Von Krupp looks back at him and glares. “That is an insult!” he says softly.
“No,” says Wolff. “This is an insult!” And he reaches over and tips von Krupp’s plate into his face.
Von Krupp leaps up and bares his teeth. “Now,” he says aloud, so that all the men in the hall can hear. “Now it is time you were taught a lesson in discipline.”
Wolff stands up and looks back at von Krupp in contempt. “Will you read me a book on it at bed time perhaps?”
Von Krupp turns to Captain Müller to see what he is going to do, but the Captain just looks up, slightly amused. It is obvious he lets Wolff run on a very long leash. Von Krupp says, “I’m sure your Captain will understand that this is just between us.” And he steps away from the bench and lifts his fists to assume a boxing stance. Wolff looks at him for a moment—like he is going to leave him standing there—and then he too steps away from the bench.
“Stop!” calls a sudden voice from the entrance, and von Krupp turns his head to see a red-headed soldier walking in, holding his rifle out. “No fighting!” he calls.
“No,” says von Krupp to the guard, without lowering his stance. “This is the boxing match we promised you.” The guard looks at Lieutenant Wolff, keeps his eyes on him, curls his lip a little and then nods his head in assent.
Von Krupp smiles. He stands half a head higher than Wolff. He is much older, but he has seen the Emden officers have led a life of idleness in confinement, and have not worked to improve their strength daily. “You will pay dearly, for your insult,” he says. Then immediately he falls to his knees. Wolff has booted him in the shin.
“It is not fair,” shouts Schwarz pushing forward. “That is against the rules.”
“There are no rules in battle,” says Wolff, circling von Krupp as he rises, his face flushed with anger. He takes two wild swings at Wolff and then realises he is being led into a trap. If he loses his temper he will lose both the fight and his support, and he needs to win both.
He steps back two paces and then assumes a boxer’s stance again. Wolff cautiously copies him. He looks at von Krupp’s confident stance. His large fists. Knows he is facing a trained boxer. But also knows he is no fighter. He permits himself the faintest of grins as he goes in for the taller man—low and hard. Von Krupp steps back as he advances, blocks his first punch and then hits him in the face. His hand comes back tingling.
Now it is Wolff’s turn to step back. He puts the back of his hand up to his lip. Looks at it. Looks at von Krupp and spits onto the table beside von Krupp’s meal. “First blood,” he says.
Von Krupp says nothing. He keeps his guard high and advances slowly on Wolff. But Wolff stays his ground for he is where he wants to be. He waits until von Krupp is close, then he grabs a metal plate off the table and quickly slashes at von Krupp with it. It catches him sharply on one hand and splatters food across his front. Red tomato stains spread across his chest. Von Krupp feels the heat of them. Pulls his wounded fist in close.
Wolff steps in quickly now and slashes at his enemy’s face. Mustard flies off and catches the elder man in the eyes. Von Krupp throws up his hands to wipe it clear and calls out, “I cannot see.” And at the same time he tries to grab the plate from Wolff. It is a mistake. He is too slow to realise the fight is no longer a boxing match. Wolff is in very close now. Driving the plate into his jaw. Then he drops it to the floor. Grabs von Krupp. Hugs him close. Holds him in a tight embrace. Drives one knee up between von Krupp’s legs. Feels it connect with his balls. The taller man slumps and Wolff snarls into his face.
Von Krupp is looking into the hungry jaws of the naval officer, tasting the blood in his own mouth. Tasting the fear. He struggles to stand back up. Struggles violently to break free. But Wolff’s grip cannot be broken.
“That’s enough of that,” says the guard, stepping closer and motioning with his rifle. Lieutenant Wolff lets go of von Krupp and realises he has been holding him on his feet. He watches him fall to the floor amongst the remains of the meal. Wolff turns to the guard, and says loudly, “Yes, you’re right. I think everyone will agree that is quite enough.”
Horst has not been at lunch and Arno returns to their cell to seek him out. He is still rolled over in his blankets against the wall, sniffing heavily. Arno asks, “How are you feeling?” But Horst does not reply.
