Roland Yeomans's Blog, page 34

BETRAYAL

 

Major Richard Blaine has been ordered on a suicidal solo mission to the deadly nighttime shores of Normandy.

BETRAYED

“Men are basically smart or dumb;lazy or ambitious. The dumb and ambitious ones are the most dangerous.”

— Erwin Rommel

 

Not again.

Copper snowflakes swirled slowlyin front of my eyes. An eerie ballet of which I was growing greatly tired obscuredmy vision. Sentient had taken full control of me once more. I wondered if thiswas how drunks who blacked out and awakened in strange surroundings felt. Iwould never find out.

I got into too much troublesober.

Like now.

The strong odor of diesel made megag. Amine was buried under that stench but still there in the musty air.Merde. I was back in a midget submarine. But a poorly maintained one for theair to be musty and filled with diesel fumes.

Sentient broke into my musings asshe pulled back the veils to show me the rusty interior of the decrepitsubmarine.

 ‘You were meant to die as it sank in themiddle of the English Channel.’

“Laska hates me that much?”

‘Little men hate big as theilliterate Davy Crockett said of his enemies in Congress.’

“So Laska arranged for my ownlittle Alamo?”

‘More than you know. Still, Ihave not endured millennia of mental isolation for you to drown. I folded spacearound this mockery of a vessel, bringing you to the site that fool insistedyou dock to gather the mine he hoped would explode in your face.’

“What?”

‘The Teller mine you were tocollect was never intended to be an underwater device. It would not bewater-proofed. The subsequent corrosion would have played havoc with itsmechanism, and it might have gone off any minute … hopefully when you weredirectly in front of it.’

“Merde. He really wants me dead,and don’t say ‘More than I know.’ Hey, what you told me just now: you can takethings from place to place by … ah, folding space?”

‘I am ….  What I am will be for another time. sufficeit to say I can do that … even take you to the side of that Hitler lunatic tokill him … if I wanted to prolong the war.’

I shook my head. “I will not killin cold blood.”

‘Yet.’

“All right. Yet. But my bloodmight be hot enough to kill Laska once I see him again.”

‘If you live long enough. TwoU-Boats are to our rear and front as we speak.’

I groaned, “That’s stern and bow.How did they find us so fast?”

‘Three guesses, and if you needmore than one, you have not been paying attention.’

“Laska letthem know! Why that traitor.”

‘I guess you have not been payingattention to me after all. It is time to be Ulysses again. Climb the ladder. Ihave already opened the latch.’

“That is hatch.”

‘No matter. After your inanefashion, I threw away the automatic and knife when we became the Allied versionof The Trojan Horse.’

“The Greeks won.”

‘As will we if you can keep acivil tongue in your head. Oh, I forget to whom I speak. Then, I will mournyou.’

I climbed the ladder and stuckout my head and was welcomed with a MG-42 in my face. It was a bulky thing witha belt of bullets hanging from its body. GI’s nicknamed the German weapons thatkilled them.

Incoming rockets were “ScreamingMimis,” “Potato Mashers” were a type of German grenade, and theantipersonnel mines that leapt up from under the earth and then exploded atcrotch level were “Bouncing Betties.”

 Not so for the MG-42 machine gun, whichreceived a more ominous nickname that left little doubt about the capabilitiesof the weapon. German troops called it the “Knochensäge.”  “Bone saw” in English. GIs altered thetranslation and began calling it “Buzz Saw” or “Hitler’s Buzz Saw.”

I was hardly in a joking moodwhen the MG-42 jabbed me under the chin. A bear of a sailor held it. Anddespite his bulk, the barrel trembled from the effort it took to hold it.

Obviously, my legend preceded me.Super.

I knew that particular German gunspat out 1,550 rounds of high-velocity, 7.92 millimeter ammunition per minute,a rate of fire that roughly worked out to 25 rounds per second.

He pulled the trigger, andnothing would be left of my head.

I flashed my best “New Orleansmayor running for reelection" smile” and said in my best German, “Have youcome to surrender, then?”

‘Dolt!’

But it made the bear of a sailorlaugh and grunt, “Field Marshall Rommel will enjoy your visit. Your visit tothe Gestapo you will not enjoy. Come. We will begin your last momentsnow. I am afraid your sense of humor will not survive for long.”

I hoped Rommel’s reputed motto of“War without hate” would prove true for me.

YOUR OPINION IS NOT MY REALITY

Major Richard Blaine and Sergeant-Major Savalas have been ordered to COSSAC headquartersat Norfolk House, St. James’s Square to report what they found along the Normandy coast.

YOUR OPINIONIS NOT MY REALITY

“The moreknowledge, the less ego. The less knowledge, the more ego.”

– AlbertEinstein

 

I lookedat the assembled greatness arrayed before Sgt. Savalas and myself. There wasmore egg salad on those puffed chests than modest men would have beencomfortable in wearing. The key word there was “modest.”

I smileddrily.

Theohusked, “What are you smiling about?”

“What atrusted advisor, Sister Ameal, told me when she feared that I would bedrafted.”

“Whichwas? I could use a smile right now.”

“Bepolite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everyone you meet.”

“She wasa nun?”

“And aprofessional assassin before entering the convent.”

“She wasyour advisor?”

“Yes.”

“Well,that explains a lot.”

Sentient chided me. ‘Behaveyourself. You stand in COSSAC headquarters at Norfolk House, St. James’s Square.In front of you are Admiral Sir Bertram Home Ramsay, General Bradley, GeneralSmith, four other generals, and five more admirals, plus Rear Adm. GeorgeCreasy, Ramsay’s chief of staff.’

Rear Admiral Ramsey looked as if somethingsmelled rank … me. Too bad. I thought all military rank smelled foul. He wasabout to become even unhappier with me.

He flashed a phony smile. I remindedmyself that he was responsible for the Dunkirk evacuation, codenamed OperationDynamo. Working from the tunnels beneath Dover Castle, he and his staff workedfor nine days straight to rescue troops trapped in France by the German forces.

I figured those troops had aharder time on that French beach than he and his staff had safe in thosetunnels.

 For his success in bringing home 338,226British and allied soldiers from the beaches of Dunkirk, he was asked topersonally report on the operation to King George VI and was made a KnightCommander of the Order of the Bath.

“Ah,” he sneered, “the enigmaticMajor Richard Blaine. You do know that you will not be keeping that rank for anylength of time?”

“And I had such hopes.”

Montgomery poked an angry Bradleyin the ribs. “That Cloverfield chap was right about his not genuflecting infront of superior officers, eh?”

Sir Ramsey gruffed, “Describeyour reconnaissance.”

“I will bottom line it for you,sir. You are going to hurl 133,000 trusting men into a meat grinder needlessly.”

“What?” he roared.

