The Project 02 - The Lance

Prologue: Antarctica
    February 19, 1945

    The Fenris Mountains reared stark and black against the dazzling white of the Antarctic plain. SS General Dieter Reinhardt watched two crewmen from U-886 clear ice and snow from steel doors set into the side of one of the nameless peaks. A motorized sled waited nearby. Reinhardt was tall and thin, his face almost a mirror of the death’s head emblem on his high, peaked hat. In his long greatcoat and dark, round snow goggles he looked like a malevolent insect.
    The doors swung open. The crewmen picked up a wooden crate from the sled and followed Reinhardt down a dark corridor into the heart of the mountain. The corridor ended at a steel vault. Reinhardt worked a numbered combination dial, turned a large, spoked wheel and pulled open the heavy door.
    Metal boxes lined one side of the vault. On the opposite wall, gold bars stamped with the eagle and swastika shone in the bright light of Reinhardt’s electric torch.
    “Put it there, against the back.” His breath formed clouds in the frigid air as he spoke.
    The crewmen set the box down. Reinhardt drew his pistol and stepped up behind one of the men, placed the muzzle at the base of his skull and fired. The report was deafening in the enclosed, metal space. His mate turned, eyes wide in shock. Reinhardt fired again. Blood sprayed across the stacks of gold.
    Reinhardt holstered the pistol, stepped around the bodies and went back into the corridor.
    He closed the vault door and locked it in place, retraced his steps and came out into the polar glare. Taking his time, he placed charges around the entrance to the bunker. The explosion brought down an avalanche of ice and snow over the doors. No one would ever find the entrance again, unless they knew exactly where it was.
    Reinhardt got on the sled and headed back toward the distant edge of the ice shelf and the submarine. He thought of the night he'd been summoned from Berlin.

    20MM twin anti-aircraft guns at the front and rear of Himmler’s private train pointed at the moonless sky. Not far away, on the other side of the Rhine, flashes of light and the distant rumble of artillery signaled the advance of the Allied armies. A faint glow hinted at fires banked in the boilers of two huge locomotives. The quiet hiss of escaping steam gave notice the train was ready to move.
    Frosted globes lit the interior of the command car, the light held prisoner by blackout curtains drawn tight over the windows. SS Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler sat halfway down the car behind a desk. He looked up as Reinhardt entered.
    The yellow lamplight reflected from Himmler’s round, flat glasses. In civilian clothes, with his receding, thin hair and sandy mustache, he could have been mistaken for a mild mannered grocery clerk. In his SS uniform with the silver wreath and oak leaves on his collar, he looked like what he was: the most dangerous man in Nazi Germany. Only Hitler had more power.
    Reinhardt raised his arm and snapped his heels together.
    "Come with me, General." Himmler stood. Reinhardt followed him to the baggage car. Four hard-looking SS guards armed with Schmeisser sub machine guns sprang to attention.
    “Leave us .”
    Himmler waved them away. On a table at the side of the car was an open crate. Inside the crate was a polished box of black walnut. The lid of the box bore a swastika and victory wreath of solid gold, set with diamonds. The stones glittered in the lamplight.
    Himmler lifted the cover. The Holy Lance lay within on a bed of blood red silk, the spear that had pierced Christ's side. Reinhardt laid his hand on the ancient blade. It felt warm, even in the chill of the unheated railroad car.
    It was said that whoever possessed the Lance control led the destiny of the world. The legend had been written by centuries of blood and conquest. All the great conquerors of Europe had carried the Lance before their armies. Only Napoleon had failed to secure it.
    Some thought the power of the Lance came from the Antichrist . Reinhardt and Himmler didn't care where the power came from. They knew it was real. That was the only thing that mattered. Only the Knights of the Grand Council knew Himmler had the Lance. Only Himmler and the Council knew it was the Lance that had brought victory in the early years of the war.
    Himmler handed Dieter a thick packet .
    “Your orders. T ake the Lance to Antarctica and conceal it, then proceed to Argentina."
    “Base 211?”
    Himmler nodded. Few people who