The Infinity Engines Books 1-3

by Andrew Hastie

  ‘So.’ He put on his cap and straightened it. ‘Are you ready, boy?’

  Josh nodded, placing his hat on his head and looking at himself in the full-length mirror. It was amazing how the uniform changed him. The person who stared back at him looked every bit the officer. He could see why some people got a kick out of the whole role-play thing.

  The colonel produced the medal and held it out in his palm.

  ‘Place your finger upon the vestige,’ he said, opening his notebook with his free hand. ‘Now, nothing you are about to see will make any sense, but, trust me, no matter what you think you know it is very important that you don’t change anything.’

  Josh wanted to ask about how this worked, but suddenly he heard the music again, and then tendrils of light began to unfurl from the medal.

  The colonel began to play with the air around the medal, manipulating the lines of light in a way that made the burns on Josh’s arm itch. It was as though he were looking for something specific in a knotted ball of twine.

  ‘There,’ he whispered as the room vibrated around them and went dark.

  15

  Wolf's Lair

  [Wolf’s Lair, Eastern Prussia. Date: 11.944-20-07]

  When Josh stopped retching, he realised he was kneeling in a thick carpet of pine needles in the middle of a forest. It was dark, and the treacle scent of pine sap filled the air. The moon was half hidden by cloud, but in the weak light he could see that the trees went off for miles in all directions. The colonel stood a few metres away, checking something on his watch. As Josh went to take a step towards him, the ground seemed to shift, and he stumbled.

  The colonel helped him back on his feet. ‘Takes a bit of getting used to. Time displacement does strange things to the inner ear. Drink this.’ He handed him a small hip flask — it tasted like a brandy.

  ‘Where are we?’ asked Josh, taking a sip. It was good stuff. The nausea dissipated as he handed it back to the colonel, who took a long draught himself.

  ‘Prussia. No . . . Poland. Used to be called “Masuria” once upon a time. It’s had a rather tumultuous history. Anyway, we’re half a mile south of the Wolfsschanze,’ he said, pointing towards a twinkling array of lights in the distance.

  Josh stared blankly at him.

  ‘The Wolf’s Lair. Hitler’s eastern front headquarters — although the accurate translation should be Wolf’s Fortress.’

  ‘This is not where I came before.’

  ‘No, well, we didn’t want to jump right back into that. The aim of the mission is to stay in the shadows. To observe, not blunder in like an uninvited guest at a banquet. Just follow me.’

  The colonel headed off up the hill. Josh tried to keep up, but the big man’s strides meant he was nearly running to stay with him. It was then he realised that the heavy holster bouncing off his hip must actually contain a gun.

  ‘How come these clothes didn’t disappear when we landed?’

  ‘Actualised,’ corrected the colonel, breathing heavily. ‘When we actualised.’ Josh could see sweat beads glinting on his forehead.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The correct term for the completion of a displacement is actualisation.’

  Josh preferred his version, but continued anyway. ‘So the clothes?’ His voice echoed across the forest.

  The colonel stopped for a moment to catch his breath. ‘I don’t suppose you get to go on many secret missions, so I will forgive this constant barrage of questions, but just so you appreciate the seriousness of the situation: there are approximately two thousand Nazi soldiers over the next ridge with excellent eyesight and incredibly powerful weapons. The basic plan is that we don’t give them any reason to exercise one with the other. So keep your voice down. Agreed?’

  Josh nodded.

  ‘Good. Now, to your point: clothes are complicated. It really depends on when the materials were invented, but, more importantly, it’s about not looking out of place. Blending in with the era is not always as easy as it looks.’

  Josh thought back to the way people would stare at the colonel’s greatcoat and wild hair, but decided this probably wasn’t the appropriate time to bring it up.

