“He’s lying to you, and you’re a fool to believe him,” I say, losing my patience.
“It wasn’t what he said,” Ulric admits, his voice lowering. “It was what I found. In that ship…” Ulric takes out a picture from his pocket. It was the image of the family, each with a star on their chest that said Jew. “Those people that attacked us on their ships aren’t the people that we banished during the Reclamation. They look different. They are darker skinned. They aren’t Jews.”
Ulric points to the cross on the old man’s neck, “It can’t be a coincidence that he has the same symbol that I do. Do you think the Reich would just adopt a Jew image? No. In our discussions, he has kept repeating the same things…that we lost our way. That we used to follow the same faith as him. And through that book you destroyed, the old My Struggle, I found out what it was. The Führer criticized it. It was something called Christianity.”
I lean back in my chair, looking on at my brother in disgust.
“He is a Christian, not a Jew,” he concludes. “And by what he’s said, the Kiln is the only reason why there are attacks on Aryans at all. It destroyed everything down south, and so they raid our people. Can’t you see how counterproductive it is?”
I take another puff from my cigar, smoke covering up my brother’s worried face. I close my eyes.
“You are going to execute him in two days,” I flatly state, leaning out of my chair and standing up. Ulric shakes his head in disagreement.
“I can’t do that, Ansel,” he mutters. “There is still so much I don’t know. I need answers.”
“No you don’t,” I state. “You need the crew off your back. You need to show me that I can still trust you.”
Ulric looks back at me, still sitting in his chair. A chill goes through the room. The constant sound of gravel smacking below us continues on. The engine hums.
“And if I don’t?” he asks, glaring at me.
“You will,” I mutter, looking back at him without any emotion. It was like I was looking at a hollowed-out version of somebody I once knew. “I need to know that you haven’t been compromised. That you’re still loyal.”
“To you?” he says.
“To the Reich,” I say. We look at each other.
“Like you care about loyalty to the Reich,” he says.
“You need to show that you are not going to be an issue for this crew or me,” I say. “If you’re loyal to the ship, you’re loyal to the Reich.”
“If you cared about what was best for the Reich, you’d know that I’m not losing my mind. You’d know I just want to get to the bottom of whatever is going on here. How can I serve something that’s based on a lie or a myth?”
“You can, because you will,” I say. “This isn’t a negotiable option. I’m trying to help you, you idiot. If the crew thinks you are a threat, they will do something. They’ve done horrible things to traitors before.”
“So I’m a traitor now,” Ulric says.
“That is your choice.”
Ulric pauses, looks at the old man, and then puts his head into his hands, cursing underneath his breath. I continue looking at him, listening in case I hear footsteps. Nobody ever comes down to this part of the ship, but I should still be careful.
“If I do this, you know that it won’t be over. After this journey I will still try to find answers,” he says. “Something is off.”
“I don’t care if you do,” I say. “Just put on a good show. Do your job, and let me continue with my own. If you want to ruin your own life with this fantasy, then that is fine by me.”
“You saw the pictures, Ansel.”
“I did.”
“And you won’t even question them?”
“It’s not my job to. The Kiln has been good to me. The Reich has been good to me,” I state, standing and putting the chair up against the wall. “I know my place. Now learn yours.”
Redemption
The sky is painted orange with just a hint of deep violet, so the crew is probably stirring belowdecks, anticipating today’s event. For the last two days word had spread about my brother’s upcoming execution of the Jew.
As I stand on the deck, more and more men begin to trickle onto the front of the ship.
“You must feel pretty excited, this being his first execution!” First Engineer Keller tells me, his helmet covering up his normally greasy face.
I nod in agreement, but secretly my stomach twists around inside me. Even through the greetings and saluting, I can’t help but feel utterly betrayed by all of them. Can I really blame them, though? If I was in their place and another man was so willing to a Jew, wouldn’t I be suspicious of him as well? Being stuck in the middle of the desert can make men do unthinkable actions when they believe they are in danger—when they believe they are among enemies. This an environment that breeds suspicion, I suppose.
