Part of the Timeslingers Universe
Revision 1.0 - March 29, 2010
© 2010 J Sherer and Nathan Scheck
The Kiel Project
by J Sherer
Illustrations by Nathan Scheck
Part of the Timeslingers Universe
Revision 1.0 - March 29, 2010
© 2010 J Sherer and Nathan Scheck
Germany, 1934
"Tell him the budget is stretched too thin–"
The officer broke off his tirade in mid-sentence. The dim lighting flickered, fading to black and then dull, yellow-gray. Across the desk, a young messenger gulped, glancing up at the light bulb suspended from the ceiling. He shivered and tightened his fists. Visits to Aukervitz's office triggered enough anxiety—dealing with the irritated officer during a blackout was too much to ask.
The failing bulb surged back stronger. Aukervitz, the abrasive and demanding senior officer, rapped his fingers against the desk. The second-in-command, a former biology professor named Dr. Estelsmidt, remained calmer and more levelheaded. He was thin, with wide shoulders and a protruding jaw. Cool and calculating, his demeanor was less threatening than his superior.
"I thought I told them to fix the lighting," Aukervitz said, his eyes darting to the messenger, who still eyed the lights. "Are you listening?"
The messenger snapped to attention. "Sir."
"Tell him that if he wants to come here–"
Again his words were interrupted, this time by the brisk opening of the office door. One of the guards, outfitted in dark gray fatigues with crimson Nazi armbands, stepped inside. His boots thumped together and his chin rose, but despite the powerful entrance he seemed apprehensive.
"Yes?" Aukervitz didn't hide his annoyance.
"Sir, someone's here to see you–"
The soldier had barely finished the sentence when a figure pushed past him. A man dressed in a black suit and trench coat entered. Although none would have guessed him a year over thirty-five, his closely cropped hair was pure white. If the officers intimidated him, he didn't show it.
"What's the meaning of this?" Aukervitz bolted up from his chair. His face matched the color of the red band wrapped around his upper arm. He slammed his fist into the desk, causing the messenger to jump.
The stranger ignored his outburst. Turning to the guard, he inclined his head and spoke with a forceful calm, "You may return to your post."
The guard hesitated, glancing at each officer before saluting and hurrying back into the hallway. Estelsmidt raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. Aukervitz shoved the desk aside and kicked his chair back.
"Who do you think you are?"
"My name is Alexander Ryker."
"Who sent you? How did you get into my office?"
"Stop yelling, Herr Aukervitz. I have sensitive ears."
The threat only aggravated Aukervitz. He screamed, "Guard! Come back here!" He reached for his holster, but his hand had barely graced the Luger's grip when a p ulse of turquoise energy slammed into his chest, flinging his body into the far wall. His head made a sickening crunch and his neck whipped forward as he toppled to the floor, motionless.
Estelsmidt's jaw dropped, and the messenger shrunk back against the wall. Aukervitz's body sprawled out across the concrete. Ryker's eyes narrowed as he tucked a silver pistol back into his trench coat and clasped his hands behind his back. Frowning, he turned to Estelsmidt.
"Don't be alarmed. That was unfortunate, but necessary. I'm here to see you, Professor Estelsmidt." He glanced at the messenger. "Go. Don't report what you've seen here."
The messenger grabbed his helmet and hurried out the door. Estelsmidt stared at Aukervitz's body in stunned silence. Ryker strode to the desk and looked Estelsmidt dead in the eyes.
"I have an opportunity for you, Herr Estelsmidt. I believe you will be quite intrigued."
Sicily, 1943
"Do you have a girlfriend, Barnett?"
Private Barnett, a thin eighteen-year-old kid with big ears, shook his head. Removing his helmet, he ran his hand through short spikes of blonde hair before sitting down next to Private Eckstein.
"Not one of us has a girlfriend? Just Anderson?" Private Eckstein continued. "That's a tragedy. That is just a shame-"
"Actually, Anderson's married. So, technically none of us," Barnett said.
Eckstein, a short kid from New York with big features, raised a pair of prolific black eyebrows. "Anderson's married? Since when?"
"Ever since I've known you, Eck." Anderson exited the building behind them in time to catch the last part of their conversation. Leaning against the doorway, he held up his ring finger to prove his point.
"That's impossible! You told me you had a girlfriend. You never said wife."
"You just don't listen."
Eckstein waved off the last comment. "Ah, whatever. I'm just sayin', we're doin' somethin' wrong. Handsome soldiers like us? They should be all over us."
