Robert Williams - Ice Fortress

Muller stood, unmoved and began to smile at Jack’s wasted opportunity.

“That’ll leave a scar,” Muller sniggered. “ Ouch ,” he mocked.

Now it was Jack’s turn to smile.

He pulled the knife out of the wound in a slicing motion, severing Muller’s femoral artery.

Muller collapsed and bled out in less than a minute, staring at Jack in utter disbelief until his eyes closed for the last time.

Jack wiped the knife clean on Muller’s soaking wet tunic and placed it back in the sheath before limping his way back to the rest of the survivors.

A rich smell of old leather and polished mahogany filled the dimly lit room giving it a somber atmosphere.

J. Clifford Barnes stood at one end of the room while the other occupants sat around the long table, comfortable in their aged-leather chairs. His eyes were averted respectfully. Or perhaps fearfully.

“You have failed us.” The tone of the heavily accented voice at the head of the table suggested it was a statement of fact and not a matter for debate.

Barnes remained silent.

“I want every effort made, regardless of cost, to recover the Xerum 525 canister from the wreck. Die Glocke we can rebuild, but the Xerum is irreplaceable. I will not tolerate another failure.”

The general’s hand rested threateningly on the Vis 35 pistol holstered on his belt, the only weapon he’d brought back with him.

“Yes, Herr General.”

“We are about to continue the war on a new front. In the meantime, you have your orders.”

Barnes knew he was being dismissed and spun on his heel to exit the gloomy room as quickly as he was able.

“Barnes!” The general snapped, bringing Barnes’ speedy exit to a halt.

“Yes, Herr General?” he asked meekly, not wanting to incur the wrath of the old man at the head of the table.

“Heil Hitler.” The man’s arm extended in a crisp salute the rest of the world had not seen in a very long time.

The Cheyenne Mountain Complex is an astonishing feat of engineering by present day standards, but more so considering that it was built during the height of the Cold War in the 1960’s.

More than a mile inside a solid granite mountain, protected from the effects of a direct nuclear strike and EMP pulses by a series of 23 ton blast doors, the U.S. military’s ‘doomsday’ nuclear bunker is a hollowed out granite mountain housing multi-story buildings mounted on earthquake resistant springs, lakes filled with fresh drinking water and diesel fuel and all the systems needed to independently command America’s defense networks.

The entrance to the complex has gained Hollywood star status through Terminator, Stargate, Independence Day and a host of other movies and TV series. And it was that fame, above all, that captured Juan’s imagination as the matt black armored personnel carrier rounded the final bend in the high altitude crawl up the winding mountain road.

“This is where they keep the Stargate!” Juan squealed with excitement as the iconic entrance came into view.

“There is no Stargate, you crazy geek,” Dave Sutton punched his buddy in the arm.

“Oh yeah, you keep telling yourself that, then.”

Jack Coulson and Sam Krupsky sat quietly on the fold out bench opposite the two civilian scientists. After all they’d seen and been through, nothing would surprise them ever again.

Captain Jameson and Durand sat alongside. Neither had spoken for a while. There was still a lot of unresolved tension over the whole torpedo incident, as Durand referred to it.

“How’s the shoulder?” Jack tilted his head toward Sam’s bandaged and slung arm.

“Hurts like a bitch, but they tell me there’s no significant bone damage and I should regain most of my mobility.”

“Enough to stay in the service?”

Sam shook his head. “Medical discharge is in the works for me. Sucks, though. This is all I know.”

“I’m real sorry, Sam. But like you said, you were getting too old for that shit, anyway.”

“I meant too old for your shit, Jack. I was doing fine before I got sucked into your black hole of death, destruction and mayhem.”

Jack arched a brow, “Mayhem? That’s a good word, Sam. Did you manage to get some reading done on the flight to Peterson?”

The long flight to Peterson Air Force Base, the nearest AFB to Cheyenne Mountain, was a tedious flight and came on the back of a medivac flight to a Black Site where Sam was treated for his gunshot wound and the others for a variety of lacerations and abrasions.

Sam had moaned the entire flight. More than anything, he wanted to go home.

“Bite me. You don’t look so hot yourself, Jack,” Sam observed, looking over the cuts to Jack’s head that had been expertly stitched and butterflied. “Did you know they were bringing us here?”

“I had a suspicion. They don’t want us telling anyone what happened down there, that’s for sure.” Jack looked over at Juan and Dave who were goggle eyed at the sight of the Cheyenne Mountain entrance filling the windscreen. “They wouldn’t even let these two clowns call their family or friends to say they were alright.”

“Do you think they’re gonna kill us?” Sam asked calmly.

“Our government doesn’t kill its own. Besides, would they patch us up if they were going to do that?”

Sam shrugged his good shoulder in response. He wasn’t convinced and had a bad feeling about their future.

The security guard waved them through after inspecting the driver’s papers. They were clearly expected.

Continuing through the arched tunnel into the heart of the complex, Jack felt the weight of the thousand foot granite mountain above him crushing down on him like an invisible force. He didn’t like the feeling.

Eventually the armored transport stopped and they were ushered through a series of passageways and then into an enclosed walkway that took them to a freestanding three-story building. The windowless building had been built inside a hollowed out section of the mountain and looked incongruous against the hewn granite that surrounded it on all sides.

“Great,” mumbled Jack as he took in the claustrophobic atmosphere.

“Yeah, I know, right,” Juan pipped like a teenage girl.

Finally they were steered into a sterile, lifeless conference room where they were directed to be seated.

A door to one side opened and the familiar fireplug like figure of Colonel Chuck Daniels marched into the room. Only he wasn’t wearing an army uniform. Today he was dressed in a crisp Air Force uniform but other than that, he looked almost exactly the same as he had when Jack and Coulson had last seen him in Pine Gap.

Almost.

The cuff of the Colonel’s right jacket sleeve had been neatly pressed and pinned to the elbow. He noticed Coulson and Krupsky trying not to stare.

“I was lucky to get away with just losing an arm in that fracas. Bastards. We got caught with our zippers down but that won’t happen again.”

“Can I ask why we’re here, Colonel?”

“You’re a trouble maker, Coulson. You’re like a magnet for havoc and destruction, it follows you wherever you go and it sticks like shit to a blanket to anyone around you.” He scanned the two civilians, Durand and Sam.