by Jerry Ahern
Rourke threw down the glasses and shouted to his family, “Get down and cover yourselves! Nuclear strike!”
Depending on the distance between the detonation and the plateau on which they had stood just a second ago, he might be blinded, and so might anyone else who had been looking. His eyes were shut now, the image of the second sun still in them.
Rourke counted seconds.
There was no blast effect, neither shock wave nor wind, nor was there any sound.
He looked up, the bright floaters in his eyes all but gone; although permanent retinal damage was still a possibility, it was unlikely.
Rourke got to his knees. His binoculars lay in the snow and he picked them up. The brightness was gone. He trained his binoculars toward the east. The artificial suns were gone. “The momentary danger is passed,” John Rourke told his family, his voice almost a whisper.
Natalia was beside him. “Nuclear?”
“Yes.”
“Multiple independently targeted reentry vehicles or a single blast, do you think?”
“Multiple. I saw several suns on the horizon. My guess would be ten one-megaton warheads air bursting.”
“The usual pattern,” Natalia agreed.
Paul suggested, “We’re west of it, thankfully. The wind currents are easterly.”
“Daddy?”
John Rourke looked away from Paul and Natalia, to where his son and daughter stood, arms around each other. Suddenly, they were children again, and only he and Natalia and Paul, who had been adults during the period of nuclear tension Before the Night of the War had any of the right questions or answers. “For a long time,” John Rourke began, “we all lived under the threat of nuclear weapons. Then it looked as if everything would work out, that each side wanted seriously to disarm. Then the Night of the War came. This was an air blast, which is substantially lighter on radiation. From what little I saw, it might have been as far away as the other end of the continent. We’re in no immediate danger. But I’d venture to say that the Trans-Global Alliance forces arrayed in which used to be upstate New York have been annihilated. There was probably a very powerful Electromagnetic Pulse.
“Today’s aircraft are shielded against the effect as much as they can be,” Rourke went on, “so depending on where a particular aircraft was and its particular electronics, some made it, some didn’t. If the Nazis were the ones who used the weapon, then quite soon one of the Allied nations will use such a weapon in response, unless Zimmer can be neutralized, and perhaps even then.
“What has happened doesn’t alter our mission. We still have to get your mother and Wolfgang Mann out of there, if indeed they’re in there, then back to the plane. We’ll still call in the support forces, but I don’t think they’ll respond. Emma Shaw was going to lead the two squadrons coming when we gave the signal. The base out of which they operated might have been close enough to be heavily damaged, so air support may not be coming. And the aircraft that’s been waiting for us to call in for the equipment drop, might have been destroyed. Its mission was to stay airborne and refuel as needed. A multiplicity of things could have gone wrong.”
Michael said, “Dad, if we find Deitrich Zimmer we have to kill him.”
“I know.”
“Regardless of what that means for Mom.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“I know,” John Rourke responded again.
Annie came to him, put her arms around him. “Is this the end of everything, Daddy?”
“It might be,” John Rourke told his daughter, holding her tight, loving her.
“Then we should do like we did before,” Paul said, his voice strong, filled with the spirit of determination John Rourke had come to respect, admire. “We do what’s right, and go on doing that until we can’t do it anymore.”
“Amen,” Michael said, nodding.
Natalia, her voice strained, as if she were holding back tears, said, “I hope all of you are right, you know, that there is a God and all. Because we will need Him on our side if we are to do any good. And I have to say something I should have said a very long time ago.”
John Rourke, still holding his daughter, turned his face toward Natalia, looked at her.
Natalia, her voice, sounding even more strained than before, said, “Without loving you, John, I would never have become the person that I am. I’ve often felt guilty for falling in love with Michael. As guilty, perhaps, as you felt for falling in love with me so long ago. You’ve read Shakespearean tragedy, I know. And each of the characters who was central to one or another play, had his fatal flaw. Yours is your perfection. If we walk into Zimmer’s headquarters and rescue Sarah, give her up.
