GENESIS (Projekt Saucer)

by W. A. Harbinson

  The wind was light but icy, Shivering, Stanford went to the front of the car and raised the hood. He beamed his flashlight on the engine, examined the spark plugs, the carbureter, the works, but couldn’t find anything wrong. Stanford shivered with cold. The snow was settling on the engine. He turned the flashlight off and went back around the car to try the ignition again. He bent forward to climb in, stopped, blinked a few times, then saw that the other door was open and that Epstein was missing.

  Stanford straightened up quickly, feeling panic, his heart racing, looking over the car, across the road, at the tree-covered slopes. The trees were tall and close together, blocking out the moonlight, the white snow disappearing into darkness where the slope became steep. Then he saw Professor Epstein, stooped over, coat flapping, clambering up the slope and heading through the trees, the snow swirling about him.

  Stanford bawled Epstein’s name, but Epstein didn’t glance back. He had passed the first trees, his feet kicking up the snow, disappearing, reappearing, clambering uphill. Stanford looked beyond him. A chill ran down his spine. He saw the light beyond the trees, rising up, spreading out, a glowing fan at the top of the hill, growing larger each second.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Stanford whispered.

  He hammered the car with his fist, ran around it, followed Epstein, his feet sinking into the snow as he crossed the dark road. The wind was sharp and icy, blowing the snow into his face, and he put his hand over his face until he reached the first trees. Looking up, he saw Epstein… heading determinedly for the pulsating light that fanned out in the black sky.

  Then Stanford heard something, thought he felt it, wasn’t sure. He jerked his head back and looked directly above him and went numb all over. There was no sky above. There was just a total blackness: a blackness that wiped out the moon and stars and was utterly physical. Stanford kept looking up. He couldn’t believe what was happening. The blackness went as far as he could see and seemed to be bearing down upon him.

  Stanford looked again for Epstein. He saw him moving between the trees, The light fanned out above the brow of the hill, glowing and pulsating. Stanford bawled Epstein’s name, but Epstein didn’t glance back. Stanford cursed and started hurrying up the hill, the air vibrating around him. He heard the sound or

  felt it, wasn’t sure what it was, slowed down and started slipping and sliding, his head tight, his lungs bursting. Then he fell and rolled over, looked up and saw the light, saw Epstein clambering up toward the light with unnatural energy.

  Stanford lay there in the snow. He looked up and saw the light spreading out and enveloping Epstein. Then two figures materialized. Both were silhouetted. They came up over the brow of the hill, moving steadily, methodically. They stopped and stood still and were framed by the fan of light. Epstein straightened up and walked up to the figures and one reached out and touched him. Stanford lay there, looking uphill, unable to move. Epstein merged with the two silhouettes and then they all walked away, vanishing over the hill. Stanford lay there for what seemed like a long time, the vibrating sound numbing him.

  The snow continued falling. The fan of light started fading. It grew weaker and smaller, shrank to nothing, and then disappeared. Stanford lay there in the snow, watching the brow of the hill. A line of white lights rose out of the darkness to climb slowly and vertically. Then the vibrating ceased. The dark night was filled with light. Stanford jerked his head back and looked above him and shielded his eyes.

  There was light in the blackness, a perfect circle, growing larger, spreading out and hurling down a dazzling radiance that turned the night into daytime. Stanford shielded his eyes. He squinted up at that pool of light. He saw the other line of lights gliding over from the hill and merging with the fierce light above him and then disappearing.

  Stanford closed his eyes. They were watering and stinging. He blinked and looked up again and saw the dazzling white light. There was a black disk in the middle. The larger circle of light was shrinking. It kept shrinking until it swallowed the black disk and the blackness was total.

  Stanford kept looking up. He saw nothing but the blackness. He lowered his gaze and looked back along the road and saw a ribbon of stars. The blackness ended back there. The ribbon of stars was growing wider. The far edge of the blackness was receding and racing toward him. Stanford looked the other way. He saw the very same thing. He saw a ribbon of stars growing wider as the blackness raced toward him. Then he looked up again. He saw nothing but the blackness. He looked around him and saw the emerging stars as the black mass kept shrinking. It shrank as it ascended. The stars raced in on all sides. Stanford looked up and saw the dwindling darkness with the stars all around it. It finally became a small black disk. The disk shrank and disappeared. Stanford looked up and saw the starry sky, the moon wreathed in clouds.