Fuck Ulric for putting me in this position. Fuck me for letting him.
The announcement that the execution would begin soon had blared out ten minutes ago. I sent down some guards to bring the old man up here. They should be arriving any minute, and so should Ulric. I wait, hoping to see the crowd part for the violet-caped Knight.
Since there’s not much wind, I can hear the rumbling of the treads. As I look back from the front of the ship toward the scorched desert plain behind us, I see the usual large cloud of sand floating gently in the wake of the Howling Dark. I hold my hands behind me, pistol strapped against my chest. My back faces the distant cliffs of Africa, which are rising slowly as the ship growls ever-onward in their direction. We are almost at the edge of the Kiln.
A series of towers stands in the distance, their image blurry in the rippling heat of the desert. Our destination, Eagle Nest #18, is in sight. But for now, we have more important matters to attend to. Ulric needs to show his loyalty.
Just to make sure he will actually show up, I decide to walk through the crowd, going belowdecks. After a brisk walk through the officer quarters, I knock on the door. Without a wait, it swings open and before me is Ulric, glorious in his full armor. The metal has been cleaned and glimmers golden-brown. His expression, however, is anything but glimmering. He looks back at me with eyes full of contempt.
“It’ll be fine,” I counsel, putting my hand to his shoulder. “Just say your lines, pronounce judgement on the old man, and then end it. It’ll be quick.”
“I know,” he says quietly, putting his helmet on top of his skinny face. He hands me the old copy of My Struggle before I can say anything. He continues on, and I follow.
As we step up onto the deck, we see the entire crew standing around us, eager to watch what is about to unfold. With our helmets donned, we stroll through the crowd. Everyone steps back to let us pass. As we reach the tip of the bow, I see that the old man has already been brought up. He is being held up by two guards who grasp him by his frail arms. His eyes are closed, as the sand from the wind clashes against his eyes.
Cheers and clapping rise like a wave among the sailors as we approach. I raise my arm and put it back down. The guards comply, throwing the man to the floor with a solid thunk. He looks about with eyes covered, shielding himself from the particles. With mouth agape, he takes in the mob around him. This deck is colored a faded red, a remnant of the execution from his comrades.
Ulric pauses for just a second before I grasp him by the arm and lead him forward. We pass the shivering old man and turn toward the joyous crowd.
“Gentlemen,” I announce in a raised, yet calm demeanor. “As you know, my brother, S.S. Knight Manafort, a few days ago requested of me that we keep one of the Scavengers as a captive.” I point a hand to the curled up man, “Now my brother has informed me that the man has given him all he needs to know. He is no longer of any use to this ship, nor to the Reich,” I continue.
The Scavenger’s face shifts around as he recognizes the words I’m s
peaking. His expression changes from confusion to realization. His brown features turn to face my brother, whose face is covered in his armor. Ulric simply keeps his composure, not saying a word.
“But…we talked…you…” the Scavenger whispers to my brother, starting to raise himself from the deck.
“Quiet,” I order, kicking the prisoner’s head with my metal boot. The old man crumples back down onto his belly, and holds his wrinkled hand to a bleeding forehead.
“Ulric.” I turn to face him. My brother’s posture is rigid and his arms are held at his sides. I take my pistol out from its holster, Ulric reaches out his right arm, and I hand the gun to him. His helmet, with its glowing visor, turns toward me and I take one long step back, giving him space. Ulric looks down at the weapon, then at the old man, then at me. I give a single nod.
“This Scavenger…” Ulric begins, his voice full of uncertainty. “Has spoken a lot about his homeland, and his people to me in the last few days. As a scholar, I have collected valuable information on how the Scavenger mind thinks…” he pauses, “and how it contorts.”
Ulric turns around to me, and raises a hand toward me.
