THE HUNTING OF MAN

 

With the help of an ancient entity, Richard Blaine has already seen the slaughter awaiting soldiers on Omaha Beach.

Now, that entity has promised to keep him and his men safe. But how?

THE HUNTING OF MAN

“There is no hunting like thehunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it,never care for anything else thereafter.”

- Ernest Hemingway

 

“Three!”

The ramp thumped down hard, but …

There was no splash of water.

Only a stretch of eerily drypockmarked beach lay beyond the opening revealed by the lowered ramp.

All the toweringseven-and-a-half-foot tall metal Belgian gates were gone.

No long rows of hedgehogs,five-foot structures of three crossed metal beams.

No lines of tall log posts, mostof which had mines affixed to them.

I would wager no buried mines inthe beach sands either.

The Belgian gates and log posts weredesigned to blow up entire transports of troops.

And hedgehogs were designed topierce the bottom of landing craft and make them easy targets for the Germanmachine gunners on the cliffs above.

No. I was mistaken. They were notgone.

They were flying.

Along with what appeared to besharp spools of concertina wire that had lain in ambush beyond the shinglestone behind which Lady Churchill and I had hidden in that time now not to be.

It was a mouth-drying sight.

All the Belgian gates, thehedgehogs, the long log posts, the spool of barbwire, and hundreds of mineswere sailing through the air as if spit from the mouth of an angry God …

Straight for the dug-in machinegun emplacements.

I and the other Spartans wereblown back on our heels by the concussive force of those mines going off in thecontained area of those machine gun nests.

I shook my head in dazed shock.Then, a question hit me.

Where was the ocean?

Over my head, Sentient as theAngel of Death flew shrieking like a demoness smelling fresh-shed blood.

“Tod dem Dritten Reich! Death tothe Third Reich!”

The Angel of Death pealed in wildlaughter like a hungry harpy swooping down on blind children,

“Hitler! Du hast gegen den Windgesät. Jetzt werden Sie den Wirbelwind ernten.

Hitler! Thou hast sown to thewind. Now, thou wilt reap the whirlwind.”

‘Go! I cannot hold back the oceanforever. GO!’

I got a very rude slap on my buttfrom invisible fingers. But I went, calling out to the Spartans behind me.

“The Angel of Death has plowedthe field and drained the marsh for us. It won’t last long. Follow me!”

I ran out of Rocinante andwould have frozen but for another slap of invisible fingers on my rump.

But I had cause.

Sentient had spoken true. As inOld Testament times with the Red Sea, the ocean had parted for us.

The sound was terrifying andenormous … like a thousand Niagara Falls booming right on either side of us.

The ocean was not static butrippling up and down in a gut-freezing impossible manner all along the pushed-upwalls of waters .

But then, this whole thing wasimpossible.

‘If only we had a photo of this.’

‘We do. Robert Capa is currentlytaking one as we communicate. He is wondering how you left the USS Samuel Chasewhere he and you had just been playing poker. I had you lose to him, by theway.’

My rump was slapped again.Harder. I barely felt it.

‘Now, move it or lose it!’

I moved it.

Sentient gave Capa a photographicmoment by posing mid-air in front of us for a chilling heartbeat. Then, sheflew off in a blur of black wings towards the cliffs shrieking again.

“Tod dem Dritten Reich! Hitler!Du hast gegen den Wind gesät. Jetzt werden Sie den Wirbelwind ernten.”

“Gentlemen and lady! Please donot shoot me in the butt! All the obstacles on this part of Omaha have beendealt with!”

‘I believe you may be analretentive what with your fixation on your hind parts.’

‘Very not funny.’

D-Day planners chose 06:30 as'H-Hour' because this was when the tide was at its lowest.

At low tide, most of the deadlyobstacles the Germans had placed on the beach would be exposed, allowinglanding craft to avoid them while also making it easier for demolition teams toclear them.

It also meant the soldiers wouldbe exposed, too, and for longer. But then, when had generals ever cared for thelives of those under them as long as the objective was obtained?

Serving under a general is anexercise roughly akin to picnicking with a tiger. You might enjoy the meal, butthe tiger always eats last.

Sentient sneered agreement in mymind as I ran for all I was worth. I was not eager to have tons of ocean come crashingdown on me.

‘If not for me doing this, bythis early afternoon, Omar Bradley would be ready to call off the invasion.Omaha Beach would be so bad that they were ready to say, “All right, we cannotdo this.”

Sentient was living contempt inmy mind. ‘Omaha Beach is the worst of the Normandy beaches simply because ofthe natural defenses that are here facilitates this sort of defense.’

I saw Porkins stumble, his helmet falling off. I droppedback to snare his arm. Reese stepped beside him and did it for me.

“Watch where you place thoseclodhoppers, Franklin.”

And a wisp of a memory fromSicily breathed out from the darkness of those days.

Reese had just finished sneeringat Porkins, and I slipped up beside him, murmuring, 

“You lost your kid brotheron that camping trip. The Army has given you another. Watch out for him thistime. I don’t think Life will give you a third.”

Then, the image was gone.

I watched Reese hand Porkins his fallen helmet and tousle the man's hair, racing on ahead.

Amos raced beside me near winded.“Father and his synagogue will never believe this.”

Cpl. Sam Wilson, taking hurriedstrides, panted, “Hell, lieutenant, I don’t believe this.”

Way in the rear, Stew Taylor wasrunning as if expecting to be riddled by bullets any second when he tripped,and I raced to his side, steadying him.

As soon as I touched him, anothermemory from Sicily misted before my eyes.

Stew was huddled by a feeblecampfire. He wrapped his threadbare blanket around his thin shoulders. His eyesseemed filled by some ancient hurt and loss. He was trembling.

I could see myself sit by him andwhisper, “Hey, do you know what one snowman said to the other?”

He wordlessly shook his head, andI whispered, “Is it me, or do you smell carrots?”

He laughed so loud it awakenedReese who swore at him, but Stew kept on laughing. It wasn’t that funny a joke,but I guess it caught him out of the blue, or he really needed the laugh.

Back on Omaha Beach, I smiled andsaid, “Is it me, or do you smell carrots?”

He didn’t laugh, but his stepsfirmed.

I raced ahead.

Theo ran up beside me. “You knoweach of these men would die for you.”

“I want them to live for me.”

‘To your right, sentimentalist.You see that shape struggling in that wall of moving water?’

“Yes.’

“Latch onto it and pull in ournewest Spartan to join in the festivities.’

We were halfway to the cliffs,and I didn’t want to spare the time. Who knew when replacements for the snipersand machine gunners would show up.

‘How long can you tread water?’

I sped to my right.