* * *
Ryan watched the meager light vanish from the rain and lightning torn skies. He shook his head as Will approached. He was carrying a standard issue M-4 automatic rifle with a bandolier of ammunition. His rain gear was slick with rain and he looked absolutely miserable.
“Now I remember just why I don’t miss regular duty. Why does it always seem to piss all over soldiers in the field? I think God hates us.”
“God doesn’t hate us Will. He just hates you and the rest of us are collateral damage.”
“Funny jet jockey.” Mendenhall looked around at the darkening terrain and the trees that seemed to crowd every corner of the mansion’s property. “Where’s Tram?”
Ryan smirked as he pulled first one, and then a second Glock nine-millimeter from underneath his raincoat and chambered rounds into both. “I’m afraid we won’t know that until the guy opens up on any intruder.”
Will shook his head. “Well, I just hope he snipes the right people. It’s damn dark out here.”
“Come on, let’s get to the driveway. Hopefully the dumb ass witches will stroll right in.”
Mendenhall laughed for the first time in days.
“What?” Ryan inquired.
“Ten years ago, could you have imagined saying that about setting up a defense against witches?”
“Come on man, I’m a navy boy. Have you ever been to Seattle?”
* * *
Boston, Massachusetts
Asmodius had stepped off the container ship for the first time in six days. It looked around at the two hundred men and women of the ancient coven and for most it was the first time outside of Louisiana they had seen the Grey closeup. Many dropped to their knees in grateful glee that the stories they have always heard from their ancestors were actually true, while many others balked in fear. Those that chose to try and slink away were quickly caught by the true believers, stabbed to death, bitten to death or decapitated and were now floating in the rough surf. As the rain and wind pummeled the large gathering, Asmodius went amongst them.
Sokol watched as they crowded around the Grey and were trying to get a touch of his awful grey skin. Asmodius soaked it up and was actually gaining power from their worship. The Russian’s attention was taken away from the sickening scene as he saw the streets flowing with rivers of water. Not one car was out and about. Even Boston’s finest sought refuge and only ventured out when called upon by an emergency to do so. Sokol was hoping the weather created by Asmodius would also be its undoing. There was no way he could move these fools from here to Cambridge in this storm.
His hopes were dashed when he heard the grinding of gears and the whine of turbo-charged diesel engines as fifteen large dump trucks approached from the south side. As Sokol cursed he also noticed the men driving the trucks. They had been trusted worshipers sent out by Asmodius earlier. Sokol jumped on the runner of the first and peered inside. The man driving was large and covered in blood. They must have killed everyone inside the emergency services truck garage in acquiring the dump trucks. The man looked maniacal as he faced Sokol. The Russian jumped free and stood in the rain as truck after truck lined up to take on the Army of Asmodius Modai.
A long streak of lightning burst across the sky and waves the size of buildings washed into the flooded streets. Boston was isolated and Cambridge would be no better off and even worse.
The war of the Witches would start tonight at midnight—the witching hour.
* * *
United Airlines Flight 769
Over the Continental United States
The Russian army Lieutenant known as Danie Mediskaya excused himself from the second row of first-class seats sliding easily by Regev Slivinski. He moved toward the restroom. Once inside he adjusted the new tie while looking in the mirror. He then leaned over and opened the supposedly locked restroom supply cabinet. He used his fingers to probe the underside of the countertop and then pulled free the small yellow envelope. He made sure once more that the door was locked and then tore open the envelope. Inside was the short note from his handler in Montreal. His eyes went also to the signature under the handler’s official title of military liaison. He swallowed when he read the name. Mediskaya had never met the second man but was aware of his status. The note contained only eleven words in code. The young lieutenant knew the security code by heart and was able to immediately transcribe the message. ‘Insurance—incase our friend has doubts, show him what’s at stake.’ There was something beneath the handwritten note. It was a picture of a smiling young woman. The same one as the very photo Colonel Slivinski had in his wallet.
“Hm, I wasn’t aware the Colonel had a daughter.”
The young assassin destroyed the note and then pocketed the photo in case he had to use it. Then he washed his hands and rejoined his superior to finish the flight to Las Vegas.
* * *
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Will Mendenhall was starting to wonder if it was possible for the skies over New England to ever run out of falling water. Enough electricity filled the air to light up every baseball and football stadium in the nation and didn’t look to be letting up.
“We thought you two could use this,” a voice said from behind them. Ryan was startled but over the years Will had gotten very used to Colonel Collins and Mister Everett sneaking up on him. Mendenhall admired Ryan for not jumping out of his skin.
Jack handed them a thermos of coffee. “Where’s Tram, I have hot tea for him.”
“Hell Colonel, every time we think we see him in his high-hide, we see him somewhere else. Then we realize neither spot was where he was really at.” Will shook his head as he ducked when another snap of lightning burst right over them.
