Survivalist - 23 - Call To Battle (22 page)

Croenberg rasped, “We are inside. All is well. Hurry.” The others, posted near the brig, would follow them in. But Croenberg and Rauph did not wait, crisscrossing as they passed through the doorway, momentarily taking cover behind the two desks.

As expected, there was no resistance. They started down the corridor, toward the VIP cell block where Martin Zimmer was housed …

Ordinary solitaire was too easy, and after several hours of playing it Martin Zimmer tired. He wasn’t ready for a nap, and nothing else of interest presented itself. He took up the cards again and shuffled them well, then dealt twenty-five cards face down. He set the remaining twenty-seven aside, then picked up the twenty-five.

Fanning these out in his left hand, he started picking cards, deciding to try to form full houses first, then work back from that. The game was called by various names, his father Deitrich Zimmer who had taught it to him had said, but most commonly “poker solitaire.” The object-statistically almost impossible and in actuality difficult to perform-was to make five pat hands in poker, straights, flushes, straight flushes, full houses.

When he was in practice, which he was not, Martin Zimmer could do it about one in ten times. Getting four pat hands was almost absurdly simple, but then breaking up those hands and re-ibrming them in order to produce a total of five was the frustrat-ingly difficult part.

As he started building a diamond flush, the plasma energy shield could be heard to crackle on the other side of the door.

Martin looked at his digital wristwatch. It was too early for the evening security check and he’d already had dinner (terribly bland). 3 The door opened.

Martin Zimmer dropped his cards to the floor and stood UD Croenberg!” v’

“Martin! We have come to rescue you from these enemies who wrongfully imprison you.” Martin Zimmer started to laugh.

There was a detailed physical profile of each of the prisoners in the Pearl Harbor brig and the closest physical match to young Martin happened to be a black man with the first name of Adolph. The whole idea appealed to Croenberg’s dark sense of humor. To get Martin out of the brig without a major battle erupting the moment someone happened to spot him, they would disguise him as this black man who was serving time in the brig for running a dice game.

A digitized photographic representation of Adolph Langley was obtained and enhanced into three-dimensional perspective, then a life mask prosthesis constructed, as well as hand coverings.

Martin Zimmer protested, of course, but Croenberg-very respectfully-pointed out, “This is the only way to get you free, Martin. I know it is a sacrifice to disguise yourself as this person, but you make this sacrifice for the greater glory of National Socialism. It is the lot of the hero to give of himself.”

That last remark apparently convinced Martin.

With Rauph and two others helping-Croenberg elected to watch the corridor rather than help dress Martin-Martin Zimmer was ready to travel in seven minutes, except for one detail. As they brought Martin to the door, Croenberg reached into the case from which the clothing had been taken and produced the restraints. “I am afraid you will have to wear these, Martin, in order that this should look convincing.”

“The things I do for my people,” Martin said, shaking his head, smiling.

From Croenberg’s detailed analysis of Martin Zimmer over the years, including sexual habits, he doubted seriously that Martin was anything but excited by the prospect of being in chains. The belly chain was locked at the back, then Martin’s wrists put into the cuffs, holding his hands at waist level. Croenberg wanted to say something, but didn’t. Instead, he directed Rauph with a nod to lead Martin away.

As the last man exited Martin’s cell, Croenberg reactivated the plasma barrier …

The only thing Tun Shaw liked about electric cars was that they ran silentiy. Three cars had already pulled up behind the fish market, the only noise they made the soft humming of their tires over the pavement.

Ed and most of the rest of the Tac.Team had energy rifles. Fortunately, although every once in a while he heard rumors that the Germans were working on developing one, no one had yet to invent an energy shotgun. Like the rest of Tim Shaw’s firearms, the shotgun he held in his right hand was a Lancer replica, this of the Remington 870 police shotgun from six hundred and twenty-five years ago. Like all Lancer replicas, it was faithful to the last detail, even using ordnance steel that was blued as opposed to stainless. In the climate in the islands, that meant more care, but the 870’s smooth action made it all worthwhile.

Beside him, Ed said, “The three cars behind the condos are in position. The only way they’ll get outa there is if they can fly.”

