by Shad N Freud
“I can see that our presence is…unexpected. And no doubt farfetched. The Fuhrer, as much as it may pain you to hear, had to make certain…concessions to have enough troops to fight the Americans after Europe fell, due to the vile sneak attack by the filthy bastards and their Andromeda Strain as we’ve come to call it. A virus that eliminated the blonde haired and blue eyed. The entirety of the Dwarven Race was wiped out, and the first converts to the Third Reich after this blatant act of unnecessary aggression were members of the Satanic Faith. I myself am a Cardinal, but I serve the current Fuhrer without question.”
Carl’s mask made it impossible to see how hard he was fighting the urge to laugh. The Third Reich had tried to entreat the Church to join their side during the War but had been rebuffed rather definitively, each envoy being sent back to Berlin in envelopes with the single word answer of “no” wrapped around each body part. Cenere snapped his fingers and Carl stepped forward with the falsified documents, handing them to Himmler.
“My retrograde menial has just given you the documentation that shows we are, in fact, supposed to be here. I know that things seem highly unusual, Herr General, but all shall be made clear after you read these papers. They contain documentation for more efficient processes to refine plutonium, as well as the missing components from the Temporal Incursion Vehicle. Our own vehicle, I’m afraid, may be unsalvageable.”
“Indeed, Herr Cardinal, it is. The Flux Capacitor has cracked and become unstable. We should put the vehicle somewhere safer. Perhaps in the-” Jin was interrupted by Cenere’s backhand, sending the gnome sprawling. Cenere gestured and Carl picked the little man up by the scruff of his neck.
“How many times, little dragon, have I warned you not to speak unless spoken to? The dumb brute holding you knows better, and Herr Major knows her place as well,” he said as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the placid Camilla. While it was his part to play, he knew that as soon as they were behind closed doors and privacy spells had been set up, he’d be getting an earful. Jin glared at Cenere as Himmler read over the paperwork, raising an eyebrow as he listened to the commotion.
“Troubles, Herr Colonel?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. The gnome is actually a dragon we’ve taken for his usefulness. He tests my patience regularly because he thinks he’s indispensable. Truthfully, the dumb animal is priceless; of course, every dragon is priceless, and I have to keep reminding him of that fact on occasion. The brutes are here for their…physical capabilities. After all, the one holding the ‘gnome’ is an orc, and a particularly foul tempered one at that, while the lizard is directly under my control. I order him to raise his foot one meter off the floor,” Cenere said as Zeke’s left eye flashed rapidly, and the lizard man raised his foot one meter into the air, “and as you can see, the advanced implants in his skull compel him to comply. The mechanical man is a prototype created by McGillicutty Corporation that we discovered and activated on an expedition in the future and is loyal to our cause. Now then, Herr Himmler, I must apologize, but the car must be removed from this place. Major, take care of this mess. I shall need to discuss things with the General that do not concern the rest of you. Dismissed.”
Himmler watched as the Major, a rather attractive negro with oddly red hair took charge, barking orders in German as the gnome was made to extract a black stone from his pocket, and the group used a large door to summon a strange garage where a storage room had been. Himmler signaled a junior officer to assist the travelers from the past.
He directed Cenere to follow him to his office, the general’s adjutant falling in step behind them, a familiar face that caused Cenere to almost lose his composure. The face was a well-known one, an elf universally despised in the future and a traitor to the religion. An elf whose son was a hundred meters away, pushing a wrecked car into a garage-like section of Jin’s mansion.
Cenere pulled a cigar case from his coat and lit one of the fine cigars with Hellfire, offering one of the Cubans to Himmler who took one with a smile and accepted Cenere’s light. Cenere also offered one to the elf, who politely declined before opening the door for his superior officers.
“You will excuse me for saying this, Herr Colonel, but your companions? And yourself? They test my incredulous nature. And yet, this package contains information that only the Fuhrer could have known. And, I recognize his handwriting. So, he has corroborated your story. It just seems odd to me that a group of genetically inferior subhumans would have been sent to handle such an important mission. Things must be very different in the future. After all, the only tieflings in Germany are currently in the camps, alongside the Jews, the goblins, the faggots, the insane, and any other inferiors that need to be cleansed from the world. You even have women in your group, a negro and a gook. So, you can no doubt understand my confusion, Herr Colonel.” Himmler said, pointing at the glasses he wore, “While that glamor of yours is quite powerful, these glasses of mine see right through it. But I suppose needs must, yes?”
