"Hellbound Heroes"
May. 19th, 2022 10:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Hellbound Heroes"
4/5-4/6/1945
I.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I'm an American!" yelled a terrified voice from within a cluster of trees.
On the dusty road, five men in worn-out civilian clothes whirled about without hesitation. Two Thompson Submachine Guns and a M 1918 Browning Automatic Rifle swung up to cover the spot where the voice had originated. The obvious leader, laden with gear strapped all around him and with a wool knit cap pulled down past his hairline, dropped his right hand to the .45 holstered on his belt but didn't draw. "Stay on your toes, men," he muttered. In a louder voice, he called, "Show yourself, buddy. Hands as high as you can reach."
Stepping out from the woods and moving toward the road came a tall man in a tattered, stained US Army uniform. He had his knapsack on his back, complete with sleeping bag tied around the top, but his empty hands weren't carrying any weapons.
"PFC Will Middaugh, First Attack Squad, Baker Company. We're based in Dover.. we WERE based in Dover. My whole Ranger squad was wiped out two days ago."
The leader of the men on the road scrutinized this stranger. "I know that base. Getting ready for big action. Baker Company, huh? Is Winslow Marsten still running things with a heavy hand, the old martinet?"
"Marsten?" came the reply. "We answer to Colonel Saul Dawling. I haven't heard of any Marsten."
"Come a little closer. That was a trick question. I know there's no Colonel Marston there. I was stationed at the Dover staging area a month ago." The man was frowning, studying the newcomer with cold appraisal. "I'm Major Benton Reid, OSS. These are my men, the Hellbound Heroes, all hardened resistance fighters who have lost everything."
"Except the need to kill Germans," said one of the squad.
"Stand down, Marcel. What happened to your Rangers, son?"
Middaugh finally lowered his hands and visibly untensed. He was a remarkably good-looking young man in his late twenties, with a full head of thick black and a movie-star profile. When he talked, perfect white teeth flashed through a week's growth of beard. "We walked right into a dozen Germans. Went around a bend of the road and there they were, so close you could touch them. Everybody jumped in any direction they could and started shooting as fast as we could."
"You seem unscratched," Reid observed.
"I slipped and fell into a ravine," Middaugh explained. "Hit my head, got knocked bad enough to be confused. I got up as soon as I could and climbed up the hill, but the surviving Germans were gone. They had looted everything they wanted from my boys, then laid their own dead out in neat rows. I guess some of their gravedigger details would be along to clean things up, so I started heading in this direction."
"Sounds to me like maybe somebody chickened out and ran for their lives, then came back once it was all clear," said Marcel.
"Are you calling me a coward?! You don't know what you're talking about! Put down that Tommygun and I'll bust your nose for you."
"Goddam prettyboy, you couldn't put a dent in a stick of butter!" Marcel yelled right back.
"Ease up, both of you," Reid ordered with understated authority that was obeyed. "For the moment, we'll give Middaugh the benefit of the doubt. Where are you from, son?"
"Colvert, West Virginia. About fifty miles from Wheeling, way out in the sticks. Sir," he added.
"Where's your weapon?"
"I left it down there. I was afraid you joes might take a shot at me before I could introduce myself.
"Go get it." Still watching the newcomer warily, Major Reid raised his left hand and made a rotary motion. "Head out. We need to put some distance behind us before nightfall. Middaugh, keep up. We eat at dusk."
All six men took off at a steady pace that ate up miles without wearing them down more than necessary. Once, they passed a farmhouse and barn that were little more than rubble.
"Nearest town is Brevalle, according to my maps," Reid told the new man. "Another two hours at this rate. Listen up, Middaugh. The big guy with the yellow sweater is called Black Bear because of his hairy chest. Without his shirt, he looks like a fur coat walking around. The codger with the white handlebar is tagged Walrus. You already locked horns with shorty Marcel, he was a schoolteacher before the Krauts rolled right over his city. Those three are French. Then there's the other American in this posse, my aide Corporal Normal Paley. Guy with blond hair. He got that white scar down his cheek from a ricochet, missed his eye by a tenth of an inch. His friends call him Scarface but you better wait until you get to know him better."
"I never got a nickname," Middaugh said. "Our sergeant sure called us a lot of other names, though. I learned more cussing from him than I thought existed."
As they marched on, weary silence descended on the so-called Hellbound Heroes. Finally, Marcel said, "I spoke out of line back there, Middaugh."
"That's all right," the new man replied. "You got good cause to be suspicious of people. I heard of Germans putting on uniforms taken from dead Americans and leading our boys into ambush."
"Hold up," Marcel said. "Something's moving over. Wait. Goddam, it's a pig, big and fat as you could wish for. And he's eating apples!"
Major Reid turned his head toward the oldest man in the squad. "Walrus, you're our best shot. Don't blow it."
The man with the white mustache unslung his BAR, took his time aiming and squeezed off two careful shots. The thud of that heavy body hitting the ground was lost in the echoes of the gunfire.
"Looks like we're going to be busy the rest of the afternoon," Reid observed. "Marcel, Scarface, carry that carcass deep in the woods. Way out of sight. Here's where growing up on a farm makes you useful, Black Bear. I want that shoat skinned and cleaned and cut up, I want everyone to eat their fill and then we'll char the rest to carry with us. We're set for grub for days now. Might as well load your pockets with apples while you can, as well."
With a pleased chuckle, Black Bear rubbed his broad hands together. "I can use every part of the little beast except the squeal."
Helping out as the team found a secluded clearing, Middaugh gathered wood and kindling. He wasn't excited about getting gorged on fresh ham as the others were. All he could think about was how soon he could sneak out that night and find a way to murder a few villagers.
II.
At the first vague brightening of the sky to the East, the Hellbound Heroes stirred. The men wandered into the brush to relieve themselves, stretching and scratching and grumbling. Major Reid told Walrus to start a fresh pot of coffee before they moved on. "Big Bear! Hey, you were on the second watch. Where's the new guy, Middaugh?"
"Can't say, sir," the burly man replied unhappily. "When I went on watch at 200 hours, he was sleeping between those bushes over there, away from the rest of us."
Stepping in, Corporal Paley planted his fists on his hips and scowled. "If you're nodding off on guard duty, Bear! I swear, I'll make you regret being born."
"No, sir. I'm sure I didn't. Middaugh must be part Red Indian to sneak off so quietly."
Coming over to stand near them, Marcel made a disgusted noise as if about to spit. He was no more than than five feet six with a wiry build. Like the others, he was wearing ordinary civilian clothes much the worse for wear. "It is good that he ran off," he said. "That man made my skin crawl for some reason. I didn't say anything but I caught him staring at us as if he was waiting for an excuse to kill us. There was something demonic in his eyes!"
"War has done that to many men," offered Walrus. The oldest among them, he had taken off his shapeless battered hat to reveal thinning white hair which matched his drooping mustache. It was Walrus who carried the Heroes' sole rifle, the BAR which he carried strapped on his right shoulder. "None of us are the naive souls we were a few years ago. We are indeed Hellbound."
"We can't worry about him now. Maybe he was a deserter." Reid said, rolling up his sleeping bag and tying it across his backpack. He carried a lot of gear on him, from binoculars to a flare gun. "Bear, make sure that fire's out. Coffee all gone? You Heroes gather your kits, we move out in five."