Arno swings over closer to him. A sickly stink rises off him. “Horst?” He asks and puts one hand out to touch his face. But it is no longer hot. It is now cold and damp. Horst sniffs some more and pulls the blanket higher, tunnelling down lower. And Arno realises he is crying, his sorrow seeping into the cell walls.
“What is wrong?” he asks. But Horst says nothing. “Horst!” Arno repeats again. “What is wrong? I will fetch doctor Hertz!”
“No,” says Horst, and slowly rolls over. Arno looks at his face. His eyes are red and bruised looking. His face puffy. And when he speaks Arno can smell the alcohol. “Don’t do that!”
Arno stands there a moment and then asks again, “What has happened?”
And Horst’s face falls apart before his eyes—the skin cracks and the eyes shrivel up in pain and his mouth bursts open. He says, “I’m so miserable.”
Arno puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s the prison,” he says.
“No,” says Horst. “It’s more than that. It’s everything.” He looks down and then says, “I’m so ashamed of myself.”
“Of what?” asks Arno. But Horst doesn’t answer him directly. “What would Maria and the children think of me? I miss them so much. So much it hurts. But how can I ever be with them again?” Then he reaches under the blanket pulls up a clear unmarked bottle and drinks the few drops still remaining in it.
Arno reaches over and takes the empty bottle. “Where did you get this?” he asks, peering into it, as if it might contain some answer to what Horst is raving about, and some answers to all his unanswered questions.
But Horst shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Why?” asks Arno.
“I just can’t.”
“I won’t tell anybody else. I swear it.”
“Would you swear it on your very life?” asks Horst, and turns back to the wall when Arno cannot answer that.
Arno sits there for some time and then says softly, “I wish I could take you with me when I go. I wish I could take you all with me.”
Arno stands under the southwest watchtower at dusk, watching the colour fading out of the whole world as the chill of night wraps itself about him. The darkness descends quicker, he thinks, and he looks up to see the first stars appearing, like tiny holes in the blackness. Those small lights of the heavens that steered ancient mariners across the oceans. But from inside the prison they could steer you nowhere.
He leans back against the cold granite wall, and tries to feel what is stirring within. It is something dangerous, he feels that may well help him identify the beast or creature that stalks amongst them. But then he thinks, what if he cannot actually protect everyone as he has long imagined, and all he can do is witness the deaths, his strange ability not a gift but a curse.
He turns his head a little and listens for a soft footstep above him. There is none and he realises the guard is absent this evening. He wonders where he has gone? Wonders if it has something to do with the alcohol and the Wolf Pack and the deaths and the photographs of the dead men? He is certain they are all connected in some way, and he is sure that if he could only put all the events together in a way that might make sense to him, he could still prevent more deaths.
He needs to believe that.
He leans onto his crutches and begins making his way down the wall. Then he stops and sees up as the dark shape detaches itself from the shadows in front of him. He waits for it to see him and retreat into the darkness again, but it takes several quick steps towards him and slashes with something sharp. Arno stumble
s back. His crutch takes the brunt of the blow. It is a large knife, and it is stuck in the wooden support of his crutch. He struggles to hold onto the crutch as his attacker tries to pull it free and then Arno lets the crutch go, sending his attacker stumbling backwards. The man curses and regains his footing while Arno takes another step back. He tries to press himself into the wall. Watches the man come at him again. Sees he has the knife free in his hand. Is much slower this time. More careful. The blade is held back, ready for the deathblow. Then, unexpectedly, he makes a choking sound and drops the knife. It takes Arno a moment to realise that another person has him from behind. Arno hears the heavy kick of boots. A deep grunt. Then he sees his attacker fall to the ground and sees a tall figure kicking at him.
Wolff then stops and looks around furtively, then holds his hand out to Arno. “Come,” he says. “Quick. The guards will come.”