Cenere nodded, though internally he seethed with rage. His fingers started to itch, the temptation to flick his wrists for a couple of knives rising by the second. After all, the bastard in front of him insulted his girlfriend, her best friend, and his lineage. But he had to grin and bear it.
He looked at the Colonel to his left, who had his hand on his pistol. Cenere smirked and took a long puff on his cigar, savoring the rich smoke as he leaned forward. “Herr Himmler, things are somewhat different in the future. I understand the need for the German people to purify the world of the filth, and lesser lifeforms. In my case, I must use the tools given me.
“The orc? I use him as my personal body guard. A job he despises, I’m sure, but we have an…understanding. He does as I say, and his daughter and wife get to live. The negro? Similar story, although I will admit she has been...invaluable in the bedroom. The lizard? Compelled by the device in his skull. The dragon? We hold his mate hostage, as well as his hatchlings. The gook? Her compliance is in service to her Emperor, so we can trust her. As for myself, well, the Pope will unfortunately have an accident when we return, and I shall be granted the position to ensure the good people of Nazi Germany are protected by the agreement brought about after the fighting in this war ended.
“I understand that you see me as inferior, as well as the rest of my group, and that’s fine. But we were sent back to serve the Fuhrer’s interests, Herr General. My people may be working under coercion, but trust that we are the very best at what we do. We shall accomplish what we set out to, and I will be damned if I allow genetic purity to cause the Nazi regime to fall in our time.”
“It’s all very irregular. But, according to these orders, you are to depart on a covert mission by submarine to Japan. I am also to send the good Colonel, Herr Beaumont, with you. You are to leave in one week aboard the prototype, der Dreizack. It is a strange one, I’ll admit, painting a submarine yellow, but the U boat has certain enchantments that make it harder to find. Undetectable to the Allies sonar and invisible in less than five meters of water, the ship is also slightly sentient, due to the sheer amount of magics involved. If the ship fulfills this mission, we shall work on mass production. These yellow submarines will be home to their crews, never needing to surface.”
“Can you tell me of their lives, as they sail beneath the sea?” Cenere fought the urge to laugh as he asked the question, and was slightly disappointed as Himmler shrugged.
“You would have to ask a member of the Admiralty. Regardless, we should get you and your…people…out of here with all due haste. If you can disguise your minions, I’d recommend you do so. Gather your people and have them join the Colonel at the motor pool. You shall need to be on your way.”
“My thanks, Herr General. That is a fine stiletto, I might add.”
“Hmm? Oh yes, something I’ve been working on in my free time. My research has gleaned a method by which a Cabal of several individuals can achieve immortality. I don’t suppose you could tell me if it succeeded?”
“Ah, my apologies, Herr General, but I am unable to advise of such things. I certainly couldn’t advise of the Argentinian people’s…willingness to harbor Nazis or those our enemies would find repugnant. I certainly could not direct you as to sites viable for necromantic research, such as one in the Yucatan, located seventy kilometers east of lake Texcoco, within the jungle.”
Himmler smiled. “Ah, yes, it would be terribly convenient if you could have informed me of such. A pity. Farewell on your mission, Herr Gruber, I hope you shall succeed.”
“Goodbye, Herr Himmler. And don’t forget about what we, ahem, didn’t talk about.” He clicked his heels together and saluted. “Heil Hitler.”
“Heil Hitler.”
Cenere turned on his heel and strode out of Himmler’s office with Colonel Beaumont hot on his heels. His fingers itched to pop a few throwing knives and put them where they’d do a lot of good in the Colonel’s organs, in alphabetical order. The Colonel pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Cenere, who shook his head. He then looked around and lit his cigarette with his thumb. “Right. So, how much of that story was utter horseshit?”
Cenere paused, his eye lingering on the green fire that came easily to Beaumont’s call. He looked the elf in the eye and noted how subtly the elf had unsnapped the clasp for his holster in the process. The elf’s hand rested gently on the grip of his pistol, and Cenere’s eye tracked back up to the elf’s withering stare.
Cenere coughed, then gestured towards a space between pillars, and twisted a button on his uniform, causing a small field of silence to form, muffling their words. “How long have you been working as a double-agent?”
