by Richard Mann
The president raised his hands: ‘they could use our own weapons against us!’
A technician ran into the room, in a state of excitement. ‘Sir,’ he tried to regain his breath. ‘What is it, son?’ asked the President.
‘Sir, we have had a confirmed launch of an ICBM. It’s heading towards Colorado Sir!’ General Scott fixed his eyes on the technician.
‘What is its trajectory?’
They all walked to the technician’s terminal; they can see the flight path of the ICBM.
‘On its current heading, NORAD sir!’ the technician replied. The president is apoplectic with rage.
‘How the hell were safety protocols overridden? The NMCC. The two-man rule. Myself and the Secretary of Defense…The Secretary of Defense!’ The president paused trying to digest what he just said.
‘… must jointly issue the order to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, that’s you, Bill!’
‘Not Fraser. Grimbald had the codes,’ an angry looking General Scott banged the table.
The president regained his composure and looked at General Scott.
‘The aliens have somehow over-ridden the safety protocols. Can the launch be terminated?’
‘No sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t manage to change the codes in time. In any case, I can’t use the coded destruct signal as it needs to bounce off a satellite, and they’ve been destroyed,’ the General was apologetic, head down.
Schmitt turned to Scott. ‘The aliens have the nuclear launch codes!’
‘Mike, they shouldn’t be able to launch anymore, hopefully,’ Scott replied.
The technician looked at his superiors, a look of disbelief in his eyes.
‘Sir - NORAD’s been taken out – it’s gone!’
They stood there in silence, trying to absorb the information.
President Wilson looked at Scott.
Scott took the president by his arm in a vice-like grip.
‘The game has changed, we need to retaliate, sir. A full nuclear response. We cannot use the ICBM’s, they have been compromised, use the subs instead.’
‘Okay, but we need to respond quickly,’ the president said with more confidence.
‘Are we going to target the New York asset?’ asked General Scott.
‘No there are millions of people still trapped there. The aliens knew we wouldn’t target our own people, they have been cleverer than we thought.’ The president was deep in thought looking at the floor.
Generals Schmitt and Scott waited for their president to respond.
‘Has Chicago been evacuated?’ asked the President quietly.
‘Yes, sir!’ Scott replied. Professor Picard shook his head looking sad.
The decision weighs heavily on the President and Commander in Chief; the room is silent as everyone looks at him. He looks at the Professor then looks up.
‘Initiate Trident launch at their Chicago asset—full nuclear response.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Scott brightened.
The launch missile case was placed on a desk. A technician plugged a telex machine into the launch briefcase with a digital/analogue adaptor. The president and General Scott retrieved keys from around their necks and inserted them into the launch panel. They entered separate codes. The president’s finger hovered over a red commit button.
‘How can the missiles fly without satellites?’ asked the President.
‘They are self-guided, they don’t need satellites. The launch codes will be sent to the sub by the telex system. It is analogue so should work and not be detected by the aliens.’
‘Mr. President,’ Scott urged.
The President then pressed the button as Professor Picard made the sign of the cross, looking heavenward.
Chapter 59
Launch Depth
TRIDENT SUBMARINE - NORTH ATLANTIC
The submarine is running at launch depth, below the ocean surface. On the bridge, the executive officer watches as a telex machine prints out some codes. The grim-faced captain, in his cabin, opens a safe and retrieves a red book, then hurries to the bridge. The young executive officer tears off the telex print and approaches the captain, as he enters the bridge. The captain compares the codes in the red book to the printout. The executive officer does the same.
‘Codes are verified. Do you concur, Executive Officer?’ spoke the Captain.
‘I concur.’
‘Launch codes confirmed. Enter target coordinates and initiate launch procedure. Maintain silent running,’ orders the Captain.
The Trident submarine releases a Trident II ballistic nuclear missile. It is ejected from the tube by an explosive charge. The energy from the blast is directed to a water tank, which is flash-vaporized to steam. The pressure spike is strong enough to eject the missile out of the tube and clear the surface of the water.
