The Bergmann Protocol Page 4

unloaded the macabre contents of the five bags and began to place them around the craft. With the last, grotesque pieces of the Bergmann Protocol in place, the two men followed Peterson and his team back outside through the hull breach, leaving the Kolibri for the last time.

  They returned to the Gurney, where Dietrich stood waiting, her short black hair writhing restlessly in the breeze.

  “Well, Captain,” she said, with a condescending smirk, “At least one of us can say that they had a successful mission today.”

  Not for the first time, since the arrival of the Barkhorn, Gillitzer found himself biting his tongue. As Dietrich and her crew set off back to their ship, he turned back to face the wreckage of his own craft, as if to lament its passing. The true intention of his gesture, however, was not to offer a tribute to his ship, but rather to put some distance between himself and Dietrich.

  He stood there silently for a short time before Braal spoke up.

  “We should go,” he said, solemnly.

  “Yes…Of course. We wouldn’t want to keep the good captain waiting, would we?” answered Gillitzer bitterly.

  As they made their way back to the Barkhorn, Braal could not help but notice the down-turn in Gillitzer’s demeanour. His Captains expression was uncharacteristically sullen, and the spring that was usually in his step was absent. He knew very well that, upon their return, Gillitzer would be on the receiving end of some enthusiastic banter from the other pilots, but was surprised how deeply the prospect was affecting him.

  The young commander did his best to raise his captain’s spirits, as they neared Dietrich’s ship, but it was to no avail. Gillitzer was lost in his thoughts, anxiously anticipating the ridicule he was bound to face from his peers, whilst also trying to calculate the damage that would be done to his military career. His darkening mood wasn’t helped by the sight of Dietrich, grinning smugly, as she waited for them at them bottom of the Barkhorn’s ramp.

  “Oh, do cheer up, Gillitzer,” she said as they approached, “try to look on the bright side.”

  “Bright side?” snapped Gillitzer, his patience finally lost, “and just what, exactly, is the bright side to all of this?”

  “Well, for one thing,” snorted Dietrich, “I’ve just won the sweepstake!”

  *

  The morning sun barely had a chance to clear the horizon, before Mack had saddled his horse and headed out across the ranch. The previous night’s storm was bound to have scattered the livestock, and he needed to check the fence line before he headed into town. Besides, he thought to himself as his horse broke into a canter, there were few chores that were more pleasurable than an early morning ride.

  The air was refreshingly cool and the clear blue sky bore no evidence of the tempest that had raged above few hours earlier. Mack chose to follow a well-worn track, along the north fence, that was firm and free from rocks. The last thing he needed, out in the desert, was for his horse to throw a shoe or become lame.

  He followed the old barb wire fence for a good thirty minutes, until he had reached the eastern corner of the ranch, where it started to run to the south. There, the ground started to rise sharply, up to what his children had named, ‘whisper hill’. Slowing his mount to a walk, Mack began to steadily climb, the short but steep rise to the hill’s summit.

  Before they were half way to the top, his horse, Bonnie, started to act a little skittishly, becoming slightly hesitant every few steps. Mack had owned her for years, becoming well acquainted with her quirks and mannerisms, and so her nervousness instantly put him on guard. Raising his hat slightly, his eyes began scanning the rocky ground for any sign of movement; it was, after all, exactly the kind of place that a rattlesnake would take shelter.

  Seeing and hearing nothing, he cautiously guided Bonnie further up the hill, occasionally clicking his tongue in encouragement. Mack was still scrutinising the track for danger as they reached the summit but his attention was grabbed by something else. From the corner of his eye, off to the south west, he noticed something was out of place.

  There, in the distance, like a blackened scar across the ground, was the scorched furrow left by the Kolibri’s initial impact. Dozens of metal fragments littered the ground around it, sparkling brightly as they reflected the morning sunlight. Although he was unsure as to what had caused the mark it was immediately obvious that something had impacted the ground from the air.

  “What in the world?” Mack said to himself, as he drew Bonnie to a halt.

  From his vantage point, he was unable to see the main wreckage of the craft, which had come to rest in a dried-out riverbed, almost a mile away. He just naturally assumed that the fragments he could see were all that remained from whatever had crashed there. It must have been an aircraft or weather balloon from the air force base, he thought, as he tried to rationalise what he was seeing.

  For a moment, he thought about riding down the hill for a closer look but the terrain was rough in that direction, and would take time that he didn’t have. Besides, he thought as he looked down at the scattered debris, whatever it was, it seemed to have been completely destroyed by the crash.

  “Well, there’s nothin’ much we can do about it, girl,” he muttered to Bonnie as he gently nudged her into motion again. They started to head southward, along the track, until the impact site was once more out of view. It did not, however, leave Mack’s thoughts, as he continued to wonder what he should do about it.

  “I guess, I’ll just have to report it to the sheriff’s office, later,” he said to himself, after finally coming to a decision, “When I head into Roswell.”