The Time Portal 5: The Nazi

by Joe Corso

  An hour and ten minutes later, Bomb One was successfully activated and, ten minutes later, Bomb Two was activated. Lucky hoped his iWatch’s solar battery still had some life in it, while he checked the work the doctors did on the two nukes. “Why did you choose to work in the center of the room on KR 949 & KR 819? Why not activate one bomb here, and the other - say - down there near the end of this row?” He pointed to the end of the row at the far end of the long, morbid concrete room with the scent of death lingering heavily in it. He really didn’t want to know the answer to the questions he asked the scientists. That was for Karpov’s sake. He just wanted him to know which bombs he needed to deactivate.

  Karpov and his team had arrived at the arsenal thirty-five minutes earlier, and they were nervously standing outside the concrete door to the bomb repository, waiting to spring into action the moment Lucky gave him the signal that they were finished activating the bombs, and were about to leave. Karpov heard Lucky’s voice come over his earpiece.

  “Are you guys ready for the trip back?”

  The two men nodded vigorously.

  “Please, let’s go. I don’t want to be anywhere near here when these bombs go off,” Stein said nervously.

  Weiss, looking annoyed, just said, “Can we please leave now? I too want to be far away from this place when the bombs go off.”

  Before leaving, Lucky wanted Karpov to know they were momentarily about to leave, so he said a few more words loud enough for Karpov to hear. “Okay, guys. Hold onto my arms tightly, because we’re getting out of here.” Lucky hoped that Karpov heard everything they said, especially the part where he said they were leaving in five seconds. Well, he did what he could; now it was all in Karpov’s hands. The job was completed and now it was time to go back. He just hoped that he wouldn’t have any further trouble with Mueller.

  “They’re gone!” Karpov screamed. “Open the doors; get in there and neutralize those bombs.” Karpov looked at his notes. Let’s see. KR949 and KR819. Look for those two numbers.”

  “Here’s KR819,” one soldier said.

  “I’ve located KR949,” said another.

  Karpov looked at the three scientists. “It’s all up to you now. Go to work and let’s hope that you can neutralize the bombs in time.”

  “Oh my God!!” Dr. Samovitch cried out. Everyone in the room froze.

  “What is it?” Karpov asked nervously.

  “The timer is set to go off in 55 minutes.”

  “What? Can you deactivate it in time?”

  “It will be close, but what choice do we have? I need one of your soldiers to help me. Hopefully, my two associates will deactivate the other bomb while we work on this one.”

  Karpov’s deputy director, Simion Netdevich, asked if he should begin the exodus of Moscow, but Karpov shook his head, motioning with his hand.

  “It’s too late for that. It’s in their hands now,” he said, pointing to the scientists.

  CHAPTER 12

  12TH CENTURY

  The unexpected heavy rains caused wagons and horses to bog down. Nothing moved, and travel came to a stop for the small group. Father Ignatio looked at the wagons wheels buried deep in the mud. He made the sign of the cross and sighed.

  “Thomas, have the men unhook the horses, then go to the inn and obtain lodging for us. Tell them we will be there until the rains have passed. And while you’re there, have someone tend to the horses. Remind them to make sure that they are wiped down and brushed, and then fed. Unfortunately, we will be here until the roads dry.”

  Keisling loved the fact that they couldn’t continue their journey to England. He figured that they’d remain at the inn for at least four, maybe five days. It would take that much time for the rains to stop and the roads to dry, and the more time they spent here the better chance he had to escape. Meanwhile, he enjoyed his newfound freedom; he ate good food and drank the best wine and ale the inn could provide - and all at the expense of the inquisition, which pleased him. Keisling was a soldier and what the inquisition didn’t know was that he was a high-ranking officer who, upon being captured, had been mistaken by the Spaniards for a common foot soldier.

  General Marcus Sanchez, the commander of the Spanish army, was forced to withdraw his troops from the battlefield, leaving the English commander to believe falsely that he had won the battle. But the wily Sanchez realized that he couldn’t win against such overwhelming British odds, so he ordered the retreat. When General Sanchez and the Spanish army arrived back in camp, Sanchez knew the English would be celebrating their victory, which was what he wanted them to do. He could have stayed on the battlefield and continued to fight, and maybe he would have won. The operative word here was “maybe.” He knew that if he remained on the battlefield, there would have been an inordinate amount of unnecessary casualties, which he chose to avoid by utilizing a brilliant textbook retreat. The moment the general returned to camp, he ordered his veteran units to assemble in front of his command tent.

  “Tonight, I will lead our units on a special mission. All of us will take extra precautions to make sure our armor doesn’t make a sound. We do this as a precaution to make as little noise as possible when approaching the enemy’s camp. You will also tie rags around your horses’ hooves to quiet them, which will soften the sound as we approach the English camp. Even now, the English are celebrating their great victory over us. They will do a lot of drinking tonight, so we will find a position behind their lines and wait until they are so drunk that they will not be able to defend themselves. Then when the English are good and drunk, our scouts will attack silently and kill the sentries first, and then the officers, and when that is accomplished, we will attack in force. When the fighting is over, and we are victorious, you will bring me prisoners - a lot of prisoners. We will sell those prisoners as slaves and the money will be shared equally among our men. Let’s hope that the inquisition’s greedy priests don’t take our hostages from us before we have a chance to sell them.”

