Chapter Seventeen: A Night in the Rain, Part One
Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.
Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews Scorponis, Psycho Llama, and Blu Embyr! I feel so loved! Ideas and suggestions are still welcome! Please forgive me for taking so long—almost a month!—to update. School started so I don't have as much time to write anymore. On top of that I'm a Tech. person for my high school's WWII play 'I Never Saw Another Butterfly'. And this chapter is so enormous I had to cut it into two parts. But don't worry, after Part Two there's an Epilogue, and then I'll start my sequel, which will be based on the Hellboy movie and the Director's Cut of Hellboy. (squee!) Anyways…Among other things, this chapter answers a question I had about how they got that huge portal generator to the island, and how those flags were hung up. As always, "Ja" is yes and "nein" is no. Everyone review, pretty please!
Scorponis: Here's your chapter! Sorry for the long wait.
Psycho Llama: Kroenen doesn't know exactly what she's done, but he suspects that she might have done something wrong, and is in denial about that. By the way, I visited kroenenlove, great web site, I'm very flattered that you mentioned my story!
Blu Embyr: Poor Broom, he is going to be shocked! Also, I put more humor in this chapter to lighten it up a little.
"Courage is the art of being the only one who knows you're scared to death."—Unknown
The Afternoon of October 9, 1944
On Board a Nazi Ship Headed for Scotland
Erica stood in the prow of the ship, her long brown hair blowing around her in the cold wind that was coming off the water. She looked over the side of the ship, watching as the slate gray water raced by. Normally the water would have been a deep blue, but it was currently reflecting the sky overhead, which was already half covered in towering, angry looking storm clouds. Erica looked up towards the sky, her eyes the exact color of the growing storm clouds overhead.
That is going to be one nasty storm, she thought, and we're going to be out in the middle of it.
She leaned over the side of the ship and looked back at the way they had come. There was nothing to see but miles of choppy, churning gray water spread out in all directions; the last glimpse of land had disappeared behind them hours ago. She looked anyway, knowing that with each mile they traveled she was getting closer to the moment she would make her betrayal known—a moment that would probably result in her death.
I won't die, she thought firmly, not if I can help it.
She could feel the slight bulge of a grenade in the pocket of her black trench coat. She had brought it with the intention of throwing it at the portal generator. The explosion should be enough to destroy the generator and prevent the release of the Ogdru Jahad, she thought. She could also feel the cold metal wrist blades lying flat against her forearms, waiting to be called into action, as well as the baton swords firmly strapped to her legs. She had brought them because she knew that she would end up having to fight—it was unavoidable, though she suspected that she would be fighting after the generator was destroyed and her betrayal was known.
And if the Allied Forces don't show up I'll be fighting a futile battle for my life, she thought, There's no way I can defeat all the Nazi soldiers on these ships.
But Erica had brought her baton swords with an additional purpose in mind. In the event that the grenade didn't work, she was hoping that the metal of the baton swords would be strong enough that she could shove them into some of the moving parts of the generator. If the metal was sturdy and didn't snap then the strain would cause the machine to stop and explode on its own. How ironic, she thought, her lips twisting into a strange smile, Kroenen engraved the swords with the words 'Alles für Deutschland'. Everything for Germany. And yet they might be the very things that crush the Nazis' plans when they destroy the portal generator.
But there was something else, besides the generator and the Nazi soldiers, which she would have to take care of.
Erica's hands went to the handgun that she had shoved into her belt and she looked down, checking to make sure that the gun was loaded and in proper working order. She knew it was pointless. She had already checked it three times before. But it was important that it work—if Ilsa, Grigory, or Kroenen tried to stop her then she would shoot them. Not to kill, of course, she couldn't bear to think of murdering her friends, no matter how evil they might be. No, she would shoot to wound, maybe shooting them in the leg so they couldn't walk.
Kroenen is going to regret that I remembered to bring this with me, she thought grimly, sliding the gun back into her belt. Thanks to Kroenen teaching her, she had a great aim with a gun and knew that she wouldn't miss. Hopefully the variety of weapons she was carrying would be sufficient. She had decided to prepare for the worst—not that the situation she was in could get much worse—because in this case there were too many possibilities for her to be able to foresee the future.
Prior proper planning prevents a poor performance, Erica thought, remembering what Miss Hawthorne, the Drama teacher at her high school, used to say.
Suddenly cold sea spray struck Erica's face, jerking her back into reality. The gray ocean waves were getting larger as the wind grew stronger, and already the deck of the ship was wet with ocean water. Hanging on a pole jutting up from the roof of the Navigation room was the Nazi flag, and it was flapping wildly in the wind as it tore across the ocean in ever increasingly strong gusts, whipping the crests of the waves into white foam. The wind made her black trench coat flutter behind her.
