The Omega Sanction - Andrew Scorah (best way to read ebooks txt) 📗

clapped his hands.

A cheer echoed from the assembled men.

“I will have to recalibrate the device,” Hoffman said, “We need to appear inside the bunker or else we will have to fight our way through the ring of steel in the Chancellery.”

“How long will that take?”

“About an hour, I have to input the correct spatial equations, recalibrate, and then refuel the bell.”

“Very well, but if you can be quick about it the better I will feel,” Koenig said.

Hoffman nodded and busied himself at the console.

Koenig strode out of the chamber, and headed for the perimeter ring outside the vault.

At the end of the corridor leading to the room, his men had set up a barricade with desks and crates. A heavy machine gun was being manned covering the approach to their location.

“Erich,” he addressed a man who was supervising the last part of the barrier erection.

The man stopped what he was doing and saluted Koenig.

“Recall all squads to the vault. It is nearly time.”

“But mein Fuhrer, they have the American intruders trapped in the prison area, they have freed the prisoners.”

“Okay, have them seal them in then activate the purge protocols for that area. It is too late for them to stop us now. Contact Willy, I want him back here now.”

The man nodded, ordering a man with a radio strapped to his back to relay the message.

Koenig turned on his heel and headed back to the vault. Nothing can stop them now, he knew that, apart from a couple of irritations the operation had so far been a success. Within a couple of hours, they would have the location of Hitlers ultimate weapon, one so terrifying it would bring the world to its knees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

Chapter 20

 

Death came to them from all sides of the landing. They were trapped in the cells. Only just managing to hold back the final bullet that would send them to eternal night.

“Where the fucks Cyclops?” Trotsky called out above the din of gunfire.

“I have no idea,” Bane fired at a Staat soldier, sending him scurrying back to the cover of a cell a few doors down.

They were on their own for the moment, and it looked like Trotsky was out of ideas. Bane was the same. The odds were hopeless. They had been able to take down a couple of the enemy, but had hardly scratched their numbers.

A commotion at the far end of the landing drew Banes attention. He peered around the edge of the door. The sight that greeted him gave him hope they would get out of this. Butcher alongside Kukri and a few other security men were attacking the Staat soldiers from the rear.

He looked to his left. The other troops were retreating through the door.

Bane stepped out firing at the troops trying to get out. He saw a pair go down under his withering fire before the door was slammed shut.

Trotsky and Jennifer emerged from their cell. The professor stayed inside.

The other troops were escaping to the upper-landings, presumably heading back to the way they came in.

“What’s happening? Why are they leaving?” Jennifer rubbed her fingers through her hair.

“I don’t know, but you can bet it won’t be for a good reason,” Bane said.

He heard footsteps behind him. Bane and Trotsky spun at the same time. Weapons raised.

Cyclops was hobbling towards them. Blood poured from a gash on the side of his head, and a hole in his right thigh was evidence of another wound.

“I got cut off, the bastards got me my little friend,” he slumped against Trotsky. The little Israeli lowered him to the floor.

“You're gonna be okay, you faltzant, Russians are made of tough stuff.”

“Ah my little Israeli Govniuk, the eternal optimist, the bullet has nicked big vein in my thigh. I can feel the muscle soaking the blood.”

Jennifer knelt next to him, cradling his head.

Bane could tell it was a bad GSW, knew the Russian was finished by the sallowness of his skin. His eyes kept flickering shut, and his speech was slurred. He needed urgent medical treatment, some Ringer's lactate solution for fluid resuscitation and major surgery. All of which was not available to them here.

Trotsky was trying to apply a tourniquet above the wound. Cyclops weakly pushed him away.

“Don’t waste your time, ebanashka,” Cyclops said, his voice barely a whisper, “You have a job to do, so go do it, kill some German mudak’s for me, Polniy pizdets.”

Cyclops took one last rattling breath. His body shuddered, and the light went out of his eyes.

Trotsky shook the lifeless body of his friend.

“No, Cyclops, no.”

Bane placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s over. Trot, he’s gone.”

Trotsky shrugged him off.

“This is all fucked up, what are we doing down here, we should have stayed out of it, Morgans dead, now Cyclops...” He punched the wall next to him.

A tear rolled down Trotsky’s cheek. Once again. Bane was reminded of the closeness of this team.

“Trotsky, stand down!”

The harsh sound of Kukri’s voice made them both jump.

“We can’t afford to lose it now. Pull yourself together.”

Trotsky blinked, then appeared to sink in on himself. Sheepishly, he looked at Kukri, and back to Bane.

“Sorry, guys,” he said, looking down at Cyclops, “He was like a brother to me, don’t worry, you Russian maniak, I’ll take some down for you.”

Bane looked to Kukri.

“Where’s Hypo?”

“He didn't make it either, or Billy, they went down when they first attacked the other landings.”

Butcher appeared at Kukri’s shoulder.

“We’ve got another problem.”

Before Bane could ask what the problem was, all the lights went out.

