Robert Williams - Ice Fortress

The most fearsome weapon imaginable had finally and quite literally surfaced after decades of searching.

The video conference link that beamed from the other side of the world was totally secure. Owning an aerospace company with satellite launch capability had its perks and secure, encrypted communications was one of many.

J.C. sat in his private conference room, soundproofed in case the help overheard anything they ought not, waiting for the static to clear and the video camera on the other end of the line to begin its feed. As soon as it did, he was face to face with his most senior operatives.

“Report,” instructed Barnes without greeting or preamble.

“We have confirmed that the U-Boat is a Kriegsmarine Type XXI and what we can see of it dates it to early 1945. It bears no identification markings at all, which also confirms that it is the one.” His English was faultless as was to be expected of a senior German diplomat.

“Radiation signature?” asked Barnes, fully aware that the unique and unmistakable radiation signature of the device could only be detected at close range. The lead lined compartment in the U-Boat could even render it impossible to detect even then.

“None detected, but that was always a longshot. If there was a detectable signature, we would have found it long before now.”

Barnes dragged an errant lock of jet black hair across his forehead as he digested the information. The ambassador made a good point, but it didn’t account for their failure to locate the U-Boat previously. After all, The Brotherhood knew the approximate region where the top secret German base known as Base 211 had been built. That part of the Antarctic continent had been searched many times over the years using the technology available at the time, yet no sign of the U-Boat was ever found, nor any trace of the former Antarctic base itself. If it wasn’t for the chatter intercepted from the CIA’s Pine Gap communications facility, they might have missed the inexplicable appearance of the missing U-Boat altogether.

Half a decade before Homeland Security began monitoring cell phone, email and online chat communications searching for key words that warranted further attention, The Brotherhood had built an entire data center filled with rows and rows of computer racks housing over a thousand of the most powerful computer servers available. This Server Farm was dedicated solely to monitoring the communications channels of every government agency of the major world powers.

The secluded, subterranean facility gave new meaning to the term ‘Dark Data Center’. Unmanned, the entire data center was managed using the tried and tested ‘follow the sun’ model from a series of monitoring stations around the world, all using cutting edge Lights-Out Management systems. As the sun set on one station, another would take over, monitoring the traffic designated by the Server Farm as being credible enough to be further investigated.

This facility alone put The Brotherhood in a class of its own, even when compared with the collective intelligence gathering resources of all U.S. law enforcement, military and intelligence agencies.

Barnes was not about to let the prize out of his sight now that it had been located

“Is it secure?”

The high definition video stream highlighted the beads of sweat pebbling his forehead and upper lip as if he were sitting in the same room. “Well…”

“Don’t tell me we don’t have the device secured!” Barnes stood as he screamed at his subordinate.

“One of the Russian Yasen class submarines, most likely the Kazan, has taken out the American research sub that was snooping around where we think Base 211 might be. We don’t believe they had the opportunity to send a distress signal. It could be days or even weeks before they are missed because of the nature of their mission.”

The Russian fools were only supposed to shadow the American submarine, not fire on it. Barnes seethed at his oversight but there was nothing he could do about it.

Barnes composed himself. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“Yes, our operatives were able to destroy the entire Pine Gap communications groundwork, as ordered, but it appears that one aircraft got away before the airfield was targeted.”

“And the range of this aircraft?”

“Ah… I see your point, sir,” the Ambassador thumbed through his notes, “it was a mid-air refueling tanker, so it would easily have enough fuel to reach the site, sir.”

Barnes stared hard at the incompetent man on the screen.

“But it couldn’t possibly land on the ice-shelf,” the diplomat added, hopefully.

“It doesn’t have to land, you idiot. I want an assault team at that base and I want them there yesterday. Is that understood?”

“What about the Russian attack sub? Should we encourage them to send their Naval Spetsnaz squad to secure the objective?”

Barnes had no desire to use the Russian navy any more than he had to. The Russians had only sent their latest Yasen attack sub after the Americans because The Brotherhood had fed false intelligence to the SVR, the Russian foreign intelligence service.

If they were to find out what was really trapped in the ice, the Antarctic would fast turn into a warzone with China, Russia and the Americans entering the fray and competing for the prize. And that , The Brotherhood couldn’t afford. For the moment, it was enough that the Russians believed the Americans were littering the ice shelf with counter intelligence monitoring devices.

Barnes was reluctant to reveal his hand so early in the operation, but he had no choice with the Russian submarine captain going rogue and firing live torpedoes. The Argentinians hadn’t established a ‘research’ on the edge of Ronne Ice Shelf by pure chance. It had been a strategic base of operations of the Brotherhood for decades. Now the foresight of his predecessors would give them a decisive tactical advantage.

“No. Send our own men. Issue orders to the team stationed at the Belgrano II base.” Barnes was about to terminate the conference when he was interrupted.

“Won’t the Argentinians have something to say once it’s discovered that we have used their base to launch an armed assault?”

“No,” Barnes smiled with deep satisfaction, “The Argentinians will remain silent and compliant, just as they’ve done since 1939. They need us and our gold far more than we need them. They’re not totally stupid. They must have suspected why we were keeping an armed force on the ice and a Hercules LC-130 fueled and ready to fly, even if they didn’t know for sure.”

“How many men do you want me to send?”

Barnes smiled. “All of them.”

J. Clifford Barnes ended the call. The prize The Brotherhood had been searching for, Dr. Kammler’s greatest weapon, his legacy was finally within reach. Very soon, the world would become a very different place and General Kammler will have kept his solemn promise to their Fuhrer.

Caged bunker lights cast a dim yellow glow along the length of the tunnel. Boot steps echoed against the walls hewn from solid rock. Hans Kammler had to stoop slightly as he walked the length of the underground shaft to his test chamber. He cursed himself, as he did each time he came here to conduct a test. With a brilliant mind and an inexhaustible slave labor force from the camps, Hans Kammler could build rockets capable of reaching space and huge underground factories to mass produce the world’s first jet fighter plane, the Messerschmitt ME 262. He even had a number of radioactive weapons in various stages of development, ready for his next generation of rockets. Yet he hadn’t been able to oversee the construction of a tunnel through which he could walk without hunching.