Chapter 1
Congo Basin, Central Africa, 1941
Dorea,
I hope this letter reaches you in Britain. The ink here isn’t drying as well as I’d like, and Africa's climate is proving rather unfriendly to our usual parchment. As a result, I’ve had to resort to using muggle paper. Jeron sends his regards. We’re currently trudging through the Congo Basin, searching for another one of those Nazi safe houses set up by Grindelwald and his muggle ally, Adolf Hitler. The magic here feels ancient and oppressive, reminiscent of the jungles of the Amazon where I traveled with my father as a child.
The war has blurred the lines between secrecy and open use of magic, my love. It’s clear that any survivors will keep our secrets, but I’m unsure how the ICW will handle this in the aftermath.
Your Husband,
Charlus Potter
41st Mixed Regiment.
Charlus tapped his wand against the letter to seal it before handing it to the hawk assigned to the regiment for magical messaging. The bird glared at him reproachfully, clearly disliking him.
“Oh, shove off, you stupid bird,” he muttered without real malice, “you’re lucky to travel to better weather than here.”
The hawk hissed at him before taking the letter in its beak and flying off with a swift flap of its wings. Charlus shook his head as the sun began to pierce through the trees of the Congo. He made his way to his spot in the small camp, looking around at the 41st Mixed Regiment—a blend of muggles and magicals. This experimental regiment was created to counter the combined tactics used by Hitler and Grindelwald, which had made Germany so effective.
Their strategy of mixing magical and non-magical soldiers made it difficult for enemies to distinguish between the two, a tactic that was becoming increasingly vital. Hitler had filled Africa with safe houses and bases that conventional armies couldn’t target. Only specialized mixed groups like the 41st could handle these threats. Finding his place, Charlus pulled out his Lee-Enfield No. 4 rifle. He was grateful that the British military was willing to work with those like himself who had undergone both magical and muggle training.
“So,” his tent neighbor asked, sipping from a tin cup, “did you get the letter to Dorea?”
Charlus looked up to see Jeron Appleson, an Austrian squib adopted into a good French muggle family, smirking at him. Jeron’s accent switched between Austrian and French with each inflection, which gave many men headaches if they listened to him for too long. With dark blonde hair and steely eyes, Jeron’s crooked grin was infectious. He stepped closer, handing Charlus another tin.
“It’s not your high-end tea, but I concocted something with the help of some locals,” Jeron said.
Charlus accepted the tin, taking a cautious sip. The drink was earthy and robust, a far cry from the refined teas of Britain but surprisingly refreshing. He nodded appreciatively.
“Thanks, Jeron. It’s good,” Charlus replied, feeling a bit of the tension ease from his shoulders.
Jeron settled beside him, the camaraderie between them a comforting constant amidst the chaos of the war. Charlus put the tin down before picking up his gun once more, cleaning it with the same religious fervor a wizard might use to care for a broom or his wand. Jeron watched him for a moment before speaking up again.
“So,” Jeron said, taking another sip from his tin, “I heard from the natives that they speak of creatures living in these jungles. It’s pretty crazy—many of them sound like the bones of reptiles from our past.”
“Creatures like what? Oversized serpents?”
“No,” Jeron replied, looking around with a frown, “something about them seems off to me. These creatures… they don’t fit into any of the magical beasts we’ve been told about. It’s almost mythical, but hearing it from the natives, I don’t believe they’re lying.”
Charlus frowned deeply. “Tell me one.”
Jeron shook his head. “There’s one, but something threw me off about it. There are two variations of the same story, and it feels like they’re not sure which is true. They call it the Mokèlé-mbèmbé, but they also talk of something similar that rips apart hippos, rhinos, and elephants. Devours them too, but it sounds like those plant-eating creatures called sauropods.”
Charlus blinked, confused, before shaking his head as he continued cleaning his gun. “I’m not sure if I believe it either, but I hope we don’t see anything they’ve spoken of.”
Jeron nodded, taking another sip from his tin. The jungle around them seemed to grow quieter, as if the very forest was listening to their conversation. The tales of mysterious creatures lurking in the dense foliage added an extra layer of tension to their already perilous mission.
“Whatever it is,” Charlus said after a moment, “we’ll handle it. Just like we handle everything else.”
Jeron smiled faintly. “That’s the spirit. But keep your eyes open. You never know what might be out there.”
Charlus nodded, his grip tightening on his rifle.
