Robert Williams - Ice Fortress

Blasting caps and time fuses were pushed into both ends of the linear charge, ready to be initiated. Muller would have just enough time to take cover behind one of the many flood compartment hatches before the door blew.

Once the main hatch was blown, his men would be able to unload The Bell through the angled torpedo loading hatch in the deck. After all, that’s how they got it in there in the first place, over 70 years ago.

When it finally saw the light of day, he could contact Barnes and have him organize the next phase of the operation. From what he’d been told, the device wouldn’t leave this facility. Generators, habitat pods and laboratory equipment would be shipped to the base. Once recommissioned as the original engineers intended during the final days of the war, quantum physicists and an assortment of other scientists would descend on the base and begin working on The Bell, fine tuning its operation to produce more stable and accurate results than had been achieved with the limited technology available during the war years and their limited understanding of quantum mechanics at the time.

They were so close.

It was time to blast the hatch. What had possessed someone to weld it closed in the first place? It didn’t matter now. Soon nothing would matter but a victorious Third Reich at the end of the war. The British, Americans and Russians would be crushed by the superiority of the German forces once The Bell was operational.

“Heil Hitler,” he said proudly as he initiated the time fuses and dashed to the nearest bulkhead for shelter from the blast.

The sound of voices slowly penetrated through the fog swirling in Jack’s head. That had to mean he was still alive. As he opened his eyes, he became aware of his surroundings. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, he was lying on a dining table in the crew’s mess. He tried to move but couldn’t. Sharp plastic cuffs cut into his flesh when he tried to sit up. They’d cuffed him. Good and tight, too. He could feel his flesh swelling in his hands and feet. They were taking no chances. Who could blame them. He’d do the same in their position.

As his eyes adjusted to the harsh light, he could see Captain Jameson, the XO, Durand, the two nerdy scientists and the very pleasant face of Leah, the Oceanographer all sitting at an adjacent table. None of them were cuffed, he noticed.

“Where’s Sam?” he rasped, his throat so dry it hurt to swallow.

Captain Jameson answered him, “They’ve taken him to the U-Boat. Apparently, thanks to you, Muller’s found himself somewhat shorthanded when it comes to men to do the heavy lifting.”

The effects of the knockout punch began to fade and Jack noticed there were two guards in the room with them, guns trained on him. Like the professionals they were, they had positioned themselves at 12 o’clock and 7 o’clock so they wouldn’t shoot each other in the crossfire should they need to open fire on the prisoners.

Yet again, Jack had to give kudos to the skill of these men and the thorough training they’d obviously received. They were as good as any he’d encountered, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have weaknesses. The turkey shoot out in the bunker proved that quite convincingly when Jack took down most of Muller’s men.

A soft hand brushed a few strands of hair from his forehead. Leah’s face hovered over him.

“You must have really pissed their boss off,” she observed, indicating the two sentries.

“Yeah, he’s built like a tank. And damn fast for his size, too.” Jack winced. It hurt to talk.

She brought a tumbler of water from the other table to where Jack lay.

Click.

One of their guards thumbed his safety off and brought his sight to bear on Leah.

She held up the glass. “It’s just water.”

The man nodded but his unwavering gaze followed Leah’s every movement.

“Were you able to make contact with anyone while you were out there?”

“We didn’t make it very far. Besides, we need to get to the ice with a radio or sat phone before we can raise an alert,” Jack explained.

Leah looked wide eyed and alarmed. “So nobody knows we’re here? Nobody is coming to help?” Her hand trembled, puddling water all over Jack’s chest.

“Jameson says PACOM will raise an alarm soon. That’s the best we can hope for, I’m afraid.”

“I hope they do. I’m not sure these guys have a game plan that includes keeping prisoners,” Leah ventured to say aloud what she’d heard Jameson and Durand whispering to each other while Jack was unconscious. “Besides, even if the navy raised the alarm, they have no idea where we are. It was only my experimental sonar tech that found this base and the access tunnel in the first place. I doubt they’ll ever find us.”

Leah studied Jack’s face for a moment. He couldn’t hide the fact that he agreed with her logic.

Before he had a chance to make up something encouraging to say, both armed mercenaries held their hands to their earpieces, plainly listening intently to orders as they raised their guns and brought them to bear on their prisoners.

This was it. Jack knew what was coming as he found himself staring into the business end of gun. After all, you didn’t aim a gun at someone you didn’t want to shoot. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, trussed up like a Thanksgiving Turkey on a mess hall dining table.

Skimming above the waves, the Tomahawk missile cruises at 500 miles per hour. Its target is locked but constant adjustments are being made by the Inertial Guidance and Terrain Contour Matching systems to account for wind speed and wave height to keep it on target and on schedule. Unerringly.

Inside the payload section is housed a titanium encased W80-2 nuclear warhead, ready to be armed for a tactical strike as it closes in on its target coordinates.

Countdown to impact: 3 hours

“Move!” barked one of the guards. The man had a bullet-shaped head and almost no neck. He looked like he had better places to be, too, from the impatient look on his face. Jack knew exactly how he felt.

A pair of cutters appeared in the other man’s hands as he moved toward Jack.

“Try anything and I’ll put one in your girlfriend’s head,” he threatened, pointing his gun directly at Leah’s head.

Snip .

The plastic cuffs binding Jack’s ankles fell to the floor. At least he could walk, that was a good start.

“Move.” He prodded Jack in the ribs with his gun barrel.

“Where are you and bullet-head taking us? If you’re going to shoot us anyway, might as well do it here and save us the bother of moving.”

That earned Jack a crack in the snout with the butt of bullet-head’s H&K. He felt the warm blood smeared across his face from his bleeding nose and split lip. It was worth it. Jack made note of the fact that bullet-head riled easily. That might come in handy.