Dark Tales From the Secret War

by John Houlihan

  “My apologies,” he bowed, and realised the pointlessness of the gesture. Sighing he reached out and removed the rein from her wrist and guided her hand to his shoulder. “If you’d like to follow me.”

  They fell into place at the rear of the column and moved with the others past the dense scrub and under the canopy of the trees.

  The ambient sounds altered almost as soon as they passed the forest’s boundary. There was a deadness to the air that gave every rustle of the undergrowth added import. Patchy sunlight filtered through the leaves and brought something of a school trip feel to the whole expedition, emphasised by Eckhart’s slow and relaxed pace at the front of the line. Under such convivial influences, the unit soon dropped back into comfortable conversation.

  It was only Christian and Cosmina who found the going hard. The track was well worn and had the spongy quality that only earth and leaves compacted over centuries could achieve. It was generally clear of brambles and branches, and Christian was already thinking of himself as a good and considerate guide, but still Cosmina struggled.

  “It’s all so unfamiliar,” she exclaimed. “You have to realise, Lieutenant, that until last week my world was a much smaller place. The confines of the bunk house and work yard at the camp. And yet, here I am now in this forest with you.”

  “You raise a good point Fräulein Stafie. Why are you here? I wasn’t informed that we’d have civilians accompanying us.” Maybe, Christian thought, this was finally an opportunity learn more about the mission.

  “The same reason as you Lieutenant. I have made a deal with the devil.”

  Christian laughed, “I’ve made no such deal. I’m just following orders and trying to get through this war in one piece.”

  “But you made a choice at some point. You decided to wear that uniform just as I have made a deal with the men that Eckhart represents.”

  Christian stopped and Cosmina faltered behind him. He looked over his shoulder at her. “And what does that deal entail exactly?”

  “Safe passage of my family back to their homeland in exchange for my… I think Eckhart calls them my ‘unique abilities’. How about you Lieutenant? What are your unique abilities?”

  “I build things. I tell others how best to blow things up. I’m an engineer by trade Fräulein Stafie.” He began walking again, looking to the end of the troop line and thinking that he would have to rearrange Cosmina’s travel arrangements. He could hardly lead his men stuck here at the back playing chaperone to this woman.

  “When we halt,” Christian called over his shoulder, “I’ll get the men to redistribute some equipment and we’ll see if we can make a mount available for you.”

  “I don’t want to be any bother,” Cosmina said, her grip tightening slightly on Christian’s shoulder. He glanced back.

  “It’s not a problem,” he said but wondered, once again, just what kind of trouble they might be heading into.

  The group rested in a natural glade a few miles further up the track; the horses nuzzling the ground in search of food as the heat of the day began to take hold. A young unterfeldwebel called Kuster asked whether tunics could be unbuttoned. Christian looked to Eckhart to see if he had any thoughts about the request, but the oberst remained lost in contemplation of his surroundings, as equally uncaring about the heat of the day as he appeared to be towards the men’s discomfort. If he has an opinion, Christian thought as he allowed the men to relax their dress code, let him countermand this order and at least we’ll all have a better idea of what he wants from us. He wandered over to where he had left Cosmina and found Ernst squatting next to her. His friend looked up as soon as Christian approached, but this wordless contact was lost on their female companion.

  “It’s good to keep the men relaxed,” Ernst gave a wry grin. “Especially when none of us have any idea why we’re here.”

  “I can tell you why I’m here,” the flat delivery in Cosmina’s voice made Ernst raise his eyebrows.

  “Tell us then,” the big man said. “We’re obviously going to get nothing from our new leader and mysteries have always given me indigestion.”

  Cosmina smirked at Ernst’s oafish bravado. “I know the form of words in my people’s tongue. My mother was versed in the old ways, and I have some skill at lifting curses, the binding or breaking of wards, divination… Elements of the esoteric arts.”

  Incredulous confusion passed silently between Ernst and Christian. “The old ways?” Christian tried to keep the derision out of his voice.