The missile breaks the ocean and launches into the air in a burst of spray. Its engines then ignite, and it streaks heavenwards at supersonic speed. The Trident II ballistic nuclear missile carries nearly 3.5 megatons of destructive power. The weapon breaks apart into multiple independently targetable self-guided warheads and attains a low altitude orbit just a few minutes after launch.
The missiles re-enter the atmosphere over Chicago. All eight warheads converge on the alien ship, closer and closer to their target, alien fighters attempt to intercept the missiles, but they are too fast as they impact the alien craft in a blinding, blaze of light.
Within a millionth of a second, the splitting of uranium in the nuclear warheads leads to the temperature inside each warhead similar to those in the centre of the sun, roughly 15,000,000 Celsius.
A millionth of a second after the detonation of the missiles, a fireball erupts. A man in Tinley Park, Illinois, twenty-five miles away from the epicentre, shields his eyes from the new sun in the sky. Those people and aliens, looking directly at the blast, are blinded, as their retinas are burned. A group of refugees on the outskirts of Chicago, looking up at the ship, shield their eyes as the blast wave spreads out from the epicentre. Skyscrapers disintegrate like matchsticks from the blast shock wave, which spreads out from the epicentre.
The fireball begins to grow, engulfing the surrounding air, rising, like a hot-air balloon. Within seven-tenths of a millisecond from the detonation, the fireball is 500 feet across, within ten seconds the fireball increases to a radius of 6000 feet.
All buildings, humans, and aliens, within the radius, are vaporized, reduced to dust. The nuclear cloud rises miles above Chicago, five miles from the point of burst, forming a doughnut shape, the colour of the radioactive cloud slowly changes from red to white as the fireball cools and condensation occurs.
The blast completely flattens Chicago for a radius of ten miles, but the alien ship, high above Chicago, emerges intact after the explosion. After a few minutes, fighters emerge from the black groaning, spaceship, and buzz around like angry wasps which have been disturbed, looking for revenge.
Chapter 60
Nazi Blood
In a private room, at the end of a long day, a tired President Wilson and General Scott were sitting with open-necked shirts drinking single malt whiskey.
‘Frank you shouldn’t be drinking—not in your condition.’
‘There are many health benefits to whiskey you know.’ They both smiled and clinked glasses, then turned their attention to a computer screen.
Scott pointed at the screen.
‘Have a look at this photo of Grimbald. From the side, and this one of Hitler.’ President Wilson looked at the picture of Grimbald, his lank, unkempt, black hair, dark as coal eyes and pale, unhealthy face. He looked confused, then his eyes and mouth open wide.
‘My God, if I didn’t know better...’ The president took a large gulp of whiskey, feeling the warmth going down his throat. ‘I wish I had a daughter, so I could forbid
her to marry him.’
Scott grinned then became serious.
‘I’ve had my suspicions about Grimbald for a while now, I just didn’t have the proof. I’ve had a team working on him for six months. We checked his birth records. Julian Alan Grimbald’s father, was Wilhelm Grimbald. Born 1940, he travelled to the US from Germany after the war, and worked as an insurance salesman in Chicago. It all checks out. Wilhelm’s father, Martin Grimbald was a German banker from Berlin—that’s what it said on his German birth certificate. But we couldn’t trace him.’ Scott took another gulp, getting into his stride.
‘We tracked his records back to Germany but drew a blank. There was no Martin Grimbald in Berlin. No Martin Grimbald worked at any Berlin bank. Then by chance we came across some declassified Nazi papers saying that Martin Bormann had a secret son but had changed the name of the father on the birth certificate to Martin Grimbald to hide the fact he was the father. Why? Martin Bormann was Hitler’s private secretary. Hitler was fond of Martin Bormann and was a trusted member of Hitler’s inner circle, but he was very protective of his sister.’