“You have command of the skiesover most of Europe, sir. You could fly hundreds of demoralizing raids oncrucial targets until all the German oil reserves were destroyed, and the Naziarmy a shambles.”

“You have the utter gall to talk strategyto your superiors?”

Montgomery seemed to be enjoyinghimself. “A 4oo I.Q., remember, Rear Admiral?”

“To Blazes with his damn I.Q! Iknow my plan is solid.”

I sighed, “Sir, shortly beforeWorld War I, the German Kaiser was the guest of the Swiss government to observemilitary maneuvers. The Kaiser asked a Swiss militiaman: “You are 500,000 andyou shoot well, but if we attack with 1,000,000 men what will you do?” Thesoldier replied: “Shoot twice and go home.”

I thought Admiral Ramsey was aboutto strangle me. “Your point, private?”

I counseled myself with Al Capone’swords: “I’m a kind person, I’m kind to everyone, but if you are unkind tome, then kindness is not what you’ll remember me for.”

But Helen Mayfair would thinkless of me.

I drew a deep breath. “You wantto know what Sergeant-Major Savalas and I found?”

“Yes, damn you!”

Theo muttered under his breath. “Thisis going well.”

The map on the offered desk wastoo broad as was the Normandy map on the wall. I dug into my left blousepocket, taking out a stick of charcoal. I started to draw on the white wallbeside the map.

“’ere now!” came a shout from oneof the generals.

I quickly sketched in the style ofLeonardo da Vinci as  Montgomery chuckled,“Now, mate, that is just showing off.”

Sir Ramsey growled something thatnobility should not have known, much less said. I turned to the man. I pointedas I talked.

“The tidal-flat obstacles beganwith so-called Belgian gates, which are gate-like structures built of ironframes ten feet high. These sat in belts running parallel to the coastline,about 150 meters out from the high-water line. Teller mines (antitank minescarrying twelve pounds of TNT) ….

“I know what they are,” snappedSir Ramsey.

I kept on as if I had not beeninterrupted, “ … were attached to the structures, or old French artilleryshells, brought in from the Maginot Line, pointed out to sea and primed tofire.”

As Sgt. Savalas paled, I continued,“I hear that Nazi Admiral Ruge had no faith in land mines and artillery shellsstuck underwater, as they had no waterproofing, but the marine mines hepreferred were not available in sufficient quantity. Next, at about 100 metersout from the high-water mark, a band of heavy logs were driven into the waterat an angle pointed seaward, with Teller mines lashed to the tips of some ofthe logs.”

By this point even Sir Ramseybegan to look a little wilted, but I kept on ---

“At about seventy meters fromshore, the main belt of obstacles featured hedgehogs (three or four steel railscut in two-meter lengths and welded together at their centers) that could ripout the bottom of any landing craft.”

Admiral Ramsey by this timelooked paler than an ancient leper. I heard a staccato of footfalls. I turnedand sighed.

Major Laska was smartly salutingthe admiral.

“About those Teller mines and artilleryshells strapped to the fortifications, sir. I think we need to personally inspectone of each for ourselves. Surely, the redoubtable Major Blaine could succeed obtainingthem for us. Alone, of course, to better slip past the Nazi defenses.”

Sgt. Savalas snapped, “It wouldbe suicide.”

Admiral Ramsey flashed the kindof smile I figured Vlad the Impaler became famous for. “Excellent idea.Excellent.”

 

COURTING A COURT MARSHALL

 

COURTINGCOURT MARSHAL

‘They areangry because the truth you speak contradicts the lie they live.’

- Sentient

 

A terriblelurching sensation swept through me. Everything was still obscured with swirlsof dancing coppery snowflakes. Yet, I had the disturbing sensation of walkingon legs that I didn’t control or even fully feel. This continually waking up blindwas downright frightening.

How farinto the future had Sentient taken me this time … and to what crisis to which Ihad no clue how to handle?

‘Hush! I havesaved your life countless times and you whine about going into the unknown? Youare a thankless child … though I do admit that this time my inability to mesh efficientlywith human flaws and  foibles may haveled you to a firing squad.’

‘Again?’

‘Which iswhy I am now yielding full control of your body back to you. At least you are human… more or less. Perhaps you can Ulysses your way out of this presentpredicament.’

‘Thereare no words that can adequately express my gratitude.’

‘Sarcasmis the resort of little minds. Now, if I cede control back to you, will youstumble?’

‘Metaphoricallyor physically? ‘Cause the answer to both questions is yes.’

‘Dolt!’

‘I likeit when you talk dirty to me.’

‘Mūrkha!’

‘What?’

‘It isSanskrit for” an unlearned; foolish, stupid human” efficiently encapsulated inone word.’

‘Oh, I knewthat.’

Iflinched as it seemed an ice pick dived deep into my brain. ‘Now, you do …along with the rest of the Sanskrit language.’

I stiffenedas the world blossomed around me like the lights coming back on in a dark movietheater.

Footstepsechoed hollowly all around me. I was walking down a long corridor, drearilypainted in gray. Even the marble underfoot was gray.  Obviously, the architect had been in the Armyor in some military branch.

OfficerHansan was heel-stepping in anger in front of me. Sgt. Savalas walked besideme. Someone unused to stealth was trying to walk up unnoticed behind me. Fat chance.St. Marok’s taught me early to not let that happen.

Sgt.Savalas was speaking low, “Rick ….”

When hadhe started calling me ‘Rick?’ But then, Sentient had been in full control for sometime now. All sorts of merriment had come and gone probably … for which I wasnow about to be called upon to pay the tab.

“Rick,are you ever going to forgive me for what I said out in the channel?”

“What areyou going on about?” I whispered.

“You’rehuman again!”

Rememberingwhat Sentient had just told me, I said “More or less.”

“Man, you’vebeen so cold … like some robot. I figured that you washed your hands of me, thatyou would never forgive me.”

“Forgive?Friends don’t forgive. We overlook.”

Hansanspun around having fully lost it. “Would you two stop whispering like lovers! Officersdo not fraternize with the enlisted troops under them.”

A flurryof steamy images that I would have a hard time unseeing filled my mind, and notfor the last time, Sentient broke her word and took back control, and Not-Mespoke.

“Tellthat to Eisenhower. Though of course, his driver, Kay Summersby is a captain.Once a model I believe.”

Hansantotally lost it. lunging and seizing me by the front of my blouse. “You takeback that filthy inuendo!”

He yelpedin shock and sprang away from me. I watched in amazement as his left blouse pocketbulged out as quite a bit of something filled it. Hansan plucked printed pagesand one photo from it.

“BloodyHell!” came from behind  me as I supposedthe inept creeper got the same treatment.

The photoand pages dropped from Hansan’s fingers to flutter to the marble floor.Sentient turned to Sgt. Savalas in an uncharacteristic display of consideration.

