by Martin Gunn
For a few minutes Wojtec lay perfectly still, then suddenly he gave out a gasp of air and started to convulse violently. It took Sprick, his assistant and the guard to hold him down. Then, as suddenly as the convulsions had started, they stopped. Wojtec lay on the slab perfectly still, a little saliva running from the corner of his mouth. Unsettled by the result, Sprick picked up a stethoscope and placed it on the man’s chest.
“There’s no heartbeat,” he sighed, “we’ve killed him. Prepare his body for an autopsy. We need to find out what happened.”
Whilst Sprick and von Brandt entered another office nearby to discuss what their next move might be, the assistant began to prepare for the examination. Wojtec was now unstrapped and lying naked on the slab ready to be cut open. The assistant turned to organise his operating equipment and when he turned around again with a scalpel in his hand, Wojtec was sitting upright, he had swung himself round so that his legs were hanging over the side. The assistant, taken completely by surprise, dropped the scalpel. The resurrected man looked down at the instrument and then back at the astonished assistant with a sinister grin. Slipping slowly off the slab, Wojtec stood looking at the frightened man, then without warning, he grabbed the assistant by the throat, under his chin and lifted him off the ground. The poor man was hanging there choking, then just as he was about to pass out, Wojtec threw him across the room. He smashed into a table laden with equipment and fell in a heap on the floor, broken glass and metal instruments falling around him.
The commotion alerted Sprick and von Brandt, who dashed in to see what was happening. Sprick couldn’t believe his eyes, Wojtec was walking with his back to them, heading for the rear of the lab towards the helpless assistant, still prone and dazed.
“Stop,” shouted Sprick, “what are you doing?”
The naked man stopped and turned his head slowly to face the doctor, who had foolishly walked further into the room. Before he could speak again Wojtec launched himself forwards at great speed, knocking Sprick to the floor. Von Brandt, who was still standing in the doorway pulled out his Luger and brought it up to bear on the man, but before he could aim, the gun was ripped from his hand. Wojtec looked at it and, playfully, smiled and pointed it at a horrified von Brandt, then he bent the barrel down with his left hand as if it was made of rubber. Tossing the useless firearm to one side he made a lunge for von Brandt but was stopped in his tracks by a bullet in his forehead. The guard had finally made an appearance and shot the man with his rifle. Wojtec fell to the ground dead, a pool of blood flowing out from the exit wound on the back of his skull.
Getting to his feet, a badly shaken Sprick walked unsteadily over to the assistant to see if he was alright. The man was in shock, but no serious injury had come to him. The officer picked up his damaged Luger, unloaded the bullets and threw it with all the other mess lying around. Storming out, he placed a hand on the guard’s shoulder in acknowledgement and went back to his barracks. Sprick was left to organise the clearing up; he decided to do the autopsy himself, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. Now he needed a drink.
By late afternoon the next day, Sprick was ready to report to von Brandt. The autopsy was a matter of routine though he had made some interesting observations. He entered von Brandt’s office and sat down.
“Well, we know what killed him,” quipped a flippant von Brandt, “what else did you find.”
“After the rats I didn’t know what to expect,” conceded Sprick excitedly. “When I opened him up everything looked normal, so the first thing I examined was his heart. You remember he said he had a defect, well I found nothing. His heart was perfectly healthy.”
“So, what are you saying? He was lying?”
“That was my first thought too,” Sprick struggled to contain himself, “but when I examined the rest of his organs, they were normal also.”
“So?” shrugged von Brandt.
“His organs, including his heart, were as you would expect of a man half his age. This drug, serum, call it what you will, seems to be absorbed at a cellular level and causes regeneration, and what’s more, because the drug alters the genetic makeup in such a fundamental way, I think that only one injection is necessary.”
“This is all very well but if it turns people into raving lunatics.”
“I think we are on the right track,” countered Sprick, “it’s just a case of getting the dosage right.”
“But we have thousands and thousands of ampules of the stuff, enough for an entire…” von Brandt was cut off mid-sentence.
“Army?” smiled Sprick, his eyes wild, “my thoughts exactly. Did you see how fast and strong he was? We could create an army of supermen. We would be invincible.”
As he got up to leave Sprick continued, “I am going to leave my best men on developing the drug whilst I continue work on the time machine.”
For von Brandt this was excellent news. At last he had some real progress to report to the High Command.
***
It took three attempts and two more casualties before the correct dosage of the drug was ascertained. After a month, the final guinea pig showed no adverse effects, just the opposite in fact. His physical fitness was way beyond that of a normal human – extremely fast, strong, and all his senses heightened. He was kept in a comfortable cell for observation, not least because Dr Sprick had another use for him.
By September 1943 a prototype chronometer had been manufactured and fitted to one of the time machines. Summoning von Brandt to the hangar where it was stored, he announced with a certain amount of pride,
“It’s ready.”
“At last,” quipped von Brandt. He gazed upon the curious object with wonder, walking around and taking it all in, “when will you give it its maiden voyage?”
