2 July 1987, 15:07

"Are you done writing yet, Platt?"

Walcott came out of his room, but Arthur did not follow him outside.

"Where is Arthur?"

"I told him to remain back there."

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"No. What I will tell you, he may not know."

"What is it that you wish to tell me?"

"I'll tell you about the man pulling the puppeteer's strings. The one who requested your arrival here. The mastermind in shadow. His name is Martin Smith."

Martin Smith appears to be a very common name for an Englishman. I feel like this is merely an alias.

"Is he the Grand Marshal?"

"No, his rank is quite far below the Grand Marshal. He is probably of equal rank to Henry Trelawney. I mentioned the Grand Marshal to Arthur to misdirect him, but it isn't exactly a lie. The Grand Marshal did tell Martin to assemble a team of muggles, but it was Martin himself who specifically requested you. Three weeks before I sent Arthur for you in London, he sent this, box, and he told me to give it to you once you have arrived."

Walcott presented a tiny safe about the size of a toaster. The dial itself was the size of a penny, and looked like one of those dials on sound system controls. On the bottom side, I can see the numbers 14-7-8.

"Platt, I'm curious. Can you show me how to open this box?"

"There's a little dial here. You need to turn it to make it open."

There were only 20 numbers in the safe's dial, but its small size made it hard to precisely land the numbers. It took me four tries to finally get it open. Inside of the safe was a folded note, written not in parchment, but on a regular sheet of paper, which I have slipped into my journal after reading.

Salutations, Mr. Platt.

I hope those wizards in Scotland did not rough you up too badly during your stay. I understand that you may be confused right now, but do not worry. It will all be clear to you if you ask the High Commander more about the Russia issue and the role of muggle task forces.

Assuming that you have, then I believe I can pick up on the story. The 1987 attack on Russia will begin in a matter of days. The previous three attacks have failed miserably, and so this time more radical plans have been made. Among those plans were the extension of recruitment for muggle operatives. That means you. Although apprenticeship usually takes one year, we have no time for such luxuries. If you are reading this note right now, that means your training is deemed complete by the high commander.

If so, here's what you need to do next. You are currently in Scotland, at the base in Ayrshire. The High Commander there is named Theodore Walcott. First, you need to demand a letter of special service from him. You will then need to request a "muggle transfer" to meet me. Walcott will surely understand, and he will fill in the details for you. I shall wait for you in Berlin, near Theodor-Wolff Park, Kreuzberg district, wearing a full NAZI officer's uniform at 9 in the night.

I shall be expecting your arrival soon. Take care and Godspeed.

Berlin?! Clearly this little misadventure has taken an unexpected turn. And, which Berlin was he referring to?

"He wants what?!"

Walcott seized the note while I was reading it, and only gave it back once he was done.

"A letter of special service?! You haven't even done anything! What am I supposed to write?"

"I had gone on a spy hunt with Arthur. Can you write that down?"

"Yes, Arthur did say the same thing. Again, he wasn't lying, and I am surprised."

"Now, can you tell me about the Russia issue?"

"Arthur didn't tell you that already?"

"No, he only mentioned it briefly."

"Fine. Brace yourself for a long one, doctor.

Our organization, called the Caledonia Front, is part of a larger unity of organizations who protect good wizards from evil wizards. Although we are interconnected, we have our own autonomous methods and means which are adapted to the region we safeguard. For instance, the Caledonia Front operates in Scotland, filled with master swordsmen, so we specialize in ranged warfare. The Norse Fief of Durham patrols shipping lanes, so their wizards are among the best flyers in Western Europe. The Iceni Confederation in Mercia face an opponent skilled in forest warfare and attrition, so their wizards are well-coordinated like the Roman Legions of the Early Empire and can withstand a protracted war.

However, our enemies are steadily learning and improving too. Methods that work 100 years ago would be obsolete today. In some cases, if the enemy improves too quickly, we would struggle to keep up, and they may seize control of multiple regions because of that. Ireland is at risk of falling, and Moscow fell in 1980, triggering a deluge of defections and retreats all the way to 1984. This is by far the worst loss of control in the last few centuries, rivalling Delhi in 1755. We have lost control over a region spanning larger than the Roman Empire during the reign of Trajan, from Warsaw to Astana, from Murmansk to Adrianople to the Jaxartes River.

We have expected that things like this may happen. The Grand Council has made emergency preparations for such an occurrence. Back in the 18th of March, 988 AD, they convened at Aachen and established the Great Defence League. At least, that's what they're roughly called when translated to English. It basically grouped all existing anti-evil wizard organizations to a single administration while still preserving their autonomy, thus easing help requests and unit transfers and in the process greatly increased our working efficiency.

