The Ardennes
December 1944
It had been a very long year. After my return to duty, once I'd come back to Terra Magica's war rather than Earth's in January 1944, I had been assigned to the committee helping plan Operation Overlord, while my former deputy in the London Defence Force, James Blake, continued to run the capital's magical defences. The planning had gone as well as can be expected, and we had managed to fool the enemy into expecting the attack to come from the Pas de Calais and Norway, rather than our actual objective. However, the invasion of Normandy itself, at the beginning of June, certainly hadn't been a picnic.
I had been active in the first wave onto the beaches, helping with transport as well as defending the invaders from the German guns, and had been in Europe ever since, moving forward with the Allied advance. Come December 20th I was in command of a squad of about fifty predominantly non-magical troops who were pushing through the Ardennes in an attempt to get a good location on Kampfgruppe Peiper, a subset of the 1st Waffen-SS Cavalry Division. It had undertaken multiple massacres of British service personnel over the course of the previous few days, and I had been sent to hunt it down.
It was late in the afternoon and freezing cold, with the promise of sleet to come overnight. I had been magically scanning all day, trying to pin down our objective, while the scouts had been out looking for physical traces of our quarry's passing. After lunch, we had found physical signs that the group was active in the area, although my scouts seemed uncertain how new the tracks were, given the frozen ground. But my magical searches had come up blank, as if the enemy was being shielded against my far sensing. It was frustrating to say the least - during the war I had become accustomed to being able to break through most protections of this kind, but if Kampfgruppe Peiper was being magically shielded and I couldn't find it, whoever was doing it was almost inhumanly good. Hiding a cavalry group is far from easy, especially from someone like me.
"It'll be dark soon, sir," said my 2iC, Captain Stephen West, after we had been following the physical trail for the best part of an hour, "we could probably carry on, but..."
"But it's been a long day, the men are tired and we don't want to walk into these bastards in the dark," I supplied, and he gave a weak smile.
"Yes sir."
"Agreed. Let's find a spot to hole up overnight, and we can continue in the morning."
He saluted, and then turned to give the orders. We had been travelling in rough ground near to the border of a wooded area which, while not thick with trees, was at least better than open ground, so we moved into the cover of the woodland to make camp. We posted sentries and I warded the area, and then we set about trying to make ourselves as comfortable as possible as the winter darkness fell. Fires were out, of course - in case our quarry caught wind of them - but the other mage in the unit, a young lieutenant named Sam O'Brien, managed to save us from a cold dinner by judicious use of heat spells.
I was nursing a mug of hot tea, when we heard horses. Lots of horses. Our own group was on foot, the reasoning behind HQ's decision, which I didn't entirely agree with but hadn't been in a position to argue against, being that we would be able to move more quietly that way, and that if we needed to cover long distances, I would be able to do it magically, using far sensing and teleports. Up until now it had worked well, but as I heard the horses, I realised that our luck was about to run out. The sentries sounded the alert, and we were quickly at battle readiness. Not a moment too soon. A huge fireball landed far too close to the camp moments later, temporarily blinding against the darkness. Thankfully my wards held, but I could feel that they had been weakened. The blast had been a big one. Almost as big as some of the stuff I could throw around, which gave me further cause for concern, given the problems I'd had finding our quarry up until now.
We moved away from the campsite, but then a second explosion of almost equal size to the first hit the area again, and some of the men were knocked to the ground. Whoever he was, he was bloody good. My worry was that, unlikely as I would normally consider it to be, he was better than I was. We scattered and moved, trying to keep to the trees to reduce the enemy's advantage from being mounted, and a few minutes later, battle was joined.
I gave the order to aim for the horses as well as the men, to try to cause as much confusion among the enemy ranks as I could, as well as cut down on their options. It seemed to be working at first, too, and as West and I gave our orders, and passed among our troops, the enemy began to fall back. Should I order an advance out of the cover of the trees to engage them further? Or should we back off to fight another day? In the end, I didn't have the opportunity to make the decision. Suddenly, a magical barrage was raining down on us, and it was all I could do to try to defend myself and those close to me: sending my own magical artillery wasn't an option, as to deliver it I would have needed to divert my concentration from keeping myself and my men alive. Off to my side I could see O'Brien trying to do similarly, but the attackers were sending magical artillery at us more quickly than we could defend, and I realised it was only a matter of time.
Reluctantly, I ordered a retreat deeper into the trees, in the hope that we would be harder to reach, but it didn't seem to make a difference. At a distance, I heard the enemy commander order a charge, and his group started moving at us at speed. I thought he was insane, but as I watched in horrified fascination I got my first real look at just how good Kampfgruppe Peiper were. To the lowest private, they were excellent cavalry soldiers - an art I'd thought lost - and excellent riders. I threw up a shield to try to block them from following us, but they hit it with such force that while the vanguard was thrown back, the shield itself shattered under the impact. I urged my men into the trees, hanging back to try to protect them as best I could, but I knew that realistically, it was only a matter of time. Those of our attackers who made it into the forest knew exactly what they were doing.
That's when I realised the trap we had fallen into. We had been led here and it was obvious from the way they moved that they knew the territory. We needed to band together in the hope that we could defend each other - form the modern equivalent of Square I suppose, something I hadn't done for a good 100 years. But the realisation came to me too late. As I was calling to the bugler, a couple of bullets hit me and knocked me to the ground. And then the enemy mage unleashed a massive stun burst hit above me, and I was knocked senseless.
