The Iron Shadow

by Stefano Siggia

  She peeked through the porthole and stood there.

  It was over, Melbourne thought.

  Fräulein Doktor took a good look inside, her gaze fixed and cold.

  Melbourne could feel a bead of sweat start running down his face. At least he had gotten the message off. Trenchard might still be able to get forces here in time.

  Then, her lips extended themselves into a smile. She didn’t seem surprised, she seemed satisfied. Letting out a hum of contentment, she turned back around and began walking back toward him.

  Melbourne’s surprise was quickly cut off as they almost made eye contact, but he lowered his helmet and began walking down the corridor. When they met one another, Melbourne squeezed against the wall, letting her pass. He caught her look and realised what must have happened. She helped herself walk by placing a hand on the walls of the train before finally disappearing through the door where she had come from.

  Melbourne ran towards the room and peaked inside through the porthole as well. He smiled a smile of satisfaction, just as she had. At least morphine had one good use.

  Sitting on the bed, just as he had left him, was Henry Arthur, but next to him, still unconscious, sat Dead Eyes, his face buried in his brother’s shoulder so as to hide it. Dead Eyes wore similar clothes to Melbourne, while Henry Arthur had his eyes closed which made it seem that both prisoners were asleep. The drug induced bliss had skewed Danielle’s perception.

  Melbourne stepped into the room, jolting Henry Arthur from his false sleep. “Don’t panic, it’s me.”

  “Dear God, Melbourne, where have you been? That witch just passed by to look in on us, and this bigot is starting to wake up!”

  Dead Eyes was starting to stir.

  Melbourne opened the window and tossed the jacket and helmet out. It would be worse for him to be caught with them. “I did it. I sent the message.”

  “Now what?” his brother asked.

  “Try to stay alive until they get here.” Melbourne slid the window back into place. He grabbed Dead Eyes and moved him back to his own bench, placing his guns next to him. The man began mumbling, his lips slowly moving. Melbourne sat back on the bed next to his brother and slipped his hands in the still knotted rope.

  “Pull,” he asked his brother.

  Henry Arthur, still bound, shifted to pull one cord to tighten the rope around his brother’s wrists again.

  “Now what?” he repeated.

  “Now,” Melbourne said. “We pray that my plan works.”

  L

  Dead Eyes finally awoke and shook his head like a dog waking from a long nap. Melbourne was watching him through shut eyes, his head resting on Henry’s shoulder faking that he was asleep. He could only imagine what a head splitting headache their captor must have.

  The man placed both his hands on his head and bent forward to rest his elbows on his knees. That’s when he spotted his guns. Picking them up, he shot a glance at Melbourne who quickly shut his eyes. He had been knocked pretty good, and it was going to take some time for Dead Eyes to remember what had happened.

  As Melbourne slowly began to feel drowsy himself, he noticed that the sound of the train wasn’t the same as it had been. The churning of the wheels had changed.

  It took him a few minutes to realise that the train was starting to slow down.

  The wheels spun slower, the sounds around him lagging. There was a clattering of boots outside the cramped room he was in.

  Something cold and metallic nudged him in the face. He opened his eyes to see Dead Eyes holding both guns in his hands, the muzzle a little too close for comfort. He did not look happy. Was his memory coming back?

  Dead Eyes worked Henry in the same way, and with a gesture from his guns he motioned the two to get up. As Melbourne rose to his feet, Dead Eyes turned him around and tightened the rope around his wrists, cutting off the circulation to his hands. It hurt, but Melbourne did not protest.

  A sudden screech reverberated throughout the train. The three men almost lost their balance as the train lurched, then came to a stop. Dead Eyes cocked his guns and shoved them into their backs, pushing them towards the door. Melbourne took one last look outside the window and saw the deep, blue sea.

  They had made it to Cap Gris-Nez.

