Origins: The Reich Read online

  Chin unloaded his pistol into the figure blocking their path as if he expected the result to be any different than before. It was not.

  “How about we try something different,” Frank huffed while looking side to side for options. He spotted a ten-foot tall, glass enclosed case displaying an assorted collection of medieval weapons and made up his mind. He crashed shoulder first through the transparent barrier to a chorus of glass shards shattering on the tiled floor. Without pause, he yanked a rack holding a dozen pole mounted spears and axes away from the cabinet’s back wall, spilling them out onto the floor with a deafening clatter.

  Frank wrapped his hands around a particularly menacing looking halberd. He then swung the axe mounted atop an eight-foot pole with all his might toward one of the two clay warriors blocking their path. The sideways blow caught it just under the armpit at an upward angle. With the weight of the weapon combined with sharpness of the blade and velocity of the swing, Frank managed to cleave off the creature’s left arm and most of its head.

  The mighty blow threw Frank hopelessly off balance and sent him stumbling toward the deformed target and its companion. He would have met his end right then and there were it not for the quick actions of Chin and his security guard. Both had followed Frank’s example and armed themselves with weaponry from the case. With the swing of a double-edged axe, Chin rendered the first clay soldier an armless stump while his companion brought down a long-handled war hammer to the sternum of the second clay soldier.

  The clay warrior’s chest cavity caved in an instant before the entire body was sent crashing to the tiled floor. The wet clay form seemed to harden back into petrified clay on its way to the floor and shattered on impact. Where the warrior once stood, a bright flowing red flame hovered for a moment before dissipating into the thin air almost before the mind could process what it saw.

  With their escape path now unimpeded, Frank expected to feel four bodies rush past him for the exit, but he only detected two; Chin and his man. He looked back to find Professor Russell and Alex standing motionless.

  “You waitin’ for a marching band to show you the way? Run, you idiots,” Frank commanded as he gave them both a good yank in the right direction.

  Frank stole one last look behind and noticed the blue flashes had stopped, piquing his curiosity. Why, did they run out of statues to animate already? He paid the observation little mind as he had far more pressing issues to deal with at the moment.

  The retreating group did not stop to admire the artifacts and close up view of the clay figures on display in the museum’s grand entryway; they had already been privy that particular experience. The small group burst out of the building to find the open-air courtyard a virtual parking lot bristling with military hardware. Mengshi off-road vehicles, the Chinese equivalent of a Humvee, with roof mounted fifty-caliber machine guns, troop transport trucks, and two armored personnel carriers rounding out an arching barricade of lethal force to contain the threat.

  Behind the vehicles stood no fewer than five hundred armed soldiers waiting for something to shoot. Frank and company all raised their arms in surrender, but continued running toward the safety provided by the barricade.

  Feeling somewhat secure among the heavy firepower, Frank turned and looked upon the front façade of the museum to assess any holes in the security net thrown around the building.

  All three doors and both windows on either side of the single story building’s entrance were dark and showed no signs of activity. Behind the entrance rose a wall of windows under the arched roofline that stood three stories tall and covered the actual soldier pits. These expansive windows were eerily dark as well.

  Frank strained his eyes in an attempt to see even the slightest hint of activity inside or outside the building, but all he saw were long, dark shadows. His stomach tied itself into knots when he saw the strobing blue flashes commence once more through the high arching windows above the entrance. Moments later the glass all along the roofline and ground level exploded outward as the strobing blue rays backlit a full frontal assault.

  Hundreds of clay soldiers poured out of every exit point. Some ran straight ahead while others leapfrogged each other, and more bounded down from the roof to take the fortified Chinese line by storm. Every barrel along the line ran hot as the soldiers fired at will.

  The puny handguns and rifles of the foot soldiers did nothing to slow the onslaught. The fifty-caliber guns mounted on the vehicles fared slightly better, causing a few figures to stagger backwards a step or two when hit. However, it was the equivalent of swinging a fly swatter at a locust swarm.