* * * * *
When I awoke, my head was throbbing, my ribs felt bruised from where the bullets had bounced off my shield, and my hands had been bound behind my back. I gingerly opened my eyes to see other figures lying prone on the dirt floor around me. We had been gathered together in a single location, maybe an old a barn, and I could see the boots of enemy soldiers surrounding us. I struggled to a sitting position, and began to take stock. The building was half ruined, and the roof was mostly gone, affording little shelter from the cold. What little light there was came from fires outside the building, their glow coming through the broken walls. I guessed about half of my men were in the circle with me, all with bound hands, and we were guarded by seven or eight heavily armed Waffen-SS soldiers. Nearby I recognised O'Brien, who seemed drugged, but I couldn't see West. Had he escaped or died in the attack?
I felt myself being pulled to my feet by the collar, before my arms were pinned behind my back, and I found myself looking into the face of a man who looked to be about thirty. He wore the insignia of an Obersturmbannführer in the Waffen-SS, and almost inevitably had the shoulder flash of a mage. A cavalry sabre hung in a scabbard at his waste - to be drawn left handed, I noticed. In his right hand a revolver was pointed directly at me. In the glow from the firelight his hair seemed darker than I would have expected, although his features were suitably Germanic. What disturbed me more was the impression I had of green eyes, which rather illogically reminded me of my own. Behind him stood three other officers, all also wearing mage flashes. No wonder we had been so outgunned.
"Colonel Robert de Lacy, I presume," he said, in heavily accented English, and I tried not to show my surprise at the accuracy of his identification.
"Obersturmbannführer Peiper," I answered, knowing it couldn't be anyone else.
"I had heard you were the one on my tail," he commented, "although I had expected cavalry, not infantry. Curious that your High Command should send you after me so under prepared."
I looked at him, but said nothing.
"No matter. It made the inevitable easier in the end."
He signalled to one side, and one of his men came over, a cup in his hand.
"You will drink," Peiper demanded.
"And if I don't?"
"I will shoot you somewhere non-fatal," he said, pleasantly, "and then we will force it down your throat."
"Given your reputation, I suspect you're going to kill me, so why don't you just go ahead."
"Not today. I have my orders. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."
"Oh, I'm unlikely ever to let a stinking Nazi do anything the easy way," I answered, to which his response was to pistol-whip me in the face. It hurt like Hell and he obviously enjoyed doing it. I tried to struggle, attempting to bring some kind of offensive spell to mind, but whoever was holding me was strong, and the after effects of the stun blast were affecting my ability to concentrate. Then I felt my head being pulled back by the hair, my mouth was forced open, and the liquid was poured down my throat. I tried to spit it back out again, but I was made to swallow. Within a couple of minutes, I could feel my co-ordination going.
"What...?" I managed to ask.
"A draught for neutralising mages," came the response, "we wouldn't want you running away before we're done with you. Good night, Herr Colonel. We will speak further in the morning."
And then I felt a crack on the back of the head and fell senseless once more.
* * * * *
When I came around again, my guess was that it was about nine in the morning. I was chilled to the bone from a night of lying on the frozen dirt floor, my head hurt like Hell, and when I tried to concentrate on bringing up even the smallest of spells, I couldn't do it. I also realised my shields had deteriorated at some point during the course of the night. Whatever the drug they had used had been, it was obviously still in my system.
"Good morning, Herr Colonel," Peiper said, pleasantly. He was flanked by another officer wearing the insignia of a Sturmbannführer, again, complete with sabre, although at least this one didn't have an obvious mage flash. The latter was tall, about 6'1", blond and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. The perfect Aryan specimen. Looking from one to the other, my artist's eye noted the resemblance between them. Brothers maybe? Cousins? Behind them, Peiper's men filed in, and started forcing my own people to their feet and taking them out of the ruined building.
"What's happening?" I demanded.
"Retribution," he replied, and indicated to his companion. The Sturmbannführer crossed to me, grabbed my arm and dragged me out. By the time I was outside, my men had been lined up against the wall and I knew with a terrible certainty what was going to happen.
"You can't do this," I protested, staring him in the face, but he merely laughed.
"Of course I can," he answered, coldly.
Then, to my surprise, rather than being taken over to join them, my minder pulled me off to one side, and I could feel the cold barrel of a gun being placed against the base of my skull. I was forced to watch as the enemy soldiers took up firing positions, and I could see the expressions on the faces of my men: some afraid, some defiant. I hope my own was defiant, as I faced death with them, although inside I have to admit that I felt sick and helpless, especially the latter.
Peiper gave the order to fire himself.
"Macht alle kaputt!"
And I flinched as the shots rang out, expecting my own death in the same second. However, once the firing had stopped, I was rather surprised to discover I was still alive.
"You bloody bastard..." I shouted, struggling with anger, until my arms were viciously pulled backwards by my minder. I managed to turn my head far enough to spit in his face, and received another pistol-whipping as a punishment.