Thanks to that, at the year of 1984 we finally held them off, and through 1985 and 1986 our allies have pushed them out of multiple regions. The Chinese pushed them out of the Eastern Steppes back to Astana. The Egyptians ousted them away from Greece, reinforced by a sizeable Nubian contingent. We even had to ask for help from Transatlantica to help us pry them off Poland. Trans-bloody-atlantica, otherwise known to you muggles as America if I am not mistaken. The Columbian East Coast Defence Coalition sent a quarter of all their wizards, combat and non-combat units, including their elite shaman unit whom I fought with in 1986. You can see how big this conflict is.

Despite our combined efforts, there is one hurdle which we could not pass. Russia proper. The evil wizards there have been building up fortifications and developed multiple plans of defence. Our attack in 1984 failed before it even began. In 1985 the campaign was cut short due to the loss of the field marshal commanding the troops. The campaign of 1986 did enjoy mild success at first, but abysmal coordination turned it into a crushing defeat. This time, we have taken extra precautions to ensure it does not happen again."

"If they planned a takeover on that scale, they must have been preparing for years. How can they evade attention?"

"It's the same with our current problem with the death eaters here. The problem is that they look exactly the same as we do. They send their children to the same magic academies, they go to shop at our wizard towns, and they even have representatives in the wizard councils. We couldn't act until they show their true colours."

"And where do I fit into all this?"

"From the selection of words in this letter, it appears that Martin wants you to become a muggle operative. To put it simply, muggle operatives are the opposite of wizard informers. Informers come from the wizard world and work in your world, giving information to us. Operatives come from the muggle world but assist in many tasks in the wizard world.

Muggle operatives are highly prized for their ingenuity and mastery over non-magical technology. Judging from the tools you use, I must humbly admit that we are at least 200 years behind, perhaps even further back. For example, my gun here can only hold one bullet, while yours can hold six if I recall correctly. You have that small rotating barrel on your guns which allow you to shoot in rapid succession, and thus far wizard attempts at replicating it have failed. The replicas do work, but they all were too unreliable and failed after firing around 300 shots, probably only enough for one battle or two. Here, let me show you."

Walcott took out a revolver from under his table. The barrel had a wider diameter at the centre part.

"Why is the barrel bloated here?"

"I don't know. It wasn't bloated when it was first made. Maybe it was subject to too much heat."

"When did you wizards first made these?"

"They've been around for nearly 150 years, I think."

"Certainly that would have been enough time to develop better ones."

"There are some better ones, but they are so expensive I would settle for a regular single-shot breech-loading musket instead."

"Do you have any more repeating shot pistols?"

"No, but the Chinese have a repeating shot musket. It's like a musket with five gun barrels, which are cumbersome to reload and also large and heavy. Their accuracy is also poor compared to our crossbows. If you want to use it, you would have to kneel. Otherwise, the weight of the gun will knock you back hard. The only one we have belongs to Commander Peng, an inspector sent from China by the Grand Council. To be honest with you, if he did not carry that thing here, I wouldn't have known something like that existed.

Wait. Has Arthur told you that we were just pretending to have no knowledge of China and the Far East?"

"Yes."

"Good. I won't need to waste your time then. Now, to continue, the man who you will be assigned to is Martin Smith, a legend among other muggle operatives. His experience spans 30 years and he has done many great deeds for us. The evil wizards want him dead, but none have managed to get him. They have hired assassins to kill him, yet they all end up dead, missing, or turned against their clients. Martin Smith's reputation is so great that even here in Scotland, if you were to go to a tavern to hire assassins or bounty hunters to go after him, they will refuse without hesitation and tell the tavern keeper to kick you out."

"Is he really that frightening?"

"Only to those who oppose him."

"Have you met him?"

"No, I've only heard rumours and read reports. But, if you do manage to meet him, ask for his signature for me."

"What?!"

Note to self: autographs are also a thing in the wizard world.

"Hey, it's not a sin to admire others, you know. Just as long as you don't idolize them too much."

"You're like, about 60-something years old, and you still act as a teenager would!"

"60-odd years, you mean? Do I really look that young to you?"

"Huh?"

"I'm 87 years old. How did your estimate be off so far?"

Immediately, I slumped on the chair. I sat speechless for a moment, unable to comprehend how someone can live so long and still look so young. Then, I stretched my neck backwards. Only then did I saw a magnificent mosaic of a castle and surrounding countryside on the ceiling of the room. The colour was vivid, similar to the stones in that cave when I first came here. I couldn't see it earlier as it was in the blind spot of my view when I was still in the secret passage.

