Return From the Inferno (38 page)

As the huge silhouette of the battleship loomed toward them, the Kommando's started their small motors and got set to fuse their explosives.

But immediately, it was apparent something was very wrong. The Kommando officers using NightScope glasses could clearly see the battleship, barely a mile and a half down the river. But it was alone. There were no barges in tow.

It took a few moments for the implications of this discovery to sink in. If they didn't know where the hell the barges where, then they didn't know were all the tanks were either.

They found out though, less than a minute later.

The first squadron of Chieftain tanks hit the left flank of the Fuhrerstadt Home Guard so quickly, many of the NS troopers simply threw up their hands and surrendered.

On the right flank, the second squad of Chieftains attacked the bridge defense command post and battled the hard-core but improperly armed Fuhrerstadt Home Guardsmen. It took fif-324

teen minutes of intense fighting to subdue the more fanatical defenders, but the combined weight of the two-pronged tank attack was too much for them.

Fighting toward the middle of the bridge, more than a few of the Nazi soldiers shot themselves rather than be taken prisoner or fall in battle. Many more simply took a death drop off the side of the tall bridge.

Once the bridge was taken over by the UA tank crews, the battleship moved to within a mile of the span. Then with a deadly accurate combination of five-inch naval gun and tank fire, the slow, systematic decimation of the Coastal Kommando began. Ten shots would come from the tanks on the bridge, ten would come from the battleship. Just about every shell hit its mark-not by luck, guided there by Hunter, who was hovering a half mile directly above the Kommando positions, directly fire via his pod-adapted LANTIRN device-the acronym standing for "low altitude navigation targeting infrared, night."

It didn't take long to wipe out the Kommando unit simply because they were caught up to their waists in dark muddy water, and surrounded by many pounds of HE and many gallons of napalm. Each shell that landed anywhere near them would set off at least two secondary explosions, and in some cases as many as eight or nine.

Many of their charred bodies would wind up floating downstream for several hundred miles.

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"Yaz" rolled over on his dirty, oily bunk and let out a long, tired breath.

This is not the kind of life my parents wanted me to lead, he thought. This is not the kind of life anyone's parents would want their kid to lead. . .

In a word, he'd been demoted. He was no longer a nonstop, living, walking, breathing sex object for the eternally demented desires of the unstable Elizabeth Sandlake and her equally screwy companion, Juanita. He was now back where he'd come from-in the tiny broom-closet-size room, located at the bottom ass-end of the Great Ship, cold, dirty, hungry and just waiting for some shit pipe to burst so he could slosh around in smelly waste water for a few hours.

He tried to tell himself that it had been good while it lasted-how else to describe more sex in a matter of weeks than most people experience in a lifetime? But that was just the point-it had been strictly sex. No love. No caring. No sharing. Just raw, uninhibited, no-holds-barred intoxicated lust.

God, how he missed it!

The Great Ship had arrived in Fuhrerstadt earlier that morning. He didn't have a porthole through which to view the grand entrance-but then he didn't need one. Just by listening-to the ships engines, to the scrambled Scandinavian PA announcements onboard, to the endless renditions of "Wedding in White," as oompah-ed by the Great Ship's pathetic little band-326

he could tell what was going on.

Today the Witch was getting married.

The last time he'd seen her was when her royal guards were hauling him out of the waterbed-equipped love chamber for the last time. Like any good bride-to-be, she'd insisted that they have sex while she was wearing her flowing white wedding gown, an oyster-induced performance which Juanita recorded via an ancient video camera.

Once the pre-nuptial bonk! was completed, Elizabeth calmly rang for her guards and "Yaz" was unceremoniously dragged away. Down the elevator, through to the bowels of the ship, and thrown back in his little hole where she apparently thought he belonged.

Thus ended his life as a stud.

He tried to sleep, alone for a change, but found it impossible.

The general hubbub of the ship, and the endless playing of band music-at least three were competing for attention somewhere on board-the crackling of fireworks and endless cannon salutes, all conspired against his even closing his eyes.

