Return From the Inferno (32 page)

But the change had to be done at this critical juncture. Plus he definitely had more mobility.

Now with two impressive-looking suitcases of recently stolen photo equipment at his side, he looked out over the long wall and estimated that there were at least 5000 NS troopers strung out along the mile-long battlement. It was slightly unnerving to be the only civilian in sight-he was, in fact, one of the last civilians left in New Orleans. Two nights before, the NS, suddenly begun evacuating the city, trucking tens of thousands of its citizens to relocation camps in Florida and Alabama. The reason given was that a major state

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event was been planned for the city, one that was so high up on the Nazi gush scale, that the Amerikafuhrer didn't want any of the lowly American citizenry mucking it up.

It was only because Pegg was able to convince the local NS commander that his photographic skills were needed to record such an event that he was allowed to stay, along with all the city's doctors, cooks and, of course, hookers.

It had been quite evident for some time that the event being planned was going to be enormous even by Fourth Reich standards. The entire city was now lit up day and night, and long strings of white lights had been plugged in absolutely everywhere. Pegg had detected a sudden influx of Fourth Reich men and materiel to New Orleans several days before. These units were from bases as far east as the Florida Panhandle and as far west as Central Texas. That they were mostly ceremonial in nature-marching bands, honor guards, and the like-provided another clue that a major Nazi love-fest was in the offing. But it also told an old veteran like Pegg something else: Although the city was now crawling with NS men, very few were actually from combat units. This could mean that the real soldiers were urgently needed elsewhere.

He'd been in secret radio contact with other UA groups continuously over the past few days, feeding them information about what was going on inside the city. And he knew this intelligence was going right to the top of United American command structure.

In fact he was certain that at the moment, he was probably the most important intelligence source the UA had on the ground. It was a big responsibility-and he loved it.

The sun was climbing higher in the sky now and the thousands of troops lining the walls more or less at attention were becoming uncomfortable in their heavy wool uniforms. Pegg deliberately took a long time pretending to set up his equipment-all the better for him to eavesdrop on the soldiers and officers nearby. The gist of their conversations was

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that while they weren't exactly sure what was about to happen, they were sure that it was about to happen soon.

This meant Pegg had to start acting like a real photographer of grand events.

But first, he had to figure out how to operate his cache of stolen cameras.

The sun was half way up the sky when they saw it.

It was like a mini-sunrise, popping up from the far southeastern horizon, a gleaming speck of gold and light.

Bands who'd been sweating out the early-morning heat were finally cued to begin playing. Dozens of ceremonial flags were unfurled and ran up dozens of newly-installed flag poles. Cannons positioned on both sides of the hazy, steamy harbor began firing the opening rounds of what would eventually be no less than a 1001-gun salute. NS officers walked behind their lined-up troops urging them along in a series of rehearsed cheers just like a cheerleader would incite a football crowd.

This pre-programmed cheering grew in volume and intensity as the speck on the horizon grew in size. It was soon apparent to Pegg that it was indeed a ship out there, shimmering in the midmorning sun. But it was not like any ship he had ever seen. It was enormous, painted pearl white with multiple trims of gold. Its masts were festooned with thousands of small twinkling gold lights-it was these that gave the vessel its intense sparkling quality even in the brightest sun of the day. Flying from the rear of the ship was a huge flag, one that had equal elements of Fourth Reich emblems and obscure Norse runes. Attached to the bow was an enormous Dragon's Head similar in design to those that once graced the Viking raiding ships of old.

Pegg knew it was the Great Ship, the vessel which had once served as the floating command post for the Norse invaders. Now it had been turned into something from a myx dream, gold, audacious, somehow not real-looking.

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"So that is the witch's ship," he murmured under his breath as the vessel drew closer to the entrance of the harbor.

So many things fell into place now, that Pegg almost let out a whoop. He knew that this was why the Nazis had been dredging for miles up and down the Mississippi, providing a trench that would allow this ship's enormous draught to pass through all the way up to Fuhrerstadt.

