The Atlantropa Articles Page 6

  Volker, standing at the wheel of the ship, nods in understanding and adjusts course. The ship slowly begins to veer to the left, turning to reach the edges of the incoming storm. The wall is large, and right in front of us. There is no possibility that we can avoid it. It’s much too wide for that. But if it is going to hit us, we might as well make the best of it.

  It is still a few kilometers away.

  As it comes closer, the desert floor ripples from the new gusts of wind. They blow toward our ship and cascade over the deck. I can see the edges of the storm, but it is too distant for us to reach it in time. It’s moving too fast toward us, and we’re too far away to escape.

  After a half hour or so, the entire storm fills our horizon. It looms over us all like a behemoth about to swallow us up. The morning sun has disappeared over the clouds and we are enwrapped in a long, dark shadow from the storm. It’s as if we are in a valley in front of a mountain, and the Howling Dark continues on. We can’t turn back to avoid it—that would only drive us back into the Descent. The best course of action is to barrel through as fast as this ship’s treads can carry us. The Reich flag flutters at the ship’s bowsprit, the golden swastika glinting against the last rays of sunlight we have left.

  The storm arrives. The cliffside of churning sand falls down upon us like a rolling wave. The wind hits with tremendous force, sending anything not tied down on the deck tumbling about. Metal walls screech like an animal wishing nothing more than to devour.

  Visibility drops as the thick orange fog envelopes the ship, and yet we continue on. This area is flat for miles, so it’s unlikely we’d accidentally roll into an unknown canyon or hole. All we need to do is keep up speed and make it past this, blinded or not.

  A few minutes pass. The Bridge is silent.

  “What is that?” Volker softly mutters, pointing off into the storm.

  “What is what?” I ask, whirling around and pacing right next to him. My eyes scan the area where his fingers are pointing .

  “I thought I saw something…” he remarks, quietly. “Like there was a light through that sandstorm.”

  Through the fog, clouded by swirling currents of sand, a shrouded, dark, muffled object is slowly moving in the opposite direction of our ship. It’s only about a kilometer away. The blurry mass is smaller than our ship, but far too large to be an animal…as if animals could survive out here.

  It’s a vessel.

  “Fuck,” I curse. “It’s a ship. Were there supposed to be any of our ships on this route?”

  Volker flips through the travel logs for the Kiln, and puts his hand to his face in confusion.

  “The route for any Reich ships going south is at least fifty kilometers away…there’s no possibility that is one of our own…unless they got lost…which would sure be difficult to fuck up.”

  “Let me just check, so we’re certain. We’re in radio distance of Eagle Nest #13 right?” I ask him.

  “I believe so,” Witzel answers instead.

  “Alright, I’ll check. Get the men mobilized, however, if this is worst case scenario.” I mutter to Volker, while still looking at the distant, blurry ship drifting across the desert floor.

  I pick up the microphone on the radio. There might be a chance this is just a ship that got lost, but the feeling in my stomach as I look on is telling me differently.

  “Howling Dark to Eagle Nest #13,” I mutter into the radio. I wait for a response, as the white noise fizzles out of the speakers.

  “Good morning, Howling Dark—this is Eagle Nest #13,” a female voice coos through.

  “I wanted to know if any ship routes had updated in the last few days,” I respond, looking out the window. “We’ve spotted a ship about a kilometer east of us. Are there any ships scheduled in our location?”

  There is more white noise and some soft talking for a few seconds, as if the woman is speaking to others about the routes.

  “There are no ships scheduled to go south near your location at this time, Howling Dark. Closest one is Taurus, and that is already a hundred kilometers southwest of you already into the Descent,” the lady responds in a disappointed voice.

  “That’s what I was worried about,” I say. “Put out a warning for this area, we certainly have a raider ship in the area.”

  “Right away, Howling Dark—we are dispatching warnings to all incoming ships. Stay safe. Sieg Heil,” she ends.