  Frag grenades sent several clay figures flailing through the air, but those creatures managed to land feet first and keep right on charging. The Chinese commander soon realized the futility of his efforts and bellowed his order to retreat, but it was too late for most. His men were thrown through the air or crushed under foot as the clay soldiers armed themselves with the weapons of their vanquished foes and truly began pressing their advantage.

  Frank looked straight ahead in time to see a Mengshi driver stomp on the gas in an attempt to run over one of the clay soldiers. The mighty figure lowered its shoulder and dug in its heels as the heavy vehicle hit the thing at over thirty miles per hour. The Mengshi came to an abrupt halt and sent the driver through the windshield to land lifeless on the hood while the clay soldier showed no signs of damage whatsoever.

  The warrior turned its head and eyed Frank for a moment to assess the threat level of his group. Since all five of them were now unarmed, the animated clay soldier moved away to address the nearest threat. This left the vehicle idling in front of them, ready for the taking.

  “Get in,” Frank ordered and did not wait to see if they obeyed his words. He jumped into the driver’s seat, heard three doors open and shut, which prompted him to put the pedal to the metal. He took every precaution to give any clay soldiers he saw a wide berth as he navigated his way out of the compound.

  On their way out, they spotted a flurry of heavy vehicles heading toward the museum compound with helicopter gunships in close support.

  “We need to reach that nearby army base,” Chin said softly with an air of frustrated futility behind his words. “Take a left at the next street and go straight for five miles. You can’t miss it.”

  “Then what?” Frank asked, yielding no reply.

  Chapter 3: Bright Idea

  “All right, show me what we’ve got,” Terrance said to Commander Allen, the SEAL team leader who stood before him with his feet shoulder width apart and his hands clasped behind his back.

  In response, the stocky red-haired soldier opened his stance and gestured toward the command tent. “There’s something inside the tent that you need to see, sir.”

  Commander Allen beckoned for one of his men to join them on their way to the fabric pyramid. “My team engineer will walk you through what you are about to see.”

  The engineer reached the tent first, held open the door, and soon followed his commanding officer and Terrance into the structure. Sitting atop a folding table in the middle of the twenty-by-twenty foot fabric enclosed room sat a laptop computer with a set of screensaver lines dancing across the display. Already seated at the table with his legs politely crossed was an Egyptian military officer who rose to greet the new entrants.

  “This is Colonel Azire. He’s our liaison with the Egyptian military while we’re in his country,” Commander Allen announced to Terrance. “He’s already aware of what you are about to see.”

  An inconvenient obstacle, Terrance thought. He huffed a dismissive sound toward the Colonel and focused his attention on the computer monitor. “Well?”

  The SEAL team engineer needed no further prodding. He sat in front of the computer, wiggled the mouse, and proceeded to give a brief mission history while waiting for the device to come alive. “We placed ground receptors around the perimeter of the Giza plateau and employed the Lacrosse Aperture Recon Satellite to bounce a signal down, wh
ich allowed us to map the interior of the monuments.”

  “Yes, I am well aware of the satellite re-tasking request,” Terrance responded. “What did that significant cost and effort achieve for us?”

  “A lot,” the engineer answered letting the computer display convey the results.

  On screen, the entire Giza plateau appeared on a high definition, multi-colored relief map. The Pyramid of Khufu caught his attention first. The massive monument, impregnated with four bright red rooms located in a symmetrical pattern around the structure’s middle layers, appeared to house pieces of machinery that the sonic density program was unable to identify.

  He quietly absorbed the information and moved on with his eyes to the Sphinx. The monolith’s enormous body was glowing bright red. The gigantic statue was hollow and housed another cluster of metal the computer could not identify. What’s more, there was an underground tunnel leading to the chamber from the north.

  After a long, quiet moment of contemplation, Terrance shook his head from side to side in disbelief. “I was briefed on these findings and yet, seeing it with my own eyes...”

