Field report, Addressed to: Major-General Sir Colin Gubbins.
Care of British commonwealth Armed forces, North African RAF base designation 'Firefly'.
From: Captain A. Lysander. 2nd African Auxiliary unit.
17th of April, 1941.
It is with a mix of profound relief and distinct uncertainty that I hereby offer my complete and concise report concerning the death of SS-Oberfuhrer Aldrik Faust and my team’s successful dissolution of his operations in North Africa. I understand my previous telephone report was somewhat indistinct with details, as some of the events that transpired in our mission were difficult to reasonably describe, at best. The file I have attached details the basics on what we know of Faust, and how he escaped justice previously after his involvement with the SS special projects unit of '39, regarding the advanced weaponry experiments. Intelligence had followed his actions closely since those events, and his movements were impossible to ignore. Faust was a close confidante of SS-Reichfuhrer Himmler, and was no doubt trusted with the height of secret information regarding the SS-special projects operations. It is a shame we couldn't apprehend him alive, as his information would have been undoubtedly valuable, but as you will read, due to circumstances surrounding his confrontation, this was quite impossible. In summation, the operation was a success, apart from, of course, the regrettable loss of Private Thomas and Sgt. Styles. I write to you now from Northern command, eagerly awaiting our return to Europe.
Let me begin my report by detailing the arrival at the RAF base 'Firefly' in North Africa. My team consisted of myself, my most trusted friend Lieutenant Robert Reese, Sergeant Mark Styles; communication specialist, Private Richard Wake; our driver, Corporal Howard Andrews; sharpshooter, Private Arnold Thomas; and Lance Corporal Edward Redden; Medic. I imagine they can get away with calling Firefly a base because there was a British flag or two in the air, a few Crusader class tanks doing the rounds, but otherwise might've well been a watering hole. I can't imagine trying to land anything there, and as we arrived by road I thought we were passing a small group on maneuvers until I saw the tents. The base hadn't seen proper communication in a full week, according to Major Colson; the current commanding officer and the majority of manpower here was simply redirected from the main base to the north engaging the AXIS forces. The paltry situation of the base was explained to me as a necessity. Eight times in four weeks, the base had been hit with mortar fire by night. The chances of such a small base being directly targeted are so remote that a spy was suspected amongst personnel manning the base, and one by one groups were moved, maneuvered, or routed. The base had begun to move day by day across the desert, seeking to outwit enemy spies. No man had ever been found, no evidence of a double agent at all. Yet the unit headed by Faust was indeed confirmed last seen in this area a fortnight prior. There is little to no SS presence in this area, and the distinctive clothing design on the small group of personnel in question had been taken note of. Our intention was to remain in base for the night, before leaving in the direction indicated by intelligence to attempt to follow Faust's movement. The night spent in camp was, however, less relaxing than one would have hoped.
Immediately my team and I could observe that the troops stationed here were out of sorts for their detail here. They were jumpy, overworking themselves and some even exhibiting signs of serious paranoia. Upon sitting down to eat in the early evening, I was immediately approached by a young private who asked me when he could go home. Of course I had to let him know I had no idea whatsoever, but that the North African campaign was progressing well. I had thought my 'home by Christmas' attitude would have brought the poor chap's spirits up but he seemed distraught at even spending another night in the base. When asked what had got his heckles up so, he left the table in quite a hurry. This was not, it soon proved, an isolated attitude.
Upon taking a seat beside Lieutenant Reese and Corporal Andrews to discuss the trip and share a drink, we overheard several troops sitting nearby speaking excitedly about an incident on base that occurred only last week. Apparently a lone watchman on the perimeter had been drawn from his position in the dead of night by the sound of a young woman's voice. Utterly impossible in this location of course, but nevertheless he traveled out of the sight of nearby men, and wasn't until a few minutes had passed was he noticed missing by his fellows. They'd assumed at first he had retired to the toilets, until noticing his rifle and even his flashlight remained at his post. Running out into the darkness of night to locate him, they found the man only a short distance from where the light from the base was no longer visible. According to the men who found him, he was lying on the ground, muttering and babbling in semi-conscious fugue. Accounts differed across the base with hearsay of course, and no one was entirely sure exactly who had seen the apparition first hand, but all led to the common belief that the man had been drawn from his post by the ghost of a young woman. He was rushed back to the medical officers on site for immediate treatment, where he spoke of following the woman' voice, before passing out.
