DRAUMRS - Dreamweavers Among Us

17 - Aachen Dawn

The dawn view from the ancient fortifications at Aachen, Germany showed what weeks of intensive artillery bombardment can do. The dreamscape setting was mid-October, 1944; the German army garrison would surrender tomorrow, after a month under relentless attack. Many structures were reduced to rubble and those that still stood showed gaping holes and windows torn open from relentless blasts. Smoke filled the air and curled out of most buildings. There was a persistent ammonia smell from the amatol high-explosives in the Allied shells, that had only stopped raining in because time was, just now, standing still.

Certainly, hundreds were dead in the rubble, but there was no one in sight and no voices or cries could be heard. It was just the stage, set for a brutal morality play, but devoid of actors.

"Why do you come here?" Tom Brown asked his father.

They stood together at the edge of the ancient stone roadway leading up to the 14th century battlements. Mercifully, the heights were now of little strategic value and had not been a target for the deadly accurate American 105 Howitzers now arrayed across the river.

"I need to remind myself of how bad it can be," replied Jake Brown. "It's easy to forget the true misery when wars are only small and far away. This is what war looks like when it sweeps across a whole continent."

"You will never forget, why relive it?" replied Tom. "We could be meeting in more comfortable quarters, or for that matter, while wide awake. I'm only a couple hours away in Zurich."

Jake shrugged. He rarely explained his actions.

He then picked up on Tom's offer. "Yes, we certainly will get together. Come to the coast tonight, so that we can talk and then sleep close-by for tomorrow's First Circle summons. It will be a war council, if I get my way, and we will have much planning to do afterwards."

Jake looked east, towards the brown ribbon of the Rhine visible below them. For centuries, the most westerly German city of Aachen or Aix-la-Chapelle, when occupied by the French, had been a pivot point for bloody conflicts. This dreamscape recalled when it was the western point of entry for Allied forces finally pushing German fighters back to their own land. There should have been calls for an armistice or negotiations that would preserve lives on all sides. But the lunatic dictator, maddened by dreams of glory, would hold out until most of the country was reduced to rubble, just as much of this medieval city was, once again in its long history.

This war had been Jake's introduction to deadly combat between Draumrs, paralleled in a dreamscape by mindless 'puppets'. Losses in dream conflict might hurt the ego and, possibly, result in a rebuke and sanctions at the Circle, but they weren't fatal. Draumrs very occasionally fought to make a point, often violently, but then moved on to other dreams. That is, until the artifacts came into play.

Unfortunately, there was never any such protection for dreamers or the Draumrs who went with them into real war. In dreams, psyches are vulnerable to repeated assaults that can leave them exhausted and terrified. Take that exhaustion onto the real battlefield and it's only a matter of time before a mistake is made. More than one sentry had his throat slit while sound asleep at his post. When the mistakes imperiled entire companies of fighters, Draumrs died too. They are only flesh and blood.

Berlin: April, 1945

The narrow stairwell shook as another blast tore up the neighborhood, causing Frau Venhaus to stumble against the railing. It creaked in protest at the weight of the woman. If it gave way, she might tumble to the landing below. Plaster dust fell to the steps before her and she doubled her grip on the covered food tray in her sweaty hands. She must complete the climb before another shell hit.

"Schiza," she puffed, continuing up to the third floor and praying to God to forgive her for what she was about to do.

It had been months since they had any regular roomers—no one wanted to stay in Berlin, with the Russians getting closer every day. Their neighbours left, their friends and family left, trying in desperation to get the Venhauses to come too. There was word neighbors were making their way to Kremmen—a little town about 40 kilometers northwest of Berlin's limits and that much closer to the American troops front line. It was out of the way; the soldiers had their sights on Berlin and the Fuhrer. The others all asked her, "Why stay here to die, or worse, be captured by the Russians?"