Die Glocke Read online

  The younger assistant pulled a lever then turned a large dial on the control panel to increase the flow of power to the device even further. The room flashed and sparked in wonderful tones of blue and yellow as the manmade storm fired up.

  Two counter-rotating transparent cylindrical tubes that were wrapped around the middle of the bell started to spin with ever increasing speed. They filled with a red and purple colored liquid. The air crackled and sizzled, the device began to glow a dull blue as it absorbed the abundant power. The cylindrical tubes full of the magenta colored liquid span ever faster causing the electrically charged air to form a vortex around the object.

  The device began to vibrate violently causing the whole room to shake.

  “This is it.” Professor Walter Gerlach shouted.

  Sporrenberg hoped it was. They did not have many more to chances to succeed.

  Red lightning sparks zapped and pulsed across the bell, the ceramic tiles started to crack, the rubble rising upwards trapped in the vortex.

  Without warning, the power levels fluctuated violently, the dials and readouts on the console zigzagged and vibrated aggressively. Power started to drain from the room and the atmosphere began to cool.

  “No no no no no!” Gerlach shouted, “Get over there and pull the emergency stop lever Joseph, now!”

  The young assistant jumped on the console and pulled the lever down to cut the power to the room. Gerlach tapped buttons furiously as he tried to calm the supercharged device down, if he could not salvage the situation they were finished, there just would not be enough time for lengthy repairs and he knew it, he wiped sweat away from his wrinkled brow.

  Several of the transformers blew with bright sparks rising into the smoke-filled room. The power slowly disappeared. The device slowed and eventually the vibration stopped, the liquid filled cylinders gradually stopped rotating and the vortex dissipated. The center console leaked smoke copiously from several displays.

  With the power from the experiment free to supplement the rest of the base the lights flickered several times before they gradually came back on. Sporrenberg removed his welding mask then ran his hand through his hair, using the sweat from his forehead to slick his black hair back into position. He locked his beady black eyes onto the older mans.

  “I can explain Gruppenführer, we are so close…”

  “Shut up old man. You listen here, I want you to clear the tubes of the Xerum 525 and store it for our future use. I then want you to check the damage done to Die Glocke and decide if we have time for one last experiment, I must report to the Führer so I will give you half an hour to report to me.”

  The older scientist looked worried, “Sir the last technician that went to collect the Xerum died, even with the lead casing. And well we are so close I can see another vision coming…”

  Jakob Sporrenberg took a forceful step forward. “Do you find my demands unreasonable Walther? Because if you do I will kill you both now!” The SS man pulled out his Walter PP pistol and in one smooth motion cocked it ready.

  “No…n…No Sir.” The scientist stammered.

  “Very well, do as you are told; I will not ask again. And as for your visions, the Führer may believe in them and who am I to disagree with him but I don’t want to fucking hear another word about them until this mess is fixed.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Walter and his assistant chimed in unison.

  "Good. You have thirty minutes to report to me." With that Sporrenberg holstered the sidearm then turned for the door.

  After the door was unbolted and opened for him the Gruppenführer waited for it to close then turned to the two men guarding the door.

  “Keep an eye on them. If they try anything funny, you have my permission to kill them. Under no circumstances must they fall into Russian hands.”

  The two men did not say a word but just nodded and grinned.

  “Good.”

  Sporrenberg began the long ascent back to the surface. He needed to contact Hitler but he knew it may already be too late.

  Walther Gerlach waited until Sporrenberg had disappeared from view before he and his assistant bolted the door and then barricaded it with any spare items in the room.

  "Good work Joseph." He placed his hand on the young man's shoulders. "Fuck Sporrenberg, I won't let you waste your life retrieving the Xerum 525. Instead, let's check all the equipment and try again."

  "Thanks, Walther, I'll suit up and get working on the transformers that were damaged."