Of course, I was concerned for the safety of my team, as we ourselves would be heading into those wastes before long. I sought the man who suffered the attack, a young private from my own hometown of Coventry, as it turned out. He had been resting in a state of fitful sleep since his mysterious encounter, and was difficult to communicate with as I visited him at his bedside. From what I managed to gather from his incoherent ramblings, he honestly believed he had followed a girl into the desert wastes, and recalled nothing more than being kissed by her. I was most disturbed by the smile that lit his face as he recalled the events.
The doctor who had been treating him assured me the talk of the girl was utter nonsense, and that considering the man's babble spoke poorly of me as an officer. I suppose a man of science is harder to spook.
Needless to say, the fears of the impressionable young men here at the camp were now justified. Even some of my own men were affected, I caught them sharing ghost stories from back home over food that night. Corporal Howard of course couldn't be intimidated if the whole Luftwaffe itself came against him, and was content to add this to his collection of stories to tell his grandchildren one day. I wasn't sure what to believe; regardless I made sure I sharpened my knife keenly that night.
The morning upon which we began our journey south in the direction of our target's movement was insufferably hot. We traveled in a small vehicle, driven by Private Wake. Lance Corporal Redden, a powerfully built man by all appearances, stripped to his undershirt and remained as such throughout the mission whether he noticed it or not. I myself sat in the passenger seat, watching the wastes travel by as we sped along. The sheer magnitude of the desert around us began to be suffocating. If a man were lost out here, how long would he live? That led me to consider what sort of beast possibly could survive out here at all. Perhaps whatever had fed upon the poor young man from the base needed the fluids of others to survive? Or perhaps a vampire straight out of nightmares had merely beset upon him. I forced such thoughts from my mind and focused myself upon the task at hand. We know Faust's involvement with SS special projects in the last few years had chiefly been concerned with acquisition of personnel and objects of questionable significance to any possible effect on the war. In Italy he was rumored to be acquiring items of great Holy significance from the Vatican, as well as being observed acquiring the services of several occult specialists in France, as well as even attempting to contact our own resident madman, Aleister Crowley. I'm sure I'll be blasted for acknowledging it, but damned if it didn't seem that most of Faust's chief concerns were with chasing ghosts. I know Himmler must be mad, but if expending trained men and expensive equipment on occult nonsense around the globe is what he really spends his resources doing I'm surprised we haven't won the bloody war already. We of course have all heard the rumors of Hitler's obsession with the occult, but is the Fuhrer really thinking to harness it to his advantage? Ridiculous. I know for certain that my fears of some new weapon of war rolling onto the field of battle far outweigh those of Nazi ground troopers using arcane tomes full of hocus pocus against us. Of course, if that had been the case this time, confronting Faust would have been significantly easier.
Several hours into the desert, we stopped to double check bearings. We couldn't be sure we were following in our quarry's footsteps yet, as no tire tracks or any other tell tale signs had been noticed so far. According to the info we had on the area, there had been no indigenous folk located there in recent history. Anything we would find would be new and thus sign of Faust's passing. Attempting to radio to base brought nothing but static, and we prepared to begin a circular search pattern of the visible area. Such maneuvers or indeed, clever detective skills were not necessary however, as upon leaving the vehicle to relieve himself, Private Thomas discovered a simple treasure trodden to earth beneath his own boot. A mostly burnt German brand cigarette. For your health, they say. To the far south a mountainous range had come into view, and it seemed our target had traveled into them. It might not be the long search over the wastes we had at first expected. At this point we managed to get a successful radio report back to Firefly, gave details of our location and intended course, before continuing on towards the mountains.