"Silence, de Lacy," Peiper ordered, and commanded his men to check the bodies. The man holding me then made me continue to watch as any and all of the men who had survived the initial firing squad - I noticed young O'Brien among them - were executed with a bullet to the head. And as I watched the cold-blooded slaughter, my anger overwhelmed me and I saw red. This time, when I struggled, I managed to break free through strength born of fury, and I charged at Peiper. My head connected with his chest with a satisfying thud, and he went down, but before I could press my advantage, a rain of rifle butts was falling on me, and I was forced to my knees. Then the Sturmbannführer was beside me, pulling my head back once more to expose my throat, and his regimental dagger was pressing into my flesh.
"No, König," Peiper commanded, in German, obviously not realising that I spoke the language, "our orders are to keep him alive until the general gets here."
Who the Hell was the general?
Sturmbannführer König removed the knife and then kicked me hard so that I fell back to the ground, looking up with hatred at my captors as they stared back down at me. At least I had the satisfaction of seeing that Peiper was standing slightly cautiously. Maybe I had managed to crack a rib in my assault.
"It would be wiser to kill him now, Herr Obersturmbannführer," König said to his commander.
"Yes, it would, but we have no choice," came the answer and he looked at me once more, "our orders are to keep him alive. Still, the general will be here soon, so hopefully his continued existence will be dealt with soon enough. Put him back in the building and keep a guard on him at all times."
A salute, and I was dragged back upright.
"Oh, and I won't take your insult personally, de Lacy," he added, his face close to mine, "I am, indeed, a bastard, and I learned to live with that a long time ago."
"No racial purity certificate back to 1820?" I said, meeting his gaze defiantly.
"I merely said that my parents weren't married...not that their identities weren't known," he said, with a half smile, as if amused by a private joke, then added, "not that I expect my father remembers my mother, given his reputation as a man who sleeps with anything in a skirt."
As he spoke, I realised his description covered myself, as well as whoever his racially pure father was, and decided there wasn't much I could say. Then the thought slowly dawned on me that given he had been demonstrating abilities similar to my own, could he actually be talking about me? The possibility disturbed me mightily.
The silence which fell was deafening, and seemed to stretch for an eternity. However, eventually the soldiers began to move again, and I was returned to the building, to await whoever the general was. I was propped up against one of the remaining walls, given a little water - doctored with the drug again - and then settled into a half stupor to wait. A short while later, my uncomfortable peace was broken as the bodies of my men were dragged into the building with me, and stacked up to one side interspersed with firewood. Obviously, the ultimate intention was to burn them, although like everything else Peiper seemed to be doing, the location of collection was calculated to cause me turmoil. And I felt my hatred towards Peiper and König building further.
It was probably the equivalent of lunchtime when I was rejoined by my captors, and this time there was a third man with them. I blearily looked up at him and recognised the face of the man whose picture Gray had shown me back in his office after the assassination attempt on me back in 1940. Graf Matthias von Schmullenberg, in the uniform and insignia of a Gruppenführer in the Waffen-SS, mage tags on his shoulder. His eyes met mine, and they were cold, as was his half familiar voice as he addressed me in German.
"Guten tag, Robert."
As my befuddled brain processed further, I realised that recognised him for reasons other than the photograph. I had mentioned to Gray that he reminded me of someone, and seeing him in the flesh I was sure. I had met him once before, many years ago on a cliff-side in Yorkshire. A man whose companion that day had referred to him as Karl. He had claimed kinship with me that day and now, nearly sixty years later, he only looked a few years older than he had back then. Like me. And yet this time, rather than the almost amused expression he had worn then, I was looking at someone with cold hatred in his eyes.
He stepped closer, and then delivered a hard kick to my ribs.
"That, Mein Bruder, is for killing my son," he hissed, angrily, and from the way he said it, I had the impression that he thought I should know whom he was referring to. And again I remembered the photographs Gray had shown me. Even at the time I had thought von Schmullenberg had borne a distinct and disturbing resemblance to the Hangman of Prague.
I was so dead.
"He was far from perfect, but he was your nephew, and you shot him like a rabid dog."
"For him to be my nephew, I would have to have a brother," I answered, quietly, "and as far as I know, I'm an only child."
"Still playing ignorant eh, Robert?" he replied, "no matter. Go to your grave believing that if you'd like. I no longer care about pissing father off on that score." Then he turned to my senior captor. "Obersturmbannführer Peiper. Do you know why the capture of this man was important to your mission here?"
Peiper shook his head.
"This is one of the assassins from Prague," von Schmullenberg continued, "and to compound that, he also, by all accounts saved Lidice and possibly Lezaky from our justifiable reprisals. I suggest that we make up for that."
Peiper actually looked impressed, although from his body language, if anything he loathed me more now than he had thirty seconds before. The SS had taken Heydrich's death very personally, and they obviously hadn't forgiven me yet and still wanted revenge.
"His men are already dead. However, I could propose an alternative amusement."
The general looked at him with interest and waited for him to continue.
"A solstice hunt," Peiper said, with a wolfish smile, "the terrain here would make it challenging. But I'm confident he could be run to ground."
"What of Berlin? Reichsführer Himmler personally wants to take his head."
"Herr Reichsführer is a hunter. I'm sure he would appreciate the irony," Peiper answered, prompted, "and after all, we don't need to kill him. Just chase him down and capture him. Then he can be taken back to Berlin and executed, and you would have achieved what would appear to be a measure of personal vengeance, Herr Gruppenführer."
