By Wing Pikepaw
A/N: Please see the bottom for my necessary rant, which concerns thanks and a note to my beloved readers. No sense putting it up here when you've a story to read! ;)
Chapter 1
Enemy Ground
I glanced once more up at the sprawling English mansion, taking note of the beautiful stained glass windows. As my gaze traveled along their expanse in the rough brown stone, I noticed one was broken, shattered as if some rock—or a ball—had been hurled through it. Yes, this was most definitely where one would find children: the information had not been wrong. Still, apprehension gripped me a little tighter as I opened the front gates and slowly made my way up to the door, muttering under my breath the words I had prepared in order to gain access to the Pevensie children.
Their father, Jack Pevensie, a British soldier, was under official investigation by the S.S., for what reason even I didn't know, and I had been selected at random from other English-speaking soldiers in my regiment to take his children into custody. They had been evacuated from London because of the air raids, many of which I had escorted the bombers into as part of the fighter squadron, and were now living in this place with an old professor, his housekeeper, and three other servants. I had been chosen because I spoke English well, with almost no trace of an accent, and though I was dedicated to my country I would not have been able to serve in the S.S. because I had recently stopped growing at five foot ten and had brown hair, not blond. Still, I had jumped at this chance to both be put in favor for a possible promotion and, in truth, we had been on leave far too long for my liking. This assignment would be a break in the monotony, even if it was only transporting children.
The door was only a few steps away now. Once more, I went over my lines.
"Hello. My name ist—is—Henry Matthews. I haff—have, have—come from London from Mrs. Helen Pevensie vith a message for her children." For good measure, I added in a furiously muttered undertone, "I am certainly not Heindrich Zöhler, Luftwaffe lieutenant und one who has flown der over London alongside der bombers and is trying to take Jack Pevensie's children to Germany, nein. You must be mistaken."
Angrily, I shook my head. English was an infuriatingly complicated language! Pronouncing all w's with a "wuh" sound, not a "v"…it was ever so strange. But if I did not get it right now, my cover would be blown, and all would be lost. I tried not to think about what that involved as I summoned my courage and knocked three times. Each thud reverberated about the house within.
After about a minute, the oaken door swung wide, and a harassed looking woman with her gray hair in a tight bun stepped into view from behind it. After eyeing me suspiciously for a few moments, she asked crisply in an accent I recognized as Scottish, "Well then, wot d'ye want, sirrah?"
I took off my hat respectfully. "Madam, my name is Henry Matthews, and I've traveled from London with a message for Mrs. Helen Pevensie's children."
She frowned. "Could ye nae ha' sent a telegraph? What d'ye think all that nonsense is for, young man?"
"I believe Mrs. Pevensie intended for me to escort her children home," I said quietly, finally meeting her eyes as I attempted to stress the importance of this. "I must speak with the children's official caregiver about this—unless, of course, I address her?" Obviously, I knew she was one of the professor's staff as he was unmarried, but it was imperative that I kept up the pretense that I knew nothing.
The woman snorted scornfully. "No, 'ye address' 'is housekeeper, Mrs. Macready. Follow me."
Without another word, she turned and led me up the grand staircase in the main foyer, not looking back to make sure I was following, which I was. However, I got the impression she was listening carefully to my every movement, making sure I did not set a foot wrong. I stifled a grin behind one hand as I climbed after her.
We passed through a virtual maze of halls, rooms, and doors, all leading in a confusing spiral upwards. It was a wonder Mrs. Macready could have memorized the route at all, or know where the professor could be now in this gigantic house. At first, I pretended to admire the strange artifacts that covered the walls and filled the many different rooms, but my exclamations soon petered out since I received no reply from my guide.
After a long set of unusually barren stairs, we reached a hallway where a tall man dressed in a slightly old-fashioned suit was reaching for a doorknob. At the sound of footsteps, however, he turned, revealing an eccentric head of bristling white hair and mildly curious eyes peering through small spectacles. I almost gave a startled laugh at the sight of him, but of course I could not.
Mrs. Macready introduced me and my purpose, then abruptly turned and left myself and the professor staring at each other. An uncomfortable silence reigned for a few moments. Finally—
"Perhaps you'd best fetch the children, Mr. Matthews. They should be present to discuss this matter."
"Uh…certainly, sir," I stammered. "Vhere might I find them?"
I froze. Damn! I had slipped up, mispronounced a single letter with the simple rasp of a "v", let down my country, the glory of the Reich, failed utterly—
But had he noticed? Already he was speaking again, gesturing calmly to the door that he stood by and winking once in a peculiar manner, as if trying to communicate something beyond what he was saying. "I believe they're playing in the old wardrobe again. If you'd like to bring them down, I shall get a pot of tea started in my office."