She did what was expected of her. She turned on her heel and her jackboots clicked smartly against the metal deck as she strode towards the enormous crate that was chained to the deck. The portal generator was inside the crate, which had been transported to the coast on the back of a truck and then unloaded onto the ship. Erica gave some orders to the soldiers on deck, who quickly covered the crate with a tarp and then wrapped more chains around the crate, securing it more firmly to the deck so it couldn't be washed overboard if the storm got worse. The soldiers dashed back and forth, quick to obey the commands she barked to them in German. When she was satisfied that the portal generator would be safe, she strode across the deck and opened the door that led to Navigation.
The Navigation Room was full of activity. Nazi soldiers were hovering over the navigational controls, efficiently checking and rechecking the ship's course and murmuring to each other as they attended to the countless duties that kept the ship running. The soldiers carefully kept their heads lowered as she passed, keeping their eyes focused on their work. They, unlike Kroenen, hadn't noticed any change in her and still thought she was the same murderously inclined and fierce tempered young woman that she had always been. Erica walked right across the room and over to another door in the wall, which led into the conference room. She went inside and carefully closed the door behind her to cut off the noise from the Navigation Room.
The conference room was roughly rectangular and had stark, gray metal walls. There were large windows along the two longest sides of the room. The furniture consisted of a table and several chairs, three of which were occupied. Grigory was seated at the head of the table, leaning back and carelessly staring at the map spread out on the table. Ilsa was seated on Grigory's right. She was leaning forward and her pale hands were resting on the dark surface of the table. She was lightly tapping her fingers and her long red nails were clicking against the tabletop. General Von Krupt was sitting beside her and frowning as usual. He and Ilsa were having a heated discussion with the Captain of the ship, who was sitting across from them and looking very uncomfortable. Everyone, with the exception of Grigory, was in full Nazi uniform.
No one turned to look in Erica's direction as she entered the room, though she thought she saw Grigory's eyes flick to her for a moment before he returned to idly gazing at the map. Kroenen was silent, standing at one of the square observational windows and looking out over the water, his hands clasped behind his back. Erica gazed at him for a moment, feeling a sharp pang of guilt as she looked as his black clad figure. He was dangerous and imposing, but at the same time he was her closest friend—a friend that she would be forced to fight before the night was out. Erica tore her eyes away from him and leaned over the table, pretending to take an interest in the conversation.
"This is our current position," said the Captain, tapping a spot on the map, "And we're sailing straight into the hurricane."
"Ja," answered Ilsa, her voice stern, "Is there a problem with that?"
"Nein, nein, of course not," the Captain quickly answered, "I'm just saying that we'll, um, have to expect a few delays due to rough weather—"
"There will be no delays," Von Krupt said firmly, his dark crimson glasses flashing as if to express his almost constant displeasure.
"But—" began the Captain.
"There will be no delays," Von Krupt repeated.
"At least there won't be if you value your life." Ilsa threatened, her ice blue eyes darting to where Erica was standing.
The Captain looked at Erica, his fear clearly displayed on his face. Erica did nothing to dispel it, instead she grinned wickedly and fingered the hilt of one of the baton swords strapped to her legs, playing the part that she knew was expected of her. The Captain gulped and quickly got to his feet.
"I'll inform the helmsman to keep the ship at top speed." the Captain said, his voice strained. He left looking very agitated.
Von Krupt pulled out his gold pocket watch and consulted it. His frown deepened and he muttered something. Ilsa looked at him sharply.
"What was that?" she asked, her voice falsely sweet.
"The hurricane is going to make it difficult to bring the portal generator ashore." the General said.
"It doesn't matter how difficult it's going to be, so long as it gets there!" Ilsa snapped, tired of Von Krupt and his omnipresent pocket watch, "And don't concern yourself with it, we will not be late."
Von Krupt remained silent. He knew his limits, and knew better than to press his luck with Grigory and The Three.
Over by the window and unnoticed by the others, Kroenen reached inside his trench coat and took out a black and white photograph. It was the photograph of himself, Erica, and Ilsa that had been in the picture frame in his study. Besides a few of his weapons the photograph was the only thing that he had wanted to take with him, and was the only thing that he couldn't bear to leave behind. Well, not quite the only thing, he thought. There was something else as well. He carefully slipped the photograph back inside the pocket inside his trench coat and then turned his head and gazed at Erica. Both of her hands were on the table and she was leaning on them for support as she bent over, looking down at the map spread out on the table. Unlike the others' faces, hers was solemn and without a trace of happiness that they were so close to success.
Beautiful and dangerous as always, he thought as he looked at her. I just wish that she wasn't such a mystery to me. Quiet as ever, he left the window and walked over to her.
Feeling a gentle tap on her shoulder Erica jumped a little and turned her head—and came face to mask with Kroenen, who was standing much too close for comfort. She tried to step backwards, but the chair behind her was in her way and she ran into it. Kroenen tilted his head to the side as if questioning her behavior. He was so close that she could see herself reflected in the round, glass lenses of his mask and could smell the strong scent of leather and blood that always clung to him. He was so near to her that she could clearly hear the tick, tick, tick sound of his internal clockwork. Kroenen raised his arm and reached towards her face, but Erica—afraid that he might tap into her thoughts, or that he might see her silver crucifix necklace that was hidden just under her shirt—flinched away from him before his gloved fingers brushed her cheek. He paused for a moment, his hand still outstretched, and regarded her closely.
