Himmler was coming to visit. And Effi, as one of the most beautiful of the BDM “morale corps” in Hegewald, had been chosen to ornament the stage where he was going to speak.
She remembered that day as clearly as if it had been yesterday for her. More than a little wistfully, she sometimes wished that she could relive what she had felt then.
The air was cold and crisp that day, but she didn’t mind. She stood tall and proud on a short platform that sat upon a stage that workers had erected. A full band was playing, bright and sonorous in the early morning sunshine. Flags and streamers in the national colors were flapping in the light wind. Soldiers, officers, and other “big men” in the government were all in pristine uniforms or freshly pressed suits. Some of them, particularly the politicians, looked bored, but Effi didn’t care. The scene was utterly perfect for her, a representation of her country’s renewed might, and she was a beautiful part of it, the living representative of German Womanhood.
Finally the band ended the anthem they had been playing, signaling that it was time for the assembled crowds to be seated; at least those in the front rows, who actually were provided chairs. Effi dutifully took her seat; she had been positioned behind and to the right of Himmler, who was standing at a podium and surveying the assembled men and women. He cleared his throat, and was about to begin speaking when a series of muted thudding sounds were heard in the distance. Effi had never heard anything like it.
Some of the older officers and soldiers, however, had. They immediately began to scream and shout, shoving their subordinates and giving orders. Two soldiers rushed to the stage, one of them nearly knocking Effi over as they moved to flank Himmler.
“Gasmasken! Gasmasken, schnell!”
Effi felt as if she were glued to where she had ended up standing on the stage. Gasmasks? Why—
Her question was answered a moment later when the first of the mortar shells landed. The shrapnel injured several members of the crowd; it was the first real taste of violence she had ever had, and she instantly felt queasy at the sight of the blood. When the burst shell started to billow clouds of noxious yellow smoke, her knees turned to water. The people closest to it screamed horribly, louder than the sounds of panic and commotion from everyone else. More shells hit the ground, one after the other, and Effi watched as the entire town square started to fill with the deadly gas.
This can’t be happening. I can’t die here…I haven’t done anything yet.
The two soldiers flanking Himmler were trying to both pull him in opposite directions; they were both so crazed with fear, they hardly recognized that they were working against each other. Himmler was shaken, trying to keep a grip on the podium in front of him and yelling at the soldiers to unhand him. One of them did, jumping off the stage and running into the crowd, but the other was still too frightened to notice.
Time slowed down for Effi. She watched as a single shell arced in from the sky, landing some fifty meters away. She saw the shower of earth and stone that it threw up when it hit, and then the almost languid plumes of gas. If not for their deadly purpose, it was strangely beautiful to watch. She took a moment to notice that she wasn’t hearing the clamor of the panicked mob anymore. Instead…she heard voices. Snatches of conversation that faded in and out of her mind as quickly as they came. How odd, she thought, caught up in the unreality of the moment. She looked at the soldier that was pulling on Himmler’s jacket, and then she only heard one voice.
Fuck! I need to get this bastard out of here, or I’ll be shot for certain! Jesus, he’s going to get me killed, why isn’t he moving? We’ve got to get clear of the gas!
It took her a moment before she realized that it was actually the soldier’s thoughts that she was hearing. Her eyes grew wide for a moment. Without any real conscious decision, she felt her body start moving. She felt outside of herself, as if she was finally enacting one of her heroic childhood daydreams, and watching it at the same time. She took one step, then another, and another. With a shove, she sent the soldier sprawling; he slid over the edge of the stage, landing in a heap at the bottom of it. Himmler turned to look at her, flabbergasted; whether from her audacity or the ludicrous situation, she couldn’t tell. Nor did she care. She simply gripped Himmler’s right arm, and pulled; where two young and strong soldiers couldn’t move the official, she was easily able to lead him along. She was willing him to follow her, though she didn’t know how.