  For the next ten minutes, he followed behind him in silence as they skirted the high, razor-wired perimeter fence. There were various death’s head signs about mines, and searchlights that intermittently swept the ground behind the fence. He could hear dogs barking somewhere off in the distance and shuddered at the memory of Billy getting his backside bitten; he guessed these hounds were more likely to tear your throat out. They stopped where the ground rose up and gave them a good view of the compound.

  The colonel took out his watch. Josh could see it was no ordinary clock face — there was a complex set of dials and symbols whirring across the front of it, and it shone with a strange blue glow that illuminated the colonel’s face.

  ‘So the Allied forces landed on the beaches at Normandy over a month ago.’

  ‘You can see that in there?’ asked Josh, pointing at the timepiece.

  The colonel snapped the watch lid back and dropped it into his pocket. ‘Not really. I read up on the subject while you were getting changed. Wanted to have a better appreciation of the challenge.’

  Josh was still mystified as to how he could have done the research, had a shave and a haircut and got changed into his uniform in the time he was out of the room.

  ‘There have been four other assassination attempts in the last two years. Himmler and the Gestapo have been on high alert ever since. They suspect someone within the German High Command.’

  The colonel took out some antique-looking binoculars and studied the compound for a few minutes.

  ‘Three rings of defence, each more secure than the previous. The outermost is defended by land mines and the Führer Begleit Brigade, a special armoured security unit, which mans the guard houses, watchtowers and checkpoints.’ He took out his notebook and Josh could see a 3D map of the base rotating around on the page. Lines and data appeared and disappeared at various locations on it as if someone was trying to plot the best chance way in — but kept changing their minds.

  ‘Inside this is where the barracks are located as well as the quarters of the Reich’s ministers.’ A smaller shape was drawn inside the first. ‘And inside that is a Führer’s bunker made from two-metre-thick steel-reinforced concrete and guarded by the Reich Security Service, an elite group of SS officers handpicked to be Hitler’s bodyguards.’

  ‘So not much chance of us just busting in, then?’ joked Josh.

  ‘None,’ the colonel replied gravely before going back to his surveillance, ‘but that’s not what we’re here to do.’

  ‘You’re not going to change it back?’

  ‘I haven’t been instructed to do so. No.’

  ‘Instructed by who exactly?’

  ‘Whom.’

  Josh ignored the correction. ‘Whom do you work for?’

  There was a noise, the dry crack of a boot snapping a twig. It resonated through the quiet of the forest like a bullet.

  The colonel lifted one finger to his lips, his eyes scanning the woods in the direction of the sound. ‘Save the questions for later.’

  He took out the medal once more. It immediately lit up in his palm, throwing the craggy features of his face into sharp contrast. Josh felt him take his hand, and the world around them began to vibrate, the trees shimmered in and out of phase, then he felt the ground fall away.

  It felt like less than a heartbeat before they appeared inside the camp. It was light now and, judging by the position of the sun, close to midday. The inner compound was busy. There were German soldiers and officers going about their usual business, none of whom seemed to notice the sudden appearance of two high-ranking SS officers from behind Bunker 5. Josh assumed that, even if they had, they knew better than to question them — he could see from the fear on the guards’ eyes that the insignia on his uniform carried a lot of authority, and he kind of liked it.

  The c
olonel was talking fluently to one of the sentries at the door of a large green bunker. He took a letter out of his notebook and shoved it into the man’s hand. Josh strode over to the colonel and nodded at the guard. The hard-faced man finished reading the letter, snapped his heels to attention and handed back the document. The colonel folded it carefully and placed it in the notebook. He saluted the other officer with a ‘Heil Hitler’ and turned to Josh with an expression that said: ‘Follow me and don’t say a word.’ Then he walked straight into the bunker.

  Inside they found themselves in a corridor that tunnelled deep into the rock. It was lit by a small line of electrical lights that illuminated gold-framed oil paintings — some of which Josh recognised.

  ‘The Führer’s private art collection, appropriated from museums all over Europe,’ whispered the colonel.

  Josh heard music once more, and looked up to see a tinny metal speaker. A shiver went through him as he realised that this was definitely the same place as before.

