Max told Val to take point as he and Dean took some time to rig the tunnel’s sliding stone door shut. This gave them temporary relief from Wehr, who was sure to come after them one way or another. But it didn’t solve the problem of the mercenaries running wild within the complex. Eventually, they would run into them.
Both Max and Dean started down the spiral staircase lugging Hitler between them. They stepped carefully around the flattened, disfigured bodies of the men they had fought earlier. Max, who started to struggle with Hitler’s unconscious body, held back the urge to vomit as he passed the last member of the mercenary group, who was now stuck flat to the wall.
Max looked over the squashed body and noticed that his weapon was missing.
Dean saw that, as well. “Looks like they are all missing their weapons.”
“Yeah, Val probably picked them up on the way down.” Max stepped down a couple of more flights to find Ditter and Otto talking. “What’s the hold up?” He laid Hitler down on the stairs.
“It looks like Val found something,” Ditter said.
Max walked past Otto, who gave him a worried look.
“Ditter, tell your brother that I would be feeling the same way if I were in his shoes.”
Ditter translated and Otto responded, “He says that there is no way you could.”
“Right. And according to Max here I’m standing in the 21st century,” Dean said from behind. Max in turn laughed at the fact that his supposedly dead grandfather was next to him.
“Dean…” Max took a moment to see if it was the right time to tell him he was his grandson, thought better of it, and changed the subject. “Check the stats on you-know-who.”
Dean bent down on one knee and looked Hitler over.
“He’s out. Doped. Probably morphine.”
“Let’s keep him that way; we don’t want him to run off on us.” He looked at Ditter. “Ditter, keep an eye on him while we go down to see what’s up.”
Ditter nodded, looked down, and the realization of who he was looking at left him speechless as Max and Dean proceeded farther down the stairs.
A few steps down Max ran into Solange. “You’re doing better, I see,” Max said.
Solange smiled at him and gave him a kiss on the lips. “That’s for just in case.”
“Don’t ever think that way.” He gave her his crooked smirk and walked on down where he found Collins looking over one of the mercenary weapons, admiring their complexity.
“Don’t shoot yourself in the foot,” Dean said.
Collins held up his finger to his lips. “Looks like Val found a hole into the green warehouse. He’s checking it out,” he whispered.
“Really?” Max went down, making sure that his flashlight was off, and bumped into Val.
“Seems like our grenade loosened the stone, and the boulder did the rest,” Val whispered. “What do you think?”
Max looked past the two-foot-wide hole and into the green warehouse. “We got lucky…thank God…”
“Yeah, but with our luck...”
“Yeah, I don’t like it either, but we had to come through here anyway.”
“You know what they say…never look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Max looked at the sniper rifle strapped to Val’s back. “Yeah, yeah. What else did you scavenge back there?”
“Apart from this .50 cal, an HK416 that Collins has taken a liking to. Oh, yeah...and these little guys.”
Max looked at the little brown, baseball-sized grenades that had caused so much havoc earlier in the night.
“Good, those will come in handy.”
“Here, you take the sniper rifle; you were always a better shot. I’ll go first,” said Val.
“Have fun.”
Val began to climb down the hole in the side of the stairwell wall. The hole was a few yards above the ground from the warehouse floor, so a fall wouldn’t hurt. Once down, he hid behind some boxes, watching the warehouse as Max began his descent.
BUZZZZZZZ!
Max slipped when five out of about 30 bullets penetrated his vest and one his thigh. Unluckily for the shooters, Val had seen the barrel flash and launched two grenades at the spot. The grenades blew up consecutively.
“Max! Take them out!” Val turned when there was no return fire and saw his friend lying still on the floor. “Oh, no you don’t!” Val reached down, felt for a pulse, and found one. “Collins, get down here and bring the medic kit.”
Collins was immediately by Max’s side and motioned Val to cover. The buzzing sound of the mercenaries’ Gatling guns went off in the distance. “He’s just knocked out by the fall,” Collins said as he checked the thigh.
“Let’s go, soldiers. On me,” Val said as Dean came down the hole. He took the sniper rifle and headed toward the area where the grenades had detonated, and found two bodies. The suits had survived the explosion but the helmets were destroyed.
“I’m going up on those boxes. Collins, you and Dean try to bring them out into the open,” Val said as he climbed up. He lay down and took aim into the semi-lit warehouse.
