Robert Williams - Ice Fortress

Director Burgess remained plain faced on the matter. Henry made a mental note never to play poker with the man. His eyes showed no flicker of interest as to what the ‘sensitive’ files might refer to. Henry was impressed.

Turner continued, “Actually there were two files that prompted the call. The first related to any incident that rendered the Pine Gap monitoring facility dark and the second related to any incident involving one of our submarines in the Antarctic. Congratulations Tom, you’ve rolled snake eyes.”

Henry watched the DIA Director’s face pale before his eyes. Not so much the poker player after all. But none of this explained why he’d been called into a high level meeting with two men from different intelligence agencies each of whom was way above his own paygrade.

Reaching to the center of the table, Henry slid a glass in front of Burgess and poured him some water. The man drank with a slightly trembling hand, not even acknowledging Henry or his polite gesture.

“We’re still waiting for news from Pine Gap but it appears that whatever happened there, it was catastrophic as our entire communication grid can’t raise them by any means,” Turner added.

“And the submarine?” Burgess spoke at last before taking another mouthful of water.

He was economical with his words Henry observed watching the exchange between the two senior directors.

“Missing. No distress call. Nothing. It failed to report in on schedule and hasn’t been heard from since. That’s all we know at this stage,” responded Turner.

Henry decided to ask what he thought was an obvious question in the circumstances, “Sir, why isn’t the Navy or the Army in on this meeting?”

Burgess and Turner paused for a moment before Turner gestured for the DIA Director to explain.

“Because if this is what we think it is, then it’s not something the Navy or any other military branch can ever know about. It’s classified above Top Secret even the President only gets read in should it be deemed necessary to deploy nuclear weapons to stop it getting out of control.”

Henry waited for Burgess to say more. Or laugh and say “Only joking”. But he just sat there with his palms face down on the table.

“Sir?” Henry looked to his boss for some kind of clarification.

“You heard right. This thing is even bigger than North Korea and their nuclear bullshit. If we get our military involved, it will escalate fast, spin out of control and the consequences could be apocalyptic. Under no circumstances are the military to be involved. That’s an order that has been documented and not rescinded since the file was opened.”

“And when was that, sir?”

“June 1945, son. Long before your time and some ways before mine.”

“I won’t even ask the obvious questions about the subject matter of the file, I know it’s above my clearance, but can I ask what I’m doing here?”

Again the two Directors shared a glance, confirming their tacit agreement.

“Henry Preston, you’ve just been promoted and your security clearance has just gone off the scale.” And with that, his boss slid an old, faded intelligence file across the table and into Henry’s waiting hands. “You have to read the file here. You can’t take it with you. No notes, either. Anything you write down has to be shredded as you leave.

What had he gotten himself involved with? He should have known that nothing good ever came from a phone call at 3am.

With a mix of trepidation and curiosity, Henry Preston opened the file and began reading the yellowed, typewritten pages.

The colossal aircraft dominated the runway, its 6 thunderous engines warming up, ready for its first long range flight. It was no ordinary Junkers JU-390, like the earlier variant General Hans Kammler had welcomed at Gandau Airfield over a month ago. This behemoth of an aircraft was one of only two prototypes built for extreme long range and high altitude missions. And unlike its almost defenseless predecessor, this one was crammed with five 20mm cannons. If attacked, it wouldn’t go down without a fight.

A total wingspan close to 170 feet and its three enormous engines mounted on each of the port and starboard wings made it a breathtaking sight, complemented by the ferocious roar as all six 18 cylinder, supercharged engines revved up in unison.

Although a covert evacuation of the device would have been preferred, the advancing allied forces had forced speed and distance to override stealth as the mission objectives. It was critical that the aircraft make the long flight to the Argentinian military base in Punta Indio if Germany was to have any chance of turning the tide of the war back in their favor. Kammler had been assured that refueling stops in Madrid and another at a secret location in the Western Sahara would ensure that the massive aircraft would have enough fuel to reach its destination.

Once safely on Argentinian soil, the cargo could be transferred to the waiting Elektroboat. Only the submarine commander knew the details of the final destination. Not even Kammler himself had been briefed on the exact location of the Antarctic submarine base, despite the fact that much of the design and engineering of the base was his handiwork. Even the slave labor shipped to the inhospitable location had been supplied by Kammler. When the Kriegsmarine did something in secret, they made sure it remained secret. Even from the SS with whom there had always been an uneasy and complex relationship, at best.

The cargo doors were finally sealed shut when Kammler ordered the half dozen men who had been responsible for the transport and loading of the device to the nearby hanger for a final debriefing. Carrying only a battered suitcase with him, the general followed the men and closed the door behind him.

Over the roar of the Junkers engines, none of the crew heard the folding stock of the MP-40 machine pistol locking into place or the bolt handle being released, ready to fire. By the time they heard the deadly rattle of the machine pistol, their bodies were already being torn apart by the brutal rounds before they crumpled to the cold dusty floor like broken marionettes, twitching horribly.

Hans Kammler threw the still smoking machine pistol back into the open suitcase and pulled a Vis 35 pistol from the leather holster slung from his belt and fired a final 9mm round into the head of each man. There could be no witnesses left alive to be interviewed by the invading Russian and American forces.

Kammler holstered his handgun, the barrel still hot as he closed the flap. Straightening the lapels of his coat, he walked briskly out of the hanger door. His Wonder Weapon was waiting for him on the runway. The story of its disappearance had died with the men in the hanger.

Nellie’s self-diagnostic was complete. The torpedoes that had narrowly missed her sleek, elongated hull were designed with targeting parameters based around much larger vessels, usually battle cruisers or other submarines. The designers had never considered the possibility that their weapons might be locking on to the acoustic signature of a submersible the same size as the torpedo itself.

As they came about in an effort to reacquire their target, all four torpedoes hit the ice shelf, exploding on impact.

The intensity of the shockwave caused Nellie’s systems to power down instantly to avoid damage from power surges or short circuits. Juan’s programming called for her to remain in a state of stasis after a full system shutdown for up to 72 hours in case it took that long to be located by her host vessel. In the event that she wasn’t retrieved, her protocol was to attempt a reboot and continue her survey.