“Welcome, Arno Greif,” the angel said.
Arno looked the angel straight in the eyes. Then he bowed and knelt. There was something compelling in the sight of this shining angel.
“Thank you, Mr. Deva and cherub,” Arno said. The deva for his part introduced himself as Sindalion. After some small talk Sindalion said:
“Now to the point, the reason you have come here – as I have been expecting you to come, you warrior and hero.”
The angel rose to his feet from the throne, held out the sword and said:
“Take the sword. It’s yours. Take it and draw fire over the world, it’s the way of the future!”
Arno looked at the sword and said: “You speak wisely. I’ll take the sword, indeed I will. I want it, I want to put the world to the flame, burning it all down – in order to ‘pay for its sins’ or whatever. Taking the world to a higher level, putting an end to the current era.”
In this dream Arno was appointed by Fate to unsheathe the Cherubim Sword, the legendary fire weapon that could light up and burn down the whole world. The ultimate weapon.
Arno wanted to receive the sword and draw it. This was what he dreamed, this was what he genuinely felt in his dream state. He was quite prepared to burn down the earth with this weapon. He understood that the Earth’s current epoch had ended and that a new era must come. There must be an end, an abrupt end to greed and materialism; for the time has come for a higher vibration, harmony and spiritual bliss. Therefore, he would take the Cherubim Sword, unsheathe it and draw fire over the world; only thus Man could reach a new, higher stage in his development. The old must die, must reach a spectacular end; only then could the new sprout from its ruins.
Right or wrong, that’s how Arno thought, that was the logic of his dream.
Arno rose from his knees and took the sword, as in a trance. Now it would burn, he thought; this whole world will meet the blade, meet the flame, meet the Red Dog! – This “Red Dog” was the name of the all-consuming flame in his current dream mythology.
He bowed to the deva, turned on his heels, left the palace and pulled the sword a little from its sheath. Already the flames emanated from under the scabbard, they licked the guard but didn’t burn Arno’s hand for he had been inoculated against fire after all the battles he had participated in.
He sheathed the sword and laughed – indeed, he was laughing like a madman. His blade burned with all the fires of hell, the heat by his hip made him mad with anticipation, and with a cry of triumph and joy, he jumped into the saddle of a dragon that waited nearby; his designated steed in the coming conflagration, his two-legged winged lizard, emerald green and with a yellow underbelly. This winged creature was also captivated by the moment: its eyes burned, its feet stomped. Arno himself was fiery, his eyes glowed – for now he had the Sword of the Cherubim and now he would set the whole world on fire.
He urged his wyvern to rise; the winged beast ran a few paces, leapt and they were airborne. It circled to gained altitude, then flew away over the hilly land. Fine, the rider thought, now the Earth Kingdom will perish! The current culture is doomed. I’m only its gravedigger.
Arno flew away from the golden temple on the mountain, flying with the speed of wind. He pulled the sword from its silver scabbard and swung it aloft, the divine weapon enchanting both the carrier and the dragon.
They flew over desert and meadow, hill and valley, river and city, Arno swinging his sword over it all, sending flames over the land, fiery sparks shooting out in all directions and setting fire to forest and field, town and country, man and beast.
Arno gave out a triumphant cry, a barely human cry from the depths of his throat. He saw the Red Dog swallowing it all up, saw the flames shooting across the land, and he shouted:
“Burn, baby, burn! What a sight. Break out, awaited storm! Ride the fire storm, surf the avalanche of death! I am the god of fire and want you to burn!”
Everything started burning under him where he flew. He went all over the earth and drew fire over all the countries. Every last inch.
The earth was set on fire. Flames rose, smoke rose and darkened the sun, made the day into night, people cried out in agony as they were engulfed by the flames. Arno himself was a sign in the sky, an evil portent, a flaming arrow in the firmament – a rider on a dragon, Cherubim Sword in hand, the flaming sword shining like a beacon over the dying old world.
Arno took one last ride over the world, checking that nowhere was spared the flames. Satisfied with his day’s work Arno landed with his wing lizard onto the ice and bare rock of a mountain, the highest mountain in the world. He thrust the sword into its sheath and looked out over the world, watching the whole Earth Kingdom go up in flames with grim satisfaction. Wherever he looked, the night was shot through with flames of orange, with flaming streaks crossing each other and disappearing into the distance. The air was thick with smoke, of the aromatic substances being released when it burns.
“Such a spectacle,” Arno said to the dragon. It returned the reply with a glance from its ellipsoidal pupils, its unfathomable lizard eyes. And then the animal said with a deep voice:
“Indeed, this was a spectacle worthy of the name. It was a sight for the gods!”
“True that,” Arno said, “a sight for gods indeed. I have killed and burned throughout the world, ruined everything! I’m pretty happy with that. And I’ve had the help of you, my fiery dragon!”
Arno patted the lizard on the withers. Then he took off his helmet, cloak and cuirass, lay down on the ground and rested. As a tool of the gods he had taught the world a lesson, he figured. He had sent fire over an outdated culture, overthrowing the old, kicking it over the precipice and prepared the stage for something new to emerge.
The dream ended when Arno woke up in the hospital, his leg was in splint and his wounds all dressed. He was ordered to stay calm and still because of the severe concussion.
He recovered. Partly because the injuries – although more serious than he had thought when he first came to on the forest floor – were not life-threatening. And partly because of his inner strength. “Meditation mobilises your inner strength,” this he had already known before the war. And this habit of his contributed to the recovery. Saying “I Am” helped.
The dream then, the revolutionary dream he had just dreamed – what did he think about that? You can say: Arno was glad it was only a dream. He had no desire to burn down the whole world. He just wanted to fight for his Germany, to prevent it from being swamped by conquering hordes from the East and the West. They were the ones spreading flames, another city burned every night.
The dream left him slightly uneasy. It would haunt him for years. But he wasn’t essentially of a neurotic nature. So after some two months he had recovered and could be discharged from hospital. This was at the end of December 1944. By this time Battalion Wolf was stationed on the Hungarian front. At the same time, the Ardennes Offensive had failed. It was an attempt by Hitler to regain the initiative in the west and cut the Allies’ supply lines before throwing them back into the sea. Now a similar drama was to unfold in the east. Budapest was to be retaken to stabilise the eastern front. And Battalion Wolf would be part of this new throw of the dice.
Arno heard about this through the grape-wine, that Battalion Wolf was again going back into the combat zone. In that respect, he deemed it pointless to attend NCO school. While convalescing he had missed two months of the curriculum; this too contributed to his lukewarm feelings towards the schooling assignment. So he applied to be returned to his old battalion and to postpone the training. “Postpone” in this respect was just formality. He felt that there would never be any officer school for him, neither here nor there. But if he could get to the front again, he would be satisfied. And his prayers were answered.