Von Schmullenberg considered for a moment, before speaking again. "What's to stop him from just teleporting away?"
"We have given him the drug developed by Lord Kriegsturm's people, which we were provided with for this mission," König answered, "he isn't currently a functional mage."
"Then so be it. Give him half an hour's head start, and then we ride."
"Yes, Herr Gruppenführer," they answered in unison, saluting smartly, and then von Schmullenberg turned on his heel and walked out of the ruined building.
Once he was gone, I was pulled to my feet and the bonds around my wrists were cut. As they did so, I tried to give no indication that I had understood their deliberations, although I couldn't immediately think what I could do to prevent their course of action. Still, there was always the vague hope that knowing what they had planned might give me some kind of edge they weren't expecting.
"You're free to go," Peiper said to me, pleasantly enough, reverting to English.
"Why on earth would you want to free me?" I asked, my tone matter of fact, "when you lose the war, my testimony of what I've seen here today will get you hung."
"We aren't going to lose the war," he answered, with the deluded confidence of the dyed in the wool, unrepentant Nazi, "this offensive should be proving that to you."
"We'll see," I replied, then shrugged, "well whatever it is you're intending, get it over with."
"With the greatest of pleasure," he replied, and I was led outside, "good bye, Colonel de Lacy. Until we meet again."
And with that, they literally let me go.
I broke into a run, hoping to put some distance between myself and my hunters. Once in the trees I tried my magic again, but it was still inaccessible to me, so I decided to find somewhere to hole up until I could call on it once more. I swore to myself that once it was functional again, Kampfgruppe Peiper would regret letting me live. In the meantime, I did what I could to remember what woodcraft I had learned on the various training courses I'd been sent on during the war, and tried to lose myself in the forest. I moved deep reasonably quickly, but every so often I came across the executed body of one of my men. They'd been shot in the back as they ran. And I found my self realising that every single member of the group I had taken out was probably dead. My hatred of Peiper and König went up yet another notch, if that was possible.
I had found myself a semi-hidden location when, about an hour later, I heard the first hunting horns, and the sound of horses. By then I was cold, tired and hungry, and my head still felt like it was full of cotton wool. I had hoped that I'd be able to elude them for longer, until it got dark, but it seemed I was might be about to be out of options. I tried to reach out for the magic again, but I was still unable to concentrate sufficiently to form a spell. What the hell was that bloody drug, anyway?
I settled for trying to make myself as small and unobvious as possible and hoped they would miss me in their eagerness. After all, I wasn't hearing dogs, so there was a chance. And then I felt myself being scanned magically, and cursed the fact that by now my shields were completely gone. From the direction of the horsemen, I heard a shout, and they started moving closer to my location. I could stand my ground, or run. And as I was armed only with a sturdy fallen branch which I'd picked up along the way, had no magic to draw on and was thoroughly regretting not bringing at least a Trump of Andrew with me on the mission (it had seemed wiser at the time...20/20 hindsight is a fine and wonderful thing) I realised I had little choice but to run.
I broke cover, and headed towards the thickest stand of trees that I could find, in the hope it would slow the horses, but they were on me more quickly than I would have thought possible. I heard the thudding of hooves of two, maybe three horses as they came towards me, and turned towards them. Better to die facing the enemy than cut down like a dog from behind.
König was leading the three riding me down, a sabre in his hand, accompanied by a pair of NCOs - a sergeant and a corporal - armed with carbines. He barked orders at his companions in German - along the lines of "let me have first hack" - and charged towards me. I ducked out of his way, putting the branch between myself and the sabre, and while he took a chunk out of it, at least it stopped me being sliced by the blade. As he recovered, I swung at him, catching him a decent thud in the small of the back, but he was a bloody good rider, and he kept his seat. Then, hoping his men were slower than I was - which was usually a reasonable assumption, I'd found, Peiper and König notwithstanding - I decided to do the unexpected and take the fight to them.
I swung the branch again, and the corporal went backwards off his horse as he rode towards me. His carbine discharged into the air as he hit the ground, and then I was on him and chopping for his windpipe, again mentally thanking Gray for the pre-Prague commando training. He fell still, I grabbed the carbine, and let off a wild shot just as the sergeant attempted to ride me down. It creased the bastard's cheek as he went past, jumping his mount neatly over his fallen Kamerade, but as he did, I fired again, and caught him in the back, and he came off his horse.
König was wheeling for another pass by then, so I grabbed one of loose horses, swung up into the saddle, and headed off as fast as I dared through the trees, trying to remember my Napoleonic cavalry training. Behind me I could hear him shouting to his fellow hunters, but I decided not to hang around until they'd decided what their next course of action was. Instead I moved as quickly as I could, hoping my improved mobility would be enough to keep ahead of them until dark, and lost myself in the forest.
Eventually I could no longer hear the sounds of pursuit, and I slowed to give the horse a break, riding more carefully and deeper into the trees. After some time, I found what was probably a forester's track and decided to follow it for a while, until once again I heard horsemen and moved off into concealment. I saw two men approaching, apparently riding a patrol, and realised they were wearing British uniforms. With relief I made myself known to them, but as I looked at them, I realised they were neither British, nor German. They were bearded, for a start, their complexions were pale, and they wore swords at their belts.
