- Location
- San Francisco
I...honestly hadn't considered that. XD But kudos for the idea.
Wolfenstein: The New Heroes (A Wolfenstein Multicross feat. MCU, Disney's Atlantis and others!)
- Thread starter Vadrigos
- Start date
I...honestly hadn't considered that. XD But kudos for the idea.
This entire update in a nutshell.
Really, if HYDRA could survive by acting like a parasite inside SHIELD then we really should've expected them to survive reintegrating/infecting the Reich.
Snippet 7
- Location
- San Francisco
AYE LEEEEEVE! Yes, it is I! Purveyor of awful fanfiction, returned to dispense more of my trashy writings! Sorry I haven't been around, but I just haven't had the urge to write a lot lately. Still, hopefully this sates your cravings for more Wolfenstein stuff!
--W--
November 8th, 1960Santa Isabel, Puerto Rico
Dear Diary,
It's another sunny day in Hell, here in Santa Isabel; another daily act of defiance, just writing in your pages, using my mother's own language. God, if she could see me now...but it's better that she can't. Better that her and Papa are gone, so they don't have to see what a mess the world's become.
We just received word today via telegram that Packard is dead; she died last month. With Whitmore gone and Cookie with him, that makes four now; four living people who know that there's a city, an entire lost empire, just off the coast of Europe.
Atlantis; just writing the word seems dangerous in times like these. We get plenty of suspicion from the S.S. branch here for our letters. After all, why should a lowly mechanic and her Negro husband have friends on the other side of the world? Still, whatever they suspect us of, they'll never know the truth; not from me, anyways.
Sweet is taking up gardening. He still sees some patients here and there, but he's mostly retired now. Neither of us have heard much from Mole or Vinnie lately. It seems like we're all just waiting to go, like Packard. I still can't believe she's gone. She seemed ancient when we first met, and yet she kept going through it all, like it barely phased her. She reminded me of my mother in some ways, or perhaps my grandmother. She certainly smoked like my grandmother. Either way, she just seemed like she'd last forever. Now she's gone, and we're left wondering who's next.
Sometimes I wish we'd stayed down there, with Milo and Kida. We could've avoided all of this insanity. Looking back it seems so obvious what was to come, but then none of us were very concerned with international politics, even during the Depression. We were just trying to make ends meet. And then one day the Nazis sailed into port and claimed we belonged to them. Part of me thinks we should've fought harder, but then what could we really have done? What could any of us do against Panzerhunds with our bolt-action rifles and sandbags?
Still, perhaps if we had done something, we might still have our children. Sweet tells me not to blame myself, but I do. If I had said something more, done something more, perhaps Pedro and Sara were both strong children; strong-willed too. Now one is dead, and the other...I don't know. She told me not to worry when she sailed away with the other hopefuls, thinking they could reach the mainland and hide out there somewhere. I should've dragged her back by the hair...but I didn't.
I suppose some part of me agreed with her. Sweet and I, we were too old; too tired to fight anymore. We'd seen two wars pass us by, and we'd had enough of fighting. But that's no excuse, not when the world that we're leaving her is this one; where people like her are treated as slaves because of who their parents loved and the color of their skin.
You're probably wondering why I feel the need to revisit old wounds when there are so many other more immediate troubles. Well my dear, it's rather complicated. You see, a man came to the shop yesterday, an American; tall and tough with a brown fedora (and a bullwhip of all things), but always looking over his shoulder, and for good reason as you'll soon realize.
At first I thought it was Packard's executor Wallace, since he said he might be seeing us at some point to discuss her affairs, especially since she wrote us into her will. When I asked though he said he was a doctor, and laughed when I said I hoped he hadn't come to replace my husband. He said he studied archaeology, not medicine, so I told him if it was ruins he was after he should head farther south, but he explained that he was researching something much more recent. Before I could ask more, he reached into his bag and pulled out the Shepard's Journal.
Now I know what you're thinking my dear: "How could he possibly have that book, when we both know that Whitmore was the last man to have it. It should've been destroyed when his mansion burned down!" And yet there it was, as plain as day, and as mysterious as when I first saw Milo reading it. I never thought I'd ever see anything connected to Atlantis again, not after we agreed as a group to bury the crystals that Milo had given us, so the Nazis wouldn't find them.
