The Atlantropa Articles Page 5

  “That’d truly be a find,” I admit, taking out a cigar from my pocket.

  “Imagine what Hitler must have been like to the people back then,” Ulric wonders, looking down at his copy of My Struggle, seeing the painted image of Adolf Hitler. Hitler’s blond hair was combed neatly as he stood against a red-and-gold flag.

  “One of the first original Aryans…” he continues on, losing himself in his thoughts. “That song…”

  “That song is one of a kind,” I say, lighting my cigar. Ulric looks down at the book. He goes quiet.

  “Why was that song forgotten…” Ulric mutters, trailing off. “How is it that something like that can just disappear from the records?”

  “Anything can be forgotten, Ulric,” I say, handing him a shot of whiskey. He takes it with one hand, holding his book in the other.

  “I guess so…” he accepts, before downing the drink. The glasses clank over the small makeshift fire. The flames release bits of ash and smoke off into the painted night sky.

  Whispers from the Past

  The canyon is only a few days away, and already it is making its presence known. As we travel further south, the endless flat plains of salt and sand begin to crack into a series of shallow ravines. They carve up the ground like the occasional piece of flesh cut from a body. Twisting natural bridges soon will be become the only route that this ship can take, but for now the terrain is flat. Eventually the options we have will become more limited.

  The key to a good captain is knowing how to navigate the ship when those paths become narrow. Which ground is the safest to take? How far are we from the gully down below? One wrong error and the ship could find itself on a treacherous perch or an unstable cliffside. Another mistake and many have found themselves tumbling down into the gully below.

  Sometimes the safest and only path is to simply hug the cliffs of the peninsula before eventually reaching the smooth hills into the canyon.

  The Descent awaits us. A canyon so vast and wide that in some areas, the cliffs are gradual enough to be traveled by ships. It’s a path on a smooth slope that takes us right into the belly of the canyon, and the deepest place on land. Yet for now, the only cliffs I see are the mile-high rocky walls, the remnants of coastline from the old Italian peninsula.

  I stand near the bow, peering up into a clear summer day. The air is so clear, and I think I can make out the remains of villages that once lined the beach which now adorns the top of the cliffs like whispers from the past. Husks of old villas and houses, they are all are engulfed in the sand.

  “Are you going to just stand out there in your power armor sir?” Volker’s rasping voice cracks through the radio in my helmet.

  “Wanted some fresh air First Officer, stretch my legs for a bit,” I respond in a monotone fashion.

  “That’s some quality air you’re getting inside that helmet,” he jokes.

  “We make do with the cards we’re handed,” I respond.

  I appreciate my helmet. This desert reflects the scorching sun so much that I doubt whether, without this layer of glass between my eyes, I would even be able to see. To view the bowsprit that juts out like a sword toward whatever lies ahead. To see the red-and-gold flags fluttering from it in the wind. I inspect the large cannons, artillery, and anti-aircraft guns scattered across the front.

  My footsteps take me toward the starboard side of the ship. From this angle, I can simply look down and watch the revolutions of the treads. Their thick metallic hide pushing us forward with every turn. Sand beneath crunching and swirling as it is tossed into the air. A cloud continuously rising from where the machine greets the ground—it travels at least a mile into the air, like a volcano erupting in the ocean.

  I walk back inside the Bridge, taking off my helmet to hear the full extent of the wind coming inside. Volker is sitting casually in a small chair near the dashboard. Ulric is sitting by the door to the stairway, his head deep in a book. His hand is propped against the side of his temple, as if he is about to fall asleep. Trips usually are long and tedious affairs.

  “You should get a view of the towers on the horizon, port side,” Volker remarks, casually pointing toward me.

  “Towers?” I ask in confusion. The word seems to have awoken the sleepy Ulric as well, who perks up from his slumber.