Too late to rectify my mistake, I froze as they came towards me. However, then I heard a shout from down the track, and I saw Peiper and three others. They saw me around the same time, and the men with him opened fire at us. One of the 'British' troopers fell from his mount, hit in the chest by a bullet, and lay still. The other looked all set to dismount and help his companion, so I turned to my hunters, almost wishing the damned thing was over, and charged to meet them, shooting as I went. I ducked and weaved as I rode, avoiding more than the occasional graze, and barrelled in among them. Surprise, more than anything else, caused them to break and they scattered, although as I rode down the track, I realised that Peiper, certainly, had decided to stick on my tail.
Did the bastard never give up?
I wheeled my mount and renewed the attack, and with a move which wouldn't have looked out of place in an Errol Flynn crystal theatre picture, I leapt off my horse, slammed into Peiper, and bore the pair of us to the ground. The red hatred which had been building in me erupted and gave me strength beyond the norm, and before I really knew what was happening, he was unconscious, his officer's dagger in his side. I couldn't even remember grabbing the thing, but I obviously I must have done. I pulled the weapon out, with every intention of finishing the bastard off, when the two soldiers I had seen on the track seemed to appear beside me out of nowhere, German carbines in their hands, gesturing for me to drop my weapons. And I realised that all about us was silence - as if the men who had been with Peiper had either disappeared, or were no longer a problem. There was blood on the chest of the uniform one of them was wearing, where the bullet had hit him - there was even a hole in the cloth - and yet there he was, standing looking fit as a fiddle.
Who and what were these guys?
One of the soldiers said something to me in what was possibly French, although it wasn't clear enough for me to understand it for certain. However, the gesture with the carbine was pretty clear. The injured one - formerly injured one? - took the reins of Peiper's horse, and forced me to mount while his companion collected their own horses and brought them over. There was another burst of bad French, which I think was along the lines of "come with us", and I found myself riding beside two new and very different captors.
"What do you intend to do with me?" I demanded, trying English first, then French, but there was no response to my question. Instead, we rode in silence through the darkening forest, an eerie silence as the snow began to fall once more.
We rode for about fifteen minutes, my captors obviously knowing exactly where they were going, despite the failing light, and as night finally fell, we came to a structure. When I realised what it was, my brain flipped slightly at the non sequitur. It looked like a fully functional castle. Not one of those decorative, but ultimately indefensible French chateaux, but a good, old fashioned, solid Medieval fortification. Over the doorway hung a coat of arms: a pair of crossed swords in gold, hilts upwards, with a sunburst between the hilts, on a field of blue. Somewhere in the depths of my mind it rang a bell, but I couldn't figure out why.
I was taken through the gateway, and a portcullis was dropped behind us, and I was then told to dismount. The horses were given to what had to be stable staff, and I was taken towards the keep. Looking around there were other bearded men in here, wearing a variety of uniforms, as if they'd picked them up here and there during the course of the war, and to a man they wore broadswords at their belts. There was a stairway up to the first floor, where the main entrance was obviously located, and my escorts indicated by means of a gentle prod in the ribs from a carbine that I should ascend the stairs. Too tired to argue by now, although beginning to feel as if control over my magic was slowly returning, I did as bid and was taken inside.
In front of me, another man was seated behind a desk, papers in front of him, but as I entered he to stood to appraise me. He looked to be in his mid to late forties, but moved with a grace and fitness which belied his apparent age, and he stood a couple of inches taller than I did. His beard was neatly trimmed and shot through salt and pepper, and his eyes were a piercing blue with a keen intelligence behind them. There was a rapid exchange in whichever bastardised version of French they were using, and then he looked at me. When he spoke, it was in English, albeit of a somewhat archaic nature.
"Chevalier William tells me that you attacked the dark ones when Chevalier Armand was felled by their weapons. Is this true?"
"It is," I answered, although at least he didn't ask why I did it.
"Who are you?"
"Colonel Robert de Lacy, 3675794."
"You do not sound French, Colonel Robert de Lacy, 3675794."
"My family came to Britain with the Conqueror, and were given lands in that country."
"I see. I am Auguste de Lyon, Colonel commanding the Order here..."
As he identified himself and his men, the nagging feeling that I should know who these people were returned, although I still couldn't pin it down. Still, I had a feeling I was going to be there all night and perhaps it would come to me while I waited to learn my fate. Captivity was beginning to wear, though, and I hoped I would soon be able to work enough magic to escape.
"Do you oppose the dark ones, Robert de Lacy?" he said, moving towards me.
"If by that you mean the Nazis, then yes, of course I bloody well do," I answered, hotly.
"And what brings you to my lands?"
"Your lands?"
"The de Lyon estate. My...family have held this place since the Crusades."
"They decided to use me for sport, and have been hunting me since they killed my men."
"And yet you survived? Your men died, but you survived. Did you betray them?"
"How dare you..."
"Answer my question."
"No, I did not betray them. I was captured with them and they were marched out and murdered in front of me."
"And yet, the blond one tells a different story."
"The blond one?"
He gestured towards the doorway, and indicated for me to look out. And below me in the courtyard I could see König, blood on his face which at that distance seemed to be dripping from a broken nose, guarded by two of de Lyon's men. I hadn't even realised that he had been captured, but there he was, large as life and twice as ugly. With him were a couple of other Waffen-SS soldiers, looking very much the worst for wear. The hatred as my eyes met his was completely mutual.