“No doubtyou are wondering what those pages and photo are, Sergeant-Major. One is apersonal letter from General Eisenhower to General of the Army George C.Marshall, saying that he wanted to return from Europe to the United States toget a divorce from his wife, Mamie, and marry Miss Summersby.”

Hansenbacked slowly away from me as if I were contagious with some foul disease asSentient continued through me, “The other page is the response from GeneralMarshall who threatened to run General Eisenhower "out of the Army"and prevent him from ever drawing a peaceful breath."

Ishivered as control of my body was restored after Sentient had made a fine messof things.

Sgt. Savalascroaked, “And the photo?”

“GoodGod, man!” came from the person behind me. “Don’t tell him.”

I shookmy head. “I know Sanskrit, Sergeant, and even so, words fail me. Just use yourimagination.”

I was roughlyspun around. Oh, why the hell not? Bernard Law Montgomery, 1st ViscountMontgomery of Alamein.

I forceda smile. “Love the beret.”

Hiseyebrow shot up, and I added, “General.”

He flungphoto and letters to the floor. “What is this bum fodder? Captain Summersby isno Officer’s Mattress. How the bloody hell did you do this?”

“It’s akind of magic, General.”

He noddedso hard that the black beret almost slipped off. “I read Cloverfield’s report. Somekind of voodoo, is it?”

“You’renot that lucky, sir. Voodoo depends on belief. This kind doesn’t care if you believeor not. Reality is like that.”

Hestabbed a long forefinger at the door some paces ahead. I noted with dryamusement that Hansan was just going through it.

“If you showthis … filth to the generals in there, you ….”

“Whatfilth, general? I see none.”

Montgomerylooked down at the marble tiles. His face went tight. The pages and photo weregone … even the ones Hansan threw on the tiles. He grew pale.

“I cleanup after myself, General.”

Montgomeryhusked, “I am considered somewhat unorthodox among those inside. But even so,if you pull your ‘kind of magic’ with the men waiting for you in there, Ipromise you that you will be shot.”

I forceda calm I didn’t feel. “How exciting.”

I turnedto a very pale Sgt. Savalas. “Don’t worry, Theo. You’ll find generals behave justlike Boy Scouts …but without the adult supervision.”

Montgomeryshoved past us and huffed his way to the door and followed Hansan to where thegreat and mighty awaited us. I smiled drily. I failed to ask Sentient what theywanted from me.

‘I addedto those samples you took a detailed report on their suitability for sustainingthe weight of tanks and transports. Those reports were more accurate than thosesupplied by their so-called experts. The generals in charge of Overlord wish toknow how you could do that ‘on the run’ as it were. I believe your mantra of “It’sa kind of magic” will not suffice.’

As thesergeant and I walked through the door, he looked first at Montgomery andHansen talking to an increasingly angrier Bradley, then up at me. “Our goose isfully and truly cooked.”

I lookedat an angry Montgomery filling in General Bradley and felt a little sad. I hadliked the man though he had earned his reputation of being unbeatable and unbearable.

What had Iread he once said?

“Thefrightful casualties appall me. The so-called ‘good fighting generals’ of thiswar appear to me to be those who have a complete disregard for human life.”

Besides,he named his fox terrier “Hitler.”

 

“The moreknowledge, the less ego. The less knowledge, the more ego.”

– AlbertEinstein

DEATH HIDES BEHIND EVERY MAN'S EYELIDS

 

From one suicide mission to another. 

Major Richard Blaine and Sergeant-Major Savalas must swim along heavily guarded shores to collect sand samples.

DEATH HIDESBEHIND EVERY MAN’S EYELIDS

“If youwin, you need not have to explain. If you lose, you should not be alive toexplain!”

—  Adolf Hitler

 

Abruptly,brilliant copper snowflakes fuzzed over my vision. My heart sank. It washappening again.

Sentienthad fully taken over my body. This time it was me that wanted to bay at themoon. No scent of pineapple mixed with cherry blossoms this time.

Strangeluck, remember?

Thestench of diesel and Amine filled my nose, making me want to gag. I fought theimpulse. Amine, you ask?

SinceSubmarines remain submerged with a sealed atmosphere, they rely on a chemicalcalled Amine to remove carbon dioxide. This chemical makes everything stinkwith a fishy odor.

Itremains in your pores for weeks after having been underwater on the ship.

 It was not the smell that really bothered me.It was the numb feeling in my mouth and the burning in my eyes that did. Nosmell of fried food, thankfully. This was a midget submarine after all.

No roomfor a galley.

Theenvironment overall was pretty chilly from the air conditioning trying to keep theelectronics cooled, which helped keep the odors from overwhelming me.

So, I wasaboard the midget submarine heading towards the Normandy coast. I did a fastmental calculation. An hour and a half to get there. The same amount of time toget back. Add in an extra hour for my strange luck to screw things up.

Alltotal, I should be in this damn thing no more than four hours. And in between Iwould be doing a good bit of swimming in cold ocean water along the coastcollecting samples …

Unless Iwas riddled by Nazi bullets … then stinking to high heaven would be the leastof my worries.

I wouldstart worrying if I passed the minimum requirements to enter Heaven.

My eyesbegan to slowly clear as I heard Sgt. Savalas mutter beside me, “I’ll forgiveyou going all remote and spooky again if you just know what all these dials andgauges mean, Captain.”

“For mostof them, Sergeant, I haven’t a clue.”

“Pleasetell me you’re joking.”

“That’sthe fun of being me. The Voice flings me into one situation after another withme only knowing the bare minimum … if that much.”

“Why?”

“I thinkthe Voice gets bored, and I’m the comic relief.”

‘Very notfunny, Blaine. The ladder to your left. Climb it. The sergeant and you aredressed for a midnight swim.’

I almostjerked in shock. Theo and I were in our shorts in the middle of this chamber ofblinking lights so small that if I sneezed, I would bruise the front and backof my head.

We were carryingpistols, daggers, wrist compasses, watches, waterproof flashlights, and a dozentwelve-inch tubes. I ditched the pistol. It was needless added weight. If welet the Nazi’s get that close, we would have to swim as fast as we could backto the midget submarine.

I flasheda weak smile at the sergeant. “Time to be swimming, sitting ducks.”

“I don’tthink we’ll do much sitting, Captain … unless the Germans capture us.”

“We can’tlet that happen. It will be like writing Hitler a personal letter telling himexactly where the Allies plan to invade.”

We scaledthe ladder like nervous monkeys. I began to miss my pistol. Down below itseemed smart to leave it behind. Now, not so smart. What did Einstein write? ‘It’snot that I am so smart. It’s just that I stay with the problem longer.’

I wasbeginning to think I should have stayed with that pistol longer.

As weslipped into the icy water, Sergeant Savalas whispered so low I almost missedit,

“Thelittle poets sing of little things:

Hope,cheer, and faith, small queens and puppet kings.”

