Biological Families

by a-delacroix

*!* COMPLETE *!* Clark, Lana, and Whitney travel to 1936 Nazi Germany to save their friends. Special Guest Stars: Dr. and Mrs. Indiana Jones and Var El of Krypton. Note: This is a sequel to 'The Portal'.

17. Biological Families Chapter 17

Updated on 10/15/05

Biological Families – Chapter 17

"Three meters on the port side," called out radioman Siegfried Beyer, who was in contact with the ground crew in the hangar.

"Steady as she goes," directed Chief Pilot Horst Treusch von Buttlar-Brandenfels to the helmsman.

Slowly, majestically, the mighty flying dreadnought, Deutschland, eased clear of its hangar on its maiden flight – a flight which was departing unexpectedly seven hours early. The inaugural flight had been scheduled for noon, when the Deutschland was supposed to fly out and meet the battleship, Hitler, for the public announcement of the existence of the new Nazi superweapons.

Now, after a strange radio message had been received from the Hitler, their early departure had been commanded so they could investigate.

Buttlar-Brandenfels hadn't been briefed on the details of the radio message and at the moment he didn't really care. Whether it was now or in seven hours; all that mattered was the ship was finally taking to the skies after two years of hard work and he was piloting it.

Of course, it would have been even better if he was in command of this magnificent machine rather than merely the pilot, but since he had mustered out of the military after the end of the Great War, even this was more than what he should have expected.

Buttlar-Brandenfels had been the commander of L6, the first of the giant Zeppelin airships to bomb London during the war. Employed in the branch of the German Naval Service with the highest mortality rate, exceeding even that of the infamous U-boats, he was one of the few airship captains to survive the war. Unfortunately, like all of the others branches of the Germany military, the airship service had been wiped out by the terms of the Versailles Treaty. No military airships were permitted in Germany after the war. Period.

And flying the mighty airships was all Buttlar-Brandenfels had lived for ever since he had seen the very first flight of Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin's ground-breaking airship, LZ-1, on July 2, 1900. He had been eleven years old and his family had been on summer holidays at Lake Constance on the German-Swiss border. For a week the talk around the town of Manzell had been about nothing but the Count and his prototype rigid dirigible. Unexpectedly, the ship had been assembled in a floating hangar several hundred meters from shore on this small, out of the way lake. The water-borne hanger had been chosen because it was free to pivot with the wind to minimize the risk of damaging the one hundred fifty meter airship as it was extracted from the structure. But even with the advantages of the floating hanger, the launch of the Zeppelin had been delayed for several days waiting for perfect weather conditions for the first attempt.

Buttlar-Brandenfels had been big for his age, but still he had been only eleven. He had tried to get a place among the hundreds of local men who served as ground crew during the launch and recovery processes. But ultimately he had been forced to watch from shore when late in the afternoon the white airship with its two suspended aluminum gondola finally was towed out of the hanger by a small tugboat.

Unfortunately, it would be an ungainly flight from the very start. The crew holding the restraining lines at the forward end had released their cables several seconds before the crew at the aft end. The great ship had climbed into the air nose first and then barely leveled off at five hundred meters before plunging nose first back towards the lake. In all, that first flight barely lasted eighteen minutes, but Buttlar-Brandenfels was hooked for life.

He didn't encounter the Zeppelins again until 1912 when he joined DELAG, the Count's airship airline service, as a member of the flight crew on the Schwaben, the tenth Zeppelin to be built. Even though this, his first ship was lost in a ground fire one year later, Buttlar-Brandenfels rapidly rose through the ranks of the company until the outbreak of the war in 1914. Quickly, the German government militarized all of the existing airships and all future production. If he was to continue to fly, it would have to be in the service of the Fatherland. With his experience, Buttlar-Brandenfels had quickly been made an officer and given command of L6, one of the first Zeppelins specifically built for the war effort.

As with many other fields of science and technology, the war brought rapid advancements to the state of the art for airships. To fulfill their role as strategic bombers, the airships quickly increased in range until forty-eight hour missions were not unusual. And for the explosive, hydrogen-filled airships to survive against enemy aircraft and anti-aircraft guns, their service ceiling was quickly increased from three kilometers to over six.

And as would be frequently said by their counterparts in the Second World War, the airship proponents claimed with heartfelt enthusiasm that their strategic bombing campaign would be sufficient to defeat the British at home. Of course, looking back, Buttlar-Brandenfels realized the limited number of airships and their meager two thousand kilogram bomb loads never stood a chance. However, if they ever went to war again, things would certainly be different once the Germans had a fleet of ships like the Deutschland. Her six fourteen inch guns were obviously impressive, but the truly devastating portion of her armament was her bomb load capacity. Thanks to the anti-gravity drive they had reverse engineered from the alien's ship, the Deutschland could carry a truly staggering six hundred thousand kilogram bomb load, three hundred times more than the old Zeppelins. And with a 70 centimeter thick steel hull rather than the paper thin fabric hulls of the Zeppelins, the Deutschland and its future sister ships would be utterly invulnerable to attacks by aircraft or ground fire.

All of these thoughts ran through Buttlar-Brandenfels' head as the ship eased carefully out of its hanger. Not that hitting the hanger could possible hurt this ship, but it would certainly reflect poorly on his piloting skills.

Once clear of the building he ordered up one quarter power. The ship surged forward so fast and hard, six men on the bridge were thrown to the deck and everyone else grabbed for the nearest handhold. Quickly, a slightly shaken Buttlar-Brandenfels ordered engine control to throttle back to a more reasonable fifty kilometers per hour until they were well clear of the base. They had never tested the drive before and had had no idea of the ship's limits or capabilities. What would have happened if he had commanded full power, he wondered. Would they have been thrown about so violently they wouldn't have survived?

Since his arrival eighteen months ago, he had been on the alien's ship on numerous occasions, ostensibly as one of the many work parties, but actually to study the ship's control mechanisms. They had been able to duplicate the mechanical systems required to build a functional anti-gravity drive, but the control electronics used materials and scientific principles they couldn't comprehend or begin to duplicate. The alien, Var El, had demonstrated the controls for his ship and what Buttlar-Brandenfels wouldn't have given to be able to control everything from a single seat. Or to have the wondrous display that could fill the entire interior of the ship's dome with a realistic view as though the entire ship was transparent.

But they hadn't yet been able to figure out how to achieve any of those features and had been forced to fall back on a control solution more akin to an airship or a u-boat. One man controlled the vertical motion of the ship, a second the lateral motion of the ship, and a third the speed of the ship. And for their exterior view they had numerous spotters at view ports with thirty centimeter thick laminated glass in addition to several periscopes taken straight from the submarine yards.

One small feature the alien's command chair had, which he had noticed but which had never registered, had been a series of wide straps. But after experiencing what this ship could do at one quarter power, seats with restraining belts for the entire crew was going to be high on his list of recommendations after this first shakedown cruise. He couldn't help but wonder how many more recommendations would be on the list before this day was over.

"Helm, bring us around on a course three points west of north. Altitude control, take us up to two thousand meters."

As the two sailors, who had started their careers in the submarine service, echoed back his orders in the time honor way, Buttlar-Brandenfels headed over to the plot-table. With limited external visibility and the ship's high potential speed, maintaining an accurate estimate of their location was going to be vital. Six men were already hard at work with compasses, protractors, and slide rules, but he was certain they were going to have to find a better long term solution.

Glancing down, he saw if they maintained this heading, they should pass within a few kilometers of the position of the Hitler reported in the message. He was certain the ship could have them there within a very few minutes, but that would mean bringing inside all of the spotters scattered in cupolas around the exterior of the hull. He didn't really want to pull them back yet, as they might catch an early glimpse of problems with this first flight that weren't immediately obvious on the internal instrumentation. Besides, at this pace they should arrive at the location of the Hitler just after first light which should make finding the battleship easier and hopefully help them spot if there was really a problem with it or if the message had been some kind of a hoax.

As Buttlar-Brandenfels stood there staring at the plot table lost in thought, Admiral Victor Falle and his tactical assistants strode up.

"Not the smoothest launch I have ever experienced, Horst," rumbled Falle with a deep resonant voice.

Buttlar-Brandenfels glanced over at the admiral in charge of this flight, as he gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "Sorry about that, sir, but everything about this ship is new and experimental. I would like to proceed with the initial phase of the alpha test sequence during the trip up to the Hitler's position."

