We made a landing at a remote airstrip in Scotland, dropping the Young Guns off, and returned to our new base in deepest darkest Norfolk.
Mary had found an old windmill near a largeish broad out in the sticks, which was in reasonable repair, and had it done up with plumbing and electricity. A prefab barn erected over an enlarged inlet made for a reasonable hangar, and the building itself offered plenty of storage space. Intruders were greeted by a fairly efficient security system; a variety of laser or pressure pad sensors linked to a large selection of nasty explosive devices mounted on walls. Typically they consisted of a few ounces of C4 embedded with glass marbles and roofing nails, and could only be disengaged by remote, using devices kept with our keys. Burglars seemed a bit unlikely this far from civilisation, and I had little regard for the security services, should they come snooping around.
I set us down, and taxied into the 'hangar'. To my surprise and alarm, a man was standing inside. This felt a bit wrong. I went through the post-landing checklist, and opened the side door.
"Can I help you, Mr...?"
"Who I am is of no importance," he replied. "What IS important is that I need to know why a reputable scientist like Dr Malone is flying mysterious aircraft from remote locations like this, and employing explosive burglar alarms."
"Well I need to know why your subordinates are forcing entry into my damn property!" Mary retorted hotly. "Let's see a search warrant, before I call the REAL cops!"
"But they'd want to examine the property, wouldn't they? I doubt they'd like what they saw," our mysterious houseguest replied smugly. He shut up rather quickly as two pistols were levelled at his head.
"On second thoughts, I might not bother with the police at all, though I imagine they'd relish a chance to bang up a spook."
"Actually, I'm from the Home Office," he explained. I just laughed. I'd heard THAT one before, on the television!
"What the hell's going on?" Elaine hissed behind us.
"You know those 'enemies' of yours, Ellie? There's one of them standing in the hangar making smartarse remarks," I explained. "Think we ought to scrag him?"
"Yeah, why not?" She exited the aircraft at some speed, and punched the man in the mouth. "You know, they don't seem as frightening, now," she remarked, as he went down.
"P'raps that's 'cause you've got a fully automatic shotgun by the door, a handgun in your belt and a fast, heavily armed aeroplane to make a getaway in," I suggested. "Which if you'll take my advice we'll do right now, hmm?" Men in combat fatigues waving MP5s were running towards us, only to find themselves facing the dorsal turret at full bore, plus accurate bursts of fire from Lyra's G36. They dived for cover, and returned fire. I legged it for the cockpit, and began the engine start sequence whilst using the bow and stern thrusters to turn us on our own length. Will kept up steady suppressing fire until I got us in the air on full afterburners, and hastily deployed all other weapons systems.
"There goes a nice little base of operations," Mary grumbled from the copilot's seat, as she switched radar and IR scanners to her station. "At least we didn't lose anything irreplacable."
"Yeah," I replied. "Replacing our munitions and fuel stores is going to cost a bloody fortune, though, even if we can find a new home base."
"Money's hardly a major issue. Corus pay the money for this alloy into four accounts in Zurich, and they can't trace it after that behind the Swiss banking code. They probably haven't even realised it was me who sold the alloy to Corus." Part of the agreement with Corus was that they would take total credit in exchange for a significant percentage of all sales. Burying the resulting missing cash in the paperwork wasn't difficult, and probably not strictly illegal; remind me to check that with Frank once he gets out of jail. Each of these accounts held nearly two million US dollars already, so we weren't in serious trouble yet, financially speaking.
Suddenly, the Threat Warning Reciever began howling. Four separate aircraft had just locked onto us, and my HUD began flashing with information. Being good friends with a particle and electromagnetic physicist had given me the capability to discren the type of missile locked on, and adjust my strategy accordingly. Currently I was facing three self guided missiles and one remote guided, which both presented specific difficulties. Chaff -radar reflective tinfoil confetti- was most effective against radar transmitters close up, rather than ones being steered from a guidance system fifty miles away. ECM, throwing out false radar images, was more effective for the latter type but both countermeasures against both types were still very literally a hit-or-miss affair.
One thing was in our favour; radar-locking missiles are extremely unwieldy at close range, and all four aircraft were approaching from one direction. I immediately swung around towards them, engaging ECM. Even if they managed to launch, missiles are useless in head-to-head engagements, so it was down to guns and heat-seekers. If anything we'd then have the advantage, with turrets covering all angles and significantly greater armour plating, and they'd have to be careful with their heat-seekers. We wouldn't.
