ‘Armia Krajowa’ had just been defeated by the German Army after the Warsaw Uprising. In retaliation, the Wehrmacht razed the Polish capital to the ground.

Allied codebreakers had intercepted top-secret communications between Hans Kammler and Hitler himself. The messages alluded to a weapons testing facility at Wenceslaus mine, buried deep under the Owl Mountains, near the Czech border. The Führer was adamant that testing must continue unabated to unlock the key to the weapons potential.

United States commanders quickly assembled together a large force in top secret that was to become the 7^th Rangers Battalion. The forces gathered under a shroud of darkness and misinformation, secretly helped by the Polish forces who were all too happy to deceive the Russians in retribution for their lack of support during the Warsaw uprising.

The Red Army was in battle at least three days away from the facility. This gave the Americans the window of opportunity they needed. The following declassified military files tell the story of what happened on those fateful two days in late October 1944 and in the intervening years.

Operation Eclipse

It was before dawn on a cold October morning. A chill hung in the air and a thick ground frost caked the makeshift airfield. Staff sergeant Brooklyn ‘Brookie’ Johnson stifled a yawn as he wrote a letter by the fading moonlight for his wife back home. He cursed as cloud cover kept shutting off his only source of light.

Dear Alana,

I hope you are well and the constant worry about my safety isn’t getting you down. Smile; show the world that beautiful smile of yours as it will all be over soon. Germany is on her knees waiting for the final knockout blow. Remember, I survived the hell of Midway because I made you a promise, a promise I will keep.

I have been given a new toy from our commanding officers, I can’t tell you where I am or what it is yet but I look forward to retelling you the story when I get home. I can’t wait to tell Brooklyn Jr when he is old enough. The picture of you two back home in Hawaii keeps me going through the tough times as well as that rum that you sent over, I shared it with the boys, they send their love too.

Keep safe both of you and I will write soon,

All my Love, Brooklyn

Brooklyn let out a deep breath. ‘This will do’, he thought as he shoved the letter into an envelope. He roused himself to get dressed, as the mission briefing was scheduled for ten minutes time.

“Hey Brookie, you up yet you lazy bastard?” A man in his late twenties said as he began to shake the thin material of the tent.

“Yeah, Jim you little idiot I’m up. Race you to a cup of Joe,” Brooklyn raced from the entrance of his tent and the two men traded positions all the way over to the cookhouse.

They were met at the entrance by another young man, who just shook his head while handing them a steaming cup of foul tasting coffee.

“Stop pissing about Sir.”

Brooklyn laughed “no problem private Doolittle”, and he gave him a slap on his back. “If you are going to be in my Squadron we are really going to have to slap that humorless head off ya.”

The three men laughed before heading over with the other aviators that the 7^th Rangers Battalion had stolen from other army and navy groups.

The briefing tent was small and hidden by camouflage netting between the trees in a small wooded area. Groups of men were leaving slowly from their briefing. Brooklyn pulled one of them aside.

“What’s a matter? Looks like you had the stuffin knocked out of ya?”

The soldier was clearly an infantryman in his early thirties perhaps. A wry smile crossed the man’s face.

“Sorry flyboy, your turn is next but your mission might be just half as exciting as ours!” The smile left his face. “Good luck mate, we are all going to need it.” The man left with the rest of his group.

“What’s his problem?” Jimmy Doolittle asked.

“We will find out in a minute, but we all know the brass wouldn’t have assembled us all here together if they didn’t have a big op on. Looks like we are in for a tough time.” Brooklyn shook his head slightly.

Inside the spacious tent rows of chairs sat facing a makeshift stage, an array of maps and other documents were housed in a pull-down display. The words ‘Operation Eclipse’ were headed over the documents in a foreboding black font. In front of the display stood two extremely powerful men. Brooklyn Johnson let out a low inaudible whistle as he recognized them. There for the first time in front of his very eyes stood ‘Henry Arnold – General of the Air Force’ and at his side, ‘Dwight D Eisenhower – General of the Army’.

He raised his hand in salute.

“At ease Staff Sergeant, take a seat please.”

The tent filled to an almost silent crowd as military royalty stood in front of these highly trained and highly experienced groups of air force pilots. Bomber and fighter pilots sat side by side as they eagerly awaited their new mission.

General Arnold spoke first. “Good Morning gentleman. I know you are wondering why we have taken you from your units to form this new group. Trust me gentleman it is for a good reason. We have had some of you training in the new P-51 Mustang over the skies of Britain for the most important mission you will embark on in this war.”

General Eisenhower took over. “That is right.” He pulled down the first map and pointed to a mountain chain down by the Czech border. “This is our target. We believe a Nazi super weapon is being tested in an underground facility.”

Eisenhower looked around the room, keeping eye contact with everyone who dared to reciprocate his gaze.

“This is a joint coordinated operation between the air force, armor, and infantry. The ground forces will strike after the bomber group led by Sergeant Major Jarad Griffin have softened up the Nazi defenses.”

“After that…” Arnold continued, “The fighter group will strafe the hell out of the remaining positions to give our boys on the ground the best chance of pushing through quickly and decisively.”

Brooklyn raised his hand.

“Yes, Staff Sergeant?”

“Sir, what about the Fritz air force?”

General Arnold waved a dismissive hand. “They have been battered into submission and besides, any remaining Luftwaffe forces will be tied up with the Soviets.”

“We need to move quickly because the Red army is only three days away, so when you have turned the Germans defenses into mush, the armored units will advance, mopping up any resistance. Finally, the infantry will smash through into the facility and secure the device and hopefully any surviving scientists.”

General Eisenhower then pulled down various specifications of enemy units. Then he inspected enemy units.

“We believe the facility is defended by crack SS units. Our intel is patchy due to the fact we aren’t supposed to be in Poland.”

“However, we think it is the 5^th SS Mountain Corps and the 5^th Panzer army.”

“We are expecting a large number of Panther tanks and a reasonable amount of Tigers but in the main, the Polish reconnaissance team recorded the bulk of battle tanks to be Panzer IV’s”

General Eisenhower stressed the point about how well trained the troops are and advised the aviators not to get shot down and captured as these men were responsible for some of the greatest atrocities in the East.

“Our intel suggests that SS Commander Hans Kammler and SS Gruppenführer Jakob Sporrenberg are in charge of the facility. This raised our suspicions that this base is more important than we first believed.” Eisenhower looked at Arnold then continued. “We don’t know what to expect when this attack begins in one hour, but you are to fly out under the cover of darkness and bomb the shit out of the area so my boys can head in and steal this facilities secret right under the nose of these SS bastards! You understand me?”

The men rose and roared in unison, “Sir, Yes, Sir!”

“Good, anything you want to add General?” Eisenhower asked.

“Do me and your country proud boys. Go and get em! Dismissed.”

“Yes, Sir.” They shouted again.

Brooklyn and his squadron left the tent in a slight daze, the excitement slowly taking over. They each took out a cigarette, lit them and inhaled the toxic fumes. “No fucking escort bullshit today boys. Let’s go and fuck the shit out of them Jerry bastards.”

“Yes, Sir.” They all roared then high fived. Despite the fact they wouldn’t be facing their German counterparts in the air they were still scared. Not that they would admit it. None of them wanted to face a Superweapon again.

Brooklyn had the misfortune of witnessing the much feared V2 rocket and its unstoppable destruction while he was training in England. It was a primal fear when you faced something that could kill you without you having a hope in hell of stopping it, you placed your fate deeply in the hand of lady luck. He was not too pleased of the prospect of facing the crack army that would be defending the facility either.

The SS were villainized above anything else through the propaganda streams but talking to soldiers that had faced them; they were an unrelenting professional fighting force that would fight to the last man. A chill went through the staff sergeant’s spine.

Jakob Sporrenberg

Sporrenberg was prowling the tight corridors. He moved quickly and with purpose. He wore the tired look of a man under immense pressure. The first man to have the misfortune of bumping into him was his second in command, Hauptsturmführer Berndt Krause.

“Ah, Hauptsturmführer Krause. Good morning.” Sporrenberg said with a false smile.

Berndt stood immaculately stiff to attention and raised his hand in a salute.

“Good morning Gruppenführer Sporrenberg.” Krause stood to attention unmoving like an ancient mountain.

Sporrenberg smiled, “At ease Krause my friend. Have you seen my esteemed colleague… Hans Kammler? I need a word with him.”

“No sir, not since the briefing.”

“God damn it.” Sporrenberg flew off the handle and smacked the concrete wall with his closed fists, making Brendt jump out of his skin. “Where is that coward hiding?”

“Would you like me to send some men out to find him Sir?”

As quickly as he had exploded Sporrenberg regained his composure. “No Krause, I expect the cowardly bastard has preached to us about standing and fighting to the last man, then run as soon as he got the chance.” He spat on the floor to emphasize his disgust.

Sporrenberg issued his final orders before he expected the fighting to begin. They knew the assault was coming. It was inevitable but they did not know from whom, they were expecting the Red army.

The 5^th SS Panzer army along with the 6^th Panzer corps had been preparing for the last two nights, practicing tactics and was in a position to defend key areas around the base. The shock troops of the newly formed 5th SS Mountain Corps were the best equipped in the Wehrmacht and were vastly experienced. They were a formidable fighting force.

The alarm sounded out through the underground city, SS troops rushed to gather their equipment. The core of the troops was equipped with the revolutionary new Sturmgewehr 44 (StG 44) assault rifle. The troops felt a love for this weapon like no other as it gave the firepower and accuracy they sorely missed with its predecessor. The men received their final orders and each was given a fresh packet of Pervitin to pick them up before battle. The allies were not aware of it but the ‘pick me up’ drug was a type of crystal meth that kept the Wehrmacht war machine fighting with a complete disregard for their own personal safety. In short, they felt invincible.

Sporrenberg walked against the growing tide of battle-ready men going in the other direction towards the surface, they gave him as much space as they could in the tight rat run of corridors packed tightly under the safety of the mountain.

Sporrenberg continued his descent through the cold reinforced tunnels; he passed the combat-ready soldiers into an almost deserted and poorly light tunnel. This tunnel led ever deeper into the complex and was officially marked as incomplete; they had even flooded part of the tunnel to create the impression of unfinished work.

Sporrenberg knew better and crossed quickly on a tiny wooden boat. The small wall lights flickered once then went off completely plunging the tunnel into pitch black darkness, the faint alarm in the distance also ceased.

SS Gruppenführer Jakob Sporrenberg sat gently bobbing in this tiny wooden boat; it was more of a floating wooden pallet then an actual boat. He continued paddling forward with a wry smile on his face. ‘Good, at least they still have the will to carry on the experiments.’ he thought. The SS Group leader had reached the other side of the flooded tunnel; he grabbed carefully in the dark for the guide rope and then gently pulled the pallet out of the water. He continued cautiously, following the guide rope. After about ten minutes he rounded a corner when somebody shouted out a warning.

“Halt. Identify yourself or we will shoot.”

“Good eyes, Soldier,” Sporrenberg said, “SS Gruppenführer Jakob Sporrenberg, SS number 3809.”

The two men relaxed but continued to watch the man through their sights.

“Proceed Sir.”

Jakob Sporrenberg approached the two guards who immediately stood to attention when they recognized the face in the eerie green glow of their weapons sights. Sporrenberg reached the huge ironclad door that barred his way. He knocked on the door and waited patiently for a response. A small piece of the door slid across and a bright brilliant purple light burst through, causing Sporrenberg to shield his eyes. A beady eye from inside the door studied him carefully before the metal slid across sharply, cutting out the only source of light. Seconds later the door swung open.

Die Glocke

The room was brightly lit and Sporrenberg had to shield his eyes before he was given a welding mask and could finally adjust his vision to view the room. The door was sealed and triple bolted behind him.

The room was a small rectangle eight meters wide by six meters long but the far wall was filled with computers, radio transmitters and a large control panel on the far left that controlled the power supply. In the center of all of this a large reinforced transparent screen shielded the scientists from the immense electrical storm that was swirling inside the test chamber.

The chamber itself was a huge box dug deep into the mountain and reinforced with layer upon layer of concrete. The Nazi high command was especially proud of this achievement as official plans suggested this room never existed but it definitely did. The room was filled with rows of electrical transformers with cables flowing and snaking their way to the very center of the room. There stood a large object elevated on a steel podium with hundreds of cables spread across its superstructure. The object was bell-shaped and stood an impressive 4.6 meters tall and was 2.7 meters wide, the device was housed in a steel casing with ceramic tile cladding. The object gave out a cold, dark and dangerous aura.

“Status report Walther?” Sporrenberg asked.

“Shh, this is a key part of the process.” Professor Walther Gerlach responded. Then he asked his assistant to increase the electrical charge even further.

Sporrenberg did not appreciate the fifty-five-year-old scientist’s tone but he let it slide, for now.

The younger assistant pulled a lever then turned a large dial on the control panel to increase the flow of power to the device even further. The room flashed and sparked in wonderful tones of blue and yellow as the manmade storm fired up.

Two counter-rotating transparent cylindrical tubes that were wrapped around the middle of the bell started to spin with ever increasing speed. They filled with a red and purple colored liquid. The air crackled and sizzled, the device began to glow a dull blue as it absorbed the abundant power. The cylindrical tubes full of the magenta colored liquid span ever faster causing the electrically charged air to form a vortex around the object.

The device began to vibrate violently causing the whole room to shake.

“This is it.” Professor Walter Gerlach shouted.

Sporrenberg hoped it was. They did not have many more to chances to succeed.

Red lightning sparks zapped and pulsed across the bell, the ceramic tiles started to crack, the rubble rising upwards trapped in the vortex.

Without warning, the power levels fluctuated violently, the dials and readouts on the console zigzagged and vibrated aggressively. Power started to drain from the room and the atmosphere began to cool.

“No no no no no!” Gerlach shouted, “Get over there and pull the emergency stop lever Joseph, now!”

The young assistant jumped on the console and pulled the lever down to cut the power to the room. Gerlach tapped buttons furiously as he tried to calm the supercharged device down, if he could not salvage the situation they were finished, there just would not be enough time for lengthy repairs and he knew it, he wiped sweat away from his wrinkled brow.

Several of the transformers blew with bright sparks rising into the smoke-filled room. The power slowly disappeared. The device slowed and eventually the vibration stopped, the liquid filled cylinders gradually stopped rotating and the vortex dissipated. The center console leaked smoke copiously from several displays.

With the power from the experiment free to supplement the rest of the base the lights flickered several times before they gradually came back on. Sporrenberg removed his welding mask then ran his hand through his hair, using the sweat from his forehead to slick his black hair back into position. He locked his beady black eyes onto the older mans.

“I can explain Gruppenführer, we are so close…”

“Shut up old man. You listen here, I want you to clear the tubes of the Xerum 525 and store it for our future use. I then want you to check the damage done to Die Glocke and decide if we have time for one last experiment, I must report to the Führer so I will give you half an hour to report to me.”

The older scientist looked worried, “Sir the last technician that went to collect the Xerum died, even with the lead casing. And well we are so close I can see another vision coming…”

Jakob Sporrenberg took a forceful step forward. “Do you find my demands unreasonable Walther? Because if you do I will kill you both now!” The SS man pulled out his Walter PP pistol and in one smooth motion cocked it ready.

“No… n… No Sir.” The scientist stammered.

“Very well, do as you are told; I will not ask again. And as for your visions, the Führer may believe in them and who am I to disagree with him but I don’t want to fucking hear another word about them until this mess is fixed.”

“Yes, Sir.” Walter and his assistant chimed in unison.

“Good. You have thirty minutes to report to me.” With that Sporrenberg holstered the sidearm then turned for the door.

After the door was unbolted and opened for him the Gruppenführer waited for it to close then turned to the two men guarding the door.

“Keep an eye on them. If they try anything funny, you have my permission to kill them. Under no circumstances must they fall into Russian hands.”

The two men did not say a word but just nodded and grinned.

“Good.”

Sporrenberg began the long ascent back to the surface. He needed to contact Hitler but he knew it may already be too late.

Walther Gerlach waited until Sporrenberg had disappeared from view before he and his assistant bolted the door and then barricaded it with any spare items in the room.

“Good work Joseph.” He placed his hand on the young man’s shoulders. “Fuck Sporrenberg, I won’t let you waste your life retrieving the Xerum 525. Instead, let’s check all the equipment and try again.”

“Thanks, Walther, I’ll suit up and get working on the transformers that were damaged.”

Walther nodded at the young man, “We don’t have much time if the base gets overrun that bastard Sporrenberg will be back to kill us both and destroy all of our hard work. We can’t let that happen.”

Führer Directive 525

Hitler flew into one of his trademark furious rants. He swiped a tower of papers off of his desk then slammed his fists down onto the large wooden table. Sporrenberg sat with his feet crossed on his own desk and let the Führer vent, he knew it was not wise to interrupt him.

“Yes Führer, I understand, it’s just they have not made any further progress and have failed to report in with a damage assessment after the last experiment… with the Russians on top of us, I thought it was best…”

Hitler screamed down the radio at him.

“Yes mien Führer, it is true I haven’t witnessed any visions from the device myself but I am aware that it has helped Wernher von Braun with his rocket research and has also delivered secrets that have been used in designs on some of our other weapons.”

Hitler calmed slightly then gave Sporrenberg his orders called Führer Directive 525, he then made Sporrenberg repeat these orders to him.

“I understand mein Führer. We will defend the base to the last man, Die Glocke and professor Gerlach are the most important asset and must be protected at all costs. If it looks like they are about to be captured I will personally see to the execution order, then will destroy everything in the lab. Nothing will remain mien Führer… If it comes to that.

Hitler seemed pleased.

“Heil Hitler,” Sporrenberg shouted then the radio clicked off.

That was it Sporrenberg had his orders, his men were already topside manning the defense of the base. The time for talking was over. ‘I won’t fall into Russian hands.’ He thought to himself as he played with the cyanide pill hidden in his back left molar.

Sporrenberg readied his pistol then radioed down to the two men guarding the entrance to the laboratory.

“Get the demolition charges readied, we may need them.”

“Yes, Gruppenführer.”

The two men left the lab entrance to gather the explosive devices. Inside the bolted thick iron blast door Walther Gerlach failed to notice them leave; he was too busy with the preparations for the final test.

The troops stationed outside were in their final preparations for battle. They each took a single Pervitin pill, they craved the feeling of unlimited energy and invincibility. They checked all the weapons were loaded and that there was enough ammunition to keep on fighting. Each to a man knew this would be a fight to the death but they were ready to die for their Führer, for their country but they were especially ready to die for Sporrenberg.

The SS troops were well equipped with some of the latest cutting-edge technology. They had a surprise for those Bolshevik bastards, they had thought that they had three days more to prepare but clearly those cowards in the Wehrmacht had caved in much earlier than expected.

Hauptsturmführer Berndt Krause cursed under his breath. He then straightened his hat, keeping the cold morning air away from his head, making sure his jet black uniform was in pristine condition.

An alarm rang out from the base, this was it, enemies were on their way. Krause readied himself, he knew what must be done and he was going to kill everyone who dared get in his way. A broad smile crept across his face, he took his Pervitin pill and all was right in his world.

Darkest Before Dawn

Half an hour had passed since the last briefing had finished. General’s Eisenhower and Arnold had left in their respective cars right after the briefing; they left no trace that they had ever been there.

The troops of the 7^th Ranger battalion had their orders; the Armor and infantry had already moved out twenty-five minutes earlier and were cautiously en-route to the open fields set east of the Owl Mountains.

Staff Sergeant Brooklyn Johnson swept back his black hair, he desperately wanted a smoke but he knew that could give away their position so he suppressed the urge. Johnson had just finished the walk around checks of his P-51 Mustang. The mechanic finished refueling her and gave his thumbs up.

The P-51 D Mustang was the stallion of the skies, Johnson loved the power given by the Packard V-1650 7 liquid cooled V-12 power plant; he also loved the security he felt from the six 0.50 caliber Browning machine guns spread out along the front of the rectangular wings. The squadron was also outfitted with two underwings mounted 1000 lb. bombs for this mission.

Johnson gave his bird a loving tap on the side before he climbed up into the open bubble shaped canopy. Gently he slid into position strapping himself in as he went. Johnson felt at home in the cockpit, His bright blue eyes locked over a familiar picture, he moved his hand over the image of his young wife and child who were smiling back at him; it was a moment in time that he cherished dearly. Johnson shouted a warning before he started up his engine. The P-51 roared into life with a puff of dark smoke, the propellers span awake and Johnson tested his throttle a little.

P-51’s across the airfield all began to come alive one after the other. They were soon joined by the primal roar of the four “Cyclone” engines, dust and frozen soil plumed up into the air as the great bombers taxied into takeoff position and then there they sat burning fuel, waiting for the signal to go.

The B-17’s were loaded with only four thousand lbs. of bombs each; they needed the extra range to get to the safety of a base in Italy after they had unloaded over their targets. The ten-man crew hunkered down. The gunners were checking the ammunition and were ready for an uncomfortable journey. The radios were silent; the usual banter was nonexistent as everyone single person knew the secrecy of the mission was paramount.

The long columns of Sherman tanks slowly cut swaths through a small wooded area; they were clearing the way for the troops to follow behind them, Intel had not suggested any minefields in their direct path but it was not worth taking the risk; high commands intelligence was notoriously inconsistent.

The troops from the 7^th had left the base just over an hour ago and were nearly in position; they were instructed to wait for the air force to begin their assault before their own ground attack could begin. The tank commanders were nervous as only the cover of darkness and the sparse woodland was keeping them concealed.

The sound of hard fighting sounded off in the distance accompanied by a fiery haze far off on the horizon. Artillery pieces fired barrage after barrage making a faint sound much like distant thunder.

“It’s all kicking off over there ay lads!”

“Hell yeah.” A young private said.

“Would love to see the Jerry’s and the communists kick shades of shit out of each other.”

“Be a hell of a spectacle.”

“Alright, boys that’s enough. Keep it down otherwise, the Nazi scum might catch us with our pants down without any protection.” Master Sergeant Robert Miller ordered sternly.

The men under his command were instantly silent.

Robert Miller was born in Washington D.C but had moved to the country to live with his aunt and uncle at an early age. His dad had died in world war one while Robert was only three. His mum could not take the heartache and shipped him off to his uncle’s cattle ranch.

Before the outbreak of world war two Robert’s five-foot-eleven inch frame had grown to become a successful cattle rancher; he was known to be tough but fair, he expected total commitment from his staff but also rewarded them greatly for a job well done. The Master Sergeant carried this on into his military career and very quickly rose in the ranks with a reputation as a fine leader of men.

The men under Miller’s command respected the twenty-nine-year-old as he was calm under pressure and always seemed to make the right decision. His steely brown eyes gave the impression of a man in control of any situation, even if the soldiers around him had completely lost their composure.

Miller slowly moved his way in the dark to the side of the lead Sherman. He leaned up and whispered.

“Pete, what do you make the time? Shouldn’t our boys be here by now?”

Commander Jim ‘Pete’ Parker was forty-two years old; his cold grey eyes had seen many battles during the war. Pete and his platoon had fought through Africa than Italy before eventually fighting through France.

He sighed, “Is that, you Miller? You know they are always late. It will be dawn soon and we will be fucked if they don’t give us cover before then.” He paused to take a swig of bourbon. “So get back into fucking position and pray they turn up.”

“Yes, sir.” Miller said. He mumbled under his breath.

Pete shook his head. ‘These young pricks don’t have any idea or patience,’ He thought.

Then it arrived a slight rumbling in the distance which steadily grew in intensity. The men of the 7^th Ranger Battalion thought they were hearing things but they were not, the unmistakable sound of a huge formation of aircraft was coming towards them. The troops stifled the urge to cheer, it was time for business. They each said a private prayer.

Deep in the cold underground bunker, Walther Gerlach and his assistant had been busy. They had used the last two hours to fix the electrical transformers and had patched up Die Glocke as well as they could. The two men had checked and rechecked the circuitry and were finally satisfied enough to give the experiment one final go.

Walther leaned back against the wall, he was exhausted and it showed. He breathed in deep forceful breaths and stood with his hands resting on his knees.

“Take a break father.” Joseph was concerned, he and his dad had been working almost nonstop since the other two assistants had been poisoned by that horrible purple liquid. Xerum 525 had a nasty property of turning living flesh into a decomposing pulpy mush in a very short space of time; they had hoped the lead-lined thermos flasks would prevent it but this was not the case. Joseph had half a mind to destroy the whole bloody lot but that would have to wait.

“I’m ok my son, start the procedure please boy.”

Joseph checked the security failsafe one last time then pushed the power level up to fifty percent. They did not have the time to gently push the power flow.

“Fingers crossed dad.”

Walther walked gingerly over to his portion of the console and began flicking switches to keep the power as even as possible so not to overload the transformers too quickly.

The two guards had returned to their post but this time they were accompanied by several crates of dynamite. They were ready to destroy the whole laboratory if ordered.

Sporrenberg sat in the command center listening to the radar which was just beginning to detect objects flying on an inbound trajectory towards the base. The radar operator got on the radio to inquire about any friendly aircraft but it quickly became apparent that the size of this force ruled out the possibility of it being a Luftwaffe squadron.

“Bombers inbound Gruppenführer estimated no more than ten minutes out.”

Sporrenberg nodded, “Give the order to defend the base.”

Sporrenberg smiled.

The radio operator gave out the orders just in time as suddenly the lights dimmed then flickered once before they went out completely. Sporrenberg cursed then ordered the men to use their flashlights for now.

“God dammit Walther you incompetent fool.” He said as he got up and stormed towards the bowels of the base. “This is no time to steal the power from key equipment!” He muttered to himself.

The atmosphere was beginning to crackle and burn as the transformers pumped the electricity across the giant bell-like device. The bell started to glow a gentle red color as it received a huge amount of power all at once, the counter-rotating cylinders on the bottom third of the device moved gingerly at first but then whirled powerfully, filling with more Xerum 525.

“Power holding steady father.”

“Good, increase it to sixty percent.”

Joseph was wary because they had never pushed the device this hard before but he did as instructed and pushed the lever up.

A loud bang made Joseph jump out of his skin.

The old man laughed, “Don’t worry son it’s only the electrically charged air. We aren’t under attack… yet.”

Joseph relaxed a little but he was still on edge. Sporrenberg was bound to know they were trying again and he was not going to be very happy, he was more than likely going to be murderously unhappy. A chill ran down Joseph spine.

The Swallow

The P-51’s kept close to the B-17’s in a reasonably tight formation. Jarad ‘Griff’ Griffin’s navigator was the first to say it.

“It’s too quiet.” Jordon ‘Mac’ McDonald said.

“Sssh, you will jinx it Mac.”

“He’s right though, the scum always mount a tough defense, where are the anti-aircraft batteries?” Mark ‘Woody’ Woodrow questioned.

“You reckon the brass bollocksed up again?” Bombardier and nose gunner Stephen ‘Deer’ Hunter said.

“Enough ladies, look alive; we are nearly on the target,” Griff ordered. He glanced to his left at the growing light emerging on the horizon.

‘Shit.’ He thought, ‘we left a bit too late, the sun will be up soon.’

The flight had indeed left slightly after they should have done, due to the misfortune of a refueling truck breaking down, making the runway unusable for ten minutes before it was finally shifted.

The troops hidden in the woods heard another unfamiliar sound filtering through the noise of their piston-powered allies. This was a low rumbling sound that quickly grew louder into a powerful growl; it was unlike anything they had ever heard before. Most of the men craned their necks skyward in an attempt to spot the unidentified object.

Squadron leader Staff Sergeant Brookie Johnson was the first to spot it slightly below him to the left passing through a small spattering of white wispy cloud cover, a glint of silver moving at speed.

For a second Johnson could not believe his eyes but he soon recovered to give his orders.

“Squadron, split and follow me. We have bogies three o’clock slightly low but climbing. Griff, we have a problem but we are on it.”

“What is it Brookie?” Griff said but he was cut off as the wing of the bomber next to him exploded in a hail of shrapnel and flames.

“Stay in formation, gunners ready yourselves,” Griff shouted.

The B-17’s stayed in there tight box formations with their angry guns covering each other’s asses in an overlapping field of defensive fire, the P-51’s split into pairs to track the single target.

Johnson and his wingman jettisoned their bomb loads so they could gain a much-needed increase in speed; they tried to maneuver their fighters onto the tail of a state of the art Messerschmitt Me 262.

The world’s first operational jet-powered fighter roared through the air slamming the throttle down and diving towards the ground at a frightening speed, hurtling towards the earth at over 500 mph.

The two diving Mustangs struggled to keep up, Johnson was slightly in the lead, to the right was his wingman was giving him cover to the left. Johnson could not get a clear shot. He cursed.

“Brookie I have a shot, break right.”

Johnson pushed right to let his wingman though. He immediately pushed the trigger for a three-second burst. The six 0.50 caliber browning roared into life, spitting rounds forward.

The Me 262 pilot pushed into a barrel roll to avoid the incoming fire, then he broke left and pushed up nearly vertical opening the throttle fully.

“Damn he’s good,” Johnson said as tried to follow.

The Flying fortresses carried on mission when five more Me 262 fighters appeared from nowhere, the dived down onto the bomber formation firing a short burst into the slower bombers. One B-17 was hit on the left wing causing its engine to billow black smoke, the pilots cut fuel to the engine and carried on the fight.

The Mustang escorts split and left the bombers to chase this unexpected threat, the dove from all angles after the agile German fighters.

“This has gone FUBAR already gents,” Jarad said to his bomber crew. “Look alive and let’s get this job over with so we can head for home.”

A hail of bullets tore towards the bombers. The attack came from behind.

The tail gunners in the B-17’s returned fire as the rear of the formation split in every direction. Three B-17’s were hit hard; the tail gunner in the very rear bomber was killed instantly as the tail was ripped to shreds. Smoke poured out of the crippled aircraft and it tilted lazily to the left.

“Shit Me 109’s attacking through the formation, fucking blow them out of the skies.” Peter ‘Big P’ Armstrong called out over the radio.

The striking yellow painted nose of the single-seater Messerschmitt Bf 109 fighters pushed through the scattering formation of heavily armed bombers, their two 13mm 131 machine guns angrily blazing as they went. The propeller-driven fighter was not as quick as the jet-powered Me 262 but was still a hugely effective aircraft; especially when taking on the slower bombers.

“Shit, the fuckers lured us away so they could get the 109’s onto the bombers.” Johnson exclaimed, “Jimmy leave the 262 we have to protect the bombers.”

“Roger.”

The two Mustangs pulled off the tail of the Me 262 and throttled up as hard as they could to get on the tails of the fighters who were decimating the Flying Fortresses.

From the ground Master sergeant Robert Miller watched with a morbid sense of intrigue and horror as the skies above them were illuminated with flashes of gunfire. It looked like chaos in the air as bombers split in every direction being hounded by the agile fighters. Streaks of flames and smoke flew across the increasingly bright sky. This was it the sun had now peaked above the horizon.

Without warning four German artillery guns opened fire simultaneously. The shells whistled through the air and plunged into the field 200 meters away from the ground forces position, the ground shook as four large explosions made the field erupt in a fountain of mud, rocks, and shrapnel.

“Shit find cover boys, this is it!” Miller shouted and he dove behind the nearest Sherman.

American soldiers ran for any cover they could find as the next barrage flew down on the wooded area barely 50 meters from where they were positioned, the dirt, splinters and shit from the trees peppered the lead tanks.

“Fuck, what do we do lads?” Sergeant Bradie Jones screamed.

“We sure as hell can’t just fucking sit here!” Private First Class Tommy ‘Gun’ Thompson shouted.

“We are to stay put until the bombers flatten the jerries defenses, got it? If we advanced now we will get blown to shit by our own bombs.” Miller ordered.

“If the bombers get through.”

“The bomber always gets through,” Miller added.

There were a hundred and twelve bombers in the formation when they had started the mission but five had already been blown out of the sky.

Jarad ‘Griff’ Griffin stubbornly stayed on course despite the unfolding chaos in the sky around him.

“Griff Me 109 coming round on our tail.” Gunner Roy ‘Tino’ Martinez shouted as he tracked the target and opened fire with everything he had.

The waist gunners opened up as well, spitting rounds at the fighter. The German pilot was too eager, was in too close and the rounds hit the front of the aircraft peppering the cockpit, which imploded in a hail of lead and glass. The pilot took multiple hits and blacked out quickly due to blood loss. The crippled Me 109 went into a steep dive from which it could never recover, its flaming body span and span finally crashing nose first into the open fields.

The dog fighting continued in the skies above the Polish mountains with frightening ferocity. Crews from devastated B-17’s tried to get to the parachute hatch before the flames consumed them, one unlucky bastard jumped free and immediately opened his parachute only to hit the wing of a trailing bomber, he got tangled in the spinning propeller and was promptly cut to pieces.

Brooklyn Johnson weaved through the bedlam and managed to position himself on the tail of a Me 109 who had just destroyed a B-17.

“You’re gonna pay for that.” He roared.

Johnson pulled the trigger and sprayed a burst from near point-blank range into the Luftwaffe fighter. The tail melted under the fire, the fighter rolled slightly and Brooklyn fired another burst into it. The left-wing split from the body and the fighter tumbled from the sky. Johnson watched over his shoulder as the pilot ejected.

“Brookie, look three o’clock low.”

Johnson looked to his right and tilted his plane so he could see. A Me 109 had positioned itself behind three B-17’s and was nearly in an excellent firing position. The bombers were pumping out defensive fire but the pilot was clearly skilled and held no fear.

“Roger that Jimmy lets nail that son of a bitch.”

Out of the frying pan, into the fire

The artillery shells continued to rain down into the woods where the American troops were hiding, the latest one scoring a direct hit on a jeep killing everybody in the immediate vicinity and seriously wounding half a dozen others.

“Sir we have to move otherwise we won’t have anyone left.”

“We ain’t going nowhere Private, not until those bombers have delivered their loads.”

“But Sir…”

“But nothin, I’d rather the Germans kill us than our own bombs.” Commander Jim ‘Pete’ Parker growled form the commander’s hatch of his Sherman tank. He could have closed the hatch to take cover from the shrapnel but it was a measure of the man that he was out in the open for all to see.

Jarad ‘Griff. Griffin in the lead B-17 was over just about over the target. His Navigator Jordon ‘Mac’ McDonald called out. The Bombardier was ready and Griffin gave the order for all bombers to begin their bombing runs.

“Drop that load Deer, go go go!”

Stephen ‘Deer’ Hunter did not need to be asked twice, he pressed the release button and the bomb load bay doors opened. Two thousand lbs. of ordinance was in free fall from the bowls of the plane. It plummeted beneath the bombers who were dropping long lines onto the field below.

Explosions rocked the ground causing it to shake and explode into plumes of dirt and fire. A direct hit on an anti-tank gun turned the it into a large fireball and several German troops who were not killed in the blast staggered around trying to put the flames out on their backs; without success, they screamed and their limbs flailed about until they finally succumbed to the intense heat.

This was the cue for the American ground forces to advance. The Sherman’s roared forward as they led the way. They held their fire as they moved but this was it and the troops following through the smoke-filled air cheered as they forced themselves into the heat of battle.

There were too many bombers for the Luftwaffe to take down and despite their valiant effect many of the B-17’s were dropping their bombs. This did not stop the Me 109’s taking on as many as possible and the air was swarming with tracer rounds from all directions.

A Me 262 opened up into the back of a desperately moving P-51 Mustang, all four of its 30mm cannons tore chunks out of the back of the Mustang who had black smoke trailing from its tail. The Me 262 fired another short burst and the devastated Mustang burst into a ball of flames that literally fell out of the sky, the pilot had no chance of surviving.

The P-51’s wingman tried desperately to avenge his fallen comrade and began firing upon the superior German aircraft. The Me 262 pilot was well trained and in an instant he half-rolled his jet inverted and then executed a descending half-loop so he was now in level flight in the exact opposite direction at a lower altitude. The P-51 had not expected the split-s maneuver and had not noticed the Me 262’s wingman slip in behind him, the 262 opened fire and blew him out of the sky.

With the bombers dropping their explosives the Germans opened up with another surprise. The air filled with five Flakpanzer ‘Kugelblitz’ self-propelled anti-aircraft guns. The vehicles all fired in unison sending 450 rounds a minute per gun into the crowded skies.

The Kugelblitz ‘Ball Lightning’ had twinned-mount versions of the MK 103 cannon which meant each vehicle could fire 900 rounds per minutes. High explosive rounds poured into the air.

“Shit flak guns!” Jared shouted, “Everybody stay on mission, we are nearly there!”

To Jared’s left a B-17 took a stream of direct hits from the flak guns, his starboard wing completely separated from the airframe, the bomber lurched left before another stream of 30 mm shells decapitated the cockpit from the rest of the fuselage; it tumbled from the sky.

“Fuck it this is hell.” Jarad said out loud.

Brooklyn Johnson and his wingman had managed to maneuver behind the Me 109 who was devastating the bombers directly in front of him. The yellowed nose devil had taken down two of the bombers and had just fired a burst in the third, which was smoking but stubbornly carried on.

“Look Brookie the 109 has disengaged, he’s diving for safety,” Jimmy said.

“I see him; bet he has spent all of his ammo. Make sure he doesn’t get away.”

The two Mustangs stayed on the agile fighter’s tail while diving for the ground. Brooklyn was again in the lead and fired a burst into the fighter, the rounds hit just behind the cockpit causing the glass to smash. Brooklyn fired another two-second burst into the fighter as it continued to race towards the ground. The two American fighters followed for as long as they could but had to pull up, they watched as the German fighter did not recover and crashed nose first into the bomb-cratered field; the pilot never ejected.

The first of the bombers had now finished their bombing runs and had begun to turn for home. Jarad and his crew were not out of the woods yet though as his gunners were desperately trying to fight off a Me 109 who had locked onto their tail.

All the rear and mid-facing guns were firing furiously but the fighter disengaged and turned to face the B-17’s that were still attacking.

The Co-pilot wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Phew thank god for that.” He exhaled.

“Shut up ‘Woody’ before you…” Jarad was cut off.

Bullets shattered through the glass cockpit hitting Mark ‘Woody’ Wood and killing him outright. Jarad had been hit in the arm but he watched as the Me 262 streaked passed and continued to attack the bombers behind him. Jarad turned to Woody to see him slumped over in his chair with blood pouring from his open wounds. The controls of the B-17 were not badly damaged and she continued to fly.

Large explosions blossomed as another two B-17’s were hit by the flak guns; they spiraled earthwards and crashed into the fields below. The bombers next to them finished dropping their bombs then bugged out of the fight. Bombs detonated all over the surrounding area and German troops who were dug in just had to pray they were not going to get hit. An unlucky Panther medium tank took the full brunt and was immediately set ablaze; the smell of burning flesh drifted into the dense smoke filled morning.

The word had filtered through the SS troops that they were not being attacked by the Red Army and it was, in fact, the Americans who had appeared out of nowhere to launch a vicious air raid. The Germans felt a wave of relief wash over them as the Americans were more humane than their Russian counterparts.

Bombs continued to rain down on the German positions smashing two artillery guns into pieces and detonating an ammunition pile, a group of unlucky soldiers were caught in the explosion.

The fight had only been going on for just over five minutes now but some of the aircraft had begun to run out of ammunition. A Me 109 fired his last burst into the top of a B-17 as he dove passed but the resilient bomber carried on. The Me 109 was hit from a wall of fire from multiple Flying Fortresses and the fighter started to break apart but the pilot managed to get out just in time.

Shells continued to fill the air as the Kugelblitz crew trained her guns on the bombers overhead. The high explosive shells penetrated the underbelly of a B-17 that went up in flames within seconds, the crew tried to jump desperately and a couple jumped without parachutes to escape the inferno, they met with a grizzly end.

A Me 109 was hit with friendly fire from the Anti-aircraft guns and it veered off into a collision course with a B-17. The B-17s guns fired furiously but the two planes crashed causing debris to rain from the sky; the flying fortress span downward and finally impacted on a group of German anti-tank guns, killing everyone instantly.

Amongst the devastation Brooklyn Johnson and his wingman Jimmy weaved back and forth on the tail of a Me 262 who had started to strafe the incoming American ground troops. The German jet had just pulled up and started to accelerate away when suddenly he lost all thrust from the engines. The pilot tried desperately to regain control but his jet lost power and speed at an alarming rate.

This was Johnson’s moment, he was in position with the piper direct over the target, he squeezed the trigger and the rounds flew true. His cannons tore chunks out of his adversary and almost instantaneously the volatile jet fuel exploded, dowsing the rest of the aircraft in thick red flames, the plane rolled onto its left as the pilot managed to eject but he was too close to the ground for his parachute to open in time; Johnson looked away before the impact.

The last of the surviving B-17’s finished dropping their bombs and turned towards safety, it was at this point that the Luftwaffe fighters disengaged and began to strafe the ground forces with devastating intensity.

Brooklyn and his fighters were instructed to escort the bombers but in light of this new development they had to protect the troops on the ground. Brooklyn checked his fuel gauge and knew he would not have enough to get to home if he stayed but the mission came first and he and his boys chose to engage.

The bombers had caused a lot of damage; all the artillery guns were either destroyed or damaged. Two of the Kugelblitz vehicles were burning hulks, with a third tipped over on its side in a huge crater. A dozen anti-tank guns were completely destroyed and a lot of the troops were either dead or dying.

Despite this, the Waffen SS had prepared for this assault and had created bunkers for a lot of their armored vehicles. A mass of troops came out of hiding and manned their positions on the first line of defense and they waited until they could see the whites of the enemy’s eyes.

The Sherman’s advanced under strafing fire from two Me 109’s, they were not yet close enough to fire on the German positions accurately. Three loud bangs rang out across the battlefield, the muzzle flash gave away the positions from where the shots came but it was too late and three Sherman’s were quickly knocked out, the first to be hit was penetrated clean through causing the ammunition to explode and the tank went up in flames.

“Shit!” Commander Jim ‘Peter’ Parker said as he saw what just happened, he raised his binoculars and could see a concrete bunker with a Royal Tiger II tank sat underneath its protection. Parker admired the handy work for a second.

“All units we have dug in King Tiger tanks focus all fire on these positions, The German Bastards have protected them with concrete, we need to get in close and take them out from the side.”

The Tiger II heavy tank was a formidable opponent when out in the open but it had hidden a lot of its weaknesses by being dug into a position. It was free to fire its 8.8cm 71 caliber main armament with deadly precision. The shells could reliably penetrate the Sherman’s from a distance of 2000 meters. The Tiger II was more heavily armored than its American adversaries so the Sherman’s had to get in close and take it out from the side or from the rear; with the tank being dug into the ground it was going to be hard work for the Sherman’s.

The American tanks advanced as quickly as they could over the open terrain. Hidden German Tiger I and Tiger II tanks opened fire, they knew they had the advantage of range and now the bombs had stopped falling, their concrete shields had done their jobs, they could now enjoy rich pickings.

The Tiger’s guns roared with frightening accuracy, Sherman’s were knocked out with ease’ some of their crews managed to escape but many did not. A Sherman fired on the move but the tank was hopelessly inaccurate when on the move and shells flew wide of the mark, time after time.

A Sherman slightly behind commander Jim Parker had its track blow off, it started to spin, driving on circles on the spot. The next shell put it out of action completely as it penetrated the side and the tank caught fire; cooking all inside alive.

The battle was not going well the bombers had not knocked out enough German armor and the superior Tiger II’s were proving deadly at this range. The Sherman crews had to keep pushing forward and use their greater number to overwhelm the enemy; they could not afford to get into a prolonged battle with the threat of the Russian Army looming in the shadows.

The battle of Owl Mountain

The U.S infantry had to move forward, Staff Sergeant Tom Smith started to drive his nervous men into the fight. They all had experienced the D-Day landings and were understandably not too keen to put their heads above the parapet, also the SS troops they were facing had a fearsome reputation, which they were so far living up to.

The men sprinted from explosion crater to explosion crater and used any cover they could, including the wreckages of Sherman tanks and in one case the wreckage of a downed B-17. As the troops advanced a Me 262 streaked overhead on a staffing run, the group of men caught in the open were cut to ribbons. The P-51 trailing in the wake of the jet fighter could do nothing but curse and try to keep on the tail of his target.

The American fighter force outnumbered their Luftwaffe counterparts nearly two to one. Brooklyn Johnson behind the controls of his P-51 knew they were on to something big as normally the Luftwaffe would have bugged out of the fight by now but they were still here protecting the ground troops. Brooklyn steadied himself; he knew they were in a fight to the death.

Brooklyn and his wingman noticed below them a P-51 with a Me 109 on his tail opening up on him, slightly behind him the Mustangs wingman was blazing his cannons on the Me 109 and even further behind an Me 262 moving in for the Kill on the trailing Mustang.

“Fucking Hell Brookie, it’s FUBAR up here.” Jimmy was in disbelief.

“You said it mate, cover me we are going to nose over and open up on that son ova bitch!”

Brooklyn nosed over into a fast dive and as soon as the piper was slightly in front of the Me 262 he opened up a burst, tracer rounds shot out in a menacing red stream towards the fighter, which immediately hit the throttle and shot up to safety as the two Mustangs dove passed.

“Shit!” Brooklyn swore, “That son ova bitch knows what he’s doing.”

Jimmy watched over his shoulder as the first Mustang was hit badly and started to billow black smoke. The pilot was hit on his left side and unable to control his plane it started to spin. The young pilot tried desperately to eject but was engulfed in the encroaching flames, as the plane spiraled to the earth, he pulled out a pistol and ended it all; he could not take the terrible pain from the fire.

The Mustang on the Me 109’s tail avenged his fallen friend and blew the German out of the sky, pieces of his fighter rained debris over the empty cattle field below.

“Fuck one for one.” Jimmy whispered, “We’ll win at this rate but is it worth it?”

“No time for that now Jimmy boy, get your head back in the fight. We have a juicy Me 109 climbing nine o’clock.”

“Roger that Brookie, let’s give him hell!”

Commander Jim ‘Pete’ Parker’s Sherman medium tank continued forward, the veteran tank commander had closed the distance and had begun to fire on the move. His 76 mm gun was notoriously inaccurate at this range but his experience and that of his crew meant that while not ideal, they could at least fight on the move.

“Fire.” Pete roared.

The gun let off a boom and the shell arced forward, he missed the dug in Tiger II but it flew true and detonated on a German anti-tank gun that was tracking them across the field, the gun went up in a fireball as the shells exploded.

A Tiger I fired, the high-velocity shell from its 8.8 cm gun flew through the air, impacting through the front of a Sherman who had the misfortune of stopping to fire at a Panther medium tank. The shell thrust through the lower plate and disabled the tank. The crew flew out of the hatch but as soon as they did the crack of sniper fire rang out, the commander was hit through the head, while the gunner made it off of the tank but was struck through the chest twice; he bled out quickly.

Pete’s Sherman continued to advance, he fired on a Tiger II but they shell missed and all he managed to do was cover the monster in a coat of soil. The Tiger retaliated and fired a quick shell in their direction; it missed by millimeters and detonated into the wreckage of a downed Me 109.

“Fire.” Pete shouted again.

The shot from the Sherman flew true and with exceptional luck, it struck the commander’s cupola and killed the Tiger’s commander instantly. The Tiger was out of action for now.

Pete could barely believe it. “God must be on our side today boys.” He took another swing from his flask.

A few troops to the left Staff Sergeant Tom Smith bolted from the crater they were taking shelter in; no sooner had the left then the dug-in machine gun nests opened fire.

“Cover fire!” Smith ordered.

It was too late, the men were shredded and lay dead or dying only a few feet away from their position.

“Medic!” someone cried. Smith was about to stop the order but a crazy son of bitch jumped from the crater and sprinted towards the fallen men.

“Ray, get back here your dumb son of a bitch before you get yourself…”

It was too late, the machine guns roared up again and Ray was hit in the chest, he fell to the floor and gasped desperately for air, he could not breathe, his lungs were cut to pieces and he lay there drowning in oxygen.

“Right boys, I want two of you to gingerly pop your heads up and lay down some cover fire. The rest of us will advance to that Sherman and cover you, got it?”

Nobody answered.

“I said you got it boys?” Smith growled.

“Yes, Sir.” Was the cry back.

On the count of three, two men propped up on the edge of the crater and began to open fire with their semi-automatic M1 Carbine rifles; the cartridge pinged out when it was empty and they quickly shoved in a fresh clip. The lads sprinted from cover and dove towards the destroyed Sherman, the Machine guns opened up but this time the rounds impacted into the turf around the crater, the two men putting down the cover fire jumped back into the crater, unhurt.

The few remaining Me 109’s and a group of P-51 Mustangs bugged out of the fight, their ammunition spent. There had been heavy losses on both sides but four of the Luftwaffe fighters survived to fight another day.

Nine Mustangs were left against five of the brilliantly flown Me 262 Swallows. Brooklyn Johnson ordered the Mustangs into three groups of two planes each & a single group of three planes.

“Don’t let the bastards behind you, single them out then destroy them one by one.” Brooklyn said. Brooklyn was the senior man now and the other pilots respected him; Brooklyn had become a fighter ace in the Pacific at the battle of Midway.

The Flak guns had started to let up with one running out of ammunition completely, one of the others had been destroyed by a P-51’s strafing run. The Me 262’s split from their formation and pushed into a steep climb that the Mustangs could not hope to match, in fact they did not even try to compete.

“Form into a loose circle boys, watch them when they streak in for the attack let them dive on by then get on their tails and give them hell.”

The Mustangs did as Brooklyn said, they formed a loose circle with the lead three Mustangs backed up from the trailing planes making it difficult for the German pilots to single out a target. Brooklyn was hoping to get the Swallows into a turning fight so he could negate their raw speed advantage.

The Me 262’s dived and when in range opened up with their four 30mm MK 108 autocannons, bullets rained down towards the circling targets. A burst peppered the side of Jimmy’s Mustang which was on its side, ready to dive after the Me 262. Puffs of light grey smoke flitted out of the fighter but it said in the air.

The Swallows powered on through the circle of American fighter and raced towards the earth; the Mustang’s nosed over to follow them.

“This is it men, nail them when they try to climb again!” Brooklyn ordered.

The Mustang’s followed their prey heading towards the deck. The Me 262’s did not try to climb though, instead they leveled out and split into three groups, two broke left another two broke right and the final one, the squadron leader carried on flying low over the top of the mountain.

The Mustangs followed suit and as they were diving the lead plane in the formation of three opened up on the trailing Me 262, tracer reached outwards and cut the Swallow in its left wing. The engine billowed black smoke then it exploded in an instant, the wreckage detonated into the field, the pilot had no chance to eject as he was so low to the ground.

The Me 262 saw his wingman blown out of the sky, he pushed his throttle forwards and as the Mustangs were coming to the end of the drive, they lost the speed advantage the head as they had to level out.

Two Mustangs trailed the single Squadron leader who was still flying fast and low over the surrounding countryside.

“Is he bugging out?” Brad asked.

“Looks like it.” His wingman replied.

Suddenly the Swallows engine powered down and he slowed, the pilot fought with his controls.

A broad smile swept across Brad Taylor’s face. “I got you now you bitch.”

The two Mustangs closed the gap and Brad brought the piper over the target.

Without warning the Me 262 cut all power nosed up slightly then rolled over to the left. The Mustangs were too close, too confident and they zoomed on passed.

“Shit, shit, shit where is he? Can you see him Ron?”

“Fuck he’s…” Ron was cut off as a hail of bullets completely obliterated his aircraft.

“Shit.” Was all Brad could say as he began to turn his plane aggressively, desperately trying to shake off the German on his tail.

The Me 262 rolled slightly then waited for Brad’s next maneuver, with icy cold nerves he waited, and then Brad made the fatal error lost his nerve and went to climb out of the fight. It was too late and the Swallow pilot only needed this split second to open fire. The rounds bit into the tail of the Mustang which disintegrated and split from the fuselage. Brad bailed out but his parachute failed to open.

Three Mustangs still trailed one Me 262 and were all eager to get the kill, they jockeyed for position. They had the scent of blood and much like a pack of hungry reef sharks they closed in. The Me 262 slowed to let them close the gap, suddenly it broke left then bullets raced forwards into the lead Mustang, he was hit head on, his propeller was badly damaged and the rounds cut into his engine; flames engulfed the cockpit and the fighter rolled over and exploded into the grass.

The other two Mustang’s did not know what had just happened, their pilots reacted too slowly and the second Mustang was hit in the cockpit, it disintegrated and the pilot was killed instantly; the plane listed lazily to the left and impacted into a small wooded area.

The third Mustang panicked and pulled hard left on the controls, he narrowly avoided the Squadron Leader’s Me 262 who had appeared out of nowhere to save his comrade. The American pilot was climbing at too steep an angle and was losing airspeed, he stalled it but the second Me 262 had misjudged his attack and was coming in too fast, the two planes collided mid air, they both spun to the ground and exploded.

A Me 262 was low on fuel and out of ammunition the pilot reluctantly pushed hard on the throttle and streaked away to the South. This left four Mustangs and two Swallows in a sky that had been crowded not five minutes. The Squadron leader and his wingman climbed again pushing their Me 262’s for all they were worth.

Brooklyn Johnson and his wingman Jimmy prepared for another assault.

“We have to get that son ova bitch this time Jimmy, we won’t have the ammunition for another go.”

“Roger that Brookie, it’s been an honor serving under you sir.”

The Mustangs climbed after the Me 262’s who nosed over inverted and fired down on the American fighters, the Mustangs opened up as well; deadly tracer rounds danced across the sky.

Jimmy Doolittle gave it all he had as he squared off with the second Me 262, the both fired until their guns were empty but they had managed to miss every one of their shots, they still flew towards each other but at the last minute Jimmy turned left while the Me 262 went right. The Me 262 bugged out of the fight.

“Get on the tail of that 262 boys, I have no ammo left.” Doolittle shouted.

The two Mustangs went after him but gave up the case as the Me 262 accelerated off into the distance. The Mustangs went for home even though they had very little chance of making it on their remaining fuel.

Brooklyn Johnson was still firing bursts into the Squadron leader, who was returning fire with as good as he got, they were about to reach the point where they would both have to disengage but neither wanted to flinch first.

Brooklyn’s six 0.50 caliber Browning machine guns chuntered away until they had nothing left, the last rounds impacted into the nose and canopy of the Me 262 but it kept coming. Brooklyn managed to roll left just in time as the Swallow continued on. Brooklyn leveled off but the Me 262 continued to gain speed as it dived towards the earth. It never recovered and slammed at full speed into the field below. Brooklyn’s rounds had taken out the Squadron leader and he had his fifth confirmed kill of the day; he was now a double ace.

Something was not right; Jimmy had not got a joyful celebration from his friend. Brooklyn coughed and then spluttered a mixture of mucus and blood up onto his chest. He looked down and could see blood oozing from the bullet wounds in his left arm, chest and leg. He smiled weakly as he brushed his right hand over the picture of his wife Alana and his young child Brooklyn Junior, their faces smiled happily back.

Brooklyn’s Mustang began a shallow dive as he fought hard not to black out but the edge of his vision had already started to blur and his body was not responding to his commands, he struggled to drew in one last deep breath but it just would not come and their air bubbled out with blood from a hole in his left lung.

Despite Jimmy Doolittle’s frantic attempts to get Brooklyn to pull up, he got no response and Brooklyn’s Mustang crashed nose first into a Polish field. Brooklyn did not feel the impact though as he died from his wounds, staring into his wife’s eyes on the way down.

The Battle in the air was over.

Xerum 525

Walther Gerlach and his son Joseph worked away hard, oblivious to the death and destruction raging above their heads. In the secure bunker they had managed to stabilize the massive bell-shaped device in an electrically charged atmosphere. The power was kept at 75 percent.

Bright blue lightning spread across the device in vine-like patterns, over the last few hours the bell had started to radiate a blue glow. The counter-rotating tubes of Xerum 525 created a vortex again.

Walther stood at his control station when it hit him, a purple beam of light washed through the thick glass and washed over him, his pupils dilated and his eyes glowed a deep purple color. Joseph watched enviously, ‘why did he never receive the visions?’ But his task was just as important; he had to keep the power continuous otherwise the devices secrets would be lost.

Jakob Sporrenberg had finally managed to get the emergency generators going and get a message out to the German high command. As far as he could tell the situation above ground was stable for now, but he knew his outnumbered troops would not be able to hold out forever; especially as their air support was gone. He needed to get a message out to Hauptsturmführer Krause but the lines of communication were garbled.

Sporrenberg cursed, he would have to wait deal with that insubordinate cockroach Gerlach. The Die Glocke experiments had taken up a lot of valuable time, resources and money and all they had to show for it were some ‘visions’ that gave the blueprints for how to build Wunderwaffe. Sporrenberg shook his head as he left the generator room. “What the Führer sees in this Vril Society hoodoo I don’t know.”

Walther’s hair stood on end and his wispy white hair went deadly straight, he was quietly muttering to himself in a language Joseph did not recognize. The older scientist had been like this for the last ten minutes.

A large explosion echoed out from the center of the laboratory, the device rocked under the force. Joseph cursed as the power levels began to drop. “Not again you bastard!” He shouted as he fought to keep the air electrified. He struggled in vain as the air discharged violently. Joseph watched as the same transformer that had caused the problem earlier sparked and billowed grey smoke.

As the bell lost power the purple aura dissipated snapping Walther aggressively out of his trance. The scientist looked confused, he stumbled forward slightly and Joseph had to leap towards him to stop his old man from falling.

Walther blinked quickly, his bloodshot eyes laboring to regain focus; a trickle of blood ran out from his nose. The scientist’s eyes rolled back into his skull then rapidly snapped back into focus as he inhaled deeply.

The old man spoke weakly at first, “Whe… where am I? How… How am I back here?… No no no!” He shouted. A red glow of anger began to replace the paleness in his face.

“Joseph, get my pen and paper I need to write this down while it is fresh in my mind, you can explain to me what the fuck happened later.”

“Yes father.” The young man and rushed to do as commanded.

Walther started to write in a frenzied blur of motion, he drew precise blueprints with exact measurements, he wrote down the materials needed and he noted how the object must be created so it functioned as intended. He scribbled furiously for about five minutes before finally putting his pen down.

“Come look at this my son.” Walther beckoned.

Joseph took the notepad a flicked through, he checked the drawings, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He looked at his father.

“This can’t be right… It just can’t be.”

“I know son, this will change the tide of the war for sure.”

Joseph had his doubts about the war effort but knew better than to raise them in front of his father.

“How would we even build this thing?”

“Think about it son, you’ve seen the amazing things we have built, the Me 262 jet engines, the Panzerkampfwagen VIII Maus super- heavy tank, Fritz X guided anti-ship bombs, the V1 and V2 rockets that enter the edge of space. All these revolutionary ideas came from Die Glocke. We are the ones chosen to give life to these ideas so our people can take our rightful place at the head of the world.”

While Joseph did not agree with all these ideas he could not argue with the results that came for the bell visions.

The images on the notepad showed a large circular object constructed of tough reinforced metal alloy, one side was covered with a deep curving mirror. The object was to use the sun’s energy to create a concentrated beam of light onto the designated target.

“This is an Archimedes death ray.”

“Yes son,” Walther shouted excitedly, “But we will be able to burn entire cities instead of wooden Roman ships. These plans must get to Hillersleben.”

Walther sat up, “We need to get Die Glocke going one last time, I feel the war-winning secret was nearly there before it cut out.” He placed his hand on his sons shoulder, supporting himself as he stood.

“This time we must get the power to stay at 100%, we must scrap the caution and push it as hard as we can.”

Joseph nodded, “I’ll get on the repairs. You sit here and recover.” He said sternly.

Walther did sit and recover as he son had insisted on but only for five minutes; he had to get the message to the scientists at the Hillersleben facility in Germany. He pushed the document into a small brown envelope with a standard stamp attached to it, it looked unremarkable and that’s the way he wanted to keep it. Walther then sent an encoded message through to the facility instructing them on where the envelope was to be sent; the envelopes contents were to be destroyed by Joseph if he could not get the message out before the base was overrun.

Jim ‘Pete’ Parker

The open field stretching out in front of the Owl Mountains was ablaze, thick black smoke bloomed into the atmosphere and the smell of charred human flesh choked anyone in the area. Commander Jim ‘Pete’ Parker and his fellow Sherman crews had suffered horrendous losses but had now closed the gap and found themselves in amongst the dug in Tiger tank positions.

A Sherman commanded by Tom Finch maneuvered around the side of a Tiger I, the German tank could not swing its barrel round to target the American tank as the concrete pillars designed to protect it from aerial bombardment now inhibited it.

The Sherman had a clean shot into the weaker side of the tank. The gyrostabilizer kept the Sherman’s targeting reticle relatively in the right direction while the tank was on the move. Tom Finch’s tank hit the brakes and no sooner had it stopped it took a near point-blank shot into the side of the Tiger, the round penetrated, killing three of the crew and seriously wounding another.

A German anti-tank gun aimed at Tom’s Sherman but was too eager to fire and did not aim the shot properly, the shell flew passed the American who had noticed where the shot had come from, he directed his gunner on target and fired, the gun was destroyed. Tom smiled; it had been a good day’s work so far.

The Sherman’s were advancing into the first line of German trenches where they knew infantry with anti-tank launchers would be a threat, Bow gunner Steven Almore noticed movement and opened up with several bursts from his .30 caliber M1919A4 machine gun. Three SS soldiers screamed and fell, a few seconds later the grenades they were cooking detonated and a shockwave of air containing shrapnel swept out down the trench, killing three others.

Tom’s Sherman rotated its turret to line up a shot into the back of a Panther medium tank that was laying fire down into a group of advancing Sherman’s. The reticle rested on the German tank. Tom Finch was about to shout fire when the front of his tank disintegrated and caved inwards, the driver and bow gunner were killed instantly while the loaders arm was torn off. Tom had a second to look down before the ammunition rack ignited and the whole tank exploded; Tom was launched from the commander’s cupola and was dead before his burning body hit the ground.

Nobody had seen what had fired the round before a second shell hit another Sherman slightly to the right of the flaming wreck that had been Tom’s tank. The second Sherman did not catch fire but the round had penetrated and killed two of the crew, the others tried to escape the doomed vehicle but were cut down by machine gun fire as they did so.

Jim ‘Pete’ Parker had seen that two of his allies had been taken out in quick succession; he moved his tank cautiously behind the burning hulk of one of the Sherman’s and tried to get a view of the hidden enemy. His tank came under machine gun fire from the trench down to his left. Paul ‘Mex’ Perez turned his gun onto the target and waited for Pete’s instruction.

“Fire.” Pete shouted.

The round flew into the trench and exploded, the machine gun fire ceased.

Parker scanned the distance with his binoculars then after a good ten seconds or so he noticed a muzzle flash from near the base of the mountain.

“Got ya.” He said as he let out a smile.

“We got tank destroyers at the base of the hill, looks like a few of them… not sure what they are, don’t think we have encountered them before.” Parker said over the radio.

“Roger that Pete, what-cha wanna do?”

“We have the greater numbers here; we need to take out the Tigers and Panthers first. My group will do that. You guys take out any Anti-tank guns you can find and support the infantry.” Parker paused, “After that we can take out the tank destroyers.”

“Roger that.”

The Sherman’s regrouped and focused on the enemies close at hand, they hoped that if they could get the infantry boys into play then they would have a better chance of ending this battle quickly.

The German armor was outnumbered four to one with only a few Tiger II’s being committed to the battle. They had a surprise up their sleeves though as positioned at the bottom of the mountain with a decent amount of distance between them and the American tanks were six Elefant Ferdinand Tank destroyers, sporting 8.8 cm Pak cannons that had an effective range of 3 kilometers.