I'm still not sure how I managed to resist the urge to snatch it from him, but I did. He said he'd received it from his father before they'd lost contact some years ago, along with papers that mentioned the names of everyone on the expedition. If I had been afraid before, I was in an absolute panic then. I considered shooting him with Rosa, fearing he might be a Nazi spy or a plainclothes S.S. member, but before I could do so, I quickly received damning proof that whatever he was, he was not a Nazi.
There were shouts in German from outside, and before I could say anything to my visitor, he'd dived over the counter and was making for the back door. I almost reached out to stop him, but before I could, the police, (the real ones, not the S.S.) were inside and pointing guns at myself and Sweet, who had come downstairs to see what the fuss was about. I don't know if they caught my visitor, but I do know that I never want to spend another night in a cell if I can help it.
We were both arrested and held for a fortnight while they searched our house and both of my garages. I'm still not sure how I managed to convince them that we knew nothing of our guest, but I did, and broke two fingers doing it. We were told only that he was a known terrorist, wanted for crimes against the Reich during the war. They didn't explain what these 'crimes' were, but then I never expected them to. Part of me thinks the only reason we were let go was because they hoped he would come back and try again. Even now it seems like the drones hover especially long over our house during their daily patrols.
I'm not sure what that man thought he would find by contacting me, or what he hoped to gain. I don't know if I'll ever see him again, or if he's even still alive. I do know this though: There may be only four people left on the surface who know that Atlantis is real, but now there's another one who's actively looking for it regardless. The scariest part of all of this is that I hope he finds it. I hope he finds it and tells Milo what's happened. Someone needs to do something, before the Nazis kill us all, and wreck this world beyond fixing. Maybe Atlantis can help, and maybe they can't. But someone needs to do something, because I can't believe that my daughter fights in vain.Sincerely,
Audrey
--W--
So yeah, Audrey and Sweet are married, and life is shit. Not because of the marriage, but the Nazis, obviously. And who's that with the bullwhip?! I wonder...
Also, I am totally reshaping the continuity here...so expect me to go nuts in the next few updates.
Also, I am totally reshaping the continuity here...so expect me to go nuts in the next few updates.
Last edited:
L-Space Traveler
Ook eek ook. (Translation: Verified Not a Monkey)
- Location
- Trapped in Necrotelecomnicon
So happy, this is fantastic so far. Keep it up.
Now that I think about it, Wakanda existing would explain why the Nazi's were having trouble pacifying Africa wouldn't it?
Last edited:
Oh, god yes. There's a side story right there! Heck, I bet a Wolfenstein level empire of Nazis would be a big reason to end the secrecy of Wakanda.
- Location
- Tampa, FL.
Hell, I could see it as a damn good reason for Wakanda to become more militarized. Even if they thing they can survive undetected forever, they'll likely begin preparing for a war against the Nazis as a contingency. They might not be able to take on the whole world of Nazis, but they'd definitely become a painful front to fight on for the Nazis themselves.
- Location
- San Francisco
Bombate may know more about that than he thinks he does. Milo might have something to say too...
Last edited:
- Location
- USA
Hmmm, I wonder what Tony or Howard Stark could do with Atlantean tech?
I dearly hope that the Nazis get to find out.
I dearly hope that the Nazis get to find out.
- Location
- San Francisco
Oh, he won't get Atlantean tech immediately. He will be getting something quite interesting though.
Snippet 8 (Part 1)
- Location
- San Francisco
So I just got a second part-time job recently, which is going to cut further into my will to write. Thankfully I've got more ideas as to where to take this fic now, so it should be easier to keep going in that respect. Also, three guesses as to what I've been playing a lot of lately, and the first two don't count.
--W--
October 12th, 1959
Hatch 18, Ukraine-Ausschlusszone
Greater Fatherland (former territory of the U.S.S.R.), Eastern Europe
The thunderclap of an imminent emission woke Howard with a jolt, just like it had every morning since his arrival. Even now, months after his stranding in this god-forsaken wasteland in the midst of the Ukrainian wilderness, he wasn't sure if it was having an effect on him. Certainly, the sudden surge of adrenaline he experienced at the sound was still fresh and strong, but he couldn't help but feel like he'd grown used to it; like it had become part of his biological routine. He even wondered that if it were to be absent one day, he might still wake every morning with the same tingling in his hands and spine; tense as a wire, but not sure why.