“Each of us here has someone not only to love, but to be loved by,” Natalia went on. “Wolfgang Mann took the Sleep for one reason only. You taught me, John, taught all of us, that fidelity was the ultimate virtue, and also that it could be the ultimate sadness.” Rourke let go of his daughter, stepped back from them. “I’m going to finish, John. Emma Shaw loves you. If you both survive, be with her. She loves you like I did, perhaps more. Sarah would be happier without you, John. That’s as plain to those of us who love you—it is so abundantly clear that neither of you is meant for the other, but you still refuse to believe it. You love the ideal of Sarah, but she isn’t that ideal. It is very hard to be worshipped from afar, and very lonely.”
John Rourke turned away, not wanting to hear this. And he was disgusted, not by Natalia’s words but by his own refusal to believe them. The one thing which had kept him going wasn’t there.
People thought of him as a hero; he knew that. He did not consider himself to be that. All he had ever been was a man devoted to his family. And that was all about to slip through his fingers, after a lifetime of trying.
“We need to get out of here and be about what we came here to do,” John Rourke whispered. He picked up his pack and his rifle and started walking.
Chapter Forty
Emma Shaw knew which aircraft to avoid as she got the fighter airborne, wishing all the while that she had another Blackbird like the one she’d lost after hitting Eden Plant 234. They were unmatched for speed and had state-of-the-art electronics.
The V-Stol fighter she flew, an F-200, was armored against Electromagnetic Pulse, but only so far as laboratory tests could manage that. So far, however, so good. The cargo craft not designed for use in battle zones were another matter, however, their electronics more closely matching those of the fighter aircraft utilized Before the Night of the War.
One of the contributing factors to the Soviet Union’s success in the wake of that horrible night of destruction was the more “primitive” electrical systems in their aircraft. U.S. and allied planes utilized printed circuitry, while Soviet aircraft generally possessed vacuum tube technology. After an EMP incident, the Soviets could change the tubes and be airborne again. U.S. planes needed to replace entire circuitry panels.
Current state-of-the-art employed shielded circuitry, in theory at least, proof against EMP. Emma Shaw hoped.
Her two fighter wings were scrambled, most of the individual aircraft off the ground. Meanwhile, there were air crashes dotting the field, the cargo ships out of battle zone were suddenly without any electrical power and falling from the sky like enormous rocks, their flight crews never having a chance. The normal radio channels were all gone, and only ship to ship was working. She spoke into the microphone built into her helmet. “This is bulldog leader to bulldog pups. Standard defensive formation at following grid coordinates.” She read off the longitude and latitude from the screen of her navigation computer. “Until told otherwise, our mission is to interdict any incoming enemy ordnance until we run out of fuel. Stay on maximum fuel economy mode until ordered otherwise or in case of emergency. I don’t have to tell you guys we may be staying up here until we’re running on vapor, so watch yourselves. Nothing fancy. Let’s have a moment of silent prayer, for the crews of the downed aircraft and our forc
es in Operation Snowbird.” Operation Snowbird was the code name for the Trans-Global Alliance force deployment in upstate New York, most of which would surely be lost to the nuclear strike. “This is bulldog leader, out.”
They could stay airborne for quite a long time in maximum fuel economy mode, but what about John Rourke and the family? The purpose of her two squadrons being assembled in the first place was to support John’s efforts at Nazi headquarters. Now, however, that would have to wait. No other fighter squadrons were airborne, and there was no telling how soon they would be. The fuel trucks which serviced the aircraft were not armored against EMP, and normal communications were totally disrupted. Computers wouldn’t be capable of running, their circuitry fried.
There was nothing to do but take up station in defense of the base and hope for word on how soon other fighter aircraft could get airborne to replace them, so they could get refueled and fly west. It was possible that the ground wouldn’t even be able to reach them.
“Shit,” Emma Shaw murmured. Then she bit her lower lip . . .
