Ice Base Nazis - an action adventure novel

ICE BASE NAZIS

The hotel pub at the bottom of the world was the last place he expected to find himself, yet here he was, dirty glass of warm beer in hand.

Warner Yeager was feeling sorry for himself. He slouched against the cigarette burn scarred bar and scowled at the dark yellow concoction that passed for beer. It wasn't the fine German construction he had grown used to during his time in the Bavarian forest, but it was local and it was cheap and no one looked at him twice for ordering it.

Yeager was in the practice of going unnoticed.

It had been several months since his adventure in Germany, the discovery that landed him in the news, though not quite for the reasons he had hoped. As a treasure hunter, his wish was to be as famous as Mel Fisher, who discovered the Atoca on the floor of the ocean just past the Florida Keys. Yeager wanted to find lost art looted by the Nazi's.

Instead, he stumbled across a hidden armory of nuclear bombs and earned the wrath of an underground Nazi party still operating in the Fatherland.

He had barely escaped with his life and a little cash he stole from one of the men hunting him, and absconded for points South.

He didn't so much choose South America as it was chosen for him with work he found on a boat with a Captain who didn't ask questions that deposited him in port on the Eastern Coast of Brazil.

Yeager dirtbaged his way across the Continent, with eventual plans to move up the Pan American Highway and maybe even to the United States. He might still have family there, though he was a prodigal son, disowned for refusing to follow in a father's footsteps.

“Want another?” the bartender interrupted his melancholy brooding.

Yeager ran thick fingers across his pocket as if to gauge the amount of bills stashed inside.

“It's on me Mate,” a hand clapped onto his shoulder.

Yeager turned to study the man next to him. He was broad shouldered with a thick waste, an infectious grin and twinkling eyes that spoke of one or three drinks already conquered.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“What ya doing in a dive like this?” the man boomed. “No offense Mate.”

The bartender shrugged as he set two glasses of warm beer in front of the men.

“Cheers,” the stranger raised his glass in a toast Yeager mimicked.

They both slurped down mighty gulps and the stranger settled on a stool next to him.

“I'm down here for a story,” said the stranger. “Names McTavish.”

He held out a thick hand and they shook.

“Yeager.”

“Like the pilot. You kin I reckon?”

“Distant, maybe,” said Yeager. “A cousin twice removed, maybe more.”

“Not a common name that. Like mine, you see. McTavish. I'm Scottish.”

“I can tell by your accent.”

The man guffawed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“I like you mate. Good sense of humor you. Nah, me Mom and Pop are from Scotland, but they moved to Oz a good ten years before I was born. I'm a tartan Aussie.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Well sure it is. You're looking at one ain't you.”

“I could be hallucinating,” said Yeager. “They put formaldehyde in the beer down here to stretch it.”

“Crikey it tastes like it, don't it.”

McTavish took a sip and grimaced through the swallow. He followed it up with another just to wash the taste down.

“What story are you here for?” Yeager asked as he glanced around the empty bar.

“There's a party over at the Embassy I'm busting into with an invitation from a shelia. She knows I'm coming but they don't.”

“Might make the guards kind of hard on you when you go through the door.”

“I wish mate,” McTavish swallowed the last of his beer and motioned for two more. “I ain't been in a good tussle for going on six months I reckon.”

“They have guns.”

The bartender slapped down two more beers and held out a hand. Apparently they had reached the limits of the tab.

McTavish slid a glass next to Yeager's full one.

“They got to make it fair, you know. Here, grab these will ya? Next round is on me.”

He scooped up his beer and slurped it down as he made his way to the bathroom in the corner of the bar.

Yeager watched him cross the room, eyebrows quirked up and half a snarl on his lip. The bartender cleared his throat and tapped him on the shoulder.

Yeager reached into his thin wallet and extracted a couple of lonely bills. There wasn't much company left inside.

The bartender snatched them as if sensing the solitude. He pocketed the cash and scurried to the far end of the bar to resume cleaning glasses.

“Alright,” McTavish practically screamed in his ear. “Doctor said I shouldn't be lifting anything heavy, but that seemed to go alright.”

He grinned and lifted up the other beer to drain it.

“You ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“I said the next round is on me. You're my plus one at this party.”

Yeager swallowed more beer around a grimace and bit back a retch.

“Didn't you say there would be guards?”

“Nah, you said that. I'm betting we'll be just fine.”

“Guards with guns.”

“Finish it down mate, we don't want to keep a shelia waiting.”

McTavish put a hand on Yeager's elbow and tipped up the beer so he had to guzzle it down. The Aussi matched him gulp for gulp, then dragged him out of the bar.

JAKE BURBANK -MYSTERY THRILLER SERIES

A PINT OF PROBLEMS

A FIFTH OF TROUBLE

A SHOT OF REVENGE

A DOUBLE SHOT OF REVENGE

DEATH BY A .45

Population: Minus Me

Soul with a Capital S

What a Way to Die

It’s Not the Heat

Nothing from Nothing

THE JACK HOUSE SERIES