Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica, Heinrich, Alfred Drummond, and Sergeant Alexandre Barret are mine.
Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews, Scorponis, Cotton Candy Sheep, Psycho Llama, and Gestalt (and any others I've missed)! My most sincere apologies for keeping you waiting for so long! Ideas and suggestions are still welcome! As are reviews from any people who haven't been, hint, hint. Anyways, thanks to all my wonderful, inspiring reviewers for encouraging me to keep writing, for telling me what you thought, for giving me ideas—and for tolerating the occasional month-long intervals between chapters! I couldn't have done it without you! A further thanks goes out to my beta-reader, you know who you are! At a total of 20 chapters over 10 months, with a total of 265 pages written, this is definitely one story I've put my soul into. Anywhoo, here it is, the Epilogue you've been waiting for. I could have written a short little thing, which is typical of epilogues, but as you can probably guess, I didn't, and I'll tell you right now, it's so long I split it into Part One and Part Two. Part One of this epilogue begins tying everything together: from Professor Broom proving that Erica is a traitor, what happened to Ilsa and Kroenen, to Von Krupt going too far and paying for his boldness, so you can understand why it's so long. As always, 'Nein' is no, 'Engel des Todes' is The Angle of Death, 'liebchen' is sweetheart, and 'Helfen Sie mir' is help me. prays German is right, translator was iffy. Enjoy the last chapter!
Scorponis: Thanks for the ideas! Loyal reviewers make me happy!
Cotton Candy Sheep: Yay! A new reviewer! I take it your name is inspired by Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (another of my favorite movies)! Great to know how much you've been enjoying my story. And thanks, I really like your ideas for my sequel, and most definitely will be using them in some way or another. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last, and that you'll enjoy my sequel as well!
Psycho Llama: Thanks! I hope you like it when I re-work the movie for my sequel! I've got a lot of interesting things planned, since I'm basing it on both Hellboy and Hellboy: The Director's Cut.
Gestalt: Danke! You saved me from inventing a place! I put the Norway thing in Part Two.
"It's not who you are underneath. It's what you do that defines you."— Rachel Dawes, Batman Begins
"A thousand words will not leave so deep an impression as one deed." —Henrik Ibsen
"How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world."—William Shakespeare
October 9, 1944
The Ruins of Trondham Abbey, Scotland
Professor Broom watched in horror as the Allied soldiers' guns snapped towards Erica, each gun loaded and ready and each bullet sure to hit her. He knew it would be impossible to miss at that range.
"Don't Shoot!" Professor Broom heard someone yell, and then realized with shock that he was the one yelling.
Sergeant Whitman stared at the Professor as if he thought Broom was mad.
"Going to kill me?" Erica Schwarz asked in a hoarse, whispery voice, "I can't say I don't deserve it."
As if her words had been some obscure justification, the soldiers tightened their fingers on the triggers of their guns—
"Hold your fire! Don't Shoot!" yelled Professor Broom.
The soldiers shifted restlessly, but at a slight nod from Sgt. Whitman they lowered their guns a little, though Broom knew that each man was ready at a moment's notice to shoot to kill. Broom locked eyes with Whitman. It was clear that the Sergeant wasn't sure what Broom was doing, but that he trusted him.
"Just wait," Broom said.
Professor Broom turned back to Erica, who was watching him. God, I hope I know what I'm doing, he thought. Something suddenly occurred to him. Hadn't he heard her speak English? His surprise must have shown on his face, because Erica spoke again.
"What? Were you expecting me to speak only German?" she asked, amusement in her voice.
"Well yes, I was." Broom admitted.
He was still trying to decide how to act. It was amazing and frightening to be face to face with Erica Schwarz, someone he knew was both powerful and clever. And those two traits were making it very hard for him to decide about what was going on. Had she really betrayed the Nazis and the Thule Society as he suspected? Or was this all a game, a plan to get a spy into their midst? Or was it something else entirely? And the only way to answer those questions involved asking more questions. Why did she shoot that Nazi soldier? Broom wondered. Was she protecting me? Why would she do that? She had the perfect opportunity to kill me, but she didn't. Why is that? And why did I see her fighting Kroenen? Professor Broom knew that all of these questions needed answering, and he had a feeling Erica Schwarz was the only one who could give him those answers. But first he had another question for her.
"Now, how did you know my name?" Professor Broom asked.
"How did you know mine?" she asked, a shadow of a smile on her bloodstained lips.
Broom hesitated for a moment. He hadn't expected her to answer him with a question, but in a way it did make sense. "I've heard a lot about you," Broom answered, "But that doesn't tell me how you know my name."
"As with any war, both sides make sure to know as much as possible about the threats on the opposing side," Erica answered. She fell silent, and her strange gray eyes glanced at the broken rose lying in the mud near her. She looked up again and locked eyes with Broom. "But as you know, Professor, I am no longer a threat to any of you."
Sergeant Whitman glanced from Erica to Broom during this exchange, looking anxious and confused. Professor Broom ignored him, he was too busy turning Erica's cryptic words over in his mind, wondering if they really had the double meaning in them that he had picked up on. She could have meant she was so badly wounded that she wasn't a threat, but she might also have meant that she knew Broom had seen her fighting Kroenen—that she had betrayed the Nazis and was no longer a threat. Broom glanced at the blood covered young woman and decided to take a chance that she meant she had betrayed the Nazis. Perhaps she's purposefully trying to turn the conversation so that possibility is mentioned, he thought, Perhaps she's just trying to save herself. But then again, what I saw…
"Why were you fighting Kroenen?" Professor Broom asked, burning with curiosity despite the cold.
A hush fell over the soldiers, who had been muttering discontentedly among themselves until now. Erica's face became solemn and she glanced down at her fist. Then slowly, oh so slowly, she uncurled her fist so Broom could see the silver crucifix necklace lying across her palm. Her hand was visibly shaking, but Broom didn't know if that was from emotion or blood loss.
"Because it was right." Erica answered, turning her eyes up to him. She closed her hand and held it to her chest again, near her bleeding shoulder.
The soldiers started talking again, the disbelief clear in their voices as they discussed what her words implied.
"Am I to understand that you've betrayed the Nazis and the Thule Occult Society?" Broom asked, peering at her. Excitement started to rise inside of him.
"Yes."
Before Professor Broom could ask another question, he was interrupted by the other soldiers.
"She's lying!" shouted a soldier.
"Don't trust her! She's a murderer!"
"I bet this is some sort of Nazi trick!" yelled another, shoving his gun against Erica's head. Erica cringed away from the cold metal of the gun.