Val watched through the 10-magnification scope as Dean and Collins snaked around the hundreds of crates. Another volley of bullets buzzed and Val took aim at the muzzle flash before squeezing the trigger.
The .50 caliber rifle kicked back hard into Val’s shoulder. The rifle spit out its projectile toward its intended target, another wooden crate. The bullet entered the crate, passed through an engine block within it, and exited the other side, severing the mercenary’s helmeted head and sending it up into the air.
The other two mercenaries stood in shock as they watched the body of their sergeant squirt a stream of blood out from the neck stump. A split second later one of the two remaining mercenaries went flying sideways. The new G-8 suit was no match for the force of a .50 caliber bullet.
The last man began to run, but was lifted off the ground as the bullets from Collins’s newly acquired HK416 assault rifle ripped through the glass of the helmet, killing him instantly.
Dean and Collins approached the bodies with caution. They bypassed the headless one and nudged the others, looking for any signs of life. There were none.
“Look at that machine gun…its like a Gatling gun,” said Collins as Dean looked over the three-barrel machine gun. It was belt fed and had a steel rail that connected it to a metal, rectangular backpack, which housed the ammunition.
“That could come in handy…” said Dean.
“Sure could. Want to take it?”
“Not now. Priority is to get back to the team.”
“Okay.” Collins looked around one more time. “Clear!” Collins yelled out to Val.
Val scanned the area. Satisfied they were now alone, he responded back. As a precaution, Val kept an eye on Dean and Collins while they made their way toward the elevator shaft.
-------
“You okay, buddy?” Val asked as he walked up to Max.
“Yeah, bullet went through my thigh. Ditter stopped the bleeding, glued me up, and gave me this nice adrenaline shot.”
An explosion occurred within the tunnel and Val looked up at the hole. Below it he noted the body wrapped in the gray blanket now nestled up against the warehouse wall. “Yeah, that adrenaline is a miracle-maker. Who’s that?”
“Insurance,” Max said.
“Well, we leave him.”
“No. He’s our wild card. As long as we have him, the Nazis won’t shoot at us.”
“You sure about that?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure.”
“All right. You take the body.” Val pointed at Otto.
Ditter translated and Otto picked Hitler up from the ground.
“We might have an issue,” Dean said as he ran over to them.
“What is it?” Max asked.
“It looks like some sort of a detonation device, but I’ve never seen one like it.”
“What’s it attached to?”
“Explosive plastic, but that’s not the problem.”
“Well, what is?”
“The canisters that the explosives are attached to. I don’t know what’s in them, but it can’t be good.”
“How long?”
“Seven minutes. But we found a truck. Collins is working on hot-wiring it.”
“Crap. Let’s go then.” Max fell in step, limping behind Dean. He looked back to make sure everybody was together.
“I need some help here! I have no clue what’s going on under this hood!” Collins yelled.
“Val, go help Collins before he does something stupid with the computer system in the truck. Ditter, take Otto and Solange with you. See if you can help out.”
Val dashed toward Collins, followed closely by Ditter, Solange, and Otto, who now carried Hitler over his shoulder.
Max and Dean stopped a distance from the elevator shaft, where they studied the timer from afar. Max walked over to a few jumbled crates to the left of the elevator, removed his trench coat, and placed it, along with his triple rifle and the .22, on top of one of the crates. He looked back at Dean. “Give me your Schofield.”
“Why?”
“These things can be sensitive to magnetic disturbances.” Max took the Schofield and put it on top of his coat.
They both walked up to the shaft and lay down on the floor to look under the elevator, since its floor was raised slightly above the warehouse level. “Emergency brakes have been tampered with, but there’s no explosives from what I can see,” Dean said.
Max stood and aimed his flashlight up at the hoisting cables. “Looks like the cables have been rigged. Here, help me push this crate.”
They pushed one of the taller wooden crates next to the elevator and Max climbed up. He pointed his flashlight at the inch-thick cables and ran the light down until he came across the explosives charge.
Crap, accelerometer switch. “Looks like a motion sensor attached to a timer. It’s active, so the question is: How long do we have if we step in to disarm it?” Max pressed the talk button on the Motorola two-way radio. “How we doing on the truck, Val? We need to get out of here ASAP.”
“It’s a fucking hybrid. I sent Ditter and Solange to see if they can find the keys on one of the bodies. What’s our time frame?”
