To view the book trailer for SecondWorld, click here.
For the real Roger Brodeur. I apologize in advance.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’ve written acknowledgments so many times now, that I’m starting to run out of new ways to say thank you to the people who have helped, encouraged, and stood by me. So I’ve decided to write my acknowledgments in Klingon.
cha’DIch qo’ ’oH naDev. ’uch lIj tlhuH!
Okay, that’s probably a bad idea. I should probably just thank everyone.
First is my publishing team. Thanks to Scott Miller at Trident Media Group for being a supreme agent. At Thomas Dunne Books I have to thank my editor, Peter Wolverton, who has taught me so much about writing fast-paced thrillers, and Anne Bensson, who is always available to help me. I also have to thank Rafal Gibek and the production team, for copy-edits that make me look like a better writer than I am.
For help developing the crazy, but plausible, science at the core of the SecondWorld story, I must thank “Chemisttree” from physicsforums.com, where I received ideas and advice from a number of scientists in a variety of fields.
For advance reading I have to thank Roger Brodeur, whose fate lies within these pages. I also have to thank Kane Gilmour, Stan Tremblay, Walter Elly, and Christopher Ouellette for listening to my crazy ideas and helping to make them crazier.
As always, I must thank the people who make all aspects of my life more fun, creative, and unpredictable, Norah, Solomon, and Aquila, my children. And thanks to my wife, whose unwavering belief that I could chase and catch my dreams allowed me to do so. Love you guys.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
First Strike
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Return Fire
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
War
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Epilogue
Also by Jeremy Robinson
About the Author
Copyright
PROLOGUE
LUDWIGSDORF, GERMANY
MAY 1, 1945
“I’ve never seen a person melt before,” Dr. Kurt Debus said, twisting his skinny fingers together as though tying a knot.
“A person?” The deep voice oozed disdain.
Debus flinched in surprise and turned around. He had no idea how the two-hundred-pound four-star general and his polished boots, which normally announced his presence with the subtlety of a Clydesdale, had snuck up on him. He glanced at his counterpart, Dr. Walther Gerlach, and saw trepidation in his blue eyes. Fear threatened to crush Debus’s heart, but he quickly reigned control of his emotions and responded, “I was simply speaking in physiological terms, Obergruppenführer. They are only Jews, after all.”
SS Obergruppenführer Emil Mazuw raised a skeptical eyebrow high on his broad, flat forehead. As one of the highest ranking and most honored officers in the SS he commanded a level of fear and respect that only Himmler and Der Führer himself exceeded. And as the appointed head of the research project, he wielded that power without mercy. The FEP (Forschungen, Entwicklungen, Patente, translated Research, Development, and Patents) expected nothing less. Results were needed immediately if the tide of the war was to be reversed.
When discomfort crept back into Debus’s expression Mazuw grinned and placed a hand on the frail-looking scientist’s shoulder. With a chuckle he said, “You have nothing to fear, Doctor. Had I thought you a sympathizer we wouldn’t be talking, would we?”
Debus looked to the ground, unable to meet Mazuw’s piercing eyes, which were surrounded by the scar-covered flesh of a man who didn’t fear violence. “No, Obergruppenführer, we would not.”
Mazuw turned toward Gerlach, who had made himself busy by straightening his bow tie. “Are we on schedule?”
Gerlach gave a nod as a stiff breeze snuck up behind him and tossed his white hair. He smoothed it quickly and said, “Yes, sir. We will begin in ten minutes.” He glanced beyond Mazuw for a moment, distracted by the sight of so many people. Their entire science team was present—sixty-two men—which wasn’t uncommon during tests, but the hundred Schutzstaffel soldiers behind them, armed with Sturmgewehr 44 assault rifles, unsettled him.
Mazuw noted Gerlach’s distraction and looked over his shoulder. The line of soldiers straightened under his gaze.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Gerlach said, but never had a chance to finish his sentence.
Mazuw anticipated the question and answered, “After today’s successful test, the device will be dismantled and moved by Obergruppenführer Kammler.”
“Moved?” Debus asked. “Where?”
Mazuw ignored him, turning back to Gerlach. “Ten minutes.” He walked away, his feet clomping over the concrete ramp. The wind picked up again as he left, but the man’s gray cap and stiff pressed officer’s tunic seemed impervious to its effect.
Gerlach, however, was not. His body shook with a chill. He wrapped his arms around his chest. “I knew what you meant,” he said to Debus. “About the persons.”
“Will they really melt?” Debus asked. “Is such a thing possible?”
Gerlach ran a hand through his hair, which had begun falling out after being too close to the device during the first test. He had suffered no other ill effects, but the resulting widow’s peak left him self-conscious. “I cannot explain it. It is better if you see it for yourself.”
“You can’t explain it?”