"Wait, I understand. Muggles don't age as slowly as we do. You're used to the fact that people my age would have white hair, yet as you can see, it's still all black. Wizards usually don't get white hair until they're around 90-115 years old, depending if you're a man or woman. Of course, that is far above your life expectancy, so you did not consider that factor. Correct?"

"Roughly so."

"Very well, let's set that matter aside for now. Next, Martin here wants you to do a muggle transfer but he did not specify the time, instead saying that you should not keep him waiting. That would probably mean he wants you to go tonight. If you were to head to Berlin, you should arrive within 16 hours of flight. However, the journey against the night wind would be exhausting on your body, so I suggest you stop at France for a while. I'll make an arrangement with another muggle operative to help you."

"Wait a minute. I haven't given my consent for this."

"Pardon?"

"You're coaxing me to go against my consent. I plan to spend these few months to reunite with my family after returning from Africa."

"Now I see why Trelawney likes you so much. Well then, Platt, listen here."

Walcott stood up from his chair and began walking around the room. He paused for a moment near the fireplace.

"Platt, you see, there's something else you need to know. You are in no position to refuse. Even if you do, we can always remove your memory of everything."

"What gives you the right to... mmmmpf"

Arthur shot a light blue bolt to my mouth which sealed my mouth shut. It felt as if my lips were clamped down. I can still move my tongue, but my jaws are locked in place.

"You see, it's not that difficult. I've taken away your speech, and I can do the same to your memories. However,"

Arthur shot a yellow bolt to my mouth which restored my ability to talk.

"However, I am not that type of leader. I despise the use of force for such trivial means. Besides, I can see that you are a good man, upholding the familial values of the First Republic: Pietas, Gravitas, and Dignitas. Now, Platt, I'll need to ask you some questions."

Walcott walked behind my chair. However, as I turned my head to look, he had disappeared. When I looked to the table again, he was already sitting down in a reclining position.

"We should discuss this with a cool head, as adults would. That would be the better option, do you agree?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Now, you lead. Can you tell me why you do not want to go?"

"I've told you that before. I have a family to return to."

"Hmm, the old Imperials did say soldiers shouldn't get married. With your case, however, I will need to take a different approach. You do know what we fight for, do you, Platt?"

"Yes, you fight to keep the evil wizards at bay."

"And, why would we do that?"

"Because, if the evil wizards win, it would be bad, right?"

"Spoken like a pre-academy child. Can you elaborate, Platt? Why exactly would it be bad?"

"I don't quite know. They will usher in a rule of tyranny and terror?"

"Not quite correct, Platt. Let me tell you what will happen. Or rather, let me show you."

Walcott took a file folder from under his table, labelled in Cyrillic. It looked like a flat leather bag.

"Do you know what this is, Platt?"

"No, I cannot read this."

"Certainly the pictures will be enough. Come and have a look."

I decided to shuffle through the pictures, and found numerous moving pictures of the muggle world. Some were in the Soviet Union, China, Germany, France, Britain, Greece, and Italy. Others were too vague or too common to guess, only showing a street with rows of houses or an empty coastline. There were about 300 pictures and numerous other notes in Cyrillic, yet they somehow fit into the file without causing it to bloat.

"These files were recovered in 1986. They are clearly planning something big against the muggle world."

"How should I know that these aren't forgeries? This could be a bag of false evidence."

*sigh* "Platt, let me ask you back. How can you know these are forgeries?"

"We're not going anywhere with this line of conversation."

"Good point. Let me just tidy this up for a moment."

Walcott shot the bag with his wand and it began crawling on the table, sucking and eating up all the pictures and notes as if it was Pac-man.

"Now, Platt, tell me. Clearly a man like you would not allow anything bad to happen to your family, right?"

"I see where you're taking this conversation. You're asking me this right now, but under the table you have sent wizards to capture my family too, is that correct? Suddenly I'll be seeing them caged, and then you will threaten to wipe out my memory again."

Walcott appeared to be displeased by that remark. He sat back upright, and said: "Do not take us for a band of brigands, Irving Platt. And, do not try my patience, for I am not a saint." After saying that, the air in the room began to get noticeably colder.

"What is going on?"

"You are getting far too excited. I decided to cool this room down a little. Now, please, Platt. Let us assume that the pictures you saw were real. What if these evil wizards were to take over the muggle world?"

"Certainly they will be no match for our superior technology."

"Certainly they have thought about that too. That is why they will slowly adapt and learn until it is too late for you to stop them. However, it is not too late now. If you join us, you can fight them back."

