over the thousands of years. Now only the legends, the book My Struggle, and the dams remained as a testament to that time we can only imagine now.
The origins of the Aryans have always been wrapped in a bit of mystery because of that. So to have something from that time, to hear those voices speaking back to us…if it was actually true…that’d be a remarkable find.
I stroll down to the special chambers where the officers sleep and find myself in a dimly lit, empty hallway. Most of the occupants are out on the deck or stuck in the Bridge. I really should get back to Volker and Witzel, yet my curiosity is getting the best of me.
I reach a metal door and knock softly on it with three rhythmic hits. There is no response. After a minute of waiting, the door slowly opens, revealing a puzzled Ulric. He has disbanded his armor for the night. His eyes, half shut, look back at me as he scratches at his disheveled hair. Looking past him, I see inside his quarters a book placed upon his mattress. It looks like a copy of My Struggle.
“What is it?” he asks, resting an exhausted hand on his forehead. “I was about to sleep.”
“Not socializing with the crew, huh?” I say with a smile to a sleepy Ulric. He looks back at me, unresponsive. Mouth agape.
“Not particularly,” he yawns after a few seconds. “I was just reading, it’s pretty late.”
“It’s only 22:00,” I chuckle. “Nobody sleeps this early.”
“Two hours to read before bed. I was on the section where the Führer discusses how peace in Europe came to be.”
“Want to use that reading for some good?” I say. Ulric’s eyebrows perk up, and he straightens himself up just a little bit.
“What do you mean?” he asks, an inflection of curiosity coming through his tired voice.
“First Engineer Keller somehow got in the possession of this old black disc,” I explain, putting my hands in the shape of the circular object. “It plays a song, and nobody can place when it was made.”
“And this can’t wait ’til tomorrow because…”
“A twelve-year-old whiskey is on the line,” I flat out admit.
Ulric stares at me blankly, blinks a few times slowly, and begins to close the door. My hand goes to catch it.
“The song might be from the Reclamation,” I quickly explain, just before the metal hatch shuts. A gap still persists, before Ulric swings open the door again, snapping himself out of his stupor. He looks at me with wide eyes at the sound of the word.
“You’re joking?” he asks, his tone shifting to excitement.
“Not at all, that’s why we need you. You’re the scholar here,” I say.
Ulric stands frozen. I can tell the cogs must be turning. He looks to his bed, and then back to me.
“Damn it,” he curses under his breath. “Wait here.” And with that he shuts the door.
Back on the deck, I lead Ulric past the other fires and toward the group with the booming song. They notice we’ve arrived and raise their drinks yet again, welcoming Ulric in. He nods to the men. I can tell his main focus is on whatever the artifact must be, as he sits down on a stool. I join him.
“My brother caught the best of my curiosity. Damn him,” Ulric says. “So what am I looking at?”
“That is an audio device,” Keller answers in a satisfactory tone, pointing with pride at the unremarkable combination of wood, wire, and a horn fitted on top. “I made it myself, took a couple months.” The song continues on with its melody:
Raise the flag! The ranks tightly closed!
The SA march with quiet, steady step.
Comrades shot by the Red Front and reactionaries
March in spirit within our ranks.
Clear the streets for the brown battalions,
Clear the streets for the storm division!
Millions are looking upon the swastika full of hope,
The day of freedom and of bread dawns!
For the last time, the call to arms is sounded!
For the fight, we all stand prepared!
Already Hitler’s banners fly over all streets.
The time of bondage will last but a little while now!
Ulric sits as stiff as a flagpole, focused in concentration. It was a posture I was all too familiar with when we were children. Every situation, any question was met with a posture that could only mean he was focusing all his energy to reach the answer. As the song came to an end and we were met with silence, Ulric remained with his face in his hands.
“I’m trying to think back to my time scouring the Reich records,” Ulric remarks, baffled and confused. “All the chants and songs, the speeches from past Führers, and…yet…”
“Yet what?” I insist, awaiting the answer. The rest of the group leans in just a tad closer toward my brother.
“Yet I’m blanking!” he insists, his eyebrows raised at the prospect. “I’m not familiar with this, or quality of the audio. Everything I’ve ever heard had such clear audio that it could have taken place right in front of me, even songs from thousands of years ago. Unless…”
“Unless…this was recorded before the official records,” the freckled man says in a slurred voice.
“You all think this was recorded during the Reclamation?” Ulric asks.
“I still think it’s Glass Wars,” another chimes in.
“Well, Keller and I do,” I say, lending a hand to the grease-faced, missing-toothed grinning man across the fire. “So, what do you think, S.S. Knight?” I ask Ulric.
The group leans in a little bit more with bated breath, waiting to hear the verdict.
“They do mention something about ‘clearing the streets,’ and such a song wouldn’t make sense if all the Reich’s enemies were already outside our borders.”
“But,” a man with a crooked nose interrupts, “it also said ‘the call to arms,’ so a battle. Glass Wars.”
“You idiot, that could mean Reclamation too,” Keller debates, pointing his empty pint across the fire.
“I mean, the Reclamation was largely a peaceful affair,” Ulric teaches. “It was just the expulsion of the Scavengers and uniting the countries under the Reich. The Eternal Führer never mentioned anything about violence in his book.”
He begins flipping through his copy of My Struggle.
“There are a few passages in the Eternal Führer’s words that could be construed as violent. I theorize, however, that it’s mostly just about the defense of the country against foreigners, not outright violence. Like a metaphorical war, not a literal one, since he did unite Europe in the end through peace,” Ulric lectures to nobody in particular, perhaps just rationalizing a conclusion to himself.
“Damn,” Keller says with a tone of defeat, “guess it is the Glass Wars.” He prepares to hand the whiskey bottle to the freckled man.
“Well…hang on…,” Ulric interrupts, pointing up a finger, “this audio is far too muffled. Where did you find it?”
“I didn’t find it, it was sold to me,” Keller replies.
“Where did they find it?” Ulric asks.
“In the desert.”
Ulric’s eyes widen, and he leans forward with hands covering the lower half of his face. Letting out a groan, he runs his hands through his hair as he looks back to me.
“You know this is illegal, right?” he says to me with a disappointed