The alpha test sequence was a planned series of maneuvers to determine the handling qualities of the ship. It was the proper 'baby-steps' thing to do to start the learning process with this truly unique vehicle.

"Sorry, Horst, I know it is the logical thing to do, but we are going to have to forgo alpha at this time and proceed directly to the beta series."

Buttlar-Brandenfels could feel himself blanch. The beta testing involved the weapons systems and hadn't been scheduled until the second week of flight testing. What had the message he hadn't seen said? What kind of trouble were they about to run into? The hull of the Deutschland should be impervious to all but the most powerful battleship main guns – guns like the Hitler mounted.

"Beta, sir?" he repeated numbly.

"Yes, as soon as we are well clear of the coast, we shall begin with the main guns."

"Sir, what is going? I need to have some idea, so I can plan our approach."

Falle nodded. "The message was very brief and sketchy. All it said, beyond giving their current location, was that the ship had been taken over by hostile forces and requested help."

Buttlar-Brandenfels couldn't understand how the message could be true. "Sir, there are over a thousand men on the Hitler. How could someone take over the ship?"

"I have no idea how it would be possible, but we are going to proceed as though it is true until we have first-hand proof it is not." Admiral Falle paused and took in Buttlar-Brandenfels' sudden pallor. "Horst, I would think you would be looking forward to a little excitement. It would certainly help the sales of your next book."

Buttlar-Brandenfels' literary career had been the butt of countless jokes since he had returned to the service to work on this project. After the war had ended, he had rejoined the late Count's Zeppelin Aircraft Company. Ultimately, he had ended up as the Zeppelin company representative in the United States for a joint venture company formed by Zeppelin and Goodyear. During the Twenties, dirigibles had enjoyed a popularity in the States similar to what they had seen in Germany before the war. After meeting an agent for the Harcourt Publishing Company at a party in New York, he had agreed to write an account of his experiences as the captain of a Zeppelin during the war. By the time 'Zeppelins over England' had been published in 1932, he had returned to Germany to serve as first officer on the now famous Graf Zeppelin.

"Admiral, I think there will be plenty of excitement from the numerous untested systems on this craft without taking it into combat on its first flight."

Falle nodded his agreement and Buttlar-Brandenfels could read from the expression on his face that the time for small-talk and humor was over.

Turning back to the plot-table Buttlar-Brandenfels decided they should arc around to east to give them more time over open water as they approached the Hitler's reported position. He called out to the helmsman for a course change fifteen degrees to starboard before he had the communication officer order all of the lookouts on the outer hull to don their ear protection.

After three more minutes of steady, effortless cruising, Buttlar-Brandenfels advised the Admiral they were in the clear for live weapons fire.

The admiral nodded and then headed over to the gunnery station. A few seconds later warning klaxon sounded and the PA system blared out – "Prepare for artillery practice. This is no drill."

As Buttlar-Brandenfels waited for the gun fire to begin, he noticed how quiet the ship was. Other than the faint murmur of voices of the other men on the bridge, he couldn't hear anything. No wind noise penetrated the thick steel hull. No engine noises came from the silent anti-gravity drive. If not for a slight vibration felt through his feet from the deck, he could have believed the ship was still parked in the hangar.

He glanced over to the gunnery station just as the gunnery officer hit the firing stud for the pair of large guns located in the upper turret. A short, sharp jolt was felt in the bridge, but otherwise the craft remained rock-steady. Buttlar-Brandenfels had been onboard a battleship during gunnery practice back during the war and he could still remember how far the ship had rolled in recoil. It was obvious this ship would make an excellent gun platform.

However he strolled over just in time to hear the gunnery officer swear in response to the report from the spotter coordinator.

"Admiral, let's go ahead and fire the lower guns. Then we'll give the upper guns another try," said Lt. Wilfred Schmidt.

After the admiral nodded, the gunnery officer turned back to his control panel.

"Anything I need to know?" Buttlar-Brandenfels asked Falle in a low voice to avoid interrupting the activity.

"We were afraid of this. The mathematicians spent years developing the gunnery tables all naval ships use to adjust their aim for distance and wind conditions. However these tables are all designed for ship-to-ship battle where both ships are at sea level. We have had a small group working on new tables specifically for this craft, but they are not done yet. In the short term, if we need to participate in a long range gun battle, we will need to drop down to sea level and slow to below thirty knots."

"That would seem to nullify most of the advantages of the Deutschland," stated Buttlar-Brandenfels.

Falle shrugged. "We didn't expect to be taking the Deutschland into battle this soon, and certainly not against a ship like the Hitler. Against a lesser ship I would just move in close and use the lower guns at point-blank range. But the Hitler's big guns might damage us at that range."

Another shudder ran through the ship as the big lower guns on the port side fired.

"I hope it doesn't come to a gun battle with the Hitler," said Buttlar-Brandenfels. "It would be a shame for the two newest, greatest weapons of the fatherland to do battle against each other."

"I agree," responded Falle. Then he got a harder look in his eyes and he continued in a tone of someone who had had to make hard decisions before. "But if it comes to it, we must do our duty."

Buttlar-Brandenfels nodded. With a sign of dismissal from Falle, he moved back over to the plot table.

- + - +

The main upper battery fired two more salvoes and the lower port and starboard pairs each fired one before Buttlar-Brandenfels decided their range was getting close enough to the potential position of the Hitler to warn Admiral Falle.

The admiral and his two assistants had retreated to a small work table located near the gunnery station. One of the assistants was seated and busily taking notes as the admiral dictated. When the admiral paused, Buttlar-Brandenfels said a quiet 'sir' to get his attention. When the admiral looked up, Buttlar-Brandenfels continued, "Sir, we will be coming over the horizon on the Hitler's estimated position in roughly five minutes. If we don't want to send the wrong signals, we should cease firing now."

The admiral nodded and relayed the order to the gunnery officer with the additional instructions to give the crews a five minute break, but then they would be going to full battle stations.

With these instructions acknowledged, the admiral turned back to Buttlar-Brandenfels. "Horst, let's move up to the flying bridge, I would like to have a first hand look at the Hitler before deciding how to proceed."

Buttlar-Brandenfels nodded and passed the word to the rest of the bridge crew. Several crew members scurried off ahead to ensure the phones would be ready to relay any necessary instructions back down to the bridge.

Once things were in motion, Buttlar-Brandenfels gestured for the admiral to precede him to the side of the bridge where the stairs were located. As they started climbing the three flights of stairs from the bridge, located in its secure location deep within the hull of the ship, to the flying bridge located just in front of and below the main upper gun turret, he couldn't help but smile at how for once the term 'flying bridge' really did apply.

The flying bridge was a light-weight structure; well light-weight by the Deutschland's standard with only five centimeter thick steel walls supporting large three centimeter thick glass windows. It would not survive a direct hit by shells from any halfway serious guns, but it did offer a panoramic one hundred eighty degree view forward with protection from the elements during normal, non-combat operations.

The flying bridge was forty feet wide by ten feet deep although this was somewhat deceiving as it wrapped partially around the circular base of the giant gun turret. As the admiral and the pilot stepped out onto the flying bridge, a crewman quickly handed each of them a powerful set of binoculars.

Buttlar-Brandenfels stepped up to the railing in front of the large glass window and before him stretched the upper surface of the extended saucer section. Looking out across it, he still couldn't understand who authorized the incredibly gaudy bright red paint scheme. Oh, it made the large black and white swastikas stand out, but also made the ship look like an oversized child's toy. And this ship was certainly not a toy by any possible definition.

But like so many other aspects of this project, the paint scheme was not under his control. Forcing his attention back to the situation at hand, he gestured to a point on the horizon about fifteen degrees starboard of the point of their brow.

"Sir, if she had continued to run at flank speed towards Peenemunde from her last reported position, the Hitler should be coming over the horizon in that direction in the next couple of minutes. From their perspective we will be coming at them from a position just a little south of where the sun will clear the horizon. This approach angle should allow us to see them before they see us. On the other hand, if they turned north from their last indicated position, this course should bring us up on their tail in just a few extra minutes."

The admiral nodded and raised his binoculars, thereby joining the other twenty lookouts busily scanning the horizon from their spots on the flying bridge and other protected locations on the exterior of the massive ship.

It was less than three minutes before one of the enlisted men, positioned a little further down the flying bridge from the admiral and his party, shouted that he had spotted a silhouette on the horizon. Buttlar-Brandenfels and Admiral Falle quickly lowered their glasses long enough to see the man was pointing to a spot only a few degrees from Buttlar-Brandenfels' original estimate.