“Don’tlook so surprised, Captain. I read, too.”

“I’munfamiliar with that poet.’

“Oh, yeof little breeding. Robert E. Howard.”

In myhead, Sentient sang softly,

‘Themighty poets write in blood and tears,

And agonythat, flame-like, bites and sears.

Theyreach their mad blind hands into the night,

To plumbabysses dead to human sight.’

I thoughtback to her. ‘I didn’t know you read our books.’

‘I getbored and slum through them. You two remind me of Brule and his King Kull. Ofcourse, your majestic nature comes from me.’

‘Ofcourse.’

We camein on a rising tide at the seaside village of Lucsur-Mer on the beach, latergiven the code name Sword. We could hear singing from the Germangarrison. I definitely was in no mood to join in with them. But they weremaking enough of a ruckus to mask our movements.

Wecrawled ashore, walked inland a bit, and went flat when the beam from thelighthouse swept over the beach. I hit the beach so hard and fast that I filledmy mouth with wet sand.

I feltevery orifice in my body become as tiny as a pepper seed. I heard Theo let outa low breath of relief when it passed our bodies without stopping to spotlightus. That had been too close.

I'm not whatyou would call a fatalist. Sister Ameal would not call me a religious person …though she probably calls me a few other colorful terms.

I'm surethere are close calls that we're not even aware of hundreds of times a year.You cross the street, and if you'd crossed the street two minutes later, you'dhave been hit by a car, but you'd never know it. I'm sure those kinds of thingshappen all the time.

I toldmyself that over and over. My body still goose-pimpled and shivered though. Ilie to myself so often that I could do it for a living.

We walkedsome more. I made sure to have us stay below the high-water mark so that ourtracks would be wiped out by the tide before morning. We quickly stuck ourtubes into the sand, gathering samples as fast as we could.

Frombeach site to beach site, we swam and repeated the whole process again andagain, noting the location of each on underwater writing tablets we wore on ourarms.

Havinggathered all the samples, we started back to the midget submarine. Of course,that is when my strange luck hit.

Thebreakers were quite heavy, and we were positively swamped and cluttered withall our tube-filled kits. We made a stab at getting out to sea. No good. Wewere flung back.

We took agasping, burning lungs breather, tried again, but were flung back a secondtime.

So, wewent as far out in the water as we could. Smaller waves kept washing over us.  We watched the rhythm of those breakers untilwe could time it.

The thirdattempt, having timed it just right, we got out, but we got separated a bit,and we swam like hell to make sure we weren’t going to be pitched back inagain. I felt like I had swallowed a third of the water in the English channel.

We didn’tquite lose contact.

Suddenly,Sgt. Savalas started yelling.

I froze.Had he gotten a cramp or something worse. A shark?

Sentientchided me. ‘No, Blaine. There are no sharks, but there are jellyfish. Thereis a multitude of jellyfish out in these waters.’

“Great!We evaded a small army of Nazis only to have him stung by who knows how manyjellyfish.”

But whenI got close enough to him, all he was yelling was ‘Happy New Year!’

I wasabout to call him a moron when I caught the tremor of a sob in his voice.

“What’swrong, Theo?”

“You!That’s what wrong, Captain. No, Major Got-It-All-Together. Nothing fazesyou. Nazi search beams, swimming the channel, the Still Small Voice guiding youpast Laska’s deathtraps. Nothing.”

Hesobbed, “You saw those fortifications, those barriers, those clusters ofmachine guns, all that damn barbwire. The rest of us are going to die on thisdamn beach. But not Major Got It All Together.”

I floatedback a bit. “You’re wrong, Sergeant-Major. No one has all the stars in hissky.”

“What areyou going on about?”

“The stars you see above usright now? The people swimming at night off South America’s Cape Horn?They look up and see completely different stars. The different ends of theearth face different constellations.”

“So?”

“So, eachof us have different thorns in our sides.”

I took adeep breath. ‘I will never see Helen Mayfair again.”

His eyes sankinto his face as I went on, “I have too many enemies. Too many. They will endup killing me. Or worse …."

My voicebroke, “My enemies will kill … Helen and let me live, to gut me, for I will knowshe is dead because … of me.”

Sgt.Savalas nodded as if suddenly understanding and whispered low, “No one has allthe stars in his sky.”

Icycopper snowflakes slowly fuzzed away my vision and consciousness. For once, Idid not mind.

 

“We'reall islands shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding.”

― RudyardKipling, The Light That Failed

FATE IS FLUENT IN IRONY

 

Captain Richard Blaine and Sgt. Theo Savalas have narrowly escaped a firing squad only to be given a suicide mission.

Now, what does New Year's Eve, 1944, have in store for them?

FATE IS FLUENT IN IRONY

“Sometimesyou lose a battle. But mischief always wins the war.”

- Ulysses

 

GeneralBradley fixed me with an eagle’s glare. “You’re Army. How did you come to betrained to operate a midget submarine?”

Again,Sentient was silent so, I gave what seemed to be a reasonable explanation. “Therewere orders.”

“Oh, so thoseorders you followed?”

“They gotme away from Major Laska and that was more than enough incentive for me.”

“I canbelieve that,” the general snorted.

As ifsensing that I was winging it with my answers, he asked, “Are you telling methe truth?”

I wasgetting weary of Sentient leaving me to fend off questions whose answers onlyShe could know. “Adolph Hitler wrote that the victor will never be asked if hetold the truth.”

Bradleylooked taken aback. “You read the writings of Hitler?”

Ishrugged. “Sun Tzu wrote ‘knowing your enemy is the first step in defeatinghim’.”

“Iforgot. According to that MI6 report, you taught for a year at West Point.”

Now, itwas me that was taken aback, I tried for a blank face and drawled, “I sometimesforget that myself.”

Sentient mockedinside my mind, ‘Records are so easily forged in your primitive society. Ineeded an explanation for your rank and for your fluency in German, Russian,French, and Japanese.’

Bradleyshook his head. “With your credentials, why aren’t you still teaching there?”

Sgt.Savalas snorted, “He probably had the same winning way with his superiors therethat he has with Major Laska here.”

Bradleyfixed him with a hard look and the sergeant cleared his throat and added, “Ah,sir.”

Thegeneral tapped a folder on his leg absently. “Well, your superiors andinstructors in the Navy were quite taken with you, Major Blaine.”

“Ah,that’s Captain, sir,” I said confused.

“No,Major Blaine. I said what I intended. Battlefield promotion is within mydiscretion. I want to see the look on Laska’s face when I tell him of your newrank.”

Hegrowled low, “Presume to order me, will he?”

Bradleyturned to Savalas. “And you are promoted to Sergeant Major.”