"Orders still stand, major?" Scarface asked.
"Same as when we left England, why would it be otherwise? Find out what the Hell is going on at Brevalle and report back."
"And if we get the chance to kill a few Germans, so much the better," mumbled Marcel.
"We all got some sleep and full bellies, we should make good time today. Move out!"
"Come on, snap to it!" added Scarface. "You guys move much slower, them Nazis'll die of old age before you face them."
Five men headed up the incline toward the road again. None of them glanced back to see the stranger emerge from behind a tree, nor did they see the gleeful face of the man who had called himself Will Middaugh.
Only half an hour later, the team came to a halt when Reid spotted something out of place. Everyone unslung their weapons instantly, fingers on the triggers. "Over there," he said quietly as he walked over to where a single boot protruded from the brush. "All right, men, breathe easy. Two bodies. Nothing we haven't seen plenty of."
The Hellbound Heroes gathered to study the scene. A middle-aged couple, a man with a huge belly and a woman bundled in a winter coat despite the August mugginess. They were lying side by side, face up, hands clasped together and their throats sliced open so deeply that bone showed. Nearby was a bundle sack and a rolled up blanket filled with clothing.
After a long tense moment, Benton Reid said, "The Germans didn't do this."
"Yes. I think you're right. These poor old folk were refugees fleeing to somewhere safer. Even the filthy Boche would have simply shot them in the back and left them where they fell," said the Black Bear. "To arrange them up so nice and neat... it gives me shudders."
"Bet my last sawbuck that it was Middaugh who did this!" snapped Marcel. "I said the guy was a lunatic, didn't I? We're lucky he didn't cut all our necks open last night."
"As if we needed another reason to be on edge," added Black Bear. "Sometimes I feel the gates of Hell itself have been left open for all the devils to escape."
"Men make their own Hell on Earth," said Walrus as if to himself. "Or Heaven."
Major Reid stepped back out onto the road. "Nothing we can do about this. Move out, move on. Let's get our job done."
Back on the sunbaked road, the squad made better time than usual, anxious to put that murder scene behind them. Black Bear had been wearing a wool scarf wrapped around his head to leave his face free but keep his ears warm at night, he undid it and tied it around his neck. Well over six feet tall, with a massive barrel chest, he had been a farmer until three years ago when his entire family had been shot while he was in the next village. Meeting up with Major Reid had given him a better change to find vengeance than striking out alone.
"Walrus, what say we bake a few of those apples for supper tonight?" he asked the old man beside him.
"Absolutely. I like them better that way. If we had some caramel, there would be a treat."
"Yeah, and if we had wings, we could fly back home. Feh."
Leading the way, Reid slowed and pointed at a hill that had come into view. Perched at its peak was an elaborate mansion five stories high, with a cylindrical tower at the end of each wing. Even at a mile's distance, it was an impressive sight.
"Listen up, that must be Chateau Brevalle," the Major said. "Named after the aristocrats, like the village. If the Germans are in this immediate area, I'm sure that's where they would hole up."
"Officers sure love luxury," Marcel grumbled. "No offense, major."
"Right. Maybe we can claim it and have a night sleeping in real beds. Back to hoofing it, men."
Again, once the Hellbound Heroes were out of sight, a tall ragged figure emerged from concealment. Middaugh shook with silent repressed laughter and faded back behind the trees to follow the team.
III.
Reid crouched down, fingertips touching the cobblestoned side street and took a good hard look around the corner of the house before ducking away. He stalked back to where his team was waiting and pulled them into a huddle.
"I see twenty Wehrmacht regulars," he whispered. "They've got what looks like the entire village rounded up around the well in the plaza. And a young woman is standing up against the brick wall that marks the edge of town. Sure seems like she's about to be executed for some reason."
"What are we waiting for?" demanded Marcel. "Come, let's cut them down before they know what happened!"
"Exactly. You and Walrus, cut around the other side of this house. Black Bear, you and Scarface will be with me. When those goose-steppers start to raise their rifles, we gun them down." He swept one hand and the two he had designated rushed across the back of the house.
Signalling for Scarface and the Bear to hold back a few feet, Reid peered out again. What kind of uniform was that officer wearing anyway? It seemed to be an SS garb but in dark red with gold trim. And what was that symbol on the back of his tunic? A white oval with an inverted V trisecting it? The Nazis sure seemed to have come up with some new branch of their military that he hadn't heard of.
Ten of the soldiers had lined up facing a red brickwall which stood head high and, in a now-pathetic touch, had colorful potted flowers along its top. Back pressed against that wall stood a thin young woman with curly dark hair.
>"If you are waiting for me to beg, you are going to be disappointed," she cried out. "But I can see you are used to being disappointed where women are concerned!"<
That drew a snicker from one soldier, which the officer did not address. The heavyset man in that unfamiliar red uniform spoke to the defiant woman. "This is your last chance, liebchen," he replied in English. "Better hard labor and life than being tossed into a ditch."
>"Someday you swine will be gone from France and be only a bad memory,"< the girl retorted, drawing herself up and lifting her head.
The firing squad raised their weapons. Behind him, Reid felt his men bringing up their Tommy guns and he himself unsnapped the flap of his holstered .45 automatic. But the next second saw the tableau froze. Leaping nimbly up to stand atop the brick wall was a tall figure in a vivid costume.
Bright blue bodyshirt and tights were contrasted by red leather boots and gloves. Across that muscular chest was a white silhouette of an eagle swooping to pounce and, echoing his symbol, the masked man dove headfirst into the middle of the firing squad. Two of the soldiers were flattened beneath his weight, crushing them down, two more fell immediately from powerful punches that rang with the sharp crisp sound of jaws breaking.
In another second, the Germans would have recovered their wits and reacted. Even as the flamboyant costumed man dove from the wall, the soldiers who were holding back the crowd swung around. But they did not have that needed second. Deafening blasts of full automatic machine gun fire ripped through the soldiers in red flurry. Reid's Hellbound Heroes were running full-tilt toward the enemy, emptying their weapons as they came. The Germans loosed a dozen wild unaimed shots which seemed to mostly go upward and away from any possible target.
"Make those chatter guns sing!" yelled Marcel, blasting away furiously.
Luckily, the defiant girl had instinctively spun and run out of the line of fire rather than freezing. It was all over. The stink of gunpowder and the lingering echoes of all that firing hung in the air. Reid's team approached the sprawled corpses who had been living soldiers seconds earlier. Their ears rang and their eyes smarted from the haze, and their hearts were pounding in their chests.
The masked man was also lying on the ground, clutching his lower abdomen and trying to sit up. Arterial blood spread over the blue silk, two primary colors unbearably loud in the afternoon sunlight.
"The Victory Eagle? I thought you were only in newsreels," Major Reid said.
Crouching over the wounded man, Walrus left his rifle beside him. "Hold still. Don't move. This is a gut wound, all right, I'll need some clean cloth and hot water if anyone will fetch some."
"Sound off, you gold-brickers!" yelled Scarface louder than ever due to hearing loss that was hopefully temporary. He got four responses and told Reid, "All accounted for and on their feet, major."
From the crowd came a dumbfounded murmur of "Aigle Américain!" over and over.
The Eagle firmly pushed Walrus back. His baritone voice sounded strong and unpained. "I'll be fine. Give me a second. Resistance fighters, huh? Glad to see you jokers."