  Walther nodded at the young man, "We don't have much time if the base gets overrun that bastard Sporrenberg will be back to kill us both and destroy all of our hard work. We can't let that happen."

  Führer Directive 525

  Hitler flew into one of his trademark furious rants. He swiped a tower of papers off of his desk then slammed his fists down onto the large wooden table. Sporrenberg sat with his feet crossed on his own desk and let the Führer vent, he knew it was not wise to interrupt him.

  "Yes Führer, I understand, it's just they have not made any further progress and have failed to report in with a damage assessment after the last experiment… with the Russians on top of us, I thought it was best…"

  Hitler screamed down the radio at him.

  “Yes mien Führer, it is true I haven’t witnessed any visions from the device myself but I am aware that it has helped Wernher von Braun with his rocket research and has also delivered secrets that have been used in designs on some of our other weapons.”

  Hitler calmed slightly then gave Sporrenberg his orders called Führer Directive 525, he then made Sporrenberg repeat these orders to him.

  “I understand mein Führer. We will defend the base to the last man, Die Glocke and professor Gerlach are the most important asset and must be protected at all costs. If it looks like they are about to be captured I will personally see to the execution order, then will destroy everything in the lab. Nothing will remain mien Führer… If it comes to that.

  Hitler seemed pleased.

  "Heil Hitler," Sporrenberg shouted then the radio clicked off.

  That was it Sporrenberg had his orders, his men were already topside manning the defense of the base. The time for talking was over. ‘I won't fall into Russian hands.' He thought to himself as he played with the cyanide pill hidden in his back left molar.

  Sporrenberg readied his pistol then radioed down to the two men guarding the entrance to the laboratory.

  “Get the demolition charges readied, we may need them.”

  "Yes, Gruppenführer."

  The two men left the lab entrance to gather the explosive devices. Inside the bolted thick iron blast door Walther Gerlach failed to notice them leave; he was too busy with the preparations for the final test.

  The troops stationed outside were in their final preparations for battle. They each took a single Pervitin pill, they craved the feeling of unlimited energy and invincibility. They checked all the weapons were loaded and that there was enough ammunition to keep on fighting. Each to a man knew this would be a fight to the death but they were ready to die for their Führer, for their country but they were especially ready to die for Sporrenberg.

  The SS troops were well equipped with some of the latest cutting-edge technology. They had a surprise for those Bolshevik bastards, they had thought that they had three days more to prepare but clearly those cowards in the Wehrmacht had caved in much earlier than expected.

  Hauptsturmführer Berndt Krause cursed under his breath. He then straightened his hat, keeping the cold morning air away from his head, making sure his jet black uniform was in pristine condition.

  An alarm rang out from the base, this was it, enemies were on their way. Krause readied himself, he knew what must be done and he was going to kill everyone who dared get in his way. A broad smile crept across his face, he took his Pervitin pill and all was right in his world.

  Darkest Before Dawn

  Half an hour had passed since the last briefing had finished. General’s Eisenhower
and Arnold had left in their respective cars right after the briefing; they left no trace that they had ever been there.

  The troops of the 7th Ranger battalion had their orders; the Armor and infantry had already moved out twenty-five minutes earlier and were cautiously en-route to the open fields set east of the Owl Mountains.

  Staff Sergeant Brooklyn Johnson swept back his black hair, he desperately wanted a smoke but he knew that could give away their position so he suppressed the urge. Johnson had just finished the walk around checks of his P-51 Mustang. The mechanic finished refueling her and gave his thumbs up.

  The P-51 D Mustang was the stallion of the skies, Johnson loved the power given by the Packard V-1650 7 liquid cooled V-12 power plant; he also loved the security he felt from the six 0.50 caliber Browning machine guns spread out along the front of the rectangular wings. The squadron was also outfitted with two underwings mounted 1000 lb. bombs for this mission.

