Welteislehre

By johnnedwill

New York, April 1948

Only a few of the inhabitants of that great metropolis noticed the sudden darkening of a cloudless sky. Some looked up to see what had passed in front of the sun, only to see a slight distortion of the light; but the majority drew their coats closer or reached for their umbrellas, glad that they had anticipated the changeable spring weather.

Then the sky brightened again.

A shaft of light pierced the sky, burning the eyes of all who looked at it. Where it touched the ground, rock melted, buildings burned, flesh charred. For days afterwards a pall of thick, greasy smoke hung over the remains of the city.

First Lagrangian Equilibrium Point, February 1948

The streamlined form of the Silbervogel reentry body hung only a few hundred metres from the surface of an infinite wall of near-transparent ice. Only a thin cable between the two kept the Silvervogel from drifting away and following its own orbital trajectory. Anywhere else the cable would have been insufficient to hold the mass of the spaceplane and its cargo in place; but here, in the void between worlds, the steel strands had more than enough strength for this purpose.

Three figures in selective space armour pulled themselves over the great plain of ice, using handholds that had been carved into the polished surface. Without gravity to provide a sense of 'up' or 'down' it was impossible to tell whether they were above or below their mothership. Still, they clung to the ice as they made their way over the surface, pulling themselves across concentric waves of ancient, frozen water. Long, red sausages of plastic explosive were draped over their armoured suits. Despite the lack of gravity, the men moved slowly and awkwardly. Their armour had been designed for protection: to keep in heat and oxygen. Mobility and comfort had been secondary concerns - as Leutnant Friedrich Gustavus was finding out.

"My arm - it's stuck! Why do these joints always go the wrong way?" The flight officer's voice crackled over the common radio channel.

"Do you have a criticism of the design, Herr Leutnant?" Major Weber asked from the cocoon of the Silbervogel's cockpit. His tone was carefully neutral.

"Merely an observation, sir," Gustav replied.

"Here. Let me help." One of the armoured figures kicked towards Gustavus. From the insignia on the suit's helmet, Gustavus recognised the occupant as Leutnant Krüger. Gustavus pointed at his left arm. The elbow and shoulder joints were out of alignment, rendering it painfully impossible for him to straighten the limb. Krüger manoeuvred himself into a position where he could examine the arm. "I see the problem. We'll need to work this together - me on the outside, you on the inside. Just like in training?"

Gustavus nodded, then remembered that the gesture would not be visible to his colleague. "Ready." He braced himself against the pain. The two men wrestled for a minute, twisting Gustavus's arm and rotating the joints until they came free. Gustavus breathed out. "There. That is a relief. Thank you."

Major Weber's voice sounded in their earphones again. "When you have finished, gentlemen, we have a task to complete. Time is against us." The major glanced at the mission chronometer mounted on a panel above his head. The dial of the instrument showed both the time in the control bunker at Peenemünde and the time elapsed since they had been launched into space, carried aloft on an Aggregat-12 rocket. A smaller indicator within the dial was used to record other information. In this case, it showed the amount of oxygen available to the men on the ice. "There is only half an hour left before you must return."

Leutnant Hahn, the third of the group, spun on the long axis of his body so he faced the spaceplane. "Beg to report, Herr Major, eighty percent of the charges have been placed in accordance with plan." He gestured with a chainmail-gloved hand at an arc of red that ran across the ice. "We have a sufficient margin to ensure formation of the lens. All that remains is to arm the radio detonators and - boof!" He spread his arms in an expansive gesture.

Krüger laughed. "Like an Amsterdam Jew cutting a diamond, eh?"

"Thank you for that evocative description, Herr Krüger." This time, Weber found it hard to keep the amusement out of his voice. "I shall calculate the time for detonation so that the lens will be placed on the correct intercept. But - for now - concentrate on your assigned tasks."

The voices of the three Raumfahrer cut through each other on the radio channel. "Yes, Herr Major!"