"He says you attacked his people and they were defending themselves," de Lyon said, standing to my right.
"He's lying," I answered, angrily, "they attacked and captured us, and the following morning they executed my men, and he forced me to watch."
"In the old days, such questions were only answered in one way," came the reply, "and it may yet come to that. You will remain my guest this evening, and you will not try to escape. I believe the lightning flashes on your shoulder prove you a mage? Prove your honour to me by giving me your parole and abiding by it."
"Any particular reason why I should do that?"
He shrugged.
"Only that if you are willing to do so, it will change how I view you."
"And why should I care about that?" I asked, testily. I was tired, cold, hungry and fast losing patience.
"Because it would seem the war has come to us, Colonel de Lacy, despite our efforts to stay out of it, and we must therefore choose a side. You are here. The blond one is here. Senior representatives of your respective forces. But you tried to avenge Chevalier Armand, and the blond one was of the party that tried to kill him. Moreover, he personally murdered two of my men. Prove to me by your actions that you are worthy of my support, and you may find us useful allies. Think about it."
And then he rattled off orders in bastardised French, and I was taken downstairs to one of the buildings off the courtyard. The door was opened, and I was led into what almost looked like a monk's cell. As the door was closed behind, I was interested not to hear the sound of a lock being turned. The room was warm, and there was a bed of sorts in one corner and a platter of bread and meat laid out on the single table, with a pitcher of cold, fresh water beside it. More grateful than I could have expressed had anyone been with me, I fell on the food, and then I lay down on the straw mattress, wrapped myself up in the blanket provided, and slept the sleep of the dead.
* * * * *
When I awoke the following morning my mind felt a lot clearer, and as I ran through a couple of simple spells, I could just about cast them: not perfect, but a damned sight better than it had been. Obviously the influence of the drug was finally working out of my system. I washed in the remains of the water in the pitcher, and then opened the door and stepped outside. By my door were the two men who had met me in the forest: Armand and William. They didn't say anything, but indicated that I should follow them, and I was led to the refectory, where the men seemed to be breaking their fast.
On raw meat. Raw, bloody meat. And it clicked why the name of the commander of the castle rang a bell.
I had stumbled into a nest of vampires.
Francesco Ragoczy had spoken in the past of an Auguste de Lyon, leader of a band of knights during the Third Crusade. He had called them the Order of the Crossed Swords, who had fought in the Lionheart's army, side by side with the Knights Templar under Robert de Sablé, for whom they had the greatest respect. The Order had a reputation for nobility, honour and efficiency, and had been faithful servants of the King. As such, they had often been sent on raiding parties to deal with small pockets of the enemy, but one of these had changed them forever.
Francesco hadn't gone into details, except that it had involved a small shrine which had been defiled by a particularly vicious group of heathen Saracens, and the Order had been the ones to avenge it. But something had gone wrong, and they had fallen foul of some kind of vampiric creature, and had been changed. I'd had the impression from my old friend that the vampirism they had developed was of a different nature to his own. Indeed, he wasn't even sure that they had actually died. But whatever it was, it drove them mad.
My friend had been the one to bring them to account, killing the worst of the transgressors, and helping those who remained back to some form of sanity, in which their lives - such as they were now - could continue. He had guided their path and eventually helped them return home to Europe, and I had the impression that thereafter he had kept an eye on them to make sure that they didn't relapse, even visiting them periodically. And now, here they were, large as...life, and I was their 'guest'. Things weren't getting any better.
"You look as if you have seen a ghost, Robert de Lacy," came de Lyon's deep voice from behind me, and I turned.
"Something which had been troubling me, has fallen into place," I answered, controlling my emotions as best I could, "I think it possible that we have a mutual acquaintance, Colonel de Lyon."
"Go on," he said, gesturing for me to sit. Seeing no option, I did as I was bid, and a trencher of bread and a flask of water were placed in front of me. De Lyon took his place opposite me, although he waved away the plate of food he was offered by the server.
"Does the name Francesco Ragoczy mean anything to you?" I asked, "Or possibly le Comte de Saint-Germain?"
His eyes narrowed, and he looked at me with suspicion.
"How do you know that name?"
"He is a friend of mine," I answered, "has been for a very long time."
"How long?" he asked, and I had the impression that it was some kind of test. I could dissemble, but on the whole, it seemed better to tell the honest truth.
"We met in Paris in the year of our Lord seventeen hundred and forty-three," I replied, trying to meet his piercing gaze unflinching.
He looked at me, and then nodded, and I felt I had passed.
"He has spoken of you," he commented, obviously interested, "the immortal who is not a vampire, with the son who shares his immortality. Your name should have been familiar to me. But it has been many years since we have seen him. Does he still endure?"
"Last I knew," I answered, "he was in Province earlier this year, but I haven't heard from him recently."
He scanned me up and down and then rose, giving orders to my escort, before striding out of the refectory. I watched him go, and then set to my own plate, well aware of twenty pairs of eyes on me as I ate. Once I had finished my meal, I headed back out into the courtyard, to be met by a sight I truly hadn't expected to see.
"Colonel? You're alive..." said West, as he separated from a group of about half a dozen of my men, and we crossed and clasped hands in the middle of the courtyard. He was limping heavily, but he was alive and breathing.