“Don’t be too cocky” Tim Shaw advised his son. He turned away from staring at the condos and looked at the twelve men. “All right. This is kind of a funny operation. We don’t have a warrant, don’t have probable cause beyond an informer’s tip-and my ass’d be in a sling if anybody knew how I got it-and the idea isn’t so much to arrest these bastards as to stop ‘em. If we can take ‘em alive, terrific; well get good information out of ‘em. But if it’s a choice between killin’ the mother fuckers and lettin’ one of ‘em get away, we kill. Any questions?”

There were a few grins from the Tac Team guys, but there weren’t any questions.

Ed would run things tactically because he was better at it, so Tun Shaw told his son, “Give ‘em the word, Eddy.”

Ed gave the word …

Aside from Croenberg and Rauph, dressed as officers, the other men of the squad infiltrated to Pearl Harbor Naval Base were uniformed as enlisted personnel. The two with them, as they entered the car now, wore Shore Patrol armbands.

Martin was sandwiched between them in the rear seat of the sedan, Croenberg sitting in the front passenger seat, Rauph driving. An enlisted man behind the wheel would have looked better, but that would have necessitated a fifth man for this element of the operation and that would not have worked.

Rauph started the electric car out of the slot marked “Visitor” and turned the wheel into a hard right, cutting across several of the vacant slots as the vehicle angled toward the street.

There was a considerable amount of traffic, but as yet no alarm was raised. “Nice and slow, well within the speed limit, Rauph,” Croenberg ordered. The more easily they reached the Fleet Admiral’s personal helicopter, the better …

After attacking the Sebastian’s Reef Country Day School, the plan was to drive to the opposite end of Honolulu and carry out a similar operation against one of the City of Honolulu’s largest public schools where children from the immigrant community and the children of other of the island’s poorer elements attended. Because of the short span of time between reaching the island and pulling the first raid, however, there had not been sufficient opportunity to prepare the required number of explosive charges.

Hence, the container which housed more than seventy-five percent of the team’s detonators was brought along. For safety, the explosives were kept in one van and the detonators in the other. The van which was intercepted was the one carrying the detonators. The second assault was scrubbed and now Wilhelm Doring faced a critical shortage of proper detonators.

While he mentally kicked himself for the price of his haste, Wilhelm Doring’s eyes never left Marie as she spoke with the old woman at the lunch counter. The other six men who had accompanied them were watching the street, two from the opposite side, two at either end of the block on the same side as the restaurant. The transceiver in Doring’s mouth would alert him should there be any potential trouble.

At last, Marie’s seemingly interminable conversation with the old woman ended and she-Marie Dreissling-started back toward the doorway where Doring stood, waiting. “Well?”

“Willy, she-“

“Do we have the detonators or not?”

“Her husband did not tell her. He said he would be late and we should wait here for him.”

That infuriated Doring, that a local Nazi sympathizer would assume that an officer of the Reich should be kept waiting for a mere nobody. Partly because of the positioning of the radio device within his mouth and partly because he was angry, Wilhelm Doring all but growled, “The girl and I have to wait here. Keep your positions. I will be in radio contact as necessary. Doring, Out.”

“She suggested we come and sit at the lunch counter, Willy. She will give us free food and coffee!”

He could have strangled Marie for her complacency concerning the detonator shortage and her enthusiasm over the offer of coffee and food. Instead, Wilhelm Doring smiled at her, saying, “That sounds pleasant enough.” He took her elbow and started toward the counter with her, careful that the tips of his fingers didn’t crush her arm.

It was a cardinal rule of any clandestine operation that meeting times were to be met exacdy, neither early nor late; if a predetermined appointment could not be kept, the meeting was scrubbed.

But, because he needed the detonators, Wilhelm Doring would wait.

Fleet Admiral Wilma Hayes’s helicopter was the finest and fastest of those made in the United States, equal to anything found flying for Eden City. The helicopter’s top condition-one speed was 500 miles per hour and it was nearly as maneuverable as a fighter aircraft, could outrun any helicopter gunship in the air arsenal of any of the world’s powers.