  “Sieg Heil,” I finish, putting down the radio and looking off at the ever-growing cloud. So it is official: that ship is not one of ours.

  Volker calls in a full mobilization of the crew. The air outside is so thick with sand that even the men running to their battle stations are obscured in the windy storm. It blows past the rising artillery and large metal cannons now raised toward the mysterious stranger at starboard.

  Just as I look up from the deck, I see that the object has gotten thinner. They’ve turned. The savages have turned right toward us.

  “The Scavengers must have snuck past the Eagle Nests using the storm.” Volker announces in frustration.

  “They can do that?” Ulric asks in bewilderment.

  “The Nests aren’t that close together,” I respond. “They’re mostly to attract raids, like flies to honey…it’s not a wall. I don’t know why they’re coming this far north though.”

  “There’s just sand here. Closest thing is #13, and that’s what, fifty kilometers to the south?”

  “Unless it’s not trying to raid an Eagle Nest,” I respond, my voice layered in irritation at the situation. “It could be hunting for ships.”

  “Should I call in an Aegir Drop?” a nervous Ulric asks me. I shake off the suggestion.

  “No,” I say, collecting myself, “We can take them ourselves.”

  “But—”

  “I…said…no.”

  Ulric gives me a look of disapproval and walks away. I’m too distracted by the circumstances at hand to care about his concerns. This is a large ship—we can handle this ourselves as we always have. It may not be ideal fighting them in a storm, but it’s not an impossible feat. As well, the Howling Dark hasn’t been in a good fight in a while, and I’m itching for one.

  The dark mass grows larger as it comes closer to our position. They most certainly are moving in for an attack.

  “Alright,” I announce calmly. “Witzel, get some main cannon fire on that dot.”

  “Time to send them a greeting,” Volker jokes, followed by a mutter into the radio and a small, crackling voice squeaking in confirmation. I see, through the warm mist of the sand, the main cannons in the front deck rise from their horizontal position.

  “Their location has been targeted. Primed and positioned to fire, Captain,” Volker speaks to me.

  “Fire,” I mutter into the radio.

  The void erupts into an explosion of bright yellows and white-hot flashes. Two thunderous pillars of fire and smoke erupt from the main cannons. The light from the flames reflect off the thick currents swimming around the men down below. Thick fog churning in an ocean of tiny, dusty particles, all of which ripple out from the shockwave produced by the guns.

  All stumble, as the floor jolts by the cannon shots. It is a deafening roar that rattles our ship to its core. There is another pause. A few seconds waiting to see any blurry light in the distance, waiting to hear some sound.

  Seconds go by. I feel every moment in the beating of my heart. Flicking lights begin to dance among the thick cloud. It is like a phantom slowly revealing itself. They have been hit.

  Three bright flashes bloom from the soft flames, covered by a kilometer of sand. My stomach plunges like a rock into a deep creek. How did those shots not destroy them? They have always been able to take out Scavenger ships in a single barrage.

  More seconds…my stomach drops even lower. It’s as if lead has been planted directly into me.

&
nbsp; Light sparkles out in three quick successions from the encroaching ship. More seconds. Bright flashes erupt around us. Shadows of the scrambling men appear, made solid for a brief moment as the explosions illuminate the ship in every direction. The roar of the blasts knocks all in the cabin off of our feet. Ulric flops onto the floor. I catch myself on a bar, holding myself up.

  Pillars of flame shoot around the side of the deck. More seconds. I spring myself up to regain my balance and lunge toward the front window to examine the lower deck. Picking up the radio, I call for a status report—all respond that they are stable. We haven’t been hit. The barrage missed. Now it’s our turn.

  “Prepare another barrage!” I order. Volker, already standing near the radio, cries out into the microphone.

  More explosions from our guns. The ship veers sharply as we turn. All of us on the Bridge struggle to hold our feet. This barrage has to be the one—it has to be the one to knock them out.

