Graduation Under Fire: Part One

Originally posted on Tales of the Parodyverse.

Characters in this story are owned either by myself, or other posters on
the Board.

Nighttime.

The jungle clearing was illuminated by the full moon. The bulk of the clearing was occupied by a truncated stone pyramid, clad with vines and the neglect of years. The moonlight and shadows combined to give the scene a sinister aspect, although there was no guarantee that the pyramid would look better in sunlight. Some things are better left in the shadows.

A stone staircase was incorporated into the southern face, although it seemed not so much built into the pyramid as scarring it. Flanking the stairs were ruined statues, so badly mauled by time and decay that the original subjects, perhaps mercifully, were no longer clear. The stairs led up to a small plateau, the centre of which crouched a crude altar, stained dark with the blood of uncounted victims.

In the depths of the jungle, the temple brooded, waiting for its next victim.

Nubil. A port on a river deep in the heart of Africa. It was not much of a port. It only existed because it was the last practical landing point on the river before it became too shallow to navigate. If the coastal ports had gone to seed, then this one was fast rotting into compost. The whole area had the feel of a town that had not so much decayed, as been built from decay. Not far beyond the port, the river weaved its way into the jungle.

The war that was raging across the world had ignored Nubil. It had no strategic value; no commercial value and was about as appealing as a foetid swamp.

The gossip in the town, in as far as the surly inhabitants ever gossiped, concerned the two groups of strangers that had appeared.

The first strangers were an English gentleman and his Lady. They turned up out of the blue and occupied themselves by wandering round the town, poking their noses into all sorts of odd places and asking all sorts of odd questions. They were obviously rich, and would normally have been mugged, robbed and (in the case of the woman) sold off very shortly after their arrival.

Except that they seemed rather hard to mug. The few bravos that had tried had been disarmed by the man in the twinkling of an eye, and then subjected to a rather humiliating scolding from the woman. It didn't help that the woman didn't speak the local language.

The second strangers were not the sort you even considered mugging. They were a platoon of German soldiers, led by a Captain who could have posed for the true Aryan ideal, were it not for a livid scar across his face. They were escorting a thin, twisted German with a perpetual sneer (who would have been described as a scholar if the locals could have understood the term) and six young females - fairly local from their skin colour - chained in a line.

The twisted German also poked his nose around and asked odd questions. These questions the locals understood, and were particularly nervous about answering them.

In such a place it was quite evident who the strangers were, and they kept their distance with an uneasy grace.

Evening.

Dusk came late in this part of the world, and the shabbiness of the streets was only slowly being hidden by the gathering gloom.

The English couple were in their rooms - a shabby shack, grudgingly rented by a sour-faced landlady - when the gunfire started. The man was first out of the building, leaping athletically through the window (if a rotting-framed, glassless hole can be dignified with such a term). His companion left in a more conventional manner through the door.

They were in time to see two women run past, one old Caucasian, one dark-skinned and apparently in her late teens, both clad in robes that might have been white once, but now reflected the general state of the town. The women were being pursued by a trio of German soldiers, who were alternation between running and firing wildly at their prey.

As they passed an alley, the older of the two women ducked into the passageway, leaving the younger one to continue her run up the street. Two of their pursuers followed her into the alley, the other following the young girl up the street.

Silently, the Englishman looked at his companion and pointed to the fleeing girl. She nodded, and started running up the road after them. The Englishman followed the other soldiers into the alleyway.

The alleyway opened up into a maze of streets, all narrow and littered with the remains of crates and other port debris. This was obviously the slum area of the slum-like town - doorways opened into the street, dark portals blocked off with doors rough-hewn from whatever materials were available. The Englishman quickly picked his way through the streets, trying not to lose his quarry, and yet trying not to get too close. Odds of two against one were definitely not sporting, and he hoped to reduce them a little before he was seen. The occasional attempted shot helped keep him oriented.

His hopes were dashed. The fleeing woman had finally taken a wrong turn, and run down a cul-de-sac. With nowhere to run, she was a simple target. The guns spoke again. Briefly.