"Next we'll be finding out Uncle Sam is a real person," Reid scoffed. "That's a bad wound, mister, you better..." His voice trailed off as he saw the Victory Eagle's red-gloved fingers dig into the hole in his middle and come out with a piece of lead.
"That's better," the masked man said. He took a breath and rose to his feet smoothly enough. "We need to get out of sight before the rest of Eldritch's squad comes to see what the fracas was about."
"How could the bleeding have stopped already?" demanded the Black Bear. "It's impossible. Look at him. He acts like he wasn't even touched."
"I'll explain as much as I can," the Eagle said, "But first, let's get out of here." He waved to the crowd and responded to their cries of "Aigle Américain!" with a resounding "Viva la France!"
IV.
Once they were out of sight of Brevalle, Major Reid called for a break. "Smoke 'em and take leaks if you want to," he said. "Now. Victory Eagle, what exactly is your story?"
The masked man had snatched up a camping knapsack from behind the brick wall where the massacre had taken place. It was not regulation GI issue but something from a sporting goods store, and he rummaged in it to come out with a piece of black bread wrapped in wax paper. Breaking off a chunk, the Eagle took his time chewing before he spoke.
"I guess you've read about me in the papers? LIFE did a nice spread a year ago, lots of big pics that were absolutely posed for. Yeah. In theory, I answer to G2 but let's be honest, no one back in Washington is up to date on what's going on in occupied territory."
Dropping down onto a rock ledge, Walrus sighed with relief. "Getting too old for all this marching," he complained. "What we want to know if how did you recover from a stomach wound like that? It's impossible. I would have said you didn't have a Chinaman's chance."
The costumed man finished the piece of bread, dry as it was. "Let me sit down, too. I am after all a casualty, ha ha. Do you know how many Purple Hearts I could claim by now? You could shingle a roof with them."
Marcel never had trouble losing his temper. "Oh, go ahead be that way! You're a worse tease than a dance hall girl."
Through the eyeholes in that blue mask, two equally blue eyes met Marcel's glare with equanimity. "The official story stands. I volunteered for a top secret medical experiment. A Jewish doctor who had escaped Germany in 1940 was trying a serum that sped up healing and prevented infection. Unfortunately, it was so strong that most of the animals it was tried on died of shock. I was 4F. I had TB as a little kid, and nothing could get me in good enough shape to enlist. So I volunteered."
"The newspapers make it sound like you instantly blew up into a magnificent Greek god," Reid said.
"No such luck. It gave me the potential, though. I could exercise twenty hours a day without getting tired. Dr Finkle said my body eliminated fatigue toxins through perspiration. And I could eat a dozen square meals and only put on muscle, not fat. So it took three months until I got to be like this." The Victory Eagle touched the bloodstained lower part of his costume shirt. "The rapid healing surprised everyone, though."*
Scarface had not spoken so far, standing back from the others with a Lucky Strike in his mouth. He took one long drag, flicked the butt to the ground and stamped down on it. "So tell me something. Why doesn't the Army have hundreds of you gloryboys invading Germany? And the Pacific?"
"Finkle died right after the experiment. They tell me he couldn't resist injecting himself with the superman serum and his body was too old to handle it. He had already destroyed all his notes so enemy spies couldn't get hold of them."
The blond corporal sounded unutterably disgusted. "So regular joes like us have to die or go home without a leg or blind or crazy from combat. Because the big genius screwed up big time!"
"Them's the breaks," responded the Eagle. He rose again, stretched and tugged down his shirt where it had ridden up. "The war would be over by now if Doc Finkle hadn't decided to take that gamble. But G2 wants to use me as a patriotic symbol to reassure the public. When I'm not out here I do some bond rallies, make newsreel appearances and give very stirring speeches to our boys before they ship out."
The old man with the white mustache dug in the pocket of his oversized coat and came up with a chunk of fried pork he had wrapped in an old envelope. "Hungry?"
"Oh, Hell yeah! Thanks, pal." The Eagle accepted the meat and devoured it, licking his fingers. "Damn, that was good."
Major Reid was still studying the masked man and he didn't seem pleased. "Our orders were to find out what's going on in that village. What do you know? What's the straight dope on Brevalle?"
"All I know is that it's bad, real bad," said the Eagle. "Karl Eldritch is there. He makes your run of the mill Nazi look like a Cub Scout. You guys know that Hitler is cracked about the occult, right?"
"I've heard that," Reid said. "The Spear of Destiny, the Thule Society, Der Fuehrer believes lots of idiotic nonsense."
"And Eldritch has been selling him that hokum. From what I've been briefed, Karl Eldritch claims to be an actual master of Black Magic. He's promising Adolf some supernatural help to turn the war back toward Germany's favor. All it takes is a ton of gold and apparently the population of Brevalle."
"Why? What does this Eldritch need with all those people?"
"Beats me." The Victory Eagle picked up his knapsack and began to strap it on. "My plan was to follow the crowd and snoop around that chateau. But I couldn't let the scum shoot that girl. That's where you came in and now we're playing out the rest of the movie."
"Let me think about this a minute. It's a problem that calls for a pipe," Reid said. "Scarface, come with me. The rest of you are on break but don't get too comfortable."
Once they were absoltely sure they were out of earshot, Major Reid pulled out a battered old briar and found enough tobacco left in his pouch to pack it. He scratched a match with his thumbnail and got it going before speaking. "Corporal, does that clown remind you of anybody we know?"
"It's Middaugh, of course. I don't know how he figures that mask would fool anyone. Same eyes, same height and build. Mebbe he figures we're too polite to say anything."
"Could be," Reid took a long draw, glanced around and continued, "Or he's daring us to expose him. I don't trust him for one second. That story of how he got his powers stinks, too. That bum thinks he's smarter than all of us put together and he's laughing up his sleeve at us."
"Major, what's your plan?"
"Play along for right now. I think we're better off having him in sight than knowing he's out in the dark watching us. And I'll tell you something," he said after a final puff. "Maybe the Victory Eagle can shrug off one bullet but would he be so chipper after taking thirty?"
V.
Squatting in the shadows, Benton Reid tugged back his shirt sleeve to get a peek at the radium dial of his wristwatch. 0200 hours. Everyone had synchronized their watches, except for Walrus who had broken his in a fall. No matter. He was teamed with Black Bear, as Marcel was with Scarface. They were already moving in on schedule. His overriding concern right now was with his new partner.
Up against the moss-covered stone wall of the chateau, Reid barely caught a glimpse of a lithe form heaving up behind the pacing sentry. Even listening for it, he couldn't hear the struggle. The wheeze of air leaving punctured lungs was inaudible as a gloved hand pinched the mouth shut. Then the Eagle was lowering the warm corpse to the stone flagging.
Reid straightened up, his 45 in hand. He had to admit that this Victory Eagle lived up to his reputation. You'd expect that wild outfit with its bright blue and red would make him stand out in the gloom, but the man was good. He slid from one place of concealment to the next without hesitation and his rubber-soled boots were silent.
So far, they had made it past three sentries without an alarm being given. The Eagle was killing the enemy not with a commando knife but with a stiletto that had a long narrow point. The masterful skill the masked man showed with a blade reminded Major Reid again of the dead refugee couple that had been lying by the road.