  “What you are seeing, sir, is a tactical nightmare,” Commander Allen interjected. “There is one subterranean way in or out and two targets are barricaded inside the Sphinx chamber behind a locked door that isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

  “Explain that,” Terrance ordered, regaining his hard composure.

  Commander Allen deferred to his engineer. “The chamber door is made of a composite alloy I’ve never seen or even heard of before. Forcing the door open would take equipment far larger than the tiny space allows.”

  “What about blasting it open?” Terrance asked.

  “Absolutely out of the question,” Colonel Azire declared as he rose to his feet.

  “The prerequisite being that you use shaped charges in order to not damage the monument itself, of course,” Terrance amended for the Egyptian officer’s benefit. He wanted nothing more than to see the man bound and gagged in the corner, but his protective instinct toward the Sphinx did provide a useful point of leverage.

  “Any charge strong enough to open that door would blow the entire statue clear to the moon,” the engineer answered.

  “What about neutralizing the locking mechanism,” Terrance offered.

  “Unless you NSA types have some code breaking equipment I’ve never heard about, that won’t work either,” Commander Allen chimed in.

  Save one glaringly obvious option, Terrance was running out of ideas to throw out for dismissal. Now was the time to turn it over to the room, and he hoped to hear from a certain amber-skinned individual with a high military rank. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  Commander Allen’s lips parted in preparation to speak, but a subtle shake of the head followed by a flaming glare from Terrance that screamed ‘don’t you dare’ rendered him silent.

  “Thermite,” the Egyptian army colonel quietly offered. “It is a non-explosive chemical reaction that burns at over 2500°C. I have seen it melt straight through tank armor three feet thick like a knife slicing through wedding cake. I believe it has a good chance of both working, and not reducing our national treasure to a pile of rubble.”

  Now was that so hard? Terrance thought while working to suppress a glowing smile. For show, he looked toward the engineer with hopeful eyes. “What do you think? Could it work?”

  Terrance could practically see math equations dancing through the man’s head before answering, “Yes, I think it just might.”

  Terrance then turned to face his Egyptian military watchdog. “Colonel, since this is your idea, am I safe to assume you have access to enough thermite charges to get the job done?”

  “You can indeed,” came an efficient response.

  “Excellent. When can you and your men get down there and make it happen?”

  Colonel Azire had the look of a man who was just told that he was going to be shot out of a cannon. “Me? My men?”

  “Your materials, your plan, your country,” Terrance listed. “That means you and your men.”

  “There’s still the matter of dealing with the defenses in place outside the chamber door,” Commander Allen cautioned.

  The Egyptian colonel was not briefed on all of that thank you very much, Terrance hollered inside his head. At that moment he could have killed the Commander. Terrance had so nicely maneuvered the Egyptian officer into taking the lead on this mission and this clueless fool went and ruined it all.

  “We managed to destroy a beam weapon that induced paralysis in its targets, but there is still a sliding metal door at the ramp’s base,” Commander Allen went on, all the while not noticing the incinerating stare originating from Terrance. “It’s capable of sealing off the outer room and removing all oxygen from the space.”

  “I have a set of hydraulic braces that should be able to hold the ramp door open if the targets attempt to close it again,” the engineer offered.

  The lines of anger around Terrance’s eyes faded as two words crossed his mind: my hero.

  “Plus, we can provide you and your men with breathing equipment if the braces do fail,” the engineer added.

  Colonel Azire remained in a trance of silent contemplation for a set of heartbeats before bobbing his head up and down. “Let me make some calls.”

  Chapter 4: Times They Are A Changing

  Mark felt the aircraft make one final turn to point the plane straight along the open runway. The pilot did not bother slowing down to make sure he had things perfectly aligned. The plane maintained a rolling start, throttled up to full power, and tore off down the runway.