Peenemünde, January 1948

The great finned cigar of the Aggregat-12 rocket towered above the trees and dwarfed the earthen dyke that surrounded the concrete launch pad. Only the crane-like structure of the launch tower equalled the height of the missile; but its ramshackle structure paled in comparison to the Aggregat-12's bulk. Camouflaged tankers had been parked at the foot of the launch tower, and frost-rimed metal hoses ran from these to ports in the side of the rocket. Thousands of litres of liquid oxygen, kerosene and other chemicals were being pumped into the spacecraft - fuel to lift it into the clear, blue Baltic sky on a pillar of white-hot flame and into orbit. Tiny figures clad in thick rubber suits scurried back and forth, ensuring that nothing went wrong.

The launch control blockhouse was five-hundred metres away - a distance that the engineers had calculated as being sufficiently safe to allow the structure to withstand the explosive potential of three thousand metric tonnes of volatile explosives wrapped in a thin skin of steel and aluminium. It had been made from steel-reinforced concrete that was supposedly thicker than that used on the Atlantic Wall fortifications that had thwarted the British and American assaults in 1944. The front of the structure - the part that directly faced the launch site - had been sculpted so as to divert and dissipate the force of any blast. Small ports in the concrete allowed the occupants of the bunker an unobstructed view of the missile.

A group of five men peered through one of these slits at the scene on the launch apron. All of them with one exception were dressed in the charcoal uniform of the Reichs Raumwaffe: a new branch of the military formed to show that the might of the German military extended even to the heavens. The odd-man-out wore a three-piece suit. He stared raptly at the rocket, transfixed by its terrible symmetry. "Is it not magnificent?" he whispered.

Major Weber - the senior officer of the four Raumfahrer - stood back from the vision slit. "Indeed, Doctor von Braun. You are to be congratulated on the completion of this Siegswaffen. It will bring ruin to the Americans for daring to continue to oppose us."

Doctor von Braun turned to stare at the soldier. For a moment there was a look of disgust on his face, which was quickly replaced with an expression of studied neutrality. "Yes. The Aggregat series," he emphasised the name, "has been a triumph of science and engineering. It will carry you and your men to the ice wall and bring you back."

"As you say, a triumph of German science." Major Weber put a hand on the doctor's shoulder. "Your Vergeltungswaffen brought the British to their knees and devastated the cities of Russia. Now we shall see the same science turned against those decadent dregs who still dare to oppose our victory. You should be proud of what you have done - very proud."

von Braun smiled, but he felt no joy. "I am happy to serve the Fuhrer. Now," he checked his watch, "I believe it is time for the briefing?"

"Of course."

The men made their way down a metal staircase that spiralled into the most protected parts of the bunker, then along a corridor and into a classroom. A large blackboard covered in chalked diagrams and equations occupied most of one wall. In front of the blackboard was a single, long table and a dozen smaller desks. Four of the desks had a manilla folder with the word 'Geheimkommandosachen' stamped on it in red. The military men took their places at the desks, while Doctor von Braun took his by the blackboard.

"Gentlemen." Doctor von Braun cleared his throat. "These are the details of Operation Gungnir. I trust you are aware of the work of Johannes Hörbiger and his Welteislehre ... ?"

First Lagrangian Equilibrium Point, February 1948

A series of bright flashes erupted from the ice, sending shockwaves to cleave the ancient crystals from each other. For a moment the crew of the Silbervogel wondered if their efforts had come to nothing. Had they placed the charges correctly? Had the calculations of the engineers been properly checked?

Then a great disc of ice, almost a thousand metres across, began to move away from the bulk of the ice, driven along its own path by the laws of orbital mechanics. The disc glittered in the light of the distant sun, the concentric rings carved into its surface concentrating the sunlight into a single beam that momentarily engulfed the Silbervogel before vanishing into the void. Major Weber and his men in the cockpit of the spaceplane turned away and shielded their eyes until the light faded.

"That is ... ." Leutnant Gustavus swallowed. "That is magnificent. You were right, Krüger. It is just like a diamond."

It took Krüger only a moment to recover his wits. "Just try and put it on your girlfriend's finger, eh?"

Major Weber retrieved a pair of binoculars from a clip on the bulkhead and focussed them on the spinning lens of ice. He surveyed it with a critical eye. "I can see some flaws in its structure, but I do not think they will affect the success of our operation. The lens should still function."