  More waiting. Bright flickers off in the distance. It appears too far for it to be a hit, though. Dammit.

  “We need to pick up speed!” I call to Volker, who immediately pulls up the lever on the dash. The ship’s treads spin even faster in an attempt to dodge whatever oncoming barrages are next.

  The enemy ship is now only half a kilometer away and is closing in fast.

  Lights in the distance, we swerve seconds later. One explosion is so bright against the darkness I need to cover my eyes. Another is so thunderous I lose my grip on the dashboard and go tumbling down. The final one I hear brightens the entire Bridge with a warm glow, followed by the sound of screeching metal. Fuck.

  I bring myself to my knees, and the alarms blare into my eardrums. The radio chatter awakens as voices yell in muffled tones. We’ve been hit, but where? I order another barrage and keep my eyes on the ship, but I need to see the damage. I have a sinking feeling that I know where it is.

  My helmet gets placed on my head and I open the door leading out of the Bridge, running across the balcony to get a view of the stern, only to be met with a small inferno. The stern’s dock has been hit. Fuck.

  The damage doesn’t appear to be massive, but we’ve taken a direct hit. Flames rise from the shattered metal beams jutting out from the deck. Armored figures scatter about to douse the flames. Fucking Scavengers. Thank the Reich that this ship is large enough to sustain such blows.

  As I stumble back to the Bridge, another round of our fire knocks me around, but I’m able to make my way back in…just in time to see tiny explosions connect with the incoming vessel.

  “Fire again!” I yell, but before we can respond another time, there is a lull in the fire. The Scavenger ship hasn’t retaliated. Through the warm mist, the orange glow from the incoming vessel appears to be growing. Within seconds, it becomes so bright it shines past the cloudy sand and becomes a white, shining light. The light fills up the Bridge as it shoots higher and higher above us all, mushrooming out as it grows. Then, as soon as it arrived, it disappears.

  A deep boom radiates throughout the ship. The sand from the storm dissipates for a moment as the shockwave blasts it away. For a moment, I gaze upon the smoldering Scavenger ship still moving purely on momentum toward us. It was like a bowl of fire, the entire top deck utterly obliterated by our guns.

  As the bulbous cloud grows, the treads beneath it give out and the ship flips onto its port side. The sand engulfs us once again, but the ship is so close we can make out bodies toppling off as the machine crumbles onto the ground. Some of them scatter about, running from the mountain of debris falling above them. A couple escape; many do not, as the steel slams onto them. Metal and steel screech like a wounded cat as the vessel crumples, concave, into itself. With a loud crash, the black mass lies still, leaning on its side as smoke rises from its broken husk.

  The Scavenger ships were far different than our own. They appeared more cobbled together. Unlike the Reich’s, which had a basis in the old ancient warships, the Scavenger ships were more jaded, with tall metal towers and spindly columns. This one was so close, I could even make out the numerous thin flags flying from it, although now they are engulfed in flames.

  The deck down below breaks out into cheers as they witness the sight. We got them. Celebrations go around the Bridge as we congratulate one another on a good kill. The Howling Dark continues on its way past the wreckage of the enemy ship, leaving the Scavengers that survived to boil in the desert. What luck, as well. The sun was beginning to shine through the fog of the now-passing storm. Shadowed bodies run in panic around their destroyed machine. They won’t have long to escape the Kiln’s blistering heat, so I order that we send a rescue team to help the poor savages out.

  “Alright men,” I announce through the radio. “Let’s go get them.”

  Special Guests

  The reconnaissance vehicle barrels away from the Howling Dark, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. The six-wheeled, heavily armored truck is a necessary requirement for any ship out here. For example, let’s say the ship is going down. No man wants to be stranded in the desert, of course. Without recharging, the cooling systems in the armor will shut off in thirty-two hours, leaving the unfortunate soul inside left to wither in the heat. When all else fucks up, that vehicle is the beast that lugs us all back north. That’s why most men have simply nicknamed it “The Camel.”