  “Yes. Your modern world is so very young Lieutenant, and so very arrogant and violent. Why shouldn’t…”

  “Wait a minute,” Ernst was grinning and shaking his head. “I need to make sure I’ve got this right. You’re here because you’re some kind of mystic? A mind reader? A fortune teller?” Cosmina’s face grew hard at Ernst’s tone. “I’m sorry Fräulein, and no disrespect to you, but this is starting to sound like a bad joke.”

  “And what do you mean by that?” There was a cool, controlled anger in Cosmina’s voice and Christian was unnerved by it.

  “I mean… Two engineers, a mystic and a member of Nazi high command walk into a forest one day. Doesn’t that sound like the opening of a joke to you?”

  “Haha,” Christian feigned a laughed hoping to dissipate the tension that was apparent between these two. “Now you come to mention it…”

  “Move out!” Eckhart’s call carried easily in the dull air between the trees.

  Ernst slapped his knees and rose, “Well, let’s hope the punch line’s a funny one, eh?” He said and the moved off to cajole the unit into action. Christian, reached down and took Cosmina’s arm, helping her to her feet.

  “I’m not sure you friend is taking this as seriously as he should,” she said. “Eckhart is a driven man, driven by a high command that has a lot resting on the success of this mission.” Christian found her sombre assessment unsettling.

  “Ernst is Ernst. Forgive him. You do get used to his ways and, to be fair, this operation is already beyond anything we’ve experienced in this war so far.”

  “When it’s run its course,” she said. “It may well be beyond anything you’ve ever experienced in your life Lieutenant.”

  * * *

  The density of the trees increased as they ventured further into the forest, not just in their placement adjacent to each other, but also in the girth of their trunks. Every child learned to measure the age of a tree by counting its growth rings when cut, but Christian was unprepared for the sheer weight of organic history that loomed about him. Breaks in the canopy grew fewer and the march had decayed into a trudge through an oppressive and over-oxygenated atmosphere. Among the mulch-deadened footsteps, voices too had dropped to weary murmurs.

  They felt, rather than sensed that the day was drawing to a close, that the gloom amid the trees was as much to do with an obscured sunset as the entwined foliage. Christian passed the reins of the dappled mare that Cosmina now rode to Ernst and moved up the column to fall into step next to Eckhart’s mount.

  “Oberst. We should camp and let the men rest,” Christian checked his watch. “It’ll be dark within the hour.”

  Eckhart sneered as if the request irritated him intensely. “Did you include the battery torches in the inventory?”

  “Of course. As I said before, all of the supplies…”

  “Then bring one to me distribute the others to the men. My deadline isn’t up for discussion Gruber.” His attention returned to the meandering track. It seemed that this particular conversation was at an end.

  “As you wish,” Christian nodded. He stopped and let the group move to a position where he could issue the necessary orders.

  The trees lit up around them as twilight fell, and only the cooling of the air could alleviate the pervasive fatigue and unease. Multi-limbed shadows danced wherever the bouncing torch beams alighted, a flickering silent movie the Surrealists would approve of. Conversation had also stopped, and didn’t have the required energy to sta
rt again when the occasional pause arrived as Eckhart fumbled with his monocle in order to consult his map. Everyone was exhausted, but there was still no order to halt and make camp.

  Finally, the group broke away from the main track and followed what was little more than an animal trail. Both men and horses became cautious, their feet seeking and finding tentative purchase under the erratic lights. The pace, already slowed by fatigue, descended to a crawl and the men’s heads dropped to their chests, so much so that no one, with the possible exception of Eckhart, noticed the low stone walls that began to emerge on either side of their route. They passed more of these huddled structures, just a few square metres in size and each festooned with so much moss and lichen that they almost appeared natural.

  A little further and the trees thinned allowing the shadow of an angular structure to became manifest against a patchy, star-strewn sky. It was against this backdrop that Eckhart finally brought the march to a halt.