"Stephen," I answered, feeling as if something had gone right for the first time in days, "my God you're a sight for sore eyes. How did you get here?"
"They took us prisoner and have been holding us in the cells under the keep."
"Have they been mistreating you?" I asked.
"They didn't really seem to know what to do with us...but no, they haven't mistreated us. They've fed us and made us as comfortable as you'd expect, and then, a few minutes ago, their commander released us without a word of explanation."
I glanced over towards the keep, to see de Lyon standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at our reunion with a half smile on his face.
"Sir, where are the others?"
"They didn't make it, Stephen," I answered, and his face fell. However, before I could say anything further, we were interrupted by a string of curses in German, and König and his companions were brought out.
"Do you wish revenge on the men who killed your people without honour, Colonel de Lacy?" de Lyon called, as he came down the stairs.
"Very much," I answered, raising a hand to silence the question I knew West was about to ask.
"So be it," came the reply, and he barked orders to his knights. One of them disappeared, and returned a couple of minutes later holding what looked like a pair of swords, probably Napoleonic vintage.
"Oh you have to be kidding..." I began as I saw them, but de Lyon just fixed me with a firm gaze.
"If you are who you claim to be, then you are familiar with these weapons."
"Well yes..." I answered, uncertainly, "although if it comes to it, I'd rather use my own ..."
"But you do not have it here," he said, curiously, and I smiled. I ran through the incantation in my head, and after only a slight delay longer than normal, the blade my father had given me appeared in my hand. I saw de Lyon nod in approval, and König was then given his choice of which weapon to use. He selected the slightly heavier looking one, obviously wishing that he'd been allowed to keep the sabre he had shown such deadly familiarity with in the forest.
"Colonel, what the Hell..." West began.
"I think it's some kind of test," I replied, making the assumption that he was referring to the duel, not the appearance of the blade, "but if I pass, we may well acquire some very useful allies for this phase of the war."
"You will fight, until one of you is defeated. And then we will consider our position towards the one which prevails," de Lyon said to both of us. König gave a brief nod of understanding, then looked back at me, death in his eyes.
"En garde..." de Lyon said, "prêt...allez!"
König barely waited for 'allez' before he was on me, and the fight was joined. He had reach and strength on me, but I hoped I had speed and familiarity with the blade I was holding on my side, and indeed, I managed to score first blood. I caught him a glancing blow on the thigh and he flinched. But it didn't throw him off his stride, and he returned the favour with a quick cut to my side. It stung, but I tried to ignore it, redoubling my efforts and managed to force him back slightly. As I did I noticed him shaking his head slightly, as if he was also trying to fight the effects of some kind of drug, and pressed my advantage, connecting with his ribs in a blow which took a large slice out of both uniform and flesh.
He cursed me roundly in German and responded in kind, and in the clash which followed, I felt him lay open my right hip. I took a step backwards, and was relieved that I could still put weight on that leg. Behind me, I could hear West and the others cheering me on, their voices drowning out the half-hearted efforts of the two Waffen-SS men. Their support helped me, and I pressed in on my opponent once more, favouring my leg but trying not to let it impede my progress. I almost had the impression that König couldn't believe that I was still moving and I heard him muttering under his breath. What worried me was that it seemed like an incantation of some kind.
If it was an incantation, I couldn't afford to let him complete it, and was fortunate as I saw him shake his head again, his eyes temporarily glazing before he recovered again. I took the opportunity and pounced, and my blade went into his chest. I felt it slide neatly between the fifth and sixth ribs, but as I withdrew it and looked down, I saw his own sword being pulled from my stomach.
"And so we die together...Mein Vater..." he said, almost inaudibly, and his eyes rolled up in his head, he fell back and lay still. As he did my sword dropped from my fingers and I sunk to my knees, but before I could fall, West had crossed to me and caught me.
"Hold on, sir," he said, urgently, and I mentally latched onto his voice. I tried to concentrate, and I triggered a very basic healing spell I had prepared, which at least staunched the bleeding. But the effort was too much, and I felt myself blacking out.
* * * * *
When I awoke once more, I was back in the room I had slept in the previous night. My abdomen was swathed in bandages, as were my other wounds from the fight, and I could smell some kind of ointment or poultice which had been presumably used on the injuries before they were bound. I felt like shit, but I was alive. Off to one side, de Lyon was seated on the chair, watching me with those piercing eyes of his.
"You prevailed, de Lacy," he said, quietly as he realised I was conscious, and then he stood and crossed over to me. And rather to my surprise, he knelt. I struggled to a sitting position and looked at him, and as I did, he took my hands in his. "I pledge to you the allegiance of myself and my men in the struggle against the dark ones."
"You have my thanks, Colonel de Lyon," I answered, not entirely sure what he wanted me to say.
"We knew the time would come when we would eventually have the opportunity to rededicate ourselves to the path of Light, and a leader who would guide us. After a period of prayer and contemplation, I believe you are that leader. Will you accept our service?"
It seemed a very strange way of offering help, until I realised that the form of words was as old as the man kneeling in front of me. Looking at him, I was surprised to see some kind of aura around him. Almost as if the long-dormant Sight I had had flashes of in the past, since the night before I had first been invested as Duke of Worcester, had awakened. Perhaps it was the fact that I was in a pretty bad way and I wasn't entirely thinking straight, but the impression I had was that he was well aware of the history and significance of the gesture he was making. When he had said he was swearing allegiance, he meant it in the genuine Feudal sense.
