The sky is painted orange with just a hint of deep violet, so the crew is probably stirring belowdecks, anticipating today’s event. For the last two days word had spread about my brother’s upcoming execution of the Jew.
As I stand on the deck, more and more men begin to trickle onto the front of the ship.
“You must feel pretty excited, this being his first execution!” First Engineer Keller tells me, his helmet covering up his normally greasy face.
I nod in agreement, but secretly my stomach twists around inside me. Even through the greetings and saluting, I can’t help but feel utterly betrayed by all of them. Can I really blame them, though? If I was in their place and another man was so willing to a Jew, wouldn’t I be suspicious of him as well? Being stuck in the middle of the desert can make men do unthinkable actions when they believe they are in danger—when they believe they are among enemies. This an environment that breeds suspicion, I suppose.
Fuck Ulric for putting me in this position. Fuck me for letting him.
The announcement that the execution would begin soon had blared out ten minutes ago. I sent down some guards to bring the old man up here. They should be arriving any minute, and so should Ulric. I wait, hoping to see the crowd part for the violet-caped Knight.
Since there’s not much wind, I can hear the rumbling of the treads. As I look back from the front of the ship toward the scorched desert plain behind us, I see the usual large cloud of sand floating gently in the wake of the Howling Dark. I hold my hands behind me, pistol strapped against my chest. My back faces the distant cliffs of Africa, which are rising slowly as the ship growls ever-onward in their direction. We are almost at the edge of the Kiln.
A series of towers stands in the distance, their image blurry in the rippling heat of the desert. Our destination, Eagle Nest #18, is in sight. But for now, we have more important matters to attend to. Ulric needs to show his loyalty.
Just to make sure he will actually show up, I decide to walk through the crowd, going belowdecks. After a brisk walk through the officer quarters, I knock on the door. Without a wait, it swings open and before me is Ulric, glorious in his full armor. The metal has been cleaned and glimmers golden-brown. His expression, however, is anything but glimmering. He looks back at me with eyes full of contempt.
“It’ll be fine,” I counsel, putting my hand to his shoulder. “Just say your lines, pronounce judgement on the old man, and then end it. It’ll be quick.”
“I know,” he says quietly, putting his helmet on top of his skinny face. He hands me the old copy of My Struggle before I can say anything. He continues on, and I follow.
As we step up onto the deck, we see the entire crew standing around us, eager to watch what is about to unfold. With our helmets donned, we stroll through the crowd. Everyone steps back to let us pass. As we reach the tip of the bow, I see that the old man has already been brought up. He is being held up by two guards who grasp him by his frail arms. His eyes are closed, as the sand from the wind clashes against his eyes.
Cheers and clapping rise like a wave among the sailors as we approach. I raise my arm and put it back down. The guards comply, throwing the man to the floor with a solid thunk. He looks about with eyes covered, shielding himself from the particles. With mouth agape, he takes in the mob around him. This deck is colored a faded red, a remnant of the execution from his comrades.
Ulric pauses for just a second before I grasp him by the arm and lead him forward. We pass the shivering old man and turn toward the joyous crowd.
“Gentlemen,” I announce in a raised, yet calm demeanor. “As you know, my brother, S.S. Knight Manafort, a few days ago requested of me that we keep one of the Scavengers as a captive.” I point a hand to the curled up man, “Now my brother has informed me that the man has given him all he needs to know. He is no longer of any use to this ship, nor to the Reich,” I continue.
The Scavenger’s face shifts around as he recognizes the words I’m speaking. His expression changes from confusion to realization. His brown features turn to face my brother, whose face is covered in his armor. Ulric simply keeps his composure, not saying a word.
“But…we talked…you…” the Scavenger whispers to my brother, starting to raise himself from the deck.
“Quiet,” I order, kicking the prisoner’s head with my metal boot. The old man crumples back down onto his belly, and holds his wrinkled hand to a bleeding forehead.
“Ulric.” I turn to face him. My brother’s posture is rigid and his arms are held at his sides. I take my pistol out from its holster, Ulric reaches out his right arm, and I hand the gun to him. His helmet, with its glowing visor, turns toward me and I take one long step back, giving him space. Ulric looks down at the weapon, then at the old man, then at me. I give a single nod.
“This Scavenger…” Ulric begins, his voice full of uncertainty. “Has spoken a lot about his homeland, and his people to me in the last few days. As a scholar, I have collected valuable information on how the Scavenger mind thinks…” he pauses, “and how it contorts.”
Ulric turns around to me, and raises a hand toward me.
“I am grateful that my brother has allowed me to perform my studies on such a rare subject, and I’m glad you are all here to witness me take my next step…as a Knight.”
The old man situates himself and kneels at Ulric’s feet. Dirty hands move under his draping silver cloak, and he raises up the necklace with the cross, grasping it tightly in both hands. It glints in the morning sun as he holds it up in his shaking fists. Ulric looks at me, and I give him a slight nod. With this, he kicks the man, sending him back to the floor, outstretched. Laughter erupts from the crowd. It’s working.
