Toward the storm, p.1
Toward the Storm, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by D. H. Kilgen
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Although the names, characters, places, businesses, and events are all products of the author’s imagination, a person’s actual name has occasionally been used. These names were used with that individual’s full consent to honor them and how they have lived their lives. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual persons (living or deceased), events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Book Cover by Safeer Ahmed
Cover Concept by D. H. Kilgen
Interior Design and Concept by D. H. Kilgen
First edition 2023
For my wife, the believer
My mother, the encourager
My father, the determined
My sister, the fighter
And my son, a man of integrity
For those who struggle but never lose hope.
Burdens can be blessings in disguise.
There is a purpose for that pain;
you just can’t always see it right away.
Victoria Arlen
Contents
Title
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
30. Chapter 30
31. Chapter 31
32. Chapter 32
33. Chapter 33
34. Chapter 34
35. Chapter 35
36. Chapter 36
37. Chapter 37
38. Chapter 38
39. Chapter 39
40. Chapter 40
41. Chapter 41
42. Chapter 42
43. Chapter 43
44. Chapter 44
45. Chapter 45
46. Chapter 46
47. Chapter 47
48. Chapter 48
49. Chapter 49
50. Chapter 50
51. Chapter 51
52. Chapter 52
53. Chapter 53
54. Chapter 54
55. Chapter 55
56. Chapter 56
57. Chapter 57
58. Chapter 58
59. Chapter 59
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Der Riese Underground Nazi Facility
Sowie Mountains
Lower Silesia, Poland
April 1945
The two men walked in silence as they made their way down the long corridor toward where their Wanderer W11 field car was parked. The further they walked, the beautiful and triumphant compositions of Wagner faded into the background, and now, only the sound of pebbles could be heard crunching beneath the soles of their polished jackboots. The decorations pinned to their uniforms reflected the yellowish glow of the industrial lamps above their heads and cast a gleam across their surface, demanding respect. Numerous officers gave the Roman salute as they passed, but the faces of the two men remained cold and expressionless.
Climbing into the motorcar, the passenger briefly directed his gaze toward the driver. “Der Führer is losing patience with this project, General Kammler,” he said in a thick German dialect.
The driver did not reply but only turned the key in the ignition, shifted the car into gear, and made a U-turn, heading in the opposite direction down the underground two-lane road. Driving through the infrastructure of the facility, it often seemed to be an endless maze of chambers, tunnels, and subterranean laboratories built for one greater and more nefarious purpose. At the mouth of the massive hidden bunker, two guards stood at attention on either side, extending their right arm in the Roman salute, while two others were seated on both sides, peering through cut-out holes in the igneous rock. All were carrying MG-42 machine guns. The men nodded and returned the salute to the guards with a shout of “Heil Hitler” as they waited for the gate to open. One of the guards, noticing that there was one less person in the car from when they first arrived, temporarily broke eye contact as a muscle in his cheek began to twitch.
As the cold, dank confines of the tunnel opened up to a dense forest of pine trees, the last few moments of the blue-gray sky slowly gave way into darkness. The mountain air above the town of Ludwikowice Klodzkie felt uncommonly warm as they continued up the windy road and further into the hills.
Within minutes, they pulled into an expansive, grassy field and brought the vehicle to a stop. During the short drive up to their next destination, the temperature had somehow managed to cool by at least forty degrees, and the two men could now see their own breath escape their lungs into little cloudy puffs of air. It was something they both had grown accustomed to in that area. Between the surrounding trees, they caught a brief glimpse of several vertical concrete pillars illuminated by floodlights placed around the parameter and a small crowd of people standing roughly five hundred yards ahead. Finally, the driver spoke as he opened the door. “General Sporrenberg, I want you to notify the team that we will be conducting another test of Die Glocke tonight.”
Sporrenberg grabbed his fellow officer’s shoulder just as he began to exit. “Sir.” There was urgency in Sporrenberg’s voice. “Need I remind you what happened the last time it was powered up?”
Kammler’s arm swung back around, his hand grabbing Sporrenberg by the collar of his uniform as his eyes widened and his brows curled against each other. His voice erupted in a sudden ferocity as the words escaped his lips like snake venom. “Need I remind you that der Führer did not exactly react in a favorable way to Dr. Ziegler’s latest update on the project?” He looked down at the burgundy stain across the lapel of Sporrenberg’s jacket. “When I was appointed head of the Secret Weapons Program, I promised der Führer success and to see to it that his vision was carried out at any cost. Unfortunately, what we have right now is not success. So I would suggest that unless you would like to meet the same fate as Dr. Ziegler, that you go give the order to fill each cylinder to capacity and to power up.”