"Is there a chance that I may leave after this? I do not wish to spend my entire life fighting."

"Of course. If you wish it so, once the attack is over you can talk to Martin and he will help you to remove your memory."

"But, this is a war. There is a chance that I may die. What will..."

"What will be of your family? Is your greatest fear that of perishing in a foreign land with none to deliver the news to your family? Do you fear that they will spend the rest of their days waiting in vain for you to return? To that, I can firmly say no!"

Walcott pulled out a dirk from under his table. He held it by the grip with both of his hands and stood it on top of the table.

"I don't make promises very often, but this much I can pledge. If you die, I will personally see that your family receives the news, albeit with a different circumstance. I will even go the extra mile and ensure your family never starves, periodically sending them gold to buy necessities with. Do you accept my pledge?"

"Well, I, er..."

"Platt, we have no more time. The invasion looms closer every second. Please make a decision."

"..."

"In your wedding vows, you have pledged to protect your family, right?"

"Yes."

"Am I correct in saying that you wish nothing but the best for them?"

"Yes."

"Given the chance, do you wish to fight for their safety and their future?"

"Yes."

"And not only for their future, but for the future of your countrymen as well? For the hundreds you have healed throughout your life?"

"Yes."

"So, do you want to join this great crusade, in the name of God and for the glory of your nation, against these agents of darkness who threaten the peace of the world, and atone the mistakes of your ancestors?"

"Yes."

Walcott stood up and placed the dirk on the table with the grip pointing towards me.

"If you truly wish it so, then so it shall be. Dominus testificatus est inter te et enim. Welcome to the great struggle, Mr. Irving Platt. You are one of us now."

"..."

(What just happened?)

"Normally we would hold an initiation ceremony like how one would be knighted, but we do not have the time nor the appropriate circumstance for that. Now, here is what you must do. Go back to your quarters, pack up everything you need, and meet me here back here once you are done. You can use my spare cloak."

Walcott took out a cloak from beneath the table. As I stood up to leave, Walcott added, "Wait! You forgot your knives."

"But, aren't these yours?"

"Ours? Well, we plundered a bit too many. Frankly if they were to sit in that box until the war is over I would send them to the mint and have them be turned into silver coins."

"So these knives are made of silver?"

"Yes, but you can take them. I believe you will need them more than we do. It's cold in Russia, especially in the winter. Iron and steel become brittle when cold, but not silver. Now, you best be off. Write your last will, say some prayers, and know the cause for which you fight. Your family, your nation, and the entire world hangs in the balance. I shall await your return."

'

2 July 1987, 17:11

I returned to Walcott's room after I had packed up my bags, using the regular path this time, wearing the cloak completely closed so that no-one would notice my modern clothes. Along the way, I began to wonder if I had made the right choice, but then I looked back at my past. In 1967, I went to Japan to evade conscription for the Vietnam War, but I had undergone a radical paradigm shift there thanks to some unforeseen circumstances. As a result, after finishing medical school, I volunteered myself to be deployed into many combat zones where my life was in constant risk. I have been to Lebanon, the Western Sahara, the Falklands, Iraq, Ethiopia, and recently Chad. If this is another war where my work is required, then I am no stranger to the dangers that await. I need to use my experience and skill to save as many men as possible, as I have done numerous times before.

Walcott's room was well-guarded and sited in an easily defensible location. I saw more of his elite guard on my way here. They weren't standing still like statues like military guards. Instead, they are inside other rooms in the hallway. When I reached Walcott's room, he had opened the door before I got the chance to knock.

"That was faster than I expected. Your transport isn't ready yet, so you should come inside."

"How did you know I was coming?"

"The floors are lined with magical wards which can inform me if someone is approaching. It's an academy-level craft which can be made by anyone above second-year, but it still helps a lot."

"Where are they positioned?"

"I don't think it is necessary for you to know that, but I can say that it isn't on the floor."

"So, what should we do now?"

"We wait. Maybe, I can cook something for the both of us in the meantime."

"You can cook too?"

"Yes, but don't expect it to be as elaborate as the meals cooked by our chefs. I'll make some oatmeal porridge, grandma's recipe. I can never go wrong with that, at least."

Boy Scout nightmares return.

…

As I am writing this, Walcott is still in his room, probably cooking. It is taking an oddly long time, but maybe the recipe for oatmeal is different here. His cat has been sleeping on the chairs near the fireplace since I came here. I have also noticed that the blown off secret passage wall has been cleaned of debris, but the hole still remains. As I approached the hole, I found that it was covered in some kind of invisible force field, which stung like a low-power electric fence when touched.

"Hey, muggle, don't come too close! That wall's still being repaired!"