"I would never intentionally harm you," he reminded her. Then he reached towards her again, and this time Erica forced herself to hold still. Kroenen used one of his gloved fingers to tilt her face upward and then slightly to one side. "I see your cuts have healed, despite your refusal to allow me to stitch them closed." he said softly.
Erica barely took in a word that he said. The second he had touched her cheek her emotions had welled up inside her like a boiling wave of water, and all of them were running rampant inside her. Anger, grief, guilt, love, and hate were all conflicting and straining to break free of the calm mask of expression that they had been hiding behind. And she was having a hard time controlling herself— she was actually trembling with the effort of containing her emotions. Erica swallowed thickly, choking back the tears she wanted to cry. All she could focus on was the whirlwind inside of her and Kroenen, who was still standing there, watching her every move. She felt like she was being swallowed by the dark glass lenses of his mask. Her lips parted ever so slightly, wanting to say so many different things, but no words came out. The only sound she made was the soft, whispery sound as she breathed quickly.
Kroenen watched all of this and tilted his head to one side, the familiar gesture that told Erica that he was intrigued with her behavior. She knew he could sense her discomfort. A few agonizing moment passed and then he dropped his hand from her face and stepped backwards from her, leaving her feeling shaky and unsteady.
"Here, I have something for you." he said as he reached inside his trench coat.
Erica watched him with curiosity as he drew out a single blood red rose. He pressed it into her gloved hand.
"I noticed that you lost the last one I gave you," Kroenen said, "When you came back from riding it wasn't in your pocket." He looked down at her, meeting her grey eyes. She quickly turned her head away, still feeling confused. It was at that moment that she noticed that the room was dead silent and that Grigory, Ilsa, and Von Krupt were staring at her and Kroenen. General Von Krupt was frowning, apparently disapproving of Erica's display of emotion, no matter how slight it had been.
The silence was broken as Grigory Rasputin stood and his chair scraped across the floor as he pushed it backwards. Immediately Ilsa and Von Krupt stood as well, the General looking somewhat disgruntled. Grigory smiled and gestured to the foot-long rectangular box sitting on the table. Ilsa gracefully pulled it over to her and opened it. She reached inside and took out a bottle of red wine and five crystal wine glasses.
"Tonight the miracle I have promised will come to pass and all impurity in this world will be razed. And you, my faithful followers, will be rewarded for your devotion and your labor that will bring this event to pass."
As Rasputin spoke, Ilsa poured the wine and passed a glass to each person in the room. Erica looked down at the crystal wineglass in her hand. It shone coldly and the wine sloshing around inside it was as red as blood, as red as the blood of the men she had killed in the past. Erica felt her stomach turn. Murderer! A voice in her head cried, Murderer! She looked up, the five of them were standing in a circle around the table, and together they made an ominous and threatening group, as if they were bearing witness to some arcane ritual.
"I propose a toast," Grigory announced, standing tall and looking very proud. He held his wine glass high. "To the Ogdru Jahad, the Seven Gods of Chaos! And to Germany, whose enemies will soon be vanquished!"
"To Germany!" everyone echoed.
And to high treason, Erica thought, raising her wineglass.
As one they tipped back their heads and drank. Well, everyone except for Kroenen. Erica watched as he put his wineglass down on the table. She knew that for him it wasn't worth going to the trouble of removing his mask only to have half of the wine dribble out of his mouth and all over his uniform. Swallowing liquids was difficult when you didn't have lips.
Erica drained the wineglass and sat it on the table, a faint grimace appearing on her lips as she remembered that the wine had resembled blood. At least it didn't taste like it, she thought. Despite living in Germany where practically everyone drank alcohol of some sort, she had usually avoided it. This was because of two reasons: one, because it was all too easy for someone to slip poison into a wineglass, as she knew from the incident with Leonard; and two, because in the past too many people had tried to get her drunk, hoping that it would be easier to kill her.
She turned away from the others and picked up a black ribbon lying on the table. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and tied the ribbon around it, and then put the rose in the breast pocket of her black leather jacket. Then she put on the black hat that matched her SS uniform. Because there was no mirror in the room, she looked at her reflection in the glass window and seeing that her hat was a little crooked, she adjusted it.
It's overwhelming that one person can make such an enormous difference in the possible course of events! She thought, Just think, whether I live or die, my actions will save thousands of lives and change the expected course of history. The Nazis will be defeated!
Erica didn't know it, but her thoughts were oddly reminiscent of those of the first spy that had tried to kill her barely two days after she had first arrived in Germany. And now the young woman that so many people had tried to kill was about to fight and probably die for the same people that constantly cursed her name. She didn't want to die anymore than anyone else, but she would if she had to.
After all, she thought wistfully, There are some things worth dying for. And this is definitely one of them. My grandfather was right about that when he decided to fight against his own country and the Nazis.
