The Black Gate (16 page)

Von Falkenstein laughed. “Creatures like Ivan are indeed weapons, Peter, but like the ridiculous super-tanks the
Führer
has been obsessed with, they are also completely impractical. They would be easily identified, and on the battlefield what can be seen can be destroyed.” He shook his head. “As powerful as such a creature is, even with its regenerative ability, destroying it by cannon fire, bombs or aircraft rockets would be a trivial matter.” He shook his head. “No, we need not just a super-weapon, but a super-soldier. And that is what we found in the form of Subject 98-7.”

“I know that the Reich needs such a weapon to win the war, but have you thought about what lies beyond?” Peter asked, indirectly trying to reason with the older man. “Once such beings have been released into the world, who is to say they can ever be controlled? I’m not an expert in biology, but any time a superior species is introduced into an environment, the existing equilibrium is destroyed. The Reich itself could be endangered.”

Von Falkenstein waved away Peter’s concern. “That is the shape of our future, Peter
.
The world will indeed be transformed by our very hands. And I doubt for not a single moment that the
Führer
himself will quickly join the ranks of the immortals once he sees the fruits of our success.”

The thought of Hitler, immortal and surrounded by an immortal army of SS soldiers to shield and protect him, made Peter’s stomach turn. The world would burn for all eternity.

“As you know from the operations schedule,” von Falkenstein told him, “we will send through another test subject today to fully validate the gate’s operation. Once that is done, using one of the
Organisation Todt
laborers, I plan to send the first company of soldiers through the gate as quickly as possible.” He paused a moment, holding Peter’s gaze. “As I mentioned earlier, I have become convinced that Baumann is not be the best candidate to lead them. I have decided on someone else, someone who is not simply a spear carrier, but who has a deeper understanding of what we are doing here.”

Peter gripped the arms of the chair, his chest tightening with a sense of panic. “You can’t possibly mean me, sir!”
 

“Yes, I mean you. I took the liberty of sending a communique to that effect to SS Headquarters, and it was endorsed by the
Reichsführer
himself. Baumann is one of Himmler’s fair-haired children, and I am sure he will get his chance to drink from the well of immortality. I emphasized your strengths over Baumann’s, despite your inferior rank, which is something that will be addressed quite soon.”
 

“But…but…” Peter couldn’t catch his breath. “Sir, my leg…”

Von Falkenstein shook his head. “Your leg will not be a concern, my friend! Once you pass through the gate, your leg will be healed.”
 

Peter nodded, trying to think of something to say, but he was in an utter daze. The nightmare into which he had been flung was only getting worse and worse. “Thank you, sir,” he managed. “It is a great…a great honor.”

“You need not thank me, Peter. As I said, the Reich badly needs men such as you. I have not yet informed Baumann, so please keep this between us for now.”

Like a mechanical puppet, Peter nodded before tossing back the rest of the schnapps.

Von Falkenstein rose and poured him another glass before returning to his chair. “The other reason I recommended you over Baumann is a bit more personal. It involves Mina.”

Peter slowly set down the glass on the end table. “How so, sir?”

“Put simply, she seems to trust you, and she has always been an impeccable judge of character.”

Except when it comes to you
, Peter thought, but held his tongue.

“I have seen that you two seem to get along quite well. That is why I need you to fully understand one thing.”
 

“What’s that, sir?”

Von Falkenstein looked him straight in the eye. “I accept, even expect, a degree of familiarity between Mina and the men who work here, especially those like you on the command staff. In fact, that familiarity is a valuable asset, because she sees and hears things that I never would, things that have often been of great value to me. Men will say the most amazing things to a beautiful woman, especially one they consider a friend. But always remember this: if you ever so much as lay a finger on her, I’ll have Kleist flay you alive and then cut you up into tiny pieces to feed to his menagerie.”