“Five minutes.”
“If I can’t get this thing to run in the next minute we are going to have a problem.”
-------
“What do you want to do?” Max’s voice crackled through the two-way radio speaker.
“First, stop talking to me so I can concentrate.” Val paused as he removed the plastic engine cover. “Hold on, looks promising. Give me another 30 seconds.” Val looked at the countless wires and found what he was looking for. “One more sec. Okay, I think I…I got it!” The truck’s diesel engine started to hum as Val slammed the hood down. “Let’s g—”
“Don’t move, Val,” Collins said from behind the driver’s seat.
Val saw that Collins was staring somewhere behind him. He turned around and slipped his sniper rifle off his shoulder, dropping it to the floor.
“Nobody move and stay quiet,” Wehr said. He held a .32 caliber gun against Solange’s temple. Behind him, four SS soldiers aimed their weapons—two at Ditter and Otto, the other two at Val and Collins. The remaining men in the group carefully put Hitler down on the ground. “Out of the truck now!” spat Wehr to Collins.
“You just said nobody move,” Val said with a smirk.
Wehr aimed his gun at Val, then fired.
Val’s body spun as the bullet penetrated his left shoulder. Solange let out a scream that was stopped by the hot barrel of Wehr’s gun pushing up against her jaw.
Val got up, pressing his right hand onto his bleeding left shoulder.
Wehr aimed his gun at Val once more. “I said, quiet.”
-------
The SS soldiers that managed to get the jump on Max and Dean kept their distance as they escorted them to the side of the truck.
“General, they have wired the canisters with some sort of explosive device set to go off in three minutes.”
Wehr thought it out, then looked at Max. “I was going to kill you, but I think I’ll let you live an extra few minutes and let the Sarin gas do its thing.”
Max looked back at the canisters, then at Solange.
“Don’t worry, Commander, she’ll live, as will Ditter. Trust me, the last thing I need is my wife mad at me.” Wehr laughed at his own sick joke, and waved his small army into the truck. He pointed his gun at Otto. “You’re flying us out, so get in. Corporal, how is the Fuhrer doing?”
“Sir, he is still unconscious, but vitals are stable.”
“Good. Gentleman, step back, if you will.” Wehr climbed into the truck, paused, then turned back to face Max. “You know what? I have changed my mind. You are too much trouble. I think I’ll kill you now.” Wehr took aim, squeezed the trigger and shot Max in the head.
Solange screamed in horror. Max’s head snapped back as the bullet hit his forehead slightly above his left eyebrow. His body went limp and collapsed to the floor.
The truck accelerated away and Val rushed to the side of his best friend’s body. “No! No! No!” Val grunted through his teeth as he held up Max’s limp head. Collins and Dean stood in shock, then moved back a few paces.
“Val. We have to go.”
Val was quiet as he looked down at his friend’s face.
“Val...” Dean urged him sympathetically.
“I know...I know.” Val closed his eyes to the pain that began to swell up within him. He squeezed his friend’s hand one last time.
And it squeezed back.
Max’s body convulsed. He gasped for air as his arms reached out. A primal scream echoed through the warehouse as he reached up to his friend. Max’s arms flailed, looking for a hold. Val reached out and grabbed his friend, who was growling in anger, trying to get up.
“Relax! Relax! You have been shot. Relax, Max...” Val lowered his voice.
Both Dean and Collins looked at each other in disbelief. Val stared in shock, too.
“Buddy, can you hear me? Say something,” Val pleaded with him.
“Ahhh, my…my head!” His left hand went up to the gash on his forehead. “Shit. Pain killers. Get me more pain killers...now!” Max staggered up with Val’s help, only to fall back down.
“What the fuck, Max! You’re alive! How the fuck?” Collins asked, almost aghast at seeing a dead man living.
Max looked up. His eyes rolled as the world spun uncontrollably, and he threw up all over himself and Val. During Max’s convulsions Dean caught a glimpse of metal inside the bleeding scar, which ran across the left side of Max’s forehead.
Val could not believe it and held Max’s head upright, popping more painkillers into his friend’s mouth. “Here, take a sip. Dean, help me out.”
Dean rushed to Max’s side.
Max tried to focus but everything was blurry. “How long was I out?”
“Only a few seconds, buddy,” said Val.
Dean watched as blood trickled between Max’s fingers.
