Chapter 4
If letters were one of those things he hated the most, then meetings were one of those he valued the most, but, here, now, as he was, sitting in the corner of the room, farthest away from Yggdmillennia and the more "esteemed" individuals involved in the operation, the price he put on them was fastly beginning to change.
Wilhelm shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
It was a meeting full of people just as crazy, or possibly even crazier, than the man who claimed he brought an Irish high-king back from the dead. People who weren't discussing how best to reduce casualties and distribution of supplies, but, how such a thing as the Holy Grail ended up in Japan in the first place. Whether it was actually a real, physical thing, or something symbolic in nature. What to do with the accursed thing once they've acquired it, what research to conduct and where best to concentrate it toward, debating with one another as if they already had.
They were so certain of themselves. So assured that they might find something there, even as they were split over what it might be, that it blinded them to everything else. Balling a fist, he rested it upon his thigh. It didn't bode well for those boys being able to see their twilight years.
Also, Yggdmillennia had allowed for another civilian—another woman—to join them. He'd been watching her since she first appeared not long after the meeting went underway.
Ignored by everyone else save for Yggdmillennia who introduced her and offered her a seat, at first, he had wondered why that was, but then the fact that they were all so absorbed in their meaningless argument to pay attention to anything else, as it was far too heated at current to call it a sensible debate—not that it ever was going to be, he'd known deep down—shouldn't have surprised him one bit. It didn't take long for the reason her being here to sink in.
First, it was the man with a missing arm appearing out of nowhere, proclaiming he was Bedivere, Knight of the Round Table, who'd the audacity to impersonate a commissioned officer. Now, it was a woman with hair so golden-white and skin so fair she came straight from Wagner's opera that his wife had prattled on about and was one of her loves. A goddess, beauty unparalleled and sorrow unfathomable, bound to the earth to wallow in damnation for eternity. In reality, she was just another lunatic Yggdmillennia hired to harass him, using trickery to appear when they knew it would irritate him the most. To tell him that this Holy Grail War was indeed the real thing. That those claims about it granting miracles were true. Someone put near him to spy on his activities, and at the same time aggravate him to no end.
Well, he wasn't a man so easily seduced.
The only woman who'd ever was Klara, and if Yggdmillennia thought this woman was in the same vein, no matter her beauty, he was sorely mistaken. The very notion was enough to put him in a foul state of mind. And, not soon after, the meeting reaching its peak, another uninvited guest arrived.
This time it was a man sporting a cane with one foot in the grave, informing them that all their squabbling was futile. That their enemies were amassinh a force so great it didn't matter if they'd the means to get the Holy Grail because all of them would be wiped out in the attempt regardless of whether they'd a hundred, three hundred, or a thousand men at their disposal and any manner of modernized weaponry. They were all doomed… unless they accepted his help.
The sudden interruption stunned all at the front into silence, before they quickly erupted into an outcry of protest.
"What's the meaning of this?!"
"Who is this man?"
"Explain yourself!"
They were shouting so loud Wilhelm plugged his ears, noticing that the only one who didn't partake in the mob was Yggdmillennia. The man was content to simply sit there with that smug look on his face, as his fellows went about flinging accusations and insults now that the focus was on the old man.
Seeing that was the last straw.
Enough was enough.
He got up.
He should be back with the troops where he belonged. Where he would actually be able to do something, instead of being forced to listen to a lynching that wasn't getting them anywhere. Wasn't doing anything to ensure that those actually undertaking the operation would be as prepared as possible. As well as they could, anyhow, with all of this nonsense being thrust in their faces—mainly his—matter-of-factly.
But, as he went to leave, just as a well-groomed, weasel-looking man was saying his piece, an explosion blew them all backwards. An intense, blinding light bathed everything in a bright, crimson red. They were thrown to the floor. Something malicious, something malevolent, something so indescribably ugly, passed through their bodies and dispersed itself around the room.
Whatever it was departed shortly thereafter.
Then, came the old man's voice, cackling as he spoke. "That is what awaits you, and you will face it alone, and you will die, without my help."
Face to the cold marble floor, Wilhelm felt as if he was being kept pinned by a boulder twice his size; the sheer weight of it still lingering in the air. Only able to stand to his feet with help from the man who still had the audacity to wear a commissioned officer's uniform, he yanked his arm away and looked around the room. Everyone, besides a few notable exceptions, were pale, trembling, and so horrified it were as they had seen a glimpse of what Hell was truly like. He himself was shaking, and frowned.
He'd already seen Hell. Been through it more times than he could count or wanted to, and, yet, he couldn't keep the torment of his experiences from bubbling to the surface after so long. With them, came those pains and regrets and sorrows afterward. His frown deepened. When asked if he was hurt, he shook his head.