Eagle's doing? Who else would have killed like that? Not the Jerries, certainly. Will Middaugh showing up where the Hellbound Heroes were marching, then this Victory Eagle arriving right when Reid's Heroes were at the site of the attempted execution. It worried him beyond dismissing. Without fully realizing why, Reid wondered where the real threat to him and his men was in this area...
The costumed man beckoned to him. Reid crept forward and followed the Eagle along the wall to where an open doorway showed cold yellow light. The masked man held an index finger to his mouth for silence and entered the side of Chateau Brevalle, with Major Reid close behind. Down damp stone steps they descended to a bare chamber ended the descent. Shown in the unsteady light of a wall torch was another dead German soldier in front of a rough-hewn door.
More apprehensive than he had ever been in his OSS career, Benton Reid kept his sidearm close by his side and joined the Eagle as the masked man pried open the door with an alarming squeak of unoiled hinges. After taking a quick glance, the masked man nodded vehemently and gestured for Reid to look through the opening.
He knew immediately it had been a mistake. A powerful red-gloved hand wrested the Colt out of his grip at the same time that the other hand shoved him violently forward to trip over a ridge and fall face down into the chamber within. Rolling, Reid hopped upright to face the barrel of a rifle inches away from his face. He stood as still as he possibly could.
There was so much to take in at once. There was a wooden cage twenty feet to a side, its door held shut by a wooden bar tied with a rope. In it were all five of his Hellbound Heroes. Their faces were bruised and bloodied but at least they were alive.
Then there were a dozen Wehrmacht troopers with their rifles at the ready, forming a protective circle around the biggest and most intimidating specimen of humankind that Reid had ever seen.
Seven inches over six feet tall, broad enough to fill doorways, Karl Eldritch was wearing the dark red version of an SS uniform that the officer in the village had. The insignia were standard Nazi emblems except for the white logo on the back of a black sun surrounded by gold flames. The giant had a Luger holstered at his right hip and a Prussian cavalry sword dangling in its scabbard to his left.
Eldritch's huge bullet-shaped head was so clean-shaven its skin reflected the torchlight. Under heavy feral brows was a pair of hazel eyes and a thin beartrap of a mouth above a square chin. When he saw Reid thrown within inches of his feet, Eldritch laughed out loud.
"Well done, my old friend!" thundered a voice more bass than any opera singer could match. "I see it was a wise decision to work with you again."
The Victory Eagle tugged off the blue silk mask. Underneath was of course the perfect matinee-idol face of the man who called himself William Middaugh. He joined in the laughter as if the two of them had just heard the most hilarious joke imaginable.
"Stay where you are, American," Eldritch advised. He stood in front of a mystery machine made of of some dark ruddy metal that shone hot even in the chilly chamber. The purpose of that device, with its platform surrounded by dangling tubes and plates was unguessable. The giant warlock rested an affectionate hand on the nearest part of that machine. "My first attempt at energizing the wonders of ancient Zhune. Tonight we shall see how successful my deciphering of that obscure texts were."
Digging in his costume belt, the Eagle took out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes and lit one with a silver Ronson. "Something I don't understand, Herr Eldritch. We had an entire village ready for sacrifice. Why was it worth all the play-acting to draw these men into the trap?"
The huge bald head lowered. "Ah. Because this device will send death and destruction along a specific course. If I understand it correctly, the deadly gralic force will shoot like invisible lightning to the birthplaces of those lambs who are charred on its platform. To satisfy Hitler, those must be American cities."
"I didn't think you were willing to bend the knee to Herr Shickelgruber?"
"He is a fool but a useful fool," said Eldritch with a dismissing backward wave of a meaty hand. "This laboratory, these servants and soldiers, are all provided for my experiment by Berlin. My work has been speeded up because Hitler is so eager to reverse his losing this war. I am ready to take the first step."
One of the Hellbound shouted a remarkably crude suggestion regarding what first step Eldritch should take. Instantly, the butt of a rifle smacked through the bars of the cage into his mouth.
"No more outbursts," the warlock said. "You can be beaten senseless and still serve to fuel my Zhune artifact. Samhain, come stand beside me. You deserve a place of honor considering your service to my cause."
The Victory Eagle complied, flicking the dead cigarette aside. He regarded the ancient device without trying to conceal his curiosity. "This is the only machinery of its kind, mein herr?"
"No. Far from it. I believe dozens if not hundreds of Zhune relics are buried around the world. In desert sands, beneath glaciers, in the silt at the bottom of great lakes. I am not yet thirty years old, I have my life to search for them and learn their secrets." He grinned so widely it looked painful. "I have told no one this before, but I intend to recover the ultimate secret of the universe."
"Really? And what would that be, if I might ask?"
"Atomic fire! The primal source of all energy. I will be able to turn matter into energy and energy into matter."
The Eagle, whose name had been revealed as Samhain, raised one elegant eyebrow. "You dream greater dreams than I do, my friend."
"I know, I know. Killing is all that calls to you. Still, you and I can work well together. You! The OSS spy, come you here."
"Don't do it, major!" screamed Marcel. "Don't make it easy for them!"
"Go down fighting!" Walrus yelled.
Benton Reid stared at the circle of guns pointed at him and took one reluctant step forward, then stopped.
"It will be a quick and painless death, I assure you," chuckled Eldritch. "As soon as you place your weight on that platform, you will know no more of this world."
Growing impatient, Samhain seized Reid by the upper arm and tugged him within reach of the artifact. "Get it over with, you weakling!"
"At least let me salute farewell to my men," Reid asked. He twisted around and raised his right hand to his brow but at the same time, he kicked hard at the back of Samhain's ankles and shoved the killer up onto the copper-colored platform. All this had been his desperate instinct to survive. The impulse that made him dive flat on the floor saved his life.
Intolerably bright serpentine bolts of red lightning flashed in all directions from the globe atop the Zhune artifact. Those blasts blew apart anything they touched, from stone walls to furniture to living men. The Germans who exploded in oil bursts didn't have to scream. Thunder rolled back and forth in the enclosed space with palpable pressure.
Deafened, delirious with burning pain, Major Reid scuttled on his hands and knees toward his friends. A lightning bolt had crashed through the wooden cage and the burning door was hanging half off. Hardly knowing what he was doing, the OSS officer urged his Hellbound Heroes out of their cage and toward the door. Every one kept falling and forcing themselves back up again. Flesh and blood was not meant to be exposed to raw gralic energy.
Last in the doorway, gasping for breath, Benton Reid looked back to see Karl Eldritch trying to do something with that machine. Shut it down, most likely? But then the massive ceiling beams crashed down and tons of masonry blotted out the sight. Concrete dust billowed toward him as he choked and fled.
It was hours before the Hellbound recovered their senses. Even then, they could barely hear each other. Somehow they had lurched and crawled out into the woods until they dropped exhausted and lay panting. The moon was low on the horizon before any of them realized they had survived.
Somehow, Reid had kept hold of his canteen. When he raised it for a blessed sip, he saw the skin on his hands was raw and peeling. His face stung as if with a serious sunburn. Lucky to be alive, he thought as he had told himself so many times before in this war. He didn't understand all that talk about ancient civilizations and atomic fire, that was beyond him. For the moment, it was enough to take in a soothing breath of cool night air and wait for sunrise.
