One Thousand Years

by Randolph Beck

  “And that,” she asserted, “was Coughlin.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said. He had already known the treaty was bad one. He regretted bringing it up. “I'll concede that treaty was too heavy-handed. But that doesn't mean I like Hitler or Coughlin.”

  She smiled, thinking that this was a victory over him. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw the maintenance schedule for the Tiger. It would be fully operational again before the end of May.

  Bamberg came in just as Dale was leaving. She greeted him, and looked beyond, perhaps hoping someone else was there, too.

  “I'll see you tomorrow for our regular lunch,” she said. “I will leave you boys to your pilot talk.”

  Bamberg gave a polite greeting, and then waited until the hatch had sealed behind her.

  “I told you,” he said. “They like to be ideological.”

  *

  Chapter 19

  MONTE CASSINO FALLS TO THE ALLIES

  The Polish flag is flying over the ruins of the ancient Italian monastery which has been a symbol of German resistance since the beginning of the year.

  Polish troops entered the hill-top abbey this morning, six days after the latest attacks began on this strategic stronghold at the western end of the German defensive position known as the Gustav Line.

  British troops have taken control of the fortified town of Cassino at the foot of the “Monastery Hill”.

  The Allies' hard-fought victory comes four months after their first assault on Monastery Hill failed in January...

  — BBC news, (May 18, 1944)

  Thursday, May 18, 1944

  Reading in his chair, McHenry learned the news that morning feeling momentary joy mixed with sadness. The weeks had gone by. He had never escaped, and Parker was now dead. The Allies were still advancing, oblivious to the sad end that awaited them.

  The good news was that Monte Cassino had been taken. Better still, his squadron had been part of it, earning a second Distinguished Unit Citation. But that victory would be for nothing, he knew. He put the tablet down. They'd been doing so well, he thought for the hundredth time. The Allies' Italian campaign was moving forward. It didn't make sense that one defeat, even a major defeat such as the invasion would prove to be, could turn the entire war.

  It didn't have to. What if he could somehow prevent President Roosevelt's stroke? The Tigers have a first aid kit, he knew. More than that, of course. The lifeboat must have one, too. The future Nazi medicine could sustain a man indefinitely. President Roosevelt could serve as many terms as necessary to win the war.

  It was a dream, McHenry acknowledged to himself. He allowed himself the pleasure of the speculation. Escape was next to impossible. Landing the escape pod in Washington without being shot down by Göring was just as unlikely.

  Of course, he realized, it would be better to save the Allies' invasion of France. Roosevelt might not even have his stroke if the invasion went well, killing two birds with one stone. A single well-timed burst from a Tiger's energy weapon could do that. The troops would then wade ashore unopposed. Or, better still, destroy Hitler's headquarters in Berlin. One Tiger could well destroy the entire city....

  But it was a dream. The Kommandant would surely risk detection by the Grauen, and even risk tampering with history itself if McHenry's crusade was going to shatter that history anyway. Clearly, subtlety was required. Subtlety in the extreme.

  “Rechner,” he called out, thinking of an idea. “Where is Vice President Wallace right now?” He picked up his tablet and saw a map appear with a text description in English. As expected, Wallace was in Washington. More interesting still, he was preparing for an official trip to Russia and China via Alaska. McHenry was intrigued by that. Much of his trip, maybe all of it, would be out of Göring's line of sight. If he could get that far, they would not be able to track him immediately. They would need to send Tigers to check their satellites. And one of those Tigers is still out of commission. McHenry smiled. One impossible problem down. Just two impossible problems left to go: Getting out of the ship, and getting away without being blown out of space.

  The smile faded a bit. It was still a nice dream, but unlikely. He'd best get back to work.

  He wondered what he could do here. If escape is impossible, then how can he destroy the Reich from here? He was already on the most powerful ship in the solar system. Why would he want to leave?

  *

  He crawled into the Tiger expecting to see technicians still plodding through the hardware. The cables were mostly gone except for one that ran along the floor and terminated at a plug. The back cabin was still empty. He knew that this meant the F-7 main energy weapon was still out but he surmised that the engines must have been sealed back in place ahead of schedule. The SS may be in a fluster but the Luftwaffe mechs were on top of things.

  The cockpit dome had one difference: The SS side-panel was open. This wasn't unusual for a ship returning from a mission. The few times McHenry had looked into a side-panel, they had already been cleared. They only presented a simple array of functions that were already available on the main controls. McHenry immediately thought of Barr, and wondered, could it be that this one wasn't cleared? He hoped against hope that some remnant of the last mission might remain.

  He peered in, seeing almost immediately why the side-panel was open. The crew had been using it to organize the maintenance schedule. He continued looking anyway. There was still a chance that something could be left over.

  The first page of the side-panel's display looked promising. Some of it, like sensors and communications, was a duplicate of options he knew were on the Tiger's main panel, and could be projected onto the dome itself. He understood the communications panels all too well, having tried to access them the first chance he was alone. He gathered that the Tiger, while joined to Göring, was under something like a Faraday cage, which prevents the emission of any radio signals.

  The side-panel was also designed for quick access to an information library. He could see that it tied into the navigation system. Nothing new for him there.

