LITMIR.BIZ

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against my metallic armor. It gives off a satisfying clank with each beat.

      Ulric turns away defeated, and we both face the empty wall. The sunlight continues its migration across the elevator as we go farther down the dam.

      “Did Father ever have a chance to tell you the story about his time in the Italen Sands?” Ulric asks, breaking the slight lull in the conversation, “…when he was stationed there?”

      I turn my head to face him. His identification number and name pop up on my display. A helmet in the Kiln is important for the days when the sun reflects off of the white salt, or when the desert kicks up a storm to ruin an afternoon.

      “He’s told me, bits and pieces but no specifics,” I ponder, thinking back to the conversations I had with that stern man in my childhood. “Why? Did he tell you?”

      “He told me before I went off to college.” Ulric contemplates, preparing to dive deep into a story. “He talked about how his division was sent in to clear out squatters that occupied that abandoned city, Rome. Nobody knew why they chose to stay there…nothing but desert, you know. Sand dunes covered everywhere except this temple.”

      The elevator, after a few minutes of creeping, has finally leveled with the tops of the ships. I can make out the golden flag of the Reich flowing high atop one vessel.

      “The squatters were starving in that temple. Dad said they didn’t look like us. They had dark hair. Foreign features. They weren’t dark like the Raiders, but not fair-skinned like Aryans. He figured they were the last remnants of the Romans.”

      The engines from the ships permeate the elevator cabin, throwing more sand into the air as the deep bassoon of a tremor ripples out. Ulric seems to be lost in thought.

      “They were too stubborn to leave when their homeland dried up but had managed to keep fish alive, in these pools of water,” he continues, his voice trailing.

      The bustling docks come into full view as the elevator slows to a crawl.

      “At least the fish had once been alive. See, they had so many people, they needed a lot of fish to feed everyone. It was the last water reserve they had, so space was limited. Well, it was too limited. Most of the fish had drowned.”

      “What?” I chuckle. “How does a fish drown in water?”

      “Well, they need oxygen and there is only so much oxygen in water. If there are too many fish breathing that oxygen, then they can’t breathe and suffocate,” Ulric answers. “These Romans had too many people, not enough space, and couldn’t keep the fish alive. So they starved.”

      “They don’t seem like they were the smartest people,” I scoff. “They should have left,” I continue, wagging a finger.

      “Yes they should have. But they were stubborn,” Ulric concludes in that matter-of-fact, scholarly voice.

      An armored Ulric, donned in a violet cloth, turns himself toward me as the elevator doors open, releasing a taste of the scalding heat, much like an oven. Even through my protective layer, the heat is still a presence.

      “No matter how natural it is for a fish to be in water, there is always the possibility that it can drown,” my brother concludes to me, his voice calm and full of purpose.

      “That’s a good story,” I say to him, feeling the rippling heat of the Kiln scraping against my metal, “but this desert is big enough for all of us to breathe.”

      The cracked stone surface of the Docks is so thick with sand that each step we take leaves imprints from our metal boots. Everything down here—the elevator, the docks, and the ships—all appear to be dyed with the same orange powder. Sand is just something non-negotiable down here. Winds carries the stuff every day, and it makes cleaning anything a pretty pointless endeavor.

      As we make our way down an orchestra of machinery, men, and cargo, I explain the sights to a bewildered Ulric. The dam, commonly just called the Marian Dam, towers over the entire display. Trains and carts speed across platforms constructed on its solid concrete face, stretching so long that it curves into the horizon.

      For as impressive as the Marian Dam is, it is nothing compared to the biggest: the dam that keeps the entire Atlantic Ocean at bay. The pair of us stroll across the dock, leaping out of the way as cranes lift rusting containers and swing them far above like an acrobat.

      Yet these cranes were tiny when compared to the hulking mechanical beasts to our left. Officially these machines with bows, sterns, and everything in between are simply called “ships.” They are shaped like ships and they sail the desert like a ship would sail the sea.

      In practice, these machines were much more like a tank. A tank that could successfully navigate across the ever-shifting waves of the Kiln. Every ship in the Kiln at one point was an actual watercraft, or that is how the rumor is told. The Kiln is a beacon which attracts such rumors.

      Even if it were true, I doubt the ships in front of us look like they did before the sea dried up. To survive down here, all have been heavily modified with an assortment of metal plates and makeshift towers. Guns were removed and replaced with the modern weaponry of today. The treads. Oh my, the treads. To the side of each ship were added gargantuan treads that allowed the machines to grip into the sandy ground and propel themselves forward.

      Eventually I see her. The tall, jagged towers of cobbled-together steel peeking just above her neighbors. The Howling Dark. It’s a shame we can’t stay here during leave. Ever since I was assigned to this ship a decade ago, I have put my blood and sweat into making it the fiercest ship among the carriers. Looking at her is how I imagine a proud man feels after making a home for his family. I have no delusions of such a thing, so this…is my home.

      The ship’s wide stern is facing the docks. Behind it is a large steel crane, meticulously lifting a series of gigantic steel boxes right into the center of the vessel.

      The Howling Dark casts a wide presence. For just one moment, I want to take in this full view of her majesty—one I rarely get out in the desert. Her elaborate stern reaches high into the desert air. Banners of red, gold, and silver drape over the side, each woven in with a swastika of the Reich.

      Engraved into the metal work is the depiction of an eagle, its wings outstretched as it clutches onto a large broadsword. Wrapped around the sword is a long winding piece of parchment bearing the words: For without the sacrifices of those before, I could not stand before you.

      Pieces of the engravement are missing, however, covered up in a patchwork of various metals that speckle her rusting shell. A testament of the numerous battles she has persevered. Even with the patchy metalwork, the intricate sculpting of Aryan heroes and legends on the back still filled me with a sense of awe. It’s one of the few things that can do that to me anymore.

      I lead Ulric to a makeshift contraption hanging at the back of the vessel. We clamber inside, and with a press of a button we are lifted up across the side of the boat. Noise from its bustling machinery begins to fade away as we are taken further and further up the ship’s hull. The wind reveals itself as my helmet protects me from a blast of hot sand.

      The lift ends its journey with a loud clang and we stop, having reached the deck. I’m met with the sight of a busy crew, fifty or so men, all dressed in armor like Ulric and I. Their capes are flowing in the desert wind; some have them tied around their waist so they aren’t a nuisance. Each body goes about their small duty to make sure we are prepared to sail. Guns must be properly loaded. Flags must be unfurled. Engines must start.

      As I slowly clamber off the lift the crew pauses their activities and turns their attention to me. My metal boots meet the steel of the ship in a loud clang. Every eye on the deck is on me as I straighten myself out and raise my voice.

      “Hello, men.” I boom. “This…is my brother, S.S. Knight Ulric Manafort. He is new to the Kiln, and will accompany us on our journey. It is his job to protect us on our journey, if need be, and for that you are to treat him with the utmost respect.”

      I turn to my brother, clasp my feet together, puff

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