But it was also a troubling thought which kept him awake: What would happen once the Witch and Little Hitler the Third, Once Removed, were married? Who would kill whom first? Did it make any difference? Either the Nazis would complete the rape of America, or Elizabeth and her wacky ideas of a new American Aristocracy would do the job for them.

Whatever the outcome, he knew that the American people would be the ones to suffer. And there was little he could do about that.

He'd finally closed his eyes and felt himself drifting off, when the noise of heavy footfalls on the slimy metal deck snapped him awake again.

His tiny door was flung open and he found himself staring up into the unsmiling faces of two soldiers. Judging by the gaudy medal-happy black uniforms and the presence of a swastika on every button, he guessed correctly that they belonged to the Fourth Reich Armed Forces.

"You are wanted on deck," one said in a voice so bereft of human emotion, it chilled "Yaz" instantly to the bone.

He felt tired, out of breath, out of energy, out of respect.

"Who wants me on deck," he challenged the soldiers. "And what the hell for?"

The second soldier revealed a small bag he was carrying. He emptied its contents over "Yaz's" head. It was a dress suit: a jacket, pants, shirt, tie and cummerbund.

"What the hell is all this for?" he exclaimed.

"Put it on," the first soldier droned. "You are giving the bride away ..."

Ten minutes later, "Yaz" was escorted up to the main deck, and out to the area at the rear of the ship where the wedding was due to be held.

It was the first time he'd been out in the fresh air in a while so he couldn't help but take a few deep breaths and look around. The Great Ship was moored along the west side of the river, no more than a half mile from the famous though fading Gateway Arch. The crowds stretched from the dock all the way back into the city itself, but they appeared to be made up entirely of soldiers. There were no civilians to be seen and this surprised him. He knew the Nazis never missed a chance to manufacture a cheering crowd. But everyone he saw, with the exception of himself and the bride's entourage, was wearing a military uniform.

This was his first clue that everything was not right with this picture.

Despite the band-playing and the proliferation of streamers and confetti, many of the soldiers on board and in the crowd nearby were obviously on duty. "Yaz"

could see them grimly scanning the crowds, the nearby bridges and even the skies.

He knew they just weren't being cautious. He could tell they were expecting trouble. Soon. And this told him that all was

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not right in the bizarre goose-stepping fantasy world.

"Yaz" straightened out his too-tight cummerbund and walked down the steps to where the wedding party had gathered. Elizabeth was there, looking undeniably beautiful in the long white gown he'd screwed her in just hours before.

Juanita, wearing an off-pink gown which showed just about all of her expansive breasts, was standing next to her mistress, blubbering just like a good maid of honor should. The Captain of the Great Ship-a man "Yaz" came to think was as much a captive as he-was nervously tugging at his dress white uniform and fingering what looked to be a Bible with a broad swastika on its cover.

Everyone else crowded onto the deck looked worried, miserable, definitely on edge-and "Yaz" loved it. After all the time and effort and fascist hoopla of dredging the Mississippi-digging up the Mississippi, for God's sake!-it was quite obvious that the enormous Nazi love fest was not turning out as every--one had planned.

An English-speaking Nazi officer yanked "Yaz" over to the center of the wedding party and told him in an urgent whisper that all he had to do was stand there, next to Elizabeth and nod anytime the Captain asked him a question. If he screwed up, or tried to disrupt the ceremony in any way, he'd be shot. It was as simple as that.

"Yaz" gave the man a sullen nod and then took his place next to and slightly behind Elizabeth, who was totally ignoring him.

Now looking off to the south for the first time, "Yaz" was startled to see that a tall, covered object of some kind had been built about 500 feet from the dock. There were even more troops surrounding this thing, which "Yaz"

guessed was at least 150-feet tall. It was wrapped in white cloth which was whipping in the breeze and making everyone jump when it crackled a little too loudly. A long series of ropes were attached to the top of the structure and it was obvious that it was about to be unveiled.