We arrived at the mountainous region, which I now know is locally known as the smoking mountains, by early evening. The locals say spirits rise from the mountains into the air. Perhaps they are seeing smoke from effervescent volcanic rock, I can't be sure. From a vantage point above the valley that we would head down into, Private Thomas observed two vehicles clearly belonging to Faust's group. It seemed the enemy would be in numbers comparable to our own, as only a civilian vehicle and a convoy truck was present, and it seemed much more likely that the truck housed supplies for the desert rather than manpower, leaving an estimate of six to ten enemy troops.
After progressing a small way into the valley, we could see our target below us: A hastily constructed tent built into the side of a mountainous cave, composed mainly of large white tarpaulin and simple wooden beams. It appeared unguarded. At my order, my team split into two groups. Andrews, Redden and I would observe from the north, while Sergeant Styles took Thomas and Wake around to the south. Reese, who was a man known for his skill in subterfuge, volunteered to make the journey down to the construction to see what he could find. He was given strict orders not to engage the enemy if possible. The evening had turned brisk fast, as in our separate groups we watched down into the valley floor. We were not waiting long before we first observed our enemy. A titan of a man stepped out of the tent opening. He was easily well over six feet in height, wearing the black uniform of the SS Sonderkommandos; The most brutal butchers the Reich had to offer. The SS uniform, whilst intimidating by design, was clearly inappropriate for the climate however, as the lingering heat from the day still placed an obvious weight on the man's huge shoulders, and he brushed sweat from his great forehead with a sleeve. He had come out to smoke; it appeared, as he immediately retrieved a cigarette from his coat. Reese, on my gesture, approached the man from behind and fired point blank into his head. He gestured up to us, and our two teams each descended into the valley.
The Sonderkommando was armed with a rifle, a pistol in holster, and a combat knife upon his belt. No identifying insignia could be found upon him, which you will note is not normal procedure for the SS.
The tent flap stood quietly open, and in single file we entered. Corporal Andrews would stay outside, resume his place atop the valley, and watch for our return.
Within, the tent was clearly a small, threadbare command post, seemingly deserted. A large communications device had been set up, with radio equipment apparently ready to use, yet was obviously deactivated. However they could achieve any kind of communication in this area, without radio towers, was clearly beyond me. The back of the tent led directly to the bare rock of the mountainside, with the small cleft of a connecting passage the only visible exit. Empty chairs stood around tables filled with cluttered documents. A large dominant world map was spread out over a central table, heavily marked and annotated upon in hand written German. The location we currently occupied was specifically marked as ‘Communication Site one’, according to Sergeant Styles, fluent In German. Other such noted sites were marked around the globe in Pennsylvania; North America, Cornwall; England, and an unnamed location in the Amazon basin. Wide assortments of odd texts were lying nearby, some in European dialects, but others in less recognizable languages. Most notably was a large leather-bound book, appearing somewhat advanced in age, in Italian, seemingly concerning the occult. Of course this was Faust’s modus operandi given his strange obsessions. Italian however was not one of Styles many languages, so I took this tome myself for later study and ordered the other significant documents gathered.
It was at this point we were spotted. The small opening in the cave wall, dark enough to mostly obscure sight and small enough so that a grown man would have to duck his head to move properly, suddenly bustled with movement and from it two German guards were in the process of emerging. We exchanged a brief moment of stunned silence before they yelled a mutual holler of alarm. The first of the guards attempted to bring his rifle to bear from over his shoulder, but the small confines of the cave passage left him smashing the butt against the wall helplessly, Private Thomas readied his pistol and shot the man dead as he fumbled, the second had by this time turned and retreated back into the cave passage, screaming of our intrusion as he went.
Given that all air of surprise was now taken from us, my team of six, weapons readied; gave pursuit.
The cavernous room we arrived into at the other end of the corridor looked as if it had been borne from the mountainside crudely, bare rock showed through on many walls, the ceiling reinforced by a dozen wooden pylons. The soldier ahead of us had succeeded in alerting the occupants of the room to our attack, of course, as we were met immediately with fire from two sides. The order to return fire was redundant of course, and Thomas, who was front of our single file line, shot and killed the soldier who had pre-empted us. Robert immediately shoved me down to a more defensible position within the mouth of the tunnel, returning fire as he did so. The room was wide and low, lit with several meager bulbs from low mining lights, so making out the number of our enemy was not easy. Our entrance into the room was being fired upon by at least three weapons. However, over the thunder of rifle fire I saw that a section of the room had been quartered off with curtains. Lit from within, shadows darting across the white material identified several occupants. The first form that ran from the cover of the curtain was an armed sondorkommando, an M40 firearm in his hands. From behind him emerged a second man, tall and slender, and I was suddenly struck with recognition.