"I know why Barnett doesn't have a girl," said Anderson.
"Why's that?"
"Cause he hangs out with you all the time."
Eckstein shook his head and gave Anderson a sarcastic laugh. Barnett just smiled, wiped his forehead, and watched the road while the other two GIs passed the time bantering. Every now and then soldiers would saunter past, saying a few words or waving, but for the most part the sleepy street remained quiet. They had taken Sicily; now came the waiting. Orders to continue deeper into Europe would come, but not soon enough. Their "well-deserved rest" was getting old.
"Hey," Anderson said, kicking Eckstein after a long pause in the conversation. "Who's this?"
The three stood and watched a jeep approach, expecting to salute as it drove by. But rather than blow through, the jeep slowed, coming to a complete stop in front of them. A rough-looking, crotchety captain climbed down off the jeep. Barnett, Anderson, and Eckstein stood rigid, saluting, but a hint of excitement played on each of their faces.
"Sergeant McEnroe?"
"Inside, sir," said Anderson.
The captain nodded, waved for the driver to keep the jeep running, and strode into building. Once the captain disappeared inside, Eckstein relaxed and dusted off his coat and trousers. He threw a quick glance at the jeep's driver before leaning in closer to his companions. "They tell you he was comin'? I'm a mess."
"What do you think he's doing here?" asked Barnett.
Anderson shrugged. "We'll have to wait and see."
They didn't have to wait long. Their superior, Sergeant McEnroe, appeared in the doorway minutes later and motioned to them. "Morning fellas. Captain Peters would like a word with youus."
The sergeant waited until they had all entered before heading in after them. A former restaurant, the building had once been full of life, merriment, and celebration. Not anymore. Now, it was just a mess, a scrap heap. Broken tables and busted chairs littered the room, and a layer of dust covered even the most obscure places. Captain Peters stood at the only table still intact with his arms crossed. A map sprawled out across the table.
"Privates Eckstein, Barnett, and Anderson, sir" McEnroe said. "I consider these three the finest our company as to offer."
Captain Peters scrutinized them with a pair of sharp blue eyes beneath thick, unkempt eyebrows. "At ease, gentlemen. We have a situation—just brought to our attention. Your company is moving out tomorrow morning, traveling north. You won't be with them. The four of you leave tonight."
The captain stepped around the table, continuing, "We need you boys to help us take care of some unpleasant business." He pointed to the map. "One of our allies in Denmark sent us a report six days ago. Seems the Germans have built some kind of underground research facility near Kiel in northern Germany. We don't have much information, and almost no idea of what they're doing up there, but the Danes seem to think it's something big. Knowing the Nazis, I'm inclined to agree.
"I need evidence. You four are headed there to take a look around. We've arranged for you to travel aboard a supply ship headed into Denmark. It's swarming with Germans, so it won't be easy to get you in. From there, our contact will help you get to the German border. You'll be shown the facility's approximate location. Watch, learn, and bring back a report."
"Permission to speak, sir?" McEnroe interrupted. The captain nodded. "Is it just us four?"
"Yes. The more men we put on the ground, the more dangerous this becomes. I'll be honest, if all of you come back, I'll be happy, but I'll be surprised. I'd like to send the whole army up there to wipe this place out, but that's not going to happen. I've just got you four." The captain smirked.
"Are we supposed to enter the facility?" McEnroe asked.
"That's up to you, but just getting there is gonna be tough. Entering and engaging will be a stretch, but if you feel so inclined, go right ahead."
Anderson cleared his throat, "What kind of facility is this, sir?"
"A laboratory of some kind, possibly a testing facility or a manufacturing plant. That's why we're sending you down there—to figure out what's really going on. If they're building something new, we want to know what it is." The captain clasped his hands behind his back. "I'll tell you what we know, but it ain't half of what we should."
Germany, 1943
Officer Estelsmidt sifted through the stack of papers on his desk. It grew like an unruly hedge, every morning defying his attempts to chop it down. His eyes skimmed the first document in the pile and hit the more important points. Finishing the first, he shook his head and moved to the next. Good news rarely appeared.
"Too many deaths," Estelsmidt mumbled to himself.
Suddenly the office door swung open. Estelsmidt didn't bother to look up; he knew it was Ryker. The outsider was the only one willing to barge in unannounced. A cold breeze snaked through the room until Ryker shut the door. He strode to the center of the room.
