In 1945, with the war nearing its bitter end, U.S. troops pushed relentlessly through France, heading toward the heart of Germany. I stood among them, watching every movement, every breath, knowing history was being written in real time.
Robert's squadron moved through the smoke-choked battlefield like a well-oiled machine. Explosions rocked the earth beneath their boots, and the sharp crack of gunfire was constant. But Robert? He didn't flinch. His gaze remained locked on the horizon, his every decision steady, guiding his men through the chaos with quiet authority.
The mission was simple but vital: infiltrate the Nazi research base. A thousand lives rested on their success.
Without hesitation, Robert issued the order. In a blur of coordinated movements, they split into two forces, flanking the enemy from both sides. The strategy was risky, but Robert saw the battlefield with a clarity that others didn't. They pressed forward, cutting through the enemy lines with precision. The air was thick with the stench of gunpowder, blood, and sweat.
Victory came, but it was a hollow one. The men who had marched beside Robert lay scattered across the field, their sacrifice marking every inch of the ground. The weight of loss hung heavy in the air.
Robert's men stormed the building, the sound of boots pounding against the floor reverberating through the walls. They moved swiftly, clearing each room with ruthless efficiency. As they advanced, they found something horrifying.
The lab was cold, the sterile air punctuated by the faint sound of dripping water. On a metal table, scraps of skin and bone lay, remnants of what had been once living. The men recoiled, a heavy silence settling over them as they moved deeper into the base. The air grew thick with the suffocating weight of despair as they discovered the bodies of children—lifeless and discarded in each room. These children, who had no families to return to, had been caught in a nightmare of inhumanity. The men who had families of their own could barely stomach it, their faces stricken with sorrow, guilt heavy in their chests.
In a small room at the back of the base, a German translator skimmed through piles of files, his hand trembling. He read aloud, his voice shaky. "They were experimenting with genes… trying to make soldiers stronger…" His words faltered as he took in the contents of the papers, his face pale. That was all he said before Robert, with a calm that didn't match the horror around him, raised his rifle and shot him. The silence that followed was almost deafening.
Robert's men nodded at one another. The mission was over. They'd found what they came for, but the cost of that knowledge would stay with them forever.
"Grab the papers, Jack. They're high priority," Robert ordered. His men didn't hesitate. Jack moved swiftly, gathering every file and sealing them in a sturdy box, carefully stacking the papers inside.
"Listen up, everyone," Robert's voice rang out, steady and commanding. "This stays with us. Understood?"
"Yes, Sergeant!" they all responded in unison, saluting.
Robert gave a brief nod, acknowledging the situation before turning back to the task at hand. His team moved with practiced efficiency, hauling the contents outside, while the other squadrons remained vigilant, their eyes sweeping the area for any signs of danger.
As they reached the field, the sound of churning blades filled the air as a Sikorsky R-4 helicopter swooped in. Its compact frame cut through the sky with precision, landing smoothly on the ground. Robert's voice rose above the roar of the engine, sharp and commanding. "Get this back to base. It's vital this reaches American soil. Understood?"
The pilot gave a sharp salute, then quickly turned as the sealed container was loaded into the Sikorsky R-4. The helicopter's rotors spun, kicking up dust as it rose into the sky, its cargo disappearing into the distance. Robert and his men stood still, eyes locked on the fading aircraft, their faces hardened with the weight of the mission.
The helicopter touched down at a nearby airfield, its wheels screeching against the tarmac. Without wasting a moment, a team of soldiers rushed forward, their boots pounding the ground as they grabbed the container with swift precision. They hauled it to the waiting plane, their movements efficient and urgent, and within moments, the aircraft took off, cutting through the air toward Washington, D.C.
The journey was long, but the plane finally touched down on American soil. A black-suited team of operatives were already waiting, standing in stark contrast to the soldiers who escorted the container to them. Without a word, they grabbed it and disappeared into the shadows of the hangar, the container's contents now bound for the highest echelons of power.