“When the Eternal Führer envisioned the Atlantropa Dams, it was to bring peace and stability to Europe. To our tribe. But that was only the first part. The original Aryans knew that as long as the Scavengers stayed, that our minds would be corrupted by their influence. Brother would turn against brother,” he turns his head slightly toward me, with a pause. “War would remain.”
“But studying this…Scavenger…is a lesson for us all. A representation of what the Eternal Führer had to deal with in his day…what he was up against. We are lucky today to live in a better age because of that struggle.… We do not need to deal with the Scavenger threat anymore, except for in the desert…and we do not need to deal with this Scavenger anymore.”
Clapping permeates the air around me, as the crew raises their weapons into the air. The old man is mumbling to himself, his eyes closed, hands held to his chest. He is calm. Calm, like the last Scavenger I tossed over the side of the ship. His face is relaxed, even as Ulric looms over him, holding his pistol to the man’s forehead.
“So I am going to execute this Scavenger, in the ways of the old Aryans, with a pistol, and some words,” Ulric mutters, still looking at the old man.
Ulric chants: “I light my path with the flame of reason—”
The Scavenger puts his hands to his necklace, running his fingers over its engraved carvings.
“I warm my heart with the pride of race—”
Chanting and hollering are rising among the crew. I look up and see Volker and Witzel looking down from the tower Bridge balcony. The golden flag of the Reich waves elegantly above them.
“I love my Führer for all Eternal—”
The old man opens his eyes and gazes at Ulric. His lips form some words—I can’t hear what they are, as the chanting drowns them out. Through the noise I hear Ulric declare:
“For his life is what gave me grace.”
I wait to hear the gunshot. To confirm that all of this will be alright. Yet there is a pause. Ulric just stands there, his gun still held to the forehead of the Scavenger, who looks at him, unmoving. Only the wind makes noise. Sand rustles across the steel deck. Everyone is silent. Everything is still.
The crowd watches on as a minute goes by, two minutes, Ulric’s gun glimmers in the sun, ready to shoot point-blank into to the old man’s skull. Inside I am screaming, begging for him to do something, to show the entire ship that he is a loyal Aryan. What is he doing?!
He looks back at me, and I look at him. We are only meters apart, yet it feels like it may as well be kilometers. The gun, to my horror, starts moving downward as Ulric lowers his arm and his helmet begins to bend forward and down, following the gun. The gun is now perpendicular to the steel deck. My brother’s helmet is parallel to the darkening horizon, but his visor gazes down onto the old man’s upturned face.
He didn’t shoot. Why the fuck didn’t he shoot?! Why would my own brother refuse to shoot that creature? I look on, feeling like a passenger in my own body. The emotion, the nervousness, the stress my brother is causing me…it all disappears. His traitorous words begin to ring inside my skull. Everything he said about the Führer, about the Kiln, about me. My brother…is gone.
I thought I could save him, yet he’s been corrupted. His ideology—even who he was, has vanished over the last few weeks. I did this to you, Ulric. I never should have invited him. Shouldn’t have given him the benefit of the doubt that he’d succeed in the Kiln. Instead, he despised it. I look on at my brother as he stares back at me.
Yet another voice goes through my head. He was the one who let himself be influenced by the lies. Weak in that sense.
Angry chants blast through the air, as many begin to call for Ulric’s head. I look on, as if I was in a dream. Bodies begin throwing themselves at my brother. He raises his arm. There’s a bang. Light permeates from his pistol as one armored crewmen collapses to the ground.
More chanting. I just stand there. I feel…nothing. Ulric failed me. He failed the ship. He failed the Reich. There is no more worrying that he will do the right thing. This is perhaps just who he is—a coward. As he looks back to me, more men lunge at him.
Volker comments something on the radio, something about me stopping them, and yet I simply mutter, “It’s okay.”
With hands behind my back, I begin to stroll closer to the commotion. More gun shots ring out, one lands at my feet yet I continue on unflinchingly. Everything feels numb. He failed me.
He had so much potential and yet he squandered it.
I hear him cry out as he is hoisted into the air. Bodies flood about the deck as the entire crowd begins to move away from me. Some look back to their Captain, and yet all I do is raise my hand. I could stop this. I know I could. And yet I’m not. Why am I not?
A voice inside says that perhaps I’m just tired. Another says that this is for the best. The one screaming for me to save Ulric has been pushed down deep and locked up. As the crowd storms away with my brother in hand, they ignore the old man, still rolled into a ball on the deck.
As everyone disappears, all there is left is his shriveled body, the gun that Ulric dropped, and me. He looks at me and attempts to lunge for the gun. My boot goes down hard with a solid crunch. There is a yowl. He pulls back his arm which now bends at an unnatural angle. I think I see a bit of bone. I smile.