"Предупреждение! Эмиссия неизбежна! Ищите убежище немедленно!" commanded a creaky old megaphone from somewhere nearby, its tones as warped as an old wax cylinder. As if its orders weren't hard enough to comprehend already, it was further drowned out by a wailing air-raid siren, which in turn was almost totally obliterated by the rumbling and thunderous crackling of vast torrents of energy. As he rolled out of bed and into a sitting position, gripping the iron bed-frame tightly, Howard found himself helplessly recalling the first and last time he'd seen the source of that sound. It had looked like judgement day, with huge arcs of lightning leaping among clouds blacker than pitch, which nevertheless were penetrated by an immense violet aurora that seemed to burn the eyes as it built to a terrible crescendo. He'd become a lost man that day; cut off from virtually everyone he'd ever known, left surrounded by people he barely understood, his goals reduced to that most basic of needs: survival.
In a word: another victim of the Zone.
Eventually the wailing of the siren shut down, along with the loud declarations of the warning system. Only the storm remained. Even here, ten feet underground in the concrete and lead-lined barracks of Hatch 19, he felt the low seismic rumble of the passing wave of cosmic energy as it rolled across him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up so hard they almost hurt, and his teeth vibrated in the most unpleasant manner as the discharge washed through him and the men around him, mitigated only by the sturdy Soviet construction housing them.
Mouth held slightly open out of ingrained practice, the former philanthropist gripped the bed until his knuckles went white, tensing with each surge so hard that he thought he might actually bend the metal out of shape. It lasted for only five minutes, but went on for what felt like hours. Amid the hellish din, Howard thought he could hear one of his bunk-mates praying in some Slavic dialect he didn't understand. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, which were clamped tightly shut. He'd given up on God the day New York had died...or he would've if he hadn't already been an atheist. Granted, there had been moments he thought he might believe in some divine plan, back in those glory days when Steve had still been alive, fighting the good fight. Losing the war had changed all that.
Eventually, the constant cracks and peels of thunder began to die down, dwindling to nothing as the wave of the emission spread, attenuated, and died. Once the buzzing in his teeth had stopped, Howard shut his jaw with a click, trying to get saliva back on his tongue, which had gone dry like his throat.
"Forty-shix." said a voice nearby. He turned to face the oriental features of the speaker, Jim Morita. He was gripping his jaw as if trying to pop it back into place, wincing at every motion.
"Sorry?" Howard asked.
"Forty-" he began, then paused briefly before continuing, wincing again, "Sorry, forty-six. That makes forty-six emissions so far this month."
"You've been counting?" Howard asked, raising an eyebrow. The man shrugged.
"Not like there's anything else to do in this shithole." he grumbled.
"Выброс закончился! Вернитесь к своим обязанностям! Если вы получили ранения, сообщите в лазарет о лечении! Вот и все!" blared the speaker system, cutting off anything else Morita might've been preparing to say. As if summoned by the announcement, the bolts of the room's air-tight door slid out, allowing the entry of a large bearded man in a repurposed and slightly tattered Red Army uniform. He was a familiar figure; one that had become part of Howard's daily existence since he'd arrived at Hatch 18. Unfortunately his name was one of those Slavic tongue-twisters that the former philanthropist had always had trouble pronouncing, to the point that he'd given up trying to pronounce it even in his head, just calling him 'Svyat'.
This had not sat well with the man, who seemed perpetually annoyed with anyone who didn't know Russian as a first-language, like they were somehow mentally damaged. As he entered, he was looking down at a clipboard in his hands, but looked up as soon as he'd crossed the threshold, a steely glint in his eye.
"Никифоровича! Петр!" he barked, pointing at two members of the crew of eight men occupying the chamber, "Ты в патруле. Миша, отвези Америку к Хэтчу 28. Нам нужно больше предметов снабжения и другого радиоприемника. Вчерашняя эмиссия вчера вышла из нашей последней." This said, he shifted his pointing fingers to two more men and continued with nary a pause, snapping out more orders. "Василий и Григори, ты на спасение! Мы до сих пор не закончили ломать эту новую машину, которую немецкая свинья отправила на прошлой неделе, а Ивану нужны больше деталей."