  The soldiers had little regard for the inquisition priests, and they laughed aloud at the general’s remark.

  “We leave now. Since the English think they have defeated an overmatched Spanish army that retreated in a frightened panic, they won’t be expecting us to attack tonight.”

  Leopold Kiesling celebrated the victory by drinking much more wine than he should have. He staggered to his tent and dropped drunkenly onto his bed, and drifted into a deep wine-clouded sleep. He awoke with a splitting headache, to the clanking of metal coming from outside his tent. He thought he was dreaming, but years of soldiering told him that this was no dream. He jumped to his feet unsteadily, and he had to lean against his tent’s center post for support, wishing his head would clear. Seconds passed, and his head still hurt like hell. It felt as if a cannonball was rolling around inside it, but he was awake now. He pulled his sword from its scabbard and opened the tent flap. He was shocked to see the carnage that was taking place there. The painful realization set in that the Spanish had mounted a sneak attack, and from what he could see, through his drink-addled mind, was that his side was losing. Keisling had no time to put on his armor. He knew when he stepped out of his tent that he had to be careful because, without his armor, he had to choose a fight he could win, or he’d be cut to pieces. He gripped his sword and ran out of his tent and although he wasn’t completely sober yet, he managed to run his sword through a Spaniard just as he was about to skewer one of his men. He fought bravely while the battle lasted, but the fighting didn’t last long because the surprise attack by the Spanish had been planned and orchestrated perfectly, and it was a resounding success - the British army had been soundly defeated. Keisling had no choice but to surrender or to be killed, so he surrendered and watched helplessly as the officers were all put to death, and he and his men were placed in chains to be sold as slaves.

  General Sanchez sat at the table as a priest questioned the men. When it was his turn, Kiesling was asked his name and rank. He gave his real name, but instead of te
lling them that he was an officer, he said he was a mercenary. After the men had been questioned, they were turned over to General Sanchez to be sold as slaves. Even the inquisition knew that money was what motivated the troops, and money kept them content and happy. But as the general was about to leave the great hall, the priest called out to him.

  “General. You may take the English soldiers and do what you will with them, but we will keep their mercenaries here in our cells, where they will languish until it’s time to be brought before the inquisition for trial and judgment.”

  General Marcus Sanchez nodded, then he turned and left. He smiled inwardly as he walked down the steps of the church of the inquisition. You fool, he thought to himself. You keep those few miserable mercenaries. I’ll take the English soldiers; that’s where the money is. I’ll sell them and share the money with my men, who have earned it. But all you fools can think of is how many more people you can bring to trial and punish. What kind of man does that? he wondered.

  Keisling, the priest, and the soldiers were forced to wait five days for the rains to finally stop, and then another two days for the roads to dry so wagons could move without their wheels getting bogged down in the mud.

  Leopold had traveled over this mountain pass with his army when he came to Spain and he recognized certain signs that weren’t apparent to the others. Snow clouds were forming over the mountaintops and he knew that there would be snow soon, dangerous snow, snow that could trap them when they reached the higher elevations, so he prepared himself. He doubled his socks and made sure his boots were waterproofed. With a few well-placed coins, he procured a heavy sheepskin coat, gloves, a heavy wool sweater and a scarf, and a boot knife, from the proprietor.

  They traveled upwards for a week before they started their arduous trek over the mountains. As they climbed higher, they became aware that even though the rains had ceased, they were presented with another problem. SNOW. As they traveled higher into the mountains, it began to snow, gently at first, but becoming heavier by the minute. The change in weather could have been part of the same rain pattern from the previous week, which could have turned back on them as snow. Or it could be a new storm, but whatever it was, in a few hours’ time, travel over the mountain pass would stop completely. By being caught in the storm this high up in the mountain, they didn’t have the warmth and comfort of the inn in which to weather the storm.

  Keisling was the only one that was really prepared for this cold, snow-driven tempest, which had lulled them into a false sense of security and then hit them with its full fury. This storm was a hardship to the priest and the others, but it was a blessing to Keisling. This was his chance, and he knew it. On his first trip over the mountains, he had discovered a cave that would offer him protection from the freezing cold, if only he could get to it. He decided to wait until everyone bedded down for the night and then he would leave to try to find the cave. It would take him hours, maybe days to find it, but he knew he must leave while the storm grew. He was sure the storm would cover his escape, and tonight might be his only opportunity. He waited for the fire to build and then grow. It didn’t take a genius to see that there wasn’t enough wood to last the night. While everyone huddled near the fire, trying to keep warm, he lingered a while in the dark shadows, away from the others. When he felt the time was right, he tried to walk silently away, but Father Ignatio noticed him leaving, and he yelled for him to stop.

  “Keisling! Where do you think you are going?”

  Keisling was furious that the priest had stopped him, and by calling out to him, he alerted the others that Keisling was leaving. He turned around angrily and faced the little priest.