Yggdmillennia's egotistical voice ring out in the silence that followed. He was one of those who didn't appear to be affected by the aftereffects that plagued the rest. It came as no surprise. "It would seem that you speak the truth. Though, I cannot help but wonder what interest you have in warning us of the danger that awaits and forming an allegiance to combat it. Certainly, an esteemed man such as yourself has no need to."
At that the old man, another who was unaffected, smiled. But, whatever he said in response Wilhelm didn't bother to hear.
Unable to allow himself to be surrounded by these people any longer, he left the room to get some fresh air.
Outside, the Heavens had been torn asunder.
Great plumes of black cloud swirled around an enormous hole in the sky. In its center was a dark storm. Sparks of lightning streaked across, chased by claps of thunder.
Satan waging war against God.
Though he couldn't tell how far, it was to the northwest. Close enough to be seen from here, at least. Speaking of, people were now crowding the streets, staring up at it with a mixture of confusion, dread, and awe. One of them he recognized as that "war correspondent" Yggdmillennia allowed to be attached to the operation. Unlike the rest she was more interested in photographing it, along with interviewing anyone not completely transfixed by the gaping maw above their heads. He saw that black birds—ravens—had also gathered, roosting in the trees. An omen, surely.
Now clear of mind, though broodingly coming to terms that maybe, just maybe, these happenings might be the work of something unnatural, something unfathomable to mortal men, Wilhelm almost wished he were someplace else. Far away from Yggdmillennia, his lackeys, and the Third Reich. With his family. But, that wasn't an option, the moment passed, and, thus, he addressed the man who had been standing silently behind him the whole time.
"You said you would give me a full explanation," he said, continuing to watch the battle in the sky for a moment more, then facing him. "Well, what else do you have to tell me?"
The man didn't seem to hear him. His attention was on the ravens. Turning back to look at them, some were flying off toward the storm in a great host. A legion of black-winged terrors, squawking as they went. When the ravens were no longer visible Wilhelm again asked, but the man stayed there, eyes still on the sky. Still looking after the ravens. It took a third time to snap him out of whatever occupied his thoughts.
And, whatever it was, hadn't been pleasant.
His face was ashen, with sweat on his brow, fatigue lining his features as if he were having a fright, a fever, and he swallowed, trying to compose himself. It was several minutes before he did. "Sire," he began, slowly, "What is it you wish to know?"
"Everything."
His eyes went briefly to the ground as he appeared to compile his thoughts. Work the sickness from his body, and answer. "The Holy Grail is… a chalice. A large, golden cup that once filled is supposed to grant the wishes of whoever touches it first. In order for it to be filled, six of the seven Servants who seek it must be defeated, as only one may claim it. The last surviving Servant and, their Master, of which there are also seven—for a total of fourteen—can have but one wish each. Tangible or intangible it does not matter, whatever they wish for will be made a reality."
"Anything?"
"Yes."
Wilhelm put a hand to his mouth, brushing the thorny stubble of a fast growing beard. Like many, he could think of a dozen things to wish for, but only one he truly wanted. Something lost but not forgotten. Though, looking up at the second floor window, the same could be said for, he assumed, Yggdmillennia. The thought of what that man might want left a knot in his stomach. Or any of the other Ahnenerbe, for that matter.
And if the man he hired spoke the truth—not that he really believed any of it—then, hypothetically, if he'd the chance to lay claim to it, then so did Yggdmillennia. Even if he didn't become the one to have his wish granted, the least he could do was see to it that Yggdmillennia didn't either.
Later that night, or, that morning, as Berlin was busy being abuzz with the earlier events now being called a freak weather phenomenon, Wilhelm lay awake in his bunk. Thinking of the storm, it wasn't that he believed in it, but…
He stared at the ceiling, wondering how all of this nonsense was designed to keep him from whatever was really being plotted behind his—and, by extension, his men's—backs. They were trying very hard to conceal their true plans. Something deeper than what was written in the reports, of the ones he actually received. If he could do nothing else, the least he could do was investigate further, and what better way that to charge straight into the fire headfirst?
Yes. That was it.
He was only willing to give their claims some credibility so as to discover the truth buried beneath. That hole in the sky? Exactly what'd been explained—an odd, once in a lifetime, occurrence. What he really needed to worry about? The maniacal scheme they were hiding. Closing his eyes and expecting to get at least an hour or two before he had to get up again, praying the things he was going to have to deal with later wouldn't be anymore hoaxes, he would start getting to the bottom of this operation. He owed it to his men.
That was when he heard whispers in the dark.
And, it was then, he knew, that his prayers had gone unnoticed.
He opened his eyes, annoyed. It was probably some of the men, playing cards in the next room over. The walls were thin, so it was only expected. He listened closer.
