By the Blood of Heroes (30 page)

The formerly dead soldiers that had come in on the train had all revived and were thrashing against their bonds, their mouths opening and closing as the never-ending hunger every shambler feels stole over them. Freeman could see in their eyes that there was no one home; the passage from life to death and back again had robbed them of any recollection of who or what they had been.

He’d been right; they were nothing more than mindless drones at this point.

But the POWs . . .

The POWs were a different story. First one and then the other climbed to his feet, both shaking their heads as if trying to clear an unpleasant memory from the forefront of their minds. They looked down at their hands, turning them over to examine the thick black veins bulging against their flesh and then, as one, they lifted their gaze and looked in Freeman’s direction.

The one who had pleaded so strongly with Freeman before his change took a few steps forward, until his face was only inches from Freeman’s own. The only thing separating them at that point was the thin pane of glass in the viewing window.

The strange new type of shambler looked at him and smiled.

Then it spoke.

“Ouvrez la porte.”

Open the door.

In that moment of shocked horror, as he grappled with the realization the gas had worked on the living as well as the dead, Freeman’s thoughts flashed back to the pit at Stalag 113 and the piles of shambler bodies he’d shared that dark hole with all evening. He finally understood now what his mind had been trying to tell him then; the shamblers tossed into that pit had not passed through the gates of death before being exposed to the noxious gas. Instead, like the two men he’d just observed, they’d been exposed while alive and had either not managed to weather the transformation process or else had been dispatched after the fact for some unknown reason.

For the gas to have reached this level of effectiveness the kaiser must have been pursuing the program for some time. Freeman had no doubt there were dozens of other pits like the one he’d been thrown into on bases across occupied France, full of the bodies of those who’d played guinea pigs for the gas’s development.

But that wasn’t the worst of it, not by far.

The realization of what this would mean to the war effort hit him like a blow to the face.

On the other side of the glass, giant fans came on, sucking the remnants of the gas out of the room; when it was clear, the door on the far side opened, admitting several of the enhanced shamblers who quickly moved to subdue the new “recruits.”

“I call them the Geheime Volks, the secret people,” Richthofen said, watching as the groups struggled with each other on the other side of the glass. “As you can see, they are a step above the Tottensoldat, which can barely be controlled even with their collars in place. But these new soldiers retain their mental and physical functions even after returning from the dead. They do not need collars, for they can follow commands as well as you and I. They are the future, Major Freeman, and with each new batch we refine and improve the process further.”

Richthofen turned to face him, a ghastly smile on his face.

“Do you understand now, Major? Today, tomorrow, next week, or next year, it does not matter to me—you
will
fall. My
Stosstruppen,
my shock troops, will push you out of the trenches and all the way to the coast, until they force you off the Continent. As you scurry back to your homeland, we will be there, too. But this is just the beginning. Come!”

There’s more?
Freeman thought.
Just how bad could this get?

Richthofen led him to a door at the end of the hall, which opened into a private office. The German flier walked across the room and opened a door set in the far wall, revealing a staircase that led down several steps into a large warehouse-like room. Several large machines were connected to tanks of some strangely viscous liquid. The machines seemed to be pumping the liquid out of the tanks, down a conveyor belt, and into large glass ampoules. These in turn were sent down a series of belts to workers standing at various stations. The workers took the ampoules, carefully fitted them into the noses of cannon and mortar shells that reached the workers along a movable track, and then passed them along to the next station to have the nose cones fitted into place.

Hundreds of shells were being produced at any given moment, with hundreds, maybe even thousands more moving along the conveyor belt behind them.

The sight of all that corpse gas made Freeman want to be physically ill.

“In less than forty-eight hours, the
Megaera
will launch, carrying with it more than three thousand canisters of the newly improved gas bound straight for the heart of the British Empire. Tell me, Major, how long do you think your Allies will continue to fight when they learn that their loved ones at home have become the very things they despise, wandering the streets of London, trying to slake that never-ending hunger that burns in their breasts?”

Richthofen laughed and it was a cold, brutal sound.

“While the kaiser fumbles with his generals at the front, lost in the insanity of doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results, I will be securing the glory of the empire for the centuries to come!”