As she gazed out the window at the foaming crests of the grey waves, rain began pattering against the glass. Within moments the entire room was echoing with the sound of the torrential rain as it hammered against the ship. As Erica watched the storm she couldn't help but feel that an equally strong storm was raging within her.
God help me, Erica thought, gazing at the crimson rose Kroenen had given to her, This is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done.
Behind her the others were examining and discussing the map on the table. And even though Rasputin, Ilsa, Kroenen, and Von Krupt were in same the room with her, they had no idea that her thoughts were not filled with hate and destruction, but with determination and the hope for a different future than the one that Rasputin envisioned.
The Lord is my Shepard, Erica thought, mentally reciting the psalm to calm herself, And even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me…
XXXXX
The Evening of October 9, 1944 On Board a Ship Belonging to the Allied ForcesDestination: Scotland
Professor Bruttenholm was seasick.
He stumbled across the deck of the ship, clinging to the rail as the waves tossed and heaved, drenching him in salty spray as they crashed against the sides of the ship. Raindrops hit the deck, filling the air with a harsh drumming sound that was nearly drowned out by the shrieking wind. The clouds covered the sky so thickly and so completely that it seemed almost like night. Broom's stomach heaved again and he hurried over to the rail and hung over it while his stomach emptied its contents of his lunch.
"Carrots? I didn't even eat carrots!" he muttered, straightening up again and stumbling across the slippery deck to the door that led below deck. He grasped the metal handle and wrenched the door open. The instant he did so the wind caught the door and once he was inside he had to wrestle with the door before he finally got it to slam shut. Professor Broom stood by the door for a moment, attempting to neaten himself up a bit. He wiped water from his face with his hand and then took off his spectacles and dried them off on the edge of his jacket. He put them back on his face and then strode down the corridor, keeping a tight grip on the leather strap of the box he was carrying.
Pipes ran along the gray metal walls and ceiling of the corridor and the Professor's shoes tapped loudly against the metal floor as he walked. Unfortunately the corridor was very thin, and even more unfortunately, the corridor was very, very busy. So busy, in fact, that Professor Broom had to press himself against the wall as groups of soldiers hustled past him, loading and checking their weapons. I'm glad I'm not claustrophobic, he thought as he opened a gray metal door in the wall of the corridor.
He stepped into a room that, just like the corridor outside it, was a bustling beehive of activity. It was full of soldiers rushing in and out and back and forth. Because of this the room was almost stifling with the atmosphere of activity, purpose, and that type of dread-filled excitement that surrounds soldiers as they make their last preparations before going into battle.
Broom wove his way through the soldiers in the room, occasionally getting jostled aside as someone pushed past him. Eventually he made it to the back of the room where Sergeant Whitman, the commanding officer in charge of the classified mission, was standing at a table covered in maps, papers, pencils, and empty coffee cups. As Broom slumped into one of the chairs at the table Whitman looked up and took in the Professor's wet hair, damp clothes, and very pale skin.
"Getting your sea legs, Professor?" Whitman asked, a grin on his face. Sgt. Whitman was an experienced man and could tell that Professor Broom was suffering from a nasty case of seasickness.
Broom ignored the jibe and plopped his wooden box down on the table, sliding open the lid and glancing inside to make sure that the contents of the box were intact. He smiled, seeing that the books, amulets, tarot cards, and rosaries were quite safe and dry.
"How long until we arrive?" Broom asked.
"Three, four hours. Maybe more, depending on how bad this storm gets." answered Sgt. Whitman.
"You mean it's going to get worse?" Broom asked, a hint of alarm in his voice as the ship leaned to one side and his nausea intensified.
"You bet. So I suggest that you don't eat anything for the next few hours, I doubt you'll be able to keep it down." Whitman laughed, roughly patting Broom on the back and easily keeping his balance as the ship continued to lurch from side to side. "By the way, you might wanna catch your box." Whitman said, gesturing as the wooden box began to slide off the table accompanied by several coffee cups.
As Broom lunged for his box Whitman smiled and walked toward the front of the room where he consulted some of the equipment and glanced at the radar screen. He was hoping that the Nazis' ships would show up. If they did then he could blow them out of the water and they'd be back home in no time without having to deal with any of that 'parabnormal' stuff that Professor Broom had been going on about. Of course, that's if any of that crap turns out to be real, Whitman thought, This is all a joke! And now I'm going to be a laughing stock for being sent on this mission, chasing after ghosts and God knows what else!
Broom caught his box just as it began to slide off the table. He sat up again and pushed his glasses back up his nose with a practiced gesture. Then, seeing that Whitman was over by the navigational instruments, Broom hurried after him, still carrying his box.
"Sergeant Whitman, is there any way we could get to Scotland faster?" Professor Broom asked, interrupting Whitman's conversation with a soldier.
"Yeah. If we had perfectly calm seas instead of a hurricane." Sgt. Whitman replied harshly.
"I don't mean to be rude, Sergeant Whitman, but we cannot afford to be late. This is an important mission, I hope you've realized that."
Whitman looked at the Professor and caught a glimpse of the amulets and tarot cards in the wooden box. He frowned.