“I am grateful that my brother has allowed me to perform my studies on such a rare subject, and I’m glad you are all here to witness me take my next step…as a Knight.”
The old man situates himself and kneels at Ulric’s feet. Dirty hands move under his draping silver cloak, and he raises up the necklace with the cross, grasping it tightly in both hands. It glints in the morning sun as he holds it up in his shaking fists. Ulric looks at me, and I give him a slight nod. With this, he kicks the man, sending him back to the floor, outstretched. Laughter erupts from the crowd. It’s working.
“When the Eternal Führer envisioned the Atlantropa Dams, it was to bring peace and stability to Europe. To our tribe. But that was only the first part. The original Aryans knew that as long as the Scavengers stayed, that our minds would be corrupted by their influence. Brother would turn against brother,” he turns his head slightly toward me, with a pause. “War would remain.”
“But studying this…Scavenger…is a lesson for us all. A representation of what the Eternal Führer had to deal with in his day…what he was up against. We are lucky today to live in a better age because of that struggle.… We do not need to deal with the Scavenger threat anymore, except for in the desert…and we do not need to deal with this Scavenger anymore.”
Clapping permeates the air around me, as the crew raises their weapons into the air. The old man is mumbling to himself, his eyes closed, hands held to his chest. He is calm. Calm, like the last Scavenger I tossed over the side of the ship. His face is relaxed, even as Ulric looms over him, holding his pistol to the man’s forehead.
“So I am going to execute this Scavenger, in the ways of the old Aryans, with a pistol, and some words,” Ulric mutters, still looking at the old man.
Ulric chants: “I light my path with the flame of reason—”
The Scavenger puts his hands to his necklace, running his fingers over its engraved carvings.
“I warm my heart with the pride of race—”
Chanting and hollering are rising among the crew. I look up and see Volker and Witzel looking down from the tower Bridge balcony. The golden flag of the Reich waves elegantly above them.
“I love my Führer for all Eternal—”
The old man opens his eyes and gazes at Ulric. His lips form some words—I can’t hear what they are, as the chanting drowns them out. Through the noise I hear Ulric declare:
“For his life is what gave me grace.”
I wait to hear the gunshot. To confirm that all of this will be alright. Yet there is a pause. Ulric just stands there, his gun still held to the forehead of the Scavenger, who looks at him, unmoving. Only the wind makes noise. Sand rustles across the steel deck. Everyone is silent. Everything is still.
The crowd watches on as a minute goes by, two minutes, Ulric’s gun glimmers in the sun, ready to shoot point-blank into to the old man’s skull. Inside I am screaming, begging for him to do something, to show the entire ship that he is a loyal Aryan. What is he doing?!
He looks back at me, and I look at him. We are only meters apart, yet it feels like it may as well be kilometers. The gun, to my horror, starts moving downward as Ulric lowers his arm and his helmet begins to bend forward and down, following the gun. The gun is now perpendicular to the steel deck. My brother’s helmet is parallel to the darkening horizon, but his visor gazes down onto the old man’s upturned face.
He didn’t shoot. Why the fuck didn’t he shoot?! Why would my own brother refuse to shoot that creature? I look on, feeling like a passenger in my own body. The emotion, the nervousness, the stress my brother is causing me…it all disappears. His traitorous words begin to ring inside my skull. Everything he said about the Führer, about the Kiln, about me. My brother…is gone.
I thought I could save him, yet he’s been corrupted. His ideology—even who he was, has vanished over the last few weeks. I did this to you, Ulric. I never should have invited him. Shouldn’t have given him the benefit of the doubt that he’d succeed in the Kiln. Instead, he despised it. I look on at my brother as he stares back at me.
Yet another voice goes through my head. He was the one who let himself be influenced by the lies. Weak in that sense.
Angry chants blast through the air, as many begin to call for Ulric’s head. I look on, as if I was in a dream. Bodies begin throwing themselves at my brother. He raises his arm. There’s a bang. Light permeates from his pistol as one armored crewmen collapses to the ground.