 

After what seemed only a few minutes, Rogan steered the car onto Lake View Drive. Through the trees on the left side Charlotte could see the waters of Lake Bancroft. They pulled into a drive, stopping before large wrought iron gates. Gargoyles gazed down on them from their perch on either side of the gate.

Rogan lowered his window, and reached out of the window to press a button on the entry com box.

“We’re here,” he said to whoever was at the other end.

Seconds later the gates swung open.

Rogan drove through.

A long sweeping driveway lay before them, bordered on either side by trees and colourful bushes. A man in a Gilly suit, and armed with an automatic weapon, stepped out of the tree line where the drive curved to the right. He gave a brief nod to the car as they drove past.

As they rounded the curve, the trees fell away to reveal a two storeys modern looking ranch house, fronted by a well manicured lawn edged with rose bushes.

Rogan pulled up by the front door.

“Just walk in. The colonels waiting for you.”

“You're not coming in with me?”

“No, I have stuff to do, don’t worry, he doesn't bite.”

She opened the door, and stepped out of the car, closing the door behind her.

Rogan pulled away. She watched until the car disappeared back into the trees. Turning back to the house, she shrugged. Charlotte was past being frightened, was now more angry and a little confused at why her boss would want her dead over some stupid report. She hoped this colonel, whoever he was, was not going to give her more bullshit, because she was ready for him.

Charlotte took a deep breath, and walked up to the door. She was reaching for the handle as the door opened, spilling warm light out onto the porch.

An elderly man stood framed in the doorway. He held a gold topped cane in one hand, and a kind smile across his face.

“Welcome to my home Charlotte Webb, come on in.”

She walked past him into a tiled hallway replete with sweeping staircase, glittering chandelier, and paintings of battle scenes on the walls. She suspected there was no lady of the house.

“Are you Colonel Montague?” She said, turning to face him.

“I am he,” he said, indicating an open door off to the right, “Let’s make ourselves comfortable while we have a chat.”

She followed him into a comfortably furnished living room with vaulted ceilings, and floor to ceiling windows on three walls. He sat in a high backed leather chair next to a Georgian stone fireplace where logs crackled giving off sparks.

She took the chair across from him, crossed her legs.

He looked at her. She felt uncomfortable under his gaze.

“I don’t mean to appear ungrateful, but what is it you want from me?”

“No doubt, Rogan has filled you in on the situation my men are in, and also yourself?”

“Some, yes, but I still don’t understand why you need my help.”

“You initially made the report on Geheime Staat, I want you to continue that work for me, through our sources, we discovered you’d been marked for special measures, I hate it when those in power act as though they are god so I had to bring you in under our protection, if you agree of course.”

“Seems I have no choice do I.”

“We all have choices Miss Webb, it’s what we do with those choices that counts in the end.”

He just smiled at her, “Where are my manners, would you like a drink, coffee, juice, something stronger?”

“I could really go a whisky, neat, right now.”

“A splendid choice, I have a single malt I think you’ll like, then we can get down to the nitty gritty.”

He got up from his seat and limped over to a nearby side table, weighed down with numerous bottles and glasses. After pouring them both a drink, he returned, handing a glass to her before sitting.

She took a sip. The liquid traced a fiery path down to her stomach. She was able to relax a little for the first time since the attack on her.

“I think my men are in real danger from these people, there’s been no contact from them for a while now. You’ve looked into this group, but only skimmed the surface, I need you to dig deeper, anything, no matter how irrelevant, I want to know, especially who their bosses are, because I think there are others giving them their orders.”

“But haven't you got people of your own who could be doing this?”

“Yes, but you’ve a head start, I have a feeling we don’t have much time, long ago I learned to trust my hunches, and my hunch on this one is Area 51 is not their main objective, my people have said they’re possibly after something called the Kecksburgh device, I want you to look into that as well.”

“Quite a tall order, but I’ll give it a shot,” Charlotte said as she swallowed the rest of her drink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER SIX

Chapter 21

 

Bane froze. The darkness was deeper than a philosophers thoughts.

He said into the inky blackness, “What’s happening, Butcher?”

“They’ve sealed the exit doors, I think they’re executing the purge protocols.”

The dark was pushed away, as red lights flickered into life along the landing. A siren started blaring.

A computerised voice informed them, “You have one minute to evacuate the area... purge commences in 59 seconds.”

“We have to get out, they’re going to release gas, a derivative of Phosgene, only more toxic, it’s used if the prisoners down here get out of control, and to delouse the cells.”

“... Purge commences in 48 seconds...”

Bane felt on the edge of panic, fear rising like a tsunami within him.

“Get us out of here. Butcher, you know the place better than any of us.”

“This way, follow me,” he said, “There’s an emergency escape door in the canteen, for any staff stuck down here.”

With the remaining prisoners, Bane estimated there to be about a hundred and fifty men and women. They ran along the landing.

“... Purge commences in 38 seconds...”

In the canteen, Butcher and his men pushed aside tables and chairs. He lifted up a square piece of flooring to reveal a door in the floor, a sunken keypad next to it.

“I hope they haven't changed the code, “he said, punching in a five series code.

“... Purge commences in 20 seconds...”

The