"You don't wanna know what I think, 'Professor'." Whitman replied, turning back to the radar screen.
Broom was just about to say something else when the ship lurched again and he decided that it would be better if he just sat down for a while. He returned to the chair near the table and sat there with the precious wooden box sitting on his knees, the leather strap wound around his fingers.
I just pray we arrive in time, Broom thought, If we're late, I just hope the person who wrote the letter will be able to stop the Nazis. But if they can't, only God and the Devil know what will happen. He shivered. If the Ogdru Jahad were released the consequences would be terrible.
Professor Broom had no way of knowing, but truly, only God and the Devil knew what surprises lay in store for the people on board the two sets of ships that were rapidly closing in on an island off the coast of Scotland.
XXXXX
The Night of October 9, 1944
It was raining like hell. Thunder and lightning crashed overhead. It was dark, and it was very, very cold. And none of this was helping the Nazi soldiers laboring to transport the crate containing the portal generator.
The ships had landed on the shore of the island, as close to the ruins as they could get. As soon as they had disembarked the Nazi soldiers had gotten right to work. The crate had been lifted off the boat using pulleys, and then it had been lowered onto a wheeled platform. Then the soldiers picked up the chains at the front of the platform and began pulling it. And in this weather it wasn't easy to haul the crate and the various boxes of equipment over the rocky ground, especially since the cold, falling rain had turned the path into a thick quagmire of mud. The mud was so thick that it made the soldiers' boots stick for a moment before it let go with a wet sucking sound.
Kroenen led the bizarre procession. Apparently his strange and frightening appearance had scared the small flock of sheep they had wandered into, because the fluffy sheep froze for a moment and then fled in all directions, baaing in terror. Kroenen continued walking, indifferent about the sheep's behavior. Erica followed Kroenen, her head bowed slightly to help keep the rain out of her eyes and so that the rain fell off the brim of her hat and didn't run down the back of her neck. Ilsa and Grigory were next in the line, Ilsa holding a black umbrella to keep herself and Grigory dry—or at least drier than everyone else was. General Von Krupt was somewhere among the mass of soldiers trudging through the mud. Erica could hear him shouting orders in his harsh voice and could tell from the tone in his voice that the bad weather had made him very short tempered.
Or at least more short tempered then he usually is, she thought.
For what seemed like hours they slogged through what felt like the worst mud on the face of the Earth, accompanied by what was probably the worst storm in history. The heavens were dumping buckets of ice water on their heads, as if in an effort to impede what was going on below. Erica just kept her head down, carefully watching where she was walking. She was so intent on this that she nearly walked into Kroenen, who had suddenly stopped in front of her. He turned and looked at her before gesturing into the darkness ahead. She looked up and could just barely make out the pale stone of the ruins looming out of the blackness. Immediately she turned and looked back at the soldiers laboring at the bottom of the hill behind her.
"We're here!" she shouted.
Her words were either unheard or no one cared, because the soldiers continued swearing and cursing as they pulled the wheeled platform, and Von Krupt continued yelling at some unfortunate soldier for some minor infraction or other. Grigory and Ilsa might have glanced up at her for a moment but she wasn't sure.
When Erica turned back Kroenen was gone. She looked down at the ruins and saw him striding through the remains of the Abbey. Several indistinct white shapes raced away from him, baaing and making a fuss. A strange impulse to laugh welled up inside Erica, but she kept it inside and walked down the hill. Erica, Ilsa, and Grigory met Kroenen just inside the edge of the impressive Romanesque ruins. Kroenen nodded at them and then glanced up the hill, where the soldiers were now trying to prevent the wheeled platform from coming down too fast and crushing them. Despite the raging storm Erica could clearly hear the soldiers' vehement cursing.
"I don't know what they have to complain about," said Kroenen, "All that work has to be keeping them warmer than we are. Or at least warmer than the three of you, seeing as I don't have any body heat."
Grigory didn't look amused. "Start hanging up the flags." He ordered. And then he and Ilsa started walking towards the heart of the ruins.
"Well, here's where your talent for climbing vertical surfaces will really come in handy." Erica said. Kroenen chuckled darkly.
"I'm not the only one who'll be climbing up there—"
He was interrupted by the squeaking of wheels, shouting, and the rattling of chains as the Nazi soldiers came towards them pulling the wheeled platform. Von Krupt was walking along beside it and he shot a glare in Erica's and Kroenen's direction as he passed them.
Lines of soldiers marched behind the platform, and a group of them broke away from the main group and came towards Erica and Kroenen. All of the soldiers were carrying a box filled with stacks of the Nazi/Thule Society flags.
"As I was saying, I'm not the only one who'll be climbing," said Kroenen, "In fact, they'll be doing most of it. When we're finished I'll meet you in the main courtyard where they're setting up the portal generator."
Erica nodded and Kroenen walked over to the first wall with the soldiers running along behind him in order to keep up. Erica turned away and headed towards the clanking of chains coming from the main courtyard.