“Where are the white witches?” Carl asked shouldering his own M-4.
“White Witches?” Ryan asked.
“What in the hell else do we call them?” Everett asked.
“Oh, I don’t know, how about whack-jobs?” Ryan smirked. “I don’t know, they’re bunched together somewhere. They don’t know how to use the damn radios we gave them. I hope the screwy little witches have a plan if we get overrun by the wicked witches of the east.”
“Well, don’t underestimate anything or anyone,” Jack said as he and Everett turned to leave.
“Colonel, where’s the little guy and Doc Ellenshaw?” Mendenhall asked.
“With Miss Barlow. The bastards will have to get by her to get at ‘em.”
Will started to say something and then remained silent.
“You witch hunters take care, don’t let ‘em turn you into frogs or chickens or something unnatural like that,” Carl said as he walked away with the Colonel.
“Ha, ha, funny,” Ryan said as he sipped the hot coffee.
“You have to admit buddy—the moniker has a ring to it.”
* * *
“What time is it?” Millicent Krensky asked.
Randall looked at his watch. “Five minutes to midnight.”
As they sat behind a fallen tree a hundred yards from the mansion, Randall looked at the rain-soaked form of Millicent. He shook his head as he realized the former combat pilot looked like a drowned rat and could not have been more beautiful in the big man’s eyes.
“Five minutes to midnight.” She turned and looked at Randall. “Sounds damned ominous doesn’t it?”
“Nothing you say could ever sound ominous.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Millicent gave Randall a sideways glance before turning back to face the dark woods to their front. “Anyway, did you ever think the stories were true?” She looked at him once more as lightning flashed overhead. “I mean really true?”
“Yes and no, I guess. You know I became more of a believer after the invasion of the Grey’s wiped out a quarter of the world’s population. Only then did I imagine that true evil was capable of being real. So, yeah, I guess I didn’t always believe. But now, I think we may have little time to make amends to Granny for doubtin
g her.” Randall looked at the tomboyish face of Millicent. “How about you?”
“I always believed her. Ever since she taught me my first spell as a child. Even though I always thought it just a magician’s trick, I knew somehow that she wasn’t lying to me. She made me believe in myself. But you know what really convinced me?”
“What?” Randall asked.
“She told me that she would teach me witchcraft on one condition.”
“That you never use it for self-benefit.” Randall smiled. “She told me the same.”
“I’ve helped so many people in my life, even throughout my career in the navy and you know, I’m a far better person for it.”
“Millicent, would you ever consider a brute like me?”
Millicent, a veteran of forty-seven combat missions in Iraq and Afghanistan, knew her mouth had just fallen open. She looked at Randall and her heart wanted to melt. She was about to say something when lightning flared the woods to life casting shadows that resembled the disembodied head of a large Grey.
Just then a huge dump truck crashed through the main gate as others smashed into the outer perimeter fencing of the mansion.
It was twelve midnight.
* * *
Elsbeth Barlow held Matchstick’s small hand in her own as they waited with Charlie Ellenshaw inside the basement of the mansion. Crazy Charlie jumped at every boom of thunder and every flash of bright lightning that shown through the small basement window.
“Easy Slim, we have our forces out there. They know how to handle themselves.”
“I imagine if Asmodius is as smart as you say he is, he may have anticipated that fact.”
Charlie felt bad when he saw Matchstick’s worried face. The small alien had been through so much he didn’t realize that he may be close to the edge of sanity.
“Tell me if I’m way off base here Miss Barlow, but have you ever thought of attack instead of defense?”
Elsbeth looked at Ellenshaw and a thought struck her. She had never even thought of attempting to contact Asmodius directly.
“Slim, I’m beginning to think you’ve been learning tactics from your Colonel Collins.”
“Believe me, the force of his personality rubs off on you in mysterious ways. Before he arrived at the Group we were separated by departments. He taught us to think as one.”
“How is that Charlie?”
Ellenshaw smiled at Matchstick. “That no ounce of knowledge was worth one innocent life.”
“Told to you by a man who has lost many a boy. I know this Professor—Your Colonel Collins has not traversed his toughest road yet. He soon will.”
Charlie didn’t want to think about the meaning of Elsbeth’s words. They had lost so much in the past two years that he knew that anymore would bring Department 5656 to near collapse.
“Slim, take Matchstick and hold on to him. The battle we’ve anticipated for thousands of years has started. There are more followers of Asmodius than I thought possible. We’re out numbered two hundred to thirty. I have to leave you now. You’re right about taking the battle to Asmodius. This has to end tonight.”
“I’m not following,” he said as Elsbeth handed Matchstick off.
“Asmodius is close, I can feel it. He’s near, or on water. I told you the Grey is a coward and now is the time when he’s vulnerable. He’ll be reaching out mentally in an attempt to enjoy his victory. I can key on that when the bastard’s not expecting it.”