“I thought tomorrow morning, at eleven.”
“Can he fly it?” enquired von Brandt.
“He only needs to press one button and the Bell will do the rest.”
“Very well, I shall be back tomorrow.” Von Brandt turned and walked away leaving the doctor to continue with his tasks.
The following morning couldn’t come soon enough for either man, both anxious to see the Bell work. Sprick had started work early to set everything up. The curious vessel had been moved outside into a large courtyard and placed in the middle of what looked like a concrete henge. It was about thirty feet in diameter and fifteen feet high. The posts were slender, as was the ring that linked them on top. Chains were attached to the ring and drooped down to the metal belt secured around the waist of the vessel.
Von Brandt watched as yet another Polish slave, the survivor of the drug tests was being led towards the Bell. He was dressed for the voyage in a brown boiler suit and was handcuffed.
“This is the craft that you are going to pilot, Piotr,” stated Sprick.
He took out a key to release the handcuffs but before he could use them, Piotr pulled his wrists apart, snapping the chain. It was a final act of defiance on what he thought might be a suicide mission. Sprick looked at von Brandt, removed the cuffs, settled Piotr into the seat, and finally strapped him in. The hatch was closed and they were ready for the Bell’s inaugural leap.
“We had better stand well clear,” advised Sprick, “I have no idea what is going to happen now.”
Everyone moved to behind a wall of sandbags some distance away and waited.
“He was told to wait sixty seconds before pressing the button.”
“When and where will he return?” enquired von Brandt.
“Here, in five minutes’ time,” replied Sprick, eyes fixed on the henge, “all being well.”
He looked at his watch. 11:05. The Bell started to rotate, slowly at first and as it picked up speed began to lift off the ground. The rotation got faster and faster until the craft began to blur into a ball of white light, emanating a droning sound. Even in daylight they had to avert their eyes f
rom the dazzling glow. Then with a loud thunder-like crack, the ball of light disappeared and the metal belt dropped to ground with a clunk. The doctor turned to von Brandt and grinned in triumph.
“It worked!”
“It has to come back yet,” replied a pragmatic von Brandt.
As they waited, five minutes came and went and nothing happened. After an hour a disappointed von Brandt left. Only Sprick remained to wonder where the hell the thing had got to, assuming it had survived. He waited for five hours and still no sign. It was at this point that he decided to give up and left, his head down, at a loss as to what to do next. Every subsequent morning Sprick walked out to the launch site, to wonder upon his creation, until the fifth day at exactly 11:10 he felt a strong breeze. A blinding flash followed by a crack of thunder and he saw, seventy-odd feet away from the henge, the Bell slowing down and gradually descending. He wasn’t the only one to witness the sight. A number of staff and guards, including von Brandt, were running towards him.
“It’s back,” he shouted, laughing uncontrollably as much out of relief as anything, “its back. Five days – my God.”
Sprick pointed to the Bell sitting on the concrete apron, beside himself with glee.
“I think your timing is a little out,” smiled von Brandt, stating the obvious.
They all made their way over to the Bell. Sprick opened the side hatch, hoping that Piotr was unharmed and sure enough he was sitting there rubbing his eyes.
“Are you alright?” enquired Sprick anxiously.
“I’m fine,” confirmed Piotr, “apart from a bright light inside the cabin here, nothing happened.”
“But you have been gone for five days,” laughed the doctor.
“No,” replied a confused Piotr, “it was only a few seconds.”
“What does this mean?” enquired von Brandt.
“Don’t you see,” laughed Sprick unable to contain himself, “the leap is instantaneous. What was five days for us was next to nothing for him.”
The doctor sat down on the ground, overcome.
“All we need to do now is calibrate the chronometer, and it’s ready.”
***
Two months later both time machines were operational and the drug dosage optimised. Von Brandt summoned Sprick to his office.
“Berlin is very pleased with the progress here,” he shared, in a matter-of-fact manner, though in reality, he was much relieved, “you are to take one of the machines to Berlin with the drug and instruct the staff there on how to use them.”
“When am I to go?” Sprick half expected this response, so it came as no surprise.
“Just as soon as we can load one of them onto a train, your expertise will be vital.” Von Brandt stared at the doctor intently, “Before you go however, there is something that I want you to do.”
“And that is?”
“Inject me with the drug.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” confirmed von Brandt, “our guinea pig is showing no adverse signs, is he?”
“Well no,” mused Sprick, “he is, if anything extremely fit and healthy.”
“Tomorrow then?” insisted von Brandt.
The doctor nodded and got up to leave.
“I can’t take any responsibility for this.”
Von Brandt smiled back at him, “Tomorrow Doctor.”
The next day von Brandt was being prepared for the injection. He was asked to lie on an operating table and was then strapped down. His right shirt sleeve was rolled up, and Sprick stood over him with a hypodermic syringe in his hand.
“Your heart is going to stop for a few minutes, but it should restart again and all will be well.”
The injection was administered and von Brandt’s body went into convulsions. After these dissipated, he lay quite still for some minutes, then gave out a gasp of breath, lying there, panting.