  “Where do I think I’m going? I’ll tell you where I’m going, you pompous little ass. To find some wood, you fool. Do you think that fire will last the night?” he said, pointing to it.

  Father Ignatio looked at Keisling and then at the fire, and he realized that Keisling was right. There was little wood left and, without wood, the fire would go out, and if the fire went out, they would all die. Ignatio pointed to two soldiers and ordered them to go with Keisling, which was the last thing Keisling wanted. Now because of this meddling little priest, he would be forced to kill those two men, which he really didn’t want to do. But now, by necessity, they were dead men, only they didn’t know it. Keisling turned to the priest.

  “Tell one of your men to give me his sword.”

  “What? Give you a sword? Do you think I’m crazy?”

  Keisling wanted to kill this annoying little priest; instead, he talked to him as if he were a child.

  “How do you expect me to chop down a tree, trim the branches, and chop the wood, without having something to chop it with? I need a tool, and if you can think of anything other than a sword I can use, then give it to me, and I will thank you for it.”

  Father Ignatio had no intention of giving him a sword or any kind of weapon, but they had no other tool, except a sword to cut wood for the fire. Father Ignatio lifted his hands toward the fire to warm them, and then he shook his head.

  “No sword. You won’t need a sword. Take these men with you to find the trees you need, and they will cut them down for you.”

  Keisling nodded. This wasn’t the plan he wanted, but since it was the only plan he had, it would have to do.

  “That’s fine with me.”

  He looked at the two men with a friendly smile. “I’m agreeable with this, as long as you two don’t hold it against me for not helping you cut the wood.”

  Father Ignatio blessed the three men as they left the warmth of the fire to begin their slow journey up the mountain for the arduous task of finding wood to keep them alive for another day. Each step the men took was a struggle against the cold winter wind and the heavy snows. After fighting the blistering snow for two hours, they came to a small copse of trees growing along the trail by the side of the mountain.

  “Here’s a tree we can use. This will get us through the night. But it’s not enough. I suggest we cut down a few more trees and stock up on wood for the next few nights.”

  “Why can’t we cut them down when we pass by here tomorrow?”

  “Because the way this storm is growing, the trees might be buried, and may be impossible to find.”

  The man nodded, knowing that what Keisling said made sense, so they went to work. It took two hours of using their swords to chop down the tree, which left both men exhausted, which was what Keisling was hoping for.

  When the wood was trimmed, Keisling suggested that they construct a simple sled so the wood could be pulled to the camp, rather than carrying it back. Without waiting for their approval, Keisling made a rough wooden platform, which was held together with strips of wet bark. He found a V-shaped branch, which he wrapped around the crude sled so they could pull it. Keisling turned to Thomas, the larger of the two soldiers.

  “Take this wood back to the camp, while Victor and I cut this tree down,” he said, patting the tall thin birch tree he selected for the next cutting.

  “Why can’t I just stay here and help you?”

  “You can’t stay here because they need wood for the fire back at camp. In fact, the fire may already be dying for lack of wood, and we can’t allow that to happen because it’s important that we keep the fire lit, and the priest alive. Now take the wood back and we’ll catch up to you when we finish cutting down and trimming this tree.”

  Thomas looked to Victor for support and he received a slight nod in return.

  “Go ahead,” Victor said. “We’ll follow as soon as we cut this last tree down.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d lend me your sword, so I could help Victor cut the tree down?” Keisling asked.

  Thomas shook his head. “No one gets my sword.”

  “That’s what I figured. Sorry, Victor. You saw me try to reason with him, but unfortunately, you will be cutting the firewood by yourself.”

  “Come on, Thomas. Give me a break and lend him your sword,” Victor pleaded.

&n
bsp; “No one gets my sword. But if you like, I’ll remain here, and we’ll take turns cutting down the tree and trimming it.”

  That was not what Keisling wanted. “No. You go on back down there now. They’re probably cold and they’ll need the wood for the fire tonight. Go on now; we’ll manage.”

  To Keisling’s relief, Thomas turned and tried to pull the makeshift sled, but it refused to budge. Then, with another pull, it freed itself, and another pull, and the sled followed behind him. He made the trip back down the mountain with the sled, sliding easily behind him on the snow. Keisling was right, Thomas thought. It was a good idea to build a sled. He shuddered to think of how hard it would have been to carry the wood back to the camp.

  The downward angle of the narrow path protruding from the side of the mountain made pulling the sled easier. Keisling watched until he was out of sight. He wanted Thomas to be the one to take the wood back, because he was the larger of the two men. With Thomas out of the way, he just had Victor to deal with. Victor would be exhausted from all of the chopping he was doing, and besides, Keisling really didn’t want to kill these men. He felt a little better knowing that he would just have to kill one of them, instead of both of them.

  CHAPTER 13

  PRESENT

  Lucky and the two scientists reemerged in Mueller's dungeon. This was not where Lucky wanted to return to, but he had to be sure that Mueller kept his word and released his two friends. This wasn’t the case, though, because his friends were still sitting in the square titanium cell exactly as they had been when he left, and Mueller was standing beside it smiling jovially at him.