Four experimental self-propelled anti-tank guns sat under camouflage nets next to their bigger allies. The 12.8 cm Selbstfahrlafette auf VK30.01(H) or the Sturer Emil as the Germans called it had an large open-topped fighting compartment that gave the crew an excellent field of view, but little protection. The vehicle had a large caliber gun attached to it but as it was turretless it could only fire in the direction it was facing. Two similar prototypes had been built and fought in the Russian campaign the year before with one being destroyed and the other captured at the battle of Stalingrad; it had thirty-one kill marks painted on the barrel. The two vehicles were lovingly called Max and Moritz.

The Tiger crews had needed the protection of their concrete blanket when the allies were bombing but now it was becoming their tomb, the lack of maneuverability was really costing them. The Elefant Tank destroyers were laying down fire to keep the Sherman’s from flanking but there were just too many of them.

An 8.8 cm anti-tank gun let rip firing a shot down range which struck the American tank in the welded seam along the turret, the round penetrated and disabled the tank. The crew of the anti-tank gun reloaded a high explosive shell and targeted the next tank. They fired but before their shot hit the target erupted in a ball of flames, the unfortunate tank had been set ablaze by a Tiger II. The Anti-Tank guns round hit the tank and ignited, blowing the turret clean off.

“Half a kill Wolfe.” Berndt Krause said, “Better luck on the next one.”

“Double or quits Hauptsturmführer?”

“Double or quits Wolfe, but this is the last time.”

Krause watched the battle unfolding through his binoculars, it was not going well, it was a target rich environment but it would not be long until the Sherman’s broke through the initial line and then the infantry could advance. It would only be a matter of time before he would have to use his own assault rifle.

Krause smiled, he had been waiting for this for a long time, he had become bored stuck underground and it was time to do what he had signed up for.

Commander Jim ‘Pete’ Parkers Sherman rolled forward .50 caliber Browning M2HB and the two .30 caliber Browning firing bursts as she went. They were laying fire down into the trenches. Pete took his tank left of a dug in tiger II while another Sherman flanked right. The Tiger took aim on the Sherman flanking right and fired a round at point-blank range, setting the American tank ablaze.

“Fuck it!” Pete said ‘Thank you for your sacrifice boys.’ He thought to himself as his tank stopped behind the Tiger.

“Fire.” Pete shouted.

The Sherman’s round penetrated through the thin rear armor plate and killed the entire Tiger crew; black smoke billowed from the hole in the rear of the German tank. This shot was Pete’s tenth kill of the day from their twenty-third round, he had fifty-three more shells to go.

Pete’s Sherman then lined up on a 8.8 cm anti-tank gun, he waited a second for his tank to stop then he fired. The round flew passed the gun but hit the ammunition store next to it; the entire area went up in flames and the gun crew was killed instantly.

“Make that eleven kills today boys, not that I’m counting.”

“Alright Pete it ain’t a competition, knock those machine gun nests out will you.”

It only isn’t a competition because you losing boys!” Pete shouted above the noise.

Pete turned his Sherman onto the next target which was a machine gun nest keeping the troops behind him from advancing. He lined up the shot and was about to tell his gunner to fire when a panicked shout from Ross, his driver, got his attention.

“What is it Ross?”

“Panther firing at us from ten o’clock.”

“Incoming!” shouted Rick ‘Free’ Freeman.

The round struck the Sherman at an angle and ricocheted off. The Sherman had survived the shot but the Panther advanced and closed the distance. Pete instructed the gunner to swivel the turret onto the rapidly gaining German tank.

Pete waited a second then shouted “Fire!”

The gunner opened fire but the aim was just off and the shell whizzed passed the turret of the Panther. The Panther returned fire but the angle was still too acute and the round bounced off of the tanks armor, it was more through luck than skill that Pete was still alive.

The Panther continued to advance and had not slowed down. ‘That son of a bitch is going to ram us!’ Pete thought. Pete and his crew had adjusted their aim. “Fire again.” Pete roared.

The round exited the muzzle and flew straight and true, impacting onto through the turret of the Panther. Pete smiled but the Panther kept on coming, it did not fire another round but instead plowed into the side of the Sherman. The speed of impact caused the Sherman to slide across the muddy field.

Another Sherman had witnessed the impact and fired into the weak side armor of the Panther. The commander’s cupola opened on the German tank and two crewmen clambered out like cockroaches and wildly fired with their assault rifles into Pete’s commander’s hatch. Pete fired with his pistol and shot one of the Germans between the eyes, the other German was taken down with machine gun fire from the Sherman who had knocked the tank out.

“What the fuck is wrong with these Nazi pigs, do they not care about death?” Rick ‘Free’ Freeman shouted.

“These are SS men, they are more than willing to die for the cause son, so help them out whenever you can ok?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Can we still move?” Pete asked.

“Yes Sir, our tracks are damaged but we can still move.”

“Let’s get to it then.” Pete said then took another huge sip from his hip flask until all the sweet brown alcohol had gone.

‘Let’s finish this.’ He thought to himself with a grim determination that had always served him well.

The next hour was fought with increasing intensity, the Germans lost all of their Tiger II tanks and two-thirds of their Tiger tanks but the Americans lost forty-four Sherman tanks which in normal circumstances would have been a good trade-off. Eighteen tanks lost was a heavy toll on the German defenses but they continued to keep the Americans at bay.

Robert Miller

Master Sergeant Robert Miller was covered in mud and blood, his hands were shaking and he felt the adrenaline wearing off. His unit had stormed the second trench which was full of SS troops; they had fought at close quarters and a lot of his men had been killed by assault rifle fire when they had entered the trench.

“I want you to check ammo then pick supplies off of these dead krauts. We are going to need them.” He ordered his surviving platoon.

“What are we waiting for sir?”

“The plan is to meet up with First Sergeant Jackson and his squad then we can push over to the next trench together.”

“Yeah if Jackson and his squad aren’t dog food by now.”

Robert Miller shot the young private a deadly glare.

“Look here you they are going to be here then we are going over the top of that trench to kick some kraut ass, do you get me private!?”

“I get you sir!”

“You better do.”

Gunfire rang out from behind Miller’s squad; Private John Curtis Lewis turned and popped his head over the top of the trench to see a small group of SS soldiers firing while they advanced forward.

“Sir SS on our ass, advancing.”

“Defensive positions lads, we have to defend this position until the support gets here.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Three men propped themselves on the top of the trench to lay down suppressing fire, their M1 semi-automatic rifles firing rapidly. In response an SS man threw down a smoke grenade to cover their advance, the Germans held their fire.

“Get a machine gun up there and pound that area!” Master Sergeant Robert Miller shouted.

Private Tony Baird set up the captured MG42 on its bipod. The MG 42 had its iron sights trained on the rapidly thinning smoke.

The American’s waited in nervous anticipation, something dropped into the trench and landed next to Robert Miller’s feet, he glanced down and time seemed to stand still as he realized what the object was. With quick reactions he reached down and picked up the object by its wooden handle and threw it back in the direction it had come from.

The SS soldier it hit had no time to react, no time to even scream as the stick grenade detonated, the shrapnel from the grenade peppered the legs of the two SS men directly adjacent to him but that was not what killed them, the shockwave of the blast burst their lungs and they drowned in the oxygen-saturated air.

The smoke had nearly completely dissipated which revealed the sinister black outlines of the German soldiers; they were getting ready to throw more grenades. Private Tony Baird opened up with the MG 42 and its distinctive buzz saw sound rang out, sending 1200 rounds per minute down on its targets.

The two lead SS men were ripped to pieces as the others dived to the floor; they kept their heads down as the deadly hail of bullets danced all around them.

“Take that you Kraut scum!” Baird shouted in defiance.

A large explosion launched a hail of soil onto the American troops taking shelter in the trench. Robert Miller shook the mud from his head and peeked over the top of the trench to see a Panther medium tank bearing down on their trench. The tank opened up with both of it’s 7.92 mm MG34 machine guns.

“Everybody get down… Incoming Panther!” Robert Miller shouted.

Private Baird could not move fast enough and his was struck in the back, he slumped down over the edge of the trench and the MG 42 ceased firing.

This was the break in fire the SS men were waiting for; they jumped up to their feet and sprinted towards the edge of the trench. When they reached the edge they opened fire with their StG 44 assault rifles, they hit Private Smith in the head and he slumped over, he had no chance to reload his M1.

Robert Miller rolled over and laid down suppressive fire from his Tommy gun, this guns rate of fire was deadly at close quarters, the SS man in front was much too eager and the rounds sliced through both of his kneecaps, he screamed as he fell into the trench. Sergeant Bradie Jones jumped onto of the fallen SS man and sunk his knife deep into the chest of the German.

The Advancing Panther was ready to fire another round from its main gun but it did not get the chance as a streak of light raced into the side of the Panther, it penetrated and killed most of the crew. The tank smoked heavily but did not catch fire.

“What the hell was that?” Robert Miller said.

Machine gun and semi-automatic rifle fire came out from the left of the trench, the SS men returned fire but they were outgunned and were soon taken out.

Robert Miller pushed his back up to the right-hand wall of the trench and trained his Tommy gun over the opposite side.

The six-foot-two-inch frame of the lanky First Sergeant William James Jackson appeared over the top of the trench. Robert Miller let out a sigh of relief and gingerly lowered his weapon.

“Nice of you to point your gun at me like that Sir, especially after we saved your lazy ass, what you doing sat down there on your backside anyway?” Jackson said with a huge grin etched all over his face.

Robert Miller smiled, “I’ll let that insubordination slide, this time… Good to see you boy, help me up will ya!”

Jackson and his squad jumped down into the trench and restocked their ammunition. Jackson’s squad had fought their way across through the second trench from the left-hand side and had met heavy resistance.

“Is this all that made it?” Miller asked as he cast his eye over the remnants of Jackson’s squad.

Jackson’s head dropped a little. “The SS put up a tough defense; they were fighting to the last man with a crazy look in their eyes.”

Miller placed his hand on Jackson’s shoulder, “Amen to that, we better get moving. Our armor has advanced pretty far but has taken a beating.”

Jackson looked up, “We picked up a couple of those damn Panzerfaust anti-tank weapons, maybe we can lend them support?”

Miller smiled, “That’s how you took that bastard out then.”

They needed to meet up with Staff Sergeant Tom Smith and his squad if they had survived, they had to storm the final two trenches at the same time otherwise they could get bogged down into a prolonged battle which just could not happen. This was especially true as unbeknown to the Americans; the Wehrmacht defense against the Red army had collapsed and was they were now in full retreat. It would not be long until the Soviets swarmed over the area, instinctively following the sound of battle.

Project Riese

The fighting had not let up for the last couple of hours, now just after midday the soldiers of the 7^th Ranger Battalion were gathering for another assault; they had been stopped in their tracks by a determined and resolute defense from the 5^th SS mountain corps.

The 5^th Panzer army had lost all of their Tiger II and Tiger I heavy battle tanks; the brief lull in battle meant they could regroup their remaining armor. The Panther medium tanks lined up on the edge of the third trench. They quickly planned a strategy with the Elefant tank destroyers then waited for the final confirmation from Gruppenführer Jakob Sporrenberg.

Hauptsturmführer Berndt Krause was giving his commanding officer an update on the situation. It was not good, they had only one hundred and eighty-eight men left alive and that was the good news. They had thirteen operational Panthers, five Elefant tank destroyers, the four experimental Sturer Emil and eight 8.8 cm anti-tank guns.

It was estimated that the Americans still had forty plus, working Sherman’s and at least three hundred infantry left. As they had not attacked for the last twenty minutes they Germans correctly surmised that they were pooling their resources for a final assault.

“Fine.” Sporrenberg finally said. “Green light for the surprise assault. I want all men to stand and fight to the death. For the Führer, For Germany!”

“Yes Sir, I’ll get the order out.”

“Krause, I have a job for you. I want you to follow me underground, take a demolition team and destroy the main entrance to the base that will slow them down.”

“Yes, Sir.” Krause said.

“Then I want you to meet me in the Lab, we have to destroy as much evidence as possible, including the scientists.” Sporrenberg smiled, “The time has come Krause.”

The SS captain gave out the final orders to his men on the surface; this Polish field would become their grave but they had all accepted their fate and vowed to fight to the last man. They would keep the American scum from finding Die Glocke.

Krause followed Group leader Sporrenberg back to the base to complete their grizzly task.

Commander Pete Parker was in deep discussion with Master Sergeant Robert Miller while the tanks crew were completing on the spot repairs. The American troops were almost ready to launch their assault.

Loader James ‘B’ Brooks was the first to notice it but before he could not get the word out before the first shells struck.

“Get down!” Miller ordered.

A hail of shells struck all around the American positions as almost unbelievably the thirteen Panther medium tanks were on the offensive. They fired on the move, advancing quickly as they used their good power to weight ratio to close the distance.

“Bloody suicidal pricks.” Jim ‘Pete’ Parker shouted, “Get back into the Sherman’s and blow those bastards to pieces.” He ordered.

The American armor crews scrambled back into their machines while the infantry jumped for the relative safety of the trenches. A Sherman crew was caught out as an advancing Elefant tank destroyer fired its powerful cannon the shell raced forward and stuck the tank; two of the crew was killed by the impact while the others were thrown from the knocked out machine.

Two Sherman’s opened fire on a Panther but they had not taken the time to properly aim their guns, the shells whizzed passed the turret of the German tank. The Panther returned fire and the shell penetrated the turret of the Sherman, killing the Commander and the Gunner. The second Sherman readjusted its aim and fired; the Sherman who had fired the shot burst into flames as it was struck from a High explosive shell fired by a slowly advancing Sturer Emil. The SS were throwing all the armor they had into the fight; it had taken the Americans by surprise.

An anti-tank gun roared from over the head of the SS Mountain corps who were stood in their trench ready and waiting. The commanding officer was nervous; he reached into his bag and pulled out a tube of Pervitin. He shoved a single pill into his mouth then gulped it down. All of his troops followed suit.

Commander Jim ‘Pete’ Parker had managed to round up a group of his fellow Sherman’s and started to direct their fire onto targets. A Panther was cut off and quickly destroyed. While another Panther smashed head-on into a Sherman, the Panther fired from point-blank range which blew the turret clean off the American armor. The Panther had damaged its tracks from the impact and could not move. It lined up its turret on to the back of Parkers Sherman.

The Panther was struck twice through its left-hand side; it went up in a puff of black smoke. A few seconds later three infantrymen stuck their heads over the top of the trench, they discarded two used Panzerfaust tubes and then gave Parker the thumbs up and he returned the gesture.

The Elefants suddenly stopped their advance; they started to fire while stationary. A well-aimed round knocked out a Sherman. The five Elefant tank destroyers were well commanded; they kept up a steady stream of fire. The first two would fire, then the second two would fire and finally the fifth Elefant would fire its shell; this strategy allowed the other tank destroyers to reload but kept continuous fire support for the Panthers.

Jim ‘Pete’ Parker advanced he called out a target ahead to the left, his gunner lined up on the Elefant. The Elefant fired and the shell zoomed passed Parker’s tank and struck a Sherman behind him that was engaging a Panther, the Sherman’s track was blown clean off but its gun was still in the battle.

“Fire!” Pete screamed.

The shell flew on target but bounced off of the thick frontal armor.

“Shit we have to close the distance boys.”

The Elefant turned slightly so it could bring its gun to bear on Parker’s Sherman. This gave the opportunity for the Sherman next to Parker’s to attack. Its browning machine guns opened up and the rounds that did hit the German tank destroyer bounced off with little effect. The Elefant switched targets to the advancing Sherman which fired its 76mm gun at the front of the Elefant, again the round ricocheted off the strong armor.

The Sherman continued to advance but the German did not fire, a large explosion rang out. The Sherman rocked as its tracks were blown to pieces by a mine. Now that its prey was unable to move the Elefant fired, the round penetrated cleanly into the disabled Sherman and must have hit the stored ammunition as the tank went up in fireworks.

Jim Parker got the order out to stay on the tracks the German tanks had used; those bastards had clearly mined the whole area.

“We are going to have to clear the way for your boys Miller, once we destroy their remaining armor then we can cover you while you get through the minefield!”

“Roger that Parker much obliged to you.”

A Sturer Emil fired from range with the round slicing into a Sherman; it went up in a ball of flames and smoke, cooking all inside. The American tank Achilles heel was that it was easily set ablaze. The German tank destroy slowly turned to the right and lined up on another group of Sherman’s, who had just put a Panther out of action. The Sturer Emil fired and knocked out the lead Sherman. The other Sherman’s stopped and opened fire all at once but the range was too great and their shells lost momentum.

The remaining Panthers regrouped to form a semi-circular defensive barricade; they were blocking their own pathways they had made through the minefield. Unwittingly they had also blocked the line of sight for the advancing Elefant tank destroyers.

The Panthers paired off into targets and started opening fire, their rounds disabling advancing Sherman’s. The Sherman’s returned fire but their rounds bounced off the angled hulls. A Sherman had its track destroyed but managed to get off a kill shot on a Panther, the German machine was knocked out from a shot through its lower plate. The Sherman was quickly destroyed completely when the Panthers partner shot into the Commander’s Cupola.

Jim Parker’s Sherman again fired on the move, his rounds were accurate and penetrated the engine compartment of a Panther, the vehicle sparked and quickly went up in flames, the crew scrambled out and dived onto the field to put out the flames on their backs; unfortunately they lost their situational awareness and the luckless loader stood on a mine, a circle of flesh and blood bloomed outwards covering a wide area. Bow Gunner Rick Freeman put the others out of their misery with a burst from his Browning machine gun.

Jakob Sporrenberg was heading down the vast tunnel system towards the laboratory; he had his pistol loaded and was looking forward to the task that must be done. An explosion rocked over his head, it was a satisfying sound as Berndt Krause and his men must have destroyed the entrance to the base. Sporrenberg broke into a chuckle.

What the SS team leader did not know was that the explosion had only destroyed some of the entrance; the American’s could still get into the base reasonably quickly if they moved the rubble.

Berndt Krause cursed, “Have we got any more explosives?”

“No Sir.”

“Scheisse!” Krause shouted, “Ok you men are to guard this position, do not let anyone enter. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir!” The five men shouted, “While we still have life in our bodies we will keep them out. Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler.” Krause returned the war cry. “I must find Gruppenführer Sporrenberg.” Krause took off into the interior of the base.

Sporrenberg pulled the pallet turned boat up onto the shore. Once again the cry rang out, “Halt. Identify yourself or we will shoot.”

“SS Gruppenführer Jakob Sporrenberg, SS number 3809.”

The two men relaxed but continued to watch the man through their sights.

“Proceed, good to see you again Sir.”

Sporrenberg marched up to the two men with the air of a man who deserved total respect.

“Good to see you Oberschutze Brown, did you get the explosives I require.”

The Steely blue eyes of the twenty-three-year-old senior rifleman did not flicker away from his Vampir infrared night vision sight.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent work soldier.” Sporrenberg said as he knocked on the large reinforced iron doors.

There was no response.

“SS Gruppenführer Jakob Sporrenberg, SS number 3809. I demand you let me in!” He shouted with a tone that could break solid rock.

The slot opened for a brief second.

“Fuck off.” Walther Gerlach shouted before he slid the slot closed.

Sporrenberg clenched his fist and his teeth. “If you don’t open this door I will blow the whole thing to pieces you ignorant spec of dirt, do you hear me Gerlach?”

There was no response. Sporrenberg turned to the two soldiers stood behind him.

“You know what to do.”

“Yes, Sir!” They said and immediately jumped to work.

Ball Lightning

Walther Gerlach waddled about busily as he checked and double checked all of the equipment on the control panel. He went through his personal checklist one last time. He sighed ‘If we only had more time.’

A man stood up and took off the welding mask; he smiled at his father then gave him the thumbs up.

“I think I have finished the repair father but let me just run a diagnostic check on the power supplies.”

Gerlach shook his head. “We don’t have time son. Good job but get back here we need to start the experiment now.”

Joseph could hear the strain in his father’s voice. He walked back to his workstation as quickly as he could.

“What’s wrong father?”

“Sporrenberg is on the other side of the door; he is here to finish us off. I told him to fuck off.”

Joseph stood bolt upright, “You did what?”

“He is here to kill us anyway son, just get the final experiment ready will you!”

Joseph shook his head as he went over to his workstation.

The two scientists pushed the power on and the Bell device began to siphon the power from the base once again. Joseph pushed it up to twenty-five percent power.

“Holding steady.” He said.

The lights in the base flickered again then went out just leaving the emergency generator to power the systems. Sporrenberg looked around and cursed loudly.

“For fuck sake Gerlach you are dead meat when I get hold of you! Brown how long until this door is blown?”

“Not too long Sir, I am doing it as fast as I can.”

Sporrenberg let out a growl. He paced up and down like a caged tiger.

The power held steady, the counter-rotating tubes began to pick up speed and once again started to fill with the deadly Xerum 525. Electricity started to run across the wires crisscrossing the device.

“Push it son we have run out of time!” Gerlach ordered.

The young scientist pushed the lever forward to fifty percent power. The device began to crackle with blue ball lightning and the familiar vortex started to form around the bell.

“No son we need one hundred percent.”

Joseph glanced over to his father with a terrified look etched across his young face. “We… we have never got to one hundred percent father. It… It won’t take the strain.”

“Just do it boy!” Gerlach ordered.

Joseph swallowed once and then pushed the lever to its highest limit.

The device rocked under the strain of the sudden power surge, lightning raced towards it from all over the room, it turned from a bright yellow color to a brilliant fiery red as it swept across the device. The Vortex pulled all the electric power across the devices broad rounded surfaces, the ceramic tiles started to crack and small pieces floated off into the electrified atmosphere.

“Father she is break apart, we need to power down.” Joseph went to pull the lever down.

“Don’t you dare son, step away now.” Walther shouted in the sternest tone his son had ever heard.

“Sorry son but we have no choice. We are in it until the end now. Whatever happens.” He paused, “Son I want you to get the plans from earlier and burn them, now before anyone else gets their hands on them. I hid them in that brown envelope hidden on the shelf over there.

Joseph nodded and followed his father’s instructions. He held the small notepad full of plans up to his lit match, the paper quickly caught fire and burned to ashes.

“Good work son, we need to burn the bell files now.”

Joseph started to burn all the paperwork they had collected over the last three years.

Walther stood next to his son and watched through the thickened glass as the device absorbed more and more power.

The dynamite was in place around the thick iron door. Sporrenberg and the two SS guards stood as far away as they were able to, on the edge of the artificial waterway that they had created. Oberschutze Brown was led with his hand on the detonator waiting for the order.

“Blow it to pieces Brown!” Sporrenberg growled.

The young blonde German depressed the plunger and with a loud explosion that rocked the thin tunnel, there was a loud cracking sound as shrapnel, concrete and dirt funneled towards the three SS men.

Sporrenberg and the others covered their faces from the blast as they let the shock wave pass over them. They waited a few seconds for the dust to settle then went to inspect their work. The large reinforced iron doors were bent inwards but still stood stubbornly. The SS team leader swore.

There was a small gap to one side of the door that had been filled by rubble from the tunnel; Sporrenberg looked at the two men stood beside.

“Get that cleared now!” He roared, struggling to contain his anger.

The SS guards started to remove the rubble by hand.

Joseph had jumped to the floor as the blast went off but had regained his composure.

“What shall we do father?”

“Carry on burning the documents son. I will keep the experiment going.”

Joseph nodded then carried on chucking stacks of documents onto his freshly lit fire. The smoke started to consume the room.

The bell-shaped device started to pulse from a brilliant lightning blue to a hazy purple color. ‘It’s beautiful’ Gerlach thought to himself.

Tipping the Balance

The fighting across the open spaces of the Polish fields had rocked back and forth all morning but the determined Germans were now completely on the back foot. All their remaining Panther medium tanks were either destroyed or disabled. They had succeeded in slowing down the American forces but their inferior numbers had finally tipped the balance in the Americans favor.

The Sherman’s advanced passed the wreckages of the destroyed Panthers and used their mobility to close in on the Elefant tank destroyers, who did not stand a chance once the Sherman’s closed the distance. The slow lumbering boxes were turretless and had to turn to face their targets. The Americans lost five tanks to every Elefant they destroyed but they overwhelmed the threat.

Next, led by the brilliant Commander Jim Parker the Sherman’s rallied on the experimental Sturer Emil. Once the Sherman’s were free of the minefield Parker ordered them to spread out. His Sherman’s held fire as the advanced on the German tank destroyers. A Sturer Emil gun roared a defiant shell into the advancing Americans. It penetrated and the Sherman burst into flames.

Jim’s Sherman again fired on the move but his first two shells were off target. The Sturer Emil returned fire and knocked the track off the Sherman directly to Pete’s right. The tank was still operational though, and managed to fire off a shot into an anti-tank gun that was trying to finish it off. Three SS soldiers popped out of a hidden tunnel not far from the tank they fired their Panzerfausts all at the same time then discarded the used tubes. The Sherman’s machine gun cut down two of the men before they could dive for cover but the Panzerfaust warheads penetrated the side of the Sherman smashing through the torso of the tank’s loader; the tank quickly went up in flames.

Jim Parkers Sherman fired its third round on the move, this one flew true and smashed through the front of the St Emil, its guns fell silent. The Sherman’s continued to close the gap on the remaining St Emil’s, advancing over the third and fourth trenches of the SS Mountain division. They ignored the heavy machine gun fire and focused on the remaining tank destroyers and anti-tank guns.

First Sergeant William James Jackson cooked a grenade for a few seconds before throwing it into the trench, the rest of his squad did the same. They heard a loud cry from one of the SS men and saw the men bend down to pick it up, he stood to throw it back but the grenade exploded; the man and his colleges were turned into a bloody mess.

All hell broke loose; the Americans arrived at the edge of the trench and fired a hail of bullets into the area. The SS returned fire with their StG assault rifles and the air was filled with lead.

Master Sergeant Millers Squad attacked the trench from the right-hand side; they had thrown smoke grenades to cover their assault. The sound of German light machine guns flitted through the air with a menacing buzz. Four of Miller’s men were taken out as they sprinted towards the trench. Miller reached the edge of the trench and without thinking he dived into it, firing his Thompson as he fell.

Miller took out the two machine gunners before he rolled and fired on the German’s behind him, three men took a full clip from the submachine gun. Miller felt the firing mechanism click, the magazine was empty. He switched to his pistol.

The rest of his squad followed him into the trench and fired their M1 rifles at the SS, The Germans returned fire and men were cut down where the stood. Miller hit a man through his head with a few rounds from the pistol; He dove to the floor and reloaded his Thompson.

Americans and Germans were so close to each other now that some of the fought hand to hand. First Sergeant William Jackson pulled out his knife and jumped an SS man; he drove the blade deep through the black uniform into his chest. The German let out a cry of pure pain and tried to gouge Jackson’s eyes. Jackson twisted the blade then punched the man in the face repeatedly.

SS Mann Schutze Tomas Otto witnessed his friend being stabbed to death but rather then aim his weapon at the American scum he decided to rush him with the bayonet attached to the end of his rifle; whether this was just because of the heat of the battle or because he was high on Pervitan only he could tell you. It was a mistake though as Private first class John Curtis hit the younger Tomas twice through the chest with two shots from his M1 Carbine.

Men were fighting desperately all across the line of trenches close to the base of the mountain. The Sherman’s were in alongside this chaos as they systematically took out the remaining armor but they continued to take rounds from all angles from the deadly Panzerfaust anti-tank launchers.

Berndt Krause, who had long left the battle overhead, reached the edge of the manmade river, the final hurdle before reaching the laboratory. The small wooden crate had gone. Krause would have to swim if he wanted to reach Sporrenberg. He dumped his rifle and hat, and then dived head first into the icy cold water; he swam as hard and quickly as he could.

Jim Parker’s Sherman had racked up an impressive amount of kills but as the time approached mid afternoon he was running low on important supplies, none more important than his beloved Bourbon. The .50 Browning machine gun was completely empty and they were down to the last five hundred rounds in two .30 calibers. They continued to fire suppressing bursts around the top of the trenches.

The last anti-aircraft Kugelblitz looked a sorry sight with its lifeless guns pointing towards the scorched earth. Two machine gun nests flanked it at the base of the mountain; they simultaneously opened fire on Parker’s Sherman. The rounds pinged off the hull of his tank; Parker did not even bother to close his Commanders hatch.

The Sherman’s 76 mm lined up on the first machine gun nest. The tank stopped to steady its aim and then fired. The shell tore into the machine gun position and killed the dug in soldiers.

That gave them the precious seconds they needed. The Kugelblitz engine roared to life and the vehicle charged forward. It trained its two autocannons onto the target, the 30mm anti-aircraft guns bellowed as it sent shells towards the unprotected side of Parker’s Sherman.

The American commander was caught off guard for the first time in battle. The high-velocity-armor-piercing shells tore into the tank. Loader James ‘Brook’ Brooks and Assistant driver Rick ‘Free’ Freeman were killed instantly by the shells impacting. The ammunition store was hit and went up in a ball of flames. Driver Ross ‘DC’ Washington and gunner Paul ‘Mex’ Perez were caught in the furious fireball and were soon turned into a putrid smelling charcoal.

Jim Parker was blown clean out of the turret of his beautiful machine; he hit the ground hard and rolled several times before finally coming to a stop in the mud. The forty-two-year-old struggled to clear his blurred vision and the ringing in his ears; he smacked the side of his head and tried to shake it off. When his vision cleared he sat up slightly, pain raced up his spine and he winced. Jim Parker looked over to see the smoking hull of his decapitated tank; he whispered a small prayer for his fallen friends.

An SS soldier’s dark uniform appeared over the top of the trench he raised his StG 44 assault rifle and pulled the trigger. Three shots flew through the air and impacted into the SS man’s neck he tumbled back into the trench.

Three more men came over the top of the trench; Jim fired his pistol again and hit the first man four times in the chest; he fell where he stood. The other two soldiers fired their StG 44’s; Jim Parker was hit in the chest with a three-round burst, he knew he was hit as he felt the pressure and the air leave him but he felt no pain.

Jim managed to fire two more shots with one hitting the German soldier in the leg but he kept coming, it was like he did not even feel the round. Jim dropped the pistol and led back. Rounds sprang out and smashed into the two SS soldiers, they went down under a hail of bullets. Jim heard shouting in the distance but he could not make it out.

Master Sergeant Robert Miller rushed over to the fallen tank commander. He got to him and immediately started checking him over.

“You’re going to be ok Parker! Just stay with me, you hear me?”

Jim smiled, blood bubbled at the side of his mouth.

“You were always full of shit youngin.” He laughed then closed his eyes.

“Shit, you stay with me you old prick… Medic, Medic!” Miller screamed.

Miller rolled to engage a couple of Germans who had sprinted from the cover of the trench; he pumped them full of lead, greeting them with the whole clip of his Tommy gun.

Jim Parker led there in amongst the death cries of the battlefield. He did not hear it though; he did not feel the medic push morphine into his veins or start to perform chest compressions on him. Jim thought of his three children for the first time in a long time, he smiled as he knew they were strong and his wife Margret would nurture and protect them in the coming years; she was more than capable of raising them in his absence. Tears formed in the corners of the tank commander’s eyes and he let his final breath leave his body. He had been calm until the end and he felt no pain.

The medic tapped Miller on his shoulder.

“He’s gone sir. We have to get out of here and find some cover.”

Miller’s shoulders dropped but they had to go on, Parker’s sacrifice gave new energy to the American soldiers. They were going to avenge their fallen friend and ally by killing every single one of these fucking SS men if they had to.

The Kugelblitz that had taken the life of the legendary tank Commander and his crew was quickly destroyed by the vengeful fire of five Sherman’s. The German vehicle went up in a plume of dark black smoke and as the crew tried to escape they were quickly put down with machine gun fire.

The infantrymen of the 7^th Ranger Battalion raced towards the final trench still occupied by the Germans. Their guns blazed and they shouted a battle cry as the flowed over the top of the trench braving death and a hail of bullets.

The Nazi Bell

Joseph had finished burning all of the top secret documents. He stood got up and nudged his father out of the way.

“I’ll try and keep the atmosphere as electrically charged as possible, but I have to be honest, I am surprised that it has lasted at one hundred percent power for this long.”

Walther Gerlach just nodded but he did not respond; it was like he was no longer in the room.

The Bell shaped device was still pulsing from a deep dark blue to a light purple. The ball of lightning raced across its surface with increasing intensity it to changed color from blue to a threatening red.

The Xerum 525 had stopped oozing out into the rotating tubes, they were full but now the Xerum started to radiate a menacing red-violet that bathed the room in an energetic glow. The vortex around the device was now at a dangerous level; it threatened to destroy the electric transformers in the room.

Sporrenberg paced up and down outside of the room.

He gesticulated aggressively. “What the fuck is the holdup soldier? And why the fuck aren’t you clearing the rubble as I ordered you to!” His face started to contort as his anger levels raised.

“My apologies, Sir, but we have placed a few of our grenades into the gap here and we are just wiring up the tiny bit of TNT we have left over so that we can blow a hole wide enough for us to get through. It will be quicker Sir.”

Sporrenberg relaxed a tiny bit. “Ok Oberschutze Brown, you have my full confidence.”

He then went back to pacing impatiently.

Berndt Krause was only about halfway across the ice cold water, he was starting to struggle with the cold, he was shaking but he knew he had to get to the other side; Sporrenberg needed him and he was not going to let him down. Krause carried on with renewed vigor as he blocked out his current predicament with a happier childhood memory of swimming in the warm Mediterranean Sea with his dad and his younger brother.

The lightning struck the top of the bell causing two large ceramic slaps to disintegrate completely. The bare steel rods were exposed like the skeleton of a dead animal. The device let out a high pitched melancholic whine as the vortex surrounded it reached a fever pitch. The electrical storm smashed into the device as it spun wildly.

Walther and Joseph watched the power levels holding steady but the needle indicator vibrated heavily in the red danger zone.

“I’m surprised it has held steady this long father, it won’t be long until we lose her.”

“Doesn’t matter son let’s just see what happens, if she destroys herself then she will have finished our task for us.”

The device started to shake violently as a powerful whine emanated from deep within, seconds later a huge shockwave burst out turbulently washing the electrical storm over the thickened glass viewpoint. The glass started to crack in a beautiful spider web pattern then shattered completely. The two scientists dived to the floor as a hail of glass and electricity funneled through the vacuum left from the glassless window.

Glass exploded from the various dials and readouts on the workstation but the power to the device somehow managed to stay at a constant level. Joseph struggled to help his dad to his feet. They were glad to have the welding masks to protect their eyes as a brilliant bright purple dowsed the room in a pleasant glow.

The device rocked once more and the ceramic tiles seemed to melt away in the powerful vortex. It then pulsed once completely blinding the two scientists for a brief second. When their vision returned they could hardly believe their eyes.

“We… We we’ve done it father… I can’t believe it!”

Walther was speechless.

Before them, the device levitated six feet in the air and hung there with a bright purple fluorescent glow emanating from the center of the steel skeletal structure. The counter-rotating tubes filled with Xerum-525 were now completely stationary.

An explosion rocked the door behind the two scientists that sent rubble and dust flying into the room. The concrete beside the twisted metal door had fallen through, leaving a gap where a single dark menacing silhouette appeared.

Sporrenberg, who had not noticed the levitating device raised his pistol and fired three shots that hit their mark and sliced through the base of the neck and top of the chest. Walther let out a cry and fell to the floor; he cradled his lifeless son’s head in his arms and began to weep.

“What have you done you fool…” He wailed.

Sporrenberg took a step farther and aimed his sidearm at the older man.

“Shut up…”

Sporrenberg was cut off as the luminescent purple light momentarily blinded him. He unconsciously took a step back as he shielded his eyes. Sporrenberg narrowed his vision as he tried to see where the light was coming from.

The bell hung in the air, slowly rotating horizontally.

“How the hell is that thing doing that?” Sporrenberg said in disbelief.

Walther did not have time to answer as the device let out a deafening blast and a pulse of light raced across the room, consuming the two men. The electricity that had built up in the room instantly dissipated. Where the two men had stood just seconds before, now only a dark purple dust remained. The skeletal structure surrounding the device crashed to the floor. Joseph Gerlach’s lifeless body was pushed to the door by the shockwave produced by the device.

The two guards had been instructed to wait outside but when the explosion went off they rushed in to investigate. The Laboratory was a mess; the whole area was covered in a dark purple dust. The workstations were all but destroyed and a single body was left crumpled up beside the iron doors.

Jakob Sporrenberg was gone, all evidence of the device housed in the laboratory was gone and all was left was a horrid dust and a human corpse. The two men looked at each other and without saying a word decided not to snoop around anymore; they did not understand what had been going on in the laboratory and they did not want to.

Berndt Krause struggled out of the icy cold water and made his way down the dark corridor. The corridor was full of dust, debris and a spent detonator. ‘This doesn’t look good.’ Krause thought to himself. ‘Sporrenberg will not be pleased.’

Krause strode towards the door when two men appeared from the hole in the wall. They immediately snapped their weapons up and shouted a warning.

“Hauptsturmführer Berndt Krause SS number 52119.”

The two guards did not lower their weapons.

“Advance and be recognized, Sir.”

Krause walked up to the two men slowly, always keeping his hands where they could see them. He paused in front of the led man then very gingerly got out his ID. The guard checked it then stood bolt upright as he handed the ID back.

“Sorry Sir we had to be sure as we have never actually seen you before.”

“You are only doing your job Oberschutze.” Krause put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Where is Gruppenführer Sporrenberg?”

“We don’t know Sir, he entered the room to execute Führer directive 525 but he never returned. When we went in to check… Well he has just disappeared, along with the device and one of the scientists. We found the body of the younger scientist.”

“OK.” Krause said, “Wait here.”

Berndt Krause came out five minutes later after carrying out his own inspection.

“It is your lucky day men, we have to get a message to Berlin and then you two will accompany me as my personal guards. Any problem with that?”

The two men shook their heads.

Krause got his message out to Berlin, it was short:

‘Sporrenberg 52119, package destroyed. On route to an agreed destination after completion of 525. Sporrenberg out.’

The message would have meant nothing to the allied observers but the German high command knew exactly what it meant. A secretary in the Reich Main Security Office, Prinz-Albrecht-Straße no.8 Berlin, quietly and efficiently replaced the personal information from SS folder 3809 and 52119; finally, she swapped the pictures over and then placed the files back into their proper locations.

The fall of the Third Reich

Just over twenty-eight hours later Deputy Commander-in-Chief Georgy Zhukov and Commander Konstantin Rokossovsky 1^st Baltic Front and 2^nd Belorussian front, Red army soldiers uncovered the chaos and devastation strewn across the fields leading up to the Owl Mountains.

The Red army investigated the scene thoroughly. Destroyed American Sherman tank hulls were mixed with burnt-out German tanks. There were Tiger II, Tiger I’s and Panther tanks. All had been eliminated.

A large battle must have taken place here and now the Russians had entered the secret facility buried deep under the mountain. They knew something important must have been housed here as the American’s had taken a huge risk in mounting this operation; Stalin would not be pleased when he heard the news.

The Soviet’s stripped all of the weaponry they could from the fallen soldiers. They took pictures and copious notes on what they found. The 5^th SS Mountain division was hardcore sons of bitches and they had just been in a hard-fought battle with a US division without any insignia.

The Russians searched the whole facility but they found nothing of interest. There was a large laboratory housed at the very bottom level of the facility that had a huge amount of electrical transformers; these would generate more power than was needed to run a large city. The Red army could find no clues in the lab apart from a large coating of purple dust, which they took for analysis.

Whatever was in the facility the Germans had either destroyed it or the American’s had got what they had come for. Zhukov sighed, and filed his report for Stalin and then awaited the inevitable backlash.

A secret meeting was hastily arranged at the insistence of Joseph Stalin with ailing American President Franklin D. Roosevelt. In the meeting, Stalin raged for hours at American interference in his country’s war effort. Stalin repeatedly slammed his fists onto the large wooden table; his face was a vicious shade of red.

Roosevelt sat patiently through this tantrum; he had seen it all before although admittedly not on this level. Finally when Stalin had finished Roosevelt stood calmly, moved towards the desk and slowly scanned through the document that Stalin had produced.

“You will sign it Franklin otherwise I can guarantee there will be war between our countries.”

Roosevelt said nothing; he signed the document then sighed heavily. He left for America shortly after.

The decision he made on that fateful day cast a dark shadow over the world in the years to come. Roosevelt would not live to see it but yet that decision weighed heavily on his shoulders for his remaining months.

Stalin had got what he wanted; his Red army forces would ‘win’ the race to Berlin and would get the glory of defeating the Nazi’s in their capital. Stalin would get the barrier he craved and the iron curtain would be born. Even when World War one veteran Harry S Truman was sworn in as the thirty-third president of the United States he could not risk breaking Roosevelt’s deal and secretly instructed US forces to allow the Soviets to get to Berlin before them; to the world it looked like a close race to the capital between two superpowers but in reality the result was never in doubt.

The 30^th April 1945 Adolf Hitler sent his last message as Führer of the Third Reich. He dismissed Reichsmarschall Hermann Goring who was second in command and interior minister Heinrich Himmler who had both tried to seize power. Hitler then appointed Karl Donitz as President of Germany.

As the battle of Berlin raged above to its inevitable conclusion and with all escape routes out of the city gone; Adolf Hitler killed himself in the Führer bunker along with his bride of forty hours, Eva Braun. It took another three days for the Soviets to take the building completely after horrendous room-to-room fighting with their German counterparts.

The official end of hostilities in Europe was 8^th May – VE – Day – Victory in Europe however technically, the war in Europe did not end until a small group of German soldiers surrendered to some Norwegian Seal hunters on the 4^th September 1945, they were meant to establish a weather station but had lost contact in May 1945, they surrendered two days after the defeat of Japan.

Slowly the world began to rebuild itself and the Nazi party members that were still alive gradually to go on trial for the atrocities they had tried so hard to keep hidden from the rest of the world.

SS Gruppenführer Jakob Sporrenberg SS no:5219 was captured by British forces in Norway in May 1945; he was later questioned by the War Crimes Interrogation Unit who established his participation in a number of atrocities committed in Poland and Russia.

Jakob Sporrenberg was extradited to Poland in October 1946 and was sentenced to death by a Warsaw Court in 1950. He was hanged on 06 December 1952. His subordinate Berndt Krause was never found.

Operation Paperclip

After the war had finished American and Russia stripped Germany of all of her remaining assets. President Truman secretly authorized Operation Paperclip; a Joint intelligence objectives agency program where more than one thousand six hundred German scientists, engineers, and technicians were recruited to U.S Government employment.

Under President Truman’s instructions, the team was led by newly promoted war hero Robert Miller. The most famous of these scientists was considered a real coup; the Russians were known to desperately want Dr. Wernher von Braun.

Von Braun was the brains behind the V2 rockets that caused such destruction in London but ever since reading the science fiction writing of H.G. Wells, his real dream was to build rockets for space travel.

Wernher Von Braun was a bright young man when the Nazi military first got hold of him. They pumped money into his research and he was a Nazi party member; however, the Americans managed to look passed this as it could not be proven that Von Braun ever believed in the Nazi ideals.

The rocket scientist was arrested by the dreaded Gestapo when he was an SS member for his careless remarks about the war effort. This is when he decided to surrender to the US in Bavaria.

Robert Miller took Von Braun back to the US under ‘Temporary, limited military custody.’

Miller and his team found a few scattered and charred documents in the depths of the Owl mountain base. They could not get anything of interest from these documents apart from the name ‘Die Glocke’ which means ‘The Bell’ in German and that is was some kind of device made out of a metal alloy.

Robert Miller interrogated Dr von Braun on his arrival in the US. Unfortunately for Miller and his superiors von Braun genuinely knew nothing of this secret device apart from the name of the scientist that led the project. His name was Walther Gerlach and he had once sent von Braun the solution to a problem with the V2 rocket exploding in flight.

Miller and his agents looked high and low for Walther Gerlach but after an exhaustive search, they could not find a trace of him. They surmised that the good scientist was dead and closed the file.

For fifteen years after the end of World War II, Wernher von Braun worked on the US ballistic missile programs. He thought he had swapped one hell for another. In 1950 the brilliant scientist felt his most depressed as he moved to Redstone Arsenal Alabama where he designed the Redstone and Jupiter missiles. Finally, as time went by he worked on the Jupiter C and Juno II rockets.

Dr. Von Braun become a family man during this period of rough transition, he also found religion and strangely for an ex-SS member he became an Evangelical Christian. When the 1960’s came Wernher could finally smile again; he thought privately that salvation had found and accepted him as he became director of NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center. He began his work on space travel in earnest and the Saturn rocket was born.

Robert Miller and his team continued to research all of the Nazi super weapon programs that they could. They managed to capture another coup during the last 1950’s when a secret operation in Chile brought them former SS Commander Hans Kammler.

Kammler had fled Germany in a U-boat and traveled to South America after the war. The crafty old war criminal had kept secret copies of top-secret weapons documents from Nazi Germany; it was his insurance policy just in case the day came where he was identified and captured. He sang like a bird to the American authorities and in return, he was granted complete anonymity and a new life in the States.

The world moved on from the threat of Nazi fascism; the two great superpowers fought over the ideals of Capitalism and Communism. Conflict never ended but it was not Europe that was the main problem it was instead Asia where the Americans chose to make a stand against Communism.

Wings of Gold

The red and white jet with the striking United States navy colors rolled aggressively left, the pilot concentrated hard as he fought the powerful g-forces acting over his body. A voice crackled over the radio as the pilot of the second T-2 Buckeye training jet told the lead pilot his position. They dived towards the deck at a fighting speed.

The T-2 Buckeye as it was known from 1962 is a two-seat trainer jet with a large cockpit, rather stubby wings, and a large underbelly; despite this it could still comfortably reach 522 mph.

The two young pilots were in the final stage of land-based training before they could go onto aircraft carrier training. The lead pilot was just twenty-three years old; he pulled hard on the controls to level the aircraft out. The two training jets flew just above the dusty desert floor. The engines blew up a whirlwind of sand and dust.

“Alright, that’s good enough for today, time to return to base lads.” The first planes trainer ordered.

The two jets banked left and raced to the base. Both planes kissed the tarmac runway in the rapidly fading orange glow of the late evening sun. The young pilots chatted excitedly as they were escorted to the debriefing room; their instructors gave nothing away but the feeling was they were ready for more advanced jets.

It was the 8^th January 1965 and the United States had not yet officially entered the Vietnam War, it would be another three months until the first fighting forces waded ashore at China Beach. They would meet with a bizarre fan fair that included sightseers, South Vietnamese officers and a large group of Vietnamese girls.

The young pilot was ecstatic after his debriefing and had raced to his living quarters to ring his mum; she did not answer though. He laughed to himself as he thought ‘Probably hosting her book club again.’

He had a quick shower and a shave. He then studied himself in the mirror; his deep blue eyes studied every inch of his deeply tanned face. His jet black hair was cut really short. The young man was 6 ft tall and 11st 8 of pure muscle; he had been trained hard over the last few years.

A picture tucked into the bottom corner of the mirror frame caught his eye, the black and white image was of a man in a crisp white navy uniform and aviator sunglasses wearing a huge grin on his face, while his young son was sat smiling on his shoulders.

“I hope you would be proud of me dad? Ma has told me so much about you, how you were larger than life… I wish I could remember you.” The young man said as he brushed his fingertips over the image.

The Man in the photo was Staff Sergeant Brooklyn Johnson who had been tragically killed in his P-51 Mustang over Europe in 1944 when his son Brooklyn junior was only just three years old.

Brooklyn Junior was now twenty-three-years-old and was a proud Aviation Officer Candidate (ACO); he had just finished his bachelor’s degree and was now a commissioned Ensign. Brooklyn Jnr was proud to be following in his father’s footsteps to become a naval aviator. Johnson’s family had never understood why a decorated naval pilot was transferred into the US army air force and was completely devastated by the news of his death.

Brooklyn Jnr had been developing well since his admission to the AOCs program and had successfully passed the high standard of training in the turboprop two-seat T-28 Trojan at the Naval Air Station Whiting Field in Milton, Florida.

The decision was made; Brooklyn Jnr and his fellow students were going to the next stage of training where they would get to grips with the more explosive Grumman F-11 Tiger fighter and then the famous F-4 Phantom that was going to be used so extensively in the looming conflict in Vietnam.

Fireball

A large, brilliant fireball streaked across the sky on a cold winter’s day. The fireball flew rapidly over six separate states after it crossed the Canadian border. Hot metal debris dropped down over Michigan and Northern Ohio; forest and grass fires bloomed.

A large sonic boom crashed over Pittsburgh that managed to wake the sleeping Chief of Police. He lazily looked out the window as more sonic booms rang out and he caught a glimpse of the object speeding passed at an astonishing pace; calls started to come in about the object.

The local media were quick to calm people’s fears that the object was not a plane crashing or more concerning an AWOL missiles test. A locally respected scientist made a television appearance just after 17:00 hours, explaining that the object was clearly a small to mid sized meteor that was burning up in the atmosphere. He explained in a dreary monotone voice that the small bits had burnt up causing the grass fires and by the time the meteor reaches the ground it will be so small that it will cause minimal damage.

The residents in the sleepy area of America that the meteor was heading to went back to their nightly routines, most went to church but others stayed to prepare tea and settle down for a night in front of the television or radio in some cases.

Jerry Clark was out playing in the woods not far from his home in the backwater town of Kecksburg, Pennsylvania. Jerry was nine; he had dark brown hair and sharp blue eyes. He enjoyed the outdoors and was busy riding his bike up and down the mounds in amongst the trees; he had already fallen off several times and was sat resting when he first heard it.

Sonic booms rang out as the fireball headed earthwards. The young boy craned his neck skywards to catch the glowing fireball streak across the sky. It headed downwards but then suddenly looked like it changed direction slightly. Jerry rubbed his eyes in a mixture of shock and excitement; he grabbed his bike and peddled as hard as he could in pursuit of the fireball.

Jerry weaved in between the trees as he kept his eyes peeled skywards. The fireball was now a red and purple haze that descended towards the heavily wooded area. Jerry kept his eyes locked on his target; he watched in amazement as the fireball seemed to slow its descent.

The object struck the ground and the trees that blocked its path splintered and fell. As the fireball hit the ground the haze changed to a sharp blue that blinded the young boy for several seconds. When Jerry shook his vision clear he noticed smoke filling the area. An intense heat washed over the impact site and finally fear got the better of the boy and he sped off towards home to raise the alarm to his mom.

An elderly couple was sat listening to their favorite radio show when a shockwave caught the old man’s attention.

“Did you feel that love?”

“No Brian, I didn’t feel a thing. Like most nights for the last five years!”

Brian ignored the snide remark and slowly eased himself out of his leather recliner, the fabric made an uncomfortable squelching noise as the old timers skin peeled away from the chair.

Brian shuffled over to the window, muttering as he went.

“Definitely felt a vibration definitely did.”

Doreen rolled her eyes and returned to dosing on the sofa. ‘Stupid old goat!’ She thought before she fell asleep.

Brian peeked out of the curtain; he liked to keep an eye over his sleepy town. A crowd of people had begun to form outside and a few of the younger men were just getting into their vehicles. There was a fair bit of commotion for a town that normally kept things to themselves, people were pointing into the direction of the woods where smoke appeared to be rising.

The old man turned to his wife but he held his breath, she was snoring away on the couch; Brian allowed himself a tiny smile. He shuffled into the hallway and then out onto his front porch.

A commotion was starting to develop next door as that nice young lad Jerry was tugging on his mother’s arm, pulling her forward while excitedly pointing in the direction of the woods.

Brian waved and shouted, “What’s going on Pat? Why is the youngin so excited?”

Patricia Clark was a young mother at twenty-nine, she had Jerry when she was only twenty. She was a tall pretty woman with long slender legs. Her vibrant green eyes locked onto the friendly wrinkled face of her neighbor.

“Hi Brian, I don’t know. Jerry thinks something crashed in the woods and as I looked out of the kitchen window I could see blue smoke rising from the trees just over there.”

“Not crashed mom, landed in the woods now come on I want to show you!”

“Jerry ssh I am talking.”

Patricia smiled, “Sorry Bri I better get Jerry in for his tea.”

Brian laughed, “No problem love, I would hop in the car with the other lads if I were ten years younger.”

“Don’t worry Bri, we will keep you updated with any news when we get back.” A man in his early thirties shouted out of his truck window as he drove off towards the strange smoke.

Brian watched as Patricia struggled to get her excitable son back into the house for some dinner.

The ever-growing plume of blue smoke caught the eye of local farmer Donald Ernest; he pulled up on the edge of his large field, his tractor’s engine ticked over on idle as he scratched his head.

‘Thought I heard something hit the ground. Hope it wasn’t a plane going down, better go check it out, someone may need my help!’

A steady stream of vehicles started to head into the woods behind the sleepy town. Young men chatted feverishly and a few of the local teens showed off in front of their girls.

First on the scene were two members of the local fire department. They had bought their radios in case an emergency response was needed. Cautiously Michael Harris and his colleague and friend, Raymond Nelson approached the smoldering area. They had followed the plume of smoke until they had got closer and then the splintered, charcoaled trees gave away the crash site.

Immediately they could feel the heat radiating through the air as they walked gingerly into the clearing. Plumes of blue colored smokes drifted skyward from a large crater.

“Clearly something has come down here Ray!” Michael said.

“Yeh but what? The crater looks too small for a plane crash!”

Not enough debris scattered around either.”

Ray nodded, neither of them had actually seen a plane crash before but being in the local fire department they were the self-appointment experts.

“Fancy braving the heat to take a closer look?” Michael gestured to Ray.

“Yeh sure Mick, you lead and I’ll follow! But take it steady for Christ sake Mick, don’t want to have to save your ass again.”

Michael just shook his head and then got back to the task at hand.

The two men gingerly approached the crater, which appeared to be about fifteen-foot wide. As they got closer they could see the soil in the crater appeared to be cauterized and the smell of burnt dirt assaulted their noses.

“Maybe it was a meteorite?”

“Yeh Ray I expect the Clark lad has a wild imagination!”

“Like we all did at that age hey.” Ray nudged Michael on the shoulder.

Both men let out hearty laughter.

A twig snapped to their left and the bushes parted. Both men swung around ready to face the intruder, they pointed their torches and the handheld radio in that direction.

Donald Ernest appeared through the bush and at the sight of the two firemen immediately raised his hands above his head.

“Don’t shoot me with your lights boys.” He laughed.

The two mean relaxed, “Don how you doing buddy?”

Donald relaxed and strode over into the sweltering area.

“Bit toasty here isn’t it boys?” He panted.

“Yeh mate but you get used to it, what you doing ‘ere anyway, curiosity get the better off ya?”

Don laughed, “You could say that Mick, I thought a plane coulda come down so I came to see if anyone needed my help.”

Ray nodded “Good man but I think it was probably just that meteorite they were talking about on the tv.”

“Guy’s!” Michael said as he peeked over the top of the crater. “That don’t look like any meteorite I have ever seen.”

“What are you talking about Mick?” Ray said as he turned to his colleague.

Michael waved the two men over. “Look, its gold and… looks metallic?”

The two men shielded their eyes from the heat haze rising from the crater. At the bottom was a gold object glinting with an exquisite shimmer, it looked smooth and undamaged from the intense heat that was created from smashing through the atmosphere.

“What is that?” Donald asked.

“I..I’m not sure Don, its big though.”

“Yeah could be about the size of your car.” Don said

The two volunteer fireman nodded.

The growing sound of excited chatter snapped the three men out of their trance. They turned to see a large group of people walking into the area led by a very familiar face.

“Wondered how long it would take you to get here Cal.” Ray said

“Yeah, the Greensburg Tribunes favorite reporter is never far from any drama!” Michael said as half a smile crept across his face.

The reporter approached them and as he shielded his eyes he to peak over the top of the crater. He let out a whistle.

“You know me fellas, got a knack for being in the right place at the right time.” His expression darkened, “What do you think it is?”

“The official story says it’s a meteor but if you ask me it looks manmade,” Michael said.

“It sure does!” Cal agreed, he was taking pictures as he spoke.

Cal Walter was forty-seven and at the top of his game, he had offers to work at much higher profile papers but enjoyed his friendly relationship with the other residents of Kecksburg. His round, friendly face naturally allowed people to open up to him. Cal was always clean shaven and always wore a wore a brown tweed suit that matched his eyes.

“Can we get down there to get a closer look?” Cal asked.

The two firemen shrugged, “if you can stand the heat then I don’t see why not.”

By now a large group of Kecksburg residents had gathered around the crater, the heat had subsided a bit but as Michael climbed down into the crater he began to sweat and had to pause for a minute to acclimatize.

“How is it down there bud?”

“Bit warm mate, you coming or not?”

Raymond lowered himself down carefully and slowly until he joined his colleague at the base of the crater, they were only a few feet from the object now.

Finally, Cal carefully dropped down to join the two men, he was hit by the heat and took a few steps back.

“You ok Cal?”

He drew in a couple of deep breaths and then took his hands off of his knees, “Yeh Ray, not as deep as I thought it would be considering this thing dropped from space.”

The firemen looked around, “Good point, we can nearly see over the top, can’t be much deeper than seven foot.” Michael said.

The three men took a closer look at the object as the captivated audience above looked on. The light had started to fade now so Cal quickly took as many photographs as he could, the large flash threw out intense bright light every few seconds.

The Object looked like a large acorn, roughly the size of a Volkswagen beetle. It was a bright gold color and looked smooth all over. As Cal inspected the object he had an uncontrollable urge to reach out and touch it. He reached out towards it but was pulled back.

“I wouldn’t do that mate unless you want to burn yourself so bad that your skin peels off,” Michael said, he looked into the reporter’s eyes and shook his head.

Cal stared passed him for a couple more seconds before he finally lowered his hand.

“you’re right, don’t know what I was thinking!’

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael said and thumped him on the back.

Something caught Cal’s eye, he began snapping photos furiously again. He then got out his notepad and started to draw just as quickly as he had taken the pictures.

“What has got into you Cal?” Ray asked.

Cal pointed, “Look.. look at the ring around the base.”

The two men looked and then they saw it. Around the base of the acorn a pronounced ridge ran around the circumference of the object and in the center of this ridge were pronounced drawings.

“They look like pictures?” Ray said.

Cal shook his head, “They are Hieroglyphics Ray, the writing of the ancient Egyptians!” He said excitedly.

The two firemen looked at each other and then back at Cal in complete shock, “What the hell are they doing on an object that fell from the sky?”

Cal smiled back, “I don’t have a bloody clue boys but this is amazing.” He continued to replicate the drawings.

Freedom of the Press

Half an hour had passed since Cal, Michael and Ray had dropped down into the impact crater to get a closer look at the fallen object. The sun had finally dipped below the horizon and the men now worked by flashlight.

The reporter had got all the drawings and dimensions he needed and was ready to leave and write up his story.

“I think I have enough for the Tribune so I’m gonna head back and write up the story,” Cal said.

Don who was still stood on the edge of the crater with a group of onlookers helped the reporter out.

“Hey Mick, do you want me to get some heavy lifting equipment and try and move this sucker?”

“No I think we better leave it until at least first light don’t you Don?” Mick replied.

Don nodded, “What we gonna do about it tonight?”

“I don’t think it is going anywhere but I guess me and the fire station boys can keep an eye on it until tomorrow morning.”

“Then we can decide who we need to contact about this?” Ray added.

“Agreed, I’ll leave you boys to it then,” Don said and he turned to leave with Cal.

“Hey Cal make sure you paint me and Ray in the best light.” Michael chuckled.

Cal turned and gave him the thumbs up, “Give me a call in the morning when you have decided what needs to be done with our new guest.”

“Of course Cal, wouldn’t dream of keeping you out of the loop buddy.”

The gathering of people was suffering from tunnel vision, the unexpected excitement that had descended into the woods near their backwater town, so much so that not one of them noticed they were being stalked.

Don and Cal shot a look into the bushed as a group of five men in uniforms entered the clearing. They stared in shock for a second before Cal managed to speak, “What are you fellas doing here?”

The group of intruders shone their flashlights into the faces of the group clustered around the object.

“First let me introduce myself, I am sergeant Moore if you behave yourselves you can call me Howard.” The man nodded to his left. “This is Trooper first class Garcia and the three men to my right are Police Troopers Young, Hill, and Evans.”

The men gave a curt nod.

Michael and Ray scrambled out of the crater to greet their new guests.

“Evening officers.” Michael said, “I am with the local fire department, what brings the state police to our backwater town?”

Moore laughed, “That big hole behind you might have something to do with it.”

Cal was confused, “Hello Officer Moore my name is Cal Walker and I work for the local paper… With all due respect, how the hell do you know about this?”

Moore did not say a word but he just clicked his fingers. Without warning the men on his right stormed towards the unsuspecting reporter.

Trooper Young put his hand on the man’s shoulder and started to tug at the camera strap around his shoulder. “Sorry sir but we will be taking this.”

“Oh no you won’t!” Don said and he moved to put his frame between the state trooper and the reporter. Now Don was a big man with a wide six foot 3-inch frame, he could be rather intimidating.

Hill and Evans moved to flank the big man, “We really are going to have to insist, we don’t want any trouble or have to make any arrests.” Evans said.

Michael and Ray headed the two troopers off so they could not get to the reporter.

“We don’t think so boys, not until you show us some ID and tell us why you are here.”

Trooper Hill reached towards his hip but was stopped.

“Hill relax son, show the men some ID first, best not let this get out of hand.”

The younger lawman relaxed a little and they produced their badges; in the glow of the flashlights, they looked very official indeed.

The situation calmed down a bit but when Trooper Young tried to take the camera again he was met by a firm push from the large farmer. That was it the troopers and the local fireman jumped into action and a shoving contest began accompanied by lots of shouting.

Don took a fist to the face as Young shouted at him, “You are under arrest for obstruction of a police officer, you will regret that you fucking hillbilly.”

Don pushed the officer away from him and went to throw a punch at him but the younger Trooper ducked out of the way. The group of teenagers who were watching with a morbid excitement had started to cheer and shout as soon as the fight had broken out.

Michael tried to radio the local fire station to call for backup and to get the local police down to them. There was no response, he tried several more times but there was nothing but static.

“Shit where is Kev, Scott? Why the fuck aren’t they here?”

“Don’t know mate but will you fucking help me here,” Ray shouted as he tried to overpower the Trooper.

“Sorry mate.” Michael roared as he jumped over and shoved Trooper Evans to the floor.

A single gunshot rang out and echoed from tree to tree, the group of men all jumped and the fighting stopped immediately. Sergeant Moore stood shaking his head. The teens split and started to run in fear but they did not get far before they stopped dead in their tracks and stood ghostly still.

The smoking barrel of a military standard rifle appeared from between the trees, the red warm glow began to fade into the darkness. Suddenly bright flood lights illuminated the area to reveal a man in military uniform. Then another appeared, and then another, soon the tiny clearing was filled with men in military uniforms. All of the soldiers were armed with M14 rifles that were aimed at the civilians.

Cal tried to shield his eyes against the bright floodlights but he could only make out the silhouettes of the soldiers. “What the hell is going on here? Who are you guys?”

The men in the military uniforms did not answer but just remained still, pointing their weapons at the shocked people.

Trooper hill pulled his comrade from the mud and then the three Troopers moved away from the reporter and went to stand behind Sergeant Moore.

Finally, a voice spoke. “Lower those weapons Sergeant.”

The military quickly shouldered their weapons and stood to rigid attention.

“At ease.” The mystery voice said.

The soldiers did not relax a bit, they seemed on edge.

Out of nowhere two men appeared from the bright light and approached Cal and Don. The men wore black Hamburg hats, black trench coats, with black pants and shoes. Under the trench coats, they wore a black tie with a white shirt. Finally, and most strongly of all they wore jet black sunglasses.

‘What the fuck, it is pitch black but these men are wearing fucking sunglasses?’ Michael thought.

