Two Graves

A roar of anger and dismay rose from the twins on both sides of the battle lines. There was a moment of terrible stasis. And then it was as if a dam had burst. The disorderly crowd of twins rushed the Nazi officers, their crude weapons raised.

Scheerma

“Brothers and sisters!” Tristram’s voice rose up. “Don’t murder your own kin!”

Something was happening. Many of the Twins Brigade were breaking ranks, changing sides, some throwing down their weapons and embracing their siblings—others turning their weapons on their officers. But a small cadre of latest-iteration twins remained with the Nazi officers, defending them furiously.

The chaos began to resolve itself and two sides emerged, fighting each other. The small group of loyalist twin soldiers and their Nazi officers were now outgu

Pendergast relieved a dead soldier of his sidearm, knife, and flashlight and headed into the corn toward the fiercest nucleus of fighting, battering his way through shattered cornstalks and heavy columns of smoke, looking for Tristram. He could hear the boy’s voice in the thickest part of the action, calling, exhorting, urging his fellows forward—and it struck him to the core how much he had underestimated his son.

Now he circled fast around the Nazi officers and their rump of loyalist troops, retreating toward the lake. He swung around in a flanking maneuver and came up behind them, in their line of travel, crouching and waiting for them to come to him. As they did, Pendergast raised his gun, aimed at the Oberführer in the rear, as he anticipated, and brought him down with a single shot. He immediately came under heavy fire, the automatic weapons mowing down the corn around him; but the loss of their commander demoralized the retreating group, and after a moment of panic and confusion they broke and ran toward the lake, pursued by the others.

Continuing his one-man flanking maneuver, Pendergast moved eastward through the cornfields and into the forest. He bushwhacked his way to the top of the crater rim, where he stopped to reco

The gunfire fell off and finally ceased as the vessels headed away from land, smoke drifting across the scene. The Nazis had gotten away and were now headed back across the lake to the fortress—to make their final stand.

83

WITH THE NAZIS ON THE RUN, THE RANKS OF DEFECTIVE twins—now swelled by the majority of their siblings—turned toward Nova Godói. Ru

Reaching the central square, the groups of twins began to break into smaller parties, heading down the side streets, ready to engage in any mopping-up operations that might be necessary. Pendergast, following along, sca

“You need to establish a base of operations,” he told his son in mixed German and English. “I’d suggest the town hall. Take the Bürgermeister and any other town officials into custody. Set up a strong defense in case of counterattack.”

“Yes, Father,” Tristram said. He was flushed and breathing heavily, and a cut on his forehead was bleeding freely.

“Take great care of your own personal safety, Tristram. There may be plenty of Nazis still around, including rooftop snipers. You’re a prime target.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have some unfinished business. At the fortress.”

Pendergast began to turn away, then glanced back at his son. “I’m proud of you, Tristram,” he said.

Hearing this, the boy flushed with confusion and even surprise. As Pendergast turned to go, he realized this was probably the first time anyone had ever praised him.

Leaving Tristram to secure the town hall, Pendergast made his way by side streets to the village quay. There were some snipers, but without leadership, and in the growing dark they were ineffectual. The sun had set over the western ridge of the cinder cone, a streak of blood fading in the sky. Across the lake he could see the two boats with the remaining Nazi forces arriving at the island’s shattered docks. He stared up at the cruel-looking lines of the castle, painted vermilion by the last rays of the dying sun.

The Nazis and the few remaining super-twins sympathetic to their cause had been soundly beaten and were in retreat. But there were still many enemy soldiers about; the Nazis retained their scientists, technicians, and laboratories; and their fortress remained a formidable redoubt, almost impregnable. They had been dealt a severe blow—but there was nothing to stop them from taking up their evil work again.

On top of that, Fischer was still alive.

For a long time, Pendergast stared across the lake. Then he walked down the quay, selected an inconspicuous and still-undamaged motor launch, jumped in, started the engine, and cast off, heading in the direction of the island.

The night was now so advanced that his little vessel vanished into the darkness of the lake. Keeping to a quiet speed, the engine purring and barely audible, he made his way across the lake, circling to the western side of the island. A few hundred yards from shore he cut the engine and rowed, using the flashlight, carefully hooded, to locate the tu

He paused, listening intently. Overhead, he could hear the faintest sounds of activity: the rhythmic tromping of boots, the faint bark of orders. But down here, in the lowest level of the fortress, all was quiet. He turned back to the ammunition dump contained within the steel cage, shining his light into it. It was a large and varied assortment of munitions and ammo: rolls of det cord and bricks of C-4, stacks of M112 demolition charges, 120mm tank gun cartridges, cans of precision-machined gunpowder, land mines, stacks of crates containing small-arms ammunition, cases of grenades, RPGs, mortars, .50-caliber machine guns, and even a brace of mini-guns with dozens of ammo boxes for each.