Nodding as I breathed an internal sigh of relief, admonishing myself silently—I no longer trusted myself to speak—I slipped past him and opened the door, entering a room completely bare except for a huge wooden wardrobe that dominated an entire wall. I stopped, fascinated by the intricate carvings in its face. It was like nothing I had ever seen before, ruggedly beautiful yet eerily…drawing. As if possessed by some unseen force, I took a step forward, finding myself been propelled towards the wardrobe.
When I reached the door, which was slightly ajar, I stopped, tracing my hand lightly over the worn, polished surface. Each coarse brush of wood against my palm somehow thrilled me, urging me onwards. Slowly, I reached forward and gently pulled the door slightly ajar.
"Peter?" I said softly, recalling the names I had been given. "Susan? Edmund?" Unsure of how to pronounce the last name, which was spelled L-U-C-Y, I stopped, waiting for a response.
None came. Frowning—how big could the wardrobe be that they did not hear me? —I stepped up into the darkness of the structure. Warm fur coats brushed my face, and I wrinkled my nose at the scent of mothballs. "I have a message from your mother!" I called, slightly louder this time, paying careful attention to the word "have". The same unnerving silent answered me.
I stepped forward, feeling around in the coats for some sign of a child. The fur was all around me, and I struggled to wade through it. Suddenly, I felt pressure at my ankle as one of the coats was knocked off its hanger, and before I knew it I had fallen flat on my face!
Sharp cold wetness invaded my skin. With a start, I sat upright, swearing in German, flailing around to untangle myself from the garments that had fallen with me. "What the hell-?" I snarled in my native language, momentarily forgetting my guise as I scooped up a handful of the loose matter on the ground and held it up to my face.
White—cold—wet—why, this was snow! Snow! In a wardrobe in summer! Nonplussed, I looked up and promptly received a faceful of the stuff as a heavy tree branch gave up its burden. Wait. Tree branch? What was going on here?
I stood shakily and blinked the last of the snow out of my eyes to find my surroundings were a forest. Somehow, I had stepped into a wood in winter, this much I was sure of. After all, I couldn't possibly be dreaming with the wind whipping painful fragments of ice against my exposed skin. But how on earth was this possible?
A shout interrupted my frantic thought process, and I leapt about a foot in the air. Turning, one hand going to the Luger pistol within my jacket, I looked around wildly for the cause of the noise.
My gun was halfway out of its hidden pocket when a small girl stepped out from behind a copse of pines. Several hands reached out to grab her, but she jumped out of reach, peering at me inquisitively as she approached. Hurriedly, I holstered my weapon and put my hands behind my back.
After several moments of silence, she spoke, perfect British accent setting me wondering if this was one of the children I had come for.
"Hello, sir," she said, holding forth a tentative hand as if to shake mine. "I'm Lucy Pevensie. Did you…did you just come in too?"
An exasperated groan of "Lu!" came from behind the trees, and three other children stepped out, confirming my wonderings. The tallest, a boy who seemed to be several years younger than myself, looked almost Aryan with his blond hair, while the elder of his sisters, who had darker features, grabbed his hand at the shock of seeing me.
"Yes, I—" I began, but the oldest boy cut me off, darting forward and dragging his sister back as if afraid I might strike her. He stared at me with narrowed blue eyes that burned like accusing sparks.
"You were speaking German," he said, not so much questioning me as making a statement.
Wonderful. I was such an idiot. But how could I have possibly guessed a curse slipped out in the shock of the moment would harm me?
"Yes," chirped the littlest girl, stepping forward again. She was bold, I gave her that, but she was also quite dim if she wasn't figuring this out as her brother and sister were. Then again, she could be no older than nine, so it was a forgivable mistake. "What did that mean?"
What could I say to that? Obviously these three didn't speak a word of my language—otherwise they'd have covered the little one's ears, as what I had said was not exactly polite conversation. I could lie, I could, but my mind was still whirling, still attempting to process this phenomenon. I was truly unsure of what to say. Should I deliver the message as if this was all some silly game they were playing, or should I inquire as to what was going on? The latter sounded evasive and the former simply ridiculous.
"I—I was speaking German," I confirmed, nodding. "I was raised in Germany before the war, and it was my first language." Though this would have never granted me amnesty if I had been truly caught by adults in this country, perhaps it would work for the children.