Chapter Thirty-nine

TESTING FACILITY 89

B
urke drove the staff car at a steady pace toward the gates of Testing Facility 89. He did his best to ignore the yawning pit in the depths of his stomach. What they were about to do would either go down in the annals of history as the height of stupidity or as a masterful stroke of daring; he didn’t know which.

He could see Charlie and Manning sitting in the cab of the truck behind him, their faces set into masks of boredom, their weapons held casually but at the ready in case they had to use them quickly to extricate themselves if things went wrong.

Burke hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

The gates loomed before him, the guards in the watchtowers on either side casting long shadows ahead of them that seemed to leap and dance on their own when seen through the veil of Burke’s nervousness. He did what he could to calm himself. Everything depended upon their getting inside those gates.

“Showtime, Professor,” he said over his shoulder to Graves who was riding in the backseat.

Burke drove forward, hoping the guards would see the staff car and simply open the gates without any questions, but Lady Luck still had not deigned to honor them with her presence. The gates stayed firmly closed.

At the last minute, Burke braked, then leaned on the horn to get the full attention of the guards as he came to a stop. A moment passed, and then a guard wandered out of the nearby gatehouse to meet them.

The side windows of the staff car were made of a dark, smoky glass, so the guard was obliged to knock on Burke’s window. Burke waited a moment, playing the “I’m-more-important-than-you” game, and then cranked his window. The guard said something in German, which was, of course, incomprehensible to him.

Fear snatched at his guts like a vise.

How did I think this would ever work . . . ?

Graves said something sharply from the backseat, and Burke was surprised at the commanding tone he heard in the other man’s voice. The German soldier apparently heard it too, for he snapped to attention and gave a quick salute.

The professor reached forward and tapped Burke on the shoulder. That was their prearranged signal for Burke to hand over the personal cable from Richthofen, and the captain did so with practiced disdain.

The guard’s swagger vanished the minute he saw the emblem at the bottom of the page. He handed the paper back to Burke, turned to face Graves, and, if his tone was any indication, began to immediately apologize.

Graves rattled off another long stream of German. When he was finished, the guard saluted once more, then turned and signaled for his partner to open the gates. As the twin chain-link gates swung inward, the guard waved Burke forward. A glance out the rearview mirror showed the guard doing the same for Charlie without bothering to check with him specifically.

They were in!

“Nicely done, Professor,” Burke told him.

The other man met the compliment with a nervous laugh. “Nicely done? I thought he was going to see right through me at any minute. Thank God we had that cable with us!”

The guard had informed Graves that “the American pilot” was being housed in one of the buildings for guests in the officers’ section of the camp and provided directions, which Graves now relayed to Burke. In turn, the captain did his best to follow them, slowly making his way through the camp as groups of soldiers moved about on various tasks.

Burke had to stop once to let a company of shamblers move slowly past, their handlers keeping them in line with repeated shocks from the control devices held in their hands that were connected to the masklike collars that surrounded the shamblers’ necks and rose up the left side of their faces. He marveled at seeing the technology in action up close. The Allies still knew entirely too little about the creatures, and now it seemed they might have a whole new breed to contend with.

After parking the car, Burke got out and, playing the role of chauffeur, opened the rear door for Graves. The guards took in the officers’ uniforms the two newcomers were wearing and snapped to attention.

Walking over, Graves spoke to the guards for a moment, then turned on his heel and stalked back over to the car. He waited by the door, every inch the Prussian scientist he was pretending to be, and Burke had no choice but to play along, waiting until the other man was seated before shutting Graves’s door and then taking his own seat behind the wheel.

“We’ve got a problem,” Graves said the minute the door had closed behind Burke. “The sentry at the front gate must have called ahead; they knew why I was here before I had even opened my mouth.”

“So where is he?”

“That’s the problem. He was summoned to a meeting with Richthofen several hours ago and hasn’t yet returned.”

A problem was right.

Graves wasn’t finished, however. “The guards here weren’t the only people the gate sentry alerted either. He also rang Richthofen and informed him that his guest, ‘Dr. Taschner,’ had arrived. Richthofen left an order that we are to join him right away.”