  “Eagle Nest #9.” Volker simply states, looking at me, then toward something in the distance behind me. I turn backward toward where he was pointing. Sure enough, there was a blurry series of figures on the horizon. They rose up like trees on a field of white. Had they not been destroyed years ago, those dark towers might be rising even higher.

  Ulric stands next to me, his hands pressed against the glass to get a good enough view of those black objects rippling against the desert heat.

  “I’ve never seen an Eagle Nest before,” he says, excited.

  “That’s not a very good first impression,” I remark, looking off toward the half-standing buildings.

  “I don’t care, they still look magnificent,” Ulric admits, his face contorted into an excited smile. I stare off at them with a pain in my stomach.

  “Should have seen them when they were actually standing,” Volker says behind us.

  The first time I saw an Eagle Nest I was storming one with a rifle in my hand. The giant stone statues towered over me as I scaled those massive steps. The fighting was intense in the central tower. It was like fighting in the middle of a city square. Nests are practically just cities.

  Remnants of a time when the Reich tried to colonize the desert, perhaps terraform the Kiln into a suitable grassy plain. In reality, they simply became islands in a new ocean of sand. Yet where most people would be dismayed by the hardships, Aryans accept the challenge.

  Their giant stone towers house everything that a resident would need. Schools, hospitals, apartments, military garrisons. They know the danger that living out here can pose, but they don’t seem to mind. In fact, they seem to revel in the chance to defend the Reich against invaders.

  They’re descendants of pioneers after all—it makes sense. Fervent believers in spreading the culture of the Reich. In a way, the collection of Nests that line the entire southern border of the Reich has become a defensive perimeter. The Nests do their best to keep out any unwanted Scavenger ships from crossing into the Kiln. Yet, some always do slip through.

  We all look on at Eagle Nest #9, its crumbling towers a symbol of one of the few times the colonists couldn’t hold back a foreign attack.

  “I don’t know why they don’t simply rebuild it,” Volker complains, spinning around in his chair.

  “Maybe because it’s a reminder of what the Scavengers can do,” Ulric theorizes.

  “Yeah, sure is a good reminder, when nobody can see it except the ships who need a supply refill. Now ships just have to wait until the Nests on the other side of the canyon.”

  “Sacrifices for remembrance, I suppose,” Ulric guesses, taking his face off of the glass and placing himself back on his seat.

  “I like practical gestures that don’t force us to pack a week more of supplies,” I remark, rubbing my eyes. I had a restless sleep last night. Tossing and turning on my cot. Slowly my feet carry me back to the dashboard, and to the seat at the very center, the Captain’s chair, where I plop myself down.

  “Well I like the grand symbolic gestures,” Ulric admits, placing the book back on his lap. “Reminds us what dangers lie out there for Aryans.”

  “True, and I’m going to hate myself if I don’t get off of this Bridge. Let me go stretch my legs to symbolize my watch being over,” Volker says, putting on his helmet. My stomach growls and I realize I haven’t eaten a single thing today.

  “If you’re going down to the cafeteria, get me something,” I ask Volker, to which he gives an agreeable “alright” and disappears as the door closes behind him. I’m left alone with the hum of the ship’s engi
ne and my brother. We don’t say much to one another. My attention is focused on the winding hills of dunes up ahead.

  “So…” Ulric says to me, cutting through the silence. I turn to him, my expression a mix of boredom and lack of sleep. I respond with a “Yes?”

  “What do you do around here…to pass the time?” he asks, putting down his book and looking at me. I glance around, leaning over in my seat to grab a bottle of beer. I hold it out, shaking it in a signifying manner.

  “Drink mostly,” I say. “What you saw yesterday.”

  This answer doesn’t seem to really quench Ulric’s curiosity, and he picks himself off of the chair and strolls around the Bridge. His hands have an odd twitch when he is bored; they shake around nervously, as if they need to do something. It’s something he’s had as long as I can remember. On long summer days in Germania with nothing to do, I had to babysit him, and there would go his hands.