"Good afternoon, Herr Ryker," said Estelsmidt, keeping his eyes transfixed on the reports. He sorted through another document before tossing it back into the pile in frustration.
"You're nine months behind schedule."
Estelsmidt peered over his bifocals at Ryker. "What you're asking is impossible. We've already had three deaths this week. Our engineers can't understand your blueprints. I can't help them because I've never seen anything like them in my life."
"In due time, Professor, all in due time," Ryker said.
"I don't have time! You said it yourself—nine months! Our funding is in danger of being cut off. They're starting to ask more questions. They want results! I'm giving them body bags!"
A loud knock interrupted them. Estelsmidt tried to compose himself, rubbing his temples and attempting to get his fingers to stop shaking. After a deep breath, he called for the visitor to enter. The door swung open to reveal a thin man in a white lab coat stained with blood. Seeing Ryker, the man hesitated, offering a slight bow of acknowledgement. Pushing his glasses back, he waited for Estelsmidt to speak.
"Another death?"
"No! We've completed the transplants and administered the serum," the scientist said excitedly. "He's alive! His vital signs are good, although his heart rate is above normal."
"That's to be expected," Ryker offered. "Shall we take a look at our creation?"
Estelsmidt rose from his chair and gave them a slight nod. The scientist scurried out of the room, followed by Estelsmidt. Ryker paused, waiting until the two were out of range before engaging his communicator.
"They've done it." A sly smile crept across his lips as he closed the office door and followed his eager companions.
Barnett, Anderson, Eckstein, and McEnroe huddled around a small stove in the center of their underground bunker, the stone walls of which retained little heat. The GIs had endured miserable conditions for months. Summer had quickly become fall, and winter chased fall away before the autumn leaves had even hit the ground. Winter proved worst. Since arriving in Denmark they had faced damp, soggy weather. Mud clung to everything, keeping them cold and wet.
"I'll take the ship over this," Eckstein said, referring to the supply ship that had carried them into Denmark over a month and a half ago. Since leaving Sicily, every step of the journey had been a dangerous one, but they had managed to arrive safely on the outskirts of Kiel, Germany with the help of several anti-Nazi sympathizers.
"You puked every day," Anderson snickered.
"At least I had something to puke. I haven't eaten a decent meal since we got here."
A slight tap sounded against the front door. Sergeant McEnroe stood and motioned for the others to be ready in case a random German patrol had stumbled across the bunker. It was more habit than necessary precaution; the bunker rested in the middle of nowhere, but McEnroe always planned for the worst—it kept his men alive.
As the other three readied their weapons and braced themselves for a fight the sergeant opened the thick wooden door. Weston, their Danish contact, stood outside clutching a paper bag loaded with supplies. He gave each GI a solemn greeting as he entered and set the bag down on one of their flimsy cots. Moving to the stove, he knelt and spread a map across the floor. The others huddled at his shoulder.
"You've seen the maps," Weston said through a heavy accent. Part of the underground, anti-Nazi force in Denmark, he was thin—more from stress and lack of nourishment than natural build—and resilient, with wide shoulders and a sinewy forearms. His accent made it difficult to understand him when he to spoke faster out of excitement, but he was surprisingly fluent in English. "This was drawn last week." He pointed at the diagram. "The German facility in greater detail."
"When do we leave?" McEnroe asked.
"Soon. Perhaps tomorrow. I will guide you most of the way, but I can't stay with you. We know where the heaviest patrols are, so you should encounter only minor resistance until you reach the laboratory."
"Any new info about what they're up to?" Anderson wondered aloud.
"Only guessesbut we think it may be an advanced weapons system."
"Weapons system?" Eckstein said.
Weston grimaced, speaking hesitantly. "You will think I'm crazy, but we believe they are trying to create asuper soldier. Withpowers."
"Powers? What kind of powers? Like Superman?" said Eckstein.
Weston's face went blank with confusion. McEnroe threw Eckstein a frown and asked Weston to continue. "Great strength, invincibility, and the ability to move things without touching them. I haven't seen these things myself, but rumors are spreading."
The sergeant glanced around the huddle. The Dane's story had created a heightened sense of worry that could be read across the GIs' faces. Weston's report wasn't helping morale. McEnroe nodded and rose to his feet. "We'll be ready."
"Good," Weston said. "We need to be swift. Something has delayed them recently, but they are close." He turned, marching for the door. "I brought food, but not much. I'm sorry. Tomorrow I will come with new orders. We move with the fog."
