The wind blowing in off the Scheldt is a different type of frigid, it has a bite. The weather is cold and the smell of death is wretched. Today was a terrible day in Antwerp. Hundreds of people are dead after the first of the German bombs landed on Cine Rex. This war has already claimed more lives than the first one and I don’t see it coming to an end anytime soon.

I find myself standing at the edge of the docks, staring out at the black water, waiting for the unknown. My only comfort, this cigar. With nothing left to do but wait, I can’t help but ask myself how I got here. Not this war in particular but in charge of this unit. War is what I was drafted into, searching the ruins of war for the beasts of men is not. There were lots of monsters in this conflict and Man wasn’t the worst of them. If the genocide of millions of Jews wasn’t terrible enough, the Germans decided to experiment with dark forces and genetics. They were attempting to create a weapon the world has never seen before, something even God wouldn’t dare create. Something that would make them Gods.

Why do men in power go to such great lengths to remain there and why should it cost the lives of everyone else around them? My death toll is racking up as well. I’m growing sick of it. I’ve seen things I wish I never had too. I guess we all have, but what I’ve seen is … well … different.

I’ve become sickened by the evils of man and the atrocities of war. This will have to be my last mission, otherwise, I will be the one who will require saving. Over these years and two World Wars, I’ve found wealth in these evils but now I need to get out so I can put my money to use. Stealing from terrible people is still stealing. I don’t want to go down as another thief, as another war criminal. I can’t let that happen, my parents raised me better and now they’re gone. Shame can’t be all that remains.

I’ve been chronicling what I’ve found in a journal and studying symbology, searching for answers. Some of what I’ve seen has been created in underground laboratories or tucked away in hidden caves. I find the manmade terrors easier to deal with. It’s the beasts which can’t be explained that bother me the most. There’s one in particular I’ve been tracking the longest. I tell myself I’m not crazy, although I’m the only one who has actually laid eyes on it. There’s something about it I find disturbing. I call it H. Proteus and it’s led me here, to Antwerp.

So where did this all start? I may as well start from the very beginning, the week after I received my draft notice. The Selective Service Act would force me, and any other man between the ages of 21 and 30, to register in the draft lottery. I hadn’t been 21 for long before I went from well-digger to warrior. I wasn’t afraid of the war; I was and still am proud to serve my country in any way I can. I was just concerned for my parents. They didn’t look so good those days and we had a lot of property to care for.

I remember taking one last look through my home, attempting to mesmerize it as it was. I knew if I returned to it, I would be a different man and I’d probably be on my own. My parents took the news of my draft much harder than I did. They never asked me to stay or dodge the draft, but I could tell they wanted me too. People oftentimes become selfish when it comes to family. I missed them before I even left. We all felt it. None of us knew when I would step foot back in Colorado again.

My family was humble and we didn’t have much outside of our land. From what I understand, our property is worth quite a bit of money. The land has a couple functional mines on it but my father refused to tap into them. He received many offers to purchase the mines and allow other interested parties to do all the work for him, but he adamantly refused. I’m not sure how he came into the land to begin with but I do know he was once a miner before he became a well-digger.

I don’t know what happened to him in those days but it forced the career change and he would never discuss mining again. Instead, we sat on the land and made an honest living. My father wasn’t the type to discuss his past or tell old stories. I suppose that’s where I get it from, aside from my journals of course. There’s no reason for people to know more than they should.

My family kept to themselves, living a simple life with simple things. We all had each other and that was enough. My parents were in love and that was all they needed. My father used to always say fancy things are for the French. There was no luxury, no wealth, and no history. Just a hundred acres and a near empty house.

My room must have been the emptiest of them all. I never played sports or took to clubs, so I had no ribbons or awards. As a kid, I spent most of my time fishing and exploring the land, never taking trophies. The most decorative item I owned was the quilt that lay folded at the foot of my bed. It was a Christmas gift from my mother the year prior, it meant a lot to me because it meant a lot to her but that’s all I had.