‘Go on,’ urged Wilson.
‘It was rumoured that Martin Bormann had an affair with Paula Hitler, but it was all hushed up, as Bormann knew Hitler would be furious and send him to the Russian front. Wilhelm Grimbald was the illegitimate son of Paula Hitler and Martin Bormann. Paula Hitler is the full blood sister of Adolf Hitler. Julian Grimbald’s grandmother is Paula Hitler, sister to Adolf Hitler. That’s the connection.’
President Wilson’s mind tried to work out the implications of this shocking revelation. The invasion, the Nazi link…he gasped.
‘Good grief, he wants to start a new Third Reich and the aliens are going along with it. Same ideology. Jesus, they must be desperate. Cassian was right, there are parallels here.’
‘How did he get away with it, for so long?’ asked General Scott, shaking his head.
‘I found out too late Frank, I’m sorry.’
‘He’s protected. He has a lot of political friends and connections. That means we don’t know who else is in on this,’ replied the President.
‘His deputy vanished, Mack. So has Fraser,’ added Scott. ‘It’s a conspiracy. We cannot trust anyone now.’ General Scott shook his head.
‘It all makes sense now,’ said the president. ‘I had a shortlist of two for the Chief of the Defense Staff: you and Grimbald. You both had excellent experience and, on paper, you were both outstanding. His political connections tried to sway me—he has friends in the Senate and several prominent business figures as supporters. But I have a long memory. Remember military school, Bill? He was a Nazi then, and not the only one, I suspect. I could never appoint a Nazi to a senior position.’ The president refilled his glass, adding ice.
‘Jesus, Bill. I reckon there are prominent Nazis lurking in the Senate—when things get back to normal we need to have a clear out.’
‘Not just the Senate, Frank,’ Scott gulped his whiskey.
Scott leaned towards his friend. ‘I never told you this before: My grandfathers’ Jewish. I am half-Jewish on my father’s side.’ The President nodded.
‘During the Second World War he spent time in a Polish concentration camp, Auschwitz, he was lucky to get out alive. It was a miracle he survived! My grandfather was so traumatised that he only started to talk about his experience ten years ago. Do you know what they did to him?’ Tears were in General Scott’s eyes as he recalled the discussion with his grandfather.
‘They, they experimented on him. There was this Nazi doctor, Josef Mengele, they nicknamed him the Angel of Death. He pulled out his fingernails, one by one. He said the pain was unbearable.’ the tears welled up in his eyes as he gulped down some whiskey. ‘No anaesthetic, Frank. Then they injected chemicals into his eyes, to see if they would change colour. He hinted that they performed terrible experiments on twin children, but he refused to elaborate. That bastard Grimbald—I will shoot him myself, with pleasure.’
‘You have my permission, Bill, he is a traitor to this great nation.’
They both downed a full glass of whiskey and lay back in their chairs. Scott closed his eyes and thought back to his college days—and Grimbald.
WEST POINT MILITARY ACADEMY - 1980
A young Julian Grimbald is in his study at West Point military academy. An athletic Bill Scott walks in and sees him reading Mein Kampf, which he tries to hide under his bed.
‘Grimbald, why are you reading that book, are you a Nazi?’ asks a red-faced Bill Scott.
‘Bill, welcome. Have a whiskey.’ Julian pours Bill a drink, his black eyes smiling.
‘You know the Nazis were misunderstood. In their time they were the most advanced nation on Earth.’
Bill is incredulous, ‘Really? Advanced? You should be ashamed of yourself. They were murderers, Julian! My grandfather is Jewish! During the Second World War, he spent time in Auschwitz for Christ’s sake—it was a miracle he survived!’
‘Listen, why don’t you come to a meeting? I’m sure we can convince you,’ Grimbald says as he wiped his greasy black hair.
Before Julian can react, Bill Scott punches Julian in the face, blood pouring from his nose.
