Writings & Whatnot by Rob Hill
29 Nov 2013Posted by on
Crux showed his identification papers to the guard and gave the password: “Dervish.” The guard nodded curtly and pressed a button that opened the gate. Crux went through. He entered the drab brick building that served as headquarters. A poorly-lit hallway brought him to a low-ceilinged briefing room where he found several surly soldiers clustered around a tactical table. He felt them size him up as he entered and he returned the favor. He wasn’t going to have any trouble from them, he surmised with confidence. And even if he did it would be short-lived. Coolly, he pushed back a folding chair and settled onto the seat, resting one of his heavy combat boots on the rim of the chair in front of him. He began to pick his teeth with a wooden splinter.
The General came into the room, reeking of authority. His eyes were piercing, like a bird of prey. A scar ran along the crown of his bald head. The amount of shit he gave was little to none. “Alright men,” he began, and all spines in the room instantly straightened. “Here’s the situation. The Nazis have captured Professor Logworm, the imminent nuclear physicist. Their interrogation methods are, let us say, notoriously infallible. It is imperative we get him back before he spills the proverbial beans. We know he’s being held in a fortified castle in Bavaria.” He indicated a spot on a map of Germany which hung on the wall behind him. “So here’s what’s going to happen. Tonight the lot of you will be flown into enemy territory where you will parachute down behind enemy lines. You will have to make your way through the Black Forest without detection. The castle is built atop a cliff with its back facing a sheer drop. You will have to scale this back wall where it is minimally guarded. Hanson here is an expert mountain climber and will lead this stage of the assault.”
A wiry man with a pencil mustache acknowledged this with a slight nod.
“Now two of you, Rickard and Drubber, speak fluent German. You two will be given forged papers and will make your way through the front gate by impersonating inspectors. Your task is to cause enough of a distraction to let the rest of the team slip into the castle unnoticed.”
Drubber, a preposterously muscled American, spat on the floor. “I work alone.”
“Not this time,” said the General. “And spit on my floor once more and you’ll be mopping it up with your face.”
Drubber turned crimson but said nothing.
“Now,” the General continued, “we’re almost certain the professor is being kept in a cell down in the catacombs.” He unrolled a scroll of paper and laid it across the table. “Fortunately we managed to get our hands on this blueprint of the castle. The most likely spot you’ll find him is marked here. We expect the professor will be in no condition to climb down the castle wall so once you find him you’ll have to burst your way out. We’re counting on the element of surprise for this. Crux here is a mechanic and hotwiring expert. It’ll be his job to locate a vehicle on the premises to use for your escape. Once you cross the Gotterdammerung River you can blow up the bridge behind you to slow down your pursuers. Garbo here is a demolitions technician and he will handle that. We’ll have a plane awaiting here,” pointing on the map, “at the abandoned airfield near the village of Löffelstadt to fly you the hell out of there. We are calling this mission Operation: Bandersnatch. Now then, any questions?”
“Yeah,” said Crux, leaning back in his chair. “I have one.”
The General’s eyes narrowed. “Well?”
“Can we warn the Nazi pigfuckers ahead of time that we’re coming, to make it a challenge?”
Crux sat on the edge of his cot cleaning the blade of his V-42 stiletto. He was ordered to get a few hours of sleep before the flight was to leave, but he was too pumped with adrenaline for that. He held up the knife and imagined it slicing through the jugular of a Nazi. He knew how to cut to ensure a maximum amount of pain. When it came to Nazis he despised a quick death.
He took out a photo of a voluptuous blonde in a sweater. This was Vera, his girl back home. Or at least she had been. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t taken a safe desk job back in the States when he had the chance. She didn’t understand that the Nazis needed exterminating. And he couldn’t do that from behind a desk. Before he left the States she angrily told him she didn’t want to see him again. But he knew she would change her mind when he returned. She was nuts about him, he knew, and she couldn’t just walk away that easily. Besides, who in their right mind would turn away a war hero? He tucked the photo in the breast pocket of his uniform for good luck.
There was a knock on the door. Crux grabbed his pack and went out to an idling jeep. He climbed in and was driven across the base to the runway where the others were assembled beside an awaiting B-17.
“Good luck, men,” said the General, giving a stiff salute. “Don’t let me down.”
They climbed aboard the plane and moments later were airborne. They rode in silence. Crux lit a cigarette to pass the time. His nerves were rock steady. His years of dedicated training culminated in this moment. He was ready to spill some Nazi blood.
“We’re over Germany,” the pilot called back to them over the roar of the engines.
The team triplechecked their parachutes and got ready for the jump. The pilot opened the drop hatch. A burst of bonechilling air rushed into the fuselage. The forest below scrolled by like the perforated roll of a player piano. The pilot gave the signal. One after the other the soldiers leapt out of the plane into empty space. Their parachutes could barely be seen against the inky night sky, like shadows of jellyfish. Crux glanced down to see the dark earth rushing up at him. He saw what looked like a small clearing and aimed for it. A gust of wind dragged him in another direction, directly towards a cluster of trees. That was all he needed, he thought, to get tangled up in the branches of a tree and have to cut himself down.
He crashed full-force into the upper reaches of a Norway spruce. His head caught in the V of a protruding branch and he heard a sharp jarring snap, which turned out to be the sound of his neck breaking.
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