And, again, I wonder how Walcott managed to find out about that.

'

2 July 1987, 19:55

Walcott's oatmeal was better than expected. It tasted somewhere between sweet and salty, but the viscosity was just right. Walcott has also mixed in several bright yellow grains not found in the muggle world, which are the size of rice grains. Of course, as this is oatmeal, they are equally as tasteless. He served them on a cauldron the size of a pot, and I took a portion using a spoon and a bowl.

"It's a family recipe. You won't find it anywhere else. Everything needs to be measured to scientific precision."

"You wizards really like to overdo things."

"It's not overdone. Magic just makes everything easier. Besides, ever since I was assigned to this position I no longer do field work unless in an emergency, and frankly, it feels like I'm trapped in a cage. My job is just to sit here, writing papers and assigning orders. The war in Russia, in a sense, was a key that unlocked that cage. For the first time in years, I was told to fight in the front lines once more, and that made me reflect on what it means to be a leader. Yes, you need to be stern at times, but it is also key to trust your men. The British Ministry of Magic did not put me in this post to manage every minute detail in this castrum like Ptolemaic Egypt. I learned to put more faith in my commanders, knowing that they too are capable people who need to grow on their own. Ah, sorry. I believe I got too carried away again."

"No, it's fine, but it just feels odd hearing all this from you all of a sudden. I thought you were similar to an emotionless despotic dictator, judging from the way you spoke earlier."

"It's the food, Platt. I don't cook this very often. Perhaps, hardly ever would be a more suitable word. This dish reminds me of my old life, between the time I graduated from the academy and my apprenticeship here. I guess I should not delve too deep into that matter for now."

"That is acceptable. Now, can you tell me more about this Martin Smith person?"

"Platt, my account on him would be biased by my admiration towards him. I strongly suggest that you find out in person. Ah, I just remembered to ask you this. In the letter, he said that he was wearing a NAZI uniform. What is this NAZI thing? Is it some form of military organization like ours?"

"First, I need to ask you this. How much do you know about muggle history? Especially in the past 75 years?"

"Muggle history? 75 years? That would put us in the year 1912. Let's see, in 1912, there was a war in the Balkans, I think. Oh, yes, and then there was this iron ship that was deemed unsinkable, but sank in the North Atlantic. I forgot its name, but news of the sinking spread quickly across the world. 2 years after that, England, France, and Russia found themselves fighting the Germans, Austrians, and the Turks. The war lasted for 4 years, but ground to a halt because of a deadly disease from Spain which killed more than the Black Death.

Because of the disease, both sides are unable to fight any further, and had to declare a truce of 20 years until the plague had passed. The plague also caused a shake in the markets, culminating in 1929, when nearly half of the merchant population was thrown into poverty. Having too much on sale but no one to buy was a bad thing, especially in the muggle world where you produce objects on a colossal scale. Because of this, governments turned to more drastic measures to safeguard their very existence, which is war. Japan fired the first shot against China, then Italy to Abyssinia, and Germany to basically everyone else.

Then they fought for 9 years, from 1936 to 1945. Abyssinia fell first, then Bohemia, then Southern Mongolia. Wait, maybe I got the orders reversed. Anyway, the major powers only intervened when Poland was invaded. Apparently, they had to draw a line there. The war ended with a German defeat, but then the victors could not agree on how to divide the spoils. When it looked like another war was coming, a deal was set to divide Europe into two spheres of influence. Britain and France on one end, and Russia in the other. Neither side was satisfied, but it was better than having to fight another war."

"Alright, stop there. I think you know enough."

Walcott's account was two-thirds accurate. I see some connect-the-dots sentences, but I must commend his creativity. His sentences do make sense when given some thought. Plague and death can devastate the economy, but I think he may have overestimated the impact of the Spanish Flu. His scenario can only work if the Spanish Flu outbreak lasted to the 1930s and killed about 30% of the human population.

"Now, about those NAZIs, they are some sort of political organization in Germany. A faction in the senate, to put it simply. After the plague and the downfall of the economy, they were the ones largely responsible for putting Germany back on their feet. However, in the muggle world, there is a saying that power corrupts people."

"Yes, we know that too in the wizard world."

"The problem is, the NAZIs blamed Germany's troubles on their defeat in the war of 1918. They then galvanized the people to..."

"Galvanized? What does that word mean?"

"To rouse. They roused the people for another war."

I need to remember to select my words carefully. The English these wizards use are very obsolete by our standards today.

"Right, I understand now. They roused the people for war, and lost again. Now they have lost the trust of the people and with it, all their influence, leaving them as just a minor faction in the senate."