Now, itwas Savalas’ turn to be shocked … and with good reason: Sergeants Major made upless than 1% of the Army and generally consisted of the most experiencedleaders in the enlisted corps. There were nine enlisted ranks in the Army, andyou must be selected over your peers across the entire Army throughcomprehensive promotion panels to reach this prestigious rank.

Bradleygruffed, “These stars of mine do come with some privileges along with themigraines. If I say you are a Sergeant-Major, Savalas, then, by God, you areone. Let Laska chew on that and choke.”

I thoughtthat Bradley promoted the man to Sergeant-Major instead of First Sergeantbecause the “Major” to the rank would be a mockery of Laska’s own  … and would gall the man to call Savalas byhis new rank.

He turnedto me and said softly, “I’m just sorry that I can’t retrieve the letters fromthat girl of yours that Laska has confiscated.”

“W-What?Helen, ah, Miss Mayfair has been writing me?”

Bradleynodded sadly. “Without fail. Mails them every Wednesday according to agentCloverfield’s MI6 report.”

I feltthe blood drain from my face. “The day of the week we first met.”

Sgt.Savalas looked odd. “I never knew you had a girl.”

“Thanksto Major Laska neither did I until just now.”

Bradleysighed. “Cloverfield managed to get a peek at one her letters. I think that galof yours has a bad memory.”

Hebrought up the paper he’d been tapping against his leg.  “Where was that paragraph? Oh, here: “Yourhair seems all colors, a grove of trees in autumn, deep brown, and wine-red.”

Bradleychucked softly, ”An untrimmed tangle across the top of your head. Yourcheeks pale without being anemic. Full lips eternally in an amused smile atsome jest only you hear. You look like a friend; like someone you have knownall your life.”

He shookhis head bemused. “You look like Jimmy Stewart to me.”

Sgt.Savalas said, ’The Captain looks like Tyrone Powers to me right now.”

He ranlong fingers over his bald head. “Funny thing. No one can seem to remember whathis face looks like after he leaves them.”

Bradleysnorted, “This girl of his seems to.”

Savalas’face flinched as if slapped as he murmured, “Maybe only true love remembers.”

Thegut-sick look to his face suggested his love had proven not so true. Or maybe therewere holes in his life in the shapes of a sweetheart or a friend who gave adamn which had never been filled.

Bradleyshook his head. “Now, look what you two have done. You’ve made me hope you comeback alive.”

Hesighed, “Well, Major Blaine, do you have one last quote for me before I sendyou both off to your deaths?”

Sentient,of course, was silent, so once again I had to wing it.

It was agood thing I had spent so much time with a lovely librarian. “War: first, one hopes towin; then one expects the enemy to lose; then, one is satisfied that the enemytoo is suffering; in the end, one is surprised that everyone has lost.”

Sgt.Savalas scoffed, “Who the hell said that?”

“KarlKraus, an Austrian writer, journalist, and poet. He was nominated for the NobelPrize in Literature three times.”

Bradleylooked over our heads into the distance, seemingly seeing things I did not wantto know but figured I soon would. “He should have won. He was right.”

 

WAR SMELLS OF DEAD TOMORROWS

 

When last we left Richard Blaine, he was in the outer office of General Omar Bradley on New Year's Eve 1944 awaiting almost certain execution.

WARSMELLS OF DEAD TOMORROWS

“Sometimeslegends make reality and become more useful than the facts.”

- WilliamRandolph Hearst

 

From theopen doorway, Officer Hansan snapped, “If you two are finished whispering toeach other, the general will see you now. And may God have mercy on you both,for the general surely will not.”

We bothrose stiffly, smartly and followed the sweep of his arm. He ushered us into thegeneral’s office and quickly left us as if he were double-parked. I wanted tojoin  him.

As ifsensing my thoughts, Sentient took control of my body again and smartlysaluted. Sergeant Savalas followed my example. General Bradley did not returnour salutes. He didn’t even get up. He kept glaring at a sprawl of printedpages spread over his desk.

I knewthis routine. I had gotten it often it enough from Headmaster Sterns. I knewthe message: he was an important man, and we were not. There were urgentmatters of import with which he had to attend … and the two of us were not inthe same solar system as them.

I triedto force out of my Sentient frozen lips what I always said in such situationswith Sterns: Ave Caesar morituri te salutant! (“Hail, Emperor, those whoare about to die salute you!”)

Sentienthissed inside my mind: ‘Hush! He is on the verge of ordering your execution.Let me handle this intelligently.’

Like withthe sergeant, words of startling white appeared beneath the man’s clenched jaws:

‘GeneralOmar Nelson Bradley, a man who symbolizes quiet competence.

Hisunusual first name is a tribute to Omar D. Gray, a newspaper editor. His secondname is that of a local doctor. Unfortunately, Omar seems not to know why hisparents chose those names. One was a man of letters, the other a man ofscience.

Bradleyis one of the great tacticians of this war, praised by everyone from paratroopcommander James Gavin to Supreme Commander Dwight Eisenhower.

But hisreal asset is his ability to get results from his commanders—he is as much anenabler as a creator of success. The keys to this are his intelligence, hishumanity, and most of all his ability to keep his ego largely in check—a rarequality in a general of any rank, let alone one who finds himself commander ofthe greatest invasion force ever known in the history of your army.

Oftenquite kind to common soldiers, he sometimes explodes in white-hot rage whenunduly provoked … as your Major Laska has just done.’

Thegeneral’s office was suddenly filled with the scent of cherry blossoms mixedwith pineapple as when Miss Tethers abruptly changed her mind about me in heroffice.

GeneralBradley took a deep breath as if to control himself. But I had a bad feelingthat it was really Sentient taking control of him. Not a great idea as she hadalready admitted her understanding of humanity was less than ideal and had  already landed me in this trouble.

Thiscould be disastrous.

Thegeneral crumbled one printed page in his right fist. “I have more on my deskthan any sane man should try to handle, and your Major Laska obviously believesour ranks are reversed and is giving me orders. Me, his commandingofficer.”

His facescrewed up. “Hell!”

Bradleyshook his head. “Listen to me.  He evenhas me swearing like Patton.”

He glaredat me. “You shouldn’t even be on this continent. You should already have beenexecuted for mutiny, for treason in Sicily!”

He ironedhis seamed face with callous fingers. “You follow orders, mister. No matter ifthey are suicidal, you follow orders!”

SergeantSavalas began to reach into his left shirt pocket, but Bradley held up his hand.“Do not bother, sergeant. Thanks to MI-6, I already have a copy of that reportyou wanted to hand me in person.”

SergeantSavalas frowned, “MI6?”

Bradleyhusked, “Yes, MI6. Your pipsqueak of a major sent a telegram … a telegram to LieutenantGeneral Sir Frederick Morgan, head of COSSAC demanding you and the Captain herebe given the New Year’s eve midnight mission of collecting sand samples allalong the Normandy coast!”