The flight commander observed this with some alarm, and hastily switched to Sidewinders. "Red Leader to Red section, switch to 'Winders or guns. Looks like this one's going to get up close and personal!"
She heard a trio of acknowlegements in a distant way, and began concentrating on the fight. The big aircraft, which was ridiculously fast for its size with only two engines, was coming in fast.Four streaks of fire and smoke whizzed out from beneath its wings, each heading for one fighter. "How did he do that?" her backseater wondered, as they narrowly avoided being hit. Red Three was less fortunate, being blown apart with enough force to nearly flip Red Leader's Tornado over. "Okay, pal, let's see just how good you really are..." she said to herself, switching to guns. The big seaplane fired a short burst from its forward guns, perforating Red Four's wing. The Tornado responded with a volley of 20mm cannon fire which starred the seaplane's forward windshield but didn't penetrate. The pilot zoomed upwards, and the plane hung in the air as it backflipped like a performing dolphin, then dived earthwards.
"That thing just did a bloody HAMMERSTALL!" yelled one pilot. "Planes that size don't DO shit like that!"
"Shut up and concentrate!" Red Leader snapped, dodging a burst from the ventral gun. The plane began to sideslip, but suddenly the pilot -who was clearly either drunk or crazy- pulled back on the stick, causing the plane to SLIDE sideways. Keep that up for more than a second or two and he'd end up in a flat spin or rip his wings off, but all three Tornadoes were forced to reasess their angle of attack.
Suddenly, the plane retracted all turrets and engaged afterburners. The fighters tried to lock on with AMRAAMs or AIM-7 Sparrows, but suddenly something utterly impossible happened. There was a brilliant white flash, and a shockwave that caused Red Four's wing to completely collapse, forcing the pilot to eject. When Red Leader next took an interest in things, the plane had vanished.
"What the holy howling bejesus just HAPPENED?" asked her backseater. "That looked like a warp drive effect off Star Trek."
"I have no idea. I imagine that MI5 might have an idea, but the chances are they won't be overly inclined to tell us. Now let's get back to base and get a very large drink, and never, ever talk about this again."
"Amen, skipper."
"Haha! Bet they're scratching their heads over THAT!" I laughed, decreasing speed and peering at the cracks in the windscreen. "Damn. That's yet another bloody bill. This is becoming a really expensive day!"
"Dave?" said Elaine rather shakily. "You know when we suddenly went sort of SIDEWAYS...?"
"I don't think I'd better explain whilst we're still flying," I replied. "I'll tell you about it later."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. But BEFORE you try it again, okay?"
"Promise," I replied. "Now where are we?"
The cityscape I could see below us was quite attractive, with Mediterranian architecture and beautiful, unspoilt beaches. The only problem was that there appeared to be no people. I flew slightly lower, and realised what was wrong.
Spectres. We'd wound up in bloody Cittigaze.
"Great, just great," I grumbled. "How many sorts of bloody spook am I going to have to deal with today?"
"I've got an idea," Mary informed me. Before I could object, she had the deckplate giving access to the Drive's innards open, and was burrowing in with a toolkit from her back pocket. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" I asked.
"I designed the thing, remember."
"That wasn't what I asked."
"Look, just trust me on this one, okay? If it doesn't work put us down out in the bay, and I'll patch the Drive up again and we'll be on our way. Dead easy."
"That depends," Will chipped in. "If you're doing what I think you're doing then it'll probably work, but if this goes wrong chances are it'll go VERY wrong, you know?"
"Well, here goes nothing, then. Dave, make a shallow attack run over the city area and keep your thumb on the Drive button. We're going ghostbusting!"
I complied, and saw a sort of shimmer fire out from the nosecone, and spread out across the city. When it touched the Spectres, they dissolved.
"When there's somethin' strange/In your neighbourhood," I sang. "Who ya gonna call?" I got no further on account of Kirjava 'accidentally' knocking a lighted cigarette out of the ashtray and into my lap. Whether my screams and curses as some of my favourite bits of anatomy began to smoulder were more tuneful is a matter of opinion. I certainly don't think my singing is so bad that she had to try and set fire to my pubic hair. Elaine still swears that it is, threatening me with divorce if I ever attempt it now.
