Legacy

Legacy

by

LC Cooper

Copyright LC Cooper 2004-2012

Published by LC Cooper at Smashwords

Cover design by Joleene Naylor

LC Cooper's Publicist is CJD.signs@yahoo.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

* * * * *

Here is the list of my titles, published at many fine retailers:

Novels:

Christmess

Diary of a Reluctant Vampire

Legacy

Man Cave

My Slice of Heaven

Simmering Consequences

The Voices of Cellar's Bridge

Short Stories:

Barefoot Homecoming

Dan's Accidental Convertible

Halloween's Perfect Storm

Heart's Lust

Of Yellow Snow and Christmas Balls

One Lousy Wish

There Was a Knock at the Door

Table of Contents

Legacy

Author's Note

Introducing Man Cave

About the Author, LC Cooper

* * * * *

Chapter 1 – A Brush with Destiny

The thick, early morning haze and chill blanketed the countryside. Tops of buildings sleepily emerged through the low fog; appearing as if ghostly villages had been built within the clouds. The fog was quickly burning off from the morning sun, but the chill lingered. The trees, their color temporarily muted by the fog, were still a vibrant green – not yet having turned from the Fall weather nor suffered from the effects of the war.

Captain Abrahams and his wingman slowly banked their P-47 Thunderbolts down out of the cloud cover and in a slow circle, ignoring the beauty before them, began searching for military targets. In particular, their mission was to attack trains and trucks, which were likely carrying supplies to support German troops in France. An unusual stream of thin clouds rose from the fog bank over their right shoulders. Maintaining radio silence, Captain Abrahams waved to his wingman and gave him a thumbs up, then pointed to the odd cloud-like strand. Luck was theirs today: If they had been further west when descending from the clouds, the sun would have blocked their view and the military train would have slipped into the protective cover of the nearby mountains.

Abrahams' face broke into a broad grin as he shoved the yoke hard right. His wingman fell in behind and slightly below him as both P-47s accelerated and dove to tree-top level, pushing to meet the train head on. Although they would only get one pass at these speeds before the train reached the mountainside, Abrahams was confident that this approach would give them both the element of surprise and maximum concentration of firepower. If they hit and disable the engine right away, they could circle back and empty their 50-calibre machine guns into the stalled freight cars.

The train's engine puffed and groaned, pulling for all she was worth. It was a nervous scramble as the train's crew, oblivious to the fate awaiting them, was frantically shoveling coal into the engine's stove box in an effort to get back into the safety of thicker fog and then the temporary solace of the distant mountains. The German soldiers aboard anxiously scanned the sky through binoculars for the tell-tale vapor trails that would signal the approach of enemy fighters.

These were uneasy times for the German military behind the front lines. With rogue bands of American and British aircraft darting about overhead, no vehicle was safe from the Allied marauders.

The Germans manning the train's anti-aircraft guns saw the approaching mountains, so they relaxed somewhat and focused their effort on scanning the sky above and behind them The train suddenly shuddered. Most of the soldiers were thrown from their positions as the train rapidly decelerated. A tremendous explosion of steam and metal then thundered across the quiet hillside. The train's engine evaporated within a scorching cloud of high-pressure vapor and steel that blasted down the line of freight cars, scouring them clean of all men standing on their roofs. What exposed soldiers weren't killed when thrown from the train or cut into pieces from shards of exploded steel, were ripped apart from the P-47s' flurry of 50-caliber bullets.

The frontal attack was a brutal success. The planes roared quickly down the full length of the train unscathed and began their turn to make another pass. Some of the freight cars were already on fire; their contents added to the chaos and effectiveness of the attack. More soldiers were dying from the shrapnel created by the detonating crated munitions and shredded freight cars. Scurrying, the survivors abandoned their positions and fled into the forest on either side of the train. The zealots who stoically tried to save the train were vaporized in the growing firestorm.