They had hoped to avoid Richthofen or any of his immediate staff in case they knew Dr. Taschner. It was too much to expect that anyone who worked with the man wouldn’t immediately know that Graves wasn’t Taschner.

And yet with some aggressive action it might be for the best.

The guard had said that Freeman and Richthofen were together. Depending upon who else was in the room with them, they might be able to overpower Richthofen and his companions, releasing Freeman in the process. That would serve the dual purpose of freeing their target while neutralizing their biggest threat.

He quickly explained his thinking to Graves, who agreed that they didn’t have much choice. Ignoring Richthofen’s summons wasn’t an option; he’d find them the minute he realized he’d been duped. Their best bet was to stick with their chosen subterfuge for as far as it would take them and then be ready to act decisively.

Convinced that they were making the best choice possible under the circumstances, Burke started the car and drove deeper into the enemy camp, searching for the commandant’s office in answer to the Baron’s summons. Charlie, and the rest of the men in the stolen lorry, followed close behind.

Chapter Forty

VERDUN HQ

A
fter seeing the inhuman conversion of the prisoners and listening to Richthofen talk about what would happen to his countrymen and allies when Operation Stormcloud was launched, the stunned and dejected Freeman followed the Baron back from the conversion facility to the manor house in a daze. He knew that Richthofen was trying to break him, to tear down his mental and physical defenses until in a fit of despair he agreed to whatever the other man wanted, and he had to admit that it was working. Millions of people were about to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The sight of the
Megaera,
its massive silver bulk filling the sky and seemingly looming malevolently on the horizon over them, made him want to scream in frustration, but he would not give Richthofen the satisfaction.

They returned to the same room where he and Richthofen had their discussion the day before and found an overweight, dark-haired man in a white lab coat waiting for them.

“Ah, Docktor Eisenberg,” Richthofen said, as he caught sight of their visitor. “Allow me to introduce Major Jack Freeman of the AEF.”

Freeman felt like a bug under a microscope as the other man examined him thoroughly with just a glance and then dismissed him as entirely irrelevant. Freeman didn’t care; he was still racking his brains for a way to keep Operation Stormcloud from going off as planned.

Eisenberg turned to Richthofen and said, “We’ve just received a message from the gate that our guest has arrived. I took the liberty of ordering him directly here in your name.”

“Excellent! I look forward to it.”

Richthofen was about to take a seat to await the arrival of his guest when he was interrupted by the arrival of an aide. The man handed over a message slip, saluted, and disappeared back out the door.

A frown crossed Richthofen’s face as he read the note.

“Is there a problem?” Dr. Eisenberg asked.

“A minor issue with the flight controls on the
Megaera,
it seems,” Richthofen replied. “I’d best speak to the chief engineer. Please, give my apologies to Docktor Taschner. I will join you both shortly.”

Richthofen disappeared out the front, and a few moments later Freeman saw him through the window, striding toward the airfield. Never in his life had Freeman felt the need for a gun in his hands more than he did at that moment. He had no doubt that if Richthofen’s plan succeeded, he would use the popularity the strike generated among the German High Command to push the kaiser from the throne. Nor was it hard to imagine why so many would choose Richthofen over the weak and crippled Kaiser Wilhelm, emperor in name but not action. With his strike at the heart of England, Richthofen would break that stalemate and take the war to a whole new level.

There had to be a way to stop him . . .

His thoughts were interrupted as the door opened a second time and two men entered.

The first was a tall, hawk-faced fellow with thinning hair who wore a white lab coat over his officer’s uniform and carried a wide-mouthed satchel in one hand.

Freeman’s attention was riveted almost immediately, however, by the second man. Or, rather, by the fact that everything from the man’s left elbow on down had been replaced by a bronze and iron substitute that did a remarkable job of mimicking a human wrist and hand, right down to having knuckles on each artificial finger. He was dressed in a leutnant’s uniform, but he held himself with a coiled tension that spoke of his familiarity with violence, giving the impression that he was a multiyear veteran of the conflict. This impression was supported by the casual yet familiar way he carried the Mauser in his right hand.

As his gaze rose to meet the other’s, Freeman received the biggest shock of his life.

The man with the clockwork arm, the one who was looking at him with grim determination, was his younger brother!