Peter gulped, frightened as much by the casual tone von Falkenstein had used to deliver the threat as the threat itself. Human life had absolutely no value to this man. “Sir, I would never…”

Von Falkenstein waved his hand in a dismissive gesture as he took another drink. “I know, Peter, I know. You would never think of it, of course. I just tell you this so there are no unfortunate misunderstandings later. You are far too valuable an asset to waste.”
 

Before Peter could say anything else, von Falkenstein got to his feet. “Now,” he said, “go get some rest. Because if all goes well, you will be next through the gate after our final test subject.” He clasped his hands together like an eager schoolboy. “I am so excited for you, young man! And once you and your soldiers are through without incident, I believe I will follow. The contributions I could make to the Reich as an immortal are simply incalculable.”

“Yes, sir. Incalculable.” Doing his best to conceal the tremors that had taken hold of his body, Peter got to his feet. “I’ll be in my quarters until summoned for the next watch.”
 

“Sleep well, Peter.”

Clicking his heels together and bowing his head slightly, Peter turned and limped out of von Falkenstein’s apartment, knowing that he would never be able to sleep again.

SABOTAGE

Mina contemplated the latest news from Doghouse with an odd mixture of dread and relief. She made her way slowly back to the entrance, nodding politely to the guards, before taking the elevator down to Level One. She came to stand before Peter’s door. Her hand poised to knock, she was momentarily torn with indecision. In the end, she decided he deserved to know. She believed he was a good man at heart, but, like so many others in this place, had been seduced by a power beyond his ability to fully understand.

Rapping softly on the door, she called, “
Herr
Müller?” She had to knock three more times before Peter finally answered the door.
 

Unable to help herself, Mina put her hand to her mouth. “Peter,” she whispered, “you look terrible! Are you ill?”

He hadn’t shaved, his hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, looking like bruises against his pale skin. He looked at her with an owlish expression, as if he didn’t quite recognize her.

With a quick look to make sure the corridor was clear of prying eyes, she pressed her hand on his chest and pushed him back as she stepped into the room and closed the door. His breath smelled of schnapps, and she saw a nearly empty bottle sitting on his desk beside The Black Gate and the other book he had taken from von Falkenstein’s library. A journal lay open on the blotter, the pages filled with long strings of numbers. “You should go to the infirmary.”

Peter threw his head back and laughed. “They have nothing that can cure this,” he told her.
 

“What, Peter? What is it?”

He staggered to the desk and poured himself another drink. “Didn’t your love tell you? He’s going to put me in charge of Hitler’s new super-soldiers. He apparently thinks I’m more worthy of the honor and will make sure to put the needs of the Reich first.” He held up the glass in a mock toast and then tossed it back, swallowing it all.

“No,” Mina breathed.
 

“Oh, yes. If the test is successful today, if the poor fool they send through comes out like our dear friend Subject 98-7, they’re going to send me through next, and then the first batch of soldiers. I’m going to be their commander.” He giggled and reached for the bottle again.

Mina snatched the glass from his hand and slammed it down on the desk. “Has he told Baumann?”

“No,” Peter said. He began to lean backward, and would have fallen to the floor had Mina not grabbed his belt and guided him into the chair beside the desk. “He’s saving that for after the test. I imagine Baumann will be a tad upset. Just think how angry he’d be if he really knew what I was!” He laughed again.

“This isn’t funny, Peter!” He stopped laughing when she slapped him hard across the face. “This command is everything to Baumann. Everything. He’s likely to kill you out of spite. But never mind him for now. You have a bigger problem.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?”

“My controller told me that the Allies are going to mount an attack against the facility.”

Peter blinked. “Oh? When?”

“Today.” She paused. “You need to leave.”

He snorted. “There’s nothing the Allies have that can touch this place. Our bombers have dropped thousands of tons of bombs on the viaduct and have barely scratched it, let alone done any damage to the gate chamber beneath the river. The only thing the Allies might be able to do is make an airborne assault, but they’d never get in. Even a squad of men at each entrance could hold off an entire infantry battalion.” His expression sobering, he added, “The only way they’ll destroy it is from the inside. And I promise you I’ll do just that as soon as I have what I need.” He paused, looking at her closely. “Wait. You said that I should leave. What about you?”