"Wait! Don't shoot!" shouted Professor Broom, trying to take a step forward, but only stumbling. Matlin caught him and tried to pull Broom back, but the Professor moved forward so that he was standing in front of Erica. Matlin stayed by his side, looking a bit nervous that all those weapons were pointed at him. "She's on our side! At least, I think she is."
Sergeant Whitman looked skeptical. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Whitman asked. "How do you know that she's telling the truth? How do we know that she hasn't put a—a spell on you or something? Before the fight you said I could shoot her."
"I don't know that she's telling the truth, but besides myself, some of the other soldiers must have seen her act very oddly tonight. And she was acting oddly enough to give me reason to listen to her. As for casting spells— she can't. She can only use minor spells, and mind control isn't one of them. Among other things, spells are Kroenen's and Ilsa's specialty, not hers. Now please, tell them to lower their guns!"
"Alright." Whitman said. Still looking uncertain, he gestured at the soldiers to lower their weapons. The soldiers complied, looking very unhappy. "Now explain." said Whitman.
Professor Broom took a deep breath and tried to collect his thoughts. "Think, if this is a trick, it's very elaborate. Why would her own side nearly kill her?" Professor Broom said, trying to reason with them, "You must have seen her and Kroenen fighting each other!"
Some of the soldiers nodded in agreement.
"Besides that, I saw her kill one of the Nazi soldiers," he paused, "And I think she might have killed that soldier to protect me."
"What makes you think that?" challenged one of the Allied soldiers.
"Right after she shot him she looked right at me. She could have killed me, but she didn't, she only nodded and walked away."
"But why would she do that?" asked Whitman.
"She wouldn't—unless she's betrayed the Nazis and the Occult, as she said she has." Broom explained.
"Hmpf. She was just trying to save her own neck!" one soldier said.
"No, I wasn't," Erica interrupted, her speech slightly indistinct and slurred.
"What did you say?" asked Whitman, amazed.
"I said I wasn't trying to save my own life," she said, a little clearer this time, but much quieter than before. "I was trying to save my soul."
Professor Broom stared at her, but not just because he was surprised by her answer. Erica was gasping for breath and her eyes looked slightly unfocused. She was getting weaker—no doubt because of the wound in her shoulder. Broom suddenly became aware of all the blood on her clothes and the blood staining the muddy ground around her. All that blood was hers. Professor Broom was no expert, but he knew Erica would go into shock and die of blood loss if something wasn't done soon.
She locked eyes with him again, though she seemed to struggle to focus on his face.
"Helfen Sie mir." Erica whispered, her voice fading away even as she spoke.
Broom stared at her, the plaintive tone in her voice and her words pulling at his heart. He did understand German, but he was surprised that she had chosen to speak in German instead of English. Perhaps it's easier for her to speak German, Broom thought.
"What did she say?" asked Whitman, looking at the Professor.
Professor Broom shook himself. He had momentarily forgotten that not all the men present were multilingual.
"She said 'help me'."
"Help her what?" asked Whitman, raising an eyebrow.
"No, no, not help her do something. I think she means she needs a doctor."
Whitman was silent for a moment as he looked at the Professor. "We have a doctor with us, but I don't see why we should help her." The Sergeant cast a wary look at Erica.
"We should help her because she's betrayed the Nazis—"
"You haven't proved that yet." Whitman reminded him.
"Just give me some time," Professor Broom pleaded, "I know I can prove it! No one can deny what she's done in the past, and I'm not saying we should welcome her with open arms. We must be cautious. But if I can prove that she's truly betrayed the Occult and the Nazis, think what an advantage that would give us! Between her powers and inside knowledge—!"
"And if you can't prove it?" interrupted Whitman, looking very serious.
Professor Broom glanced at Erica and then back at Whitman, his face somber as he realized what the Sergeant meant. If Broom couldn't prove it, Erica would be tried and executed for war crimes. "If I can't prove it, then do what the law dictates you must."
Sergeant Whitman nodded curtly. He started to turn away, but then stopped. "Will it be safe? For the Doctor and us, I mean?"
"She's almost dead! I don't see her recovering enough to do any significant damage for probably two or three weeks!" Broom exclaimed.
"Still…" Whitman trailed off, watching Erica watch him and the Professor.
"Wait, I have an idea." Broom said, remembering the crucifix she had been holding and what she had said about betraying the Occult to save her soul. He stepped closer to Erica and looked down at her.
"Swear that you won't harm us if we help you." said Professor Broom, looking Erica in the eyes.
"Swear on what?" one of the soldiers asked derisively, "What can she possibly swear on that would make her keep her word?"
Broom thought for a moment. "Erica, swear it on the Bible," Broom said, "Swear that you won't harm us if we help you." Professor Broom's eyes never broke with hers, which had taken on a deeply serious look.
"On the Bible?" a soldier scoffed, "She's a murderer! She's damned to Hell anyway, it's not like that would make her—"
"I believe it will." Broom said, speaking in a tone of voice that silenced the muttering soldiers. "Say it." he said. Erica looked at him, a part of her suspecting some sort of trick. Beyond that she barely had enough energy to speak, her tongue felt like a lead weight in her mouth. But she didn't want to die, and she knew that if she didn't force herself to speak, her silence would mean her death.
"I swear on the Bible that I won't harm you if you help me." She said, speaking each word slowly so she could get them out. As she spoke she had an odd feeling, as if the shadow of eternal life that Grigory had given her was crawling and writhing within her. But what did it matter? She was cold, rain was falling on her face, she hurt all over, and she was so tired and her eyelids were so heavy. It was a struggle to keep them open and her eyes focused. In fact, it was a struggle to keep her mind focused. She just wanted to go to sleep. Yes, she thought, I want to go to sleep. For a long time…yes, that sounds nice…Maybe I'll feel better when I wake up…I'm just…so…tired…
Professor Broom watched in alarm as Erica's eyes rolled back in her head and her entire body went limp. She was so pale and limp that for a second he thought she had died—but no, he could see that she was still breathing, so she had only passed out.
"Where's your troop's Doctor?" Broom asked.
"Yeah, yeah," Whitman said absently as he gestured to a nearby soldier. "You, take her to—" Whitman stopped, suddenly realizing that leaving Erica in the hands of the soldiers might not be a good idea. "Never mind," he said dismissively, "I'll take her myself. You five, go start setting up some tents and fires outside the ruins. The rest of you, get back to searching! And don't even think about hurting her if you happen to get the chance! She's a valuable prisoner!"
