by Ken Asamatsu
“Hmph, I guess he’s too good to ride the dog sleds with the rest of us grunts!”
Müller followed the Messerschmidt with his eyes until it vanished into the gloom ahead of us.
“Hey, wait a second. Look at that,” he said, his voice quivering, and pointed ahead of us.
“What?” I leaned forward and followed his pointing finger, making an audible gulp as I swallowed my breath.
Behold.
Floating above the pure white land, a wavering mirage.
It was clearly a vision of something made, not natural, a jumble of weird geometric structures, shaped by what hands I could not say. They were ruins, were they not? A massive labyrinth created through the senseless building and expansion of structures.
I was overtaken by terror.
They were older than Mohenjo Daro; they stood before human voices filled Memphis or Babylon. Their age shook the mind.
“Just some kind of aurora phenomenon, isn’t it? A trick of the light,” Klenze said, sounding unconvinced himself.
“No, they’re not wavering or flickering at all. That’s... that’s what lies beyond the Mountains of Madness,” Heinrich said. When he did so, he took one hand from the reins and made the sign of the cross over his breast.
I followed suit.
If you wish to laugh at two soldiers of the Wehrmacht, the pride of the German army, acting like farmers from the Alsace, feel free. But I am certain that anyone who saw what we saw that day would pray to God above just as we did.
That is, if God’s hand truly reached even to this frozen wasteland in the south.
We kept on for another four hours, then decided to make camp for the night.
The blizzard had grown stronger, and the officer in charge decided that trying to keep on would only delay our arrival further.
That officer was Heinecke, the rat-faced Gestapo swine. “Put up your tents, and no dawdling! Someone set up the radio to contact Blaski, and get a fire going!
The idiot had clearly never set up a camp before, but the thirty-two of us did as he ordered and quickly set up the tents.
We bent to our work silently, and the hard work as we struggled in the snow helped us to forget the eerie and unsettling things we’d experienced.
Those few moments of physical labor, when we could simply move without thinking, might have been truly happy ones for us.
But alas, happiness never lasts long in this world.
IV Midnight Assault
We fell asleep almost instantly. The day had been an exhausting one, with the stress and worry of setting foot for the first time in our lives on the frozen wastes of Antarctica, spending nearly a full day assembling the tanks, the four hours of sledding, and finally the hard work of setting up the tents.
The tents barely kept out the cold, howling wind, but we didn’t notice the drafts seeping in at the corners due to our thick down sleeping bags.
However, I was awakened deep in my sleeping bag from my dreamless soldier’s sleep by the sounds of three gunshots echoing through a lull in the wind.
I struggled out of the bag and sat up to find Heinrich and Klenze already gripping their guns.
“They came from the north!” Heinrich said. His face reflected the worry we all felt.
“I heard a scream. I’m sure it was Heinecke!” Klenze said.
“As if I care what happens to that Gestapo dog,” I said, as I shrugged the rest of the way out of my sleeping bag. “I’m worried about Müller. He was with the bastard.”
Müller was being kept in Heinecke’s tent, like some kind of hostage.
We left our tent, guns in hand. The world around us was pure white. Even in the dead of night, we couldn’t see anything without our goggles, as the blowing snow filled our vision absolutely.
Yet we went on, calling out Müller’s name as we headed toward Heinecke’s tent. Soldiers from the other tents were already out and beating us there.
“What is the meaning of this?!”
“Mein Gott!”
“Hurry up, over here!”
We heard the men crying out, punctuated by scattered fire from the Bergmanns. The gunfire illuminated the white sky and snow with orange bursts like a film screen. We followed the flashes as we ran through the deep snow, ignoring both its drag on our feet and the slippery ice, desperate to reach Heinecke’s tent.
The area was already surrounded by soldiers, guns at the ready.
“Let us through! Müller, are you OK?!” The three of us called out as we pushed forward through our comrades. But when we came through... all we saw was a massive round hole where once there had been a tent.
I squatted by its rim and looked down into the pit. It was deeper than I could believe. And not only was it a perfect circle, the walls—both ice and earth—were smooth as glass.
“No machine made this hole,” Klenze said from the other side.
“You’re not trying to tell me that some animal did?!” Heinrich replied.
“I guess there’s no hope for Müller or Heinecke,” I answered Heinrich, then noticed something black out of the corner of my eye. I turned toward it and realized it was a black leather glove, fur-lined, just like those issued us by the German army.
“That’s Müller’s,” I muttered, and reached out my hand to retrieve it.
I lifted it up.
It was heavy—still filled with his hand.
The place where Müller’s hand had been sliced away was as smooth, polished, and bloodless as the walls of the hole below us.
“Verdammt!” I cried, and threw the glove with its grisly burden into that cursed hole. It vanished into the darkness. It fell on and on and then, oh so distant—so distant I could scarcely imagine how deep that hole must be—I heard it hit the bottom.
“I am taking command of this expedition,” I announced to the men. I was now the highest ranking soldier left. No one objected. They all simply stood there, faces pale and slack with shock.