  Stepping back in the options tables, he found something else that turned into a dead end. Finally, he came back to the first page, and wound his way back into the maintenance schedule where he first found it.

  McHenry was not willing to give up. He compared the main items in the schedule with those listed on the dome, hoping to find a disparity. But there were none. Compared to the options on the main dome, the side-panel's organization layout was surprisingly easy to follow. Airframes, sensors, communications, life support and the unterkarbon net were all marked in green. He stepped down several levels, past several tests that had been checked off.

  But, elsewhere, there was so much work left to be done. Weapons, engines and the storage bay were all marked red as still in repair. A quick view revealed that the main energy weapons were still out. There was a long list of things to do, much of it, he knew, were at Göring's thirtieth-century equivalent of a machine shop. There was a bigger surprise on the engine schedule page. It was the surprise that would change everything.

  The first level of the maintenance checklist was red, but everything below that showed mostly green. The only items in red revealed they were awaiting a long series of inspections, followed by a high-power engine test, and then a test flight. He had to do a double-take. The actual repairs had already been made.

  As best as he could tell, with his limited understanding of German technical language, this Tiger was probably able to fly. It was down only administratively. It made no sense that their bureaucracy worked this way, but he wasn't going to think about it any further. This was his only chance. He would take it without further thought.

  He quickly started the inner banks of engines. This, too, was nothing out of the ordinary. He had seen them do this on low power turns without closing any of the doors. The Tigers were designed to mask their energy output to avoid detection. He just needed to hope nobody tried opening the doors before he could get away.


  He unstrapped himself, whirled around, kicked himself through to the main cabin, and took a look around to verify he was alone, and that the door was sealed. Then, swiftly, he pushed himself back.

  McHenry was supposed to wait for all the indicators to turn green, but he knew he didn't have time to do this the regulation way he had been taught. They must have some leeway, he reasoned. Once he lights the outer banks, Göring would pick up on this quickly. He would hold that off until the end. Checking the unterkarbon net status, he could see that the Tiger's net was wrapped around the side of the ship facing space. The side against the ship would naturally be exposed to detection by Göring. He needed to pull away while turning the visible side so as to become invisible to them all as quickly as possible, jinking constantly until he could be sure he was completely cloaked. That would be a lot to do at one time. The indicators were now eighty percent green. That was enough, he decided.

  All at once, he reached for the outer door controls, sealed them, and started the main banks. He didn't wait for a reaction from Göring. The Tiger pulled away at top speed while he spun and jinked, and jinked again. The unterkarbon net sealed. He jinked again. Göring itself became invisible to sensors as the distance increased. That implied he was also out of Göring's sensor range. Was he really safe? He jinked again.

  Göring became visible again for a brief moment when it released a shower of fire. They were trying to kill him, as he knew they must. He jinked yet again, and then ten more times, but always increasing the distance between them. There was another shower of fire but it was so far off that even the spray of energy could not reveal the massive ship.

  “I'm sorry,” he said to no one in particular. “I am a soldier.”

  Now, it was time to take it down.

  He inventoried his weapons, what few there were. But it wouldn't matter. Fighting Göring directly would be madness. His only chance was to keep them thinking that they could catch him in time to contain the damage to the timeline. Once all hope is lost, and their timeline is irrecoverable, there is no telling what they would do. McHenry wondered momentarily about that. They must have a contingency plan, he thought. How long will they simply sit back and watch as they've been doing? Would they contact today's Berlin and offer their ship, crew, and technology to Hitler? Or does Mtubo just take over and become the new Führer? That would be ironic.

  And what would the Grauen be doing in the meantime? He briefly considered seeking them out, and forming an alliance, but what would their reaction be? Just because they're at war with the Reich doesn't mean they'd be friends with the United States. But this wasn't his decision to make. He had his oath as an Army officer. This should only be for President Roosevelt to decide. But what if he can't get to the President?

  Either way, his lone Tiger would be outnumbered. He thought he had a better plan, but it was chancy. He needed to get down to Earth.

  He worked the navigation panel to plan his descent, a job he could never have done with his old slide-rule. It would be a direct path until touching atmosphere, at which point he knew detection will become possible until he slowed sufficiently that the Tiger could absorb the heat. He would be jinking again, but only a little bit, and then turning again into his destination.

  *

  Alarms rang throughout the Göring. The men and women in Kontrolle performed like clockwork. Two panes appeared on the lower section of the dome displaying Mtubo and Stern.

  “Prepare to launch the ready-alert Tiger,” ordered the Kommandant.

  “Have you lost him?” shouted Mtubo on the screen.

  “Yes,” she replied, speaking coolly under the circumstances. “I am ordering a Tiger to defend Berlin in the event that the American thinks he can do something stupid. We will send the remaining Tiger to recover or destroy the one that was stolen as soon as we know where it is.”

  “Do not destroy it,” Mtubo ordered. “We will want it back for Operation Spartacus. Spartacus is more important than preserving our future.”

  The dome became silent. The Kommandant knew it was a shocking statement for the crew, most whom were not even cleared to know what Spartacus was. “Herr Oberführer!” the Kommandant cautioned.