This said, the Sergeant stooped down and scooped Erica up in his arms none too gently. He started walking towards the edge of the ruins, mumbling under his breath.
"I'm gonna be writing one Hell of a report once we get back to America," Whitman grumbled, "No one is ever gonna believe me. Clockwork assassins, Gods of Chaos—God, what a load of…"
Professor Broom watched him go, listening as the raging elements drowned out the Sergeant's voice as he got further away. He looked down and saw Erica's rose still lying in the mud. He held onto Matlin and awkwardly bent down and retrieved the broken rose from the mud. He examined it for a moment and then slipped it inside his box. After all, he thought, You never know what might come in handy.
"Come on Professor, let's get you out of the rain. You need to rest, that leg looks pretty bad." Matlin said.
"Yes, it is," Broom said, wincing.
Matlin began leading him towards a section of the ruins that still had something that resembled walls and a roof, carefully steering Broom around piles of rubble and the bodies of the dead Nazi soldiers.
XXXXX
Whitman left Erica's unconscious body in a tent on the edge of the ruins. Despite his own doubts and misgivings about The Angel of Death, he had made the troop's doctor swear not to hurt her and to tend to her wounds. Who knows? Whitman thought, Maybe she will turn out to be a valuable prisoner. Sergeant Whitman was jogging through the mud and the rain, rushing to get back to the center of the ruins to see if anything had been found yet.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The noise of the three gunshots broke through the howling wind and echoed off the ruined stone walls. The gun shots were followed by the sound of Matlin yelling loud enough to wake the dead. Sergeant Whitman ran towards the sound along with several other soldiers, all of them completely unsuspecting that they were about to get yet another lesson in the paranormal.
Meanwhile, Kroenen was completely oblivious to the fact that his Master had sent Anung Un Rama through the portal, and he was equally oblivious to the fact that the demon-child was about to be found by none other then Professor Trevor Broom.
Kroenen stumbled through the darkness, tripping over rocks and slipping on the wet grass and mud. Raindrops slid down the glass eyes of his mask, making his surroundings appear blurry. He forced himself to keep going, occasionally cursing when he would fall and stagger upright again. The metal spike had done more damage to his back then he had initially thought.
He slipped again and snarled in anger, scaring the wits out of a few sheep that had been huddled under a nearby tree. The sheep ran off, baaing in terror as he pushed himself up with his right arm. Due to Erica's wrist blades and the explosion, his left arm was completely useless and more of an impediment than anything. It was so dark that he couldn't see how badly damaged his hand it was, but knew that it was probably beyond repair: he couldn't move or feel it at all.
His anger gave him strength he hadn't known he had, and he finally struggled upright and continued on towards the harbor where the Nazi ships would be waiting.
Or should be waiting, he thought grimly. After all, there was a slight chance that Ilsa had decided to leave without him.
The wind howled angrily through the trees, reminding him of how angry the Ogdru Jahad must be. He winced at the thought, knowing the majority of that anger was probably directed at him and Erica—but he couldn't think about her right now. He had to get to the Nazi ships!
He could hear his own breath rasping through his mask as he walked, and could feel his sand-like blood pouring out of his extensive wounds. He was getting weaker. As soon as he got to the ship he would have to do something about his injuries while he still had the energy.
He laboriously climbed the last hill and paused at the top, looking down at the shore below him as the elements beat at his body. From here he could see the muted lights of the ships in the harbor and a few figures rushing back and forth on the decks. He had made sure that the ships had been hidden here, just in case. Fortunately the ships in the cove were far enough away that the Allied Forces hadn't discovered them—yet.
He glanced over his shoulder into the cold, rainy night to make sure no one was following him. But of course no one was, all the Allied soldiers were at the ruins. And she—she had no hope of even crawling five feet, let alone following him in these weather conditions.
He knew this, but he still felt a little disappointed, though he should have known better than to expect anything.
And this is all her fault! Perhaps it's a good thing she didn't follow me. I might have killed her, he thought, feeling his hot anger surging through him again, though a part of him told him that he would never be able to kill Erica.
He silenced that part of himself and turned towards the shore again. Kroenen knew he would have to hurry—the ships wouldn't wait much longer.
He glanced behind him one more time before he stumbled down the hill toward the rocky shore.
XXXXX
Ilsa stood on the rain slicked deck of one of the ships, leaning against the rail as she stared out at the night. She clutched the worn leather book to her chest with one hand and held a handgun in the other as she peered out at the darkness, anxiously waiting.
The cold rain fell on her face and the freezing wind numbed her skin, but she hardly noticed it—anger, fear, and grief were raging inside her as loud as the hurricane around her, but she couldn't show her emotions. Not only couldn't, she wouldn't, because she knew the male soldiers would see her display of emotion as a weakness. And in this situation she could not afford to appear weak. So she locked her emotions inside her and stood on the deck, almost shaking with the effort of containing her surging emotions. Grigory is gone, a voice inside her wailed at heartbreaking intensity. And her heart was breaking—But there will be time for that later, she told firmly herself, right now I have to concentrate on escaping with my life. The only chance to bring back Grigory relies on Kroenen and me surviving. She gazed out at the darkness, searching for any approaching figures. Where is Kroenen? She thought anxiously, We can't afford to wait much longer!
She scanned the shoreline again, nervously waiting for Kroenen to appear. She could feel the few remaining Nazi soldiers growing restless around her as they waited for her order to cast off—they didn't want to wait around here any longer than necessary. Neither did Ilsa. The longer they stayed in the cove, the higher the risk of being caught by the Allied Forces. And they would be caught if that happened, less than fifteen Nazi soldiers had survived the battle, and nearly all of them were wounded. If it came to a fight, they would have to surrender or be slaughtered like animals. Ilsa glanced around her, the cold air biting at her cheeks. She could feel her sense of urgency growing stronger inside her. She knew they would have to leave soon. Just another minute, she thought, standing stiffly on the deck of the ship as the waves heaved beneath the ship and the cold ocean spray stung her skin. She ignored the soldiers and one by one they left her and went to the Navigation room until she was all alone on the deck. Just one more minute, she thought, feeling the danger growing each second, Just one…
A scraping sound and a thud came from somewhere behind her and Ilsa quickly spun around, her heart pounding as she aimed her handgun in the direction of the sound, sure that the Allied soldiers had found them. But her eyes fell on one of the lifeboats instead of enemy soldiers. The tarp that covered the lifeboat had come loose in the bad weather and was flapping around as the wind blew. Or was it? Ilsa blinked and peered though the rain at the tarp. It was secure. She frowned. I must have been imagining things, she thought, turning back to face the shore, her eyes scanning the edge of the water for Kroenen's distinctive form.