"... this boy… High King of all Britain? Preposterous! I'll not bend my knee to no mere boy!" someone shouted. Or, seemed to. They sounded distant, like an echo. Yet, so close, as if they were right on the other side of the wall.
"Lot, you do not bend your knee to a boy, but your King," another voice said, young yet not.
"A King?! Hah!"
"He's not even a man grown! Still a child!" a new voice said, joining the first.
Then, a third. "That's right!"
"For once I, too, agree with Caradoc!" A fourth.
Fifth. Sixth, seventh, eighth—it became a rabble of many spiteful, angry voices and as they grew in volume, right up against his ears. Like before, Wilhelm plugged them and thought he was done with those Ahnenerbe loons, grinding his teeth as they grew louder and louder.
And louder.
And louder.
And louder.
Threatening to split his mind in two, he felt his ears about to burst until there was a huge crash of thunder. A deafening boom that made him jump.
The voices were silenced.
After, he lay in a profuse sweat for a moment, ears ringing, heart pounding out his chest. Then, slowly, he got up and went to the wall. He waited. Nothing. He took a breath to calm his nerves, then opened the barrack door. Nobody there. Slipping out into the hallway, he peeked into each room beside his. Everyone was asleep.
Had he imagined it?
Was he going crazy?
He put a hand to his forehead and chuckled. No, he concluded. He was simply tired. Too tired. Hadn't had a decent night's sleep since the operation began, and it was finally starting to take its toll. Shaking his head, he aimed to solve that right now, and turned to head back when he noticed something: the hallway, it was gone.
The barracks was gone.
In its place were tents, pavilions, and, in a confused daze, he wandered through them until he was standing at the edge of a field of grass and flowers. Some ways ahead he spotted a crowd. In the distance, behind them, a lake. The crowd was huddled together in a semi-wide circle, and he continued toward it, feeling as though something were pushing him gently forward. As he got closer, he heard someone speaking again. That same youthful, though wise-worded voice as before. Most of what was being said was lost to him, and upon reaching the fringes of the crowd there was an explosion of bright light.
"Argh—!"
He flinched from its pure intensity, not unlike the one before but yet so different. Covering his eyes as, despite himself, he kept going forward until he was through the throng. Before him was a large stone, with an anvil atop it. Wilhelm blinked rapidly as the light dimmed to a faint glow and saw a… a young man…? No… a… young girl… holding aloft a sword of exquisite beauty.
"What in..."
He began to step back but was held still by a heavy hand. He looked up, seeing the hazy outline of a large man whose shaded face didn't mask the rugged complexion of his features or the hefty, gruff weight to his voice as he spoke. That of a seasoned soldier, as he leaned over and whispered down into his ear.
"Do not shy away. This is something you must bear witness to. This is it, the moment we've all dreamt of but never thought would come true. The reign of a new High King. Arthur, son of Uther, and you, my son, will be his most loyal companion, as was I to his father before him."
Trying to make sense of what in God's name was going on, the only thing Wilhelm knew was that he wasn't in Berlin anymore. Everything familiar had up and vanished.
Was it Yggdmillennia's doing? Had he kidnapped him in his sleep and dragged him off to some far away place? Was this another one of his tricks? And—as he found he didn't have complete control of his actions—had that despicable man drugged him?
He couldn't even move his head or turn away and, gazing at that sword for what seemed like an eternity against his consent, it enveloped him and he thought himself permanently blinded.
That is, until he awoke with a start.
Shooting up, he twisted at his chest, heaving. Wide-eyed, he looked around. He was still here. Still in his bed. Still in his barracks. Had it been just a bad dream? No… some kind of nightmare?
"S… Sire…?"
He looked over.
The man who'd been hounding him since last night sat by the foot of his bed, head bowed and voice low. He sounded hurt, and when he looked up a tear rolled down his cheek. There was a rawness to it, like the pain of fresh, open wound. His face was now a portrait of grief, loss, and devastation. That of a man who suffered before and didn't know if he could do it again. Then, as he wiped the tear away, the brief display of emotion was put in check and he was composed, like before.
Wilhelm waited, expecting him to say something more, but, in the silence that followed, no more words came. Reminded of himself as he studied the man seated by him like a gargoyle—unmoving and hard as stone—Wilhelm felt a kind of comradery, remorsefully knowing exactly where it came from, and, as the silence between them grew, he asked. "You said you aren't... one of Yggdmillennia's followers… are you...?"
The man gave a nod. "Yes. Nor would I ever."
"Then… Leutnant…" He had to force the words, the designation that this man didn't deserve, to come out. "First thing 0500… We have some work to do."
"Yes, Sire. Thank you, sire…"
Wilhelm rolled over onto his other shoulder, grumbling away the man's thanks and going to bed. Hoping to set his exhausted mind straight, he was disgusted that he felt for the man and his nightly woes.
And, how little, that sympathy was.