10/10/2021
4/5-4/6/1945
I.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I'm an American!" yelled a terrified voice from within a cluster of trees.
On the dusty road, five men in worn-out civilian clothes whirled about without hesitation. Two Thompson Submachine Guns and a M 1918 Browning Automatic Rifle swung up to cover the spot where the voice had originated. The obvious leader, laden with gear strapped all around him and with a wool knit cap pulled down past his hairline, dropped his right hand to the .45 holstered on his belt but didn't draw. "Stay on your toes, men," he muttered. In a louder voice, he called, "Show yourself, buddy. Hands as high as you can reach."
Stepping out from the woods and moving toward the road came a tall man in a tattered, stained US Army uniform. He had his knapsack on his back, complete with sleeping bag tied around the top, but his empty hands weren't carrying any weapons.
"PFC Will Middaugh, First Attack Squad, Baker Company. We're based in Dover.. we WERE based in Dover. My whole Ranger squad was wiped out two days ago."
The leader of the men on the road scrutinized this stranger. "I know that base. Getting ready for big action. Baker Company, huh? Is Winslow Marsten still running things with a heavy hand, the old martinet?"
"Marsten?" came the reply. "We answer to Colonel Saul Dawling. I haven't heard of any Marsten."
"Come a little closer. That was a trick question. I know there's no Colonel Marston there. I was stationed at the Dover staging area a month ago." The man was frowning, studying the newcomer with cold appraisal. "I'm Major Benton Reid, OSS. These are my men, the Hellbound Heroes, all hardened resistance fighters who have lost everything."
"Except the need to kill Germans," said one of the squad.
"Stand down, Marcel. What happened to your Rangers, son?"
Middaugh finally lowered his hands and visibly untensed. He was a remarkably good-looking young man in his late twenties, with a full head of thick black and a movie-star profile. When he talked, perfect white teeth flashed through a week's growth of beard. "We walked right into a dozen Germans. Went around a bend of the road and there they were, so close you could touch them. Everybody jumped in any direction they could and started shooting as fast as we could."
"You seem unscratched," Reid observed.
"I slipped and fell into a ravine," Middaugh explained. "Hit my head, got knocked bad enough to be confused. I got up as soon as I could and climbed up the hill, but the surviving Germans were gone. They had looted everything they wanted from my boys, then laid their own dead out in neat rows. I guess some of their gravedigger details would be along to clean things up, so I started heading in this direction."
"Sounds to me like maybe somebody chickened out and ran for their lives, then came back once it was all clear," said Marcel.
"Are you calling me a coward?! You don't know what you're talking about! Put down that Tommygun and I'll bust your nose for you."
"Goddam prettyboy, you couldn't put a dent in a stick of butter!" Marcel yelled right back.
"Ease up, both of you," Reid ordered with understated authority that was obeyed. "For the moment, we'll give Middaugh the benefit of the doubt. Where are you from, son?"
"Colvert, West Virginia. About fifty miles from Wheeling, way out in the sticks. Sir," he added.
"Where's your weapon?"
"I left it down there. I was afraid you joes might take a shot at me before I could introduce myself.
"Go get it." Still watching the newcomer warily, Major Reid raised his left hand and made a rotary motion. "Head out. We need to put some distance behind us before nightfall. Middaugh, keep up. We eat at dusk."
All six men took off at a steady pace that ate up miles without wearing them down more than necessary. Once, they passed a farmhouse and barn that were little more than rubble.
"Nearest town is Brevalle, according to my maps," Reid told the new man. "Another two hours at this rate. Listen up, Middaugh. The big guy with the yellow sweater is called Black Bear because of his hairy chest. Without his shirt, he looks like a fur coat walking around. The codger with the white handlebar is tagged Walrus. You already locked horns with shorty Marcel, he was a schoolteacher before the Krauts rolled right over his city. Those three are French. Then there's the other American in this posse, my aide Corporal Normal Paley. Guy with blond hair. He got that white scar down his cheek from a ricochet, missed his eye by a tenth of an inch. His friends call him Scarface but you better wait until you get to know him better."
"I never got a nickname," Middaugh said. "Our sergeant sure called us a lot of other names, though. I learned more cussing from him than I thought existed."
As they marched on, weary silence descended on the so-called Hellbound Heroes. Finally, Marcel said, "I spoke out of line back there, Middaugh."
"That's all right," the new man replied. "You got good cause to be suspicious of people. I heard of Germans putting on uniforms taken from dead Americans and leading our boys into ambush."
"Hold up," Marcel said. "Something's moving over. Wait. Goddam, it's a pig, big and fat as you could wish for. And he's eating apples!"
Major Reid turned his head toward the oldest man in the squad. "Walrus, you're our best shot. Don't blow it."
The man with the white mustache unslung his BAR, took his time aiming and squeezed off two careful shots. The thud of that heavy body hitting the ground was lost in the echoes of the gunfire.
"Looks like we're going to be busy the rest of the afternoon," Reid observed. "Marcel, Scarface, carry that carcass deep in the woods. Way out of sight. Here's where growing up on a farm makes you useful, Black Bear. I want that shoat skinned and cleaned and cut up, I want everyone to eat their fill and then we'll char the rest to carry with us. We're set for grub for days now. Might as well load your pockets with apples while you can, as well."
With a pleased chuckle, Black Bear rubbed his broad hands together. "I can use every part of the little beast except the squeal."
Helping out as the team found a secluded clearing, Middaugh gathered wood and kindling. He wasn't excited about getting gorged on fresh ham as the others were. All he could think about was how soon he could sneak out that night and find a way to murder a few villagers.
II.
At the first vague brightening of the sky to the East, the Hellbound Heroes stirred. The men wandered into the brush to relieve themselves, stretching and scratching and grumbling. Major Reid told Walrus to start a fresh pot of coffee before they moved on. "Big Bear! Hey, you were on the second watch. Where's the new guy, Middaugh?"
"Can't say, sir," the burly man replied unhappily. "When I went on watch at 200 hours, he was sleeping between those bushes over there, away from the rest of us."
Stepping in, Corporal Paley planted his fists on his hips and scowled. "If you're nodding off on guard duty, Bear! I swear, I'll make you regret being born."
"No, sir. I'm sure I didn't. Middaugh must be part Red Indian to sneak off so quietly."
Coming over to stand near them, Marcel made a disgusted noise as if about to spit. He was no more than than five feet six with a wiry build. Like the others, he was wearing ordinary civilian clothes much the worse for wear. "It is good that he ran off," he said. "That man made my skin crawl for some reason. I didn't say anything but I caught him staring at us as if he was waiting for an excuse to kill us. There was something demonic in his eyes!"
"War has done that to many men," offered Walrus. The oldest among them, he had taken off his shapeless battered hat to reveal thinning white hair which matched his drooping mustache. It was Walrus who carried the Heroes' sole rifle, the BAR which he carried strapped on his right shoulder. "None of us are the naive souls we were a few years ago. We are indeed Hellbound."
"We can't worry about him now. Maybe he was a deserter." Reid said, rolling up his sleeping bag and tying it across his backpack. He carried a lot of gear on him, from binoculars to a flare gun. "Bear, make sure that fire's out. Coffee all gone? You Heroes gather your kits, we move out in five."
