by Barry Reese
GÖTTERDÄMMERUNG
by Barry Reese
Published by Pro Se Press
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this publication are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part or whole of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.
Copyright © 2016 Barry Reese
All rights reserved.
Contents
Foreword by Will Meugniot
Chapter I
Broken Men, Broken Dreams
Chapter II
Sovereign
Chapter III
Shoveling Dirt
Chapter IV
The Gates of Valhalla
Chapter V
The Unnervum
Chapter VI
You Are Cordially Invited To Meet Mr. Death
Chapter VII
Gathering of Forces
Chapter VIII
The Spreading Darkness
Chapter IX
Inside the OFP
Chapter X
Mr. Death Comes Calling
Chapter XI
Lazarus Gray Goes to Washington
Chapter XII
The Thousand Year Reich
Chapter XIII
The Death of The Peregrine
Chapter XIV
Hy-Brasil
Chapter XV
Terror Takes Flight
Chapter XVI
All My Yesterdays
Chapter XVII
Endings and Beginnings
About the Author
Foreword
—
Per the online dictionary, Götterdämmerung (göt·ter·däm·mer·ung) means: A turbulent ending of a regime or an institution, and you’d better believe ace new pulp fictioneer Barry Reese fully delivers on the promise of that title in this, the latest installment of his Sovereign City Saga.
For those of you stepping into Sovereign City for the first time, be prepared for a thrilling, if worrisome, visit to a town which teeters precariously on the edge of evil, and is in danger of falling into the dark abyss at any moment, were it not for the efforts of Laurus Gray and his superhuman associates.
As described by Reese: “There was an ambience to Sovereign City that spoke of lost idealism and tarnished dreams. It seeped into the bones and souls of the people who called the city home, leading many into lives of degradation and crime.”
The city itself is a major character in all the stories set within its borders. The descriptive passages concerning its haunted ambience make it seem alive with horrors both large and small. Its streets reek with an indescribable funk which the city’s inhabitants try to ignore with little success. But lately even the smell of Sovereign is even worse and the atmosphere has become so oppressive that there has been a sudden wave of suicides.
It’s 1938 as Götterdämmerung begins, and a newly married but weakened Lazarus Gray returns to the troubled metropolis, only to find it in greater danger than ever before. He senses the sudden increase of suicides is the harbinger of a coming encompassing terror. His fellow heroes The Gravedigger, The Perigrine and Gray’s own Assistance Unlimited crew are aware of the rising tide of evil, too. For the first time all are compelled to work as an uber-team against the machinations of evil whose seeds were sown a year before in Nazi Germany.
There, in an attempt to curry Adolf Hitler’s favor, Heinrich Himmler created the Occult Forces Project, aimed at creating a Nazi army of superhumans gifted with supernatural powers. And he, to his future regret, has succeeded. Creatures with vile powers now work with the German empire, but only insofar as it serves their own goal of the ultimate domination and destruction of mankind, including Herr Hitler and his mad Reich.
Reese deftly weaves a complex tale featuring not only the heroes and villains of his own creation, but his fresh new takes on classic characters like the Black Bat, Heap, and Black Terror, as well as the historical figures who become major players in this alternate history. And Götterdämmerung, the sudden turbulent fall, is an appropriate description of what happens to every group of heroes, villains and demons involved in the story. Including an ending which shakes the Sovereign City universe to its very foundation.
This is the epic hero crossover you wish the editors at Street and Smith and Standard would have granted their readers back in the heyday of the pulps.
Will Meugniot
2015
CHAPTER I
Broken Men, Broken Dreams
Spring, 1937
Heinrich Himmler was nervous. He sat perfectly still, barely touching his food, as the Füehrer ate in front of him. They were sitting outside on a patio, enjoying a sunny day at Hitler’s mountain home, The Berghof, and Himmler found himself unable to appreciate the lovely view the site provided.
“You aren’t hungry?” the Austrian asked, gesturing at Himmler’s plate with a fork. “Herr Kannenberg will be insulted.”
“Your chef’s culinary skills are second to none, Mein Füehrer.” Himmler reached up and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Alas, I had a large breakfast.”
Hitler nodded and finished his own meal. A vegetarian, Hitler was quite exacting about the quality of his food and the Bavarian chef was rightfully renowned for the savory and rich creations he produced.
When he was done, Hitler dabbed at the corners of his mouth and set his napkin on the table. Immediately, servants appeared and carried away the plates. “I want to talk to you about The Ahnenerbe.”
Himmler nodded, having known that this moment was coming. The Ahnenerbe had been founded in 1935 by Himmler, Herman Wirth, and Richard Walther Darre, with the express purpose of providing new evidence of the accomplishments and merits of their Germanic ancestors. To that purpose, they had chosen the name Ahnenerbe, which meant “Inheritance of the Forefathers.” To the public, they went by the rather ostentatious name of Forschungs und Lehrgemeinschaft das Ahnenerbe e.V., which translated in English as “The Research and Teaching Community of the Ancestral Heritage, registered society.” It was all a bit showy, even for Himmler, who believed in its purpose with all his black heart.
