To Butterfly: No artistic license necessary. In the concentration camps, the pink triangle was a symbol for gay men; the yellow Star of David was the symbol for Jewish prisoners. Gay Jewish men were given a badge with a Star of David with one of the triangles colored pink to signify both reasons for their arrest.
To yellow 14: That's correct, but usually the Iron Cross is smaller and on the turret; in this case it's right on the front of the tank and takes up the entire front plate. It's also slightly different: straight instead of flared. All the questions about the Knight do get answered…
Paris, 2008
"'Davidstern'… that's what they called me…" David mused slowly, reclining in the comfy old armchair in his apartment, tracing the yellow triangles on his old armband. In the eyes of the Nazis, it had held the power to brand him and his fellow Jews as traitors, unfit to live. But if he concentrated, he could almost feel the greater power that the object had once held – a power that Hitler had never given to it.
"I'm sorry, Opa, but that's what who called you?" asked Nathaniel, sitting on the floor in front of him and staring up at him wide-eyed. "Was that your Maquis codename?"
David chuckled in amusement. "Yes, I suppose you could call it a 'codename' – of a sort," he acceded, smiling wistfully. "And that is indeed how the Maquis knew me. But I never actually met the man who gave me that name; I only ever knew him as a voice sending me on missions…"
A Farm outside Orléans, 1943
"Good evening, Davidstern," the voice announced gravely as the butterfly merged into David's armband and the psychic link formed. "I have another mission for you, my friend."
"Just say the word, Maquillon," David whispered, ducking behind the barn to avoid being seen from the house, the only other structure in the area. Orchid-colored smoke bathed him, fading away to reveal the familiar royal blue skintight suit, beret, and mask, emblazoned with the Star of David across the chest and a Hebrew "dalet" on the beret. He drew the golden short sword from his side, testing its weight. Exactly as he remembered.
"There is a trainload of prisoners," le Maquillon explained. "Over 100 high-profile prisoners – some captured Maquis, some Jews and other… 'undesirables'–" Davidstern could hear the distaste in his voice "–that they are planning to deport from Drancy to Germany. You know what that means."
Davidstern's jaw took on a hard set. He did indeed know: he had infiltrated one of the German "camps" a year ago in an attempt to rescue a Resistance leader – that week had been more than enough experience to last a lifetime. "Understood. Is it just me on tonight's mission, Monsieur?"
"This one is too important," le Maquillon replied. "I convinced the Maquis leadership to dispatch one of our infiltration cells to meet you there for support, and–" a royal blue feather fluttered in front of Davidstern, merging into his dreidel, the only thing he had brought with him from home "–yes, yes, I was just getting there, dear," le Maquillon grumbled.
"You talk too much, you know," a feminine voice interjected, joining the other voice in Davidstern's head. "Call me 'La Resistaonne'," the new voice added.
"What's the feather for, um… Madame?" His dreidel thrummed with potential.
"Concentrate on an emotion and think of something, anything that can protect you," la Resistaonne instructed him. "A 'senti-guard', if you will."
Davidstern furrowed his brows, his thoughts drifting back to his mother's stories of the "man of earth" formed by the rabbis to serve as a protector of the Jewish people. As if on command, two massive faux-clay feet manifested in the field in front of him, rapidly building and growing as the body and finally the head of the Golem took shape. The senti-Golem, standing almost as tall as the barn itself, blinked and looked around at the farm, pounding its chest. "No way…"
"Good choice," la Resistaonne observed, letting out a light laugh.
"The rest of the group will be waiting for you about five kilometers from the camp. You'll be just outside of my range there, so you're going to be on your own until you return." Le Maquillon paused. "Godspeed."
That night, long after sunset, Davidstern rounded the small hillock and hopped off the Golem's back, dropping to the ground in front of the small group of maquisards that le Maquillon had sent ahead. He glanced around at the assembly: only a half-dozen poorly-armed men – some no older than himself, some older than his father, carrying a handful of old hunting rifles – to go up against what could potentially turn into the entire SS unit guarding the prison. Davidstern frowned. One of the partisans, a man in a red beret, walked up and shook his hand, staring up at the Golem in amazement.
"When the boss told me he was sending help… this wasn't exactly what I expected," the man observed with a low whistle. "Jacques, by the way."
"Call me 'Davidstern.' What's the situation?"
Jacques nodded. "Right… from the last report, the guards are just loading up the last of their prisoners now," he explained. "At a guess, they'll pull out of the station in less than ten minutes; they should arrive here in less than twenty."
Davidstern turned to the Golem. "Sit down and be quiet." Looking around at the men he frowned, his eyes narrowing calculatingly. How was he supposed to rescue so many prisoners with so few fighters?
