Kthulhu Reich

by Ken Asamatsu

  Berger next saw.... Surely they must be hands? He caught a glimpse as they passed through his narrow view. Each had five webbed fingers tipped with vicious talons. But they were terribly large, twisted and oversized like something from an expressionist movie set.

  The light next showed him the thing’s mouth, huge and twisted, like a crack in the very bed of the ocean. Above it were two gaping nostrils, and then a glassy eye glinting crimson in the gloom, on the left side of its face. That eye, like a dome of crimson glass sticking out of the beast’s face, looked toward him, and the pupil working at its center met the periscope straight on.

  “Yaaagh!” Berger cried out unwittingly.

  His cry was drowned out by a buzzer. It was the communication line the captain had set up between the conning tower and the “special room” in the back of the U-boat, so he could speak with the man the crew and Inge called Herr Saga.

  “Ja, hier ist Roggenhagen,” the captain spoke into the microphone. Although he was the ship’s captain, his attitude when talking to Herr Saga seemed more appropriate for someone like Admiral Dönitz or the Führer himself.

  “This is no time to be distracted by trivialities, Captain. The sea beast has merely noticed ships on the surface and so stopped its bellowing and assaults. It doesn’t want anyone else to know it’s here.”

  “So, what would you have us do?” the Oberleutnant asked.

  “I was able to identify the location of another ship on the surface with my Flame magic long before your pathetic experimental radar. Right now there is an Argentinian merchant ship, the Estrelita, on the surface at 36 degrees 10 minutes south latitude, 30 degrees 5 minutes west longitude. It’s returning to Buenos Aires from Cape Town. Sink it,” Saga ordered in a cold voice.

  “What?! But Argentina and the Third Reich are allies! We’re en route to port Mar del Plata in Argentina right now!”

  “Sink it to distract the beast. When we do, the thing will stop to devour the crew of the Estrelita. We can take U1313 to full speed and make our escape.” There was a pause, after which Saga went on in a wheedling voice. “Whatever happens, we must make sure Operation Exodus is a success. I believe your orders say as much, yes? Orders signed by the Führer himself?”

  With that, Saga ended the connection to the special room himself.

  “Operation Exodus?” Berger said to himself sarcastically. “What nonsense, comparing this farce to the Jews escaping Egypt. There’s a much better name for what we’re doing.”

  “What?” Inge asked, turning toward him.

  Lt. Berger stared back at Inge’s face. It was an attractive one, with dark gray eyes and finely sculpted features framed by long brown hair. She was supremely well proportioned, and indeed SS Reichsführer of the SS Heinrich Himmler would likely say she was the very incarnation of German beauty.... “If only she were blonde,” he might also say.

  “What name do you think is better, then?” Inge asked.

  Berger replied “The way that thing is chasing us, don’t you think ‘exorios’ is more appropriate?”

  Inge sighed in exasperation. “And just what does exorios mean?”

  “It’s Greek. It means ‘exile.’ Or, to put it a little more gently, ‘expulsion.’”

  “And what leads you to say that?”

  “Look at us! All forty-two crew members of U1313, you, I, we’ve all been banished to exile with Herr Saga in the back. Only the fates know if our destination is Argentina—or the depths of hell.”

  Inge went pale and turned away. She stood and hurried away, back to the special room in the iron fish’s tail. After she left, the tower was filled with the sound of the captain ordering his men.

  “Ready torpedoes. Acquire target. Torpedo tubes one and two, target is the Argentinian merchant ship on the surface.”

  He’s empty, like a robot controlled by Herr Saga, thought Berger, and felt a chill.

  “Target acquired.”

  “Torpedoes ready.”

  The voices of the crew came from the speaker.

  “Torpedoes away!”

  Berger listened to the captain’s voice with his back turned as he gazed again through the periscope. For some reason, the sound of it brought to mind a word he hadn’t heard in years.

  “Nachzehrer... .”

  Those who live on after death... .