  Mtubo continued: “You are right, of course, about protecting Berlin. Adolf Hitler must be protected in any possible history. It is a matter of principle. Beyond that, we will need the Tigers. There is no doubt now that Spartacus will proceed as soon as we finish here. That will happen regardless of whether we have three Tigers, or two. What are your plans to locate the Tiger?”

  The Kommandant took a deep breath. “Eventually, the American will want to land. It is unlikely that he has developed the skills to enter the atmosphere without being detected. We will sight him on reentry first, and plot a likely destination. The pursuit Tiger will then find him on the surface very quickly. They will carry a second crew to bring it home.”

  *

  Kathy Dale stood at attention before the door to Stern's office, waiting, not too patiently. There was no need for her to be there. She could easily make her case over a video screen — even on a secure channel — but she knew that personal visits work best. Older generations are more easily persuaded in face-to-face meetings. It was always that way.

  The door opened. “Enter,” Stern ordered.

  “Excuse me, Herr Standartenführer,” said Dale, standing before Stern's desk. She remained at attention when the door closed behind her. “I request to join the pursuit mission.”

  Stern raised an eyebrow. “I do not see how or why,” he said. “You were restricted to the ship because of what you know. We see Grauen every day now. For you to be captured alive would be a disaster that the Reich could never recover from.”

  “Sir, I beg to suggest that, with Spartacus now in the plan, a test of Brücke is more important. There may never be a better time.”

  “Brücke? You are getting ahead of yourself.”

  “Sir, assuming that Spartacus succeeds...”

  “It will succeed, Sturmbannführer.”

  “Yes, sir, of course. When Spartacus succeeds, we will not know what shape this ship will be in. We may not have more than one chance to initiate Brücke. Here we have an opportunity to run a small scale test.”

  Stern looked back to the screen, which now showed Dale's report.

  “I found several sections of the history sequence for a proper test.”

  “This is a very good idea,” he said, scrolling through the pages of text and charts. “Still, are there no others who could run this?”

  “Sir, I am the only one who has the expertise that is also a flight officer.” She didn't smile when she said that, but she wanted to.

  *

  The pursuit Tiger was configured for four people, two in front, and two behind them.

  Bamberg was in the pilot's station, grimly checking its systems while Hamilton strapped into the SS station beside him. Vinson remained floating loosely behind them, waiting for the second SS officer to show.

  “Any idea when we're leaving?” asked Bamberg.

  “I can't tell. My side-panel is locked at the moment. They must still be deciding how much data we can take with us.”

  “But you were just in ops. You must know something.”

  “Only that the rechner suggests he was interested in the American Vice President's trip to Russia and China.

  “That is something,” said Bamberg, bringing the western hemisphere charts up on the dome. The Tiger's rechner would have the optimum path plotted out when the orders come in, but it was prudent to study the options in advance.

  Hamilton looked up from his inactive side-panel. “The American is giving up so much in the hope that he could live as a primitive again.”

  “Let's not forget,” said Bamberg. “He thought from the beginning that he was a prisoner of war. He believed it was his duty to escape.”

  “On that, any of us would do the same if we were in his boots,” said Vinson.

  Hamilton shook his head. “T
hose are two different things. He's escaping from higher civilization back to the primitives. And he's a black man, at that. What duty does he owe those people?”

  “He's a nationalist at heart,” said a fourth voice. It was Dale, entering the cockpit.

  Vinson turned. Their eyes met.

  “I thought they pulled your flight status,” said Hamilton.

  “Special project,” she answered cryptically. “Oberführer Mtubo and Stern are amending the orders now. You will lead this Tiger because you're senior, but you and Bamberg become the retrieval crew for the other Tiger when we arrive. Vinson and I will stay aboard this one. We will complete the mission while you return to Göring.”

  “That's only fair,” Hamilton conceded sarcastically. “You are the two who brought back the American in the first place. It is fitting that you be the ones who terminate him.”

  Although visibly shaken, the others remained silent. Hamilton's sleazy grin twisted and faded. Dale revealed nothing. She floated back to the cargo pod and opened the latch, exposing five androids, seemingly inert in their packed positions. They were still wearing the old-style gray SS uniforms, but their relatively small-sized, twentieth-century statures reminded her of McHenry. “How can one primitive man be so much trouble?” she said, thinking out loud.

  “We have the launch order!” Bamberg called from the cockpit. Dale snapped the pod closed, spun, and pushed herself forward.

  Hamilton was peering up from his side-panel. “We are to scan the Asian continent, and link up with satellites over that hemisphere, if necessary, to locate the American.”

  *

  Chapter 20

  “Now, no one in his senses regards bombing, or any other operation of war, with anything but disgust. On the other hand, no decent person cares tuppence for the opinion of posterity. And there is something very distasteful in accepting war as an instrument and at the same time wanting to dodge responsibility for its more obviously barbarous features. Pacifism is a tenable position, provided that you are willing to take the consequences. But all talk of ‘limiting’ or ‘humanizing’ war is sheer humbug, based on the fact that the average human being never bothers to examine catchwords.”