I said my goodbyes quickly. I didn’t feel the need to drag them out in an uncomfortable display of emotion. The Army was in a hurry to process us back then, so it took less than a week to have me shipped out to Camp Greene, Charlotte for training. I spent the next ninety days learning trench warfare, mimicking those I was going to fight in. I handled the discipline well. It was the weather that was significantly worse than what I expected.

We slept in close quarters, in tents on wooden platforms, when we were allowed to sleep. Every week soldiers in training would fall out, whether it was from the training itself or from the elements of the weather and exhaustion. I had been working the land for so long that I wasn’t as fazed as some of the boys from the city. I understood the necessity for the draft and the impact we could have overseas, which meant being properly trained. The Army did the best they could to prepare us for what we would encounter in France. It didn’t work. Turns out, you can’t prepare for that.

After boot camp, I was sent to Camp Wheeler, GA to join the 7th Infantry Division. We were activated on December 6th. In January we deployed to Europe as part of the American Expeditionary Force aboard the SS Leviathan.

America wasn’t prepared for the nature of the Great War but I didn’t realize to what extent until I made landfall. I arrived in France as part of the American 7th Infantry Regiment, just in time for the Battle of Belleau Wood. We supported the French Army in their successful capture and defense of Belleau Wood. There were over eight thousand casualties in a battle that lasted twenty-one days. This was my first taste of the war but far from my last.

As it turned out, I was surprisingly good at warfare. I suppose that simply means, I surprised myself. I didn’t enjoy it but I knew how to keep my calm and execute effectively. Many of my brothers died at war while I lived on and excelled. After only a year at war I was awarded a Battlefield Commission, gaining the rank of Second Lieutenant for the demonstration of heroic qualities. In other words, for staying alive and exterminating a cave full of German psychopaths while the rest of my fellow troops died.

It was the events of the night of May 22nd 1918, that would change the course of my career and my life moving forward. After that night I would be described as a hero, when in reality, it was the direct result of blood lust, of anger and disgust. I’ve never felt comfortable being described as a hero. Our heroes are the ones who never made it out, who sacrificed their lives but I did what I had too. I don’t feel bad about the events of that night or any night afterwards.

Officially, we didn’t enter Germany until that December, but the truth is, we had been there all year. Small factions, mainly collecting intelligence, yet participating in many battles to give Italy an edge. I was transferred to this small unit in April of 1917.

I found myself fighting alongside the Italians, just outside of Trentino. I was on a mission, posing as an Italian soldier to collect information on the enemy. There were many unrecorded casualties of war that day, casualties that would just be written off as MIA. We weren’t supposed to be there and we weren’t supposed to get caught.

We were discovered almost immediately. We had only made it a mile or two into enemy territory before we were ambushed. We didn’t stand a chance. Trentino wouldn’t become occupied by Italy until November 3rd, until then, the mountain warfare was some of the worst I had seen during the war. My unit was chewed up and spit out. It was easily the most disastrous battle of my career. I could get into more detail but it doesn’t serve any purpose besides disturbing my dreams.

I barely managed to escape the carnage. As we retreated, I took the off beaten path, hiding deep in the mountains. The rest were more familiar with the territory and took a different route for escape. They were laid to waste. I ended up remaining in those mountains for a few weeks, hiding from the enemy, trying to make my way to safety. I lived one day at a time, scrounging for my food like an animal.

I tried to stay close to the Adige to guide my way South and maintain a source of fresh water and fish. My only weapons were a boot knife and my instinct for self-preservation. I remained covered in mud and my own filth most of the journey, hiding from the enemy forces. I knew if I could get to Riva del Garda, I could find my way back into Italy.

At the time, I wasn’t sure exactly where I was when I stumbled upon the cave. It was hidden behind a few storm laden trees, fallen over and rotted. I had been chasing a rabbit when I heard the footsteps that led me to the entrance. With caution, I approached the only light in the dark of the night, while keeping an eye out for guards.