“F… Fill them to capacity?” Sporrenberg’s bottom lip trembled.
“Fill them,” Kammler confirmed. “Increase the ratio of thorium to beryllium peroxides in the leichtmetall, and let’s get this thing off the ground.”
Sporrenberg cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. “Yes, sir,” he said, and the two men got out and set foot onto the hard ground, walking towards the concrete pillars.
General Kammler stopped in place after going only about half the distance. The two officers saluted each other, and Kammler watched as Sporrenberg continued on ahead, rubbing the back of his neck.
As he approached, the enormity of the concrete giant came into full view; the derelict remains of a conventional cooling tower in the shape of a decagon, consisting of eleven vertical pillars towering over his head. He walked up to the outer edge and gazed inward toward what had become a far too familiar site over the past year, and it gave him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
In the center of the decagon was a brick platform, built three feet off the ground, housing a giant bell-like structure made of hard, heavy metals. The bell itself stood roughly fifteen feet tall. There were two doors on opposite sides of the bell, and one had been opened, exposing the inner workings. In the center were two lead cylinders stacked on top of each other with a solenoid and transparent housing connecting them. A metal cage stretched from the top to the bottom of the vessel, surrounding the engine, and outside of the cage was a small metal panel with several gauges and knobs. The remaining inner diameter of the structure was empty and about nine to ten feet wide, with just enough room for a full-grown man on each side of the cylindrical engine. Even though General Sporrenberg had been to the test site on numerous occasions, he couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of dread being in the presence of the strange craft. He was a man who thrived on putting fear and intimidation into the hearts of everyone who crossed his path. He had a thirst for it. But this was a terror that was beyond words.
Those near the bell wore protective suits and hoods, while others wore long white lab coats over a shirt and tie. Several faces were unfamiliar to the general, and many were involved in deep conversation. He walked past two small stone buildings surrounding the immense concrete cage and over to a group of five men talking amongst themselves. Three of them were SS officers, and two were wearing lab coats. They extended their arm and saluted the officer in a sign of respect to him and their leader, to which he returned the gesture and began to fill them in on the orders from Kammler.
“He wants us to perform the ne xt test tonight.”
“Tonight?” one of the men in lab coats questioned nervously.
“Yes,” Sporrenberg responded. “He wants us to fill each cylinder to capacity with the serum.”
“Capacity?”
“Yes!” he snapped back. “And increase the ratio of thorium to beryllium peroxides in the leichtmetall.”
“But, sir,” another one of them spoke up, “the last test was a massive failure. Unless you were nearly seven hundred feet away or inside the stone bunkers, the only place completely safe from the mutagenic radiation was inside the craft itself. Sir, we achieved antigravity, but we lost—”
“Silence!” Sporrenberg bellowed. “I know who we lost. And we lost Dr. Ziegler earlier today when der Führer was made aware of the lack of progress on this project. You are just going to have to understand that certain sacrifices must be made for the good of Nazi Germany. The Allies are moving in and are currently at, shall we say, an uncomfortable distance. Tonight may be the final chance we have to witness the full capability of Die Glocke, and der Führer believes that it is the key to winning this war.”
One of the officers, whose eyes had been darting around anxiously during the briefing, suddenly snapped to attention and locked eyes with General Sporrenberg. “Heil Hitler!” he shouted with an outstretched arm as he walked over to issue the order.
Sporrenberg glanced to his right, hoping to catch sight of General Kammler to acknowledge that the order had been delivered, but he could no longer see him in the darkness that had descended upon the camp.
Within minutes, one man in a protective suit and hood was seen carrying two tall, thin flasks filled with a dense, red mercury-like substance toward the bell. He climbed the stone steps and briefly entered the vessel, inserting the two flasks through a panel in each lead cylinder, and then immediately exited, latching the door behind him. Then, four other men emerged from outside the concrete cage carrying heavy-duty hooks and chains. They secured one end to a loop on the outer edge of the bell-shaped craft and the other end to a cast-iron ring embedded into one of the concrete pillars.
Those remaining retreated to the stone buildings around the perimeter of the concrete decagon. Only seven scientists and ten other SS soldiers stood outside, each with protective suits. When all was clear, one of the soldiers at the outer edge of the cooling tower raised his arm, and a switch was tripped from inside one of the stone buildings, causing a faint buzzing sound to be released from the bell.
