Excerpt: Part 1 of Marienburg Castle

AT FIRST, they were mere specks in the sky. The specks became white wedges, like falling pieces of crème pie. Closer still, they appeared as marionettes, dancing with umbrellas across the horizon. Finally, when they were very near the earth, one could see that they were paratroopers.

Walker was first to touch ground; the pilot stumbled in a half-fall on the field. Goldstein, the radio operator, tumbled to the earth a close second. Wilkins, the navigator; Croft, the bombardier, and Earl, the ball turret gunner followed Goldstein. They did not wait for Floyd, the copilot, or the others to descend. 

There would be no miracles; the others were dead.

Walker took the lead and the crew fell in behind him across the fields which skirted the blackened, levelled village.  The glare of the afternoon sun made him feel exposed and vulnerable.

“Get down,” he urged, and the crew hunched low in the wheat as they crept toward the distant hills. A few defiant building frames still stood in the town, their stones the color of obsidian, their residents merely ashes and carrion in the streets. Everything retained the silence after the storm; everything retained the silence of the dead.

Except for the wind. It crooned and sang sweetly while sifting the ashes of its beloved, laid cool, dew-laden hands upon the corpses which bloated in the late summer sun.

Walker and the others paralleled the country lane which led upward into the hills. They were edgy. Every movement in the distant tree line became the positioning of enemy troops; every obscurity a machine-gun nest or artillery emplacement.

They were edgy and they were on fire. The heat was unbearable. It bore down on them and pressed their heavy flight jackets against their uniforms until both garments became a single, heavy, extra layer of sweat-laden skin.

Walker brought the company to a halt by a small stream. “Every man get a drink and cool down. I’ll watch the hills. Earl, you watch the town. The first two to finish come and relieve us.”

Walker withdrew his government issue .45 from the leather holster and wiped his brow. He’d lost his pilot’s cap while bailing out. Too damn hot for it, anyway. Earl crawled on his belly up to a small rise behind their position and took up his watch on the village.

Where are they? wondered Walker. American airmen are a valuable prize for the Nazis. Is it possible that no one on the ground saw us going down? Is it possible that the German fighter pilots did not radio us in?

No, he concluded, it isn’t possible. When a bird like the Fortress goes down it’s no secret. It can’t be.

Deep in contemplation, Walker continued to scan the hills. Suddenly, he noticed a break in the tree line, an irregularity which was higher than any tree jutting skyward.

“Psst, Earl. Come over here,” he whispered.

Earl scrambled across the ground on his belly and joined Walker. “What’s up, Chief?”

“Look at the hills out there. Do you see anything peculiar?”

“Naw, just a bunch of trees. No—wait a minute. I see it. Looks like a tower, though it’s too far away to be sure.”

“That’s what I think, too. If it’s a tower I’d like to reach it before nightfall. Round up the men. Tell them we’re moving out.”

Earl nodded and crawled over to the stream.

Walker looked at the distant hills once again, and at the sun which had mercifully begun its descent toward night.

Once within the cover of the trees, they were able to move quickly. They reached the keep at twilight. Marienburg was carved over the arched entrance to the courtyard. An old, tattered swastika fluttered in the breeze next to an ancient coat of arms.

Walker took the swastika in his hand. “Cute,” he muttered, and tore it off the wall. “Ready?” he asked the men.

 “Yeah, right,” muttered Wilkins. Some of the others laughed until Walker motioned them to silence. He tapped his holster. Those who had sidearms drew them.

They entered the courtyard. The castle sprawled out in the distance, a giant hexagon with towers at each junction where the sides met. A cathedral rose high above it all, its single spire expanding up into the sky and dwarfing the surrounding forest.

The entrance to the central part of the keep was barred by an inner wall and a large wooden door.

A sign on the door read: Vorsicht! Hunden!

“Wilkins, you can read a bit of Kraut, can’t you?”

“Yeah. It says: ‘Beware of dogs.’”

Walker rapped on the door with the butt of his pistol. There was no reply.

“Maybe they’re sleeping,” muttered Croft.

Walker looked puzzled. The wind rose up and swirling dust devils of dead leaves formed in the courtyard. “Sssssstorm,” it seemed to whisper. Darkness was beginning to fall, and the fat shape of the moon hovered on the horizon.

“We should get inside,” urged Goldstein.

“Scared of the dark, Jew Boy?” cajoled Croft.

Walker turned and scolded his subordinate. “Shut up, Croft! We got enough problems without your mouth!”

Croft turned red with rage and stomped off into the courtyard.

“Let’s open it,” commanded Walker, ignoring Croft’s display. They pushed against the door, but it would not yield. “Ready? Again! 1…2…3—PUSH!” Again, the door would not budge.

Finally, on the third try, the wood groaned and split, and the squad spilled inside. The cathedral hovered directly before them, its stained-glass windows shining like jewels in the moonlight. The castle stood adjacent to the church, silent and dark, sealed behind thick iron doors and high barred windows. They ascended a stairway onto the battlements and stared out into the night-enshrouded valley.

“Holy Jesus!” muttered Walker. The woods surrounding the keep were filled with small pinpoints of light. 

“Fireflies,” Wilkins said, “I guess Jerry’s got ’em here just like we do back in the States. Sort of reminds you of home, huh?”

“Did any of you get the feeling we were being watched on the way up? I could swear I saw something trailing us,” Earl said, his voice dropping off to a whisper.

“You’ve also seen Jerry fighters that weren’t there, Earl,” laughed Wilkins. “Sometimes you even take a damn pot shot at ’em!”

The crew’s laughter eased the tension, and the men began removing their flight jackets for comfort.

The wind spoke again, this time more pronounced than before: “Volksssssturm,” it hissed.

“What did that sound like to you guys?” asked Wilkins.

“The wind. Just the wind,” replied Walker, stretching.

  “No. It was a word. Storm something,” said Goldstein. “I don’t like this. I’m going down to the cathedral.” Goldstein stood up and descended the stairs.

Then Wilkins rose.

“Don’t tell me you got cold feet, too!” exclaimed Walker.

“I can’t look out there any longer,” said Wilkins, motioning out beyond the battlements and into the onyx night.

“Those things…fireflies, whatever—they’re getting closer, I’m sure of it.”

“Suit yourself,” said Walker, “just watch out for Croft. He’s madder than a hornet and spoiling for a fight.”  Wilkins nodded and left. 

He’s shivering, Walker thought.

Taking advantage of the quiet and the space, Walker balled up his flight jacket and stretched out on the battlements. The distant mantra of crickets lulled him into sleep. He dreamt of flying a Fortress into the sun.

————————————————————-

Walker awoke abruptly to a scream.