"What?" Morita asked peevishly. He'd made it clear he disliked being given assignments he couldn't understand, but apparently that didn't matter to Svyat, as every day since their arrival, he'd delivered his morning duty roles in Russian and left the English translation to his men.
"He say you come with me, American. We go to Station 28." explained one of the group, who had been picked out by the commander's roving fingers. While obviously grateful for the translation, Morita still looked like he wanted to protest. Of the pair of them, Howard felt that Jim had been the one least happy to have been drafted by this sorry band of survivors. He'd been a Howling Commando during the war, and sitting around scavenging for a living wasn't sitting well with him. Before Howard could try and provide any verbal support, he felt the commander's hand land on his shoulder.
"Stark! You are needed at Station 1. Doctor Vanko would have words with you." the burly old communist declared, his volume somewhat lowered, but his tone no less authoritative. Howard sighed, feeling the adrenaline from moments before draining away to be replaced by a sullen, tired sensation that made him want to go back to bed.
"Again?" he muttered.
"Yes." the commander replied, without humor, "Again."
--W--
Предупреждение! Эмиссия неизбежна! Ищите убежище немедленно! -- Attention, an emission is imminent! Seek cover immediately!
Выброс закончился! Вернитесь к своим обязанностям! Если вы получили ранения, сообщите в лазарет о лечении! Вот и все! -- The emission is over! Return to your duties! If you are injured, report to the infirmary! That is all!
Никифоровича! Петр! Ты в патруле. Миша, отвези Америку к Хэтчу 28. Нам нужно больше предметов снабжения и другого радиоприемника. Вчерашняя эмиссия вчера вышла из нашей последней. -- Nikita! Piotr! You're on patrol. Take the American to Hatch 28. We need more supplies and another radio. Ours has been broken since yesterday.
Василий и Григори, ты на спасение! Мы до сих пор не закончили ломать эту новую машину, которую немецкая свинья отправила на прошлой неделе, а Ивану нужны больше деталей. -- Vasily and Grigori! You're on salvage. We haven't finished breaking down that new robot the German pigs sent in last week and Ivan needs more parts!
(A/N: Sorry I had to resort to Google Translate.)
Выброс закончился! Вернитесь к своим обязанностям! Если вы получили ранения, сообщите в лазарет о лечении! Вот и все! -- The emission is over! Return to your duties! If you are injured, report to the infirmary! That is all!
Никифоровича! Петр! Ты в патруле. Миша, отвези Америку к Хэтчу 28. Нам нужно больше предметов снабжения и другого радиоприемника. Вчерашняя эмиссия вчера вышла из нашей последней. -- Nikita! Piotr! You're on patrol. Take the American to Hatch 28. We need more supplies and another radio. Ours has been broken since yesterday.
Василий и Григори, ты на спасение! Мы до сих пор не закончили ломать эту новую машину, которую немецкая свинья отправила на прошлой неделе, а Ивану нужны больше деталей. -- Vasily and Grigori! You're on salvage. We haven't finished breaking down that new robot the German pigs sent in last week and Ivan needs more parts!
(A/N: Sorry I had to resort to Google Translate.)
Last edited:
Google translate strikes my pet peeve with a hammer once again
Хэтч 28 sounds bad, if it's local made it's likely has its own ukrainian name or, if it was made by germans, some shortening, or just a nickname. Also, предметов снабжения I took as supplies, like food and like
And it's actually nice to see Howard survive nuking
"Внимание! Выброс неизбежен! Ищите укрытие немедленно!"
"Выброс закончился! Вернитесь на свои посты! Если вы получили ранения, обратитесь в лазарет за лечением! Это всё!"
"Никифорович! Петр!"
"Ты в патруле. Миша, отвези американца к Хэтчу 28. Нам нужно найти больше припасов и запчасти для приёмника. Вчерашний выброс спалил наш последний."
I have only a faint idea what you meant by this. Need a proper context, or just untranslated version, for this
Хэтч 28 sounds bad, if it's local made it's likely has its own ukrainian name or, if it was made by germans, some shortening, or just a nickname. Also, предметов снабжения I took as supplies, like food and like
And it's actually nice to see Howard survive nuking
Last edited:
Howard is stuck in the The Zone from STALKER?