With the noise increasing in volume, the bell began to vibrate as the red mercury inside the flasks spun faster, exciting and stripping off more electrons with each rotation of the cylinders. The outside of the bell began to glow in a purple hue, growing more brilliant by the second as it slowly lifted off its resting place. Two soldiers stood next to each concrete pillar where the bell was secured and held fast to the chains. The bell elevated higher into the air as the buzzing was now at a deafening level. Double and triple ionization of the particles was achieved as the cylinders increased their rotation speed.
By this time, the men on the ground held onto the chains with every ounce of strength they had in them as the craft pulled itself upwards.
Snap.
One link in the chain fractured, sending the bell momentarily off-balance. It wobbled and shifted as it struggled to get airborne. The soldier fell to the ground as he could feel a heat growing more intense from inside his body and his organs beginning to shut down. What’s happening to me? he thought as he felt his chest tighten. He looked over to see some of the nearby plants that were illuminated by the floodlights across the field, seem as though they were melting in place. Tufts of grass next to him turned to a grease-like substance. His eyes widened in pain from beneath his protective hood.
Another snap. And another.
Within his last few moments, he looked above him to see the glowing undercarriage of The Bell ascending over his head and finally disappearing into the blackness of the night. Thunder cracked, and the sky lit up with flashes of lightning.
Heavy rain began to fall as General Sporrenberg and the others came running out to see the grotesque remains of the soldiers’ bodies and the bodies of five of the seven scientists who had worked tirelessly on the project. Only two scientists and three soldiers remained alive, all with severe burns from the exposure to The Bell’s gamma rays. The suits made to protect them from the deadly effects of the radiation hung across them in tattered shreds. The hardened general winced as he gazed at what was left of the test site. All he could see were flattened and charred patches of earth for over six hundred feet.
Shuffling through the mud and sticky slime that had once supported plant life, he approached the body of one of the fallen scientists. Lifting his head from a puddle of rain, he peeled back the rest of his hood and stared into the face of his own defeat. His thinning hair, soaked from the sudden downpour, stuck to his forehead as the life drained from his eyes. Finally dropping the man’s head to the ground in disgust, Sporrenberg looked around, taking another survey of the area.
Kammler, he thought. The coward has left.
He stood up and walked over to one of the remaining scientists standing before the cast iron door to one of the stone bunkers. Removing his Walter P38 pistol from its holster, the general placed it to the man’s head and fired. The scientist dropped in a heap onto the cold, wet ground. “You have all failed.” Then, with a lifeless stare, he turned and fired again.
And again.
And again.
Chapter 2
As a small child, Jacqueline would sit on the front porch listening to her mother’s wind chimes and watching the hummingbirds playfully dart in and out of the daylilies. She could watch them for hours on a warm summer day and often even mimic them with her friends as they ran through the yard in a spirited game of Hide-and-seek.
When the weather turned cold in the fall, she would again sit in her favorite spot, captivated by the approaching storm clouds. As the wind whipped the chimes to and fro, her heart would race in time with the soft tinkling of the bells, and she would wonder how such a violent, raging tempest could bring about something of such beauty. Taking in the smell of fallen leaves and rain, Jacqueline would imagine herself in the center of a twisting storm, watching the world shake from the might of the heavens while still being completely at peace.
Sometimes at an early age, we’re forced to come face-to-face with the storm that will shatter and break us wide open, allowing us to see the beauty and strength within. At that moment, we must make the critical decision that will guide us through life: run from the storm, or run towards it. Jacqueline Harris was far too young to have to make such an important decision, but most of us don’t go chasing storms. The storm finds us.
It was a bright and sunny morning in Woodmont, Virginia in 1941, when Jacqueline came running down the stairs from her bedroom, beaming with pride. “Mom, I did it! I did it all by myself!”
Her mom and dad sat at the table across from each other, involved in deep conversation when the mood was broken by the excited screams of their daughter. Looking down and wiping a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, her mother Katherine quickly composed herself, so as to not lessen her daughter’s big moment.
“Turn around. Let’s see how you did.”
The child spun around to reveal a proper, yet slightly disheveled braid on the back of her head.
“I know it’s not perfect, but it’s my first time,” she said with a bright smile.
“I think it looks lovely, honey. You should be very proud. Show it to your father!”
“What do you think, Daddy?”
“Spin around, Crackerjack; let’s see how it looks.”
The child proudly turned around again to show off her creation to her father.
“Baby, it looks wonderful. Today your room, tomorrow you’ll be working at that fancy hair salon down the street.”
“Oh Daddy, I’m only six. I think it’ll be a long time ’til that can happen,” her green eyes looking up at him in admiration.
“But seriously honey, you’ve worked on that for a very long time, and if you keep working on it, pretty soon it will be perfect. You did a great job.”
