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They didn't have to wait long for their ticket into the base. A column of slave laborers, escorted by Waffen SS guards, marched along a road cut through the forest, coming from nearby barracks. The Blackhawks let the column pass, then joined its tail.
The sergeant in charge of the guard detail noticed them approaching along the road from the direction of the barracks. "What's this, Corporal?" he said to Stanislaus in German. "I haven't seen you here before."
"Corporal Fritz Zimmer, Sergeant. I just arrived on the truck that brought these pigs," Stan replied, waiving at the other Blackhawks with his Schmeiser submachine gun. "The lieutenant ordered me to bring them to you so they could start work immediately. I didn't even get a chance to unpack my kit."
"That's the lieutenant, alright," the sergeant said. "Well, welcome to Norway. I'm Manfred Kurst. I'll introduce you to the rest of the squad when we've delivered these 'volunteers' to the factory."
The main tunnel ran into the mountain for a hundred yards and then expanded into a vast chamber filled with lights, equipment, people and noise. Another transporter platform occupied the center of the chamber. The fuselage of a second carrier rocket stood on the platform. Gangs of gray-garbed workers were guiding its wings, hung from powerful overhead cranes, into place.
The new shift of slave laborers split up and headed for their assigned work. Sergeant Kurst walked over to Stanislaus. "Corporal, you better take these new ones to in-processing so they can be assigned. They'll in-process you, too, and give you your security pass. You have your orders with you, don't you?"
"Of course, Sergeant," Stan said with a proper military snap.
"Good. Take Number 3 Corridor," he pointed to the side of the cavern where numbered corridors branched off the main chamber. "Go down to the second intersection and turn left. It's room A23. Report back to me when you're finished."
"Yes, Sergeant." Stan turned to his disguised team mates and said, loudly in German for the sergeant to hear, "move, you dogs, this way."
In Number 3 Corridor they turned the opposite direction from room A23 and located an unoccupied room.
"Okay," Blackhawk said, "we're in but we need information. Stan and I will go out and find someone who can answer questions. The rest of you stay here and stay alert."
Blackhawk and Stanislaus didn't have to go far to find a man in a white lab coat with a clipboard tucked under his arm. Stan held up his hand to stop him. "Sir, I'm afraid I'm lost. Can you tell me how to find room A23?"
The lab-coated German impatiently began to give Stan directions. Blackhawk stepped behind him and pressed the muzzle of his .45 automatic into the man's back. "Do not make a sound," he said in a quiet, cold voice. "If you make an alarm, I will kill you. If you do exactly as we say, you will live to see tomorrow."
They took him back to the room where the team waited. The threat of five armed and obviously deadly men quickly extracted the information they needed. The orbital rocket bomber would make its first flight at noon. It was fully fueled and ready to go. It was a two-stage vehicle. The carrier rocket would fire its engines first, lifting the bomber on its back to an altitude of fifteen miles. The bomber would then separate, fire its engines and go into an orbit that could reach any part of the Earth. The carrier ship would glide back to a landing.
Both rocket planes carried two man crews, but they were aboard only to land the planes and, in the bomber, to drop the bombs. The launch would be completely controlled by automatic mechanisms.
"Who is in charge here?" Blackhawk asked.
"General Haifisch," the technician stammered. "He will pilot the bomber himself."
Blackhawk got the location of the room where the pilots would prepare for the flight, then stashed the technician, bound and gagged, in a closet. The Blackhawks moved out. They found the crew room without interference. The paused outside the door, let the corridor empty, then drew their weapons and burst in.
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All characters, pictures, and related indicia on these pages are the property of DC Comics. All text is ©2001 Dan Thompson, except where otherwise noted. This homepage is not intended to infringe on the copyright of DC Comics to its characters, but was created out of gratitude to all the wonderful writers, artists, and editors who created the Blackhawks.