Max let out a painful laugh. “Thank God I asked the doctors to make the titanium plate thicker than normal.” He smirked at his forward thinking. The small caliber bullet was no match for the thick titanium plate that covered most of the left side of his head. “Ah, man, it hurts....” He grabbed his throbbing head once more.
“Fuck! All this is just fucking insane! First he takes a .45 in the chest, then one in the arm and leg and now in the fucking head, and he’s still ticking? Jesus Christ! What’s next, Superman?” Collins shouted as he stepped by them and watched the truck reach the far ramp. It turned and headed up into the hangar. “And now that I think about it, what the fuck did he mean by ‘the Fuhrer’?”
Collins turned around to see Dean and Val help Max up. They turned and walked back to the boxes next to the elevator shaft.
Collins ran toward Dean, who holstered his Schofield and grabbed Max’s .22 and rifle from under the trench coat. Dean looked over the triple barrel rifle, then at Max, and it suddenly hit him. He gasped for a brief moment, placed the revelation aside in his mind, and threw the rifle at Collins, who caught it in midair.
“Glad they didn’t see these!” said Collins as he held up the rifle, “So, what now?” asked Collins.
“Val has an idea. Go with Max; he will explain. We don’t have much time.” Dean handed over Max and the .22 to Collins, turned, and disappeared into the maze of boxes.
Collins slipped the .22 in Max’s belt and draped Max’s coat over him. Val in turn ran past them toward the elevator shaft.
“Where is he going?” Collins asked Max.
Max clumsily put on his coat and looked back at Val. “Don’t worry, he’ll be right behind us. Now, let’s get back to the stairs.” He pointed in the general direction of where they had entered the warehouse. “We need to move fast.”
Collins put Max’s arm around his shoulder for support. “What is Val going to do?”
Max smiled and pressed the makeshift bandage on his bleeding forehead. “Hopefully, buy us a couple of seconds.”
Val heard the sound of boots running across the cold concrete floor and turned, catching a glimpse of Dean lumbering back toward the hole in the wall, hauling two helmets, two Gatling guns, and an HK416. He waited until Dean had climbed up through the hole. The timer on the canisters read 58 seconds and counting. He then took a deep breath and stepped onto the elevator floor—all the while looking up at the hoisting cable.
Beep.
He stepped out of the elevator and climbed up the wooden crate to get a better look at the explosives detonator.
Let’s see how much time we have....
The detonator counted down.
Eight.
Seven.
Oh shit! Change of plans!
Val jumped down off the wooden crate and fell flat on the floor. He scrambled up and staggered sideways, trying hard to keep his balance.
“Four!” Val yelled out loud as he turned the corner away from the elevator.
“Three!”
The pain in Val’s shoulder intensified with every stride.
“Two!” He could now see the hole in the wall.
“One!” Val reached the entrance and began to climb into it just as two gloved hands grabbed him, pulling him up as the explosives went off.
The explosion ripped through two of the four hoisting cables. The blast reverberated down and into the canisters, loosening one that tipped over onto its side and rolled toward the elevator’s opening. The elevator shifted and bounced as one of the two remaining cables snapped. The last cable stretched, and one by one each individual steel band began to snap. In one tense moment, the remaining strands ruptured in unison, sending the elevator plummeting down and into the 30 feet of water at the bottom of the shaft. On its way down, the roof edge of the elevator sliced down onto the loose canister’s valve, ripping it off and releasing the Sarin gas into the atmosphere. The canister flew into the warehouse and rolled uncontrollably until it embedded itself into one of the countless wooden crates, which stopped its trajectory.
At the same time, but below water, the elevator came to rest on top of the Tiger tank. The secondary timer counted down to zero, and the plastic explosives ignited, sending a huge fireball of debris and Sarin gas into the surrounding water and up the elevator shaft.
Time was of the essence as Val put on the G-8 suit that Max had brought down to him. He had heard the elevator screech and fall, splashing down into the water below, but he also heard the distinctive hissing sound of a high-pressure canister releasing its contents as it bounced off the boxes in the warehouse.
“I figured you wouldn’t make it up the stairs quick enough, so I brought down one of the suits for you,” Max said through his helmet as he helped Val suit up. “We’re lucky these suits are multi-layered; the interior cooling suit held most of the bodies together.” Max held up Val’s helmet. Inside were the remains of blood and bile that the previous owner had spat out when the boulder crushed him.