With a few steps, they both were running. It felt like they were going faster, and faster…and then her feet were no longer on the ground. She looked back to see that she was flying; Himmler was dangling from her tiny hand by his right wrist, his face passive. Below, she could see the quickly shrinking town square; it was almost entirely full of gas, and those few people still mobile were moving into the woods north of the town.
At that moment, she almost fell out of the sky; this certainly hadn’t been part of those daydreams! But in the next instant, she felt galvanized by a thrill of perfect certainty. Of course, everyone had heard of Ubermensch and Eisenfaust! And she was obviously one of that elite company of Uplifted Humans! No wonder she had felt no attraction for the sad little, merely human males who had offered themselves for her consideration! She was a superhuman, homo superior! Finding a common human attractive would have been as ludicrous if she had been attracted to an ape.
She selected a place clear of the gas, and well guarded by plenty of SS, and set Himmler down inelegantly in the middle of them, letting her control of his mind pass so that he would recognize just who had saved him. Only then did she set down herself, amid the gawking SS officers, prepared to graciously accept their adulation.
* * *
Valkyria had never become used to the stench that Thulians gave off, even after all of these years. Probably, as an ubermensch, all her senses were more attuned, more sensitive, but she had to wear nose plugs to filter out the burnt-orange/musk/cinnamon reek they gave off. She had been fascinated by them when she had first joined their cause, but that early captivation had faded quickly. She had a certain amount of respect for the warriors, who were uncompromising in their single-minded determination for victory…but not these, not the ones around her at the moment. They were “Thulians” in name only; they didn’t have a name for themselves, or at least not one that had ever been translated. Servitors, always scuttling around on some errand or task, quick to fulfill an order; she found them contemptible in their manner, but highly useful all the same. Efficient, if nothing else.
She was walking quickly, three of the rot-scented creatures trailing her. She had been busy drawing up plans for assaults, issuing orders to suicide cells, reviewing intelligence and other messages passed on by spies and other defectors that sought to aid the Thulians. Tasks that, however necessary, made her feel as if her skull would split open.
We should be planning feasts, and carving up the world by now. Not reeling from a defeat and biding our time. The loss of Ultima Thule had put her into a frenzy. Once she and Ubermensch had safely escaped to and recovered at a nearby base, she had killed three Thulians and one of her human subordinates in a rage before she was calm again. Erick—Ubermensch’s true name, which only she and one other knew—had been content to stand back and watch; blood always pleased him, and he didn’t much care about the source. There’s another fool to be tolerated.
Erick Fleischer, the latest heir to the title of Ubermensch, was thoroughly insane. Homicidal to a fault; paired with his nearly unrivaled powers, he was a terror for his enemies, and almost as much of a terror to his subordinates. Such ability wasn’t paired with much of a mind, however. Simple pleasures like torture and murder were what he enjoyed most; he was an acceptable lovemaker, but such pursuits interested Valkyria less and less, as of late. His damnable obsession with two of their foes—the Russian, Natalya, and one of the Americans, Murdock—consumed nearly anything that he did. Always talk of vengeance, and the pain he would inflict, how none could escape his grasp…and so on. His madness was truly e
vident whenever Valkyria happened by his personal quarters; maps pinned to walls detailing his quarries’ movements, hand-drawn portraits of wildly varying quality, scribbled manifestos and diatribes…all of these papers and other clutter of an insane and retribution-driven mind were scattered about, with an organization that only made sense to the madman himself. It was tiring, and when it wasn’t tiring, it was annoying.
Destroying Metis had been a welcome distraction for both of them…even if it had led to that pompous ass Worker’s Champion joining them officially, here. If Effi disliked Erick, she completely despised Boryets Ivanovich. The Russian was equally filled with disdain for Effi; that was the one thing that she had been able to glean from his mind, which was almost completely resistant to her talents. Not that she needed to read his mind to have known that; he never missed an opportunity to plainly state exactly what he thought about his new “comrades,” despite their joined purposes. He never failed to get in jabs about “female emotionalism” getting in the way of getting the job done. As if she had ever exhibited an unwarranted emotional moment in her entire life! Killing underlings didn’t count, naturally.