“I would never leave without him,” she whispered. “And he will never leave.”

Peter stared at her for a long moment, and she began to feel uncomfortable under his gaze. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he finally said.

“That is not for you to decide.” She nodded toward the bathroom. “Get yourself cleaned up. Neither Baumann nor the
Herr Professor
would tolerate anyone in such condition. You have duties to perform,
Hauptsturmführer
Müller
.
”

After she’d left, Peter sat at his desk, staring at the wall and wondering if his soon to be former wife had ever loved him as much as Mina loved von Falkenstein.
 

***

The bombardier of the lead Lancaster bomber cursed under his breath as he stared through the bomb sight. The pre-mission weather report that morning had predicted partial cloud cover, which as often as not meant that you might get a glimpse of the ground if you looked hard enough. The initial point east of Arnsberg had been clear, but as the formation flew over the loops of the Ruhr River toward the target, visibility was deteriorating rapidly.

“Bombardier to pilot,” he reported, “the soup’s getting awfully thick down there.”

“How bad?”
 

“I’m calling it marginal at best, sir.”

The pilot, who was also the strike commander, chewed his lip. He had discretion in whether to carry out the drop or call it off, but his orders made clear that this was a top priority mission. His aircraft was one of two on the raid from 617 Squadron, both of them carrying enormous twenty-two thousand pound Grand Slam bombs. Fourteen more Lancasters from 9 Squadron accompanied them, each armed with a twelve thousand pound Tallboy bomb.
 

“What’s the word, sir?” The bombardier asked, his voice tense.
 

“Make the drop if you can see the target,” the pilot finally told him. Switching to the strike radio frequency, he ordered the other planes to do the same. “If you can see the target, take the shot. Otherwise we’ll be lugging these big firecrackers home.” The Tallboys and Grand Slams were too precious to waste.
 

As the crosshairs moved steadily across the ground below, the bombardier made hair-fine adjustments to the bomb sight, which automatically sent steering signals to the pilot. The plane eased just a bit to the left.

“Almost there…” The bombardier breathed. The viaduct was visible at the top of the sight, moving toward the center, just as the clouds began to thicken. He stared through the eyepiece, willing himself to see the target. They were so close. So close.
There
.

He pressed the bomb release button. “Bomb away!” He cried as the Lancaster leapt upward, suddenly a full ten tons lighter.

***

“Turn off that infernal noisemaker!” Von Falkenstein’s angry shout was barely audible above the howling of the air raid warning that had just gone off. He had been in a foul mood that morning after being told that one of the nearby hydroelectric dams had suffered a failure in one of its generators. Hours later, full capacity had finally been restored, and von Falkenstein had immediately ordered the gate opened to the trajectory taken by Subject 98-7.
 

One of Hoth’s controllers reached over and flipped a switch, killing the klaxon.

Hoth, who hadn’t so much as glanced up when the air raid warning sounded, called out, “The gate is holding steady!”

Everyone removed their goggles at his report. Once again the doorway to Hell had been opened, this time for the final test before Peter and a company of stormtroopers were to be sent through. He stared into the featureless darkness of the gate, a mixture of fascination and dread making his stomach churn. Baumann stared into the depths, as well, an expression of rapt fascination on his face. He turned to Peter and winked.

“Sir,” Peter asked von Falkenstein, “shouldn’t you shut down the gate?”

The older man looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face. “What on Earth for?” Then realization struck. “For the air raid? No, no, we don’t interrupt operations for our Anglo-American friends. We are quite safe down here. The only thing that might threaten us is another raid against the dams, but the British have demonstrated good sense in not trying to repeat their costly attacks of last year. Besides, nearly all of the warnings are for raids bound for targets deeper in the Reich that are simply passing nearby.” He snorted. “There is little here in Arnsberg to draw their attention other than the viaduct, and that is far too stout a structure to be taken down by their puny aerial bombs.”