  The colonel stopped at a door further along the corridor. The gothic script on it read Oberkommando der Wehrmacht. He knocked once and waited for an answer from within. A very long minute went by before he tested the door handle and went inside.

  The interior of the office was the opposite of what Josh was expecting. It was a plush, carpeted, executive room with panelled walls and beautifully carved furniture.

  The colonel closed the door quietly and locked it. He took off his hat and sat behind the massive gold-inlaid mahogany desk. Behind him stood a sculpture of a giant eagle, its wings spread wide while grasping a swastika with its claws, the Nazi flag was draped behind it.

  ‘Welcome to the office of the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces,’ the colonel said opening his notebook. ‘I’m glad to see you managed to keep your mouth shut out there.’

  ‘Languages aren’t my strong point. What did you tell them?’

  The colonel paused to study something on one of the pages. ‘That we’d been sent to investigate a potential conspiracy. The great thing about a well-drilled unit of elite soldiers is that they are trained to accept orders without question — as long as you know whose name to put at the bottom of the document.’ He waved a piece of paper at Josh.

  Josh examined the order; it was in German so meant nothing, the name at the bottom of the signature read Heinrich Himmler.

  ‘The head of the Gestapo, Minister of the Interior,’ the colonel said, as if anticipating Josh’s next question. ‘Now we only have ten minutes before your appearance so I suggest you tell me exactly what happened and where. I believe the washroom is through here --’ He opened another door, and Josh immediately recognised the green tiles and white basins with their golden taps.

  ‘Where exactly do you appear?’ the colonel asked.

  Josh showed him.

  ‘And the general comes out of here?’ He pointed towards the end cubicle.

  Josh nodded.

  ‘OK. Good.’ Looking at his watch again. ‘Now we have to make ourselves scarce for a few minutes.’

  They went back into the main office and through a connecting door into the next room. This second office was smaller and nowhere near as ornately furnished. ‘Secretary’s out having a sneaky smoke,’ the colonel said with a wink. ‘We just have to wait for a couple of minutes.’

  Josh’s pulse was racing. His brain was still having trouble accepting the fact that he was standing in the Führer’s bunker in 1944. The colonel, however, was taking everything in his stride, as if he did this everyday. Josh was trying desperately not to look weak or frightened in front of him, but he was having serious difficulty holding his nerve.

  The door to the executive office opened, and they could hear Stauffenberg enter and walk through into the washroom. The colonel opened the connecting door slightly to see if the coast were clear and then went through, signalling to Josh to stay where he was.

  Josh moved so that he could watch the colonel, who was checking something in his notebook and counting time with his finger.

  Suddenly there was a loud crash from the washroom. Stauffenberg had dropped his suitcase. Josh held his breath, he could picture the scene vividly: the man’s gloved hand scrabbling to push everything back in, the explosives scattered over the floor, the second charge rolling too far away.

  ‘Herr General,’ barked the colonel. He was standing at the door to the washroom knocking on the glass. ‘Herr General? Der Führer erwünscht Ihre sofortige Anwesenheit!’

  There was a noise from inside, and Stauffenberg opened the door. He looked back once before leaving; Josh knew the look well, and then Stauffenberg cooly nodded to the colonel and walked straight out of the room into the corridor.

  The colonel went into the washroom and reappeared a moment later tucking something inside his jacket.

  ‘Right, we’d better leave now!’ His eyes were burning with an intensity that Josh had never seen before.

  He placed his hand on Josh’s shoulder and took out his watch.

  The room twisted away.

  By the time Josh had got changed back into his own clothes, the colonel had made a large pot of tea and a plate of small round pancakes. The kitchen was something he would have expected from Mrs B instead of a crazy old man who lived alone. In contrast to the rest of the house, it was spotlessly clean and had the delicate looking china cups and plates displayed in on ornate Welsh dresser. The table was covered with a white linen cloth, and the silver cutlery looked antique and expensive.

