die Raumschiffwaffe

By Felix Kinnersley

aliens... saucers... ancient talismans... secret underground bases...
Intrigue follows an archaeologist working for the Reich's Paranormal Division. After locating and retrieving several ancient artifacts, he begins to see that something isn't quite right.
What are these ancient "items of power" being used to create? And how does it relate to the "roots of the race"?
With the end of the war approaching, he must uncover the secret organization within the power circle before it's too late.
This is the sort of stuff you'll never find in the history books.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Martian Publishing
• Release date: May 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463642573

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Konrad moaned. The sounds of scuffling searchers kept creeping nearer. Damned Achmed! Farouk was a man with vision. He would have been able to understand the subtleties of this excursion; he could have been open with him… well, mostly open. His son, Achmed, was a mental midget in comparison. The only thing he would understand was treasure and only the sort that included jewels or precious metals. Subtlety was a concept far too foreign for that one's shallow mind.

The tomb had only recently been discovered and, having a main corridor with several rooms off each side that were filled with large jars, he was certain there would be at least some sort of treasure to keep Achmed and his Bedouin kinsmen busy for a time.

He hurried into the crypt at the far end of the corridor knowing that he could not try and go back the way he came as Achmed had stationed two cousins at the entrance to keep anyone from trying to escape with some part of the treasure for themselves. The sounds of digging and destruction diminished as he made his way through the tomb. There was not a lot of time to do what he had to do and thus he hurried. Hopefully there were enough pots and sarcophagi in the few rooms nearer the entrance to keep the bandits busy for a couple of minutes.

Entering the last room, a large room holding the sarcophagus, he quickly went behind the ancient stone coffin, set his lantern down on the floor, and began inspecting the rear wall trying to find the clue he was looking for.

It was only six months before that he corrected a couple of inscriptions by Breasted published by the Pennsylvania University. The translation had been fine for the period but since that time, new discoveries had been made and he periodically re-translated older findings for just such a momentous discovery.

Yes, he had uncovered the location of the Golden Fleece. Well, one of them at least. Himmler was overjoyed until he said that the location of the tomb was still a mystery. He promised he would keep the fellow informed of any new developments and when the recent Proceedings of the Royal Historical Society had announced the discovery of Ankhwosret's tomb – an architect to the court of Ramses II – he remembered another ancient inscription. Finding the notice in his notes took an agonizing two days without sleep to locate it.

Apparently, the architect had not surveyed the site well enough and his new tomb had breached the wall of the much more ancient tomb in which he was interested.

The Proceedings did not mention where in the Valley of Kings the tomb was located but he knew more than one member of the Egyptian Antiquities Department more than willing to point out the location if the correct sum of money changed hands.

And now, he was staring at that wall.

The offending back wall which had supposedly been modified when the original tomb was cut into the valley.

From the research, he knew this back wall was his passage into the other tomb as the ancient records had mentioned the tomb builders had repaired the breech and covered the breach with an inscription beseeching forgiveness of the gods. Apparently, the surveyor was off by only a couple of inches, not enough to cause abandonment of the site. His eyes searched the inscriptions on the wall. Surely there must be some clue here. His thoughts went back to the ancient papyrus scroll again. One of the planners had been executed for the error and a couple of the slaves were flogged for disturbing the adjacent tomb. Imagine! Planning a tomb a little too large for the available space and causing damage to the tomb of the Scorpion king's son and heir! Nevertheless, they patched the breach as good as they could and left an inscription for forgiveness of the gods for the indiscretion.

And he had best be quick about it as the sounds of the many Bedouin feet coming along the anterior passageway were getting closer. He would really rather not be here when those fellows arrived as they would probably wonder what secret he had to rush on ahead to retrieve and leave them out.

The thick and musty air had long ceased to be a problem for the moment but he could tell that an extended period without some fresh air was not going to do him any good.