John Rourke dug in his poles and moved forward toward the edge of the ridge line. Below him stretched only virgin snow field, and beyond that a river valley, on the other side of which rose the mountain that was the Nazi headquarters.
Human forms would not be detected on sensing equipment at this distance, so they could move with relative impunity. It would only be when they reached the mountain itself that electronic security might be a problem. But Deitrich Zimmer didn’t want them kept out; of that, John Rourke was certain.
He was also certain of something else: what Natalia had said to him was true.
Rourke signaled the others, then pushed off and down onto the slope, Natalia the best skier among them, keeping pace with him quite easily. They were the only two who, Before the Night of the War, had ever skied for sport. Under normal circumstances, whatever they were, this slope would have been challenging, but pleasant. Equipped as they were, with packs and weapons, however, the slope was at once more difficult to navigate and more dangerous should they fall. A back could snap, a leg fracture. Whether the injury were complex or simple, a fall could result in death here.
Rourke kept moving, guiding his skis into what seemed the natural contour of the mountain slope, Natalia staying slightly behind him now, Paul, Michael and Annie strung out further back still.
It was true that Wolfgang Mann was in love with Sarah. It was true that Sarah would be better off without a husband who had never been very good at being there when he was needed, always off doing something, anything but what he should have been doing. The philosophical differences which had existed between them had melted away in the aftermath of the Night of the War. She had learned that he was right to live for tomorrow by being prepared, but he had learned that she was right to live for today because tomorrow is uncertainty.
It was true that Sarah would be better off with Wolfgang Mann.
It was his fault, of course, that their marriage had worked out so poorly, despite the fact that they loved each other at first and still did love each other. A marriage was like anything else; in order to succeed, it had to be worked at. He hadn’t worked at it, even though Before the Night of the War he had always been able to convince himself that he was trying his best to play by rules that he didn’t understand.
The family. He had done everything that he did, for the family, his joy and his obligation. And the family was slipping away from him. His son and his daughter were grown, would be making families of their own, Annie already married, Michael soon to be.
And, he would be alone, because he would lose Sarah if he were able to save her. Alone, except perhaps for a wonderfully crazy woman who was as passionate as he was dispassionate.
John Rourke felt the corners of his mouth turning down into a grimace of determination. He would not give up. If he saved Sarah only so she could be with Wolfgang Mann, then so be it. It was her happiness that he wanted, not his own. Emma Shaw would not find happiness with him, either; a relationship with him would be totally illogical for any woman.
And, he was very tired very suddenly, tired of standing back and watching life instead of being in it.
Chapter Forty-One
The old fedora had once been pearl grey, but its lustre disappeared quickly. When he retired it from day-to-day use and devolved to what was his standard headgear—a black fedora—he had kept the hat anyway, just because it fit right. It became his “sport” hat. He wore it on those rare occasions that he was able to get away and do some deep-sea fishing, wore it when he got out trap or skeet shooting, wore it when he just knocked around in the woods. He wore it very little, which was why after ten years of being retired from daily use it really didn’t look much worse than it had before.
The vest which Tim Shaw wore was another matter entirely. Constructed to look like a photographer’s vest, with pockets all over it which zipped and Velcroed closed, it was constructed of the latest bullet-resistant material and, when closed at the front, featured an extra fold-under panel which could stop a slow-moving rifle bullet and almost any handgun bullet. Blunt trauma was another question, of course, and nothing was proof against that except the best of ceramics, and then only to a degree. But a bruise, perhaps even some internal injuries—hairline fractures and the like—anything was generally better than springing a leak.