When she arrived the soldiers had pulled the wheeled platform to the spot where the portal generator needed to go. Von Krupt shouted an order and ten soldiers surrounded the platform, one at each of the many wheels. Von Krupt gave another order and each soldier pulled back a lever and flicked a switch on the wheels. In response the platform slowly lowered itself down onto the ground. The Nazi soldiers bent down and began unbolting the wheels. Erica saw Von Krupt and walked over to him. He was frowning and consulting his gold pocket watch again, and his dark crimson glasses glinted as he glanced up at her.
"Are we on time?" Erica asked, mockery seeping into her voice.
Von Krupt chose to ignore the sarcasm in her words. "For now." he replied as he turned to watch the soldiers.
"Don't be so skeptical." Erica said.
Von Krupt whirled around to face her. "Don't tell me what to believe." he said, his voice sharp, "And remember, the Fürher doesn't like failure."
"I know," murmured Erica, a strange smile on her lips, "I know he doesn't."
Von Krupt's frown deepened as he stared back at her. He had never liked her very much and her recent behavior hadn't helped to improve his opinion of her. She's probably as mad as Kroenen is, Von Krupt thought.
He turned away from her and watched as the soldiers carried away the wheels. It was raining so hard now that water was running off the soldiers' helmets and running in small streams along the bottoms of the walls.
Erica watched as several soldiers climbed up on top of the crate and unbolted the top and slid it off. Other soldiers unbolted the sides of the crate and let them fall. A loud crash echoed among the ruins as the wood hit the cobblestones, punctuated by a rumble of thunder from overhead. Von Krupt directed the soldiers to cart away the sides and top of the crate, and the portal generator was left sitting on the wooden bottom of the crate.
"Erica."
She turned and saw Kroenen standing beside her, the glass eyes of his mask glinting in the glare of the spotlights.
"We're finished. Do you like the decorations?" he asked, sounding like he was asking if she liked the garlands he had put on a Christmas tree.
Kroenen gestured upwards and she gasped as she realized that the walls surrounding the courtyard were now hung with lengths of black fabric with a swastika and a red dragon emblazoned on them. Between the soldiers and Von Krupt she hadn't even realized that they were there.
"They're a nice touch, aren't they?" Kroenen asked.
Erica just looked at him. He laughed and then leapt up on top of the metal platform of the generator. His jackboots clanged against the metal as he landed gracefully. He turned and gazed down at her through the dark lenses of his mask, and for some reason, this struck fear in her heart. It might have been her guilty conscience, it might have been her dread of what would happen in a few moments, or it might have been something deeper, but she was afraid nonetheless.
Kroenen leaned down and offered his gloved hand to her. She hesitated for a moment, gazing up at his masked face. She took his hand. She couldn't help it, she trusted him, even though she was afraid of him. What a strange conflict of emotions, she thought as Kroenen effortlessly pulled her up onto the generator.
Erica stood beside him, silently supervising the soldier's work. She tried not to shiver as freezing rain ran down her face and the back of her neck. Unpleasant didn't even begin to describe the shock she experienced each time a cold rain drop rolled down her warm skin.
At least it will keep me awake, she thought, As if nerves weren't enough.
Kroenen seemed indifferent about the rain. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and rain sliding down his black trench coat and his mask as he monitored the Nazis' work.
Erica tore her eyes away from him as she felt her stomach twist with guilt. She was feeling increasingly nervous as the moment drew nearer for her to reveal that she was a traitor. Inside she was trembling with nerves, fear, and anticipation, but on the outside she was as calm and collected as ever. If it had been one thing she had learned in the past few years, it was how to be a good actress and how to disguise her true emotions.
I hope the Allied Forces come, she thought, I'm going to have to do something very soon, and if they're late—
Her grey eyes fell on a few Nazi technicians and scientists, marked by their white uniforms that covered them from head to foot, who were checking and rechecking the control panel they were setting up. A few soldiers marched past them, carrying boxes and bundles. A cloud of white fog drifted from their mouths as they breathed. The other soldiers, watched closely by Von Krupt, were setting up the floodlights around the portal generator. The soldiers did their best, their cold fingers fumbling in the dark, the only light coming from the occasional flashlight or intermittent flicker of lightening.
Meanwhile, just up the hill, crouching behind the low ruin of a wall, was Professor Broom. Sergeant Whitman and various other Allied Soldiers were nearby, hiding behind shrubbery and sections of the ruins. All were soaking wet and cold, especially Professor Broom, who was wearing a long coat over a suit. Sgt. Whitman was peering over the wall, a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes, watching dozens of Nazi soldiers as they swarmed like ants among the thick stone walls and archways.
"Here for the sheep! We just had to get someone with a sense of humor…" Whitman was muttering. He was clearly still getting over his shock that the Nazis were actually there. "Hey, Professor!" Whitman said, "What's on those flags? I've never seen those before."
"The swastika is obviously for the Nazis, but the dragon and so on are for the Thule Occult Society." Broom explained.
"And the freak?—in the gas mask." asked Whitman as he handed the binoculars to Professor Broom.
