Cavalcade of the Iniquitous

New Squad Member

Wednesday, 1112 hours, 7th of July, 1915

Please bear this for a little longer.

It will all be over soon.

I hope...

I tried to keep my gaze steady, my breathing calm, as the commander continued his evaluation, his eyes flicking from the papers lying on the desk in front of him to my face, as though searching for discrepancies between the soldier depicted in the documents and the one now seated before him.

"Officer Nemo," he said at last.

"Yes, sir?"

He leaned forward, the gold embellishments on his stark white uniform gleaming in the filtered sunlight. "Is that your real name?"

I swallowed nervously. "That's what they told me, sir."

He continued to stare at me a moment longer, before lowering his eyes to the papers on the desk. He lifted a page. "It says here you are suffering from retrograde amnesia."

"That is correct, sir."

The paper rustled as he released the page. "How severe is your condition?"

"Quite severe, sir." I glanced at the papers. From where I was sitting, the words were upside down, but I knew what they said. I had memorised every word. "I cannot remember anything of the past five years." I paused, collecting my thoughts, recalling the necessary information. "The rest of my memory, at best, is hazy."

"And at worst?"

"In complete tatters."

The commander pressed his lips together into a firm line. "I see. I am going to be honest with you, Nemo, the army has little use for a soldier whose mind has been so affected."

"Why was I transferred, then?" I asked, avoiding the commander's eye. "If I have been rendered unfit for the army, why not just send me home?"

A small, grim smile played on the commander's weathered face. "I am afraid we cannot do that. Besides, I believe you may still be of use to us. My squad, as you will soon come to learn, is a special one. Each one of them a talented fighter, uniquely skilled." The smile grew wider, warmer. "I believe you will prove to be an asset to the squad, Nemo, despite your current affliction."

I didn't share his optimism, but nevertheless answered with a polite, "Thank you, sir."

"Now," the commander continued, "before I dismiss you, is there anything else of which I ought to be informed?"

I studied his hard, impassive face. Did he suspect something? Did he know? I forced a smile, a chuckle. "There's plenty of things I'd like to inform you about, sir, if only I could remember them."

The man's moustache twitched. "You have not lost your sense of humour, at least. Perhaps, in time, your mind will heal. For now, I think you are ready to meet the rest of the squad."

He pushed his chair back and stood up. Taking my cue, I rose as well, eager to get out of the small, cluttered office, away from the commander's searching gaze and probing questions. The commander crossed the room and opened the door. On the other side stood a trembling young man, his fist held poised as though ready to knock.

"Oh, C-Commander Wagner," he stammered, tugging at the thick green scarf wrapped around his neck. "I h-hope I wasn't interrupting any—"

"Not at all, Hans," Wagner cut in. "In fact, you are just the lad I was after."