The led man reached Cal and placed his gloved hand onto his shoulder. “I’m afraid I am going to have to insist on you surrendering that camera and your notepad.”

The second man in black nodded.

Cal was confused, he had started to tremble slightly when these two men approached him. They wore no identification and looked oddly similar like they were identical twins but that assumption did not feel right. These two men were clearly in charge of the situation, Cal’s mind raced as he tried to think of any known situation where civilian men were in charge of military personnel.

The first man in black’s grip tightened slightly on the reporter’s shoulder, Cal could feel the cold firm grip even through the man’s leather glove. Cal managed to stumble out a few words even as he was subconsciously handing over his camera.

“Wh… What… What about my first amendment rights?… Freedom of the press?”

The man released his grip from Cal’s shoulder, turned to his partner who had opened a black briefcase and they placed the camera inside. The man then turned back and opened his palm and gestured towards it.

“The notepad if you please!” It was an order.

Cal just dumped the pad into the man’s hand.

“Thank you, you did the right thing.”

The second man in black spoke in exactly the same, eerie accent. “You will get these items back when we have studied them.”

They spoke in unison, “As for your first amendment rights, they are subject to temporary restrictions until we have determined what is happening here. Do you understand.”

Cal nodded.

“Good.”

The first man in black turned to the group of dumbfounded and frightened civilians.

“The National Guard will now escort you back to your homes. You will stay there through the night and we will let you go about your business in the morning. Ok.”

Slowly the Kecksburg residents followed orders. The National Guard escorted the people back through the woods and into their homes. The people only started to shake off their primal fear as they moved away from the strange men in black.

Cal, Don, Michael, and Ray went to follow the other towns’ folk but the two unidentified men blocked their path.

“You four are to stay with us. We have some questions for you. Once they are satisfied, then you can go home.” He smiled but it was contorted and seemed unnatural.

The four men followed the two men in black like they were in a trance, unable to resist.

The first man in black turned to Sergeant Moore. “You and your men are to wait here until our colleagues arrive; nobody is to get near the device until they get here. Is that clear.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good, when they do get here you are to assist them with whatever they need.’

“Understood sir.”

The four captives were led into a large black limousine and the two men joined them in the back. The vehicle did not go anywhere but their interrogation had begun.

Kecksburg Event

It was just after 20:00 as Brian slowly peeled the curtain back, he carefully peered out of the tiny crack in the fabric. Two men in army uniform stood at the end of his driveway, they chatted casually but Brian could see they were both armed with rifles. Brian noticed that Patricia’s house received the same treatment.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Brian thought. ‘Why are the army policing the streets?’

A few hours earlier every one of the town’s inhabitants was forced into their homes without any explanation; some at gunpoint. The military had not left since and had ejected the local police force out as well, using the station as their own headquarters.

Brian went to turn the television on to see if the local news had any information but the damn box would not work, every channel was just static, the grey, white and black patterns scrolling across the small screen. Next, the old man went to the radio but again he was met with static; he swore under his breath.

The old man had a thought ‘Patricia, she must be scared to death.’ Brian shuffled over and picked up the receiver but he could not get a dial tone. ‘Christ this must be serious.’ Brian glanced over to his wife who was still sound asleep, her deep breaths accompanied by a loud snore every now and then. He thought about waking her but decided against it. Brian returned to peering out of the window.

Deep in the woods Sergeant Moore of the state troopers was startled from his sleepy conversation with Trooper Young; five figures wearing large yellow space suit like clothing appeared out of the bright lights. They wore gas masks and they walked slowly forward in a sweeping motion, holding some kind of equipment in their hands that they monitored intensively.

“Hold it! Who are you guys?” Moore challenged, “This is a restricted area and I am not authorized to let anyone enter without the proper identification!”

The figures ignored the state trooper and carried on watching the readouts. Sergeant Moore and the other troopers pulled their side arms and pointed them at the figures.

“I won’t ask again.” Sergeant Moore shouted.

A gloved hand appeared out of nowhere and made Sergeant Moore jump as it rested on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry Sergeant, these men are with me. You have done well but please lower your weapons.”

The voice was familiar; it was the first man in the black suit, who had appeared out of thin air with an escort from the National Guard.

The state troopers lowered their weapons and the figures in the yellow space suits carried on with their work. Moore did not dare ask the question of who these people were but he stood and casually observed.

“Your job is done here Sergeant, you and your men must return to the town now and assist the National Guard with the important task of policing the civilians.”

“But sir with all due respect you tasked us with guarding the object and we haven’t let you down!”

The man in black removed his hand from Moore’s shoulder and then made his way around to face the Trooper.

“You have not let us down at all Moore but now you must do as I ask.”

Sergeant Moore felt the fight leaving his body and he succumbed to the man’s request, even though he could not see the man’s eyes, he could feel his burning stare go right through him.

“Yes, Sir.” He said and he turned to his boys, “Come on men we are going to police the town’s folk, make sure they don’t come snooping around.”

“Thank you Sergeant.” The man in black said as he watched them leave.

Sergeant Moore walked passed the five figures in half dazed like state, however as he passed the last figure he could easily make out the blue circle stitched on the arm. A red horizontal ‘V’ covered the top of four white letters, flanked by a comet and tail forming a circle. The four letters spelled out NASA.

Moore was not thinking straight but he was puzzled. ‘What the hell has NASA got to do with this? Did that thing really fall from space?’ The thought quickly went as he and his colleagues made their way back into the town.

National Aeronautics and Space Administration

The yellow figures finished their sweep around the area and then stood at the edge of the crater for about five minutes, just watching the readouts fluctuate. Finally, the lead figure took off their gas mask and pulled the hair band that held her full shoulder length brown hair. She flicked her head and ruffled her hair.

“That feels better, ok men the readouts are clear, it is safe to remove your masks.” She ordered.

The four men under her command took off their masks.

“Ok let’s get to work; I want samples from the crater, including soil samples. I want readouts taken from the object itself and if you can take a small sample from the object as well. Let’s get to it.”

The NASA scientists started to remove various kit from their bags.

“That won’t be necessary. I want you to take samples from the ground and electrical readings from the device but you are not to damage it in anyway. Is that clear?” The man in black said.

The four NASA scientists looked to Betty who stood her ground; she focused her eyes on the man. He wore no military insignia, no identification but he was clearly in charge.

“What’s your name Sir? So I know who I’m addressing.” Betty asked she had always had a strong personality.

The man in black smiled, that unnatural smile. “I am agent 001 but one is fine. Now please will you continue with the research that I have asked for.”

Betty suddenly felt strange, she found it hard to focus on anything and a feeling that something unnatural was happening drifted out of her mind, it was replaced with obedience.

Betty nodded, “Yes, Sir.” She turned to get away from the man’s terrible gaze, even though she could not see his eyes. “You heard him team, let’s get to work.”

The NASA team jumped down into the crater and began to take all sorts of readings and samples. The youngest man in the team was just over twenty-three years old and he took a hammer to the solid, burnt soil under his feet. He began to break a piece of it away for a sample. Once the soil had come away, he rolled it around in his gloved palm, it was rock solid and the jagged edges managed to slice the glove in a few tiny places.

After studying it for several more seconds he placed it into specimen container and sealed the lid.

Betty walked slowly around the car-sized object, smoke still gently rose from the egg-shaped peak of the device but the temperature in the crater had returned to a steady fourteen degrees centigrade. Betty had not seen anything like it before but it looked to be made of a metal alloy. Slowly she moved forward and placed her hand on the side; it felt cold.

The man in black appeared to no longer be on the scene yet three members of the National Guard stood over the crater, keeping an eye on the scientists.

John leaned into Betty and whispered, “You shouldn’t have touched that… you could have burnt yourself… that was reckless.” He shook his head. “Anyway what are you thinking?”

Betty stood silently for a few seconds. Her bare hand was still placed on the object, she felt strange, in a kind of dream state; it was the same feeling she had got when she was speaking with the man in black.

“Betty… Betty…” John shook her shoulder and she finally snapped out of it.

“What is up with you Betty?”

She smiled meekly, “Sorry John, I just couldn’t shake a strange feeling I got when I touched the object.”

“Strange how?” Betty’s long-standing colleague asked.

“It’s nothing John, probably should have just eaten before we came out here… I felt a bit light headed for a few seconds.”

John let out a slight chuckle “Whatever you say, anyway what are your thoughts on the object?… And this heavy military presence?”

The two were interrupted by another of their colleagues who was busy taking pictures to document the object. The flash fired away every few seconds.

Betty moved John away to the other side of the object, she whispered. “I don’t think this is Kosmos 96, it’s just too large.”

John nodded in agreement, “We would expect more damage to the object if it was Kosmos 96, whatever this is it seems to be completely intact.”

“Agreed, it could be manmade but we have been unable to track any other unknown satellites.”

“A new type of spy satellite?”

Betty nodded, “That’s what I’m leaning towards.”

“Would explain all of this… and that odd bloke in the black suit.”

They got back to work. Betty shouted across to another of her team, “Can we get this crater measured up quickly please!”

Over the next couple of hours, Betty and her team took a variety of measurements, pictures, and readings. They took a reading that measured the electromagnetic properties of the acorn-shaped object. Betty was surprised to find the air in the area was electrically charged, as if a thunderstorm was due any minute; she looked around but the air sky was clear and the stars shone brightly.

“John, has there been a thunderstorm in the area recently?”

“No the weather has been good, thunderstorms are rare this time of year anyway.”

“Hmm… Thought as much.”

“You were thinking the same as me? Whatever this acorn is it’s giving off a high amount of electromagnetic energy!”

Betty nodded as she continued to write down notes.

The measurements from the crater came back but raised more questions than answers; the crater was just over ten-foot-wide and just over seven-foot-deep. For an object falling at such a speed for the lower atmosphere, the impact crater was far too small.

The NASA team stood together and compared all the notes they had so far.

“This thing couldn’t have created this crater, it is far too big and fell from such a height that the crater would have been at the very least, three times as big,” John said.

“Unless it didn’t fall from space at all?”

“We know it did, we tracked it from the lower orbit, odd that we didn’t see it before that though?” Betty responded.

“Maybe it slowed down before it crashed in the woods.” One of the younger scientists said.

They all paused to consider this for a second. It would make sense that the object appeared undamaged and why the crater was so small.

“How though, it’s clearly unmanned?”

“There is an explanation,” John said as he smiled.

“Don’t say it John, there are not little green men from Mars in there,” Betty said sternly.

John laughed, “Just saying it would explain a few thin…”

John was interrupted by an eerie voice from the top of the crater.

The man in the black suit had re-appeared, “Time is up team, please gather your things and get ready to depart.”

John looked to Betty and her body language worried him. Her shoulders slumped and she averted her gaze to the dirt beneath her feet.

“We are not finished yet Sir, we still have more procedures to complete before we have a chance of identifying this object for you.” Even as John was speaking, an uncomfortable feeling began to encroach on his unconscious mind; it felt as if his blood sugar level had just fallen through the floor, he shook his head trying to clear the grogginess.

“That will not be necessary, please gather your equipment as quickly as possible then follow me for debriefing.”

John could not fight it anymore “Yes Sir, what is going to happen to the object?”

The man in black’s face showed no emotion, “That is none of your concern.”

Betty had heard enough, “Team time to go.”

It took three minutes for the NASA team to pack their things and leave the impact crater. They were led away by the man in black to their vehicles and then were instructed to follow the mysterious man back into the heart of Kecksburg.

Unaccounted time

Cal woke with a start, he opened his eyes but it was pitch black in the room. Cal’s eyes were sore and he blinked rapidly to try and clear the multicolored hazy images that clouded his vision.

The reporter groaned as he rolled onto his back, his whole body seemed to throb and ache. He lay there on top of his own comfy bed and rolled his tongue around his mouth; it was bone dry and Cal open and closed it a few times.

Cal groaned as he sat up and gingerly reached out for the glass of water he always kept beside his bed, A sharp pain cut deep into his head though and he winced, knocking over the water in the process, the clear liquid slowly ran down the side of the table and patted slowly onto the carpet.

It was strange, Cal could not remember enjoying a smooth drink last night but he definitely felt hungover, much like the last time he finished a bottle of whiskey with the editor of the paper. Cal tried to think but every time that he tried to recall the night’s events his head began to hurt and the memories were not forthcoming.

The reporter moved his hand slowly out to the bedside lamp and pushed the switch on, the intense light burnt his eyes and the pain raced through his head, he pushed his hands over his eyes and curled his body into the fetal position; he rocked slowly as he tried to block out the pain but it was not working and finally he passed out.

Jerry Clark had been ordered to his bed just as the military had rolled into town and locked down the area. The excitement was too much for the young boy though and his imagination had run wild with images of the object flying in the woods, he tossed and turned for a couple of hours but just could not get any sleep. Finally, he decided to disobey his mom’s orders and crept towards the curtains. He opened them a tiny bit and peered out into the normally dark woods.

The young boy could see some kind of machinery in the distance, it was around the area where the strange capsule had landed and the machines appeared to be lifting it out slowly. Jerry watched wide-eyed as the object was pulled from the crater and lowered onto the back of a truck.

Suddenly a flashlight shone onto the back of the Clarks house, it slowly moved from window to window as if it was checking for something. The soldiers on the end of it watched carefully for any movement and then when they were happy there was nobody watching they moved to another window. They finally came to rest on Jerry’s window but the boy had managed to drop to the floor out of sight, just in time.

“I swear I saw movement up there!”

“Boredoms getting to you my friend, these hicks have all gone to bed.”

“Yeh, you’re probably right.” The soldier nudged his friend on the shoulder, “Looks like the jobs nearly finished here.”

They both smiled in the darkness.

Cal was finally woken by a loud rumble that sounded like it was coming from the main street that ran along his bedroom window. He managed to pull himself to his feet and shuffle across the room to the slightly open blinds; Cal still had to look away from the light but the intense pain in his head was gone.

Down on the street the curb was lined with men in military uniform, they were stationed at the end of every drive. In the road a convoy of open-top jeeps was driving through the small town. In the center of this convoy was a single, large flatbed truck. Cal strained to see what was on the back of the truck but a large tarp covered its contents. The reporter could make out a large bulge in the fabric but it was covered well and he could not see what they were hiding.

Cal was starting to regain his composure now, things were not making sense here and he needed to get to the bottom of it. As he continued to observe out of the window he took everything in. He noted that other residents were watching from their windows but nobody except the military was out on the streets.

‘They must have imposed a curfew’ Cal thought ‘but why can’t I remember this?’

Cal subconsciously ran his right hand over his wrist, a gesture he often did when he was thinking. This time something was not right, there was a band-aid on the underside of his wrist that he could not remember putting there.

“What the hell?” He said out loud as he peeled it off quickly. A small speck of blood coated the back, just a speck though. Cal looked at the tiny bump that was on his wrist, it looked like a mosquito bite but all of the annoying insects had died out by this time of year.

Cal scratched it a little and was immediately struck with a flashback pulsing through his mind; he was talking to two of the volunteer fireman in a clearing in the woods just behind the town. They were at the edge of a crater and they all peered in but just as Cal was about to catch a glimpse of what lay in the crater his flashback faded.

Another one appeared just as quickly and Cal could see State Police officers struggling with the big farmer Don and the two fire lads. That image came and went in a flash and was replaced with another one. Cal, Don, Michael and Ray were being led away from the crash site by the National Guard at gunpoint; Cal noticed the figures in the yellow spacesuits with the NASA insignia on their arms making their way towards the crash site.

That memory disappeared and was replaced by a final one of a man in a black suit putting a needle into the reports wrist but for some reason, Cal just sat there and did not struggle. Cal tried desperately to focus on the hostile man’s face but he just could not make it; then the image was gone.

Cal rushed to his table, put a sheet of paper into the typewriter and started striking the keys as quickly as possible, something had crashed in the woods last night, he had not been out drinking but had been drugged and the military was involved; he needed to get the story down for the paper while it was still fresh in his mind. Cal just wished he could picture the object and the strange man’s face but his mind still blocked it from him.

The sun rose over the sleepy backwater town and glinted sharply through the damp morning dew. Rays of light crept through the slightly open blinds and reached out towards Cal. The sun hit his face and he grunted as he turned his head away from the light. He opened his eyes gingerly, he blinked rapidly to clear the blurriness and sleep from his vision. Finally, he lifted his head so he could rub his eyes.

A shooting pain ran through his neck, he winced as he sat up straight. The reporter had fallen asleep at his desk last night. He groaned as he looked around the room for a glass of water. That’s when he remembered he had knocked it over the night before.

Cal went to get up to fetch another drink when the paper on his desk caught his attention. Cal picked it up and began to read, his eyes widened with excitement, it was about the events of last night which he had clearly forgotten about. Cal raced to the window and peered out into the streets; they were empty, not a soul to be seen.

‘That means the military has gone.’ Cal thought and he smiled ‘I’ve got to get this over to the tribune; if I’m quick they might just get it into print today.’

Cal rushed to get dressed, grabbed a quick drink then ran out to his car. As soon as the car fired into life he was away. As he got to the road out of town his heart sank, at the very end was a roadblock manned by three State Troopers.

The troopers signaled for him to stop which he did immediately.

“Morning officers, is there a problem?”

The officer lent into his window, “That depends, the woods are closed today.”

Cal raised his eyebrows, “Can I carry on down to Greensburg, I don’t want to be late to work?”

The officer looked towards his superior, who smiled then signaled for them to move the barriers and let him through. Cal felt his heart rate return to normal as he watched the roadblock fade into the distance.

The Tribune-Review

The man took in a deep inhalation from his cigar as he scanned the page in front of him. Finally, he looked up and locked his predatory gray eyes onto Cal’s.

“Why didn’t you ring me straight away, this is a hell of a story!”

Cal sighed; he did not want to tell Daniel that he was more than likely drugged by a man wearing a black suit and that he could not remember most of the evening.

“The phones were out.” He shrugged.

“And the blockade wasn’t relaxed until the morning?” The editor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” Cal responded.

The larger man got up and slapped Cal on the back with quite a force.

“Good work we will get this out as soon as possible, even if the paper is going to be late this morning.” Daniel glanced at the clock on his wall. “It has just gone six now so at a push, we could have this at people’s homes around 9ish.” He grinned, “Get that article down to the boys in the print room… and good work Cal, you deserve this one!”

The locals had started to complain by the time their favorite paper finally arrived at their homes and in the various stores dotted around the area. They were shocked and intrigued by the paper’s headline that day.

“Unidentified Flying Object Falls near Kecksburg – Army cordons off Area.”

The article continued by describing the events of the previous evening.

‘The object that had widely been reported as a meteor came to a crashing halt in the woods next to the backwater town of Kecksburg. Volunteers from the local fire depart were on the scene quickly and discovered the impact site. The towns’ people rushed to the area to take a look at the strange object in the crater; however just as quickly as the object had crashed then the area was immediately sealed off on the order of U.S. Army and State Police officials; reportedly in anticipation of a close inspection of whatever may have fallen.

The State Police officer’s then roped off the area while the locals were escorted away by the Army, some at gunpoint. The Tribune – Reviews own Cal Walter noticed a group of NASA scientist wearing protective yellow suits, investigating the area.

A couple of hours later the Military removed the object on the back of a flatbed truck that drove quickly through the town with a close military escort. Residents of the town were confined to their homes while this object was taken away.

The State police still controlled access in and out of Kecksburg this morning and the woods were still cordoned off; there was no sign of the military.’

That day the Tribune-review was bombarded by the largest amount of calls it had received in a long, long time; not since the incident with the supposed fugitive serial killer some twenty years ago. That story had turned out to be nothing but a bunch of teenagers playing a prank but this time they were really on to a winner. Cal lapped up the adulation from his boss and they both enjoyed a smooth glass of scotch.

Just after 14.00 a jet black Ford Sedan pulled up into the carpark. The receptionist sat at the front desk suddenly got an uneasy feeling, she went to the blinds and peered out trying to catch a glimpse of the driver, but the windows were tinted and the driver was obscured.

The young lady had the strange urge to lock the door but she knew she could not be so unprofessional, instead she turned and rushed back to her desk, with the intention of warning security to keep an eye out. As the receptionist got back behind her desk she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Two men dressed in black suits stood before her, they had black overcoats and were sporting black hats and had their eyes covered with jet black sunglasses. They both smiled in unison. It looked more like a grimace. The young women wanted to scream but she managed to just keep her composure.

“Good afternoon Miss, we have an appointment to see your boss.”

The receptionist subconsciously shook her head, “Sorry… sorry Sirs, Mr Burton specifically said no interruptions this afternoon and he definitely isn’t expecting any further appointments, you will need to reschedule.” She managed to speak but only in a whisper.

“Please Miss, be a good girl and let him know we are coming up to see him.”

The young woman felt a rush of tiredness wash over her, she began to feel dazed and confused. She felt the urge to comply with the man’s request. Her hand went to the phone without her even noticing it had done so. She called the office.

“God damn it Shirley, I said no Calls” This better be bloody dam important!” Daniel said.

“Sorry Sir, two men have an appointment with you now. I shall send them up.”

“Goddammit Shirley tell them no, I have no appointments booked today… Tell them to get lost!” Daniel slammed the phone down, “What has got into that bloody woman?” He said out loud. Cal just shrugged.

They were interrupted by the double doors swinging open. Daniel turned out of his comfy chair and threw his scotch glass down onto the floor; it smashed into small pieces, the ice slide across the floor and rested on the side of a jet black pair of shoes.

“How the hell did you get in here, those doors were bloody locked?” Daniel roared.

The two men did not say a word but continued into the office. Cal could finally see their faces and as soon as he did all the color drained from his face. He got a blurry recollection from the previous night and a familiar feeling of dread flooded into him.

The two men in the black suits ignored the ragging Daniel whose face was by now a deep shade of beetroot, and approached Cal, as they got closer he subconsciously took a step back until the wall blocked his retreat.

“No need to be afraid Mr. Walter, we would like to return your property.”

Daniel swung around and glared at Cal, “Don’t tell me you know these circus clowns?” Daniel noticed the fear in his friend’s face, “What’s wrong with you?”

Cal was unable to answer.

The first man in black walked slowly towards Cal and as he did he pulled out the camera and notepad that had been confiscated the night before.

“We have made some minor revisions to your work but you are welcome to have the edited work back.” The man in black held out his open palm and presented the items to Cal.

Cal was wary of taking anything from the strange men but by now the dazed feeling had taken control and Cal acted without thinking. He reached out and took his stuff back from the man. Cal retreated to the wall and flicked through his notepad; it was empty. Cal started to feel sick as he checked his camera, everything from the night before had been wiped.

“What the hell is going on here, you two better explain who the hell you are before I beat the shit out of you!” Daniel screamed.

The men in black turned to look at the portly editor and in unison, “I wouldn’t do that.” The eerie voices chimed out.

Daniel’s fury was reaching fever pitch. “Fuck this!” He screamed and picked the phone up, his intention was to get security to come up and remove his uninvited guests. The line was dead though.

Daniel felt a cold touch on his shoulder and when he looked up, the first man in black was stood right next to him, and his hand was placed firmly on the editors’ shoulder.

“What… how did you get there without me noticing?” Daniel asked but he felt strange and his anger levels rapidly seeped away. Daniel began to feel disorientated and dazed.

The man in black pushed the editor back into his chair, “Please sit Mr. Burton, we have something to discuss with you. With your cooperation, this will not take long.”

Daniel nodded; he felt only the desire to submit.

The man in black snapped his head towards Cal; “Mr. Walter this is a private discussion, my colleague will show you to your vehicle. I am sure Mr. Burton will allow you to have the rest of the day off.”

Daniel did not look away from the man but just gave a dismissing wave.

“Thank you Mr. Burton.”

The second man in black gestured for Cal to follow him, which the reporter did instinctively. The man in the black suit closed the double doors behind him and then escorted Cal through the strangely deserted building. Finally, Cal was left outside with a warning.

“Do not attempt to return to or try to contact work today Mr. Walter.”

Then the door was locked behind him.

Cal woke up several hours later in his living room; he looked around groggily, as he had evidently fallen asleep in his armchair but how? The last thing he could remember he was in Daniel’s office, celebrating so how the hell did he get here without any recollection of the drive home?

The reporter went to get up but something fell off of his lap. He picked up the paper and turned it over to the front page; it was a later edition of the tribune-review. Cal’s eyes widened in disbelief at the Headline:

Military Search woods near Kecksburg nothing is found.

Cal continued to scan ‘his’ article.

The military was called in by the State Troopers and by concerned locals to search the area where a meteor had reportedly crashed. After cordoning off the area in the interest of public safety the National Guard completed a thorough search but found nothing.

Cal was dumbfounded, he knew this was a blatant lie but why had Daniel changed the story that he had seemed so pleased with earlier in the day?

Cal read the last part of the article.

The military had kept people in their homes away from the area because of a fear of contamination from the meteor. ‘This is just standard procedure’ the Major in charge confirmed in a later interview. When asked about an object sighted on the back of a flatbed truck he chuckled ‘That was us just moving one of our broken down vehicles, we hid it under a cover to hide our embarrassment that our equipment had broken down again.’

 So after a day of excitement in our little part of the world, we can sleep safely in the knowledge that we won’t get sick from a wayward meteor. It was nowhere near Kecksburg and actually crashed some one hundred miles northeast.  We can go back to our normal routines as the State Police have finally removed the roadblock.

Cal felt angry and betrayed, where had his earlier story gone and why was there no mention of it? He went over to his phone and began to dial in Daniel’s office number. Suddenly a disturbing image of a man dressed in a jet black suit flashed into his mind. Cal felt nauseous as the figure gave its ominous warning. Cal hung up the receiver and slumped back into his armchair.

The reporter had no idea what was going on but obviously, the military was covering something up and they were willing to go to great lengths to keep it that way; that much was clear. Cal rose to his drinks cabinet, pulled out a large scotch bottle and filled up his glass. He began to drink heavily that night and eventually passed out in his chair.

A few weeks later Daniel Burton was found dead behind the wheel, he had apparently been speeding and lost control of his vehicle on a sharp bend, the vehicle spun out of control and collided head-on with a tree. After a thorough investigation by the State Police, the case was closed and the death was officially concluded as an accident.

Cal Walter’s was never the same again; he quickly fell into a deep depression that he fueled with copious amounts of scotch. He felt the loss of his friend deeply and had constant nightmares about the men in black suits. Cal briefly tried therapy but this failed to help.

A couple of months after the Kecksburg incident Cal was found dead in his living room chair, two empty bottles of Scotch were found knocked over on the table beside him. The police officers that found him decided that there was no evidence of foul play and a verdict of accidental death by alcohol poisoning was accepted by all that knew him; If only the coroner had tested his blood a few days after his death then they would have discovered a huge amount of antifreeze in his system.

Hanger 27

By the time the flatbed truck carrying the golden clad object had reached its destination, the sun was had just popped up above the horizon. It had been an uneventful journey up from Kecksburg and the Soldiers were getting sleepy.

Wright Patterson Air Force base was to be the objects new home. Paperwork was exchanged between the National Guard and their Airforce counterparts. Finally, when everything was in order the flatbed truck drove along the base, escorted by its new guards.

When the truck arrived at the large looming doors of Hanger 12, it was signaled to stop. Three armed guards approached the truck and instructed the National guards to get out of the vehicle slowly. They then escorted the National Guard drivers to a couple of jeeps and drove them back to the main gate. The three air force men then jumped into the flatbed truck and drove it into the large hanger.

The flatbed drove through the hanger and out of the other side; away from prying eyes it then continued through the base until it stopped at the entrance of Hanger 6. The large doors opened and allowed the truck to enter. The truck went to the very end of the hanger, where it then just waited. After a couple of minutes, the object and the truck started to lower into another, secure Hanger; the large lift descended slowly for four or five minutes until it stopped with a loud clunk.

Waiting at the bottom of the lift were two men in black suits, stood in front of a small group of elderly men and finally a face that the driver recognized.

Senior Master Sergeant Warren ‘Rabbit’ Hall was a man of medium build, with a shiny, bald head. He was always immaculately presented, he was clean shaven and his grey eyes noticed every detail. Warren had exceptionally high standards and expected his men to fulfill them. All the men in Warren’s command had the utmost respect for the Denver born officer.

The fourth man in the group wore the decorated uniform of a high ranking Commander. Edgar Hudson waited for the signal to drive off of the lift then edged the vehicle forward until instructed to stop.

This was the first time the young Airman first class knew something special was going on. The group had been briefed in the early hours of the morning that an important package was being delivered in total secrecy. The team was to take safe delivery of the package and then they were to guard the hanger against all unauthorized visitors

A crane met the flatbed truck near the middle of the hanger. Edgar and his passenger Airman First class Chester ‘Toff’ Marshall jumped out. The two took several minutes to undo the bindings keeping the tarp in place, finally they gave a forceful yank and the tarpaulin fell to the floor. The two young air force men looked in awe at the strange, golden acorn that sat in the middle of the truck.

The two men did not speak but they gave each other a sly glance that only Senior Master Sergeant Hall picked up. He let it slide, he himself was curious to lay eyes on the object that fell from space the night before; it was strangely mesmerizing.

Under the watchful eyes of the Commander, the crane carefully deposited the car-sized acorn onto a small round platform in the very center of the large hanger. The two men in black suits approached the First class airman.

“Good work, please remove the flatbed and then resume guard duties above ground.”

The men were not sure how to react to this, they had no idea who these men were, they wore no identification but they were acting with authority.

Warren spoke up, “You heard the man, get to it!”

“Sir, Yes, Sir.”

The men jogged back to the flatbed truck, they quickly swung it around and returned to the lift. Slowly they returned to the surface.

“Thank you Master Sergeant.” The Man in the black suit said. “Please go and brief your men on their mission now. They are not to know what is going on down here. They are just to restrict access to the hanger.”

“And under no circumstance are they to allow any unauthorized access to the lift.” The second man in black said in the same deadpan tone. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Warren said as he stiffened his stance.

“Good, dismissed.”

Warren went to return to the surface. He had a glance behind him as he walked away. The men in black suits were talking to the Commander, but the high ranking air force man was clearly not in a position of authority here.

Warren shook his head. “I hate black book projects.” He muttered to himself.

Staff Sergeant Billy ‘The kid’ Jonson stood rifle in hand in the hot midday sun. He watched the shimmer of heat rising off of the tarmacked runway. Sweat trickled down his forehead and pooled in the corner of his eyes, stuck with nowhere to go behind his mirrored aviator sunglasses.

Billy stood on guard outside Hanger 6, tucked away in an inconspicuous part of the base that did not garner any attention. Billy and his fellow guard Master Sergeant Jim ‘Big J’ Miller knew they were not being told the whole story. They just did as they were ordered like usual. No unauthorized access inside the hanger, this had been the same for the last six weeks.

A mired of scientists and other professionals had visited the hanger in this time, some of them had left, some of them had not; the guards just stood and did their jobs, in the military it was best to be quiet and follow orders.

As they stood there in the boiling temperatures they tried not to let boredom overcome them.

Out of nowhere, a dark black Sedan meandered into view. It did not seem to have a military escort with it, which was most unusual.

“I’m calling it in!” Billy said.

He went to call it in through his radio but he only got static.

Miller raised his rifle, while Johnson signaled where he wanted the vehicle to halt.

The Sedan continued to approach, Jonson peered through the windshield but the tint was too strong and he could not make anything out. As the vehicle came to a stop Miller moved to the driver’s side window.

The window slowly came down to reveal a bold man in black sunglasses with a black hat on. He looked about fifty but had near perfect skin.

“Hand me your keys now, then show me some Identification,” Miller said assertively.

The man smiled, he turned the engine off and then handed the keys over.

“Good work Master Sergeant, I will commend you on your good work to Senior Master Sergeant Hall.”

Miller was speechless, a strange feeling of dread had washed over him, and he suddenly felt like he had a nasty head cold.

The two front doors of the Sedan opened and the two men in black suits got out, the passenger went to open the rear passenger side door.

Johnson raised his rifle and moved it seamlessly between the two men.

“Stop right there, slowly place your hands on the hood of the vehicle, do it slowly and do it now.”

The first man in black turned to and smiled at him, the second continued to escort an elderly gentleman out of the back seat.

“Staff Sergeant, lower your weapon please. We are going to enter Hanger 27; we need to our consultant to check out the device.”

Johnson and Miller did not know what to say, they felt a dark fog shroud their minds. They subconsciously lowered his weapon.

“Thank you.”

The two men in black escorted an elderly, well-dressed gentleman into the hanger. They typed an access code into the door, which then clicked unlocked, they disappeared inside.

The two guards just stood there unable to think clearly, it was like they were in a dream, a dream that they were about to be rudely awoken from.

Senior Master Sergeant Warren ‘Rabbit’ Hall ran towards the two men, he shouted at them as he got closer but they were unable to respond.

“Bollocks!” Hall said as he stood in front of the two dazed men. ‘I did not get to them in time.’ He thought.

Hall relieved the two men of their weapons then slowly sat them down on the boiling tarmac. Two men jogged towards Hall.

“You two escort these men to their quarters and make sure they stay there until they have recovered. Get their replacements here ASAP.” Hall barked.

“Yes, Sir.” They shouted and slowly got the two incapacitated guards to their feet. It took a good ten minutes to get them to walk all the way to their sleeping quarters.

Warren Hall stood guard until the replacements turned up; he then warned them about the two men in black.

“Those two men are allowed access to whatever they want; if they ask you for something you will comply with it. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.” They barked in unison.

But Airman 1^st Class Tom ‘Looney’ Cox was a curious son of a bitch and just could not help himself.

“Sir.”

“What a surprise, Looney what is it?”

“Who are they? I have seen them once before, and they seem to be in command?”

“You ask too many questions boy… All I know is the Commander is scared of them, they must have connections in powerful places as they appear to be civilians but they are clearly in charge. Just do as they ask.”

Cox saluted, “Sir?”

Hall raised his eyebrow, “What is it?”

“They sure are ugly sir.”

Chester and Cox could not contain their laughter. Hall smiled as he turned to march away.

Die Glocke

The elderly gentleman was escorted down the lift to the second floor. A security badge scanner barred the men from entering. The first man in black placed his hand on the scanner and the door opened with a beep; despite the fact the man did not have a security badge.

The three men peered through the open door that revealed a crowded laboratory, filled with busy looking scientists wearing light green suits. The scientist barely glanced up from their various tasks.

The elderly man who had been hiding behind the two men in black stepped into the open for the first time. He looked around sheepishly until his gaze locked onto the golden acorn that was housed in the middle of the room.

“Die Glocke…” He muttered to himself in German.

“So you do know what this is then Mr. Ames?”

A paper thin smile flashed across the elderly man’s face.

“Yes I know what this is.” He said as he surveyed the area, he noticed broken sledgehammer heads, splintered drill bits and a broken jackhammer that littered the floor around the device.

With a look of horror on his face he turned to face the men in black. “I see your people have no clue about this device and have tried to force it open.” He laughed a nervous laugh.

The elderly man turned to face an engineer who had just lite a blowtorch.

“Fools.” He shouted so loudly that the engineer jumped.

The room fell silent.

Authority and confidence suddenly oozed from the sixty-four-year-old. “Stay away from that device with that crude tool, you will achieve nothing.”

The engineer backed away.

The men in black approached the man.

“So what do we have here Ames?”

“Bloody yanks, this is Die Glocke, the Bell! We found the device buried deep in the side of a mountain in the fatherland.” Ames laughed. “This device was going to be our war-winning weapon until it disappeared in 1944.”

The men in black faces remained expressionless, the men chimed in unison. “So how do we access that potential?”

The smile faded from the old man’s face. “I’m not sure about the details…”

He was cut off, “You haven’t been much use to us Herr Kammler since we sent that submarine to rescue you from Germany in 1945.”

Kammler’s gaze dropped to the floor before they flashed up to meet the men in blacks gaze, his features hardened and the old flames of defiance flickered in through his grey eyes.

“Look here you bureaucratic puppets the device was under the direct supervision of the brilliant scientist Walther Gerlach and the deadly Jakob Sporrenberg. Gerlach disappeared at the same time as the device; we do not know what happened to him…”

“And the Polish executed Sporrenberg in 1952.” The Men in black interrupted.

Kammler nodded. “What I do know is that the device was housed in a metal frame and coated in ceramic tiles, this is what gave it the distinctive bell shape. Then a great deal of electricity was pumped through the device and the room had to keep a certain level of electrical charge.” Kammler paused for breath, “The device would then produce what we called Xerum 525 better known as red mercury which was exceptionally toxic. You best tell your men to wear protective suits.”

The men in black smiled, which made Kammler feel uncomfortable.

“Ok Kammler, you may have proved your worth. I want you to note all of this down and then supervise the project.”

Kammler folded his arms across his chest. “Ok but under one condition.”

The men in black stood silent.

“I want some of the German scientists from Operation Paperclip.”

The men in black smiled again.

“Ok, but von Braun is off limits.”

The smile faded from Kammler’s face but he nodded an agreement.

The man in black went to leave.

“We will arrange with the staff here for you to be well looked after. We will be back for updates on your work… And Kammler any funny business and you will be on trial for war crimes.”

Kammler saluted.

The men in black gave their orders to the scientists and then left.

Kammler wished he had taken his cyanide pill back in 1945 before those freaks had gotten to him.

Anti-War Movement

It was an almost cloudless day in the sun-filled skies over North Vietnam; this was a blessing for the crews of the four F4 Phantoms of Victor flight that prowled the skies. The large two seater fighters trailed a plume of black smoke as the powerful twin J79 engines burned through their fuel supply.

Victor flight was tasked with intercepting North Vietnamese MiG’s and to protect their fellow Phantoms on their bombing run. The mission was so far going to plan as the Phantoms successful hit their targets.

The radio crackled in the flight leader’s ear. “MiG’s in the air, somewhere below you.”

The flight leader dived to have a look, his wingman followed him.

“Freddy, do you see them?”

Negative Dan, Keep your eyes peeled.

The radio from command gave a more ominous warning. “MiG’s two miles out, to your South, Weapons cleared.”

‘Shit.’ Flight Leader Dan Campbell thought they’re on our six.

Dan and his wingman immediately pulled up their Phantoms and went inverted then rolled to level out; they had turned 180 degrees and were now heading straight towards the enemy.

The first sleek, silver, delta-winged MiG streaked passed some; one thousand feet passed Dan’s Phantom. Dan looked over and could see his adversary clearly.

“Shit, Dan, that’s a MiG-21!”

“Making history here Freddy!”

“Let’s get after him!” Freddy said excitedly, this was the first time a Phantom had been in combat with a MiG-21.

“No stay with me Freddy, we haven’t seen his wingman yet!”

The MiG’s had set a trap and were hoping the Phantoms would take the bait and follow the first plane, and then the second MiG could slip in behind them.

The second MiG showed his hand and streaked passed at 500 mph. This MiG was different, it wore dark camouflage paint, and it was not the brilliant silver of the first plane.

The Phantoms Inverted and turned quickly to get on the MiG’s tail but the two MiG’s did something unexpected. The First powered Skyward in a slight left turn, while the second MiG pulled hard right on a collision course with the two American fighters.

“What the hell are they doing?” Freddy called out.

It was peculiar as pilots generally preferred left-hand traffic, as it was much easier on the body to move the controls left when under the constraints of G-force.

“Blue bandit, going vertical on your two o’clock Jr, he’s all yours,” Dan called out.

“Roger that, we see him, Victor three taking the lead.”

Brooklyn Jnr was in Victor four and stayed close on his friend’s wing, “Get him Pete, I’ve got your back.”

The Silver Dart shaped MiG leveled out as soon as he caught sight of the two large Phantoms streaking down on him.

The Camouflaged MiG misjudged the skill of flight leader Dan Campbell, who in a wide corkscrew roll was trying desperately to keep his airspeed low enough to stay on his adversary’s tail.

Dan in Victor one managed to get into the kill zone behind the MiG, the growl of the locked on Sidewinder missile reverberated in his ear. The bulky Phantom was in perfect Sidewinder range, about 1500 feet behind the scrambling MiG.

Dan squeezed the trigger, nothing happened.

“Damn it,” Dan shouted as the AIM-9 Sidewinder failed to release from the underside of the aircraft.

Dan squeezed the trigger again, this time the solid rocket motor ignites and the Sidewinder stormed forward, the missile went inside the circle of the turning aircraft.

“It’s gone stupid,” Dan shouted the AIM-9 Sidewinders guidance system must have failed.

“Stay on him Dan, we’ve got him.”

The AIM-9 lock-on system was still growling in Dan’s ear, he squeezed the trigger again and the third missile roared forward, it dipped inside the circle and for a second Dan thought this one had failed as well.

Suddenly the Sidewinder turned back to the right and spiraled in behind the desperate MiG, the missile turned just behind the Russian made fighter and went straight up the tailpipe, a millisecond later the warhead exploded and the MiG separated in the middle with a brilliant, bright fireball.

“Ye-ha we got him!” Freddy shouted.

“Confirmed MiG kill,” Dan confirmed to base.

There was no time to celebrate though as Dan’s radar operator spotted a silver glint closing in behind the two F4’s.

“Blue bandit in firing position on our 6.” He said calmly.

The two American pilots reacted instinctively and turn into each other, trying to throw off the MiG’s attack. The MiG fired an AA-2 ‘Atoll’ air to air missile that homed in on Freddy’s Phantom. The Atoll got in close, but fortunately detonated just behind the American’s plane, shockwaves resonated through the aircraft but the big beast shook off the insult.

The MiG reverses and punches out of there. Hit and run tactics were a particular favorite of the Vietnamese air force.

“Shall we go after him?” Freddy asked.

“No we haven’t got the fuel for it,” Dan said correctly.

Victor three and four we working their Phantoms hard as the tried to get in behind the second MiG. While the Phantoms had the advantage in brute power and speed, the MiG had the advantage in maneuverability; the Communist pilot knew this and went into a wide left turn.

The Americans did not bite, instead Pete in Victor three initiated a barrel roll and tried to come down behind the MiG in a slow loop. The Phantoms tried hard to keep their airspeed low enough to stay on the tricky MiG’s six.

While all this was going on Brooklyn’s radio operator William Morgan Morris or ‘Moose’ as he was more affectionately known, was trying his hardest to get a radar lock with the AIM-7 Sparrow missiles. The AIM-7 is a medium range homing missile, but against small fast targets it needed a strong radarlock to be effective.

“I can’t get a lock on Jr.” A clearly frustrated Moose said.

Victor three was at the end of his third barrel roll and was leveling out at the end of the loop, the AIM-9 lock on was growling heavy in his ear. Pete squeezed the trigger, the missile streaked out to the right and just carried on straight, it detonated far off to the MiG’s right. Pete squeezed the trigger again but this time the Sidewinders motor did not even ignite; the missile fell like a brick.

“Negative Pete, that one was a dud,” Jnr shouted.

Pete was getting angry now and squeezed the trigger hard, his third missile followed the lead of its brother and plummeted towards the earth.

“Negative again Pete.”

“God damn it, Mitch can you get a Sparrow lock on?”

Mitch shook his head, not at this range.”

“Bank left Pete, I have the shot!” Brooklyn said assertively.

Victor three moved out the way to let Brooklyn through.

“Get him Jnr.”

The familiar growl of the AIM-9 lock on calmed Brooklyn’s nerves, he completed a barrel roll and when he leveled out at the bottom of the loop he squeezed the trigger. The missile streak straight and true but detonated short of the Soviet fighter.

Brooklyn was calm and squeezed the trigger again gently, the second missile also flew true but this time it carried on going and slammed into the right wing of the MiG, it detonated and ripped the wing clean off of the fuselage. The MiG pilot ejected from the crippled aircraft and a few seconds later his chute opened.

The two Americans maneuvered their aircraft passed the vanquished foe, Brooklyn saw the dark black flight suit of the Vietnamese pilot, and he could clearly see the pilots head track his aircraft as it sped passed.

“Second blue bandit destroyed.” Pete declared, before adding “We have a new MiG killer.”

“Good work Jnr!” Flight leader Dan added, “Let’s go home.”

The four Phantoms returned to their aircraft carrier. They had a quick debriefing and then were given the evening off for their good work.

Brooklyn Jnr finished packing away his flight suit when the black and white photos of him and his parents caught his eye. He smiled to himself as he brushed his fingertips over his smiling fathers face.

‘You would have been proud of me today dad bagged my first bad guy didn’t I. I did it right like you always did.’ Brooklyn Jnr nodded then gave a fist bump to the photo like he did at the end of every mission.

Brooklyn took a pad of paper and a pen then strolled out towards the canteen, he had decided it was time to write to his mom and to his girl Pamela, it was well overdue. Brooklyn had been in Vietnam for over four months now but had only written once.

Mitch’s familiar voice rang out from behind Brooklyn, “I wouldn’t bother Jnr, I expect Pam has found someone much better looking than you by now son.”

Brooklyn smiled but carried on walking. He could hear Mitch’s footsteps echoing through the narrow hall as he ran to catch up. Mitch threw his arm over Brooklyn’s shoulder.

“Want my help lover boy, I’m in a good mood today and am more than willing to teach your dumb ass to write?”

Brooklyn just shook his head, “I’d tell you to fuck off with yourself but we all know you’d enjoy that too much.”

They both laughed as the entered the quiet canteen.

Brooklyn sat next to his fellow squad mates as they chatted away excitedly about the day’s action. Pete’s hands were everywhere as he relived the combat, whereas Dan sat calmly eating, he had seen this all before and was not that interested in dissecting their tactics. They all congratulated Brooklyn on becoming the squadrons latest MiG killer and as they all left one by one until Brooklyn was the last one remaining in the almost deserted canteen. He felt a genuine sense of pride over his accomplishment as he set about writing to his two favorite women in his life.

Brooklyn had just finished the letter to his mom when something on the tiny 17-inch TV screen caught his eye.

‘Anti War protesters march through Central Park, bringing the normally peaceful area to a standstill’ was the headline the scrolled across the bottom of the news broadcast. A news lady in a tight suit spoke quickly but Brooklyn could not hear a word she said as there was no volume control but the images burned in his mind.

There were thousands of protesters, many young students who in their casual jeans, sported huge placards one of which said ‘I don’t give a damn for Uncle Sam I ain’t going to Vietnam’ and then the camera cut to another one ‘Resist the draft- Students for a Libertarian society.’ Then the camera panned around to see hundreds of people carrying balloons with various slogans written across them.

Brooklyn Jnr felt angry and betrayed, he did not know why the American public had turned so much against the war. He was proud of his actions and that of his comrades and he did not understand how people could be so against the achievements of his close-knit military family. Brooklyn was young and his anger got the better of him, he slammed his fists on the table and screwed up the letter he had written for his mother, he angrily scribbled down a joint letter for his mom and for Pam.

Little Green man

Edward Wheeler stopped his large truck at the gates of Wright Patterson Air Force base like he had done a handful of times before. He waited as the guards went over his paperwork. The guard tutted then mumbled to himself, “More ceramic tiles.”

“Seriously?” The second armed guard asked, “I thought the deliveries of this shit had finished.”

“I guess not.” The first guard said and then handed the paperwork back to Edward, “It all checks out, open the gates.” He ordered.

Edward had done this journey from the local factory some five times now, he smiled to himself at how slack the security had got since his first trip. The first time he was escorted through the base by two military jeeps; this time he had to make his own way to Hanger 27.

As Edward pulled into view alongside the various sized hangers dotted around the base, he noticed a soldier signaling for him to stop outside of Hanger 27. Edward again managed a weary smile. He came to a stop and wound down his window.

“Nice to see a familiar face, Edgar.” He said.

Airman First class Edgar Hudson returned the smile, “Nice to see you too Edward, you look knackered mate, we working you too hard?”

“Hardly son didn’t think you fellas were ever going to order more tiles, we were getting worried that our jobs might be at risk.”

Hudson laughed, “Papers if you would be so kind.”

Edward handed them over and watched in his mirror as Airman First class Glen Owens completed his walk around check of the vehicle.

“Ok.” Hudson said, “You know the drill Edward.”

The truck driver sighed as he hopped out of the cab, “All yours buddy.”

Owens approached the keypad on the hanger door and punched in a code. The display beeped once then after a short delay the hanger door slowly slid open.

Owens returned to talk to Edward while Hudson waited to enter the dimly lit building.

Edward glanced over Owens’ shoulder and something caught his eye, he strained hard to try and make the object out. He had to take a double take but he was now sure, it was a body led out on a metal worktop.

The delivery driver tried hard not to make it to obvious but he was taking a mental picture of what he saw. It was definitely a figure on the worktop but it was strange, it looked to be smaller than a normal person, it was hard to tell at this distance but it could not have been much bigger than four foot.

Edward noticed something was strange with the arms as well, they seemed to be longer than the body and were out of proportion. The body was a light green color with patches of black, the head was also strange with two large black eye slots.

The truck moved slowly into the hanger and obscured Edward’s view, Owen had noticed that Edward was on edge and he calmly moved him away from the outside of the Hanger.

“We’ll get you a coffee mate and bring the truck around for you.”

Edward was unable to argue as Owens let Hudson know what was going on over the radio.

The ceramic tiles were unloaded onto the internal lift without incident and ten minutes later Edward was in his truck, being escorted from the base. That night the truck driver could not get to sleep, the image of those dark black eyes haunted him and he knew then that he could not keep this to himself.

Edward appeared on the local news describing what he had seen at the base and told anyone who would listen that the government was hiding creatures from another planet at the base.

A spokesman from Wright Patterson appeared on the news a day later.

The man, who was bold and wore a smart black suit and dark tinted sunglasses, spoke in a monotone voice. He then presented the green object to the local news reporter.

“This as you can clearly see is a manmade suit, it is specially designed to protect the wearer from the stresses of radiation during space travel. What we are working on here is the next generation of spacesuits.”

The local reporter nodded with interest “What about Mr. Wheeler’s description of it being about four foot in length?”

The man smiled, a smile that looked more like a display of pain than an expression of enjoyment. “Well, when the suit is bunched up on a worktop and viewed from a distance I expect it does look a bit like a miniature green man.”

The local reporter laughed then turned back to face the camera, “And there we have it folks, you can all sleep easy tonight knowing that there are, in fact, no little green men from another world at the base next door.”

Edward was watching at home and squeezed his beer can so hard that the brown liquid foamed out all over his lap and spilled onto the floor. He could not believe how foolish they had made him look.

Edward’s phone rang and he gingerly picked it up.

“Hello Mr….”

“What do you mean you’re going to have to let me go?”

“Sir…. But Sir….”

The phone was dead, Edward slumped down next to the phone, not only had he been made to look like a fool but now he was also jobless. His temper flared and he picked up and throw the phone across the room, it extended to the length of its cord then crashed down on the bare floor.

A knock on the door snapped Edward out of his self-pity, he got up and slowly went to open it but it creaked open before he could get there.

“Who said you could come in here… Who are you… What a minute you are the man from the news report.”

Edward stumbled backwards and picked up the closest weapon he could get his hands on, a poker from the fireplace, he pointed it at the advancing man in black.

“Be calm please Mr. Wheeler, this will go a lot smoother if you cooperate.”

“What will go a lot smoother? You freak.” Edward said threateningly.

Edward felt a sharp prick in his arm, he looked down to see a needle pushing a clear liquid into his vein.

“What the hell?” He shouted.

A cold feeling swept through his body, his vision blurred and he fell to the floor unconscious, it only took a few more seconds for his lungs to give up and he died then and there.

The police found Edward’s lifeless body on the sofa with a needle sticking out of his arm. The coroner gave the cause of death as a heroin overdose. Wheeler was to be forever remembered as a drug addict and a local laughing stock.

Inauguration

The 20^th January 1969 was a chill morning, yet that did not stop a huge crowd massing on this historic day; joining the chill that day was an air of optimism that America would finally start the process of leaving Vietnam.

Chief Justice Earl Warren had just finished administering the presidential oath of office to Nixon. The Dark, beady-eyed Nixon was the 37^th President of the United States, he stood and delivered his speech with his trademark slick-backed black hair; he had the air of a hungry shark and was just as dangerous.

As the new President spoke about poetry and the future of the nation, two men stood and watched from a distance, their presence there that day was purely to keep Nixon to the predetermined speech that they themselves had written for him.

These men were the same men who had personally checked all of the ballot results and delivered the final count to the nations various news stations. The unsuspecting American public thought the results were delivered live but this was not the case.

The men had actually switched various ballet boxes to make Nixon’s victory inevitable, they had their reasons for this but as always these men, the men in black suits kept their reasons to themselves. They protected the organization they belonged to by any means possible, they knew they were currently being investigated by the head of the FBI, Edgar J Hoover but they also knew they would not be discovered.

The two men smiled and planned their next move, they were growing tired of Hans Kammler and his constant failures. They needed to know why the Nazi’s high command was so keen to unleash Die Glocke on the world, yes the device produced the potent Xerum 525 but that alone would not have been enough to win the war; it was time to put pressure on the old man.

The World as God Sees it

Four days had passed since the massive, three-stage, 363-foot Saturn V launched with 7.5 million pounds of thrust; so the three astronauts of Apollo 11 could free themselves of earth’s gravity and get into orbit.

The control room in Houston was quiet, very quiet. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. Wernher von Braun had returned to the control room and was listening with interest, so far his rocket had done its job; now it was up to the Lunar Module Eagle to get Armstrong and Aldrin down to the surface of the moon.

The doors into the control room opened and a security guard walked in.

“Mr von Braun, there are three people to see you.” He sounded confused.

von Braun turned around to berate the man, “Are you mad, we are in the middle of a crucial part of the mission… No visitors.” He turned back to face the screens full of the various readouts.

“That is no way to treat old friends Wernher.” A voice chimed out.

The hairs on the back of the former Nazi scientist rose up and a chill went through his very core. ‘He never wanted to see those men again, he made that clear last time, so why were they here now of all times?’

Von Braun turned, his face was red, “I told you never to visit me again, I kept my part of the deal so I expect you…” His eyes widened as he recognized the third figure.

“You, I thought you were dead?”

The elderly man came out of the shadows, “Nice to see you too komrade, can we have a private word with you?”

Von Braun got the feeling he was not asking.

“Follow me.” Von Braun led the three men into an empty office and locked the door behind him.

“Ok, what do you want Hans?”

Kammler laughed, “Always to the point hey old friend, my colleagues here say you might be able to help me with a little project I have going.”

“What have you got your murderous little hand into now?” Von Braun asked, he kept his eyes on the men in black, they looked disinterested but he knew better, they would not be here unless they had an agenda.

“Well to be blunt komrade, we have found Die Glocke…”

“You what?”

Kammler smiled, “We are having, um… well difficulties accessing its secrets. We were hoping you could help?”

Von Braun just shook his head slowly, “Only Gerlach knew how to operate that thing, and he took his secrets to the grave.”

“How do you know he’s dead, he only disappeared.” Kammler said angrily, “Now will you help us?”

Von Braun thought for a minute, he needed to choose his words carefully, “I can’t help you, I am too busy here and anyway I never actually worked on the device…”

The two men in black turned to face the aerospace engineer.

“However.” Von Braun continued, “If you are mad enough to try and activate the device then I know some people who may be able to help, they have great minds and are experts in their fields.”

“We are listening.” The men in black said in that tone that Von Braun feared.

“During Operation Paperclip you picked up a few men, try the Physics professors Gunter Guttein and Gerhard Schweinger. Also, Rudolf Schildt who is an expert in material Science.” Von Braun paused as he thought, suddenly he snapped his fingers, “Theodor Benzinger who is the leading expert on chemical weapons, he should be able to help with the Xerum. And finally, Hans Amtmann who is an expert on Astronautics.”

Kammler’s face went red, “Is that it?”

Von Braun nodded.

“look here, you traitor I can have you arrested again and this time you will be on trial here…”

Kammler was cut off in his prime.

“Thank Wernher, we will take your advice. Get the scientists to Hanger 6 immediately.” The men in black said. “Come Han’s, we are leaving.”

Von Braun watched as the three men unlocked the door then left, the security guard showed them out. As soon as they were out of sight Wernher slumped into an empty chair and put his head in his hands.

The Lunar Eagle reached the surface of the moon without incident and landed in an area known as the Sea of Tranquility. Mission Commander Neil Armstrong made history by becoming the first man on the moon, he was joined twenty minutes later by Buzz Aldrin and the pair spent just over two hours walking around the surface.

The two astronauts spent just under a day on the moon’s surface in total until the Lunar eagle rejoined with the command module Columbia in lunar orbit; Michael Collins, who had stayed alone onboard to pilot the command module, was the first to congratulate the pair.

The Apollo 11 mission returned to earth without major incident and when they splashed down in the Pacific Ocean and were picked up safely the whole world celebrated. Von Braun, however, was observed to be deep in thought, distracted and worried by the unexpected visit he had received.

Wernher von Braun never admitted it but he was worried that Kammler and the men in black might actually succeed in utilizing Die Glocke as a weapon. This thought above all others kept him awake at night.

Ancient flames awakened

The last two weeks had seen a renewed amount of activity around hanger 6 (Hanger 27 as it was known on official documents), a group of new scientists had arrived, along with a lot of new raw materials; finally, last week a huge amount of electrical equipment was delivered on three separate semi-trailers, these included large, industrial-sized electrical transformers.

“What they building a new city in there?” One of the guards casually remarked.

“Designing equipment for space travel clearly consumes a lot of energy, your papers all check out, let them through.” The second guard said.

Deep inside the cavernous hanger 6 the project was picking up the pace, the new group of ex-Nazi scientists was working well under the watchful gaze of Hans Kammler. Kammler finally felt alive again, he was leading a project and he could sense his workforces fear, that fear is what he lived for.

Two young American technicians were dressed head to toe in full radiation suits, they were nervous. They had the unenviable task of clearing the transparent cylinders of the highly toxic red mercury. They gingerly took the half-full tubes and placed them in lead tubes full of liquid nitrogen; this was considered much safer than just lead casing. The tubes crackled as they were frozen instantly, one of red mercuries stranger properties was that it did not seem to freeze under any temperature.

After fresh tubes were placed on the structure the device looked complete, it stood twelve-foot-tall with a layer of ceramic tiles covered by a thin metallic skin. It looked much more like a bell now and not a golden acorn.

“Are you sure this is right Amtmann?” Kammler snarled from his perch.

Amtmann snorted in annoyance. “Who is the only one here to ever see a picture of Die Glocke? Me or you?”

Kammler’s face flushed red with rage at the insubordinate tone the man had used but he let it go.

“That’s what I thought, now please let us work. The faster we can get this thing completed, the quicker we can go back to our lives.”

Kammler smiled, ‘Keep thinking that fool.’ He thought.

The lift slowly descended to the bottom floor with three trucks full of the electrical equipment.

“Finally.” Ernst Baars said with relief, “I thought it was never going to get here.”

He ordered the lab technicians and engineers to unload the equipment so he could inspect it.

The two Electronics experts Baars and Josef Boehm shook their heads and tutted, “It’s American made, not the German quality we were expecting but it will have to do.” They laughed.

The engineers got to work on connecting this new electrical city together, a group of twenty men worked for six hours straight, for three days but the project was still not ready, Kammler’s patience was wearing thin.

The ex-SS member walked up to the men as they were having lunch, “Get back to work you useless fools.” He shouted, arms gesticulating wildly.

The sight of the old man in a fit of rage amused the engineers and they started laughing, which only made Kammler worse.

“Look old man, don’t have a heart attack, we will get it done.”

That was the last straw, Kammler pulled a Luger P08 pistol from behind his back and pointed it squarely at the senior engineer.

“Woah calm down buddy…”

Hans Amtmann had seen what was happening, he walked over to talk Kammler out of it, “Hans what are you doing!?…”

“Shut up, both of you.” Kammlers eyes narrowed as he focused on the engineer, “I’m going to give you two choices, I can blow your brains out and make your wife a widow or…” Kammler slowly took one hand off of his pistol and took out a small tube with red and yellow packaging and held it out in his open hand.

“Or you and your lazy, pathetic excuse for a team can take a couple of these pep pills but I expect you to work until it is finished.”

The engineer did not say a word.

Amtmann recognized the packaging straight away. “Where the hell did you get Perviatin from?”

Kammler smiled, “The men in black gave it to me, they have instructed me to get this project moving and that is exactly what I am going to do.”

The engineer could not take his eyes off of the gun, “Look pal, I am not taking an unknown pill from a crazy old man with a gun.”

“Fine with me.” Kammler grinned.

“Hans NO!” Amtmann shouted but it was too late.

Kammler squeezed the trigger and a single shot rang out. The engineer fell where he stood, his sandwich hit the floor at the same time as his lifeless body, blood trickled from a single bullet wound to the head. His lifeless eyes stared blankly at the wall.

The whole hanger was stunned, the other workmen did not know what to do for a second, they all got to their feet and considered rushing the crazy old man. That thought was quickly wiped from their heads.

Two men in black appeared out of nowhere and stood behind the former SS General, they shook their heads before speaking in unison.

“I see you men have been making life difficult for your project manager. Please can you rectify this straight away by taking the pill, it will help you work without the need to rest.”

The engineers felt dazed, one by one they stumbled forward and took two pills. Pervitin is a methamphetamine and soon the worker’s brains were releasing dopamine and serotonin.

Two of the engineers were instructed to remove their colleague’s body, he was buried in an unmarked grave under the concrete, and the hole was quickly covered.

The engineers kept working for the next three days straight, they did not sleep and they barely ate. They only stopped for some water and a couple more pep pills. At the end of the third day, Die Glocke was wired up and ready to be tested.

Kammler was pleased.

Disturbance in the air

Gerhard Schwesinger stood at the control panel, he watched the readouts intently.

“Ok Amtmann, turn up the power ever so slightly.”

Amtmann nodded and pushed the level up carefully. The power surged through the wires into the large device. Xerum 525 slowly trickled into the clear cylinders.

Kammler’s foot tapped impatiently, “Is this it?”

“Just wait Hans, we need to do this carefully. We don’t want another blowout if we damage the transformers that will set us back even further.”

Kammler growled but he knew Gerhard was right.

Amtmann increased the power another couple of notches, then observed the effect.

“Power holding steady at 45%.”

The transparent cylinders began to rotate slowly.

“Look they’re counter rotating. But why would they be doing that?”

“No idea Hans, just keep making notes. Is the video still working?”

Amtmann nodded.

“Increase the power to 50%,” Schwesinger ordered.

Electricity began to flow all over the object, it began to wash across the metal surfaces and as the cylinders rotated faster it started to form a vortex of energy. The air inside the confined area began to crackle as an electrical storm gathered in the immediate vicinity around the device.

Kammler’s interest was peaked, he could not wait any longer, he pushed Amtmann out of the way and pushed the lever to full power.

“You fool, what are you doing, this needs to be done scientifically so we don’t kill everybody in here!” Schwesinger shouted as he moved towards Kammler.

Kammler pulled out his pistol and aimed it squarely at the scientists head. “Shut up and mind your own business.” He growled.

The counter-rotating tubes quickly filled with a stream of red mercury as they span quicker and quicker. Power surged from the transformers along the wires and across the device. A web of blue, white lightning spread its jagged fingers all across the smooth metallic surface of the bell.

Loud cracks and bangs crashed all over the room, sparks began to fly from several of the transformers.

“Shut it down Kammler, I’m begging you! Otherwise, all of our hard work will be in destroyed.” Amtmann screamed.

Kammler ignored him and watched as the brilliant blue lightning was caught in the powerful vortex created by the device. The power levels started to fluctuate dangerously, smoke rose from multiple failing transformers.

The device rocked slowly from side to side as a luminous purple glow began to emanate from inside the metal clad coating. The lightning turned from a light blue into a dark purple as the device shook more and more violently. The metal coating started to crack and pieces of the ceramic tiles crumbled off and floated skywards.

Suddenly a domino effect of loud explosions rocked the room. The power level dipped and the electrically charged air slowly dissipates. Four transformers in a line had blown and the electrical charge can no longer be sustained.