  Johnson gave his bird a loving tap on the side before he climbed up into the open bubble shaped canopy. Gently he slid into position strapping himself in as he went. Johnson felt at home in the cockpit, His bright blue eyes locked over a familiar picture, he moved his hand over the image of his young wife and child who were smiling back at him; it was a moment in time that he cherished dearly. Johnson shouted a warning before he started up his engine. The P-51 roared into life with a puff of dark smoke, the propellers span awake and Johnson tested his throttle a little.

  P-51's across the airfield all began to come alive one after the other. They were soon joined by the primal roar of the four "Cyclone" engines, dust and frozen soil plumed up into the air as the great bombers taxied into takeoff position and then there they sat burning fuel, waiting for the signal to go.

  The B-17’s were loaded with only four thousand lbs. of bombs each; they needed the extra range to get to the safety of a base in Italy after they had unloaded over their targets. The ten-man crew hunkered down. The gunners were checking the ammunition and were ready for an uncomfortable journey. The radios were silent; the usual banter was nonexistent as everyone single person knew the secrecy of the mission was paramount.

  The long columns of Sherman tanks slowly cut swaths through a small wooded area; they were clearing the way for the troops to follow behind them, Intel had not suggested any minefields in their direct path but it was not worth taking the risk; high commands intelligence was notoriously inconsistent.

  The troops from the 7th had left the base just over an hour ago and were nearly in position; they were instructed to wait for the air force to begin their assault before their own ground attack could begin. The tank commanders were nervous as only the cover of darkness and the sparse woodland was keeping them concealed.

  The sound of hard fighting sounded off in the distance accompanied by a fiery haze far off on the horizon. Artillery pieces fired barrage after barrage making a faint sound much like distant thunder.

  “It’s all kicking off over there ay lads!”

  “Hell yeah.” A young private said.

  “Would love to see the Jerry’s and the communists kick shades of shit out of each other.”

  “Be a hell of a spectacle.”

  "Alright, boys that's enough. Keep it down otherwise, the Nazi scum might catch us with our pants down without any protection." Master Sergeant Robert Miller ordered sternly.

  The men under his command were instantly silent.

  Robert Miller was born in Washington D.C but had moved to the country to live with his aunt and uncle at an early age. His dad had died in world war one while Robert was only three. His mum could not take the heartache and shipped him off to his uncle’s cattle ranch.

  Before the outbreak of world war two Robert's five-foot-eleven inch frame had grown to become a successful cattle rancher; he was known to be tough but fair, he expected total commitment from his staff but also rewarded them greatly for a job well done. The Master Sergeant carried this on into his military career and very quickly rose in the ranks with a reputation as a fine leader of men.

  The men under Miller's command respected the twenty-nine-year-old as he was calm under pressure and always seemed to make the right decision. His steely brown eyes gave the impression of a man in control of any situation, even if the soldiers around him had completely lost their composure.

  Miller slowly moved his way in the dark to the side of the lead Sherman. He leaned up and whispered.

  “Pete, what do you make the time? Shouldn’t our boys be here by now?”

  Commander Jim ‘Pete' Parker was forty-two years old; his cold grey eyes had seen many battles during the war. Pete and his platoon had fought through Africa than Italy before eventually fighting through France.

  He sighed, "Is that, you Miller? You know they are always late. It will be dawn soon and we will be fucked if they don't give us cover before then." He paused to take a swig of bourbon. "So get back into fucking position and pray they turn up."

  "Yes, sir." Miller said. He mumbled under his breath.

  Pete shook his head. ‘These young pricks don’t have any idea or patience,’ He thought.

  Then it arrived a slight rumbling in the distance which steadily grew in intensity. The men of the 7th Ranger Battalion thought they were hearing things but they were not, the unmistakable sound of a huge formation of aircraft was coming towards them. The troops stifled the urge to cheer, it was time for business. They each said a private prayer.

  Deep in the cold underground bunker, Walther Gerlach and his assistant had been busy. They had used the last two hours to fix the electrical transformers and had patched up Die Glocke as well as they could. The two men had checked and rechecked the circuitry and were finally satisfied enough to give the experiment one final go.