He concentrated to keep the rising anxiety out of his mind so he could focus on what he needed to do. Eyes darting left and right in the cramped space behind the sarcophagus, he began to think he was in the wrong tomb altogether. If not, surely somewhere on this wall was the prayer and invocation to the gods to protect the bearer of this tomb from the wrath of that more ancient god-king. The papyri had promised that it had been inscribed in the wall.

There! The angle of the rear wall changed slightly on the right side. That must be the spot. His eyes stopped darting over the hieroglyphics etched into the wall and he relaxed. He had finally found the cartouche containing the name of that king. He quickly knelt down and leaned closer to examine the wall.

Pausing to lean back against the sarcophagus, he turned his ear toward the sounds elsewhere in the tomb. He figured the fellows were still engaged in trashing the main chamber. With a little luck, he still had a few minutes.

Removing the small pick-axe from his belt, he prepared to dig into the wall. Holding his breath hoping the others were making enough noise in the other rooms to mask the noise he was going to make here.

Raising the small pick-axe, he tore through the ancient inscription. Chunks of sandstone and colored mural came flying away. He brushed them aside with his left hand while continuing to destroy the wall with his right. One blow struck the wall and the head of the axe sunk into a cavity. Was the wall really that thin? He quickly widened the hole.

Yes, the wall separating one tomb from the other was thinner than he would have guessed. A small battering ram would have successfully breached it in a second if the batterer knew exactly where to strike.

Noise from the other room seemed to be moving closer, growing louder. Soon they would be in this room and catch him in the act. Working at a feverish pace on the edges of the hole, he had enlarged it but not yet enough to slither through.

Acting from panic more than instinct, he dropped the pick-axe and struck the lower portion of the wall with his knee. A cascade of detritus fell away to create an opening just about wide enough for him. He turn back and grabbed his lantern, shutting it off and pushing it through the hole before he dropped to his belly and slithered through after it.

Halfway through, the noise behind him was increasing. They were calling for him now, wondering where he had gone. The opening to the next tomb was wide enough but he seemed to run into some obstruction in the way. He squeezed inside as well he could, curled up and drew his legs through the hole just as lights played in the room he had just exited. Squirming quickly, he pulled his legs into the next tomb and sat with his back to the hole.

Hopefully none of them would discover the hole very soon.

Pulling the flashlight from the pocket of his flight jacket, he eased upward until he ran into yet another obstruction. Hoping no one on the other side was noticing the hole, he turned the flashlight on only to find himself nose to nose with a mummy.

Slapping a hand over his mouth he was just barely able to stifle a scream. Turning to one side, he ran into another. The damned things were leaning against this wall and he was face to face with a trio of the ghastly things.

The noise in the adjacent room stopped.

What was that?

What?

That noise!

A moment's pause. I didn't hear anything. Now help us get this lid off!

They returned to their noisy work and he was able to weave gingerly through the mummies leaning against the wall, wincing squeamishly as he did so.

Entering the open area of the chamber beyond, he played his flashlight over the room to get a better view of the surroundings and started chuckling. While they were banging around in the other room, here was the treasure!

He hurried past the golden sarcophagus and the pile of golden furnishings, playing the small beam of the flashlight over the tangle of goods, cups, bowls, statues, shields, and even a small chariot were covered in the precious metal to find the one thing he wanted. Soon excited voices called reinforcements in and more light came through the hole. Apparently the large sarcophagus held their attention for the time. He stepped over most of it the pile of golden trinkets, light dancing over the beckoning metallic fortune, seeking out the one object he had come to find, the real treasure he was after.

And there it was!

Hanging like some sad overcoat draped over a wooden hanger, the wiry strands of the golden fleece hung limply against the wall. He wrestled it from the rack that held it and flung it over his shoulder. He stepped over more piles of golden refuse clutching the real treasure and heading for the exit of this tomb.

Behind him, an excited yell turned him around.

The light shone more brightly through the ragged opening he had cut, signaling that they would soon be turning their attentions into the treasure room he was vacating.

Not waiting to see how long it would take them to crawl through the hole, he ran down the unmapped corridor in this undiscovered tomb, hoping it would lead to an escape hatch. Perhaps, he hoped, the treasure in that one room would keep them busy for a time. Lord knows there was a mountain of it!

