The sound it made drowned out the shots. Hatcher’s head felt like it was collapsing in on itself. He managed to look through the NVD as he dropped to his knees, saw a glowing phantasm tear itself from the body and rear back, a shape of flame surrounding a creature even larger than the one it had occupied, an enormous crocodilian skull sandwiched between twin spirals of horns. Just as the thing seemed to be reaching for Hatcher, ready to consume him in some horrific embrace, it flashed out of existence, leaving swirls of tiny wisps flickering like embers before they, too, vanished completely.
He lay on the ground for the better part of an hour, drifting in and out of consciousness, not fighting it either way, finally pushing himself to his feet in response to some mental clock going off like an alarm. He winced at the aches and the burns and the stiffness setting in and forced himself to start walking. He followed the dirt road back toward where the encounter had started, walking for around fifteen minutes, every other step forcing him to bite his lip, suck in a shallow breath.
Headlights. One was a high beam, mismatched. He was too exhausted to worry about whose they were. He stood in the middle of the road, let the beams wash over him, barely able to raise an arm to shield his eyes.
The vehicle slowed to a stop, audibly shifted into park. A door opened.
“Hatcher?” Ivy’s voice came from behind the lights. Then his figure cut a shadow. Before Hatcher realized he was that close, he felt a firm but gentle hand take hold of his arm. “Jesus, you look like… what the hell happened?”
The feel of support abruptly caused his legs to give. Ivy helped him to the jeep. He vaguely recognized it as having been part of the caravan parked along the road.
With Ivy’s help, he eased himself into the passenger seat. Zorn was in the back, presumably asleep. Hatcher could make out ragged breathing.
“You’re still kicking, at least,” Ivy said, settling behind the wheel. “Does that mean that thing isn’t going to be a problem?”
“Not for us,” Hatcher said. He tried to adjust himself to find an elusive position of relative comfort. Wasn’t going to happen. “Not tonight.”
“I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
Hatcher wondered how much he could explain, how much he even understood himself. Whether he even dare try to tell Ivy about the Carnates, about demons, about his tainted soul, his battles with the ruling elite of Hell and the civil war that seemed to be raging below. Or whether any of it would make sense if he did. Whether he was even able to understand himself why he was growing increasingly certain this whole thing was part of an even more elaborate plan, a plan within a plan, designed to occupy him, to get him as far away from the States as possible. A giant distraction from something he had no conception of, for reasons he couldn’t begin to imagine.
“In the meantime,” Ivy continued, “I need to get us to the LZ. Extraction is supposed to be at dawn.”
“Don’t bother. There won’t be any.”
“You serious?”
Hatcher leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes. “As a heart attack. The only thing likely to be waiting for us at the extraction point is another group of paramilitary types, all promised a bounty for each kill.”
“So, what, then? Embassy?”
“Not if we can avoid it.” Hatcher opened his eyes, looked around the interior, grimacing with each twist. “There a radio in this thing?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
“Well, then, that’s our mission, for the moment. Just drive. I think there was a radio in one of the trucks. Two clicks or so ahead.”
Ivy shifted into drive, eased the jeep forward. “Who you gonna radio?”
Hatcher felt the breeze flow over his cheeks and scalp. It stung a bit, and he realized what a mess his face must be, but it was the closest thing to a pleasurable sensation he’d had in a while.
“I know a gal,” he said, inhaling as deeply as his ribs would allow. “Who maybe knows a guy.”
“Then what,” Ivy said.
“Then, we go home. And I track down a certain Fed who thinks he’s about to retire a wealthy man and put him through an interrogation he’ll wake up in cold sweats remembering decades from now. You’re welcome to join me, if you like. But you’d probably be wise to stay out of it and hope they leave you alone.”
Ivy shook his head. “You kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Good man,” Hatcher said, feeling himself slip into a light doze. “Good man.”
RAID ON WEWELSBERG
Seth Skorkowsky
-A Valducan Story –
Bombs erupted in the distance, crackling like popcorn in a kettle. I lifted my gaze, searching for any signs of aircraft moving across the stars. Thousands of silver contrails striped the blackened skies to the north, heading east.
"They gettin' closer?" Dennis Buckland asked beside me. The huge man nervously fingered the flanged, iron mace, Velnepo, at his hip.
I shook my head. "They're keeping their distance. Which means the Americans might be closer than we anticipated." I scanned the horizon, unable to see the castle beyond the treetops. Despite the futility of the endeavor, I searched the shadows across the road for Audrey to no avail. Good.
Dennis peered back across the empty field beside us as if expecting the approaching army. "Shouldn' we move?"
Peter Brown sucked a palmed cigarette, its orange glow welling beneath his closed fingers. He leaned against the car, his calm a complete opposite of Dennis' unease. The black SS uniform fit the American well. The only part of his ensemble that appeared out of place was the sacred axe, Glisuan, tucked at the back of his belt. His chiseled cheekbones, strong jaw, and pale eyes made him look every bit the part of Himmler's elite, although I doubted he would want to hear such a compliment. His brother had died fighting the Nazis in Italy. "I told you we should have setup closer to the castle."
"We keep to the plan," I said, ignoring Peter's remark.
We waited in silence. The bombs slowed and finally ceased, leaving only the sounds of crickets, breeze-rustled leaves, and the occasional artillery shell thundering in the distance.
Footsteps hurried up the road toward us. "Lady Meadows," Richard Simon said, his wool coat flapping behind him. "They're coming."
I straightened at once. "Everyone in position." My hand moved to Feuertod at my hip, squeezing the grip to calm my worn nerves. If our plan didn't succeed, the holy weapons stolen by the Third Reich might be lost forever. They were mankind's only defense against the demonic forces bent to destroy us all. While the sacred rapier could not speak, I felt his soothing comfort nonetheless. Like the war at large, only one outcome was acceptable here. Victory. Doubt was a luxury I could not afford.
Richard slowed as he neared. His bronze, Celtic sword, Saighnean, hung from his shoulder like a slung rifle. His beakish nose and small chin made him appear almost child-like beneath the flared black helmet. Appearances aside, he was one of the most capable Valducan knights I'd ever known.
Peter pulled one final draw from his cigarette before dropping and grinding it out beneath his boot. He clicked on a torch and shined it under the car's open bonnet, muttering angry curses as if the vehicle were truly broken and our approaching audience could actually see him.
The tell-tale growl of a motorcycle rumbled ahead, growing louder. It rounded the bend, its single lamp masked beneath a hood, allowing only a sliver of white light. A blocky sidecar bounced at its right like an ill-sized dance partner, its mounted machinegun reminiscent of a knight's lance. A moment later, a large truck followed, its own lights darkened.