“I do not wish to.” Gerlach let out a long, slow breath. “Come, they are almost ready.” He walked to the side wall of the observation platform. They were a half mile away from the sight atop a two-hundred-foot hill that offered spectacular views of the test site and the large factory just beyond it. The factory produced bullets—or so the world thought. In truth, it served as laboratories and a fabrication area for the Third Reich’s most classified project. The thick walls, coated with ceramic, provided protection from the effects of the project’s outdoor tests, but because today’s test would be at full power and involve a radical new phase against which ceramic could not shield, they evacuated the faux factory.
Debus raised a pair o
f binoculars to his eyes, looking down at the test site. “They’re nearly finished.”
Gerlach’s keen eyes didn’t require the binoculars to make out what was happening. The last two of fifty Jews were being secured to a wooden post in the outer test circle. There were three concentric rings of posts. The first stood only fifteen feet from the test site’s epicenter. The second was fifty feet away—the known limit of the powerful field that would be generated. The third ring stood one hundred feet away, well within the usual safety zone. But today’s test, if all went well, would expand the lethality of the bell-shaped device Gerlach had dubbed the Beehive, a name that referred to the buzzing sound it made when activated.
The heavy clomping that marked the return of Mazuw tensed both men. Gerlach leaned in close to Debus. “That man will soon cause us both to lose our hair.”
They shared a smile, which vanished when Mazuw spoke. “The bomber is en route. ETA three minutes. Are you ready?”
The question was asked in such a way that sounded more like “You better be ready.” Gerlach looked through his binoculars, inspecting the site more closely. He could see the last of the support staff quickly vacating the area. No one liked being near the Beehive, especially when it was powered and ready to launch. He scanned over the rings of wooden posts. Each post held two Jews, strung up by their wrists. None of them struggled against their restraints. They’d long since become resigned to their fate, though Gerlach knew that fate would be far worse than any of them could imagine.
Still, he had no sympathy for them. Not only were they Jews, and thus subhuman, but he had also carried out similar experiments numerous times before. After the first successful test of the device, the one that had caused the recession of his hairline, he had vomited violently. He had never seen a man killed before, and he couldn’t think of a worse way to die. In the past year, hundreds of men, women, and children had lost their lives in a similar fashion. The fifty down below meant little to a conscience that no longer existed.
“All is ready,” Gerlach said. “You may proceed.”
Gerlach typically started each test himself, but Mazuw wanted his full attention on today’s events. He watched the general approach the science team stationed at the portable control panel, which was really just a glorified on/off switch. The team responded to his commands, turning dials and watching gauges as power began to flow to the Hive. He glanced at Debus, who’d gone back to fidgeting his fingers. The man was clearly unnerved by what he was about to see. He’d been integral to this phase of the Hive’s completion. While his official specialty was rocket science, and he’d made amazing contributions to the V2 rocket campaign, his true genius lay in the field of magnetic field separation. The resulting power supply made today’s expanded test possible. With refinement, it might very well change the world.
But Debus had never witnessed the destructive power he’d helped create. And the impending test had him understandably nervous. Debus stroked the deep scar that ran from his cheek to just under his lower lip, possibly recalling the act of violence that had created it.
“You may close your eyes if you’d like,” Gerlach said. While he had no sympathy for those about to lose their lives on the testing grounds, he felt protective of his team and colleagues. Debus was a good man. A good Nazi. But not everyone had the stomach for such things. “The general doesn’t need to know.”
Debus shook his head. “I helped create it. I must see.”
A loud buzz rolled up the hill, cascading over the observation platform.
“It’s beginning,” Gerlach said.
Both men turned their attention to the bell-shaped Hive. Its brushed-metal surface reflected the sun’s light and made it hard to look at directly. A concrete framework that looked like a modern Stonehenge surrounded the device and held four spools of metal cable, each attached to the base of the Hive.
The buzz grew louder and a flicker of blue light, brighter than the sun’s reflection, pulsed across the Hive’s exterior. Gerlach glanced at his watch. “Ten seconds.”
Debus licked his lips.
And then it began.
Shrill cries of pain rose up from the valley below, so sharp that they cut straight through the droning buzz. Debus’s hands shook as he witnessed the impossible. He focused on a single man, fighting the twisting knot in his gut.
The man’s skin had been taut with hunger, muscles and bones clearly visible. All at once, the skin loosened and hung, as though his muscles had been liquefied. When dark red ooze began flowing from all of the man’s orifices, Debus realized that was exactly what had happened. Different colors joined the mix, each substance of the man’s internal organs flowing out as a distinct color, many of which he did not know existed within the human body. In ten seconds, the insides of his body had poured out of him, leaving a husk of skin hanging on bone. He thought that was the end, but then the skin began separating from itself, hanging in large sheets, dripping oily fluids before falling clean from the bones.