"Orders still stand, major?" Scarface asked.
"Same as when we left England, why would it be otherwise? Find out what the Hell is going on at Brevalle and report back."
"And if we get the chance to kill a few Germans, so much the better," mumbled Marcel.
"We all got some sleep and full bellies, we should make good time today. Move out!"
"Come on, snap to it!" added Scarface. "You guys move much slower, them Nazis'll die of old age before you face them."
Five men headed up the incline toward the road again. None of them glanced back to see the stranger emerge from behind a tree, nor did they see the gleeful face of the man who had called himself Will Middaugh.
Only half an hour later, the team came to a halt when Reid spotted something out of place. Everyone unslung their weapons instantly, fingers on the triggers. "Over there," he said quietly as he walked over to where a single boot protruded from the brush. "All right, men, breathe easy. Two bodies. Nothing we haven't seen plenty of."
The Hellbound Heroes gathered to study the scene. A middle-aged couple, a man with a huge belly and a woman bundled in a winter coat despite the August mugginess. They were lying side by side, face up, hands clasped together and their throats sliced open so deeply that bone showed. Nearby was a bundle sack and a rolled up blanket filled with clothing.
After a long tense moment, Benton Reid said, "The Germans didn't do this."
"Yes. I think you're right. These poor old folk were refugees fleeing to somewhere safer. Even the filthy Boche would have simply shot them in the back and left them where they fell," said the Black Bear. "To arrange them up so nice and neat... it gives me shudders."
"Bet my last sawbuck that it was Middaugh who did this!" snapped Marcel. "I said the guy was a lunatic, didn't I? We're lucky he didn't cut all our necks open last night."
"As if we needed another reason to be on edge," added Black Bear. "Sometimes I feel the gates of Hell itself have been left open for all the devils to escape."
"Men make their own Hell on Earth," said Walrus as if to himself. "Or Heaven."
Major Reid stepped back out onto the road. "Nothing we can do about this. Move out, move on. Let's get our job done."
Back on the sunbaked road, the squad made better time than usual, anxious to put that murder scene behind them. Black Bear had been wearing a wool scarf wrapped around his head to leave his face free but keep his ears warm at night, he undid it and tied it around his neck. Well over six feet tall, with a massive barrel chest, he had been a farmer until three years ago when his entire family had been shot while he was in the next village. Meeting up with Major Reid had given him a better change to find vengeance than striking out alone.
"Walrus, what say we bake a few of those apples for supper tonight?" he asked the old man beside him.
"Absolutely. I like them better that way. If we had some caramel, there would be a treat."
"Yeah, and if we had wings, we could fly back home. Feh."
Leading the way, Reid slowed and pointed at a hill that had come into view. Perched at its peak was an elaborate mansion five stories high, with a cylindrical tower at the end of each wing. Even at a mile's distance, it was an impressive sight.
"Listen up, that must be Chateau Brevalle," the Major said. "Named after the aristocrats, like the village. If the Germans are in this immediate area, I'm sure that's where they would hole up."
"Officers sure love luxury," Marcel grumbled. "No offense, major."
"Right. Maybe we can claim it and have a night sleeping in real beds. Back to hoofing it, men."
Again, once the Hellbound Heroes were out of sight, a tall ragged figure emerged from concealment. Middaugh shook with silent repressed laughter and faded back behind the trees to follow the team.
III.
Reid crouched down, fingertips touching the cobblestoned side street and took a good hard look around the corner of the house before ducking away. He stalked back to where his team was waiting and pulled them into a huddle.
"I see twenty Wehrmacht regulars," he whispered. "They've got what looks like the entire village rounded up around the well in the plaza. And a young woman is standing up against the brick wall that marks the edge of town. Sure seems like she's about to be executed for some reason."
"What are we waiting for?" demanded Marcel. "Come, let's cut them down before they know what happened!"
"Exactly. You and Walrus, cut around the other side of this house. Black Bear, you and Scarface will be with me. When those goose-steppers start to raise their rifles, we gun them down." He swept one hand and the two he had designated rushed across the back of the house.
Signalling for Scarface and the Bear to hold back a few feet, Reid peered out again. What kind of uniform was that officer wearing anyway? It seemed to be an SS garb but in dark red with gold trim. And what was that symbol on the back of his tunic? A white oval with an inverted V trisecting it? The Nazis sure seemed to have come up with some new branch of their military that he hadn't heard of.
Ten of the soldiers had lined up facing a red brickwall which stood head high and, in a now-pathetic touch, had colorful potted flowers along its top. Back pressed against that wall stood a thin young woman with curly dark hair.
>"If you are waiting for me to beg, you are going to be disappointed," she cried out. "But I can see you are used to being disappointed where women are concerned!"<
That drew a snicker from one soldier, which the officer did not address. The heavyset man in that unfamiliar red uniform spoke to the defiant woman. "This is your last chance, liebchen," he replied in English. "Better hard labor and life than being tossed into a ditch."
>"Someday you swine will be gone from France and be only a bad memory,"< the girl retorted, drawing herself up and lifting her head.
The firing squad raised their weapons. Behind him, Reid felt his men bringing up their Tommy guns and he himself unsnapped the flap of his holstered .45 automatic. But the next second saw the tableau froze. Leaping nimbly up to stand atop the brick wall was a tall figure in a vivid costume.
Bright blue bodyshirt and tights were contrasted by red leather boots and gloves. Across that muscular chest was a white silhouette of an eagle swooping to pounce and, echoing his symbol, the masked man dove headfirst into the middle of the firing squad. Two of the soldiers were flattened beneath his weight, crushing them down, two more fell immediately from powerful punches that rang with the sharp crisp sound of jaws breaking.
In another second, the Germans would have recovered their wits and reacted. Even as the flamboyant costumed man dove from the wall, the soldiers who were holding back the crowd swung around. But they did not have that needed second. Deafening blasts of full automatic machine gun fire ripped through the soldiers in red flurry. Reid's Hellbound Heroes were running full-tilt toward the enemy, emptying their weapons as they came. The Germans loosed a dozen wild unaimed shots which seemed to mostly go upward and away from any possible target.
"Make those chatter guns sing!" yelled Marcel, blasting away furiously.
Luckily, the defiant girl had instinctively spun and run out of the line of fire rather than freezing. It was all over. The stink of gunpowder and the lingering echoes of all that firing hung in the air. Reid's team approached the sprawled corpses who had been living soldiers seconds earlier. Their ears rang and their eyes smarted from the haze, and their hearts were pounding in their chests.
The masked man was also lying on the ground, clutching his lower abdomen and trying to sit up. Arterial blood spread over the blue silk, two primary colors unbearably loud in the afternoon sunlight.
"The Victory Eagle? I thought you were only in newsreels," Major Reid said.
Crouching over the wounded man, Walrus left his rifle beside him. "Hold still. Don't move. This is a gut wound, all right, I'll need some clean cloth and hot water if anyone will fetch some."
"Sound off, you gold-brickers!" yelled Scarface louder than ever due to hearing loss that was hopefully temporary. He got four responses and told Reid, "All accounted for and on their feet, major."
From the crowd came a dumbfounded murmur of "Aigle Américain!" over and over.
The Eagle firmly pushed Walrus back. His baritone voice sounded strong and unpained. "I'll be fine. Give me a second. Resistance fighters, huh? Glad to see you jokers."