More chanting. I just stand there. I feel…nothing. Ulric failed me. He failed the ship. He failed the Reich. There is no more worrying that he will do the right thing. This is perhaps just who he is—a coward. As he looks back to me, more men lunge at him.
Volker comments something on the radio, something about me stopping them, and yet I simply mutter, “It’s okay.”
With hands behind my back, I begin to stroll closer to the commotion. More gun shots ring out, one lands at my feet yet I continue on unflinchingly. Everything feels numb. He failed me.
He had so much potential and yet he squandered it.
I hear him cry out as he is hoisted into the air. Bodies flood about the deck as the entire crowd begins to move away from me. Some look back to their Captain, and yet all I do is raise my hand. I could stop this. I know I could. And yet I’m not. Why am I not?
A voice inside says that perhaps I’m just tired. Another says that this is for the best. The one screaming for me to save Ulric has been pushed down deep and locked up. As the crowd storms away with my brother in hand, they ignore the old man, still rolled into a ball on the deck.
As everyone disappears, all there is left is his shriveled body, the gun that Ulric dropped, and me. He looks at me and attempts to lunge for the gun. My boot goes down hard with a solid crunch. There is a yowl. He pulls back his arm which now bends at an unnatural angle. I think I see a bit of bone. I smile.
Calm and collected, I bend over and pick up the gun, checking inside to see how many bullets are left. Three. That’s good.
As I look back, I expect to see the old man crawling away, yet instead he looks back at me with his arm to his chest. The pain in his eyes is tremendous, and yet he holds it in. We look to each other. He does not run.
Without another word spoken, I raise the pistol to his temple and pull the trigger. The round rips squarely into his forehead. A clean shot. The body instantly flops onto the deck, crumpled and defeated. The ring of the gunfire echoes throughout the empty desert.
I’m left with just a dead body for all my troubles. Fuck him. Fuck me for allowing Ulric to keep him.
I think my feet are moving, I feel my body going forward, its acceleration toward the crowd walking to the back of the ship. All else around me fades into darkness. I fe
el nothing.
Chanting permeates across the ship as bodies rush to the commotion. A crowd has swarmed around Ulric. He tries to kick, punch, yet a series of blows send him tumbling toward the deck as well.
Ulric calls out to me on the radio. I can hear the pain and fear in his voice. My body has no response to it. I feel nothing. He failed to do what he needed. He did nothing but criticize my domain. I did everything for him, but he decided to throw it all away on an old man’s life.
The crowd reaches the edge of the ship. Glowing visors look back to me for guidance as I casually stroll across to the stern. When I reach the festivities, I am greeted with a cheer.
My brother struggles to get himself free. His limbs are held by guards and his violet cape is wrapped around his neck. My mind is blank seeing this image. Is this what it has come to?
“Ansel…” Ulric chokes out in a panicked voice. He turns to me. The crowd goes silent as I face my brother.
“Ulric,” I say, my voice laced with disappointment. I can feel the pain well up inside. I want to help him, I want to do everything to bring him back, but I know that he is lost. A battle rages inside me as punches and blows rain down on Ulric. His metal helmet clangs with each of the strikes, until eventually his helmet is knocked clean off and the crowd starts battering his unshielded face.
He looks at me, wide-eyed and bruised, one eye closed shut from the swelling. Blood trickles down from his mouth as he coughs violently.
“Why didn’t you shoot him, Ulric?” I mutter to my brother. “I gave you every chance.”
“He…he isn’t a Jew…I don’t know…” Ulric sputters out. “I couldn’t do it.”
Tears begin to stream down my face. My helmet conceals it. I tried everything to save him—or did I? Did I do enough to prevent him from going down this path?
I mutter, holding back my voice from cracking: “You knew this would happen and yet you still spared him…”
“If I pulled that trigger, then the Kiln would have won. Would have changed me into all of you.”
The Atlantropa Articles Page 16