Hesighed, “It so enraged the man that he ordered MI6 to find out just who this CaptainBlaine really was.”

Bradleysnatched up another page from his desk. “So, sergeant, I have a copy of yourconcise report on the treason your captain committed.”

“Nottreason,” glowered Sergeant Savalas. “Major Laska ordered a direct frontal assaulton a force that outnumbered us three to one. Laska said he would have led it,but he had broken his leg.”

Bradleyheld up that hand again. “I know all that, sergeant … a broken leg that turnedout to be only a turned ankle … for which that son of two of Roosevelt’s mostinfluential advisors and contributors received a purple heart!”

“No,”insisted Sergeant Savalas. “You don’t understand. Captain Blaine did leadus on that frontal assault, but ….”

Bradleygrowled, “But suddenly, all twelve of you somehow got switched to the enemy’sleft flank as if by magic.”

Hepounded the desk with a meaty fist. “I don’t believe in magic, mister! I dobelieve in ….”

Bradleystared unbelieving at the two patches by his fist on the desk surface. Patchesof Spartan helmets backlit by an American flag.

“Thosepatches were on your sleeves when you entered. How?”

Sentientspoke through me. “I knew you disapproved of my Spartan 3oo ….”

“This isthe Army, Captain, not Quantrill’s’ Raiders. You don’t get to pick and choose whatmen or orders you want.”

Sentientkept on as if Bradley had not spoken, “So, I removed them and placed them onyour desk.”

“Buthow?”

SergeantSavalas said low, “The Captain is from New Orleans, sir. I think he has somehoodoo in him.”

Bradley frowned,“New Orleans? Did you know Andrew Higgins?”

“No, sir,but I would have liked to have met a man whose first two names were Andrew andJackson. Andrew Higgins is a self-taught genius in small-boat design. HisLCVP’s are mostly plywood which circumvents the shortage of steel. They ….”

Bradleyinterrupted Sentient. “You know an awful lot of classified information, son.”

SergeantSavalas started to speak, but Bradley waved him off. “This MI6 report talks allabout your captain’s ‘small, still voice’ which I do not believe in anymore than I do magic.”

He turnedstern eyes to me. “You know how important getting a true reading on thecomposition of the sands along Normandy’s beaches is?”

Sentientshook my head up and down. “Will the beaches west of the mouth of the OrneRiver support DUKWs, tanks, bulldozers, and trucks? There is reason to fearthat they will not, because British geographers and geologists report thatthere has been considerable erosion of the coastline over the past twocenturies.”

Sentienthad me flash what I knew must look like it belonged to the Cheshire Cat fromthe way my lips felt stretched as she spoke through me again:

“FrenchResistance fighters have managed to smuggle four volumes of geological maps outof Paris, one in Latin done by the Romans, who had surveyed their entire empirefor a report on fuel sources. The survey indicated that the Romans had gatheredpeat from the extensive reserves on the Calvados coast.”

The phonysmile forced on me by Sentient hurt my face as it grew wider. “If there are,indeed, boggy peat fields under a thin layer of sand on the current coast, it willnot hold tanks and trucks. COSSAC has to know before the invasion. And the onlyway to find out is to obtain samples.”

“How thehell do you know so much, Captain? And please, sergeant, do not mention that small,still voice, or I might start baying at the moon.”

Hefrowned and asked out of left field, “Are revelations like this the reasonMajor Laska hates you so? Or is it something else?”

Sentientmurmured within my head. ‘You are on your own with this one.’

‘Thankyou ever so much, Sentient,’ I thought back to the Voice. ‘Youknow I haven’t a clue what you’ve done to that man.’

Bradley’sface grew darker the longer I remained silent. “Captain, I asked you aquestion.”

I took adeep breath and made a stab at an answer. “Sir, I was caught up with thesensation of feathers and the quiet of the fall.”

Angerflashed hot in his brown eyes. “What?”

Besideme, Sergeant Savalas groaned low.

“Icarus,sir. Major Laska is reaching for the sky. His ambition outstrips his abilityand is just held together with hope and candle wax. It will end badly for him,sir. And deep down he senses it.”

Heglowered at me. “That’s no answer. Humph. But I can believe you have an I.Q. of400 with a reply like that one.”

SergeantSavalas, looking like his better self was warring with his good sense, clearedhis throat. “I believe I have an answer for your question, sir.”

Bradleycoughed a laugh. “Leave it to the non-com to come up with one. Well, sergeant,speak up.”

“Laska,,,.”

Bradley’sface darkened, and the sergeant corrected himself, “Major Laska … knowsCaptain Blaine is a better officer, a smarter man … and worse, Blaine refusesto genuflect in his presence.”

Thesergeant’s words obviously struck Bradley out of left field, and the generallaughed out loud. “Well, I can see how that might just irritate a man likeLaska.”

The generaltook us in with a baleful smile. “I’ve decided against the firing squad for youtwo. This New Year’s Eve you get a moonlit suicide mission.”

 

YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN

 

“No one can build you the bridge  on which you,  and only you,  must cross the river of life.” -  Nietzsche


  “The true and durable path  into and through experience   involves being true …  to your own solitude,  true to your own secret knowledge.” - Nobel-winning poet Seamus Heaney 

We live in a Pavlovian culture of 
constant feedback,  in which the easiest and commonest opinions  are most readily rewarded,  and dissenting voices  are most readily punished by the unthinking mob. 
So when we write we must ask 
if we wish to be popular when read or to be true to what we feel is best in the human condition ...
to be a pioneer or to be one of the herd.


To be a writer is to feel authentically, 
for that is the only way to write prose that touches the inner person of the reader.
 Why? 
Because whenever you think or you believe or you know, 
you're a lot of other people: 
but the moment you feel, you're nobody-but-yourself.
 To be nobody-but-yourself - in a world which is doing its best, night and day, 
to make you everybody else - 
means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.



As for expressing nobody-but-yourself in words, 

that means working just a little harder than anybody who isn't an author can possibly imagine.

 Why?
Because nothing is quite as easy as using words like somebody else. 

We all of us do exactly this nearly all of the time - 

and whenever we do it, we are not authors but cookie cutters.


“All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know. 

 So bleed that one true sentence, and go on from there."
- Hemingway


We are modern Argonauts -- 
The Argonauts (Ancient Greek: Ἀργοναῦται Argonautai) were a band of heroes in Greek mythology, 
who in the years before the Trojan War accompanied Jason to Colchis in his quest to find the Golden Fleece. 
Our Golden Fleece is to write the best prose of which we are capable. 
So good fortune, 
my fellow Argonauts, the prevailing winds 
are against us.  
But as authors, we know that it is the struggle that makes the adventure.

WHEN YOU FIND YOURSELF BESEIGED BY LIFE!