"Ilsa."
She whipped around, instinctively aiming her gun in the direction of the voice. Then she saw who it was: Kroenen. She lowered her gun, an indescribable sense of relief washing through her. Doubtless the moving 'tarp' had been him as he crawled over the side of the ship. However, her relief was instantly replaced by anger as she tried to hide her surprise, embarrassed that he had startled her.
"Where have you been?" Ilsa demanded harshly, "We were just about to leave without you!"
Kroenen was silent except for the ragged rasping as he breathed. Still angry, Ilsa was just about to let him have it, when her eyes finally comprehended what they were seeing. Kroenen's black SS uniform was covered in mud and blood, and one side of it looked like it had been messily torn or cut open. Whatever had cut his uniform had apparently cut him too, a light stream of sand was slowly streaming from his side and onto the wet deck. His torso seemed a little…floppy, as if his back had been injured, and she stared at the ruin of his left hand with a growing sense of horror.
"What the Hell happened to you?" she asked, alarmed.
"Only my Angel." he spat, his voice somewhere between a snarl and a sigh.
There was a moment of silence, and then it occurred to Ilsa that they could leave.
"Come on," she said, and then turned on her heel and strode quickly across the deck.
She flung open the door to Navigation. Von Krupt was standing there, and he looked at her, frowning as if the sudden disruption displeased him. Ilsa decided then and there that she didn't give a damn what he thought.
"Get us out of here immediately!" Ilsa ordered.
The Nazi soldiers were all too happy to comply. She heard the engines start and then felt the rocky, heaving motion as the ship started plowing through the choppy, storm tossed waves stirred up by the hurricane. For a moment she stood at one of the windows, anxiously watching as the shore began to move away. But no running figures appeared on shore, and no ships followed in pursuit. Obviously the Allied Forces were too busy to notice a single ship quickly leaving the island behind and heading off into the storm.
Ilsa's eyes fell on the other Nazi ships, now almost completely covered by the waves. She was leaving them to sink—on her orders the Nazi soldiers had opened the hatches and allowed the water to flow in. Her logic was that it was the only thing to do since fifteen men couldn't navigate all the ships.
On impulse, Ilsa turned and opened a nearby door—the one that led to the conference room. The same room that only hours before she, Kroenen, Grigory, Von Krupt, and Erica—yes Erica, that traitor—had all gathered around and drank a toast to the success of their mission. The wineglasses and empty wine bottle were still sitting on the table. Ilsa wearily sank into one of the chairs and set the book and handgun down on the table. She briefly glanced up as Kroenen came into the room. Von Krupt stepped through the door after him and closed the door.
Kroenen glanced at the General in irritation. He wasn't happy that Von Krupt had followed them. Kroenen wanted to temporarily repair his injuries, but he wasn't about to do that in front of the General. So, still 'bleeding' sand from his wounds, he did his best not to stumble as he went over to a chair and sank down into it. The General did the same.
No one spoke, and a heavy oppressive silence thick with failure filled the room, interrupted only by the sound of rain hitting the glass windows and the soft but unpleasant grinding of Kroenen's damaged clockwork. Ilsa was silent, her face like a mask of stone as she tried not to break down and show her grief. Kroenen leaned back in his chair, allowing the chair to support him since his back was struggling to do this for him. He tried to avoid moving his left hand—or what was left of it. He could feel the remaining bones grinding together unpleasantly.
Across the table, Von Krupt was studying Kroenen through the dark crimson lenses of his glasses, feeling slightly emboldened as he realized that the Top Assassin was in very poor condition. He decided to break the silence.
"Before you arrived Ilsa told me about Erica's betrayal—and Grigory." said Von Krupt.
Kroenen ignored the General, not even bothering to look in his direction. The silence stretched on for a moment until, to Kroenen's irritation, Von Krupt tried a different tactic.
"Where are we going?" the General asked.
"Somewhere safe." Kroenen answered evasively.
"Not back to Germany then?"
No answer.
"Won't she tell them where we're going, supposing they find her while she breathes her last breath?" asked Von Krupt.
Kroenen studied Von Krupt's frowning face for a moment. The General was clearly under the impression that Kroenen had mortally wounded Erica. Von Krupt thought Erica was going to die, something that Kroenen very much doubted was going to happen. "Nein. She doesn't know about this place. And she wouldn't tell them even if she knew." Kroenen said.
"What makes you so sure?" Von Krupt scoffed, "She was a traitor!"
"Not was, is." Kroenen muttered, more to himself than to Von Krupt or Ilsa.
Unfortunately, the General heard him.
"What? What do you mean, is?" Von Krupt exclaimed.
Kroenen ignored the General, turning instead to look at Ilsa. Her hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, her long red nails digging into her palm. Her ice blue eyes were darting from him to the General and back again.
The General coughed as if to get their attention, and Kroenen watched as Von Krupt pulled out his gold pocket watch. Ilsa scowled in the General's direction, no longer taking the trouble to hide the fact that she disliked him.
"Look at that," Von Krupt remarked, tapping the face of the open watch, "If Grigory's plan hadn't been a failure, the Nazis would have won the war by now."
"It was NOT a FAILURE!" Ilsa suddenly yelled, jumping to her feet.
Von Krupt flinched slightly as his head swiveled to face Ilsa. Her beautiful face was contorted by rage. Apparently Von Krupt's words had pushed her over the edge. Ilsa was standing on her feet, her hands grasping the edge of the table like talons.
"The plan was NOT a FAILURE! It wasn't Grigory's FAULT! If you want to blame someone, blame ERICA and that Allied arschloch Trevor Bruttenholm!" Ilsa shrieked, her pent up emotions boiling over into fury.
"No, of course it wasn't." Von Krupt said, his words almost sounding sincere, but there was a slight hint of sarcasm to them.
Ilsa looked at Von Krupt as if she wished a stray bullet had killed him during the battle. She slowly sat down in her chair again, her normally pale cheeks flushed with anger. She shot Kroenen a look that told him she would be perfectly happy if Von Krupt suddenly dropped dead—or was encouraged to do so. Kroenen was close to agreeing with her.
The General flipped his watch closed and placed it in his pocket before turning to address Kroenen.
"And Erica?" the General asked.
"What about her?" Kroenen snapped.
"Is she alive or dead?"