I wouldn't be surprised if Moscow had also been nuked and reduced to it's state in the Metro series. That seems like the sort of thing the Nazis would do, turn Moscow into a ghetto like they did to New Orleans then irradiate the surface so the "inmates" are confined to the Metro.
- Location
- San Francisco
Sorry, but I don't speak Russian, so it was a handy tool. If it came out as gibberish I apologize. I just thought it'd be strange to have everyone speaking English when the people in question don't have it as their first language. In general, they boil down to 'Emission Warning' and 'Daily briefing'
For what it's worth. Yeah, he's been a busy boy since the Big Apple blew up.
Hitler's original plan for Moscow was to level it and replace it with a lake...or maybe that was Stalingrad. Either way, he really hated Russia. Understandable given how much trouble it gave him. As it stands Russia did not fare well in this universe, but that's par for the course. As for Howard being in the Zone, that's a good guess, but it's not an exact replica. For one, Chernobyl was never built, so you'll have to guess as to what the source of those emissions are...
Last edited:
If I remember my history lessons correctly, than Moscow, Leningrad and bunch of other culturally significant cities and sites are pretty much Carthage'd . They are at best build over, at worst left as burned and heavily irradiated monuments of victory
Last edited:
It could be anything really, from Aliens to Magic to a malfunctioning defense system Vanko scienced up.
- Location
- USA
Does this mean that Tony is dead?
- Location
- San Francisco
It's 1960. Tony hasn't been born yet.
- Location
- San Francisco
Sorry about that. I'll try to make some with the next post.
- Location
- The deathworld-in-miniature that is Australia
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Ooh, I like this! Always did want to see more nu!Wolfenstein fics, and the crossover properties all fit with the tone and/or contents of the new Wolf canon. Doesn't hurt that it looks like this author can really write.
And I must say, I burst out laughing at Fergus' POV portion - you nailed him so well.
And I must say, I burst out laughing at Fergus' POV portion - you nailed him so well.
- Location
- San Francisco
*le blush* Why thank you. X3
Snippet 8 (Part 2)
- Location
- San Francisco
Howard's adventures continue!! Also some big references dropped. What fun!
--W--
And so, after some dressing, some packing, and a twenty-minute hike Howard found himself standing at the entrance to Hatch 1, surrounded by firs and other evergreens beneath a slate-gray sky. As always, the whole trip felt like a fever-dream, though to be fair, most of his life had felt that way since the Nazis had nuked New York. Between running from S.S. 'recruitment squads' and helping Peggy (God bless her if he actually existed) organize some kind of meaningful resistance, those early days had been hell; a panicked, paranoid nightmare with no awakening. The days that followed hadn't been much better, but that was a different story.
That said, ever since the harrowing escape that had landed Morita and himself in this barrel, alien landscape, he often found himself wishing for a return to that dark interval. At least there, it had felt like he was achieving something. Granted, the Zone had its perks for those living there. For one, there were no death squads (usually), and the greenery hadn't been bulldozed to make room for heinously monolithic concrete edifices the Reich seemed to fetishize. Of course it DID have mines, radioactive debris from old experiments, and extremely lethal physics-defying anomalies.
Gently and without warning, a soft rain began to fall, dampening Howard's spirits as well as his clothing. He sighed in melancholy. Who was he kidding? Everywhere was dangerous these days. The only difference was that here, the danger was impersonal. Wearily, he watched while his guide knocked in a morse pattern on the weather-stripped and slightly rusty airtight door of the old Soviet facility. Another pattern replied, confirming authorization. A brief roll of thunder caused Howard to tense and look upwards, before relaxing when no other sounds followed. He chuckled at his own paranoia. Two emissions in twenty minutes would've been a record. As it was, they generally only happened in minimum intervals of two hours...so far anyways.
He hurried inside before that train of thought could go further, pausing briefly while the guards checked him for weapons.
"Really? Come on fellas; I've been here almost a year. If I were going to try something, I would've done it already." he complained, dripping slightly on the old concrete floor.
"Шуш, ты." grunted one of the guards, finishing his pat-down while his partner ran a Geiger counter over him. Finding nothing untowards, they eventually stopped, the first one waving down the hall behind him. "Продолжай. Ты чист." he declared. Howard took the hint and headed into the poorly lit and grim interior of the old Soviet bunker. As he did, he passed a map of the whole complex fixed to the stone wall, encompassing the former perimeter of the Zone and the facilities inside it. He couldn't read any of the Cyrillic text, but he knew the story.
