Part 6 (1/2)
”Ja, only worse. It's not that those areas are dead. It's what is living there. Or more accurately arising there. Creatures out of nightmares, long thought blessedly extinct from the world. New monsters. Changed things. Worse than your chupacabras.”
Deitel kept craning his neck about, nervous and unused to speaking without fear. He kept his voice low.
”For several years Reich engineers have been working with the surviving remnant of Imperial Russia to reclaim the d.a.m.ned Lands for eventual rehabilitation and resettlement. They've barely made a dent, and never venture farther than a kilometer into the interior. In their work at the edges, our scientists found that the diseases and poisons wrought by the war-the biological and chemical weapons-didn't just kill. All of those toxins and bacteria and all of the carnage of the war seem to have given rise to . . . things . . . creatures . . . in some cases what may have been men . . . whose bodies and minds had been twisted and-is there an English for it? Morphed?
”Mutated?”
”Ja. Into creatures beyond our darkest imaginings.”
Rucker snorted. ”Which is saying something, considering it's German's imagining.”
Deitel paused and scowled.
”What? Brothers Grimm is some spooky stuff, Doctor.”
”Ach. Meanwhile, the inner circle of the SS, the Black Sun, has been sending agents around the globe for years, searching for everything from Atlantis-”
”They're looking in the wrong place on that one . . .”
”-from Atlantis to mythical and supernatural artifacts that they could turn into weapons,” Deitel said. ”The creatures recovered from the d.a.m.ned Lands provided SS scientists insight into how to create other monster men that they could use as soldiers. The nachtmenn was their most successful experiment so far. But they are transgenic creatures. Project Gefallener is something else entirely.”
”Nachtmenn. Ugh. I've seen one at a distance at the French eastern frontier. Painful to look at. Unnaturalness to them,” Rucker said.
Deitel, in guarded tones, explained how some new artifact or toxin-something, the details were either unknown or not being shared at any level-had been brought back from the Balkans and applied to the transgenic experiments.
Canaris, Deitel explained, was now convinced that Black Sun and SS scientists were trying to create an entire army of mindlessly loyal warriors. They wanted to make creatures that could not be stopped and could not be reasoned with. Killers immune to mercy; unholy things that would carry Hitler and Himmler's vision to all corners of the earth.
Only, Canaris surmised, the n.a.z.i masters were dealing with powers they could not control.
Rucker turned up the collar of his leather jacket despite the mild May evening weather. His rough edges reflected his West Texas ranch upbringing, which often served as a useful camouflage for a keen mind oriented toward engineering and science. Despite what the dime novels and movies would have people think, flying was less about reflex and instinct and more about precision and mathematics. So Rucker wasn't given to superst.i.tious nonsense. He liked things he could quantify.
On the other hand, he'd been around the block, as the flappers say. Since the war, he'd been to more remote corners than many geographers knew even existed, and he'd seen acres of strange. He knew there were things in this world that science couldn't explain. He'd seen it with his own eyes in Asia and Africa and right here at home.
And he knew from other experiences that the n.a.z.i occultists and their counterparts in the Union States wanted to tap those eldritch forces, whatever they were.
But was any of it true? Rucker didn't like to think of himself as holding a grudge, but he didn't trust Germans to this day. They were either at your feet or at your throat.
But the story just played a little too fantastic for him, and also, he just didn't want to care either way because it was none of his business in the first place. Lysander was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d for continuing to pull him into these kinds of things.
”So this is the story you may full well have thrown your life in the Fatherland away for? Why?” Rucker asked.
Deitel hadn't put it into words. It was just something he knew.
”Herr Kapitan, I love my nation. I believe in Deustchland uber alles. In my veins flows the blood of Prussian n.o.bility. But I am not a n.a.z.i. I am a doctor. I didn't choose for the n.a.z.is to come to power in the Fatherland. And as proud as I am of my lineage, I didn't choose to be a highborn son of Prussia. But I did choose to take an oath to save lives and do no harm. If the price of saving lives is that I never again see my beloved country, then I will pay it.”
Rucker c.o.c.ked his head at the doctor as they walked.
”Is there a princess awakened by a kiss in your backstory?”
Ach. The Texan was infuriating. But there was no point protesting.
Deitel realized there was almost no one around.
”How much farther to this destination?” he asked.
”Two more blocks. Tell me something, Deiter-”
”Deitel. Dr. Kurt von Deitel.”
”-is this really worth your life? I mean, do you realize that this isn't just some German version of whatever you call a fraternity prank?”
Deitel noticed from the corner of his eye that Rucker had casually unsnapped the strap to his holster. He felt the blood drain from his face and a coppery taste in his mouth, but he kept walking.
”Because it would be a shame to get killed without even being aware of how real this all is,” Rucker said. ”Something like this, you could end up corpsefied and you wouldn't even see it coming.”
They kept walking, but now they were staring right into one another's eyes. Deitel didn't even realize he was holding his breath, wondering at each step when-and why-Rucker was about to shoot him down right here on this dark side street. But he could see in Rucker's cold, hardened expression that someone was about to die.
Then, somehow, Rucker's face showed a change of expression so slight he couldn't even describe it, but that told him not to turn around, to keep walking like everything was normal.
There was a clicking behind them. He saw a blur, heard steel sliding on leather while Rucker yelled ”Down!” and then a gunshot went off next to his right ear. Then another. He saw a man in a black suit and fedora fall to the ground twenty feet behind them. A machine pistol clattered to the ground next to the body.
Rucker picked Deitel off the sidewalk by the neck of his coat.
”Run!”
A car screeched to a halt at the curb and four men jumped out, chasing the pilot and the doctor. At a glance over his shoulder Deitel saw black suits, broken noses, and heavy brows.
”Rucker, they found me.”
”Run, Deitel! Stay low. They're not trying to kill us. Me, maybe, but not you. They'll want you alive.”
That was worse than being shot in the back.
The two turned a corner and ran smack into another pair of SD men.
Deitel froze, while Rucker dove into the two men without a moment's hesitation, swinging and brawling like a boxer. He'd knocked one down and had the other by the collar but dropped his pistol. In no time the four pursuing goons caught up. They took Rucker by sheer force of numbers. Not wanting to draw even more attention, the SD men holstered their weapons and went to work with their fists. They worked Rucker over like lumberjacks swinging at a stubborn redwood. But Rucker kept getting back up.
Deitel realized he was seeing something, no, two things, he hadn't before-someone standing up to German agents, and someone standing up for him.
The moment was ruined when someone stuck a suppressed Walther 9mm pistol in his face. Deitel lowered his head.
That's why he didn't see the four newcomers until he heard one of them shout, ”Hey, Fritzie” as they fell on the SD men. A full-on alley brawl erupted. The Germans weren't accustomed to men who fought back and fought back well. The flurry of fists didn't last long; the SD withdrew. As they retreated, the last SD man guarding Deitel turned his pistol at Rucker, who was struggling mightily to get to his feet with only mediocre success.
Everything slowed to a crawl.
Deitel saw a body throw itself in front of the pistol and heard its owner's voice holler ”Nein!” It was curiously like his voice. Then it came to him: it was his voice. He heard the suppressed German's Walther PPK's pop, then heard a deeper explosion like a cannon, followed by several more. The SD man's chest seemed to cave in.