‘Why do I know this? I’ve seen this somewhere,’ she thought to herself, while repressing her rising discomfort for the sake of her companions. Like a bolt of psychic lightning the number flashed in her reminiscence, written in red upon a rock by a river. Nina staggered backward, her eyes fluttering. Gunnar caught her, but she recovered quickly and laughed affectedly, “I’m such a clutz! Fell over my own damn feet.”
They laughed with her, but Gunnar could feel her skin scorch his. He knew it was imperative that they get to a medical professional soon, even if just to determine what she was afflicted with. In her clouded mind, she tried her best to retrieve the memory of the rock and the writing, but it eluded her every time she attempted to peer further than the short replay of what she did remember.
In her current state, it would be exceedingly taxing to assemble any sense anyway, as her head grew heavy as granite under the force of the impending blackout. Nina collapsed suddenly, hitting the shiny floor with a thump at the feet of her companions. Her cheekbone cracked under the gravity of her fall and she submitted to the gathering darkness while her ears convinced her that, overhead, she could hear the whinny of horses and the restless clopping of hooves.
Chapter 33
Over the limp body of the once beautiful, and living, Hannah, the two leaders were locked in battle. After the first few blows, Erika quickly learned to keep her distance from the full contact devastation Lita delivered. The Nazis had after all engineered her to be a human Wunderwaffe, a superhuman reminiscent of the master race they believed had visited earth and spawned the Germanic peoples. The tall woman with the sore voice possessed the strength of ten men and almost precognitive reflexes, blocking Erika’s attempts at every turn.
With the raging storm overshadowing the battle, the two women engaged in a fight to the death.
Time was wasting, but Lita relished the heated rush of warfare above all. It had been a long time ago since she last had the pleasure of a worthy adversary, but she reserved the praise of Erika’s martial skills only for the boasting of her defeat. After all, it was more rewarding to kill a lion than it was to kill a hare, and Erika was a lion of note. Lita knew that she had to flee soon, lest she be discovered by the rest of the deadly clique Erika headed. There was no sense in sealing her own doom for the thrill of a good fight.
So far, she had managed to avoid the lethal blades brandished by the leader of The Brotherhood. Lita, having studied the basic rules of the magic practices of Odin and Freya, knew that Erika’s weapons could cause her some serious damage, even though she was virtually indestructible by normal standards. Erika was furious that one of her soldier was so callously dispatched of by the pet of the SS elite.
Sinking to her knees, she slid the left blade through the lower quadriceps of the redhead tyrant, the runes emitting a smoky punishment in her flesh. But right before Erika’s eyes, Lita’s flesh regenerated moments after the silver and magic wreaked havoc on the pink tissue of her thigh. What made this recovery different from those of regular bayonets and swords, was the scar tissue evident on Lita’s previously perfect skin. The red queen did not like this at all and lashed out at Erika.
Refusing to abandon hope or voice her dismay at failing to injure Lita, Erika made sure that she evaded every strike. Defense was now her best offence. In her good judgment, Erika made sure that she delivered seemingly meager cuts to important areas of Lita’s anatomy. If the pictures and sketches of the folder held any truth, she would be able to at least immobilize her foe long enough for the other women to assist in her apprehension.
“You little bitch!” Lita fumed as the scar smiled on her smooth skin. She marched towards the crouching blond, vigilantly minding the position of her silver banes. Erika waited for her near the wall where the precipitation was now pouring in like an ice cold shower. When Lita came into striking distance, Erika lunged, but the tall tyrant was faster. Like a mighty troll, she stepped forward hard, trampling the petite Erika’s right arm against the ground, snapping her radius and dislocating it at the elbow. With her other foot, she kicked Erika against the side of her head. Even over the clamor of the weather, Lita could hear the delightful sound of Erika’s teeth clapping together from the impact, silencing her instantly. Laughing hoarsely, Lita picked up her opponent’s limp little body and without another thought threw her from the window to the rocks below.
From somewhere in the distance of the second floor, Lita heard a group of soldiers from The Brotherhood coming, their feet too light too perceive, but she was no normal warrior. The SS made sure of that. Her senses were as strong as her muscle. The barefoot beauty gathered up the rucksack she had packed before her nemesis’ unscheduled visit and slipped in under the bed and, through the fake trunk, she made her way into the hidden stone staircase that led to the concealed walkway between walls. Within a few minutes she had progressed to the other side of the enclosure and emerged in the courtyard where her helicopter was waiting.
Inside the fortress, The Brotherhood had ransacked the place for documents on the Black Sun’s other endeavors and campaigns. They had recovered medical reports on experiments done at Deep Sea One and Ice Station Wolfenstein, an incomparable treasure trove of crippling information that they would pass on to several governments and covert agencies in order to initiate countermeasures.
Slokin sat next to the helicopter pilot and Lockhart waited in the back for the mistress to join them. Lita was dressed only in a long black dress, her lavish red tresses turning a rusty dark brown in the showers as she ran toward the Jet Ranger with large powerful strides.
“Let’s get out of here,” she ordered in her raspy voice.
As they took off towards the eastern skies where the weather was a bit tamer, they silently looked down upon the once glorious structure on Dùn Anlaimh being set alight. They darted over the calm waters, while behind them, the blazing ancient building became nothing but a bright flare of orange in the bosom of the ghostly grey fog that devoured the island of Coll as if it was never even there.
Lockhart cast his eyes to the endless expanse of Ægir’s mighty abode below them. The waves foamed in erratic line formations upon the great sea. It seemed to breathe as it heaved and fell like a sleeping giant moving under his bedclothes. The noise of the flying machine drowned out most sound and all four occupants elected to avoid unnecessary conversation. Lockhart had lied, of course, about his vision. It was all he could do now to stay alive. Deception would be his salvation if he could draw it out long enough. If Lita knew the truth, she would undoubtedly kill him right there and then, not just because he deceived her, but more so for the information he harbored. If she were ever to discover that he was a more precious commodity than any holy relic he would be dead within seconds, therefore it was important to maintain this ruse.
His eyes stared at nothing in particular as his mind wandered off to the day when his mother took him to what he thought was her book club get-together. Through the miserable streets traversing the inner city of pre-World War II Warsaw, she led the 10 year old Hermann by the hand. His mother, as he recalled, seemed a tad stressed, but otherwise in high spirits. Her ‘group of friends’ were waiting in a small basement living room. Young Hermann was quite cheered by the bunch of ladies sitting on the cozy couches, smiling and playing with his hair. They remarked on how adorable he was, what an important boy he was and how he was their champion. Not knowing quite why he was the receiver of such exaltation, the young Hermann enjoyed the company of all the surprisingly attractive ladies.