Before the war, something had landed (Arrived? Appeared?) in rural Ukraine, on the edge of the border with Belarus. Stalin had naturally been interested, so interested that he'd taken resources away from trying to pacify internal dissent after his takeover to build a network of scientific outposts in the midst of the new and deadly region, which spread fifty kilometers in all directions around Hatch 1. There were thirty 'Hatches' in all, each performing its own function for the sake of the others, be that research, housing or supplies.
As he turned and walked on, leaving the map and guards behind Howard remembered how Anton had spoken of the network's construction; of how they'd 'conscripted' unfortunate survivors from the towns around the Zone devastated by the initial emissions to serve as labor, rather than allow them to leave and possibly spread word of what had happened. Most of those unfortunates had died, and those that had survived had never been allowed to leave anyways. It was only the cruelty of fate that had turned their imprisonment into a willing act, as the arrival of the Nazi military cordon which killed anything trying to get out of these fifty square kilometers had forced them to reevaluate the wisdom of escape.
Eventually, Howard found himself pulled from his swamp of recollection (which was fine with him, given some of the things living in it) by his arrival in the complex's administrative block. Working by a sense of direction honed over months of such visits, he wound his way through the mostly-empty offices until he reached the door he was looking for; a steel hatch identical to almost every other one he'd passed through so far in this labyrinthine bunker save for the brass plate nailed up next to it. Howard had no idea what it said, but he knew what it meant:
'DOCTOR ANTON VANKO - CHIEF OF APPLIED RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT'
With a bone-deep tiredness and an expression that no doubt matched his feelings, Howard reached up to knock. Anton disliked it when people entered unannounced, which was somehow amusing given his current scientific obsessions.
"Anton, it's me!" he declared. For a moment there was silence, and Howard briefly wondered if his erstwhile 'employer' might be out at the moment. But then life was never that kind.
"Come in!" camed the muffled reply, offered in slightly accented English; a rarity in this grim, artificial underworld. Bolts slid back from behind the portal, which then creaked open slightly. Howard pulled it the rest of the way, allowing him to step into the cramped and cluttered space that was Anton's office. The man himself, dressed in a slightly dirty lab coat and elderly shirt and pants, was already squeezing his way back behind the small desk that took up most of the underground space.
"You are punctual as always." he commented, sliding into his seat with a grunt of effort, "Though I can still remember a time when you weren't…" He smirked at Howard in the manner of one who knows things about you that you wouldn't want your mother to know. The engineer rolled his eyes.
"You called. I came. What is it this time?" he asked, folding his arms. This response quickly smothered any fellow feeling Anton might've been trying to cultivate, his expression melting from sly friendship to sour sincerity.
"It's about this side project of yours…" he said after a few moments of silence, "The General has concerns about the resources and time you've been pouring into it." Howard resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but something else in his manner must've tipped Vanko off, because he pursed his lips in disapproval before continuing."
"He understands that you are an engineer first, and that you have ethical qualms about participating with us, especially given the nature of our research-"
"You conscripted Morita and me and gunpoint." Howard cut in, feeling a familiar and chilly irritation rising inside him, "You threatened to shoot him if I didn't work with you on your little project."
"Which is more than the Nazis would've offered." Vanko retorted, unable to keep from leaping at the verbal bait like always. A tight smile formed on Howard's face. It was one of the many features about him that had endured since their brief time together at Oxford all those years ago. The biggest was that, simply put, he was still an unrepentant asshole.
"That's debatable." he countered, sidestepping the argument that was threatening to erupt, "What exactly does the General have a problem with?"
"As I said, the resources and time you have been pouring into this code-breaking project are troubling him. He'd much rather it that you continue helping me with Project Baba Yaga."
"Look," Howard began, feeling irritation rising to replace his depression, "firstly, it's more than a simple code-breaking process. The Krauts' robots are advanced, yes, but they all run on the same set of rules."
"Understanding the inner workings of the Nazi's soldiers is an admirable task, but how will it provide us with a means of fighting back? That, ultimately is what we are doing here." Anton demanded.