"Chevalier de Lyon, I accept your service, and that of your knights" I replied, hoping it was the right answer, and he nodded. Then he released the grip on my hands and stood, helping me to my feet.
"You will not regret it, My Lord de Lacy," he answered, "come, your men await you."
I pulled on the tattered remains of my uniform, and then followed him out. In the courtyard I could see both West and my men, and de Lyon's knights waiting for me.
"How do you feel, sir?" West asked, breaking ranks and coming over.
"I've felt better, but I'll live," I answered, and I looked around the courtyard. There was a very strange mood, mostly emanating from the knights.
"They went out last night, and this morning I was informed they had brought you a gift," West said, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
"What kind of gift?" I asked, cautiously, pretty sure I wasn't going to like the answer.
"I think you'd better take a look outside," he replied, and gestured towards the gate. Puzzled, I walked in that direction and as I went outside I saw the bodies, piled like cordwood, awaiting burning. All were wearing Waffen-SS uniforms, with the insignia of Kampfgruppe Peiper. I guessed there were well over half of Peiper's unit there. I cast an eye over the bodies, and the doctor in me recognised the causes of death. Many had broken necks. Some had died of sword wounds. None had been shot.
"We have tried to avenge your men, my Lord," de Lyon said from behind me. His approach had been so quiet that I hadn't been aware of it until he was right there...and I could easily see how Kampfgruppe Peiper would have met their deaths. "But forgive us, a few escaped before we could act."
"Peiper? von Schmullenberg?"
"The one you call Peiper was gone when we returned to the place where you fought him," he replied, "and we never saw the other."
I could see regret in his features, as if he felt he had let me down.
"At least we got König," I answered, and he nodded.
"His body will burn with the others," came the reply, and he indicated the fallen Sturmbannführer towards the edge of the pile, near the bottom. I crossed over to him, and his dead eyes looked up at me, as if still accusing me, and if I hadn't known better, I would have said there was still an intelligence behind them.
Which was, of course, impossible.
"So be it. Let them burn."
"Sir, you can't..." West began to protest, but I turned and looked at him.
"They took our men, and they executed them, Stephen. Shot them against the wall, and then blew out the brains of those who survived the initial firing squad. I can't find it in myself to have mercy on these bastards' souls. Our mission is completed. Even if Peiper has somehow survived this - and believe me, I did a pretty good job of trying to prevent that - his division is broken. Moreover von Schmullenberg will be returning to Berlin empty handed, and I'd love to be a fly on the wall when he explains to Himmler that he let me escape."
"Why would he..." my 2iC asked.
"I haven't been Himmler's favourite person since May '42 in Prague," I replied, and I saw the date click in West's mind, "but more explanations later. Right now I need to work on some healing."
"Of course, sir," came the answer, and I walked back inside the castle. I headed back to my room and lay down, and then cast some self-healing spells which would do their work as I rested. I was just drifting off back to sleep, when I felt the stirring of a Trump call. Without my deck with me to check my caller, I had to hope, but I opened up the link anyway as there were only so many people it could be.
"Father, thank God," came Andrew's voice, and I found myself staring into his familiar face, which suddenly became a mask of worry, presumably as he saw the bruising on my face from the pistol-whipping a couple of days before, "Christ, what happened? Reports came through this afternoon that your squad had been wiped out. That the bodies had found in the ruins of a building by the advancing allies. I had hoped, but..."
"I was captured," I confirmed, weakly, "but my captors have since suffered a misfortune, and now I'm with friends. It's a long story."
"There's no point asking if you're alright, is there? I can tell you aren't."
"No. But you should see the other guy," I answered, with a weak smile, "but give it a few days...and we seem to have acquired some very unusual allies. I'll fill you in when I feel a bit better. What about you? Are you alright?"
"At the moment. We're winning, Robert. It's only a matter of time."
"And yet they still don't believe it," I answered, "listen, give me a call in a few days, once I'm back at HQ, and maybe we can get together and I can tell you the story over a whisky."
He looked uncertain for a moment, and then nodded.
"I'll be fine, Andrew. I promise."
He gave a weak smile and then broke the call, and I let myself pass out to let the healing spells do their job.
When I was awoken that evening, I was feeling much better, albeit not one hundred percent. I headed outside to find the courtyard lit by torches, and de Lyon was waiting for me.
"It is time, My Lord," he said as I joined him, "do you wish the honour of lighting the pyre of your enemies?"
I looked at him and nodded, and he and I, flanked by the knights, plus West and the others, went out to where the bodies were stacked. De Lyon took me to one of the corners, where the kindling was revealed, and handed me a burning torch. Then he, William and Armand took up station at the other three points. I looked at them, and then touched flame to kindling, although as I did, I felt that I was missing something. Still, I let it pass, and moments later they lit their own kindling, and we stepped back to watch the burning. West stood silently beside me, and I was unsure whether he was disapproving or fascinated.
It was only some time later, as the corpses were disintegrating into ashes, that I realised what had bothered me earlier.
König's body had no longer been there when the pyre was lit.