"Patience, patience," Heinbaum muttered as he concentrated on the wire-like mesh holding one end of the glowing capsule. "I want to get a sample of the mesh for spectrographic analysis."
Still gazing at the capsule, Heinbaum fairly shouted, "Cunningham, bring me the snips."
Quickly rummaging through the drawers in his kit, Walter pulled out a pair of wire snips and handed them to Heinbaum.
Moving carefully, Heinbaum reached into the right hand end of the module away from the glowing capsule. Securing a sliver of the mesh with a pair of tweezers, he snipped it away from the mesh and dropped the cut-off piece into a petri dish held by Walter.
Jerome McPherson kept a close watch on every move Heinbaum made. He still thought the Doctor was reckless. As Heinbaum snipped off the small piece of the mesh, a chill ran over McPherson.
"Damn," McPherson thought to himself. "I'm getting jittery. Too much work with unknowns."
A sudden idea hit him. "Doc, now that the module is open, you think maybe the outer shell edge might be soft enough to get a sample for testing?"
Heinbaum's eyes flicked back and forth unconsciously as he considered what McPherson had just asked. Finally he responded, "Can't hurt to try. Interesting idea. Let's see."
Positioning the cutting edge of the wire snips against the lip of the open edge on the right half of the module, Heinbaum squeezed hard, attempting to cut off a sample of the outer shell but with no success.
Tossing down the snips in disgust, Heinbaum looked back at McPherson and said, "Still too hard."
At that moment, Walter walked back from the spectrometer and took up his usual position near the rheostat. Seeing him there gave McPherson an idea.
"Doc, we got the module open with a magnetic force of 50,000 volts."
When Heinbaum nodded his head, McPherson continued. "So it stands to reason if we can crack it open with 50,000, then maybe we can soften it up with 100,000. What say you?"
Considering what the Lieutenant said for a moment, Heinbaum looked back at him levelly and replied with a thin smile, "I think some of me may be wearing off on you, McPherson. Good thing too 'cause I was getting concerned about your brain power."
When McPherson gave him a non-committal shrug, Heinbaum said, "Trouble is, some of you is wearing off on me. We'll start with 60,000 volts and increase power as needed. No use in acting rashly. Right, Lieutenant?"
McPherson cocked his head towards Heinbaum, hesitated slightly at the backhanded compliment, then grinned widely and slapped the Doctor on the back with the force of a battering ram, almost knocking the wind out the man. "You know, Doc, you might just grow on me. Actually might find you tolerable in a few years!"
Pushing his glasses back up his greasy nose and smoothing down his slicked back hair with a hand, Heinbaum pulled his shoulders back to realign his spine from the friendly blow thinking silently to himself, "Dear God where did this ape come from?!"
Turning his head towards Cunningham, Heinbaum ordered, "We're going to increase the electromagnetic power to see if the module casing will soften enough to get a sample."
Cunningham shifted his eyes to McPherson and saw a confirming nod.
Heinbaum continued, "Begin with an increase to 60,000 volts. When I signal, increase by increments of 10,000 volts until you reach the maximum of 100,000. Understood?"
Nodding his head, Walter placed his hand on the rheostat and waited. Picking up the snips, Heinbaum hesitated momentarily and then turned his attention to Walter again.
"Cunningham, get me a hacksaw blade."
While Walter rummaged through his kit for the blade, Heinbaum explained to McPherson, "I may be more successful getting a sample with an abrasive than with the snips."
Hesitating momentarily, Heinbaum loudly called over to Walter and said, "Cunningham, while you're at it, the air-conditioning is set way too low. It feels like a meat locker in here."
Taking a moment to walk over to the thermostat controlling the temperature in the lab, Cunningham noted that the thermometer reading showed 60 degrees even though the dial setting was 72 degrees. Shrugging his shoulders, he moved the dial setting to 75 degrees and walked back to his kit.
Having found the hacksaw blade and handing it to Heinbaum, Walter again positioned himself at the rheostat. At the signal from Heinbaum, he turned the dial to 60,000 volts.