“I managed to clean it up a bit, but I’m afraid it’s not going to smell too good—shit!” Max said as rats started to run up the stairwell.
“Shut up and zip me up!” Val said as he put on his helmet.
Max carefully sealed Val’s suit and helped him secure the helmet as they clumsily stepped up the stairs. One of the rats by Val’s feet began to convulse, urinating and defecating all over itself and Val’s sealed boots. The rat then vomited blood and stopped moving.
“That was disgusting. Here, let me check your re-breather...good, you’re green. We keep going up. I don’t want to expose these suits in case one of us has a leak. Once at the top we head to the hangar through the kitchen’s trap door.”
“Ship Five, do you read? Over.”
“Loud and clear. We have been trying to communicate with base for the past half hour, over.”
“This is General Wehr. We have been compromised. We need immediate evacuation now.”
“Roger that. Where is the extraction point?”
“Hangar door. If the landing zone is hot, head to officers’ landing pad.”
“Extraction at hangar entrance. Secondary extraction point at officers’ landing pad. Engine running, will be there in five.”
“Copy, five minutes ETA. Out.”
Wehr dropped the headset on the helicopter’s seat, glad that the radio inside the helicopter still functioned. He turned around and looked at his small army of dedicated men. He was proud of them, but he knew their ordeal was far from over.
“Sir, the Storch is ready.”
“No need; we have a helicopter on the way. Men, I can only take four of you, the rest will be suppressing any incoming fire upon pick-up. If the landing zone gets too hot, you are to clear a path for us to the officers’ landing pad. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!” they responded.
“Lieutenant!”
“Kaufmann. Sir!”
“Kaufmann, you are squad leader. It is your duty to make sure the Fuhrer gets to the helicopter. I will need the two medics and the best shot of the group.”
“That would be Sergeant Nidder, sir.”
A tall blond man stepped forward, carrying the .50 caliber rifle he had liberated from Val. “Sir, I am honored and will protect our Fuhrer to the death.”
“Is the runway clear?” Wehr asked one of the soldiers as they stepped back into the hangar through a small side door.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Kaufmann, open the hangar doors and form a perimeter.” He spoke to the medics. “Get the Fuhrer onto the stretcher.”
Wehr then turned his attention to the three people kneeling down next to the Storch. He took his time walking over as the sounds of rotating gears echoed off the walls as they began to pull open the hangar door.
“Well, it seems that you have all reached the end of this interesting journey and I am happy to say that you have a choice.”
“Du Hurensohn. You are a disgrace to the German people and you will be held accountable for your actions,” Ditter spat at Wehr.
“Accountable? Yes, I will be viewed as the savior of our people. Because of me, the New World Order will live on for 1,000 years. Right now, as we speak, thousands upon thousands of true followers are gathering at points around the globe, all with one goal in mind: to reach the New Germany. From here, we will launch a new front. We now have all the pieces and can execute our plan—the plan that will put Germany back as a true world power.” He took a deep breath as the cold mountain air entered the hangar. “Now, for your choices. You can die right here, right now, or you can join us.”
“Go to hell,” Ditter spat.
“Fine. Private, shoot them all.”
Wehr looked on as Solange began to cry.
Ditter turned to his granddaughter. “Don’t worry, Meine liebe. We will be together again, soon.”
The sergeant behind him cocked his gun. Ditter managed a small smile. The sergeant aimed the gun at the back of Ditter’s head and pulled the trigger.
Blood squirted over Solange’s face and hair as she watched her grandfather stare blankly at her as his body collapsed to the floor. She closed her eyes at the sight.
The sergeant sidestepped behind Solange, aimed once again, and squeezed the trigger. This time it was Otto who was sprayed with blood and brain matter. More gunfire broke out around him. Everyone fanned out, leaving him alone with the bodies of Solange and Ditter. But something was not right. He looked back to see that the executioner was lying flat on the concrete floor. He tried to comprehend what was happening, and it hit him. He crawled over to Solange and picked her up, leaving Ditter’s body behind as he ran toward the Storch.
Solange opened her eyes to see that she was being carried. She fought herself loose and tried to run away, but was caught again.
“Solange! Stay down!” Otto screamed.
“Grandpere!” she screamed as Otto dragged her away.