"No, it's far worse. They weren't just shunned. The victors dismantled their faction, put their leaders to death, imprisoned their followers, and outlawed the general populace from even mentioning them. That said, I'm confused why this Martin Smith person would be crazy enough to do this stunt in Berlin."

"Ah, woe to the vanquished. The horror and misfortune of the unfortunate heroes of a nation, destroyed by another."

If Walcott was a muggle I would punch him in the face until he loses some teeth.

"If you know what they did, you would change your rhetoric. These people are as cruel and vicious as wild animals, and I have proof."

"Ah, a stern tone, now, have we? Vicious and cruel are relative. Let me hear them and allow me to judge."

"First, they killed off six million Jews. They packed them into camps and slowly eliminated them all."

"Cruel indeed, but not unheard of. When the Mongols destroyed the city of Baghdad, the devastation was so severe that Mesopotamia would not recover for centuries. Besides, this wasn't the first time it occurred. When the Catholic mobs of the First Crusade travelled from town to town killing Jews in the Holy Roman Empire, the Pope did show naught but contempt. Anything else?"

"Their economy was built only for their own good. They only care for advancement of their own race and oppressed the others."

"So did the Spanish and Portuguese. Like the Mongols, the devastation they caused in Transatlantica was so severe that Aztec, Mayan, and Incan wizards would distrust the wizards from Europe for centuries. It was horrifying for them. The muggles died off, their empires collapsed, and with nowhere to go, they isolated themselves for centuries. Even the Vikings and Malians, who have been their trade partners for centuries before, were cut off."

"Malians?!"

"You seem surprised. Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing. I'm just confused as to how they came to know Ameri, uh, Transatlantica."

"Oh, that. Did they not teach you that in muggle schools? About the great voyage of Mansa Qu, nephew of Sundiata Keita, the Lion King of Mali. Wait, I remember. Maybe we altered your history there. According to muggle history, he went across the Atlantic and never returned. In our history, he did reach the Great Southern Forest and, after a year of exploration, reached the borders of the Incan empire.

Beforehand, he made a deal with Kankou Musa: as he travelled across the Atlantic, Kankou Musa will lead Mali as the new Mansa, but he will rule from across the ocean. Once he reached the Incan principalities, trade immediately followed. Gold from the Incas thus flowed to Mali, establishing Mansa Musa as one of the world's richest monarchs. His opulence and resplendence likely exceeded that of King Solomon, son of David."

I have so many questions...

"Enough talk there, Platt. As of now, I see this NAZI faction as nothing more different than any conqueror, both muggle and wizard. I assume that the followers have also made an imperial cult around their consul, or should I say, dictator?"

"Yes, you're right."

"Am I correct in saying that they have also sent assassins against their opponents in the senate? Perhaps, even going as far as discrediting the other factions through dirty means so that no-one would miss them?"

"That's also correct."

"You're boosting my confidence, Platt. Let me guess further. They also have a separate unit in the army, not loyal to the state but only to their faction and their leader in particular. They claim to be acting on the best interests of the state, but are in fact nothing more than sentries to suppress dissent from the people."

"Yes, but, how did you manage to guess so accurately?"

"It's simple. I took elements of older dictatorships of the past. The imperial cult? That was from the Old Empire. Assassins in the senate? Renaissance Italy. A separate unit in the army? Let me ask you back. How many lords have had retinues under their own control? But enough of that. Yes, I can see that they are cold and cruel tyrants, but they are not one of a kind. History has seen many pass like so."

"I can see that, but I think..."

"Platt, I believe I know the real reason of their destruction. The other nations have other interests in mind, and it will conflict with theirs if this faction isn't dealt with swiftly. I mean, if one sizeable faction in the senate wants war and all other factions want peace, it is not unheard of for that one faction to be attacked from all sides with the dirty tricks of the rest of the senate. I am sure that the agenda of both the British and French would somehow conflict with the Germans, and they too must have learned a lot about history to know that they need to be dealt swiftly. After all, Machiavelli did say that all cruelty must be done as quickly and swiftly as possible, and then you should try to win the hearts of the people. They would have blamed the NAZIs for everything, orchestrate their swift downfall, and make themselves look like heroes."

Walcott makes it look like the NAZIs were victims of circumstance.

"You've been calling out these dirty tricks in the senate all the time, when that is not the case."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, Platt. Your governmental system is a polity, am I correct? However, I must stress to you that there is no such thing as a true polity. The masses may look to that ideal, but the senators often do not. Power can drive people mad, and I, above all else in this castrum, must keep that in mind. Also, I believe I have asked enough to get a good grasp of this NAZI faction. We should cut the conversation here."