Abrahams whistled a long, slow whistle, very much in awe of the devastation before him. As he and his wingman completed their turn to make their pass from the rear of the train, most of the freight cars erupted into fireballs. Abrahams broke radio silence: Dave, let's get out of here. The shrapnel's too thick; it's not worth another pass. Besides, with this calling card, we need to put some distance between us and the Messerschmitts that are likely on their way, Abrahams said, barely masking his disappointment. He had hoped they could get a few more passes at the train and then shoot up some troop-transport trucks before hightailing it back to the safety of the English Isles.

Even though they couldn't stick around, their attack was a magnificent win for the Allies. The P-47 pilots no doubt saved many G.I.s' lives by denying the Germans all that ammunition while temporarily derailing a major supply route. The devastation, though, was much greater than the pilots had seen during previous missions. This train must have been loaded down with something pretty special, thought Abrahams. The Nazis will be pissed off about losing this one, he concluded as he nudged the fighter toward a large cloud.

He was right. The Luftwaffe sent everything into the sky they could muster. The P-47s punched their way through a couple of firefights; taking advantage of the cloud cover as every German on the pathway home was alerted and gunning for them.

That is, except for three U-boat officers and their drivers, who, during the melee, were converging on a bistro in downtown Rastenberg, Germany.

In the last car to reach the town, Klt. Johann Heinrich Fehler, the commanding officer of U-234, from under the cover of a row of trees, watched the P-47s roar barely 50 feet over his car and then disappear above the tree line. If it weren't for the distraction of the train's demise, the P-47 pilots would have been watching the ground for targets instead of watching the skies for German fighters. No doubt they would have been looking for military vehicles sporting the Nazi swastika…like his.

Hearing the not-so-distant explosions and seeing the P-47s rush for cloud cover, Klt. Fehler muttered, There but for the grace of God go I.

* * * * *

Chapter 2 – Wolf's Lair, 01 August 1944

It was an uncharacteristically cool and very humid day in Rastenberg, Germany. The two men, clad in their formal naval officer's uniforms, fidgeted uncomfortably in their seats at the outside café. The table's umbrella offered little reprieve from the bright sunlight burning through the morning haze.

The men knew better than to order anything as refreshing as a beer. Their upcoming meeting would require all their faculties. So, they drank coffee, which naturally added to their nervous agitation. At this uncertain time, anything less than the appearance of Nordic confidence and professionalism would be viewed as disrespectful to der Fuehrer.

They whispered between tight lips and hid their anxiety behind arrogant posturing. I wish he'd hurry up, hissed one of the men through clenched teeth. That damn attack on the train, this close to…, the officer paused for a moment to look around for any eavesdroppers, and then proceeded more cautiously, …our destination today, will undoubtedly ruin our host's mood. I'm not eager to bear the brunt of one of his infamous tirades.

It had not been a good summer for the German military. The Allies were pushing toward the outskirts of Paris; their bombers were pounding targets deep in the heart of Germany; the Russians had shoved in from the East; and most recently, the attempt on Hitler's life within the last two weeks here in Rastenberg led to a purge within the very core of Hitler's most trusted ranks. These facts added to the officers' distress – particularly the last.

Five more minutes passed before a non-descript, black military sedan pulled alongside the officers' table. Klt. Johann Heinrich Fehler slowly climbed out of the back seat of his car, determined to retain his composure.

Thinking back to the very moment his alarm clock woke him, he felt certain that this was going to be a very difficult day. The attack on the train certainly supported his fears. Yet even after that, he still had to face the most feared man in all of Europe.

The driver kept his eyes skyward, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel; hoping Fehler would get out of his car faster so he could find cover. Since the American fighters now roamed the skies almost at will, any vehicle became a target. No sooner than Fehler closed the sedan's door, did the driver mash the gas pedal, tearing off with a startling screech of tires and smoke.

Unfazed by his driver's panicked antics, Klt. Fehler greeted the men before him with a casual, Hello, Gentlemen, instead of the obligatory Heil Hitler, as he approached the table where the two junior officers sat. They did not rise as he approached nor did they offer a Heil Hitler themselves, an unofficial change in policy designed to reduce the targeting of officers by snipers.