“Right, let’s get ready to leave. There’s no way we can stay here, not knowing what lies beneath.”
Klenze nodded slightly and gave me a salute. The others followed suit.
But not one of them gave the straight-armed salute so favored by Hitler and his Nazis.
It started while we were breaking camp.
We could feel more than hear it, a deep rumbling from far below us, as if the earth buried far beneath all the snow and ice quivered and spasmed. Theoretically, it was possible for the Antarctic continent to experience volcanic activity. But what we felt now seemed something utterly different.
“Don’t stop now! Hurry up, get those tents down!”
Klenze showed his experience now and kept the men moving despite all the stress.
“Listen, don’t think about it. Forget the fear, forget the anxiety. Focus on your orders!” Klenze kept at the men, and he himself worked like a machine. Thanks to him, we were packed and on the sleds by four in the morning.
“Do you suppose the tank crews have gotten there already?” Heinrich asked me as he guided the dog sled.
“I’m sure right now they’re sitting around with Blaski warming their bellies with brandy,” Klenze answered for me.
“I wish I was there with them... .”
“Same here.”
While Heinrich and Klenze talked on, I could only sit and listen to the earth, nerves stretched near to breaking.
I couldn’t help feeling that the groaning and trembling had something to do with that massive hole that had swallowed Müller and Heinecke.
And then, gradually, I became convinced that I felt someone—or something.
There was a presence there. A gaze.
It was moving.
Something was following alongside our dog sleds, and it was watching us. The sensation was at first so vague, I thought it a
mere trick of my nerves. However, as one hour passed, and then two, my uncertainty fell away and I grew convinced it was simple fact.
There’s no doubt about it: we are being watched. Tailed. And whoever... whatever is doing it is the same thing that killed Müller and Heinecke.
My heart quailed, and I looked ahead to try and spot anything amiss.
I could see nothing except the white mountains towering in the distance.
I looked to the sides, and again all I saw was dogs, sleds, and men—all looking as exhausted as I felt.
The sky was filled with low gray clouds, and of course the snow, the endless snow... .
And yet, despite assuring myself that there was nothing out there to see, I could not relax. Indeed, the unseen presence came ever closer, and the gaze I felt was almost painful.
It’s coming. It’s almost here.... The thought was like a flare going off in my brain.
I realized I was gripping my Bergmann tightly, the safety off, as if I’d unconsciously gotten ready to fight.
Come, then, if you’re coming! I cursed the unseen enemy silently.
And then I heard the high-pitched howls of terrified dogs off to my left. I turned toward them in a panic. All I saw was a plume of snow thrown nearly ten meters high.
“What’s wrong? What’s going on?!” Klenze called out toward the dog sled hidden in the pillar of snow. There was no answer.
The only sound we heard amidst the surprise attack was the terrified howling and screaming of dogs and men. Then the sound of gunfire added its voice to the screams and howls. We could see muzzle flashes inside the swirling pillar of snow. It looked like lightning inside a storm cloud.
“Heinrich, stop the sled!” I yelled, as I trained my gun on the madness to the left.
“No!” Heinrich shook his head. “If we stop, we’re next!”
He whipped the reins, driving the dogs to run with all they had left.
“He’s right. Look.” Klenze gestured with his chin at the slowly dispersing plume of snow.
Beyond it, further to the left, another rose into the gloomy sky. We watched as it swallowed a crew of our comrades who had stopped their sled to help.
As the second plume grew, the first dissipated.
After the wind blew the last remnants of swirling snow away, we saw another hole like the one that had swallowed Müller.
“What nightmare is this?” Klenze muttered harshly beside me, and made the sign of the cross with his left hand.
“Is this the work of that monster Müller saw in his visions?” I said, and felt a chill of fear run up my back, one even colder than the wind of this wasteland. It was fear as I’d never felt before, fear of the unknown, fear of that awful, unbelievable power.
The chill born of that fear spread from my back to my whole body, and it gripped me, body and soul, for hours afterwards.
V Tragedy in the New Land
The dogs obviously understood far better than we men what lurked in the frozen wasteland. They rushed on for two days without rest, as if they wished only to flee that lurker in the wastes.
We men, on the other hand, were like those zombies of Inuit legend that forever ride their dog sleds even after death, never moving again.
On the third day, however, even the dogs began to flag and the sleds slowed.
Heinrich did not try to drive them faster, though, for he had noticed a change. At some point on our journey, the world around us had begun to warm.
“It’s spring!” Klenze said, as he took off his thick hood. His face quickly began to relax.
Indeed, the change did feel like the arrival of spring. The snow was thinning, and here and there we saw patches of brown earth. The wind lost its bitter edge and even felt warm at times. The mountains around us sparkled black in the sun, and a few even sported green expanses of trees.
“Is this Neuschwabenland?” Heinrich’s voice was a mixture of shock and pleasure. He smiled for the first time in days when he turned to me. But then his smile fell.