“Damn it Kammler!” Amtmann said as he pushed him away from the control panel, you have blown the transformers. It will take us days to repair them. God knows what damage you have caused to the device.”

Kammler did not respond but instead, he watched as the electrical storm cleared the device.

Amtmann hit the emergency power cut off switch and the electricity was immediately cut off from the device, the cables were cast clear and flapped aggressively in the weakening vortex.

The power faded away but something was different, the transparent tubes were filled to the brim with red mercury and they were still rotating. The device pulsed purple, slowly at first but it began to pick up intensity.

“What the hell is going on, this isn’t possible!” Schwesinger shouted.

Kammler began to cackle, “Finally, this is it!”

The device flashed a luminous purple then without warning levitated straight up eight feet into the air. It pulsed faster and faster, the metal coating was shredded into pieces and exploded off in every direction. Large pieces embedded in the protective glass screen and were stuck there; impaled in the cracking glass.

A large explosion rocked the room as the roof caved in; the device flew straight up through the metallic roof of hanger 27 and floated in the air for a second. It fired a huge electronic pulse from its core that lite up the sky in a mesmerizing indigo hue, which blocked out the night’s sky for a brief moment.

The device fell to the floor with such force that the tarmac cracked on the open road just outside of the Hanger. Airman first class Curtis Papa’ Perez and Airman First class Chester ‘Toff’ Marshall were on guard duty. They had been blinded by the flash but had instinctively dived to the floor as the object crashed to the earth.

Marshall pulled Perez to his feet, “What the hell is that thing Papa?”

The two men had a strange feeling of fear and did not want to approach the object.

“I don’t know Marshall.” He said both men raised their rifles.

Kammler coughed as he cleared debris from his chest. He slowly stood to survey the situation. The device was gone, it has smashed a large hole in the ceiling which had fallen and destroyed a lot of the equipment below. Kammler turned to see a pool of blood forming under a large piece of metal, a pair of legs were protruding out from beneath the mixture of metal and concrete; It was all that was left of Hans Amtmann.

Kammler smiled.

Marshal and Perez looked around, it was dark apart from the moonlight.

“Look around, there aren’t any lights on!”

“Power must be down,” Perez said.

The device flashed a deep purple, without warning the remaining ceramic tiles exploded out in a hail of tiny shrapnel, the two men covered their faces. After a second or two they looked up at the large glowing purple acorn that was in front of them.

A purple mist billowed out of the device. Perez squinted as he thought he saw movement in the mist. Suddenly out of the haze a figure dressed in an all-black combat suit appeared, it wore a black helmet and appeared to be carrying a machine gun.

‘What the hell!” Marshall shouted, “Freeze, Identify yourself!”

The figure just stood completely still, then another figure appeared and then another, they kept coming until Marshall and Perez could no longer count them.

“Hold it right there, you are in a restricted zone, drop your weapons and put your hands in the air, slowly so we can see them. Do it now!” Perez ordered. “Marshal get us some backup.”

Marshal nodded and went to call on the radio. Nothing happened, it was not working, the radio was dead.

“Damn it!” He shouted.

A figure appeared from the mist, this one was different, he was not wearing a full face helmet. He was tall, at least six foot and he was blonde with large streaks of gray hair. The man was about forty-five and was sporting a thick blonde mustache.

The figure took one look at the two airmen in front of him, he just casually nodded at them. The figures opened fire all at once, brilliant purple flashes flew towards Marshal and Perez and before they could react that felt an intense burning sensation wash over their torsos.

They fell to the floor, Perez looked down and could see blood oozing from open wounds on his chest, he felt weak and all he could smell was burning flesh. He looked over to see Marshal’s lifeless corpse looking straight through him. Perez turned his head to look up at his adversary, a barrel of a gun was pointed at his head, he saw it flash; that was the last thing he ever saw.

Inside the Wire

Senior Master Sergeant Warren Hall had been asleep in the mess hall when the explosion and subsequent shockwave gave him a rude awakening; the lights immediately went off, shrouding the rest of his squad’s poker game in darkness.

“What the hell was that?” Tom ‘Looney’ Cox shouted. “Earthquake?”

“Sounds like the fuses have blown. Get your flashlights! I’ll give the control room a call.” Hall said as he reached for his radio. But he could not raise command, so he tried Perez, still nothing, ‘were the radios dead?’

Airman First class Alan Perry and Glen Owens had checked out the fuses, but had to walk back to the mess room to tell Hall.

“Sir, is your radio working, ours are dead.”

“They’re all dead Perry.”

“The fuses are fine sir, whatever that was it knocked power out to the entire base, I had a quick look out the windows and the searchlights are out as well.” Owens said.

“Maybe it’s the Commies!” Hudson said excitedly.

“Keep it down Edgar, I’m trying to think.” Hall shook his head.

A couple of technicians were carrying out spot checks on a grounded F4 Phantom when the power went out, they had grumbled when they witnessed the flash and after much deliberation had decided to investigate when their radios were not working.

They chatted to each other loudly as they rounded the corner of a hanger. A group of people wearing full body, jet black combat gear were jogging towards them. The two men froze. “Who the hell are you guys?”

The figures raised their weapons and fired, pulses of purple light raced forward like tracer rounds. The two technicians did not have time to react as the burning lights hit them square in the torso. They both fell dead before their bodies hit the floor.

The guards at the rear entrance to the base had repeatedly tried to raise the control room but had no luck. They had a jeep with a .50 caliber M2 Browning machine gun mounted on the rear, but the engine had cut out when the explosion had rocked the base and they struggled to get it started again.

A group of twenty figures rounded the corner silently, it was only by luck that one of the guards thought he had seen strange purple flashing from that direction.

“Hey!” He shouted, “Who the hell are you guys? Identify yourselves!”

This alerted his other colleagues, they raised their rifles at the sudden intruders.

The figures spread-out and opened fire, purple rounds of superheated light flew down range and started to impact on the jeep.

“Shit, return fire.” The senior guard shouted. His men returned rounds but the volume of fire was far too heavy for the outnumbered guards.

The senior man was hit straight in the face, the round exited the back of his head, creating a large exit wound that was cauterized around the edges, the smell of burning flesh and hair made the guard next to him throw up.

The Guard managed to clear his throat enough to order his mate onto the .50 before he was hit in the gut. He fell to the floor with an agonizing wail, the smell of burning pork reached his nose and as he looked down he could see his stomach was open, with a trail of bubbling black intestine slithering out of the wound.

The third man jumped up onto the .50, pulled the locking clip back and pulled the trigger, the reassuring thump of the powerful machine gun thundered out, the whole base would surely be alerted to the attack.

The first of the figures reacted slightly too late and the rounds impacted on his body armor, which cracked and splintered under the powerful rounds and the figure was forced to the floor. His teammates reacted with lightning quick, almost superhuman reactions and rolled and dived out of the way, they laid down covering fire.

The hanger to the left of the strange figures disintegrated as a huge object plowed straight through it. The guard swung around the .50 and let out a stream of bullets towards this new threat.

“Shit, you have to be kidding me!” He shouted in disbelief as the rounds pinged off harmlessly.

The huge object rotated its massive turret and pointed a monstrous cannon straight at him, the barrel glowed purple and then spat out a dazzling thunder ball straight at the jeep. The jeep exploded into a hundred pieces and the guard was vaporized.

Kammler knew the sound of chaos when heard it, he looked around but could see the power was out and he immediately knew he had nowhere to run. The lab he stood in was a mess, German scientists got to their feet and dusted themselves down, while the American lab technicians had regained their awareness and we checking to make sure none of the red mercury was leaking.

A smattering of debris fell from the broken roof and the dust landed on Kammler, causing him to cough. As the dust cleared the elderly German looked up. Stood at the edge of the hole was a man grinning wildly; a man he instantly recognized.

“It can’t be, you’re dead!”

The man laughed and then spoke in a German accent but in perfect English, “I would have been had I stayed with you, you and that incompetent leader Hitler… I see you buffoons lost the war!”

Anger flashed across Kammler’s face.

“Time has not been kind to you my old komrade, now tell me, how far up the Americans ass is your tongue?”

That was it, Kammler lost it, “Listen here you insubordinate little shit, I do what I need to do to survive! But I do not work for these Yank fucks… Now I demand you get me out of this hole and explain to me what is going on and how the fuck you don’t look any older!”

The man who was wearing an immaculate black uniform with black knee-length boots just stood there and laughed, “Nice to see you still have that fire in your belly.”

He turned to the figures stood behind him, “Destroy the data they have collected, retrieve the Red mercury and then kill them all!”

As soon as he spoke, twenty ropes flew over the side followed immediately by figures that slid down with ease.

“No!’ Kammler shouted, “You can’t do this to me!” He protested but the man stood beaming down at the entrance just shook his head as he turned away.

Kammler opened the tube of Pervitin and took them all, he chewed them as quickly as he could then he pulled his Luger P08 pistol out, he began firing it at the armor-clad figures. Kammler, despite his age, was still a good shot. The small arms fire had no effect though and just bounced harmlessly off of the body armor.

Kammler fired until the clip was empty.

The figures advanced and fired, a stream of superheated rounds stuck the old man in the chest. He felt no pain though as the amount of meth he had taken had dulled all of his senses, a mixture of death and the Pervitin flooding through his system made him feel as though he was watching it happen to someone else. Kammler died at peace with himself.

The figures acted as an execution squad and soon finished off the remaining scientists and technicians in a hose of fire. They then went about the task of collecting the red mercury which they tied carefully to the ropes then had their colleagues pull up the container. Finally, they planted charges all over the laboratory.

After the last soldier had left, the entire lab was instantly vaporized in a bright fireball with a pinkish hue. Kammler, the other scientist’s bodies and all their work ceased to exist in an instance.

The sound of gunfire and then another explosion had jump-started Warren and his squad into action, they collect their weapons and ammunition. They gingerly made their way to the entrance to the canteen, they stayed low as they got to the windows. They watched and they waited to gauge how bad the situation was.

What they saw was a war zone, firefights raged around the base, exchanges between red tracer rounds zipping out and the return fire of bright purple lights filled the night’s sky. It was clear that the soldiers at Wright Patterson Air Force base were getting overwhelmed by this unknown enemy.

“We have got to get out there and give them some support! They’re gettin their ass kicked.”

Hall held up his hand, “Not yet lads, keep observing, see if we can spot a weakness.”

“Yes, Sir,” they whispered but the tension in their voices was clear.

Soldiers screamed and shouted as they tried to stay alive. A grenade was thrown into a group of enemies, it exploded dead on but to Hall’s amazement they kept advancing and firing.

“It didn’t affect them at all, the shrapnel just bounced off their armor,” Hall said in disbelief.

A huge tracked behemoth rolled into view, shortly followed by another one and then another one. Streams of purple fire poured from the gun housed on the turret. The fire put down a group of Airman who had barricaded themselves into the entrance of a hanger.

The huge turret turned and then an angry bright bolt of purple fired from the huge gun, the round flew into the barracks where Hall and his team had been a few minutes earlier. The second and third vehicles fired and the barracks evaporated in the superheated explosion.

“What the hell, who the fuck has weapons like that?” Cox whispered.

Hall just shook his head, he fiddled with his radio but it still was not working.

“We are in trouble; we can’t coordinate our defenses.”

“What are we going to do Sir.”

Hall thought for a second, “We need to get the word out that we are under attack, we need to get to Dayton, get a call for backup out.”

Hall could see his men were hesitant to leave the fight. “We can’t help them here, the enemy has overwhelming numbers and equipment, it wasn’t a fair fight from the start.”

They nodded.

The squad moved slowly and carefully, they hoped they could jump into a couple of jeeps and get out of the base but when they arrived at the hanger where the vehicles were kept, their optimism soon vanished; none of the vehicles would start.

The door behind them crashed open, they swiveled with their weapons raised.

The figure had a fellow soldier slumped over his shoulders, he tried to raise his hands.

“Staff Sergeant?” Hall said relieved.

The man let out a huge sigh of relief, “Good to see you Sir.”

“You too Billy, who have you got there?”

Billy Jonson let the man down and laid him out on the floor near the door.

“It’s Miller Sir, he’s unconscious can you get someone to look at him?”

Hall nodded to Glen, “Give him a once over mate.” Hall gave Bill a quick glance over, he was shaking from fear and adrenaline. “Get that door shut Billy, then give us a sitrep will you, you know what we are up against.”

Billy gingerly closed the door, then shook his head as he walked over.

“No idea sir, we were ambushed by a huge group of soldiers wearing tough, full body black armor and full face helmets. It takes a lot of bullets to even put a single one of those freaks down.”

“You managed it then?” Hudson asked.

Johnson just nodded.

They sat and talked for a little while longer before Hall made the decision, “Ok clearly we aren’t going to get any of these vehicles to start, we are going to have to go on foot.”

“A group already tried that sir, those tanks they have, they gunned them down before they got to the perimeter fence.” Johnson said with a weary tone.

“We don’t have a choice; we will just have to be more cautious.” Hall said.

“Right let’s get to it, we ain’t getting paid by the hour.” Hall said with a smile on his face.

Groans rang out from his men, “The old ones are the best ain’t they sir!” Hudson laughed.

Tour of Duty

The mess room was a hive of noise and activity; the navy personnel were tired but this did not impact on their jovial mood. They were finally on their way home after an extended tour, normally they would be flown home but The Americans were taking the opportunity to repair and replenish the massive aircraft carrier during the break in the bombing campaign.

They were hoping the peace negations in Paris were going to finally put an end to this war.

Brooklyn Jnr sat in the corner with his back slightly to his friends, and while they were having a great time playing cards, he sat sullenly re-reading a letter for the fifth or sixth time.

William Morris sighed, he threw his cards to the table. “I’m out of this one fella’s.”

This of course led to the usual calls of ‘pussy’ and ‘what’s a matter moose, lost your golden touch?”

Moose smiled, then pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards Jnr, “Look at him, somebody has got to do somethin’, the pining puppy is a massive downer.”

William Morgan Morris had been Brooklyn’s radar operator since they were paired on their first day on the carrier. He was a bright lad from Bismarck, North Dakota. William’s bright green eyes brought a sense of calm and level-headedness to proceedings; this balanced out Brooklyn Jnr’s more aggressive, reckless streak.

Brooklyn Jnr had been in an almost melancholy depression since he had expressed his anger and disappointment to his girlfriend about the anti-war movement she had joined. The letter Pamela sent back basically said that she was free to do what she wanted, she believed that the war should have never happened and that she would have expected more support from her lover.

The letter finished with Pam saying that they should take a break from the relationship to see if she could forgive Brooklyn for his actions. The young man was devastated by this as he really thought he had found the one; he had dreams that they would marry and he could have the enjoyment that his mother and father had once had. He loved the stories his mom told him about his dad, with that sparkle in her eyes.

William Morris pulled up a chair next to his friend and partner; he dropped a glass of cool orange juice in front of him.

“Sorry, I can’t get you a beer until we reach the mainland!”

Brooklyn looked up but he barely reacted.

“Chin up mate, you are bringing the place down.” Moose rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Look mate, we have all had problems with women, mine is mainly getting em to like me.”

Brooklyn tried to conceal a smile but failed.

“That’s better dude, you can’t do anything about it stuck on this tub, so no good pining, come have a laugh with your mates and when we get some much-needed shore leave, then go sort out the mess you made.”

Brooklyn Jnr gave Morris a playful shove, “You’re right ass jockey.” Brooklyn got up, “Deal me in the next game, time for me to win all ya money.”

They guys around the table cheered. “About time Jnr, no cheating this time though hey.”

They all laughed.

Brooklyn was still upset but the mixture of friendly banter and winning a few hands of blackjack did manage to lift his mood slightly.

Pamela was nearly five years younger than her man, but after several years of university under her belt, she had blossomed into a mature young woman. Pamela was born on the largest island of Hawai’i and had inherited the light brown completion of her mother.

At only just over five-foot-tall the young Hawaiian women was also a great deal shorter than Brooklyn Jnr however, this did not seem to affect the couple as their personalities just clicked. The young lady knew what she liked and her strong will only lite Brooklyn’s passion even more.

Pamela usually let her lovely, curly, brown hair hang naturally around her shoulders, her dark brown eyes had flecks of yellow that sent out sparks to anyone who stared into them. She was a perfectly wrapped youthful package and this got her a lot of attention from other men.

She had been tempted on several occasions but she always remained faithful to her first love, even though they had been on opposite sides of the world.

The anti-war movement swept through the university community like an untamed wildfire and Pamela was washed away in the ideals of a free generation. She traveled the road on various protests marches and fell in with a group of people who experimented with marijuana. She was enjoying the freedom of expression that this movement gave her.

When Pamela expressed her new found freedom, views and friends to Brooklyn Jnr in her letter where she let Brooklyn know the war he was fighting in was illegal and that the US should be ashamed of their involvement. Pamela was shocked and angry at Brooklyn’s fiery response and of his pride to be serving his Country.

This is when she had decided to take a break with Brooklyn Jnr and Pamela began touring the States and campaigning against what she thought was an unjust conflict.

Ground Zero

Explosions blossomed in all directions; the base shook under the strain. American troops had begun to flee in all directions; they were remorselessly mowed down in a burning firestorm of superheated projectiles.

The stricken Phantoms that were unable to leave the ground were destroyed in an instant by concentrated fire from the behemoth tanks that prowled through the hangers. The main communications room had been taken completely by surprise.

The men and women in the tower were now fighting for their lives; they had barricaded the doors with anything they could and were now crouched behind any shelter they had left, the guards had their rifles raised.

The door blew open with a terrible explosion that scattered shrapnel and debris in every direction, the soldiers had to dive behind cover. As they tried to regain their awareness a stream of glowing projectiles ripped into the room.

One of the guards bravely stood to give his colleagues some covering fire, the projectiles stopped for a second, which gave the other guard the chance to fire. He stood and pumped led down the narrow corridor.

The unknown enemy had clearly had enough of this as one of the huge tanks below the tower was given a new target. Its giant turret turned and the cannon elevated, a few seconds later the barrel glowed ghostly purple and it fired. The round tore through the huge glass windows of the control tower and detonated instantly vaporizing most of the people inside.

The few remaining survivors tried to surrender but the tank fired again and this time the roof collapsed, crushing everything inside. The troops moved onto their next targets with almost inhuman efficacy.

Warren Hall and his men crept out of the small personal door at the rear of the hanger; they carefully swept the area for hostiles.

“Clear.” Hudson whispered.

Then men moved on and skulked around the edge of the next hanger which had been half destroyed by one of the massive tanks. The sound of fighting grew louder as they turned the corner. The cries and terrified screams soon accompanied the dwindling gunfire.

Suddenly a couple of soldiers rounded the corner, one of the men was limping badly and his face was contorted into a frightened grimace.

“Help us Sir, for the love of god hel…” the second man was cut off as the air around the two men erupted in a dazzling purple haze, the two men disappeared forever in this glowing fireball; seconds later the shockwave caught up with the explosion and knocked Hall and his men to the floor.

Hall shook his head to try and clear the ringing from his ears, his blurry vision quickly cleared as he was yanked to his feet. Hudson was next to him and pulled him into the smoked out shell of the hanger.

“Sir, sir are you alright?” Hudson shouted.

A small trickle of blood formed in Hall’s left ear. He quickly checked himself over before giving Hudson a thumbs up.

“Thank god.” The young Airman first class exhaled.

“What about the rest of the squad?” Hall asked.

“I dragged them all in here Sir, they are all ok.”

“We will make a soldier out of you yet Hudson!” Hall smiled before adding, “Thanks.”

Hudson nodded.

Another explosion filled the air close to their right.

“What shall we do now Sir, they seem to be everywhere, we are never going to get passed them.” Tom Cox said panting.

Hall sighed

“What?” Cox asked.

“You’re not gonna like this boys but we are gonna make our stand here, draw the fuckers in and give Hudson here a window to get out.”

Hudson was going to protest but was cut off as Hall raised his hand.

“No arguments this time kid, you have the constitution to get out of here, you have proved that and we need to get the message out. We can’t let these bastards get a bridgehead here.”

The men looked at each other with glum expressions but none of them objected.

“Good it’s settled then, Hudson you wait for our signal. The rest of you split into teams of two, I want you to run to cover while your teammates lay down suppressing fire. We need to keep moving otherwise they will just overwhelm our position.”

The men did as Hall asked. “Good, Hudson when we have grabbed their attention that is your signal to run for it. It’s all on you now son.” Hall placed his hand on Hudson’s shoulder.

There were still pockets of resistance all over the base but the American forces had taken a lot of casualties while the unknown aggressors had taken hardly any.

Hall and the first group of men broke out into the open and roared an aggressive battle cry as they went. Their teammates opened fire to give them cover, while Hall himself fired his machine gun on the move.

It had the desired effect as the army of black armor glad figures advanced on the small moving team of US soldiers. Hall and the first group dived into cover behind the collapsed wall of hanger 14. They immediately set up to give the second team covering fire, the second team moved as quickly as they could, they did not dare look behind them as the sprinted to their new position,

Hudson watched and waited in his small hiding spot, he watched as a group of enemy jogged passed his position and opened up on his colleagues. Purple and pink rounds flashed down on his friends with hellish accuracy. Two of the monster tanks rumbled passed and lined up on the limited cover that hanger 14 was providing.

Glen ‘Straight A’ Owens, so called because he had an impressive degree in engineering let out a smile as he teammates ran into cover next to him. He stood and popped out three smoke grenades to cover their retreat.

“Where did you nick those from?” Alan Perry asked.

Owens just tapped the end of his nose, “That would ruin the magic Perry.”

“Ass!” Perry replied with a tense smile.

Hall had seen the smoke, “Let’s keep moving boys, don’t give those bastard tanks a chance to target us.”

They all sprinted as one in a long spread outline to make them harder to hit.

Hudson saw his opportunity and he took it, the young man ran as hard as he could from cover to cover, he looked over his shoulder as the tanks fired.

The glowing rounds cut through the thick smoke leaving as spiral trail and impacted where Hall and his men had been a few seconds earlier. The gun on top of the tank’s turret fired and a trial of superheated energy that sprayed all over the area.

Hall and his team managed to make it to a maintenance hangar, they paused for breath as they set up their defensive perimeter. Master Sergeant Jim Miller looked around the large hanger.

“I have some bad news Hall.”

“Great what is it now?” Hall replied with a deadpan smile.

“There is no exit at the back of this hanger, we’re trapped but I have some good news, there are a few .50 cal machine guns in here and a couple of racks off Sidewinder missiles for the Phantoms.”

“What good are the missiles, all the electronics are fried.”

We could toss them at them.” Cox added dryly.

Owens snapped his fingers, “If I can get the ignitions to light we could get the missiles to fly but they won’t have any guidance systems, so they would be out of control.”

“Do it.” Hall said without a second thought, “We are running out of options, make this our last stand boys.”

Hudson dived under the wreckage of an F4 Phantom as he narrowly avoided another group of enemy soldiers. ‘Christ, they’re everywhere.’ He thought to himself. Hudson decided to stay under the crippled plane for a second to take in the situation. He could see the

perimeter fence from where he was and he watched as an airman ran from cover and launched himself up the fence.

A flash of strong purple light leaped forward and penetrated the man’s head, it punctured straight through and exploded on the other side, the man’s body landed in a crumpled heap at the foot of the fence.

“Shit, shit shit… of course they would have snipers watching the fence. What do I do now?” Hudson said to himself. He did not have to think for long as a shiny pair of black boots appeared just beside him.

The figure bent down, “What do we have here, a cockroach?” The man said in a strong German accent. Hudson went to raise his pistol but it was too late, the man fired his sidearm and the bright purple round burnt through Hudson’s skull, he felt a brief spike of pain before his young life ended.

A monster returns

Smoke drifted lazily passed, the area was eerily quiet for what felt an eternity. Sweat dripped down Warren Hall’s dirty, furrowed brow. Tom Cox’s arm shook slightly due to the mixture of fear and adrenaline rushing through his body. Jim Miller’s eyes darted from left to right while his finger twitched nervously over the .50 cal Browning machine guns’ trigger.

A dark shadow flashed across in the moonlit night but in a second it disappeared.

“Hold your fire.” Hall whispered.

Bright purple pulses of superheated light swarmed forward like a mass of deadly fireflies into the open hanger, they peppered the cover the men were hiding behind. The two .50 cals opened up with the comforting thump that accompanied their powerful rounds. Red tracer tore through the open space and sliced into the smoke.

The energetic purple fire continued but was momentarily less accurate, this gave Hall and his men the chance to lift their heads up from cover and get some suppressing fire laid down. The armor clad figures did not take long to regain their accuracy and a heavy hail of fire rained in on the US airmen.

The unknown enemy advanced and tried to rush through the entrance, Hall smirked as he threw three smoke grenades into the onrushing troops, they detonated and a thick smoke quickly coated the area.

“Give them everything we’ve got boys!”

The Americans guns chattered and bellowed as they opened up all at once, the smoke-filled area was peppered with bullets. The .50 calibers struck the leading soldier in the chest, the armor splintered and blood bubbled from the open wound; his fellow soldiers dove to the floor with lightning quick reactions and avoided the stream of bullets.

“I’m out!” Perry shouted.

“Heads up.” Hall replied as he chucked a fresh magazine in Perry’s direction.

“Reloading!” Miller shouted and he quickly got to work reloading the .50 caliber.

“Cover Miller, we need the .50 up and quickly.”

The smoke started to thin so Hall threw his last two smoke grenades and then laid down another burst of fire.

The purple projectiles started to slow then stopped abruptly.

“What’s goin on?”

“Maybe they have given up.” Cox said with a nervous chuckle.

“Unlikely.” Hall said, “Keep your wits about you lads!”

“.50’s backup!” Miller shouted.

The smoke began to clear again and to the Americans surprise there was not a single casualty to be seen anywhere.

“How did we miss them all?” Cox cried.

The deadly purple fire started again suddenly, although not as aggressively as before.

Hall dove to the floor as a sniper round crackled just over his head.

“Fuck, that was close.” He mumbled.

“Owens how are those missiles coming along?” Hall asked.

Owens shook his head, “I can’t get the fucking things to ignite!”

“Get them ready as quick as you can, we are running out of options.”

Hall popped up and fired a strong burst which slowed the enemies advance, they jumped into cover. They fired blindly from their secure position.

More and more purple fire rained in, Hall continued to return fire until his rifle clicked empty, he effortlessly slid in the next magazine but he felt a terrible burning pain in his left bicep, he slumped to the floor behind cover and gingerly checked the wound, a disgusting burning smell drifted into his nose.

“Hall’s down, Cox get over there and see what you can do, Perry me and you will cover him!” Master Sergeant Miller ordered.

Miller opened up on the .50 once more, he certainly got the enemies attention as a swarm of purple fire peppered his position, he remained calm under fire though and continued to give as good as he got. A stream of the .50’s armor-piercing rounds cut two of the soldiers down, one tried to lift his head but was struck straight through the helmet, the face shield cracked and let out a blue electrical hue and then blood seeped out of the wound.

“You fuckers can die then.” Miller smiled.

Airman 1^st class Tom Cox had managed to reach Hall unscathed, he had started to check Hall over.

“Where are you hit sir?”

“My… my… top of my left arm.” Hall said, he was starting to shake.

Cox ginger peeled back the burnt edges of Hall’s uniform, it had fused with the charred skin around the wound. Hall winced in pain.

Cox’s face screwed up as he made his assessment.

“That good ey?” Hall said.

“You’ll live.”

Blood poured from the middle of the wound, the only part that had not been cauterized, Cox looked at his friend.

“I am going to put antiseptic cream on, it is going to sting and then I am going to bandage it up.”

Hall nodded.

A large flash of purple leaped out and struck the right-hand wall of the hanger, which bent and distorted in a bubble of superheated plasma, it exploded, shrapnel and debris flew in every direction and knocked Alan Perry off of his feet. The wall of the hanger half collapsed but the overall structure held firm.

“Perry!” Miller shouted, “Are you ok?”

There was a moments silence until then Airman raised his arm and stuck his thumb up.

Cox had just finished putting the bandage on Hall, who had not enjoyed the experience, the wound was the worst pain he had ever experienced, it still burnt under the dressing and his body was still in shock.

“That will have to do Sir, you are in shock, drink some of this.” Cox said and thrust a bottle of soda into his good hand.

Hall laughed, “Trust you to have this in your bag at a time like this!”

Cox smiled “Can’t go anywhere without it sir, I might get a headache otherwise.” Cox’s face hardened, “Take a minute Sir, I’ll cover you then we need you back in the fight.”

Hall nodded.

Staff Sergeant Billy ‘The Kid’ Jonson was the first to hear it, an aggressive, almost angry rumbling that was coming from his left.

“We have trouble coming guys.” He shouted as he moved his position, “Owens if you’re going to do anything, then it’s now or never.”

Miller could hear it now as well, his heart sank “Get to cover, tanks!” He shouted. Owens swung the trolley housing the missiles around, trying to aim up as best as he could.

The side of the corrugated hanger peeled apart as a gigantic tank burst through, a tool station was obliterated in the process and various tools flew everywhere.

Miller let out a roar as he swung the .50 round and gave everything he had, the rounds bounced off of the armored monster.

“Like spitballs’ Miller thought to himself.

The turret of the monster turned on his position and the smaller machine gun opened up, the rounds splashed towards Miller but were not quite lined up correctly, the smell of burning metal and concrete surrounded Miller; who could not believe he was still in one piece.

Owens finally got one of the ignitions lit, then rapidly four of the five missiles roared into life. Owens jump to the floor as they Sidewinders tore forward but with no guidance the first one corkscrewed into the floor and detonated just a few meters from Owens; he was showered in debris.

The second missile flew too high and rushed over the top of the turret but the third and fourth missiles stayed true and impacted on the front up plate of the huge vehicle. Two fireballs blossomed over the hull and smoke rose from the two impact sights.

“Yeah!” Cox shouted, “Take that you sons of bitches!”

As the smoke cleared Miller’s jaw dropped, the only effect the missiles had were to create two small, blackened burn marks where they had struck.

“What the hell is that thing made of?”

“That armor is incredible.” Hall said begrudgingly.

The turret moved slightly and the cannon glowed an angry purple.

“Shit, Miller get the fuck out of there!” Hall ordered.

The tank fired, the superheated shell raced towards Miller’s position, he had nowhere to go. The round detonated right on him, he disappeared in a ball of purple light, a mini supernova erupted in the middle of the hanger and the blast washed over Owen’s unconscious body, he was vaporized in an instant.

Hall bowed his head.

Johnson was still firing at the advancing troops, trying to take as many of them out as he could with the last remaining Browning machine gun. Hall gingerly got to his feet and started to pop rounds off at the tank, he had no hope of damaging it but he was hoping to at least piss it off.

The machine gun on the tank’s turret began hosing the area again, Perry dove behind cover but was hit in the side before he got there, he let out a terrifying yelp as he hit the floor.

Cox continued to provide suppressing fire on the rapidly advancing troops until his rifle clicked empty.

“I’m out.” Cox shouted.

‘Hudson must be out by now; he better be out because we can’t do anymore.’ Hall thought.

“Boys, listen to me!” Hall shouted, “Lay your weapons down, we’re done.”

Cox was about to say something but was cut off.

“Don’t argue with me, drop your weapons now.”

Hall dropped his gun and slowly raised his hands above his head. Tom Cox followed suit and reluctantly Jonson gave up his .50, Perry just led on the floor whimpering.

“We are surrendering, we have laid our weapons down, we are now your prisoners.” Hall shouted. Blood trickled down his arm.

The tank held fire as the armored troops flooded into the hanger, they collected all of the American’s weapons and started to round them up next to the hanger entrance. They were ordered to sit.

“Our man there is injured, we need to give him medical aid and you need to make provisions for his treatment.” Hall said with authority.

A laugh rang out from behind the group of armored soldiers, it was a laugh of derision.

“Who said that?” The voice said in a distinctly German tone.

“I did Sir, I am Senior Master Sergeant Warren Hall and I am in command…”

“Shut up you insect, you have lost and are in command of nothing.” The man said as he emerged from the group of soldiers.

His dark features locked onto Hall’s grey eyes, Hall could see no emotion in the man’s face and he felt a feeling of dread wash over him.

“Who am I speaking to Sir?” Hall asked assertively.

The man scoffed, “Kill them.” He ordered.

The armored men raised their weapons.

“What!” Hall shouted, “We are prisoners of war under your care, we have surrendered to you and under The Geneva Convention Article 3 –

1. Persons taking no active part in the hostilities, including members of armed forces who have laid down their arms and those placed hors de combat by sickness, wounds, detention, or any other cause, shall in all circumstances be treated humanely, without any adverse distinction founded on race, color, religion or faith, sex, birth or wealth, or any other similar criteria.”

A voice boomed out from over the German man’s shoulder, “Geneva Convention, what is that Sporrenberg?”

General Sporrenberg just shrugged his shoulders, “Never heard of it, finishes these weaklings off.” He ordered again.

The man stood just behind Sporrenberg gave a slight nod and the troops opened fire on the defenseless prisoners.

Hall let out a curse as he began to charge forward but he was hit with a deadly hail of burning Plasma, his burning body fell to the floor and he died there in agony, the rest of his men had no chance at all and they were all slaughtered.

Sporrenberg let out a smile. “The base is ours, get our bridgehead set up quickly.” Sporrenberg looked down on the dead bodies of the American’s, “Bury these scum in a shallow grave, then burn the bodies.” He smiled again then spat on Hall’s corpse.

The man stood on Sporrenberg’s shoulder shouted, “You heard the General, and you have your orders, get to it!”

The armor-clad soldiers jumped into action.

The battle of Wright Patterson Air Force base was over, it had only taken an hour and a half.

Dayton

Dawn was officially a couple of minutes away and Pamela’s groggy mind was not quite ready to wake up yet. The sound of commotion grew steadily around her, people rushing about in all directions finally forced her to get up.

The young student rubbed her sleep filled eyes, “What time is it?” She asked.

“Don’t know, all of our damn watches have stopped, must be near dawn though.” The man packing up his bedding from their tent replied.

“Shit we’re late.” Pamela said and she hurriedly put her bra back on, “Where are my pants Steve?”

“Not in my bedding, check under your sleeping bag.”

“Shit… shit… shit.” Pamela repeated, she did not want the convoy to leave without her.

Pamela was traveling with a large group of protesters who were on their way to make their feeling clear outside one of America’s largest air base, Wright Patterson Air Force base. The group who consisted mainly of students had camped out on the outskirts of Dayton, Ohio and were planning to start their protest at dawn.

The gang traveled in a convoy mainly made up of Volkswagen camper vans but any available van was commandeered from family members and then packed full to the brim with camping gear, alcohol and copious amounts of drugs.

The morning was not going to plan however as none of the vehicles would start, despite multiple attempts that caused some of the starter motors to flood. A lot of colorful language started to bound around and even some accusation of sabotage from the more wasted members of the group.

Pamela was up and out in the fresh morning air, they had got the tent packed up a were just eating some stale sausage rolls. Pamela looked up to the sky, it was still dark and pinpricks of starlight still dotted the area.

“That’s strange!” Steve said.

A brief image of Brooklyn Jnr flashed through Pamela’s mind but she quickly suppressed it.

“What?” She said.

“The lights in Dayton, they are all out, not one light is on, not even a street light.”

Pam looked over. Steve was right. “Power cut?”

“Must be.”

“Is that what’s wrong with our car?”

Steve shook his head, “Shouldn’t have any effect… that is something totally different.”

Pam sighed and looked down at her watch, It had stopped as well, “Steve, what time did your watch stop?”

He glanced down, “One forty-three.”

Pam looked up “Mine too, that’s weird.”

“Coincidence!” Steve shrugged.

Pamela was not so sure and went over to ask the other guys; she was shocked when their watches had also stopped at the exact same time down to the very second.

“Maybe it was some kind of interference in the atmosphere?”

“No way man, it is clearly a trick by the government to stop us from our right to freedom of speech!”

“Oh come on Franklin, how much crack did you smoke last night anyway?”

The group continued to bicker for a good twenty minutes and only snapped out of it when the first rays of sunshine crested the horizon.

“How far is it to trek over there and begin our protest anyway?” Steve asked.

“About ten miles, give or take.”

“We can’t walk that far, we have too much shit and we can’t leave it here unattended!”

“Alright… alright, was just thinkin’ out loud.” Steve huffed.

The sound of distant jet engines snapped the protesters out of their argument.

“Bloody pigs, out testing their death machines already!”

“Yeah, bastards.”

The group began jeering as the sound of jet engines got closer. Then the first jet was spotted, followed by another and the two more; finally, a total of seven jets were in view, streaking low towards Dayton itself.

One of the protesters had his binoculars up and managed to track one of the jets, it had a strange pink glow coming from the two engines mounted on the stubby swept back wings.

“That doesn’t look like any plane I have seen before?” He said.

“Must be a new prototype they’re testin’.”

The older man let out a deep breath, “Ya could be right but they sure are coming in fast and low over the town. People won’t like that when they’re sleepin’.”

“Another example of how our military doesn’t care about its citizens!”

More cheers rang out.

The jets splintered in different directions and moved fast. They shot up nearly vertically, flipped over and dived at speed towards the ground. The first plane let off a flash of dark purple light that arced down to earth and after a few seconds, it exploded in a brilliant bright ball that completely destroyed the building it hit and sent shockwaves over the others.

“Shit.”

“What the fuck was that?” Pamela said in a frightened tone.

The rest of the jets followed suit and dropped their bombs on targets in the town, the place was ablaze quickly and plumes of dark smoke billowed into the air, occasionally joined by the dazzling purple explosions.

The group of students and protesters did not know what to do, they were all in shock and the blood started to leave their extremities as their brains decided to either fight, or run.

One of the jets screamed overhead, and then turned sharply to face the large gathering of stunned people.

Pamela felt a shiver run down her spine and she dragged Steve away from the group of astonished onlookers and pushed him to the floor.

The air in between the plane and the people filled with a deadly stream of fire as the pink plasma rained down on the helpless students. The air crackled and sizzled as the superheated projectiles struck all around.

The Protesters had no chance and nowhere to run, they started to fall like flies as they were struck by the plasma, men and women fell to the floor, some of their charred bodies burnt where they lay. The sweet, unpleasant smell of burnt human flesh and hair overpowered the area.

As the jet went overhead a few of the surviving protesters saw their opportunity to make a run for it, Pamela begged them to stay down but they were far too frightened. They ran as fast as they could but the jet had turned around for its second strafing run.

Pamela watched as her friends, innocent people were struck down; they screamed in agony as they were burnt or bled to death, it was a nightmare.

Pamela and Steve were the only two survivors and they stayed hidden under the bloody corpses of their friends, bearing the almost unbearable stench of burning humans; they both wept.

The sound of explosions continued in Dayton, the residents screamed, shouted, prayed and ran in any direction they could but the enemies ground forces had arrived.

Ancestry

In the sleepy town of Dayton, the horror was just beginning to dawn on the terrified population. The local police station had been destroyed in a huge blast, the surrounding buildings were burning husks.

A group of huge tanks rumbled around the outskirts of the town and were under orders to kill anything that tried to run. Smaller, quicker tanks were flanked by huge numbers of soldiers in dark full body armor, they moved through the suburban streets; the soldiers began to force everyone from their homes.

Men women and children of all ages were lined up on the pavement and ordered to stand there until they were processed.

Curtis Taylor stood quietly and surveyed the situation as he was pulled from his home, a forty-four-year-old Dayton man born and bred. He worked in the National Museum of the United States Air Force; Dayton was the birthplace of Orville Wright, one of the brothers to pioneer flight. He was widely celebrated here.

Taylor had been in the National Guard and had managed to smuggle a loaded pistol in his dressing gown. As one of the soldiers walked passed Taylor went to ask what was going on. The soldier responded by punching Curtis in the face, he stumbled backward from the blow.

“What was that for, he did not do anything!” Roland Walker said, Roland was Taylor’s elderly neighbor who ran the local grocery store.

The soldier turned and checked the old man over, he walked up to him and pulled him into the middle of the road, Roland’s wife screamed and began to cry as she tried in vain to keep her grip on her husband’s wrist. The soldier pushed Roland over onto the hard tarmac and then turned and slapped Norma Walker forcefully across the face.

The armor-clad soldier strode up behind Roland, placed the barrel of his gun to his head and without a moment’s hesitation, fired. The superheated round flew through the old man’s skull and the bubbling blood splattered over the dry tarmac.

Norma let out a devastating wail, Curtis tried to stop her but it was too late and she raced forwards towards the Soldier, he did not turn around. Norma had barely managed to get off the sidewalk before a hail of plasma round struck her, they hosed down her chest and torso, and she hit the floor and managed one last painful breath before she died. Norma’s smoldering body ignited slowly as her hair began to burn.

“This is what happens if you cannot follow orders.” One of the soldiers said in a deep tone.

Anyone who tried to fight back as they were pulled from their homes was killed instantly and remorselessly. Similarly anyone who mentioned human rights and swift American retaliation was shot on the spot. Finally, the population of Dayton was subdued.

The second phase now began. A man in full black body armor approached a cowering family stood out on the sidewalk; the man who was African American had not had time to get dressed and was out in the chilly morning air, completely naked. His wife and young child, stood behind him.

Glen King was a bank manager these days but had once served with Curtis in the National Guard, he was thirty-seven and had a young family with a beautiful child with his white wife.

The Soldier approached Glen and grabbed his wrist, a needle pierced Glen’s skin. The needle was attached to a small metal device that had a screen that after several seconds showed various readouts. The message flashed red.

The soldier smiled, he turned and nodded to his colleagues behind him, who dragged Glen away from his family and forced him into the back of an armored transport, they sedated him and the threw him into the back.

Glen’s wife Helen tried hard to hold her tears back and she subconsciously stood in front of her daughter. The soldier approached and pushed Helen out of the way.

“No!” She screamed as she took a step towards the soldier but his colleagues struck her from behind and then restrained her, but they made sure she could see what was happening.

“What are you going to do to my daughter.” She shouted.

The soldier ignored her and gripped the frightened child. He used the same device, the needle punctured the skin and the child began to cry. The readout took several seconds and again flashed red.

The soldier pulled his pistol from his belt and placed it to the child’s head.

“No! get away from her.” Helen screamed but she was again struck in the head and her vision blurred.

The child went deadly still and a second later a gunshot rang out, the bullet flew forwards and struck the Aryan in his helmet but it bounced clean off. The soldier let the child go who started to run, another shot rang out and bounced off the soldier’s chest armor.

Curtis rattled off another six rounds until his pistol was empty, the turret of the tank in the street swung round and Curtis charged towards the soldiers who were restraining Helen. He took three steps when the tank fired, a superheated ball of light rushed forwards and detonated on the curb next to Curtis, he disappeared in the amazing ball of light.

The Aryan turned to see the child running back towards the house, he took aim and squeezed off one round, it flew true and stuck the child in the back, she fell and never got up again.

Helen was dazed from the last blow but she felt a terrible pain run through her soul, she knew something awful had happened to her little girl; she felt nauseous and threw up on the sidewalk.

The soldier hauled Helen to her feet, he looked into her deep blue eyes. The device pierced her skin and a few seconds later the screen flashed green, it read 94% Nordic DNA.

The Aryan shook his head, “Shame you sullied your heritage and desecrated your body with this sacrilege.” He pushed his gun into her face and pulled the trigger. They threw Helen’s lifeless body to the floor and moved on.

The whole of Dayton was painstakingly processed in this manner. The elderly, young and sick were all disposed of on the spot. The people who were physically fit but were off non-Nordic heritage were sedated and thrown into the back of huge armored vehicles, they were often thrown on top of each other in terribly cramped conditions. A few choked on their own vomit while under sedation.

The residents who were off Nordic descent were treated a little better but were still forced into transports and taken back to Wright Patterson Air Force base where they were to be housed. None of them knew their fate but after witnessing their friends and neighbors being slaughtered, they were not confident of surviving; they prayed to God that their countrymen would be able to liberate them from this unknown evil.

Processing

Pamela lay under the bodies of her friends for a long time, she did not know how long it actually was but it felt an eternity. She felt the warmth leave them and in a couple of extreme cases, rigor mortis had begun to set in. She had never experienced it first hand before but the dead were seldom silent, with all manner of gases escaping their system.

Finally, she plucked up the courage to move, she pushed the bodies off of her and looked around in a daze, the sun was high in the sky now but was being obscured by a thick fog; smoke billowed from Dayton.

Pam checked herself over, she wiped at a splattering of dried blood on her arm but it was stuck firm, apart from a few small gashes on her face and arms from falling she was ok. She knew she had to worry about shock and needed to keep warm.

Pamela had gone into survival mode, she did not think of the rights or wrongs of what she was doing, she just did it. The young lady stumbled around and started to collect clothes off of the dead, she took socks and a coat that had only a small bloodstain; she salvaged what she could.

Steven was still cowering under a pile of bodies, he had his eyes shut and was quietly mumbling to himself. He was covered in muck and blood, he tried hard to imagine he was somewhere else. Pamela tried unsuccessfully to drag him out but he stubbornly stayed where he was, his body was a dead weight.

Pamela tried desperately to reason with her causal lover but he would not listen, he just stayed under cover and wept quietly. He was in no state to move.

“I have a horrible feeling Steve that they might search this area for survivors, I am going to go and raise the alarm. I can’t stay here with you… Steve can you hear me? I am going now. Stay safe.” She kissed his dirt-caked hand and then began to walk away from the carnage. She was gripped by a steely determination that those bastards were going to pay for their crimes.

Steven had drifted into an uneasy sleep that was plagued by nightmarish images of all of his friends being killed. He could hear their voices, but they were muffled like he was inside a casket.

Steven woke with a jump as the voices and footsteps in his head grew louder, he lay there, still covered by the corpses of his two friends and started to weep again.

The voices grew louder, the bodies to his left were kicked and moved slightly, the footsteps were all around him, he was not dreaming. The armor-clad soldiers were checking every single body to make sure they were actually dead; they kicked, punched and even shot at some of the bodies. The only noise was the groaning of escaping gas.

Steven started to panic, he had nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. He just had to stay still and pray that he was not discovered. The body of a middle-aged woman that lay directly on top of him was unceremoniously removed, it was kicked once and then chucked on a pile of other bodies.

The soldiers were stacking the corpses, ready to be moved.

‘What the hell do they want with the dead?’ Steven thought. ‘Will this nightmare never end!’ He tried hard not to scream in terror.

Another body was removed and the brighter light hit Steven’s face, it burnt his eyes through his closed eyelids, tears trickled down his face. Suddenly he felt a terrible pain in the back of his thigh. He tried desperately to hold it all together but as the soldier twisted the blade in his leg, his body trembled and he let out a scream in pure agony.

The soldiers pulled him to his feet, one hit him so forcefully in the stomach that knocked it the wind out of him.

The soldiers held him up while the device was put over his wrist, the needle pierced his skin and he dimly felt the pain. Steven had never felt this much pain before and he actually longed for it to end.

The read-out flashed a dull yellow, 52% Nordic DNA. The soldier laughed and then signaled to a colleague carrying a small metallic case, he opened the case and then they pierced Steven through the neck. He was quickly sedated and thrown onto a flatbed truck; he was led on top of the dead bodies that were to be transported back to Wright Patterson.

Captives

Wright Patterson was a hive of activity, in just thirty hours the base had been reinforced and multiple buildings had sprouted up. The soldiers had been busy; they were resourceful and had taken the materials from the buildings in Dayton. They took concrete, steel girders and any other usable materials.

A lot of the hangers had been converted into holding cells for the growing number of captives. They were separated into Nordic heritage, others and then finally a couple of hangers were being pumped full of freezing air to keep the dead from smelling.

Steven was sat near the front of one of the overcrowded hangers; the man next to him had died a couple of hours earlier after an allergic reaction to the sedative, his expressionless face lay motionless in a pile of sick. The smell had made quite a few of the other captives throw up.

The acorn device was at the center of the base and troops, machines and materials periodically poured out of it, illuminated in a brilliant indigo glow. Tanks of all different sizes gathered near the exit of the base, a large group of troop carriers lined up behind them and the troops moved into them with purpose.

“They are gathering for another offensive.” A young man said.

“What do they want with us?” A voice came from the back.

“Maybe they just want us in here to keep us from causing trouble and they will let us go when they have got what they want.”

A man laughed from near the back of the hanger, “Naïve little girl.” He said.

“Leave her alone, at least she has hope.”

The man shook his head, “Take a look around the base, they have set up a bridgehead, they have set up a strong defense and they have the advantage in technology…” He paused, “We are the slave labor, nothing more. They will work us to death or kill us after, if we manage to survive.”

“You’re wrong!”

“Yeah how the hell do you know?”

The man lowered his head, “My dad was in a German concentration camp during the Second World War, he used to describe the horrors he saw there in great detail. He said many of his friends were worked to death, hardly fed and kept in conditions just like this.”

The hanger went silent.

“I’m sorry.” The man said solemnly.

Steven was in a world of his own; his brain had nearly shut down and he was rocking slightly back and forth. He had not even noticed that a fresh batch of prisoners was being led through the compound.

General Sporrenberg stood just inside the entrance of the freshly built compound; he was generally pleased with the way things were going; although he did have a few concerns as he cast his beady eagle eye over the new captives.

“Advisor A come here!” He ordered.

The tall man with slick blonde hair and a thick blonde mustache slowly marched over to General Sporrenberg. He was wearing the black body armor that the rest of the troops wore but he did not wear a helmet.

“What is it General?” He spoke in a deep, booming voice.

“I have some concerns about the treatment of the Aryan prisoners; they seem to be being treated the same as the scum?”

“With all due respect Sporrenberg until we have the facilities to separate them completely we need to use them as a resource to get the building work completed. We are at a delicate stage of the operation. The population is extremely hostile towards us and it would be wise not to treat them differently until we are in a stronger position.”

Sporrenberg’s features darkened briefly but he nodded. “Yes you are right.”

The general’s features lightened as he spotted something that peaked his interest.

“Stop right there!” He ordered and he marched forwards towards one of the prisoners.

The column halted. Sporrenberg had his hawk-like eyes set on his prey; he walked around the young women in front of him. He placed his gloved hand on her chin and lifted her head; he stared straight into her dark eyes and noticed a fire still burning within them.

Sporrenberg smiled, “Have this one brought to my quarters, have her cleaned before had.”

The two soldiers hesitated, “Sir she is only two percent Nordic.”

Sporrenberg licked his lips, “Just do it!”

The soldiers dragged the women from the line but she dug her heels in and tried to struggle.

“No, get the hell off of me, I won’t do it, I’d rather die!” She shouted.

Steven snapped out of his trance, he would recognize that voice anywhere. He wearily got to his feet and looked out through the bars. To his horror he saw Pamela being led away from the line of prisoners.

“No leave her alone you fuck heads!” He shouted as he started to shake the bars.

“Steve, Steve help me.” She shouted.

Sporrenberg flew off of the handle, “Get that subhuman out of his cell and bring him to me now!” He screamed, his face was scarlet red.

“Get away from the bars.” A man said to Steve but he did not listen.

Two black-clad soldiers pushed their weapons through the bars and ordered all the other captives to stay where they were. Another soldier opened the door and punched Steven in the ribs; he released his grip on the bars.

“Leave him alone!” One of the prisoners shouted.

“Yeah assholes get away from him!”

A group rushed the soldier but they only got a few steps before the other two soldiers opened fire, the rounds flew forwards and struck the onrushing prisoners. The smell of burning flesh spread in the hanger. The men and women who were struck fell to the floor and died almost instantly, the soldiers kept firing and hit a few prisoners that were innocent bystanders.

Steven was dragged out in front of Sporrenberg.

“Turn that woman around.” He ordered, “Make her watch.” He smiled.

Pamela was turned around then restrained; one of the soldiers gripped her head and forced her to look in Sporrenberg’s direction.

The ex-SS General struck Steven in the stomach with a forceful blow, Steven doubled over in pain; the wind was knocked out of him. The soldiers hoisted him to his feet and Sporrenberg struck him again in the same spot, Steven crumpled and tears streamed down his cheeks, he gasped for air as he was hauled to his feet.

“Enough, he’s had enough.” Pamela said sternly.

Sporrenberg smiled, “Had enough has he? Ok I’ll let him be… my pet.”

Steven drew in deep breaths, he weakly looked up just in time to see Sporrenberg pull out his pistol from his hip, place it on his forehead and pull the trigger. The purple round flew through the man’s skull, the exit wound cauterized around the edges, while blood spattered the tarmac.

Pamela dropped her head and clamped her eyes closed tightly; she tried to hold back the tears but failed. Sporrenberg walked up to her and slapped her hard around the face.

“I want her ready in my room in twenty minutes.” He ordered.

“Sporrenberg, aren’t you forgetting something?” His Advisor asked him. “You need to be ready for your performance… You can play with your toy afterward.” The disgust in his voice was hard to ignore.

Anger once again flashed across the General’s face for the briefest of moments.

“Yes you’re right my aid, work before pleasure.” He smiled and he strode off towards his quarters.

“Aid, get my clean uniform ready for me.”

“Yes General.” Advisor A said and then shook his head.

Blackbird

An air force technician waited in a sparse meeting room for his superior officer. The room was a small rectangular box with two wooden chairs and a small wooden coffee stained table, a single small glass of water was placed in front of the technician.

Finally, a man in a pristine uniform strode in and placed a large cardboard folder on the table. The man, who had thinning grey hair flicked open the folder and had a quick skim read through the last three pages.

He sighed, “Ok Airman you requested this meeting, please enlighten me to the reason why my trainees were transferred to Wright Patterson in the first place?”

The technician picked up the glass of water and took a nervous swing, his hands were shaking.

“Sir, a request for the trainees to be transferred to Wright Patterson was approved two months ago to work on a black ops project…”

“What project?” The older man snapped.

“With all due respect Sir, I am unable to release the details to you.”

The older man snarled, “Listen here you piece of shit, my trainees should be working with NASA for the next moon landing missions, nothing is more important than that.” The man leaned over and poked the technician firmly in the chest, “So you will tell me everything, unless you want to spend the rest of your life cleaning toilets!”

The technician shrugged, “Sir I called you’re here because we have lost contact with the base, the trainees’ handler should have filed his report four hours ago. We tried to contact him and then when we received no answer we tried to contact the base but we can’t raise anybody.”

The senior officer sat back in his chair, “Nobody in the whole of Wright Patterson is answering?”

The technician shook his head.

“What was going on there that has made you so adamant that you refuse to answer my questions?”

The technician let a nervous smile slip, “I’m not worried about telling you sir, I’m worried about those guys stood at the door.” He nodded to the cloudy glass door behind him.

The officer looked behind him, stood behind the door were two blurry figures in dark clothing. The two figures opened the door and stood in the doorway.

The officer reacted angrily; he rose and strode toward the two men.

“I don’t know who you are or how you got here but I am getting security to lock you up, this is a serious security breach.”

The two men smiled in unison and then spoke, “Lieutenant colonel Crichton please calm down, the security teams are well aware of our presence, now please take a seat. This is a matter of great importance and we share your concern about your trainees.” The two men gestured for him to take a seat.

The Lieutenant colonel suddenly felt his desire to argue flow away, he felt dazed, like he was in a kind of strange dream. He mumbled something as he sat down and stared at the table.

“Thank you for understanding Crichton.” The two men locked their eyes onto the technician, even though they were wearing sunglasses, the technician could still feel their burning eyes.

“Technician Black, thank you for your help, you are dismissed.”

The technician rose and quickly left the room, he turned left out of the door and passed the two expressionless security guards who were stood motionless.

“As you must know by now Lieutenant colonel what we are about to discuss is above top secret, you will need to sign this disclosure document, you must never discuss this with anybody, ever.”

Crichton did not look up but he nodded slowly. The document and a pen were placed in front of him and he blindly signed it.

“Ok, we have lost contact with our scientist at Wright Patterson Air Force base; their last communication with us was thirty-four hours ago and despite our repeated attempts… we have received no response.”

The two men in black paced up and down the tiny room, “We are very concerned as we have a very important asset there and we need to know what the situation is, and as we cannot raise any members of staff at Wright Patterson we need your help.”

Lieutenant colonel Crichton looked up; a foggy look swirled in his eyes. “How can I help you?”

A haunting smile formed on the two men in black faces, Crichton felt a shiver pulse down his spine, there was something badly wrong with these men but he could not place his finger on it.

“We understand you have an SR-71 based here, we need you to fly a reconnaissance flight over the base. Take a variety of pictures and then return those pictures to us straight away. The pilots are to be told it is a training mission.”

Crichton did not respond, he just focused on the table.

“Do you understand?”

Crichton solemnly nodded.

One of the men in black suits placed his hand on Crichton’s shoulder, “Good give the order. Put your best pilots on this task. We will accompany you for the full duration of this mission.”

Crichton nodded.

The sky was darker at the edge of space, the light blue merged into ever darker shades of blue until the area above was black and the stars were clearly visible. The two pilots were too busy checking various readouts in the cramped conditions; the pilots wore full orange colored spacesuits, at this extreme altitude every precaution was taken to keep the two men alive. The second pilot had just finished the reconnaissance equipment check.

They were reaching a crucial part of the mission; they had to descend from eighty thousand feet to twenty-five thousand and slow down substantially from the Mach 3.2 that they were currently traveling, three times the speed of sound so that they could link up with the KC-135 air to air refueling tanker. They two pilots had done this many times but they were still nervous as the SR-71 was always a temperamental bird to refuel.

Through careful coordination the SR-71 slide in behind the tanker and after a few tense moments they managed to connect the fuel line. The Blackbird was harder to control at lower altitudes and the pilot had to fight against the aircraft stalling, he only required one of his two afterburners to be lit.

The refueling was as a success, Roy Love the lead pilot thanked the tanker pilot and the pushed the afterburners to full as he rose the nose and began the quick return to FL800. The sleek, slender Blackbird was as sexy as a machine could ever possibly be; Roy was proud to be associated with the SR-71 program.

The aircraft itself was painted a dark blue, almost black color, hence its blackbird nickname. The plane looked more like a spaceship out of the wildest science fiction novel, with its slender, angled fuselage and huge engines mounted on the delta wings at the rear of the aircraft. The long arrow shape and various angles caused the blackbird to have a greatly reduced radar signature.

Twenty minutes had elapsed since the refuel when the SR-71 reached the designated target. The two pilots got ready to complete their training mission.

“Clear skies over target Devon.” Ray said to his co-pilot.

“Roger that, cameras are all green, let’s get this done.”

The blackbirds sophisticated surveillance equipment started its job; it took detailed images of the towns surrounding Wright Patterson. The images showed smoke still rising from Dayton. The pilots were concentrating hard at the job at hand.

They moved over Wright Patterson Air Force base itself.

“Not sure how this training benefits us.”

“Maybe they have some new tracking system they want to test, don’t reckon this has anything to do with us Roy mate.” Devon said, his space helmet masked his smile.

Roy chuckled.

A slight bit of turbulence buffeted the SR-71, causing Roy to focus completely on the flying of his bird.

“God sake Roy, I’m trying to kip back ere.” Devon said.

Roy shook his head with a smile on his face.

Suddenly they were rocked by another bit of turbulence but this time it was harder to keep control. Roy heard a loud clapping sound, it reminded him of thunder but it could not be, as the skies were clear for miles and he had never witnessed a storm in the stratosphere.

Roy was thinking hard to work out what the hell was going on when a bright line of light streaked passed him, it split into several jagged directions and crackled loudly.

“Shit, did you see that Roy is that lightning?”

“It can’t be!” Roy responded.

The plane lost a bit of altitude as the turbulence washed over it again, another loud clap of thunder rang out again.

“Time to get out of here Devon.” Roy said calmly.

The sky was still cloudless but streams of sheet lightning filled the sky, the forks split and seemed to reach out towards the blackbird, they raced towards it and exploded all around it.

Inside the cockpit the pilots were becoming increasingly concerned, it felt like the aircraft was going to shake apart and even though they had not actually been hit by any of the lightning yet; they felt like the electricity was following them.

“Roy?”

“I know, this is like nothing I have ever seen before! How can it be tracking us?”

“Devon get on to the base, if this is a new weapon they need to make it stop.” Roy ordered.

Devon thumped his control console, “All external communications are down.”

“Fuck.” Roy said.

Roy was thinking on his feet, he felt the shockwave from the last thunder clap and seeing as he could not accelerate away from it he decided to put the nose down and dive into the lightning, hoping to get below it.

As the blackbird dove the two pilots could see waves of indigo light race skywards, the lightning fingers billowed outwards then impossibly swerved back in towards the aircraft, trying to consume it.

Roy pushed hard on the control stick; the SR-71 was never designed for this type of flying, the blackbird narrowly avoided the vicious storm, he rolled the aircraft to the left, using all his experience as a fighter pilot. As the lightning streaked passed the right wing, the crackling of the superheated air washed over the aircraft, the temperature inside rose considerably; Roy began to sweat under the pressure.

A large ball of purple light raced skywards, followed by another one and then another one until the sky was completely filled with sheet lightning and strange balls of light; they started to home in on the blackbird.

Roy tried desperately to quickly change the direction of his aircraft, suddenly the right wing was struck by lightning, and the plane rocked as the tip of the wing erupted in a shower of sparks.

“Shit we’re in trouble Devon.” Roy said, “I’m struggling to keep her in the air.”

Another large fork of bright light hit the left wing, it splintered and the left engine caught fire. Power quickly dropped from the engine, warning sirens rang out in the cockpit.

“Fire in engine two.” Devon yelled out.

“Shut it down!” Roy shouted. He was busy trying to keep the aircraft from going into a spin.

The balls of superheated light rushed towards the ailing blackbird, they seemed to change direction and pick up speed as they closed in. The first ball impacted on the aircraft’s right wing, it exploded and was sheared clean off.

The explosion hit the blackbird and it started to spin wildly.

“This is it!” Roy yelled, “I have no control.”

Devon did not have time to respond as a further two orbs smashed into the fuselage, the cockpit section separated away from the main fuselage and started to fall earthwards. Devon struggled to look back, he saw the rear section of the aircraft detonate into hundreds of pieces, seconds later two orbs of violet light collided with the falling cockpit section; the two pilots were instantly vaporized.

Control

The mission control room was stunned into silence, despite repeated attempts to reestablish contact with the SR-71 mission; the crew could not be raised. The two men in black stood and took everything in from the rear of the room.

The men in black asked for a timeline of events and exactly where the aircraft had disappeared, they were not surprised when it was estimated to be directly over Wright Patterson.

“Thank you everyone, you have been very helpful.” The right-hand man threw down a report.

“Read this please.” They spoke in unison, “This is the official report on the events of today. The aircraft was on a routine training mission when it encountered engine problems. Despite the best efforts of the pilots the aircraft would not recover. We will conduct a thorough and detailed investigation.” The two men in black surveyed the room. “This is what you will tell the families and the inevitable press interest, as per usual there is to be no mention of the SR-71.”

The room stayed deathly quiet, “Do you understand.” The two men said.

Everyone in the room nodded.

“Good.” The men in black said and then they clicked their fingers. The door behind them burst open and Airforce guards streamed in, some pointed their guns at the air force personnel while the others began removing computers and files; the records of the mission were being confiscated.

“Thank you for your cooperation and hard work today. We know it has been tough, we will take it from here, please do not worry.” The two men in black said in a dead monotone voice. After this they closed the door and promptly disappeared.

The mission over Wright Patterson never existed and not one person in that control room wanted to discuss the day’s events, in fact they were intimidated into silence.

Rolling Thunder

Brooklyn Jnr and the other navy flyboys had become increasingly bored on the long voyage home but thankfully it was now drawing to a close. In a day or two, they would be able to set foot on dry land once again.

Brooklyn was still pining for Pamela and had become very despondent as his letters remained unanswered but he knew that Pam was on the road with other protesters. His mom had confirmed this to him in her last letter and she was sure that Pam would send her next address as soon as she knew it.