Good God, Fehler thought, they look scared to death. They weren't anywhere near the strafed train, nor do they know yet the mission before them. Calmly, Fehler took the seat opposite them and studied their faces for a moment. Relax, relax, relax. I thought I was perfectly clear to you two that this meeting is not part of the conspiracy investigation. If you go into this mission acting as nervous as you look, you could jeopardize our success, said Fehler to the two men.

I know, Johann, said Stefan Groesser, the junior commander seated directly across from Fehler. Who wouldn't be extremely concerned about the breadth of that witch-hunt. And, we've been stalled in port for a year being refurbished for an assignment that appears to admit the defeat of the Fatherland. How could I possibly be anything but irritated and nervous right now? We should be at least given the opportunity to fight and die with honor.

For a brief moment, Fehler reflected remorsefully on the loss of his friends aboard the U-235 and U-238; sunk and heavily damaged, respectively, within the last ten months. I cannot comment, at this time, on this latest mission and I strongly urge you two not to say any more of it. Continue to trust me, as you two have done so admirably these last two years. Pragmatically, we should be focused on surviving – and if we do that well, we should live long enough to see our grandchildren grow up, stated Fehler with such conviction that both men briefly relaxed – seemingly at peace for the moment. This wasn't the time to mention that he barely avoided becoming a casualty in the attack on the train or the likelihood that the train's classified cargo was destined for the U-234. Let's go. We dare not keep der Fuehrer waiting, said Fehler, as he motioned to the waiter to call for his car.

~~**~~

Klt. Fehler briefed his men on the next steps of the U-234's re-fitting project during their drive to Hitler's stronghold, Wolf's Lair.

Within that same timeframe, Heinrich Himmler sat solemn and alone in one of the musty libraries within his mystical fortress of Wewelsburg Castle. All that could be heard were the ticking of the tired old wall clock and the scratching sound of an irritated pen filling out forms.

Taking off his glasses and rubbing his bleary eyes with his pale and aged hands, he sat back and mused on the super-race myth he created and the evolution that was about to begin.

Dame Hedwig Potthast, his ever-faithful secretary and mistress, pregnant with their illegitimate baby, shuffled into the library. Herr Becker to see you, sir, she puffed with a slight groan in her voice. The baby had been shifting around that day, making the memory of their fateful illicit encounter less appealing than it had been before she began lugging around their unborn child. What kept Hedwig going was the reassurance from the astrologists that the baby would grow up to become a leader of a global empire.

Himmler smugly interpreted the astrologist's revelation to support his conviction that his lineage was destined to rule the world. Furthering his belief, they named their illegitimate son Arminius Gewählte – Arminius for the great Germanic tribal leader who handed the Roman Empire a resounding defeat in the forests of ancient Germany and Gewählte; meaning, The Chosen One.

Though Heinrich Himmler would not survive World War II, he did leave explicit instructions for Arminius' upbringing with his mistress Dame Potthast. Himmler's plan would be drilled into Arminius. He would later lead a career that would have made his father proud. Arminius remained equally focused to ensure that the pathway to that destiny remained uncluttered and on target. Although Armin, as he became known, would never be a world leader, he would one day drive the efforts of a prominent and powerful division within a multinational agency. This was a deviation from the original plan, but it was a change that had to be made to ensure long-term success. Armin would inherit this adaptive skill from his father. He, also, could rapidly change jobs and manipulate relationships to keep him moving toward the goals. Just as his son would be taught, Heinrich would make adjustments to his plans. The meeting Himmler was about to have would be one of those adjustments. Thank you, Hess (German for Bunny), said Himmler, slowly drawing in his breath, send him in. This was the moment Himmler had been rehearsing ever since the Americans joined the war. Himmler felt that every successful plan, no matter how good it appears to be going, must be ever-evolving and must be fortified with a contingency plan.

Maybe it was a sign of paranoia, but lately, der Fuehrer began dismissing many of Himmler's recommendations as costly musings, especially those dedicated to the evolution of the Reich and its Master Race.

Only a few years earlier, late 1941 to be exact, the Third Reich was winning on every front and in every campaign. All of Germany was abuzz with the heady reality of a unified Europe under Hitler and the Third Reich. No one, especially not Adolf Hitler, would entertain thoughts of backup plans at that time.