  The rapid acceleration caused Mark to slide forward in his seat where he sat facing the rear of the plane with Hastelloy and his brother Jeffrey seated across from him with a small table in between. Mark watched the two men relax into their plush leather seats as the pull of inertia and gravity intensified.

  For his part, Mark found himself engaging his leg and abdominal muscles to keep from sliding out of his slippery leather chair. It was a nice little analogy of his entire life Mark thought as the aircraft took to the sky. He was always, always left with the tougher assignment, situation, or decision; but that was just fine with him. He took pride in being tough enough, smart enough, and strong enough to handle anything his chosen profession threw at him.

  “Well, we reach DC in under three hours,” Mark said looking at Hastelloy. “You have until then to convince me that I can trust you enough to grant an audience with either the President’s Scientific Advisor, or the President himself.”

  Hastelloy looked somewhat bewildered as he gestured toward Mark’s hip. “I returned that gun after disarming you and your men. What more could I possibly do to earn your trust?”

  “That’s a start,” Mark responded along with a flippant toss of his hands to let Hastelloy know how inadequate he considered that gesture of trust to be. “In truth though, it was your Commander Gallono who took out my men and disarmed me. Now, oddly enough, killing trained NSA operatives to escape custody doesn’t give me the warm and fuzzies about you just yet. What else you got?”

  “What about everything Hastelloy and his men did back in Egypt, Rome, and the Renaissance?” Dr. Holmes countered on Hastelloy’s behalf.

  “All we really have there are some historical outcomes and this man’s claim that he had a hand in all of it,” Mark fired back. “Let me try that. Hey, guess what. I was alive in 1776 and drafted the Declaration of Independence. Now don’t you think I’m just the greatest American patriot who ever lived?”

  “You would have a tough time convincing me that you were Thomas Jefferson,” Hastelloy scoffed, “since I was he. However, that is another story for another day.”

  “See what I mean,” Mark said with a toss of his hands in disbelief.

  Jeffrey threw his head back in frustration. “You’re being ridiculous. I know for a fact that you weren’t alive back then, but we both know that he was.”

  “True, but
we only have his word about his actions and outcomes during those ancient times,” Mark snapped toward his brother and then repositioned himself to stare down Hastelloy. “What have you done for me lately? Give me something to prove your good intentions from the last century that is verifiable and known by me.”

  Hastelloy calmly held Mark’s stare long enough to formulate a cool and measured response. “Those are some rather tight parameters you have established.”

  “Do you have any idea about the vetting process that goes into anybody who steps into the same room as the President, let alone a private meeting with him?” Mark countered. “Those are my conditions, now impress me.”

  Hastelloy nodded his head in agreement and slowly leaned forward in his chair to bring his elbows to rest upon his knees. He clasped his hands together and extended his paired index fingers toward Mark. “How about Roswell and the space program that spawned from the incident? As I’m sure you’re aware, your agency came into existence as a direct result of the ‘Roswell Incident’. You have also personally examined the debris and conducted autopsies on the bodies recovered from that crash. Would you like to hear about your agency’s formative years? Will learning about the circumstances leading up to the crash and mankind reaching space for the first time suffice?”

  Mark’s eyes widened a bit at the prospect of getting answers to those defining moments. “I’m all ears.”

  **********

  Hastelloy was the first to arrive for the lunchtime reservations he arranged a week earlier. The young German-speaking hostess pulled open a set of French doors leading to a private balcony with five chairs and place settings seated around a circular table, per his request.

  The weather was picturesque: warm but not hot for late summer, sunny with scattered clouds dotting the otherwise clear blue sky, and a gentle breeze carrying the scent of bread baking in the kitchen below. The view from the third story balcony was without equal as it overlooked the Limmat River flowing into Lake Zurich. Beyond the calm waters rose the snow-covered peaks of the Swiss Alps surrounding the tiny nation’s capital. It was obvious to him now why the Swiss leaders chose neutrality in the conflict raging all around them; preserving this natural beauty was a must.