her audacious prophecy, though Himmler did not seem to doubt her. That day began the many plans for the National Socialist movement to continue even if the Allies defeated the military forces of the Reich. Krohn participated in many of the efforts, especially the Norwegian project. Krohn also redoubled his efforts to placate Odin with more brides. Even after sending eighty virgins to Odin in 1943, the military reverses continued. The skies brought death and ruin from British bombers at night and American bombers during the day.
Krohn asked himself, why had everything gone sour? Even as he continued to offer brides, he came to the conclusion that the leaders of the Reich must have lost faith. Hitler himself had always seemed lukewarm to many of the more interesting implications of occult knowledge. Perhaps it was the heart of Hitler that was to blame. Perhaps Hitler was not the great leader that the Aryan nation truly needed.
Krohn kept such ideas to himself.
CHAPTER SIX
The crackle of submachine-gun fire alerted Carter that the guards had returned. Four of his men came rushing through the open gate, heads down low, running as if they expected a bullet to find their backs at any moment.
Carter’s eyes swept the temple, counting his resources. One section, plus four men. Most of the men were crouching down, looking up at the walls, waiting for guidance.
“You three BAR men,” Carter roared. “Take cover behind some of those rocks and shoot anyone who comes through that gate—on second thought, hold your fire until you’re sure it isn’t one of us. We still have men out there.”
BAR men carried the Browning Automatic Rifle, a twenty-pound beast of a weapon that looked like an oversized rifle. The high rate of fire exhausted the twenty-round magazines in less than a second. Many of the Americans envied the Germans their MG-34 light machine gun, which accepted belt-fed ammunition and could lay a curtain of fire. The three BAR men, two from the section inside, and one a survivor from outside, ran over to hide behind rune-covered stones. Their helpers, carrying canvas packs full of extra magazines, scurried after them. Veterans knew that moving quickly kept them alive.
“Everyone else, rally to that big tree,” Carter called out as he ran back to the giant oak.
Even as the adrenalin pumping into his veins urged him to choose fight or flight, Carter’s intellect had retained control and he analyzed the situation. It was unique in his experience. The temple with its walls was like a fort defended by soldiers in a Western movie, with Indians on the outside. Of course, these Indians were much better armed. Carter didn’t read Westerns, but Napier liked to read all those pulp magazines: adventures, Westerns, mysteries, and science fiction. He suddenly remembered the sergeant and the girl, back up by the jeep and trucks. He hoped that they were safe.
The men clustered near Carter under the tree, keeping a wary eye back on the open gate. The temple was like a fort, but it didn’t have ramparts for defenders to look over. In many ways the fort was actually a trap. The real problem was that he had no idea what was happening outside the walls.
“Peterson, get up that tree and give me a report on what’s happening,” Carter said. Peterson was a small, wiry youth known for his wiggling ability. He handed his carbine to a friend, stepped into two pairs of waiting hands, and was hurled up into the branches. He grabbed hold of the lowest branch, some ten feet in the air, swung his legs up, and moved further up into the tree quick as a kid in a schoolyard.
“You,” Carter pointed to one of the men who had run in through the gate. “Report.”
“SS, Captain,” the man gasped, more from adrenaline than from the short run. “Came out of the trees. They have submachine guns.”
“Where’s the rest of your section?”
“We were scattered around. I assume that everyone else went to ground. I think that someone was hit, but I can’t be sure.” He looked down at his feet. “They caught us by surprise and we just ran.”
“How many of them?”
The soldier shrugged his shoulders. “A bunch?”
After the initial patter of fire, the air had become quiet. Carter was concerned that the Germans would come over one of the walls, using a ladder or felled tree trunks to gain access. They might even have some heavy weapons support. He regretted not sending some scouts up the other road. For all he knew, a Tiger tank could be lumbering down that road towards them. The coming end of the war had cut into his paranoia, which gave him his edge, making him slack off.
“Scatter around, men. I want eyes on every wall, keeping watch. You see a German pop up, you shoot him.”
As the Rangers moved, Carter looked for a radioman. No such luck. The radio was back in the jeep. They didn’t even have a corpsman with them. It was like going into battle without underwear.
“Captain—I mean, Major,” came a loud whisper from above him. Carter cupped his ear and looked up. “There’s another door, sir. It’s directly to the rear, behind a building. I can see Krauts gathering behind it.”
“All men, except the BAR men, with me,” Carter shouted, running towards the back of the temple. There were three buildings up against that wall, long and low like the other buildings in the compound. Carter searched the grass and saw the faint discoloration of a trail that led around the building to the left. The door wasn’t used enough to wear a path into the grass, but often enough to make that crucial track.
Raising his hand to hold everyone else back, Carter crept around the building with his carbine held ready at his shoulder. This building was not flush up against the wall, and the regular-sized door in the outer wall was blocked from view, though the building was low enough for Peterson to see the door from high in the tree. The door had a simple latch. It was an ideal entry point for the Germans to get inside the temple and surprise the Americans.
Not if I surprise you first, he thought grimly. There was not a second to lose.
Carter hurried back to his men and whispered urgently, “Everyone take out one grenade. Move silently. No noise at all. At my signal throw the grenades all at once over the wall. Then we attack.”
The Rangers crowded in the narrow space between the building and wall, each with a metal pineapple in his hand. Carter checked each of the men, looking in their eyes when he could catch their attention. Some were too fidgety to look at his face. Carter held up three fingers. The men pulled their grenade pins and arched back like amateur baseball pitchers getting ready to throw at a home plate in the sky. Carter brought down one finger, then another. The wall was only twelve feet tall, but the alarming image of one of his men not throwing hard enough and having the grenade bounce off and land back among his troops flashed onto the stage of his mind. No time for worries. He dropped the last finger.
Ten grenades flew over the wall as cheap improvised artillery. Another ten quickly followed. They heard alarmed shouts in German, then a rapid series of explosions that left the American ears ringing. The sturdy wall visibly shivered.
Carter pushed the door open and quickly stepped out, crouching with his carbine ready. His men hurried through the doorway after him, ready to shoot at anything that moved. Their haste was unnecessary. Man-sized clumps of hamburger lay crumpled on the blood-soaked ground. One of the clumps had the jagged edges of his ribs sticking out, like an anatomy lesson gone awry. The German troopers wore grey and green camouflage uniforms, with silver-on-black SS collar tabs that showed conclusively that they belonged to the elite private army of the Nazis. He had never made the connection before, but now Carter saw that the sharp-edged SS symbol was
