The Ninth Circle – Invictus
The Ninth Circle – Invictus
There were three distinct groups within the bandit encampment, Ouster had come to learn. The first were the melancholic. They had been broken, possibly long before the war had ever touched them, and now existed as somnambulists. They did very little except breath and wander around aimlessly, and sleep. The second group were far more…alive. The hedonists had been broken in a different way and filled their days with liquor and sex in exorbitant amounts. Any singing or shouting was near-universally one or more of them up to no good. They were by far the least disturbing however, especially when considering the anarchists. This group, headed by the comrade of no fixed name or rationality, prowled around like jackals in a chicken hutch. Often, they fought, picked out victims, attacked each other, and took the most relish in…interacting…with Ouster’s men.
The comrade was something of a mystery, a man of at least some brain and strength but certainly long since driven past the point of reason. He appeared in many ways similar to a feral hunting dog leashed to Vlast, and much like the countrymen of Ouster’s social circles, the bandit leader should have put the beast down long ago.
“He has his uses,” the giant said, with some humour.
“He causes fear and discontent in your ranks,” Ouster disagreed. “A degree of healthy respect backed by a touch of fear is healthy and useful in your soldiers, but ultimately any cause where its members are afraid of being randomly attacked by their own side is not going to succeed.”
“Yet Prussia subdued their neighbours to forge Germany, through war.”
The comrade was something of a mystery, a man of at least some brain and strength but certainly long since driven past the point of reason. He appeared in many ways similar to a feral hunting dog leashed to Vlast, and much like the countrymen of Ouster’s social circles, the bandit leader should have put the beast down long ago.
“He has his uses,” the giant said, with some humour.
“He causes fear and discontent in your ranks,” Ouster disagreed. “A degree of healthy respect backed by a touch of fear is healthy and useful in your soldiers, but ultimately any cause where its members are afraid of being randomly attacked by their own side is not going to succeed.”
“Yet Prussia subdued their neighbours to forge Germany, through war.”
“Not just war. We had a tremendous amount of good fortune on our side. Bismarck himself did not expect to live to see unification. It took the threat of an outside force, well-played on our part, as well as numerous and persistent good diplomacy and economy that brought us through. You will not be winning any meaningful victories or wars if your only tool is violence.”
“You had culture too. Words and understanding. Look at my men! This largest country in the world, empire from Baltic to Pacific, linked only through the worthless tsardom itself. There is no common tongue, no common understanding, no…story...to tell ourselves as to why we are one people…because we are not one. Yet any move to reform and repair, so that broken people may become something more…involves the breaking of the only tenuous bond that keeps the whole façade alive.”
Ouster nodded slowly. “It is a tragedy, when put that way. The Russian people have a long history of being quashed and terrorised by outsiders and their own rulers alike…but as you say, only force keeps everything west of St Petersburg and everything east of the Urals within your empire.” He shook his head. “Germany was an idea long before it was a nation, and it was a nation long before it was a state. I do not know how you can do all three at once.”
“Yet we must. Lest history repeat over and over. When your country is done here, and they give the Poles their kingdom back from us, yes you will chain them somewhat to you…but Poland will live. They have a history, and thus can have a future. Imagination,” he prodded his great head in frustration, “is key. What do we have except…” he tailed off.
Ouster let him think in silence, as he considered, for the dozenth time that day, what he thought of the man in front of him. Vlast was…difficult to pin down. He was intensively clever, that much was certain. Ouster more and more found himself under the unsettling impression that he was locked in a room with a far smarter person than he was, who was unfortunately a lot larger and stronger too. Had he been born in any other European country…this was a man who could have risen to the top, despite his circumstances, either as a soldier or as a writer or as a thinker of some kind. Ouster also genuinely did feel sorry for the picture the man painted of Russia, and how crushed its people were, and how bleak their future was when Germany defeated them. In many ways, they were in an even worse place than the Austrians, who fought against a dozen nations within their own borders.
In Russia, it seemed there was no people at all, only bodies.
Of course, Ouster knew it was not so. St Petersburg and Moscow and other cities had produced fine artwork, music, literature, thought and so on and so forth…but it had clearly not penetrated the soil of the state, as it were. The people themselves were ignorant of what little had been accomplished, swallowed either by the vast distances of the country or the similar vast gulf between the rich and the poor.
He had few answers or knowledge to give to Vlast…though the man did not seem to mind much. Ouster knew a messenger had been sent out a short while ago to inquire as to the ‘price’ of his men’s lives with German Command.
He had another uncomfortable feeling that these bandits were using him for something other than money or learning.
…
The Admiral’s arm spasmed and a few drops of liquid fell from the disturbed glass. He set it down before him on the table with a grimace, glancing around to check no one had seen his error.
Then he brought his hand to rub at the gently wrapped stump.