The soldiers gave Weston half-hearted goodnights as he left. The weight of their impending mission weighed heavily on their shoulders. The room turned sober. Eckstein moved to the brown paper bag and pulled out the canned goods. "It ain't gourmet, but I'll take it." The other three moved to the fire and Eckstein continued. "Superman soldiers? Anybody else get the feeling this guy is nuts?"
Estelsmidt fumed, grinding his teeth together like a vice and placing his hands on his hips. His eyes ran over the blood spattered floor and the walls of the laboratory's eastern wing. Another failure. Bullet riddled bodies and a dismantled computer terminal clearly communicated their progress. They had managed to keep one of the soldiers alive after implanting the electronic chips and the reinforced armor plating into his body, but a line of code in the mainframe computer had been riddled with bugs. The test soldier had gone berserk, rampaging through the laboratory on a mass killing spree.
One of the guards stared at Estelsmidt as if in a trance. His machinegun still smoked, and his arms trembled. Snapping out of his reverie, he smeared the blood off his face with a rag and removed his helmet. Momentary silence snaked into a room too stunned to speak.
Estelsmidt spun on his heel, striding back toward his office. He shouted over his shoulder, "Clean up this mess! You, follow me."
The scientist nodded, wiping his forehead with quivering fingers and falling into step behind Estelsmidt. Yanking his office door open, Estelsmidt exploded into the room. The scientist approached with trepidation, closing the door gently once inside. He turned and jumped, startled to see Estelsmidt's mysterious liaison—the stranger that came and left suddenly—standing next to the officer's desk. Besides the former professor, no one knew who the stranger was, and Estelsmidt refused to reveal his partner's identity.
Always calm, Ryker shifted his weight and watched. Estelsmidt stopped at his desk. His jaw clenched and relaxed as he considered his words.
"Four of my best men are dead! This vile beast we created killed them. It took three soldiers several machine gun rounds to bring him down! An entire mainframe terminal is in ruins!"
"Every project has its setbacks."
"Project? They destroyed half our equipment to bring the mutant down! The project no longer exists! Are you mad? How can you ask me to do the impossible?"
Ryker reached into his coat pocket, extracting a small, circular disk. "The answer to your problems." Lifting the case at his feet, he set it on the desk and pushed a button. A screen emerged. Ryker slid the circular disk into a slot in the case. "It will be decades before you're able to properly deal with the circuitry needed to control an Armor Reinforced Computer-controlled soldier. I underestimated the effort, but I've found the solution."
"What is it?"
"You wouldn't understand if I told you," Ryker said. "I'll help you create a new ARC soldier. The refined coding should work. It took hundreds of years to make what you have been attempting to manufacture in less than ten." He paused, looking up. "Despite your perceived failure, you have no idea how far you've come. I selected you for a reason. We're going to change history, Dr. Estelsmidt, and you're going to get all the credit."
Estelsmidt's eyes narrowed as he watched Ryker's fingers pound away at the case. He swallowed hard and turned to the wide-eyed scientist waiting for orders. "Make sure they're cleaning everything up. See that we salvage as much equipment as we can."
The scientist nodded and hurried off before his superior changed his mind. Estelsmidt placed a finger on his chin and watched the stranger in brooding silence.
McEnroe kept low, winding from tree to tree in the sparse grove. He came to another bush, knelt, and motioned for Anderson to come alongside him. Deep, gray fog obscured their vision as they slogged through the muddy terrain, but their adrenaline kept them warm as they wormed their way toward the hidden laboratory. Anderson put a knee into the muck next to McEnroe and kept his head low.
"It shouldn 't be far, now," McEnroe whispered. "See that grove of trees there? I think that's just a cover. There's some kind of generator in there."
"If the map's right, it should be a hundred feet east," Anderson said. "That would put it just to the left of that grove."
"I don't understand why there isn't a German patrol anywhere near here. Keep your eyes open. We're missing something."
Quietly creeping forward, the four GIs approached with caution. The reconnaissance from Weston led them to believe the laboratory was well guarded, but as of yet they hadn't seen a soul. The closer they came to the grove of trees, the deeper McEnroe's frown became. Something was wrong. He paused and held up a fist.
Silence.
Barnett's eyes grew wide as he stared at the far side of the clustered trees. He poked Eckstein in the ribs and pointed. The privates stood in rapt awe, their mouths dropping open. McEnroe squinted through the haze, trying to get a read on their line of sight. His lip twitched. The edge of the tree line, barely visible through the fog, was in ruin, as if some monster had yanked the trees out of the ground like garden weeds. They lay haphazardly on their sides; their exposed roots caked with mud.