In hard times Brooklyn Jnr always looked for guidance from his father, he lay in his bunk and talked to the only picture he had of them together, his dads beaming smile always managed to brighten his day. Brooklyn smiled and chatted to his dad as much as he could and it always strengthened his resolve, he was going to be the best he could be and keep making his dad damn proud.

A news report flickered on the small television in the background, it was running a story about a power outage in the Dayton area and that the National Guard was being sent in as a calming presence. This was because the locals were becoming restless and some of the violent.

The reporter changed the story to more anti-war protesters in New York, the police had intervened and fired tear gas into the crowd, this had escalated the tension and five people had been injured.

Brooklyn paid no attention to the news broadcast and soon he fell asleep in his small bunk.

Hawk

The National Guard was on route to Dayton Ohio, they had been briefed that the mission was classified above top secret and they all been forced to sign non-disclosure documents. They had been told that contact in Dayton had been lost, it was probably just a power outage but they had been no contact with local law enforcement and the Commander in charge had stressed to the men that they must be ready for anything.

The men of the National guard were fully kitted out with M-16’s assault rifles and were now riding in relative style as fourteen of them were stuffed into each single turboshaft engine Bell UH-1H Iroquois ‘Huey’ helicopter. The two pilots were busy chatting away to their fellow Huey pilots.

Ten of these Huey helicopters sped in low, just above the treetops at around 125 mph, they were spread out in a tight line. They were flying like they were in a live combat zone.

“Hey Stevie, you got any idea what is going on?”

“Not a clue bud, fucking adrenaline is pumping though!”

“Ye-ha all we need is some rock music and this would be a helluva party!”

Sergeant Phelps shook his head, “Will you guys shut it before I put my boot in your ass.”

The helicopters started to pick up altitude quickly.

“ETA four minutes.” The flight leader announced, “hold on back there.” He added.

The Huey’s rose to ten thousand feet, then leveled out. The pilots scoped out the area.

“Where is all the traffic?”

The second pilot shrugged, “Can’t see any movement, there is the odd plume of black smoke coming from the side of the road.”

“Strange, we will stay on mission.”

The Huey’s carried on towards Dayton in their tight string formation, the chopper pilots were well versed in this tactic after having a tour of Vietnam under their belts. They checked the instruments and their bearings.

“ETA three minutes.” The pilot said.

A deafening bang caught the pilot off guard, and then a streak of bright purple lightning crackled less than five foot from the cockpit. The air temperature rose slightly.

“Shit!” The co-pilot shouted, “Were we due a thunderstorm?”

“No!.. The weather report was clear.”

Turbulence rocked the Huey’s and the pilots struggled to stay in formation as further claps of thunder rocked the air stability. The third Huey in the formation housed a national news reporter and his cameraman. The film crew was present on the orders of the men in black. The cameraman was filming through the open side door.

Another flash of powerful lightning raced skywards, like a homing missile it streaked towards the formation of American helicopters. The second chopper in the formation was hit full on its right-hand side, the pilot swore as sparks flew and a couple of the men inside were hit by the superheated energy, they fell to the floor; one screamed in agony as his arm was badly burnt. The second man was not breathing.

Brilliant violet orbs of light flew skywards and seemed to move towards the helicopters, the pilots of the fourth helicopter in the line were too busy watching the drama unfold in front of him to notice the orbs accelerate towards them. Two orbs smashed into the belly of the helicopter, they melted the metal of the fuselage and then detonated; the chopper exploded into three parts and other pieces were completely vaporized.

“Shit shit shit… Hawk four down, repeat Hawk four is down.”

“Fuck.”

The command room went quiet, a technician turned to the men stood at the back of the room.

The two men nodded to him, “Stay on mission please.” The two figures dressed in black suits declared in unison.

The orbs continued in ever-increasing waves, lightning flashed all across the sky, thunder clapped in an almost otherworldly volume. The last clap caused the glass in the cockpit to splinter and crack in a deep spider webbed formation.

The second Huey was hit by lightning again which seemed to act as a signal for the orbs of light to home in on, the orbs accelerated and they became a blur, seconds later they impacted on the helpless chopper. Four or five balls of superheated light smashed into it and the helicopter was instantly obliterated; all inside were completely vaporized.

“Fuck it, Hawk flight hit the deck, I repeat aim for the deck.” Flight leader Franklin Paul shouted. He Threw the control stick forward, the Huey started to dive nose first’ the other Huey’s of Hawk flight followed suit.

Not a single patch of the sky seemed to be clear, the helicopters looked like they were diving into hell as the sky was on fire with thousands of sparks of purple lightning spreading in all directions.

“What the hell is this stuff?”

“Never have seen anything like this in my life!”

“Evasive action!” Franklin shouted.

What seemed like hundreds of orbs of light race towards them, Hawk one and three managed to avoid the first wave but Hawk five flew head first into a streak of lightning, the cockpit burst into flames; the pilots screamed briefly before the intercom died completely.

Franklin Paul looked over his shoulder to see the smoldering wreckage of Hawk five spinning towards the ground, the fire started to spread and several of the men inside tried to jump out of the open door.

“Hawk one to base, we have lost three birds, repeat we have lost three birds. Permission to bug out?”

There was a pause, “Permission denied Hawk one, get your men on the ground ASAP.”

“This is insane.” Hawk one said.

Another pause, “Watch your tone Hawk one, advisors to the White House themselves are listening to this.”

The seven remaining Huey’s raced towards the ground.

“Prepare for dust off,” Franklin shouted this was the signal for the men inside to get ready to exit the choppers.

Hawk seven narrowly avoided three orbs, the co-pilot checked over his shoulder and to his disbelief, the orbs changed direction and speed towards the Huey.

“No fucking way…” Was all the co-pilot managed to say before the orbs impacted into Hawk seven, the rear of the helicopter disintegrated, the pilots managed to cut off the communications so the others did not have to listen to the men’s screams; a jagged bolt of lightning cut into the front of Hawk seven and the remnants of aircraft exploded into a hundred shard of metal that rained from the sky.

Hawk nine had seen enough and broke from the formation, the pilot put the helicopter into full throttle; they crew tried to get to 135 mph as soon as they could. The lightning raced out towards the lone chopper in an attempt to smother it before it could escape.

The rest of Hawk flight had reached the deck, the helicopters hovered just above the ground, the National Guard soldiers had to jump; Hawk flight was not hanging around.

A bright projectile of superheated light leaped out and flew true towards the vulnerable helicopters. It impacted on Hawk six and sheared clean through the rotor blades, they split into pieces, the explosive blossom from the round spread outwards and the helicopter shattered; sending hundreds of pieces of shrapnel in a three hundred and sixty-degree arc. The soldiers had nowhere to go and were peppered by the pieces of hot metal.

“Man down, man down!”

“Medic.”

The remaining men jumped out of the choppers as quickly as they could, they flung themselves to the deck to avoid any incoming fire. Hawk’s one and three lifted away and accelerated as quickly as they could.

Hawk eight was still dropping off troops when another flash of purple light raced out from the distance, it flew passed the rear of the Huey; the air sizzled in anger.

“Shit, that was close!” The pilot shouted. He looked over his shoulder and when he saw that the last man was clear he pulled the stick back and powered up into the sky.

Another three rounds sprang out towards the climbing aircraft, the first one clipped the bottom skidpad, the metal melted and buckled under the strain of the heat but the round did not explode, the second round hit the tail portion of the aircraft and tore it right off, smoke trailed from the Huey as it went into a spin. Alarms sounded in the cockpit as the pilots lost control.

The reporter that had accompanied the National Guard had his head in his hands as he lay sobbing on the floor, the cameraman was crouched down and caught the final moments of Hawk eight as it span into the turf, the helicopter hit hard but did not explode; the pilot was killed instantly on impact but his co-pilot only suffered a broken pelvis and bad lacerations to his head.

Hawk ten lifted clear of the carnage and raced away as low to the ground as possible, it desperately followed Hawk’s one and three.

“Has anyone got sight of the enemy?” Sergeant Roderick asked.

“Negative sir.”

“We can’t see shit sir, whatever it is… It seems more interested in the choppers.”

“Get a defensive perimeter set up, we need to take stock of the situation so I want everyone to check ammo, go.” Sergeant Roderick ordered.

Hawk nine had stopped responding to radio calls and was busy trying desperately to avoid the glowing orbs that homed in on it with unnerving accuracy. Thunder rocked all around them, shortly followed by the violet lightning flashes. The pilots ignored all of this and raced further away from their mission.

Finally, the thunder dulled, the lightning seemed to retreat like an eel returning to its cave after striking out at prey, the orbs stopped following the Huey and just appeared to float aggressively on the spot. The pilot let out a sigh of relief as he wiped beads of sweat from his face.

A stream of superheated light spat out in a long line towards Hawk nine, the pilot managed to bank slightly to the left and avoid most of the rounds, a few hit the right-hand side of the fuselage and burnt large black holes out of the metal.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” The pilot shouted.

His co-pilot let out a cry and pointed to their left, “Passing us eleven o’clock high.”

Two fighter jets roared passed in standard formation, they were a dark grey color and appeared not to have any insignia on their short stubby wings, each wing housed one engine that glowed a radiant purple.

“Who the hell are those guys? You see where they went Mitch?”

The co-pilot struggled to look over his shoulder, he caught the fighters just as they rolled inverted then came up behind the Huey.

“They’re right on our six, get us out of here!”

The pilot began weaving the Huey left and right in a totally desperate attempt to shake off the hostile jet fighters.

The led fighter slowed his aircraft down and eased into the perfect firing position, the pilot waited for a harsh beeping sound to ring in his ear and then pulled the trigger. An arrow of bright pink light arced forward and rushed towards the helpless helicopter, the round flew straight and true and impacted on the main body of the Huey; it detonated in a brilliant white light and the American helicopter was blasted out of the sky.

The fighters banked in a sharp right turn and raced after the last three Huey’s.

Living fossil

The cameraman swung his hefty lens around, trying desperately to track the two fast moving jets but they streaked by and were out of sight in the blink of an eye.

Suddenly all hell broke loose, bright streams of purple fire washed over the area, the air sizzled and cracked, the men laid flat, hugging the ground as best they could as the rounds burnt and scorched the area all around them.

“Where is that coming from?” A young soldier shouted.

“From in front of us, we need to lay down some covering fire!” Sergeant Roderick said, “We need to get to that burnt out service station, give us some shelter and somewhere to mount a viable defense.”

“What about the wounded, we can’t risk moving them.” The medic shouted as he applied another dressing to steam the bleeding.

The whole area seemed to be alive with angry purple fireflies; they filled the air and peppered the limited cover that the National Guard had. The men tried to return fire whenever they could but the volume of incoming fire kept them from getting any coordinated resistance going.

“Lay down a couple of smoke grenades, once they provide us with cover we are going to make a dash for that closed restaurant. Don’t argue, we are going to have to move the wounded.”

The medic nodded but he did not seem too pleased with Rodrick’s plan.

“Ok now!” The Sergeant shouted as he got to one knee and fired a couple of bursts down range. The fire focused on him long enough that his team managed to throw three smoke grenades.

Rodrick dived to the floor as the luminous rounds filled the air that he had just vacated milliseconds before, he let out a scream as the uniform on his shoulder started to burn; a single round had scraped him on the very top of his shoulder.

“You lucky bastard,” Jones said to him, he crawled over and checked the wound. It had burnt itself closed and did not bleed. Jones gave his Sergeant the thumbs up.

The smoke billowed out and gave the men some much-needed shelter, they ran for it, the wounded were put on stretchers where possible but many were just thrown over the retreating men’s shoulders.

Large glowing projectiles cut through the smoke and detonated on the area where the men had been just a few seconds earlier, it was completely vaporized and shards of heated rock flew into the air.

More and more rounds flew blindly through the smoke but miraculously none of the men were hit. They got into the ruins of the restaurant and immediately took up positions where they could provide defensive fire; Sergeant Roderick finished the sweep of the building.

“Clear!” he shouted.

“We have to get out of here sir, we can’t compete with the firepower they have!”

“Who are we even up against, I ain’t ever seen anything like it?”

Roderick sighed, his men were right they were in over their heads. “Alright.” He said, “Get on the radio; we need some support or an evac.”

“Yes, Sir.” The radio operator said.

“Sir!”

“What now private?”

“Look through the smoke, there… and another one.”

“Shit,” Roderick muttered.

Through the clearing smoke, the ominous figure of a tank appeared, followed by another and then another. They appeared to be large battle tanks.

The cameraman was still filming and got a good shot. The reporter still cowered at the back of the restaurant, his eyes firmly clamped shut.

The three tanks came into view, their shape was familiar. “Can’t be!” Roderick said.

“What is it sir?”

Roderick shook his head, “They look like Tiger I’s but they can’t be.”

“Are you saying they are German Tiger tanks? “

The first tank’s gun swiveled slightly, the barrel pulsed a furious purple and while the machine was still moving, it fired. The round flew forwards and sliced through the front of the roof; it exploded and a ball of superheated light expanded. The front of the roof disintegrated.

The technician back at the base turned to his superior officers, “They are requested immediate fire support or Evac? They are in the shit Sir’s!”

The two men in black shook their heads; they were focused on the images of the tanks in front of them.

“Tell them we need as much Intel on what we are up against as possible. We regret there is no fire support available at the moment.”

The technician looked at them in horror; he looked at his Commander who just nodded. “Do as they ask.”

The radio operator threw down the receiver in disgust, he turned to the Sergeant, “We’re on our own sir, the bastards have sold us out. They want Intel, are they fucking mad!”

Another round shook the building, the right-hand wall collapsed inwards; a cloud of dust washed across the men.

The Tiger tanks continued to fire and move; they were followed by an ever growing amount of soldiers in black-clad armor. The National Guardsmen returned fire as best they could but it was clear they were outnumbered and they had nowhere to run.

“We are not combat effective; we have to defend this position.” Sergeant Roderick said as he fired a control burst towards the enemy soldiers.

The third Tiger tank fired, its round went into the heart of the building. The round exploded and a wave of purple washed over three of the men; instantly they ceased to exist.

The cameraman had survived but he was temporarily blinded by the intense blast, he stumbled around trying to get his bearings. An intense pain burst through his chest, he dropped the camera as he clutched at the wound; he could not see but he could feel a warm liquid seeping across his hand and he could taste the bitter taste of copper in his mouth.

The camera bounced one on the floor, it was still filming but the view was quickly obstructed by something falling in front of its lens. Another blast of intense light washed over the camera and then the live feed was cut off.

Broadcast

The silence around the room was palpable, the monitors showing the television broadcast now just showed a blizzard of white, grey and black swarming across the screen. The TV station that was showing the live report did not know how to react to the coverage that they had just witnessed.

The men in black had seen enough, they were busy organizing a meeting with the President and his closest advisors. They made a couple of calls and after patiently demanding an urgent meeting; they finally got what they wanted.

The two men turned to the rest of the room and placed down beige colored folders in front of everyone present.

“Please read the information contained in this document, it is vital you understand it. This will brief you on how to handle the outcomes of what you have witnessed today. The public will know soon enough but you are not to speak to anybody about this under any circumstances. Is that clear?” They chimed in unison.

The people in the room did not speak but managed only to nod slowly.

“Good, you have all done well.” The men in black said blandly as they went to the leave the room.

The monitors in the room snapped to life and the camera zoomed onto the face of a very stern looking man with beady black eyes. The man wore a dark black cap with a silver skull and bones logo and a large eagle holding a swastika that caught the sunlight and glinted into the camera lens.

“What the hell, who the hell is that?” One of the technicians shouted.

The men in black turned back and looked at the figure on the screen, their faces were emotionless apart from a flicker of a smile that lasted less than a second.

The man on the TV looked into the camera as a smile formed over his sinister face.

“Good morning America and what a wonderful morning it is indeed.” The man said in good English despite his thick German accent.

“I know you will be wondering who I am and why am I speaking to you, that will be explained in due course but first I have something to show you.”

The image of the man disappeared and was replaced with a chilling scene. The camera panned over the bodies of American soldiers; a lot of the bodies were badly burned while others had a look of fear and pain imprinted on their cold looking faces.

“Early this morning these men were sent to attack us, our forces responded quickly and without mercy.” The German narrated.

“Shit.” One of the technicians in the control room said, “That’s the National Guard we sent in!”

“Shh.” The men in black responded.

The screen changed back to the man proudly wearing the SS uniform.

“All military actions against us will be met with the same result, overwhelming and unrelenting force, there will be no mercy.” The man’s expressions changed into what looked like an evil grimace. “The general population should not resist our requests; it would be unwise to do so.”

President Nixon rushed into the emergency meeting room where his military advisors were sat waiting for him; they were all fixated with the television broadcast. Nixon took his seat.

“How long has this been going on for?” He growled.

“Three minutes.”

“Where is this broadcast coming from and has anyone confirmed its authenticity?”

“Working on it Sir.”

Nixon shook his head and just watched.

“This is the beginning of a wonderful new era; today we are laying the foundations for the only true master race to take their rightful place as rulers of the world. Those foundations were wrongfully destroyed and desecrated two decades ago.” The man spat onto the floor.

He then sighed.

“Some of this was our fault, our leadership fell under the curse of drugs and fucked themselves over into oblivion but you, you were the ones who violated our land and destroyed our people.” The anger was clear in the man’s voice but he quickly calmed down and began to smile again.

“Well now America you will feel what we felt, you will be helpless as our forces overrun your land and you will witness the Reich rising again, the flames from this phoenix will destroy the vermin that have been allowed to populate every corner of society.”

The man looked directly into the camera, his piercing dark eyes narrowed, “While I have been addressing you our forces have finished taking all of your land-based nuclear weapons facilities. We are aware of your nuclear submarines but you will not use them on your own country. If you do we will have no problem turning your entire infested country into a nuclear wasteland that will never recover.”

Nixon turned to his advisors, “Is this true?”

The military advisors tried to contact the nuclear bases but none of them responded.

“Sir we cannot raise any of the bases.”

“Shit, keep trying!” Nixon shouted, “And for the love of god get this fucking broadcast shut down, the last thing we need is mass panic!”

“We are trying Sir but it seems like it is on every channel, we can’t get it off of the air.”

Nixon slammed his fists down hard on the table.

The images changed from the broadcast and showed full bodied armored soldiers with guns at multiple nuclear facilities in the United States. In the center of the soldiers was American serviceman that had been restrained.”

The German started to narrate once more, “Let us be clear America, this Country is ours and just to make sure you completely understand the gravity of your situation. Fire.”

The soldiers in the images raised their weapons and opened fire in a blaze of pink light; the rounds tore into the helpless people and their bodies slumped to the floor, blackened by the intense heat.

“Have a good day, Commander Sporrenberg out.”

The screens went black.

There was a stunned silence in the emergency room in the White House. Similarly, the room where the men in black stood was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. The technicians held back tears.

The men in black spoke briefly. “Gentleman we are at war. Get something to eat and some rest but stay on call. We are going to need all the help we can get.”

The men in black left the room and promptly disappeared.

The room exploded in a round of applause.

“Our new Commander, wonderful speech Sporrenberg, just fantastic.”

Sporrenberg turned to face the man, “Thank you advisor, I am going to my room now. Do not disturb me for a while; I trust you can handle the inevitable backlash?”

Sporrenberg failed to notice the spark of intense disgust and fury that was on his advisors face that lasted less than a millisecond.

“Yes Commander that will not be a problem.”

“Good.”

Sporrenberg stormed back to his room and dismissed the guard from outside the door. As the former SS man entered his room he was pleased to see the gift waiting for him on his bed. Pamela was handcuffed to the bedposts, she had been cleaned up and was just wearing a slim white thong, and Sporrenberg could see all of her glorious curves in full.

Sporrenberg smiled as he undid his belt and started to wrap it around his knuckles.

“You are not going to enjoy this but don’t worry, at least I am going to enjoy it immensely.”

Pamela did not respond she just looked around the room in a daze; she was unable to focus on anything.

Sporrenberg placed his hand under her chin and force her head upwards, he looked deep into her eyes and smiled.

The men in black

The incident room in the White House was now in full overdrive; military generals had arrived from all the major bases and were busy arguing amongst themselves. Who were they fighting against, where did they come from? How had they taken so many important strategic positions without anybody noticing?

Nixon sat and listened, he was consumed by the man on television, who called himself Commander Sporrenberg. Who was he and why was he wearing an SS uniform?

The room was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Go away, we are not expecting company.” Richard Nixon demanded.

The door swung open and two armed guards entered, they saluted.

“Sir two men are here to see you.”

Nixon flew off the handle, “Are you mad, we are in the middle of the most important meeting to ever happen in these four walls and you two idiots have allowed visitors in here. Get the fuck out. Now!”

Two ghostly voices echoed out in unison, “Mr. President please calm down. We have arrived here with information on the new threat. We have come to assist you.”

“And who the hell are you clowns?” J Edgar Hoover said from his chair near the head of the table. The seventy-four-year-old director of the FBI was said to have real influence over the Nixon administration.

“Mr. Hoover, you know who we are, you have been trying unsuccessfully to track us down for several years now. All you could conclude is that we do exist.”

J Edgar Hoover leaned forward, “It can’t be.”

The rest of the room turned to the aging director.

“Don’t tell me you know who these people are Edgar?” Nixon asked.

“It can’t be them; you guys are the men in black?” Hoover asked in disbelief.

The two men in black entered the room; they placed a beige folder down onto the desk.

“Yes, we are. We don’t have time to explain who were are right now but you are going to listen to and adhere to our advice.”

Nixon felt a strange feeling, he felt somehow distant and light headed. He could not stop himself from letting the two strange men take over the meeting. Nixon sat and listened, unable to resist.

The two men in black took out several photographs and held them up for the room to see.

“The man you saw on Television today is Jakob Sporrenberg; he was the SS-Gruppenführer in Poland, Belarus, and Lublin. He was believed to have been extradited to Poland after the war and executed on the 12th June 1952.”

The second man in black held up the second picture. “However this is the man who was actually hanged. We believe that the SS had their records changed and the man that was executed was actually Captain Berndt Krause.”

Nobody at the table said a word.

“We don’t know where Sporrenberg went after the war but clearly he has been planning his operation meticulously. The forces he has gathered appear to be well trained and are much more technologically advanced than our own forces.”

Chief of staff William Westmoreland shook his head, “Where would a former Nazi get the resources to gather such a force, it doesn’t make sense?”

The men in black showed that awful smirk that they had displayed so many times before.

“We have asked the very same question ourselves but have so far been unable to come up with an answer. What we do know is this:

* They have advanced weaponry that fires superheated energy

* Their soldiers have superior body armor that deflects rounds up to at least .50 caliber

* They appear to have mechanized armor and an air force. We have only seen evidence to suggest a force of jet fighters but it would be wise to assume they also have a bomber force

* We have images of what look like modernized Tiger I tanks, the armor looks thicker and better angled but it definitely is modeled on the Panzerkampfwagen VI Tiger Ausf. E blueprint

* The brief video we collected of the fighter jets show they have the same silhouetted profile as the Me 262 ‘Swallow’ that the Germans pioneered at the end of World War Two

* All the data points towards the epicenter of this attack to be Wright Patterson Air Force base. This is where you are likely to find the most residence and where Sporrenberg will be commanding his forces.”

The people in the room just looked at each other in complete disbelief. They looked down at the pictures that were being passed around the room. After a couple of minutes, Secretary of Defense Melvin ‘Bom’ Laird looked up and from behind the large bags that had formed under his eyes and asked.

“What about the nuclear facilities? We need to assume they were captured so they could use them.”

The men in black shook their heads, “We believe they would have used them already if they were planning to. We think they have captured them to weaken our military options but also as a deterrent to prevent other nations from coming to our aid, we believe they are trying to isolate us.”

“Dear God,” Westmoreland said.

The other men in the room just looked blankly down at the table.

“Look gentleman this is what is required. Nixon, you need to contact your Soviet equivalent and brief them. Finish by asking for their help. Then we need to bring all troops back from Vietnam as soon as possible; do you understand?”

Nixon’s dark eyes narrowed but he nodded.

The men in black turned to Westmoreland and the other generals, “We need to plan an immediate counter-offensive aimed at Wright Patterson and the surrounding area. We need to stop their forces from spreading.”

“What about the nuclear facilities?” Hoover asked.

“Ignore them; if we can encircle their forces then the facilities will be cut off.” The men in black continued, “Finally we need you as a leadership team to split up. If they decide to hot the White House we can’t risk having you all captured or killed in one attack. Nixon and General Abrams you will go to Air Force One.”

Armed guards entered the room, they saluted the President, “Please come with us now Sir, we have a helicopter waiting.”

Nixon looked to the men in black suits, they nodded.

The president and the other men selected followed him out of the room and the guards closed the doors behind them.

“The rest of you will go down to the emergency bunker here in the White House, we need to get our forces ready ASAP, this needs to be a rapid counteroffensive.”

Control

Brooklyn Jnr and the men and women of the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise had been held in port for two hours when they returned from the long voyage home. Brooklyn was full of hope and optimism as he was going to try and win his love back. His family had always stood for hard work and always trying your best, never giving up without first trying every possible avenue to success.

The whole crew was packed like sardines into a large meeting room where they were shown the news footage and accompanying broadcast from Commander Sporrenberg. At first, they thought it was a joke in poor taste but soon they realized this was actually happening and the room went deathly silent.

After the footage was shown they went straight into a briefing. A huge counter-offensive was planned for 06:00 the following morning. Brooklyn along with all the Phantom pilots was tasked with taking on the enemy fighters, keeping them away from the lumbering B-52 bombers who were going to carpet bomb the area; only then would the ground forces advance.

High command believed the area to be free of civilians as they had likely all been killed by the insidious ‘Aryan’ forces. Wright Patterson was the main target but the Intel was patchy so the Americans had to be prepared to fight for every millimeter of soil.

Brooklyn and his fellow soldiers were ordered to get as much rest as possible. Tomorrow was not going to be an easy operation and they were going up against the unknown but make no mistake about it, the future of America was in the balance.

Under no circumstances were they going to be the generation that lets their nation be overrun by an evil force, this was their home and their people and they would not let them down.

Brooklyn managed to quickly call his mom, he was happy to hear her voice, it always calmed him and she had a great way of making him feel that everything would be alright. She had seen the news reports and was proud that Brooklyn was fighting for his Country and she knew it was in the best hands possible.

Brooklyn Jnr knew his mother had not mentioned everything though, He knew that Hawaii was being prepared as an emergency evacuation site. If the initial counter-offensive failed then as many people as possible would be evacuated. The Aryan forces did not appear to have a Navy so a group of Islands was thought to be the best place to send refugees.

The men of the brand new Army group Alpha went to their bunks for an uneasy sleep before they had to awake and prepare for what was undoubtedly going to be the hardest mission they had ever undertaken.

Brooklyn Jnr tossed and turned in his clammy bunk, his palms were sweaty as he had an uneasy dream about Pamela where she disappeared into the darkness.

Rolling Thunder

Four long columns of armored vehicles desecrated the chilly morning air with trails of fumes; they were on the approach to the small town of Parkersburg West Virginia. The naturally chilled air created a light covering of mist on this cold morning. The lush green grass was covered in dew.

The vast majority of the force was made up of the durable and versatile M48 Patton medium tank. The tank was easy to identify by her elongated and stout turret, curved along the sides to aid ballistics protection. The Patton carried a reliable 90mm main gun and her crews loved her because she always performed well when the shit hit the fan.

Following the Patton’s was the small shoebox-shaped M113 armored personnel carriers; they carried eleven troops sat in the main structure behind the two drivers. There were forty of these vehicles in total.

Formations of Sheridan light tanks had used their excellent mobility to recon ahead and were now waiting for the rest of the vehicles to join them at the rendezvous point in Parkersburg. The light tank crews had reported back that the town was deserted, there was no sign of a disturbance but every house was clearly abandoned.

The rest of the freshly formed 1^st armored division was made up of M163 Vulcan Air Defense systems which had the same base as the M113 but had a powerful 20mm M61 Vulcan Gatling cannon mounted on its frame. The cannon laid down an impressive volume of fire and were great at deterring low flying aircraft.

The last part of the force was made up of self-propelled artillery pieces. They were going to be positioned in cover further back from the town in case heavy fire support was needed. The support and supply vehicles hung back with a few M48 Patton, who was tasked with guarding the artillery.

The familiar roar of jet engines echoed from somewhere overhead. A large squadron of F4 Phantoms powered through the clear sky high above the low blanket cover of mist. Their powerful duel engines growled as they burned through copious amounts of fuel.

Brooklyn Jnr was growing impatient. “Hey Moose how much longer we gonna be circling for anyway?”

William Morgan ‘Moose’ Morris laughed, “Until the B-52’s get into position… or we run outta fuel and fall out of the sky!”

Brooklyn smiled, “Normally the latter buddy.”

“Roger that,” Moose said.

“Will you two zip it.” Flight leader Dan Campbell Ordered. “They are in the air and we are to proceed on mission. You lovebirds would have heard that if you hadn’t been squawking.”

“Finally!” Brooklyn said as the Phantoms powered up their engines and rocketed overhead high above the armored vehicles.

The mission clock ticked over to twenty-one minutes as the Phantoms zipped across the Parkersburg town boundary at nineteen thousand feet. They were split into multiple formations of four planes with a total of thirty-two fighter’s; it was an impressive if somewhat nosey scene.

The B-52 bombers were about a mile further back and above at forty thousand feet, long plumes of vapor trailed behind the aircraft in lazy swirls as they passed through the ever brightening sky. The crews of the mighty bombers had conflicting feelings about carpet bombing one of their own bases but they knew there was a job to be done and as the saying went ‘The bomber always gets through.’

The radio linked to the battlenet crackled into life, “Army group two has encountered resistance just east of Indianapolis… Shots fired… heavy volume of incoming fire…”

William Marlborough was the commanding officer in charge of the 1^st armored division. He was fifty-two and had been semi-retired from the army only to be given command of the armored units due to his impressive exploits in the Korean War and as an advisor in Vietnam.

The radio crackled again, “Where is our air support?… God damn it we are taking heavy casualties…” An explosion cut off the transmission and was only followed by static.

“What the hell is going on there?” Marlborough said but nobody answered the question as all hell broke loose. A hail of superheated pink light split through the mist and impacted in the small town.

“Battle stations!” Marlborough ordered.

The Phantoms could just make out through the mist where the fire was coming from up in their lofty position, Oscar flight were the first four Phantoms in the formation and they banked left to line up for a strafing run.

The Phantoms powered up their huge duel engines and roared towards their first prey of the day, they had no cannons but had two five hundred pound bombs mounted on the wings.

“1^st Armored Division this is Flight leader Steve Harper, in position to bomb targets.”

“God bless you,” Marlborough replied. “Give them hell.”

Harper’s finger hovered a millimeter above the trigger.

Dan Campbell’s radar intercept officer spoke up, “Contacts five miles out.”

“How many?”

“Looks like four Dan.”

“Roger that, Harper we will cover your bombing run. Falcon flight on me.”

Brooklyn smiled, “Moose can you get a lock on the lead target?”

“Working on it bud.”

The four Phantoms of Falcon flight powered forward to engage this new threat. Their radar operators were a picture of absolute concentration as they tried to lock-on the AIM-7 Sparrow missiles to surprise the enemy from a distance.

Flight leader Steve Harper was above his target, he squeezed the trigger and the two bombs left their fixings and tumbled end over end through the mist, a few seconds’ later two loud thumps rang out as two explosions rippled under the low cloud dispersion.

Oscar two was Harper’s wingman, Stuart Walsch was just about to drop his bombs when he noticed the mist below him part, one dark grey-clad jet fighter materialized, followed by another and then another. The three camouflaged fighters flew straight towards the three Phantoms.

“Shit,” Walsch said and pushed hard right on the control stick. The enemy fighters zoomed passed barely a few feet away to the Phantoms left.

“Shit that was close; can anybody see the grey bogies?”

“Negative.” Ghost fours radar operator said desperately as he turned his head side to side trying to get a view of the new threat.

The Aryan fighters swung around almost on a sixpence, they powered their violet glowing engines up and turned at an almost impossible angle to switch their planes around.

“No fucking way? They are on your six Ghost flight, get out of there.”

Eight more Phantoms from above joined the fight. “Hold on Ghost flight we have you covered.”

Stuart Walsch swore again under gritted teeth as superheated plasma washed towards his aircraft, the air around his plane started to crackle and hiss.

One of the Aryan Me 262’s accelerated even more aggressively and closed the gap to Ghost four.

“He’s right on us Mike if you are going to do something I suggest you do it now!”

“It’s ok he doesn’t have radar lock yet.”

“He won’t need it if he gets much closer!”

The young twenty-three-year-old pilot weaved right then left as he tried to keep his plane out of his enemies’ sights.

The Aryan fight closed in and its pilot pressed the triggers, a dazzling bright ball of purple sprang forward. Before Ghost four could react the ball smashed into his aircraft which disintegrated a few seconds later; screams filled the radio for a split second before they were cut off.

“Ghost four is down repeat Ghost four is down.”

“Fuck, Ghost two, are you listening? We need to bug out.”

“Roger that.”

The two Phantoms opened up the throttle, they were going to use the Phantoms trump card; the brute power of the F4 was enough to get it out of trouble.

The Me 262’s wingman opened fire and two blinding orbs raced forwards, the lead Me 262 put his plane into a tight roll to avoid the two projectiles.

The Phantoms behind Ghost flight watched in horror as the two orbs flew towards their comrades like they were heat-seeking missiles. The orbs reined in the two American fighters with ease.

Seconds later the two Phantoms were consumed by the balls of light and nothing remained but falling debris.

The Phantoms behind joined the action, revenge was clear in their minds but it was mixed with cold icy fear as it slowly dawned on the pilots that they did not have the superior technology anymore.

Falcon flight closed in on the four bogies closing in from the East. Suddenly William Morris’s headset growled a sweet, sweet growl. The young American clapped his hands together excitedly.

“I have Radarlock, Jr.”

Falcon three immediately moved aside to let Brooklyn have the firing position.

“Missile away,” Jnr said as the AIM-7 Sparrow flew forward leaving a trail of smoke leading away from the Phantom.

William Morris guided the missile towards the lead bogy that was now just a mile and a half out from their position. The Sleek Sparrow continued straight and true, the Me 262 was now square in its sights.

The missile disappeared from radar.

“What happened Moose?”

“Negative impact, repeat negative impact.”

“Shit.” Jr said, “Do you still have radar lock?”

“No.” Moose was despondent.

Falcon flight moved in closer.

“There they are.”

“Where?”

“Directly ahead, twelve o’clock slightly low,” Miller said.

“I see them…”

Four more Me 262’s appeared just above, promptly followed by four more.

“Shit… shit… shit…” Moose said as he watched the dots on the radar screen multiply in an instant. “Am I seeing this right?”

Sweat rolled down the front of Brooklyn’s face and pooled on the tip of his nose, “You’re seeing it right.” He said trying to hide his growing panic.

Falcon flight split into pairs and were immediately put on the defensive, the odds were not in their favor.

Eye of the Storm

“Get that artillery ready, pummel their defensive line then we will get our tanks to overrun the position and push them back!” Commander William Marlborough ordered.

All armored vehicles scurried into their predefined positions, they waited with engines running; the crews inside began to sweat as the adrenaline rushed through their veins. It felt like a few minutes had passed when in reality it was only a few seconds before the large caliber self-propelled guns opened up with a thunderous boom that echoed across the hills.

The M110A1 203mm Howitzer was basically a long-barreled cannon on tracks, the well trained and highly motivated crews started to pump out two to four rounds a minute while using the hand-operated manual rammer; a heavy steel pole with a hard rubber pad on one end that they used to ‘ram’ the shell into firing position.

This manual loading was physically demanding on the crews but it meant they did not have to keep lowering the barrel, which they had to do when using the hydraulically operated rammer. There were ten of this howitzers lined up nine miles behind the front line, they spat high explosive rounds down range on the coordinates that the Sheridan light tanks were scouting.

Explosions detonated through the mist that was now mixed with an ever-thickening smoke, the ground shook and trembled as if a huge earthquake was assaulting the area; the bright pink return fire suddenly stopped. The Americans continued to carpet the area with large high explosive rounds for the next ten minutes.

A smile crept across Commander Marlborough’s wrinkled face, he took a picture of his grandchildren out of his wallet that he always carried into battle as a good luck charm; the beaming, smiling faces of two small girls and a slightly older grumpy boy looked back at him.

He gave the order for the artillery to cease fire and then the tanks spread out from the relative safety of the town into the open fields below.

The Commander was old school and always had to be the lead tank into battle, he refused to have it any other way. The M48 Pattons got a good spread out across the field and they quickly advanced unopposed over the damp ground, churning up the soil as they went.

The Sheridan light tanks could not see any movement through the mist and the Aryan forces had not returned fire since the initial artillery barrage had ended.

The battle net crackled into life, “We have suffered heavy losses… air… not arr… pulli… to… defensive…” The transmission ended. Commander Marlborough looked grim things were obviously not going well for Army group two. ‘If we can’t end this quickly then the enemy could have reinforcements on the way, they need to hold on if they can so we can press the advantage on this front.’

The Sheridan’s advanced gingerly towards the area that the self-propelled guns had turned into a crater filled landscape, the mist was thicker here and made it hard for the crews to see anything. The light tanks edged slowly forward but as they did this all hell broke loose again.

Out of the rising smoke filled mist glowing purple rounds flew forward, the lead Sheridan was struck; the round penetrated the thin armor and detonated. The crew inside were instantly vaporized and the metal hull burnt slowly from the inside sending a plume of thick black smoke into the already dense air.

The Sheridan’s instantly pulled back towards the advancing Patton’s. A few seconds later the silhouettes of advancing Tiger I’s appeared out of the gloom.

“That’s it follow us you bastards.” Paul Kursk shouted from the commander’s hatch of his retreating light tank.

Commander Marlborough was just out in front in the lead Patton he called out the target and his gunner took aim and fired, the shell span in the air as it shot forward until a few seconds later it hit the Tiger I dead on the Upper Glacis.

The Aryan tank stopped dead in its tracks as Marlborough shouted, “Direct hit!”

“Yeah.” Paul Kursk shouted as he and the other light tank battalion looked on with pleasure.

The Tiger I turret suddenly begun swiveling left as it brought its gun to bear on Marlborough’s Patton.

“Brace yourselves!” Was all the wily old Commander could say before a bright flash of purple washed over his tank. There was an explosion and the next thing Marlborough knew he was laying on the floor, he felt pain in his chest and his vision was blurry. He could not remember being thrown from his tank.

The sounds of battle were distant to Marlborough but he slowly and gingerly sat up and began to look around. He could see his tank was on fire a few meters in front of him. The Commander could hear shouting coming from all directions but he could not make out what they were saying.

Several M48 Patton’s rolled passed the ailing Commander; they all fired simultaneously at the enemy tank. Two rounds ricocheted off of the tough armor before the Tiger could return fire, the Aryan’s round was slightly off target but the air around the advancing Patton’s hissed and crackled from the intense heat.

Two more Patton’s fired and finally a shell punctured straight through the lower plate of the Tiger I, dense grey smoke poured out of the hole. Two of the crew opened the cupola and jumped out onto the hull of the tank.

The men were dressed in intimidating black body armor; they raised their machine guns and to the surprise of the Americans began showering their tanks in bright purple rounds.

“What do these assholes think they are doin’?”

“They are stubborn aren’t they, open up on them!”

The .50 cal machine guns mounted on the turret of the American tanks fired on the exposed Aryan crew, they were shredded almost instantly and their dead bodies slumped onto the hull of their crippled tank.

The Tiger I was still smoking heavily but to the disbelief of the Patton crews, its gun started to line up on the closest target. The American tank was too close and could do nothing as the bright purple ball of plasma washed over it, the Patton immediately exploded.

“Shit… Shit… shit why won’t that fucker die? All available units concentrate your fire on it.”

The American armor flanked the motionless Tiger I on both sides, they aimed their 90mm cannons on the exposed side of the tank and the four Patton’s opened fire simultaneously. The weaker side armor of the vehicle was torn apart easily and the Tiger I exploded; what remained of the hull burnt brightly.

Out of the mist a group of Tiger I’s attacked the American armor, another group of ten Tiger’s opened up on the opposite side. They were attacking the advancing American’s on their vulnerable flanks; it was a trick to trap the Patton’s in the open and it had worked marvelously.

Commander Marlborough had regained his senses by now and had suspected what was going on, he ran as quickly as he body would allow to the nearest Patton. The Commander climbed aboard with the help of the tanks Commander.

“Sir it’s good to see you, we were sure you had bought it.”

“I’m alright Curtis, get on the radio and order all vehicles to halt the advance and reinforce the flanks, the bastards are trying to line us up in a shooting gallery.”

“Yes, Sir,” Curtis said as he started to relay the orders.

Out of the mist and dense smoke, a bright light broke through and raced forward. Curtis noticed it but it was too late as the round impacted near the front of his Patton, the shockwave caused by the exploding plasma washed over the front of his tank with an intense heat; Commander Marlborough caught the brunt of it and he briefly squealed in agony.

A warm liquid splashed over Curtis as he saw the horrific scene of Commander Marlborough’s head and chest ripped apart. Curtis closed the cupola and slumped into his tank he sat there in shock, drenched in his Commanders innards.

A gigantic dull silhouette slowly came into view out of the mist, followed by another and then another.

Command

The early morning sun sliced through the slightly open, dull curtains. A pleasant warm feeling washed over Commander Sporrenberg’s face. He sat at the edge of the bed half naked, enjoying his morning smoke.

The former SS man let the smoke billow from his nose as he savored the flavor. Jakob stubbed out the cigarette, stretched a couple of times and then went to have a shower, he smelt and he knew it.

Ten minutes later Sporrenberg was in full military uniform, it sparkled and was in pristine condition. The German slicked back his damp hair and then placed his officer’s hat on perfectly, the shimmering skull caught the sun.

Commander Sporrenberg left his quarters, he turned to one of the men guarding the door and gestured over his shoulder.

“Get rid of this one, before she starts to smell.” A wicked grin crept across his face.

The two guards entered the room, the women lay on her back completely naked. Her body was covered in bruises and burn marks, there were ligature marks on the wrists and a particularly deep one around the neck; the women had been strangled.

The guards dragged the corpse outside towards a group of men being forced to dig foundations for the nearest building. They dumped the body into the freshly dug hole.

Several of the men had to look away and one of them physically threw up. The Aryan guard overseeing the work did not hesitate and shot the men where he stood.

The Aryan guards laughed, “Bury this garbage!” They ordered.

Sporrenberg strode into Wright Patterson Air Force base’s freshly rebuilt command room with his usual air of absolute authority. The Commander was about to scold his men for not noticing his arrival but he glanced around the room and all the monitors had live battle action on them.

Sporrenberg saw tanks engaged in combat on screens one and two, screen three showed aerial dogfights dotted across the sky; while a huge monitor in the center of the room had a large map showing the real-time positions of combat.

“What the hell is going on here advisor!” Sporrenberg shouted as he flew into one of his trademark rages.

The tall advisor barely gave his Commander a glance, “This Commander is the counter-offensive against the Americans, who had the audacity to try and attack us in a pincer movement. I gave the order for our units to smash through their attack and crush them.”

“I gave you express instructions that I am informed of any offensive,” Sporrenberg growled as he took a firm step towards his advisor.

“You were asleep Commander.”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU WAKE ME!” Sporrenberg shouted and showered spit in all directions, his right hand fiddled with the pistol holster on his hip.

“Careful.” His advisor said calmly, “You would be even angrier if I had disturbed you. Now see for yourself how well the offensive is going.”

The advisor managed to calm Sporrenberg down as he showed him the real-time images of Tiger I tanks engaging exposed American tanks on the East while on the Western front the American’s were in complete disarray and in full retreat.

Commander Sporrenberg slumped back into a chair, he gave a dismissive wave. “Good work advisor.” He said begrudgingly, “Carry on.” Before adding, “Your technology never ceases to amaze me.”

The tall advisor slightly bowed his head, “Thank you Sir, we have more good news.” He gestured towards a radio set broadcasting the BBC world service.

President Richard Nixon along with some of his closest advisors sat in front of a large TV aboard Airforce One. They were flying down the Atlantic coast towards Costa Rica.

The beady-eyed Nixon slumped back in his chair as he listened to the radio presenter announce the headline world headlines.

“Fighting has broken out in many German cities today, groups of armed men have tried to seize government buildings. The army has beaten back most of the assaults however there are sketchy reports coming in that at least some of the aggressors are military personnel themselves. We will bring you more on the story when we can.”

“…More concerning news comes from South America as least three countries including Argentina, Chile and Colombia have given their military support to Commander Jakob Sporrenberg in the wake of his address declaring war on America.”

Nixon shook his head, “Turn it off.” He demanded.

“How is the offensive going, have we managed to break through their lines?” He asked.

“No Sir, in fact, the assault is going badly. Our troops on the Eastern front are on the defensive but are at least holding their ground.” He shook his head, “We have lost contact with the army on the Western front but from what we can gather a large Aryan force has broken through and is advancing at quite a speed.”

President Nixon wiped the sweat from his deeply furrowed brow. He picked his gauze up from the floor and cleared his throat.

“Get me a line to the Russians, we need their help and we need it now! We also need to get the message out to start evacuating the civilians; ask Canada and Mexico if they are willing to take people in. Try and get as many people from the West coast over to Hawaii as possible.”

President Nixon told his advisors it was time for him to appear on Television. His team set up the broadcast as quickly as they could.

In the emergency room in the White House, the two men in black let out a small smile, “Finally he is going to act. There may be hope yet.”

Call to Arms

President Richard Nixon appeared in front of the camera, he looked longingly into the lens and then sighed deeply.

“Citizens of America today is a dark day. A terrible enemy is striking right at the heart of our country, they are not just trying to destroy our way of life or our country. No, they are on a path of genocide, they have started a race war; a type of war we hoped we would never see again!”

Nixon looked to the floor before his shark-like eyes stared into the camera with renewed vigor.

“Our brave soldiers are taking the fight to this evil right now, even as I speak, they are against almost impossible odds but yet they will continue to fight, not for me, not for their commanders and not for the flag but for each other and more importantly for every American!”

Nixon took a step forward, “We have initiated martial law, and we ask all citizens to pack only essentials and to evacuate. Canada and Mexico have opened their borders to you. You may think this is a sign of us giving up but be assured this is far from it!”

“We need our boys to be able to concentrate on the fight without having to worry about loved ones.” The President paused, “Finally we have asked our allies for assistance. Sporrenberg and his army is not just a threat to us but a threat to the whole world; he invoking ideals that should remain buried in the past!”

Nixon raised his fist to the camera, “Anyone who wants to fight then we support you. Remember the British once thought they could conquer us but we smashed their spirit and kicked their asses so we will do the same against a crazy ex-Nazi! God bless America!”

The broadcast was seen by many in America, those who wanted to leave got out as quickly as they could but others collected weapons and arrived at the nearest military outposts.

“How was that?” Nixon said down the telephone.

A familiar eerie voice responded, “Brilliant, just brilliant. It has had the desired effect; you have got the Soviet’s attention.”

Nixon smiled, “Are they sending their forces?”

The man in black paused, “Not exactly, Leonid Brezhnev would like to speak to you. He is on line one.”

The smile quickly disappeared from the Presidents face, “Ok put him through.”

Signal

Leonid Brezhnev was a hard looking man who always bore a stern facial expression; he had a broad nose and slim eyes topped with thick dark eyebrows. The Soviet leader placed the phone down after a long but ultimately futile conversation with President Nixon.

The Russian shook his head as he uttered the word, “Fool.”

“I take it the talk did not go well?”

Brezhnev shook his head, “It is time Yuri.”

“I understand Leonid.” The Chairman of the President of the Supreme Soviet replied, he did not actually say it but Brezhnev could see his comrades’ deflated body language.

“I don’t take any great pleasure in this but it is the only way to protect our Country from the looming threat in America.” He gave his colleague his best reassuring look.

The Soviet leader asked for a direct line from the State Kremlin Palace to the nuclear missile silo in Kresy, which would later become modern-day Belarus. All the highest members of the Soviet leadership cast were already waiting in the rectangular box-shaped state palace.

The orders were quick to come and the launch codes were sent to the nuclear missile silos, within ten minutes the intercontinental missiles were live, the button was armed.

The coordinates were input for Wright Patterson Airforce base and Brezhnev was ready to launch the attack.

Yuri Andropov stood and placed his fists down on the table, “What if Sporrenberg’s forces retaliate with the captured nuclear missiles?”

Brezhnev sighed heavily, “We have been through this, they won’t. Most if not all of their leadership will be killed in this attack, which will leave them in disarray. The American’s can then surround the cut off nuclear facilities and regain them.” He paused a smiled, “If a few more nuclear missiles are set loose against them from their own facilities then so be it.”

Andropov looked worried, “But what if they do launch against us?”

Brezhnev waved a dismissive hand, “You worry too much.”

Marshal of the Soviet Union Matvei Zakharov stood, he was in command of the Soviet armed forces, “Even if they do strike against us I am confident that signal will work, maybe we should activate it now as a precaution?”

Andropov now looked horrified, he thought carefully. ‘Signal was a system that could be used to create thirty pre-made orders from headquarters to missile units; these could then be used to start retaliatory strikes against predetermined targets. It was an attempt at mutually assured destruction.’

Before Andropov could say anything Brezhnev had agreed with Marshal Zakharov, “Do it, turn Signal on!”

Yuri Andropov sank into his chair.

The orders were given and the Signal system was activated but it had never been tested properly so nobody knew for sure if it was online or even if it would work at all.

As the Soviets finalized their plans for a swift and decisive end to this war prying eyes and ears listened with interest from within the control room at Wright Patterson.

“That boast of power emanating from the Soviet nuclear facilities confirms they have activated their mutually assured destruction device, our satellite is passing overhead now. From our calculations, we don’t believe the system is working as intended.”

Sporrenberg, who had his feet crossed up casually on the desk smiled, “This technology really does amaze me, we can watch and listen to events happening in real time. “ He shook his head, “If only we had this back in the 1940’s the world would have been ours.”

The tall Advisor interrupted Sporrenberg’s musings, “Sir I advise we strike first, the weapon is ready to go on your orders.”

Sporrenberg nodded, “Do it, I am looking forward to seeing this weapon in action for the first time.”

The technician who had been monitoring the Russian communications was given the go-ahead, he began typing commands away furiously into his computer terminal.

Sporrenberg was directed to the window of the control tower by his advisor to watch the launch. The view over the base was magnificent, most of the new buildings were up and running now; with only a few still being constructed by the captives in the labor camps.

‘It isn’t right that the Aryan descendants are being worked to death like this, we should be the ruling class!’ Sporrenberg thought; he almost brought it up again with his advisor but he decided to leave it for the time being.

The doors of the newly rebuilt hanger one opened to reveal a large vehicle that drove slowly out to the outer edge of the base, once it came to a stop the tall frame of the mobile missile launcher slowly raised skywards; the frame gleamed in the late morning sunshine. Attached to the frame was a long thin missile. It was jet black apart from the very tip of the warhead that glowed brightly with a menacing violet.

It took roughly five minutes for launch platform to reach the fully vertical position, once it had eight metal legs descended from the front, middle and rear of the vehicle until they hit the ground; then they raised the vehicle and launch platform off of the ground and locked into place about six foot clear of the tarmac runway.

A quick automated systems check went through and sent the all-clear message to the futuristic computers in the Aryan control room.

“That’s it, the missile is ready to go. You just need to select the target Commander and then scan your fingerprints and the missile will be armed.”

Sporrenberg raised an eyebrow quizzically, “That was quick?”

“Ten minutes exactly Sir.”

“Very good.” Sporrenberg smiled, “Where are the scum leadership having their meeting?”

“The Kremlin, Commander.” Advisor A said.

“That is our target.”

The technician nodded as he added the coordinates for Moscow into the targeting computer.

“Please place your hand on the left-hand terminal Sir.” The technician said to Sporrenberg.

The former SS man did as instructed, he placed his open palm flat onto the small screen, immediately the device light up with a warm orange glow as it scanned his fingerprints and indentations on his hand.

Approximately ten seconds later the device beeped once and then switched off.

“Missile armed Sir, please step away from the console.”

“Why has it not fired?” Sporrenberg said alarmed.

“The missile is only armed Sir, now the firing button needs to be pressed to confirm the order. Advisor A is poised to do this on your command.”

Sporrenberg’s face wrinkled and flashed a bright red for a split second, “And how come I am not the one to fire the weapon?”

The advisor jumped in, “Well Commander you are the only one who can arm the missile but we need a safety system in place where if you were captured, for example then the missile couldn’t be used against our own forces as it would need another person in authority to actually fire the weapon.”

Sporrenberg folded his arms, “Makes sense, ok permission to fire.”

“Thank you Sir.” The advisor replied as he punched in a code on the touchscreen pad, then without a second thought he pushed the enter button.

A vibrant indigo flame burst from the bottom of the missile which immediately broke free of its restraints, it hung in the air for a millisecond before it rocketed vertically skyward. There was no smoke trail as it flew ever higher. Soon they could no longer see the bright light emanating from the engines.

“How long until it hits?” Sporrenberg asked.

“About two minutes.”

“That is very quick.” Sporrenberg said as he turned and smiled to his aid, “They will never know it is coming.”

Advisor A gestured to the viewing screen, “The satellite will give you a front-row seat Commander.”

No early warning system that was in place was sophisticated enough to detect the incoming threat. No warning was delivered to Moscow as the missile plunged through the outer atmosphere and fell vertically downwards at some speed towards the unsuspecting politicians.

The missile sliced through the evening sky and the sporadic cloud cover, it reached just under ten thousand feet when the tip suddenly separated from the rest of the body.

“What happened?” demanded Sporrenberg with concern.

“Just watch.” His advisor responded.

The tip continued to plunge towards the target but from the body, a violet-colored mist started to disperse into the air, it drifted slowly outwards to the ground.

The tip fell ever faster until it penetrated the roof of the State Kremlin Palace. It smashed through the floors, taking concrete, brick, and mortar with it; The large panels of glass on the exterior cracked and splintered.

The Soviet leadership cast who were inside the building as it began to fall apart did not know what to do. They dived for cover as the roof above them caved in.

Leonid Brezhnev gingerly picked himself off of the floor; he coughed painfully as he cleared the dust from his lungs. He surveyed the carnage. The large wooden table in the middle had completely collapsed under the weight of the large conical object that was stuck vertically out of the floor; the two people who had dived for cover underneath it were dead but surprisingly everyone else was unscathed.

“Matvei, what the hell is that thing?” Brezhnev said to the commander of all the Russian army.

Matvei Zakharov shook his head, dust and debris spread out like pollen. “Should we not get out of here Sir?”

Yuri Andropov had also survived the impact and was about to say something when the metal cone started to flash a bright shade of lavender that rapidly progressed to an alarming red that illuminated the whole room.

Suddenly the very tip of the cone shattered violently sending shrapnel across the room. Yuri was covered with a warm liquid. He reached up and wiped his face with his hand, he looked down at the thick red-tinged fluid that glowed on his fingertips.

The room was coated in the substance which caused the area to glow menacingly. Zakharov pulled Brezhnev to his feet, they needed to get out of there. They turned to Andropov, “Get out of here Yuri… Yuri?”

The two men looked at their comrade who was stood deathly still, staring into his palms. Without warning he let out a quiet groaning sound, he began to shake and the groaning got louder.

“What’s wrong Yuri?” Brezhnev said but his voice sounded funny, he went to hold his throat but to his horror, he could not feel his hand or his throat. He looked down at his hand which had started to wrinkle rapidly.

Brezhnev looked over to Andropov who was shaking uncontrollably, he hands had turned black. He grasped one hand with the other but they just mashed up into a form of horrific goo that was a similar consistency to melted tar.

One of the men let out a brief squeal before his tongue turned into the same goo, it bubbled and ran from his mouth in a slow-moving tide. Everyone who was left alive in the room was having the same reaction to the liquid.

Andropov began to melt away on the spot as his whole body turned to the black tar until all that remained of him was a thick black puddle with a suit and stained bones mixed in with it.

Zakharov fiddled desperately with the pistol on his belt but his hands would not work, one turned black and washed away across the legs of his pants. He finally managed to get the pistol loose and push it to his temple, the gun fired but it felt like the bullet was flying through treacle and it longed halfway into his head; that side of his face quickly melted away.

There was nothing that Brezhnev could do but look on in horror. He tried to run from the room but he legs slowly stopped working, he felt the briefest sensation of burning pain before his body forcefully exploded; sending black tar and bone in all directions.

In less than five minutes everybody who was present in the room was dead.

Not one step back

The midday sun was beating down onto the battlefield, the area was covered in a thick layer of black smoke as the scorched hulls of burning Patton tanks littered the area. The remnants of army group one had taken shelter in the town.

The American forces had taken shelter in the houses and had set up a defensive perimeter. The antiaircraft Gatling guns had been firing almost none stop for the last ten minutes. The Aryan’s had free rein in the skies since routing the Phantoms earlier.

“Sir, with all due respect we need to get out of here while we still can.” A young private said.

“He’s right Sir, we only have a handful of tanks left and our forces are less than half strength. If we don’t leave now, then we will be encircled and we will all be slaughtered.” The Sergeant spat on the floor, “Those bastards don’t take prisoners.”

Sergeant Major Wills had heard enough; he had unwillingly been thrust into command after the morning’s leadership cast had been decimated.

He got onto the battle net radio, “This is Sergeant Major Wills, I know the situation we are in is direr and some of you want to retreat. I don’t blame you, that would be the smart option; live to fight another day…”

“But the thing is if we run now then there probably won’t be another day. The scums forces would have an unopposed run on Washington. Our capital is not ready to defend herself yet. We need to give her the best chance to repel these bastards…” Wills paused again, “We need to stand and fight here, I would rather the enemy shoot me in the face then in the back, I am going to fight for my countries very existence and I am going to do it here!”

Every man let out a cheer that was barely drowned out by another explosion in the background.

“I am glad you boys agree with me, my final order then. Not one step back!” Wills clicked the radio off.

“That was some speech Sir, This is sergeant Peters of the artillery unit, we have decided to stay and give you some cover. What are the coordinates?”

“Nice to have you!” Wills said, “Danger close, fire on the leading edge of the town, I don’t have my map fellas but don’t fire any further into the town than that until I say otherwise.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tiger I tanks approaching the town from the North and Southern edges.” Reported a light tank commander.

Moments later the distant crack of fire washed across the fields. A few seconds later the telltale whistle of artillery shells filled the air. The ground around the advancing Tiger’s erupted as mounds of dirt and shrapnel flew into the air.

A steady stream of high explosive shells continued to fall on the Aryan tanks, one was hit dead on and exploded instantly with a force so strong that the turret was blown clean off. Another was grazed on its side which caused the right-hand track to break; the vehicle started to move on circles until the commander realized the problem.

A line of Me 262 fighters roared in for a strafing run. The M163 Vulcan Gatling cannons opened fire again, spraying a stream of lead into the air. The leading Me 262 was already in attack position and either could not or would not abort the attack. He was hit straight on, the nose crumpled immediately as the rounds tore further into the aircraft; eventually, the pilot was hit and the fighter span out of control until it smashed into the ground.

The rest of the squadron was quick to avenge their fallen comrade, the swooped in fast and low with their cannons blazing. The bright purple rounds impacted all around as the area was completely sprayed; two Vulcan anti aircraft vehicles were set ablaze while a third was knocked out of action.

The Tiger’s continued to advance through the hail of artillery shells, they fired on the move with unnerving accuracy. A group of Americans on machine guns were vaporized in a purple hew.

Private Martinez was sweating profusely but he held his nerve as a second tank rolled passed his concealed position. The young Private steadied his shaking hands and aimed his anti tank launcher, he counted two more seconds in his head and then fired; the self-propelled grenades raced outwards and struck the exposed rear of the tank.

A large hole had been cut in the rear of the Tiger and smoke started to pour from it. The Commander’s cupola flew open but it was too late as the rocket detonated inside and the crew was engulfed in flames.

Private Martinez let out a sigh of relief and then turned to relocate. The third Tiger in the column had noticed his firing position though and had lined up his gun. He fired and the bright purple orb flew into Martinez’s hiding place; it detonated causing the young man to fly through the air. His charred body landed eight foot down the road.

The desperate battle continued to rage within Parkersburg, the Americans were fighting in every street, within every house. The Tiger I’s were inside the town now where the artillery was unable to target them safely.

A group of Patton tanks burst from their hiding positions inside the houses, they stopped and aimed at the vulnerable side armor of the Tiger’s; they all fired one after the other. The first round bounced, the second knocked off a track. The third hit the turret mechanism and stopped it from turning.

The Patton’s now fired on the move, they hit another Tiger square in the side and must have hit its ammunition rack as the tank went up in bright flames. The Tiger’s turned and returned fire. A bright orb penetrated an advancing Patton, the vehicle stopped as smoke poured from every nook and cranny.

The Tiger’s frontal armor was too strong for the Patton’s but a group of soldiers with anti tank launchers had raced forward and now fired on the enemies exposed flanks.

The Tiger’s Cupola opened and Aryan Soldiers scrambled out to man the machine guns on top of the tank’s turret.

Streams of pink-tinged plasma sprayed out over the infantry.

Three of the Americans were hit, two were killed instantly, the third lay screaming while trying to hold his burnt intestines inside; they billowed out through his fingertips. The rest managed to fire the launchers and several rounds flew true and smashed through the tanks weaker armor; four went up in flames.

One of the Americans was hit as he was pulling the trigger, he was knocked off balance and the self-propelled rocket spiraled towards an Aryan soldier manning the machine gun on top of his tank; he was hit square in the chest and was thrown from his vehicle. Blood poured from the cracks in his chest armor.

The battle had descended into chaos, the streets were on fire and a thick layer of smoke hung in the air. The smell of burning flesh was nauseating and it was getting harder to reliably pick out targets. The American forces were being pushed ever further into a tightening net as the Aryan’s greater numbers started to overwhelm them.

Stars

Sergeant Major Wills machine gun positions let out another burst of suppressive fire, a three-man team armed with anti tank launchers raced to cover.

“Sergeant Peters, this is Wills. Over.”

“Come in Wills.”

“We need the packages to come in even closer all around the town center. We are located in the Church, with a few units spread out up to ten meters out.”

There was a pause, “That is extremely close Sir.”

“I know but we have no other choice!” A burst of rifle fire interrupted the transmission.

“Roger that Sir, Good luck! Peters out.”

The advancing Aryan tanks were approaching from all sides; they tore straight through houses to avoid the flaming roadblocks. As they drove towards the church they spotted the last remaining Patton tanks; there were three left motionless outside the small but beautiful building.

The telltale whistles of falling artillery shells filled the air. The area around the town center was bombarded heavily. The high explosive shells destroyed buildings and trees; sending shrapnel everywhere.

The Tiger’s continued to advance, the first two tanks took direct hits and were knocked out. Another Tiger raced recklessly towards the church. It fired and the orb smashed into the building; its windows shattered.

The anti tank team lined up on the Tiger and fired, all three rounds penetrated and the tank went up in flames. The cupola opened and an Aryan soldier jumped out. He hit the floor and rolled once to his feet. He aimed his machine gun at the antitank team and pulled the trigger.

The lead American took the brunt of the hit. His body fell to the floor, burning from the plasma. The last remaining Vulcan anti aircraft vehicle opened fire on the soldier; the powerful rounds from the Gatling gun cut him in half.

The artillery shells were barely managing to hold the Aryan forces back. The last Patton’s opened fire on the advancing Tiger’s, they weren’t trying to destroy the tanks but were aiming to track them in place so the artillery could finish them off.

Sergeant Major Wills looked up to the sky just in time to see four Me 262’s race overhead.