“What’s wrong, Major? You don’t seem to be pleased to find some warmth here in Antarctica!”
“I am not pleased at all,” I answered.
I had proved that Kapitän Ritscher was a liar and a con artist, and had been exiled to Antarctica for it. How, after that, could I accept this environment, which defied all reason?
“I guess the Major would have a problem with it!” Klenze chuckled. He was well aware of my past.
“Clearly, this phenomenon is merely a temporary result of volcanic activity. It surely can’t last very long. I am firmly against establishing a military base in such an unstable environment.”
“Oppose it as you will, there’s already one here. Right over there, in fact,” Heinrich said, and pointed ahead of us.
My eyes followed his finger, and I saw a silver semi-cylindrical building about four kilometers away. Three tanks were lined up in front of it, and a little further away five Junkers planes were parked on an area of flat ground.
“There’s a dirt runway, planes, tanks, and barracks. It looks like the Führer plans to bring all of Berlin here in the end!” Heinrich joked to Klenze, although I failed to find any humor in the situation. The madman who currently led Germany might very well plan just such a thing.
As the snow changed to mud, we had to unhook the dogs from their sleds.
We carried their loads on our back for the last two kilometers.
Including us, there were twenty-two soldiers left. All of us were bone weary, but the chance to walk upon real earth again and not snow seemed to lighten our steps.
Heinrich was so heartened he broke into song.
“Stand, brother soldiers,
Heed the war drum’s call!
Forward, ever forward,
Into the mists of dawn!
Only death can call us home.”
The other soldiers soon joined in.
“Glory to the Fatherland! May you never fall!
We are proud sons of Germany,
Loyal, one and all!
The blood we share
Unites us all,
Thus we sing and dance as one!”
Then, the voices faltered for a moment as all remembered the next verse: “We fight for Adolf Hitler, we die for Adolf Hitler.” But Heinrich soon raised his voice again.
“We fight
For Richard Hausen!
We live
With Richard Hausen!”
The other men laughed out loud, and as one they sang the final line:
“For the holy German Reich!”
And, as if it had been awaiting the song’s end, a single gunshot sounded through the camp.
We dropped our burdens on the spot and raised our guns as one.
“Enemies in the camp! Everyone, prepare for battle!”
The men were already spreading out before I’d finished my order, finding cover and keeping their guns trained on the camp. They kept low as they rushed forward.
There were no more sounds of gunfire from the base, but we kept our guard up as we hurried over the last 300 meters. When Klenze arrived at the barracks, he took a breath and then rammed the door with his shoulder. It swung open without resistance. Klenze looked in from his cover beside the door, his gun raised, then turned back to us.
“Verdammt! What is going on here?! Major, the SS men... it looks like they’re all dead!”
“What?!” I cried in astonishment, then moved up behind him.
Klenze slid aside when I nodded, and I stepped in front of the door.
The room within was filled with a sweet, acidic odor... and the smell of fresh shit. As I stared from the doorway, I felt the gorge rising in my throat.
The pool of blood reached almost to the door.
It was piled with pieces of men, sliced and torn an
d flayed. Organs lay scattered. I saw the face of an SS man I had seen before... his severed head resting near the pile.
I stepped inside, fighting the urge to vomit.
The incredible stink of blood and shit spilling from pierced bowels filled the air and made it impossible to breathe.
“Did Blaski finally lose control?” Klenze said, and behind him I heard Heinrich vomiting.
“No.... This wasn’t Blaski. He might have been the reincarnation of Jack the Ripper, but he knew nothing of dissection,” I answered, and as I spoke I moved nearer to the mound of dead SS men, stepping carefully. On closer inspection, these men hadn’t been torn apart by some reckless monster. They’d been cut apart cleanly, almost surgically, as if used in some anatomical investigation.
A perfect example lay before me, a corpse from which the skin had been neatly removed from only the right half of the body, and the muscles there sliced away like a doctor’s anatomical model.
The room was warm, and the stove still burned. Further in we came to the mess hall, where a cup of coffee still steamed on one table.
“Could Blaski be in the back?” I asked myself, and moved on. I opened a door and saw triple bunk beds lining one room, and another door about ten meters ahead.
When I got to it, I took my left hand off my Bergmann and slowly reached for the knob. I took it and turned it. The latch opened with a click.
From behind the door I suddenly heard a sudden thumping, as if that had been a signal to move. Then there was a sound like kicking on the floor, and breaking glass.
“Who goes there?”
I shouted and then kicked the door open.
I rushed into the room, which was filled with wind from the broken window.
I rushed over and looked out... and saw something.
Something black was flying away....
But... what? What was I seeing?
It was black as a shadow and shaped like a two-meter tall barrel. At the top perched something like a starfish shape which twitched bizarrely. And from the back (if back it was) of the barrel, great insect-like wings sprouted. Were they wings? They didn’t beat at all, yet the thing still flew into the sky.
As I watched, it shrunk into the distance and disappeared into the mountains, which surrounded us like fangs.