  Walther leaned back against the wall, he was exhausted and it showed. He breathed in deep forceful breaths and stood with his hands resting on his knees.

  "Take a break father." Joseph was concerned, he and his dad had been working almost nonstop since the other two assistants had been poisoned by that horrible purple liquid. Xerum 525 had a nasty property of turning living flesh into a decomposing pulpy mush in a very short space of time; they had hoped the lead-lined thermos flasks would prevent it but this was not the case. Joseph had half a mind to destroy the whole bloody lot but that would have to wait.

  “I’m ok my son, start the procedure please boy.”

  Joseph checked the security failsafe one last time then pushed the power level up to fifty percent. They did not have the time to gently push the power flow.

  “Fingers crossed dad.”

  Walther walked gingerly over to his portion of the console and began flicking switches to keep the power as even as possible so not to overload the transformers too quickly.

  The two guards had returned to their post but this time they were accompanied by several crates of dynamite. They were ready to destroy the whole laboratory if ordered.

  Sporrenberg sat in the command center listening to the radar which was just beginning to detect objects flying on an inbound trajectory towards the base. The radar operator got on the radio to inquire about any friendly aircraft but it quickly became apparent that the size of this force ruled out the possibility of it being a Luftwaffe squadron.

  "Bombers inbound Gruppenführer estimated no more than ten minutes out."

  Sporrenberg nodded, “Give the order to defend the base.”

  Sporrenberg smiled.

  The radio operator gave out the orders just in time as suddenly the lights dimmed then flickered once before they went out completely. Sporrenberg cursed then ordered the men to use their flashlights for now.

  “God dammit Walther you incompetent fool.” He said as he got up and stormed towards the bowels of the base. “This is no time to steal the power from key equipment!” He muttered to himself.

  The atmosphere was beginning to crackle and burn as the transformers pumped the electricity across the giant bell-like device. The bell started to glow a
gentle red color as it received a huge amount of power all at once, the counter-rotating cylinders on the bottom third of the device moved gingerly at first but then whirled powerfully, filling with more Xerum 525.

  “Power holding steady father.”

  “Good, increase it to sixty percent.”

  Joseph was wary because they had never pushed the device this hard before but he did as instructed and pushed the lever up.

  A loud bang made Joseph jump out of his skin.

  The old man laughed, “Don’t worry son it’s only the electrically charged air. We aren’t under attack…yet.”

  Joseph relaxed a little but he was still on edge. Sporrenberg was bound to know they were trying again and he was not going to be very happy, he was more than likely going to be murderously unhappy. A chill ran down Joseph spine.

  The Swallow

  The P-51’s kept close to the B-17’s in a reasonably tight formation. Jarad ‘Griff’ Griffin’s navigator was the first to say it.

  “It’s too quiet.” Jordon ‘Mac’ McDonald said.

  "Sssh, you will jinx it Mac."

  “He’s right though, the scum always mount a tough defense, where are the anti-aircraft batteries?” Mark ‘Woody’ Woodrow questioned.

  “You reckon the brass bollocksed up again?” Bombardier and nose gunner Stephen ‘Deer’ Hunter said.

  "Enough ladies, look alive; we are nearly on the target," Griff ordered. He glanced to his left at the growing light emerging on the horizon.

  ‘Shit.’ He thought, ‘we left a bit too late, the sun will be up soon.’

  The flight had indeed left slightly after they should have done, due to the misfortune of a refueling truck breaking down, making the runway unusable for ten minutes before it was finally shifted.

  The troops hidden in the woods heard another unfamiliar sound filtering through the noise of their piston-powered allies. This was a low rumbling sound that quickly grew louder into a powerful growl; it was unlike anything they had ever heard before. Most of the men craned their necks skyward in an attempt to spot the unidentified object.