A few days prior, his doctor had advised him that it would be to his best interests to begin weaning his way off the opioid concoction that had been administered to him for months now. Neither gentleman wished to see an addiction take hold, and thus Radcliffe’s fellows and companions were also quietly informed, both to offer sympathy and to ensure that vice did not arise, nor another took its place.
On his ship, that would not have been such a problem. The rum ration was sacrosanct, naturally, and there was precious little else for an officer to be tempted with unless he brought it with him. On land however, lay the realm of the Mess, the Canteen, and the Club, which he was by protocol and society obliged to visit most evenings.
It did not help that an Englishman dressed for dinner with little regard for the weather or season, especially in the tropics. They had a principle of civilization to prove. As he continued to broil under the collar, David sat down next to him, having finally escaped some local dignitary in town for one night only.
“Odious man. Hideous wife.”
Radcliffe paused his ministration and glanced up. “You could have waited for them to be more than three meters away.”
“Bah! Anyway, arm not so good? You know they did allow you to drink these for the pain. So…drink.”
He nudged the gin and tonic closer.
“I’m currently having tremors. Though whether that is from the absence of limb or drug I am uncertain.”
David patted his shoulder above the bad arm. “Best not to think about it unless it lasts. A few of these should help though. They did yesterday.”
Radcliffe shrugged. “That’s true. Although I did also start the exercises too.”
“Ah, well then. Some strain is to be expected. Oh! I also found you these,” he threw a pack down. “Cigarettes. Turkish, ironically, but they’re good. Medico says they’ll be better than your navy ash.”
Radcliffe grunted. “A few weeks ago, they were banging on about maintaining a pipe to ensure dexterity.”
David wilted a little but rallied. “Well…if it helps…?”
The Admiral sighed. “Forgive me David. That was very thoughtful of you. Though…” he frowned, “I will have to figure out lighting them one-handed.”
“I’m sure when they fit you with your hook, they can add an attachment.”
That finally got a smirk from Radcliffe, and the two friends chuckled together.
“God, it’s hot,” David said, after a while.
“Believe it or not, going down the Red Sea can be even worse. Deathly still air, baking sun and no relief whatsoever. We had to turn the ship around and around to keep the air even partly flowing, I recall.”
“Never been,” David said idly.
“You very just might, you know. Fastest way to South Africa, and I’m sure they’ll want you in India to visit one day. Perhaps even Australia?”
“Now that would be an adventure,” David smiled. “Today was smashing, of course. Took another fly in one of the Major’s planes. Fantastic stuff. We’re really making progress with these contraptions. Imagine being able to fly over an ocean as well as sail upon it.”
Nodding, Radcliffe replied, “Yes, that’s very much within the Admiralty’s mind. Hence your interest is noted and appreciated.”
The Prince scoffed. “For as long as its worth, perhaps.”
Radcliffe frowned and was about to reply but was interrupted by a servant approaching the table. He was handed a small slip of card and a whispered request to join Sir Berkley in a side room.
“Excuse me, David.”
It was past dinner and the night shifts commencing, so there should be few reasons why the Commander-in-Chief needed to see him so urgently. There must have been a communique from London, or a profoundly important development from the Egyptian army.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening Rodger. Word from London.”
“Oh?” He took the enclosed telegram:
RADCLIFFE RETURN WITH FAMILY STOP ALL SPEED STOP
“Family?”
“The Prince of Wales,” Radcliffe answered idly, re-reading the short message. “Was this encoded as well?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm…are there any ships due to return presently? Otherwise, I suppose I will take the Invincible back. They were using it in Pompey anyway.”
“There are a few supply ships due to sail in 48 hours…will that be enough time to wrap up here?”
“It will do. They clearly don’t want us to linger.”
“Is this the big one, then?”
The younger admiral looked up at the elder. “Perhaps, but more likely this will be the summit at which we decide…or are told…what the big one is.”
Sir Berkley chuckled. “That sounds familiar. Well, it has been a pleasure, Lord Radcliffe. I shall be sorry to see you go.”
Radcliffe shook his hand, then shrugged. “It may well be we are coming back here with even more ships to try and crack Anatolia. Or as likely, they strip the Med dry and go all out in the North Sea.”
“Our area does seem to be quietening down now, yes…I have heard on the grapevine the army is transferring some old campaigners to East Africa to try and squash that problem flat. It’s the only spot of bother we have left, now the Arabs seem to be on side and Persia is safe.”
“Actually being home for Christmas 1915 was not something I expected when sent out here. Fortune smiled on us.”
“Good show. Give the lieutenant my regards. He’s...” the man considered, “a very interesting young chap. He still on about those aeroplanes?”
“Indeed, more and more so.”
“Hmm. Pull on that thread. He may not rank due to circumstance, but we could do much worse for a commission head.”
Radcliffe considered. “Well…yes, perhaps. I doubt they’ll want him in the thick of things regardless. Even Cyprus was a little too much, apparently.”
“Oh dear,” Berkley chuckled again, “been knocked off the New Years List?”