Suddenly a hydraulic lift began to move somewhere nearby, shattering the quiet. McEnroe spun, his eyes darting over the terrain. Just left of the grove, not far from the displaced trees, the moss-coated ground rose up. A secret door slid open, revealing two Nazi soldiers as they exited the hidden laboratory. The GIs hit the ground and watched.
The large hydraulic door angled upward out of the ground, wide enough to let several men pass through at a time, but when closed it blended into the terrain. McEnroe searched for a switch or button that might open it, but if there was one, it was well disguised.
The Nazis stayed close to the entrance, chatting and lighting a pair of cigarettes. McEnroe turned back to his men. He signaled for Barnett to remain at a distance and ready his sniper rifle. The other two followed the sergeant's lead, spreading out to circle the grove in order to shut-off any means of escape.
They crouched low and moved carefully through the fog. Barnett sidled up to a clear position at the base of a thin tree. His line of sight was unhindered except by the thick mist. He aligned his shot, and then watched the others weave toward the door. His heart pounded against his ribcage, but he began his breathing exercises as his finger slid over the trigger.
The three American GIs closed in, forming a semicircle around the two Nazis. Anderson and Eckstein watched for the sergeant's signal, knowing they would have to be quick to take the guards and storm the door before it closed. McEnroe stared. His hand hovered in mid air. Seconds seemed like hours. The privates held their breath.
McEnroe's arm fell. They charged.
Ryker stood, arms crossed, beside the mainframe computer while a technician tinkered with the last remaining circuit board. He scrutinized the technician's every move, ensuring that each connection functioned properly. Another setback could ruin the entire operation. On the table behind Ryker an ARC soldier lay strapped to a hospital bed. A Nazi helmet had been fused to his skull, and sensors ran through his ear canals into his brain. Commands could be delivered remotely through the mainframe, and the circuitry running through his body allowed for the creation of an outer shell, an energy shield, highly resistant to projectile weapons. For armament, the ARC soldier carried a standard machinegun and something much more powerful, an iron sleeve grafted to his forearms. The sleeve gave him the ability to cluster energy and use it to move objects at a distance without ever touching them. The mechanized soldier, half-human, half-robot, was invincible.
Estelsmidt watched in resolute silence as his scientists prodded the soldier with needles, carefully monitoring his condition. Tension sat in the laboratory like a pit bull in a glass house. Estelsmidt had given strict orders. Success was required. The operation was terrifying and ugly, but Ryker assured Estelsmidt that the end result was worth the pain. Swallowing the lump in his throat, the former professor hoped Ryker was right. If the last ARC soldier were any indication, they were moments away from another appalling mess.
Ryker left the ground floor and climbed the steel staircase to where Estelsmidt watched from the platform above. If the experiment failed, the platform was the safest place to be. Ryker stepped up to his partner. "Don't look so scared, Professor. We're about to change history. Once that circuit board has been installed, we'll have the first of our 'future' soldiers." Estelsmidt tried to smile, but his false grin couldn't hide his anxiety. Ryker laughed. "Just wait until I return to my time with the good news."
Estelsmidt's stomach turned, and he stepped aside to leave. With his first step came the sound of gunfire. He spun, looking up at the laboratory entrance. A guard atop the staircase leading to the entrance tunnel paused, glancing up. Two bullets slammed into his chest before he could react. He tumbled backward, falling fifteen feet to the cement floor. Estelsmidt bolted for cover, shouting:
"We're being attacked!"
Ryker grit his teeth and swore. He reached for the pistol inside his coat as the GIs charged the entrance platform. They came in hot. Anderson and McEnroe exited the tunnel first, crouching and firing in quick bursts. Barnett and Eckstein followed, keeping their guns trained on the laboratory below, but stalling at the tunnel's entrance to cover the others.
The laboratory's main room separated Ryker and Estelsmidt's vantage point from the GIs on the entrance tunnel platform. On the ground floor, a huge mainframe computer leaned against the left wall. In the room's center, four Nazi guards surrounded three operating tables. Boxes were strewn along the right wall where a hallway led to additional rooms and offices. Beneath the platform where Estelsmidt and Ryker stood, blueprints hung from the wall beside a set of palettes stacked with steel.