The Englishman concealed himself in one of the doorways as the Germans made their way back. The two soldiers passed him without seeing him - too intent on their own conversation to notice him. One of them laughed at his compatriot's comments. Evidently the chase and the slaughter had amused them.

The Englishman crept into the cul-de-sac and examined at the bullet-ridden corpse. Gently, he turned it over and looked at its face.

"Damn!" He said, sadly.

The other chase was much shorter. The third soldier seemed disinclined to shoot at the fleeing girl, and as a result was able to run much faster. His target, obviously familiar with the area, managed to weave her way through the streets with some skill. However, the soldier still managed to catch up with her, and brought her down by the simple method of swinging his rifle butt at her legs like a club. This brought her to a stop, but he overran by a couple of paces.

This gave the Englishwoman a chance to catch up. She interposed herself between the soldier and his victim and drew in a breath, preparing to bluff things out.

The soldier levelled his MKb42. The woman sighed and raised her hands.

The Germans had set up shop by the rather direct method of locating the best and largest house (the term being used advisedly) and commandeering it. The rooms were bigger and slightly better built than those the English couple had used, but the general theme of shabby and run-down still held.

Not, reflected Captain Fleischer, that Dr Kleinverstand took much notice of such things. The twisted little scholar spent most of his time buried in a book, muttering, or trying to enlighten him as to the "importance" of their mission. Not that he (Captain Fleischer) felt that the mission was all that important.

"So, you see, although the expeditions to Tibet and the other places were not exactly successes, in that they did not locate Hypoboria and its capital..."

"Ultima Thule." interjected the Captain, who had endured variations of this lecture for most of the journey.

"Indeed. Ultima Thule. The city built by the true Aryan Race from the star of Aldebaran, whom we..." - Dr Kleinverstand waved his arm in a manner to indicate those Germans in the room - "...are the descendants. No Hypoborea, but the documents discovered in Neuschwabenland..." - here, he tapped the scrolls laid out on the table - "...tell of an ancient temple dedicated to the race from the stars, and the way to summon them."

"And all it will cost is the sacrifice of a maiden." commented the Captain, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"Yes." agreed Dr Kleinverstand, completely missing the sarcasm. "The life of one or two of the Lesser Races is a small price to pay."

The exposition was cut short as the door was banged open, and three soldiers marched in, escorting the Englishwoman and the young girl.

"Ah." sighed the Doctor. "Our missing girl. And a visitor."

"Captain! I would like to know just what you think your men are doing, interfering with my maid like this!", snapped the Englishwoman in very passable German.

"Your 'maid', madam, is one of our...group, who was abducted by some strange woman was reported by my guards this afternoon." started the Doctor. "I would like to know..."

"...When the flower of the German Army is going to learn to count." interrupted the Captain. "Six girls we started with, six girls we still have. I checked."

"Sir, we saw them outside the building, and they ran off when challenged." objected one of the soldiers. When he realised -by the glare - that his commanding officer was obviously not in the mood for explanations, he shut up again.

"The locks were secure, the girls were chained up. There was no escape." declared the Captain. "Dismissed."

The soldiers left the room. He turned his attention to the Englishwoman and her "maid".

"Regrettably, we are here on... important... business, vital to the Reich.", he told them. "The Doctor has to concentrate on his studies, and I have to concentrate on the security of the mission. We have reports that the Allies have sent a Special Agent into the area to disrupt our work. I am drafting you in to take care of our...women."

The Englishwoman opened her mouth to protest.

"It is that, or have you shot as a spy."

She subsided.

At the table, the Doctor smiled. "A fine idea, Captain." he said, his mind clearly on his maps. "We start tomorrow."

The Captain leaned towards the Englishwoman. She backed away slightly from the scarred face.

"She is not your maid," he whispered, "and it is clear that you are not alone."

"He will come for me." whispered the Englishwoman defiantly.

"Yes." he said quietly. "For one such as you, there is always a 'He'. And I am counting on it."

He straightened up.

"And what is your name, Madam?" he asked, in more normal tones.

"Canterbury." she said. "Miss Marjorie Canterbury"

Footnotes:

Most of the "factual" background for this piece comes from this article on Nazi Mysticism.