On with the show. I stepped forward, a leather attaché clutched to my chest.
The motorcycle slowed as we came into view, our car blocking the road. The soldier in the sidecar swiveled the machinegun us at us.
"Don't shoot!" Dennis shouted, raising one hand to block the light from his eyes.
Richard stepped up beside him, palms open.
The truck's brakes whined to a halt behind the motorcycle and its lamps flipped on, bathing us in light. The machine gunner appeared to relax his grip as he noticed our black SS uniforms.
A head clad in a peaked cap leaned out the truck's passenger window. His harsh voice shouted, "Identify yourselves!"
I pushed my way to the front. "We were sent to speak with Major Heinz Macher. And turn off your lights you fools — the invaders are near."
The lights flipped off.
"Who are you?" the man demanded, his voice still edged with suspicion.
"Elfriede Gar," I lied, holding the leather case out like a talisman. "We've come from Bremen with artifacts and records."
"He is not here."
I swallowed. Hell's bells! "Do you know where I might find him? It's very important."
The man sat silent for a moment, then waved us forward.
I hurried to the idling truck, Dennis behind me. I climbed up to the driver's side window as Dennis approached the side where the speaker sat. "Have you seen Major Macher?"
The officer in the peaked cap frowned, his thick monobrow creasing in the middle. "He's still at the castle."
"Are you transporting the relics?" I asked, a bit more desperation in my voice than I had intended.
"What do you want?"
"We have more artifacts for him. Himmler himself ordered us to bring them personally." I pushed the leather attaché in through the window, forcing the confused driver to remove his hand from the wheel to accept it. "Our auto broke down. Can you take us to him?"
The lieutenant accepted the case from the driver and fumbled with the clasp. "No. We will not turn around."
"But, the Major must have these," I urged. "Look." I drew Feuertod from his scabbard and held the ornate swept hilt up for him to see.
The man gave a frustrated huff. He glanced over the stack of papers inside the case. I knew he couldn't read them in the scant light, which was fine. They were a meaningless distraction. "I cannot take you. The castle is three kilometers back. You can make it, but must hurry."
"Thank you." I lowered my rapier below the window and pressed its point against the truck's door. Every sacred weapon possesses a unique gift, a power beyond any mortal creation. Feuertod's blessing manifests as an astonishingly strong and keen blade. The sheet metal door screeched as I drove the sword through with no more effort than if it were stout cardboard. The slender blade pierced the driver's side, through his ribs, and emerged below his right armpit. The man gave a terrible wheeze as the blade skewered both of his lungs. His reflexive jerk at the violation only served to worsen the injury, the razor edge slicing his flesh like pudding. The truck lurched and stalled as his foot came off the brake.
The Nazi officer shrieked. Papers spilled across his lap as he fumbled for his gun. Dennis sprang up, reached through the window, and rammed a trench knife up and under the bastard's jaw. Blood poured from the SS man's mouth.
The men in the motorcycle cried in alarm. The gunner's hand moved for his weapon.
Audrey Turgen appeared beside them, emerging from a curtain of shadow. She hacked her sword, Rowlind, into the machine gunner's neck. Without slowing, she drove her boot into the driver's ribs.
The man cried out in surprise and pain as he fell. He scrambled for his sidearm but she was already up and over the motorcycle, the sword tip pressed against his chest.
"Don't move," she commanded.
The motorcycle driver froze, his wide eyes fixed on the bloodied blade as the machine gunner gurgled and died behind her.
Simon and Peter raced toward us.
Three dead and one prisoner without a single shot. With a satisfied smile, I pulled my rapier back out of the truck's door."Good show."
After disarming Audrey's captive and leaving her to guard, we circled around to the rear of the paneled truck. Something heavy shifted inside. Obviously they were transporting something from the fortress. If not the plundered holy weapons, then possibly some of the many rare tomes, sacred relics, paintings, or other treasures Himmler's cult had amassed. Whatever it was, our duty was to make sure neither they, nor the closing Allies, got them. There was no telling how many SS guards were inside, all wondering why exactly they'd stopped moving.
We formed a semicircle before the double doors. Peter stood to my right, his MP40 submachine gun ready. There was no need for the ruse any longer. To my left, Richard drew his bronze sword. Feuertod in one hand, I unholstered my Walther with the other and nodded to Dennis.
The big man slid the mace from his belt and approached the doors. He banged the weapon's pommel against the wood. Boom. Boom. Boom. "We're opening the door. Weapons down. Hands above your head." Velnepo ready, he popped the sturdy latch open.
The door burst wide, knocking Dennis to the ground. With a screaming roar, two giant creatures charged from the darkened truck. Thick muscles bulged beneath their hairless, pale skin. Their snarling mouths protruded past the upper rims of their oversized German helmets.
The first one leaped to the ground, landing on all fours and lunged toward me.
Peter's machinegun erupted, spewing flashes of fire. Bullets stitched across the monster's chest.
It stumbled back, but the bloody holes mended in a heartbeat. The beast roared again, rising to its full seven-foot height. It swiped one of its long arms at Peter. Hooked claws capped each of its fingers. The knight hopped back, replying in kind with another burst into the creature's face.
The howling beast shook its head, flinging blood from its mangled sockets.
Seizing the opening as its eyes reformed, I lunged and drove my rapier straight into the monster's chest.
The beast stiffened. I withdrew the blade, pulling it to the side, and cut a wide gash.
The monster crumpled. Its cloven ribcage cracked wide, spilling its contents onto the rutted dirt road.
The second creature dove toward Dennis, still on the ground. He scrambled backwards on all fours. He'd dropped his mace when the door had slammed into him.
Richard ran forward, twirling Saighnean in figure eights. The weapon's gift was that the blade continued gaining momentum as long as he kept it moving. By the time he had crossed the three paces, the Celtic sword whistled through the air faster than any propeller blade.
The creature ducked and sprang back from the blurring blade. Richard moved in, but a rifle flash erupted from the back of the truck. Richard's helmet pinged with the bullet's impact and he stumbled.
The soldier in the truck worked his rifle's bolt. I raised my pistol and fired three rapid shots. Two hit, and the soldier fell behind a makeshift cover of stacked boxes.
Without Richard's imposing blade, the monster moved toward him.
"No!" I cried, racing to intercept it, but Dennis scooped Velnepo off the ground and dove at the monster's back.
The iron mace struck the creature's side. Bones cracked and the beast folded around the impact like a rag doll struck with a cricket bat. The inhuman force from the blessed mace sent the monster's mangled body fifteen feet through the air before it hit the ground with a meaty thump.
Grabbing the edge of the truck, Peter swung inside, his machinegun ready. He stepped around the wall of boxes and aimed it down to where the shooter had fallen. "He's still alive."