  They walked down the corridor, dodging soldiers who ran about frantically getting ready to unload. Melbourne squinted his eyes as he stepped off the train. Count von Krommel was right, it was a gorgeous, warm day. He felt the grass beneath his shoes and looked about him as he kept walking next to his brother. They were in a large grassy field, sprouting only occasional trees and rocks, with the beginning of a forest just a few kilometres up ahead. Behind the train lay large, looming cliffs that ran straight down to the English Channel. The United Kingdom was just beyond it.

  A clear field of fire.

  As he kept walking under the menace of Dead Eyes’ gun, he saw soldiers unloading equipment from various compartments of the train. He curiously looked as motorcycles were carefully unloaded, most likely for emergency purposes.

  They slowly began approaching a group of people a good distance away from the train – Count von Krommel, Danielle, von Jarotzky, and a series of other high-ranking officers. They were huddled around a little table with a bottle of champagne as each of them poured their share into long, glass flutes.

  “So good of you to join us, gentlemen.” Von Krommel raised a glass to the new guests.

  Dead Eyes positioned them facing the train, then kicked them behind their knees, forcing them to kneel on the grass. Four soldiers stood behind them, rifles raised to their heads as Dead Eyes stood to a side, his guns back in their holsters.

  Melbourne eyed the enormous cannon just ahead of him. He had almost forgotten its gargantuan proportions. It seemed misplaced in the peaceful surroundings, a man-made horror from the depths of a madman’s own personal hell. It reached to the sky, and to him it almost felt as it could touch the clouds. The sun made no reflection on the dark iron.

  A series of men began climbing up on the weapon, smiling and laughing and they each took a seat on the great cannon.

  The Count turned around to look at them.

  “Ah, picture time,” he said.

  Together with other officers he moved towards the train and posed with his flute held high just under the weapon. The entirety of the cannon and its surrounding spaces were filled with smiling soldiers. Another one of them brought out a large camera on a tripod and placed it a few metres away from the train. The photographer went under the black canopy and held out an open hand. He began counting down, putting down a finger each time. A flash went off as his last finger came down. The photograph had been taken. History was about to be made. The men applauded vigorously.

  Melbourne turned toward Henry, whose lips moved to form the word pathetic.

  As the soldiers began climbing down from the train, Count von Krommel walked towards his prisoners with a smile on his face.

  “What an historic day!” he said. “What a spectacle you are about to witness, gentlemen!” He turned to look at his men about him. “May this day bring glory to the great Prussian Empire! May our enemies tremble at our feet! May we taste victory and make them shed tears of blood!”

  A great cheer rose out among the crowd.

  “Let us waste no more time,” he said. “Begin preparations!”

  Sturdy iron bars the length of two men and with the thickness of a tree were removed from the Iron Shadow and placed diagonally, one end attached to the iron giant and the other touching the ground. Melbourne guessed they were needed to hold the weapon in place once it fired.

  With a loud, clanking sound, the cannon slowly began to separate near the breach. From somewhere further back, six soldiers dragged a wheeled cart carrying the largest shell Melbourne had ever seen. By the time they manoeuvred it into position behind the gun carriage, the massive breach was open. They pushed the shell into a cradle that slowly lifted it into the barrel, then the breach began to close onc
e again.

  The clanking stopped, and a different grinding sound came from beneath the carriage. Using the calculations that von Krommel explained to the party goers, the cannon began to move into position. Slowly the entire barrel began to elevate, pointing above the horizon.

  Pointing at London.

  Count von Krommel stepped in front of the prisoners. “Gentlemen, you have come far and have gone through a lot to get to where you are here today, and I genuinely admire that. I wish there were more men like you among our forces. That’s why I wish to give you one last mission, something that will make you quite useful to me.” He began pacing up and down. “When London receives our shells, all hell will break loose, they will not know what has happened, what has caused this nightmare that came from the sky and ignited an inferno on the streets of their beloved city. Not unless someone tells them of what they saw, of what a majestic weapon the Prussians have built, of what terror lies ahead of them. That is why I am going to let you go free, so you can report what you have seen here today.”

  The officers nearby giggled.