 

HAS LIFE EVER GOTTEN IN THE WAY OF YOUR DREAMS?

“That's what happens to dreams, life gets in the way.”    ― Jodi Picoult,  Handle With Care
Strength does not come from winning. Your struggles develop your strengths. When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that is strength.
Arnold Schwarzenegger
As a young man, Arnold decided to get up 30 minutes earlier than he wanted and to study for an entire year a subject he wanted to know better.
I decided to do that as well.  It works for me even in this harsh, time-draining job of mine.  I get up 15 minutes early and stay up 15 minutes later to get in a little writing.
Sometimes life insists on her way, and I let her ... for a day or two.  But then, I fall back into the pattern again.

A young man was told by his physician that because of his neuro-muscular disease, he would only be 70% all his days.  

He grew depressed.  He sat channel surfing and came upon Arnold in PREDATOR.
He thought to himself: "70% of Arnold?  Why not?"   
And so began his long, grueling days of physical training. 


 He now looks like a lean tiger and moves more graceful than before the diagnosis.

There is a path if we but look for it.
We bloggers are better writers for we know we are not alone.
 All of this is too general?

How can we write when there is so much pressing in on us?

1. Pinpoint Underlying Issues. If you've always wanted to write and aren't doing it, invest some thought in figuring out the source of your writer's block. 

Is it a fear of failure, a longstanding tendency to procrastinate, or something as simple as a lack of writing space?Find the flaw -- then, map out a plan to deal with it. 2. Just Say "No." Time is limited, and for most people, the demands on their time are unlimited. Once you've determined what you want to say yes to, the ability to say no becomes an important muscle to build.

While your writing time should not be the most important thing in your life, 

it should give way only for the more important things in your life.

3. Schedule Time to Write. 
It's not glamorous or exciting to adhere to a schedule, but it really does help. 


If you work full-time, it may actually be easier to establish a regular time each day in which to write.

Get up early and write before you leave the house, 


take a notepad with you to lunch, or stop off at a coffee shop on your way home.


 4. Resist the Impulse to Overdo It.

If you're the kind of person who tends to throw yourself into a new project only to burn out after a week or two,

consider giving yourself stop times for writing. 5. Know That It Won't Always Be Easy.You may be more tired at the end of the day.
Some social obligations might get pushed aside.
Your family might have to pitch in.
Decide what you're willing to sacrifice for a few hours a week dedicated to writing.
Most of us have obligations we can't avoid, but if you're determined, you can manage both.

At the same time,  be content with whatever you can realistically give to your writing.  Even an hour a day adds up over time.


What do you do when life presses in on you?
How do you cope withTime'sstrangle-hold on yourwriting?

REALITY, THE THIN ICING ON A CAKE WITHOUT SUBSTANCE

 

Like a  "peón" on a checkerboard, my protagonist, Richard Blaine, finds himself being moved across the board of Time without his consent.

As Sentient tells him: 'You are under the illusion that you matter. You do not. Only my wishes matter.'

Like Blaine, you are now skipped ahead a year and a half a world away ...

(You will have to read my novel when it comes out to find the mysteries and dangers faced by he and Helen Mayfair in a year of surviving and growing closer)

THE ANGER OF GENERALS

“Losttime is never found again, and what we call time enough, always proves littleenough.”

- BenjaminFranklin

 

What the?Where was Helen? She’d just been stretching up to kiss me … and when did I gettaller than her anyway?

Now, Iwas here, wherever “here” was. And I couldn’t move a muscle. I suddenlysmelled apple blossoms mixed with pineapple.

I groundmy teeth. That I could still do. The Voice. The Voice was behind this somehow.

She hadrobbed me of my first kiss.

‘Make mejoyful beyond dreams and cease your whining about that kiss.’

That now,I could hear the Voice was shivering weird. I thought back to the Voice: ‘Ihaven’t whined about it! And where the hell am I?’

‘In yourunconscious you have complained ad nauseum of that lost kiss. And you are in the outer office ofGeneral Omar Bradley, commander of the American forces on the eve of invadingFrance.’

‘What areyou talking about? I’ve just been drafted.’

‘I havetaken control of your body for the past year and a half, thus saving your lifenumerous times, Captain.’

‘Captain?’

‘You arelaboring under the misimpression that you matter. You do not. I am not in yourconsciousness to say “please.” There is much I need you to do for me, and so Ihave positioned you where you will be of the most use. But ….’

‘Butwhat?’

‘But notbeing human, I may have not had you function within the American Military inthe most … congenial fashion, getting you in some … difficulties.’

The door beforeme thrust open, and a haggard young officer stood glaring at me from theopening. Words of ice appeared under the man’s chin like credits in a movie’sbeginning: CHET HANSEN, closest and most trusted  of the general’s two aides.

OfficerHansen grumbled, “If you two believe in God, I suggest you both say a fastprayer. I’ve never seen the general so angry.”

Both?

It wasthen that I noticed the grim-faced sergeant sitting stiff in the chair to myright … though it took a wrench of sluggard eyes to see the bullet head of theman.

Like withOfficer Hansen, strangely colored words appeared beside his head: SergeantTheo Savalas, twenty-two years of age, drafted the same month as you. B.A. inpsychology, trained as a carpenter by his father. Considers you cold, remote,but eerily intelligent.

‘I wonderwhose fault that could be, Voice.’

‘If youmust call me something, call me Sentient. Now, hush! Observe how I arranged yourfirst meeting with the sergeant, obtaining you his fierce loyalty despite his puzzlementabout you.’

Like amovie fading out only to re-focus into another scene, the world before my eyesblackened and changed locales. I was standing in the shadows of a dingy alley. Fivelaughing soldiers, the stink of their whisky breaths reaching easily to where Istood.

The drunkswere kicking the hell out of a prone officer. I couldn’t make out his rank. Butrank was no armor for the beating they were giving him.

‘Lieutenant’ murmuredSentient. ‘Lieutenant Stein.’

“We don’tlike Jew Boys,” they hooted in unison.

SergeantSavalas walked calmly around the corner. “That’s no way to treat an officer.And I thought we were fighting Nazis not becoming them.”

The biggestof the bunch turned to face Savalas. “Now, you done it. Now, we got to killyou, too.”

Behind thesergeant five more soldiers appeared from the encroaching shadows. The look onhis face said he suddenly realized he was in deep … merde.

Eventhough I realized this was only a memory, I tried willing my body to standstill. No good. I saw myself step out in plain sight.

I heard adeeper version of my voice speak, “In this global conflict, there is no roomfor cowards on the side which fights for sanity.”

“W-Wheredid you come from?” frowned the leader.

Sentientspoke through me again. “You do not possess the mental capacity to understand atruthful response to that inquiry, so I will merely cripple the lot of you.”

My headspun as it appeared as if my body bounced through the moments like a stoneskimming across the surface of a lake.