But he also knew that this massive dredging enterprise would also wind up adding to the Fourth Reich's undoing.

It was almost noontime before the huge ship had disappeared up the muddy river.

Finally the bands stopped playing and the flags stopped waving. The 1001 gun salute fired its last blast. The thousands of NS troopers were now off the wall and clustering in groups for the march back to the city.

And Pegg had yet to take a real picture.

It didn't really matter. He'd relocated to a tall hill about a mile away from the old fort, and dearly hoped that he would be safe here. Now using the long-range zoom lens on one of the cameras, he was scanning the horizon.

Looking for ...

Suddenly he heard it. That high unmistakable scream in the still air. It was not an airplane, or a helicopter or even a missile.

It was in fact, a 2200-pound shell, fired from one of the largest naval guns ever built.

Just hearing that whistle was enough for Pegg. He was halfway down the other side of the hill when the projectile hit more than a mile away from him. Still he was knocked to the ground.

Rolling down the rest of the hill and recovering quickly he couldn't resist peeking through some trees and back to the harbor fort. Where one minute before several hundred NS band troops were lined up to walk back to the city, now was

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nothing more than an enormous, smoking crater, at least an eighth of a mile across.

Pegg let out an authentic whoop this time, and then quickly began moving as fast as he could away from the harbor area.

He knew the real fight for the American continent had just begun.

The destruction of all the Fourth Reich military installations in both New Orleans and along its harbor took less than ten minutes.

No more than 200 NS soldiers who'd taken part in the Great Ship ceremony survived the monstrous barrage of 16-inch shells, and many of them were in a state of shock. The , harbor was absolutely devastated, the city itself engulfed in I flames. But through the fire and smoke resulting from the massive surprise attack, those could still see beheld a sight that dwarfed the passing of the Great Ship from the Gulf to the Mississippi.

For entering the harbor and bound for the exact same course the Great Ship was following up the river was the enormous battleship USS New Jersey.

Roy From Troy gazed out on the square miles of burning rubble that was once New Orleans and shook his head in amazement.

He'd seen many things in post-World War III America, but never anything close to the frightening bombardment that the Big Easy had just suffered at the hands of the New Jersey.

"What a waste." he sighed, gripping the handrail at the bow of the battleship just a little tighter. "All those restaurants . . ."

He'd wound up on board the battleship a week before, after Hunter arranged for him to catch a UA flight down from Montreal to a small uncharted island not too far east

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of Puerto Rico. The New Jersey was anchored offshore, its manmade fog banks shielding its identity from unlikely eyes. Also close by was the aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise-or what was left of it. It had been stripped of much of its electronic and weapons gear, with the remainder intentionally disabled just in case the bird farm fell back into the wrong hands.

The Jersey set sail the following day, and Roy spent the next few days studying all aspects of his part in the great barge takeover. Now, with that little adventure behind him, he was back on board the Jersey, strictly as a

"weapons appraiser."

Alongside him on the rail were several Football City Rangers. Like him, they were watching the pall of smoke and flames from the devastated city of New Orleans fade in the distance as the New Jersey made its way further up the Mississippi.

"I wonder if someone will ever rebuild it," one asked.

"It would be nice to get the air delivery rights if they do," Roy replied.

All of them were both carrying M-16s and wearing flak jackets and helmets. But at the moment the threat of any hostile gunfire coming from either bank was low. Anyone foolish enough to fire at the ship would receive a return shot a hundred times more deadly. The battleship was literally a floating arsenal.

Its three enormous turrets were slowly sweeping from side to side, their 16-inch gun barrels pointing menacingly in all directions. Many of its dozens of smaller 5-inch guns were doing the same thing. Its six cruise missile batteries were primed and ready, and two Lynx helicopters flew its aerial escort, their underwing carrying a frightening array of air-deliverable weapons.

But actually, this was just the beginning of the New Jersey's combined offensive weaponry.