As I approached the entrance, I noticed a Mannlicher M1895 propped up against the mossy stone, confirming my suspicions. I originally thought it was an Austro-Hungarian hideaway for munitions surplus. I was quite wrong. Before I could enter, the soldier to which the rifle belonged to, stepped into view. I wasn’t sure how many of them there would be but I did know I had to take him down before he blew my position.

We shared a moment of confusion; he was confused by my sheer presence and I was confused by his confusion. Usually Austrian soldiers shoot first without pause. We both remembered his rifle in unison. He quickly darted for his Mannlicher, my knife for his throat. My knife was faster. He bled out quickly as my heavy hand muffled his cries. He was heavier than I thought.

Grabbing the rifle as I entered, I remained close to the wall and crept in slowly. There was a foul smell in the air, I assumed it was chemical. The humming became louder and the lights grew brighter the deeper into the cave I traveled. I had become very good at sneaking around undetected, so they never saw or heard me coming.

Soon the true nature of the hidden operation would be revealed to me. Stepping into the largest chamber of the cavern, what I found was astounding. Aside from the three soldiers, all carrying on aimlessly, there were ten men dressed all in white surgeon uniforms. Each surgeon maintained a cylinder large enough to hold a man, most of which were doing exactly that. I focused my eyes, in an attempt to get a closer look at the encapsulated men, and realized they could no longer be considered such.

They were now hideous creatures. Their bodies had been manipulated in a manner I had never seen before, well, beside an old picture of Joseph Merrick, London’s elephant man. Their heads covered in nodules, meanwhile their bodies manipulated into supersized muscles masses, grey and swollen. There were two of them laying on medical beds being operated on. None of them seemed to have any life left. Clear victims of egregious experimentation.

I don’t know what came over me. I became blinded by a rage I had never felt before. It was like the emotion I had buried deep down exploded all at once like a volcano. Visions of my fallen brothers flashed through my mind as I lifted the rifle and quickly fired on the three soldiers, effectively killing them immediately. Unstoppably, I dropped the rifle and completed the task at hand with my boot knife.

I know it’s not appropriate to say but I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t feel better afterwards. I took some time to walk about the destruction, inspecting the monsters those men had been forced to become. I felt just as sad for them as I did my brothers. I doubted they would do such things to their own troops, so I had an idea who they were experimenting on. My heartbreak and frustration soon reverted back to calm. I chose to spend that night in the cave.

It took another two days to safely make my way into Italy and another week to rejoin my unit in France. There was more war, death and destruction along the way but it all felt like peace in my head. I had seen the worst the war had to offer and I was determined to let the world know what’s out there. The way I saw it, if there was one there was more.

It was nearly a month before we sent a team back into enemy territory and back to the cave. I wasn’t on that mission but from what I understand, it was exactly as I had left it, less the decay, of course. These events were why I was awarded the Battlefield Commission. I accepted the commission and the responsibility of taking on a new unit with honor. This was to be a unit dedicated to silently searching out and destroying any similar laboratories or monstrosities.

This was the unit that would lead me to this moment right now, all these years later, in the second of the World wars. Staring off into the cold black water of the Scheldt, awaiting the H. Protius….

I’m snapped out of my thoughts, sensing somebody approaching from my right. I slowly turn and look down as a young boy walks over and tugs on my sleeve. His eyes were filled with sadness as he slowly wrapped his arms around my leg in search of comfort. Not sure how to respond, I lay my heavy hand on his head. I can feel his sorrow as if it is my own. I’m left curious.

The moment is quickly interrupted by the noisy splashes of water and the sounds of soldiers scampering over to the water’s edge. For a moment I hear it, the familiar whine of the H.Proteus, before my ears are filled with gunshots and my nostrils with sulfur.