Marcel took a long drag on his cigarette, staring the young man in the eye. “Since I ‘defected.’ Pope Sinister III knows. He, in fact, was the one to set me on this mission. These stupid Krauts took my recruitment hook, line and sinker. But, based on how your nostrils and pupils dilated ever so slightly, I can tell that you knew who I was from the get-go. And, as your hands twitched slightly, I could tell you were fighting the urge to attack me. I’m guessing, then, that I’m still viewed as a traitor in your present. Just what year are you from?”
“2012. We won the war, the Nazi’s are essentially destroyed, and we have a Prophecy to fulfil that required we…seriously skirt some commandments from the Dread Lord.” Cenere shook his head in frustration as he motioned for Marcel to follow him. “Might as well introduce you to the group. After all, won’t want to work at cross-purposes here.”
∞∞∞
Carl took a long drag on his cigarette and tried to calm down. This damned place was already getting to him and making his skin crawl. He tugged at his collar, the gray wool itching badly. He looked over at Camilla, who seemed to be fuming about something or other. “Lass, what’s got a bee in your bonnet?”
“Weel, this skirt is chaffing mah soft bits, th' stockings ur nae keeping mah legs as taps aff as ah thought thay wid, 'n' tae tap it a' aff? Mah laddie haes tae be a complete twat 'n' pretend tae be a toe-headed aryan piece o' jobby. Master race mah left tit.”
“Trust me love, I get it. Matter of fact, I’m going to enjoy giving that horny little bastard a training session tonight. I mean, I do owe him for…last night? This whole time travel thing is setting my teeth on edge. I will try and go easy on him, though. Wouldn’t want to end up on the wrong end of that grenade launcher of yours if he can’t, heh, perform tonight.”
Camilla snorted. “Pfft! Lik' i’d let him intae mah knickers efter howfur he talked tae us earlier. He’ll be lucky if he sleeps oan th' flair.”
“Oh, go easy on him, dearie. Much as it pains me to say it, it’s not his fault. He’s just playing a part, after all.” Carl put out his cigarette and reached for the pack and the lighter on the table in the lounge of the Black Mansion. He ran his tongue over his tusks and frowned as he pulled a fresh cigarette out of the pack.
He hadn’t been able to get them removed, as it helped his cover story. He wanted nothing more than to get them removed at an Alterist, but that would have to wait until they got back to the present. While he certainly loved his mum, these bloody things just got in the way all the time. Tristanna hadn’t minded…Carl’s eyes grew a little bleaker as he fought the urge to give in to despair.
His smile became a bit more forced as the merriment in the room evaporated like pure isopropyl alcohol when the door opened and Cenere strode into the room with Himmler’s adjutant. Everything stopped as Cenere took off his hat and deactivated the glamours hiding his true form.
“Well,” Cenere said as he gestured to the group, “here we have the talented and beautiful Camilla Brown, Jin Squallrider the Oracle, and-” Cenere narrowly dodged three hundred and forty pounds of angry orc slamming into the handsome elf and pummeling him viciously with his fists. “And that would be Carl. I see you’ve met.”
Carl clearly recognized the man, although the last time he’d seen the knife-eared bastard up close, he’d been a lot taller than Carl. He would always remember that face, those eyes, that insufferable smirk. It was a face he’d often reached for as a toddler, seeking to be held and tossed in the air. It was now a face he was only vaguely conscious of as he brought his massive fists up and down, blood spattering the front of his borrowed clothes, his eyes the same shade of red as he gave himself over to bloodlust.
It took Zeke, Cenere, and Camilla to finally pull the enraged half-orc off the elf, and a headlock from the metal lizard to finally calm him down enough for Camilla to try and render first aid, stopped by the elf’s strong but gentle grasp around her wrist. He sat up, spitting out broken teeth, and shook his head. “I dunno whay yuh decid’d to bush muy fayce ‘n…” The elf carefully stood up, then pressed his bare hands against his face, channeling the power of Hell to heal his broken face. He spat out the remaining gore and tooth fragments as the color faded from Carl’s eyes. “But if it was because I’m a traitor in your time, the history books are a bit off.”