"Next we'll be finding out Uncle Sam is a real person," Reid scoffed. "That's a bad wound, mister, you better..." His voice trailed off as he saw the Victory Eagle's red-gloved fingers dig into the hole in his middle and come out with a piece of lead.
"That's better," the masked man said. He took a breath and rose to his feet smoothly enough. "We need to get out of sight before the rest of Eldritch's squad comes to see what the fracas was about."
"How could the bleeding have stopped already?" demanded the Black Bear. "It's impossible. Look at him. He acts like he wasn't even touched."
"I'll explain as much as I can," the Eagle said, "But first, let's get out of here." He waved to the crowd and responded to their cries of "Aigle Américain!" with a resounding "Viva la France!"
IV.
Once they were out of sight of Brevalle, Major Reid called for a break. "Smoke 'em and take leaks if you want to," he said. "Now. Victory Eagle, what exactly is your story?"
The masked man had snatched up a camping knapsack from behind the brick wall where the massacre had taken place. It was not regulation GI issue but something from a sporting goods store, and he rummaged in it to come out with a piece of black bread wrapped in wax paper. Breaking off a chunk, the Eagle took his time chewing before he spoke.
"I guess you've read about me in the papers? LIFE did a nice spread a year ago, lots of big pics that were absolutely posed for. Yeah. In theory, I answer to G2 but let's be honest, no one back in Washington is up to date on what's going on in occupied territory."
Dropping down onto a rock ledge, Walrus sighed with relief. "Getting too old for all this marching," he complained. "What we want to know if how did you recover from a stomach wound like that? It's impossible. I would have said you didn't have a Chinaman's chance."
The costumed man finished the piece of bread, dry as it was. "Let me sit down, too. I am after all a casualty, ha ha. Do you know how many Purple Hearts I could claim by now? You could shingle a roof with them."
Marcel never had trouble losing his temper. "Oh, go ahead be that way! You're a worse tease than a dance hall girl."
Through the eyeholes in that blue mask, two equally blue eyes met Marcel's glare with equanimity. "The official story stands. I volunteered for a top secret medical experiment. A Jewish doctor who had escaped Germany in 1940 was trying a serum that sped up healing and prevented infection. Unfortunately, it was so strong that most of the animals it was tried on died of shock. I was 4F. I had TB as a little kid, and nothing could get me in good enough shape to enlist. So I volunteered."
"The newspapers make it sound like you instantly blew up into a magnificent Greek god," Reid said.
"No such luck. It gave me the potential, though. I could exercise twenty hours a day without getting tired. Dr Finkle said my body eliminated fatigue toxins through perspiration. And I could eat a dozen square meals and only put on muscle, not fat. So it took three months until I got to be like this." The Victory Eagle touched the bloodstained lower part of his costume shirt. "The rapid healing surprised everyone, though."*
Scarface had not spoken so far, standing back from the others with a Lucky Strike in his mouth. He took one long drag, flicked the butt to the ground and stamped down on it. "So tell me something. Why doesn't the Army have hundreds of you gloryboys invading Germany? And the Pacific?"
"Finkle died right after the experiment. They tell me he couldn't resist injecting himself with the superman serum and his body was too old to handle it. He had already destroyed all his notes so enemy spies couldn't get hold of them."
The blond corporal sounded unutterably disgusted. "So regular joes like us have to die or go home without a leg or blind or crazy from combat. Because the big genius screwed up big time!"
"Them's the breaks," responded the Eagle. He rose again, stretched and tugged down his shirt where it had ridden up. "The war would be over by now if Doc Finkle hadn't decided to take that gamble. But G2 wants to use me as a patriotic symbol to reassure the public. When I'm not out here I do some bond rallies, make newsreel appearances and give very stirring speeches to our boys before they ship out."
The old man with the white mustache dug in the pocket of his oversized coat and came up with a chunk of fried pork he had wrapped in an old envelope. "Hungry?"
"Oh, Hell yeah! Thanks, pal." The Eagle accepted the meat and devoured it, licking his fingers. "Damn, that was good."
Major Reid was still studying the masked man and he didn't seem pleased. "Our orders were to find out what's going on in that village. What do you know? What's the straight dope on Brevalle?"
"All I know is that it's bad, real bad," said the Eagle. "Karl Eldritch is there. He makes your run of the mill Nazi look like a Cub Scout. You guys know that Hitler is cracked about the occult, right?"
"I've heard that," Reid said. "The Spear of Destiny, the Thule Society, Der Fuehrer believes lots of idiotic nonsense."
"And Eldritch has been selling him that hokum. From what I've been briefed, Karl Eldritch claims to be an actual master of Black Magic. He's promising Adolf some supernatural help to turn the war back toward Germany's favor. All it takes is a ton of gold and apparently the population of Brevalle."
"Why? What does this Eldritch need with all those people?"
"Beats me." The Victory Eagle picked up his knapsack and began to strap it on. "My plan was to follow the crowd and snoop around that chateau. But I couldn't let the scum shoot that girl. That's where you came in and now we're playing out the rest of the movie."
"Let me think about this a minute. It's a problem that calls for a pipe," Reid said. "Scarface, come with me. The rest of you are on break but don't get too comfortable."
Once they were absoltely sure they were out of earshot, Major Reid pulled out a battered old briar and found enough tobacco left in his pouch to pack it. He scratched a match with his thumbnail and got it going before speaking. "Corporal, does that clown remind you of anybody we know?"
"It's Middaugh, of course. I don't know how he figures that mask would fool anyone. Same eyes, same height and build. Mebbe he figures we're too polite to say anything."
"Could be," Reid took a long draw, glanced around and continued, "Or he's daring us to expose him. I don't trust him for one second. That story of how he got his powers stinks, too. That bum thinks he's smarter than all of us put together and he's laughing up his sleeve at us."
"Major, what's your plan?"
"Play along for right now. I think we're better off having him in sight than knowing he's out in the dark watching us. And I'll tell you something," he said after a final puff. "Maybe the Victory Eagle can shrug off one bullet but would he be so chipper after taking thirty?"
V.
Squatting in the shadows, Benton Reid tugged back his shirt sleeve to get a peek at the radium dial of his wristwatch. 0200 hours. Everyone had synchronized their watches, except for Walrus who had broken his in a fall. No matter. He was teamed with Black Bear, as Marcel was with Scarface. They were already moving in on schedule. His overriding concern right now was with his new partner.
Up against the moss-covered stone wall of the chateau, Reid barely caught a glimpse of a lithe form heaving up behind the pacing sentry. Even listening for it, he couldn't hear the struggle. The wheeze of air leaving punctured lungs was inaudible as a gloved hand pinched the mouth shut. Then the Eagle was lowering the warm corpse to the stone flagging.
Reid straightened up, his 45 in hand. He had to admit that this Victory Eagle lived up to his reputation. You'd expect that wild outfit with its bright blue and red would make him stand out in the gloom, but the man was good. He slid from one place of concealment to the next without hesitation and his rubber-soled boots were silent.
So far, they had made it past three sentries without an alarm being given. The Eagle was killing the enemy not with a commando knife but with a stiletto that had a long narrow point. The masterful skill the masked man showed with a blade reminded Major Reid again of the dead refugee couple that had been lying by the road.