Calm and collected, I bend over and pick up the gun, checking inside to see how many bullets are left. Three. That’s good.
As I look back, I expect to see the old man crawling away, yet instead he looks back at me with his arm to his chest. The pain in his eyes is tremendous, and yet he holds it in. We look to each other. He does not run.
Without another word spoken, I raise the pistol to his temple and pull the trigger. The round rips squarely into his forehead. A clean shot. The body instantly flops onto the deck, crumpled and defeated. The ring of the gunfire echoes throughout the empty desert.
I’m left with just a dead body for all my troubles. Fuck him. Fuck me for allowing Ulric to keep him.
I think my feet are moving, I feel my body going forward, its acceleration toward the crowd walking to the back of the ship. All else around me fades into darkness. I feel nothing.
Chanting permeates across the ship as bodies rush to the commotion. A crowd has swarmed around Ulric. He tries to kick, punch, yet a series of blows send him tumbling toward the deck as well.
Ulric calls out to me on the radio. I can hear the pain and fear in his voice. My body has no response to it. I feel nothing. He failed to do what he needed. He did nothing but criticize my domain. I did everything for him, but he decided to throw it all away on an old man’s life.
The crowd reaches the edge of the ship. Glowing visors look back to me for guidance as I casually stroll across to the stern. When I reach the festivities, I am greeted with a cheer.
My brother struggles to get himself free. His limbs are held by guards and his violet cape is wrapped around his neck. My mind is blank seeing this image. Is this what it has come to?
“Ansel…” Ulric chokes out in a panicked voice. He turns to me. The crowd goes silent as I face my brother.
“Ulric,” I say, my voice laced with disappointment. I can feel the pain well up inside. I want to help him, I want to do everything to bring him back, but I know that he is lost. A battle rages inside me as punches and blows rain down on Ulric. His metal helmet clangs with each of the strikes, until eventually his helmet is knocked clean off and the crowd starts battering his unshielded face.
He looks at me, wide-eyed and bruised, one eye closed shut from the swelling. Blood trickles down from his mouth as he coughs violently.
“Why didn’t you shoot him, Ulric?” I mutter to my brother. “I gave you every chance.”
“He…he isn’t a Jew…I don’t know…” Ulric sputters out. “I couldn’t do it.”
Tears begin to stream down my face. My helmet conceals it. I tried everything to save him—or did I? Did I do enough to prevent him from going down this path?
I mutter, holding back my voice from cracking: “You knew this would happen and yet you still spared him…”
“If I pulled that trigger, then the Kiln would have won. Would have changed me into all of you.”
He keels over as I deliver an elbow into his stomach. The guards hold him back as the breath is knocked out of his body. My hand goes to his head, and I pull him close to my face. The tears stop.
“I could have saved you,” I tell him. “Pulled you back from whatever manifested inside you and yet you didn’t see.”
“I did see,” he says. “You saw too. You just chose to ignore it.”
I stand back, looking on with no feeling, thought, or reaction to the scene in front of me—once again, I’m just a passenger in my own head. The crowd swarms over Ulric’s wriggling body. The ropes come out. The knives come out.
“Aren’t you going to do anything, sir?” Volker says to me.
“He lost his way,” I mutter. “I can’t do anything.”
I turn my radio off as screams echo inside my helmet. The only sound that comes through now is the soft whistling of the wind. It overtakes all the noise. The chanting. The screaming. The wind, so familiar here in the Kiln, makes it all go away—it’s almost relaxing. I cross my arms and take it all in, suppressing that voice deep inside which is telling me to go and save him, to take him away from all of this.
The rope wraps around Ulric’s legs. You did this to him. The knives come out. You could have done something, but you didn’t. Ulric wriggles about and more punches send him to the floor once again. They are blaming him for your failings. Ulric attempts to grab at the rope, but he is kicked away. He chose to spare the Scavenger. A boot kicks Ulric in the face; blood pours from his nose. He ignored my advice in that abandoned, ancient, water-borne ship, and his curiosity led him to that damned book. Ulric attempts to wipe the crimson fountain flowing from his face, but his hands are grabbed by a half-dozen men. He brought this onto himself.
The crowd turns to me, eager to hear what I have to say. Ulric squints at me. The sand is thick in the wind. I walk up to him and take off my own helmet. Our eyes meet. We say nothing.
“There will come a time when this desert will consume everyone in it,” he gurgles, the blood oozing from his lips. “Even a fish can drown…”
I don’t say a word. My mouth stays clamped shut as Ulric is hoisted up by the crowd. Through the wind, I hear a soft yell as his body thrashes about. Cheering erupts as the skinny frame of the S.S. Knight goes tumbling off the edge of the ship into the cloud below.
I’m sorry, Ulric. I wanted what was best for you.