FORMULA D2 (When Technology is Worth Killing For) Based on a True Story
by Michael Marzicola
Excerpt
An unprovoked air attack, a lone family survivor, U.S. complicity, and Adolph Hitlers Scientific Elite combine to form a bizarre story of intrigue, revenge, and deceit! Hans Larson, alias Fritz Bonn, unknowingly is the infiltrated and not the infiltrator: when under hypnosis he becomes the carrier of a secret formula for salvation of the Third Reich.
Bombs were falling like raindrops, as World War II unfolded. A squadron of British bombers maneuver through heavy flak and thunderous explosions as their bombs find their targets and bright flashes fill the sky. Among the high flying bombers was a special transport plane: a large cargo ship normally used for dropping skilled paratroopers, soldiers trained to kill! This time, however, its cargo consisted of a select group of young Americans: fourteen and fifteen-year-olds indoctrinated to infiltrate Germanys High Tech areas.
The unmarked plane drifts from the squadron and lumbers slowly through the moon less night; destination: Darmstadt! A city of renowned advance technology! The cabin is dark except for a single red light that glows above the jump door. Hans Larson sits quivering in the stripped out bay on a large crate with USA stamped on its sides. The flight cabin door swings open revealing its Navigator. He emerges from a myriad of gauges and flight controls, and is taken back by what he sees: an adolescent in hand-me- down clothes. Hans Larson, armed only with his new persona, will be dropped near his supposed place of birth to instill credibility; yet far enough away to avoid detection upon inquiry. The strategists in Washington had worked out a plan; the fruits of which would not be plucked from the tree for sometime to come. Like Hans, each bore the name of a German youth killed in the war. Hans was a perfect match for his deceased counterpart, right down to the last detail. The CIA filled in the blanks: fabricating profound explanations to render their moles above suspicion!
Ready Men! A compliment indeed; Hans deserved to be called a man, after undergoing rigid training for months. No! Nothing like the Green Berets or British Commandos; Hans was not trained to kill, but to think! Many hours were spent responding to anticipated interrogation. However, soon it will be Play Roll no more. Hans will be relying on what he learned to keep himself alive: remain calm and never let your adversary see you sweat! The command Ready Men, still ringing in his ears, was thus far his greatest badge of honor: a Bona Fide endorsement as he readied himself to plummet like a fallen leaf, gliding while spiraling slowly downward to face the chilling challenge of deception.
Co-Pilot to Navigator, Im banking five degrees. If he misses the first pass, he can walk down on the flak.
The jump light flashes: Hans, extremely nervous and deep in thought, stiffens at the door. He focuses on the explosions from a magnitude of ack-ack shells that brighten a moon less sky. Traumatized, the longer he waits the worse it gets. The risk of overshooting his target is crucial: so much so, the Navigator shoves him into the flak filled sky!
What the hell was that? I never saw a person so scared in my life. I had to throw him out! said the Navigator.
What would prompt a nice kid like that to commit suicide? asks the Pilot.
Theyre sure getting younger or Im getting older. Hell! He wasnt a day over fourteen! said the Co-Pilot.
Id like to meet the S.O.B. that got that poor bastard into this! said the Navigator.
In spite of all: Hans comical attire and fear, no one is laughing as the plane banks to return to base. Hans in free fall drifts from the plane, threading his way through the flak filled moon less sky. Falling at thirty-two feet per second, his white knuckled fist squeezes the ripcord! Then, the unexpected; the explosion above him and the resulting air blast has him spinning out of control. He stabilizes his descent. Then sees his ride: the cargo transport plane plummet to earth like Halleys Comet!
If adolescent Hans Larson had obeyed his second thoughts, in spite of the tragedy that took the lives of his family in Norway, victims of Adolph Hitlers pride: his Luftwaffe, a squadron of MG 109s, as they strafed and bombed the train that was taking them on a long awaited vacation, he wouldnt be thinking about the following: plummeting through the flak filled sky, but, instead, thinking about the G.I. proverbial: How do I get out of this chicken s _ _ _ outfit?
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