Observing no change in the appearance of the module, Heinbaum signaled another increase. At 70,000 volts, a shimmering aura suddenly encompassed the power module halves. The aura had the appearance of a desert heat haze mirage, wavering layers of unfocused images of the module emanating around the open halves.
Grunting with satisfaction, Heinbaum picked up the abrasive blade and put its cutting edge against the lip of the open right half of the module. Carefully sawing against the lip, a small cloud of silvery particles showered down on the work bench.
Turning to look back at McPherson, Heinbaum declared triumphantly, "It worked!"
When he spoke, a cloud of white mist came out of his mouth as if he was exhaling on a snowy morning. The look of surprise on his face was almost comical.
McPherson, whose attention had been focused on the shimmering module and the success of getting the sample, widened his gaze to the work bench area and saw a layer of frost beginning to form on the bench top. Thinking quickly, he shoved between the other men over to the rheostat and turned the dial all the way down to zero.
Immediately, the power module snapped shut with the familiar loud click. The area around the work bench remained very cold, but the creeping layer of frost stopped growing larger.
"Damn," McPherson exclaimed, exhaling a cloud of white as he crossed his arms and rubbed himself.
Dr. Heinbaum was sitting very quietly, seemingly engrossed in thought, oblivious to everything. Cunningham busied himself pulling warm jackets out of a closet and passing them out. When Heinbaum ignored his offered coat, Cunningham draped it across his shoulders. He then moved over to the thermostat which now read 25 degrees and raised the heating temperature to 80 degrees. They immediately felt a welcome flow of heat from the ceiling vents.
Speaking quietly to himself, Heinbaum mused, "I think I understand."
Then he turned to look at the others with a triumphant look on his face and said, "Damned brilliant alien bastards. But I think I have their number now!"
"Cunningham!" he bellowed, ignoring the white cloud of mist coming out of his mouth. "Brush these particles from the module into a petri dish and start analysis with the spectrograph."
"Lt. McPherson, would you please accompany me to the alien saucer power room. I think we may be able to use your electromagnetic trick in there as well."
Chapter 8 - Wiesbaden
The City of Wiesbaden, Germany sat north of the Rhine River in the western edge of the country about 100 miles east of Luxembourg. It had been one of the cities fortunate enough to be of little strategic significance during the WWII bombing campaigns by the Allies. Some may feel the word fortunate is not appropriate since almost 20% of the homes in Wiesbaden were destroyed by aerial bombs, but nevertheless a large majority of the buildings in the city survived the war. The central business district of Wiesbaden was very elegant. Known as the Palace Square, it contained several imposing, high spired churches, the former Summer Palace of the King of Prussia, and a beautiful, extravagantly large and ornate hotel and spa known as the Kurhaus built around one of the natural hot springs which dotted the area. All in all a wonderfully romantic place for Dr. Lucy Smith and Lt. Mike Jenson to travel for their meeting with Hans Gutlang, the German soldier who had reportedly lifted the front end of a 3-ton class half-track transport off one of his fellow soldiers in France.
The flight to the Frankfurt military base controlled by the U.S. Army had taken a couple of days. Thankfully, the road trip from the airfield in Frankfurt to Wiesbaden had only required around 45 minutes as both Smith and Jenson were fed up with hours listening to loud engine noise. Everywhere they looked during the dr
ive to Wiesbaden, the devastation of the war was evident. Hollow shells of buildings, piles of destroyed vehicles and deep holes blasted in the earth seemed to go on for miles. Mike Jenson knew what to expect from his training at West Point, but Lucy had enjoyed a protected life in academia, safe in her studies of animals and plants behind the brightly lit walls of university libraries and laboratories. She found she couldn't take her eyes off the destruction that lined every road as they traveled toward Wiesbaden. Jenson knew she was deeply troubled by what she saw. She kept her gloved hands tightly clasped in her lap, her eyes wide and seldom blinking, face emotionless, as they drove through the war torn countryside. She only slightly relaxed as they arrived in the central plaza of Wiesbaden where the damages from the war were much less visible.