The question hung in the silence of the room for a moment as Ilsa and Von Krupt looked at Kroenen, both of them clearly wanting to know the answer. Kroenen sat frozen in silence, wondering what to tell them. They'll have to be told, he thought, And they're bound to find out the truth if I lie. He braced himself for their reaction. It's better to get it out and over with, he thought.
"She's alive." Kroenen said quietly.
Ilsa gasped slightly and Von Krupt scowled angrily.
"You let that traitor live?" the General shouted, his fury clear in his voice.
"She wasn't the easiest opponent, I taught her myself! It's not like I could effortlessly kill her!" Kroenen said, trying to justify what had happened.
"What you mean is that you couldn't bear to kill your Engel des Todes— you couldn't kill your precious little liebchen!" Von Krupt's voice was dripping with venom. Inside he was just as bitter. He knew that he would probably be executed for the failure of the Ragnarok Project, and in some twisted way, it made him feel better to blame others as well. They were responsible for what had happened, not him!
However, he realized that he might have gone too far. The conference room was dead silent. Kroenen slowly looked up at Von Krupt, the glass eyes of his mask like dark obsidian mirrors.
"What did you say?" Kroenen asked, his voice laced with danger.
"It's true isn't it? You couldn't do it! Project Ragnarok failed because of her, and you couldn't kill her!" Von Krupt's voice was both triumphant and bitter. As he spoke the General threw his caution to the wind. What did it matter if they killed him, if he was only going to be executed upon returning to Germany?
"Shut up." Kroenen ordered, speaking through clenched teeth. He was so angry that his right hand was clenched around the arm of the chair.
"Imagine, the Head of the Thule Society, Hitler's Top Assassin, couldn't kill a traitor!" Von Krupt said, his voice full of scorn as he tried to provoke the clockwork assassin.
"How dare you talk to me like this!" Kroenen's demanded, almost shaking with anger.
"Talk? I haven't even begun to talk! I assure you, soon all Germany will know what happened here—that Erica Schwarz, one of your highest ranking members, turned out to be a traitor! The Three are broken! She probably even told the Allied Forces what was happening! And you—yes, you were too blind to see what was happening, wouldn't ever think that your liebchen would do such a thing—"
Before Kroenen even knew what he was doing, he had leapt to his feet, his anger giving his exhausted body the energy he needed. He grabbed a knife from his belt and launched himself towards Von Krupt, slashing the blade toward the General's throat before he had time to defend himself. Kroenen stepped back, and Von Krupt stood still for a moment, blood pouring from the severed artery in his neck and an expression of astonishment on his face. Von Krupt gurgled, swayed for a moment, and then collapsed to the floor. He didn't move.
Kroenen stood for a moment before he fell to his knees, completely exhausted. Ilsa was on her feet on an instant, moving around the table towards Kroenen and sidestepping around Von Krupt's body and the growing pool of blood on the floor. Kroenen looked up at her, his chest heaving from exertion. A light dusting of white sand lay on the floor, and more of it was trickling out from his wounds.
"Well, now that that inconvenience has been eliminated, perhaps I can repair myself so I'm not rendered completely useless." he said.
"What can I do?" Ilsa asked.
"Bring me that black case leaning against the wall."
Ilsa nodded and did what he said, laying it in front of him. Kroenen reached towards it to open the latch, only to realize that he only had one hand. He scrabbled at the clasp for a moment with his right hand before he gave up. He looked up at Ilsa, silently asking her to help him. She knelt down and opened the case for him, ignoring the General's dead body lying less than a foot away from her.
Kroenen sorted through the strange looking medical implements inside, taking some of them out and laying them on the floor beside him. He was only interested in temporarily repairing his wounds. Once they reached a safer place he would worry about permanent repairs. He knew that it would be very awkward and difficult to suture his wounds shut with only one hand, at best the stitches would come out uneven and too far apart for his personal liking. But they would have to do.
"Kroenen?"
He looked up at Ilsa.
"Where should we go? Erica knows about all of our safe places."
Kroenen thought for a moment. He and Ilsa knew better than to return to Germany after tonight's events—they would have to go into hiding until after the war was over. Hopefully by then everyone would assume that they were dead.
"She doesn't know about them all. Not the one we prepared before she ever arrived."
"To Norway, then?" Ilsa asked quietly.
He nodded. "To Norway."
XXXXX
Professor Broom sat on a wooden crate inside one of the several tents the Allied soldiers had put up. The inside of the tent was lit by a warm, yellow glow coming from a lantern sitting on two more wooden crates sitting side by side to make a table. The top of the crates were littered with objects: papers, books, pens, amulets, a deck of tarot cards, the broken rose the Professor had picked up, and his wooden box. Sitting among this jumble of objects was the original letter written in red ink that had been sent to the President as a warning about the Nazis' activities. Professor Broom scanned the words of a book with tired eyes. He paused for a moment and looked up, rubbing at his eyes and turning away from the book so he could survey the cramped interior of the tent.
There were a few other crates and boxes lying around, but something lying on a sleeping bag in the corner held his attention: Erica. She was still unconscious, but at least she wasn't dying. The doctor, though grudgingly, had kept his word and managed to save her from death—though he had muttered curses at her under his breath the entire time.
Erica's weapons glittered menacingly from where they stuck halfway out of a crate, the inscription on her twin swords shining clearly in the light: Alles für Deutschland. Everything for Germany. Her Iron Cross and bloodstained leather SS jacket lay folded up on a nearby crate, the doctor had had to take them off of her to get at her wound. The white shirt she was wearing underneath had been cut open at the shoulder for the same reason. Professor Broom vividly remembered coming into the tent while the doctor was working—he had almost thrown up at the sight of how badly wrecked her shoulder was. But he had stayed, if only to make sure nothing bad happened to her.
That was one reason why he was in this tent, now that the doctor had finished and had cleaned her up a bit, he wanted to make sure that the soldiers obeyed Whitman's order not to hurt Erica. He was also keeping an eye on her to make sure she kept her word about not hurting anyone, should she wake up. Despite how badly wounded she was, he knew they all had to be cautious. Broom knew what Erica Schwarz was capable of, people hadn't feared her for nothing. Still, he was very confident that he didn't have much to fear from her, not only because of her wounds, but because he was fairly sure she had betrayed the Nazis.
He studied Erica as she lay there struggling to breathe, her eyelids just barely slitted open as her eyes twitched in fitful dreams. Professor Broom could see her gray eyes glittering strangely through her eyelashes. He shuddered. I know she's asleep, he thought, but I still have the feeling that she's watching me.