Eagle's doing? Who else would have killed like that? Not the Jerries, certainly. Will Middaugh showing up where the Hellbound Heroes were marching, then this Victory Eagle arriving right when Reid's Heroes were at the site of the attempted execution. It worried him beyond dismissing. Without fully realizing why, Reid wondered where the real threat to him and his men was in this area...
The costumed man beckoned to him. Reid crept forward and followed the Eagle along the wall to where an open doorway showed cold yellow light. The masked man held an index finger to his mouth for silence and entered the side of Chateau Brevalle, with Major Reid close behind. Down damp stone steps they descended to a bare chamber ended the descent. Shown in the unsteady light of a wall torch was another dead German soldier in front of a rough-hewn door.
More apprehensive than he had ever been in his OSS career, Benton Reid kept his sidearm close by his side and joined the Eagle as the masked man pried open the door with an alarming squeak of unoiled hinges. After taking a quick glance, the masked man nodded vehemently and gestured for Reid to look through the opening.
He knew immediately it had been a mistake. A powerful red-gloved hand wrested the Colt out of his grip at the same time that the other hand shoved him violently forward to trip over a ridge and fall face down into the chamber within. Rolling, Reid hopped upright to face the barrel of a rifle inches away from his face. He stood as still as he possibly could.
There was so much to take in at once. There was a wooden cage twenty feet to a side, its door held shut by a wooden bar tied with a rope. In it were all five of his Hellbound Heroes. Their faces were bruised and bloodied but at least they were alive.
Then there were a dozen Wehrmacht troopers with their rifles at the ready, forming a protective circle around the biggest and most intimidating specimen of humankind that Reid had ever seen.
Seven inches over six feet tall, broad enough to fill doorways, Karl Eldritch was wearing the dark red version of an SS uniform that the officer in the village had. The insignia were standard Nazi emblems except for the white logo on the back of a black sun surrounded by gold flames. The giant had a Luger holstered at his right hip and a Prussian cavalry sword dangling in its scabbard to his left.
Eldritch's huge bullet-shaped head was so clean-shaven its skin reflected the torchlight. Under heavy feral brows was a pair of hazel eyes and a thin beartrap of a mouth above a square chin. When he saw Reid thrown within inches of his feet, Eldritch laughed out loud.
"Well done, my old friend!" thundered a voice more bass than any opera singer could match. "I see it was a wise decision to work with you again."
The Victory Eagle tugged off the blue silk mask. Underneath was of course the perfect matinee-idol face of the man who called himself William Middaugh. He joined in the laughter as if the two of them had just heard the most hilarious joke imaginable.
"Stay where you are, American," Eldritch advised. He stood in front of a mystery machine made of of some dark ruddy metal that shone hot even in the chilly chamber. The purpose of that device, with its platform surrounded by dangling tubes and plates was unguessable. The giant warlock rested an affectionate hand on the nearest part of that machine. "My first attempt at energizing the wonders of ancient Zhune. Tonight we shall see how successful my deciphering of that obscure texts were."
Digging in his costume belt, the Eagle took out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes and lit one with a silver Ronson. "Something I don't understand, Herr Eldritch. We had an entire village ready for sacrifice. Why was it worth all the play-acting to draw these men into the trap?"
The huge bald head lowered. "Ah. Because this device will send death and destruction along a specific course. If I understand it correctly, the deadly gralic force will shoot like invisible lightning to the birthplaces of those lambs who are charred on its platform. To satisfy Hitler, those must be American cities."
"I didn't think you were willing to bend the knee to Herr Shickelgruber?"
"He is a fool but a useful fool," said Eldritch with a dismissing backward wave of a meaty hand. "This laboratory, these servants and soldiers, are all provided for my experiment by Berlin. My work has been speeded up because Hitler is so eager to reverse his losing this war. I am ready to take the first step."
One of the Hellbound shouted a remarkably crude suggestion regarding what first step Eldritch should take. Instantly, the butt of a rifle smacked through the bars of the cage into his mouth.
"No more outbursts," the warlock said. "You can be beaten senseless and still serve to fuel my Zhune artifact. Samhain, come stand beside me. You deserve a place of honor considering your service to my cause."
The Victory Eagle complied, flicking the dead cigarette aside. He regarded the ancient device without trying to conceal his curiosity. "This is the only machinery of its kind, mein herr?"
"No. Far from it. I believe dozens if not hundreds of Zhune relics are buried around the world. In desert sands, beneath glaciers, in the silt at the bottom of great lakes. I am not yet thirty years old, I have my life to search for them and learn their secrets." He grinned so widely it looked painful. "I have told no one this before, but I intend to recover the ultimate secret of the universe."
"Really? And what would that be, if I might ask?"
"Atomic fire! The primal source of all energy. I will be able to turn matter into energy and energy into matter."
The Eagle, whose name had been revealed as Samhain, raised one elegant eyebrow. "You dream greater dreams than I do, my friend."
"I know, I know. Killing is all that calls to you. Still, you and I can work well together. You! The OSS spy, come you here."
"Don't do it, major!" screamed Marcel. "Don't make it easy for them!"
"Go down fighting!" Walrus yelled.
Benton Reid stared at the circle of guns pointed at him and took one reluctant step forward, then stopped.
"It will be a quick and painless death, I assure you," chuckled Eldritch. "As soon as you place your weight on that platform, you will know no more of this world."
Growing impatient, Samhain seized Reid by the upper arm and tugged him within reach of the artifact. "Get it over with, you weakling!"
"At least let me salute farewell to my men," Reid asked. He twisted around and raised his right hand to his brow but at the same time, he kicked hard at the back of Samhain's ankles and shoved the killer up onto the copper-colored platform. All this had been his desperate instinct to survive. The impulse that made him dive flat on the floor saved his life.
Intolerably bright serpentine bolts of red lightning flashed in all directions from the globe atop the Zhune artifact. Those blasts blew apart anything they touched, from stone walls to furniture to living men. The Germans who exploded in oil bursts didn't have to scream. Thunder rolled back and forth in the enclosed space with palpable pressure.
Deafened, delirious with burning pain, Major Reid scuttled on his hands and knees toward his friends. A lightning bolt had crashed through the wooden cage and the burning door was hanging half off. Hardly knowing what he was doing, the OSS officer urged his Hellbound Heroes out of their cage and toward the door. Every one kept falling and forcing themselves back up again. Flesh and blood was not meant to be exposed to raw gralic energy.
Last in the doorway, gasping for breath, Benton Reid looked back to see Karl Eldritch trying to do something with that machine. Shut it down, most likely? But then the massive ceiling beams crashed down and tons of masonry blotted out the sight. Concrete dust billowed toward him as he choked and fled.
It was hours before the Hellbound recovered their senses. Even then, they could barely hear each other. Somehow they had lurched and crawled out into the woods until they dropped exhausted and lay panting. The moon was low on the horizon before any of them realized they had survived.
Somehow, Reid had kept hold of his canteen. When he raised it for a blessed sip, he saw the skin on his hands was raw and peeling. His face stung as if with a serious sunburn. Lucky to be alive, he thought as he had told himself so many times before in this war. He didn't understand all that talk about ancient civilizations and atomic fire, that was beyond him. For the moment, it was enough to take in a soothing breath of cool night air and wait for sunrise.
10/10/2021