  The tightness left Stanford’s head. He stood up and then walked up the hill until he stood at the top. He looked down the other side, saw a snow-white, empty field. He turned around and stumbled back down to the car, feeling outrage and grief. He turned the ignition key. The car roared back into life. Stanford drove back to Washington, DC, the loss of Epstein tearing at him, now determined to get the tapes in the safe before he, too, was taken.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  February 22, 1945. The guns roared in the distance, the skies were filled with smoke, and we had to destroy the Kugelblitz and make good our escape. I remember it well. I had to wrap myself in ice. The sleek saucer stretched across the broken stones at the base of the mountain. We had removed the new components. We had to leave the rest behind. We couldn’t let what remained fall to the enemy, and so we had to destroy it. I stood near the hangar doors. General Kammler was not present. The forested hills of Kahla were all around us and veiled in a thin mist. I glanced at General Nebe. His swarthy face revealed nothing. My fellow scientists and technicians were just behind me, their eyes fixed on the saucer. The guns roared in the distance. The saucer glittered in the sunlight. Nebe’s demolition men were standing under it, grouped around the four legs. One of the men waved his hand. General Nebe nodded soundlessly. All the men moved away from the saucer and returned to the hangar.

  I no longer accepted pain. It was a redundant emotion. Nonetheless, as I gazed at my great creation, I had to harden myself. The saucer looked enormous, its sloping sides a seamless gray, sweeping up to a steel-plated dome and reflecting the sunlight. It looked very beautiful. It also looked quite unreal. What I felt was a fleeting sense of loss, but I rigorously stifled it. I just stood there, saying nothing. General needed nodded again. A kneeling sergeant leaned forward and pressed a plunger and the saucer exploded.

  Fierce flames and swirling smoke. We were crouched behind sandbags. The explosions reverberated throughout the hangar and then faded away. We all stood up slowly. The smoke was billowing toward the sky. Where the saucer had stood there was a black hole, filled with smoldering debris.

  I found myself speechless. I turned away and faced Nebe. His dark eyes and humorless face displayed no sign of sympathy. He just shrugged and surveyed the hangar. It was immense and filled with workers. The workers were lined up against the walls, being guarded by soldiers. Nebe’s dark eyes were watchful. He murmured an order to the sergeant. The sergeant barked further orders to this troops and they all raised their weapons. The prisoners moved immediately. They placed their hands on their heads. Silent, their eyes as dead as the moon, they marched out of the hangar.

  The destruction began. We would leave little to the Allies. All that day the ground rocked to explosions and the shrieking of bullets. A dark smoke boiled from the hangar. The long tunnels were filled with flames. The technicians stood outside, bemused, as their laboratories crumbled. Soldiers darted to and fro. Hand grenades curved through the air. The flames daggered through the black smoke and splashed down on the ground.

  Other guns roared in the distance. The horizon was smokey. The enemy was advancing every minute and our time became precious. We all rushed to pack the trucks.
The largest crate was first to leave. In the crate were the numerous new components, without which we’d be lost. I climbed in beside the crate. I glanced out and saw the prisoners. They were kneeling in great numbers on the ground, the smoke drifting around them. I did not look very long. They were destined for Buchenwald. When they turned to smoke and ash in the crematoria, what they knew would die with them. I reached out and touched the crate. General Nebe waved from the murk. The truck growled and then rumbled down the hill as the destruction continued.

  Darkness was descending. Allied guns roared in the distance. The truck started rocking from side to side and the large crate swayed dangerously. I reached out and touched it. I thought briefly of Rudolph Schriever. The Flugkapitän was still working in Mahren, racing to finish his saucer. As the guns roared, I smiled. Schriever’s saucer would never work. I stroked the large wooden crate with loving fingers and felt a deep peace. The truck shuddered and then stopped. I heard the hissing of steam. Looking out, I saw the mass of milling workers approaching the train.