His eyes traveled over the odd 'T' shaped cut on her left cheek and down her neck to the bandage on her shoulder, then over to the small bit of pale skin exposed on her arm and upper chest. Even in the dim glow of the lantern light he could see the silvery gleam of scars tracing their way across her skin, including the infamous crescent scar on her upper left arm. I wonder how she got those, he thought, Fighting, perhaps? His eyes skimmed over the muscles showing clearly from beneath her skin and then lingered for a moment on the small silver watch hanging on a chain around her neck. Her right fist was still curled in a death grip around her silver crucifix. Professor Broom studied her calm face. She looked so…he searched for a suitable word. Innocent was the first that came to mind, but he grimaced—it didn't describe her at all. Peaceful, he thought, Like she's able to relax completely for the first time in years.
He heard a small sigh—but it wasn't from Erica. The Professor glanced in the direction the sound had come from. Not far from where Erica lay, and only a foot from the Professor's improvised desk, was a pile of blankets that made a makeshift bed for the red, demon-like baby Professor Broom had found in the ruins. The baby was sound asleep, his tail twitching contentedly as he dreamed. Professor Broom smiled at the little thing, feeling a sense of warmth and pride inside him almost as if he were the strange infant's father. He hoped he would be allowed to keep the little—whatever it was. Who could care for it better than he, a paranormal advisor, could? But he would have to worry about that later. There were other things to attend to, like saving Erica Schwarz's life.
To save her life he had to prove that she really had betrayed the Nazis and the Thule Society, and not just turned on them when she realized the battle was going against them. It wasn't going to be easy, especially because Erica was still unconscious.
Professor Broom smiled as he realized the irony of the situation. He had never imagined that he would be racing to find evidence to save Erica Schwarz's life.
And unfortunately, I don't seem to have much chance of doing that, he thought.
None of his books on the members of the Thule Occult Society or the Nazis had been any help, and neither had the soldiers' knowledge of recent Nazi political events. Broom sighed and glanced around at the cramped quarters of the tent, gazing sadly at Erica for a moment. I wonder who you really are, he thought, Who are you that you appeared out of thin air six years ago? Where is your family, if you have any? What happened to you?
Outside the tent Broom could hear soldiers' voices and the non-stop tramp of boots in the mud as soldiers ran back and forth carrying out various tasks. He pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a hand though his hair as he tried to clear his tired and blurry mind. I can't think straight, he thought, I need some fresh air.
Broom struggled upright, gasping as he put too much weight on his injured knee and a lance of pain shot up his leg. Well, if Kroenen wasn't anything else, he was certainly a good shot, Broom thought ruefully. His knee still throbbing, he limped towards the tent flap. With a last glance at Erica and the demon baby wrapped up in the blankets, Broom pushed aside the tent flap and stepped out into the night.
It was still raining, though not nearly as hard as before. Still, within a few moments he was drenched again. And cold. It was still freezing cold outside. Ah, well, the Professor thought, at least it'll clear my head. He noticed a nearby fire that several soldiers were standing around, warming up. I'll go over there. That way I can still be close enough to Erica and that baby to prevent anything from happening to them.
He slowly wandered over to the sputtering fire, being careful to take his time so he wouldn't trip and make his leg hurt any worse. Broom silently joined the soldiers, holding out his hands to the fire and absently listening to the snatches of conversation going on around him as he surveyed the men. Most of the groups of soldiers were solemn, and many of them were wounded. A group of wounded soldiers on his left was loudly discussing the aftermath of the battle.
"Do you think any of the Nazi soldiers got away?" one man asked, "I didn't see that blond woman, the assassin, or that General lying around dead in the ruins."
"Well, maybe a few got away, but we shot most of 'em. Maybe those other three will turn up in the mornin', it's too hard to see things in the dark. And this weather isn't helpin'."
"What do you think about Erica Schwarz? Do you really think she betrayed the Nazis like she said?"
"Maybe. Stranger things have happened tonight."
"I don't think she did. She's probably just trying to save her own neck," one of the soldiers spat hatefully, "She knew we'd shoot her dead on sight if she didn't come up with somethin'."
"If I'd been the one that found her I would have shot her dead on the spot and not waited around to hear what she had to say."
Professor Broom frowned and limped away from the group on his left. He didn't care for their conversation one bit, though he would have to make sure he asked Whitman about the three missing people the soldiers had mentioned. The descriptions perfectly matched Ilsa Haupstien, General Von Krupt, and Karl Kroenen. Not good people to have escaped, Broom reflected as he casually glanced at another group of soldiers.
This group was clustered around a man holding a rosary, who seemed to be telling a story of some kind. Broom spotted Matlin among the group.
"So you were on fence patrol duty when this happened, Alfred?" one soldier asked, directing his question to the man holding the rosary.
"Yes. I had just left to go on duty after Heinrich here," Alfred gestured to a young Aryan man standing beside him, "had just told us this whopper of a story about how he'd been taking mail to the plane and a shadow had knocked him out and then, when he woke up, stolen his handgun and started talking to him in German. Of course we didn't believe him—who would? But within the next ten minutes everyone at the military base believed him, didn't they?"
"What happened?" asked Matlin, nervously wiping at his rain streaked glasses.
"Well, it was a night as dark and windy as this one, and the length of fence I was walking along was dark because the spotlights had turned the other way. I was just minding my own business, when suddenly, I saw one of the shadows near the fence move."
Broom wondered if Alfred was just inventing stories to try to scare the other men. After tonight, the soldiers would probably believe anything they heard. But he was a little curious, so he kept listening with half an ear as he warmed up by the fire.
"So I shone my flashlight toward the shadow," continued Alfred, "only the battery was just about dead and that made the light practically useless. The wind died down and I suddenly realized I could hear someone breathing heavily, as if they'd been running. I remembered what Heinrich had said and suspected that there might be a German spy running about, so I did the only sensible thing and pulled out my gun. I ordered the person to show himself or I'd shoot, and nothing happened. I was just about to shoot, when a black cloaked figure came out of the shadows!"
"Oh come on Alfred! You're pulling our legs!" interrupted a soldier, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself that it couldn't be true.
"No I'm not! If you'd listen you'd know that! Anyways, I demanded the person to identify himself, and what do you think it answered? Not any German name like I was expecting! It said 'Most know me as the Angel of Death'!"
Broom jerked to attention at the mention of Erica's nickname. His head swiveled around to face the soldiers so fast it was as if he had been struck by a lightening bolt. The Angel of Death? Why is he talking about Erica? I didn't hear about that happening. Is he making things up, or was she really there? Excited and curious, the Professor edged closer to the circle of men.