In appearance, Aldrik Faust was truly the archetype for Aryan pride. A lean man of six feet, with a head of perfectly cropped blond hair, and a noticeably intense stare. His black officer's uniform was impeccably clean and glittered with silver marks of significance. He appeared entirely unarmed, with not even the characteristic Luger holster on his hip. He stole a glance over the shoulder of the soldier before him, and barked orders into the man’s ear in his sharp Frankfurt accent. Capturing the man alive for questioning would have of course been a boon of the mission, but the situation made the subterfuge necessary for such a capture a heavy risk. A noise and sudden cry to my front alerted me to Thomas' first wound. He fell to his knees before me, allowing me to see over him and raise my own rifle to fire upon the soldier who I can only assume had fired the shot. The other members of my group had keenly seen the same chance, and the soldier fell under a barrage of rifle fire. In a blur of motion, Faust sprinted across the room, amazingly agile, and slid to the corner of the room hidden from our viewpoint. Styles had, by this time, turned and opened fire upon the sondorkommando, and with his death, our immediate danger was ended. I foolishly ordered Styles after Faust immediately, and for the resulting event can only take full responsibility.
My training as an officer taught me to weigh each action in combat, to remember tact over emotion. This proximity to the man we had hunted had dulled my mind, however. My excitement led me to the order I gave. Styles thundered around the corner after Faust at the same time that Thomas was pulled to the ground for Redden's immediate aid. A great gush of heat struck me then, and I could only fall to the floor and hide my tearing eyes. The cave had seemed to suddenly be bathed in a great conflagration, and the horrible sound that reached my ears over the noise of the great gout of flame could only have been Sergeant Style's dying scream. Faust had not fled us; he had rushed for heavier weaponry. The Oberfuhrer emerged with a flammenwerfer 35 unit upon his back, the handheld funnel of the siege weapon still belching flame. From within the tent came the frenzied cries of protest in German, to which Faust screamed angrily in reply. The moment's distraction was all that was needed, as Private Wake aimed his rifle and took Faust through the heart. The Oberfuhrer attempted to ready the heavy weapon again, but was dead before he pulled the trigger. The conflagration from his weapon had set the white curtained area ablaze, and as they fell, a truly strange arrangement was revealed.
A man in doctors' garb, whose distinct appearance you will find upon the separate casualty report, was frantically stamping out the flames about a low hospital gurney, upon which was a prone, seemingly unconscious figure. Redden was seeing to Thomas' injuries, a single rifle shot through the stomach. All armed opposition in the area apparently dealt with, I ordered Redden and Wake to carry Thomas back to the main room to see to is injury. Redden gave me a look that could only mean the man was dead on his feet, the shot fatal, but Thomas was still alert and in pain. Together they carried Thomas back down the passageway we came from, Redden digging in his pouches for morphine. Myself and Robert approached the gibbering, frantic doctor. The doctor was speaking rapidly to the prone figure, his hands braced on the gurney, shaking it with crazed fervor. The man was so flustered he was practically tripping over his own words in an effort to get it all out as fast as possible, constantly looking over his shoulder at what appeared to be an extremely large framed painting against the wall. I only glanced at the painting at the time, but I could have sworn the scene depicted upon it was that of the base we had passed through, Firefly. When we had approached within a few feet of the doctor, he finally seemed to become aware of us. The look in his eyes was a confounding mix of terror, hatred and genuine confusion. He extended his arms protectively in front of the gurney, repeating the same words over and over again to the point of gibbering. Styles had been the only one of us present fluent in German, so there was no opportunity for an exchange or even of understanding the man. He looked to us, tears in his eyes. The man was an absolute wreck, his hands clawing the air as if to grasp words he could not find for us. Turning towards his patient once more, those hands grasped at a tray of medical instruments nearby. The scalpel he had grasped moved for the girls' face. He fell dead to Roberts' gunshot not a second too soon. The sound of the shot, and the crash of the falling doctor, close as it was to the figure on the gurney, did not appear to disturb her.