"I don't need reminding." Howard answered, gritting his teeth and marvelling at how one man could have such an imagination, yet simultaneously be so bereft of understanding. "Look, I don't expect the General to understand-"
"He doesn't. That is why he has asked me to ask you." Anton interrupted, leaning back as much as he could in his metal chair, which creaked in protest, "This is your chance to convince him that what you are doing is worthwhile...and to be frank, Stark, you are making a very poor first impression."
For a brief instant, Howard felt irrational fury surge through him. He wanted to leap over the desk and strangle the smug bastard; show him what he really thought of him and his abomination of a 'Project', which would've made Abraham Erskine leap screaming from his grave had he still been alive to see it. But no, he couldn't, because that wouldn't just cost him, but Morita as well.
And for all his loathing of Anton's methods, Stark couldn't stop a sense of twisted understanding from rising to dampen the flames of his rage. After all, his home might be on its knees, but Anton's had been gutted, and had been so long before the bomb had fallen on New York. Hitler's treatment of the U.S.S.R. and its peoples had been merciless, perhaps more than any other nation he had conquered. The extermination of the Jews had been little more than a warm-up by comparison. Instinctually, his eye fell on the silver locket Anton wore around his neck. He knew what was inside, and the thought was enough to rob him of any righteous indignation he might be feeling.
Thus, clearing his throat and focusing his mind, Howard gestured to the only other seat in the room: a wooden chair that looked like it might fold under him if used.
"Mind if I sit?" he asked. Anton made a gesture that said he couldn't care less. Dragging the rickety construction over, the engineer turned it so it's back was facing he desk, then swung a leg over the seat and sat down, lacing his fingers atop the broad back-rest. He rested there for a moment as he thought on how best to explain the work he'd been doing so that Anton might both understand and sympathize.
"The Nazis caught us off-guard with their technology. That we can all agree on." he began, explaining in a careful, measured tone like the one Jarvis had often used when trying to explain why his latest absurd request was infeasible. "But what runs their technology?"
Anton gave no response to this question, and merely cocked an eyebrow in mild impatience. Howard gestured at the air, as if trying to shape the invisible dough of his thoughts into words. Eventually he struck upon an allegory he thought might work, and silently thanked the memory of Dr. Erskine as he continued.
"Do you know about the story of the Golem?"
"That's a Jewish myth, isn't it?" Anton inquired disinterestedly.
"Yes. A town is under threat from...something, bandits I think, so the priest, on orders from God, bakes a man out of clay. Then he writes the name of God on a slip of paper and puts it in the statue's mouth. The statue sits up and fights off the bad guys, who can't harm it because, hey, he's a walking flowerpot who can't feel pain."
"I assume you're going somewhere with this…" Anton sighed. Howard nodded, gesturing less wildly.
"The Nazi's war machines, all their computing machines, work on a similar principle. They're like the golem, except instead of the name of God, their…'life', if you can call it that, comes from a set of directives. A program made of mathematical computations, which tells them what to do and not to do. If this, then this. If something else, then that."
"A Babbage machine." Anton said, simplifying the description so swiftly that Howard felt slightly embarrassed by the comparison, which was miles more accurate than his own.
"Yes," he admitted, "you could put it like that. A very complex, sophisticated difference engine. The technology is wild stuff. But ultimately what matters is the information running it; the program." He gestured to a map on the wall above a set of elderly filing cabinets, which showed the known extent of the Nazi perimeter cordon around the Zone.
"If I can decipher the rules of the program, we can hijack their robots and make them fight for us. We could access their communications networks and learn their secrets again, like when they still used old ENIGMA machines, except faster and better."
"Hmmmm…" Anton said, his eyes shifting to the map, but also losing their focus as he apparently considered Howard's words. For a long minute, nothing was said between the two scientists. "An interesting proposal…" he finally admitted, "but still, not without flaws."
"I'm open to criticism." Howard replied hastily, gripping the back of his seat, "I'll admit it's not a perfect plan, but it's got to be better than-"
"Than relying on magic?" Anton interjected, cutting Howard off yet again. The engineer winced slightly, while his old colleague's face took on that same irritating smirk from earlier. "There's no need to be coy about it, Howard. I know what you think of the Project. I doubt even General Platonov has much real faith in my work. But then all emerging sciences have been dismissed in their time."
