Contributed by Vahktang
Looking for Alternatives (Part VII)
Part I,
Part II,
Part III,
Part IV,
Part V,
Part VI, Part VII.
14-15 May 1943, Hutchins Hospital, the Highlands of Scotland, United Kingdom
Memoir of Charles Carmichael, former captain of the Royal Army (unpublished, excerpt)
I recovered quickly and ordered him to lay at rest. He saluted, complied, and began his report as I examined his wounds and did what little I could.
When they had arrived they had found that the guard was gone and that the man at duty was gone, too, the doors wide open. A grenade had gone off in the radio room, wrecking it, and it would take hours and spares to repair it. While attempting to effect repairs they were attacked, multiple times. They had emptied their weapons and were resorting to their knives.
He said: "I want to single out Pratap Shah for exemplary action. His use of his weapon was exceptional and effective. It was a gift from his mother."
I said: "Of course. I saw the results of his activities already. And your name?"
"Prithvi Shah, sir."
I looked at the older man and remembered that the other man was younger and noted that there was a family resemblance.
"Your son?"
"My eldest, sir. But my statement is without influence. He truly did his duty."
I assured him I would see to it and I have. I have already recommended him for a medal, which was refused, as I did not actually see the actions taken. Even if the military will not recognize this particular action, I will do what I can so his family can receive a small pension.
I looked into the radio room and found the mess that it was in.
"Radio room is truly wrecked," I said.
"The phone lines are cut, too," said Shah.
I looked again and did not see them. I looked back at him and he pointed down the hall, to another door.
I walked down to it and found it unlocked, but the equipment inside was intact. Only the wires leading to the radio room had been cut.
This I could work with, what I was trained for. I salvaged tools from the radio room and began to work. In a matter of minutes I had an outside line. I was able to reconnect to Lt. Col. Stephens via his outer office phone.
After telling him of my success he ordered me to connect him to the outside, then cut the lines again after 10 minutes, then return to his office with further orders.
Shah had had the worst of it and had died when I checked him. I did what I could, noted down his information, then did as ordered, cutting the telephone lines again and then returning to the Lt. Col. office. I had no encounters en route, seeing no one alive, but catching glimpses of people running or hiding.
He was not there, but there was an envelope with my name on it on the desk. I unsealed it and inside were his orders. Remove the majority of the files from the secure safe, put them in a fireproof box, then place that box in a further, larger secure, fireproof box. Then I was to report to him with the box in the solarium.
There were no guards at the entrance area to the solarium and the inner doors of glass were propped open. I entered and they closed behind me with a click of a lock. I tested it and found it so. I heard voices beyond, a droning chorus that proved to be Crowley's wireless recorder through speakers, as well as the Lt. Col, Crowley himself and another.
This last voice was rich, enticing, with a smoky sound to it that one would notice and tend to follow.
I continued on to the solarium proper and glanced around, a large chamber, three walls of glass panes, a high ceiling of the same, doors to the outside gardens, light furniture and still an abundance of living plants about, carefully maintained.
An open skylight let in the cold and would not do the plants well, I thought.
In the center was a table, large, bare, marble, its chairs to the sides of the room. On one side of the table was Lt. Col. Stephens and on the other were two figures, one being Aleister Crowley, mumbling and whispering to himself, dressed in a stained nightshirt, as well as another.
The last was a handsome man with a very good voice and seemingly fine manners, dressed in prewar coat and tails, but holding two sticks to assist him in his walking. He was amused and seemed in fine spirits.
I went towards the Lt. Col. to report but before I could approach he signaled me to be at ease and to stay apart from him, which I did.
He was engaged in a conversation with the last figure and, due to my association with him, knew he was also paying attention to the skylight.
The conversation my commanding officer had with the stranger was rapid fire and verbose, touching upon culture and psychology, using words and phrases I was not familiar with I could not hope to replicate, but though I knew Lt. Col. Stephens to be a man of extraordinary intellect and talent, the other man seemed to toy with him, leading Lt. Col. Stephens to misspeak, back off, correct himself, something I had never seen him do before. Crowley seemed to be indisposed, only adding to the conversation here and there with little of impact or sense.
As they talked my mind sort of wandered. My thoughts went to my wife, and then, oddly, to our wedding night. Finding this distracting and inappropriate, my listening returned to the conversation, but again, wandered, this time to my daughter, who she was older enough to see young men now, and what actions she would take with these men as they grew more familiar.
I do not write this to seem at all salacious, but to demonstrate the influences that were about at this time and in this place, that could lead to the wills of the strongest men to weaken.