It was precisely because of its excellence that Gruppenfiihrer Croenberg had included the machine in his escape plans. Rauph, driving the sedan, was as good with a helicopter as he was with a knife; he had flown Eden’s most comparable machines (almost as fast but vastly less maneuverable) and was completely versed in the literature of the Laimleer XI1 A. All that was necessary was to neutralize the Marine Corps personnel guarding the Admiral’s helicopter, then get it airborne and away.

For the former task, standard procedures would suffice-security measures were rarely able to frustrate the intentions of those who were truly bold-and, for the latter, there was the planned diversionary action at the motor pool fuel dump. Had Croenberg selected the synth-fuel storage area which served Pearl Harbor’s fighter and gunship response groups, there would have been a substantially greater guard force with which the men he had detailed to the operation would be required to deal.

Rauph turned the sedan into the side drive running parallel to the Admiral’s headquarters complex, the two Nazi saboteurs catching up to and throwing themselves inside, the helipad just beyond, not even a fence separating it from the rest of the compound. From the back seat, Martin began to ask, “Can’t we just drive off-“

“If we drive, Martin,” Croenberg explained, without looking over into the back seat, “the moment your escape is detected, every helicopter, every car, every remote in the area will be watching for us. The chances would be substantial that we would be captured, you recaptured. And, we must get off the island. Were we to evade initial response efforts, every place of exit from the island would be sealed, coastal patrols increased,
etc.
It would be necessary for us to swim out to a rendezvous with a vessel. Possibilities for success would be doubtful at best and the very act would be fraught with peril to you.

“But, by stealing the Admiral’s helicopter,” Croenberg continued, “we not only escape the base in an aircraft which will be almost impossible to catch but we escape the island as well. By the time fighters are scrambled in pursuit of us, we will have arrived at our destination, the helicopter will be set on auto pilot and dispatched over the open sea. As the helicopter is intercepted, it will be destroyed, by us. Therefore, there will be some resultant confusion as to whether or not you lived or died. That is to our advantage.”

“I cannot wait, my faithful Gruppenfiihrer, to be rid of this disguise.”

Croenberg looked over into the rear seat now, saying, “I assure you, Martin, that soon all of your vicissitudes will be at an end.” Indeed they would be. Croenberg added, “Forgive me while I confer with the personnel waiting to institute the needed diversion.” The sedan was fewer than one hundred meters from the helicopter and the guards surrounding it. Croenberg, his voice sounding low and guttural as he spoke for the benefit of the microphone concealed within his mouth, said, “This is Rescue Leader. We approach Objective Beta. Initiate action against your objective, then commence escape sequence. Out.”

Fifty meters now, the sedan slowing.

Croenberg had already reloaded the 7.65mm sleeve pistol …

Thorn Rolvaag’s wife, Ellie, fed both Rolvaag and Betty Gilder a hastily prepared late supper of spaghetti with meat sauce, gar

lie bread and red wine. The children, Daniel and Trixie, were already fed, off in the nearby recreation room watching their favorite interactive television program. Ellie picked at her food; waiting to eat with her husband, as had been her custom ever since they were engaged, always seemed to destroy her appetite.

And she was as pretty as ever, Rolvaag thought, just looking at her.

Ellie brushed a lock of dark hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand as she raised her wine glass. “So, you really have to go up there tonight?” Ellie asked.

“I tried talking your stubborn husband out of it,” Betty said, smiling at Ellie, frowning at him, “but it’s that old Viking stock, I guess, makes him bullheaded.”

“Not that I want to,” Rolvaag said, picking up a piece of garlic bread. “But Doctor Rourke took me over to see all this Navy brass and I told them about Betty’s and my Diversion Theory and-“

“I had nothing to do with it,” Betty said, slightly reprovingly. “You’re the brains of the operation. All I said was that I thought the Diversion Theory was brilliant, that it would indeed be possible to redirect lava flow and reduce the force of the actual eruption.”

“If Kilauea is about to erupt, Thorn,” Ellie began, “you don’t have to be up there. You can monitor everything-“

“No, see, I need pressure readings, sweetheart” Rolvaag tried to explain. “Pressure readings have to be taken in situ. It’s just like taking somebody’s blood pressure; you can’t do it without touching the arm.” His wife had been a nurse so she should be able to identify with that.