Estelsmidt ducked behind the platform's railing and shouted at the guards. Ryker fired pulses of energy at the GIs as he bolted for the staircase. The Americans returned fire, forcing Ryker to duck low as he scrambled down the stairs. Reaching the ground floor, he dove behind the steel-laden palettes. Anderson and McEnroe ducked back into the tunnel to reload as the Nazi's scrambled for cover and shouted curses in German. Eckstein and Barnett collapsed back alongside their companions.
"What is this place?" Eckstein asked between gulps of air. "Hospital beds? Some huge box with blinking lights?"
"We need to make a final push inside. I go first. You two stay close. Barnett, set yourself up at the top of the staircase and pick them off one-by-one. When I'm on the staircase, lob a grenade or two at those hospital beds. This has to be hard and fast. We're in too deep for surveillance now. Ready?" McEnroe didn't wait for their nods. "Go!"
They p oured out of the tunnel and onto the platform. McEnroe and Anderson clambered down the stairs while Barnett took a knee. Eckstein loosed a grenade and yanked the pin out, but as his arm went back he saw Ryker take aim. Turquoise fire exploded into the iron girders supporting the staircase. The metal groaned, melting in seconds and crumpling inward. Eckstein toppled into the railing, managing to grab a hold of the platform before tumbling down with the rest of the staircase. The grenade slipped, but his fingers clamped tighter just before the clip released.
Ryker backed toward the mainframe and the computer terminal. He shouted curses at the scientists as they scurried for cover. "The terminal! Get to the terminal and execute the program!"
The staircase crashed into the cement. Anderson and McEnroe half-fell, half-rolled to the ground. They had been close enough to the bottom to avoid serious injury, but Barnett and Eckstein didn't fair as well. The railing Eckstein had used to steady himself buckled. Barnett dove to grab his arm, but too late. Eckstein lost his grip, falling fifteen feet to the floor. His left leg hit first, snapping on impact. He cried out in pain, losing control of the grenade and tossing it back over his shoulder. Barnett slid off the platform behind Eckstein, only he fell torso first. His shoulder jammed into the cement, dislocating on impact. His helmet bashed the concrete and cracked open, but saved his skull.
Ryker reached the mainframe and shoved the last, unfinished circuit board into place. Spinning, he shouted commands at the scientist punching numbers into the terminal. The technician completed the waking sequence as Eckstein's grenade arched through the air. The ARC soldier's eyes snapped open, revealing only white pupils backed by integrated vision sensors. He sat up as the grenade fell toward him. A yellow burst of energy encircled him just before the impact. The explosion ricocheted off the spherical shield, leaving the ARC soldier unscarred. Ryker grinned as the mechanized warrior pushed himself off the bed.
Estelsmidt's eyes widened as his fears became reality. The mutant creation could prove more disastrous than the invading GIs. The ARC soldier paused beside the bed, allowing his programming to monitor the room and assess the scenario. His human brain had been grafted to advanced technology, an abomination of intelligence and technical skill.
Anderson and McEnroe jumped up and rushed to their companions. McEnroe knelt beside Eckstein. "You all right?"
"Leg's broke. Don't worry about it. Just take care of these freaks."
Anderson checked Barnett's pulse. "He's unconscious, but alive."
"Did you see that grenade? It shoulda ripped him open!" Eckstein said through clenched teeth.
"Stay alert," the sergeant ignored Eckstein's comment. "Give us some cover fire if you can, but don't do anything stupid!"
Remembering the carnage the last ARC soldier inflicted, the Nazi guards panicked. Estelsmidt shouted for them to stay put, but they refused and bolted toward the hallway leading back to the barracks and offices. Ryker frowned and shook his head, but said nothing as his eyes widened with infatuation while he watched his creation.
The mechanized soldier locked onto his fleeing comrades. Extending his steel-encased arm, he launched a clear current of energy at the nearest guard, still twenty feet away. The current, barely visible, grabbed the retreating Nazi guard and lifted him into the air. He screamed in te rror as the ARC soldier wrenched him off his feet, tossing him backwards into one of the hospital beds. The Nazi landed hard and scrambled to get to his feet, but the ARC soldier already loomed above him. Grabbing the machinegun wrapped around the guard's neck, the mechanized soldier took aim at McEnroe and Anderson.
The GIs scattered for cover as bullets pinged across the cement floor. Two Nazi guards clambered by, racing toward the hallway, but the third pitched forward as the ARC soldier's machinegun fire tore through his back. As the guard's blood seeped out onto the floor the ARC soldier paused, twitched, and then spasmed violently. Something was wrong. Ryker's smile vanished. He cursed and moved to the terminal, throwing the technician out of the way.