Arno bends over to pick up his crutch and has a quick glimpse of his attacker. He can see he is still moving, trying to get to his feet again. He limps off back towards the cellblock with Lieutenant Wolff. Neither speak until they are at the door to the hall. Then Wolff suddenly turns on him. “Do you know who that was who attacked you?” he asks.
“No,” says Arno. Regardless.
The Lieutenant nods. “Lucky for you I was following you, huh?”
Arno wants to ask him why he was following him. But all he says is, “Ja.”
“Okay,” says the Lieutenant. “Now you owe me big, huh?”
Again all Arno says is, “Ja.” But he had seen enough of his attacker to believe it was one of the other men of the Emden.
He has witnessed just another performance.
The concert that evening is introduced by Scheherazade. She dances to the centre of the stage and carefully unwraps a veil. She tells the audience that tonight they will witness the fall of those who had set themselves above most mortals and it is a play with a moral—as all plays should have. The orchestra strikes up a long deep chord and she announces, Wagner’s Götterdämmerung—the Twilight of the gods.
She drops the veil to the stage and flees as the music builds to a higher and higher pitch. And then Wotan, the highest of gods, dressed like the Emperor of Germany, strides onto the stage. His face is heavy and solemn. He addresses the audience and tells them that he has promised the goddess Freia to the giants who have built his fortress Valhalla. He would rather offer the giants gold, but the warrior Siegfried has the Rhine gold and upon his fate hangs the fate of the gods.
Then he strides off stage.
Siegfried, the tall brave Prussian soldier, now enters, holding Brünnhilde by his side. He pledges his devotion to her and tells her he must set forth to battle, but he gives her the ring of Rhine gold to wear. She places it upon her finger and waves farewell as he marches away.
Siegfried now comes into a strange world. It is a dark wood, where dark shapes flit in the background. The growls of wild beasts can be heard, but Siegfried pays them no heed, and continues on until he comes upon a German soldier. The man immediately recognises the hero and goes to great lengths to win his favour, offering him food and a place to sleep. Siegfried is greatly pleased to meet a fellow countryman and soldier, and shares his meal with him. After eating he yawns and the soldier prepares a bed for him on the ground. Siegfried thanks his new friend and lays down to sleep.
The soldier then dances around the hero, for he wants to win Brünnhilde for himself and will kill Siegfried to obtain her. But he finds he cannot kill the great hero while he is sleeping. So he rouses Siegfried to drink some broth, and as he lifts it to his lips the soldier plunges his bayonet between Siegfried’s shoulder blades. The hero falls to the ground, dying, calling Brünnhilde’s name. The soldier then throws off his uniform to reveal a khaki uniform below, and he calls his troops to his side. More men in khaki then enter and rally about him to celebrate the death of Siegfried, the only one who could prevent the fall of the gods.
The soldiers then drag the fair Brünnhilde on stage as their prisoner, manhandling her and laughing as they do. They build a large fire around Siegfried’s body and set it alight. But Siegfried’s followers have followed their leader, and several Prussian soldiers come on stage and call on the khaki-clad soldiers to prepare to fight to the death. They prepare to engage the enemy, but when they see Siegfried is dead they are filled with despair and are easily beaten.
As the pyre burns the Emperor Wotan appears in the flames, for the halls of Valhalla are also burning. The Emperor sinks beneath the flames as the khaki-clad soldiers laugh and point. Then they lift Brünnhilde to her feet, determined to have their sport with her too—but she breaks from their grip and leaps onto the pyre, determined to die with her love rather than submit to them.
With a roar of anger more khaki soldiers run on the stage. Holding their rifles before them. The inert form of Siegfried comes back to life as two soldiers grab him by the arms. Sergeant Gore is at the forefront and he demands the play be stopped. The audience rise up in their chairs. The Prussian soldiers rise up from death and level their painted wooden guns at their guards. The hall is silent. Two armies staring at each other on the verge of battle. One soldier clacks the bolt on his rifle loudly. The sound echoes around and around the hall like the absent drum roll that at this point should tell of the death of the gods.
The spell is broken and the internees lower their play weapons.
