“Kapitän Entwhistle, if you would
like to join me at the periscope.”
Minutes
later Harold appeared on the Command Deck accompanied by his Chief Engineer,
Albert Fleck, short and skeletal in a boiler suit that had once been white,
hob-nail boots, a dish-rag round his neck and a woollen tea-cosy on his head.
“Ah
Kapitän, and you have brought your stoker. Would you like to take a look at our
destination?” Von Luckner
ushered the trawlermen to the periscope and Harold peered into the eyepiece. He could see ice and snow –
pretty much like all the ice and snow they had been surrounded by since coming
south. Dead ahead was a low
black rectangle sheltered beneath an overhang in the cliff.
“Can
I see too?” asked Albert. As
he surveyed the desolate scene a lonely wandering albatross waddled over to the
funny stick protruding through a hole in the lightly frozen ocean and blocked
out the view. Distorted
goggle eyes peered in at the startled artificer.
“What
the f… …is that?
“The
entrance to our U-Boat pens,” the Kapitänleutnant turned to his ensign, “Take her up.”
“Bow
planes ten degrees, rudder amidships, blow all tanks.”
The
Seeadler surfaced, breaking through the thin layer of barely formed ice and
startling the inquisitive seabird into panicked flight.
A
queue of ship’s officers formed at the bottom of the conning tower ladder whilst
the Oberfähnrich climbed up to open the hatch. Von Luckner took two paces back and, with a hand
pressed against Harold’s chest, indicated that the trawlermen should do the
same. Seawater showered
through the hatchway onto the up-turned faces below.
“This
happens every time. They
never learn.”
The
submersible’s deck officers were clustered outside
on top of the conning tower when Harold and Albert joined them and the Seeadler
was gliding silently towards the cavernous entrance. As they entered the submarine pens the crew lined the
deck to take a salute from stevedores gathered on the nearest floating quay; a
small brass band with a glockenspiel played ‘Edelweiss’. While Seeadler navigated
alongside and was made fast Bert Fleck observed a Cuban, Foxtrot Class submarine and a Type VIIC/41 Flak
U-Boat on neighbouring pontoons. The sleek Cuban vessel appeared
to be making ready to sail.
“Stop
engines. Prepare to
disembark.” Once the
trawlermen had been rounded up Easter joined Harry and Albert with von Luckner,
Billy Tate remained with the crew who were quickly escorted ashore.
“Your
men will be treated well, Kapitän.
You may check on their wellbeing in a little while. But I wish to be with you when
you first set eyes on our establishment here.” The Kapitänleutnant
indicated the gangway. They
proceeded along the pontoon to a short ramp and then ascended a long escalator. Globe lamps on patinated bronze mounts lit their way,
the architecture was modernist with a severely Teutonic twist.
They
emerged into a spacious concourse.
Half-moon skylights, pierced through the sea-green ceiling high above,
cast shafts of daylight into the scene below, the polished Carrera floor shone
like water, the walls glowed with warm beige marble cladding. A mahogany cased clock dominated
the far end of the hall and dwarfed figures scurried purposefully wherever the
Yorkshiremen looked. Just
ahead a sulky line of king penguins shuffled past, heads down and shoulders
hunched. Intermittently each
in turn would squawk a mumbled complaint. Nearby stood a group of self absorbed men in tall orange hats, with faces
of wrinkled, walnut leather; their saffron robes all but hidden by too large,
wrap around yak-skin coats, secured at the waist by string.
“Lizard
men?” enquired Harold Entwhistle of his host.
“None
of us will ever meet the Merovingian Lizard Kings, my friend. That is not their way. These men of the Himalayas are
envoys.
“Let me show you
to your quarters, and on the way I will point out the officers’ mess. I will meet you back there
in… Shall we say one hour?”
The officers’
mess was done out with a great deal of chrome and had the feel of an outsized
American diner. Harold,
Easter and Albert were sat at a cramped Formica table and had given a food
order to a well-rounded fraulein in a short blue gingham dress and dinky,
matching forage cap by the time they were joined by Kapitänleutnant Otto Graf von Luckner. Albert removed his tea cosy,
stuffed it in a pocket and ran his fingers through his greasy hair. The waitress appeared with three
All Day Breakfasts.
“Good,
you have ordered. I will
have an Americano, two shots of expresso, not too much water… and a small piece
of your excellent schwarzwälder kirschtorte, if I may, my dear.”
Easter
scowled at his surroundings, “All seems very clean - for a secret Nazi UFO base. Where’s the Storm Troopers.”
Otto
sighed, “To business then.
First I must explain to you our situation, we will postpone the small
talk, pleasant as that would be, till later.
“There were never
many Nazis here; our original expedition was, after all, a scientific survey. Those first comers were not
intending to become colonists.
There were not many women on the original expedition either but somehow,
three generations later, we are still here. Our ancestors
established a small base on this spot, claimed the land for the Greater
Germany, began surveying the area and then made a discovery that changed
everything. You had better
come with me and I will show you…
The secret you have come to uncover… The reason you can never leave.”
“Never… What?” Albert shot to his feet, banging his knees on the
table, which was, fortunately, securely bolted to the floor.
Easter
joined in with, “Now look here, captain...”
“Please. Just come with me. We can discuss your future
circumstances later.”
The Yorkshire
trio were still protesting vehemently as they crossed the concourse to one of a
number of departure gates.
Four of the mysterious, saffron clad orientals formed up silently behind
them. A discoloured sign in
a Gebrochene Schrift black letter typeface indicated AG Gate23 and below it an attendant, inspecting von
Luckner’s pass, nodded them through. They entered a tube-like chamber lined with benches
and settled down together whilst the mute envoys sat nearby, yet pointedly
apart from the sailors. The
doors slid shut with a whoosh, there was a sharp Plop, a hiss and a sensation of rapid acceleration.
“We
are travelling in a pneumatic tube subway. First proposed, I believe, by your excellent Herr
Brunel, though it has taken German vorsprung
durch technik to make it work.”
“Not
Isambard, for once, George Medhurst, a Kentishman,” muttered
Bert Fleck, “but I bet he half inched the idea off a Yorkshireman.”
The
travelers were contemplating the engineer’s observation as their transport
stopped with an uncomfortable suddenness and the doors slid open. Otto stood back to let the
Himalayan envoy disembark first, then he and the trawlermen followed along a
gently sloping ice tunnel.
At its end the oldest and shortest emissary, with the tallest hat,
approached a small glowing tablet, placed his right palm upon it and a door swung
open. The four monk-like
beings entered first, followed reluctantly by Easter and Albert Fleck. Harold and the Kapitänleutnant
brought up the rear. They found
themselves inside a bare reception area. The curved outer walls were comprised of an alloy that
Harold could not identify.
There was no corrosion or decay, though there were signs of wear and an
impression of great age. The
inner bulkheads and floors were transparent and, disconcertingly, they could
see down through several floors beneath their feet. In the room below were parked two foo fighters under
plastic sheeting.
“Schoonfryder,”
whispered von Luckner, “but there are many different types of what you would
call UFO in neighbouring bays.”
“Great,”
said Albert, who was pressed against the only wall that looked solid and was
very deliberately not looking down.
The
diminutive monk turned to address the company, “Discovering this the great
grandfather of young Otto was.
Lying here undisturbed for many millennia it had been. Under the ice. A secret it was, and must
remain. The Andromeda
Machine. Within a UFO mother
ship you are.”