Ahead, the corridor seemed to end but he was certain there would be another corridor coming in from one side or the other. Fortunately, his guess was correct and he turned to the right and almost stumbled on a set of steps going up. Angling the flashlight up, he saw the steps led upward to a ceiling.

Hopefully, this was the entrance.

He shut off the flashlight, reached into his pocket and pressed the button on the homing beacon.

With a little luck, Ulfred would be in the near vicinity.

Behind him, the jibber-jabber of voices mixed with the clinking of a great many pieces of gold being gathered. Overhead, a rumbling of machinery could be heard. Good old Ulfred!

Concentrating on slowing his too rapid heartbeat, he had now only wait for the arrival of his savior. Grating noise overhead grew steadily louder.

Back along the corridor from whence he came, the noise diminished. Someone was talking and it seemed to be Achmed. They were wondering where he had gotten to. Then someone, probably that inexperienced young Bedouin himself, wondered aloud that since it appeared that the German had passed up all this golden booty, what treasure had he really been after? What valuable piece had the stranger removed?

It was something that he figured they would arrive at during their scavenging but he thought it would be at least a couple of minutes into their delirium over finding such a mountain of gold.

He glanced upward. Come on, Ulfred, hurry!

Shuffling feet and smashed jars could be heard behind him, and drawing closer by the moment.

A resounding thud sounded overhead.

He stepped back just before the ceiling came crashing in.

Shouts came from behind but he was too busy racing up the collapsed entryway, taking two steps and sliding back one through the sliding rubble, but gaining the exit regardless.

Once back on the floor of the valley, he signaled to Ulfred, who looked at the hole he had dug. Lights played along the sides of the slope. They were coming.

Bury it!

And Ulfred put the large machine into gear again and pushed the excavated pile of dirt back into the hole.

Once the hole was filled, he climbed down from the driver's seat.

Ready? Our car awaits. He took the fleece from his friend's shoulder and led the way to the car.

Konrad was relieved and settled down in the car next to Ulfred even as the plucky Sturmscharführer floored the pedal. The Mercedes fish-tailed a bit in the dust before the tires made purchase and flung them across the sands.

They were three miles from the tomb before Achmed and his relatives weaved their way back to the entrance they had dug earlier in the evening to enter the first cave.

Ulfred laughed. So we came all this way just to steal the world's largest piece of steel wool, eh?

No, my friend, this is the golden fleece although it may not be shining too much at the moment. Years of collecting dust will tarnish even the purest metals.

Nodding, the driver grinned. And I did not see a single sign of that Professor Jones. Perhaps he thinks the game is over.

Konrad shook his head. I think not. We simply kept the adventure closer to the chest than Herr Professor Diedrich had. The way that fool was spouting his mouth off I am surprised the news services did not carry his quest on the front pages. He shook his head. We are fortunate that there was a second Ark hidden away elsewhere.

Yes, and Diedrich's successor was smart enough to go and find it.

Without letting the world in on the secret!

In a few short minutes, they arrived at the small airfield where their transport awaited. Not much to look at but serviceable given their needs. The pair leapt from the auto and carried their prize onto the small plane, knowing a far better airplane was waiting for them at Cairo.