‘You’ll regret that Bill, believe me you’ll regret it. I have connections, powerful connections!’ Grimbald uses a handkerchief to stop the bleeding.
‘I’m going to report you, Julian—unbelievable,’ Bill slams the door as he heads to the commander’s office.
Julian smiles, the commander is a regular participant at his secret Nazi meetings. The commander will deal with Bill Scott.
Bill knocks on the wooden door of the study of the Professor of Military History - Frank Wilson. Bill waits patiently as he looks at the brass nameplate. If there is one person he can trust, it is the Professor. An expert in military strategy and consulted by the Pentagon on military matters, he also had a way with people—everyone says Frank has a great future.
Frank opens the door and smiles when he sees the ruddy-faced Bill. Frank listens as the likable student, only ten years younger, recounts his confrontation with Julian Grimbald.
‘He has something of the night about him but he has a lot of friends in high places. Be careful Bill, and take care of that temper of yours.’ His soft African-American features smile.
‘Thanks Professor Wilson you’re a wise man. I can learn a lot from you.’
Chapter 61
Shapeshifter
A Filipino man walks along a mountain path, overlooking the smoking ruins of Manila. It is a hot and humid evening, but the mosquitoes do not bother this particular man. He is taller than most Filipinos with the muscles and build of a grizzly bear. He transforms himself from a human to a vampire were-dog and makes a ‘tik-tik’ sound. His name is Aswerne and is one of Count Cassian’s closest allies. He is a half-vampire, half were-dog shape shifter, and huge in stature—over seven feet tall. Sinewy, sabre-toothed and terrible.
A few hundred yards away is a group of soldiers around a campfire cooking roast lechon—roasted pig, a Filipino favourite. A soldier pricks up his ears listening to a sound. He motions to his comrades to be silent, then listens again. He jumps up, looking around, eyes wide—the other soldiers look around in the darkness.
‘Tik-tak! Alert Aswang!’ says the frightened soldier. The terrified soldiers look around; into the clearing strides a huge fearsome half-vampire half-dog creature.
‘Do not be afraid. My name is Aswerne. I will not harm you. I am here as your brother to fight the alien invaders. More of us are helping our human comrades in the fight. Come, let us go down to the city, take back what is ours—as proud Filipinos!’
The terrified soldiers follow the creature down the mountain track towards the city. As the shape-shifter walks down the track, the noisy night air of the jungle becomes silent. A group of shrieking bats hovers overhead, forming a macab
re escort.
Once they reach the outskirts of Manila, the soldiers spot some black-uniformed Narzuks with aggressive looking, yellow-eyed growling dogs, saliva dripping from their fangs. The aliens are threatening a group of young women in short skirts, who are stood outside a run-down bar. The women scream in terror as the aliens advance.
Lord Aswerne launches into the air, his black leathery wings stretch wide as he swoops down the mountain, gathering speed. In silence, Aswerne appears out of the night sky and attacks the aliens, his talons ripping them apart, tearing their uniforms, their flesh, and their shield emitters to shreds, leaving them exposed.
The following Filipino soldiers run behind him and shoot the alien dogs, and there is a firefight between the Narzuks and the soldiers, who have a better vantage point at the edge of the jungle—they win the day. The screaming women run for safety towards the jungle, and follow the men, back up the mountainside to safety, before the alien invaders can call for reinforcements.
As the soldiers walk back up the mountain path, some other militias walk past them through the jungle, while four aswang vampires fly above them.
‘Good hunting, brother,’ says the soldier to the NPA militia.
As Aswerne regroups with the Philippine soldiers in their hideaway base on the mountainside, he sits down with them while they share their Lechon pig with the women from the bar. ‘Even the National People’s Army are joining us, it is a good sign,’ one of the soldiers comments.
Aswerne nods. This invasion by the alien filth has brought people together—a good sign. Maybe there is hope for the humans after all. Maybe they will set aside their petty conflicts and unite in a common cause.
Chapter 62
Vampire Lair