As if sensing his thoughts, Jacques cleared his throat. "We can do this, sir," he assured him. "Those are our friends on that train, and I'll be damned if I let the Krauts ship 'em off to Auschwitz!"
"I sure hope so," agreed Davidstern. At that moment a twig snapped behind them, and he spun around, his sword sprang from its sheath at the speed of thought, golden light emanating from the blade and illuminating a circle of the field around them. Near the edge of the circle, the light caught and reflected off of something metallic. "Show yourself!" he called, shifting his grip.
The metal moved, and a pair of boots stepped forward into the light. Davidstern's eyes followed up the armored legs to stop on the mantle, which bore a bright green cross set on a white field. The man wore a silver helm and carried a long pole arm. "I am a friend," the knight announced gravely, resting the end of his weapon on the ground.
"Did le Maquillon send you?" demanded Davidstern, his grip tightening on his short sword.
"I do not know that person," the knight answered, shaking his head. "I am here of my own accord, to join your battle against these German invaders. You may call me 'the Lazarist'. My order has served the people of France for a millennium; having fought the Nazis alone since Dunkirk, I think it is high time for me to make common cause with you against our shared enemy."
"How do we know we can trust you?" Jacques wondered, his hand drifting to the pistol on his belt.
"Can we afford to reject help when it's offered?" Davidstern pointed out, raising an eyebrow at the maquisard leader. He sheathed his sword, and held out a hand to the Lazarist. "If you are a friend, then you are welcome."
"Train inbound!" called a voice from the top of the hillock behind them. There was a pause. "It's not alone!"
Davidstern spun around, narrowing his eyes. With a thought he doused the light, plunging them back into darkness and activating his night vision, sprinting for the hillock. "Up," he shouted to the Golem, which lumbered to its feet, cracking its knuckles, and crouched with its head below the top of the hill. "What's the situation?" he demanded of the lookout, a boy younger than himself.
"See for yourself," the lookout answered, pointing.
A single point of light showed the train's location, moving down the track toward them slowly but picking up speed. At first Davidstern was unsure what the lookout had seen, but then he noticed it. A shape hovered above the train in the center of a swirling vortex of wind. "Scheisse!" he cursed. Of course it couldn't be easy… He turned to find seven pairs of eyes looking at him, the Golem a silent presence looming behind the others. The Lazarist hefted his lance and nodded firmly. Davidstern shrugged and twirled his sword with a flourish. "Well… Vive la France!"
The partisans raced up the hill, falling prone and laying their rifles out, aiming down at the train tracks below. The Golem lumbered out from behind the hillock, taking up a position on the far side of the hill from the train's location, in the dark appearing as a second hill. Davidstern concentrated on what he wanted the senti-guard to do and leapt into the air, the wind whipping through his hair as he caught the wind and hung, suspended above the hillock. He threw his arms out wide with a yell – a starburst of golden light expanded from his body in all directions and bathed the countryside, illuminating the night as though it were midday. His jaw dropped.
The figure above the train was not alone. Another man in medieval armor hovered behind the first, a broadsword in his hand – der Deutsche Ritter, "the German Knight". And a man in a dark cloak, his hooded face hidden in shadow, stood on the ledge above the train's cattle guard – the Magier had come as well. The Übermacht had anticipated them.
But it was too late to stop now. "Attack!" bellowed Davidstern, pointing his sword at the flying shadow. A massive pulse of light lanced across the distance separating them, aiming directly for the darker shadow. Below him, the partisans opened fire on the cloaked man.
"Wehren!" the German Knight called. An enormous silver shield with a black cross appeared in midair in front of the shadow, caught the blast, and directed it down into the ground to one side of the tracks. A shower of dirt and grass erupted from the spot, blowing up into the cyclone around the shadow.
"Merde!" muttered the Lazarist. Louder he shouted, "Atavis!" The wind whistled around Davidstern as the Lazarist rocketed into the air, coming to a stop hovering beside him. His helmet cocked to the side and he gasped, his grip tightening on his lance. "Vampir!" the Lazarist thundered, launching straight at the shadow. The shadow's eyes glowed black, and a circular blade of solid darkness sliced through the air straight at the Lazarist. The Lazarist held his lance in front of himself, muttered something, and shot forward, piercing straight through the blade, shattering it into splinters of dark energy that rained on the countryside. The shadow waved a hand in front of himself moments before the Lazarist struck, launching them both through the air away from the field. "What did you do to my family, monster!?"