“We have to get to the plane! I promised Ditter I would get you out of here if he couldn’t!”
Solange turned and looked at Otto, seeing that he, too, was crying.
“But why? Why him?”
All around them bullets bounced off the rough granite walls of the hangar. The two medics carrying Hitler took cover behind one of the destroyed helicopters outside.
“Solange, we have to go. It is what he would have wanted.”
More gunfire went off around them as Otto opened the hatch and helped Solange in, then jumped into the pilot’s seat.
Solange looked at her grandfather’s body one last time as the engine started. Otto did not wait for the engine to warm up and pushed the throttle full forward.
“They are taking the plane!” Wehr screamed as he tried to shoot at the Storch, but was held down by the incoming fire.
-------
Monk spoke quickly into his mike as he took aim from the side of the mountain slope. “Keep them pinned down until the plane is out off danger. Crap! He is going the wrong way! Smitty, Philips, see who is flying that plane!”
-------
Otto maneuvered the plane to the left and accelerated. Moments later he cut the power when a mountain of snow filled his windshield. He applied the brakes and full right rudder. The Storch skidded sideways as the wings swung around. The left wingtip scratched the frozen mountain face, but he managed a full turn.
Otto took a deep breath, readying himself, and froze when he saw two men clad in white camouflaged outfits pointing their equally white rifles at him.
-------
“Take cover! Here comes the helicopter!” Sergeant Nidder yelled when he saw the helicopter do a sharp bank toward the castle.
Wehr reached up into the now bullet-ridden helicopter in the hangar, and grabbed the headset. He squeezed the trigger that controlled the radio transmission and screamed into the small microphone. “Abort! Abort! Taking heavy fire! Head to the secondary landing zone!”
Wehr’s rescue helicopter reacted to the call and pulled up and away from the hangar’s entrance.
“Kaufmann! Clear a path! We must get to the second landing zone.”
“Jawohl!”
The rate of fire coming from the mountainside across from the hangar was intense. Kaufmann expertly ordered half his men to suppress the fire, and the other half of his team to start to clear a path toward the secondary inner courtyard landing zone.
As the point team and Wehr’s small group cleared around the bend, the fire suppression team began to regroup, losing three of the five-man team as they turned the corner away from the line of fire.
Kaufmann’s group, now reduced to seven men, maneuvered themselves into the castle’s dining room, all the while surrounding Wehr and the Fuhrer as they cleared the room.
BUZZZZZZZ!
A sudden hail of bullets took out two of the point men as they reach the stone archway leading to the common room. Kaufmann lobbed two grenades toward the suit-clad intruders, and was cut in half as he tried to head back for cover.
Outside, the helicopter was beginning its descent. The remaining suppression team split in half. Two desperately covered the rear as the suited men advanced from the common room. The other three formed a perimeter around the landing helicopter.
The helicopter hovered a foot off the ground, blowing the accumulated snow up and around. The intense pressure created by the rotor blades formed a blizzard-like atmosphere in the courtyard, which hid the helicopter from sight. Wehr took the opportunity and blindly headed in the general direction of the helicopter, followed closely by Nidder.
The two medics carrying the stretcher followed Nidder through the man-made blizzard, when another volley, this time from the opposite direction, cut down the three perimeter soldiers, along with one of the medics. Wehr and Nidder both dove into the cabin of the helicopter.
The remaining medic struggled with his burden until another burst of fire killed him and the helicopter’s pilot. The copilot pulled up on the collective, lifting the helicopter from the inner courtyard.
Wehr clutched the Fuhrer’s hand as Nidder, from inside the passenger’s compartment, tried to hold off the assault on the helicopter. Another volley of bullets shattered the Plexiglas dome around the copilot. Wehr tightened his grip as the helicopter rose, but the dead weight of the body was too much of a burden as it lifted off the stretcher. Hitler slipped from his grasp and fell on top of the bodies below as the helicopter climbed up and out of the courtyard.
Wehr desperately looked down from the helicopter’s cabin and saw a group of four suit-clad men fanning out into the courtyard from under the courtyard balcony, surrounding the Fuhrer. They picked him up and fought their way out of the courtyard in the direction of the hangar through the dining hall. He then saw more suit-clad men exiting through the common room courtyard door, giving chase, and firing their weapons at the smaller group before he lost sight. He stared in disbelief as the thought ran through his head...DuMonde?