  “But there’s a slight problem.” Von Krommel stopped pacing and looked at the two prisoners and smiled. “I only need one of you for the job.”

  Melbourne and Henry Arthur looked at each other.

  “I only need you.” Von Krommel pointed a finger at Melbourne.

  Melbourne shook his head. “No.”

  “Why not? You have already lost your brother once. It must be easier the second time.”

  As the Count finished his last word, a soldier grabbed Melbourne and pushed him a few paces away from his brother.

  “No!” Melbourne threw his head back and cracked the soldier in the jaw, but three more rushed in. He struggled, but it was no good.

  Henry Arthur turned to look at him, their eyes locked. His expression meant goodbye.

  Von Krommel took a sip from his champagne flute. “Proceed gentlemen.”

  One soldier stepped up behind Henry Arthur and cocked his rifle, aiming it at his back. Henry Arthur looked at the sky before closing his eyes. Melbourne could not help shed a tear as he watched, helpless. He shut his eyes, as well.

  “Ready and… fire!” von Krommel said.

  The shot echoed loudly in a horrible rumble.

  LI

  Melbourne let the tears roll down his cheeks. He dared not open his eyes, dared not see his brother lying dead on the grass with the symbol of his defeat standing before them – the Iron Shadow. It was all over. Mere minutes and the weapon would begin to fire its murderous shells onto London. They had failed. He had failed. His beloved brother taken away from him, everything taken away from him.

  He lowered his head, eyes still closed, tears still rolling down. But something was wrong.

  The voices around him sounded perplexed, surprised, questioning. He heard Count von Krommel’s voice. It didn’t sound too happy.

  Melbourne opened his eyes and saw his brother still kneeling, eyes closed, breathing heavily. The soldier behind him instead was wide-eyed with shock and terror. He took a few steps backwards before collapsing to the ground, dead.

  The bottle of champagne on the table suddenly burst into hundreds of fragments, letting the golden liquid spill onto anyone who was in the near proximity.

  Henry Arthur opened his eyes and looked at Melbourne. Could it be?

  Bullets began ricocheting off of the Iron Shadow, bursting the train’s windows, and killing a few of the soldiers.

  “Everybody get down!” von Krommel shouted.

  He threw himself on the ground, followed by everybody else. Bullets rained down on the grassy plateau, piercing the train and anything surrounding it. Melbourne had been too distracted, too shocked to hear the all too familiar humming sound approaching the plain. He smiled as the tears of sorrow turned into ones of joy.

  It had worked. His bloody insane, ridiculous plan had worked.

  He turned his head to see ten fighter planes speeding toward them leading two Vickers heavy bombers. They sailed above his head at a low altitude, their engines roaring like a pack of lions. They rained down more bullets on the train, smashing windows and placing permanent holes into the wagons before moving out towards the sea.

  And turning back around. They had the range, now.

  “Don’t just stand there! Attack!” von Krommel shouted as he still lay on the ground.

  The officers got back up on their feet and began shouting orders. They scattered, taking up position and aiming their rifles at the airplanes or popping open some of the wooden crates they had brought along. All manner of weapons came out of them, including machine guns, bombs, and more rifles. Apparently, they were prepared to set up defensive positions, but von Krommel had been too eager to wait.

  The enemy responded.

  Flames spat from the rifles, and a machine gun was placed on the ground, rapidly firing shells at the incoming airplanes.

  The Allied planes broke formation, flying off into different directions. A trapdoor in the train opened and another machinegun emerged. Perched on top of one of the wagons, it began shooting frantically too.

  One of the planes faltered as smoke emerged from one of its engines, quickly turning into flames. Melbourne watched as the fighter ignited, slowly spiralling down towards the ground until it was lost just at the edge of the forest into a loud explosion. A cheer rose amongst the Prussians.

  In the midst of the frenzy, Melbourne got to his feet and ran towards his brother, who was lying down on the ground.

  “By God, it worked!” Henry yelled over the din.

  “I noticed. We have to get out of here if we don’t want to turn into slices of Swiss cheese.”