It was about 1730 hours when their army green sedan pulled up to the main entrance of the Kurhaus in the cobblestoned central plaza. Gazing about the plaza and entryway, they saw two beautiful carved stone fountains shooting jets of water into the air near the center of the plaza. Ornate street lamps placed around the plaza created a nice warm glow over the whole area. Some children were playing around the nearest fountain, occasionally splashing water on each other. A few pigeons pecked around the cobblestones, searching for one last bit of food before it got too dark to see.
Exiting their car at the main hotel entrance, they were greeted by a liveried concierge, sporting of all things a gold ringed monocle, who officiously welcomed them to the hotel. Peering at them with his chin raised so it appeared he was looking down his nose at them, his eyebrow above the monocle highly arched, the concierge said "Willkommen Herr und junge Dame zum Hotel. Ich vertraue Ihrer Reise hier war ohne Schwierigkeiten." Translated to English, he said, "Welcome Gentleman and young lady to the hotel. I trust your journey here was without difficulties."
Without skipping a beat, Jenson replied, "Ich danke Ihnen sehr. Bitte sammeln unser Gepäck und führen uns an der Rezeption. Wir sind beide müde von unserer langen Reise, und die Dame, bevor unser Abendessen ausruhen möchte." Translated, he said in perfect German, "Thank you very much. Please gather our luggage and lead us to the front desk. We are both tired from our long trip, and the lady wishes to rest before our evening meal."
The arch in the concierge's eyebrow lifted even higher, threatening to disappear into his hairline. He had not been expecting the American to reply like a native German.
Lucy, completely surprised by the exchange, looked at Lt. Jenson with narrow eyes, a sly smile curling up the corners of her lips. She purred, "Well now, aren't we full of surprises!"
Glancing at her with a sheepish smile, Jenson replied, "Kind of a required language course at the academy. These days you never know when you're going to need it."
Quickly gathering their luggage, the obviously more respectful concierge preceded them up the wide entry steps and into the grand lobby towards the reception desk. Lt. Jenson extended his right arm to Dr. Smith, and smiling, she took it.
As they followed the concierge into the hotel arm in arm, Mike Jenson thought about how pretty Lucy looked. She had changed the style of her dark black hair to a nice side swing with dramatic curls. He remembered their first meeting when he thought her hairdo reminded him of his mother. There was nothing motherly about her now. She had even changed her horn rimmed glasses to a thin wire frame that attracted less attention to her coke bottle thick lenses. He had to admit she was a real looker.
Lucy felt like she was on a date with the most handsome, debonair man she had ever met. The straight laced graduate of West Point was relaxing a bit, and she liked that very much. Thinking about their trip and its purpose, she thought to herself, "Granted we're on a top secret mission funded by the U.S. Government, and granted the mission is of vital importance to the future of the Earth, but damn it why can't a girl have some fun!"
They got adjoining suites, each with a large sitting area, canopied bed and balconies overlooking the central plaza. Lucy thought her bathroom was large enough to hold her entire apartment back in Washington. Later that evening as she drifted off to a dreamless sleep, Lucy couldn't imagine experiencing a more pleasant day. It was a good thing she wasn't clairvoyant. If she could have seen what was going to happen the next day, she wouldn't have been able to sleep a wink.
The next morning over a light breakfast and some of the strongest coffee they had ever tasted, Mike and Lucy planned their meeting with Hans Gutlang.
"You're sure you have the time and place pinned down?" Lucy asked as she munched on a buttery, brown pastry that fairly melted in her mouth.
Looking up from his note pad, Mike replied, "Yes. The guy I worked through is the U.S. Liaison for German Affairs. I know him personally. If Ben Tippering tells you something, you can count on it."
Lucy was still unhappy. "But if we run into any trouble, we're sort of in enemy territory. I feel like we're on the German's home field with no protection."
Reaching over to cover her hand with his, Mike said reassuringly, "Lucy, stop worrying. I speak the language fluently, and I've studied the maps." Then he smirked and said, "Besides that, remember I'm a highly trained product of the U.S. Military Academy. There's nothing I can't handle!"
Lucy smiled demurely and shot back, "Yea, Mr. Advertising Exec. If they're armed with a typewriter and harsh words, I'll feel real safe."
