NEVER AN END TO WAR
Major Richard Blaine and General George S Patton fight together against hopeless odds.
NEVER AN END TO WAR
“Do not wait to strike till theiron is hot; but make it hot by striking.”
– George S. Patton
Helen murmured with disturbingurgency within my mind:
‘The Nephilim are herding the SStroops onto all four sides of the village. The soldiers are nigh unto madnesswith the fear of these flying mountains of fangs and talons.’
I heard her gather what courageshe had for a suicidal charge, but I mind-urged,
‘Hold. They wish to send Hell ourway? I will return the favor in spades. Can you send me thatreal-time image to me mentally?’
‘Yes.’
That was Helen for you – no nonsensewhen the chips were down.
With the speed of angelicthought, I saw within my mind our own swiftly approaching destruction.
Rifle-bristling, panicked Nazisoldiers rolled and undulated under the sun like water in a tidal wave ofdeath.
I focused on the swarm closest tothe village as Patton growled, “You’re glowing brighter. What is happening?”
“This,” I said, looping an armaround his waist and willed us to the blackened, cracked church steeple.
If anything, this teleporting hurtworse than the first one.
Patton cried out, “Damn you,Blaine! Next time give me some warning.”
He suddenly noticed the chargingSS troops.
As the tearing winds snatched his words to the English channel, I stillmanaged to hear him roar, “Double damn you, Blaine! We’re about to be overrun!”
“No, General, they are about tolearn that when you let yourself be herded by Hell, you run smack into it.Reach into my backpack and pull out the first weapon you feel.”
“What’s going on?”
I laughed, “Man can embody thetruth, but he cannot know it.”
“You only think you are smart,Blaine.”
It was my turn to be silent whilea small family of moments crossed my path, single file, from the right,sticking their tongues out at me.
They were the moments of all thetimes in New Orleans I had thought myself clever, and it turned out I had beenquite the opposite.
I felt a tug at my back whenPatton ripped open my pack and pulled the weapon Sister Ameal had mentioned earlier.
“What in blazes is this thing,and how did it fit into your backpack?”
“A thermobaric weapon made by theRussia of the future.”
“What? From where?”
“The Russians call it Solntsepyokm,Blazing Sun. It can instantly turn several city blocks into smoldering rubblewith a single shot. Shove the cannister into the tube, step back, and observe.”
I felt the push of the bomb inthe tube. I fixed the sight on the onrushing Nazi soldiers. I fired.
The rocket pushed back on my shoulder,but I, like Rachel, was much stronger than a normal man.
I watched a high-temperaturefireball explode yards wide, causing a powerful pressure drop that sucked inoxygen all around it and created a prolonged vacuum effect.
The charging soldiers on eitherside of the enormous fireball were blown off their smoldering boots to lietwitching … and all too certainly dead.
“My God!” cried Patton. “Thisthing could end the war!”
“Shove another missile in the cannister.Quick! I want to nail that Nephilim before it can get over its shock. Now!”
I’ll give Patton this. He reactedquicker than I would have given him credit for. My body rocked as he shoved themissile in.
I took aim on the chest of thehovering as two more of its brothers flewbeside him. I fired.
The missile seemed to fly in slowmotion, then picked up speed as if eager to kill. Leave it to the Russians tocreate a bloodthirsty weapon.
The blood of the Nephilim musthave been combustible, for the billowing fireball seemed to spread for a fullmile in the sky, cinderizing the two of its brothers on either side.
Patton and I staggered back fromthe force of the blast wave of superheated air.
The rest of the SS troopsscreamed at the sight and ran frantically towards the horizon, hurling their riflesaway in fright. They reminded me of toy soldiers overwound.
“I can’t blame those bastards.Hell, I want to run myself.”
“We are running … to the oppositeof side of Oradour-sur-Glan.
I no sooner said it than we werethere on the leaning structure which was the tallest, if not the most stable,of the surrounding buildings.
Patton was again on his knees,puking his guts out. I kept on my wobbly feet as that Tunnel has toughened mein more ways than one …
And, truth to tell, sheer pride keptme on my feet in front of the arrogant man.
“Retch on your own time, General.We’ve got to get these boys before they catch on.”
“God, I hate you, Blaine. But I hatethese Nazis who started all this goddamned son-of-a-bitchery more.”
He staggered to his riding bootsunsteadily, but he dug determinedly in my pack to wrench out another missile.
“How deep is this thing, anyway?”
“Ever hear of a cornucopia?”
“Yes, Blaine. West Point taughtus classical mythology. Got one of Zeus’ lightning bolts in here?”
“What do you think we have been hurlingat them?”
“Fair point.”
He shoved another missile in andpatted the top of my Spartan helmet. “Fire in the hole!”
It was then that I noticed thatthere were four Nephilim right at the heels of the racing SS troops. They lookedmore to be fleeing those hybrids than charging us.
The impression was doubled when Inoticed the red-rimmed fangs, talons, and tentacles of the flying hybrids.
I aimed at the Nephilim in thecenter and fired. I didn’t wait for the shock blast and firestorm.
I yelled, “Patton! Quick! Anotherone!”
Another dig in my pack, anotherrocking forward as a missile was shoved into my weapon, another pat on top of mySpartan helmet.
“Fire in the hole!”
I fired at the center of theonrushing Nazi horde.
It was as if Hell billowed up fromthe depths in a rising cloud of madness.
Those SS troops not incinerated bythe spreading hell cloud threw down their weapons and ran for all they wereworth towards the setting sun.
My face felt raw from the heat ofall those billowing clouds of fiery death.
I looked up into the inflamedbruised flesh of the sky. Patton blew out a low whistle.
Not a trace of any of the four Nephilimremained.
I guess their blood was flammableafter all. Judging from where their fathers came, it should not have been a surprise.
In my mind came Helen’s franticcry. ‘Richard! We need you!’