The ARC soldier snapped back to attention, raising his steel arm. The Nazi guards, having nearly made it to the hallway, were ripped from their feet and hurled into the wall. Their bones splintered as they smashed into the concrete. Above, on the platform, Estelsmidt watched in stunned disbelief. It was happening again. Another malfunction. He wasn't safe on the platform, not with the ARC soldier's advanced weapons system. The concentrated energy that enabled the mutant soldier to move objects from a distance would destroy even its creator. Estelsmidt was no longer a commanding officer—he was a target. He jumped up, abandoning the platform and scrambling down the stairs.
McEnroe spotted Estelsmidt as he reached the bottom step. Leaping, he tackled the German officer and shoved him up against a nearby box. Estelsmidt fought to stand, but the sergeant pinned him down. Anderson provided a round of cover fire before retreating back to his superior.
"Stay down!" said McEnroe. "Order them to stop or I shoot!"
"We must get away!" Estelsmidt yelled frantically. "He's going to kill us!"
"Not 'til you tell us what's going on!" McEnroe threw a quick glance back over his shoulder at the mechanized soldier, who turned his attention to their corner. "Shut him down now!"
"We're going to die! Our experiment is—Ryker! Ask Ryker!"
McEnroe spotted the black trench coat hovering over the terminal across the room. "Who is he? Who does he work for?"
"I don't know. He travels—through time! He gave us the blueprints and the technology. I–"
Before the former professor could finish the sentence the ARC soldier lifted his arm. The three hospital beds levitated at his command. He snapped his arm forward as if throwing a baseball, and the beds hurtled toward them, colliding with a set of wood boxes only a few feet away. The boxes and beds shattered to pieces and careened in all directions, leaving the GIs and Estelsmidt wide open for another attack. Anderson pulled McEnroe off the Nazi professor as the ARC soldier yanked a long piece of railing off the platform and chucked it at them. Estelsmidt screamed as the makeshift javelin punched through his shoulder. His eyes grew wide, and he coughed up blood.
Anderson slammed another clip into his machinegun. "He's lifting that stuff without touching it! And that shield—I can't get a single round through it!"
"We need to get to the guy in the trench coat—Ryker. That soldier is human, but something is giving him his power."
The ARC soldier spun, locking onto Ryker, who cursed and jumped aside as a stream of bullets pounded the wall where he had just been. A shower of sparks erupted from the terminal like fireworks. Ryker clenched his jaw. The terminal was useless. All means of con trol were gone. He stood, glanced back at the ARC soldier, and then turned to leave. McEnroe and Anderson blocked his path with leveled weapons.
"Shut him down!" said McEnroe, indicating the ARC soldier.
Ryker seethed. "You have no idea what you've done. It would have worked! It would have changed everything!"
"It's over. Order him to stop!"
Ryker shoved his hand into his trench coat. Anderson and McEnroe opened fire, but too late. A swirl of green energy spun through the air like a small tornado and vanished before their bullets even came close. Ryker disappeared with it.
The Gis didn't have time to marvel. The ARC soldier opened fire. A bullet shredded McEnroe's boot, pushing straight through his ankle. Grinding his teeth in pain, he shoved a clip into his gun. Anderson ducked behind a metal box fifteen feet away and peeked back at the sergeant. McEnroe spat, "Attack as one. Give him everything you've got. That shield has to give!"
Anderson nodded, but they didn't have time to act. A steady stream of bullets pelted the ARC soldier's outer shield from across the room as Eckstein emptied his clip. The mechanized soldier whirled back around, turning his attention to the wounded GIs. Eckstein swore and hurled his machinegun at the ARC soldier, who swatted it out of the air and pulled the trigger of his own gun. Click. It was empty. Tossing it aside, he extended the steel-encased arm and pulled Eckstein off the ground from forty feet away. Eckstein clasped his neck as invisible hands wound around it, choking him.
"Now!" shouted McEnroe. The GIs rolled out from their cover as one and assaulted their prey with lead.
The shield held, but the barrage caught the ARC soldier's attention. He dropped Eckstein, whose fractured leg crunched into the concrete floor a second time. Before he could scream, the private blacked out. The ARC soldier let the GIs' salvo ping off his shield as he twisted to see what else he could use as a weapon. Pointing his iron arm back behind him, the ARC soldier lifted the mainframe computer into the air. The GIs bullets continued to tap against the mutant soldier's energy shield like rain drops on a tank. McEnroe and Anderson watched the mainframe hover in the air, any hope of surviving the battle quickly fading. The mainframe plunged forward. They leapt aside as the computer collided with the wall behind them, just a few feet from where they had been. Sparks exploded through the laboratory.