Buttlar-Brandenfels raised his glasses and looked in the indicated direction. It only took a moment to find the silhouette the man had reported. Although at their brisk pace in the few intervening seconds the silhouette had expanded sufficiently to make out it was definitely a naval vessel; no passenger liner or cargo ship had that distinctive profile.

"It looks like the Hitler, sir," he remarked to the Admiral.

"I agree. Time for battle stations, I think," Falle responded.

As the sound of the klaxon could be heard from the open stairwell, the admiral turned to the nearby communications officer. "Have the following message flashed to them: To DKM Hitler from DKM Deutschland – Heave to and prepare to receive boarding party."

Boarding Party? Wondered Buttlar-Brandenfels. Did the admiral really intend to take the Deutschland into point blank range?

As the warrant officer manning the giant light began sending the Morse Code, Buttlar-Brandenfels joined the others in raising his binoculars and monitoring the Hitler for any response.

They watched for over two minutes without seeing any acknowledging flash message or any reduction in the great battleship's speed. There had been plenty of time for their message to have been forwarded to the bridge and any response composed and sent. The range had closed to barely ten kilometers and Buttlar-Brandenfels felt it was time to get some new directions from the admiral.

"Any new orders, sir?"

Falle lowered his own glasses. "They don't seem to be responding. Horst, can you swing us around so that we are approaching from the stern and get us close enough to drop a couple of squadrons onto their aft deck?"

Buttlar-Brandenfels contemplated the admiral's request for a moment wishing they had had time for more maneuvering practice. "I believe so, sir. But does that seem wise? I mean getting in that close to their guns?"

"I don't see where we have any choice. We have to find out what is going on over there. And I would prefer to risk trying to board her than simply standing back and blowing her out of the water. For all we know the crew could have been incapacitated and a dead man is at the controls. If possible, I want to recover the ship intact."

Buttlar-Brandenfels couldn't do anything but nod his acceptance; this was the admiral's responsibility and not his.

It took Buttlar-Brandenfels ten minutes to swing the flying craft around and into position. During that time the Hitler made no overt response but continued to steam steadily towards the south. However the Deutschland had been bustling with activity as the thirty-six Kriegsmarines stationed on board were getting into position on the lowest level and the admiral was hurriedly briefing their commander.

The Hitler was maintaining a steady twenty knots as Buttlar-Brandenfels brought his ship up from the stern. He had docked the Graf Zeppelin and several other airships to ships at sea before, but this seemed very different. First of all, those ships had generally been at anchor, not a moving target like this. Second, he had had hundreds of hours at the controls of those other ships, but on this one it had been barely thirty minutes and both he and the crew were still feeling out the controls. Third, the shape of this ship was so different; it was throwing off his spatial judgment. All of his previous airships were shaped a lot like their target, the Hitler – roughly three hundred meters long and thirty meters wide. This flying dreadnought, modeled on the alien's vessel, was only about one hundred twenty meters long, but equally as wide. And finally, it was becoming obvious they were going to have to retrofit a second flying bridge on the lower side of the main saucer for maneuvers like this.

But maybe the biggest difference, he would have to admit, was that never before had he brought an airship into such close proximity to someone who might shoot at him. No, during his service in the war he had always strived to stay as far as possible from the enemy; preferably about six kilometers above them. Now he was within one hundred meters and would have to close that distance to less than twelve meters if the kriegsmarines were going to be able to repel down to the battleship.

He had relocated back to the main bridge, but could still remember the way the massive guns of the upper turret had extended out above the flying bridge and knew equally powerful guns were now pointing at his ship from below. What kind of damage would they do to this ship if they were fired at a range of fifteen meters? He had never seen a ship with a thicker hull than this flying dreadnought, but still it was only about seventy centimeters of steel and the shells of the big guns massed almost a thousand kilograms. And the exit velocity of these shells was very high to provide a normal range of almost thirty-six kilometers.

Come on, Horst, he thought to himself, get your mind off the danger you can't control and focus on the task at hand. He was standing by the plot-table, but for this close-in maneuvering, it wasn't of any use. Finally, he closed his eyes and focused on a mental picture of what was going on based on his years of experience on airships and the information he was receiving from the three spotters who were in positions to see and describe the two ships' relative motion.

"Ten meters forward and three meters to port," relayed the communications officer who was on the phone with the assistant pilot currently standing in the open doorway on the lowest level through which the Kriegsmarines were about to depart.

Buttlar-Brandenfels directed the men manning the controls to increase the crafts forward speed by one knot and to turn to port by one degree. After five seconds he was about to lower the speed back by one knot to not overshoot their target when a jolt and a grinding sound ran through the ship although it was more felt than heard.

"Sir, the lower surface of the saucer section just struck one of the Hitler's main aft guns," stated the communications officer quickly.

"Are we close enough for the marines to get across?" asked Buttlar-Brandenfels.

The communications officer listened briefly and then nodded. "They are going down now. They should all be across in fifteen seconds."

Buttlar-Brandenfels glanced at the large clock mounted on the forward bulkhead. As soon as they were across, he intended to open some distance between the two ships. He hated this feeling of being a sitting duck.

"They are away, sir," reported the communications officer exactly seventeen seconds later.

"Altitude control, get us up to two thousand meters. Engine controls, reduce our forward speed to zero for thirty seconds and then increase it back to twenty three knots," directed Buttlar-Brandenfels. He would need to back away a little first to clear the Hitler's superstructure, but then he wanted to get the Deutschland positioned directly above the Hitler. Directly above was the one position the Hitler's big guns couldn't reach. Oh, some of its smaller anti-aircraft weapons could point straight up, but none of them were likely to do any significant damage. They were designed to battle thin-skinned aircraft, not a flying dreadnought like this.

However, his plan did not come to fruition. The Deutschland had backed away barely fifty meters when all four of the Hitler's aft facing 380mm main guns fired at once.

It felt as though the deck of the bridge jumped a meter straight up in a single instant. All the men lost their footing and were thrown to the deck, but none of them saw the deck coming up to meet them as a fraction of a second after the initial shock, all of the lights on the bridge went dead.

- + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +

Marion stood on the bridge of the Hitler near Captain Koenig. The glazed look on the faces of the Captain and the other men on the bridge frightened her. She felt she should be getting used to it, as over the past eighteen hours more and more of the crew had succumb to Laura's unholy power. But instead of getting easier, it was getting steadily harder to handle.

Marion glanced over to where Laura stood in Lana's body on the far side of the bridge. She was dressed like the lowliest sailor on this mighty ship, yet looked and acted like the high priestess of some long forgotten pagan religion. In her right hand she grasped the same knife taken from the tray of food when all of this had started, but if it had been swapped for a jewel encrusted ceremonial dagger, it wouldn't have seemed out of place. And as Marion watched, her loyal vassals dragged forth the next sacrificial victim. Oh, she wasn't actually cutting out their hearts, but as the day had progressed she had been cutting each one a little deeper than the previous and more than was absolutely necessary.

Had it really been less than three days since her first encounter with Laura in that dream-like Jaguar City? And yet even then Marion had seen the first hints of Laura's underlying personality. If there was even someone called Laura and she wasn't just some strange fragment of Lana's own personality.

But ultimately it didn't matter whether it was Laura or Lana, either way the girl definitely had power. She didn't have proof Laura had actually brought Whitney back from the dead, but based on the things she had seen since then, she didn't doubt it. And she didn't doubt that one or the other of the girls had lived almost forever. Nor that she had been an absolute monarch on more than one occasion, back when 'absolute monarch' actual meant 'ABSOLUTE MONARCH'.

In less than thirty seconds this latest conquest was over and the sailor went from an expression of abject terror to one of extreme adoration. And it had been going on like this hour after hour through almost the entire night. At least a third of the crew and almost all of the officers must have been through 'the ceremony' as Marion had come to think of it. At least she assumed most of the officers had been through it as none had been brought forward in the past couple of hours and Laura was currently focusing on the petty officers.

However there was one officer who hadn't been through the line, Major Biberach. And neither had his two superhumanly strong henchmen.

Just then an ensign came staggering onto the bridge and collapsed at Laura's feet. The man was a mess: forearm bones stuck out through a wide bloody gash in his right sleeve, his face was covered in so many bruises both eyes were almost swollen shut and blood streamed freely from his nose, and his good arm was wrapped tightly about his chest as though to protect broken ribs or even worse internal damage.