  The camp was established in befuddled haste, and Christian was too tired to care about setting a watch. Tents were pitched in a haphazard formation around a small central fire that Ernst had built. A bit more attention was paid to both Eckhart’s and Cosmina’s sleeping arrangements but, after they were organised, the last acts of the long day were a tumble of bed rolls and a racket of snores.

  Ernst dropped some logs around the fire to keep it contained overnight and Christian dragged himself to join his friend before exhaustion finally claimed him. They crouched beside the meagre flames and looked to the oberst’s tent. The bright glare of one of the torches spilled through the gaps in the canvas and there was restlessness about its occupant.

  “I suppose I’d struggle to sleep if I had been sat in a saddle all day,” Ernst’s implicit criticism made Christian raise a weary finger to his lips.

  “It’s too quiet. Especially for such comments,” he admonished. Ernst listened, as if suddenly realising the lack of sound beyond the camp, and then shrugged.

  “The animals are more sensible than us. Even they know that there’s no reason to be in this forsaken place far from good food. But if it’s the quiet you’re worried about, don’t be. We’re engineers. There’ll be enough noise for everyone tomorrow.”

  Christian nodded at the sense in this and considered the stack of supplies hastily taken from the backs of the exhausted horses. Noise aplenty hidden within that collection of tools and materials, he thought.

  “Perhaps the quiet will make for a deep sleep,” he said and slapped Ernst on the back as he stood. “Don’t stay up all night pondering my friend.”

  Swaying on tired feet, Christian half acknowledged the grunted negative from the other man and then sagged towards his tent in search of rest.

  * * *

  He woke early despite his fatigue and was gripped by the sudden sensation that he was suffocating, struggling to breathe in the stagnant air around him. A breath, and then another calmed his nerves but he still couldn’t shake the eerie sensation that everything was distant to him. Laying there, straining his ears to pick up any sound, he began to shift himself, almost as if to test his own ability to hear. The blanket made a comforting rasp as it slid away and Christian sat up, the camp bed giving a series of welcome creaks as he did so. Fears of a mysterious deafness fell away as he struggled to get his boots on, but he still couldn’t free himself of the disquiet this cloistered atmosphere produced.

  Thinking back to the night before didn’t help. Usually a prolific and vivid dreamer, he found everything a blank from the point he had collapsed into his tent until this morning. It was an absence that left him more unsettled than refreshed.

  He shook his head and placed a hand around his throat, the panic about his inability to properly catch his breath still lingered there. It was as if the forest was holding its breath around them as well. A gasp, or perhaps a deep inhalation before a call, or even a scream.

  Pushing up into a stoop, Christian strapped on his Luger and stumbled out through the tent’s entrance, choosing to translate such useless and circular thinking into something immediate and useful — like emptying his bladder or seeking out something hot to drink. His intentions, however, were forgotten as soon as he saw the chapel.

  What remained of the structure was hardly more than the height of three tall men, the low spire or belfry taking up almost a quarter of that elevation. This part of the building had survived, Christian surmised, as a result of the over-engineering of its supporting foundations and walls. The remainder of the low structure had tumbled to the ground to be claimed by the ravages of time.

  Unlike the crumbling walls, the floor appeared to be intact with irregular but smooth flagstones. These, dotted as they were with tussocks and detritus from the nearby trees, stretched towards the base of the low pinnacle where, beneath the only remaining arched window frame, sat an altar.

  Unable to hold on any longer, Christian ducked behind a tree to relieve himself and peered back at the chapel, sensing that there was something odd about its design. Then he noticed that the alignment of the centre piece appeared to be incorrect. Instead of the usual cross apse formation, it sat in line with the aisle, looking more like a mortuary slab than a place dedicated to prayer.

  He shook himself and realised that curiosity had replaced his earlier disquiet. His contemplation of the chapel’s layout seemed more real than his shortness of breath or any abstract fears. Perhaps Cosmina’s words of the day before had disturbed him more than he was aware of? He squinted at her closed tent and made a mental note to talk to her further whenever she emerged.