Broom gazed through the rain streaked lenses and adjusted the focus so the blurry images became clear. The first thing he saw was a man monitoring the Nazis' work from where he was standing on the top of some sort of machine. The man was dressed head to foot in the black leather of an SS uniform and all of his skin was covered—even his face was covered by a strange metal mask. And it was this mask that made it easy to identify the man.
"Karl Ruprecht Kroenen, one of the Reich's top Scientists. He's Hitler's Top Assassin and Head of the Thule Occult Society." Broom lowered the binoculars and passed them back to Whitman. "If he's here, this is worse than I thought."
Whitman shot him a look. "Imagine that, something worse than that 'destruction of the world' thing you've been going on about." he said sarcastically, "You keep going on about the 'parabnormal' crap of yours, but all I see are some Nazis who shouldn't be here and who are going to be dead." The Sgt. looked into the binoculars again, and Professor Broom just waited. Because Kroenen was here, Broom knew it was only a matter of time before Whitman would be a firm believer in the paranormal.
"Who's the one beside Kroenen?" Whitman asked.
"Beside Kroenen?" Broom asked, taking the binoculars the Sgt. offered to him, "I didn't see anyone there."
As he gazed through the binoculars, Broom suddenly spotted a young woman standing beside Kroenen. She, like Kroenen, was wearing an SS uniform, though she had a crimson rose in the breast pocket of her uniform. I guess I didn't see her before because she was standing behind Kroenen, Broom thought, as he continued to study her, She's very tall for a woman. And—can it be? She isn't Aryan! She could only be one person: Erica Schwarz. Good Lord we're in trouble, Professor Broom thought, This is really serious. For a moment he remembered reading about her and saying that she was someone he wouldn't want to meet on a dark night. And here he was, in the middle of the night, with a hurricane raging around him, and The Angel of Death was standing not more than a hundred feet away from him. God has an interesting sense of humor, Broom thought, reflecting on the irony.
"So? Who is she?" asked Sgt. Whitman, interrupting the Professor's thoughts.
"Erica Schwarz."
Whitman gave him a blank look.
"She's more commonly known as The Angel of Death," explained Broom. "Her crimes include countless murders and practicing black magic, among other things."
"Oh, I've heard of her all right. Now translate for me. Does all that mean I can shoot her?" asked Sergeant Whitman, scowling angrily as he looked in Erica's direction.
Broom sighed. "I would think the answer is obvious."
Whitman shot a look at him that clearly said to stop using big words.
"Yes, you can shoot her!" said Professor Broom, feeling exasperated.
Among the ruins, Erica jumped off the generator platform after Kroenen. As soon as she was off of it the giant ring rose up out of the platform and the semicircular disks in the ring's center moved into place as the giant ring began spinning. Kroenen signaled for more floodlights to be turned on. The soldiers scrambled to comply, and the floodlights snapped on, shedding an eerie, cold light over the ruins.
Erica was experiencing the all too familiar sensation of having butterflies in her stomach. She could hear her heart pounding loudly in her heart, and the fluttering vibrations were making her queasy. She almost couldn't bear to stand still, but she forced herself to remain standing beside Kroenen in a dignified and imposing manner. Trying to be discreet, she glanced out of the corner of her eyes at Grigory and Ilsa.
Ilsa was still holding an umbrella over herself and Grigory in what was probably a vain attempt to stay dry. Grigory's chest was bare except for the long robe he was wearing, but despite this, he didn't look like he was cold. Ilsa and Grigory were standing close together and Ilsa was smiling adoringly at her lover and master. They were talking but Erica couldn't hear what they said. But her eyes caught the slight movement as Grigory pressed a leather book into Ilsa's hands. Erica's stomach clenched. Oh no, she thought, That book can only be one thing—it will tell Ilsa how to bring him back should he die. Or get as close to death as he can be. I'll have to try and get the book away from her. The explosion will kill Grigory, and I can't have him coming back in the future to finish what he's started.
Erica watched as a sparkling tear ran down Ilsa's cheek—and then her eyes fell on Von Krupt, who had out his pocket watch and was striding towards Ilsa and Grigory. I swear, that man has a death wish, Erica thought as she watched Von Krupt interrupt the pair.
Ilsa glared at Von Krupt, and if looks could kill, the General would have been struck dead where he stood. Von Krupt said something else and then the three of them started toward the steps. Von Krupt strode beside Grigory and Ilsa, who held her umbrella to shield her master from the pouring rain. They were just starting to pass the portal generator, whose colossal steel and copper clockworks were gleaming in the floodlights, when Grigory stopped.
"Wait," Erica heard Grigory say, "There's one last thing I must attend to. As a precaution. Wait here."
Erica watched as Grigory stepped away from Ilsa and Von Krupt and came towards her. "Erica, come here." Grigory commanded, gesturing to her.
"Yes, Master." she said respectfully, though the words felt like poison on her tongue.
Mechanically, Erica obeyed him as her heart pounded even louder in her chest. Kroenen watched her go and then turned back to supervising the soldiers.
When Erica reached Grigory, she was startled to see that he was smiling at her. It was very disconcerting.