“Shit.” He said under his breath.

“Sergeant Peters, get your boys out of there! You have incoming enemy air.”

“We see them Sir, we don’t have time. We have three Vulcan’s with us. We will keep firing as long as we can sir.”

The Me 262’s swooped in low and fast, so fast even the Vulcan’s Gatling guns could not track them. The four fighters released four orbs of light that sped to the ground and instantly vaporized the American forces caught in the blasts.

Sergeant Peters watched as the jets almost turned on the spot and came in for another bombing run. The planes dropped the orbs which smashed into the helpless soldiers. Peters stood his ground as the last orb fell towards him; the round hit and a brief moment of intense burning pain was the last thing he felt.

In the town the artillery shells stopped coming.

“This is it men, this is our last stand. America is proud of you… I am proud of you!” Wills said.

Strangely the Tiger tanks started to withdraw. They pulled clear of the small town.

“What’s going on Sir? They had us.”

“Maybe we scared them off!”

“I doubt it, whatever they are planning. It won’t be good.” Wills said.

Two minutes passed without anything happening until in the distance a gently whooshing sound was barely audible. It grew in intensity as it got closer. Wills’ eyes widened as the sky above filled with bright violet streaks that each looked like stars hanging in the daytime sky.

“What the hell is that?”

The stars grew larger as the fell into the town; they exploded in powerful balls of superheated light. The town was enveloped in overlapping fields of plasma. A burning wave of heat washed over the church causing the troops to scream out in pain; the church took a direct hit and the last pocket of American resistance before Washington was vaporized in an instance.

Angel Flight

The men in the emergency bunker located under the White House hung their heads; they were listening to the battlenet radio which had now gone silent on both fronts. Only two figures did not react to the situation with despair.

“Inform the President that Washington will soon be under attack and then we suggest you make sure the finishing touches to the defense of the city are completed.” The monotonous tones of the men in black said in unison.

Richard Nixon listened to the terrible plight his nation was now in, he rubbed his forehead as the battle reports came in.

When the General had finished his report Nixon took a minute to think. Finally, he spoke, “I want a broadcast to go out to every American citizen that it is now up to them to defend their right to life. I want anyone who volunteers to be supplied weapons. If that is not possible then they can steal them from gun shops.”

“Sir do you think the situation is really that bad?”

The President nodded, “We can’t get hold of Brezhnev, the last call we had he said they had no choice but to nuke the area but they have not called back and we can’t get anybody to answer our calls.”

The Vice President thought a moment, “They would have launched by now if they were going to do it?”

Nixon agreed, “Maybe they have changed their mind.”

“I doubt it.” The men in black interjected, “It is more likely they have been dissuaded otherwise by Sporrenberg.”

“What do you mean?” Nixon asked angrily. “Do you know something we don’t?”

“We know a lot that you do not, we are trying to contact our man in Moscow but have so far been unable to.”

An alarm rang out in air force one. The pilot came across the intercom, “Strap in, we have contacts approaching us fast from the East. Currently, four miles out.”

“Shit,” Nixon swore as he buckled his seat belt. He looked out of the window as two of the Phantom escorts peeled off to face the threat.

The Phantoms accelerated towards the two enemy bogies while the radar operators tried desperately to get a lock on but the equipment just would not work and they could not achieve that precious lock on at that distance.

The lead Phantom noticed something in the distance but he did not know what it was.

“Charlie do you see that? Is that the enemy directly in front?”

“I see it Bobby… I’m not sure.”

The object got bigger very quickly, it was traveling at great speed and by the time the pilot realized what was happening; it was too late. He could not react in time as the ball of burning light smashed into his aircraft turning it to debris in a split second.

A second orb raced towards the Phantoms wingman but he had the time to break left and roll out of harm’s way.

“Air force one, get out of here now. Angel one is down. Repeat Angel one is down.”

Immediately the pilot of Air Force one pulled hard on the controls and the aircraft started to climb. It was a sudden change and most of the occupant’s ears popped uncomfortably. Two Phantoms climbed with it.

Angel two flew directly towards the two closing enemy fighters, as he got into view range he saw the Me 262’s closing fast but to his horror, there were four fighters and not two like the radar suggested.

“Holy shit, there are four of them, repeat four bogies.”

“Roger that Angel Two.” The other Phantoms said, they wanted to help but they could not leave the President.

The first two Me 262’s roared straight passed the outnumbered Phantom and pitched their noses almost vertically while the other two engaged.

“Two Phantoms on your six, climbing fast Angel three.”

Streams of plasma snaked out at the Phantom who managed to roll inverted and then loop around behind the Me 262’s in a smooth maneuver. Charlie Brady heard the familiar growl in his ear as the AIM-9 Sidewinder locked on to the target, he pulled the trigger and the missile streaked towards its target.

The Me 262 seemed to slow almost like it was drawing the missile in and then at the last moment it rolled right and dove towards the deck. Brady still had missile lock and pulled the trigger again as he dived after the target but this time the missile just fell from the bottom of the plane as the motor failed to ignite.

Brady swore but he was undeterred and continued to follow the fighter towards the ground. Brady’s radar operator checked their six was clear of the enemy. Angel two was just about ready to fire again when the Me 262 in front turned around completely to face him.

“That’s is impossible,” Brady said in disbelief.

The Me 262 opened up its canons and plasma washed over the Phantom, burning holes in the nose and canopy of the aircraft. Angel two was too close to avoid the fire and Brady was killed instantly; his radar operator tried in vain to eject but the Phantom smashed into the ocean below.

“Angel two is down.” The pilot of Air force one said glumly.

“What the hell is going on back there?” Nixon shouted but nobody responded.

Nixon looked out of the left-hand window just in time to see the Phantom escort turn into a ball of flames as it was struck by a bright orb of light.

“Dear God.” Was all the President managed to say.

The Phantom on the right-hand side managed to roll and invert to avoid the first orb but the second ball of plasma impacted right in the center of the plane, turning it into falling bits of metal.

“Shit, we have not protection. Repeat we have no defensive options left.” The pilot of Air Force one said. He pushed down on the controls and put the large plane into a steep dive; trying to gain speed.

The Passengers were pulled into their seats by the intense g-force and this only intensified as the pilot tried to force the aircraft to roll, thinking it was a nimble fighter. He was taking it passed its design limits and small pieces of the airframe peeled off.

As Air Force one tumbled from the sky it managed to avoid the plasma raining down after it but the pilot was taking a great risk and he was not sure if he could even recover the aircraft.

They tumbled through fifteen thousand feet and suddenly the pilot shouted to the copilot to pull on the controls with all his might; the two men struggled to pull the aircraft’s nose up as the continued to fall.

They smashed through ten thousand feet and then through eight when finally, Air force one responded, slowly the nose pulled up and they came out of the great dive. The plane was still in one piece but only just. The pilots noticed some vibrations in the foot pedals.

The pilots checked the radar for enemy contacts but they appeared to be clear. One of the stewardesses had thrown up all over the place and the smell spread through the plane.

Nixon tried to wipe tears away and his brow was extremely pale.

The Copilot turned to the Captain to discuss their next move when the color drained from his face. To the left of Air force one barely ten feet away sat two Me 262s. The pilots could clearly see the enemy pilot looking over at them.

“Shall we ram them?”

“Negative that is too dangerous.”

“What shall w…”

A great explosion rocked the aircraft, the shockwaves rippled through the fuselage as the cockpit was severed clean from the rest of the plane. The Stewardess sat in the front was ripped from the falling wreckages, still strapped into her seat.

Nixon barely managed to look up when another explosion hit the rear of the plane, a great fireball spread quickly through the enclosed area. Nobody could survive the inferno.

Unconditional Surrender

Stunned silence spread across the emergency bunker buried deep in the bowels of the White House. There were no further radio communications between Air force one and Angel flight and those in the control room could not raise anybody on Airforce one.

The people in the room looked at each other with disbelief, not one of them was prepared for this moment even though the sudden war had not been going well from the beginning.

The two men in black surveyed the room, Edgar Hoover the head of the FBI just looked straight ahead with a blank expression while the Vice President had his head in his hands; the two men unfolded their arms and walked forward in unison. One of them turned the battle net radio down.

“Listen up we have suffered another setback, that is true but until we have confirmation about the Presidents status we have to assume the worst.” They paused. “That means Mr. Vice President you are in command.”

Spiro Agnew took his head out of his hands and looked up with red eyes. He looked at the two unearthly men, “Shouldn’t we wait until the confirmation that Richard hasn’t made it?”

They shook their heads, “No we need to act now, the inevitable attack on the capital is coming and our forces need leadership.”

Spiro could not hide his fear, “What would be your suggested orders, how do we counter them and their seemingly untouchable technology?”

The men in black’s trademark sinister smile flashed across their faces, “We cannot have anybody retreat, everybody who remains in the city are taking up arms as we speak. We can only hope that the rest of the world realizes the enormity of the threat and sends their assistance. This is not a battle we are likely to win but it is one that we must fight it.”

The screens monitoring the news broadcasts flashed off and then flickered on again. A familiar German accent narrated over the blank broadcast screens.

“Welcome my fellow Americans.” He announced. “Your armed forces have been fighting and dying hard. Aryan troops have broken through this minor obstacle this morning and are splitting your country in two as we speak.”

The screens flicked on to show burnt out Patton tanks and dead soldiers where they had fallen in combat, and then the images changed to show warships bombarding a coastline. The film lasted for thirty seconds before changing again; this time it was showing Latin troops smashing through the Mexican border from Guatemala.

“As you can see the Argentinian navy is taking out targets in Mexico, our new allies from South and Central America are attacking strategic targets in Mexico. They will not be coming to your aid.”

Spiro Agnew rubbed his furrowed forehead.

Sporrenberg continued to narrate as a new darker film appeared.

“America you may not have realized it but the Soviet Union was planning to launch a nuclear strike against your beloved country. They thought they would take us all out with one attack.”

The film showed the spire of the Kremlin and then the surrounding areas, it looked peaceful but something was not quite right. As the camera zoomed in cars came into focus, none of them were moving and most of them had doors open.

The camera continued to zoom in and the first sign of clothes came into view and then another set and then another until they could see the floor was covered in abandoned clothes. As the images grew, strange black goo coated the items of clothing and soon it became evident there was blackened bone mixed in amongst the tar-like substance.

“The Soviet leadership cast has been destroyed, along with every other living creature in Moscow.” Sporrenberg continued as the camera switched to show piles of fur and feathers dotted around the place; the skeletons were blackened and mangled with goo.

“This is our countermeasure to any nuclear threat sent our way, this was just a small warhead armed with Xerum 525 which will destroy all living cells within the target area. We have an enormous supply of these missiles and we will use them again if necessary.”

Finally the screens switched to Sporrenberg’s expressionless face. “We are pleased to announce we have accepted a peace settlement with the Soviet Union only a few minutes ago.” Sporrenberg leaned forward into the camera. “We would be willing to discuss surrender terms for the United States with your Vice President Spiro Agnew.”

The footage changed to the view out of the cockpit of an Me 262, the fighter had Air Force one clear in its gunsights.

A purple orb flew into the helpless aircraft and an explosion rocked the airframe; slicing of the cockpit. A second orb raced outwards and impacted into the fuselage causing a large fireball that engulfed the screen for a few seconds until it died away just leaving metal debris to fall.

There was a pause and then the screens flickered back to Sporrenberg, “Unfortunately as you can see we are no longer able to speak to President Nixon. We are willing to accept terms of unconditional surrender only. We await your response Vice President. If we do not receive a satisfactory reply before 16.00 hours we will have no choice but to launch an all-out attack on Washington.”

“Have a good afternoon, auf wiedersehen.”

The screens clicked off.

Siege

16:00 hours was quickly approaching by the time Spiro Agnew had barely finished his speech, his call to arms and his battle cry to the American people. The Vice president had made the Countries position clear. There would be no surrender.

The latest battle reports showed that the Aryan forces had smashed straight through light resistance in a host of major and minor cities along the way. The mass evacuation initiated by the late President Nixon had worked and the Aryan troops were greeted by ghost town after ghost town.

A huge force had come to a halt just at the edge of Leesburg and another large group of armored vehicles spread out from Fredericks on the way to Baltimore to the north of the capital. The encirclement of Washington had begun.

The likelihood of Washington being attacked was always high so the city had been preparing its defenses for some time. Anti Tank trenches had been dug and as many mines as possible had been laid in the open spaces between Gaithersburg, Baltimore, Reston and Fairfax.

Artillery and anti aircraft emplacements flooded the city and desecrated nearly every national landmark. There was a heavy concentration around the White House and the United States Capitol building with its iconic dome being used as a vantage point.

At 16.16 fighting broke out in Baltimore as a unit of concealed Patton medium tanks opened fire at advancing Tiger tanks at point black range. Machine gun nests let out bursts of fire on troops marching through the deserted streets.

The Aryan forces did not advance into Gaithersburg but instead launched a savage artillery bombardment until the buildings were leveled and the area was just a desolate rubble-strewn, crater-filled wasteland.

Civilian volunteer armies stayed to fight in Chantilly, Centreville and Reston but they had received little training and were quickly captured but the Aryan forces. They had their DNA checked immediately and anybody without a high percentage of Aryan heritage was quickly dispatched.

As the evening twilight faded the enemy forces had quickly gained a lot of the land around the capital city. After a few initial casualties from the massive amounts of mines laid down, the huge super heavy Maus tanks were used to clear a path through to Fairfax and North through Rockville.

This rapid advance of enemy forces was the cue for the huge collection of American M107 and M110 self-propelled guns to open fire. Artillery shells rained down in the darkening nights’ skies. Their fire was directed by brave Sheridan light tank crews that stayed outside of the cities defenses to report on hostile positions; many paid dearly with their lives.

Despite being under heavy fire the Aryan vehicles continued their advance in Annandale and Springfield to the South and Bethesda to the North. Again they encountered light resistance from the volunteer armies but this posed little danger and actually, many of these were killed by friendly fire from the 175 mm and the 203 mm howitzer shells.

Baltimore was completely cut off and encircled at 20:45 with only a small pocket of American soldiers fighting on until their ammunition ran out completely at 22:00. The Patton tanks were all out of action about an hour before this. The remaining troops were quickly overwhelmed and all were dead five minutes later.

The Washington National Airport housed the majority of the remaining US air force and it needed to be protected at all costs. Batteries of antiaircraft guns littered the area and the mobile Vulcan’s were situated there; as wells as the Pentagon and the White House. One more surprise awaited the Aryans on the Potomac River itself.

In preparation for the assault all but one of the bridges across the river had been destroyed. Most of the boats in the area had been told to leave or had been scuttled where they were moored. The American troops waited, trying to get some sleep under the incessant artillery barrage from their own guns. The smell of smoke washed over the city like a wave as every street had a roadblock ablaze with tires and burning vehicles.

The artillery barrage lasted almost until dawn, straight after the American’s launched their first counterattack as two squadrons of B-52’s rose into the moonless night sky. Their targets were the super heavy Maus tanks as they posed the greatest threat. The second squadron was tasked with destroying the enemy troops and any Me 262 fighters that intelligence suggested were still on the ground, housed on temporary airstrips.

Ten minutes later the American leadership received a bitter blow to their battle plan. They were hoping a large force from the North was going to help alleviate the growing pressure on them. But this force had been engaged by an equally large Aryan army that until that moment nobody knew existed.

Operation Breakfast

The sweeping bombers rose into the twilight dawn sky, their bellies loaded with bombs. The giant birds reached forty thousand feet then leveled off, the five-man crews were nervous; they felt uncomfortable area bombing their own country. The crews prayed to god that they would not hurt any of their own countryman.

The first formation of bombers reached the edge of Rockville just after 05:50 am. The giant cargo bays swung open as the doors split away from each other. The bombs fell quickly and impacted in long, huge lines of flaming rage. The ground shook as tons of ordinance obliterated Rockville; buildings turned into rubble as the area evaporated into a smoke-filled wasteland devoid of life.

The first squadron of B-52’s turned for home, they had hoped to catch the enemy out in the open as they advanced towards Washington DC; however not one of the Aryan’s divisions had been in Rockville when it was flattened; the American’s had only succeeded in creating a minor inconvenience for the tanks who had to drive around huge amounts of rubble.

A second squadron of bombers had taken off slightly later and was only just reaching the altitude to commence their bombing run. This time they knew where their targets were thanks to a brave light tank crew who had kept tabs on a massive enemy formation of super heavy tanks. The pilots were keen to avenge the Sheridan crew who had paid for the information with their blood.

The B-52’s were ready to start the run when the sky echoed emphatically to the sound of thunder. The pilots looked around but could not see any clouds. Another clap of thunder rang out across the sky; two seconds later the sky around the bombers illuminated as a bolt of lightning crashed into the lead bombers cockpit.

Glass showed over the pilots and the instruments went out one by one. The pilot was deafened and he turned disorientated to his copilot.

“What the hell was that?”

“Turner?”

“Turner…?” The pilot said again as he shook Turner’s slumped body, “Wake up Turner.”

An inaudible voice came over the radio but the pilot was not listening anyway.

Another long bolt of blue lightning washed over the left wing, the mighty bombers engines burst into flames as the energy of the electricity broke off the wing tip.

The B-52 started to fall from the sky as the disorientated pilot pushed down on the controls. The nose dipped straight down to the earth below. The other crews watched in horror as a third lightning strike hit the plane; it must have hit the bombs in the main cargo bay as the aircraft disintegrated in a huge explosion.

“Split… everyone split, but remain on target!”

The B-52’s increased the distance between individual aircraft but they stayed on their bombing runs.

The thunderclaps bounced between aircraft, the ever increasing decibels caused the airframes to creak under the strain. Lightning spread across the heavens, each bolt appeared to reach out and grasp with spiny fingers at the advancing bombers.

Back in the command center buried deep within the White House the two men in black were the only ones who knew what was coming. The two men ordered that the bombers should break off and return to base but they were unable to get a message through the intense storm around the aircraft.

The lead B-52 opened its massive cargo bay and the bombs began to fall when a vast ball of light traced a path straight up the bolt of lightning into the open cargo bay. The bomber was engulfed in a great light; when the light faded several seconds later only falling debris remained.

More and more orbs of light raced from the ground, following the lightning straight onto their targets. Three more B-52’s were instantly vaporized. A group of bombers turned the nose of their aircraft skywards and gave as much power to the engines as they could. They hoped altitude would be their savior.

The bright purple plasma appeared to pick up speed as it homed in on the soft underbelly of the rising planes. Instantly another five bombers disappeared from the sky in a haze of light and tiny sprinkles of debris.

Finally, the remaining B-52’s decided to bug out and they turned and ran for home as quickly as the lumbering aircraft could muster. It was no good the orbs of light were just too fast; one after another the American bombers exploded in flashes of intense light.

A few of the bombers had managed to fall below ten thousand feet and the crews tried to desperately bailout but the few that were successful were soon cut to piece by the sheet lightning that seemed to carpet the entire sky.

The attack was a complete disaster not one of the B-52’s reached their targets but all were lost to the sheer volume of anti aircraft fire that Aryan Panzer group one could bring to the fight. The tanks of Panzer group one rolled on through a minefield just before Arlington.

A few heads in the American command and control room dropped as reports flooded in of tanks smashing through the minefield with ease. The order to blow the last remaining bridge across the Potomac River was given just after 07:00 hours.

A small platoon of Marines was cut off; they took up defensive positions in and around the Pentagon. They had fifteen Sheridan light tanks for backup and three Artillery pieces. The marines had refused to abandon their position and had promised to buy the forces around the White House more time.

Three of the Sheridan’s moved into advanced areas so they could guide the artillery shells right down onto the targets. As the light tanks began scouting their commanders could not help but be impressed by the sobering sight.

Before them several hundred of the colossal Maus tanks kicked up gravel and dust into the air as the advanced ever closer. The super heavy tank was surprisingly quick for its size and was the most fearsome machine in the Aryan ground force. The sheer size of the tank was enough to spread fear into the enemy.

The End

Machine gun fire rang out; semi-automatic rifles were barely audible over the sound of the artillery batteries desperate bombardment. Small assault teams were positioned through the Pentagon’s windows. The roof bristled with cannons, guns and a few specialist snipers.

Sergeant Peters-Smith gingerly popped up and snatched a quick glance through the window. He counted ten Maus rolling towards their position, they fired on the move. Peters-Smith watched as the plasma rounds sailed passed; they were targeting the artillery.

“Shit.” The Sergeant said under his breath as he lowered his binoculars. He planned his next move when a familiar sound forced him to take a second look.

As Peters-Smith looked overhead he smiled as a squadron of Cobra attack helicopters roared passed. He counted again as they kept coming.

“Holy shit boys, looked like we have every choppa in the country on our side. Give them hell boys!”

Cheers burst out from the Marines.

The Cobra’s came in fast and low hoping to avoid the deadly anti aircraft fire. They focused their fire on the advancing heavy battle tanks that were spread out in a loose formation below them. Seven 70 mm rockets tore forward; long smoke trails followed.

The rockets impacted all around the heavy tank, several missed but at least four hit their mark. The Maus’s turret swung round, the second smaller cannon on the right of the turret aimed skywards and fired. The second Cobra information burst into flames as the luminescent purple round sliced through it.

More Cobras fired their rockets. The air filled with smoke as the 70 mm rockets hit home. The Maus rocked under the fire and a strange blue wave of electricity washed over it.

More and more Cobras flew over as they continued their vicious assault. The Maus tanks were priority targets but the attack helicopters took out any Tiger I tanks and troop transports that they could find as well.

Two squadrons of Huey helicopters with rocket pods followed the advancing Cobras; they swung in from the Southern side of the Pentagon and started their attack run. They had managed to catch the side of the Maus tanks.

The Huey’s rockets raced forward and detonated on the side of the mobile fortresses. The Huey’s managed to blow the tracks of several of the heavy tanks causing them to be immobilized.

The Aryan tanks were no less dangerous though and as their turrets tracked the small helicopters they fired and the bright purple plasma sprang forward and washed over three Huey’s; they were instantly turned into falling shrapnel.

Suddenly one of the immobilized Maus tanks was hit with a hail of falling shells. A large explosion followed and as the smoke cleared; all that remained of the area was several large shell craters; the monstrous tank ceased to exist.

Another salvo violently crashed into another Maus causing it to disappear in a ball of fire. The marines in the Pentagon cheered even louder. They started to believe they may have a chance of holding the advance here.

The American’s trump card was moored in the Potomac River, just south of the airport. The recently reactivated USS New Jersey’s nine, massive 406 mm guns bristled angrily. The 887 ft Iowa-class vessel is the last remaining battleship in the world. It was being utilized as a massive artillery piece.

A loud screeching sound announced the arrival of the heavy Aryan battle tank. The burning rock blocked caved in almost instantly as the Maus battered its way through; the charred frame of a lorry was pushed out of the way effortlessly.

A group of M48 Patton tanks opened fire, the rounds bounced harmless off the monsters armor. The Patton’s dispersed while continuing to fire on the move. The rounds kept hitting home but they were still ineffective.

Rhode Island Ave NW was now a burning mess of tangled vehicle hulls. The Aryan tank rotated its giant turret and focused on a Patton medium tank that was trying to flank it. The Maus fired and the plasma round clipped the back of the M48, crippling the tracks.

Three more huge tanks smashed their way through the barriers and started to fire, a US medium tank went up in flames, and the screams of the trapped burning crewman soon fell silent.

Cobra attack helicopters raced over the top of the capitol building and headed straight towards the advancing enemy armor. They flew in low and let their 70 mm rockets fly free. A Maus took the full brunt of the assault; the turret ring was shot to pieces.

Three M48’s speed forward as the crews sensed blood. The first Patton was too eager and could not react in time as a large flash of purple spat out from the damaged Maus. The plasma washed over the front of the Patton, at point-blank range the crew had no chance of survival.

The Maus clicked into reverse, gathering a surprising amount of speed quickly the tank rolled back through the roadblock which prevented the American mediums from flanking it. The cupola popped open and a soldier in full black-clad body armor appeared. He propped up what looked like a rocket launcher and rested the tube over his shoulder.

A Cobra helicopter was on the start of its strafing run and it opened up with its two multi-barrel miniguns. The bullets pinged and rebounded off of the tarmac in front of the tank. As the rounds closed in on the super heavy tank the Aryan soldier did not move. He aimed the launcher and then squeezed the trigger.

A glowing white orb zoomed straight into the attack helicopter as if it was under the soldier’s direct control. The cockpit of the Cobra completely evaporated while the rest of the fuselage crashed to the ground.

A second wave of Cobras flew in as low as they could; they were almost kissing the turf. They fast helicopters lined up for their attack runs but just as they were in position a wall of purple balls washed towards them.

The helicopters took immediate evasive action but the orbs seemed to aggressively change course and continued to levitate towards their targets. One competent pilot managed to fly low enough to get the orb to detonate on the roof of a building. Others were not so lucky.

“Where the hell did that come from?”

“No idea Taff but we need to get out of here.”

“Negative we are the only ones covering the ground forces.”

Cobra one and two flew low over the tops of the buildings and then banked for another attack on the tanks. A stream of plasma washed out from above them. The steady stream of superheated light cut into Cobra two and the smoking helicopter crashed into the houses below.

The pilot of Cobra one looked over his shoulder and to his great dismay he saw an Me 262 fighter leveling off after a steep dive.

“Shit, command this is cobra one, we have 262’s for company. Repeat we need immediate fast air support. Acknowledge we have 262’s.”

Relentless

F4 Phantoms roared in fast and low. The sky was littered with aircraft; it was difficult to lock onto targets; the radar guided AIM-7 missiles were useless in this environment.

The lead Phantoms rushed onto the tail of the nimble Me 262 fighter. The Aryan plane immediately started to swing left and right to prevent the Sparrow missiles locking on. The Me 262 was exceptionally maneuverable and rushed skywards with extreme speed.

Powerful twin engines growled as the American pilots maxed the throttle in pursuit.

“You’re not getting away this time!” Flight leader Barton said to himself. The petite blonde pilot waited patiently; finally, he managed to get the targeting reticle to lead the target. He smiled as he pulled the trigger.

The powerful Gatling gun in the nose span into life, 20 mm rounds spewed out at the rate of 6000 rounds per minute. The Aryan pilot was taken by surprise and was slightly too slow to react. The rear of his plane was shot to pieces and a trail of smoke poured out from the crippled aircraft.

Barton repositioned his fighter slightly and then squeezed the trigger again. The rounds tore through the side of the tumbling Me 262; seconds later the plane exploded in a large fireball. Barton’s radar operator scanned the sky for the pilot but he had not ejected.

The air was now filled with a brilliant light show as plasma fire was accompanied by the long streaks of smoke from missiles and the beautiful red of tracer rounds. F4’s crisscrossed the paths of Me 262s in a deadly ballot.

The battle of Rhode Island Ave raged below. Cobra attack helicopters let out another volley of missiles. A tracked Tiger I was knocked out but the crew scrambled out and began laying down covering fire on a group of Americans who had ventured too close.

M48 Pattons continued to fire on the move because they knew it was game over if they were hit by the Maus’s deadly main gun.

A Maus exploded as it tried to advance through a narrow street. It was struck by another salvo from the USS New Jersey. The fighting had grown in intensity around the Pentagon in the last half an hour or so.

Sergeant Peters-Smith was worried but he knew they had to hold this area at all cost otherwise the airport would be under direct threat; without air support the city would fall.

A ball of plasma washed over the front of the last self-propelled gun.

“Sir, the last of our mobile artillery is gone. What do you think we should do now?”

“Bring the fire from the New Jersey in closer and keep the roof batteries firing. We can’t let them advance any further!” Peters-Smith ordered.

A silver flash streaked passed the roof of the Pentagon as a Navy Phantom flew over. It trailed smoke as a Me 262 continued to hose plasma in the air around it. The Phantom pilot was fighting hard to keep his plane out of the line of fire.

A second streak of silver followed a few seconds later. It was the Phantoms wingman who had managed to sneak up on the Aryan pilot. A satisfying growl reverberated in the wingman’s ear; he knew he was locked on and squeezed the trigger.

To the relief of the young pilot the Sidewinder whooshed forward and tracked the target perfectly. The missile sped at the target but at the last second the Me 262 broke hard right and then rotated one hundred and eighty degrees in an impossible maneuver.

The wingman watched in horror as the Sidewinder streaked towards the first Phantom. It detonated as it struck the rear engines and the cockpit split from the fuselage; the cockpit crumpled as it hit the ground and rolled end over end.

The young wingman had no time to mourn though as the Me 262 fired a large ball of plasma that tracked the Phantom. With nowhere to go the young man and his radar operator ejected before the plasma ball disintegrated their plane.

Fixed artillery batteries on the Pentagon’s roof continued to fire. The women operating the guns had been working nonstop for the last four hours. They were covered in dirt and grime but their spirit was not broken.

Sergeant Peters-Smith could not believe the women’s resolve, not because they were women but because they were volunteers with only a few hours training. If they could fight this hard, then his marines must fight harder; they owed the civilians that at least.

Nine massive guns bellowed as the USS New Jersey fired yet another salvo. The crew knew they were the only ones realistically holding back the enemies attack in this sector of the city; unfortunately, they were now attracting more and more unwanted attention.

“Enemy air to the North.”

“Roger that, incoming, incoming.”

Four balls of superheated light rushed towards the battleship as the Me 262s strafed the vessel. Out of nowhere four Huey’s flew straight into the plasma balls; they were instantly vaporized.

There was stunned silence on the deck of the ship as the crew watched their comrades sacrifice.

The four Me 262s then opened up with long streams of purple plasma fire but they were intercepted by a large squadron of Phantoms who managed to quickly overwhelm them with sheer numbers of five to one.

The American’s right flank collapsed at Stanton Park just after midday when a great formation of super heavy tanks smashed their way through a group of M48 Pattons. The Maus tanks ignored the supporting infantry and continued to take out as much armor as they could find.

Deep under the White House the remaining American leadership group sent as much armor as they could to plug the gap. A mixed battalion of the latest M60 main battles tanks rubbed shoulders with the obsolete M4 Sherman medium tanks that had been rushed back into service to swell the American’s numbers; they were completely outclassed though.

The smoke filled sky darkened and the downpour started soon after which put out many of the fires in the burning streets. The fighter jets still continued to engage each other but the Aryans advanced targeting systems were much more effective in this weather.

The strong tide was turning into a tsunami and the Americans were in danger of getting washed away.

Operation Menu

The deluge continued to buffet the battle scared streets of Washington DC. Heavy raindrops bounced off the M60A1’s thick hull. The main battle tanks maneuvered quickly through the streets. Commander Michael Orton led the massive, swift counter-attack against the Aryan tanks who had broken through Stanton Park.

The forty-five-year-old, dark-haired Orton had his orders. The Aryan forces had to be stopped before they reached the iconic Capital building. Orton commanded sixty of the best tanks the US had manufactured to date and he was supported by thirty M48 Pattons and finally, was reinforced with twenty Sherman medium tanks.

Artillery based around Capitol Hill had just finished softening up the area along Massachusetts Avenue and the adjoining streets leading from Stanton Park. They had left once choke point along Maryland Avenue NE. This was where the assault force would make their stand.

Overhead the growl of Phantom engines echoed across the rooftops. Five of the fighters hurtled passed low on their attack run. Their targets were the super heavy Maus tanks that had just rolled onto Maryland Avenue.

The Phantoms released their payloads over the targets and then bugged out quickly. The general purpose bombs exploded across the advancing Aryan tanks covering them in a thick cloud of black smoke. The Maus appeared through the explosion unharmed apart from a small black smear across the large turret.

Commander Orton watched through his binoculars, he was not pleased with what he saw. The middle-aged man sighed as he slicked his soaking wet hair back before he slid back inside his tank.

The bulk of the M60A1 tanks were hidden behind the buildings on Constitution Ave NE. They waited for their signal to attack. Thirty seconds passed until the signal arrived.

A formation of Huey helicopters zoomed overhead and began their attack. The Huey’s went in one by one in a long strafing line, firing missiles as they went. The missiles struck the side of the Maus tanks causing their tracks to be broken clean off.

The huge turrets tracked their targets and the smaller anti aircraft cannon fired purple flashes into the sky. Several of the rounds hit their marks and Huey’s fell to the ground.

“Starters group attack now, green light.” Orton bellowed across the radio.

Engines rumbled as the main battle tanks moved into life. They drove straight through the buildings like they were nothing, bricks and tiles from the roof flew in all directions. The M60A1 aimed in on their targets. The 105mm M68 guns thundered armor piercing rounds onto the enemy.

Commander Orton watched the results with annoyance, most of the rounds bounced off the heavily armored hulls of the Aryan tanks.

“They have got to have a weakness. Fire at the lower glacis.” He ordered.

The next volley was just as ineffective as the first.

“Damn it. Ok close in on them, we can’t let them get any closer than this.”

The M60A1 started to close the distance on the immobilized targets. They fired on the move but penetrating the front of the monster seemed like an impossible task.

A clap of thunder sounded in the distance followed by another and another. The sky darkened even further as if a huge storm was on the way; the rain continued to drench the city. The Phantom pilots who had experienced this before and survived to tell the tale had requested to return to base.

The sky exploded suddenly in a brilliant shower of electricity as an elongated bolt of lightning zigzagged a path across the horizon. A large clap of thunder sounded off and the echoes bounced from building to building.

The Americans had witnessed this before and knew what was coming; all of the air support in the area turned towards the Ronald Reagan international airport to shelter from the coming assault. The Cobra attack helicopters were the only ones who continued the fight as they believed they could avoid the anti aircraft batteries if they stay close to the ground.

A squadron of Phantoms were engaging a group of Me 262’s just below the cloud base and had not received the order to return to base. The lead F4 and his wingman tumbled towards the diving Me 262; they American pilots twisted and rolled to keep in a firing position.

An American fighter streaked across their path, a few hundred feet in front and was quickly pursued by an enemy fighter. A stream of plasma spewed out from the pursuing Me 262 and the Phantom was hit in the starboard engine.

The Phantom pilot put his machine into a steep dive and plummeted earthward but he was unable to shake the much more agile Me 262. The pilot was desperate now and in his panic did not pull out the dive in time; the Phantom disappeared in a large ball of fire as it struck the ground.

As the squadron leader watched over his shoulder he shook his head briefly before switching his full attention back to the target in front. After a few seconds he heard the grumble through his earpieces as the Sidewinder missile locked on.

The more experienced pilot waited a few seconds before squeezing the trigger, the missiles motor ignited and the missile launched forward and immediately went into a rightward spiral.

The pilot cursed under his breath and as he was about to pull the trigger again he watched as the missile corkscrewed back on course, straight down the tail of the Me 262. The Aryan pilot was surprised and before he had time to maneuver his aircraft the missile hit home.

The Phantoms crew celebrated as the burning wreck of the Me 262 spiraled earthwards and struck a building below. They could see no chute so the pilot was unlikely to have bailed out.

Another brighter flash of pure blue lightning spread across the sky, it reached outwards with wide fingers and crept towards the Phantoms. Suddenly the Me 262’s disengaged with their American counterparts.

“What the hell is going on?” The flight leader shouted as the streak of lightning flashed passed his canopy. The Phantoms spotted an opportunity to get on the tails of their enemies and they were not willing to pass it up.

The F4 pilots were trained to be aggressive and take the initiative in battles and this instinct kicked in. In pairs the Phantoms pushed to get in behind the idling Me 262’s; the American pilots got into a near perfect firing position.

The flight leaders Phantom was obliterated in an instant.

“Shit Los had gone, disengage…” the radio was cut off as a ball of superheated plasma washed over the second Phantom.

The rest of the Squadron bugged out in different directions but it was too late the trap was already set, and more and more orbs raced towards them. The youngest of the pilots rolled desperately and then dived.

“You haven’t lost it Cherry?” His radar operator shouted. “Shit did you see that?”

A ball of plasma was on a direct collision course with a Me 262 but at the last second the orb seemed to move quickly to the left and avoid its friendly.

“That isn’t possible.” Cherry’s wingman kept repeating as the orbs quickly gained on their Phantom.

“Eject Bill, Eject.” Cherry pleaded. He pulled the ejection handle seconds before the plasma impacted onto his plane. Cherry and his wingman had managed to avoid the deadly blast but the intense heat still washed over them and they both passed out before their parachutes had opened.

All across the sky the lightning spread further and further, it stalked a group of Cobras as they started their attack run over the tops of low buildings. Bricks fell as the lightning smashed into the sides of houses.

The Cobras were hit by the burning lightning just before they could fire on the tanks below them. The flaming fuselages of the attack helicopters tumbled into the area below; none of the squadron survived.

Commander Orton’s main battle tanks pressed on with the assault but their rounds still bounced off the front of the super heavy tanks. One of the immobilized Maus tanks turret lined up and fired, a blinding flash of purple enveloped the area as a M60A1 was swallowed in a purple supernova.

“Keep the pressure up.” Orton roared as the gunner fired. The round flew forward and struck the Maus just below its anti aircraft cannon; it was a lucky shot and the Maus went up in flames before exploding completely in a dazzling shower of violet.

“Woah, nice one commander.”

“All armored groups, aim for the anti-aircraft cannon that maybe their only weak spot.” Orton growled, this was no time to celebrate a minor victory.

The battle around the Pentagon intensified as more and more Aryan armor was thrown into the fight. The Maus tanks were joined by the Tiger I’s and by a fast moving medium tank that looked like the world war two Panther but with a long gun.

The tanks did not fire on the Pentagon building itself but continued to take shots at retreating units.

“Why are they not firing on us yet Sir? We are getting free shots on them, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“No idea but just keep them where they are, they can’t be allowed to get any closer to the airport.”

A series of large booms rang out as the USS New Jersey fired another few salvos into a group of advancing Tiger tanks, all but one was completely knocked out as the powerful battleship stopped attack after attack.

Unfortunately for the American’s the air support protecting the New Jersey had been forced out of the fight. A swarm of Me 262’s dove out of the low cloud base at a near vertical angle to the ship. The USS New Jersey’s anti aircraft guns could not track their targets properly.

The first plasma round fell from the stooping Me 262 and was quickly followed by five more rounds. They impacted on the stern of the New Jersey and exploded instantly. Crewmen in the vicinity were vaporized while others who were a greater distance away from the impact sites were badly burnt.

The battleship continued to provide covering fire on the advancing tanks while simultaneously fighting its own fires. The Me 262’s continued their dives and let out wave after wave of plasma as they strafed their target.

At the last possible moment, the Aryan fighters pulled out of the dive and sped away, low across the river before climbing into the cloud base again. Another wave of fighters appeared from the North and began their attack run unopposed.

The USS New Jersey took another four plasma rounds to the stern of the vessel, the last one smashed into an ammo store and a huge fireball engulfed the rear of the great battleship. Crew that were not killed instantly were thrown into the icy water where oil burned on the surface.

The rear guns of the New Jersey fell silent but the battleship continued to fire from the remaining working guns. The men in black watched silently from the situation room in the White House, they knew if the New Jersey went down then the slim hope of victory would be completely extinguished.

General Westmoreland watched on in desperation at the events unfolding in front of him, he ordered the Phantoms to re-engage to try and take the heat off of the New Jersey but it was all in vain as the electrified atmosphere was playing havoc with communications.

Without warning the Me 262’s stopped attacking and fled from the area, simultaneously the armored group that had been advancing on the Pentagon began falling back.

The marines inside the landmark could not believe what they were seeing.

“Are they falling back?”

“Hell yeah I reckon we scared the living shit out of them!”

“Yeah have some of this you cowards.” a private shouted as he fired his M16 aimlessly out of the window.

“Cease fire you idiot!” Sergeant Peter-Smith shouted “Stop wasting ammo. They aren’t retreating, it wouldn’t make any sense for them to do that, which means they must be planning something else. Something worse.”

A whooshing sound came from the East of the burning city, it was quiet to begin with but it grew louder in intensity until the sky was filled with trails of brilliant purple that flew high into the sky. As the rose they burned off the layers of cloud in front of them.

The purple lights hung in the early evening sky for what seemed an eternity before they fell towards the ground. As they fell the lights grew larger and larger.

“Shit.” Sergeant Peter-Smith screamed. “Hit the deck, now.” He flung himself to floor.

Seconds later the inevitable impact took place, the water around turned to steam as the intense heat evaporated it. The Bow of the vessel was gone and the middle vaporized completely after, there was no explosion but a large section of the river where the USS New Jersey had been moored was now ablaze with huge purple flames.

A second volley of plasma artillery flew high into the air and then fell towards the helpless targets, this time the Marines in the Pentagon bore the full wrath of the fire. The women volunteers on the roof were completely exposed and stood no chance.

The Marines barely had time to scream as the Pentagon was turned into a pile of scorched rubble. Now their Eastern flank was unprotected apart from a small group of cut off American infantry. The Ronald Reagan international airport was under severe threat.

As the last of the daylight started to fade the Aryans were ready to begin the main offensive. Armored units started to pour into the city and for the first time infantry units were there to support them.

American commanders knew the desperate situation they were in and as each one of them surveyed their respective army groups, they could see the fear and the battle strain on the faces of the men and women that cowered before them. Here volunteers and armed forces personnel stood side by side.

The commanders repeated the orders that there would be no retreat and they would fight where they stood, not because these were their orders, or because the chain of command said so but because they were fighting for their freedom.

There was not to be even one step back.

Freedom

The streets were filled with the sound of intense fighting. Troops from the Aryan first infantry division filtered in passed the burning wrecks of Patton tanks. They moved quickly but they still managed to fire accurately.

Plasma rounds spewed out in all directions as they pinned down a group of American soldiers that were holding the corner building. The return fire danced to the tune of M16 rounds, the rounds that hit their mark only bounced off the tough Aryan body armor; the Americans began to lose their nerve and some of them started to run.

The Aryan soldiers shot them in the back and mowed them down where they stood.

A deafening clap of thunder rang out above as the lightning continued to claim the sky. The situation was desperate for the units defending the Ronald Reagan international airport. The Phantoms had returned to base and quickly refueled and rearmed.

The pilots were stuck in between a rock and a hard place but they decided they would rather take their chance in the air then be picked off on the ground. One after another the powerful engines roared into life and the jets sped down the runway.

Commander Orton’s tanks fought onwards as they advanced on the immobilized Maus tanks. The volume of fire was coordinated on the first Aryan tank but the rounds continued to bounce off the reinforced hull.

“Fire.” Orton ordered again and again as the M60 main battle tanks advanced. Orton was going to win his battle with determination alone. The Maus turret tracked his tank and the barrel of the huge canon glowed with a menacing tone of violet.

Just as the Maus went to fire it exploded in a shower of purple sparks, a F4 Phantom pulled up at the last minute and its engines powered up so that it could return for another attack run.

The communication system was still in disarray so the ground troops could not thank their friend but boy were they glad to see the air support return. The tanks pressed on the attack. The main battle tanks were now supported by the M48 medium Patton’s as they had pushed forward on the left flank.

The fighting grew more intense to the North of the White House grounds as the 1^st volunteer army got their first taste of the action. A group of young women manned the anti tank guns, they kept up a heavy rate of fire but the rounds only impacted on buildings as the women got their eye in; causing rubble to fly in all directions.

Surprisingly there was no return fire but the women continued to send shells into the area as they hoped to completely wipe out any advancing infantry.

A sharp crack split the air as a large beam of light raced forward; it struck the young lady who was loading the next shell straight in the chest. She screamed as she fell to the floor but she did not have time to feel much pain as she died seconds later.

“Sniper.” The Sergeant screamed and dived for cover, he did not make it as the next round split his skull clean in two.

The soldiers of the 1^st volunteer group ran for cover where ever they could find it. Most of the non military personnel were too scared to raise their heads back above the shelter; especially as a young private who tried this was instantly killed.

The tanks supporting the volunteer group roared into action with their guns blazing. The Sherman tanks were obsolete by today’s standards but they had no choice but to carry the fight to the enemy.

The .50 caliber machine guns on the turret sprayed hot lead in the direction of the rapidly advancing Aryan troops. The first line of troops took heavy losses as the powerful guns ripped them to shreds.

The Aryan troops took cover behind anything they could and started to lay down suppressing fire. The snipers fired at the priority targets; these were than antitank guns and the gunners on the Sherman’s turrets.

A young gunner laid down fire over the area where two Aryan’s were sheltering, he struck one in the chest and he fell to the floor with blood pouring from the wounds.

The sniper rifles cracked again and a bright beam struck the gunner clean through his neck, his lifeless body slumped forward. The gun fell silent. But the sniper’s beams were giving away their positions on top of the high buildings.

The Sherman’s focused their guns on the rooftops and started to fire high explosive shells on at the snipers positions. The snipers sprinted from their cover but one was slightly too slow and the high explosive shell took the platform he was standing on away from his feet; he plummeted to his death.

A Cobra had heard scattered radio chatter and flown into position; the pilot opened up the Gatling gun in the nose and peppered the rooftops with as much ammo as he could. A fleeing sniper took rounds straight through his back, the bullets went clean through and he fell, never to rise again.

Three more Cobra’s arrived and unloaded their missiles onto the rooftops, the explosions shattered the celling’s and debris was jettisoned in every direction. The American volunteer group gained confidence and opened fire on the pinned down enemy.

An orb of superheated shimmering light smashed into the side of the Cobra, it exploded on contact and the choppers flaming fuselage crashed into an advancing Sherman below knocking the tank out of action.

Further orbs raced in from the left and the Cobras had no choice but to flee but it was too late, the orbs crashed into them and the crippled wreckages fell turning the area below them into a burning mess.

The airfield was now under direct attack from the advancing Maus tanks to the East. The artillery pieces returned fire on their adversary’s but it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold the enemy back.

The last remaining helicopters at the international airfield took off and made a dash for safety. They were tailed by the nimble Me 262’s.

Ten Me 262’s appeared over the skies off the airport, they circled above and one by one dove on the targets below.

The antiaircraft Gatling guns opened up, they spewed rounds into the sky but at the steep angle that the fighters were approaching it was difficult to hit them. The Aryan fighters twisted and turned during the dive making them harder to hit; they were diving at ridicules speeds and maneuvering at these speeds created huge gee forces.

The Vulcan Gatling guns tried in vain to stop the approaching attack but the Me 262 released its purple orb of plasma and then rolled out of the dive. The round smashed into the aircraft control tower several seconds later; the tower rocked and the offices splintered.

The second fighter released its plasma bomb and struck the refueling trucks sheltering on the edge of the base, the ensuing explosion rocked the area and thick black smoke rose into the sky.

Three artillery pieces were consumed in the fireball; their crews were burnt to charcoal. American personal ran in all directions as the airport came under heavy fire. The Maus tanks had now advanced to the edge of the base; this meant the artillery found it increasingly difficult to target them.

The Maus tanks fired in unison and vaporized any self-propelled guns in their path. The tanks did not advance any further though as the Me 262’s pressed home their bombing runs.

M60 main battle tanks had been dug in on the fringes of the airport; they opened fire on the advancing troop transport vehicles as they were lightly armored. One of the box-shaped vehicles went up in smoke but to the tank crew’s surprise, Aryan troops poured out of the back and started to fire on their position.

The M60 fired a high explosive shell on the position and the plasma rounds stopped.

   Plasma and tanks shells crisscrossed the area creating a dazzling light show in the cloud filled night. Diving Aryan fighters were almost undetectable in the black of night, the only give away was a slight pink hue emitted from their engines.

The Me 262’s continued to pound the area, the aim was simple; they were softening up the defenses in preparation for a full-blown assault from army group two.

Just after ten pm the main attack started, the air support peeled away and the mass of tanks advanced almost unopposed into the airport grounds. The dug in M60 main battle tanks were easily dispatched as the Maus tanks rolled in and provided heavy fire.

A formation of Tiger I’s smashed through a weak defensive line of machine guns and quickly overwhelmed the anti-tank crews who did not have enough ammunition for their launchers. As the airport was cut off no reinforcements, ammunition or rations could hope to get through.

A few barges were loaded with reinforcements but they were quickly destroyed as they attempted to cross the river by strafing attacks from the Me 262’s.

The airport terminals were barricaded up but the tanks did not even slow as they plowed through the walls. They were meant with a volley of rockets, a few managed to penetrate the thick armor and several Tiger tanks were knocked out.

The crews opened the hatches but were quickly taken down by machine gun fire. Another explosion rocked the terminal building and was quickly followed by plasma grenades thrown through the large gash in the brickwork.

The American machine gunners focused their fire on the entry points and managed to stem the flow of Aryan troops trying to gain access to the building. The American troops fought hard to keep the invaders out.

The Aryan forces pulled back slightly and let the Maus’s advance straight through the terminal walls, the building started to collapse in certain areas and groups of troops were crushed or cut off from the main group.

The main guns of the super heavy battle tanks fired again and again on the machine gun nest until they fell silent. Finally the Aryan troops managed to gain entry on foot and it did not take them long to finish off the remaining resistance.

The M16’s that the American infantry had been issued with were hopelessly ineffective against the body armor of the enemy. A small group of soldiers waved a white flag above their position.

The Aryan soldiers ordered them out of their position and when the shaken Americans arrived in front of them, they proceeded to beat them mercilessly until they were a bloody mess on the floor. Finally they were executed with a single shot to the head; the smell of burning flesh permeated through the captured building.

General Westmoreland hung his head when he finally heard the news that the airport had fallen. Due to the communication problems the American high command did not hear the news until half an hour after the event.

The men in black stood silent as Westmoreland turned to them for advice. Finally, they spoke in a frightening monotone.

“The battle is over; with the USS New Jersey and now the airport gone we are lacking the necessary force to hold them back.”

Spiro Agnew looked at the two men in horror, “What are you saying, we have lost all hope?”

“That’s exactly what they are saying.” Westmoreland said with exasperation.

Agnew shook his head, “We have to fight on, and we can’t just give them the city.”

“The men in black nodded, “You will fight on, but you will not win this battle. The city and the county will be in their hands by tomorrow morning.”

Westmoreland thought for a second, “Why haven’t they just leveled the city into submission like they did with the Pentagon? They clearly have the firepower!”

“Looks like they have learned from Stalingrad where the destroyed streets played into the defender’s hands, giving them places to hide and mount effective defenses.” The men in black replied.

Westmoreland smiled, “What if we destroy our own city, that should slow them down?”

Street Cleaning

Shortly after midnight the order finally got through to the artillery units to open fire on their own city. The artillery loaded high explosive shells and then started to fire. The rounds impacted across buildings and the rubble was strewn across the streets.

The idea was simple they were trying to halt the advance by any means necessary, the results were mixed as some paths were blocked but others remained easily traversable. Some stray shells hit their own troops who had nowhere to shelter from the explosions.

Air support was summoned to carpet bomb as much of the city around the White House as possible but most of the Phantoms either did not hear the order or deliberately chose to ignore it. Now the airport was in enemy hands the Phantoms did not want to waste their ammunition and decided to focus on the enemy fighters.

The skies were full of lightning that seemed to stretch across the horizon, A squadron of Phantoms tried to get into position to fire on the enemy fighters in front of them but a massive bolt of the super-hot light washed across the lead Phantom; the pilots canopy dissolved in front of him and the pilots skin bubbled as the he succumbed to the deadly temperature.

The Phantoms fell from the sky and impacted into the side of the Capitol building causing some of the dome to cave inwards. Snipers fell from the tower and landed amongst the rubble.

The dogfight in the skies above was now a depressing sideshow for the troops below as they could see the Phantoms putting up a brave but ultimately futile fight. Swarms of Me 262’s filled the sky and their plasma machine guns filled the sky with angry glowing rounds.

David Barton was a twenty-two-year-old recent graduate of the Navy flight school; he had graduated with top marks but he now had three enemy fighters stuck to his six; he fought hard but he just could not shake them.

Barton’s Phantom was hit multiple times and his right-wing burnt slowly while the right engine spewed out smoke. The young pilot had made a decision and he refused to eject, he looked behind him and saw the lifeless body of his radar operator.

This was it Barton thought and he somehow managed to dodge a ball of plasma that was tracking him. He looked behind again and saw the orb change course and follow him.

“That’s it you son ova bitch!” He shouted as he put his fighter into a steep dive.

His F4 Phantom plummeted towards the earth, he had his target in his sights and he pulled the trigger, rounds from his Gatling gun bounced off the hull of the Maus tank below. He continued his dive and crashed straight into the huge tank.

The tank was set on fire but it continued to advance until the trailing orb of plasma smashed into it and the monster went up in a huge pink flash of light. When the light had died down there was nothing left of the tank.

The skies were now free of American aircraft, the final Cobra had been taken out by a group of Aryan infantry that had fired a round of plasma into it causing the tail rotor to disintegrate, the helicopter span until it was hit by a huge antiaircraft round and the fuselage evaporated in an instant.

The streets directly north of the White House had completely collapsed under the sheer weight of the rubble, fire hydrants sent plumes of water into the sky as they burst all along the smoldering road.

The rain fell ever harder onto the heads of a small group of American volunteers who had been lucky enough to survive the shelling of the street. Their commander was killed and their sergeant badly wounded; anyone with any military experience was out of their fight.

Another Aryan popped his head up from behind a fallen chimney tower, the gunners opened up and the rounds peppered the bare brickwork, sending dust clouds over the soldier’s helmet.

The five women had two Browning machine guns and they were busy feeding rounds into them, they might have been cut off but they were determined to hold the street as long as they could.

One of the young women stood up and quickly hurled a grenade into the mesh of broken concrete about ten feet in front of her. She heard someone shout and then a satisfying explosion.

A few screams were heard from the hole but nothing emerged from it.

The eldest of the women swore under her breath. Has anyone got any water left? A twelve-year-old girl with a soot smothered face raised her hand and then stood to pass the water over to the other women.

“Get down…” Was all the thirty-three-year-old lady could shout before the air filled with the buzz and whine of plasma fire. The rounds smashed into the area around the women and the poor girl was hit clean through the chest.

The girl clawed at her chest as she fell to the floor, he breath was quick and the sweet smell of burnt flesh rushed up her nostrils; she wretched once sending blood across her chin. One of the women left the belt of ammunition and rushed to put a bandage over the wound but it was too large.

“Shit she is hit real bad!”

The older women sighed and fought to keep a tear from forming in her eye, “Get it over with and then jump back on the ammo, we need to keep some suppressing fire down or we will be quickly overrun.”

A large round of plasma exploded a few feet from the machine guns’ position, the heat washed over the area but then it was not quite close enough to cause any damage to the women. Sarah Welch was only twenty-eight and her huge green eyes looked down into the poor girls face.

Sarah was a chef by trade but she knew what had to be done, she whispered softly for the girl to close her eyes and then she pulled her pistol from her belt. She put the barrel a couple of inches away from the girl’s temple and then hesitated as she went to pull the trigger.

The air was heating up to an uncomfortable level now as more and more plasma rounds washed over the area. Sarah was hit in the arm and she rolled to the floor and caught her breath for a second. She came out of her daze and quickly pushed the gun to the girl’s head; she pulled the trigger and finally the girl was at peace.

“Are you alright Sarah? We need you back on the ammo. Sarah?” But Sarah needed a minute to get over what she had just done. It was a sin to take a life and it was even worse to take the life of a child.

The two Browning .50 caliber machine guns kept firing, three Aryan infantrymen had tried to sneak across the debris-strewn sidewalk but they were cut down about five foot from the women’s position; all three were killed instantly.

Another five minutes of continuous fire went by when one of the guns went silent.

“What is it Betty, are you hit?”

“No I don’t know what it is, we still have ammo.”

“Get it fixed love, I’d love to help ya but I am a little busy here.”

Betty laughed but she was nervous, with one of the guns down they were not going to last much longer.

A burning blue ball was tossed towards the women’s position, it bounced a few times in front of them and then exploded. The shockwave rushed through the area and the air was forced from the women’s lungs.

Another three balls of burning blue bounced towards them and one rested right under the barrel of the only working gun.

“Grenade…” Sarah shouted and went to dive on it but she was hit by a stream of plasma that burnt through her neck and left cheek. Then the grenades exploded and the whole machine gun nest fell silent.

The plasma fire stopped shortly after and the Aryans advanced unopposed to check the smoldering crater.

Last Stand

Me 262’s now strafed the artillery around the Capitol building, the guns on the ground were no match for the unopposed fighters and they were quickly taken out.

Commander Michael Orton’s group of main battle tanks were now under direct attack from the enemy fighters as well. They had to curb their advance as losses from air attacks mounted.

“What shall we do commander?”

Orton shook his head. “We are going to have to fall back to the main park. To our final fall back positions. From there we won’t have anywhere to run. We will make our stand.”

Orton ordered all of the tanks to fall back next to the Capitol building where they would have a clean line of fire on any enemy armor that advanced into the open.

Orton tried to call for any available anti aircraft guns but the communications were still not working, he threw his radio against the side of his tank’s turret. The handpiece fell apart.

The streets around the White House were now being systematically cleared. The American troops had little chance to mount an effective defense because they were so scattered and they had no way of communicating with each other.

Four Aryan tanks rounded a corner onto an empty street, they continued through at a steady pace.

Three American privates of the 51^st National Guard unit gingerly lit their cigarettes when the tanks had passed. They took deep breaths and inhaled as much of the flavor as they could. They needed to savor this moment.

A large group of Aryan infantry rounded the corner and as the moved with purpose, one of the young privates gave a curt nod. That was when all hell broke loose.

The private opened up with a commandeered browning machine gun, while the other two fired their anti tank launchers at the exposed infantry.

Signed

A large explosion rocked the corner building as plasma smashed into it; the rubble fell and peppered the sidewalk, crushing an abandoned car. The Maus tanks rolled on to press home the attack. They were now on the home straight, less than an eighth of a mile from the White House.

Commander Orton’s tanks opened fire, they concentrated on the closet tank and they focused on its tracks.

“immobilize them, take out as many as you can.”

The Main battle tanks fire high explosives at the enemy tanks tracks, it worked as the first Maus was halted but it continued to fire. Its plasma round struck a Sherman’s tank head on and the vastly outmatched medium tank just disappeared in a cloud of flames.

Ortan ordered the Sherman’s to fall back to beside the White House; they were to be the very last line of defense, along with a huge line of machine guns and infantry that waited on the great building’s steps.

Rounds impacted all along the side of the Capitol building now, it was in a terrible state as more and more parts of it collapsed in on itself. The heavy rain fell in through the missing spots in of the roof and soaked everything inside.

“Fire.” Roared Orton as his tanks kept up a steady stream of rounds, they were holding the enemy back as best as the could but Orton knew their time was limited.

The tank directly next to Orton was hit dead on and the gun dropped towards the floor, smoke billowed out of the open commander’s hatch but nobody tried to escape.

A group of infantrymen still held a corner of the Capitol building but they were getting overrun by the sheer volume of enemy soldiers that were trying to storm the building for the fourth time in the last hour.

The Browning machine guns were nearly out of ammunition but the men kept firing, another wave of Aryan soldiers was forced back. Grenades were thrown but the American men managed to throw them back to their owners.

The explosions rang out accompanied by brilliant flashes of blue. Aryan infantry lay dead and dying where they fell. But this did not stop the attack if anything the Aryan’s looked like they were relishing the challenge and poured even more firepower into the mix.

Rounds of plasma impacted along the wall next to sergeant Dawkins and his dwindling platoon. They ducked for cover again and hugged the floor uncomfortably, they were laying on a carpet of empty bullet casings.

Ortan could see what was unfolding and managed to get a signal to three Patton’s to go and support the ailing infantry. The tank commander had to resort to using flashlights to signal orders to his units.

The Patton’s turned around and charged head-on at the attacking infantry, they fired their machine guns as they went. The guns continued to fire as they got closer and they started taking plasma fire themselves.

The tanks fired into the advancing infantry, the first round tore straight through a soldier’s body armor and he fell to the floor, the round exploded sending dirt, concrete and body parts across the area.

The tanks did not stop, they were planning to mow down the Aryans as they crossed the open street but the first tank took a plasma round into the rear which set it ablaze; the Patton burned for a second and then went up in a huge ball of flames.

The second Patton turned its turret to see where the round had come from but as it did, the medium tank took a direct plasma hit through its weak side armor. It did not explode but the crew was badly injured or killed.

Finally, the assailant was revealed as a hidden Panther tank who had it gun muzzle positioned in the window of a semi-destroyed office block. The Patton returned fire but the rounds exploded harmlessly into the brickwork.

Me 262’s appeared in a long line from the East and zoomed in towards the White House. The Vulcan anti aircraft Gatling guns opened fire with all they had. The greatest concentration of these guns was around the President’s home.

The rounds spat into the air and the Me 262’s in the front of the formation were taken out, the nose of the jets were shredded to pieces and they crash landed on the churned up White House lawn.

The remaining fighters split in all directions; they maneuvered through the rounds and then released their plasma, the rounds hit their mark along the line of infantry trying to hide in the freshly dug trenches. The heat washed over a group of them and their cries split the night.

“Medic.” the shout went out but nobody came as they were too afraid to leave their hiding places.

Another wave of fighters came in and one after another plasma smashed into the White House lawn and the grass burned for a while until the heavy rain put it back out again.

The American infantry that was defending the White House was mainly made out of the 101^st infantry division but volunteers made up the majority of its numbers. They could not believe the horror around them and many started to shake and shiver.

Another huge explosion rocked the area as a roadblock was vaporized, through it a large armored group of Tiger I tanks appeared. Their guns firing as they plowed through. They were quick and through sheer numbers, they managed to overwhelm the M60A1 tanks that had been holding the East corner.

“Shit,” Orton said he knew he could not spare any more tanks to plug the gap. He sighed heavily and then signaled to the Sherman’s. He had just given them the green light to attack.

The Sherman’s began firing on the Tiger’s but at that range, the rounds just bounced off. The American medium tanks did not fall back though and they kept up their fire.

The lead Tiger aimed its gun and fired the plasma round spat forward and impacted straight into the turret of a Sherman. The turret was sheared clean off and the commander was thrown a hundred yards from his vehicle.

The Sherman’s decided their only chance was to close the distance, they charged forward all at once with their guns blazing; even the two Browning machine guns were rattling off everything they had but it was futile.

The Tiger’s fired again, this time in unison. Twenty rounds of plasma raced towards the charging Sherman’s, the rounds detonated and set off a chain reaction, as a larger wave of heat swept through the first line. When the wave cleared the only thing that remained was burning, charred wrecks.

The Capitol building had been stormed at the Western entrance, now American soldiers did not fight for their city or their commanders but they fought for their lives in the intense room to room combat. The Americans held one room while the next room was held by the Aryan forces.

The fighting inside did not take long as the US infantry was running low on ammunition, they had no rounds for the .50 caliber machine guns but they carried on with the infective M16’s. Some of the officers had pistols and as they heard the screams of their comrades in the rooms down the hall; they took the easy way out.

Sergeant Daniels and the last three of his remaining men were still fighting bitterly on the Eastern corner. They were down to three magazines each for their M16’s. They were letting the enemy get right on top of them before firing which meant about one in five rounds pierced the body armor.

Another few bursts signaled the end for Daniels as his M16 was empty but he still had grenades.

“I don’t know about you boys but I think we should show them how to cook Washington style?”

The other two men grinned and chucked their spent rifles to the floor. Each man pulled the pins on two grenades and then just lay there.

The Aryan forces appeared over the rubble and swept their guns over the area. The three men were ordered to stand up slowly with their hands skyward but they just stayed down and smiled. The Aryan’s opened fire, one round into each man.

Daniel’s coughed up a small trickle of blood as he could feel his chest burning. The Aryans moved into the crater just as the six grenades exploded. Shrapnel and body parts were launched in all directions.

Just after 01:00 hours the Capital building fell into enemy hands. All across the great park, smaller fights were taking place. The Washington monument was hit and completely obliterated as a group of Sherman’s fought next to it.