  “Do you ever…I don’t know… Maybe…” he ponders.

  “No,” I cut him off. “This is the desert. There isn’t much to do. If you’re bored I can’t help you.”

  Ulric walks around the room, examining each and every detail. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started counting the buttons just to pass the time. The buzzing of the engine continues on.

  “You enjoy this?” he asks. The question takes me aback. I sit up a little bit higher in my chair, and have a good laugh.

  “Yes,” I reply. “It’s more entertaining than being some bookkeeper up north. What do you do to pass the time?”

  “Read mostly,” Ulric says. “I’ve already read through My Struggle a few times on this trip.”

  “Sounds like you should have brought another book,” I laugh, taking a drink from the beer.

  “Yeah I should have,” he says. “I’ve mostly just been thinking about this place. Do you ever do that?”

  “What about this place?” I ask dully, putting down the beer. Ulric strolls to the other side of the ship and looks out at the rocky cliffs. The dunes make their way up the endless wall. Ulric needs to bend himself down to get even a decent look at the blurry edge of the peninsula’s edge.

  “You ever think about what it was like when the sea disappeared?” Ulric asks, still crouched and looking upward.

  “Not really,” I lie. I do think about it a lot, however with the hunger pangs and the sleepless night, I’m not in the mood to discuss the fate of the Kiln with an overeager Ulric. Now, I am interested in the history of the Reich. It’s interesting. However, Ulric always takes things too far. If one allows him, he will bring the conversation down a rabbit hole of pointless little details. I’m sure it’s fitting for a chat with fellow Knights…but not with me.

  “Oh,” Ulric responds, disappointed. “I just see those small buildings up there and think about the people that once lived in them. Wonder what it was like to see the sea dry up.”

  “I mean, I think it was a long process,” I respond, uninterested.

  “Yes I know that, it just must have been strange,” he continues, not noticing I’m paying more attention to the bottle than to his remarks. “I imagine a grandparent explaining to his children’s children about a time when the sea was at their doorstep. Then those children’s children had their own offspring and the cycle began anew. Centuries of villagers telling about how close the sea once was, until there was nothing left.”

  “They probably left long before the sea dried up entirely,” I say. “Not much to think about.”

  “I mean, it was for a better purpose. For the Atlantropan dams, but still, it must have been hard for them. Sometimes you don’t think about the sacrifice that was needed to make the world a better place.”

  “Well, I’m getting paid, so that’s good,” I joke, trying to end the conversation.

  “You don’t even care to think about this at all?” Ulric says, turning around. I swivel my head toward him.

  “I do,” I say. “It’s just, you go overboard sometimes whenever there is a discussion about Reich history.”

  “You didn’t think it was such a bad thing yesterday…” Ulric snaps back, his eyes narrowing.

  “Yeah…well…” I try to think of a way to excuse that, “it was for an important reason.”

  “You just wanted to win the whiskey, didn’t you,” Ulric accuses. To this, I laugh.

  “No!” I chuckle. “That disc could have been from the Reclamation. Just because a bottle happened to be on the line, doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Right…” Ulric replies, not believing me, “As an Aryan it’s important to be passionate about our culture. Not just about alcohol and prostitutes.”

  “Where is this coming from?” I remark, laughing at the absurdity of that sentence.

  “I mean, you aren’t the most lawful Aryan…now are you?” Ulric accuses. My eyes squint down at him as I lift myself out my chair.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I growl, my armor-clad body barreling toward him. His frame was smaller and weaker than my own—if I really wanted to, I could snap him like a twig, just like that whore. Yet Ulric stands his ground, fists clenched and head held high. I stop just before I get within breathing distance of him.

  “I mean…” he says, attempting to find the most diplomatic way of telling me off. “You don’t seem to care about the actual laws of the Reich. You are fine with having an illegal artifact on your ship. You disrespect Aryan women, even if they are…misguided in their professions.… You drink and smoke even though that would never be acceptable up in Germania.…”

  I lean in close to his skinny face, looking him deep in his small, blue eyes. “I do enough for the Reich,” I hiss. “I served in the military. I captain this ship. I fight Scavengers and make our enemies suffer. That is enough.”