After almost seventy hours of intense concentration, the pair of treasure seekers were able to relax after the plane rose from the Cairo airport. They slept all the way back to Nordlingen.

~~~~

CHAPTER TWO

The Sturmscharführer and I ran for the halftrack to get back to the airport in Cairo to catch the waiting plane back to Berlin.

The officer laughed politely and clapped him on the back. Another rousing escapade, Standartenführer. Your adventures amaze and inspire, they truly do. Chuckling, he wandered off.

Ulfred scowled. Even the kind Sturmbannführer has heard that story so many times that he struggles to find a complimentary response.

Now, Paddy, it's not that bad. I don't remember telling the part about…

"No, no, you've told all the parts before. He harrumphed. I hate to say it but even I am tired of hearing it."

Konrad shrugged. Well, until Herr Himmler directs us to another adventure, we are stuck in retelling the ones we have already told.

And with the state of the war, I doubt there will be any more adventures.

Yes, Konrad grinned, but as we have not yet been ordered to the front, one can only hope Heinrich has another adventure in mind.

Ulfred drained his stein and set it back on the bar. With the Führer sending him to manage the Russian front, I think our dear Heinrich has a little too much already on his plate to bother with the further adventures of such as you and I.

Still nursing his own drink, Konrad surveyed the bar. On any evening in the months past, there should have been a couple of dozen officers imbibing the liquid courage of their choice. Now, recently, barely a handful could be found on any given day. Yes, Paddy, he used his friend's nickname before downing the last of his drink, the war has taken a turn for the worse and our talents are being wasted here.

So, you've already finished with the translations?

Konrad waved a hand. I finished the translations months ago. Now all I do is look through them again and again trying to find some meaning. The text as presented is mostly gibberish. Comparing them to other translations has not helped much either. He rubbed his eyes. Frankly, I am tired of even thinking about them.

Ulfred signaled to the bartender for another draft before saying, So, the last artifact we recovered was better than three years ago. Since then we have assisted Himmler in his Wewelsburg Command Post and spent the remainder of our time, he glanced at Konrad as another stein was set before him, or at least, your time – trying to glean some information about the artifact from the ancient sources. And what have we found?

Konrad shook his head to the bartender and turned, continuing the same shaking to his companion. Nothing.

There was a commotion at the other end of the bar, closest the door. The bartender moved toward that disturbance while the other two merely looked that direction.

Ulfred looked at Konrad. Maybe the war has ended?

Konrad grinned sourly. If that had been the case, there should have been more celebrating, I am certain.

Ulfred signaled until he caught the bartender's attention, motioning him over. So what was that about? News of a great victory?

Nah, nothing that major, the bartender leaned on the counter, just one of the local boys making good. The Führer has awarded him the Iron Cross.

Konrad's eyebrows went up. Oh, it must have been something monumental. What action was it for?

He shrugged and nodded his head toward the door. You'd have to ask those fellows. I didn't catch the particulars.

Thank you. Konrad turned to Ulfred, tipping his head toward the door. You wanted something to do, right Paddy?

Great! Ulfred took a healthy draught and slid off the stool. Time for a reconnaissance mission, eh? He scowled.

After watching him leave, Konrad grinned and took a drink, thinking that if they were not given some useful task soon, someone was going to notice them as warm bodies for the front line. And that would do no one any good. At least not, him and his assistant.

Personally, he had no problem with the more mysterious programs of the Reich having gone silent but he was more afraid that it continued somewhere without his knowledge.

And unless he had knowledge of it, he could not pass the information along.

Ulfred returned, still wearing the scowl. He regained his seat and took a drink.

Well? The Standartenführer stared. Did you discover what action the man was awarded for?

No. He shrugged. The paper didn't give any details. He returned to his stein.

His own stein stopped halfway to his mouth, Konrad's eyes widened. What? No mention…? Scowling, he set the stein down and slid off his own stool, going to the front of the room. In a few moments, he returned with a newspaper.

He set it on the counter near enough so Ulfred could see it as well. There, see? He pointed to an article. The Führer awarded Iron Crosses to two soldiers for gallantry on the Eastern front, one doing thus and so, the other doing this and that, and then the mention of a third Iron Cross awarded in a private ceremony at headquarters to Hauptmann Wilhelm Burgomeister, Rw. He leaned close to the paper. Just 'Rw' it says. Any idea what that means?

Ulfred shook his head. But should it mean anything?

At this time of the war, the state of the nation, the Führer needs to lift up as many souls as he can and finds any reason to award Iron Crosses for even the most mundane acts of heroism. And he does it publicly. Why would he give this one in a private ceremony?

After thinking a moment, Ulfred shook his head. I don't know. He drank again until Konrad pulled at his shoulder.

Come along. You are going to find out!

Two evenings later, Ulfred came home to their house in Nordlingen.

I'm back!

Greetings, my friend! Konrad came out of his study. Have you discovered what the mystery is?

Good heavens, no! He dropped onto the sofa. I did find out that this Burgomeister character was a local, born and raised in a village just to the west. Unfortunately, no one hereabouts has any notion what the 'Rw' means. Several said they thought the young man had entered the Luftwaffe.

Konrad stared. The Luftwaffe? Funny, I do not recall any designation within that service that might fit the 'Rw'. Could it have merely been a typo for 'Lw'?

Ulfred shrugged. Yes, it's possible, I suppose. But there still lies the mystery surrounding which action the award was given.

Konrad sighed. Well, that's certainly true. So we are back to square one. We will simply have to assume it really is 'Rw' as the papers said and keep checking around. Did you happen to find the young man's family? They might know a bit more about his whereabouts than anyone else.

That was going to be my next investigation. He yawned. But I think that's going to have to wait until tomorrow.

Why, Ulfred? It's still early yet.

For you perhaps. For myself, I have spent the most of the two days since, chatting up numerous people in too many public houses. I am completely and thoroughly exhausted. He headed for his bedroom.

All right. Hopefully we can find out something so we can report it to our friends in the market.

I don't know why they should be interested in such a thing as this. Ulfred closed his door.

Konrad scowled and returned to his study and the scroll stretched out on his desk. He sat, distracted, wondering what the odd designation meant and, moreover, why no one else seemed interested in discovery what it was about.

After chasing it around in his head a few minutes, he sighed, rubbed his eyes and turned back to studying the ancient manuscript.