Walcott had cut the conversation far earlier than I had hoped for. As a result, we continued eating the oatmeal in silence, staring at one another. After I finished, Walcott offered me a second portion, which I have finished as well. All the while, Walcott was still in his first portion.

"Why are you hurrying, Platt? Oatmeal is something to be taken slowly. Wait, I think I know why. Being a medicus, you need to do everything quickly because you never know when a sickly person would walk into your doors. Is that correct?"

"Yes, but in addition to that, my father was a soldier. He was very strict in matters of timekeeping, and I developed a sense of urgency to everything ever since then."

"Although a sense of urgency is required in these times of war, you must not allow them to overwhelm you. A calm mind will keep you from brash action which will endanger yourself and those around you."

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you."

"You muggles have a very queer figure of speech. I understand what you mean, but the phrases you utter are odd at times."

"Well, the English language has changed a lot over the past century. Our technology has become so advanced that our language would at times lag behind."

"Lag?"

"Fall behind."

We stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments. Walcott then continued eating, while I walked around the room. As I walked behind the desk, I saw Walcott had disappeared.

"What is it that you're doing, Platt?"

Again, Walcott appeared behind me, near the small door which Arthur went into earlier.

"Bloody hell! You gave me a fright! Please, stop that."

"A high sense of alertness, I see you have. Martin always picks the right man for the job somehow. It may be worth the trouble after all."

"I'm just curious, but what is inside that room?"

"That's my bedroom, nothing more. I brought Arthur in yesterday because he was visibly shaken."

'

2 July 1987, 22:18

A while after eating that oatmeal, I felt very drowsy. Walcott allowed me to sleep on the chairs near the fireplace. I woke up an hour later, when a voice rang out across the room.

"High Commander! He has arrived!"

By the time I woke up, I found that Walcott's cat was sleeping on my stomach. I gently set it aside and stood up, scrubbing off any hairs.

"Well, Platt, time to go. Wear this cloak and follow me."

Walcott gave me a cloak which was pitch black, but felt soft to the touch It felt like it was made of silk. I followed him outside the blockhouse, heading east to the underground gardens, then to the observatory. Walcott wasn't wearing a cloak and his clothes were also rather plain, but everywhere we go, the other wizards would stop whatever it is they are doing and saluted him. I felt like I was walking besides a king, or a high-ranked general. When we reached the inner wall, the sentries on the ground lined up on our sides like a military procession. Four of them then followed us outside.

We walked further east, past what looks like a guard tower, a number of trebuchets, and another tower with fire burning on top. Unlike the inner parts of the base, the outer part had less structures and was mostly empty. Then, at one point, we got off the path altogether, heading into the darkness with only the oil lamps of the sentries to help us see. We were standing on a barren field of compacted earth, continuing to walk until I saw a light from afar.

There, standing in the middle of the field was a Spanish man, tall and pale, with a thick moustache and a cavalier hat which looked like it was made in the Baroque period. His eyes were large and alert, and he stood in a soldier-like pose, holding a ball-shaped glass lantern with a candle burning in the middle like a statue. His clothes and cloak are also noticeably thicker than the ones Walcott was wearing, also coloured pitch black, and on his belt was a pistol similar to the one Walcott had. Behind the man was a strange wooden device, with wings made of fabric, and a bottom grip made of iron. The device looked like a paraglider.

"Ave, Theodorus, Praefectus castrorum Caledonia Valentia Australis. Roma tibi salutem dicit atque ego te ut fratrem amplector."

"Ave, Centurio princeps. Esne quis Hispanius appellatur?"

They continued talking in Latin for several minutes. Then, the Spanish man then looked at me and said, "Hey, muggle, do you speak Spanish?"

"Only a little, sir," I replied.

"Not to worry. I am also fluent in English. My name is Enrique Terentius de Pedraza, a centurion princeps, or commander as you muggles call it, from the New Republican Peacekeeping Force. I operate from Cádiz, Andalucia Occidental, in the Hispania region."

"New Republic?"

*sigh* "Greenhorns... Anyway, what I meant was the Roman Republic. Big surprise to you, we still exist. Now, be marvelled for a moment, and snap back to reality. Your next line will be: "I thought the Romans were destroyed by the Ottoman Empire in 1453!" To that I say, not quite. Muggle Rome was destroyed, but wizard Rome still lives on. And, after 1666, the Great Council was generous enough to return about a third of our land and some outposts too. Now, can you please follow me for a moment?"

