By default, Stahl finally had his guinea-pig. He stepped forward and with a warm welcoming smile he stopped in front of Klein. The Nazi placed his hands on the bewildered prisoner’s shoulders. ‘How I envy you,’ Stahl said proudly. ‘I envy the sights you will be the first to see.’ He then turned to the two soldiers beside him. ‘Remove the other prisoners.’
The soldiers obeyed the order and ushered Konrad and Ziegler away.
Stahl, with one hand on Klein’s shoulder, cranked open a single hatch. It squeaked horribly as it rose to reveal the dingy auxiliary airlock. This airlock was situated next to the main hatch and was the size of a small elevator cab. Stahl again smiled at the unsuspecting prisoner as he was gently manoeuvred across the threshold. The entire charade was like a futuristic version of the dreaded “Path to Heaven” when the Jews of Europe were helped to the gas chambers of Auschwitz and Treblinka by smiling and friendly Nazi guards.
Once Klein was inside, Stahl lowered the door and stood motionless at the hatch’s triangular port-hole and depressed a recessed lever.
Opposite Klein, another hatch parted. At that instant, a thunderous howl filled the small airlock. Klein barely had time to cover his face when the toxic atmosphere filled his lungs. He collapsed to his knees, gasping and choking. His swollen tongue lolled from his mouth as his skin marbleised and bubbled, and most sickeningly, his eyes oozed bloodily from their sockets. Thankfully for Klein, his death was quick, and the dust, perhaps offended by this profane sight, moved quickly to hide his corpse.
Konrad considered Klein’s fate as he rested on the ramp and gazed at the pre-dawn scene before him. In the distance, a small flicker of light, Vanaheim’s distant sun, started to emerge from the rim of the vast caldera. The smudge of colour rose above the rocky wall, but its power was lost amidst the dust that still hung in the air. As he looked, a sudden gust knocked the prisoner forward. It was as if an invisible hand had mischievously reached out from the storm to welcome Konrad to Vanaheim.
Meanwhile, at the foot of the ramp, Stahl was handed a ceremonial Nazi banner, pristine and brilliantly colourful amidst the drab scene. The gold eagle that stood upon the banner’s name plate glistened in the airlock’s artificial lights. Then, with a single solemn step, he left the ramp and planted his boot into the alien soil.
‘With these steps I claim this world in the name of the Führer,’ Stahl stated. ‘I claim this land for the Reich. I claim this land for my people. These few steps I have taken will have forever transformed this alien soil into German soil.’ Stahl then planted the banner into the dirt like a knight shoving his blade into a hapless, prone opponent and stood back. ‘Sieg!’ Stahl cried proudly.
‘Heil!’ the soldiers replied. Two more times Stahl signalled the salute, and two more times the party obediently replied.
Konrad watched the ceremony with mixed emotions. It was, after all, an important moment in history – man’s first step on an alien world, but at the same time, he wondered if history would or could ignore the politics? Only time would tell. As he contemplated this, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of an extra hand rising in salute. It belonged to Ziegler.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he exclaimed, turning to his comrade indignantly.
Ziegler sheepishly lowered his out-stretched arm and looked at his hand like it belonged to another person. ‘Old habits die hard, I guess, Konrad,’ he said.
In response, Ziegler placed his arm firmly back at his side, lest it sprung back into the air in adulation once again, but his gaze lingered upon the flapping banner.
Konrad turned away and wondered how loyal his “comrade” truly was. It was true that Ziegler was a prisoner now, but deep down, beneath his down-trodden and captive exterior Nazi blood still flowed in his veins. Konrad considered if he was like a wild animal that had been tamed, but was waiting for the right moment for its true nature to re-emerge. It was an uncomfortable thought. To push the disturbing idea from his head, again he pondered the historical significance of the ceremony he and Ziegler had witnessed. Few men could say that they had been privy to the first footsteps on another world. However, he thought that even if this ceremony was ever written about, their place in it, small that it was, would be air-brushed away.
‘Does it feel like we’re watching a great moment in history?’ Konrad asked Zeigler.
‘I don’t think it will live long in the memory. Still, its significance may yet be felt, probably after we’re long dead and gone.’
‘Let’s just hope that it’s not too soon,’ Konrad added with a note of trepidation.
Then, as the two prisoners watched, a sudden violent gust took hold of the banner and tore the flag away. In desperation, Stahl attempted to grab the flailing swastika, but within a few seconds the red flag was far from his grasp, twisting and swirling in the mist like a wheeling bird. Stahl and the Nazi soldiers scrambled across the mound, chasing the flag, running one way, then the other, until the fluttering standard disappeared from view.
‘I don’t know whether to call that a good omen or a bad omen,’ Konrad said mischievously.
Stahl continued with the pursuit. He climbed up the earthen mound, his boots sinking deeply into the soil which rolled and slipped with each step. The flag had long disappeared from sight, but as Stahl climbed into the mist, a shape slowly emerged before him. He slowed as caution took hold, and all thoughts of finding the missing banner disappeared. ‘What the hell was up here?’ he thought. He started forward again, his pace quickening, the amount of dirt cascading behind him growing.
Konrad stepped off the ramp and watched the glare from Stahl’s helmet rising up the mound, then disappearing beyond its crest. His impish smile left him when, after a moment, Stahl’s voice erupted over his radio. ‘Unbelievable!’
‘Herr Sturmbannführer?’ the lead soldier, Wolff, asked.
‘Bring the men up here,’ Stahl replied. ‘Hurry!’
‘Are you injured?’ Wolff anxiously enquired. ‘Do you require any help?’
‘No! No!’ Stahl breathlessly cried. ‘Just obey my orders and bring the men up here with all the equipment.’
‘Jawohl, Herr Sturmbannführer!’ Wolff shouted.
A Schmeisser machine-gun prodded Konrad and Ziegler from the ramp and up the mound of earth. ‘You heard the Sturmbannführer,’ Wolff barked. ‘Get your arses up there. Move!’
‘What does the Sturmbannführer want with us up there?’ Ziegler asked. ‘Can’t we return to the module?’
Wolff pushed Ziegler forward. ‘Just do as you’re told, you pig, and get up there.’
The rest of the party climbed up the mound, and as they did, the second soldier, Haas, sensibly took from his utility-belt a series of thin posts. Every few metres he shoved one deeply into the soil and with a hard slap to its crown, he activated a powerful blinking light. These beacons would act as a visual lifeline for the explorers back to the wreck; a modern version of Theseus’ string in the Minoan labyrinth.