"Stupid damn cat!" I raged. "My singing isn't THAT bad! What the hell are you trying to do?" Mary had to take over control before I crashed into the sea. Everyone else was shaking with laughter.
We made several more runs, until the city was completely free of Spectres. Once we had made quite sure, I set us down near the beach. Surprised kids were lining the waterfront, and the older ones were cheering. An older girl approached, and shouted something about saviours, and suddenly they were all cheering.
"Erm," I said worriedly. Will groaned.
"I'm not sure I want to see what hanging around is going to do to Mary's ego," he remarked.
"Come back in a couple of months," she advised him. "I'm going to spend a little while sorting things out here, try and get into contact with some survivors and organise a proper counterstrike against these things."
"We can hold out a day or two," I said, "and you're going to need Aurora if you want to find anyone still alive and over the age of eleven, you know." She grinned, and nodded.
In the event, once Mary had produced a blueprint of the modified Drive with the aid of her PC and a printer, we weren't really needed. A troop of horsemen rode up to us, and their leader introduced himself as the head of a tribe of some sort.
"Can you build this thing?" I asked.
"Yes, with what we can salvage from the city. It'll take time, but soon we'll be ready to use it," he grinned. "If you can keep the city clear for a few hours we can get what we need."
"No problem," I replied. "Then once we've done that, we are going on that long quiet holiday I promised us, right you lot?"
* * *
There isn't much more to tell, now. We're on the move a lot of the time, returning intermittently to our own worlds but mostly exploring new ones. There's only about thirty or forty different ones which we can access; the World of the Dead seems to act as a kind of hub, with chains of worlds branching out, which can be accessed via the microfissures. It's still a lifetime's worth of study.
I say 'we', but it's not all of us, now. Will joined the Fleet Air Arm, like his stepfather, and Lyra followed him. They're both pilots in the same squadron, tipped to be flying off HMS Cunningham, Britain's first nuclear-powered aircraft carrier. That just left the three of us except when one or both of them was on leave, but we do alright. Elaine can fly as well, now, and she's at least as good as Mary or me.
I married Elaine a couple of years after the whole thing, and I hope John approves. Mary is still looking, and I shouldn't think it'll be too long. Frank was acquitted but totally ruined the firm's reputation, largely through his own stupidity, and is now a manager for a small passenger airline. We run into each other occasionally, and neither of us resents the actions of the other.
The Magisterium went quietly, though resistance continued in some areas for many months. If we've altogether heard the last of certain top Church brass I'll be extremely surprised, but I doubt they'll achieve much against what's replaced them.
The Young Guns are making a healthy living as a 'Personnel Retrieval Service', breaking people out of jail for cash, and reducing prison overpopulation far more effectively than any government initiative. Speaking of governments, they've got MI5 on their backs, now. They did a US death row in Texas, and the Yanks went absolutely bonkers. Fair play to 'em, I say!
I won't say this is the end of the story, not by a long way. With so many worlds out there, just about anything could happen...
#~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~#
Teaser for upcoming sequel, 'The Twisted Cross':
We completed the transition to this world, one we hadn't visited before, and I discovered that we were over Berlin, pretty much where we'd been before. But something was terribly, appallingly wrong.
I could see a huge copy of the Arc d'Triumphe, as big as a dozen buildings, straddling the city. There was a great dome, twice the size of any football stadium in the world, directly ahead of me. I glanced down at the novel on the copilot's seat, Fatherland by Robert Harris. I realised I was seeing the Berlin that it described; a Berlin that -in my world, at least- existed only in the mind and plans of Albert Speer, Hitler's pet architect.
"Holy mother of God," Mary breathed. She tried the radios, seeking commercial frequencies. As she worked, Will tugged at my sleeve. "Look," he told me. I saw that there was a parade, and somebody was burning a Star of David. I felt sick to the very pit of my stomach.
"The radio says something about... Final Solution Day," Mary half-whispered, her voice close to cracking with... what? Horror, fear, anger? Maybe all of them. Certainly all of those were filling my mind.
I closed my eyes, trying to make it all go away, and failed. Through the clouds of thought came a memory, pin-sharp and poignant. My grandfather, the number tattooed on his wrist and a terrible sadness in his eyes, telling me about what he'd seen. What had been done to him.
I felt millions of men, women and children speak to me through the ages, imploring me to seek justice.