Marion watched as Laura knelt down and rested a hand on the man's forehead while calling for one of the nearby men to pull on the man's broken arm to get the bones back into place. For perhaps fifteen seconds Laura maintain physical contact with the man and then rose back to her feet.

"Major Biberach and his men have barricaded themselves in the radio room. Captain Koenig, I need a couple of squads of men down there to help me rout them out. And I want the power to the damn radio transmitter off right now. We don't need the Major sending any stupid messages."

As the Captain quickly started issuing orders, Marion couldn't take her attention from the man who had stumbled in to deliver the warning. Only seconds after Laura had stood up, the man had followed suit. And except for a coating of drying blood, he looked as good as new. No matter how many times in the past day she had seen Laura cut someone and then watch their wound heal before her eyes, she couldn't get over it. It was like magic. 'Dark magic', murmured the small voice in the back of her head.

"Ma'am," began the recently healed ensign with a bowed head. "I am sorry I failed to apprehend the Major and his men. Please allow me to make amends by leading the squads you are sending."

Marion looked at the man in almost disbelief. He had obviously gone up against the Major's two superhumanly strong men and lost. He had been lucky to get away with his life and now he was begging for a second chance. For a moment Marion flashed back to her conversations in Egypt with Belloq and later on the Greek isle. He had had all of those grand dreams of what he would do with the power of the Ark of the Covenant. Yet those dreams now seemed almost childish next to what Laura could do. With her abilities to twist any man's mind to do her bidding and her gift to instantly heal any wound, she was almost like a god or at least an angel. 'Dark angel', murmured the voice in her head again.

Laura nodded to the ensign and turned to the door. She only took three steps before pausing. Looking back to the captain, she said. "Captain Koenig, please have all of the main batteries fire off a practice salvo as soon as possible. Then have them reload and standby to fire again on my command."

He nodded his intention to follow her instructions and then stated, "We are close enough to a couple of islands that someone is going to see and hear the shots, ma'am."

"It can't be helped and it will be dawn shortly, so doubtlessly we would be spotted soon anyway. At this point the most important thing is that we are ready for trouble," answered Laura.

Then Laura turned her attention to Marion and Marion had to steel herself from flinching back as the power glittered in the girl's dark eyes. This was most definitely not the same girl who had cried on her shoulder in the small cell in that nameless village two nights before.

"Marion, please accompany me."

Marion nodded and forced herself to step forward. She had no idea what Laura would do if she refused, but this was not the time to find out. When things had started back in the cabin, she might have been allowed to refuse a request. But as the hours passed, Laura was becoming more and more intoxicated with her power. She was very much afraid if she disagreed with Laura now, the girl would merely touch her and do to her mind whatever she had been doing to the crew. And whatever she was doing was very scary. Would the minds of any of these men ever be the same again?

Laura led the way off the bridge at a brisk pace. She went down ladders and through the labyrinth of walkways and corridors without ever pausing or hesitating. Marion knew the girl had never been to the radio room before because they had been inseparable since boarding this ship. Then it struck her that if Laura had been tapping directly into the minds of the crew as she was doing her little ceremony, she would know every detail of the ship. Hell, she would know it better than any other single individual on board.

When they reached the entrance to the radio room, they found a squad of men loyal to Laura already there. The eight sailors each had a carbine pointed at the heavy door and even the leader had his sidearm out. Not that these weapons were going to do any good against this door. Like all of the internal structure of the Hitler, the walls and door were constructed of four inch thick steel.

But then the door might not be the real target, but rather what lay on the other side. Because when Marion looked closer, four of these men were visibly wounded and several other more seriously wounded men were lying on the deck nearby.

Laura quickly touched all of the injured men and then she proceeded to touch the uninjured, too. Marion could tell when Laura touched one of the men without even watching her hands; the moment of contact was clearly visible in the men's eyes as they blazed even brighter, clearly in a religious fervor to do whatever Laura commanded.

Once the ultimate state of zeal had been restored in the men and one of them had been sent to the engineering levels to retrieve a couple of cutting torches, Laura calmly walked up to the radio room door. The door might be impervious to anything short of explosives or cutting torches, but it did have a small horizontal slot for communication during battles without risking the structural integrity provided by the closed and locked door. The slot was located just above Laura's eyelevel, but by standing on her toes she could just be seen and heard through the locked door.

"Major Biberach, this is Lana Lang. Remember me? What are you so afraid of that you need to hide behind this locked door? Why don't you come out so we can talk?" began Laura with an unexpected light tone to her voice.

Laura paused, obviously waiting for a response. During the silence, Marion could hear a loud mechanical whining sound that seemed to be coming from all around them. It took a moment for her to realize it was sound of the big, main gun turrets slowing rotating to a new position. This sound had barely ended when the Klaxon sounded and the officer of the day issued a warning about the upcoming discharge.

The final echo of the klaxon had barely died down when all eight main guns salvoed simultaneously. Even in this sheltered position well inside the superstructure of the great battleship, the noise was so overwhelming Marion couldn't help but raise her hands to her ears. But before the sound even ended, she was forced to abandon this protective posture as she needed both hands to brace herself against the wall as the ship heeled far over to starboard in reaction to the broadside to port.

Marion noticed how the squad of men had all been forced to lower their weapons to also brace themselves against the sudden, violent roll. Only Laura remained erected with only the slightest movement of her feet needed to hold her position. Marion wondered if the girl's balance was simply that superb or if she had been through similar situations many times before.

Laura began speaking to the door again once the rumble of the guns finally died away. "Hey, Biberach, remember how I warned you when we first came aboard this ship that my friends were extremely pissed at you and that this toy boat wouldn't survive against them any longer than the chateau? Well, I am sure they will get here eventually, but I got tired of waiting. So I decided to see how quickly I could single-handedly take this battleship you are so proud of. What do you think? One little girl against two thousand of the Fuhrer's finest sailors and in less than twenty four hours the ship is MINE."

Laura paused again; although whether she was seriously expecting a response or just giving the Major some time for her words to sink in, Marion couldn't decide.

After about a minute of silence, the man she had sent for the cutting torch returned with a work party from the lower levels. Laura gestured for them to wait before turning back to the locked door.

"What's your decision, Biberach? Are you coming out? Tell you what, if you come out now I will give your boys another shot at me. And if they can take me, I will give you back your precious ship. How about it, guys? Would you like another go? Hein, I am sure you would like the opportunity to get even with me for your lost eye."

Laura paused again to let her words sink in before continuing.

"Of course, I should warn you, last time I was holding back and this time I won't."

Laura paused yet again and began slowly tapping the fingernails of her right hand against the door. From the expression on the girl's face, Marion decided Laura really was hoping these men of Biberach's would take her up on her challenge. It seemed likely from her comments that she deliberately sought out situations to test her limits. As though taking over the ship wasn't enough; she had to be able to take out these super strong men, too.

But suddenly Marion realized these men wouldn't be a real challenge to Laura. No, they could be hurt while Laura could instantly heal from any injury. No matter how long it took, Laura could continue the fight until her opponents made some mistake.

Feeling she was starting to develop a little insight into Laura's psyche, Marion was about to address Laura when Laura started speaking again.

"Well, Hein, what do you say? Perhaps you have finally wised up enough to not try me again. And you know? I don't really want to fight either. Tell you what, if you are willing to change sides now, it is within my power to restore your eye. Yes, I can heal your injuries. If you don't believe me, just ask the men you hurt forcing your way into the radio room. They are all fully recovered from their wounds. All you have to do is open the door and let me touch you for a few seconds. And it wouldn't hurt a bit. In fact, I promise afterwards you will be happier than you have ever been in your life."

A man came running up from the direction of the bridge and both Laura and Marion turned to look at him. Marion recognized him as one of the many men she had witnessed go through the ceremony earlier. He had a look of fear about him that she had never seen before on anyone post-ceremony. Laura must have seen the same thing as she didn't pause to ask him why he was there, but quickly stepped over and touched his arm.

The contact didn't seem to last more than a fraction of a second before Lana turned back and began issuing orders.

"Ensign Speight take charge here. Get the men working on the door; I want it open when I return."

Marion once again was struck by how even the small things set Laura apart. She seemed to remember the names and details of every man over whom she had assumed control. But then if she remembered everything that had happened over the thousands of years of her life, what was learning a thousand new names in a single day?

