Adam stepped out from cover and fired his BAR from the hip. Dale could see the bullets slamming into the creature. Holes were appearing all over his formerly neat, crisp uniform. The creature stopped 25 yards away, ripped open his Nazi uniform jacket to reveal a metallic looking undergarment. From a devise on the creature’s chest, shot a beam of light, it resembled a lightning strike. The shard of light ripped through Adam’s chest, throwing him backwards. Dale glanced at Adam’s lifeless corpse. He knew Adam was dead, probably before he hit the ground. The wound in Adam’s chest was the size of a grapefruit. The sickening, sweet smell of burning flesh filled Dale’s nostrils.
His gun was empty, and the creature was moving toward him again. He dove for Adam’s dropped Browning. Another loud explosion.
“Hell yeah,” screamed Steve. I got two of those alien bastards.”
We don’t actually know they are aliens.
“Thanks!” His ears were ringing from the blast.
No sooner had Steve spoken he was hit by a shard of light. Half of his head disappeared into a mist of blood and brain matter.
Only two of us left. At least four creatures left. Not to mention dozens of Nazis. Not the best odds.
Standing to his feet after the blast that took out the second creature, he saw Nazi troops approaching from both sides and three creatures approaching down the middle.
“We got to go,” Tom yelled. Tom had dropped his StG44 and was holding his standard issue M-2 carbine with a 30-round magazine.
Dale ducked down and grabbed the M-9 bazooka. It had one M6A3 rocket attached. Damn. I wish I had time to look for the rest of the rockets.
Dale and Tom raced back toward the tunnel.
Dale could hear the large creature closing the distance between them.
“That thing is right behind us,” Tom yelled, as they ran through the dark tunnel.
Tom had a flashlight in one hand and his M-2 carbine in the other. The red beam was erratically bouncing around the on the concrete walls as they ran. Dale was clutching the pistol grip of the Thompson sub-machine gun, while his other hand held the M-9.
A large hand grabbed Dale’s neck from behind. The hand and long fingers wrapped completely around his neck, like a baseball player would wrap his hand around the handle of bat. Dale was instantly flung backwards and crashed into the concrete wall. Both of his weapons disappeared into the darkness.
Dale’s breath was knocked out of him by his impact with the wall. The monster had flung him 10 feet with all the ease of a teenager flinging a soda can. The monster grabbed him by his collar and lifted him off the ground. This large, gray, hairless beast was solid and strong. Dale stared into his large, black, bug-like eyes.
This thing is bullet proof and I don’t even have a gun.
The creature’s hands started to squeeze around his neck. Dale knew he only had seconds left. He reached down to his belt and wrapped his fingers around his US-M3 Utica combat knife. He gripped the leather and steel handle of the double-edged knife and flicked the snap button that held it in the scabbard.
He’s bullet proof, and you won’t get two swings with the knife.
With all his remaining strength, he rammed the combat knife straight up between the creature’s arms and into its neck, just below the chin. He crashed back down to the floor as the creature released him. The seven-foot-tall Nazi general stumbled back, holding both hands over his neck. The creature stabled himself, and still holding his neck, started lifting his elbows upwards and shifting so that his chest plate was lined up on Dale.
Shit. He has that energy beam thing on his chest. He does not even need his hands to burn a hole through me.
Tom, standing ten feet from the creature, fired 15 rounds directly into the creature’s head. It dropped to the floor. Dale was gasping for breath when he saw a shard of light zip through Tom’s chest, leaving a gaping hole where his heart was located seconds before. Tom fell over, dead.
The creature that had drank the blood of the woman at the altar was standing 20 yards back in the tunnel. Tom’s flashlight had fallen in such a way that it illuminated the M-9 bazooka. Dale knew the magazine in his Thompson machine gun was empty and that Tom had just about emptied his M-2 carbine. His only hope was the M-9 and the last M6A3 rocket. Dale lurched towards the M-9. Surprisingly, he was able to shoulder the weapon and spin around to face the creature before the creature could lay hands on him. Staring down the sights of the M-9, he saw the creature standing ten yards away. The creature was in the middle of the tunnel, arms to his sides like an old western gunslinger, the heat-beam weapon in the center of his chest faintly glowing, pulsing, and waiting to spit out a deadly shard of light.
“Sergeant Matthews,” the creature said in a raspy deep voice.
How in the hell does it know my name? It speaks English?
“How do you know my name?” Dale asked.
“Does that matter at this moment? You have a rocket aimed at my chest, and I have a particle beam incinerator pointed at yours.” The creature took a step forward.
“What are you,” Dale challenged.
“Your language has no word that describes me. Suffice it to say, I am not from this world. Since we have been standing here, I have calculated the odds of your survival. If I fire my particle beam, there is a ninety-seven percent chance you will die.”
“Yeah, is that so? Did you forget that I have an anti-tank rocket pointed at you?” Dale boasted with insincere confidence.
“I have calculated that I have a twenty-seven percent chance of surviving your next attack. The odds are in my favor. Even if your rocket is successful, my weapon is thought controlled, I need no hands to fire it.”
“If you are so sure of your odds, then why all this talking? Why not just shoot?” Dale grasped his weapon tightly and shifted focus from the creature’s chest to his feet.
“While my chances of surviving this duel are greater than yours, a twenty-seven percent chance of survival is not a gamble I wish to take today,” the creature stated in a matter of fact way, as if he were considering going ‘all-in’ with a pair of queens.
“What do you propose? I’m not putting down my weapon,” Dale said defiantly, somewhat relieved that there may be a way out of this situation. He knew he could not trust this otherworldly beast, but he figured the beast was pretty damn close on the odds.
“No need for you to disarm, simply start walking backwards until you no longer see me,” the beast suggested.
Dale knew there were all kinds of problems with that solution. For starters, he could barely see walking forward, walking backward was likely to lead to some tragic slip-and-fall, and not one that could be remedied by some ambulance chasing personal injury lawyer. However, Dale was sure he was not going to get a better offer.
“What is your name?” Matthews shouted.
“I am Nox Bellator,” the creature replied.
“How do I know you won’t come after me when I leave?” Dale asked.
“I am not proposing a peace treaty between our nations, just a truce at this moment - in this tunnel. If we meet on the battle field again, I will surely kill you. As for today, I have more pressing matters to attend to,” the self-proclaimed Nox Bellator announced in his raspy voice.
“Very well, I accept your temporary truce,” Dale said, as he began to slowly back away.
CHAPTER TWELVE