Angel of Death

A macabre and sexy tale with an unexpected twist transcending 80 years.

Chapter One: Space Junk?

The object hurtling towards the Earth was roughly 25 feet long and was approximately five feet in diameter. Its free-fall was picked up by several military as well as civilian observation stations on and around the Pacific Ocean.

Was it a rogue missile, which wandered away from its course? The radar signature was nothing like what was known about the products of rival nations. "It's probably what's left of some soviet space station or rocket. Maybe it's one of our own," said Lt.Colonel Jim Hartman, looking at the screen with disinterest.

"All the same, we better have a look," Dr.Francis Speer was a civilian. He had spent 25 years at NASA's SETI project before joining the Navy as a consultant. He often pondered his life in search of extra-terrestrials. He had travelled the world, found several planets, and comets and published in every major scientific journal. Yet he felt his life was wasted.

"We know more about outer space than we know about the sea", he couldn't remember who said this, but it was true. So he switched to ocean research.

There wasn't much to do these days. Advances in early warning technology had made the threat of a missile attack virtually redundant. He knew his presence was mostly thanks to the influence of a few high-ranking friends who thought the middle-aged scientist pauper deserved a comfortable retirement.

"Its not emitting any radio signals. And it doesn't seem to be under its own power," said another officer studying the progress.

The team watched as the object hurtled towards impact.

"There should be a visual", said the Colonel. Rushing out of the bridge. The whole team followed. The rest of the crew were already on deck pointing at the sky.

"There!" pointed Frank. There was an endless white streak across the brilliant blue sky. At the tip was a ball of fire, like a comet. Its progress appeared slow, but he knew if was moving at several hundred feet per second. It disappeared at the horizon. No explosion. No plume of gas. It was too far to see the splash.

They were aboard the Odyssey. A large and well-equipped, yet aging research vessel. It was pure coincidence that they were in the area. Several naval vessels were on the way to the site. So were a few aircraft. But they were the closest.

Frank was now running behind Lt.Col Hartman towards the onboard helicopter. At last! some excitement for the day.

Ten minutes in the air and they were directly above the point of impact. Frank and Hartman didn't expect to see anything, but their hearts leaped as the helicopter dropped down, circling the site. Floating on the water was what appeared to be a massive missile. Long, slender, and red. Its surface was burnt and discolored; a result of re-entry. Still, the red was bright Crimson in some areas.

The body appeared to be covered in thousands of small square tiles. Probably ceramic and heat resistant. It had one large white tailfin protruding up in the air.

These two were burnt to a crisp and white paint appeared only in certain places. Another fin was broken off and floating nearby.

The area was covered in floating debris. Two more smaller rocket-like pods bobbed up and down for a few minutes and began their descent into the murky depths.

"What the fuck is that thing? It can't be military, who would paint a missile bright red? Besides, HOLY SHIT!"

"What in the name of..." exclaimed the pilot. They all leaned out transfixed at the broken tailfin floating on the water. There, visible in the charred paint was a Swastika!

. . . . .

Chapter two : Helga

Dreams of the utopia were in shatters. The beloved Fuhrer's life itself was in danger. Surrender was around the corner. Helga sat alone in the dimly lit room. She knew her mission was a terrible one. She had no love for the man who had brought her nation to such great heights and saw to its ruin within the span of a few years. She was a woman, a strong Arian woman. Tall, fit, blond, virile and most of all, intelligent and brave. An ideal specimen of her people, if there was ever one.

She learned to keep her mouth shut and do her duty to the Faterland. Her beloved father, an admiral of the most technically advanced navy in the world, and scion of one of the great houses in the land had taught her well.

Helga's passion for flying led her on a path not common for women in her day. Her athletic prowess and intellect made any arguments against her wishes futile. Her superiors saw that while she was an ideal breeding specimen, she was capable of serving the Reich in other ways.

Female pilots weren't sent out to battle, and Helga and her peers were relegated to either reconnaissance, transport, or testing new aircraft. Naturally, the latter was the most dangerous. Especially now when engineers and scientists were working at breakneck speed to develop some sort of super weapon to defeat the juggernaut of the allied forces closing in from all angles.

Resources were low. Factories producing critical machinery and components were in ruins. It was a matter of time till the vast underground metropolis they were currently in was discovered or bombed.

Helga was nervous. She knew about the Japanese Kamikaze pilots. What she was about to embark on was far more elaborate. She was the last chance of her nation. She alone held the key to turning the tables against the Allies. Yet she knew that there was no guarantee that any of the technology she was about to try would work.

"Frauline, von Heildberg," we are ready for you.

The chief of the biological division Dr.Einhaussen looked paler than usual in the dim light. He was in charge of modifying Helga's body to withstand her assignment.

Helga stood up and straightened her skirt.

"Before we proceed, a gift from the Fuhrer," he said handing over an envelope. It was heavy.

Helga opend it and pulled out the letter. As she opened it, her eyes widened with amazement.

"An Iron Cross!" she gasped.

"The nation's top honor. Your father is very proud. He's trying his best to be here. But I'm afraid we shall have to proceed."

Helga skimmed through the printed letter as they walked along the dark and damp corridors. The Fuhrer spoke highly of her and the sacrifice she was about to make.

It was very touching. She should have felt honored beyond words to receive such a personal thank you, but she could only think of her father. Her fellow pilots who had almost all been killed or captured and the destruction that lay bare on the surface. Great cities are laid to waste. Hundreds of thousands were killed. And she was now expected to lay waste to the enemy.

Unlike the Kamikaze, she was not to die in action. Oh, what a luxury that would have been! What was planned required her to endure a fate worse than death.

They approached two large metal doors. A silver skull and crossbones stood over the doorway. It was the gateway to hell. And she was to enter never to return!

To be Continued...