And by God, seek it I would.
Mary had found an old windmill near a largeish broad out in the sticks, which was in reasonable repair, and had it done up with plumbing and electricity. A prefab barn erected over an enlarged inlet made for a reasonable hangar, and the building itself offered plenty of storage space. Intruders were greeted by a fairly efficient security system; a variety of laser or pressure pad sensors linked to a large selection of nasty explosive devices mounted on walls. Typically they consisted of a few ounces of C4 embedded with glass marbles and roofing nails, and could only be disengaged by remote, using devices kept with our keys. Burglars seemed a bit unlikely this far from civilisation, and I had little regard for the security services, should they come snooping around.
I set us down, and taxied into the 'hangar'. To my surprise and alarm, a man was standing inside. This felt a bit wrong. I went through the post-landing checklist, and opened the side door.
"Can I help you, Mr...?"
"Who I am is of no importance," he replied. "What IS important is that I need to know why a reputable scientist like Dr Malone is flying mysterious aircraft from remote locations like this, and employing explosive burglar alarms."
"Well I need to know why your subordinates are forcing entry into my damn property!" Mary retorted hotly. "Let's see a search warrant, before I call the REAL cops!"
"But they'd want to examine the property, wouldn't they? I doubt they'd like what they saw," our mysterious houseguest replied smugly. He shut up rather quickly as two pistols were levelled at his head.
"On second thoughts, I might not bother with the police at all, though I imagine they'd relish a chance to bang up a spook."
"Actually, I'm from the Home Office," he explained. I just laughed. I'd heard THAT one before, on the television!
"What the hell's going on?" Elaine hissed behind us.
"You know those 'enemies' of yours, Ellie? There's one of them standing in the hangar making smartarse remarks," I explained. "Think we ought to scrag him?"
"Yeah, why not?" She exited the aircraft at some speed, and punched the man in the mouth. "You know, they don't seem as frightening, now," she remarked, as he went down.
"P'raps that's 'cause you've got a fully automatic shotgun by the door, a handgun in your belt and a fast, heavily armed aeroplane to make a getaway in," I suggested. "Which if you'll take my advice we'll do right now, hmm?" Men in combat fatigues waving MP5s were running towards us, only to find themselves facing the dorsal turret at full bore, plus accurate bursts of fire from Lyra's G36. They dived for cover, and returned fire. I legged it for the cockpit, and began the engine start sequence whilst using the bow and stern thrusters to turn us on our own length. Will kept up steady suppressing fire until I got us in the air on full afterburners, and hastily deployed all other weapons systems.
"There goes a nice little base of operations," Mary grumbled from the copilot's seat, as she switched radar and IR scanners to her station. "At least we didn't lose anything irreplacable."
"Yeah," I replied. "Replacing our munitions and fuel stores is going to cost a bloody fortune, though, even if we can find a new home base."
"Money's hardly a major issue. Corus pay the money for this alloy into four accounts in Zurich, and they can't trace it after that behind the Swiss banking code. They probably haven't even realised it was me who sold the alloy to Corus." Part of the agreement with Corus was that they would take total credit in exchange for a significant percentage of all sales. Burying the resulting missing cash in the paperwork wasn't difficult, and probably not strictly illegal; remind me to check that with Frank once he gets out of jail. Each of these accounts held nearly two million US dollars already, so we weren't in serious trouble yet, financially speaking.
Suddenly, the Threat Warning Reciever began howling. Four separate aircraft had just locked onto us, and my HUD began flashing with information. Being good friends with a particle and electromagnetic physicist had given me the capability to discren the type of missile locked on, and adjust my strategy accordingly. Currently I was facing three self guided missiles and one remote guided, which both presented specific difficulties. Chaff -radar reflective tinfoil confetti- was most effective against radar transmitters close up, rather than ones being steered from a guidance system fifty miles away. ECM, throwing out false radar images, was more effective for the latter type but both countermeasures against both types were still very literally a hit-or-miss affair.
One thing was in our favour; radar-locking missiles are extremely unwieldy at close range, and all four aircraft were approaching from one direction. I immediately swung around towards them, engaging ECM. Even if they managed to launch, missiles are useless in head-to-head engagements, so it was down to guns and heat-seekers. If anything we'd then have the advantage, with turrets covering all angles and significantly greater armour plating, and they'd have to be careful with their heat-seekers. We wouldn't.