When Laura turned to Marion, Marion was struck by the intensity of her stare. The girl's eyes seemed even darker than before and the hunger in her face had grown distinctly more intense.

"Marion," began Laura, as Marion expected her to once more request she follow her. "Please remain here."

Marion felt a genuine sense of relief when, without explaining what had changed, Laura took off alone at a run in the direction of the bridge.

- + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +

Christoph Frenkel sat hunched over the radioman's key ready to start tapping out the Major's message for the third time. He was still shaking from their experiences leading up to their retreat to this communications room. Until the fight with that young girl, Lana Lang, back at the chateau, nothing had ever shaken him since he had become one of the proud possessors of the Samson braids. But ever since encountering the girl, nothing seemed right or ordinary.

First off had been the girl's amazing fighting abilities. Never before had anyone beaten one of them in a combat situation since they had received their 'gift'. Yet the girl had taken Hein down in a matter of seconds and it hadn't been a single lucky blow. No, she had slowly taken him apart – piece by piece. And then she had turned her attention to him. If Biberach hadn't aborted that fight by threatening to kill the older woman, he didn't doubt the girl would have beaten him, too.

Then the morning after their departure from the chateau, they had received word it had been destroyed shortly after they had made their getaway. And just like with the girl, there had been something odd about its destruction. Oh, he could understand if the building had been destroyed by a fire or even an explosion, but how could the entire promontory on which it sat have been destroyed, too? He had been down to the lower levels of the dungeons and knew the whole cliff was solid rock; it would take tons of explosives to bring that all down. But how could anyone smuggle it all in without anyone noticing?

And that had not been the end of it; no it had only been the beginning. The weirdness had continued once they reached what they thought was the safety of this ship.

Frenkel shook his head to try and clear this train of thought. He needed to focus on his task, as he was the only one of their group who knew Morse Code and could operate the radios. Trying to focus, he once more looked down at Biberach's hastily scrawled message he had been transmitting on the special frequency used by the Tribunal:

'This is Major Johann Biberach. STOP. I am on board the DKM Hitler at thirteen degrees fifty-three minutes east longitude, fifty-four degrees forty-two minutes north latitude. STOP. The ship has been taken over by two women who have managed to subvert the captain and most of the crew. STOP. Only I and a few loyal men are left and we are barricaded in the radio room. STOP. At all costs these women must be prevented from returning to the Fatherland, even if it requires the destruction of this ship. STOP. END OF MESSAGE.'

He managed to repeat the message one more time before his thoughts drifted back to the events on the ship since their departure from Hamburg which had led to their presence in this room.

Everything had seemed to go so well at first. A group of Kriegsmarines had met them on the dock and had taken custody of the two women. Hein and he had been shown to guest quarters in officer country – nothing too fancy, but he had certainly stayed in a lot worse.

The first night had been quiet and uneventful, well, uneventful if you had good sea legs. Hein obviously did, as he snored steadily throughout, but then he was still recovering from his injuries. Unfortunately, Frenkel was not a good sailor and the small, enclosed cabin didn't help. He had eventually gone out to get some air in hopes of helping his roiling stomach.

From talking with members of the crew during his walk, he discovered the women were being kept only three doors down the corridor from his own quarters. He wasn't certain if this was coincidence or if Biberach had requested it. Not that he felt it mattered; if the girl wanted to cause trouble, he didn't think he could stop her with anything less than a gun. And if he gave any credence to what she had been saying back at the chateau, he wasn't certain even a gun would stop her. All he had hoped at the time was that their position way out at sea would prevent the girl from trying anything.

Things had remained quiet until the afternoon of their first full day at sea, was that really only eighteen hours ago? Then he had started to notice more traffic passing the open doorway of his cabin. He had stepped out into the corridor and leaned against the bulkhead which formed the opposite wall. From there he could see down to the door to the women's quarters. Two guards still stood sentry outside the door, but something about them seemed subtly different. After a few minutes, he realized they were standing rigidly erect like the parade guards at the Kaiser's old imperial palace he had visited before the war. Earlier, the guards had been much more casual, at most they would be in a 'parade rest' pose. Had some high ranking officer been down and chewed them out for not upholding the standard of the Fuhrer's Navy?

While he spent twenty minutes casually loitering in the hallway, he had witnessed five pairs of men enter the women's quarters. None of them ever stayed for more than two minutes and he couldn't figure out what they were doing. Even though he had never spent any time 'officially' in the military, he could from his academy days still recognize the various insignias adorning their uniforms. If anyone was going to be visiting the women, he would have expected it to be members of the security department or members of the Captain's staff. But the men he saw were from all over the ship: gunnery officers, engineering officers, even the head of the galley crew. And why would they go in there for less than two minutes at a time? They could hardly be interrogating the women in that time, or even be having sex.

He had just about decided to go discuss the odd pattern with Major Biberach when Hein had wandered back to their compartment with word of a card game starting up in the officer's lounge. He didn't see what harm the women could be doing, as they were still obviously in their cabin. So he decided to postpone talking to the Major until after the game. Perhaps he could even learn what was going on during the game; people always were more relaxed and ready to talk while playing cards, even without the benefit of alcohol which was not 'officially' available onboard ship.

As frequently happened with card games in the military, players would come and go as duty required, but the game went on. Frenkel remembered one epic game during his tour of duty in Spain that had gone on continuously for five days. This game hadn't lasted that long, but since he and Hein didn't have any assigned duties, they stayed at the table for a long time playing with a variety of different officers.

Ultimately, the game had just petered out in the strangest way. They were playing with three officers who had to go on duty at midnight. During their last hour a number of officers had wandered into the lounge to visit the coffee urn, but not a single one was interested in joining the game. Several had even made the comment that they had more important things to be doing with their free time. And strangely, they had all phrased it exactly the same way; as though they were giving the same rehearsed response.

He and Hein were returning to their quarters when he noticed the guards were no longer stationed outside the women's doorway. Hein hadn't seen what the issue was as they were on a ship at sea, where could they go that mattered? Hein had proceeded to bed, but Frenkel couldn't get the memory out of his head of the unusual assortment of officers who had visited the women's room earlier.

He decided he wouldn't be able to sleep until he had a better understanding of what was going on and went in search of some information. Within a few minutes, he found an officer who said the Captain had requested the women's presence on the bridge.

Why would the Captain want to see them on the bridge in the middle of the night? Why would the Captain even be on the bridge in the middle of the night? Usually, the captain was only on the bridge during the day unless something exceptional was going on like an impending battle.

The situation seemed so out of the ordinary, he decided to see if Major Biberach knew what was going on. He found the Major asleep in his quarters and when he explained, the Major quickly dressed and then the two of them headed for the bridge.

What they had found had been shocking. They had arrived via the starboard entrance to the bridge. The captain and the older woman, Mrs. Jones, had been standing on the far side of the bridge. They were both looking towards the spectacle going on in the center of the room as though it was the most natural thing in the world. The younger girl was standing there holding a blood-covered knife in her right hand while her left hand was firmly clasping the hand of a man kneeling before her. Both of their joined hands were oozing blood and Frenkel quickly noticed how a small pool of blood had collected around the girl's feet. But it wasn't the knife or the blood that had scared Frenkel the most. No, it was the expression on the kneeling man's face. He had this look of adoration that Frenkel had only seen a couple of times before and that had been during the earliest days of the Nazi moment when the future Fuhrer had given one of his motivational speeches to a small group of the faithful.

However Frenkel realized Biberach didn't see or at least understand the incongruity of the expression on the man's face, for Biberach let out a 'What the fuck is going on here?' exclamation before even stepping fully onto the bridge.

At the outburst the girl turned towards them and Frenkel got a good look at her face for the first time. And he had never seen such a look of malevolence and power before in his whole life, not even around Hitler or the members of the Tribunal. This didn't even look like the same girl they had fought back at the chateau.

"Grab them," the girl snarled in a tone that said she expected instant obedience. When she continued, Frenkel suddenly felt his impossibly strong knees go weak. "It is time they too kneel down before me."

The two large security men standing on either side of the kneeling officer instantly reached for their side arms. A small corner of Frenkel's brain noted the men had moments before been holding the kneeling man down like he had originally been resisting whatever the girl was doing. But now the man was quickly climbing to his feet in support of the security men.

With a quick glance around, Frenkel knew everyone on the bridge was somehow under the girl's spell. If not for the guns, he could probably take all of them in a fight – well, all of them but the girl. But his strength was not proof against bullets; it was time to retreat and regroup.