Despite his betrayal, at least Eisenfaust had treated her as an equal.
* * *
After her heroic rescue of Himmler, the entire world changed for Effi. She was powerful, and respected. No longer just a pretty girl to be passed off to some officer, she was one of the ubermenschen. Her time—at least when she was not in combat—was reserved for those who were at least of the rank of general, and there was no question of whether or not that “company” included sex. There were more parades for her and the other metahumans, crown jewels of Germany’s might and supremacy. All of it suited her perfectly well. With her new abilities, she was able to navigate the intrigue and backstabbing that accompanied rising through the ranks into the dizzying heights of power and influence. She could read the minds of nearly everyone that she met…and was finding that she could also control some of them. She could affect their emotional states, bringing a man from the highest ecstasy down to the most soul-rending despair, all with a thought. It afforded her opportunities that she might have otherwise been denied.
Armed with such power, she was able to manipulate her circumstances substantially. She didn’t simply want to be a showpiece, always on display; she wanted adventure, an opportunity to prove herself and to fight for her country. There was also a deeper, secret reason for her machinations, that she admitted to no one save for herself. She wanted Eisenfaust.
Of course she wanted Eisenfaust. Every German woman wanted him. Heinrich Eisenfaust was the perfect Germanic hero, an ubermensch even more than the one that had been given that eponymous title. Blond, blue-eyed, square-jawed, with absolute control over every aspect of his life, he was never rattled, never upset, never taken aback, and never allowed any setback to stop him. Effi’s aerial battles with La Faucon Blanc sent her into a fury. His fights with Spitfire merely left him sitting at a desk, making diagrams of every aspect of the fight, and plotting how the next time would be different. The day when she had met him and been inducted into his elite wing within the Luftwaffe had been enough to eclipse every other honor and accolade that had been given to her.
The ceremony had been publicized, with many attending generals, politicians, and so forth. She hardly noticed any of them; Heinrich was the only one that held her attention during the proceedings. No one else could matter; they were all human. She was ubermensch. As was Heinrich; even past that, he was above and beyond the others. For one, she could hardly get any reading from his mind; it was locked behind a wall of iron, as unbreakable as the Iron Fist that gave him his name. But it was also very clear that he shared an interest for her that was not becoming to an officer for a subordinate. It took her exactly two weeks after becoming part of his elite group of flyers to becoming his lover. She was certain that with any other man it would not have taken nearly as long…but Heinrich was so different. He wouldn’t be swayed by anyone once he had set his mind to a course of action. And it had taken him that long to decide that he wanted her. It simultaneously vexed her and drew her in that much closer to him.
The German High Command had been ecstatic. They were the perfect couple, exactly what was wanted for posters, statues, and propaganda. An ubermenschen baby would have completed the perfection, so far as they were concerned, but Effi was not at all interested in satisfying that particular item on their checklist. Let them keep hoping. I possess everything I could ever want or need already: Heinrich and the thrill of battle—a child, now? That would only subtract from what I currently have.
Unfortunately, it seemed that even those things would fall from her hands, no matter how tightly she tried to keep hold of them. As the war pressed on, things began to look less perfect and glorious with each passing week. News from the front had turned from being about astounding victories and captured land, to tales of mounting losses and cities falling. She and Heinrich, at times, felt like they were the only part of the German military that was making any sort of difference whatsoever. They fought in perfect tempo together; Eisenfaust with his lightning quick reflexes and almost instinctual understanding of aerial combat, and Effi with her ability to read her opponent’s minds and anticipate their attacks. Their air wing alone stood without major losses, while the rest of the Luftwaffe was suffering: lack of experienced pilots to replace those killed in battle, poor choices by those in command that saw those few pilots that showed promise shuttled into bomber planes instead of fighters, and faults in equipment that saw lives unnecessarily lost. It was one of the few things that seemed to truly anger Heinrich.