The flight commander observed this with some alarm, and hastily switched to Sidewinders. "Red Leader to Red section, switch to 'Winders or guns. Looks like this one's going to get up close and personal!"
She heard a trio of acknowlegements in a distant way, and began concentrating on the fight. The big aircraft, which was ridiculously fast for its size with only two engines, was coming in fast.Four streaks of fire and smoke whizzed out from beneath its wings, each heading for one fighter. "How did he do that?" her backseater wondered, as they narrowly avoided being hit. Red Three was less fortunate, being blown apart with enough force to nearly flip Red Leader's Tornado over. "Okay, pal, let's see just how good you really are..." she said to herself, switching to guns. The big seaplane fired a short burst from its forward guns, perforating Red Four's wing. The Tornado responded with a volley of 20mm cannon fire which starred the seaplane's forward windshield but didn't penetrate. The pilot zoomed upwards, and the plane hung in the air as it backflipped like a performing dolphin, then dived earthwards.
"That thing just did a bloody HAMMERSTALL!" yelled one pilot. "Planes that size don't DO shit like that!"
"Shut up and concentrate!" Red Leader snapped, dodging a burst from the ventral gun. The plane began to sideslip, but suddenly the pilot -who was clearly either drunk or crazy- pulled back on the stick, causing the plane to SLIDE sideways. Keep that up for more than a second or two and he'd end up in a flat spin or rip his wings off, but all three Tornadoes were forced to reasess their angle of attack.
Suddenly, the plane retracted all turrets and engaged afterburners. The fighters tried to lock on with AMRAAMs or AIM-7 Sparrows, but suddenly something utterly impossible happened. There was a brilliant white flash, and a shockwave that caused Red Four's wing to completely collapse, forcing the pilot to eject. When Red Leader next took an interest in things, the plane had vanished.
"What the holy howling bejesus just HAPPENED?" asked her backseater. "That looked like a warp drive effect off Star Trek."
"I have no idea. I imagine that MI5 might have an idea, but the chances are they won't be overly inclined to tell us. Now let's get back to base and get a very large drink, and never, ever talk about this again."
"Amen, skipper."
"Haha! Bet they're scratching their heads over THAT!" I laughed, decreasing speed and peering at the cracks in the windscreen. "Damn. That's yet another bloody bill. This is becoming a really expensive day!"
"Dave?" said Elaine rather shakily. "You know when we suddenly went sort of SIDEWAYS...?"
"I don't think I'd better explain whilst we're still flying," I replied. "I'll tell you about it later."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. But BEFORE you try it again, okay?"
"Promise," I replied. "Now where are we?"
The cityscape I could see below us was quite attractive, with Mediterranian architecture and beautiful, unspoilt beaches. The only problem was that there appeared to be no people. I flew slightly lower, and realised what was wrong.
Spectres. We'd wound up in bloody Cittigaze.
"Great, just great," I grumbled. "How many sorts of bloody spook am I going to have to deal with today?"
"I've got an idea," Mary informed me. Before I could object, she had the deckplate giving access to the Drive's innards open, and was burrowing in with a toolkit from her back pocket. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" I asked.
"I designed the thing, remember."
"That wasn't what I asked."
"Look, just trust me on this one, okay? If it doesn't work put us down out in the bay, and I'll patch the Drive up again and we'll be on our way. Dead easy."
"That depends," Will chipped in. "If you're doing what I think you're doing then it'll probably work, but if this goes wrong chances are it'll go VERY wrong, you know?"
"Well, here goes nothing, then. Dave, make a shallow attack run over the city area and keep your thumb on the Drive button. We're going ghostbusting!"
I complied, and saw a sort of shimmer fire out from the nosecone, and spread out across the city. When it touched the Spectres, they dissolved.
"When there's somethin' strange/In your neighbourhood," I sang. "Who ya gonna call?" I got no further on account of Kirjava 'accidentally' knocking a lighted cigarette out of the ashtray and into my lap. Whether my screams and curses as some of my favourite bits of anatomy began to smoulder were more tuneful is a matter of opinion. I certainly don't think my singing is so bad that she had to try and set fire to my pubic hair. Elaine still swears that it is, threatening me with divorce if I ever attempt it now.