Charlus frowned as they neared the location of the Nazi base. The wet, muddy ground squelched underfoot, and he checked his surroundings. His fellow soldiers were clearly shaken after a harrowing encounter with a massive spider, the J'ba FoFi, which had left one of their comrades dead due to its enormous fangs. Thankfully, the rest of the soldiers were mostly unharmed.
“Hold up,” one of the soldiers said, bringing the group to a stop. “I see concrete. We’re getting close.”
Charlus nodded, lifting his rifle. His wand remained in its holster for now, as his rifle had a greater range. The men moved silently closer, spotting the concrete building covered in weapon emplacements, though the guns were missing. Given the German war machine's focus on Europe, these remote bases often lacked necessary weaponry. Charlus pointed out something the others noticed soon after.
“Free down-range wand fields,” he muttered to Jeron, who nodded and raised his rifle. “We’ll be slaughtered in the open.”
“Then let's start shooting and—” Jeron blinked as one of the gates opened, revealing a pair of German tanks flanked by four massive, elephant-like beasts.
“Merlin’s beard,” Charlus cursed, drawing his wand. “Olifantus!”
Twice the height of the largest elephants, Olifantus were massive magical mammals used in the past as siege weapons. With six huge tusks, a pair of trunks, and gorilla-like bodies, they charged the 41st Regiment with roars of animalistic fury. The mixed unit started firing their guns, magic hitting the flanks of the beasts as the Germans fought back.
“Vorwärts, gib ihnen den Tod!” Charlus heard one of the Germans shout, as his comrades started attacking with vigor.
“Damn it!” Jeron growled, firing his rifle and blowing the head off a German wizard in a Nazi officer's uniform who had unluckily stuck his head out. “Charlus! Cover me!”
Charlus hurled curses as the air grew heavy with combat. Jeron pulled a few grenades and tossed them. One of the Olifantus roared as its hand was shredded by a grenade before it tried to smash one of the attackers. It didn’t get far as a massive shape emerged from the jungle with a mighty roar, causing the creature to look up in confusion. The Olifantus screamed as the shape slammed into it, momentarily halting the battle.
The new arrival had the body plan of a sauropod but a head more suited to a carnivore. Powerful jaws bit into the Olifantus' throat, blood gushing from the wounds as it was held down with powerful forelimbs. Theropod-shaped hind legs tensed as the massive, lengthy tail cracked the air. The powerful, serpentine neck twisted, and the creature tore the Olifantus' head off.
“By George,” Jeron swore softly as the beast held the Olifantus' head in its jaws, growling darkly. Its dark, muddy green skin pulsed. “It killed it.”
The creature crushed the head of the magical animal within its jaws, sending gore and blood everywhere before tossing the mess aside. It looked around with horrible golden eyes, letting out a hissing, screeching roar. Lifting its upper half, it slammed its forelimbs into the body of the Olifantus it had killed. The carcass was crushed as the jungle seemed to come alive with the sounds of more beasts closing in.
“Was ist das Ding?! Töte dieses Monster!” Another of the Nazi’s shouted as they turned their attention on the beast.
Charlus looked around before shouting, “Retreat!”
He grimaced, using his wand to send a massive spike of earth through one of the German tanks, lifting it off the ground as the 41st retreated into the jungle. The image of the dinosaurian creature burned itself into his memory, roaring into the air as Jeron pulled him away from the screaming Germans being attacked by smaller creatures of the same nature.
"So," the commanding officer said with a dark look, "you're saying you retreated due to an assault by an unknown entity?"
"Yes, sir," Charlus replied, standing in his military robe after returning from the Congo. "We sent a team back later, and the base had been cracked open like an overripe fruit. All of the Olifantus were dead, and the Nazis either fled or were devoured."
The magical liaison frowned. "The report suggested it was a wingless dragon that attacked the base."
"It wasn't a dragon," Charlus said flatly. "There was no fire, and dragons have a presence that anyone would recognize. This creature didn’t have that, but it made quite an impression. The natives warned us we were lucky because a feeding frenzy had started."
The officers exchanged glances before the highest-ranking one shook his head. "Other than the photos, the video footage of the attack and consistent reports from all the soldiers validate your actions. We'll be bombing the remaining bases from now on. Dismissed."
Charlus left the room, his mind racing. Something was happening in the jungles of Africa, something ancient and hidden for so long that its discovery would be monumental.