Despair

The Me 262’s peeled off from their attacks runs, the lawn of the White House looked more like the surface of the moon as a mass of craters scared the earth. Commander Orton and his tanks had been whittled down to about an eighth of their original number but they fought on.

The area was now full with Maus tanks, they fired repeatedly into the remaining armored units in the area. Their powerful guns sliced through them with ease.

Commander Orton watched as the last of his platoon went up in a ball of flames, his tank was now the only M60A1 left in action. He was down to five high explosive rounds and was out of options.

His driver looked back to him, “What do you want us to do Sir?”

“Show them that our spirit will never be broken.” Orton smiled.

The driver revved up the engine and the M60 tore forward, it fired three rounds in quick succession on the move. Two hit their marks and a Panther was taken out of action.

Three Tiger I’s aimed at Orton’s tank and fired all at once. The rounds exploded close to his tank and intense heat washed over its armor. Orton and his crew kept coming.

The M60 fired its last two rounds and managed to take the tracks off of a Tiger I, Orton smiled as he yelled, “Ram it!”

The Tiger fired and the round smashed straight into the turret of the M60, Orton was hit and a shard of mental pierced through the top of his kneecap. Pain shot through his leg but he did not care.

The M60 smashed into the Tiger head on the force broke both of the tank’s tracks on the impact side. Orton and his crew could do nothing as their tank was surrounded by three hungry tigers. The tanks opened fire and heat rushed over the American crew.

The Aryan forces could now sense blood; their tanks swarmed towards the White House like a group of great white sharks that had realized their prey was weak from blood loss.

Most of the gunners on the lawn tried to make a run for it when the armored behemoths came straight at them. The tanks fired at the fleeing infantry, most of them disappeared in plumes of violet light.

Others did remain and fight but the rounds had no effect on the super heavy tanks who just ignored the infantry as they rolled on through them. They Aryan fortress tanks instead fired on the White House itself.

Breaches were opened up through the front and rear main entrances as well as in the walls themselves. Agnew, Westmoreland and the men in black could feel the vibrations for the first time. Agnew slumped in his chair as another explosion rocked the foundations of the building.

Tiger I’s mopped up what the Maus chose to ignore, they hosed down the area with the plasma machine guns mounted to their turrets. A young boy who had been drafted into the infantry hid beneath the bodies of his fallen platoon. He waited until a Tiger had passed him then he sprang to his feet and aimed the anti tank launcher. He fired and the round hit the side of the Tiger. The tank stopped and smoke poured from the wound.

The boy, who must have been no older than fourteen tried to reload his launcher but he was cut down by fire from the supporting infantry. The trenches along the lawn were quickly overrun and now the main building itself was the target for the approaching infantry.

Several of the Panther tanks had switched to smoke rounds and fired at the freshly made breaches in the exterior of the iconic building. The smoke detonated on target and quickly spread confusion and panic among the volunteers.

The Aryans fired into the melee and their rounds cut down anyone who was unfortunate enough to be standing around the gap, trying to get a shot. The smoke did not hinder the Aryans, who were using thermal technology to locate their targets.

The units trying to hold the breaches had no chance as they were overwhelmed by the sheer weight of plasma fire. The rounds were accurate as well, the Americans had no way to see where the fire was coming from and just returned fire in all directions.

Ten minutes later the Aryan forces felt confident enough to charge at the building. Under the cover of smoke, they advanced quickly across the devastated grass. They forced their way through the opening under heavy machine gun fire.

The Americans knew this was their last stand and even the volunteers stood and fought. They had nowhere to run anyway.

Four browning machine guns concentrated their fire on a cluster of enemy infantry who had just fought their way through the opening. The rounds sliced through the armor with ease, the whole group were dead in seconds.

The Marines who had tucked themselves away on the main staircase continued to fire and gradually the stream of enemy soldiers began to stop. The Marines gave each other a high five and then continued to watch for any movement below.

As the fighting grew more desperate along the West Wing, the Aryan soldiers threw smoke grenades down the hall and then waited for a few seconds before firing on the American positions.

One room after another was cleared in this style.

Four men from the 191^st Calvary division were crawling through a maze of smoke-filled corridors as they tried to fall back. They heard footsteps from the other side of a door, they waited on the floor until the door eased open; they fired.

Screams of anguish came from the other side of the barely open door and that was when all hell broke loose as the machine gun started firing in a long panicked burst. The battle cry from the operator came in English and the Calvary men knew they had made a mistake.

The men shouted as loud as they could to warn the men on the other side of the door that they were friendlies but they could not make themselves heard over the noise of the machine gun. The men stayed on the floor, the Sergeant pulled a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin and then launched it through the door.

The Sergeant said a prayer as the grenade went off and the machine gun fell silent. The Calvary men went to inspect the damage. Four women lay dead at their positions.

“Shit.” was all the men could get out as they bowed their heads. They did not have time to reflect on the disaster though as they came under heavy fire from burning plasma rounds.

The Aryan forces worked their way systematically through the White House, clearing one room after another. They enjoyed their extermination work and they were good at it. They burst through a large wooden door and were met by a group of young men.

The Americans did not fire upon the enemies as their rifles were empty but the man closest to the door ran at the Aryan stood in front of him and swung his rifle at his head. The Aryan blocked the blow with his wrist and the forcefully ripped the rifle from the man’s hands.

The other men in the room charged at the Aryan but he was too strong and repelled all of his attackers, he turned to the man who had attacked him with the rifle and grabbed him by the throat; he lifted him clean of his feet and threw him across the room.

“Nobody is that strong!” Was all one of the young men could get out before the Aryan snapped his neck. The soldier then pulled out his pistol and proceeded to shot the remaining American’s where they were led.

Another desperate twenty minutes went by before the sound of fighting grew distant and then almost completely died down altogether.

Westmoreland turned to Agnew, “You know what that means!’

Agnew simply nodded.

Westmoreland gritted his teeth as he pulled his pistol from its holster. “Ok men this is it, hold them off as long as you can. They shoot you whether you surrender or not, so you might as well go down fighting.”

The room stayed silent but the soldiers all raised their weapons.

The large metal door at the end of the corridor crumpled inwards and then disintegrated as the plasma missiles tore through it. That was the cue for the American’s to open fire with everything they had left.

Several anti tank launchers had been commandeered for the defense and the rockets shot down the corridor and had exploded violently when they reached the far end. The fireball took out a few of the Aryan’s but there were many more to take their place.

The Aryan’s chucked grenades down the corridor but they were not close enough to kill the American’s yet. The flash of the explosion did manage to temporarily blind a few of the defenders.

The Aryan forces continued to take heavy losses as they forced their way through the narrow corridor. They fired at the American’s and the rounds burnt through the chest of a young Private; he let out a gurgled scream as he desperately tried to force his organs back where they had come from but they did not seem to fit.

It was a vain attempt as the next round went straight into his temple and burnt through his skull. The rifleman in charge banged his fists on the metal door and it was pulled closed. The Rifleman knew he was now locked out, he turned to face his foes.

The Aryan soldiers fired their weapons at the single remaining man, he had dropped his M16 and fired his pistol at the tall enemy; the small caliber rounds just bounced off their body armor. The rifleman dropped the pistol, rolled to avoid the volley of plasma and as he got up he pulled a pin from the grenade in his left hand.

The rifleman never got to throw the grenade though as the next burst of superheated rounds burnt holes in his torso and his arm, the grenade dropped at his feet and went off. The walls were coated in a sickly claret.

A barely audible knock on the door slightly amused Westmoreland, “What? Do they think we are just going to let them in?”

His laughter was short lived as the roof above caved in and debris fell all over the men sheltering inside. Westmoreland sprinted and pushed Agnew to the floor. A large piece of concrete fell onto the General’s leg and he was pinned down.

He shouted for help from the men in black but he did not get a response, he looked to where they were stood not two minutes earlier but he could not see them.

“Where are you?” He shouted in agony but there was no reply, the men in black had just vanished into thin air. “Where have those yellow-bellied bastards gone!”

Spiro Agnew gingerly got to his feet but as he did he immediately froze as four Aryan soldiers stood in front of him with their weapons raised. The secret service men who were there to guard Agnew sprang to their feet but they were immediately killed.

“What are you waiting for, kill us,” Westmoreland said.

The Aryan kicked the pistol out of the General’s hand and then pointed his rifle at Westmoreland’s head.

“You are not meant for death, yet.” A voice called out from behind, in a familiar German accent.

Independence lost

Fighting still raged across the city but the small pockets of resistance could only fight on for so long before they were overrun. The White House was now clear off all but a tiny proportion of US soldiers who would not give in.

In the emergency bunker, Commander Sporrenberg surveyed the situation.

“Face it, gentleman, you have lost the battle; I have an offer of unconditional surrender here.” The German narrowed his eyes as he locked onto Agnew. “You will sign this on a live broadcast and read out the terms to the beaten population.

Agnew did not respond but he subconsciously took a step back. He looked at the Aryan soldiers who had their weapons focused on him. Agnew could feel himself shaking but he managed to speak.

“I will, I will do no such thing. You are scum and I will not cooperate with the likes of you!”

Sporrenberg shook his head. The predator took a few steps towards Agnew and placed his hand on the vice president’s shoulder. “Think about your actions Vice President, this will stop the senseless killing of your people.”

Spiro Agnew pulled away from Sporrenberg, “No, you can go to hell.”

Sporrenberg’s face contorted into that terrifying grin, “So be it.” He raised his pistol and fired a single shot into Agnew’s stomach.

The Vice President reeled backward, he clenched at the wound as he doubled over in pain. Sporrenberg fired again and the plasma round burnt through the man’s chest. The bone was scorched along his rib cage.

Agnew fell to his knees as he struggled for breath. The Vice President looked up into the German’s chest. Sporrenberg spat on him and then kicked him in the fresh wound. Agnew writhed in pain.

Sporrenberg bent over, “You are pathetic.” He pulled the trigger and the round seared through Agnew’s temple. The ex-SS man gave Agnew’s body one final kick.

Westmoreland hung his head, he knew what that meant.

The remaining Secret service guards were dispatched on Sporrenberg’s orders, they were lined up against the wall and killed by firing squad.

“Get that sack of shit up to his feet,” Sporrenberg ordered as he nodded to Westmoreland.

Two Aryan soldiers held Westmoreland in place as Sporrenberg stood in front of him.

“Looks like it is up to you General, will you do the right thing and end this nightmare for your Countrymen, or will you try and be a hero like Mr. Agnew?.”

Westmoreland could not meet Sporrenberg’s gaze. He just nodded.

“Excellent.” Sporrenberg said, “You are doing the right thing.”

Westmoreland was escorted to the main office that was normally reserved for the President; it was being set up as a studio with cameras being placed on all sides of the room. The Aryan’s also set up microphones for the accompanying radio broadcast.

A chill ran through the General’s spin, the swastika hung from the walls with its menacing black, white and red colorings, Westmoreland felt dizzy and nauseous. ‘This can’t be happening’ he thought to himself.

A large wooden table sat in the middle of the room, there were three chairs placed at the table along with a pen and a glass of water.

Sporrenberg gestured to the table, “Sit, please have a drink, you have a big performance ahead of you.” The Ex-SS man smiled again.

Westmoreland looked Sporrenberg dead in the eye for the first time, “How is this broadcast going to reach all of our troops? You are blocking our communications.”

“Don’t concern yourself with such trivial matters, we have that all in hand. Just concentrate on the terms of the surrender and what you are going to say.”

Westmoreland looked through the terms, they were not good for his nation but there was nothing that could be done, if he did not sign the document then the war would consume his country and his people would all be killed. The General tried to justify his actions to himself.

Just after 02.00 Atlantic time, a TV and radio broadcast went out over all channels. The screen snapped into life to show a room decorated in Nazi flags. General Sporrenberg appeared in front of the camera.

“Rejoice America, the war is finally over. This morning in this very room you will witness history being made, the dawn of a new era. Feel proud that you get to bear witness to this!”

The camera changed again to show a very weary looking General Westmoreland sitting at the table, the bags under his eyes were so dark and it looked like he had aged ten years in a single night. He sat and stared into the camera while the cigarette hanging from his mouth continued to burn.

Two men sat at the table opposite the General, one was Sporrenberg and the other was his trusted Advisor.

“Advisor A, please will you present the General with terms.”

The tall advisor did not say a word but just slid the surrender documents over to Westmoreland.

The American General sighed and then quickly picked up the pen and scribbled his signature everywhere he was instructed. When he finished he threw the pen back down and it bounced off the table.

General Westmoreland turned to the camera and he started to speak in a slow and methodical manner.

“Tonight I, on behalf of the United States of America have signed the unconditional surrender of our armed forces. Washington DC has fallen and for us, the fight is over, as you listen to this I urge you to put down your weapons.” Westmoreland paused and took a long drag from his cigarette.

“All armed forces personnel that surrender will no longer be killed on the spot. If you turn yourselves into the nearest Aryan units you will be treated with respect. You will be taken for processing and will have to work for a living but at least you will get to live.” He sighed, “If you continue to fight then you will be dealt with extreme force. You will be killed on the spot and if your family is captured, they will also be killed.”

The General looked straight into the cameras, “You are to treat your new commanders with the utmost respect and will do what they ask. You are welcome to keep some of your personal belongings and your money will remain your own.”

“However some of your possessions will be taken by the Aryan forces, you are to comply with these requests implicitly.”

The broadcast continued for another five minutes, troops who had been fighting all across the United States could not believe what they were hearing. Some chose to fight on but others laid down their arms; they were quickly arrested and transported to freshly set up labor camps.

“It is with a heavy heart that I sign of this speech with a regret, a regret that we could not win this war but at least I take away the knowledge that we fought bravely against the odds and now as this period of change begins I can only hope you adapt to it as best as you can.” The general sighed. “This is General Westmoreland resigning from his post and signing off, god bless America.”

The camera cut from the tired man’s face and switched to that of a joyful General Sporrenberg. Even as Westmoreland was being led away by the Aryan guards, Sporrenberg took his seat at the president’s desk’ a large swastika hung from the wall and dominated the background.

Jakob Sporrenberg sat and clasped his hands together; he took a deep breath and paused while he stared into the camera.

“Congratulations America, you fought well, bravely and honorably. I would have expected nothing less from this great nation. But now the winds of change have come to blow clean your stagnating Country.”

He leaned back. “After World War Two you rested on your laurels, you got weak and complacent as your forces managed to win the Korean War but you let your defenses down and now your Country belongs to us.”

“You will not enjoy the changes that are coming and at first you may despair but eventually you will see that the Master race will be where it belongs. Ruling the greatest country, the world will have ever known.”

Sporrenberg smiled, “Welcome to the Fourth Reich, but this time we will rule for at least a thousand years. Together we will make this land a utopia for the master race.” Sporrenberg’s smile turned into a contorted grin, “But don’t worry if you are not one of the elite, we will still find a place for you.

You can still have a role in our nation’s future.”

“The time for fighting is over. It is now time to pledge your allegiance not to a flag but to your new Führer. Heil Sporrenberg.”

Viewers from across the globe could barely believe what they were hearing, the United States did not exist anymore. And a madman has proclaimed himself the undisputed leader.

“My fellow Aryan’s rejoice in the new world order we are creating, we are the new superpower of this world and in time every nation will be bowing down in awe of our majestic power.”

Führer Sporrenberg raised his hand in the identical salute that Hitler used to greet his followers.

Sporreberg smiled intently at the camera, “Heil…”

A streak of purple flashed across the screen, Sporrenberg was cut off mid sentence as seconds later his brains were blown clean out the side of his head. The light faded quickly from his eyes and he slumped back in his chair.

A man walked into the shot from the right and he marched over to the Nazi flag on the back wall, he forcefully pulled the flag from the wall and proceeded to cover Sporrenberg’s lifeless body with it.

The man gently patted Sporrnberg’s covered head before he walked over to the camera. He stared into the camera for a good minute. His cold calculating, ice blue eyes sent shivers down the spine of all that were watching.

The camera was shoved to the floor and then seconds later the whole screen went dark.

Atlantic Convoy

William Morgan Morris sat at his friends beside in stunned disbelief, what had he just witnessed. He had seen his country throw the towel in during the fight, the fight for their very existence and then the newly proclaimed leader of the United States had been assassinated by his advisor, live on television.

The side listed slightly to port as another large wave battered it. The gigantic aircraft carrier was thirty miles off the coast of Washington in the center of a huge convoy. The ships were mainly destroyers with a plethora of support vessels and five aircraft carriers.

The fleet was made up of injured troops and surviving forces that had managed to escape before the capital was encircled. They vessels were making their way across the great ocean to the United Kingdom where they planned to regroup.

William Morris sighed as he looked down into his best mates face. Brooklyn Jnr had been unconscious for three days now after his Phantom had been shot down by an enemy fighter. Brooklyn had taken the brunt of the impact and doctors did not know if he would ever recover.

Moose had found Brooklyn unconscious, tangled in his parachute. The radar operator had dragged his friend back through the deserted countryside until he came across a retreating US armored task force.

They had hitched a ride back to Washington where they were treated by medical staff in a field hospital. Moose had managed to grab a ride out of the doomed city on one of the last transport helicopters before all of the air support had been destroyed.

“If only you knew what has happened to us, if there were more people like you then we would still be fighting this war.” Morris grabbed a damp cloth from the bowl next to the bed and wiped Brooklyn’s temple.

“Come on mate, I know you can hear me in there, we need you back. We need all the good men we can get.” Morris rested his head on his friend’s chest and gently listened to his heartbeat’ the rhythm and the steady rocking of the ship in the storm sent him into an uneasy sleep.

The head of the Navy Admiral Moorer was next in command now that Agnew was dead and Westmoreland signed the surrender document. The Admiral who was in his late fifties still smoked a pipe while on deck. He had contacted the United Kingdom to ask for assistance, which they had readily given.

Countries around the world started to communicate with each other in secret, most were too frightened to take any action but a few were willing to meet to discuss the future. Russia and China started the preparations for their commanders to meet in London with the British Prime Minister and the German Chancellor.

The meeting was set for five days’ time when the American’s forces had reached England, the leaders knew something must be done but they did not know if they had the strength or the resources to take on the fearsome new threat; secretly many did not think they would be brave enough to even try.

Source of Power

The sun rose slowly over the fog-filled city, the day after the United States surrender was surreal for many of their citizens. They were rounded up by large forces of Aryan soldiers. Each person was summoned forth and was tested for their Nordic ancestry. Anyone who fell below the standard ninety five percent was taken out of line and held separately.

Armed forces personnel who surrendered without incident were not killed on sight, just like the late Jakob Sporrenberg had promised. They were given the same test as the rest of the population; anyone who was deemed not to be Nordic was put into separate transports.

The transports headed for Wright Patterson air force base. The old base was completely gone, what stood there in its place was hardly recognizable. The base was now a small city with large metallic buildings all across the center.

To the left of the main entrance was five tall buildings that looked like huge factories, to the side of these were smaller buildings that resembled flats. A huge fence ran around the border, it was fifteen-foot-tall with barbed wire all around the base and the top.

The right-hand side of the base was slightly friendly in its appearance; this was where the Nordic people were to be held. They were taken to slightly better accommodation than the non-Nordic population.

The former air force base now had three airfields, Me 262’s took off around the clock as they joined the larger bombers on their new missions. They were used to level any city that was still resisting.

All across American cities, the Aryans arrived quickly and in force. People were forced to stand in line along the sidewalk and each was called forward to have their DNA tested. Anyone who did not comply was shot on the spot.

Advisor A watched from the central control tower as another transport arrived, the people that were contained inside were forced out into lines. A tall blonde Aryan soldier walked along the lines as he surveyed his new slaves.

The Nordic people were led into their holding pens, where they were duly processed. They were given uniforms. Dull grey in color and then they were taken for a medical in front of a stern-looking Aryan man.

The doctor took blood samples, heartbeat readings and a general medical examination was undertaken. Anyone who was found unfit to work was led away from the others. Their uniforms were removed and they were marched fully naked to the other side of the facility. They were housed with the Non-Nordics.

Advisor A had never told Sporrenberg that the Nordic people were always meant to be slaves. The title of Aryan was reserved for his troops, not the scum that stood before them. Advisor A soon had the slaves put to work.

The work was hard labor; the slaves were used to mine for resources, whether that were fossil fuels, any precious metals, or in some case even down the earth’s core itself. The gigantic specially designed drills fired superheated beams of pure plasma into the soil.

The drills needed to be kept cool and the Nordic slaves had to transport water from the central taps to keep the drills from overheating. A young man stumbled and dropped a huge tub of water across the cracked concrete.

An Aryan soldier strode over to the man and forced him to his feet, the young American held up his hands to protect himself but the Soldiers fist hit him square in the chest. The man fell to the floor where his face was pushed into the wet ground.

Another two of the slaves went to help him but they were quickly put down by plasma fire, the man was then hauled to his feet again. The Aryan Soldier grabbed his neck and lifted him clean off of his feet. The Aryan pulled out a knife and slit the man’s throat.

As blood poured out on the concrete the Aryan turned to the horrified slaves, “This is a lesson to anyone who wastes water. Get back to work.”

The drills continued going until lava bubbled to the surface, only then would massive vehicles arrive and suck up the fresh magma through reinforced, metallic hoses; the vehicles looked similar in design to that of the Maus tanks but they did not have any weapons.

In the two days that followed the Aryan victory a huge number of slaves were put to work. They were used to collect timber. Huge lines of people were chained to each other as they chopped down logs. Then they were released to pick up the wood; anyone who tried to run was shot.

Others were picked up and transported to cities where they were tasked with going through the deserted buildings. Anything of value was taken. This included as much gold as could be found. Peoples abandoned jewelry was taken to be melted down.

The slaves who were used on this job had been given an injection before they were transported, the inoculation seemed to restrict freedom of thought and the slaves became compliant with any task requested.

In one particularly cruel experiment, one slave was ordered to beat another to a bloody pulp, the man complied implicitly and seemed to show no signs of remorse; the woman he had just beaten to an inch of her life was his wife of fifteen years.

The man watched emotionlessly as an Aryan took out a pistol and shot her through the head. Her body gurgled for a while before a couple of slaves were ordered to pack the body aboard a transport.

During the second night, the slaves that had been used as Guinea pigs started to display disturbing signs. Some went crazy and pulled their own hair out, they moved to their nails and forcefully pulled one off after another; they stood observing the blood pour out.

Others started to fall apart physically, parts of their bodies started to decompose at an alarming rate from the inside out. One really unfortunate young woman stood screaming as her arm went black and then fell apart in front of her eyes.

Advisor A told his chief medical officer to observe for the rest of the night, take down any notes he needed and then all of the infected slaves were to be killed; autopsies were ordered so that the formula could be perfected.

The treatment towards the Nordic captives was mild compared to what lay in store for anyone classed as non-Nordic. These people were housed to the right-hand side of the facility. They were forced to line up outside of a medical center.

The people were called in two at a time, where they were taken into a small cold room. There they were subject to a brutal medical; Many died during the procedure. The ones that survived were taken to another small holding cell. There they were stripped and hosed down.

Over the next five days, many citizens of the former United States went under multiple sanitation procedures, they were disinfected four times; after the final procedure, they were housed in clean rooms.

The Aryans only feed them through specialized tubes, the solution was not food but a concoction that was designed to keep the person alive with minimal resource. Once the Aryan scientists were satisfied that the person was healthy enough to survive the final procedure they were moved to a massive metallic hospital.

The men, women, and children who were not deemed in good health did not go into the hospital instead their naked bodies were marched across the huge open square to a factory. They were given an anesthetic and while they slept they were put into an industrial furnace. They were used to power the small holding cells that contained their fellow captives.

Inside the medical facility, the non-Nordic people were given a final injection, it put their bodies into an induced coma. This allowed the Aryan surgeons to systematically remove important organs from the body while they were still alive.

The organs were removed from the body while still attached to the nervous system; the people the organs were removed from could still feel pain and their brainwaves zipped violently across the monitors. The surgeons seemed to ignore this as they focused on keeping the brain alive.

The heart and lungs were also removed intact and alive. The nervous system was placed in a bright purple gel. The gel was pumped full of a mixture of frozen nitrogen and blood. The blood was pumped around the square cell and the organs inside continued to produce heat; the cells were going to be used as a simple power source; a highly effective battery.

Thousands upon thousands of these operations were completed over the next few days, the power cells were stockpiled next to Die Glocke in the very heart of the base. The golden acorn shimmered as it absorbed more and more power.

The device flashed a superb purple and a whole pile of the living batteries was absorbed, a violet mist coated the surrounding area.

Nobody who was healthy was spared this fate, whole families were torn apart, literally as they were cut away from their living bodies and placed in a five-foot square. Advisor A was pleased with the progress, they could begin the next phase in twelve days if they continued at this pace.

A few cities decided to fight on, Chicago, Boston, and Los Angeles made themselves into fortress cities. The civilians there had chosen not to evacuate and fought alongside their army counterparts, as they had done in Washington.

The Aryan forces kept another of Sporreberg’s promises, they met any resistance with extreme force. Unlike Washington, the Aryan’s used nearly every weapon in their disposal. The skies filled with purple stars as their artillery completely leveled the areas.

Following this, the area was carpet bombed with plasma from squadrons of large bombers. The bombers were huge grey birds with six glowing engines on their long wings. The bombers dropped massive payloads on the cites.

The glow of burning plasma blocked out the setting sun. Nobody in the cities could have hope to survive this onslaught. Anyone who was found fleeing from the surrounding area was gunned down mercilessly.

USS America

The huge aircraft carrier rocked heavily in the massive waves, a hurricane had been buffeting the convoy for two days now. People on board the ship had to stay hunkered down inside but many were too exhausted to do anything other than sleep anyway.

In the medical wing William Morris stayed by the bedside of his friend, Moose was fast asleep on the side of the bed when he was rudely awoken by the nurse coming to change the sheets and empty Brooklyn’s catheter bag.

“You really should get some food mate; you have been here since the start of the voyage.”

Moose smiled meekly but he shook his head, I made a promise that I wouldn’t leave his side until he recovers!” Moose smiled, “I want to be here to take the piss out of the bitch.”

The nurse shook her head, “I’ll get some food sent up to you but I suggest you go take a quick wash while I give your friend here a sponging down.”

Moose smiled gain, “Are you trying to say I stink?” He smelt his pits.

The nurse nodded, “I could smell ya from outside, now go on.”

Moose did as he was told.

When the young radar operator returned there was a steaming hot pie sat on the bedside table.

Moose smiled, ‘What a babe’ he thought to himself. He also appreciated the cold bottle of water that rested on the floor beside his chair; it had been tied to the chair leg so it did not get lost when the ship listed in the storm.

As moose lifted the napkin he noticed a scribble on the other side, he turned it over and smiled as it gave the nurse’s room number. If Brooklyn were only awake, he would never live it down that I pulled his nurse.

The waves continued to pound the ship as it made its way across the Atlantic at full speed. Moose looked lazily out of the tiny window. The light barely got through and the artificial light gave him a headache.

The voyage had been pretty uneventful as battle reports from the American mainland faded from the airwaves. The crew had hoped it was because they were out of signal range but they knew deep down that it was more likely that the resisting troops had been wiped out.

Moose woke with a start in the pitch black as fingers gripped his hair and gave it a sharp yank.

“Ouch, what the hell is going on?” He yelled, his first thought was that the cheeky nurse had returned.

“Moose? Is that you?” A croaky voice came from the bed; it was weak and sounded disorientated.

“Brooklyn, is that you mate?”

“Moose it’s me, where the hell am I?”

Moose dived onto the bed and embraced his mate.

“What the hell are you doing mate, get off of me!”

Moose laughed, he jumped up and turned the lights on.

Brooklyn shielded his eyes, “Could have warned me you bastard.”

Brooklyn slowly acclimatized to the light but he still did not know where he was and what he was doing laying in a bed. As he looked around the room he noticed that he was in a medical bay. A colostomy bag hung from a post next to the bed and there was an intravenous drip next to him.

“What happened to me?”

“Not now Jnr, I’ll be back in a minute. I promise.” With that moose sprinted from the room as he went to alert the nurse.

Brooklyn tried to sit up but he was strapped to the metal bedposts. He suddenly felt very sick and as he yanked his head to the left he threw up all over his pillow.

The nurse, quickly followed by a naval doctor ran in and relaxed his restraints; they placed a bowl in front of him and the young Navy pilot cucked up again.

The nurse called for moose to get him a glass of water.

While Moose left the room the doctor started to complete his checks. He shined a light into Brooklyn’s eyes and watched his pupils dilate.

“Good.” He remarked and ticked something off of his list. The doctor continued to ask Brooklyn if he could feel his touch along his arm.

Brooklyn nodded.

The doctor did the same with the young pilot’s legs.

“Yes,” Brooklyn said but was then sick again as the ship rocked once more.

Brooklyn was told to take small sips of his drink; this would help with the sickness and the dehydration.

Brooklyn did as he was asked and the doctor finished off a few more tests.

“Where am I?” Brooklyn asked again.

The doctor took Moose to one side, I have told him he needs to rest. You can fill him in later.”

Moose shook his head, “With all due respect doc, Brooklyn will keep asking until he gets the truth, he is stubborn like that. It would be best to tell him and then he can get some rest.”

The doctor did not look convinced but he gave in. “Ok, but call us if anything changes, anything at all. Otherwise, I will be back to do some more tests in an hour.”

Moose took a seat next to Brooklyn and told him to brace himself as he was not going to like the news.

Brooklyn listened in horror as Moose recalled the events of the last six days. From when Brooklyn’s plane was shot down and they just managed to eject. Brooklyn was knocked unconscious and Moose had pulled him free of the trees that they had been tangled in.

Then how Washington was completely encircled by Aryan ground forces. The American armed forces had put up a brave resistance but in the end, the enemy forces were just too strong and General Westmoreland had signed an unconditional surrender.

They were now on the USS America on route to England with the rest of the surviving forces who had managed to escape, thanks to the Navy.

Brooklyn sat in disbelief he did not speak for a few minutes and his lip trembled as he tried to find the words he was looking for.

“Shit.” Was the first thing he could get out, he then promptly threw up in the glass bowl.

Moose shook his head, “I’ll clean this up buddy but you need to get some rest.”

Brooklyn passed the bowl over and then lay back down, he nestled his head into the pillow as his eyelids felt heavy. He could feel tears forming.

Moose returned the washed out bowl next to the bed.

Brooklyn looked up, “Have you heard from my mom and Pamela?”

Moose rested his hand on his friend’s back, “Your mom is on Hawaii, she is safe for now.” Moose paused, “Nobody has heard anything from Pam mate. But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t evacuated.”

Moose ordered him to get some rest.

Brooklyn fell into an uneasy sleep as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Brooklyn woke with a start; Moose was still sat by his side reading a magazine on aircraft.

“What time is it?”

“Three pm, you have been out for five hours. The doc had popped in a few times. I will fetch him now as he wants to complete more tests.”

Brooklyn was subjected to a multitude of procedures designed to test his memory, if he had sustained any brain damage and how his motor skills were. He passed with flying colors and when the doctor was satisfied he was given a small hot meal.

Brooklyn was told to go steady for the next few days until they got to England.

Over the next few days the young Naval pilot grew in strength, he went to the onboard gym with Moose for a light workout under the supervision of the nurse. Brooklyn’s pain grew into anger.

“Moose, we are going to get these fucks back for this, you know it and I know it.”

Moose nodded, he could see the intensity in his friend’s eyes. That was when he knew his friend was back for real. Tears again welled up in Brooklyn’s large brown eyes but this time they were tears of rage.

Drakelow

Drakelow depot sat beneath the Kingsford County Park just north of the town of Kidderminster. The underground facility had been built during World War Two but now it had been revamped to house the local seats of government during a nuclear attack; many similar facilities had been built due to the uncertainty caused by the cold war.

The tunnels of the large bunker were filled with noise. Countless people were busy at work.

A large meeting room had been set up and visitors were starting to arrive on mass now. Guards from different countries greeted each other and were then escorted to their accommodation.

The foreign dignitaries were given the most protected rooms and were left to settle down.

In the center of the meeting room was a large round table with seats placed all around it.

Only two seats were occupied at the moment, Harold Wilson the British Prime Minister sat in a deep conversation with his Chief of Staff, Field Marshal Sir Geoffrey Baker.

Sir Geoffrey’s arms would periodically fly all over the place as he tried to get his point across to the Prime Minister, Sir Geoffrey was known to be a passionate man who would not back down easily.

Wilson sighed, “Ok, that is enough for now, get all of the intelligence that we have so that we can present a good case to our allies. We need to share everything we have. If we are honest with them, then we can only hope they will afford us the same courtesy.”

Sir Geoffrey shrugged, “One can hope, Sir, but I doubt it.”

It was another twenty-four hours before all the guests had arrived. The most influential men in the world took their seats at the table.

The full list read:

Harold Wilson, Prime Minister

Field Marshal Sir Geoffrey Baker

Royal Air Force Air Chief Marshal, Sir Brian Burnett

Admiral, Sir John Frewen

Chairman of the people’s republic of China, Dong Biwu

Chief of the people’s liberation Army general staff department, Su Yu

Viktor Kulikov, Acting general secretary of the Communist party of the Soviet Union

Marshal of the Soviet Union Pavel Batitsky

Willy Brandt, Chancellor of the Federal Republic of Germany

And finally; Admiral, Thomas H Moorer.

Moorer was now the acting President of the United States after the deaths of Richard Nixon and Spiro Agnew.

Thomas Moorer had only arrived in Portsmouth a few hours earlier and after he had made sure his men had received everything that they needed, he had rushed up to Kidderminster.

Under tons of earth, reinforced steel, and concrete the various heads of state continued to argue deep into the night. The main sticking point had been Su Yu’s insistence that a coordinated nuclear strike was the only way to defeat the Aryan forces.

Understandably Admiral Moorer was against this option.

“We can’t nuke our own country, people still live there. We might as well hand them the country on a silver platter.”

Zu Yu huffed in disgust as he listened to his interpreter. The chairman of China interrupted, “I agree with Zu Yu, a nuclear attack is the safest option. I think we should vote on it.”

Wilson begrudgingly agreed on the vote. Two men in the room raised their hands while the rest sat steadfast.

Ding Biwu stared in contempt at Kulikov, “You call yourself a man of the Soviet Union yet you are unable to act in the best interest of Communism.”

Kulikov responded in English so that the whole room could understand him, “We tried to attack the Aryan forces with a nuclear strike, as we prepared our leadership was killed by a powerful chemical weapon. Now nothing lives in Moscow. So I am acting in the best interests of everyone here. God forbid if one of those missiles strikes your country.”

Dong Biwu sank back into his chair, he turned to his interpreter and whispered something to him.

“What do you suggest that we do? Send our troops into certain death?”

The room stayed silent for a minute before most of the senior army men tried to talk all at once. People argued across the table with each other for another ten minutes before Wilson intervened.

“Ok, this is getting us nowhere. Let’s go over what we know and then formulate our best course of action.” He started to look over the battle of Washington, before he added, “they must have some kind of weakness. One thing is for certain, we must not use nuclear missiles, the effect on the planet could be catastrophic.”

The men around the table leaned back into their chairs, some lit pipes. They were quiet as they went over all the information they had gathered on the enemy.

Admiral Moorer took the chair; it showed the humility of the man as he still preferred to be called Admiral rather than President.

“What we know is that they have an ultra-modern army, they have air support that can reach speeds that our jets could only hope. In fact, we know that they outclass us in every department, apart from one.”

Wilson interrupted, “They don’t have a Navy.”

“Preciously!” Moorer replied, “I suggest we look at an amphibious assault, hit them in places that our ships can help swing the balance of power, and then when we have established beachheads, take the fight to them.”

Brandt shook his head, “Nein.” He looked up from the pictures of the enemy tanks, “That would cost too much blood with no guarantee of success.”

“What would you suggest?” Moorer asked in a condescending tone.

“Small-scale guerrilla attacks that are designed to sabotage their supply lines and communications.”

The heads of state continued to discuss battle plans into the early hours.

Falling Star

The dark cloudless sky over London was suddenly shattered by a huge flash of bright purple, the buildings started to sway under the strain of a huge blast. The sky tore and a small golden object plummeted towards the ground.

The blast had knocked out the lights around the great city, cars stopped in their tracks and all along the M25 people got out of their vehicles in a confused and slightly panicked state.

Onlookers watched as a shooting star fell towards London, the flames from the atmosphere heated the objected and it glowed majestically as the brightest thing in the night’s sky.

In the very heart of London, residents took to the streets as they wanted to find the source of the power cut. A police officer pointed to the object that fell at great speed. Seconds later a small explosion rocked the area around Mayfair as the objected impacted.

A few brave onlookers rushed towards the crash site, thankfully no one had been hurt but small fires dotted the area. An abandoned vehicle burned slowly. The impact crater had smashed a hole through the pavement.

The heat was so intense that people had to stand back and watch from a distance. Nothing moved from the crash site so they object was not manned. Nothing happened at all for the next half an hour and as people let curiosity get the better of them, they decided to try and take a closer look.

The area was still too hot for them to get a proper look but a few of the local lads had managed to creep to the edge of the crater. They peered over to see a small golden acorn about the size of a Labrador sitting unharmed in the whole.

“What the hell is that?”

“No idea Bazzer, but I dare you to go down and touch it.”

“Bugger off mate, you go down there.”

“Chicken, you have to, I dared you.”

The area suddenly came to life with flashing blue lights as a convoy of police vehicles arrived on the scene. Evidently, they had been far away enough from the blast radius that their vehicles had been unaffected.

The Police officers quickly cordoned off the area and even had to arrest a few of the more rambunctious lads who refused to move on.

“We have a right to know, after what has happened in America.” A young teen shouted.

The police officer responded with a sharp blow to his ribs and then shoved him in the back of the car.

“This area is now off limits, please return to your homes.”

More and more officers arrived and finally, the large group of civilians disbursed.

“Good work Sergeant.” Two eerie voices floated out through the night.

“We will take it from here.”

The Sergeant nodded as four trucks full of soldiers arrived, they quickly jumped from the Lorries and took up positions around the golden acorn.

The police officer turned to the two dark figures, “What is it Sirs?”

The men in black moved from the shadows as the streets lights flickered back into life.

“That is none of your concern Sergeant, return to your home. You have the rest of the night off.”

The sergeant drifted away to his squad car in a dream-like state. He did not argue and returned home.

The men in black ordered the soldiers to take as many pictures as they could and then load the device onto the back of the large flatbed truck. They had to get the device to Drakelow depot.

The soldiers stopped what they were doing for a split second. “Where Sir?”

“Don’t worry.” The men in black chimed in unison, “We will show you the way. We think the Prime Minister will want to see this.”

The soldiers worked fast, they took pictures from a distance and when the fire engine finally arrived they hosed the whole area down. When it was safe to do so three men jumped down into the crater. They walked around the object taking photos as they went.

The golden object was perfectly smooth and had a small inscription around the rim across the base. The words looked like hieroglyphics but they were unlike any the ancient Egyptians would have seen.

“Let’s wrap this up men, get the object onto the truck. We need to go.” The men in black ordered.

The men inside the crater picked the object up, it was surprisingly light and they managed to lift it up the steep side of the crater with the help of the men above; ropes were tied to the bottom of the acorn and it was literally pulled from the hole.

The object was tied securely to the back of the flatbed and was then covered with a large tarpaulin. The men in black jumped into the cab of the truck. They issued one final order.

“Thank you for your assistance Lieutenant, please will you and your men return to the barracks and rest. When you awake tomorrow I promise you will feel better.”

The Lieutenant saluted and his men climbed back into the troop transports and headed for home.

The men in black drove the lorry away from the site and headed towards the hidden underground bunker. As the lorry left London it seemed to disappear from the road.

Die Glocke

Admiral Moorer slammed his fist hard onto the table, “If we hit them with large-scale attacks we can then draw their troops into us. We can then use our destroyers as battleships and take out as many as we can.”

Sir Geoffrey Baker rolled his eyes, “Typical Navy twaddle, you would think the navy was the answer because that is all you know!”

For a brief moment the acting President let a flash of red spread across his face as he took a step towards the British Chief of staff, “And what is your plan? Cower away on your little island until the bad guys go away?”

Sir Geoffrey stood and squared up to the American, “I think we shouldn’t just throw away the lives of our troops to get a beaten country back.”

“Like we did in world war two?” Moorer retorted the room went quiet.”

Moorer shook his head, “That’s what I thought. Look if we don’t do anything then we risk losing the whole world to these people. You have seen what they are capable of.”

He slumped back down onto the edge of the table, “And that was when Sporrenberg was in charge, who knows what that Advisor of his is planning.”

The room was silent for a full minute as the world’s most powerful men stayed deep in thought.

That silence was shattered as the large steel doors flew open.

“What the hell is this?” Wilson shouted. “Guards!”

The Chinese guard in the room raised his weapon as the two men entered the room.

He tried to pull the trigger but his mind clouded and he stood unable to move.

“Gentleman, please calm down. We are here to help.” The sickening voices rang out in ghostly unison.

“Who are you? And how did you find us?” Admiral Moorer asked he could feel his mind getting colder; it was getting difficult to think.

“We were advising your President and then General Westmoreland in the battle of Washington. Right until the White House was overrun.”

Moorer felt rage flow through his system, “Then how did you manage to get out but nobody else did! You yellow-bellied cowards!”

The men in black smiled but this only managed to repulse the men in the room, “We had to leave, how could we assist you in the fight if we had been captured?”

Moorer said nothing, he wanted to but his brain would not allow it.

“Please take a seat Gentleman.” The first man in black gestured to them.

The men did as instructed.

“You will not be aware of this, but half an hour ago an object the size of large dog fell from the sky and impacted in the center of London.”

A look of fear flashed across Wilson’s face but he stayed silent.

The second man in black slid a pile of Polaroids onto the desk, have a look at these and then tell me us what you think?”

The heads of state looked over the pictures, only Moorer recognized it. “That looks like a smaller version of the device that fell in Kecksburg four years ago.”

The men in black nodded, “And how do you know about that incident?”

“When President Nixon was first briefed on the object, he relayed the information to me.”

The men in black took on a stern tone, “That was an act of treason, but that particular crime has already been answered for.”

The men in black stood behind Prime Minister Wilson, “We have the object here in this bunker, I suggest we go and see what is inside it. It cannot be a coincidence that the device fell in England at the time when the heads of state from the most powerful nations on the planet are all in one place.”

Dong Biwu looked up, he struggled to get his words out. “What… What if it is a trap?”

The Chinese interpreter went to speak but the men in black help up their hands, “We can understand thank you, to answer your question we do not think so. This object does not appear to have the same power as the device that fell in America.”

The men in black turned back to the room, “It should be ready to view now. We have it set up behind a large glass screen. Shall we go and see what secrets it may have.” It was not a question and as soldiers filed into the room to escort the men to the makeshift lab, a feeling of dread washed over the men.

The room was only a ten foot by ten-foot cube. The golden acorn sat behind a thick pane of glass, the device seemed to glow brightly in the dull artificial light.

“Take your seats gentleman.”

Behind the glass, several scientists were attaching a web of copper cables across the small device. The hope was that if they could electrically charge the atmosphere directly around the device it would cause a reaction.”

Willy Brandt looked up, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Yeah, this doesn’t seem safe, what if we release another army?” Admiral Moorer exhaled.

The men in black turned, their dark sunglasses concealed their black soulless eyes, “We cannot say for sure but it is unlikely that this device is large enough to cause us any significant threat.”

This did not reassure the heads of state but they kept any further thoughts to themselves. The men in black kept a watchful eye on the scientists as they finished off the preparations; half an hour later they were finally ready for the first attempt.

The room had been a communications center but had hurriedly been formatted for the experiment; makeshift control panels lined the left-hand wall. The youngest of the scientific team was an engineer who had just turned thirty; he checked the power cables and then gave the thumbs up to the lead scientist.

The engineer quickly left the room and sealed the heavy steel door. The men in black nodded to the scientist who nervously returned the gesture. The forty-four year old gently turned the dial-up. Power rushed into the room and began to snake its way across the copper web.

The room watched as the power was gently turned up in stages. The room started to crackle as the electricity flowed through the cables and the heat inside began to seep out.

“Fifty percent.” The scientist called out, “holding steady!” replied the engineer.

The lights in the underground bunker flickered steadily for a couple of seconds and then went out.

Harold Wilson looked nervous, “Why have the lights gone out?”

“Nothing to worry about Prime Minister, we will need all available power from the base diverted to this project. Power will be restored when we have finished.” The men in black reassured him.

The three men running the experiment switched on their head torches so they could clearly see the displays. The wires attached to the devices swayed in the rising hot air, they danced about hypnotically and the copper wires glowed ever so slightly with a blue tint.

“Seventy-five percent!”

“Still holding steady.”

A large cracking sound resonated around the room as bright blue sparks stormed around the object; they raced faster and faster across the web of copper wires. One of the wires broke free and smashed into the glass barrier; it cracked slightly.

The men in the room continued to look worried as the electrically charged atmosphere grew larger still.

As the power level crept over ninety percent the acorn started to shake violently, the lightning spread across the room and claps of thunder boomed out.

The men in black turned to the scientist, “Raise it up to one hundred percent, we do not have time to wait.”

The man wanted to protest but he felt unable to resist, his hand moved on its own and turned the dial to maximum power.

Instantly sparks bounced off the side of the device, they ranged from a devilish red to a vibrant yellow tinge. The lightning bounced throughout the room, smashing off of the glass which caused small shards to break off and float in the electrical storm that raged inside.

The device glowed from inside, a brilliant bright yellow as it absorbed the power source.

It vibrated and shook violently and suddenly it shot up into the air; it levitated just below the ceiling. The wires attached to it strained as they were stretched to their limits.

The readouts on the control panel were redlining so the scientist went to shut the power down.

“Step away from the console.” The men in black chimed at him.

The scientist lowered his hand.

A deafening bang rang out as the control panel sparked, smoke billowed out and the electrical charge could not be held and started to dissipate from the room.

“We have lost all power, we can’t keep the atmosphere electrified, we must shut it down now or risk overloading the system and losing power from the whole base.”

“No,” The men in black said sternly, “Let’s see where this goes.”

The electrical storm continued to dissipate in front of their eyes, as the power left the small room the device stopped vibrating. Finally, the power left the room but the lights in the underground bunker did not come back on.

“God damn it, I knew this would happen. The fuse board must have been completely destroyed.” The engineer was about to open the large metal door to the room when a blinding light beamed out from the object.

Suddenly the whole room was illuminated as the acorn levitated towards the concrete roof, it hung suspended in the air mere inches room the ceiling. Out of nowhere, a huge purple beam of light spread out in all directions.

Everybody in the room shielded their eyes from the intense light. Another explosion echoed through the room and Harold Wilson was knocked to the floor. Admiral Moorer shielded the men behind him as the shockwave washed across the room.

The glass barrier shattered, sending shards in all directions, Sir Geoffrey yelled in pain, he could not see due to the bright light but he gingerly felt several shards sticking out from his right arm and upper calf.

The light disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared the power in the base flickered back into life. The room was filled with a pale blue layer of smoke. The men in black approached the broken window and peered inside.

The device had vanished but lying in the center of the floor was a long mental spear and a small disk-shaped object that laid flat. The round device was about as thick as a small bible.

Lights came back on all across the base. Then men in black turned to the shaken scientist. I want you to run some experiments on the objects left in the room, let’s find out what gifts they have left us.”

The scientist gingerly entered and slowly inspected the objects. The older man went to touch the small disc-shaped object but its display suddenly illuminated, the man jumped. When nothing else seemed to happen he picked the object up and turned it over in his hands; it looked like a futuristic watch.

Sir John Frewen checked over Sir Geoffrey’s wounds, he looked up to the men in black and shook his head. “He is in trouble.”

“Please get him the medical attention that he requires” The men in black responded to Sir John, “The rest of you please take your seats. We have a feeling you will want to watch the results of the experiments.”

Atlantis

The room was deadly quiet, only the gently shuffling of the scientist’s hands could be heard as they inspected the two objects that the acorn had left behind. The heads of state sat quietly with their heads bowed low like they were asleep.

The men in black watched patiently as the scientific team got to work. They had plugged the watch into wires from the base but as of yet, nothing had happened. The spear also refused to show its secrets as the thick metal was proving hard to cut into. The blades on saw that the engineer had used had snapped three times now; the engineer threw the broken tool to the floor and rested his head on the workbench.

Admiral Moorer was interested in the watch and he walked up behind the scientist. He started to ask questions.

“What is it? How come it has such a bright light coming from it?”

The scientist ignored him and carried on with his work.

Moorer pushed him out the way and picked the object up from the table, he twiddled it in his fingers absentmindedly as the scientist tried to pull it from his grasp.

The men in black were about to tell the admiral off when he accidentally pressed the bright light in the center of the watch’s face.

The device flashed into life, showering the room blinding beams of bright blue light. Moorer dropped the device and it bounced twice as it hit the concrete floor. The center of the device opened like a shutter on a camera lens.

A blue ghostly figure appeared to form from the blue light. It took the form of a female and just hung motionless in the air.

“What the hell is that?” Moorer said.

The Figure focused her eyes on him and he felt a chill run down his spine as the pale blue eyes made of light looked directly into him.

“Do not be alarmed people of earth.”

The room was astonished. “Shit she can speak?” Wilson said.

“Quiet, please let the lady speak.” Chimed the men in black.

The figure looked at her audience.

“Please listen, you do not have much time to save your planet. Please do not ask questions as my responses are limited.”

My name is Alia in your tongue. I am the leader of the Aryan government on our home planet.

The device that you call Die Glocke is in fact as an interdimensional gateway that our race has used to investigate earth on many occasions.

The figure paused, “The man that has brought his Aryan forces to attack The United States of America. Advisor A as you call him is actually the former general of our forces. His name is Atlantis.

Atlantis came to earth many thousands of years ago and set up an outpost which he named after himself. This outpost becomes ingrained in your mythology as the lost city of Atlantis. This analogy is wrong as the city was a military base. Atlantis was tasked by our leadership to explore Earth and document the planet. If there were no sentient life forms then he was to harvest the resources of Earth to further the development of our species.”

The figure seemed to almost lower her head in shame as she spoke, “Unfortunately we had not seen the evil in Atlantis heart and as he explored the planet he also sort to enslave its people. He created a slave race from strands of his own DNA and mixed it with a group of Homo sapiens. This created the Nordic race as you know it. This race was designed as a slave labor force that was to assist stripping the planet bare.

Atlantis sort to cleanse the earth of all other races and once this was completed he would have free reign to consume all of the great resources your planet had to offer, he would then expand his growing army.”

The figure turned its back to her audience.

“Once we discovered his plans, we at first tried to reason with him but we could not. Finally, we took military action against his forces. A great battle ensued and there was much bloodshed on both sides. Finally, we managed to storm his base and destroy his facilities.

Atlantis himself managed to escape within the transport device with as many resources as he could.

We spent many years searching for Atlantis to bring him to justice for his crimes but we could never find him. Atlantis must have bided his time, slowly creating the army that you have witnessed today. The army is clones based on his younger self.

He must have designed them over the years and in doing so used up all of his remaining resources. He then hid and waited until he decided it was the right time to return to earth and plunder your resources.

We think he wanted to return before the Second World War but he waited to see if the Nazi party would take control of the world for him. Atlantis was sly; he let the interdimensional transport device be discovered by the National Socialist regime and then influenced their ideology. He gave them ideas for weapons and a glimpse of superior technology.”

The figure flicked twice as the power around the base surged from the experiment damage.

“The Nazi’s considered the Aryan’s gods and as such believed they were the descendants of Atlantis. Unfortunately for him the Nazi’s lost the war and with Die Glocke ready to fall into American’s hands, Atlantis reacted and the device disappeared.”

“We spent the next twenty years tracking it with no luck, we only had limited resources and we only met with failure.

Atlantis clearly felt the time was right to attack with the world in conflict; the cold war has been taking its toll on your armed forces as you indirectly fight against each other all across the planet. Atlantis dropped the device into the heart of America and you welcomed it with open arms.”

She shook her head, “He watched and waited, monitoring your communication until he attacked. That was when his clone army overwhelmed your country. He will now take all the resources he needs and he will overcome your planet with complete disregard for the life that calls it home.”

Our dimension is dying; we have used up nearly all of our resources. Atlantis seeks to claim your dimension as his own and then will use the strength he gathers from it to claim ours as well. He is stubborn, aggressive and has no regard for any life apart from his own but he does seek to return our dimension to glory, he will forsake yours to achieve this goal.

We only have enough power to send you this message and the weapon contained in the silver spear. The liquid contained within the tip of that spear will kill Atlantis. It is a specially designed biological weapon that will bind to his DNA, killing his cells from within. Once this enters his bloodstream it will kill him and his army of clones, this is possible as their DNA is identical.”

The figure turned and pleaded with her audience, “You must kill Atlantis, this weapon must reach him and him alone, if you use it on the clones themselves it will have no effect, you must kill the source to destroy the rest of the cancer. Please do what we were not able to do; you must save your own dimension.”

The figure paused and the powerful blue luminescent flashed once and then vanished back within the device.

The room could not speak, the men looked to the men in black but for the first time, they were lost for words.

The men in black finally regained their composure; they strode over to the weapon and looked it over. They could now see the dark red serum housed in the tip of the spear.

“We need to get this turned into a weapon. Measure how much serum we have and see if we can turn it into multiple weapons. We need to maximize our chances.”

The scientist got to work.

The men in black gestured to the heads of state, “We must plan our attack carefully, and we will only get one chance to finish this.”

Wright Patterson

An alarm rang out in the busy control room housed in the center of Wright Patterson. The tower was full of activity, screens monitored many different places across the world; the images hung on the screen for a few seconds before they flashed to a different one.

The technician turned, “Sir we have a transmission from the Argentine Navy, they say they are under attack from a large force trying to gain entry to the straight into Washington…”

Atlantis smiled, “So it has begun. Tell them we will send them air support. They are to stand and fight.”

The technician relayed the order to the Admiral

“Sir, they say they are outnumbered at least three to one. They want permission to withdraw.”

Atlantis clenched his fists, “Inform those cowardly fools that they are to stand and fight otherwise their nation is no use to us and we will cleanse it immediately.” Atlantis grinned as he cherished the thought of crippling a whole nation.

The Argentinean Navy had three aircraft carriers and a host of light battleships and destroyers. They were already coming under attack from Phantom’s launched from the USS America.

The seas were calm in the early morning sunshine. The air battle to defend the ships had begun in earnest. Vessels were closing the distance to strike at each other.

The mixed fleet that was attacking the Argentines was made up of American, British, Chinese and Russian ships. The allies were launching an all-out attack; they needed to make shore as quickly as possible.

A hundred miles North a smaller landing force was preparing to land in New Jersey, the plan was to secure a beachhead and then break their way out and flank North of the captured capital.

The forces that landed unopposed in New Jersey were shocked to find there were no Aryan troops to great them. The whole area was deserted; none of the general population seemed to be hiding in the area either.

“What the hell is going on? Where is the enemy?” The General said, he was getting an uneasy feeling, it was unlike the Aryan’s to let their guard down.

Yet another smaller force of American and Australian ships was preparing an assault on San Francisco on the Eastern seaboard but they did not have the same luck. Me 262’s had flown out to meet them. Phantoms launched and were now in a desperate fight to protect the amphibious landings.

In the control tower Atlantis watched over proceedings with the grin of a homicidal maniac, he was enjoying this.

‘If you had just let us be for another two days then you would not have suffered all this bloodshed but I am glad you have some fight left in you’ He thought to himself.

The guided missile Cruiser USS Long Beach plowed full speed towards its Argentinian counterpart; missiles were set loose as she cut through the ocean. The rounds impacted along the starboard side of the Argentine Vessel, it immediately caught fire as the front ammo store was hit.

It took ten minutes for the Argentine ship to sink, sailors bobbed up and down as they scrambled for any floating objects they could find.

In the air, the Argentine naval fighters were completely outclassed by their American counterparts. The Phantoms were all now fitted with powerful Gatling guns and the rounds tore through the weak Argentine fighters; many of their pilots had not encountered such skilled counterparts.

The Amphibious landing at San Francisco was not going well at all, many of the aircraft carriers were being strafed by the 2^nd air army of the Aryan East force, the Me 262’s dived at great speed and released their plasma bombs at the last possible moment.

Anti-aircraft rounds sprayed from the desperate defenders but the Me 262’s were too quick. The plasma orbs washed across the decks of the aircraft carriers, the crew that was in the vicinity were instantly vaporized. Phantoms were destroyed and burnt on the deck.

The decks were now unusable and the aircraft carriers needed to withdraw. A diving Me 262 could sense he was going to land a fatal blow, a Phantom rushed into position and fired with the Gatling gun housed in the nose. The rounds spewed out across the Me 262 who did not try and evade the attack.

Debris flew from the rear of the Aryan fighter as the rounds ate through its armor. The Me 262 did not change course though and its pilot did not eject. The men in the control tower aboard the USS Kitty Hawk relished with horror what was coming next.

The alarm for abandon ship was hit but it was too late for the crew in the control tower as the Me 262 smashed into the tower, exploding into tiny pieces. The tower went up in flames.

“Shit, kamikaze, the Kitty Hawk is out of action; repeat these bastards are going to kamikaze the ships.” The shocked pilot of the Phantom said.

Admiral Moorer cursed under his breath, he was sat aboard the USS America, The battle was going better than he had expected; this concerned him it was almost like Atlantis wanted this battle and was allowing them to get a foothold in the area. He shook this thought from his head; he had to get on with the job in hand.

Three Argentine destroyers had managed to sneak through from the 1^st fleets north, they made an immediate beeline for the USS America as the flagship of the US Navy she was a prime target.

The destroyers closed in like a pack of ravenous hyenas, they fired their guns but at this speed, the first rounds were hopelessly inaccurate. Moorer smiled, ‘Fools.’

The first destroyer was rocked by two large explosions and the front of the ship was split clean from the rest of the hull, oil spilled out into the ocean and burned slowly on the surface. The second destroyer slowed as it tried to see where the attack had come from. It was a mistake.

The second destroyer was hit in the rear, the engines were completely destroyed as a huge gash was ripped into its side; sea water rushed in. Two more torpedoes were fired from the lurking submarine and a direct hit on the third destroyer meant three kills in as many minutes for the unseen hunter.

The Argentine Navy was completely overwhelmed by the ferocity of the attacks from the allied fleet. Chinese gunboats circled the sailors in the water and opened fire on the defenseless men.

Russian submarines joined in the hunt and struck the aircraft carrier Veinticinco de Mayo with two torpedoes; the ship lurched to the left but was just still afloat.

Out of the cloudless skies, a huge swarm of contacts appeared on the radar, “Blue bandit’s incoming from twelve a clock.

“Here they come.” Admiral Moorer said, “Battle stations everyone, Kulikov are you ready?”

The Russian commander smiled, “Of course.”

The incoming Me 262’s split ready for the attack, the Phantoms took up defensive positions around the aircraft carriers.

The Aryan fighters closed the distance with extreme speed and then lined up for their attack runs. Out of nowhere a full squadron of MiG-21’s entered the fight with their cannons blazing.

The MiG-21’s were launched from the British aircraft carrier HMS Triumph who was lurking two miles back. The MiG’s had to be adapted as the Soviet Union did not have any purpose-built aircraft carriers.

The MiGs were nimble close range fighters that excelled in turning dogfights. The first line of Me 262s was quickly blown from the sky. The rest of the Aryan fighters split into twos, the MiG’s and their wingmen followed suit. Soon the sky was crowded, fighters started to fall with heavy losses on both sides.

The Russian fighters freed up the Phantoms to attack the remaining vessels of the Argentine Navy which by now was falling apart at the seams.

In the control room at Wright Patterson, another call was made from the Argentine Navy this time they were not asking they were telling the Aryan’s that they were withdrawing.

The technician turned to Atlantis, “What are your orders sir?”

Atlantis folded his arms, “Have we confirmed who is attacking?”

The technician nodded, “The Americans the Soviets, Chinese, Australians and the British sir.”

Atlantis nodded, “Prepare the missiles, I want an open broadcast set up as well. I have a message for our assailants.”

The technician prepared the camera and set up the broadcast to be shown on every TV channel and also on every radio frequency. “Sir we are ready.”

Decision

The television screen flickered from the BBC news to reveal piercing blues eyes staring directly into the camera.

“Good morning world, this is Commander of the Aryan forces, let me introduce myself. I am Atlantis, broadcasting to you live from within Wright Patterson.”

The camera panned out to show the view behind Atlantis; in the background the mobile missile launchers were clearly visible. They were rising slowly into a firing position.

“Thirty minutes ago an allied force led by Admiral Moorer attacked our allies in the Chesapeake Bay. Our forces have also been engaged in San Francisco and a landing force of your troops has been spotted in New Jersey.” Atlantis folded his arms, “We cannot tolerate these insults any longer.”

Atlantis turned to the technician sat directly behind him and nodded. The technician turned a key and pressed a button, “Ready sir!”

“Excellent,” Atlantis said as he pushed the launch button in front of him. Immediately, four rockets fired from their mobile launch pads directly behind him, the rockets rushed vertically into the air and sped into the atmosphere.

Alarms went off in the Drakelow depot; Prime Minister Wilson looked white as all the blood drained from his features.

“Where are those rockets heading?”

“No idea sir.”

The camera switched from Wright Patterson and showed the Argentine capital Buenos Aires, the image zoomed in on the bustling city below. Seconds later the rockets came into view. It exploded just above the ground; around three hundred feet and a swarm of dark purple liquid filtered into the air.

The camera switched back to Atlantis, “That is what happens when you leave your positions. Argentina your cowardly act has been dealt with.”

The room in the depot in England was stunned, “Did..did they just attack their allies?”

“Yes.” The men in black replied, “The rockets were fired on the Argentine mainland in retribution for their retreat.”

Atlantis looked deep into the camera, “I suggest that your forces’ disengage and surrender to me. If they do not, I will fire my rockets into the weak heart of your nations. Your civilians will suffer heavy casualties.”

The screen clicked off.

“What shall we do?” Wilson asked.

The Chinese leader sat silent for a second, he turned to his interpreter, “We must fire our nuclear missiles while we still have the chance.”

“That is out of the question!” Prime Minister Wilson said angrily.

The Chinese president stood up aggressively, “I don’t care what you think, your nation is insignificant and we will deal with your cowardice later.” He turned to his aid, “I want the nuclear missiles ready to launch ASAP.”

The men in black turned on Dong Biwu, “We cannot allow this.”

Two shots rang out as the soldiers stood next to the men in black fired. The rounds hit their intended targets and the two men fell to the floor; they bled out quickly.

Dong Biwu was stunned, “What did you just do?”

“We had no choice but to kill your aid and your translator. Now please sit, you are no longer authorized to make decisions.” The men in black chimed.

The Last Battle

4^th army group had made their way forty miles inland without any resistance. Their light tank division was made up mostly of Chinese Type 63’s which were quite fast with their forty mile an hour top speed. The division carefully scouted the area up ahead of the main troops.

The British Vickers main battles tanks rumbled along behind. They were split into several groups and tried not to bunch up too closely together. They passed through abandoned town after abandoned town.

Groups of infantry periodically stopped and alighted from their armored vehicles to have a quick search of the area. All they found were abandoned houses. The houses had been ransacked and a lot of the contents had been left in the streets. A British soldier picked up a soaking wet teddy, he shook his head and chucked the ruined bear to the floor.

The Type 63’s advanced out of the latest town through a patch of sodden grass, their tracks churned up the loose soil as they advanced. The lead tank went up in smoke as it was hit by a bright purple flash.

The rest of the Type 63’s immediately took evasive actions as more plasma rounds raced towards them. The Chinese crews tried to hail the Vickers tanks but communication was a constant problem with the British not being able to speak Chinese and the Chinese only having very poor English; if any at all.