Suddenly a PA system sprang to life, and the crowd of 10,000 or so was subjected to a loud blaring of static, feedback-plagued German. At the end of the long rambling announcement-little of which "Yaz" understood-the voice on the PA induced the crowd into a countdown. "Funf. . . vier . . . drei. . .

zwei. . . eins . . . null!" The ropes surrounding the object were yanked and the white sheeting covering unraveled to reveal the enormous, incredibly tacky statue of Adolf Hitler.

"Yaz" almost laughed out loud-an indiscretion that he was sure would have meant a bullet in his head. But he almost couldn't help it. Far from being an objet d'art, the statue looked like something an eight-year-old kid had thrown it together during a slow afternoon. The head was much too small in proportion to the body; one side of the famous mustache was much too long for the other.

The eyes were crossed, the nose looked like it was running, and the mouth was lop-sided in such a way it looked like the Fuhrer was wearing a clown's frown.

The uniform was carved into the stone like a bad suit, and the bottom of the statue, where the Fuhrer's feet should have been wasn't even completed.

Instead, the steel reinforcement rods were wrapped in pinkish cloth, giving the impression that Adolf was wearing a pair of woman's house slippers.

The thing was so ghastly that the crowd barely cheered its unveiling, much to the embarrassment of the gathered Nazi officers.

This is fucking great, "Yaz" thought, his long-tortured mind finally succumbing to some authentic glee. / just wish Hawk and the guys could have seen this. . .

Two men in Fourth Reich uniforms appeared at the door leading out onto the bow, and suddenly everyone-including Elizabeth-snapped to attention. These two men-one small and professorial-looking, the other wide, red-faced and thuggish-were wearing the braids of Reich Marshall's. They appeared to be the ones responsible for running the wedding ceremony.

With everyone snapped to on the deck, a third person walked out of the doorway. He was small, young, with girlishly blond 330

hair. He was wearing a suit that was halfway between a dress uniform and a tuxedo. This was the Amerikafuhrer, and he was looking for all the world like he would rather be any other place but on the ship at the moment. Behind him, another young man was primping his master's suit, brushing away the lint and dust, straightening out the shoulder pads, more like a mother-in-law-to-be would be doing to a bride. This was Lance, the official "dresser," and the Amerikafuhrer's best man.

One of the Reich Marshals read yet another proclamation in German, rushing through it so quickly, even the people who understood the language couldn't understand it. "Yaz" saw this as yet another clue that the Nazis were expecting the sky to fall in on them at any moment.

Finally, there was a flourish of bad horn playing, and the Amerikafuhrer was ushered down the short aisle and placed next to Elizabeth. She was smiling, and gushing and so much playing the part of a blushing bride that "Yaz" was newly appreciative of just how deep her insanity ran.

Finally everything seemed set. The Captain indicated that the two ideological lovebirds should hold hands. Then he read a passage from his "Good" book that was as hasty and incomprehensible as the Reich Marshall's earlier speech. This done, the Captain spewed some Scandinavian at "Yaz" and he dutifully nodded back. Juanita burst out into tears again as did Lance, the best man. Several Luftwaffe helicopters flew over in a pathetic attempt at a ceremonial aerial flyby and at last, the rings were called for.

But then, just as the Amerikafuhrer was placing a large gold band around Elizabeth's trembling ring finger, the crowd was subjected to a painfully-sharp screeching noise. The ceremony stopped dead in its tracks.

Everyone was looking around for the source of the screeching, but nothing could be found-at first.

Then "Yaz" noticed that many of the soldiers in the crowd surrounding the Great Ship were instinctively hitting the dirt.

They knew the sound of incoming fire when they heard it.

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The first shell hit the top of the Hitler statue square on its runny nose.

The impact of the one-ton HE shell completely blew away the Fuhrer's head, creating an instant cumulus-type cloud of white smoke and dust.

There was a stunned moment of silence as everyone in attendance tried to comprehend what had happened.

Then a second screeching was heard-this one louder and coming in faster. This shell impacted at the base of the huge statue, blowing out the pink-slipper supports and instantly bringing the huge sculpture crashing to the ground.

Hundreds of Fourth Reich soldiers were immediately crushed in the rain of tons of stone, and the Great Ship was rocking violently from side to side reacting to the concussion of the two quick massive explosions.