And then my thoughts were interrupted when she flew through the skylight, which closed behind her.
She looked like an angel, out of the cinema or the story books. Gorgeous, but not terribly feminine, blond hair, wings of feathers from her back, wearing sandals and a white robe that covered and concealed. She landed on the table and looked around.
I gasped as I saw her and Crowley made a vulgar oath, and she seemed surprised for a moment, maybe that we saw her at all, or maybe she was displeased at what Crowley said. I noticed that Lt. Col. Stephens subtly relaxed a little.
The unintroduced person in the room did not like her entrance at all, and his expression changed to one of anger, then interest and anticipation, dismissing Lt. Col. Stephens from his considerations.
But then his body began to change, too. While retaining the torso and a head of a man, though the former growing much larger, two other heads appeared, one of a ram and a third of a bull, while he grew the tail of a large serpent and the legs of a rooster. Despite all that he still had the voice of a man, but now even more impressive and alluring.
"One called Elaine," said the beastly figure.
"One called Asmodeus," said the angelic figure, Elaine. "You should not be here."
"I was invited," it said, indicating Crowley.
"You should leave," said Elaine.
"Are you going to," said Asmodeus, "make me. You are no Raphael. You are not even a Solomon. If you were to attempt to force me, it would be the worse for you."
Elaine seemed to consider, but Asmodeus continued.
"Not that I would not enjoy it," he said with a smile that was more than a leer, but which Elaine took with neither shock nor disdain, but more calculating.
Crowley said something about knowledge and Asmodeus replied with something that I will always remember.
"There are things man was not meant to know," said Asmodeus. "I am one of those things."
Elaine spoke to Asmodeus, mostly in English, but sometimes in words I did not understand. I went to get closer to Lt. Col. Stephens, but he motioned me stay where I was. Crowley interjected at occasion, but his words were met by the otherworldly figures with amusement or disdain or were just ignored, depending on the person and his words.
This continued on for just a few minutes when the sound of the droning changed, not as if a different recording had come on, but a different pitch from a different location. Suddenly, the outside was lit up brighter than any day I had seen while I had been stationed at the site, though it was still before midnight.
"What is this," said Asmodeus, "dawn is hours away. And would not be this sudden nor this bright."
He looked accusingly at her, who looked at the grounds outside the glass and at her now well illuminated surroundings, before coming to a conclusion.
"Flares," she said, "military flares."
A snort and then an odd laugh from Crowley got their attention.
"Yes, my Elaine," he said. "Military flares, from a pathfinder bomber. And the droning from above is a squadron of planes."
He looked towards Lt. Col. Stephens and stood up straight. He seemed more sober and sane than I had ever seen him.
"This is your doing, isn't it? They're going to bomb us, aren't they? What, explosives and incendiaries?"
Lt. Col. Stephens gave no reply, either from word or action.
"Yes, yes," said Crowley, "I saw it in a magazine. Two racks of bombs, next to each other, explosives and incendiaries. The explosive drops and opens the building, followed immediately by an incendiary that goes through the hole the explosive made, to burn all inside. To burn the place down."
"The rituals were done," said Asmodeus. "I was invited and have arrived. I mean to stay. Destroying this place will be nothing to me."
"No fire kindled by mortals could harm such as we."
I think I heard a bit of fear in Elaine's voice when she spoke, or maybe just resignation.
"They have bombs now that could cause steel to melt, that cause stone to flow like water."
"But they cannot affect such as us," said Asmodeus. "Their actions are futile."
"If you are here," said Crowley, "if you can affect our world, then you can be affected by our world. Injured. Perhaps even slain."
"No. You are wrong. You cannot even hold me," said Asmodeus.
He turned and faced the outer wall of glass and a gout of flame spewed from his human head, charring the plants, destroying planters, but the glass walls themselves were unharmed.
"'Symbols like walls,'" said Crowley, quoting himself. "When did you have time to do this, Lt. Col. Stephens? Who did this?"
He was looking at his surroundings, not moving otherwise, but pointed at the floor.
"You did the floors, too."
"Quiet, Crowley," said Lt. Col. Stephens in a low voice that still carried.
Asmodeus slid over to Crowley, towering over him, grasping him by his night shirt.
"You will open the door," it said, pointing to an exterior door. "So that I may egress. You mortals cannot trap me here."
Crowley twisted and stepped back, then looked at Asmodeus, then at Elaine, who had not moved from on top the table, and was peering around, seemingly looking for a weakness.
"This is not a trap for you,
Sakhr," said Crowley. "It is a trap for her."
"Shut up, Crowley," said Lt. Col. Stephens.
