LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Carry on,” I order, waving them off to their own work, and the dock complies.

      “Protection, huh?” Ulric comments in a curious voice lined with hopeful optimism.

      “I’m required to say that,” I mutter in a deadpan manner.

      If the two large towers sprouting from the deck were trees, then their leaves would be the numerous banners that were strung atop them. Wire and cable dangling between the two appeared like vines in a jungle. Between the two trees was a series of arches, each pointed at the top. They just recently closed to encompass the steel boxes housed in the center of the ship.

      “The closest tower to the bow houses the main bridge, while the second near the rear houses the defenses. Of course, most of the ship is covered in some form of weaponry for protection, but that tower is just, extra defenses,” I explain to Ulric.

      We navigate to the center of the ship, where the crates are being loaded in. As the crew hurries past us, my attention narrows in on one man with a small metal frame donned in a cloth of dark yellow. He is hunched over, analyzing a slab of metal in his hand. I don’t think he has spotted us through the crowd. I wait and wait. Eventually, I clear my throat and he turns around, startled, apparently not noticing my presence.

      “By the fucking Führer, don’t scare me like that!” he exclaims. “When did you get here? Sneaking up behind me.”

      “This is the sixth time I’ve been able to do that, Volker,” I say through spats of laughter, “You need to have more spatial awareness. I was yelling to the rest of the crew.”

      “Well, somebody has to account for all the crates. Guns, food, water, can’t forget anything. Not to mention resources for ourselves,” Volker defends himself in a high-pitched, grating voice. “Who is that?” he asks me, devoid of breath, pointing a gloved finger toward a puzzled Ulric.

      “Volker, this is Ulric, my brother. He’ll be the Knight on our trip,” I explain in a light-hearted demeanor, still chuckling from the image of Volker’s jumping body. “Ulric, this is First Officer Wilhelm Volker.”

      “Ah. The brother,” Volker remarks in a reminiscent tone, extending his pointing hand toward Ulrich and offering him an open handshake. “He’s told me a lot about you.”

      “Really?” Ulric says, shaking Volker’s hand.

      “Probably, I don’t know, the words jumble together over time,” Volker jokes. “But it’s nice to meet you. Hopefully you’re not too much like your brother.” He nudges me a few times with his elbow, and I laugh in return.

      “So what is the status on departure?” I ask him. Volker hands me the metal slab and I analyze through its data.

      “It seems we have accounted for all of the shipments,” Volker replies in a more logistical tone. “Most of these supplies are weapons, a few boxes are for food. We’ll be ready for departure in a few hours.”

      “That works,” I reply, looking down at the slab. “I’ll just go around the ship and inspect everything, make sure it’s all in working order.”

      “Sounds good,” Volker replies, taking the slab back from me.

      “What should I do?” Ulric asks in an uncertain voice.

      “Come with me,” I say. “If you’re going to spend some time on this ship, you might as well get acquainted.”

      For the next few hours, Ulric and I wander around, inspecting every operation to make sure everything is in working order. The flags have been set. The weapons have been loaded. The treads have been cleaned. The crates have been secured. Even the engine room is now running, after I checked to see whether Keller finished drinking. By all accords, we are ready to set sail.

      I stand on the tower closest to the bow, on a balcony right outside the main bridge. I can see everything, but for now I face the boundless sea before me. In the distance I spot an orange cloud floating over the horizon, stirred up by another ship. Out there, that will only be an ominous sign. The high winds shaping the grand dunes out there brush against my armor. I cling onto metal bars that have been stripped bare by the years of abuse from these conditions.

      Looking down, I see a crowd awaiting my signal. I give a stiff-armed salute, and they respond in kind before rushing to their stations. With a slow walk, I wrap around the balcony to face the port and, with it, the mountain that is the dam.

      I’m on the other side of the tower, and I see that the dock in our area has cleared out its people and machines in anticipation of our departure. I shouldn’t keep them waiting. At the main deck in the center of the ship stands the last group of deckhands. They too look up at me, and I thrust out my arm rigid and true once again—in unison, they salute as well.

      “Are we ready to depart, sir?” Volker cuts in.

      “Yes, we are, all hands to stations,” I reply.

      “All hands to stations,” Volker radios to the crew. Sirens blare, and the Dock beneath us begins to clear out. I can hear the yelling down below, as all brace for the ship to awaken.

      “Start the engines,” I say to Volker, and he repeats the command into his radio.

      The Bridge rumbles like a volcano beneath our feet. Lights flicker and walls quake as black smoke funnels up the pipes and explodes upward in a triumphant roar. The Howling Dark has come alive.

      “Take her away,” I command, and it is done. A soft growl permeates the cabin. The treads awaken in a slow churn, grinding up the desert beneath. In response, an orange cloud rises from below as the ship creaks away from the concrete. I walk out of the bridge to view the cloud dissipate.

      The ship hurls sand onto the concrete like a wave crashing against a stormy beach. Metal bars rattle as the ship picks up speed. Treads rotate like heavy steel clocks swirling about to bring us forward. She’s a lumbering beast, and with another thunderous horn she signals that she is leaving port. I stroll back onto the Bridge and check the conditions. Everything is in working order. I stand there and watch as the ship leisurely cascades over its first sand dune of the journey. The banners tied to the front of the ship’s bow catch a gust of wind. I take in how graciously they fly in the breeze—those red-and-gold flags, each emblazoned with a white swastika at the center, fluttering against a world of apricot sand.

       Glasslands

      The night is calm. The stars dazzle, as if the lights of Germania were above us. Cosmic clouds twirl around in a fashion similar to that of the dust kicked up by the ship’s treads. We have passed the first area of sand dunes and have entered a small sea of salt—a flat plain of white crystal that is blinding during the day, but at night it is a different tale. The salt flats, when the sun goes down, transform into an endless mirror. A smooth surface so reflective one could shave while looking down.

      We have sailed for three days, and our trip has only begun. The journey for ships is always long. Planes can always make supply drops to Eagle Nests in a fraction of the time, but there are far too many crates, and far too many Nests to be supplied for that to be reliably done. If it takes a couple of ships a couple weeks to make the journey, it’s still worth it to the Reich.

      To that, I have no complaints. Without the ships and the Kiln, I wouldn’t have a job. I don’t know if I could survive in the northern Reich, as much as I love the idea of it. Perhaps I love this ship because it’s an escape. It’s the only place that feels like home, even if I have to deal with the men on it. It’s better than facing the perfection and the “proper” behavior for an Aryan man. Beating whores isn’t considered civilized up there, as Ulric so delicately explained.

      That’s what I’d be like up north. I’d have to be like Ulric.

      I look down from the tower onto a series of campfires scattered across the deck. It was large enough, and metal enough, that nobody had to worry about the fire spreading.

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