"Of course, for a moment I thought that I was over and done with, that the grim reaper had come to take my soul away to Heaven, but then the thing came walking toward me, and it moved like a person, so I ordered it not to move. But it kept coming, so I shot at it!"
"Did you hit it?" asked Matlin.
"No, because it disappeared! Then I saw it out of the corner of my eye—somehow it had gotten behind me! Then something crashed down on my head and next thing I knew, I was waking up and everyone in the military base is running around me pointing at a gaping hole in the chain link fence and the spotlights are sweeping the grass outside trying to find the thing. One of the lights hit the thing for a moment, and we all caught a glimpse of the black figure before it disappeared. Then everyone was asking me what happened, and when I told them they all acted like I was nuts, until Sergeant Alexandre Barret shows up and starts doing a proper investigation, didn't you, sir?" Alfred asked, directing his words at a dignified looking man standing nearby.
"Yes, I did," Barret replied, "And my superiors weren't at all happy about my results. I would have been in enough trouble if someone had simply broken in, but then there was Heinrich's 'ghost' and your 'angel' thing, and the fact that the person in question disappeared only leaving a rose and some blood behind. We did an inspection of the camp and turned up absolutely nothing. My superiors couldn't believe that nothing have been stolen or tampered with, and I must admit that I found it rather hard to believe myself."
The soldiers murmured, some of them regarding Alfred and Heinrich with awe now that a high ranking officer had confirmed the story. Broom was equally excited, especially now that Barret had mentioned finding a rose at the site! Among people in his profession, it was a well known fact that Erica had a fondness for roses. Could it be? The Professor thought, Could Erica really have been there? But wait—what color was the rose? Erica usually had black ones, even though the one she had tonight was red...
"And Sergeant Barret walks up to the fence, and at about head height, there was blood on the wires!" said Alfred, "So that proves it wasn't a ghost I was shooting at! Anyways, there was blood on the ground and lying at the bottom of the fence was a black rose. I kid you not! A black rose with a red ribbon tied around it. I think Sergeant Barret still has it somewhere—"
It was a black rose! Professor Broom thought excitedly, remembering a passage in one of his books that had said Kroenen had a habit of giving black roses to Erica. And on top of that, Alfred had said that the figure had called itself the Angel of Death and Heinrich's ghost had spoken in German. Broom excitedly began considering all the connections—all of which pointed to Erica Schwarz! It was a faint chance, but maybe, just maybe it would lead him to proof that she had betrayed the Nazis. After all, if it was her, and she hadn't taken anything, what exactly had she been doing in a military base belonging to the Allied Forces?
"Excuse me! Excuse me!" Broom interrupted, hobbling over into the center of the group, "Sergeant Barret?"
"Yes?" Barret answered.
"Do you still have that black rose?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Can I see it? It's very important."
Sergeant Barret nodded. "Follow me. It's in my pack."
The Professor followed Barret inside a tent, his excitement giving him the energy to walk faster despite his injured leg. He eagerly stood to the side and watched as the Sergeant dug through his pack and pulled out a long, thin rectangular wooden box.
"Here," Sergeant Barret said, handing Broom the box, who quickly opened it and looked down at the slightly wilted black rose lying inside. There was a crimson ribbon tied around its stem in a bow. "I don't really know why I kept it," Barret said, shrugging, "It was pretty and I had a vague feeling that it might be important later."
"Yes, very important." Broom replied, gently picking up the rose and turning it over in his hands, inspecting it for clues.
"Why do you want to look at it anyway?"
"I think this might help me prove that Erica Schwarz betrayed the Occult."
"Really?" asked Whitman, coming into the tent, "I wanted to see how things were coming, Professor." he said in explanation, "So have you found anything out yet?"
"Only that I suspect Erica Schwarz was at an Allied Forces' military base a few days ago. The story's too long to explain right now, but the important thing is that this rose was left there, and Erica has a fondness for black roses—"
The Professor paused in his narrative as he noticed something about the ribbon tied around the rose. There was writing on it! The writing was spidery and written in black ink. It was also written in German.
"There's writing on here!" Broom exclaimed.
"Yes," Barret said, nodding, "I saw it before, but I was busy writing a report on the night when the rose was found, and then I had to get ready to come here, so I didn't have time to have it translated."
"Then it's a good thing I can read German," Broom said, scrutinizing the lettering. His heart beat faster as he realized what it said. "It says: To my Angel of Death, from Kroenen."
Broom turned to his two surprised companions and addressed Barret. "Barret, could you show me the position of the military base on a map?"
Barret looked puzzled, but he pointed to a small area on a map lying on top of a nearby crate. "Yes. It's right here."
"Hmm. That's pretty far from Germany. I wonder how she would have gotten there without anyone noticing that she was gone," Broom murmured as he studied the map, "Although I'm sure she's capable of pulling it off, of course. I suppose I'll have to ask her when she wakes up."
He gazed at the map, having the vague feeling that he was missing something obvious. His eyes roved over the name of the military base—and his eyes went wide in shock.
"That military base is the same one that the tip off letter was sent from!" Broom exclaimed, "Barret, quickly, what was the date when the base was broken into?"
"October 5, 1944."
Broom did some quick calculations in his head and realized that with traveling time, that was the exact date that the tip-off letter had to be written to have reached the President's desk on October 7th. And since he knew it was impossible for any Allied spies, or any spies, to have written the letter, it had to have been written by Erica!
"Do you realize what this means?" Professor Broom exclaimed, wanting to share his revelation with Whitman and Barret, "The warning letter was sent the same night that the base was broken into! And the rose proves that it was Erica that broke into the base, no one else but she would have been carrying it! And Alfred said the person that broke in called itself The Angel of Death! Heinrich's ghost that spoke to him in German— it all makes sense! And since Erica was the one that carried the letter to the base, she must have been the one that wrote it! The letter had classified information in it that no one except someone of her rank or above it would have had access to. And clearly, Ilsa, Kroenen, and Grigory were not traitors to their own cause! Erica was the one who sent the letter!"
Whitman and Barret stood for a moment, absorbing this startling information.
"Isn't it possible that an Allied spy sent the letter? Or even a lower ranking Nazi that decided to turn traitor and spied on the Nazis?" asked Barret.