"You're just bait," said Crowley. "It was always about her, wasn't it? You and your smart fellows at the War Office figured out she existed."
Asmodeus was listening intently, while Lt. Col. Stephens kept on encouraging Crowley to cease speaking, but he just prattled on.
"You think that with her destruction the
Imperial Effect will also cease. But you are killing all your own men for this, as well as yourself. An excellent strategic turn."
"Well played, Lt. Col. Stephens, well played."
"There must be a way out," said Asmodeus. "He cares for those under him, those around him. He would especially not sacrifice himself. I will not be trapped."
"He would sacrifice a lot more to get rid of that supernatural threat," said Crowley, indicating Elaine.
"For God's sake, Crowley, shut up. They must not find out about the secret..."
And Crowley did shut up. But the damage was done. Asmodeus crossed to the room as the first rumbling as the bombs hitting the site were felt by us all.
"Where is it," said Asmodeus, taking up Lt. Col. Stephens, who fought back. The larger figure quickly disarmed him, then held him in a tight and painful grasp, violent enough that Lt. Col. Stephens' monocle finally fell to the floor.
"You have a way out," said Asmodeus. "I have power. I can offer you that. Riches, too. The way with any or every woman you see. What is the way, Lieutenant Colonel? Tell me the way!"
It was a ruse, of course, and it worked. As I have reported, 'Tin Eye' Stephens was one of the smartest people I ever knew, a master of psychology, and he proved it here. There was no escape, none for any in the room. He had played Crowley and he had played Asmodeus, causing the latter to waste time with him. Elaine remained standing on the table and prayed to herself, also impotent.
The bombs were getting close, the explosions more frequent, we could now hear them as well as feel them. The brightness of the flares was added to by the brightness of the flames from the site.
Asmodeus threatened, cajoled and came to pleading, while Lt. Col. Stephens had enough mind and discipline to dissemble, deflect, delay, and otherwise continue to hold the attention of Asmodeus.
He also had enough mind to tell me to "See to the papers, Captain Carmichael."
I took that to mean that they should survive the best they could, so our research could be found by others and used. I went to the interior wall and managed to tip over a large, heavy stone table onto its side, blocking a cubbyhole, then hopped over it, bringing the heavy case, holding it dear with both arms and legs. They would be looking for bodies after all this, I had figured, and my grip on the case would signify its importance.
A moment later one of the explosives hit the solarium. The table I was behind was broken, but still made a barrier. The case pressed against me as I was flung against the back wall and I felt bones break, but felt no real pain.
I clung to it as tightly as possible and the incendiary hit a moment later, bathing the room in blinding light and more heat than a kiln has. For a moment I was not affected by the direct heat, but the heat would sear my lungs in just a moment, as well as further physical damage that would give me a painful but quick death.
But then time just stopped for me. I saw flames that did not flicker, and Elaine was there, with me.
What Crowley had said must have been correct because the bare moment of heat she must have experienced had given her skin the hue of the worst sunburn you have ever seen, the tips of the feathers of her wings were blackening and her garments were smoldering. She must have been in a great deal of pain, but she took the effort to give me a smile.
She said: "The Asmodeus that was here and the others are slain. The bombs have broken the seals. I can escape even as injured as I am. And I can take you with me. But you have to ask for it. Now."
I had my duty, I had my family, I had orders to 'see to the papers' and I did not want to die.
We soldiers and civilians of the site had discussed what we would do if we had to succumb to the Imperial Effect. I had made my decision, then, but this was now.
I held out my hand to accept and she took it. I like to think I saw sorrow in her eyes as she did, knowing that our plan for her had failed, and what this would mean to me personally and my empire in general. But, she was still the enemy, and I was undoubtedly just seeing my own feelings reflected in her eyes.
As to the experience itself, all I could say was that I was spirited away, next finding myself against the perimeter fence, Elaine next to me. The entire complex was aflame, the building just burning rubble, the bombs having done their job and the planes having left.
She tried to take the case, but I held on with a death grip, and I am sure her actions were even less than half heartedly.
She then flew off and I was left there, very injured, but alive.
Eventually, the nearby townsfolk, and fire equipment arrived, brought forth by the flames. The police found me first and I was transported by ambulance to hospital, then transferred to a military hospital after less than a day. My injuries were serious but not critical, I spent some weeks recovering. I hung on to the case until relieved of it by a full colonel.
Months later, I was telling this tale to an informal inquiry and also stated my conclusion from our findings.
The only way to resist the Imperial Effect is to never give up, never surrender. Fight them on the beaches, on the landing grounds, in the fields, the hills and in the streets. Just, never surrender.