Dateline Neuschwabenland. New Swabia, for the non-German speakers out there. Also known as the Eisschloss (Ice Palace) to the seemingly-late terrorist organization called ABWEHR.
I say seemingly-late because, as of ten this morning, we had our first werewolf attack.
Goldenfist and a detachment of COMPANY Agents were searching the western submarine pen when they were set upon by what they tell me was a Mark IV Eisenmann (Iron Man) suit, hidden in one of the bulkheads. It severely wounded three Agents before Goldenfist could use his namesakes on it. After that, the battle was over in six seconds.
The suit was a vintage, made in the heyday of the Wehrmacht, back in 1940 or so. So was its operator. The nonagenarian German soldier had been surgically and biochemically bound to the suit, ages ago, and put into suspended animation. They were then buried alive, and set to activate if certain security protocols weren't followed every 24 hours.
I guess the invasion of the Ice Palace, currently being called Operation NAZISMASH by the mainstream media, disrupted that schedule a bit. I'm told the wonder isn't that we found one, but that we haven't found even more, or what else might be ticking down here.
"We could be sitting on a time bomb, right now," one of the Agents later told me: "If you knew what was good for you, you'd get back to Neo York and stay there, and pray the shockwaves don't reach Manhattan."
Typical right wing establishment antipathy towards progressive reporters, or genuine concern? I haven't figured that out yet. I'm going to give it a few more days before I decide.
But the worry about werewolves is very real, and highly understandable.
After the fall of the Third Reich, in May of 1945, the Nazis continued to be a problem for the occupation. The surviving members of what had become ABWEHR fled into the hills and valleys of what would become Western Germany, and, linking up with the remnants of the German Army that hadn't lost hope, partisans, commandos on deep patrol, state-sponsored sorcerers, and other ubermenschen on the run, they began an insurgent campaign against the occupiers. Based on a plan by Joseph Goebbels, now an ubermensch, himself, they called themselves the werwolfen.
At times, the Werewolves were little more than a tactic of irritation. At others, they were deadly serious. Numerous stories have it that, unknown to most outside of certain intelligence and strategic talent circles, the world nearly ended about five times between 1945 and 1950, and only bad luck, a lack of determination, or what some have termed ABWEHR's propensity to use "cack-handed tomfoolerly disguised as a plan" saved us from facing a doomsday scenario.
In case you're wondering, the "cack-handed" comment came from someone who was actually there, at the time. That would be SPYGOD, who, after yesterday's unveiling of where the Fourth Reich was coming from, decided to go up to his new room and get earth-shakingly drunk on the strange alcohol they were fermenting from what might be penguin milk, down here.
At least we hope that's what it's being fermented from. I confess to being afraid to go and look. But since I am point blank refusing to drink it, even out of a sense of journalism, I think it's going to be a moot point.
How many werewolves are we looking at, here? No one's really sure. There might be more Iron Men buried in bulkheads throughout the base. There could be even more terrifying things lurking under the main floor. That time bomb could be a real threat, too. It remains to be seen.
For this reporter's part, it's enough to find a safe corner, somewhere off the main hall, and watch as the troops go back and forth on exploratory sorties, wondering if they're going to come back with a good story, and some fresh bruises to back it up, or not at all.
Randolph Scott, for Alternet, signing off.
(Randolph Scott is listening to War Songs (Gary Numan) and sticking to bottled water, thank you)