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

which will in turn cause a null return to the fluctuation capacitors, in other words there will be a massive explosion, everyone will die.”

 

Bane raised the leather case, “These are the new settings to make it work, without them all is lost.”

 

The man stared at Bane his eyes blank, and for a moment he thought his ploy had failed.

 

“Alright, I will call through to the others to let you pass, Kammler is in the offices in the valley, or he was. Be quick, they will be setting it off soon.”

 

He signalled to his men who moved vehicles out of the way. Trotsky drove through the gap, and when they had gone a sufficient distance they all breathed a sigh.

 

“Fluctuation capacitors?”

 

Jennifer stared at him, a corner of her mouth turned up in a smile.

 

Bane shrugged, “I was betting on him being all muscle and no brain, I was right.”

 

The section of tunnel they were travelling through had smaller tunnels branching off. Dug into the walls were “galleries,” each between 100 and 200 meters long. Many appeared to be manufacturing facilities where prisoners from the nearby Ohdurf and Buchenwald camps would work. Now all were deserted.

 

Bane briefly glimpsed the body of a large rocket of some kind within one of the galleries. They passed a few covered lorries being loaded with equipment by prisoners. These were watched over by steely eyed men in the now familiar uniform of the SS.

 

Thirty minutes after they had departed the barricade they arrived at a twin of the area where they began their journey through the tunnels. Smaller tunnels branched off left and right. A large metal door was set into the the wall to their right between two of the smaller branches. Instead of a single door in the far wall to allow access, a rough hewn tunnel was the only exit. A red and white barrier barred their way.

 

Two more of Koenig’s men were manning a machine gun emplacement. One jumped up and raised the barrier, waving them through. Obviously news of their arrival had been passed along to these men.

 

Trotsky was about to drive through when a large group of soldiers and civilians appeared in the tunnel. Like a stampede of wild animals they rushed towards them.

 

Bane grabbed a man as he dashed by.

 

“What’s happening?”

 

“The Americans have broken through, we have been told to get out of the valley,” he pulled his arm away, fear etched his face, and disappeared into the crush of bodies.

 

“Trotsky boot it, we don’t have much time.” Bane said.

 

 

Rogan’s torchlight played over 20 vintage World War II vehicles. Trucks and smaller cars. In the midst of these was the hulking form of a Tiger tank.

 

“Do you think any of ‘em still work?”

 

“I doubt it, but it won’t hurt to check them out,” Rogan said as he walked over.

 

Many of the vehicles were without tyres, the rubber having long since rotted away. They came to the row nearest the two tunnels and found a canvas covered truck with its wheels in good condition. Rogan climbed into the cab while Charlotte checked inside one of the workshop galleries.

 

“This one’s still got the keys in it.”

 

He turned the key, the engine clicked over gave a cough then nothing. He climbed out of the cab and lifted the bonnet.

 

“I don’t think the truck has any fuel in it, engine seems okay.”

 

He was surprised to discover a modern battery rigged into the engine. A closer inspection of the tyres revealed they were modern also.

 

“Rogan! Over here, I’ve got some modern fuel barrels.”

 

Alongside the barrels was a funnel as well as a few tools, spades, pick axes and the like. Someone had stocked this place for some kind of excavation work recently. Fresh dirt was still present on the tools.

 

They soon had the truck fuelled, and this time when Rogan turned the key, the engine burst into life. The trucks headlights stabbed away the dark.

 

They could see now that the left hand tunnel had collapsed, the right hand one was clear and seemed to wind in the direction of the Jonas Valley.

 

The tunnel ran on for about a mile before bending to the right. They came upon more vehicles which seemed to have been formed into a barrier. A space in the middle allowed them to glide through.

 

“What do you suppose that was all about?”

 

“A last ditch defencive line perhaps, to slow down the allies allowing their comrades to escape,” Rogan answered.

 

The tunnel wound on, with other smaller tunnels branching off. Darkened galleries and opened doors were glimpsed set into the walls of the tunnel.

 

Charlotte estimated they had travelled 4 miles when they ran out of tunnel. They had arrived at an almost identical area to the one they had found upon entering the tunnel system. Before them was the beginnings of a smaller tunnel, but this was blocked by a cave in.

 

Rogan stopped the truck and they climbed out.

 

“A dead end,” Charlotte said, “What do we do now?”

 

Rogan shone his torch around the wide space.

 

Moments later, the beam of his torch fell on a door that was closed. In fact, it wasn’t just closed, it was bolted shut . Two large bolts, the steel almost an inch in diameter, had been driven home into sockets set into the rock around the door. A tunnel on either side led off deeper into the complex.

 

“That’s different,” he said, pointing. “Let’s look inside if we can before checking down one of the smaller tunnels.”

 

Up to now, the only doors they had seen had hung open. One securely bolted must be hiding something.

 

Rogan and Charlotte strode across to the door.