He carried nothing special in the way of armament as he left his daughter’s little house behind and started up along the trail deeper into the mountains. In addition to his .45 automatic and his snubby .38 Special revolver, he carried one of the two rifles he owned. The one still at home was a nice little .22; he’d taught Eddie and Emma how to shoot on it, then moved them quickly into centerfire handguns. The rifle he carried with him was identical to the one John Rourke used, a Lancer replica of the HK-91 in .308, what used to be called 7.62mm NATO Before the Night of the War, when there was a North Atlantic Treaty Organization. In a musette bag hanging at his left side, Shaw carried spare magazines for the pistol and the rifle, and spare speedloaders for the revolver. In a teardrop-shaped daypack on his back, he carried some food, a first-aid kit and other little necessities, a sleeping bag rolled up beneath the pack and suspended there on straps.
With any luck, the man he wanted would come after him quickly enough and they’d settle the thing. While he—Tim Shaw—was tramping around in the boonies, the city of Honolulu was in big trouble. Evacuees from the eruption of Kilauea were coming in by the planeload, other Nazi groups were engaged in various types of sabotage and the entire Trans-Global Alliance was getting ready for war. The war would either start with or early on include an attack on the Hawaiian Islands in order to destroy the naval facilities at Pearl Harbor.
As Tim Shaw walked along, he whistled a happy little tune from his childhood, hoping that someone was out there to hear it, to target him, to get this thing going and done with. He didn’t delude himself with any ideas of being truly bulletproof, but there was no other way to get the man he sought, the Nazi saboteur who killed schoolkids and their teachers, who didn’t have any sense of good or evil, who was just a wild animal gone bad and living only for mindless destruction.
Tim Shaw wanted only one thing: he wanted to see the man dead. The one thing Tim Shaw didn’t bother to bring along was a pair of handcuffs.
Chapter Forty-Two
For once in his life, had he played the odds, John Rourke would not have been able to plan ahead. But, he did not play odds, and he always planned ahead.
Resting within a cave at the base of the slope before they attempted the river crossing, John Rourke said as much to Paul and Annie, Michael and Natalia. “Deitrich Zimmer has calculated our options in advance and arranged for us to be right where we are now, ready to penetrate his headquarters complex. He’s probably assumed that we’d leave whatever other forces were wth us behind in favor of a soft penetration made by just the five of us. And, he’s right. However, he expects certain behaviors, and it’s our obligation, if we
are to survive, to do what he doesn’t expect.”
“Commander Washington’s force and the SEALs and Germans you brought, won’t be more than ten minutes away once they’re in position, but that can be a very long time,” Michael said.
Rourke nodded agreement. “Indeed. A very long time. Zimmer has anticipated every move we make, simply because he’s laid out an irresistible opportunity for us, and left the only courses of action that would be logical as viable. He expects us to know by now that this is an elaborate trap, but he knows we’ll walk right into it anyway.
“Which is exactly what we have to do, but hopefully from a slightly different direction,” Rourke went on. “The printout from the battlefield computer which you obtained, Michael, pretty much points the way we should go.” And Rourke opened a notebook from within one of the musette bags beside him on the cave floor and took the pencil with it, beginning to draw a rough diagram of the Nazi mountain headquarters. “We’re faced with three means of entry. The first is the front entrance, which is heavily guarded. The second is the service entrance, which, as the force-strength printout indicated, is lightly guarded and has less for us to worry about in terms of electronic countermeasures. The third way is the mountain side itself. To climb the mountain would be close to suicidal. Therefore, Deitrich Zimmer anticipates that we’ll come in through the service entrance or attempt the impossible, to climb the mountain itself.
“But he’s wrong on both counts,” Rourke said, tapping at the crude drawing he’d made with the point of his pencil. “Zimmer is not expecting us to come in through the front, because that would have been too obvious for him to hope for. So, chances are, it’s normally guarded. And, Zimmer has to take into account the fact that whatever backup forces we have will be waiting to strike as soon as called or from a definite time schedule. The backup forces would logically come in from a different direction, not the same one we used. Since the mountain face is near to impossible for even a small force, and we would probably use the service entrance, that means that the main entrance would be the one to be assaulted by our backup forces.