  We unloaded in darkness. The crate was moved with great care. A battalion of SS troops marched by, their guns and knives gleaming. They were all youthful fanatics. They were General Nebe’s disciples. They had deserted after the attempt on Hitler’s life and now were going with us. The war raged on in the distance. The train clanged and spat steam. The slave workers were stripped to the waist, sweating under the cracking whips. I watched the crate being loaded. It bumped against the long carriage. I cursed the man who was operating the crane and he lowered his head. The crate was then lowered more carefully. Blackened hands pushed it inside. The doors were closed and the slaves were ordered away as I walked to the platform.

  Allied planes growled overhead. I heard the crack of a rifle. A dog snarled and a man started screaming as I reached the dark platform. Clouds of steam swirled around me. Troops were entering the train. The ground shuddered and I saw flames in the distance, flaring up in the black night. Men were shouting and jostling. A torch shone in my face. General Nebe materialized from the murk, his dark eyes unrevealing. He pointed up to the nearest carriage. I saw the peaked caps of the officers. I nodded and we both boarded the train and closed the door hard behind us.

  The carriage was packed and noisy. A sweating corporal pulled the blinds down. Once finished, he turned on all the lights and I felt my eyes stinging. Most of the officers were disheveled. Their ties were loose and their shirts were soaked. The air was blue with cigaret smoke, smelt of ash and fresh sweat. General Nebe murmured something. Two men jumped to their feet. They saluted and then marched away, leaving two empty seats. Nebe indicated one of them. When I sat down, he sat beside me. The two officers seated opposite froze visibly and then lowered their eyes. Nebe yawned and glanced around him. His rough face was expressionless. Shortly after, with much clanging and groaning, the train started moving.

  The night was long and miserable. The train stopped and started often. Allied planes growled continuously overhead, the guns boomed in the distance. The officers smoked and played cards. Their ears cocked when they heard explosions. Nebe slept with his mouth pursed and whistling, his head hanging heavily. General Kammler was not present. He was busy elsewhere. That same night he was moving the scientists from Peenemünde to the mine shafts of Bleicherode. He had suggested the move to Himmler. It was a cunning thing to do. Its purpose was to distract Himmler’s attention while we made our escape. The Reichsführer was in a panic. He had forgotten about the wilderness. He was now more concerned with the V-2 rockets, and with young Schriever’s saucer. The guns roared as I smiled. I thought of Schriever back in Mahren. That fool would still be working on his saucer when the Allies arrived.

  We were bombed a few hours later. I remember my annoyance. The sudden roaring almost split my eardrums as I plunged to the floor. The bending tracks shrieked. My one thought was for the crate. The whole carriage rose up and crashed down and then rolled onto its side. The noise was catastrophic. Men screamed as seats buckled. I went sliding along the floor and struck a wall and rolled over a flailing man. Flying pieces of wood and spinning chairs. A smashed head pouring blood. I turned around and saw the windows above me, glass shattered and glinting. Men screamed and bawled curses. I jumped back to my feet. A bloody corporal formed a stirrup with his hands and Nebe planted his boot in it. The corporal heaved the general up. I saw the mass of dangling legs. More bombs fell and exploded around the train as I found a cleared space. I pulled myself up through the window. The night roared and spewed flame. I crawled away from the window and rolled off and crashed down to the ground.

  My one thought was for the crate. I ran toward the long carriage. Men were falling off the train and crashing down and then rolling away from me. The whole scene was chaotic. A silhouette was bawling orders. I clawed two or three men from my path and then saw the long carriage. General Nebe was already there. There were three trucks near the train. A dozen men were laboring under my crate, their backs bent, their necks straining. Another bomb fell nearby. Nebe stepped forward to bark an order. The men heaved the crate onto the truck and then collapsed from the effort. General Nebe’s jackboot glistened. He kicked one of the lolling men. The men jumped up and grabbed at their weapons and clambered into the truck. Nebe waved his right hand. I climbed up beside the driver. Nebe followed me in, barked an order, and then the truck began moving. Allied planes passed overhead. A gray dawn was breaking. There was another truck in front, one behind, and we kept moving forward.