“Effi, those fools! They are losing this war for Germany, and they are too damned blind to even see it! Damnable pride and no connection to their men, and they’re spending lives pointlessly.” It was rare that she ever saw her lover lose composure, and the first time Effi witnessed Heinrich erupt like that, it had shaken her to her very core.
That had been the day that Effi first entertained the idea that they might actually lose. It had never seemed possible before; their might was absolute, and everyone—from Hitler to the soldiers, even common shopkeepers and workers—had all been on a rising cloud of enthusiasm and pride for the Vaterland. What could possibly stop them? The more she thought about it at night, after a mission or exertions in bed with Heinrich, the more she saw the truth in his words. What could stop Germany’s glorious ascension? Our leaders. It had chilled her to her very core, and she had trouble sleeping with the thought sharing her bed.
* * *
It seemed as if Effi’s streak of good fortune had finally run out. The Reich was finally coming to its end; the front lines were manned by old men and those hardly old enough to lift rifles. The SS were still fighting fiercely, despite diminishing numbers; her own father had fallen several months before, and her mother was manning an antiaircraft gun. She didn’t mourn overly long for the man, and she expected to get notification that a bomb had obliterated her mother any day; she was resigned to the idea. Continually, the front had been pushed back, further and further into Germany, until Berlin was in sight of the Allies. Sometimes, Effi morbidly wondered who would be the first to pick her country’s bones—the Russians or the Americans. Neither prospect held much appeal for her. She saw no way out, other than to continue forward and fight to the bitter end alongside her lover. Even Heinrich had become disillusioned at that point, maybe before she had, although it was hard to tell due to the way he held his true feelings close and away from others. Probably her best and least painful prospects were to die in a grand and fiery dogfight against overwhelming odds; at least she would linger in the minds of her enemies, and possibly even on film, as a fearsome and implacable foe.
Her wishes were only half granted. The end came after their Uberluftwaffe had been dispatched to protect another supply ship, flying out from one of their secret bases in South America. The mission had been routine until they saw an entire flight of fighters on the horizon, ready to in
tercept them. Somehow, the Allies had discovered where they would be flying…and had come prepared.
Effi had fought these enemies many times; those that had lived from previous engagements were the best of the best, and they faced her now. Corsair from the United States of America in his signature-painted eponymous plane; La Faucon Blanc, the Frenchwoman, who Effi’s sharp eyes could recognize even at a distance; Brumby, the Australian, and Gyrfalcon, flying in tight formation. They were accompanied by a dozen other fighter planes, all intent on ending Effi and Heinrich’s lives.
The aerial battle was short and brutal. The casualties inflicted on both sides came at great cost; plane after plane caught flame and fell into the Atlantic. In the end, only the ubermenschen on either side were left flying. Effi and Heinrich, versus four of the Allies. Even with all of their gifts, it was a hopeless battle. Effi’s gifts could allow her to read the thoughts of a single opponent…but two at once, much less four? She would anticipate one, only to be caught unawares by the partner, forced to rely on her training to carry her from certain death at the last instant. It wouldn’t be enough for victory. It might not be enough for survival.
Where did I go wrong? Where had everything gone wrong? Was Heinrich right? Was it the inherent flaws of their leaders—even Hitler himself—who were, after all, “only” human? Would things have gone better if she and the ubermenschen had forced a coup?
It was all too late now.
The last move in their deadly aerial dance was as beautiful as it was inevitable. Brumby and Gyrfalcon had been taking turns diving on Effi, each time stitching her plane with bullets. The awful game of tag had finally come to an end; Gyrfalcon was closing for a final run, and Effi no longer could use the control surfaces of her plane to evade. If she tried to eject from the plane and use her own metahuman power of flight, she would be gunned down quickly. She was done for, and could even hear her opponent’s thoughts concerning the coming victory.
Avalanche: Book Five in the Secret World Chronicle Page 29