William Dietrich - Ice Reich

"We have to pack out your damn scum," said Oscar. "That's help enough."

The morning watch had begun and Schmidt had risen with the sailors, unshaven and with his gray hair matted and tangled. Up on deck he took a drag on a cigarette and stared thoughtfully across the lagoon, reflecting on how splendidly the mission seemed to be coming together. He'd already cached a plentiful supply of the spores in a sealed container, and the last of the antidote organism was due to be gathered today. Assuming Frau Drexler's testing still showed it was effective, they were home free. The next step was to process the remaining cave sludge before more came aboard. He descended to the laboratory.

Greta was already there, peering uneasily at his microbial cultures on the lab bench. "Ah, I see your appetite for the work has you up early too," Schmidt said.

She glanced up. "I'm not used to such enthusiasm so early in the morning, Doctor. Why the good cheer?"

"Why not?" Reflexively, his hands went for another cigarette but then he remembered the injunction against smoking belowdecks. "We're about to set sail for the Reich, where the High Command is bound to be delighted at the gifts we'll be bearing. I assume your data still suggests one hundred percent efficiency when the drug is reduced to a powder?"

"There are no guarantees until we administer it to human subjects. I just hope the antibiotic is effective against a broad array of bacteria. If, as I suspect, this substance is many times more effective than penicillin, there are many sick people we'll be able to help."

"Yes, of course." He gazed at her with wonder. Did she really think they were here to cure a flu?

Greta noticed his look. "Not that you care. I know you and Jurgen have a different goal."

"Do you now?" Schmidt looked amused.

She leaned back wearily. "I can halfway understand Jurgen's point of view. He's a soldier. He wants to win. But you're a doctor, Schmidt. You swore an oath- "

"The only vow I took was a personal one. To follow knowledge's path wherever it led me. These organisms you and I have harvested these past few days- our respective contributions to the Reich- they are a higher form of efficiency, a purer biology. Only the ignorant walk away from knowledge- especially knowledge that can be used in defense of the homeland."

Greta looked at him sadly. "You lied to me, didn't you? You never had the microbe in Germany. You collected the spores not just for these tests but to take back home."

"If you figured that out, Frau Drexler, you're the last one on the boat to do so. The collection is necessary only because you threw your indignant fit in 1939 and destroyed your cultures, betraying science."

"So if I hadn't agreed to come back here this time to save Owen, there wouldn't be a threat of plague." Her tone was hollow.

"Don't exaggerate your importance. I would have come for the bacteria anyway. Still, I'll concede you've been useful. Now you have your drug and I have my microbe. We've gathered more than enough spore material for our purposes. And if the enemy retraces our steps, they'll find nothing."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you think we're reckless enough to let other nations follow our example? We set explosives to bury the springs where the spores emerge. Let the Allies poke where they will, if they come. They'll find rubble. And by March the Reich will have cultured enough to wipe out all our enemies."

Greta looked at him in dismay. Yet her heart began to beat faster, a flicker of excitement pushing aside her weariness. "Then what we have on this submarine are now the only microbes and spores?" she clarified.

"More precious than gold," Schmidt enthused. He gave Greta a wary look. "And I suppose you're about to volunteer to help me safeguard our stash: protect them as you did on the Schwabenland. Well, you needn't bother. The microbe has become a matter of state security and I've found a spot aboard for the remaining spores that I alone know about."

She looked at him with disquiet. "That's dangerous, Max. What if a sailor stumbles on them? What if Freiwald finds out what you've tucked around his U-boat?"

"Safer than putting them in your custody. Safer than leaving them in this lab."

She had no comeback for that.

Schmidt turned to go. "The spores are mine, the drug is yours. My advice: keep your mind on the drug. Since your purification process appears to work, I suggest you concentrate some more of this cave slime to make room. An additional load will be coming on board from the cave soon."

The gloom of the underground lake abruptly deepened.

Hart stopped, treading water. It wasn't completely dark because there was still a faint blue glow from the ice roof, but the reflected light that came from the lantern at the upper end of the cave waterfall had gone out. He waited a minute for the storm troopers to restore it but nothing happened. The pilot shouted. There was no answer. He could just make out the pale glimmer of the falls and he began breast-stroking toward it. The light didn't come back on.

He reached the rock shelf at the base of the waterfall, rested a moment, and then boosted himself up. With growing apprehension he side-stepped along the ledge to the waterfall and groped in its spray for the climbing line. The rope had disappeared.

"Hans!" he yelled. "Rudolf!"

Silence.

They'd abandoned him.

So much for Drexler's promise. Greta must have succeeded with the drug and the couple's usefulness was at an end. Worriedly, he wondered if Drexler would harm her.

Hart had expected them to wait until the last of the lake growth had been delivered to the sub. His escape plan- it was more a desperate hope than a plan- had always called for Greta's assistance. She'd organize a distraction of some sort, make sure he had at least some supplies- enough to attempt the unthinkable.

By simply leaving him in this dark hole, though, Drexler seemed to have foreclosed that possibility. He tried to think. They must be satisfied he couldn't follow even though he'd mentioned his climb out in the dark before. How could they be so sure? What were they counting on?

Of course. Rudolf had said it. They were going to blow up the cave.

"My God."

He shivered. Don't panic! If you panic you'll never get back to Greta.

He realized he had one chance. They must have allowed time for themselves to get clear of the grotto: Fritz's skeleton had forcibly demonstrated how unstable the tubes were during a nearby explosion. The lantern hadn't been extinguished that long. It was plain: he'd have to catch them before the timer went off.

He clenched the cliff. He would catch them.

He'd climbed this waterfall and chimney so frequently along the rope, learning hand- and footholds, that he should be able to do it blind without one. Now that would be tested. Reaching up in the cold water he groped for a familiar handhold, found it, and pulled, placing his foot next. Yes. Just as he remembered. Think! Go slow enough to think.

When would the explosion go off?

He pushed himself up as the water beat on him in the dark, leaning out to gasp for breath. Damn them! But anger spoiled concentration. So. Carefully. Three points on the rock at all times. Reach only with one hand or one foot. Up…

It was disorienting in the dark, but he climbed until echoes told him he'd reached the point where the water fell out of its pipelike chute toward the lake. He reached in back of himself and his palm slapped rock. Yes! He pushed off, his back slamming against the other side of the chimney to wedge himself. Now he could ascend with more confidence.

How many minutes had passed? How long would the timer be set for?

Progress was painful: at one point the chute widened so much that he had to brace with his arms instead of his back, trembling from the strain. Then he was past it and sound and touch told him he was finally near the chute's upper lip. Bending and bracing, he brought himself around to a point where he could lunge face-first into the rushing river above the edge of the falls, frantically grabbing for slimy handholds to prevent himself from being swept back down into the lake. Then he kicked and pulled furiously until he was up, kneeling in the level stream, chest heaving, one hand around a vine for support.