Biberach apparently didn't understand the true situation and was trying to countermand the girl's orders. Frenkel was forced to grab the Major and spin him out through the door.

Frenkel thought they were in the clear as he hustled the protesting Major down the corridor. But then a single shot was fired in their direction from the bridge. The bullet careened off a wall and caught Frenkel in the left shoulder. It spun him partway around, but otherwise wasn't serious, particularly since part of the gift of the Samson braid was the dulling of pain from wounds. At least something positive came of the shot - Biberach was finally convinced of the seriousness of the situation. As they raced down the corridor and around a corner, he was no longer dragging his feet about their hasty retreat.

They spent the next several hours dodging packs of pursuers. Fortunately, few of these men were armed with guns and against knifes, clubs, and fists Frenkel didn't have any problems. They eventually made their way to the corridor where Hein and he had been billeted. Hein had been sleeping, undisturbed by any of the girl's men, when they arrived. He came groggily awake when they entered the cabin, but came fully awake when he saw Frenkel's blood stained shirt and disarrayed clothing from the bullet wound and series of recent fights.

"What the hell happened to you?" asked Hein, as Frenkel sank into a chair by the desk.

Before Frenkel could answer, Biberach responded with more than a hint of hysteria in his voice. "That . . . that girl. Somehow she is in control of things up on the bridge and she has men trying to hunt us down. We have to stop her!"

Hein looked over at Frenkel who nodded.

Frenkel leaned over and pulled open the lower right hand desk drawer. Inside was the silver flask presented to him by Himmler, personally, on his return from Spain. He unscrewed the cap and took a quick swig. Then he passed it to the Major.

"Major have some, it will help calm your nerves."

The Major looked at the flask dubiously for a moment before nodding and taking a long pull.

"Now, Major, exactly how do you propose we stop the girl?" Frenkel asked.

"You're the strong ones. Just do your thing."

Frenkel sighed. "Major do I need to remind you that back at the chateau the girl beat Hein and probably would have beaten me if she hadn't stopped fighting? And that was all by herself. Now she seems to have hundreds of men on her side and some of them are armed with guns."

"How is she controlling them?" asked Hein.

Frenkel thought back to the scene he had witnessed on the bridge; it had to be the key. "I don't know for certain, but from what I saw I think it involves an exchange of blood between her and the others."

"So what do we do?" asked Hein as he moved over to the wardrobe and started getting dressed.

Frenkel looked over to the Major who was still holding the flask and appeared to be almost in a daze. "If we are going to stop her, we are going to have to find help."

Hein paused in buttoning his shirt. "Where are we going to find help in the middle of the fucking ocean? Do you think there are men in the below deck crews that will help us?"

Frenkel remembered the officers from all the different disciplines who had been visiting the women's quarters in the afternoon. Suddenly it was clear why they had been there; the girl was making sure her control reached into all areas of the ship before she made her first public move. "No, I wouldn't count on any help from the crew at this point. I think she has gotten to the key officers in every area of the ship."

Finally, Biberach spoke again. "I need to get a message to the Tribunal. They can get us the help we need to stop the girl."

"How is the Tribunal going to be able to help?" asked Hein as he pulled on his coat. "We are in the middle of the ocean, miles from anywhere, and the girl has control of the most powerful warship in the world."

Biberach thought back to his tour of duty at Peenemunde. "The tribunal has some other, even more secret weapons at its disposal. They may not be able to take the ship back from her, but they can at least stop this ship and prevent the girl from getting back into Germany."

Hein and Frenkel immediately understood what Biberach was implying.

"Surely the girl is not so dangerous we have to destroy the ship to stop her?" questioned Hein, not having seen Lana's true abilities and having no desire to give his life in the process.

Frenkel had seen what the girl could do and realized Biberach was right. If the girl could take control of most or all of this ship's crew in less than a day, she could just as easily take control of Hitler or the Tribunal or the senior military staff or all of them. He couldn't imagine the girl he had fought back at the chateau doing that, but the girl he had glimpsed up on the bridge certainly could.

Shaking his head, Frenkel concurred. "The major is right. The girl must be stopped, even if the price is the loss of this ship and its crew."

Hein looked from Biberach to Frenkel and then nodded. "Then we had best be on our way to the radio room."

They had proceeded directly to the radio room with only a small detour to the chart room to determine their position. Unfortunately, the crew in that compartment had also fallen to the girl's power. They had had to incapacitate the men, but with both Hein and Frenkel in action, it had been but the work of a moment. Fortunately, the ship's position had been clearly marked on the large map spread across the chart table.

They fought two more skirmishes between the chart room and the radio room and then had been forced to evict the two radiomen, too. While Hein secured the door such that no mere mortal man would be able to force it open and Biberach wrote out the message calling for help, Frenkel had retuned the radio to the Tribunal's secret frequency.

And that was more or less how things stood when twenty-five minutes later the girl showed up outside the radio room door: Hein was pacing by the door, Biberach was fiddling with his pen while staring blankly at the opposite wall, and Frenkel had sent the message at least twenty times. Although he hadn't received any response and after the fifteenth time he wasn't even picking up a carrier wave and guessed the radio had been disconnected from the antenna. But he didn't have anything better to do while they waited for something to happen, so he continued to sit and tap out the message.

The first they knew this brief interlude in the activity was over was when they heard the girl's voice through the small portal in the door.

"Major Biberach, this is Lana Lang. Remember me? What are you so afraid of that you need to hide behind this locked door? Why don't you come out so we can talk?"

The pleasant, soft voice Frenkel remembered from the chateau was back, but he couldn't get the tone she had used up on the bridge out of his mind. He was looking over towards the Major to see how he was going to respond when they all heard it; the main gun battery turrets were all being rotated. Then the klaxon blared and a warning of impeding gun fire was announced to the crew.

As the deafening roar rumbled through the ship, the three men looked at each other. What was the ship, no, the girl shooting at? Had a response to their request for help already arrived?

Once the noise of the guns had receded and the roll of the ship damped out, they heard from the girl again.

"Hey, Biberach, remember how I warned you when we first came aboard this ship that my friends were extremely pissed at you and that this toy boat wouldn't survive against them any longer than the chateau? Well, I am sure they will get here eventually, but I got tired of waiting. So I decided to see how quickly I could single-handedly take this battleship you are so proud of. What do you think? One little girl against two thousand of the Fuhrer's finest sailors and in less than twenty four hours the ship is MINE."

By the time she finished speaking Frenkel could hear some of the hardness creeping back into her voice. And they all knew she had control of the ship, but the way she was throwing it in their face was just so arrogant. It was as though she was playing some one-upmanship game with the Major. If he had two incredibly strong men under his control, well she would have two thousand normal men.

Frenkel looked over at Biberach. He could see a blood vessel pulsing in the man's temple. The girl obviously knew how to get under his skin.

However, as much as the girl was getting to him, Biberach remained silent. After a minute staring at each other, the men heard the girl call out again.

"What's your decision, Biberach? Are you coming out? Tell you what, if you come out now I will give your boys another shot at me. And if they can take me, I will give you back your precious ship. How about it, guys? Would you like another go? Hein, I am sure you would like the opportunity to get even with me for your lost eye."

Hein's hand reached for the door's mangled handle. Obviously, thought Frenkel, the girl knows how to push Hein's buttons, too.

Almost immediately the girl continued, "Of course, I should warn you, last time I was holding back and this time I won't."

Frenkel could hear a faint metallic screeching as Hein started to slowly twist the already deformed metal.

"No, Wolfgang," hissed Biberach. "The time is not yet right. We need to wait until help arrives. They may need us as a diversion."

Hein slowly removed his hand from the handle and then clenched and unclenched his fist several times. Finally, he moved away from the door and sat heavily in the last unoccupied chair.

As they sat, Frenkel tried to imagine what the girl meant when she said she had been holding back during their last encounter. Was it false bravado to get them to open the door? He hardly thought so, but what more could she be capable of? The skills she had already demonstrated seemed like perfection.

As the pause in her monologue drew on, Frenkel wondered if the girl would next turn her attention to him. He wasn't certain if he was relieved or disappointed that when the girl continued, she was still focused on Hein.