Smiling lopsidedly with a twinkle in his eyes, Mike retorted, "Hey. Words hurt you know! I'll give them a tongue lashing they'll never forget!"
Lucy laughed because she liked his cute smile and easy humor, but she just couldn't get rid of a feeling that danger lurked in the war torn back alleys of Wiesbaden.
Forty minutes later they were driving to the agreed rendezvous where they would meet the alleged German strongman. Lucy marveled at the quaint narrow streets lined with two and three story buildings that combined markets, cafes, clothing and hardware stores, and residences, all mixed together. The architecture was a jumble of Roman and Bavarian influences that was both charming and foreign all at the same time. All the buildings suffered from advancing age as well as a greasy layer of smoke and explosion damage from the war. Cracks in walls and foundations were plainly visible. As they neared the Rhine riverfront and industrial area, everything seemed to get even dirtier. Even the sunshine from the sky seemed to lose its brightness, and both Lucy and Mike felt oddly depressed the closer they got to the river.
At last they turned a corner and entered the riverfront roadway known as Biebricher Straße. The right hand side of the road toward the river was lined with a combination of fuel storage facilities, small warehouses and docks where river barges could be loaded and unloaded. The left hand side of the road was lined with larger storage and manufacturing buildings. Pointing ahead, Mike indicated a long railroad bridge that had once spanned the wide river but was now just a destroyed heap of twisted steel beams and broken stone foundations.
Speaking like a tour guide, he said, "See the big stone building there on the bank of the river? That used to be a 10-story stone castle gate where the railroad left this side of the river and crossed over. The whole bridge structure was destroyed when the German army retreated from the Allies back into Germany. The bridge was called the Emperor Bridge."
Lucy felt her hands tightening together in her lap as she stared at the derelict structure. It was hard for her to grasp the thought processes that drove men to commit such horrible acts of destruction.
At that moment Jim turned sharply left off the road and through an open gate into a large graveled parking lot and came to a stop. A high, wood plank fence bordered three sides of the lot, serving to protect the squat warehouse's doors and windows from the prying eyes of passersby. Piles of waste metal and wood lined the western wall of the fence. A line of rusted, useless cars and large steel pipe casings arranged along the eastern wall spoke silently to the industrial downfall of Germany following the war. Weeds grew everywhere they could get purchase in the gravel, soot and grease that covered the lot. Every surface in the lot an
d on the building was layered with greasy black soot. The smell of rotting fish stung their noses.
Both of them exited the sedan and walked to the front of the car, staring at the quiet warehouse as they leaned against the hood. Most of the windows in the building were boarded up, giving them the feeling it had been abandoned a long time. Other than a forlorn tugboat horn blaring in the distance, not a sound could be heard. They had not seen a dog or cat prowling around the lot and not even a pigeon strutted around the roof edges of the warehouse. It was too silent.
A scruff in the small rocks behind them suddenly broke the silence. Turning quickly, they saw three men walking through the gate. The man in the center was the largest, fully 6 feet, 6 inches tall, his open shirt with rolled up sleeves revealing the big chest and arms of a weight lifter. The other 2 men flanking him were shorter. The one on the right appeared to be about 4 inches shorter than the leader and the one to the left the shortest at 6 feet. All of them had the same color blond hair with close cropped military style cuts. Their hands were empty, but they strode with a confidence indicating they had little fear of the man and woman standing near the car.
As they walked closer, Lucy saw they all had the same gray-blue eyes. "Brothers," she thought to herself.
The burly leader walked to within 8 feet of Mike Jenson and spoke directly to him, completely ignoring Lucy. The other two men stationed themselves on each side of the car where they could easily thwart any attempt at escape. Crossing their arms over their chests, they stood like silent statues. Although the ensuing conversations were spoken in German, I will translate all conversations into English for the convenience of the reader.
"What are you doing here?" the big man asked in a tone indicating he was in no mood for trivialities.
Jenson responded immediately, "My companion and I are supposed to meet someone here."
"You are American," the big man declared. "I can tell from your clothes and accent and because you are standing in a very poor, very dangerous part of the city where good Germans would never dare visit."
The Origin of F.O.R.C.E. Page 10