  The old folks used to tell stories about nachzehrer when I was a child. They return from the grave and drag their friends and family back with them to the land of the dead. They say you can’t tell them from the living.... He gently shook his head. If those living corpses had voices, surely they would sound just like Herr Saga and the captain right now.

  There was a sudden light in the periscope’s eyepiece, a brilliant orange flash that stabbed at Berger’s eyes.

  A moment of silence, and then— Just as Berger began to relax, a terrible impact shook the sub as the shockwaves of the attack hit. U1313 shook and leapt in the water, and a muffled sound like thunder filled the air—the explosion of the torpedoes, carried through the water. As if triggered by that sound, the U-boat tilted at an angle of about thirty degrees. The pipe- and valve-lined walls shuddered so, it was like being inside a cocktail shaker.

  And yet the three men in the conning tower, the captain and Oberleutnant, and Berger himself, remained utterly calm. They simply braced themselves on any pipe or handle in reach.

  The U-boat soon quieted down and leveled out again.

  “Behold. The beast has gone! It’s on the surface, enjoying an Argentinian feast. Captain, now is the time. Full speed ahead! Oberleutnant, Leutnant Berger, I ask you. Join me in making the sign of the Drudenfuß!” said Herr Saga from the speaker.

  “The sign of what?” said Oberleutnant Leffer.

  “The Drudenfuß... a magical five-pointed star. Here, just be quiet and do what I do,” said Berger, and extended his left index finger. He traced a pentagram in the air, starting at the top. Soon, he had created an invisible symbol to summon the power of the Flame.

  When he had finished, he began speaking quietly. “I’ve been with him since Vienna, over a month and a half now. I’ve had to become... used to these things. His little rituals.”

  He grimaced.

  Indeed, it seemed as if Berger had become a student of the occult, and from the very beginning of Operation Exodus—or Operation Exorios, as he put it—had been pursued by the shadows of things not of this world.

  II The Brand of the Habsburgs

  The scene Berger then witnessed through the periscope continued to trouble his shallow sleep.

  The merchant ship, broken in half and sinking—crewmen thrown through the evening sky into the sea... the white waves reaching eagerly upward as they fell... the waters opening up, like the Red Sea at Moses’s call—and then... Oh, and then that massive crimson eye... the warped, expressionist-film fingers... the webbed hand, scooping up five or six men at a time... that twisted mouth opening wide like a crack in the ocean floor... and the screams of the men thrown inside, echoing still in Berger’s ears... .

  He was awakened by a low moaning sound.

  That was me.... My own miserable groaning woke me up.

  He gave a wry smile when he realized it.

  He shifted on his bunk, and pulled a wrinkled envelope from the pocket of his uniform. He turned on the light and looked once again at what was written on the outside.

  “To be opened at the Thrush’s Nest”

  The paper inside was headed

  Directive One: Major General Blamauer, Acting Commander of the Abwehr, Austrian Division

  Berger’s mind quickly went back to the night he was given the envelope.

  At 11 p.m. on April 2nd, 1945, Leutnant Erich Berger of the Abwehr, stationed at the time in Austria, was awakened from his sleep by two soldiers.

  He was loaded into a car and driven to the Thr
ush’s Nest, the codename for a secret airfield, officially designated RL15, run by the Third Reich’s Abwehr intelligence bureau on the outskirts of Vienna. He was greeted there by a number of showy guards and a bevy of generals—and by envelopes containing orders.

  “Lt. Berger. Here are your orders. Check them carefully, but be discreet.”

  One of the generals handed Berger two envelopes. Both were sealed with wax. One read “To be opened at the Thrush’s Nest” and the second “To be opened at La Coruña, in witness of the captain of U1313.”

  La Coruña? Isn’t that some Spanish country port? Berger wondered, suspicion taking hold, but he proceeded to open the first envelope.

  “It says you are to escort a Class A civilian out of Austria under the strictest secrecy... or so I understand.” He was then bundled into a rickety old 1940 model Junkers Ju 52 (painted in Spanish livery!) with two elderly pilots.

  Inside, he met a mysterious man, wearing an intriguing black satin mask, and his beautiful brunette nurse.