"No. Allied spies haven't been sent for weeks because Ilsa and Kroenen used Erica's powers to locate the spies. All of the Allied spies were killed within a few hours of arriving. And besides that, it's well known that Erica Schwarz was able to prevent spies from her own side getting access to information. Like the Allied spies, she used her powers to find them—and she killed every single one before they were able to share what they had learned." Broom answered, feeling triumphant.
"Hold it, why would Erica Schwarz do that?" asked Whitman, "Why would she betray her own side, I mean?"
"She said she was trying to save her soul, remember? Maybe she decided at the last minute that she didn't like Project Ragnarok and decided to betray the Thule Occult Society and the Nazis. But really, the only one who knows the answer to that question is Erica."
Whitman gave a low whistle of amazement. "I still can hardly believe that Erica would do that."
"Precisely! That was probably her plan. She knew no one else would think she would dare to do such a thing, and no one would dare to question her if she acted strangely. And if you want further proof that it was her, follow me."
Professor Broom carefully placed the black rose back in the box, and still carrying it, he exited the tent. Sergeant Whitman and Barret followed the Professor as he led the way through the rain and mud to his own tent as fast as his wounded leg would allow him to go. The two Sergeants were almost as excited as Broom was, it was a catching thing.
The tent flap closed behind them, blocking out the weather. Professor Broom caught sight of the sleeping demon-like baby and gestured to Whitman and Barret to be quiet. The two smiled but nodded that they understood. Broom made his way over to the two crates that served as his desk, casting a brief look at Erica. As he did he felt joy swelling his in his heart. I will be able to save your life, Erica! he thought.
Professor Broom searched through the items that littered the tops of the crates, and finding the letter, he seized it and scanned the handwritten lines feverishly, searching for more proof. He felt a massive wave of triumph building inside him as he found each part of the puzzle and began putting them together. He read the letter aloud to Sergeant Whitman and Barret, who were probably hearing the letter for the first time in its entirety.
"To the President of the United States: The Nazis are desperate. They have combined science and black magic with the intention of upsetting the balance of the war. In the process they have joined forces with the Thule Occult Society and together they have worked on Project Ragnarok. I risk much more than my life by sending this, and I can only pray that this reaches you in time to prevent a hellish cataclysm beyond your worst nightmares: the release of the Ogdru Jahad, the Seven Gods of Chaos. This event will take place on a small island off the coast of Scotland, where the ruins of Trondham Abbey lie over and intersection of Ley Lines, and on October 9, 1944 an assortment of Nazi soldiers and Thule Occult Society officials will be present. I have little hope of stopping them on my own, but I will do everything in my power to prevent their success. You must act before it's too late. The failure of this project will be a fatal blow to the Nazis and the Thule Society. Sincerely, A Friend."
Broom paused and then addressed the two Sergeants.
"Clearly only someone involved with both the Nazis and the Thule Occult Society could have sent this, and Erica fits that constraint. And the line: 'I risk much more than my life by sending this'. That alone suggests that the letter was written by a person who has a high rank in the Thule Occult Society, a person like Erica. Believe me, there are terrible consequences for people of Erica's high rank who betray the Thule Society. Should the traitor be found out and caught, they would be ritually sacrificed—killed by the Head of the Thule Occult Society. But that isn't the worst of it. The ritual would ensure that the traitor's soul would be destroyed as well. That's what the writer—Erica—meant when she wrote that she was risking more that her life. She knew she was risking her soul," Broom said solemnly, "Erica wouldn't just betray them lightly or on a whim such as a battle going against her. She knew what she was doing—and what could happen to her if her plan failed."
"Whoa." Sergeant Whitman said, for once in his life at a loss for words.
"Even now she's in danger of that happening to her in the future. I'm not sure if you're aware of this Sergeant, but I heard from some of the soldiers that General Von Krupt, Ilsa Haupstien, and Karl Kroenen are missing among the dead."
"Crap." cursed Whitman, "I'll have to send people out to verify that as soon as we're finished here."
"There's just one thing I don't understand," Barret said, "Why didn't Kroenen kill her? I saw those two fighting. He must have figured out what she'd done. And if he's the Head of the Thule Society…"
Professor Broom saw what Barret meant. "Personally, I think Kroenen might have been a little hesitant to kill her. She was his favorite after all. They were friends."
"I have one last question. How do we know for sure that it was her? I mean, that she was the one at the base? It could have been some other German that got a hold of the rose and dropped it by the fence to make it look like she was there." Whitman said, though he didn't look like he believed in his own words.
Broom thought for a moment as he reviewed what he had figured out. He turned and looked at Erica's sleeping form and saw thin, scabbed over lines on the right side of her neck and face— scratches that were a few days old. Wait, scratches? Didn't Alfred mention something about blood being on the fence at the military base? Broom thought.
"Where would the fence wires have scratched her, if she was the intruder at the military base?" he asked Barret.
"Well, the blood was at about head height on the right side of the hole in the fence, so probably on the right side of her face. Why?" sergeant Barret asked.
"Just look." Broom replied, pointing to the scratches on the right side of Erica's face and neck.
"Well, that settles it, doesn't it?" Whitman stated, "Erica Schwarz is a traitor. Professor, talk to her if she wakes up and see if you can find out more. Now, if you two will excuse me, I had better concentrate on sending soldiers to find those three you said were missing."
"I had better go too." Barret said, and ducked out of the tent.
Sergeant Whitman followed him and was just about to leave, when he paused in the entrance. "By the way, Professor," Whitman said, "I really do believe you. I never thought you'd be able to prove Erica Schwarz was a traitor, but you did. Congratulations."
Whitman smiled and then exited the tent, letting the flap close after him.
Broom smiled triumphantly, feeling happy and content. The pieces had fallen into place, everything fit perfectly! Professor Broom had done what moments ago he had thought was impossible: proved conclusively that Erica was a traitor, and had been for at least five days.
I wonder why she decided to fight against her own side? What made her change her mind? He wondered, I suppose that she could have foreseen that the Nazis would lose the battle—but no, if she had she could have figured out how to turn the battle in the Nazis favor. Maybe she simply decided that what she was doing was evil. She was holding a crucifix necklace, and she did say that she had been trying to save her soul.
He watched the flickering lantern light cast dancing shadows over Erica's pale, peaceful face. Perhaps good can arise out of evil, he thought, Even as evil arises from good.
Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately after all—Kroenen wasn't there to tell Professor Broom how right he was.
Author's Notes: I hope you liked what happened to Von Krupt, and that I brought back some of the characters from earlier chapters. And don't worry, I won't leave you hanging, part two will be up tomorrow at the latest. And if you have any ideas for my sequel, please tell me about them. Please, review!