The mist was not as thick as it appeared, and as the rubber boat slipped across the calm surface, Erich could see farther into its depths than he’d anticipated. Two seamen from the gunnery crew, Decker and Stirtz, plied the water with caution coupled with a degree of clumsiness. Each man had a Schmeisser MP-40 slung over his shoulder, and had been picked for their ability to use the submachine gun with great facility, rather than their paddling skills.
“Ready to transmit, Captain,” said Bischoff.
“Proceed.”
“One Eleven, come in. One Eleven, come in. Over…”
Erich listened for a response through the static on the portable radio.
Nothing, which prompted Bischoff to continue: “One Eleven, come in. This is U-five-zero-zero-one on R&R to your position.”
After a short pause, a voice penetrated the static. It was weak, but clear. “This is Dr. Bernhard Jaeger. Station One Eleven. We read you, Five-zero-zero-one.”
“Contact,” said Bischoff, handing the headset to Erich.
“Get those paddles out of the water,” said Erich. “I need silence.”
He spoke as his men complied. “This is Captain Erich Bruckner of the U-5001. We have been sent here to assist. Can you state your location and situation?”
Everyone on the boat strained to hear the words of Dr. Jaeger, who gave precise coordinates and directions. He reported that there had been an “event,” which killed many of the Station personnel. Erich did not like the sound of the doctor’s words.
“Doctor, is my boat and crew in danger here?”
A pause, more static, then: “Presently, I think not. The danger is over, the worst has already happened.”
“How many survivors?” said Erich.
Weakly, Jaeger spoke: “Unknown. In my lab, there are five of us. That is all I know. Rubble from an explosion has blocked us in.”
“Very well, stand by…” Erich nodded, looked at Bischoff. “You have a fix on their transmission?”
“Yes, Captain.” He gave him a compass reading and Erich directed his men to follow it.
As they moved toward the shoreline, they could not ignore the illumination above them.
“What the hell is that light?” said Manny. “It is bizarre.”
He pointed upward at perhaps fifty degrees off the horizon to something that appeared to be a sun-like object trying to burn its way through the thick fog. But Erich knew it was impossible to be getting actual sunlight this far underground. “Probably something Dr. Jaeger and his friends have arranged,” said Erich. “Soon we know for certain.”
The paddles violated the water, slapping and gurgling loudly. The sound made Erich ever more aware of the silence of the place. As they distanced themselves from the U-5001, he felt like they were entering a vast cathedral in the middle of the night, feeling alone, and dwarfed into insignificance by the scale of things around them.
So large was the enclosure that he had no real sense of movement other than the gradual dissipation of the mist as they cleaved it. The “ceiling” above hung so distant, it could have been the sky itself. Manny raised his compact Leica to his eyes, snapped off what would be the first of many pictures. The slide-click! of the aperture also sounded loud, intrusive.
“Bischoff,” said Erich. “The field glasses.”
Instantly, the funkmaat operator handed his binoculars to his captain.
Raising them to his eyes, Erich focused on the light source which threatened to burn through the curtain of fog at any second. Without warning, a sudden brilliance filled the eyepieces and he yanked them away from his face.
“Sheisse!”
“Look at that!” said Manny, his words shaped by equal amounts of awe and fear. “What is it?”
Erich rubbed his eyes quickly, forcing them to adjust. He looked back at the bright orb beyond the mist, not sure what he was seeing. The object was a girdered tower, similar to the one in Paris, standing alone on a rocky island-base. It rose to a height of several hundred feet and its top held a sphere of glowing light. A thick shaft ran up its center from the earth to the sphere.
Decker and Stirtz had ceased their paddling, transfixed by the structure before them.
Forcing himself to remain calm, to appear in control, Erich raised the field glasses to study the surface of the tower. Magnified, it appeared hastily constructed with no thought to style or design.
“What is that thing?” whispered Manny, as he paused to photograph it. There was something in the timbre of his voice which negated the question. Fassbaden knew what it was — as did Erich.
“Excuse me, Captain,” said Seaman Stirtz. “Do we keep going?”
“I do not remember telling you to stop.” Erich nodded toward the towering object before him and tried to look as implacable as possible.
Instantly both crewmen began paddling with renewed energy, and the rubber craft surged forward. No one else dared speak as Erich continued to stare at the strange tower.
The mist which still roiled in the distance began to thin.
“Look, beyond the tower.” Erich pointed as he raised the field glasses to penetrate the fog-like barrier. Instantly, new details became clear. At the far end of the underground sea, where the curved arch of the enclosure finally curled down in a vertical wall of rock, there loomed unmistakable lines and shapes.
More towers, more structures. Held together by the curves and angles of an unknown geometry, the shapes reached upward to define the elemental, yet very alien, profile of a city.
The configurations were so unfamiliar, and also terrifying… because Erich knew they were not of this time, of this world. He felt it in the deepest folds of his brain, the part some scientist had called the reptilian core. It was the place where cold simple assessments were made, where atavistic reactions originated, and it was screaming a warning to be very careful.
“What is this place?” said Manny. “Where are we?”
“Decker, Stirtz. Ease off.” Erich continued to scan the escarpments of the architecture ahead, looking for any sign of movement, of hostility or danger. Although the men had ceased their paddling, the boat still glided forward with a deliberate tack. They were at least 500 meters from the shoreline, but caution must reign. “Bring your arms to bear, gentlemen. Be ready for anything.”
Manny reached down, pulled his own Walther from its holster. The others, except for Liebling, unarmed, readied their weapons.
“All right, steady as you go. Maintain heading.”
Manny looked straight up at the distant ceiling, then across to the tower and harbored city behind it. “This is so weird. I read a story when I was a teen. A translation of an American writer. He described a place like this — called Pellucidar.”
Erich nodded. “Burroughs. Yes. He wrote Tarzan. Popular, fanciful stuff.”
“But this is real. Could he have known?” Manny said. “The American?”
“Not a chance,” said Erich, who finished a sweeping, binocular study of the landscape ahead, then repeated his search in the opposite direction.
“Do you see anyone?”
“Not a soul. The base of the tower looks barren. No place for anyone to dig in. The buildings on shore, they also look empty. But we are still too far to be certain.”
“All right,” he said. “We will have a quick look around. Herr Bischoff, remain here and alert Massenburg that all is well — so far — and inform him of position and progress.”
Nodding, Bischoff directed his pack-animal, Liebling, to hold the radio steady while the funkmeister dialed up the frequency back to the boat. Liebling rubbed the flaming red wound across his jaw and complied without a word.