Captain Eaton sits at his desk, all too aware of the King looking over his shoulder as he opens the top-secret envelope. Whatever it is, it has been deemed too secret to send by cable, and too secret to dispatch by post. A driver had brought it to his office and would not hand it over until it had been signed for.
So he sits in his office with the door closed. Sits and studies the envelope with its top-secret stamps across it. He shoves a small knife into the envelope and slits the document open.
He reads it slowly and carefully. It has been typed on thin paper, each full-stop punctuating a hole in the document like a tiny bullet hole. The Department of Defence is advising him of the presence of a German raider operating in the Pacific Ocean—suspected by intelligence officers to be the Wolf, whose presence has been flagged by British naval intelligence after it attacked ships off South Africa. The message states, in terse language, that six US cargo ships have disappeared on route to Australia and another four have been sunk by explosions in or near Australian waters. Mines being laid by the raider are thought to be responsible. A freighter, the Cumberland, hit a mine south of Eden on the New South Wales coast, and had to be beached by its crew.
The ship is believed to be using fake funnels and demountable decking to change its appearance.
The Department of Defence is trying to control wild speculation in the newspapers by blaming the loss of vessels on German-born terrorists who it claims are working in Australian naval yards, and planting bombs on ships. This has led to major anti-German sentiment in newspapers, and growing anti-German sentiment amongst the public. Sometimes extreme.
Then the point of the top-secret message. Military intelligence is concerned that German militia or civilians in captivity could be signalling the raider, and providing information on allied shipping. As such, extra vigilance needed to be adopted towards any such enemy aliens in captivity, while the Department of Defence assessed how best to control the situation.
Captain Eaton folds the message and slips it back into the envelope. Control the situation! That doesn’t fill him with confidence. He suspects that the Government’s propaganda efforts would lead to them losing control of the situation. It doesn’t seem particularly feasible that any of the internees in his care are in touch with a mystery raider. But it does seem feasible that the anti-German sentiment they are fostering will put all the men under his care at risk.
If so, the solid stone walls of the old prison may prove more use to him in keeping the angry locals out than keeping the internees in.
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Arno feels this dream vividly, like he is not just sharing it or watching it, but is actually in it. The dreamer is Herr von Krupp, and he and Arno are in a dark place. There are shadow and skeleton branches all about them. They are afraid. He can feel the older man’s terror. Something is chasing them and they are looking for shelter. They hear a wild howl and spin on the spot. It seems to be coming from all sides at once. They must flee.
Their feet stumble as they try to make their way through the darkness, trying to find a path, trying to find some light. And then, up ahead, they see a break in the trees and brambles. They emerge into a clearing. And recognise it at once. They are at the forest’s edge over-looking the prison. There is a rustling at their feet. Maybe a snake. Or maybe a giant spider. They step out of the forest and run again. Arno’s crutches swing wildly as he tries to race on. Then that howl again, a little closer. They run faster now, still stumbling, but not falling over, thank God. They need to reach the safety of those stone walls ahead of them.
They run right up to the gates and shout out to the guards inside to open them and let them in. But there is no sign of anybody. No lights on inside the prison. Nobody at the guard’s quarters outside the walls. They grab the heavy barred gates and push and pull on them, trying to get them open.
Then the howl. Very close. A sound of panting. They don’t even turn their heads for the heavy gate is starting to move. So very slowly edging open. They push harder. Can feel their blood pounding so heavily that it hurts behind their eyeballs. They will push until their bodies break from the effort of it, but finally the gate is open enough to squeeze through.
Then they turn to try and push it closed again. It seems heavier. They strain until they feel the bones of their backs click. It is not shut fully, but it will be enough. Surely. Then there is a loud roar and a crash as the dark creature outside, the beast without, throws itself against the gate. It howls in rage and hunger and they step back away from the gate. They turn and run further into the prison, into the darkest corner they can find by the wall. They press themselves against the stone there and feel the coldness of it against their bodies. Feel their fearful sweat turn chill on their skin.
The Years of the Wolf Page 18