‘A moreapt analogy than you realize, Blaine.’

As theworld slowed to a stand-still, I stood over the broken, bleeding attackers. I hada flurry of images of my feet and hands darting, hitting, and thrusting. To myutter surprise, I was not even breathing hard.

I turnedto the sergeant and spoke in Sentient’s deeper voice. “You failed to maintain aproper assessment of your surroundings. You will have to do better when youbecome one of my Spartan 300.”

“Y-Youcan’t make your own squad.”

“SergeantSavalas, in the days to come you will be surprised at what I can do.”

The sergeantmust have been reliving the same incident for he muttered under his breath, “Surprisedat what you can do? Like getting us shot by a firing squad?”

I feltsorry for the guy and managed to force out of numb lips, “It is when we feelthe most lost that sometimes we find our truest friends.”

He grunted,“That Marcus Aurelius guy you keep quoting?”

“No,” Ismiled with lips that fought me. “The Brothers Grim.”

Come thedawn, come the cold

Calm thebeating air

Chill thenight, soldier light

We'll bedancing there

Rise up,rise up

Daysstretching weary wings

 

Come theday, come the dawn

Somewherein the rain

Low myheart, Low my life

Forgeteverything

Come theday, Thief of the night

Lifts hisvoice to sing

Rise up,rise up

        Ever victorious  

- Thea Gilmore

NOT IN THE STARS BUT IN OURSELVES

 

When last we left Richard Blaine, he was wondering how he had been transported into a landing craft heading to Omaha Beach.

Let's be like the enigmatic Sentient and hurl his essence to the moment after his deadly meeting with the psychotic orphan, "Bent" Murcham back in pre-war New Orleans.
(For the details of that encounter and its mysterious aftermath, you will have to wait until my novel comes out.)
"Actions are the seeds of fate. Deeds grow into destiny."  - Harry S. Truman

THE LOSTGOSPELS OF JOHN THE LION

“Theworld is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, butbecause of the people who don't do anything about it.” – AlbertEinstein

 

The new Headmistress, MissTethers, looked pretty much the opposite of her name as she daggered me with astern look.

“How manyof your fellow orphans do you intend on killing, Mr. Blaine?”

I triedto look relaxed in the stiff-backed chair facing her scuffed desk. “I’m surethe Police Commissioner told you it was suicide.”

“I didnot vote for him because I did not believe him then … or now.”

Shedismissed the subject with an angry wave of her hand. “Be that as it may, it hasbeen brought to my attention that you did not spend last night in thedormitory. That is two nights in a row. Where did you sleep, the library?”

“Yes,ma’am.”

“Yourclothes look fresh.”

“I havestashes hidden here and there throughout the orphanage.”

“You arereally certain that your fellow orphans would kill you in your sleep?”

Now, thatquestion might strike you as odd. But not here at St. Marok’s. Here, life onlymattered if its loss had significance in its consequences … say like witnessesor no food on the table. One less orphan meant more food in a place where therewas never enough.

The lawyou ask. In this part of the French Quarter there was no law. The Depressionhadn’t gone anywhere. Everyone here was scrambling for a loose piece of changeor something to pawn for much, much less than it was worth.

One lookthrough the bars of this place at the ragged, starving orphans told anyone withany sense that there was nothing worth stealing here. Those too stupid or too desperatewho climbed over the gate at night were not missed when they never returned.

Stupid,desperate thieves contributed nothing to be missed.

Iactually felt Miss Tethers impatient stare. I sighed and cleared my throat. Idecided to tell her the truth.

“Not withoutHeadmaster Stearns to frighten them, ma’am. No disrespect meant for you, butyou have as yet given them a reason to fear you.”

Shenodded thoughtfully. “Truth to say, Mr. Blaine, I do not feel safe enoughmyself to spend the night in Stearns’ quarters. In fact, I have not evenentered them. I do not need to what with my own home to which to return.”

A strangescent suddenly filled the room. I later learned it to be cherry blossoms mixedwith pineapple. And yes, it had to do with the Voice.

MissTethers twisted in her padded chair, opened a drawer with an ornate set ofkeys, and reached in. She straightened and tossed me an antique-looking goldkey.

“Here!You may spend the nights in his quarters.”

As Istarted to protest, she snapped “I cannot have you spending the nights in thelibrary. I will not have Miss Mayfair’s reputation sullied by her stumblinginto the library with you sleeping in it. It might lead to talk that you andshe spent the evenings there as well.”

And thatwas how an orphan got his very own room in an orphanage … along with a lifelongenemy. Oddly enough, I also played chess with this one, too. I didn’t let himwin though. Merde. It was hard enough just to win honestly against him.

I knowwhat you’re thinking. If I had an I.Q. of 400, how could that be? It is worsethan you think. I came to believe that it was him that was letting mewin. Of course, me being me, it was worse than even that.

He hadn’tbeen playing chess with me at all … but with the Voice.

Goes toshow you that there is a difference in being intelligent and in being smart. Intelligenceis what you know, understanding is what you do, and wisdom is what you become. Whatdid Steven Leacock write: Life, we learn too late, is in the living, thetissue of every day and hour.

Life islike a game of cards. The hand you are dealt is determinism. The way you playit is free will.

All inall, I should have kept on sleeping in the library.

Besides,I like libraries. It makes me feel comfortable and secure to have walls ofwords, beautiful and wise, all around me. I always feel better when I can seethat there is something to hold back the shadows.

There wasa sharp rap on Tethers’ door. Without being asked to come in, Sister Amealwalked in promptly as if she had been invited.

She fixedme with her arsenic blue eyes like a hawk sizing up a poor field mouse for apossible snack. “Mr. Blaine, how many more orphans are you going to sendto  their eternal damnation?”

There wasno point trying to explain to her about the Voice taking control of my bodywhen I didn’t even know how it had been done myself. “As few as possible,sister.”

“Zeromore is the right answer, young sir.”

Shejerked her brilliantly white habit to the door. “Now, get up. I will walk youto the library once again to make sure that there are no further deaths. But donot expect this to become habitual. I actually have important rounds to make inthis parish.”

“I expectnothing.”

I snorted,“Maybe that’s why I usually get it.”

“At leastyou are never disappointed.”

Ishrugged. “The ‘nothings’ in life are merely steps on the path. Youaccept them and move on.”

“To the next‘nothing’?”

I shookmy head. “You read me all wrong. Everyone does. No big deal. I’m used to it.”

I took adeep breath. “When you expect nothing from the world - not the light of thesun, the wet of the morning mist, nor the air to breathe - everything is awonder and every moment a gift.”

Sister Ameal stopped and studied me for a longmoment. “Then, you are truly free. You ask nothing, expect nothing, depend onnothing … and so you have everything."

“There'snowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be...”

― JohnLennon