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Prologue. April 16th, 1945.

It is night.
The light of the full moon shimmers across the becalmed ocean, unbroken by anything. Quiet, peaceful as the vacuum of space. A perfect postcard moment.
The water stirs, the moon throwing the conning tower of the U-Boat that steadily surfaced into relief.
Inside, panic is brewing among the crew of the state of the art German nuclear submarine. They had no navigational instruments, hadn’t since they’d crossed under a fogbank a mile or so back.
The crew is in an uproar, dying of radiation sickness from the cracked shieldings around the fission reactors. In the bridge, there is a single man not panicking. In actuality, he is perfectly calm.
The man, if the sub does not make it to Argentina, will likely be hung, or shot, like his compatriot Benito Mussolini, but he is certain that he will be saved by Providence. After all, Europe is afire and Berlin destroyed rather than fall into the hands of the Allies, thanks to him.

The officers rejoice; their short-wave sonar is picking up something massive, something solid. At the pace they’d been on, it surely was Argentina, and salvation.

The Eternal, the being that watched everything around the island they approached, saw them coming. He saw what the man and his soldiers had done.
The Council of Elder’s decision came back within ten minutes. The sub sank deep into the bay, and exploded, killing all hands and the evil man aboard. Eternal had willed it to be so.