~~~~

CHAPTER THREE

The pair stopped at the market to buy a few things for their larder. While Ulfred went to look at the flour and milled goods, Konrad meandered through the vegetable stalls.

He poked through several piles of produce, adding a bit of this and that to the basket slung over his arm. At one stall in particular, he lingered while another customer was engaged with the vendor.

After the gray-haired woman moved on, Konrad approached the vendor. You have quite a good stock here, he commented.

Yes, but it would be so much better, the fellow lowered his voice, if we knew something about the new submarines rumored to being developed.

Chuckling, Konrad said, Are there shipyards about? Is there a wharf nearby? Really, now, how should I know anything about that sort of thing? I do know that Himmler's been sent to take command of the eastern front.

The vendor scowled. Yes, I am well aware of the fact that you probably don't have any first hand data on the subject of the submarines but have you heard anything? Anything at all? The news about Himmler's assignment is widely known already.

He shook his head while picking up a melon. He squeezed it gently under his nose. I will keep my ears open. If I hear anything in that regard, I will get word to you. Is there something else? He dropped the melon in his basket.

How about these 'foo fighters'?

His jaw dropping open, Konrad stared in bewilderment. What the devil are those things?

The guy leaned closer. New flying craft, apparently. A few of our pilots have encountered some of these strange things. He shrugged. They call them 'foo fighters' for want of a better word though none of them, thus far, have been noticed engaging in any actual action. They simply zoom in and out of the other aircraft formations.

With his eyes wide, Konrad shook his head. It sounds as if the pilot observing such a thing would have been checked to see what the man had been drinking.

The vendor grunted. There has been more than a singular sighting and they have been observed by both English and American pilots. We thought perhaps the Germans were unleashing a new weapon on us. We've known about their work on rockets before now but these things seem to be propelled by something other than chemical boosters.

He shrugged. Well, then, something else for me to listen more carefully about.

Yeah, and they probably won't be called 'foo fighters'. That's just our pilots' name for them.

All right, got it. He picked up a bundle of carrots and tossed them in his basket before picking up some leeks, holding them before the vendor as though it was the object of their discussion. Have you any questions about some subject that I may actually know something about?

The vendor scowled again. Yea. What has Himmler got on the horizon for you? What other ancient artifact are you currently looking for?

"Not a thing. We are getting a bit worried though as the last time I was sent out was the spring