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With four Colt .45 pistols and Stan's SMG leveled, they caught the eight men in the room, four pilots and a technician for each to help him into his high altitude flight suit. Three of the pilots were just starting to get dressed. General Haifisch still wore his Killer Shark uniform, a tight fitting, green, one-piece suit and a matching cowl that covered all of his head except for his face. The cowl was topped with a shark fin crest and a black on white swastika badge decorated his chest.
Killer Shark did not make a move under the threat of the guns, but he did not seem cowed either. "I admit I am not surprised to see you here," he said to Blackhawk, "especially when I was told that your comrade, who I thought I had shot down yesterday, was only faking and had actually made a high speed run through my fjord. I assume he was equipped with cameras that photographed my beautiful rocket bomber. I am disappointed that you have penetrated this far into the facility without raising an alarm. My security officer will answer for that."
"One more dead Nazi -- sounds fine to me," Blackhawk said.
"And what do you think you will accomplish here?" Killer Shark said with a sneer. "You plan to destroy this installation, perhaps?"
"That's a good idea," Blackhawk said. "I also plan to take your place in the pilot's seat of the rocket plane."
"A bold plan, indeed, but one that requires that you remain undetected until you are aboard the ship and it has launched. It occurs to me that you cannot fire your weapons without calling a hundred guards running to the sound of gunfire. Take them!"
Killer Shark charged forward, followed instantly by his combat hardened pilots. The technicians moved more hesitantly. Odds of eight to five would normally be easy work for the Blackhawks, but Killer Shark was hardly normal. He was a big man, nearly as big as Olaf, and the artificial growth hormones with which he'd been treated had doubled his strength and speed. And he was an expert in hand-to-hand combat. He hurtled straight for Blackhawk.
Olaf stepped into his path and the two giants collided like a couple of freight trains. Olaf staggered the Nazi with a ham-sized fist thrown in a haymaker backed by 300 pounds of muscle. But Killer Shark came back with jackhammer blows that pummeled the big Norwegian to the floor.
Andre, Stanislaus and Hendrickson tackled the pilots and techs. A furious storm of fists tore through the Nazis like a tornado. The pilots fought back hard, the techs half-heartedly, but they were all outclassed. Natural tacticians as well as skilled and enthusiastic brawlers, the three Blackhawks took out the pilots first, then cleaned up the techs.
Blackhawk stepped inside Killer Shark's first swing and punched hard into the German's stomach. He felt like he'd hit a brick wall. Blackhawk's lightning quick speed, whipcord strength and finely honed fighting skills kept him out of Killer Shark's reach, most of the time. He landed blows but the Nazi shrugged them off.
Blackhawk still had the .45 auto in his right hand. He couldn't fire it, Killer Shark was right about that, and he'd hit him with it, but nowhere that mattered. Suddenly, Killer Shark got close enough to grab him in a bear hug, trapping his right arm against his side. Killer Shark tightened his grip and Blackhawk felt the breath squeezed out of his chest. He had only moments till he blacked out. He reached around his back with his free left arm, transferred the .45 to his left hand, and brought it down in a smashing blow on Killer Shark's temple.
Killer Shark's padded cowl absorbed some of the blow, but not enough to save him. He dropped to the floor, pulling Blackhawk with him. Blackhawk pushed free, gasped several deep breaths, then got to his feet to assess the situation.
A sprawl of unconscious or dazed Germans surrounded the still standing Andre, Stan and Hendy. Olaf lay on the floor but raised himself on one elbow and smiled at Blackhawk. "Yumpin' yiminy, that been one jolly good fight!"
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Blackhawk smiled back. "My ribs will be sore for a month." He turned to the three standing Blackhawks, "Okay, let's get to work."
They used the Germans' belts and strips of cloth cut from their clothing to bind and gag them, then lined them up against the rear wall, except for Killer Shark. Blackhawk checked his bindings carefully. Killer Shark looked like he would be out for a long while, but he didn't trust the nearly superhuman Nazi to react like a normal man.
Water from a cooler splashed in their faces brought the pilots and techs back to consciousness. Blackhawk stood over them. "Here's the situation. We are going to take that rocket ship out there. Since none of us has even seen the inside of the cockpit, two of you are going along as copilots to help us with the controls."
"Go to hell!" spat the senior pilot, a SS colonel. "You will get no help from us, American pig."
"Who said I was an American?" Blackhawk asked coldly.
Hendrickson stepped up beside Blackhawk, reached down and pulled a long combat knife from his boot. He held it up and the light glittered from its razor sharp edge.
"Let me persuade them, Blackhawk. They will beg to cooperate when I am finished."
A look of startled confusion flashed in the colonel's eyes. The Blackhawks were legendary, almost more myth than reality to the average German soldier. Tales of the Blackhawks' ruthlessness and invincibility circulated in the ranks like the ghost stories children tell each other.
The colonel was no ignorant foot soldier. He knew the Blackhawks were real. He had watched the battle in the sky above the base yesterday. But the destruction of two thirds of General Haifisch's crack squadron without the loss of a single Blackhawk had only added to the mystique surrounding them.
And the grandfatherly old man with white hair and a big mustache wore the mark of the "Juden." But his eyes were colder and sharper than the steel in his hand. The colonel's breath choked in his throat but the Luftwaffe captain sitting beside him had heard and seen the same things.
"No, don't let him, please," he said, looking at Hendrickson. "I will do as you wish."
The third pilot, a Luftwaffe major, only nodded.
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