"Stupid damn cat!" I raged. "My singing isn't THAT bad! What the hell are you trying to do?" Mary had to take over control before I crashed into the sea. Everyone else was shaking with laughter.
We made several more runs, until the city was completely free of Spectres. Once we had made quite sure, I set us down near the beach. Surprised kids were lining the waterfront, and the older ones were cheering. An older girl approached, and shouted something about saviours, and suddenly they were all cheering.
"Erm," I said worriedly. Will groaned.
"I'm not sure I want to see what hanging around is going to do to Mary's ego," he remarked.
"Come back in a couple of months," she advised him. "I'm going to spend a little while sorting things out here, try and get into contact with some survivors and organise a proper counterstrike against these things."
"We can hold out a day or two," I said, "and you're going to need Aurora if you want to find anyone still alive and over the age of eleven, you know." She grinned, and nodded.
In the event, once Mary had produced a blueprint of the modified Drive with the aid of her PC and a printer, we weren't really needed. A troop of horsemen rode up to us, and their leader introduced himself as the head of a tribe of some sort.
"Can you build this thing?" I asked.
"Yes, with what we can salvage from the city. It'll take time, but soon we'll be ready to use it," he grinned. "If you can keep the city clear for a few hours we can get what we need."
"No problem," I replied. "Then once we've done that, we are going on that long quiet holiday I promised us, right you lot?"
* * *
There isn't much more to tell, now. We're on the move a lot of the time, returning intermittently to our own worlds but mostly exploring new ones. There's only about thirty or forty different ones which we can access; the World of the Dead seems to act as a kind of hub, with chains of worlds branching out, which can be accessed via the microfissures. It's still a lifetime's worth of study.
I say 'we', but it's not all of us, now. Will joined the Fleet Air Arm, like his stepfather, and Lyra followed him. They're both pilots in the same squadron, tipped to be flying off HMS Cunningham, Britain's first nuclear-powered aircraft carrier. That just left the three of us except when one or both of them was on leave, but we do alright. Elaine can fly as well, now, and she's at least as good as Mary or me.
I married Elaine a couple of years after the whole thing, and I hope John approves. Mary is still looking, and I shouldn't think it'll be too long. Frank was acquitted but totally ruined the firm's reputation, largely through his own stupidity, and is now a manager for a small passenger airline. We run into each other occasionally, and neither of us resents the actions of the other.
The Magisterium went quietly, though resistance continued in some areas for many months. If we've altogether heard the last of certain top Church brass I'll be extremely surprised, but I doubt they'll achieve much against what's replaced them.
The Young Guns are making a healthy living as a 'Personnel Retrieval Service', breaking people out of jail for cash, and reducing prison overpopulation far more effectively than any government initiative. Speaking of governments, they've got MI5 on their backs, now. They did a US death row in Texas, and the Yanks went absolutely bonkers. Fair play to 'em, I say!
I won't say this is the end of the story, not by a long way. With so many worlds out there, just about anything could happen...
#~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~#
Teaser for upcoming sequel, 'The Twisted Cross':
We completed the transition to this world, one we hadn't visited before, and I discovered that we were over Berlin, pretty much where we'd been before. But something was terribly, appallingly wrong.
I could see a huge copy of the Arc d'Triumphe, as big as a dozen buildings, straddling the city. There was a great dome, twice the size of any football stadium in the world, directly ahead of me. I glanced down at the novel on the copilot's seat, Fatherland by Robert Harris. I realised I was seeing the Berlin that it described; a Berlin that -in my world, at least- existed only in the mind and plans of Albert Speer, Hitler's pet architect.
"Holy mother of God," Mary breathed. She tried the radios, seeking commercial frequencies. As she worked, Will tugged at my sleeve. "Look," he told me. I saw that there was a parade, and somebody was burning a Star of David. I felt sick to the very pit of my stomach.
"The radio says something about... Final Solution Day," Mary half-whispered, her voice close to cracking with... what? Horror, fear, anger? Maybe all of them. Certainly all of those were filling my mind.
I closed my eyes, trying to make it all go away, and failed. Through the clouds of thought came a memory, pin-sharp and poignant. My grandfather, the number tattooed on his wrist and a terrible sadness in his eyes, telling me about what he'd seen. What had been done to him.
I felt millions of men, women and children speak to me through the ages, imploring me to seek justice.
And by God, seek it I would.