The plasma rounds were coming from the only remaining tree line left along the horizon, the rounds kept coming and more and more Type 63’s were taken out.

“Anti Tank guns in the trees!” A British signalman called out, he radioed for any available air support.

The British main battle tanks had just arrived on the scene, they fired their guns but the first shots were wildly inaccurate. Their commanders ordered for them to fire the 12.7mm range finding machine gun; they fired short bursts down range until they were trained on their targets.

“Fire.” The 105mm main guns opened up and several barrages were fired into the woods. The trees shattered on impact showering the area in giant splinters.

The guns were silenced as the tree line was devastated. The heavy tanks continued to advance passed the burning Aryan anti tank guns’; their charred wrecks sending black smoke high into the sky.

Reports were flooding into the command tower at Wright Patterson, a technician turned to Atlantis,

“Sir a joint force of British and Chinese armor is attacking North of Washington. It looks like they might be trying to encircle the capital.”

Atlantis laughed, “Looks like they aren’t taking my warning seriously! “He stroked his mustache as he chuckled. “Ok, we only have to hold them for the next couple of days. Send in the men, I know they are itching for a fight.”

The technician saluted.

“One more thing.” Atlantis powerful voice projected, “Launch the missiles.”

“Sir” the technician turned to the console and initiated the launch sequence, “What are the target coordinates?”

Atlantis smiled, “Hit all of the major cities at once.”

It only took a few seconds for the target information to feed its way through the computers, finally, the button on the center console illuminated, it flashed a violent red. Atlantis strode forwards and pressed it without flinching.

Outside the window, the missile’s engines ignited and the rockets reached skyward with frightening speed. It took less than thirty seconds for the missiles to break through the lower atmosphere as they raced across the earth.

The first sign of trouble came too late as one of the destroyer crews noticed streaks across the sky, it looked like hundreds of them. Admiral Moorer was alerted and he managed to raise the alarm back at Drakelow depot but it was too late.

The first missile dropped over Cardiff it got to two thousand feet above the bustling city before it detonated. The explosion caused shockwaves loud enough to scare the local population into coming outside and looking into the sky.

A vapor cloud several miles long drifted lazily in the afternoon sky, it mixed in with the spattering of clouds and turned them a bloodcurdling red. Slowly the red mist descended, birds fell from the sky and bubbled in a sticky mess where they landed.

People in the city still were not sure what was happening, a local family who had rushed out of their two-bedroom town flat were still peering skywards when the first drops hit them. The youngest sister was only four and she looked at her hand in amazement as it turned a beautiful mercury color.

“Look mum, I love this type of rain, it’s pretty.”

“Yes darling!” the mum replied without even looking.

One of the drops fell into her eye, it burned horribly and she cursed under her breath.

The mist had fallen continually for a couple of minutes and people were starting to feel the effects. The middle-aged mum threw up over the sidewalk. The contents were a dark brown.

“Shit honey, that doesn’t look good.”

An off-duty ambulance worker trotted over to have a look, “We need to get you to the hospital miss!” she said after taking one look at the vomit.

The ambulance worker reached out to help the mum over to their car but a horrible pain shot through her arm, she looked at her arm and in horror realized it was turning purple. She turned her it over and over and she screamed as it went from purple to black in an instant.

The mum tried to help and she reached out and gripped the paramedic’s wrist; it instantly turned into a turgid tar-like substance in her hand, she reeled away in terror.

The paramedic stumbled as she let out a black stream of vomit that covered the mum’s chest, the paramedic looked down and realized that she was somehow sinking into the pavement; her legs were melting away in front of her eyes. She tried to scream but her mouth was full of a sickly black goo.

All around the streets, people were melting away until just a terrible black sludge remained. The mum remembered one last thing, the image of her child vanishing before her eyes before the world around her changed into a violet red and then nothing.

Atlantis watched with pleasure as his missiles successful hit all the major cities in the United Kingdom and China. The screens in front of him showed live satellite images of London and Edinburgh. The cities were deserted but on closer inspection piles of tar were evident on every street, in every abandoned car, and in nearly every house.

The situation room in Drakelow did not know how bad the attack was but as they desperately tried to contact London the feeling of dread grew as they could not get an answer.

Admiral Moorer knew they had to press home the attack, there was nothing to hold them back now as Atlantis had already fired his trump card. The Admiral ordered in a mass air strike as soon as was feasibly possible.

Operation Freedom

The Chinese and British tanks kept advancing until they came to a huge open expanse of dried out fields. The commanders left their vehicles as they peered through their binoculars.

“Bloody hell.” The British commander Thomas Speering cried. The commander was fifty-eight and had fought in the second world war in his favorite tank, the Cromwell but he had never seen anything like what was sat before his very eyes.

At the far end of the flat plain were rows upon rows of glistening tanks, most of them were either Tiger I or Panther tanks but every fifteenth tank was the monstrous Maus. The gigantic tanks turrets moved to lock onto their new targets.

“Battle stations!” Speering yelled as he jumped back into his tank. His Chinese counterparts had already begun the attack.

“Commander Xiu, will you rein your men back in, we need a coordinated assault on the Tiger I’s, repeat ignore the Maus.”

The commander received a message that he could not understand, “God damn it.” He said as he got on the radio “This is commander Speering of the 4^th armored division. We have encountered a massive column of enemy armor, we are requested air support to grid reference 47, repeat reference 47.”

There was a long pause, “Roger that commander, don’t you worry Admiral Moorer has a surprise in store.”

The Chinese light tanks spread out and fired rapidly on the move but at the longer ranges, their shells were mostly ineffective. The Tigers were in their element though and fired from a stationary position. The powerful plasma rounds cut through the Chinese armor effortlessly.

Commander Speering’s tanks had not advanced yet and he had successfully reined in the remaining Chinese light tanks, whose division had suffered heavy losses. Plasma rounds crisscrossed the area.

The Vickers main battle tanks returned fire as best they could but their guns were unlikely to do much damage at the range they were fighting at.

They Aryan forces had not advanced either, they kept up a horrifying rate of fire that the British troops could not hope to contend with.

“Commander Speering, this is Commander Paul of the 5^th Army.”

“Good to hear you voice Paul; we are in some shit here. I have never seen so many tanks on a single battlefield before.”

Paul laughed, “So I hear, we are cutting up from Baltimore to assist from the South. Try to keep their attention for as long as you can. We are setting up as much artillery as we can get our hands on.”

“Roger that Paul, we will do our best. Godspeed.”

The skies had cleared in the early afternoon and Speering could just make out a rumbling sound in the distance. It was hard to hear over the constant noise of the battle but it was definitely there.

“Commander Speering, confirm where your forces are?” A strange voice radioed through.

“Identify yourself!” Speering replied.

“This is Admiral Moorer, now commander please confirm your position.”

“Yes Sir, we are on grid reference 48, extremely close to 47.”

“Roger that Commander, Do not advance into 47, repeat do not advance into 47.”

“Roger that Sir.” Speering knew what that meant; he could barely contain his excitement.

The rumbling grew louder as masses of small black dots appeared on the horizon. They grew ever larger as they came closer. Vapor trails could be seen from the massive B-52 bombers who must have been least forty thousand feet up.

Speering’s crews let out a cheer as they watched the bombers fly overhead.

The massive cargo bay doors on the bombers opened and tons of ordinance tumbled from the sky. The ground began to shake as the bombs hit; huge explosions rocked the area sending balls of fire and black smoke into the air.

The B-52’s kept coming in waves as the huge bombers exacted revenge for their fallen friends. The ground shook violently as if it was about to cave in under the pressure of a massive earthquake.

A streak of plasma smashed into the side of a B-52, it impacted just above the right wing and completely severed it. The helpless bomber tumbled from the sky, black smoke trailed from the open wound.

The air filled with purple orbs that raced towards the mass of bombers. This time though the B-52’s did not split, they pressed home their attack. The superheated orbs smashed through the lightly armored bombers; planes started to fall from the sky.

The Me 262’s swooped in; they smelt blood as the easy prey was unprotected. The lead Me 262 opened up with his plasma cannon and the purple rounds streamed forwards like a swarm of angry hornets. The rounds hosed over the tail of a B-52 which just disintegrated under the fire.

The Aryan fighters plowed into the formation which still did not split, one 262 got too close to his prey and narrowly avoided colliding into its side, the pilot pulled the control stick as hard as he could and managed to spin away with only minor damage to the wing of his aircraft.

The bombs continued to fall and a group of Panther medium tanks was completely destroyed, they disappeared in a cloud of black and purple smoke which dissipated quickly to reveal the smoldering hulls.

B-52’s were falling from the sky at an alarming rate now as the agile Me 262’s scored easy kills. Silver jets streaked in low over the heads of Speering’s tanks. The jets rolled and then pulled up vertically.

A garbled Russian voice came over the radio but nobody could understand it. A B-52 crew tried desperately to shake the enemy fighter from their tail but the rear gunner was killed by the burning plasma and smoke billowed from the damaged area.

Suddenly the Me 262 disengaged from the bomber and rolled once as it tried to avoid a hail of bullets from below; It was too late though as the rounds tore through the wing and sent the engine into a massive explosion that looked like a miniature sun.

The B-52 pilot look around to see what had happened when he caught a glimpse of five MiG-21’s bursting into the battle, their cannons were blazing. The B-52 crews never thought they would be so glad to see a Soviet fighter.

Resource

Atlantis stood in the center of the control tower with his arms folded; he rested his tall frame on one of the control consoles as he studied the situation maps. The allied forces had advanced quite far from their beachheads and were heading towards Baltimore.

The large 1^st Panzer army had stopped them in the large expanse of fields before they got too far. The army was made up of over three hundred tanks and was supported by two thousand infantry.

The allied forces were outnumbered. Atlantis was pleased.

On the Eastern battlefront, the Allies were struggling to maintain a beachhead, Atlantis had ordered in the heavy artillery so that they could be beaten back into the sea as quickly as possible.

Finally, Atlantis turned to the large windows behind him; he strode over to survey the resource operation.

“I want the gathering to be stepped up. Work the slaves to death. We need to get as many resources through the portal as possible.”

The Aryan officer in the room saluted and then radioed through the orders. Immediately the men below got to work. All available slaves were rounded up and ferried out from the base. They were to collect as many materials as they could carry. Anyone who was deemed too weary to get into the Lorries was shot on the spot.

A ghostly blue glow periodically punctured the air as Die Glocke transported the precious materials through the gateway. The light could be seen from miles away.

The base looked like a ants nest with activity going on in all sectors, the medical staff was ordered to turn as many of the population into living batteries as they could manage. Any person who was deemed not of the correct physiological standard was to be executed immediately.

Vehicles crisscrossed the tarmac as they transported the resources into the conveyor belt next to the large golden acorn. A large group of Aryan soldiers then quickly inspected each package and once they were satisfied they sent it through the portal.

Chinese Blue

A squadron of Xian H-6 bombers flew in above the low cloud cover across the San Francisco Bay. The Chinese heavy bombers were loaded with high explosive bombs. They were being called in to assist the beleaguered ground forces that were in danger of being overrun and losing the beachhead.

The ground troops were being cut to shreds by the 11^th Panzer division which was mainly made up of the Maus super heavy tank. These tanks were supported by mobile infantry that held key positions across the city.

The 3^rd Army had so far been unable to break out and as the day drew on they were close to collapse.

A small formation of Patton medium tanks was holding back an entire flank but their numbers were steadily diminishing.

“Where is that goddamn air support? We are getting our asses kicked out here.” Commander William Leete bellowed through the radio. He looked to his men and told them to lay down as much suppressing fire as they could muster.

The Browning machine guns on the tanks’ turrets spewed another six hundred rounds at the advancing Aryan soldiers; the few that were caught in the open were cut down quickly but there seemed to be no end to their numbers.

The rumble of engines could be heard from somewhere above them and then the distinctive whistle of bombs falling could be heard above the whine of plasma fire. The bombs hit their targets and explosions rippled through the area.

The first Patton tank to be hit went up in a plume of grey smoke, the infantry supporting the tanks were killed instantly whereas a few men that were slightly further back we burned to death.

The bombs continued to fall and all around him, Commander Leete could hear the screams of his dying men.

“Hold your fire god damn it, blue on blue in sector 62, repeat hold your bombing runs blue on blue in sector 62.” But it was too late the Chinese bombers overhead had been disorientated by the low cloud and were sure they were on target.

By the time the chain of command had got the message through to them the destruction they had caused was terminal.

William Leete had taken shelter in his Patton tank when the bombing had begun; he lay there for a good few minutes after the bombing run had finished. He finally plucked up the courage and opened up the cupola to survey the damage, his bald head peering gingerly over the top.

What he saw sickened him to the pit of his stomach, the charred remains of his men lay scattered around the area. Houses had collapsed and crushed some of his support staff, a burnt limb pointed out from the rubble.

Burning tanks were smoking where they lay, the men inside had been cooked alive. Leete sunk back into his tank and got onto the radio. He tried to signal any survivors but the frequency was dead.

The flank was now undefended so Leete slowly moved his tank back through the devastated buildings towards the fallback position near the docks. Leete fully expected the enemy to be pursuing him but no fire came in his direction.

“Maybe they were taken out by the bombers as well,” Leete said to himself, he thanked the lord for that small saving grace.

A technician turned to Atlantis, “Commander the 1^st Panzer army is requesting Kugelblitz support. They believe the enemy has changed tactics and the huge waves of bombers are causing problems for our ground forces.”

“What about the 262’s?” Atlantis growled.

“They are being engaged by fighter escorts sir, a lot of them. They are MiG-21 and MiG-19’s and they are proving themselves to be flown by skilled pilots in close quarter battles.”

Atlantis smiled, “Ok permission granted for five Kugelblitz divisions to be sent to the Western front.”

The room went quiet, “Five sir?”

“Yes lieutenant lets inflict such great losses that they will not be able to mount another assault.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Atlantis watched the situation map change in the East, his units were pushing hard.

“Lieutenant order the 3^rd Panzer army to withdraw from San Francisco.”

“But Sir they have nearly crushed the scum.”

“Just do it.” The commander barked.

“Sir!”

Atlantis had something special in mind for the American Pacific fleet. “Send three Kugelblitz divisions to the East. I want the Chinese air force destroyed. Those vermin do not deserve such technology.”

“Yes Sir, that will leave us dangerously light of anti aircraft divisions here.”

“I am well aware of that Lieutenant but we have one division in reserve and keep the 1^st air force on standby. But I doubt we will need them.”

The Aryan commander was impressed that the vermin that inhabited this planet could work together so quickly and effectively. Although he only needed another twenty-eight hours to gather the remaining resources; Atlantis had decided he was going to teach these scum a lesson that they would not forget.

‘Then they will fear me and when the time comes for me to return and finish the job they will not dare oppose me!’ he thought to himself and then let a sickening laugh escape his normally calm demeanor.

Serum

Brooklyn Jnr had just received the green light to land at an abandoned airfield barely five hundred miles north of Dayton. The talented pilot eased the heavy Phantom down onto the dust-covered runway and powered down as he gently taxied to the refueling area.

The airfield had been swept by paratroopers several hours early and had been reinforced by chinooks dropping over a small division of Chinese Type 62 light tanks. The airfield had been abandoned several weeks earlier.

The paratroopers had created an all-around defense and were ready to provide cover fire for the incoming chinooks. The chinooks also delivered several large fuel containers and then flew off fast and low when they had finished.

Brooklyn Jnr and the five other Phantoms that had landed were ordered to refuel and then wait for the green light to attack. Brooklyn was uneasy while he was on the ground but he had to follow orders.

At the first sign of trouble, no matter how minor, the Phantoms were instructed to get air born as fast as they could. The Paratroopers were to hold the airfield as long as they could no matter what the cost.

A missile attached to the belly of Brooklyn’s Phantom glistened as it caught the sun, the dark liquid inside swirled in unnatural patterns.

Losses

Commander Paul’s Chieftain fired another round from its 120mm main gun, the round flew true and penetrated the weak side armor of an advancing Panther, the Aryan tank only came to a halt when it plowed into the side of a demolished shop front. Smoke poured from the huge hole in the armor.

The 5^th army had been bogged down on the outskirts of Baltimore; they had come under heavy fire from Tiger I tanks that had been dug into the muddy fields. Their powerful guns opened up just as the sun was going down.

Troop carriers flanked the left-hand side of the 5^th Army and Aryan troops disembarked under heavy machine gun fire; they returned the favor with a high volume of plasma fire. Tracer rounds that crisscrossed the area were mixed with bright plasma rounds, it would have been a beautiful spectacle if it was not so deadly.

The Chieftain’s kept up their fire on the advancing Panther tanks; they were still accurate in the dark thanks to their night vision. The Panthers fired on the move and a superheated ball of light struck a Chieftain.

To the Panther’s surprise, the British main battle tank returned fire. The round struck the Panther straight through the turret ring and the tank stopped moving; the cupola flipped open and the Aryan soldiers jumped from the crippled tank.

The soldiers jumped on to the hull of another medium tank and immediately opened fire with their plasma rifles.

“Bastards!” Commander Paul said. He ordered the loader to load a high explosive round and then aimed up carefully. He could see the luminous rounds fly towards his tank as he peered through the night vision.

“Fire.”

The large caliber gun let out a deafening roar as the high explosive round left the barrel and a few seconds later it hit the tank dead on. Paul had to look away as the bright explosion interrupted the night vision.

In the eerie green glow, he could see Aryan troops leap from the tank covered in flames, the tank continued to advance and crushed two of its own men in the process.

The Chieftain next to Paul’s fired a standard round and put the flaming Panther out of its misery.

The British tanks were keeping the Aryan frontal assault at bay but the flanks were at risk of being overrun by Aryan infantry who were almost suicidal in their rapid advance into the suburban outskirts of Baltimore.

They Aryan forces took heavy losses from the .50 caliber Browning machine gun positions but they still they came forwards. Several machine gun nests were taken out by plasma grenades, the bright flashes played havoc for the soldiers lucky enough to have night vision.

Major Smith-Hampton of the 151^st Para regiment was having difficulty making out targets in the moonless night. The clouds covered up most of the starlight. The Aryan soldiers had a clear advantage as they had thermal imaging cameras mounted to their helmets.

The Aryan’s plasma fire was too accurate and by now they had set up fields of fire for the heavy plasma machine guns. When a group of paratroopers leaped up to provide covering fire they were cut down; the smell of burning flesh permeated the night’s sky.

The Aryan’s sprinted quickly from building to building as they probed the flanks for weak points. They split into small fire teams that passed through the defensive line and took out as many troops as they could before they were finally overwhelmed and killed.

Bodies started to pile up in the otherwise deserted streets. The British knew they could not hold the line forever but they continued to fight. Major Smith-Hampton radioed for any available support.

A small group of Aryan troops had entered the church being held by twenty paratroopers, chaos ensued in the tight area as the British men resorted to hand to hand combat with their enemies. A twenty-two-year-old paratrooper jumped onto the back of the six foot plus Aryan and drove a knife into his armor.

The blade snapped as it bounced off the thick body armor, the Aryan drove his elbow straight into the paratroops ribs. The man howled in pain as his rib broke and he rolled off on to the floor.

Before he could regain his breath he was lifted clean of his feet as the Aryan grabbed him by the throat. The Paratrooper struggled until his windpipe was crushed.

His comrade who lay on his back on the floor raised his pistol and fired the whole clip into the Aryan’s leg; every single round bounced off. The Aryan soldier turned and stamped on the man’s head, crushing his skull.

Aryan troops rushed the stairs to the parapet where the two stubborn paras had a .50 covering the door. The paras kept firing and managed to take out three men before plasma grenades were thrown up into the parapet. The two young men lives were taken in the blinding blue flash.

A wall of the church suddenly collapsed, then another explosion brought down a section of the roof, showering the retreating Aryan’s in debris. Ten M60 main battle tanks rolled down the street firing into the church as they went until only rubble remained where the once stunning little building stood.

The M60’s 7.62mm guns chattered as they came to support the faltering line of infantry.

Midnight

Plasma rounds washed over the hastily dug trenches, the freshly dug earth was scorched a horrid black. The men of the 101^st infantry division were under heavy fire, they jump to the floor to keep their heads down.

The air above the trench crackled from the immense heat. A series of large explosions came from somewhere close behind. Five M60 main battle tanks fired their main guns. The rounds smashed into a small bungalow, the heavy stream of plasma fire dulled a little.

A large purple flash fired off in the distance, it was followed by another and then another. The rounds of plasma impacted into the area around the trenches but the third round grazed the side of an M60; the tanks thick armor sizzled and melted over the track.

The heavy plasma rounds continued to rain in out of the darkness, they briefly illuminated the area as they homed in on their targets. The houses in the abandoned suburb burned furiously with a mixture of purple and red flames.

A Twenty-nine-year-old tank commander watched in horror through his night vision. He could see at least fifteen colossal tanks advancing across the open ground. Their cannons blinded him every time they fired.

The American, who was an Alaskan native had never seen a Maus tank in the flesh before and he found himself paralyzed by fear for a few seconds. His gunner fired on the target without his order. The armor piercing round bounced off the turret like it was a peashooter against an elephant.

Commander Paul was getting more and more calls for support, the 5^th army was in danger of getting penned in and forced back into Baltimore itself. The British troops holding the left flank were in the gravest danger.

“This is Commander Paul; we need any available air support. Reference 15, danger close. We have heavy armor pinning us down.”

Paul knew they were in no position to assist the 4^th army. “Commander Speering you are on your own tonight. We will try to get to you in the morning. Good luck.”

“Roger that. You too. Speering out.”

Fifteen terrifying minutes had elapsed before the first growl engines drifted lazily into the night’s sky. It steadily grew louder until a group of bombers roared overhead. The British Blackburn Buccaneer strike aircraft streaked in for the attack.

They tore towards their targets at over 600 mph and dropped their ordnance, the unguided bombs detonated over the area causing firestorms to cover the advancing Maus. Wave after wave of the carrier born bombers raced in.

The British cheered as they used the lull in the fire to mount a counter attack, they popped up over the top of the trenches and laid down a huge amount of covering fire. Aryan troops were caught out in the open and were cut to ribbons.

The Buccaneers were keeping the Maus’s attention but were not actually causing many casualties. A few brave British Charioteer medium tank crews used the distraction to carefully move their tanks in position to flank the Aryans.

The five tanks had managed to go unnoticed as they moved around the unguarded left flank, they bumped into a small group of unprepared infantry and five Kugelblitz setting up.

“Cheeky bastards.” Barry Downs said. “Fire!”

The 20 pounder gun of the British medium tanks bellowed as high explosive rounds penetrated the weak armor of the Kugelblitz anti-aircraft guns. They were quickly dispatched in a ball of flames.

The Aryan infantry did not have any anti-tank weapons but hosed the hulls of the tanks with plasma fire. The medium tanks returned fire with 0.30 caliber browning’s, the rounds rattled off quickly but only caused minor damage to the Aryan’s armor.

“Fire the high explosives at them.” Downs ordered.

The 20 pounders guns bellowed to life once more and made short work of the infantry. Body parts littered the scorched earth.

Once the Aryan forces realized a Kugelblitz division had been ambushed the retribution was immediate. Lieutenant Downs armor swiftly came under heavy fire from Panther tanks ordered to protect the flank.

The Charioteer’s fought for their lives as they were rapidly cut off. The 20 pounders kept up a high rate of fire and managed to destroy four Panthers. The Panther’s returned fire and one of the Charioteers were penetrated a total of six times before it vanished in a powerful explosion.

“This is Lieutenant Downs of the 15^th armor; we have flanked left and destroyed a group of anti-air but have been cut off. We are being overrun by enemy armor. I am requesting air support to completely carpet bomb the area 15.7!”

“Roger that Lieutenant, can you make it out?”

“Negative.”

Everyone knew what that meant.

“Roger that Lieutenant, god bless you.”

The Charioteers kept firing for another five minutes before two of them were knocked out. The two remaining tanks charged towards the Panthers in a suicide attacked. They managed to knock out another three before a plasma round sliced through the turret of Downs tank; he was cut clean in two, his insides painted the hull in deep scarlet.

The next round penetrated the ammunition rack and the whole tank went up in flames.

Two minutes later and the roar of engines filled the sky once again as twelve Blackburn Buccaneers split from the main attack run and swept in over the Panther tanks. The bombers dropped their bombs and carpeted the whole area.

Many of the Panther tanks were completely destroyed in the following explosions but it was too late to save the cut of Charioteers who were consumed by the spreading fire.

Bomber activity slowed down in the next few hours but the intense fighting on the ground continued unabated.

The Eastern Front

The rain continued to lash down sideways as a powerful storm swirled around San Francisco Bay, the sound of fighting was almost drowned out by the growing wind. A small group of surviving American armor was making its way back to the shore.

The army group had suffered heavy losses and were now only managing to cling on due to the support of the Navy vessels to their rear. American cruisers were firing into the town; they had kept up this heavy bombardment for the last thirty minutes.

Admiral Phillips wished they had some real battleships but he knew he only had these vessels at his disposal. The sixty-two-year-old veteran cursed the growing storm as air support was now unusable.

Phillips was a cautious man by nature and he was reluctant to mount a rescue operation in the poor conditions and without air support. Every instinct screamed at him to delay the operation until the morning light.

The older man pulled an antique, gold pocket watch from his jacket and flicked the lid open, the time read twenty to three in the morning. The Admiral sighed heavily. ‘They will never hold out until daybreak.’ He thought.

The Chinese Admiral had no such caution. He was throwing every transport ship he had at his disposal to recover the men clinging on at the edge of the harbor. Plasma rounds were lighting up the area but they were not very accurate.

The Aryan forces had not followed the retreating men into the harbor but instead camped at the very edge of the area. Xiu Chang thought this was strange but they were due a lucky break and he was going to grab it with both hands.

The Chinese vessels opened up with another huge bombardment as the transports got closer to the docks. The communication between the Americans and their Chinese counterparts was almost nonexistent.

By the time the American fleet reacted and sent in their rescue force, it was almost twenty minutes behind the Chinese. The smaller transport craft was quickly secured to the dock. Men rushed towards the ships as quickly as they could.

The wounded were taken aboard first; the ones that could still walk had to carry their comrades on stretchers aboard the ships.

A group of desperate Chinese infantrymen tried to rush a tiny transport craft but were gunned down by the men guarding it. The others who had witnessed it had learned their lesson and waited patiently for the next transport to arrive.

The American destroyer USS Lynde McCormick was the closest to the shore. Her Captain was trying to watch the scene unfold in front of him but the low cloud and swirling rain were making it hard for him to make anything out.

He watched through his binoculars but now that the light from the plasma rounds had stopped it was even harder to see. He stood there for another thirty or so seconds before it hit him.

“The Plasma rounds have stopped but why?” He said to himself, “Shit.” He said, “Contact all ships we have incoming!”

The radio man was stunned.

“What do you mean we have…”

The whole bay was suddenly illuminated by a bright shade of purple. It looked almost lavender in color as it was dulled slightly by the thick cloud.

The Captain looked through his binoculars and to his horror he could just make out five, then six, and then seven small purple suns in the night’s sky.

They did not have enough time to warn the rest of the fleet as the clouds in front of them literally dissipated in the heat, the rain turned to steam as the ‘suns’ grew larger. The first giant orb hit Admiral Phillips aircraft carrier, The USS Enterprise started to vaporize in front of everyone’s eyes.

The great aircraft carrier lurched to the left as the impact site grew and then the ship disappeared in a bright purple haze. The water around it turned to steam and the sea bubbled aggressively.

“Artillery, all vessels evasive action. Repeat evasive action.” All radio operators seemed to shout in unison.

The Aryan Artillery was targeting the larger ships at the back of the bay. The heavy cruiser USS Newport News was struck in the stern the ship went up in a massive explosion. The sailors in the aft of the ship who survived the blast were thrown into the boiling sea. They screamed in pain as their bodies bubbled in the intense heat.

One ship after another was struck by massive orbs of light; the metal that was not instantly destroyed melted and bowed. Water rushed into the open wound gorged in the side of the destroyer the USS Barry it started to sink rapidly.

Panic had set in amongst the vessels clustered closest to the harbor, a Chinese destroyer set full ahead with its guns still blazing and raced forward. It struck several smaller transport vessels in its blind panic and caused them to sink.

The USS Manley had not seen the panicked Chinese vessel speeding towards them until it was too late and the two vessels collided with each other, The bow of the Chi Lin sliced into the stern of the American destroyer, the sound of the metal scraping against each other was sickening.

The bow of the Chinese destroyer ship cut into the ammo store of the American ship and the sparks caused a massive explosion; both ships started to sink.

The American troops who had been left on the dock watched in despair as ship after ship was taken out systematically. How the Aryans were so accurate with their artillery they did not know but the Pacific fleet did not have a chance.

Plasma rounds started to fly into the American troops, the final assault was coming and the Americans knew the battle was lost. They returned fire with all they had.

A mortar regiment fired their weapons as rapidly as they could; they caught a group of Aryan infantry out in the open. They were enveloped in the deadly explosion.

The sea water in the bay was covered in flames as oil leaked from the devastated ships, just before the final aircraft carriers were taken out the pilots of the Phantoms and Chinese MiG’s took to the sky in a desperate attempt to survive.

Many had collided with each other due to the lack of communication and poor weather conditions. The ones that had managed to take off successfully went straight on the offensive and started to provide air support for the beleaguered ground troops.

Fighting on the ground was intense; the American troops had nowhere left to run. Their remaining tanks were running low on ammunition but continued to fire shells at point blank range into anything that moved.

They had four M48 Pattons still functioning and one M60 main battle tank that had used its last machine gun rounds on a group of anti-tank infantry. The main gun focused its barrel on a rapidly advancing Tiger.

The gun fired and the round punched a hole through the Tiger’s lower plate which took out its engine. The Aryan heavy tank was still able to fire though and its large plasma cannon returned fire.

The plasma round scrapped over the M60’s turret, the Browning machine gun mounted there melted. The M60 fired again and this time the round penetrated the turret ring of the Tiger; it was finally out of action.

A Phantom flying low overhead streaked in and dropped its bombs on the crippled Tiger; once the flames died down the Aryan tank did not move again.

An explosion shook the sky over the heads of a small group of marines holding the dock. They looked up as debris started to fall and then an object loomed out of the dark sky. They realized what it was and instinctively tried to avoid the falling planes. An F4 Phantom and a Chinese MiG had collided mid-air and one of the wreckages smashed into the docks below; a few of the men were hit by shrapnel and fell to the floor.

American forces were in an ever-tightening net and there was no safe place to shelter and care for the wounded. The men who could still hold a weapon were thrown back on to the front line while the others who could no longer fight were given a ticket out of this hell with a bullet to the head.

As more and more Aryan troops advanced through the battle-scarred city they suddenly came under heavy fire. The remaining Phantoms and MiGs had finally managed to get a little bit of coordination going and they flew in fast and low in waves.

Cannons were blazing and they dropped their remaining bombs, they managed to take out a few tanks including one of the super heavy Maus; its turret burned vibrantly.

The next wave of Phantoms streaked in at the very bottom of the cloud base but they came under heavy fire from the anti-aircraft cannons on the Maus. The plasma rained up into the sky and the squadron leaders Phantom was struck; the plane spired downwards and crashed into a group of armored troop carriers.

The Aryan forces now pushed hard. A squadron of Me 262’s arrived and it did not take long for their superior targeting systems to lock on and take out any remaining allied air support. The allies just could not contend with the advanced weaponry and terrible weather conditions.

The last of the Patton’s was destroyed ten minutes later after it came under a barrage of fire from advancing Tiger tanks. Now that the Americans were out of serious defensive options.

A communication went out across the radios in Chinese and then fire was heard for a few seconds somewhere to the West and then nothing.

The American’s radioed through one last message, “Pacific fleet is destroyed, San Francisco is lost. Massive Aryan force supported by artillery was too strong. Only a handful of troops remain. We will hold on until the last…”

The message was cut off by a large explosion. Admiral Moorer bowed his head solemnly.

The men in black’s voice emanated across the radio, “All commanders, you know what must be done. Throw everything you have into the battle.”

The Atlantic Coast

Dawn had just broken on the chilly morning horizon, Commander Speering and his tank crew could see the devastation for themselves. The carpet bombing had laid waste to the open field. Bomb craters littered the area where the Aryan tanks had been the day before.

Smoldering wrecks dotted the area but one crater caught Speering’s attention. A Maus had slid down into the crater and its massive gun was pointing to the floor. It looked to be in one piece but it was definitely immobilized.

For a fleeting moment, Commander Speering thought about trying to secure the vehicle but the rapidly approaching sound of B-52 engines snapped him out of that madness. Speering’s troops were ordered to press home the attack on the weakened Aryan armor while the bombers took out positions at the rear.

The Vickers main battle tanks roared to life and started to advance around the devastated field. The Type 63 light tanks again raced ahead to recon the area. As the tanks started to move out in a tight line, they came under fire from plasma machine guns.

The bright purple rounds were flowing out from the disabled Maus tank. The crew had not abandoned their vehicle and was now trying to take out the British but the plasma rounds struggled to penetrate the tanks.

The British tanks continued with their advance and ignored the Aryan tank crew who now came under fire by the trailing British infantry. A jeep mounted with an M2 Browning cut down the Aryan crew as they guarded their vehicle.

The injured commander crawled back inside his tank to the jeers of the British soldiers. A small group of infantry crept up on the tank. They gingerly opened up the turret and fired on the commander.

The bullets tore through his armor, he took off his helmet to clear the blood that he had just coughed up, he lifted his head at his attackers and smiled; blood dripped from his open mouth.

“What are you smiling for?” The Sergeant said.

His question was answered by a huge explosion as the Maus turned the immediate area into a massive inferno. The fire burnt a bright pink as the people involved were incinerated.

The British tanks came under fire from the Aryan tanks across another three open fields, the plasma rounds homed in on their targets. Speering ordered his tanks to spread out and hold their positions. They returned fire as best as they could.

The B-52’s appeared overhead and the British cheered at them. The large bomber formation almost filled the sky as they closed in for another massive attack.

This time though they were greeted by a gigantic thunderclap. The ground shook as another clap of thunder rang out straight after. The B-52 pilots could see the sky was clear and knew it could only mean one thing.

A bolt of lightning arced across the horizon and smashed straight through the formation of bombers; this time though they did not split ranks but stayed dead on course. Another three bolts of dazzling blue lightning bolts covered the sky. The spiny fingers of the bolts spread into the B-52’s.

Pieces of the great bombers windshield started to crack, some imploded inwards showing the pilots with debris. Small parts of the fuselage began to break away and fall earthwards.

“Do not break formation; we are carrying out this attack whatever the costs.” The squadron leader barked.

Not one of the bombers broke from the bombing run.

The Kugelblitz were a mile from the front, the mobile anti-aircraft vehicles had their weapons pointing into the sky. A huge electrical field spread from each vehicle as its two massive barrels discharged more and more electricity.

The Two barrels of the weapon met at the bottom to make a giant U shaped bowl; the plasma orbs were created in this bowl and then were guided towards their targets by the huge lightning bolts.

The Kugelblitz fired and the resulting thunderclap caused a massive shockwave that washed over the surrounding area; a barn that was only three-hundred feet away completely disintegrated.

The incoming B-52 bombers were under an increasing amount of fire now. The lead bombers were struck by a mile long lightning bolt that tore through the aircraft. The first plane had the tip of the left wing completely fall away; the plane could still fly but only just.

The bombers were now over their targets; they opened the giant bomb bay doors and released their payloads. The bombs tumbled in the air as they fell onto the tanks below; explosions rocked the area.

The first orbs of white light raced into the battle, and arced their way towards their targets and impacted into the bellies of five B-52’s, the bombers disappeared in the devastating explosions.

“Command come in, this is Captain Marks of the 101^st bomber division.”

“Go ahead Marks.”

“We can confirm ball lightning; repeat we have confirmation of ball lightning.”

There was a pause.

“Roger that Marks, thank you! Out.”

Mark’s plane was hit by the superheated lightning which tore through the left-hand side of his plane. The bomber rocked under the strain but it kept flying.

The next bolt sliced clean through the fuselage though, the cockpit was separated from the rest of the plane and the pieces tumbled to the earth and exploded on impact.

More and more orbs were hitting their targets; B-52’s were either completely destroyed or just fell from the sky. Many units below were destroyed in the resulting impact.

‘They are taking a hell of a pounding up there.’ Speering thought to himself as his tank crews kept up their own attack.

Anti-tank guns had been taken out in the first stages of the bombing runs along with a few tanks but now the bombers were struggling to get through.

Admiral Moorer had heard enough from the battle report; he turned to his radio man.

“It is time, send the green light WC114.”

The radioman swallowed, “Yes, Sir.”

“WC114 this is high command. WC114 this is high command. Do you read me?”

The radio clicked three times in quick succession and then there was a pause before it clicked another three times.

“Time for the inoculation WC114. Repeat time for the inoculation.”

There was no response and then suddenly the radio clicked three times again and then there was nothing but static.

Admiral Moorer smiled.

The small dust strewn airfield was a hive of activity, Brooklyn Jnr taxied into position and pushed the F4 on full throttle. The powerful engines roared to life as the large fighter gracefully took to the skies.

Four Phantoms followed suit and then they turned southwards and opened the throttles. Two Phantoms were positioned a thousand feet above the other two at about ten thousand feet. Brooklyn’s Phantom raced across the countryside just a few hundred feet above the ground.

Countdown to victory

The news of the Pacific fleet’s destruction brought a smirk to Atlantis; he stroked his mustache gently as he considered his next move.

“Status update on the resource transfer?” His powerful voice boomed.

“Eighty-five percent complete Commander.”

“Excellent, how long until completion?”

“Projections estimate no longer than four hours, the transfer should be complete by 12.00 hours.”

Atlantis nodded as he thought to himself, ‘They will never breakthrough in that time, our victory is almost secured.’

“I want a unit to go back and start the preparations at the cloning facility; I also want half of the technicians and medical staff to accompany them.”

“Yes, Sir.” Half of the technicians made their way out of the control tower and headed towards Die Glocke.

“Sir what about the remaining slaves?”

Atlantis clenched his fist. “Execute them.”

The Aryan Commander studied the great battle chart in front of him, the real-time information showed a cluster of British, American and Chinese divisions fighting hard around Baltimore.

He could see a mass of ships at the mouth of the Potomac River. ‘That must be the Atlantic fleet.’

“Send the 10^th, 11 and 13^th fighter division to take out the Atlantic fleet. I want all available units to crush the vermin camped near Baltimore. It is time to finish this war once and for all.”

“Yes Commander Atlantis.” The remaining technicians relayed the orders.

Preparations in Wright Patterson intensified as horde after horde of skinny; unkempt slaves were marched out into the bare concrete and unceremoniously shot. Men, woman or child nobody was spared.

The previous bodies had always been cremated to keep the base clean from diseases but now there was little need and the fresh corpses were just pushed to a corner of the base by a JCB and left there in a horrific pile of burnt, twisted flesh.

All for the front

The distinct sound of thunder rattled away in the distance, the brilliant blue lightning bolts spread out through the formation of B-52 bombers. The deadly orbs of plasma followed and another five bombers were completely blown from the sky.

The B-52’s were receiving horrific losses but they continued to bomb the Aryan positions and inflicted heavy casualties. This allowed Commander Speering and his armor to flank round to the North.

The air temperature had risen considerably since the Kugelblitz barrage had started, the sky crackled under the strain and any clouds that had been forming on the horizon evaporated instantly.

A formation of five Phantoms came in fast and low over the burning fields just south of the Aryan heavy armor, they ignored the targets in front of them. The powerful engines bellowed as the flight leader gave his machine all it had got.

The Phantoms were fitted out for a ground assault and were carrying heavy bombs; they zoomed passed an abandoned farm just to left and then sharply banked to come around on target.

They raised the nose of their fighters quickly to gain altitude and banked once more, they were in position to begin their bombing run. They sped in and when directly above their targets they dropped the heavy ordinance.

Explosions rocked the air and sent mud flying in all directions, the flames from the bombs licked at the hulls of the antiaircraft weapons. The next few bombs dropped and scored a direct hit on the Kugelblitz; it went up in a ball of thick black smoke.

The third Phantom scored two direct hits causing massive damage as the Kugelblitz must have been struck in its reactor; it exploded violently sending a huge wave of purple plasma across its nearby allies.

The Aryan anti-aircraft vehicles started to split from their positions; some ran for cover while others turned their weapons on their assailants.

Moments after the Phantoms finished their attack a squadron of MiG-17’s appeared and strafed the Kugelblitz. Powerful cannon rounds tore through the relatively weak armor and another five machines were destroyed.

The pressure was relieved on the B-52 bombers, if only slightly. The balls of superheated light changed direction and raced towards the attacking MiG-17’s.

The Soviet pilots continued to attack as they dodged plasma fire from the ground. One MiG got too close and was struck by a bolt of lightning head on. The front of the plane caught fire and it tumbled to the ground.

As the massive balls of plasma tracked their targets the MiG’s had to use all their turning advantage to keep out of harm’s way. A junior wingman was not quite skilled enough and was struck through the center of the fuselage; the whole fighter disappeared in a blinding flash.

The B-52’s now had the chance they were waiting for; they banked left and started a bombing run on the Kugelblitz. Many of the lead planes were instantly destroyed but the bombers continued to attack.

They dropped their huge pay lows and the ground shook from the impact. A whole division of Kugelblitz was destroyed in the onslaught.

Retribution was immediate and relentless; out of nowhere a swarm of Me 262’s entered the battle. The agile fighters swiftly maneuvered themselves onto the tail of the MiG’s who turned desperately trying to shake off their attackers.

The MiG’s did not have the engine power to pull away from the 262’s who locked on and fired. The plasma rounds tracked their prey and the MiG’s were dispatched easily.

Cannon fire reached out towards the Me 262s as the Phantoms had rejoined the fight but none of the American pilots had actually encountered a 262 before and had underestimated their capabilities.

The Flight leader had missile lock and he squeezed the trigger, the AIM-9 Sidewinder cork screwed forward and streaked towards the 262. To the disbelief of the American’s the Aryan fighter rolled hard right at the last minute and the Sidewinder missed.

The Phantom pilot did not have long to dwell on it though as he was struck by a plasma missile from the rear, the superheated orb washed over the top of the cockpit; killing pilot and radar operator instantly.

The air battle raging overhead seemed to act as the catalyst for the Aryan forces to begin their all-out assault. Armor broke out in all directions and fired on the British forces commanded by Speering.

Speering ordered his men to spread out further and take a defensive position on the highway.

“We have to hold them here until we can get support.” He shouted, struggling to be heard over the sound of the main battle tanks 105mm cannon.

Plasma fire rained in from the hilly area to the North, the round splashed over the area, knocking out a Chinese Type 62 light tank. Speering realized to his horror that they themselves had been flanked.

Commander Speering was about to order his heavy tanks to attack when a cry came over the battlenet radio.

“Yeah.” The shout went and from the rear of the 4^th Army, out of nowhere a formation of M48 Pattons, Sherman’s and a few Chieftains advanced across the field towards the base of the hills.

The tanks fired as they went, Speering caught movement in the distance and realized that Huey transport helicopters were approaching the hills as well. ‘Were they going to drop troops off behind the enemy?’ He thought.

The question was soon answered as the Huey’s dipped low into the hills and under heavy fire they dropped off a mixture of Russian and British infantry.

An explosion detonated a few feet from Speering’s position and snapped him out of his thoughts. The Vickers tank next to his had suffered a direct hit from an antitank gun and had gone up in flames; the heat forced the commander to close the cupola on his turret and shelter inside.

Things were going even worse for the 5^th Army who had been forced back deep into Baltimore after the British infantry holding the flank had been overrun and destroyed half an hour earlier; the tanks that were supporting them had also been taken out.

Commander Paul and his men were now engaged in ferocious street to street fighting. Many of the individual houses became fortresses and often one house was occupied by the allies while the neighboring ones were held by the Aryan forces.

Brutal house to house combat inflicted heavy losses on both sides but gradually the Aryans were whittling down the allied forces.

Commander Paul’s tanks were clustered in pairs, holding key strategic streets while anti-tank guns were hastily brought forward to provide them with much-needed support.

“Command, this is Commander Paul of the 5^th Armor, we are suffering heavy losses, been pushed back deep into Baltimore itself. Need air support otherwise I can’t guarantee how long we can hold this position.”

“Acknowledged Commander, we will see what we can do but currently all air support is tied up with enemy fighters. Do your best son. Admiral Moorer out.”

Sleek fighters raced out over Norfolk and then Virginia Beach, the first rounds poured out and struck the destroyer, USS Duncan, the plasma orbs impacted along the front decks and several hit the control tower.

The alarm went out just after 09.00, “Fleet under attack, all antiaircraft personal to their battle stations.

The Atlantic fleet was coming under heavy fire from Me 262 fighters; the sky was full of them and the ships were in a very vulnerable position.

The only aircraft the allies had not thrown into the battle were the British made Harrier jump jets; these vertical takeoff aircraft were perfectly suited to naval defensive duties. The Harrier’s jumped into the battle but they were outnumbered at least four to one.

The air around the ships turned into chaos very quickly as flak and machine gun rounds from the ships themselves filed the air.

Explosions rocked the area around the HMS Kent who was taking heavy strafing rounds. The rear missile launchers were put out of action quickly.

A Harrier tumbled after a diving 262 who was firing on the aircraft carrier HMS Eagle the Harrier fired all of its missiles but did manage to damage the Aryan aircraft. The Me 262 tried to crash into the aircraft carrier but the controls were critically damaged and it splashed down into the Atlantic.

The Antiaircraft guns were hopelessly ineffective against the caliber of fighters they were facing and the actually caused more damage to the slower Harriers; cases of friendly fire increased dramatically.

Inoculation

The five Phantoms were coming to end of their fuel supply as they approached the point of no return they jettisoned their external fuel tanks. Brooklyn radioed through with one last message.

“WC114 preparing for inoculation.”

As anticipated there was no response.

Brooklyn Jnr’s aircraft was so close to the ground it spewed up plumes of dust. Moose in the radar operator’s seat just behind Brooklyn looked around in despair; he did not recognize the area. It was devoid of all greenery and deep scars seemed to have been cut into the bare earth.

The Phantoms raced passed a long line of armored vehicles traveling Westward, they feared for a moment that they had been spotted but no attack was forthcoming. They were only thirty miles from their target now.

Sweat formed along the top of Brooklyn’s forehead, he took in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly to calm his nerves; he had to do this for his dad. Brooklyn took one last look at the family pictures in front of him, brushed his fingertips over the picture of Pam and then pushed all feelings from his mind.

The radar in the control tower beeped incessantly, and the technician had to give it a double take to confirm it was not a glitch in the system.

“Commander, we have incoming, thirty miles to the Northwest heading at speed.”

Atlantis strode over to the console.

“Three, no four contacts Sir, their profile suggests they are F4 Phantoms.”

Atlantis smiled,

“Make that five contacts Sir; one appears to be flying at a lower altitude than the rest, just above the ground.”

“In an attempt to fly in below the radar perhaps?” Atlantis laughed, “They must be more desperate than we thought, do they really think they can destroy this base with five pathetic fighters.”

“Maybe they have nuclear weapons attached to them?”

The smile faded from Atlantis’s face, the fire in his eyes burned brighter. “Find out if Phantoms can be equipped with nuclear capabilities and do it now!”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Get the Swallows into the air, I want them fighters dealt with immediately.”

Ten Me 262 of the elite 10^th division roared into the air and turned at speed towards the incoming threat.

The USS Edson fired all it had at the incoming fighters but they were coming in at a steep angle and the rounds seemed to just disappear into thin air. The 262’s released their plasma bombs and crippled the aft section; the destroyer was dead in the water.

An Me 262 rushed towards the USS America, Moorer stood in the control tower with his hands placed behind his back. He appeared to be the calmest man in the world. The 262 opened fire and streaks of plasma peppered the control tower.

A large explosion blew the Aryan fighter clean out of the sky; it’s wreckage cartwheeled through the waves and disintegrated in the choppy sea. Moorer saluted at the two Harriers that flew passed.

“What is the situation?” Moorer asked.

“Not good sir, all units on land are getting pushed back, they don’t think they are going to hold on for much longer than an hour but they can’t guarantee that.”

“The air force has suffered heavy losses but is pressing home the attack and the fleet here is in a hazardous position. The Harriers are doing their best but…”

The great aircraft carrier lurched to port as a blazing purple sun erupted on the runway, navy rescue helicopters disappeared. When the haze cleared a 15 foot gaping hole had been burnt into the hull.

Further rounds hit struck the USS America as three Me 262’s strafed the starboard side. The rounds burnt through the hull armor and water started to flow through. A Harrier closed in through the hail of fire and scored a direct hit with a missile shot. The Me 262 spiraled into the side of the aircraft carrier and cut a deep gash; sea water poured in.

The antiaircraft guns took out another Aryan fighter as it tried to crash into the aft deck. Moorer steadied himself on the center console as his ship lurched at an ever-increasing angle. He watched as a British destroyer took a direct hit in the aft cannons and went up in a plume of smoke.

Purple plasma rounds streaked forwards, smashing the glass in the control room. The rounds struck three naval officers and killed them instantly. One of the crewmen raced towards Moorer and pushed him to the floor but bother were struck; the smell of burning bodies drifted through the air.

The five Phantoms continued on mission, their radar screens filled with contacts. First it was four, five and then six; finally, ten contacts raced towards them.

“Time to party!” Lieutenant Luke Connery drawled in his thick Glaswegian accent. He was the best pilot in the RAF and was thus seconded to this mission. He was forty-two with bright ginger hair and green eyes.

“Roger that, looks like we are buying the first round.” Lieutenant Mason Reed said bitterly, the young pilot had graduated from pilot training top of his class and had three confirmed MiG kills from his time in Vietnam; more impressively he had one Me 262 kill as well.

“Good luck all.” Lieutenant Don Ross said, Ross had been brought up on the base at Wright Patterson and had vowed to free it.

The three Phantoms banked right and raced directly towards the incoming fighters. The cloud cover was patchy but the pilots tried to use this to their advantage. Connery’s radar operator had a lock on the lead Me 262.

Connery squeezed the trigger and the AIM-7 Sparrow flew forward, it went through the cloud cover and raced out of the other side towards the Me 262’s who were only just in range. The Sparrow hunted down its target but at the last minute the 262’s broke formation, the lead pilot dove his aircraft and spun away from the incoming missile.

The Aryan fighters split into two groups five targeted the three incoming Phantoms while the other five raced off to engage Brooklyn and his wingman Charles Powell.

“You have incoming Jnr, five of the bastards. Sorry, we can’t assist.” Connery shouted. “We have our hands full.”

Brooklyn laughed, “I’ll make sure we get you back for this.”

The radios went quiet again.

The three Phantoms stayed with each other as they came face to face with the elite fighters. The Me 262’s sped passed, two to the right and three down the left-hand side.

“keep eyes on them!” Reed shouted.

The agile fighters violet engines glowed as the jets turned in an impossibly tight area. They powered towards the three American fighters and plasma rounds started to spray in their direction.

Reed rolled to avoid the fire and then dove to gain as much speed as he could before attempting a wide turn to face the incoming enemy. The other two swiftly followed suit but the Aryan fighters had split formation with two engaging head on and the other three splitting right or left.

“Shit they know what they are doing,” Ross said.

“Ignore the ones flanking us; we need to concentrate on the ones directly in front of us. Fire Sidewinders to get them to splint and then spray them with cannon fire when they are maneuvering.” Reed ordered.

They did not have missile lock but the Phantoms fired anyway, two of the Sidewinders flew forward but Connery’s missile was a dud.

The Me 262’s did not split like Reed expect but instead fired a hail of plasma at the Sidewinders, blowing them out of the sky. They then fired three bright plasma missiles at the Phantoms.

Reed asked if his radar operator could lock onto the plasma with the Sparrow.

The response was less than sure.

“I… I can try.”

“Break, break,” Reed ordered.

Two Phantoms split but Reed continued on straight at the missiles.

“Come on,” Reed said to himself.

“I’ve got it.” The radar operator shouted in relief.

The Sparrows engines ignited and the missile flew forward, miraculously it stayed on course and struck the plasma missile head-on; both disappeared in a blinding flash.

Connery threw his aircraft into a steep turn, the plasma missile appeared to gain speed as it raced after him but at the last instant Ross’s Phantom crossed its path and the two plasma missiles collided with each other, the ensuing shockwave buffeted Ross’s fighter.

Reed smiled, “I have you now.” He said as he squeezed the trigger. Powerful rounds from the nose-mounted Gatling cannon tore through the front of the lead Aryan fighter.

The nose disintegrated and the rounds reached the pilot, the Me 262 fell from the sky with smoke and debris trailing; a few seconds later a purple fireball burst from the ground below.

Lieutenant Commander Brooklyn Jnr listened to the desperate battle with bated breath.

“Brooklyn, good luck son,” Powell said as he swung his aircraft towards the five incoming bogies.

Every instinct in Brooklyn’s body screamed at him to help his comrade but he knew he had to carry on. He pushed his plane to the limit as he tried to get as much speed out of it as possible.

Charles Powell was slightly below the Me 262’s which gave them the speed advantage, plasma rounds sprayed all around his aircraft. The air crackled with the heat.

To Powell’s horror, two of the Me 262’s ignored him and went straight after Brooklyn.

“We have incoming, six o’clock high. Straight up our ass.” Moose warned Jnr.

“Roger that mate. We have to keep going.”

Powell rolled his aircraft to avoid a plasma missile that impacted on the ground below scorching the dust-strewn earth.

Two 262’s streamed in after Powell and peppered his fighter with Plasma fire, his radar operator was hit as the canopy melted above their heads. Blood poured from the open wound.

“Brooklyn I can’t tie them up for much longer,” Powell said.

A Me 262 got too close and Charles saw his opportunity he pulled back as hard as he could on the control stick pointing the plane’s nose up to the heavens. It began to stall as rounds hit the fighter but even the agile Aryan jet could not avoid the Phantom at this range and plowed straight into it; both fighters were instantly turned to debris.

The fighting was desperate between the three Phantoms who had managed to even the numbers up but Ross was in a dangerous position and his left wing had been hit badly.

Two of the Me 262’s went to assist their comrades while the other two closed in on Brooklyn.

All or nothing

Atlantis watched the events unfolding in front of him. He unfolded his arms, “Ok that is close enough.” He said.

The technician nodded.

Brooklyn could see the base now as he rushed forwards barely two hundred feet above the ground. ‘This is it.’ He thought.

A great clap of thunder echoed out from the base causing Brooklyn’s blood to run cold, he knew what that sound meant.

Another three thunderclaps boomed out followed by a bright blue fork of lightning that snaked out towards the lone Phantom. Brooklyn instinctively rolled the aircraft but it was a dangerous maneuver at this altitude.

Another fork of lightning reached out towards him and this time he could not get out of the way, it clipped his right wing and small pieces of it were torn from the plane. The controls vibrated but Brooklyn got his bird under control.

“You ok Brooklyn?” Reed asked.

“Roger that, we have a small amount of ball lightning but we are still going.”

“Goodman.” Reed paused. “We have lost Ross. We are being overwhelmed.”

Reed rolled his plane once more and dived for the ground, he had three 262’s on his tail and the plasma missiles raced after him. Reed leveled off just above the deck as the plasma narrowly missed him and detonated into the earth.

Reed then broke hard right and tried to gain altitude but he was hit in the left engine, the plane trailed black smoke as it lost power. Reed turned engine two off but it was no good a large explosion hit his aircraft and he briefly felt an intense heat wash over him.

Luke Connery saw Reed go down and knew he had no chance, he turned his aircraft and took heavy plasma fire across the left of his plane; it trailed a stream off fire as it plummeted towards the earth. Connery tried to reach the ejection handle but the g-force was too much and he could not get out before his plane crashed.

The radio was silent. Brooklyn knew he was on his own.

He raced towards the base and split a hard right as the first orb of superheated white light just missed him. The orb changed direction and followed the Phantom. Another orb was just in front but Brooklyn managed to avoid that as well but another lightning bolt struck his aircraft. The canopy disintegrated, showering the two-man crew with shards of glass.

Moose stifled a moan, he grasped gingerly and the huge piece of glass that was sticking out from his leg; blood trickled from the wound.

Purple rounds zipped passed the Phantom, two Me 262’s were bearing down on them at terrifying speed but Brooklyn had come too far to fail now and as his aircraft entered the edge of the base it came under increasing plasma fire from ground forces.

A plasma round hit the rear of the plane and damaged the rudder but Brooklyn continued on target. His eyes locked onto the control tower and he squeezed the trigger; the Gatling guns rounds smashed into the tower and obliterated the glass.

Inside the tower, Atlantis threw himself to the floor as the rounds flew inches above his head. Smoke filled the room; the computers were all but destroyed. Atlantis looked across to see the bodies of his technicians; blood coated the floor.

Brooklyn switched to missiles, he only had the one and he squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.

Brooklyn squeezed the trigger hard but again nothing happened.

Moose spoke but he sounded weak, “The bottom of the plane was damaged when the lightning hit us mate.”

“Shit shit shit!” Brooklyn shouted as he narrowly avoided a plasma missile. “We are going to have to do it manually then. Get ready to eject on my mark Moose.”

A large jolt hit the Phantom from behind which knocked out the engines but the plasma missile did not take out the aircraft completely. The giant orbs of plasma closed in but it was too late.

Atlantis saw what was coming and at the last minute he jumped to his feet and ran to the glassless windows at the rear of the control tower.

At the last second, the Phantom rolled slightly but Brooklyn shouted to eject and Moose pulled the handle. The two seats rocketed away from the jet but there was not enough altitude for the parachutes to open and the two men were still strapped to their chairs as they hit the ground.

The Phantom plowed into the control tower and was simultaneously hit by two orbs of plasma, the explosion detonated the American fighters payload and the shockwave blew Atlantis clean out of the tower, he plunged the 25-foot drop and hit the floor, rolling several times.

Aryan troops rushed to his aid and pulled him to his feet, he winced in pain as he tried to put weight on his right ankle. From the flames in the tower, a black mist leaked out and descended over the area.

“Make sure those stubborn pilots are dead,” Atlantis ordered.

Brooklyn lay on the floor barely conscious, he tried to move but he could not feel anything below his waist; he realized he could only move his right arm.

Brooklyn tried to call out to Moose but he could not speak, he looked over but could not see any movement from the other ejection chair.

Brooklyn Jnr tried to fight the growing tiredness that washed over him but it was too intense and he blacked out.

The black mist felt cold as it hit Atlantis’s face, he removed a glove and brushed it off; he inspected it in his fingers. It was thick like tar but was very cold.

Atlantis got an old feeling as if he had seen this liquid before but he could not have. Atlantis sneezed and a thick black substance rushed from his nose.

For the first time in a long time he felt fear rush over him, ‘they couldn’t have got hold of a… that EMP blast over London.’

Atlantis knew he had to get out of there, he turned towards Die Glocke but he was finding it hard to walk, the black liquid oozed from his tear ducts and ran down his cheeks. The Aryan commander hobbled toward the glowing acorn-shaped device.

It felt like he was walking through treacle though and as he looked down he could see his feet were dissolving into a dark puddle of thick liquid. Atlantis carried on but his steps were getting slower and slower. His senses were dulling at an alarming rate.

The next step he took he lost his right foot, it melted into a gooey mess, the left foot followed suit. Atlantis gasped for breath as his organs were shutting down; he was dying from the inside.

The great commander coughed up black dust that scattered over the floor in front of him. He continued to crawl towards the device but his face started to slide out of shape; he was literally melting out of existence.

Atlantis managed to struggle to within a few feet of Die Glocke but the device fired another blast of EMP energy, the blinding light covered the base as the acorn rose into the air causing the sky to heat to an intense level; it let off one final blast of power as it disappeared.

The wave of energy covered Atlantis and he vanished in a cloud of purple dust that blew away in the shockwave. Die Glocke had disappeared along with any trace of Atlantis; his body was gone.

The beleaguered allied armies fighting in Baltimore had taken heavy losses but they returned fire as best as they could. The first sign that something was wrong with the Aryan troops was when the return fired dulled down and then stopped altogether.

Commander Paul watched as a group of Aryan infantry supporting the tanks grasped at their throats. They wildly clawed at their helmets and then fell to the floor with some kind of seizure.

The three remaining M60 tanks fired on the immobile Tiger tanks and set them alight but reports were coming in from all across the front that the Aryan forces had stopped fighting.

Commander Paul and a small group of infantry gingerly crept forward to inspect the Aryan corpses. As they looked over the bodies they realized that the body armor was empty, they picked up a helmet and a thick black liquid slowly poured from the bottom; Paul dropped the helmet in disgust.

Another group of soldiers had clambered on top of a Maus and forced open the commander’s hatch, the men inside were gone and all that remained was the thick tar and empty body armor.

Admiral Moorer clutched his side as he held a field dressing over the third-degree burn on his chest. He watched out of the broken windows on the severely damaged USS America as Me 262’s fell from the sky.

He smiled, “God bless you Brooklyn!” He said, orders were given. The race to Wright Patterson was on.

The new world

The lights in Drakelow Depot flicked three times and then went out cutting the celebrations inside short. When the lights finally came back on around five minutes later; the men in black had vanished.

The security personnel conducted a thorough search of the base but no trace of them was ever found; more concerning for the world leaders was that the miniature acorn device, along with the hologram message had also disappeared.

The world leaders signed a pact that day that they would work together to search for the mysterious men in black and bring them to justice if it was required.

A few days later Admiral Moorer was inaugurated as the President of the United States, once he was discharged from the hospital. His wound had healed but he would walk with the aid of a stick for the rest of his life. The new President talked at length of the massive sacrifice all across the globe and how the world must work hand in hand to rebuild and finally that they must be ready for any future threats.

A new arms race swiftly broke out as the allied nations rushed to claim as much captured Aryan technology as possible. Wright Patterson was stripped of the remaining Xerum 525 missiles and their launches; these were attacked and destroyed while being transported. Nobody knew who the perpetrators were.

The major cities of the world were in disarray and needed time to be repopulated. The effect of the Xerum 525 missiles was studied and it was revealed there was no lasting effect on the environment, unlike the fallout from a nuclear attack.

Wright Patterson Air Force base was closed down and demolished. In its place, a massive moment to the men, women, and children who had lost their lives in the devastating conflict was erected. The colossal monument had every name of the known victims as well as the people still currently missing.

President Moorer delivered his second major speech from this moment and he presented awards to the many brave souls that fought for their freedom. Many were awarded posthumously.

Brooklyn Junior was wheeled onto the stage by his proud mother, Brooklyn was lucky to be alive but he was paralyzed from the neck down; all apart from his right arm. He saluted the President.

Moorer laughed, “Don’t be daft son, we should be saluting you.” He snapped a crisp saluted.

On that day Brooklyn Junior was awarded the Medal of Honor, America’s highest and most prestigious personal military decoration. This was not the best thing Brooklyn and his family received that day, however, in President Moorer’s left hand was a small beige envelope that was marked top secret.

The President leaned over and whispered into Brooklyn’s ear.

“Finally, you can know what really happened to your father. He was a brave man and has been awarded the Medal of Honor as well.”

Tears of joy welled up in the corner of the young man’s eyes.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

If you enjoyed this work please feel free to leave a review on Amazon. Keep an eye out for future titles on Amazon, CreateSpace and Kindle. Also keep up to date with future news on my Twitter or Facebook pages.

Many thanks and keep up the good work supporting new authors.

Other Titles by M.C.DRAKE

PROJECT THERMOCEPTION

https://wordpress.com/view/mcdrakeauthor.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/M-C-DRAKE-366515163727747/

https://twitter.com/MCDRAKEAuthor1

Copyright

Copyright © 2018: DIE GLOCKE

First Edition – 31^st October 2018

M.C.DRAKE

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1727771831