“There – done,” declared Sprick, “congratulations, now you are immortal.”
The first thing von Brandt noticed was all of his senses were heightened. Particularly his hearing and eyesight. He had never felt this good and his mental capacity seemed heightened also.
“This is incredible Doctor, you should try it.”
“I don’t think so Captain, immortality was never an ambition of mine.”
“We don’t know that it makes us immortal.”
“Maybe not,” mused Sprick, “Seventy-odd years will do me fine though.”
A week later, Sprick was on his way to Berlin, guessing that he would probably need to be there for about two weeks before he could return to his beloved research facility.
During this time, von Brandt entered his office to see a package awaiting him. He opened it to find a holster containing a pistol – replacement for his damaged side-arm. The gun, a Walther P38, felt lighter in his hand compared to the Luger. He held the grip and aimed it. The gun felt good, von Brandt nodded his approval and put the weapon in his side drawer.
Sprick eventually returned just before Christmas. He immediately reported to von Brandt.
“Everything is ready in Berlin. The device is installed below Tempelhof airport,” he advised.
“What is their plan?” asked von Brandt.
“I wasn’t privy to their inner sanctum,” continued Sprick, “but I did suggest they keep any operational parameters to within forty years. At least until we know how the time machine behaves.”
“We are talking about 1984 then?”
“Or 1904, depending on your preference.”
“Is that all you have? A date.” von Brandt was getting irritable and frustrated by this lack of information.
“Frankly I was glad to get out; because of the frequent bombing raids, the situation was somewhat distracting.”
“Is it very bad?” asked von Brandt.
Sprick nodded. He had spent most evenings in a bomb shelter.
“I have orders for you,” concluded the doctor, handing von Brandt an envelope, “the time machine based here is to stay, pending further instructions. In no way is it to be used – on pain of death.”
Von Brandt contemplated Sprick’s advice and made a mental note of the operational limit of forty years. The past held no interest for him and he certainly wasn’t intimidated by an order which would be impossible to enforce.
We shall see, he thought, we shall see.
CHAPTER SIX
One Small Step for Man
The Siege of Breslau – Lower Silesia, Germany
17th February 1945
The icy wind cut through the air like a scythe, forcing Major Vasili Dementyev to pull up the collar of his heavy coat and turn his back to the wintry onslaught. Cupping his hand around a match to protect the flame, he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The smoke blew away from him, to eventually disappear into the black plumes rising up from the desolation of the besieged city of Breslau. The Germans had turned it into a fortress, and the fact that the Luftwaffe were dropping supplies into the city meant that they had no intention of surrendering any time soon.
News had reached the First Ukrainian Front of the Soviet forces, that their comrades to the north had finally penetrated through to the Oder River; the border between Germany and Poland. If this was true, then they were only about sixty miles from Berlin. Since this was only rumour however, and the truth is often the first casualty of war, Major Dementyev took it with a pinch of salt. At least until he heard something official.
He needed some air after being cooped up for a morning, being briefed on a special operation that he was to undertake. The Major wasn’t happy about an operation which to him sounded like a suicide mission. A veteran of the battle for Moscow, he went on to witness the chaos of the battle for Rzhev, dubbed by his comrades as ‘The Meat Grinder’ due to the appalling Russian casualties. If that wasn’t enough he then went on to see ac
tion in the Kursk Salient, another bloodbath, which finally saw the German army on the retreat.
A flight of Ilyushin Il-2 Sturmovik ground attack aircraft flew low overhead and disappeared into the distance. Dementyev flinched at their sudden appearance. He was jumpy as hell, especially since the war was in its final throes, and he was beginning to start thinking that he might actually survive this madness, but with this up and coming mission, he wasn’t so sure.
Finally, he walked into the temporary barracks and approached Captain Kirill Yelagin. The short heavy-set officer saluted as Dementyev walked in.
“Assemble your men for a briefing, Captain, we have a mission tomorrow.”
Nodding, the captain went off to marshal his troops. In no time at all Dementyev was looking down at around one hundred paratroopers looking up at him in anticipation.
“Good afternoon gentlemen,” greeted the major, “you have all been selected for a special operation tomorrow and I am not going to sugar coat it, this mission is going to be extremely dangerous. We are going to be dropped behind enemy lines.”
A murmur rose from the audience and Captain Yelagin stood up and motioned for them to calm down.
“We are going to be dropped about sixty miles south of here, near the village of Milkow, close to Ludwigsdorf,” he continued, “our intelligence has revealed some sort of research base in this region which must be captured intact at all costs.”
He looked around the room to gauge their reaction.
“Are there any questions?”
One man put his hand up and the major nodded to him.
“When do we leave, Sir?”
“Tomorrow at 1600 hours. We hope to surprise them under the cover of darkness, secure the base and hold it until our army reaches us. The rate at which the Wehrmacht are retreating I would hope that to be no more than forty-eight hours.”
With no more questions the platoon dispersed to get some rest before the impending assault.