The figure was a girl, young. Quite naked, and clearly albino. Her hair was cut short about her head and entirely white. She was breathing in rough, energetic breaths, her eyes shifting restlessly in the quick, darting movement a child lost in dream. As we approached the girl I began to become aware of a tension in the area, as if an invisible, magnetic pulse was moving through me. My ears began to ache with pressure and I began to wonder if there were machines in the area we had not noticed; perhaps this was what radiation felt like at such close range? Regardless, Robert reached out a hand to touch the girl's ankle, and immediately the figure tensed, her back arching as if in pain, toes curling. Her mouth opened as if she was screaming, but not a sound came from her throat. My ears screamed with pain, and I could see by Robert's expression that he felt the same. A piercing whine echoed deep into my head, as If I'd stood too close to artillery fire. Just as I turned to make room between myself and the unbearable pressure, it was drained in an instant. The girl slumped back to the gurney as if shot.
Her body was limp at once, her breathing calm. She had apparently relaxed into a deep, dreamless sleep. The sudden lack of the curious tension we had felt left an emptiness in the cavern I could not describe. Robert pulled my attention from the girl to gesture at the painting close by. Although its heavy brass frame rested upon the floor, it was large enough to still stand several inches over my own head. I was confused, looking into the painting now, as I had been sure that only moments before Firefly base had been depicted. Now only stars appeared to show, a deep, incredibly detailed rendering of the clear night sky. Why, it was so clear the stars almost blinked. I stepped closer, forward enough to scrutinize the tiny bright stars therein. It was amazing, they truly were blinking, and it was like looking through a clear window into the night sky. Not even a window, it was too clear, like seeing it through my own eyes. I was beginning to ask Robert what he made of this incredible picture when it began to change before my very eyes. The stars were blinking out, one by one, leaving only the deep, darkness of the night sky, before that too seemed to melt away, leaving a deeper darkness behind. Emptiness stared back at me, and I became aware of the strangest sense of depth. Looking into the strange painting, I seemed to realize I was instead seeing into a space, a void. Impossible, I know, but as I gazed I knew that there was a space beyond that painting so immense it would dwarf looking into the sky above our heads. It was so clear I thought that perhaps I could reach through into the space beyond. For minutes I must have stared into that endless space beyond the frame, Until I dimly became aware of Robert talking at my shoulder. Private Thomas was dead; Redden had given him morphine and eased his passing.
All attempts to awaken the albino girl proved unsuccessful, as if she were in some state of torpor. There were tales of sleeping sickness in Africa, but my gut reminded me that this girl was clearly some sort of victim of the Nazi's experimentation. We dressed her in a spare uniform and loaded her onto the largest of the vehicles outside. Of course as much of the documents and equipment found in this outpost would be wanted for study and our small vehicle simply wouldn't bear the weight of it all on our return to Firefly. Before leaving I ordered the strange painting to be wrapped and loaded up as well. Its curiosities were simply too much for me to ignore. We left immediately for Firefly. Much of my time on our return journey was spent attempting to decipher the strange Italian tome found in the outpost. Its writings were of course a mystery to me, but its many diagrams, maps and curious symbology intrigued me. I glanced across its pages and came across artwork of a city that defies description. Page after page was covered, apparently documenting this impossible place. Clearly the illustrations can be representing no real city, as the simple physics of the scenes depicted defied every law of nature and couldn't possibly exist in reality. I asked Robert what he made of it all. He stated that the images made his head hurt, and that the Nazis must truly be madder than we had ever previously thought. Andrews informed me he had failed to contact Firefly for the last hour or so, but assured me it was likely interference from the equipment we had appropriated.