"You've come such a long way." Grigory said proudly.
You have no idea, Erica thought.
"If not for you I wouldn't have taken any precautions," he said, "But now all has been attended to. Except for one thing. You."
"Me?" Erica asked, both worried and confused.
"Should something happen to me, Ilsa will live forever and stay young so that she can bring me back again. Kroenen is no concern: he's among the un-dead and so cannot die. But you are not like them, are you?"
"No." Erica answered, not sure if she liked where this was going. At least I know what he and Ilsa were talking about. I suppose that's another hurdle I'll have to overcome.
To her shock, Grigory suddenly reached out and grabbed her arm. He pulled her close to him and stared down into her face. Erica desperately resisted her overwhelming desire to pull away from him. She stared up into his wild eyes and felt fear bubble up inside her, but she couldn't look away.
"For you," he whispered, "youth and eternal life."
He gently ran his hand over her face. The unwanted contact made Erica's skin crawl, and she tried not to shudder as she felt black magic sliding over her skin and seeping deep into her bones until it was a part of her. Even when the feeling of extreme cold disappeared she could still feel the black magic inside her. It was sort of like a shadow that she could feel instead of see. Grigory took his hand away and Erica forced a smile of the utmost gratitude onto her face.
"Thank you, Master." she whispered, her voice almost failing her at her internal horror.
Grigory smiled back, his eyes glittering, and then turned away and returned to Ilsa.
Erica stood still for a moment, struggling with herself. While youth and immortality would be useful thing to most people, to her this only caused her horror. The black magic was a part of her and she knew she would never be able to get rid of it. It was like a dark ink stain spreading over her soul. She shivered—
"Erica?"
— and spun around.
"Kroenen." she said, recognizing him.
"Are you alright?"
"No." Erica answered, the word falling from her lips before she could stop it. She saw Kroenen lean forward towards her, ready to listen. "But it doesn't matter. There are more important things than myself," she added. She glanced towards the steps, where Grigory, Ilsa, and Von Krupt were standing. Grigory looked like he was irritated with the General, who was frowning and saying something in his curt voice. "Come, Grigory will need our help." Erica said.
Kroenen stiffly straightened up and glanced towards the steps. "Yes, he will." He said, sounding disappointed.
By the time the two of them reached the steps, Ilsa was smiling cruelly and confidently and Von Krupt looked very affronted. His frown was even deeper and his dark scarlet glasses flashed as he descended the stairs. Erica passed him as she climbed the stairs and saw the General glare at her as they passed one another. She ignored him and stood on the stairs surveying the area. Almost everything was ready.
Behind her she could hear Kroenen helping Grigory with the mecha glove, and as two Nazi soldiers passed her, she followed them down the steps. She made sure that the cables and hoses they were carrying were correctly attached to the machine. After all, she wanted to make sure the explosion of the generator "killed" Grigory. Around her all other work was grinding to a halt as the soldiers took up their positions.
When the cables were attached, Erica went over to a nearby wall and waited, watching as Kroenen messed with various parts of the mecha glove.
"What we do tonight can never be undone!" Grigory announced. "We will open a portal and awaken the Ogdru Jahad: The seven Gods of Chaos. Our enemies will be destroyed. And from the ashes a new Eden will arise."
Not if I can help it, Erica thought.
Kroenen descended the stairs and joined her at her side. Erica looked at him and felt tears spring up in her eyes. She blinked them away and turned back to watch Grigory standing on the dais.
Grigory looked at the machine. "Ragnarok, Anung Ia Anung." he whispered.
He flexed his fingers and in response the metal ring spun even faster around the machine's central axis. An invisible blast of energy forced the falling rain to swerve momentarily away from Grigory's body and the machine.
A blade of light opened in the middle of the spinning ring and quickly expanded into a gaping cosmic slit that resembled a black, staring eye. The burst of accompanying light reflected eerily in Grigory's eyes until they seemed to cease to be eyes and were only glowing holes. The edges of the cosmic slit sizzled with an energetic electric blue light, and on the other side an alien galaxy was sparkling.
To Erica the cosmic slit was breathtakingly beautiful—beautiful except for what she knew was lurking there—something that she knew was absolutely terrifying. Suddenly, a work light tore loose and flew into the cosmic slit. Erica watched as foot after foot of extension cord uncoiled and slid like a snake through the hole.
Soon, Erica thought, glancing at Kroenen and putting her hand on the gun on her belt, Soon I'll have to act. And when I do, God protect me!
Author's Notes: Major, humongo, ginormous CLIFFIE! Part Two will be coming very soon since I'm almost finished writing it. Again, sorry for the long wait. Please tell me if Whitman, Broom, and everyone else are in character, I did my best to make sure that they were. Also, if anyone knows what happened to Von Krupt after or during the battle, please tell me because I need it for Part Two and the Epilogue. I also need to know where Kroenen and Ilsa disappear to after the battle and how they get there. And I need your help on the sequel I'm writing, so please send me ideas! Just put them in your review or email them to me if you get some ideas later. Please review!