IT BEGINS
Richard Blaine has no idea how to be a soldier, much less an officer.
An ancient entity took possession of him upon his receiving his WWII draft notice, not wanting to lose the first human whose mind she could contact.
Not knowing how to be human, the entity, Sentient, has gotten him into one deadly situation after another by refusing to bow before humans she considers inferior to herself.
Now, Blaine finds himself thrust into a deadly prelude to a battle with nine Nazi E-Boats, leading battle-weary misfits who think him wiser than he is.
IT BEGINS
“No plan survives first contactwith the enemy.”
- Napoleon
I went through the sparkling doorfirst.
Sentient had to take control ofmy body and drag me over the doorstep so the Spartans following would notstumble over my stalled heels.
You would think I would haveremembered the horror, the eeriness, the soul-emptiness of entering thebarracks … and so have prepared myself for what would follow when I left it.
You would have been wrong.
It was different than entering. Notthe same and yet worse.
There is an exact word for thisphenomenon: “liminality.”
“Liminality” is the word for thethreshold moment—from the Latin root limin, meaning the centerline of thedoorway.
Liminality is the moment ofcrossing over.
It describes the transitionalphase of personal change, wherein one is neither in an old state of being nor anew, and not quite aware of the implications of the event.
All the stages of life includeliminality. Life is nothing but moments of crossing over.
Stitching these moments together into thecomforting quilt of wisdom is the task of one’s later years.
But first, I had to survive this nightmaremoment to make it to those years.
‘I made a mistake boosting your I.Q.to 400. Your men need Leonidas not Hamlet. Actions not words. Well done isbetter than well said.’
‘I know,’ I mind-snapped.‘Confucius say -- the superior man acts before he speaks, and afterwardsspeaks according to his actions.’
A shoulder thumped into my leftarm, and a trilling tuning fork version of the Rabbi’s voice said, “You take usto such nice places, Rick.”
I turned and saw Lt. Stein in hisfuturistic helmet. To cap off his new look was a fur-trimmed bomber jacket, aDesert Eagle on his hip, and a Sig Spear strapped to his back.
I suddenly realized that I waswearing the same clothes … except for the helmet. I was wearing the traditionalSpartan helmet.
All my men were dressed like theRabbi.
I pulled up short … my men.
They needed a leader … especiallyin the frigid madness all around us.
We stood on a football-sized deckenclosed by high walls of steel. Walls that were being hammered by a sea gonemad.
It was a scene best painted notby El Greco, Dore, or Van Gogh but by the medieval artist, Hieronymus Bosch —withhis nightmare vision of the streets of hell.
He would be the one to do justiceto the surging storm raging around the Rocinante.
Sentient mind-sighed, ‘I diderror in boosting your intelligence.’
‘Get over it. I am who I am.’
‘You and Popeye.’
The Spartans were too momentarilystunned by our surroundings to panic … but that would not last.
“Heads up!” I yelled over theroars of the storm. “This weather is just Mother Nature protesting the bendingof Space/Time. It should settle down pretty soon.”
Pvt. Stevens said in his newtuning fork voice, “That was what ‘Doc’ Tennyson was just telling Sam and me.”
I nodded. “Sam” was it? Cpl.Wilson had made a friend. Good. Dee Stevens had just chosen his Stinger mate.
I yelled again and pointed to ajust revealed door in the wall behind the Spartans. “When I’ve chosen the four Stingerteams, the rest of you go through that door.”
“Back to our barracks?” hopefullyasked Evans.
“No. To … a waiting room ofsorts.”
“To wait for what?” whined StewTaylor.
Sgt. Savalas snapped, “For one ofus eight to die, so you can take our place.”
I smiled. One of us. Theo neverdoubted that I would choose him. And so, he had chosen himself to my Stingermate.
Some of the Spartans started tohead to the door, and I shook my head and bellowed, “Gentlemen, I haven’t mademy selection yet!”
Those Spartans stopped … but grudgingly.
Rocinante suddenly lurched and rocked.A hazy image a meter across billowed in front of us:
We saw our vessel was surrounded bynine Nazi E-Boats.
Porkins yelped, “Major, you saidthis boat would repel torpedoes!”
“Look, Doofus!” snorted Reese. “Thestorm’s waves just knocked us into one of those E-Boats.”
I turned to the Rabbi. “Could youkill?”
“Cloverfield told me what thosebastards are doing to my People in Auschwitz. Yes, Rick, I can kill Nazis.”
I nodded. The third team pickingitself. Only one more. I smiled and bellowed.
“Reese and Porkins! You go to theopposing bulkhead next to Dee and Wilson.”
“What are we going to do there?”protested Porkins.
With a grinding of gears, twotwin seated firing platforms jerkingly thrust out from the two opposingbulkheads.
Reese slapped Porkins’ arm good-naturedly.“What do you think, Doofus?”
I relayed what Sentient wastelling me. “The Cherbourg-based German E-boats have been spotted on radar by adestroyer on patrol off Portland Bill.”
I made a sour face. “Theirposition was reported to Plymouth headquarters, but they could not relay it tothe convoy because of the radio mix-up.”
I wanted to dig up Capt. Sturges soI could kill him all over again. “Gentlemen! The convoy is almost here. It’s upto us. Climb into your seats!”