On the drive back towards Firefly, the girl regained consciousness, or something approaching it. Her eyes swam with sleep and incomprehension, when she was able to open them at all. Occasionally her lips would move and she would whisper something. Her voice was hoarse. At one point she reached out with her frail hands and grasped at the insignia upon my breast. Her fingers clutched it briefly, and she asked 'vater?' I can not begin to imagine what she had been through.
Firefly was silent with anticipation upon our return. We had been expected for some time. Major Colson met us immediately upon our arrival. Troops gathered around behind him gawking like children at a carnival. The moment I stepped out of the vehicle, the girl in my arms, a holler went up.
I asked the Major why his men were behaving like children, angry at the behavior. Colson simply ushered me to him, clapped me on the shoulder, and gestured me to his tent. The girl I handed to the doctor, whose expression was one of absolute in-credulousness. He half walked, half carried her to the medical tent as I watched.
Major Colson did something I did not expect of an old salt the moment I entered his tent, producing and pouring two brandies from a stashed decanter.
He began, by telling my a cry had gone up the night before. He handed me a cup of the liquor and didn't wait to drain his own. Men had seen the ghost. Several guards came running to the shout. Standing just over the rise.
He pointed to the apparent location, though we were inside his tent, I could see his nerves were rattled. A girl, he told me. Looming white in the dark. Some of the men had thought she was death coming for them. That the bombs had already fallen and they'd gone in their sleep. But she'd simply stood, watching. By this time, the Major himself had clearly been present to observe. He sat before me and placed his face in his hands. Five men had watched with their own eyes as the ghost had shaken, horribly, like a marionette doll in the hands of a lunatic, and let out the most horrible banshee scream.
At this description Colson lost himself, letting out a cry of madness. He had heard that scream echo across the desert, across the camp, and watched the ghost disappear. Colson told me as he drained his second cup of brandy that he had spent all night convincing himself he had been driven mad by the desert, the war. Until he had watched the ghost step out of the vehicle with me. Now he wondered whether he had simply gone madder still.
The girl slept soundly in the doctors' tent. He had observed nothing strange about the poor thing, just a girl. He could make nothing of the texts salvaged from Faust's lair. The whole situation surely bears further examination, but not by I. Faust is dead. I return to England as soon as possible. My mission is complete. My next assignment could not be delayed long enough. The painting reclaimed from Faust's lair shall accompany me, and the poor girl who was subject to his experiments shall accompany me as well. I desperately look forward to setting foot back on home shores. I hope that when next I see you, some sense has been made of this whole situation.
Yours Faithfully,
Captain A. Lysander.
Additional:
Lieutenant Robert Reese.
28th April, 1941.
No doubt by now you will have been informed of the disappearance of Captain Lysander. 'Command Post One', as Faust's outpost came to be known, was destroyed by mortar fire during conflict with enemy forces two days past, along with anything that remained of the equipment there. It is necessary for me to amend the Captain's report, correcting the fact that when confronted with Faust's painting, he stared into it for over an hour, responding only in the briefest of murmurs when spoken to, even as we advised him of Thomas's worsening condition. Last contact with Captain Lysander was outside of northern command. His rank allowed him passage onto a cargo ship leaving for France yesterday. He was not thoroughly questioned at departure, and his cargo of the occult books, and the female passenger that accompanied him were not taken as out of the ordinary. Faust's painting, of course, went with him as well. The only proof of the entirety of Faust's operations have disappeared with Captain Lysander.
I have known Aaron Lysander for a decade. I consider him a trusted friend as well as a fine commanding officer. He is a level headed man, deeply caring of his country and its people. Why he would abandon his command is an utter mystery to me. I can offer nothing in explanation of his actions. To all appearances he had acted normally in the short time before his disappearance, other than something he said as we examined the painting a day after our return to Firefly that sticks in my mind. He spoke it almost unconsciously, quite strangely, as if muttering to himself. It was the same thing the girl had whispered several times as she drifted in and out of sleep on our journey across the desert: Ich sehe dich. "I see you."
I do not believe in ghosts. The enemy has moved westward to reconnect with the main forces of Rommel around Tobruk. Firefly is being struck within the night to move again. Nothing remains for us here. Myself and the rest of Captain Lysander's team humbly await orders, sir.