Debus bit his lip to hide its trembling, but couldn’t stop a gasp of shock from escaping as the cartilage holding the man’s bones together stretched out and then separated. The bones fell away, mixing with a puddle of what once was a man. The radius and ulna bones of the man’s forearms hung from the rope bindings.
A second set of screams rose up from below.
“Has it reached the second ring already?” Debus asked, shifting his view.
“No,” Gerlach replied. “They saw what happened to the others. It will reach them soon enough. But there are far more interesting sights at the moment.” He took hold of Debus’s binoculars and pulled them back toward the Hive.
Debus squinted at the bright blue light pulsing from the bell, but once his eyes adjusted he saw something amazing. The binoculars fell from his eyes. He looked up at his slightly taller counterpart. “It is flying?”
“Hovering. Thanks to your power supply.”
A wide grin spread across Debus’s face. A shift in the screaming below turned him back to the valley. He watched, without binoculars, as the invisible field emitted by the Hive reached the second ring. He could see the bodies shearing away from the posts. But movement took his eyes away from the silenced test subjects.
The Hive rose up into the air, slowly at first, and then rapidly. Fifty feet from the ground the metal cables snapped taut and the bell’s ascent came to a sudden stop. It pulled against its restraints and for a moment Gerlach feared it might break free. But the cables held, and the now bright blue bell remained stationary.
“The bomber is inbound,” Mazuw said. “Initiate stage two.”
Gerlach didn’t respond. He knew Mazuw wasn’t addressing him and didn’t want to miss what was about to happen. This was the second untested portion of this experiment, the first being flight. The second was something that if executed to its full potential … well, there was a reason this project alone had been deemed Kriegsentscheidend—decisive for the war.
“What’s stage two?” Debus asked.
The buzz of the Hive was joined by the low rumble of plane engines. The roar of the plane grew louder, blotting out the sound of the bell completely as the large four-engine Fw 200 Condor passed just overhead. Papers and hats flew up and away in its wake. Gerlach held his wispy hair and silently cursed the plane. But he couldn’t blame the pilots. He knew they had to skirt this hill, descending into the valley quickly so they could empty their payload into the energy field and pull up before careening into another hill. He gripped the handrail and leaned forward, eager to see if his theories would prove true.
The Condor’s bomb bay doors opened. A massive gray cloud of fine particles poured out. The particles fell toward the bell slowly at first, held aloft by the valley’s high winds. For a moment, Gerlach feared the wind would ruin the test, but then the cloud began to spin. A vortex formed at the middle, spinning faster. A bolt of lightning shot from the cloud, nearly striking the bomber as it banked out of the valley. A thunderous boom struck the observa
tion platform.
With a flash of bright blue light, the storm of particles spun down into a small opening at the top of the bell.
What happened next left Gerlach, Debus, Mazuw, sixty-two scientists, and one hundred soldiers speechless. They gaped in silence as the phenomenon that followed descended on the valley. The screams of the remaining Jews in the outer circle became muddled by gagging. Then they too fell silent. A flock of birds sprang from the trees at the bottom of the hill. Thirty feet from the surface, their flight became erratic. As one, they fell back to the earth, dead.
Debus gripped Gerlach’s coat sleeve.
“I know,” Gerlach said. “It’s amazing.”
More birds rose from the trees, falling moments later.
“No, Walther. The birds.”
Gerlach hadn’t paid attention to the birds. He’d been too busy admiring his invention. But now that Debus had pointed them out, he saw what had the man concerned. He felt a tickle on his head, and brushed his hair down. Then he realized what was happening. The wind had turned in their direction, and it was carrying the Hive’s deadly product toward them.
After spinning around so fast that he nearly fell over, Gerlach shouted, “Shut it down!”
“What?” Mazuw asked. “Why?”
Gerlach stabbed a finger to the hill descending below them. “The birds!”
Mazuw saw a fresh flock of birds take to the sky only to drop dead seconds later. But these birds were only one hundred feet away. Mazuw gave the command and the device was shut down. The buzzing slowed. They watched through a red haze as the bell slowly descended toward the launchpad.
Gerlach sighed with relief and followed it with a deep breath. But the air in his lungs seemed inadequate. He took a second breath and found no relief. His eyes widened as he saw the others around him similarly affected. They had shut down the bell, but not the wind. With the last of the air in his lungs he shouted, “Down the hill! Run!”
One hundred sixty-five men abandoned the observation platform, pounding down the hill away from the test site. Men fell, cursed, and toppled over one another, but no one slowed. Two hundred feet below the hill’s crest, they stopped. Gerlach gasped for air, terrified for several seconds until the burning in his lungs began to ebb. The air was fresh and full of earthy scents. Birds danced in the tree branches and a few chipmunks stared at them. They were safe.
SecondWorld Page 1