“Christ, don’t remind me. If the Duke hasn’t pinned me full to match the military pips, I’ll be surprised.”
“Take it on the chin, good chap. There are far worse problems to have.”
“I know, I have one of those, also,” Radcliffe said dryly, raising his left arm in farewell. “Evening, sir.”
“Take care, Admiral.”
“What was that all about?” David said, two fresh glasses on front of him.
“Pack your things, we’re being summoned home.” Radcliffe looked sourly down at the gin and tonic, and downed half of it in one.
“Typical. When one complains about the heat, the old man somehow hears and gets it into his head we would prefer sleet and shit of London instead.”
“That is no talk for a lieutenant commander,” Radcliffe chided.
“Lay off, I’m not…what?” David looked discombobulated. “Does the Palace know that?”
“They will by the time we’re underway.”
David looked at him blankly, before erupting into laughter. “Good lord, you really are trying to get out of that knighthood, aren’t you?”
Radcliffe twitched in annoyance. “Certainly not, it is well deserved. I also strongly suspect this will be the highest rank you are allowed to achieve, so enjoy it, for what it is worth.” David sobered. “If my suspicions are correct, we may well be parting ways after all this, so hopefully the experience and rank will have you placed somewhere useful. We need a man to lead the naval aviation enquiries, after all.”
“I’m no bureaucrat, Rodger,” David said, a little gloomily. “Bugger. I was actually enjoying being here, you know? It’s not half bad. The men are good chaps. The weather is tolerable. The planes are excellent.”
“You’ll find things of interest in England, now you know,” Radcliffe urged. “Take a factory tour, find out about engines. Get some bloody funding for weaponizing the air.”
“Build my own zeppelin,” David mused.
“A what? Oh…the airship?”
“Yes…slow things, but impressive. Can carry more than the winged craft can. Maybe drop explosives or something?”
“That’s…can the Germans do that?”
“Perhaps. Hmm…yes, now you mention, we should probably make sure someone is looking into that, because shooting one down is going to be tricky.”
“There you are then,” Radcliffe reassured him. “Plenty to be getting on with.”
“I suppose I will do some royal shit too. Hospitals, factories…might be fun.”
“You never know.”
“Alright, old chap. Let’s get some more drinks and think it through.”
…
Ouster struggled not to react to the heavy blow. The comrade was in one of his moods, and Vlast was away doing something or other…or perhaps was in the next room listening. Who could really tell?
“I do not lie, Herr Ouster. But I was explaining, before being so rudely interrupted. I have been in my current…occupation…for some time now. I have gotten very good at inflicting death, and very good at inflicting pain. There are three issues that I see with the latter. You of course wish to know them. The first is that everyone breaks. I can get you to say and do anything, given time and exercise on my part. You also have nothing that I wish to know. So, the second thing. At a certain point, and alas I have not yet found the sweet spot, a man enters what you might call a stupor or drugged high, where pain transfers to pleasure and such delight is evident on his face. Therefore, one must take extra care to be patient, and not get too carried away with the fun.”
Ouster forced himself not to nod along. The Prussians had found out these things for themselves in military intelligence gathering, and he was hardly new to the practice himself.
“The final thing is that whilst every man will break, there is also the point at which a man will die. This is to be avoided at all costs by the practitioner, whether he be out for himself or for information. If you begin to hurt a man, break his bones, tear his skin, he will fight. He will think of escape and of killing you and of victory. But cut off his hand, remove his manhood from him…the fight stops, for what is the point? How can he think of escape when his life as he knows it is already over? He has been reduced too far, too fast. No, no. Hence, of course, our offer to you.”
Ouster sighed and noted how wet it sounded. He was probably developing something from the chill of the cells and the air of the place. “Is there any point to this?”
The Russian sighed in disappointment and wagged his finger like a schoolmaster at an errant pupil. “Of course, of course.” A slap to the face. “The German mind may be slow, but you should be able to follow the details.” Slap. “A man is a complicated machine, but he is also an animal. Eminently trainable. Easily breakable.” Slap. “And I do dearly want to see you break.”
“Vlast does not.”
“Vlast…is something else.” The comrade considered. “He is…what you would call…a visionary. A great man. In need of butchers and cleaners to do his great work. But it is the people of Russia who will reclaim our country and make it our own. The way of pain guides us, has made us strong, and good at taking and receiving. The world will know the pain a strong Russia can deliver and survive. You will know fear, before your end, Ouster.”
Ouster kept his head bowed and eyes fixed to the floor. With the ringing in his ears and the pain flushing his cheeks, the various escape plans he was concocting grew clearer and stronger. When he was pushed back into the cellar into Hans’ arms, he started whispering.
“Seriously?” Hans murmured, never taking his eyes off the door.
“Only way. You’ll be ready?”
“Yes. How will we know?”
Ouster sighed and closed his eyes. “Oh, I think you’ll hear it.”
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