  Berger had been slightly dazed by the three generals’ grave mood. However, the orders he had received contained information more dizzying by far.

  Orders for Intelligence Officer Lt. Erich Berger

  The group of useless fools standing around you do not yet know this, but as of last March 7th, the American army crossed the Rhine. Only Heaven knows how long our own army can hold them back. However, I am not optimistic. We have made arrangements that all German forces are to be moved from Vienna around April 13th. However, there is one worry we must eliminate before then. I must ensure that my will lives on and my great struggle continues, even after I am gone. So, on the advice of my trusted advisor Martin Bormann37, I order you to carry out the great work described below.

  1. Guard the man currently with you (now known as Saga) with your very life. Guard him as you would guard me.

  2. Ensure that a certain item in Herr Saga’s possession remains safe and allow absolutely no harm to come to it.

  3. Maintain absolute secrecy about both Herr Saga and the item, and be prepared to guard him not only from enemy actions and agents, but accidents, natural disasters, coincidence, and even the will of God.

  4. The flight plan for your Junkers Ju 52 is as follows: Vienna – Pilsen – Leipzig – Braunschweig – Lübeck – Bergen. This path is based upon Herr Saga’s occult wisdom. You must also continue to do as this wisdom dictates after the flight.

  5. From the port at Kiel, you will board a small troop transport disguised as a Red Cross ship and sail to the Spanish port of La Coruña, where U1313 will be waiting for you.

  That is all. I pray you will ensure the success of Operation Exodus.

  Adolf Hitler, Führer of the Third German Reich

  When he’d finished reading and returned the order to the envelope, Berger felt an intense gaze from someone. It seemed to cling to him like slime. He looked up and saw that the man in the black satin mask was staring at him.

  “I hope you understand your orders,” the masked man said. He must have been the Herr Saga mentioned in the orders.

  “Sieg Heil!” Lt. Berger said, and raised his right hand in the air, giving the Nazi salute.

  All of the generals present raised their hands in unison. As did Inge, and the elderly pilots, and all the soldiers on guard duty.

  “Heil!” Herr Saga, however, merely gave a light wave of his hand in pantomime of the salute, then returned it to the wooden trunk in his lap.

  Who does he think he is? snorted Lt. Berger.

  He squinted one eye by reflex. He noticed that the wooden box in Herr Saga’s lap bore a small brand on the top.

  It read Kunstkammer, Cabinet of Art. The trunk had come from the private collection of the House of Habsburg itself!

  The instant he saw this, Berger made a deduction. This Herr Saga is actually the Führer’s treasurer. He gathered all the small treasures and assets he could from the noble families while he was in Vienna, and packed them in that trunk. My orders must be to make sure he gets safely to Spain, French Africa,38 or South America.

  At that point, he had no inkling of the creeping tendrils of darkness that were even then stretching out to ensnare him.

  III Saga’s Shadow, Giant’s Shadow

  Suddenly a shadow obscured the envelope in Berger’s hands.

  He caught his breath and looked up in his bunk. A long-haired woman’s silhouette stood looking down at him. Berger had to stop himself from calling out the name of Azrael, the angel of death. For intelligence operatives, Azrael’s name was used half in jest, half as a whispered legend. They said that moments before doomed officers met death on the battlefield, a beautiful androgynous figure, the Angel of Death, would appear to them.

  “What’s the matter? Why are you so pale?!” the angel of death standing before Berger said in Inge’s voice, holding back a laugh.

  “You’d have given anyone a start, appearing from nowhere like that,” Berger answered as he put the envelope away again.

  “What did you want?” he went on.

  “I don’t want anything. Herr Saga does. He wishes to speak to you about what comes next. Over cognac and cigars, apparently.”

  “Cognac and cigars, is it?” Berger sat up on his bunk.

  “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard of the living dead enjoying such luxuries,” he said with as much sarcasm and malice as he could muster. He stood up.

  Inge’s face had frozen. But apparently Herr Saga had been quite insistent she bring Berger to the special room herself, for she bit her tongue and didn’t offer her usual argument.