The oldest clearly was not fooled, or at the very least suspicious. He continued to glare at me, and kept a protective hand on his younger sister's shoulder. Poor boy, I observed with little compassion, not really caring so much as observing, he's trying to be his father for them all. "You are Peter, yes?" I guessed, gesturing at him, meeting his gaze levelly.
"How do you know my name?" he asked slowly, staring now a bit confusedly at me.
"I came…I came from London. Your mother has a message for you."
How I was able to calmly go through my plan standing in those winter woods, I was not quite sure. Still, I kept a very straight face and lied easily through my teeth, expression never changing as I attempted to keep up a civilian-type slouch. It was in fact much harder than I had originally thought it would have been—military discipline, it seemed, had finally taken a hold of me.
"Mum!" the talkative little girl exclaimed. L-U-C-Y, I guessed. "What did she say, Mr.—I'm afraid I don't know your name…?"
"We don't want his name, Lu," Peter said almost harshly, gripping her shoulder tightly. "We want to know why he's here."
"But I have just told you," I pointed out. "My name, anyhow, is Mr. Matthews. Your mother Helen sent me to bring you home. The bombing has nearly stopped." I almost smiled. It had better not have: I expected to be flying again soon after today.
The girl I presumed to be Susan finally spoke, tones even and practical. "You're awfully calm for someone who's just stumbled into a different world," she observed wryly, raising an eyebrow at me.
I shrugged, not letting on how bewildered and confused I actually was. The fact that she had said it aloud seemed to clarify that it was indeed an actual occurrence, not a dream or hallucination, and that in itself terrified me. It was strange—since I had joined the Luftwaffe, ideas that used to frighten me when I had lived on my parents' farm—being shot at, crashing my plane, not remembering proper protocol for the different officer ranks—were now some distant past. Not much made me truly scared anymore, but this unknown; this void…there was no Reich here. No Führer to look up to, no orders to follow but the printed ones I had received several days ago, no comrades, no fellow Germans…here, I was alone.
"I assumed there was an explanation for this," I stated lamely. "What is this place?"
"Narnia," Lucy informed me, but now her older brother put his hand over her mouth and stepped forward as if in a threatening manner.
"Go back to where you came from, whoever you are," Peter told me tightly, scanning my face. "I don't believe this business about Mum and a message: you can leave. We're looking for our brother."
It struck me belatedly that the other boy, Edmund, was not there. I had not given him any thought. Suddenly anxious, for the S.S. wanted four children, not three, I said quickly, "Where is he?"
Peter hesitated, then appeared about to speak, but suddenly a knee-high, darkly furred animal lumbered into the very clearing in which we were standing. It was a beaver, interestingly enough. Bizarre. A beaver. Didn't they hibernate in winter?
A rough, gravelly, English-accented voice that was not at all familiar and sounded out of breath suddenly filled the air, much to my surprise. "No sign of 'im over the ridge, 'umans—"
The voice stopped suddenly, and the beaver took a pace back, having risen onto its back legs in an eerily human gesture. I blinked several times, rubbing my eyes. But this had to be some sort of dream. I could have sworn that it was indeed that same beaver that had just opened its mouth and moved it exactly in time to the voice. Had spoken. Impossible, of course…or was it? Nothing seemed impossible here, wherever here was. Narnia, I supposed. It didn't sound English, nor German: it was completely alien-sounding. Was the older girl, Susan, right? Had we in fact stepped into a real world?
"Blimey," the beaver whispered—no, didn't whisper, some other human did, though the beaver certainly appeared to be speaking. Obviously, this was some sort of trick. A very clever one, no doubt, but a trick nonetheless. "Another one? Another Son of Adam in a single day? Can't be. Wot-? How-?"
Curiously, the animal approached me on his hind legs, coming so close I could catch a strange flash of—was it intelligence?—in his small bright eyes. The dark nose quivered, the flat tail stretched out slightly as he sniffed. I felt horribly exposed, as if some dog was checking for weaponry, and cautiously I took a step back myself.
"Smells like trouble, this one," announced the beaver. "Smells like metal and blood, 'e does."
Stupid animal. I wanted desperately to put a bullet between the abomination's eyes, but restrained myself: it was necessary to carry on with this deception as long as I could until I was able to get them back into the real world. Pulling out a pistol would not help with pretenses.
All three children stared at me, suddenly looking afraid at the beaver's analysis. I didn't notice, being too preoccupied with the talking animal. "You…you can speak?" I stammered, feeling foolish and overwhelmed.