“What would you like to know, Mein Füehrer?” he asked, hoping his voice betrayed no concern.
“The group has grown by leaps and bounds,” Hitler pointed out, leaning forward and staring at Himmler with the intensity that so spellbound his followers. “And I have approved of this at every stage. When you asked for 300,000 Reichsmark to build that headquarters in the Dahlem neighborhood of Berlin, did I balk? No! And when you started opening all those departments of research, I nodded and said, ‘Good, Good.’ Isn’t this so?”
“You have always been very supportive,” Himmler confirmed.
“And all of the expeditions related to the group—all approved and very good. But now I learn of something called… the Geheimnisvolles Kraft-Projekt? It seems very expensive and I know nothing of it!” Hitler’s eyes blazed now and he reached across the table to tap it with a forefinger. “You do not keep secrets from me, Heinrich. Ever.”
“I did not mean to do so,” Himmler stammered, feeling sweat on his upper lip. “The Occult Forces Project is something quite radical and I wanted to have several successes before I unveiled it to you. I only wanted to please you.”
“Successes,” Hitler repeated. “Like Strauss and Raeder?”
Himmler failed to hide his surprise and Hitler suddenly smiled.
“Yes, I know of them. I know everything you’ve been doing. Nothing esca
pes my attention.” Hitler stared hard at him, that smile still on his lips. “And I am pleased!”
Himmler relaxed, letting loose a breath that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “You are?”
“Of course! A new breed of German soldier to combat the likes of Leonid Kaslov, The Peregrine and Lazarus Gray? It is much needed! Those degenerates are capable of seizing the public’s mind and we need to answer it and show our superiority. I have already spoken to Goebbels and he will ensure that the press covers them to the fullest.” Hitler paused and added, “But they need names that speak to the people.”
Himmler thought it over and replied, “They have codenames we use for their files. Strauss is known as Geist and Raeder is The Silver Wolf.”
“Good, good. All future creations will have the same sort of thing. Understood?”
“Of course, Mein Füehrer!”
“And we have more of these soldiers on the way?”
“Many more! And not just soldiers… We have plans for things that could be much, much bigger. We are looking into the very forces of creation itself!” Himmler felt emboldened and added, “From a public relations standpoint, we may even have something in the works that Goebbels could work his magic on.”
“Go on.”
“You’re familiar with the story of Baron Eric Von Emmelmann?” Seeing the Füehrer’s nod, Himmler said, “He was a great German hero before his plane was shot down over a Polish swamp in 1918. Amazingly, he has somehow survived, though in greatly altered form. Through sheer force of will, he clung to the smallest shred of life, even as his body decayed and melded with the vegetation around him. His body is now a heap of plant-life and human flesh but there is an intelligence in those alien eyes!” Himmler sighed. “Unfortunately, he escaped his holding cell and is now somewhere loose in the countryside but he will soon be back in our grasp. His survival is proof of the strength of German will!”
Hitler stood up and moved to stand beside Himmler, who quickly rose as well. “You have done good things, Heinrich. Germany needs more men like you.”
“Thank you, Mein Füehrer!”
“Now, let us go down to the car and drive back to Berlin. I wish to see your new creations up close.” He placed a hand on Himmler’s arm and added, “I think great things lie ahead with your OFP. Our enemies will learn to fear them soon enough, eh?”
“That they will,” Himmler agreed, now feeling much more confident. He had been worried that Hitler would balk at the tremendous costs involved with the OFP but he realized he should have known better. When it came to ensuring German superiority, the Füehrer would stop at nothing.
The Occult Forces Project was going to soon change not just Germany and The Reich… but the entire world. Himmler had every confidence in that.
* * *
1938
Atlanta, Georgia
It pulsed like an angry scar on his finger and Max Davies found his eyes drifting down to it again and again. A few weeks ago, he’d found himself in battle with an agent of dark gods; a man known as Nyarlathotep. Their combat had ended with the villain’s defeat but it had come at a terrible price: the demonic entity had uttered foul words before he’d met his end at Max’s hands.
“I curse you and your line, Mr. Davies. You shall know only madness and despair.”
Those words kept echoing in Max’s head. Adorning the pinky finger of his right hand was a ring, one whose stone was all that remained of Nyarlathotep’s black heart. It was constantly warm and, as Max had discovered to his mutual disgust and amusement, it burned the flesh of those with evil souls.
Max had used it on three men so far, branding their foreheads with the mark of a bird in flight. They would be disfigured forevermore, known to one and all as evil men who had crossed the path of The Peregrine.
Melodramatic? Perhaps. Especially when coupled with the words that Max had decided to recite whenever he used the ring—When the good is swallowed by the dark, there The Peregrine will plant his mark!
He’d been attracted to the strange and the bizarre long before he’d crossed paths with Nyarlathotep, but since then it had gotten much, much worse. Now it seemed like scarcely a week went by when he didn’t find himself fighting mummies, vampires or demonic sorcerers. Hell, he’d spent last night pouring over rumors in the mystic community about a ghost island called Hy-Brasil, which was set to return to the physical plane in the next year or so.