  “He... he’s nothing like that,” Inge spat at him, and seemed to wilt.

  “Then what is he? What should we call such a monster?”

  Inge frowned a little.

  “He is a man of deep conviction. A man who was once a hero,” she said, leading Berger from the room.

  A hero, was he? Berger thought as he followed Inge. You know, when we took off from the Thrush’s Nest, the sailors of the Kriegsmarine all turned out to see us off in style. It was almost as if they were seeing off some hero, like Joachim Schepke.

  And he remembered further....

  He remembered the countless terrors that had assailed them for a full forty-eight hours starting at midnight on April 3, the moment they took off in the Junkers.

  The soldiers visible outside the plane windows gave Herr Saga another salute, crying “Sieg Heil!” into the darkness.

  The soldiers on guard duty each stood at attention and presented arms.

  They all stayed like that as the Junkers slowly started down the runway, seeing us off.

  Who could this man be? Berger narrowed his eyes and stared at the black-satin-masked man sitting across from him.

  His posture was that of a man around forty. He had the lean, wiry build of a hunting dog, or an eagle.

  He was wearing a pitch-black three-piece suit with a black necktie and polished black leather shoes. Over all this he wore a black leather coat.

  His fingers were long and thin, like a pianist’s, and on his left middle finger he wore a ring with a black stone inlaid with the letters R H in metal.

  He is greatly favoring his left side. A lingering war wound? Lung damage? Yes... It looks like he’s missing his left lung and a few of his ribs on that side. An intelligence officer through and through, Berger noticed all this quickly.

  The Junkers was soon airborne.

  The change came soon after.

  The night had been clear, with moonlight filling the windows, but clouds suddenly blanketed the sky. They built into heavy black fronts, with brilliant purple lightning flashing within. The flashes dyed the dark Junkers cabin violet.

  And the wind rose.

  The plane began to buck and shudder savagely, and a horrible, bestial howling filled the cabin from nose to tai
l. Inge pulled back in her seat at the sound of it. Herr Saga placed a comforting hand on her knee.

  “There is no need to worry. This is all simply a diversion sent by Hastur.39 As long as we possess the Flame of the Philistines, no demon of the winds, nor spirit of the earth, nor beast of fire may lay finger upon us,” he said gently.

  “Ja... I believe you, Obergruppen—” The mysterious man stopped her before she could finish. “Call me Saga now, as the Führer ordered. Use no other title, not Obergruppenführer, nor General. I am Saga.”

  Thunder rolled.

  Lt. Berger whipped his head around to look out the window.

  Rain washed over the glass. It was pouring out, harder than his shower at home, hard as a waterfall. The fierce wind whipped the heavy raindrops at them horizontally. The dark sky was torn by violet lightning from time to time.

  What a perfect setting for the last night before the withdrawal from Vienna, thought Berger sarcastically, his lips twisting into a grin. But the ironic smile was soon replaced by a look of shock.

  “What the devil is that enormous shadow?” Lt. Berger muttered hoarsely.

  There, beyond the Junkers’s tail, apart from the gales and sleet, a shape was taking form. To his eye it looked to be about fifty meters in size already, and was still gaining depth and substance.

  At first it simply looked like a mass of dark clouds, but as he watched the blackness gathered and began to extend viscous tentacles into the air. In mere moments, it had taken on a monstrous human shape.

  That part which appeared to be the head turned towards the plane. A beam like that of a searchlight shot forth from its single eye.

  It’s like some coarse mockery of humanity, trying to catch the birds flying overhead. Lt. Berger couldn’t help but shudder.

  “Foul sea beast. What does it think it can do? Flame boils water away to steam. Such is the rule of nature! Is that not so, lieutenant?” The black satin mask twitched over Herr Saga’s mouth and nose, and he gave a cackling laugh. He then set the wooden trunk on his lap.

  “Lieutenant, Inge, do as I say. Join me in drawing the Drudenfuß of flame in the air,” he ordered, his voice filled with confidence.