"Anton…" Howard began, unsure of what to say or feel, as he always was in these instances when his former college acquaintance began to ramble on about his field of research.
"You don't have to agree with me, Howard." the man continued, lacing his own fingers atop the desk, "Even though I suspect in some small way you do. Else you would not have elected to pursue such a project. But you cling to a materialistic view, when evidence that there is more to our universe than is dreamed of in any philosophy is sitting in a crater not three kilometers from where we now sit."
"Anton, just because a magic hammer fell from the sky does not mean you can use it to give people psycho-...psi-...psycho-whatsit powers."
There, he'd said it. And now Anton would shout him out of his office for daring to mock his work. Except he didn't. Instead his smirk took on an aspect of exhaustion similar to the kind Howard had been feeling mere minutes before. He shook his head slowly.
"Not magic." he said, "There is no magic. Only the known and unknown." He looked down at his desk, and Howard realized that on it was a picture which his preoccupied mind had totally missed during these past few minutes. It was of the Zone's center; the crater where the thing that the Hatch Complex's documents referred to as Item 53 had...arrived. The pit itself was almost ten feet deep and sixty feet across, it's sides made of hardened radioactive glass, fused into such by the awesome energies emanating from the thing at its center. Whoever had taken the picture must have used a long-barrel camera lens, since film that got too close to the location had a tendency to decay into blank whiteness before it could be developed. Whatever the case, the picture was still clear enough to get the details, and that was what mattered.
It was a hammer, but not just any hammer. The head was a pentagonal prism of silvery metal, but squashed so it was nearly trapezoidal in shape. The handle, meanwhile, seemed relatively short compared to the mass of the head, making Howard think that anyone trying to lift the thing would have a devil of a time using it. Of course, anyone trying that would also need to be wearing a lead-lined suit and be certifiably insane, given what had happened to the last person who had tried it. Along the beveled edges of the thing were carved runes, unmistakably Old Norse, with their alternating crosses, slants and vertical lines. Howard knew what it said, but still didn't quite believe it, and doubted he ever would. But then if Erskine's god could let the Nazis come to power, surely other deities (if they existed at all) could be just as absent-minded...right?
The sound of Anton clearing his throat brought him back from a confusing mental space to the equally baffling physical one.
"I respect your work, Howard, even if you do not respect mine. I will tell General Platonov to grant you special dispensation to continue your explorations of the Nazi robotics...provided it does not interfere with Project Baba Yaga."
The engineer sagged back, realized his seat was inverted, then turned the motion into a slump forward with just a bit of embarrassment.
"Thanks...I mean, thank you." he said, standing up when he saw that his old colleague was holding out his hand for a handshake. He took it and shook, unsure whether to feel relieved or frustrated. The truth was he wasn't sure his own experiments or plans would be any more successful than Anton's...but then he would've done anything to stop participating in the man's project...even if only for a while. There were some things even Howard would not sink to...and experimenting on children, even orphan volunteers, was one of them.
"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me," the rather portly Russian declared, glancing at the clock and easing his way back around his desk, "I believe I am needed at Hatch 17. Our next battery of tests is due to begin in an hour, and unless I am there, the girls will be very upset."
"We wouldn't want that." Stark muttered darkly. Anton apparently caught his words, but failed to grasp the dark sarcasm behind them.
"Well no. It would skew the test results." he started, then saw the dark look in Howard's eyes, only to again misinterpret it. He patted him on the back jovially. "Come now, Howard. It's not witchcraft, whatever you may think. Just science. Science is everything. Science will give us victory."
--W--
Шуш, ты. -- Quiet, you.
Продолжай. Ты чист. -- Go on, you're clean.
Next time: NAZIS IN THE JUNGLE! Or maybe just another lore/diary snippet or twelve. Don't judge me. This will proceed at its own pace.
Продолжай. Ты чист. -- Go on, you're clean.
Next time: NAZIS IN THE JUNGLE! Or maybe just another lore/diary snippet or twelve. Don't judge me. This will proceed at its own pace.
Last edited:
- Location
- Denmark
First problem: You STILL have random Russian in there without translating it and it is STILL extremely annoying.
Second problem: Lore/Diary stuff is interesting but if this story does not start GOING anywhere soon it is going to crash and burn I fear.
Other than these two elephants in the room it is a good chapter.