However, these were now challenging times, and the Third Reich was operating under different circumstances. The special commission known as the Marine Sonder Dienst Auslands (Naval Foreign Country Separate Services), headed by K.K. Becker, was one of the new circumstances. Becker was in charge of all details around secret project plans; even determining what cargo was to be carried by specific U-boats.

Becker had, through his convoluted ties with German senior officers, wormed his way into a consulting position very close to Hitler's inner circle. He had Hitler's ear…and Himmler knew it. However, every man has his price, Himmler thought, patting the briefcase before him.

Becker, unimpressed by the imposing nature of the castle, slowly opened the massive library door, covered with gothic carvings, and peered in. Welcome, Herr Becker, said Himmler as he enthusiastically rose from his chair to shake hands with his guest. It was an awkward pause as both supposedly-loyal men hesitated, wondering why the other hadn't begun their conversation with the greeting Heil Hitler.

Breaking the silence, Himmler continued, I hope you had a comfortable ride. Please sit. We have a lot to talk about.

Becker said nothing in response but slowly approached Himmler's desk and nonchalantly dropped into one of Himmler's more extravagant leather chairs. With this action, Becker dismissed the usual formality and pleasantries Himmler was accustomed to receiving. Inside, Himmler seethed at the insolent display, yet hid his anger behind a thin smile. He needed Becker and Becker knew it.

What can you do for me, Herr Himmler? asked Becker with a sly grin. Himmler noted the play on words, but refused to be drawn in. Although Himmler hadn't expected Becker's arrogance, he really wasn't surprised by it. As he had experienced, history showed that those close to Adolph Hitler were nearly as powerful as the dictator.

I can offer you a long and healthy future in anonymity, Himmler cryptically proposed.

Curious to learn the reason for Himmler's choice of words, Becker sat upright in the chair and leaned forward to prop his elbows on Himmler's desk. Rubbing his hands together, Becker said, I'm intrigued, Herr Himmler. What can you possibly offer me that I can't get for myself? Need I remind you that you are no longer in a position of power…and yet I am, sneered Becker.

Again, Himmler ignored the taunts and kept his eyes locked on Becker's. After another uncomfortable pause, Himmler continued unfazed. A contingency plan, Herr Becker…a way out when conditions get too hot…and they will, Himmler positioned, ignoring Becker's attempt at derailing him from this chess game. In exchange for a small favor, when the time is right, I will assure you safe passage to a land far away where you can retire a very rich man. In addition, to accomplish this, I will provide you with a new identity and travel papers, Himmler stated, matter-of-factly.

I will not leave Hitler during his time of need, shouted Becker, adding to his theatrics by jumping up out of the chair and slamming his fist down on Himmler's desktop. This came across to Himmler as a poorly rehearsed, yet well thought out, response; perhaps one created to protect Becker in case this was a trap and the room was bugged.

Nonplussed, Himmler slightly adjusted the reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose and said, Please sit down, Herr Becker. I am aware of your access and loyalty to der Fuehrer and I would never ask you to jeopardize that relationship. I am merely offering you a future opportunity to grow old – a rich man in a country where no one will ever track you down. Never having to look over your shoulder can be a wonderful thing. Think about it, Herr Becker. You know how the war is proceeding. You are, no doubt, an intelligent man and a strong supporter of the Reich…and that is all good. But…, Himmler paused for effect, …all good things come to an end. I am offering you a foolproof exit plan in exchange for a small favor.

After a longer-than-necessary delay, to further add to the drama, Becker said, Go on, Herr Himmler, with a softer tone and less arrogant attitude.

Good, thought Himmler, I've got you. Then he purred, Shall we move to the courtyard and discuss details over some cocktails, Herr Becker? Himmler picked up the heavy black briefcase he had next to his desk and motioned Becker toward the library door.

~~**~~

The guards at the gates of Hitler's Wolf's Lair were expecting Klt. Fehler and the other officers but still required the men to exit the car for inspection. This is no better than a prison camp, thought Fehler. I don't remember all the barbed wire, guard dogs, and all the sentries. No doubt things have changed…things have certainly changed, his thought trailed off when one of the guards began forcefully searching