"Well, Hein, what do you say? Perhaps you have finally wised up enough to not try me again. And you know? I don't really want to fight either. Tell you what, if you are willing to change sides now, it is within my power to restore your eye. Yes, I can heal your injuries. If you don't believe me, just ask the men you hurt forcing your way into the radio room. They are all fully recovered from their wounds. All you have to do is open the door and let me touch you for a few seconds. And it wouldn't hurt a bit. In fact, I promise afterwards you will be happier than you have ever been in your life."

Hmm, she started with the stick and now she tries the carrot, thought Frenkel, as he watched Hein's hand involuntarily move to his empty socket. And just like with her 'holding back' comment, there was something about her which forced you to not dismiss out of hand what she said, even if you didn't wholeheartedly believe her. No, if anyone else had made that comment about repairing the injury to Hein's eye, Frenkel would have laughed in their face. But with this girl, there was always a chance she might be able to do what she claimed.

But how could she or anyone repair Hein's eye? wondered Frenkel. Bones can be set, cuts can be healed, but how did you repair an eye which was completely gone? He never heard of any medical procedure which could repair a gouged out eye, so how could she do it?

But Frenkel didn't think this particular carrot would work with Hein. No, this wound was in the 'badge of honor' category for Hein. The injury had been delivered in fair and open combat and he may have lost the fight, but he had survived the battle. Although admitting the fight he had lost had been against a slightly built, forty-five kilogram girl would relieve the incident of most of its value as a good story to tell when he was in his cups.

As Frenkel sat and watched Hein, he wondered if he would have the willpower to sit there and not at least check-out the girl's claim. Surely, it wouldn't be that hard to verify if some of their victims had been totally restored to good health. But then Frenkel remembered the expressions on the men's faces back on the bridge and in the skirmishes they had fought since then. He suddenly had no desire to come into physical contact with the girl and risk ending up like those men. He had known several of the crew members from before this trip and some of them had been as fanatically loyal to the Fuhrer and the fatherland as he was. So to see them undergo a 180 degree change in their loyalties was down right scary. He may not understand how she could repair injuries, but he knew he never wanted to risk his free will to find out.

They all sat there in silence, each in his own way mulling over the girl's words. They expected her to continue her taunts, but the silence stretched for minutes. Finally, the sound they heard was the hiss of a blow torch as it burned a white-hot hole through the thickness of the door. They watched in morbid fascination as the hole steadily grew in size before elongating towards the hinge in the upper left hand corner.

- + - + - + - + - + - +

The being in possession of Lana's body, raced back towards the bridge. As she ran, she searched her vast memories for anything similar to the image she had lifted from the messenger's mind. He had only seen it from a great distance and it was mostly just a silhouette back-lit by the rising sun, but still it should have been enough to match something she had seen or heard of before. It was impossible to determine exact size, speed, or distance from the man's imperfect memories, but whatever it was, it was definitely huge. And most definitely it had been flying. The only thing in this time period of the appropriate size was an airship. But even though the man hadn't watched it for more than fifteen seconds before the Captain had sent him to notify her, his memory contained sufficient data to convince her it was no airship.

She had known from the moment she had first set eyes on the Hitler that the death of this ship was preordained; she just didn't know the 'how'. Perhaps this craft, whatever it was, might be the instrument of that destruction. But scarily, that thought or the sudden urgency of getting herself to safety was not at the forefront of her thoughts. No, all she could think about was this new opportunity to subjugate another crew. And after them would be another crew or perhaps landfall and a teaming city to conquer. God, she had almost forgotten how incredible this feeling of almost unlimited power was. Had it really been thousands of years since she had last allowed herself this freedom? Why, oh, why had she waited so long?

Over the past twenty-four hours, she had used her gift to gain control of the minds of six hundred sixty three men of the Hitler. The more minds she fucked, the easier it became. And also the more the Laura/Chloe aspects of her personality were being submerged as Sliviuh, the once all powerful godlike ruler of ancient Atlantis, rose to the surface. Sliviuh had used her gifts ten thousand years earlier to control an empire spanning most of the European and Asian continents. For almost three centuries she had personally been responsible for one of the darkest periods of mankind. By this modern era, Atlantis was little more than a legend, but if the truth of those dark times were known, it would be clear that men like Hitler, Stalin, Attila, Caligula, Pol Pot, and Ivan the Terrible were but amateurs in the arts of death, torture, and genocide next to Sliviuh. But then none of them lived more than the normal three score and ten while Sliviuh's depravities grew decade after decade, century after century. Now at long last, she was almost free again!

And not only did she have almost complete control over this body, she also had access to all of her memories for the last ten thousand years as well. Oh, so many delicious new methods of torture had been devised since her days of power. She meant to try them all plus a few more she had dreamed up along the way. But all of that would have to wait until this crisis was passed and she was firmly in control. And the wait shouldn't be too long, for this modern era would never know what hit it. Yes, a single week would be sufficient to take control of Germany and two months, tops, to take control of the rest of the important leaders of the world. Then the real fun could begin.

But then after only a few seconds spent running simulations through her 'bot network, she realized things would work even better up in the twenty-first century. There everything was run by computers and wasn't she the most powerful computer hacker in existence? And there, too, she had control of the portal device. With that device she could instantly move to any spot she needed or wanted. If it would take several months here to gain control of the world leaders, what would it take up there? Days? Hours?

Yes, the simulations all agreed; with the resources available to her up in the future there was a 98 probability she could conquer the entire planet in seventy-two hours. For a moment she fantasized about whole nations bowing low and calling out her name in a combination of adoration and trepidation. Delicious!

For now she would have to maintain the façade that she was Laura or Lana, as the situation required. And it was suddenly important the timeline remained intact so nothing would disrupt her plans up in the future. Which meant ensuring the destruction of this ship was still a priority.

These thoughts only occupied Sliviuh's mind for a scant few seconds. For the remaining thirty seconds it took her to reach the bridge, she allowed her thoughts to wallow in some of the favorite tortures she had performed on her enemies during the early days of her rule in Atlantis. A small corner of her mind almost pitied the poor soul who had the misfortune of being her next victim. The god he was about to meet would be a truly horrific, vengeful God.

Sliviuh didn't pause to search the sky for the flying craft the messenger had seen, but went straight in search of the Captain. She found him on the left wing of the flying bridge, where he had a clear view aft. He was staring through a pair of binoculars at the craft which was rapidly approaching from the stern.

Sliviuh stepped out into the brilliant early morning light; the sun having risen while she had been below dealing with Biberach. She barely noticed the brisk twenty knot wind caused by the great ship's high speed southward journey. Nor did she bother wasting time interrogating the captain, but reached out and touched his hand to draw what information she needed directly from his mind.

During the several seconds it took to download the information from his mind, she turned her gaze on the mystery craft. With the help of her 'bot system to interpret what she seeing, she quickly started building a database about it.

The craft was typical of many UFOs reported in the later portion of the twentieth century. It was primarily saucer-shaped with a central spherical bulge. However its giant swastikas and bright red paint scheme certainly hinted at an earthly origin. So too did the men she spotted in protective cupolas in various locations scattered around the central hull. They most definitely weren't 'little green men' or even gray ones. But they definitely gave a reference point for the 'bot system to use in estimating the dimensions of the craft – the central sphere was ninety-four feet in diameter and the outer saucer was two hundred forty seven feet wide, three hundred thirty one feet long, and twenty three feet thick.

Next Sliviuh turned her attention to the craft's highly visible main armament – six large guns that looked exactly like the ones on the Hitler itself. These guns were arranged in three pairs with one set mounted on top of the upper half of the central sphere and the others on the underside of the saucer section just to the left and right of the sphere.

As she stared at the big guns, they struck her as such an anachronism. She knew from the almost limitless data stored in 'bot system that each of those gun turrets weighed one hundred twenty six tons. With the structure required to support those guns and even a minimal amount of armor plating the craft had to weigh at least eight thousand tons. And if she was designing that craft, she wouldn't skimp on the armor. No, she would use armor at least as thick as what the Hitler had, since battleships were its apparent prey. And factoring in that amount over a hull of the given dimensions gave a weight more in the range of fifty thousand tons than the minimal eight thousand ton range.

Which led back to the big anachronism, why mount ordinary naval guns on the craft? The only theoretical method she knew which could keep that craft aloft was an anti-gravity drive. But if whoever built it could make a working anti-gravity drive, it should be even easier to produce a gravity-beam projector. Or with a power source sufficient to run the anti-gravity drive, there should be plenty of surplus power for laser type weapons.