  He helped Henry to his feet, then turned and ran.

  The battlefield around them was chaos. The Allied airplanes found the defensive positions with their own machineguns. The men handling the machinegun perched on top of the train found their fate as they were torn in two by a low flying fighter. The Prussians opened more crates, bringing out more machineguns, more bombs.

  Melbourne turned to look at the Count. He held a pistol in one hand, shooting desperately at the airplanes. “Fire the weapon! Fire that goddamn weapon!”

  He had barely finished his sentence when one of the bombers let loose a shell on the cannon. It didn’t seem to damage the gun itself – it would be hard to damage so much steel. But the impact twisted the carriage, knocking it off target. All the train’s windows shattered into millions of tiny fragments.

  “No!” von Krommel thundered.

  Von Jarotzky apparently didn’t like what he was seeing. He grabbed one of the motorcycles and sped off into the forest.

  Melbourne threw himself on the ground next to a dead soldier and began sawing the rope that bound his hands on his bayonet.

  “What are you doing?” Henry Arthur asked. “We should be heading for the woods.”

  “Why? The fight is here.”

  “This is madness! Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

  Henry suddenly fell to the ground, the breath knocked out of his lungs. Dead Eyes stood behind him, both guns in his hands. He looked at his captor lying on the ground, half unconscious from the blow to the back of his head. His frightening eyes turned towards Melbourne who hacked as fast as he could. Throwing the guns down on the ground, Dead Eyes threw himself onto Melbourne. He placed his hands around his neck and began squeezing, hard.

  Melbourne struggled to breathe. He looked into the man’s eyes, a tinge of emotion finally showing. Anger. So his death was intended to be personal. Melbourne stopped hacking and tried to fight back. He couldn’t breathe anymore.

  A metallic explosion louder than any surrounding sound made them both freeze. The two bombers had discharged all the explosions they had on the cannon. The Iron Shadow began slowly tipping to one side, the bombing finally breaking down the supporting structure. It tumbled down with a magnificent crash, dragging over the support wagon that was attached to it and shaking the ground under
neath Melbourne. More explosions rang out as the Kaiser’s Warhammer slowly met its fate.

  The intense heat from the Allied charges suddenly snapped the cannon off of its armoured tank. It began rolling off of it, making its way towards the rest of the train. As it rolled on, the wagons began flattening with a terrible crushing sound. The cannon gained momentum, wheeling its way across the train and obliterating anything that remained of it. It picked up speed causing panic and chaos on the grassy field. Soldiers began to scatter as men, weapons, and crates were squashed under the heavy weight of the towering cannon.

  Melbourne tried to gasp but Dead Eyes tightened his grip again. Melbourne sawed with the little energy that was left in him. If only he could free his hands. Dead Eyes’ stare was not really the last thing he wanted to see before he left this world. A chorus of shouts and a terrible crunching noise began getting closer.

  Dead Eyes turned his head to look at what was going on, his eyes widening at the sight. “Scheisse,” he said.

  Melbourne grabbed the opportunity and kneed him as hard as he could in his nether parts. Dead Eyes let go and tumbled off of his captor.

  Melbourne got to his feet to see that the massive barrel had torn lose from its superstructure and was rolling toward them, just a few metres away. He jumped off to one side, barely avoiding the Kaiser’s Warhammer. Dead Eyes was not so lucky letting out his final cry as he was crushed under the uncanny weight of the weapon.

  Melbourne fell next to his brother, the rope around his wrists snapped into two, finally freeing him. Henry came back to his senses, just in time to watch the gargantuan cannon annihilate the remainder of the defensive positions and the train before rolling off the cliff and crashing into the English Channel.

  The two brothers sat next to one another, holding each other by the shoulders, breathing deeply, unable to speak.

  They had done it.

  They watched as the fighters kept strafing the field, picking off any signs of resistance from the Prussian soldiers. Most of them fell to their knees, their hands behind their heads as a sign of defeat. Others scattered across the field, escaping into the woods. The majority lay dead on the ground.