Marcel reached down, picked up the pack of Black Jacks that had fallen out of Carl’s coat and put one in his mouth. “Everfull? Very nice. Wish I’d been lucky enough to get one of these before I ‘defected,’” Marcel said, making air quotes as he said it, “because the fags these damned Krauts smoke are downright wretched.” Marcel ignited his thumb and lit his smoke. “Mmm…bloody hell, but I missed these!” He handed the pack and lighter back to Carl as he stood up. “So. You clearly have the advantage of me, as I have no bloody idea who you are, and yet you seem to have known me well enough to decide I needed amateur plastic surgery. So, do you have you a name, or shall I call you Greenie?”
Carl stared in shock at the elf smoking one of his cigarettes. The man who had caused Carl to suffer indignities at the hands of his fellow faithful all through his childhood. That had caused him to fight twice as hard as his year mates at Sinisterem just to pass his classes, as his instructors saw his father in him. He’d lived in the shadow of a traitor his entire life, hoping against hope during his formative years that it had all been a mistake, that there had been more to the story. But he’d outgrown his childish idealism the last time he’d gotten beaten to a pulp by his fellows and decided to simply go by his middle name.
He grew into that name and became feared as a brutal, capable combatant. He’d become, generally speaking, the most respected Cardinal in the College despite being the son of a traitor. And here, standing before him, was the evidence that he’d been right the entire. Fucking. Time. He stood up, straightened his uniform, and took off his right glove before saluting. “Cardinal Marcel Carlos Beaumont Junior, Grand Inquisitor of Greed and Sloth.”
Marcel’s face paled as his mouth fell open in shock. The massive, battle scarred, frighteningly capable half-orc in front of him was his son? He stepped forward cautiously, and reached his hand out tentatively, his fingers tracing a very familiar jaw line, the cheekbones and nose suddenly easy to place; the scary man in front of him looked similar to his dear sweet wife in England. “�
��Junior? No…oh, Lucifer’s teeth, no! When did-”
“Would have been a little over three years now, at this point. And, surprise surprise, Nanna Beaumont put me in an orphanage. Couldn’t bear the idea of raising the half-breed brat of a traitor. So, yeah, got disowned by the family after she died. Mum’s side? Didn’t want a dishonored brat around either. Only relation that wanted to have anything to do with me growing up was Mum’s kid sister, and she couldn’t do anything for me. She could barely feed her own kid, me cousin Dirge. So, as you can imagine, life wasn’t easy, Dad. And trust me, it only got worse for me when I did get sent to that bloody orphanage.
“You have any idea how many of those bloody twats decided to throw me a boot party when I was trying to sleep? And then, I had to grow up in the Inquisition, in your great sodding shadow, you sodding prick. Mum died thinking you were a damned traitor and she was the lucky one! Caught a big one to the face during the Blitz while the Krauts were bombing London flat. So, I sure hope that whatever you’re here for is that bloody important. Because a man leaving his family? That’s low. So very…low…fuck.”
Carl’s eyes flowed with tears as he snarled, then fled the lounge for the training room and the sound of destruction quickly followed.
Marcel started to head for the room, and Cenere grabbed his arm, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t. Trust me, he’s in a mood.”
Marcel looked at the young tiefling, then back at the room.
“He’s had to spend the last seventy some odd years thinking his father was a traitor. Then, on a mission he did not want, he comes face to face with the man that caused his life to be a living Hell only a month after…after the two people in his life that made everything worthwhile were taken from him.”
Marcel’s face contorted in confusion, then it clicked. It clicked as to just why Carl lost it. “His…”
“Wife and daughter,” Krang said as he stood from the table. Cenere gestured for him to stop and Krang rolled his eyes, gave the tiefling the finger, and continued. “For three whole days, a Demon Prince with a particular mad-on for Carl recorded his wife and daughter as they were tortured, gangraped, tortured some more, and finally beheaded with a serrated knife. The bitch made the two of them watch. She MADE THEM WATCH!” Krang screamed the last part, the glass of rubbing alcohol in his hand shattering from the vibrations. “His thirteen-year-old daughter and his wife were destroyed because of something he did now, not when he was an adult. He did end up getting her in the end, though. He’s got the Baneflame, as he called it, and utterly ended her with it. And the reason she was able to get his wife and daughter in the first place? He was away on this mission, a mission to save the whole stupid universe.”