  “Do you do that for the Reich or yourself? When was the last time you read My Struggle? Can you even name a philosophy or quote of Adolf Hitler?” Ulric lectures, pointing to the book near the door. The engine continues to hum throughout the cabin.

  My eyes, unflinching, lock onto his. I can feel my heart beating hard in my chest, like it wants to leap out and strangle him. If this were anybody but my own brother, I would have thrown him through the glass. Yet he knows that. He knows that I can’t touch him. Because he is family.

  “Hitler talked about defending the tribe against the foreign hordes. That’s what I do,” I mutter, wiping my forehead clear of the sweat dripping down.

  “He talked about respecting the tribe as well. Hitler wanted peace among Europeans. That’s why he built the dams. He didn’t build Atlantropa so it could become your escape from the Reich.” Ulric says. His tone is becoming one of a typical Knight, lecturing as if they are keepers of the entire world. Masters of knowledge. It annoys me to no end.

  “I don’t need the rest of the Reich,” I spit. “The Kiln is where I thrive. If you don’t like it, you don’t need to come back. But until then, you’re stuck with me. Under my leadership.”

  “Well while I’m here you should read the book. You might learn something about being a decent Aryan.” And with that, Ulric walks past my hunched-over figure, puts on his helmet that was placed next to the book, and walks off of the Bridge, leaving me alone with my thoughts and that hum.

  The Orange Fog

  As the sun rippled over the horizon, we too crested over the final slope of the Descent. We had spent days cramped up in the ship, unable to leave. It appeared like a fine, flat plain. But it was deceiving. The temperature was so high that even going outside with a suit would spell the end of an unlucky sailor. All that mattered was that we made it out.

  The gradual incline levels off into an expanse of flat, sandy desert. Unlike the land up north, where cliffs form a wall around the white landscape, this region of the Kiln has far less…anything. We’re in the southern portion now. The area closest to the continent of Africa. There are no cliffs, there are
no landmarks of any kind—our instruments and a dust storm far in the distance are our only aids in navigation. Without them, we wouldn’t even know what direction we were going in.

  I stand on the Bridge, arms to my side, joined by the usual ensemble of Volker, Witzel, and Ulric. I examine a pristine, barren world devoid of any imperfection. Just one canyon could ruin its purity, one crack in this uniform plain—but no. It is as flat as a marble tabletop, and just as smooth.

  There is almost a pang of guilt in my stomach at the thought of tearing a trail through such an untouched landscape with the ship’s mechanical treads. Volker and Witzel stare at the storm ahead. Ulric looks out the window. We have rarely talked since our fight a few days ago. Not an ideal Aryan in the mind of my own brother? What a joke. I don’t need to abide by his views of peace and prosperity like those Knights up north do. Could I read Hitler’s book more often? Of course. But I seem to neglect doing that, when I have the job of commanding this ship. It’s easy for a kid to lecture me on failing at my duties as an Aryan when all he needs to worry about is studying that book.

  For now, I have other troubles. For example, the sandstorm is slowly migrating closer, swirling around like a beast, making its way across the untouched salt and sand. It’s a wall of orange, as tall as the dams of Maria. I can hear the winds howl outside the Bridge’s metal walls. Flags frantically dance as they are caught up by the gusty anticipation.

  Storms are no issue for the ship. It is just sand and wind, enough for the Howling Dark to handle. We have already been through five or so on this journey alone. Yet they are still an inconvenience. Visibility drops to zero. I always prefer for us to get out of the storm quickly, and for that we’ll need to hug the edge.

  “We should turn a bit to the left,” I command, staring out the window. “Hug the edge of the storm and try to avoid as much of it as possible.”