Eisenberg looked up at the interruption and said something sharply to the newcomers in German. Freeman didn’t understand what he said, but given the puzzled expression on the senior scientist’s face, he imagined it was something along the lines of “Who the hell are you?”

The tall fellow replied in the same language, reaching into his bag as he did so.

Eisenberg apparently didn’t like the reply, for he scowled and moved to get up out of the armchair he’d been sitting in.

“Not so fast,” Burke said, swinging the Mauser up and pointing it in Eisenberg’s direction. “Sit down before I put a bullet in your skull.”

B
urke was pleased to see Freeman’s captor do as he was told, though whether that was due to his ability to understand English or to the gun pointed at his head, he didn’t know.

Nor did he care.

He saw that Graves now had his own pistol out of his satchel and was pointing it at the man, so Burke did a quick check of the other rooms, making certain they were empty, before he felt comfortable enough to turn his attention to his brother. He found Jack staring at him with a look of utter surprise on his face.

Bet I’m the last person he expected to walk through that door.

“Where’s Richthofen?” Burke asked.

The fact that he was being rescued suddenly seemed to register and Freeman jumped up, rushing over to stand with his brother. “He was called away a few minutes ago. Something about a problem with the airship.”

Burke gave his brother the once-over. He had a few cuts and bruises, but he looked to be in decent shape, considering what he’d been through over the last several days. Burke was pleased to see it; they had a long way to go before this was through.

“You all right?” he asked.

His brother nodded. “We should get out of here,” he said nervously, glancing out the window in the direction he’d seen Richthofen take. “He could be back at any second.”

“All right, all right, we’re going. Here, take this.” Burke passed him the Mauser and then drew his .45 from the holster on his belt. He would have preferred the Tommy gun, but it would have been an immediate giveaway and he’d left it back in the truck with the others. He pointed at their prisoner. “Help Graves tie this guy up while I check the desk.”

Freeman shook his head. “No, you have to kill him.”

Burke stared at his brother like he’d gone mad. “I’m not going to shoot an unarmed prisoner, Jack. I don’t know what . . .”

Freeman didn’t wait to hear the rest. “Fine, I will,” he said. Even as Burke looked on, Jack brought the gun up and pointed it at Eisenberg.

Before he had a chance to fire, however, Burke snatched the weapon out of his hands.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jack? Pull that trigger and you’ll have half the guards in the camp headed our way.”

His brother was practically frantic, pointing at the smaller man with fear in his eyes. “You have to kill him, Mike! You have to! He’s a monster.”

Burke frowned. “A monster? This guy?” He certainly didn’t look like much.

But Jack was adamant. “Yes. He’s Richthofen’s chief scientist. And they’re getting ready to drop so much corpse gas on the city of London that there won’t be anything but shamblers living there inside of a week!”

That didn’t make sense. Corpse gas only worked on . . .

Burke heard Graves gasp half a second after he made the same connection for himself. The files they’d grabbed at Stalag 113 had talked about a new kind of gas, one that worked on the living as well as the dead. And if they had already produced it in quantity . . .

“The new formulation of the gas? It’s here?” he asked.

His brother stared at him. “You know about the gas?”

“Yes,” he told him, waving aside the questions he could see forming on Jack’s lips. “Talk to me! Is the gas here?”

“Yes. That’s what the zeppelin is for. They’re going to use it to carry the gas across the channel and bomb London.” Jack quickly sketched out what Richthofen had told him while touring the production facility, and the information changed everything for Burke. His orders were to rescue Jack and return him, alive if possible, to Allied hands. In order to have the best chance of doing that, he knew he should ignore everything else, get everybody back in the truck, and get the hell off the base as expeditiously as possible.

And yet he couldn’t ignore the clear threat that this Operation Stormcloud posed, and not just to Allied troops on the Continent. From what Freeman had said, Richthofen had made it clear that he wouldn’t hesitate to use the gas on civilian populations as well, which put not only London, but Paris and even any of the major American cities on the eastern seaboard at risk, including New York and Washington.

What good would it do to rescue the president’s son, only to lose the president and the rest of the American government in the process?

He didn’t have a choice.

“How heavily guarded is that production facility?” Burke asked.