Enrique has this strange air to him that feels hypnotizing. I don't know if it's his raspy tenor voice or his play on words, or his odd stare, but I have a strange compulsion to do whatever it is he says. A man with this projection of authority would be perfect to fit the role of a captain.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"No, I just need to see your body size so that I can adjust the flying machine."

"With all due honesty, I don't think it is able to fly."

"Don't worry, muggle. Magic solves many problems. What's your name?"

"Irving Platt."

"Well, Mr. Platt, can you give me all your belongings for safekeeping? We can't have them falling down mid-flight."

I handed over all my belongings to Enrique except for the journal book and pen. He then stuffed them all into a small sack, and placed the sack into his bag. Then, Enrique gave me a musket and a pouch filled with, candles?

"Also, Mr. Platt, I don't think it would be a good idea to leave you completely defenceless. I'll give you that musket and a set of grenades. They should come in handy if needed to."

Guide to Wizard Grenades

Ball shape = Flash grenade

Cube shape = Shrapnel grenade

Triangle prism = Greek fire

Pyramid shape = Noxious gas

Cylinder shape = Smoke grenade

Hexagon prism = Blizzard grenade (?)

"What is this blizzard grenade?"

"Let me warn you in advance, you should not be using that thing except when I tell you to. Once you pull the string, a blizzard will start forming at that point, rendering the air colder than the coldest winter. The winds and cold are so severe that even Hyperborean wizards would pass out and plummet to their doom, and so would we if we don't get far away enough in time. That, and also because they are expensive to fabricate. I'm not a rich man, Platt."

"Don't they ration your grenades or something?"

"No. They just give us gold and told us to buy whatever we deem necessary for the mission. As I am a commander, I receive greater pay, but considering the risks of my jobs, I ended up spending most of them anyway."

"Why don't they just ration these things?"

"It's bad for the economy. Our job isn't just to keep the peace, but we are also encouraged to spend money in the places we visit, assisting in their prosperity. Since regular wizards hardly ever leave their home province, our trips are essential for the circulation of wealth. Nothing is rationed apart from food, so when you fire that musket, make sure you hit."

"I believe you will be very disappointed with that. I am not good with guns. I am a doctor."

Enrique paced back and forth following my statement, seemingly lost in thought. He then said: "Very well. I wasn't told of this. Had I known that you were a doctor, I would have asked for more men to follow me. But now, I find myself in a problematic situation. To cross The Channel alone with you would be dangerous. To request an escort from this place would mean weakening the already thinned defences of this castrum further, and I have no authority to do so as Britannia is no longer Roman territory aside from Portus Dubris. We can wait longer, but time is already running out for all of us. Platt, what do you think should we do?"

"We have to go. There is no other choice."

I didn't know what happened there, but for a second I felt very brave. When he uttered the last sentence, he was staring at me with this strange look that was like a begging little girl in one eye and a stern, commanding officer in the other. At that moment, I lost rational thought, and adrenaline kicked in. For some reason, I felt that he forced that sentence out of my mouth.

"Yes, you're right. We couldn't waste any more time here. But, at least, show me that you can shoot."

Enrique then requested some ammunition from the castrum and taught me on how to fire his musket. It was a breech-loading musket, so I did not have to ram the bullet in from the end of the barrel. However, the bullet and the powder are still separate. I had to manually fill the musket with powder before firing. I was told to fire a shot to a sack positioned 10 meters away. Using the training I had in Okinawa, I managed to hit four out of five, but none were close to the centre.

"Well, it's better than nothing. I've seen worse. Now, we best get going. Do you want some whiskey?"

"Whiskey?"

"Yes, I stopped by at Hawick earlier. The Holy Roman Empire can have their beer, but Scottish whiskey is the best in Europe. This will help you stay up all night."

"But how can I shoot straight when I'm drunk?"

"Wizard whiskey does not make people drunk. At least, not this one. You can treat it like muggle coffee."

The whiskey had a strong flavour, unlike anything in the muggle world. It had a bitter-sweet aftertaste which alternates as time passes. Furthermore, the effects also took hold quickly. Within a minute, I felt like I had just woke up on the early morning.

"Now are you ready, Platt? Tell me when you want to go, but don't make me wait too long."

…

These are likely the final words of my journal that I will write here in Scotland. I may still long to return, but the fact that the muggle world faces such a threat is too difficult to let slip. I've been in danger before, for most of my adult life when I look back at it, but I should not hesitate to go. Be it another country, another continent, or another world entirely, I am a Red Cross doctor first and foremost, and I will not back down from my duties. If God wills that I discover the wizard world, He certainly wishes for me to do something here. I only pray that I make it out of this conflict alive.

ACT 1 END