  There was no sign of the colonel and Josh was famished. He sat down and stuffed the first pancake into his mouth without a second thought. Then he picked up the tea cup and drained it in one go.

  When the colonel came in from the garden a few minutes later, Josh got the impression that he had been away for significantly longer than it would take to pick the vegetables he was carrying. He looked different: his hair was slightly longer, but nothing like as straggly and overgrown as before, and his beard had begun to grow back.

  He was carrying a basket full of carrots, leeks, and potatoes, which from the state of his hands, had just been picked. A small black cat followed him into the house, winding itself around his legs as he set about cleaning the vegetables.

  ‘I see you found the oatcakes. You’ll need to replenish your energy levels. I find strawberry jam helps the blood sugar along quite nicely.’

  Josh took a heavy handled knife and smothered the next oatcake with jam and then proceeded to devour it. The colonel dried his hands and removed his coat. He was wearing a mustard-coloured chequered waistcoat and moleskin breeches, like a head gamekeeper from some country estate. He sat down opposite Josh and poured out another round of tea.

  After a few minutes, Josh began to feel more like himself.

  ‘So,’ said the colonel, pouring a little of his tea delicately into a saucer. The cat jumped up onto the table and began to lap at it. ‘I assume you have a few questions?’

  Josh’s head was full of them, so many that it was hard to choose where to start. He finally opted for an obvious one.

  ‘Did we really just go back in time?’

  The colonel nodded. ‘Technically not so much go as displace, but, yes, you could say we did that.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Ah now, quantised spacetime, that could take quite a while to explain, and I’m not sure I’m the right man to do it — you need a rather large blackboard for a start. To put it in simple terms, we followed the timeline of the medal. It’s a rare skill — there are very few with the ability.’

  The colonel took the medal from his pocket and placed it on the table. Josh could see there were still lines of energy emanating from it. The cat hissed at it and jumped down.

  When Josh reached to take another oatcake, the colonel noticed the burn patterns on his hand.

  ‘I see that you’re no stranger to the weaving,’ he remarked as he grabbed Josh’s hand and pulled up his shirt sleeve. ‘Very recent activity too. Don’t worry — it fades in a few d
ays.’

  ‘Weaving?’

  ‘That’s what we call it. When we’re trying to locate the appropriate nodal event in the timeline — like rewinding a map.’ The colonel moved his hand over the medal and the lines shifted subtly.

  Josh pulled back his arm and put his hand under the table. ‘I don’t remember how I got it,’ he admitted with a hint of embarrassment. He didn’t want to mention that he was drunk when it had happened. ‘What are you?’ he asked, trying to change the subject.

  ‘An Anachronist, a man of the Watch,’ the colonel said proudly, ‘part of the Oblivion Order — an ancient society of chronologically ambiguous individuals from a rather elite evolutionary branch known as Homo Temporalis.’

  Josh wasn’t quite sure about the ‘Homo’, but he liked the thought of being part of an elite group, as long as they weren’t all as deranged as the colonel.

  ‘And this time thing.’ Josh pointed at the medal. ‘You can all do that?’

  ‘There are a wide variety of abilities within the Order, but, yes, basically everyone can do that.’

  ‘That’s messed up. How come no one knows about this?’

  The cat came back and began sniffing around the remnants of Josh’s breakfast.

  ‘Do you honestly think that anyone would believe you? You hardly believe it yourself. Our work is based on the premise that the human race is blissfully ignorant of what we can do. Time is not something to be trifled with — there are rules.’

  Every answer seemed to create more questions, and Josh’s brain was having difficulty prioritising them.

  ‘Why me?’ was all he could think to say.

  The colonel began to clear away the cups and plates. ‘Who knows? It’s random, doesn’t follow any kind of perceivable pattern — that’s the universe all over.’

  Josh grabbed the last oatcake before the cat could get too close.

  ‘Any of your relations show a penchant for history?’ asked the colonel.