Being towed behind the battlewagon were the eleven barges commandeered by Roy and the UA troopers earlier. It was

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these unglamorous vessels which had held the key in many ways to the United Americans' bold plan. For it was these barges that had tipped the UA that a major dredging operation was under way up the Mississippi. That dredging turned out to be in preparation for the grand entrance of the Great Ship, bearing Elizabeth Sandlake for her unlikely wedding to the Amerikafuhrer. By studying the sludge samples retrieved by Frost, the UA was able to determine that the trench being dug to allow the Great Ship to pass was also deep enough to handle the draught of the New Jersey. The strike plan virtually wrote itself from there.

But the barges proved themselves twice valuable. Not only did they tip the Fourth Reich's hand on the river dredging, they also made the ideal platforms for the other half of the UA's offensive punch. For crammed into each of the first seven flatboats now were twenty Chieftain tanks, their turrets poking out over the side of barges, their guns armed and ready. On barges Eight and Nine were some NightScope-equipped M-l Abrams tanks. Barges Ten and Eleven were each carrying four fearsome Multiple Rocket Launch Systems-or MRLS-apiece. Each barge was also big enough to carry the weapons crews and plenty of spare ammunition.

All in all it made for one very impressive, and deadly floating display.

"Tell me something," one of the Rangers said to Roy. "I know that our ultimate strategy is to chase the Great Ship up the river and break up a big ceremony the Nazis are planning. But, whose idea was it to watch the barges in the first place? I mean, it was so, what's the word? Is it 'innocuous?'"

Roy actually smiled, a rare occurrence for him these days.

"It was the same guy who scouted this entire river for us a half dozen times.

The same guy who came up with the Bummer Four deception. The same guy who saved some very important people who were about a half second away from being target practice for the Nazis. . ."

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"Yeah, it figures," the Ranger said, still gazing admiringly on the small but awesomely power-packed fleet being towed behind the battleship. "Only the Wingman could pull off something like this."

"That's true," Roy replied. "But we all still have a long way to go."

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The three Reich Marshall's were sharing a bottle of sherry when the communications officer walked into the triangular office.

The young officer was shaking in his boots-literally. He'd read the communiqué sealed inside the envelope he was carrying and knew that it contained devastating news.

And it was his sad duty to deliver it to the Reich Marshall's.

"This is urgent," the officer announced simply, his body too numb to salute.

Erste, Zweite and Dritte looked up from the war table and stared at the man.

"Well, read it," Zweite ordered him, pouring himself another glass of pink sherry.

The communications officer gulped loudly and opened the envelope. His mouth was so dry, he knew he would have a hard time talking.

"It comes from the Eighth Auxiliary Communications unit stationed fifteen miles outside New Orleans," he began with a croak. " 'Be advised, heavy attack on New Orleans city and harbor fifteen minutes after this noontime. Heavy damage. Heavy casualties. Please advise.' "

All three Reich Marshall's smiled upon hearing the re-275

port.

"This is the worst screw-up I've ever encountered," Zweite said with a tipsy laugh. "These people obviously heard the thousand and one gun salute for the Great Ship and interpreted it as an attack on the city."

Erste and Dritte joined in the laughter. It did seem to be a typically military mix-up.

But the young communications officer wasn't through.

"Excuse me, sir, but there's more. . ." he said, his voice getting weaker by the syllable. "The same unit sent a second message a half minute after the first."

"So read ///" Zweite ordered him.

" 'Be advised. New Orleans and harbor area has been attacked from the sea, Enemy vessels are now making their way up the Mississippi. They continue to attack targets of opportunity. Estimate enemy vessels are approximately thirty minutes behind the Great Ship.'"

Only now did the Reich Marshall's begin to take notice.

"This has got to be a ruse. A practical joke . . ." Dritte said.

"A bad one," Erste declared. "And a dangerous one."

"This is one more transmission," the communications officer told them, his voice regaining some of its pitch. "It was sent exactly a minute later: 'Be advised. We are under attack. Enemy vessels are shelling us with very large guns. Helicopters also. Return fire is non-effective. Please advise.' "