McEnroe gulped for breath. They were finished. Nothing they had could bring down their enemy. He stared at the hole in his blood soaked boot where the bullet had punched through. Eckstein and Barnett were unconscious. Anderson looked as though he'd been dragged through hell. Their mission was a failure. Sitting up, McEnroe pulled his last grenade. If he could get close enough, maybe even inside his adversary's shield, he could detonate the grenade. It was their only hope. He pulled the pin.
Springing up, McEnroe stumbled forward, hobbling toward the monster with a renewed battle cry. As he turned the corner around one of the boxes he stopped abruptly. The ARC soldier froze. His face cringed and he threw his head back and screamed. Machinegun fire rattled from across the room, pelting the ARC soldier's chest. He lurched backwards and collapsed. Smoke rose from his seared skin. The stench of decaying flesh and electrical fire wafted through the room as the ARC soldier twitched a final time.
Anderson ran to McEnroe's side and helped him to his feet. The sergeant grunted, his breathing heavy. He slid the pin back into his grenade and sighed. Anderson looked across the room to where Barnett had dragged himself, firing the last rounds of his machinegun into the unshielded ARC soldier. Barnett gave them a tired wave and tried to scoot himself back to Eckstein.
"It was that box," said Anderson, glancing back at the mainframe. "The box gave him his power." He shook his head. "Am I dreaming, Sergeant? Did that guy—Ryker? Did hedisappear?"
McEnroe ignored Anderson's questions. He pointed back toward the hallway. "Let's see if we can find some dynamite. Whatever they're doing here isn't leaking out."
Anderson nodded and moved to help his companions. McEnroe leaned back against one of the boxes labeled clearly with a black swastika. Staring at the fallen ARC soldier, he thanked God he was still alive.
New York, 1946
The FBI agent wrinkled his nose. "Super soldier? What do you mean? Like Superman?"
"I told you everything I saw, sir," McEnroe said. "That's all I know."
The agent rubbed his temples. "This isn't what we like to hear, Captain. Men from the futuresuper soldierswhat do you expect me to believe?"
"None of it, sir."
The FBI agent paced back and forth. The war was over. Nearly two years had passed since the incident outside Kiel. The GIs had managed to escape alive, barely, but they had spent an additional several months in a German prison after surrendering in Kiel. Now, the FBI was grilling them—all part of the debriefing procedure, or so they were told. The agent, a middle-aged man with a big jaw and a thick mustache, paused.
"I'd probably recommend carting you off to the asylum if it weren't for some of the other reports we've heard," he said, crossing his arms. "The other three are saying the same thing. And there're all the other reports. I'm almost inclined to believe you. Maybe this character in the trench coat really is off gallivanting through time making my life miserable. That makes more sense than some of the things I've heard."
"I'm not even sure I believe it, sir, but I don't have any other explanation for it."
"Time travel." The agent shook his head and stood. "That's all, Captain. Thanks for your time."
"Of course, sir." McEnroe strode to the door, opened it, and then paused. "There have been other reports? Besides ours?"
"That's classified. Don't worry, though. Yours isn't the only story I've wondered about."
McEnroe nodded and left, shutting the door. The FBI agent wiped his brow with a handkerchief as a swirl of yellow energy rose up in the center of the room. A broad shouldered man in a blue suit appeared. His head was shaved clean and he wore a dark pair of sunglasses. He clasped his hands behind his back as the FBI agent lit a cigarette.
"They tried to help the Nazis win the war?" the newly arrived man asked.
"The XLS will try anything. Makes sense, right? Two fanatical groups aiding each other—forcing me to work longer hours and take up smoking again."
"Make sure you clean everything up. We got Ryker, but the others are still out there."
"Will do," the FBI agent nodded. "Wanna get a donut?"
"I don't have time. See ms another one of their agents is working with General E. Lee. He's trying to introduce machine guns to the Confederates."
"Never stops, does it? Not for us timeslingers, anyway."
"No." The bald man pursed his lips. "No, it doesn't."
The agent grinned as the yellow swirl engulfed the large man. Half a second later he was gone. Chuckling, the FBI man turned to leave. He switched off the lights in the office and exited the room whistling.
THE END
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