So why the naval guns? The only solution that occurred to her was that whoever built this craft had been able to reverse engineer it from an existing example, but didn't understand the underlying theory necessary to develop, what was to her, the obvious related weapon systems.

From its giant swastikas the builders of the craft must be the Germans. So where had they found an example to study? Since this technology wasn't in the history books any more than the Battleship Hitler, it seemed unlikely to be of earthly origin, which left only aliens.

Of course, that immediately brought to mind the only alien she knew: Clark. She had never seen Clark's ship or knew if it used some type of anti-gravity drive. And certainly the Nazis of the nineteen thirties wouldn't have access to Clark's ship. But aliens were hardly a dime a dozen. Since Clark was from the only alien civilization she was certain that existed, it greatly increased the odds the Nazis had access to another one from his civilization.

With Clark suddenly brought back to the front of her thoughts, she couldn't stop from dwelling on him for a moment. The pre-roman adventure Chloe was still a part of her, if momentarily subdued by the more dominant Sliviuh. She had Chloe's feelings for him deep in her core and didn't feel the honor-bound need to suppress them as Laura always did. When they returned to the future, she suddenly wished Clark would be at her side when she came to dominate the world. And it wasn't just Chloe's love for him. No, his powers would be an incredible asset. If she couldn't make him a willing participant, then she would need to find some way to bend him to her will like she did with everyone else. Hmm, how could she get her 'bots through his incredibly strong skin to colonize his body? It was worth committing a portion of her 'bot system to searching for a solution.

But Clark was not present at the moment and she could put off how to deal with him until later. For the moment she needed to focus on the rapidly approaching craft which was now less than five hundred feet astern of the Hitler.

From the captain's mind she read the message the craft, the Deutschland, had been flashing earlier in its approach. They had wanted the Hitler to stop and receive a boarding party. When she had imposed her will on the captain's mind, she hadn't left him with much freewill in command situations. For anything other than the most mundane shipboard routine, she had compelled him to seek instructions from her before taking any action. As a consequence, the captain had made no response to the Deutschland's order. Now, it was looking like the Deutschland was going to attempt to land a boarding party whether the Hitler halted or not.

To ensure the timeline was not disrupted and the future she needed would still be there, the Hitler still needed to die in the next few hours. If the Deutschland was to be the instrument of its destruction, she was going to have to provoke them to attack. And since the Deutschland was never whispered of in the history books either, it was going to have to be destroyed, too.

Or maybe not, she thought. The big, new portal device would be available shortly after they returned to the twenty-first century. Its massive fusion power source was designed to open a portal across many light-years of distance or back through millennia of time. Over a short sixty year range, it should be sufficient to open a large enough portal to fly the Deutschland through. The Deutschland would certainly make an impressive flagship for her new world empire, particularly after she replaced those ugly swastikas with her own lion's head crest.

The ideal solution would therefore have the Deutschland destroying the Hitler and then she could come back and snag the Deutschland itself moments later from some time in the future at her own convenience. So, she needed to shake the Deutschland up enough to get them into a fight with the Hitler. A shot across the bow didn't seem like it would be sufficient. So she was going to have to give them a direct hit. But it would have to be a carefully placed shot to not take them out with the very first volley.

She turned the problem over to the 'bot system and then simply watched and listened to it work. Of course, the 'bot system had been an integral part of her almost forever and her interaction went way beyond watching and listening. She watched as the 'bot system tested various assumptions for drive and weapon layouts, for weapons magazines and crew quarters placements. As each configuration was considered, the 'bot system overlaid them on the visual image of the actual craft still approaching from the stern. Sometimes the 'bot system quickly threw them out for some obvious deficiency. Sometimes Sliviuh would direct the layout to be abandoned based on some gut reaction. Sometimes a concept would be immediately thrown out and sometimes only after evolving through numerous simple variations. Finally, after eight thousand three hundred fourteen attempts and almost fifteen seconds, a configuration was identified as having a thirty eight percent probability of being correct. Since this was two orders of magnitude higher than any other configuration attempted, Sliviuh decided this was the best she could hope for with a basically alien ship.

This configuration placed the anti-gravity drive and its power system in the outer saucer section. That left the central sphere for weapon systems, ammo magazines, crew quarters, engineering areas, and command areas. If she was going to hit the Deutschland without completely disabling it, she would have to go for the central sphere and still avoid the magazines. Of course, the amount of damage a direct hit would cause was at this point a complete unknown, since she had no data on the thickness of its hull. It could be almost paper-thin, in which case the Hitler's shells would punch in one side and out the other. Or it could be significantly thicker than the Hitler's and the shells would harmlessly detonate on its exterior. Or, as would be the most likely case, the Deutschland's hull would fall somewhere between these two extremes. All she could do was use the 'bots best estimate and hope for the best. Anyway, at worst, her first shot would destroy the Deutschland. She would lose a potentially fun future toy and have to find another way to destroy the Hitler, but it would hardly derail her main plans for world domination

The 'bot system recommended a shot from the four main aft-facing guns at a distance of one hundred fifty feet as the optimum range to achieve her desired accuracy. The Deutschland was currently one hundred ninety feet away and would reach the optimum range in ten seconds. However, Sliviuh guessed after the Deutschland got close enough to drop her boarding party it would back away to a perceived more safe distance. So she would get a second chance as it backed away and if she waited until then, she could get her hands on some members of the boarding party for a little of her special brand of interrogation.

Sliviuh directed the captain to return to the main bridge with instructions to have the rear gunnery crews get ready to fire on her command and to get a large group of her loyal crew ready below decks to detain the boarding party. If the timing of her salvo went as she expected, most of the boarding party would still be on the aft deck and the concussion should temporarily immobilize them.

Then she stepped back into a more sheltered spot to watch the Deutschland's final approach. Any tidbit of information she obtained by observation at this point might greatly help the 'bots simulation of the flying craft.

The Deutschland continued its steady approach. At a distance of fifty feet, two large doors opened near the bottom of the central sphere. A large tangle of ropes were immediately lowered and the black clothed commandos quickly began to repel down. Her 'bot system maintained a running head count and by the time the ropes were being withdrawn, thirty six men were on the aft deck.

Much quicker than it approached, the Deutschland began to back away. However her 'bots system only needed a couple of seconds of data to accurately estimate its velocity, acceleration, and direction. She knew the optimum firing spot would be reached in exactly nine seconds as she raced back into the bridge and grabbed up the phone to the gunnery office located two decks below.

Lieutenant Klaus Tauber answered the phone on the very first ring.

"Lieutenant, get ready to fire the four aft guns in exactly five seconds," commanded the imperious woman's voice.

The lieutenant almost dropped the phone in his excitement as he reached over to the two large red buttons which would fire both main aft batteries. The honor of having HER speaking directly to him was almost more than he could bear.

"Three. Two. One. FIRE!" Commanded Sliviuh and Tauber obediently rammed home the firing buttons.

All four guns belched fire and projectiles as one. However these guns were designed to hit targets from a maximum range of twenty two miles down to a minimum range of three miles, not at a range of one hundred fifty feet. Therefore all four of the seventeen hundred pound projectiles reached their target in exactly fifty five milliseconds. The Deutschland's hull was near the upper limit of the 'bots estimated thickness range and therefore rather than passing through, the shells all detonated on impact. A massive shockwave poured through the Deutschland, while a nearly as powerful blast reflected back against the Hitler.

The giant overpressure pulse forced the fantail of the Hitler completely below water. As the shockwave raced forward, it knocked sailors off their feet all over the ship. On the high exposed bridge the pressure wave ruptured eardrums, eyes, and internal organs of everyone present.

As Sliviuh's body slumped to the floor amongst all of the seriously injured and dying men, her 'bot system calmly reported it would be ten seconds until her wounds would be repaired. As she drifted near unconsciousness, she realized there would be sufficient time to restore the captain and most of the bridge crew before their deaths became permanent.

End of Chapter 17

Author's Notes

Well, darn. I said I would get to the big action sequence this chapter, but as usual, I underestimated how long it would take to get all of the chessmen to their required squares on the board. But I do believe everyone is now in position.

It has been a long time since Sliviuh has been part of this story. But for anyone who is interested in a little refresher, some of her history was told in chapters 31 and 32 of 'The Portal'.

As with the last chapter, I have put my responses to reader reviews at the link on my author's page. Also, if you like to read along as I develop the next chapter, a 'work-in-progress' version can also be found there.

As always, have a great day!

Duane