The children of the fatherland’s military forces began to appear in Essenwald after the rainy season had finished. At first they were no more than over-clad strangers passing through with all the other itinerant drifters. Then they arrived in vehicles that nobody had ever seen before. Heavy loud monsters that became stuck and aggressively lodged in the potholes and ditches of the unmade roads, forcing their occupants to walk the rest of the distance into civilization, while the tyres shredded and caterpillar tracks squealed and sank into the dismal, unimpressed red mud. Only one such machine had ever been seen before, and it was rumoured that its occupants came from the lands of Napoleon and had been driven back there under a cursed punishment from the Vorrh.
Later, unfamiliar planes began to arrive at the aerodrome: dark birds without the red-and-white plumes that distinguished the company plane that occasionally nested there. The strangers began to settle and ask questions. On a brilliant Tuesday morning they demanded their first meeting with the Timber Guild. Their contact was Quentin Talbot, who introduced the two uniformed outlanders to the table of suspicious dignitaries. There was something different about him today. He stood more erect, was more agile, and seemed to be excited. He gleamed in their company, as did the new lapel pin in his sombre dark suit. It was the same insignia that adorned the now-requisitioned building across the cathedral square. Except there it was three overlarge flags that flapped in a heavy and out-of-place ownership. The black twisted sun wheel stamped in a rectangle of red. The military men were not impressed with Talbot and ignored his felicitations and wanted only to engage with the guild. The strangers bore distant memories to the men of the guild, reminiscences of their stern fathers and inflexible grandparents, the scent of authority worn in their tribal colours of black, grey, and silvered white, stiff in an old rigidity that had been wearing itself out here under the constant sun.
During the next three hours the importance of their city’s position and produce was explained to the guild. As was their need for total cooperation and loyalty in the oncoming conflict that was only months away from their unsuspecting gates. It was also suggested that their current status of independence was a thing of the past. Most of the guild understood the situation and accepted the words of domination, knowing that this was to be only a temporary inconvenience. An expedient necessity that would last a few months, maybe a year, before things returned to as they were before, only stronger and with more markets established throughout the world. They could accommodate such a pantomime of military ownership without any real hardship. True, there might be some backlash from the tribes and nomadic visitors, but they would be kept in check with gifts and demonstrations of martial supremacy. All was going well and the sound of grinding teeth was covered by the stern smiles of satisfaction. Even Krespka concealed his contempt for the upstart officers and their absolute ignorance of this region that he owned. It was going smoothly until the outsiders unfolded their map and placed it on the boardroom table, announcing that they intended to extend the train line through the Vorrh. To bisect the forest and make a direct connection to the Belgian Congo. There was absolute silence for a few moments. Only the sound of the crisp map settling was heard in the room. Then Krespka exploded.
“Idiots. You cannot pass through the Vorrh. You know nothing of this place.”
Talbot stepped in, trying to quieten the old man and deter the suggestion, which it was obvious he had never heard of before.
“Gentlemen, Vladimir, let me try to explain.”
Everyone waited. The officers had stiffened in their uniforms.
“There are serious problems about extending the track. Technical difficulties that would make such an operation impossible. However, it might be possible to build a spur that skirted the forest to the west. Let me show you on your map.” He moved towards the table.
“What difficulties?” demanded the tallest of the uniformed men. The word “difficulties” sounded like it tasted unpalatable in his thin mouth.
Talbot was lost for words and nobody in the room attempted to help him.
“We have no intention of building a ‘spur’ around the forest,” said the officer with the silver skull and crossbones winking on his lapel.
“It’s not possible,” roared Krespka, who was beginning to see the funny side of the present tableau. “You will fail miserably,” he added with a choking laugh.
“We will not fail because you will not let that happen,” retorted the third member of the party. “You and your workforce, your entire guild, will work with diligence to make this happen. We will extend your modest train and open up a causeway for our troops that will later extend your trade to new horizons.”
“None of that is possible,” continued Krespka.
“Buy why?” demanded the first officer.
“Because the Vorrh won’t let you.”
And there it was, finally spoken. Krespka had said it and it hung in the air like malice. Eventually the officer with the insignia, who recognised the relief of truth that was attached to the impossible statement, turned and spoke directly to Talbot, while clenching his elbow in an insistent hand.
“What is this nonsense?”
Talbot adjusted his collar and turned his head and the attention of the questioner away from the others. They walked to one of the windows farther down the room.
“The Vorrh is impenetrable beyond the end of our tracks. It would be very difficult to cut deeper into it from there.” He paused for a deeper breath and then said in a whisper, “You should have told me about this plan, you said nothing about it before. If I had known I would have—”
“Difficult, but not impossible,” continued the officer, ignoring Talbot’s pleas. “With our engineers and equipment and an extended labour force we could make short work of a few trees.”
“Yes, but there are other problems,” added the now-deflated Talbot.
“No problem is too great for the might of the Reich.”
Talbot was mumbling and twitching at his collar when Krespka again bellowed, “For God’s sake tell him, or we will be here all day.”
The furrowed glances of the irritated officers darted and glassily slanted at the now-passive members of the Timber Guild as Talbot gave them a potted history of the Vorrh’s mythology and its “factual” influence on the industrial economy of the city. When he finished there was the kind of silence that gives the ears the ability to hear the mind ringing. After some minutes the senior officer, Sturmbannführer Heinrich Keital, stood up and growled. The other uniforms stood to attention and started to leave the room. Pathetically, Talbot called towards their retreating backs.
“If there is anything else we can do, we will all be happy to help.” He darted a fleeting glance at Krespka when he said “we.”
Keital stopped and turned on his polished heels.
“You and these other old women will stop telling each other stories to frighten children and build us the track we demand. You will begin tomorrow.”
He then left the room; the sound of him and his colleagues laughing on the stairs was loud.
The guild members were all staring at Talbot.
“I will send a telegram to our people in Germany tomorrow,” he said.
“Tonight,” said Krespka.