  I stand at the bow, observing in the distance a thin wisp of smoke floating like a snuffed-out candle. We should reach the crash site in a matter of minutes, but the storm is dispersing and I don’t want to lose any guests.

  Who is to say one of them won’t succumb to their injuries by then? I can’t allow them to escape their fate that easily. The fuming crew around me appears to agree.

  Many pleaded to me for the opportunity of capturing the survivors; it was quite difficult picking just seven from an ecstatic bunch. Those that remain onboard crowd around me on the bow, eagerly awaiting the arrival of our special guests. Everyone wishes to get the first glimpse of The Camel coming back to the ship. They stare at the crash site like hyenas surrounding a corpse, laughing and chittering in anticipation.

  I grasp my hands behind my back and contemplate how exactly these Scavengers could be punished. A sanding is the simple way, but I have already done so many sandings. Alright, one will be sanded, but the rest I want to experiment with. We have a few more days before the Descent anyway—might as well have some fun. I examine my metallic arm, imagining it being driven into the eye sockets of one of them. Such an image of them grasping at their bloodied face fills me with a primal, carnal flame of ecstasy.

  Chants for retribution from my crew fill the air, thick as the dust churned up by the treads. They are rightfully furious, because they were almost obliterated by a cowardly attack. I’ve never seen a ship come this far to hunt for cargo. Sometimes farther south they will try to pick off lone ships, but never those coming right out of the Descent.

  “Have you heard anything yet, sir?” one of the men, a grizzled veteran with a rusting brown arm, asks me. Others cheer at this question. They are awaiting the confirmation from The Camel that they have found survivors.

  “Not yet,” I declare.

  I can hear the buzzing of chatter inside of my helmet. The Camel is in direct communication with our radio channel. When they reach the crash site and find any survivors, we’ll know.

  “What are you going to do to them, Ansel?” the collected voice of Ulric asks me, cutting through an inferno of angry chants.

  “I don’t know yet,” I respond, lost in a pool of my own imagination.

  My brother’s silvery figure glides next to me, joining in the observation.

  “Does that mean you are unsure of what their punishment will be, or does that mean you are unsure of how you will kill them?”

  “Is that not the same thing?” I ask, confounded by such a question.

  “The first means if you think you wi
ll kill them, and the second means you made up your mind.”

  “Why would I not kill them?” I chuckle at the absurdity of his rhetoric. “They tried to kill our crew, they tried to kill you.”

  “Now hear me out. I think this could be an interesting opportunity,” Ulric theorizes, like an old scholar. “The Knights have always wanted to study on live subjects, but well, you all kill them.”

  “I don’t like where you’re going with this.”

  “I’m just saying, we would bring them back to Germania, in chains of course, and the Knights might like to study them.”

  “Study them?”

  “I know Knights that could experiment with them in a controlled space. See what their IQs are, observe how they think, and then, after we are done, maybe dissect them and look at what is going on inside those Scavenger brains.”

  “Don’t see the use there is in that,” I spat, “They’re savages, they’re like flies, remember? How much is there to learn from them?”

  “Science about the different races was largely lost after the Reclamation. We don’t have much data on how much the Scavengers differ from Aryans, psychologically of course. Today, we barely have the chance to secure a live specimen to study. Sailors simply kill them before they head back to shore.”

  “Yeah, because letting a Scavenger back into the Reich is suicide and nobody wants that burden on their head,” I suggest in a tone of annoyance. How could he be thinking of such a thing? There doesn’t need to be much research on why Aryans and non-Aryans are different.

  “They’d be in a military prison, of course,” Ulric attempts to reassure me.

  “Sounds like mercy to me,” I mutter.

  “I can assure you it isn’t that,” he pleads.

  “We already have limited supplies and it is for our own men,” I argue, maintaining my calm demeanor in the presence of the crew. “Let me see how many we pick up. We’ll bring them aboard. I’ll decide what happens to them.”