  The breaking dawn was filled with smoke. The landscape was devastated. Charred trees and smoldering buildings and corpses, ragged columns of refugees. The refugees were going the other way. Allied planes flew overhead. The trucks growled and bumped along the dusty roads as the smoke cleared away. A drab country: anonymous. The devastation remained. The blackened buildings were no longer smoldering: the ash had turned cold. We stopped and started often. Darkness fell and brought a stark, chilling silence that gave way to the murmuring sea.

  We stopped just outside Kiel. The fields were flat and barren. I saw ahangar, a series of low bunkers, a few bleak, concrete buildings. There we stayed for five weeks. The crate was hidden in a bunker. Every day I went down to inspect it, wanting desperately to leave. Each day was the same. The men smoked and played cards. Allied planes rumbled over our heads, but always kept flying south. Long days and freezing nights. I toyed with mathematical riddles. It was wet and the SS men were drawn to the flickering ovens. General Nebe kept to himself. His dark eyes were unrevealing. He slept soundly, his mouth puckered and whistling, his heavy legs outstretched. Dawn drifted into dusk. The Allied planes flew overhead. I often studied the SS men in the bunkers, wondering what they were thinking. They all seemed to be very young. Most were handsome and sweet-faced. All had dipped their hands in blood and tortured the helpless, few would suffer from sleepless nights. I wondered how we could take them all. I didn’t believe we had the space. A cold wind came and chilled us to the bone and Nebe said we were moving out.

  We drove down through Kiel. A fine mist veiled the darkness. I was sitting in the back of a truck, the wooden crate towering over me. I thought of Kammler in Oberammergau. I wondered if he had escaped. I thought of Wernher von Braun and Dornberger and wondered what would become of them. Kammler might still be with them. He might be down there in Kiel. I ran my fingers along the length of the crate and then we came to the docks.

  The trucks squealed to a halt. The crate shuddered and then was still. General Nebe’s dark eyes appeared from dense mist and he motioned me out. I jumped down, feeling stiff. The docks were very quiet. The black water reflected the lamps beaming down on the submarines. I glanced keenly around me. Nebe was murmuring to some troops. The men formed up in a neatly spaced line against the wall of a hangar. Other men were at my crate. They worked slowly and carefully. I glanced down at the submarine just below me: U-977. There were men on the deck. They were grouped around the hold. Chains rattled and I saw my precious crate dangling over the w
ater. There was a moment’s hesitation. The crate was jerked and started spinning. Hands reached up and guided it down until it dropped out of sight.

  General Kammler appeared on deck. He was accompanied by Captain Schaeffer. Both men climbed up the ladder to the dock and approached General Nebe. Kammler spoke in a low voice. He kept glancing along the dock. His shadow trailed out along the wet stones and smothered my feet. General Nebe turned away. He murmured something to his sergeant. General Kammler took a torch from his pocket and flashed it three times. I glanced along the dock. I saw the lights of another truck. The truck growled and then started toward us, its headlights turned down. General Kammler walked up to me. He introduced me to Captain Schaeffer. We shook hands as the truck pulled up near us and turned toward the water.

  The SS troops were silent. They formed a line along the hangar. The sergeant stepped back and bellowed an order and the troops faced the wall. I heard their weapons rattling. Their boots rang on the stones. The truck stopped, overlooking the water, and then its ramp was thrown down.

  A shocking noise split the silence. I shook my head to clear it. The SS troops lined up along the hangar were jerking and wriggling. My eyes turned toward the truck. I saw a barrel spitting flames. The machine gun was roaring and rattling as the men screamed and died. When I blinked, there was silence. A grey smoke drifted lazily. The tall wall of the hangar was filled with holes and splashed with fresh blood. The men all lay on the ground, sprawled across one another. Their large pupils reflected the lamps beaming down on their faces.