 

He seized the top bolt and tugged at it, but it didn’t move.

 

“I think it’s pretty much rusted in place,” he said, handing his torch to Charlotte and changing his grip.

 

With both his hands tugging on the bolt, it did move. Not easily, and not far, but Rogan knew it was only a matter of time. He wiggled it back and forth, each movement freeing it a little more , until after a minute or so, with a final defiant squeal, it slammed back as his efforts at last pulled it free of the socket.

 

“One down,” he muttered, and grabbed the second bolt. For some reason, that was easier to move, and in a few seconds Rogan was able to grab the edge of the door and swing it open. Charlotte sniffed as the door swung open, and an unexpectedly familiar scent wafted out of the closed room.

 

“It smells almost like a church,” she said. “Old stones. Old stones and something else.”

 

The beam of Rogan’s torch, a circle of brilliant white light in the blackness of the room, played over the walls and then dropped down to the floor. At first, Charlotte couldn’t make out what she was seeing: the floor was covered with what looked like ragged, frayed and torn clothing interspersed by a confused tangle of white and brown shapes. Then she caught her breath as she realised what she was staring at. The floor was carpeted with old corpses. A mass of rotten clothing from which skulls and bones, some showing white, others with brown and mummified skin and flesh still adhering to them, projected. She’d seen bones and bodies before. But this was a sight she knew she would never forget.

 

“Oh, dear God,” she murmured, her voice choked with emotion. “So the reports were right. They couldn’t take all the scientists with them, so they massacred them to make sure they kept their mouths shut.”

 

She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked again at the scene in front of her.

 

“There must be at least twenty or thirty bodies here.”

 

“Old stones – and old bones,” Rogan agreed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

The white light of the torch flickered again over

The white light of the torch flickered again over the confused tangle of bones and flesh and clothing.

 

“Most of them look as if they were shot in the head,” Rogan suggested, “so maybe the SS just locked them in here and then sent in a couple of men with pistols to do the job. No—” he broke off.

 

“I’m wrong. See that piece of wood over there?”

 

He pointed to a spot near the centre of the room, and Charlotte nodded.

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s the handle of a German stick grenade, what our boys used to call a potato masher. They must have made them all wait in here, then lobbed in a hand grenade or two, waited for the bang and then gone back in to finish them off.”

 

“Callous bastards,” Charlotte muttered, as she recovered her composure.

 

“These people were almost certainly Germans, German scientists, working for the Third Reich and most of them probably even supporting Hitler. And this is the payoff they got for their loyalty and dedication. I can’t even begin to comprehend the mindset of the kind of people who would do this.”

 

“In the end,” Rogan said, “it might have just been a case of simple logistics. They might have only had enough space on the aircraft for a dozen or so people, plus equipment. And they were probably desperate to prevent any documentation or – worse – any of the people involved in the project from being captured by the Russians or any of the other Allied forces. The fastest, easiest, cheapest, most efficient, and above all the most certain, way to ensure that that couldn’t possibly happen was to kill them all.” He paused and ran the beam of his torch around the room.

 

“It’s difficult to tell how many bodies are in here,” he said, “but I think it’s more than twenty. My guess is that there are at least thirty, maybe forty of them. I suppose you could say that it’s just another example of Nazi efficiency. When you link that to their total disregard for human life, you get a pretty frightening combination. The only good thing is that we now definitely know that we’re in the right place.” Rogan pushed the door closed on the silent room and its long-dead occupants and slid home one of the bolts to secure it.

 

“Can you imagine what those poor souls must have felt like,” Charlotte said, her voice quiet and subdued, “locked in that room and probably knowing that they had just minutes to live? Wondering if they would be shot or bayoneted or simply left there to die of thirst and starvation.”

 

“At least it was quick,” Rogan muttered, “but they probably died screaming in terror. Those that survived the blast of that grenade would have been begging for death. The explosion in that confined space would have done terrible things to their bodies. So I hope their souls found some peace.”

 

Charlotte dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and glanced over at his dark shape as they headed off together down the smaller tunnel next to the door, heading further into the complex.

 

“That’s very deep for you, almost religious,” she said. “You feeling all right?”

 

“Yeah. It’s just that it’s one thing to read in a history book that the Nazis killed God knows how many millions of people, and you completely understand that on an intellectual level, but it’s just facts, you know, just numbers. But then, when you actually see the bodies – or rather the bones – it brings it home to you. I’ve never seen hard and unarguable evidence of a Nazi atrocity before. It just makes everything so much more real.”

 

“Yes. And those poor souls wouldn’t even have been listed among the dead. That was a secret atrocity, if you like , one nobody was ever supposed to know about. It makes you wonder how many other piles of bones are still out there somewhere, in some underground chamber or wherever, waiting patiently to be found so that another unfinished chapter about that war can finally be completed.”

 

Their lights danced ahead of them as they walked steadily down the tunnel, the beams illuminating