Davidstern lost sight of them just as the train reached the hillock. "Now!" he shouted. The Golem stomped its foot, pounded its chest, and charged straight at the tracks. The Magier, riding above the train's cattle guard, started and turned on hearing the noise, placing his hand on his belt. His eyes widened in shock the moment before the Golem slammed its shoulder into the train engine, knocking it off the rails and onto its side. Metal ground. Sparks flew. Cattle cars derailed and overturned along the length of the train. The Golem stumbled to the ground, crouching over the engine. The Magier was thrown from his perch; he clutched at his belt. A red haze appeared below him, cushioning his fall, and he collapsed onto the grass. The partisans opened fire, and a solid red bubble appeared around the Magier, deflecting the bullets. Energy crackled around his fingertips. The Golem pushed itself up and advanced on the man, who held a hand up, pointed at the Golem. Red flames burst from his hand and shot straight through the bubble, licking across the Golem's torso, swathing it in black smoke as it slowly lumbered toward him, raising its fists over its head. Two partisans sprinted down the hill toward the nearest car as the other four continued to fire, keeping the Magier pinned down.
"Armanemagier!" the Knight shouted. The man in question didn't take his eyes off the Golem, sending a cloud of dust into its face. "Wehren!" the Knight called. A silver shield appeared in midair, separating the partisans and the Golem, blocking their fire.
Davidstern narrowed his eyes at the Knight, pushing himself forward at him, gaining altitude as he flew. A glowing blade extended out from his short sword, surrounding its existing blade and lengthening its reach to almost ten meters, and he raised it above his head. The Knight spun around in midair, dropped down as Davidstern reached him, and stabbed upward. At a thought, Davidstern formed a glowing golden light shield around himself. The sword deflected off, and the Knight grabbed the handle with both hands, propelling himself straight upwards at the bubble, slamming his shoulder into it and launching it higher into the air. Davidstern stumbled under the surprise attack, his arms flailing. He almost dropped his sword, but caught his finger through one of the triangles of the pommel at the last minute. Inhaling deeply, he let out a breath, pushing downward with all his might. The shield collapsed into a single point, lancing down at the Knight, as Davidstern rocketed toward him, sword pointed at the Knight's helmet.
"Wehren!" the Knight bellowed, holding up his arm at an angle. A bracer appeared on the arm, catching Davidstern's sword and deflecting it to the side. Davidstern spun around in midair, slamming his elbow into the side of the Knight's helmet. The Knight grunted, his arms going limp. The force holding him up stopped and he turned over and fell, headfirst, toward the ground.
"Oh, Scheisse," Davidstern cursed, pointing his sword at the ground below the Knight. A glowing golden haze appeared, moments before the Knight landed on it, passing slowly through it to rest on the ground. He raised his head, but dropped it back down onto the grass.
"We–we have some of them!" a voice called from the ground, almost drowned out by the Golem's roars and the crackle of the Magier's red energy licking at the Golem's magical body. "We just need a little more time." Davidstern looked down to find two partisans standing at the door to one train car, a small crowd gathering around them. The Golem again brought its joined fists down on the Magier's shield. Davidstern let out a slow breath, the knot in his chest unclenching.
A rumble arose from the direction of the city. A point of light appeared a couple kilometers away. Davidstern cocked his head in confusion. The air whistled beside him. With a sound like thunder, the Golem fell to one knee, and explosion lighting up the ground around it and sending shrapnel in all directions. Then a dozen more pinpricks of light appeared from the same direction. Davidstern's eyes widened in horror.
The cannonade flew past him on all sides, peppering the ground. Two more shells exploded against the Golem as it turned. Another deflected off the Armanemagier's shield. Four hit the side of the train, which ignited as one smashed the engine, sending burning fuel in all directions. Davidstern held his hands down, forming a golden shield beneath him; the heat of the conflagration seared straight through the barrier. Sweat beads formed on his brow.
The maquisards scattered, running in all directions, dragging the handful of rescued prisoners with them. One partisan fell, screaming in agony as a shell landed directly in front of him, splitting the earth apart. Davidstern ground his teeth in frustration, coiled his legs, and shot toward the armored column, his eyes aglow with golden light, sword held out, a pinprick of light piercing through the darkness. Another round came perilously close to hitting him, but he was past caring. A stray shell flew straight at him, and he sliced clean through it, sending the halved rocketing off in either direction. The Iron Cross emblazoned on the front armor of the column's leading tank made for an easy target. He drew his hand back, feeling the light energy build for a massive wave–
"Wait!" Le Maquillon's voice suddenly rang out in his mind as the psychic connection reappeared, and Davidstern froze. "If you destroy their tanks, you won't be saving anyone," le Maquillon hurriedly explained. "They'll just take it out on our people." He sighed heavily. "Our day will come to fight back," he promised. "But it's not today. Rescue whoever you can and get out of there. Our people are more important than petty revenge tonight."
Davidstern gave the tanks one last angry look but turned on his heel, rocketing back toward the train. Le Maquillon's presence faded from his mind. "I'm holding you to that, Butterfly Man," Davidstern grumbled.