Shaking his head, Max couldn’t help but wonder if his life would ever bear any semblance to “normal.” He had been lucky enough to find a woman who was not only willing to marry him with clear knowledge of the weirdness that constantly plagued him but who was also brave enough to start a family with him.
He swore to try and make sure she’d never regret that decision.
Shaking off his reverie, he focused on the task at hand. He was crouched low in the rafters of an abandoned warehouse in downtown Atlanta. His knees ached from the position that he’d held for the last half hour. Down below, two groups of men were meeting—one representing the Declare Family, prominent figures in the Southeast underworld, the other set were representatives of the Italian mobs from up North. The Declares had been hit with hard times as of late, mostly because of The Peregrine’s impact on organized crime. As such, they’d done something that only a few years ago would have seemed absurd—they’d reached out to the mob, offering a share of their profits in exchange for help in dealing with their “bird problem.”
From the moment that The Peregrine had learned of this meeting, he’d planned to bust it up and bring all these men to justice, but out of curiosity, he’d held off in hopes of learning something useful. Unfortunately, to this point it had all been the usual posturing and preening as the men had tried to look powerful in front of one another. He was just about to jump down and start the festivities when one of the Italians—Vinnie, Max remembered—said something that gave him reason to pause.
“Now, I think we’re all in agreement about financial matters but I imagine that you boys are curious about how we’re going to deal with dis Peregrine fella. Am I right or am I right?”
Jackson Declare, who was pushing seventy and weighed close to three hundred pounds, leaned across the table and smiled. “You’re right. This ain’t no typical guy. I’ve personally seen The Peregrine take on a dozen men in a firefight and walk away unscathed, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for the poor fools he was taking on.”
Vinnie nodded, reaching into his expensive coat and producing a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Declare, who politely declined. After lighting up, Vinnie said, “Atlanta’s not the only place dealing with masked vigilantes, you know? It’s like some sort of plague, spreading from coast to coast. But in other towns, people have had some success. So I called in a few favors and got a mask killer to come down. He killed The Red Flame out in Kansas City, Miss Mystery in Chicago and even Mysterioso in Brooklyn.”
“He killed a dame?” Declare asked, shock in his voice.
“Raped her first but yeah. He’s not somebody you mess around with.”
Declare’s face wrinkled in disgust. It was obvious that he didn’t think much of men who abused women. Max found that commendable but it didn’t excuse the multitude of crimes he’d been involved in. “And where is this mask killer of yours?”
“Right here.”
All heads, including The Peregrine’s, turned towards a shadowy corner. A figure emerged and Max had to admit that he was impressed. He’d had no idea that this silent observer had been present.
The man wore a black suit and tie. His skin was swarthy and he had a handlebar moustache. The attire and facial grooming made him look like an Old West villain. This impression was enhanced by the fact that he wore a pistol holstered around his right thigh and another at his waist. There was a series of scars around one of his eyes that made Max think that someone—a woman, most likely—had scratched him badly at some point.
Declare was on his feet now and his men ha
d drawn their weapons. The atmosphere was suddenly very tense.
“No need for that,” the hero killer said. “My name’s Nimrod.”
“What the hell kind of name is that?”
“It’s Biblical,” Nimrod answered. “Grandson of Noah. A mighty hunter and man of power.” Shrugging, he added, “It’s a good book. You ought to read it sometime.”
“I go to Sunday School,” Declare snapped. He gestured for his men to relax and he looked Nimrod up and down, critically examining him. “You really think you can deal with The Peregrine? He’s not some amateur like you’re probably used to.”
“He’s a man, isn’t he? That means he bleeds and he can die… and I have a lot of experience killing.”
“He’s not some skirt, though,” Declare continued. “So if you’re used to manhandling dames, you’ll find him tougher than that.”
The Peregrine smiled softly. He was beginning to like Declare despite himself.
Nimrod chuckled. “I’m good at what I do. I’ve been here for hours—hours before you folks even arrived, in fact. I figured I should stake it out just in case.”
The Peregrine tensed. He didn’t like the sound of that.
Nimrod continued, “And do you know what I saw? A little birdy came and perched up in the rooftop. I’m sure he’s had a nice view.”
“What are you talking…?” Declare’s voice trailed off as the meaning became clear. He looked up suddenly, urging his men to do the same. The Peregrine cursed under his breath as one of the goons spotted him at last.
In seconds, numerous weapons covered him. If they’d chosen to open fire at that point, he probably would have been a dead man.
Luckily for him, Nimrod stepped forward and said, “How about I earn my keep right now and kill him right in front of you?”
The Peregrine took that as his cue to go into action. He pushed off from the rafters and performed the kind of acrobatic flip that would have wowed an Olympic judge. He landed in a crouch and then stood up, unable to hide the smile on his face. He couldn’t help it. Sometimes, even in the face of death, he found himself enjoying his work.