The beaver snorted. "'Course I can. Whaddya think I'm doing, a darnce fer yore h'entertainment?" Choosing, apparently, to ignore me, he turned to face his three companions. "Come on, then. We'd best start off fer the Stone Table now—them wolves is prolly still sniffin' around fer us. Quietly now."
"But what about Mr. Matthews?" Lucy asked. For a moment, I wondered who that was before remembering my English disguise.
Peter glanced at me. "We don't need him. He can go back."
"Your brother is missing," I cut in sharply. "Your mother put me in charge of you all—the four of you. I must come and help you find him. I cannot return without him."
At Susan's signal, the three retreated and held a small council. I watched warily at first, though my eyes began straying around the darkening woods. So curious that it was winter here while summer reigned outside the wardrobe. Remembering this, I bent down to ask the beaver, forcing myself to do so before my good sense told me to ignore the hideous thing.
"Is it always winter here, then?" I inquired, keeping my eyes on the children.
Eyeing me mistrustfully, the beaver finally nodded once.
"Why?"
"There's a spell wot was put on Narnia a hundred years ago by the White Witch," he (She? It?) said shortly. "She crowned 'erself queen of the land…but that's changin' now."
"And why is that?" I asked, but he refused to tell me, instead giving a vague shrug. With a sigh, I stood again to consider this information, shivering slightly as a blast of cold wind rattled the iced trees high above. The beaver glanced once at me and trundled off, muttering something about me being warmer, leaving the children and me alone in the clearing. Drawing my flimsy jacket tighter about myself and wishing for a warm uniform or a flight suit, which were specially insulated, I waited, half-hoping I would wake up from whatever twisted dream this was if I closed my eyes.
Deep within the shadows, a pair of intelligent yellow eyes flashed once and retreated deeper into the forest. Their owner, a big, powerfully built timber wolf by the name of Ranaz, licked his long ivory teeth slowly as his mind recalled the scent of the strange new human. It was a hard concept to grasp, the presence of this newcomer: in a few short days, the existence of the human race had been proved and the supposed chosen four had come forth. Even now, one shivered in the darkness of his mistress's dungeons while the other three were merely yards away, just begging to be captured.
But now there was a complication. There was a stranger, an adult human in the lands who had apparently followed the children from the world of men into Narnia. Whether they were allies or enemies Ranaz could not tell—words had been exchanged, but the oldest male of the human pups reeked of mistrust, stale fear, and hostility and was now arguing vehemently with his siblings about the other of their race.
Sparing one curious look back at the four humans and the beaver, for his time to linger was over, Ranaz sprinted off despite his exhaustion. There was a report to be made. Maugrim would know what to tell Her Majesty, the White Witch about the newcomer.
A/N (2): Please do review and give me your honest opinion! I do hope we'll have a few people who enjoy the story. Updates are based on your reviews. ((snicker)) No pressure for nice ones, though…
I suppose I have several people to thank. (!) No disclaimer, as usual, see my bio if you'd like to sue me, though I do also have several things to say. So, ahem, first, my thanks go to:
-My dad for the historical info—any errors here are mine. Thanks also for the suggestion about having Heindrich crash his plane over England, an idea I liked better than the one I came up with but was reluctant to rewrite the first five pages. Lazy child that I am.
-Johannes Steinhoff for writing his book Messerschmitts Over Sicily, from which I learned much about the Luftwaffe and WWII aerial combat, and also for providing a real-life pilot (himself) to base Heindrich off of. Great book too.
-Enya, the artists who put the Narnia soundtrack together, and Led Zeppelin. (WOOT!) I would have never gotten through Chapter 1 without the Immigrant Song, Black Dog, Stairway to Heaven, Wunderkind, The Blitz 1940, (heheh) and…erm…not sure about the name of that Enya song, it's a burned disc. Track 11 of Amarantine. How this strange mixture came to be, I am still unsure…
I want to assure everyone that I, despite the fact that this story is written in the first person from a Nazi's perspective, I am in NO WAY a neo-Nazi, sympathetic towards Nazis/Hitler, or approving of anything done by them. I despise Hitler and what he did one hundred percent, and I am shocked and horrified by what happened during the Holocaust. I have absolutely no desire to become a Nazi, nor do I understand why anyone would want to.
I am not going to make excuses for my character, however. I shall inform everyone right now that it was very difficult for me to take the Nazi point of view in my writings. Though Heindrich is rarely involved with Hitler and, since he was too old to have joined Hitler Youth, is not full of adoration for the man, he nonetheless is fighting under him. All opinions made here are his, not mine: I simply wrote down what I thought someone in his position would feel. Just want everyone to have that clearly imprinted in his or her brains.
Cheers, all!