  The gnawing, churning cacophony of chainsaws became the only sound in the whole forest. Eckhart had paced a perimeter with Christian and one detail was clearing a circular expanse around the chapel. Others were re-pitching tents, turning one into a serviceable canteen, while yet another group had transferred lifting gear to the foot of the misaligned altar. Industrious activity gave everyone a renewed sense of purpose and the trial of the previous night was soon forgotten. Regardless of Eckhart’s vagaries, there was a job to do here and his men would do it to the best of their ability.

  Christian stood next to a group of screw jacks and looked back at a camp that was rapidly becoming a work site. The ground wasn’t overly contoured, which was useful as Eckhart had thrown the additional need for a level platform into the already hectic schedule. Its inclusion hadn’t over-stretched resources, as Ernst had come up with the practical solution of using tree stumps as foundations layered with logs made from the fallen timber. No one would be able to dance on the finished surface, but it did meet with Eckhart’s approval. There was even enough wood remaining to set up a tying post for the horses. With resources amply covered, division of labour was now the main issue that Christian faced.

  He had a small team working on the tubular sections of the enclosure and would move men over to this project as they completed other tasks. It meant that there could be no slacking off anywhere, but he wasn’t sure how long the men could sustain their current pace. For the moment, though, everyone appeared to be fully engaged with their allotted tasks.

  Christian had left Ernst in charge of checking and rechecking the odd dimensions of the enclosure, but the man’s sheer physical prowess was needed at the altar. He called his friend over to him and together they considered the slab that Eckhart wanted raised. The collected dirt of centuries had been exhumed from the tight seams, and all that was needed was some leverage to make room for the screw jacks.

  “Have you sent for Eckhart?” Ernst asked, picking up a long crowbar and wedging it down into one exposed crack.

  Christian nodded his head indicating the direction the oberst was already approaching from. They watched as the man’s purposeful strides made short work of the distance to the altar.

  “You did right to wait for me,” it wasn’t exactly a compliment, but it was the first obliquely positive thing Eckhart had said to either of them. “Begin lifting the stone,” he continued. “And send for Fräulein Stafie
too. She should be here for this.”

  A runner was sent out and then Christian and Ernst set to work on the slab, creeping and wedging it in miniscule shifts until a slice of blackness became visible beneath a good six inches of moist stone. A chunk of freshly cut wood was wedged into the gap and the two men shifted around to the opposite side to repeat the operation. It wasn’t long before the slab sat on a fulcrum made by the propping blocks. From that point it was relatively easy to slide it to one side using a combination of screw jacks and a grapple line.

  Some way into the operation, Cosmina arrived and was led to the altar. She leant against it in an attempt to orientate herself.

  “What is this place?” Her shift to open nervousness undermined any bravado she had shown to Christian yesterday. This woman didn’t trust any of them.

  “You’re standing at the altar of a derelict chapel,” Christian took pity on her predicament as he moved towards the hole. Eckhart and Ernst were already peering into the exposed cavity.

  The space below was designed like a shallow well, circular stonework surrounding a short central column. On top of it sat a large bundle of besmirched and decrepit cloth that Eckhart reached for and lifted as if it were a treasured child. The slight strain on his face told Christian that something important sat within the wrappings.

  “There’s something all bound up in cloth. It’s about the size of a car tyre. The oberst is carrying it over to the altar. To you.” Cosmina smiled her thanks to Christian.

  “Yes,” Eckhart’s excitement was palpable to all, although Ernst seemed more preoccupied with seeing if anything remained in the hole. “Der Albtraum, Fräulein Stafie. Are you aware of the legend?”

  “A mischievous spirit said to torment anyone who sleeps. My people have another name for it, but I recognise the German term.”

  “In classical literature it’s akin to the incubus or the succubus but, yes, a creature of dreams. However, with one very important regional difference.”