Charlie swallowed his fear. “Then go and get the son of a bitch.”
Matchstick growled. “Gets the sons of a bitches bastards.”
Elsbeth Barlow closed her eyes and went into one of the deepest trances in her existence.
* * *
Ryan saw them coming through the trees. There were women in housecoats. Men in finery and teenagers that looked as if they just arrived from Hollywood Boulevard. Jason sighted in on a man who was wearing a tuxedo that was filthy. He tried to squeeze the trigger of the M-4 but his finger couldn’t apply enough pressure because Ryan’s heart wasn’t really into killing civilians. Then the well-dressed man saw him behind the tree. Suddenly Ryan felt a wave of nausea strike him just as if he were in high, rolling sea. The seasickness struck him as if he were traversing through a rough storm. He cleared his vision as he saw the man was smiling with outstretched arms. He was looking right at Ryan. The falling rain was seemingly pushed out of the way by a force that wasn’t visible to the naked eye. It was then that Jason realized he was being assaulted by witchcraft.
Ryan heard a loud ‘pop’ and the man lowered his arms and then went to his knees with a bullet hole appearing in the middle of his face just above his nose as a round ripped through him. Ryan turned and saw Will Mendenhall and a smoking M-4 he was just lowering.
“Are you a believer yet?”
Ryan didn’t answer, but he was also firing wildly into the tree line not wanting to take a chance on being assaulted again.
* * *
Tram sighted his first target and hesitated for the first time in his life. He saw the woman, but she had the appearance of a normal housewife. He aimed but he could not force his finger to depress the trigger on his M-14. Then he saw that the woman waved her arms and several trees fell as if she had merely brushed off a filthy tablecloth. He aimed and fired. For the first time he missed, and the woman saw the muzzle flash. She saw Tram at the crook of a branch high up in a tree. Again, she waived her arm and Tram heard and felt the crack of wood and then the tree started to fall.
* * *
Jack and Carl couldn’t believe their eyes as men and women from both sides faced off in the area between the main gate and the mansion. Elsbeth’s forces mowed down thirty followers of Asmodius with a combined fireball of power. It came at the intruders as if it were a flaming sun. It struck the members of the coven of Asmodius and the trees quickly burst into flames and was hot enough that even the force of the hurricane powered wind and rain couldn’t dampen them.
Jack felt the surrounding air, water, and wind, change as if the magic being used sucked up the very molecules that made up the environment. At times it was hard to breathe as oxygen was depleted from the chants and spells being used as weapons. He was beginning to understand the dynamics of what Elsbeth Barlow had been trying to explain about the physical relationship between witchcraft and true science of the environment. All that was being used was what nature supplied and the audible use of certain words and phrases.
lightning struck a nearby tree and it threw Jack to the ground. Several of the followers of Asmodius charged. As Jack tried to shake off the powerful blast, the first person to reach him was a large man in a set of farmer’s coveralls. Stunned, he attempted to fend the man off but was quickly overpowered. Then the man collapsed with a bullet parting the left half of his forehead from his right. He was soon helped up by Carl.
“Damn Jack, I think we’ve been missing out on a better way of doing things!”
* * *
Millicent saw the five men rushing her and Randall. She mumbled something and then brought her hands up as if warding off an attacker. Then a bright flash of light happened as her spell took control of a bolt of powerful lightning and directed it to the ground. The explosion of earth and shrubs tossed the men away as if they had been nothing more than ants in a strong wind.
“That was one of the first spells Granny taught me!” she said as she turned to face Randall.
He was lying in a heap behind the log where they had been hiding. She went to him and wiped the blood from his face. “Look out!” he managed to say weakly.
Millicent turned and saw a man as he jumped forty feet through the air and come down in front of her. The ex-naval officer allowed the man to get close. Then with a sorrowful look at a dying Randall, she placed both hands together and then pounded the wet earth in front of her. The ground cracked and the trees swayed as the world opened up beneath the intruder’s feet. Then Millicent allowed her hands to part and she clapped them together one time. The
ground closed up, crushing the warlock as he tried to free himself from the crevasse she had created. She turned and held a dying Randall and he smiled as his eyes closed.
* * *
Two more dump trucks careened through the trees, their drivers acting maniacal and caring little for the men and women they carried in the back. Men, women, and teens were thrown into trees and crushed on impact. One of the truck’s rolled over and the centrifugal force tossed human bodies as if loose bit of paper into the storm. Ryan, Tram and Mendenhall heard even as the truck flipped the driver screaming laughter as every single person in the vehicle were either crushed by the truck or smashed into the enormous oak trees. Women survivors were screaming for their husbands and husbands ran to and from in search of a loved they would never see whole again. One young teen was thrown so far that her body flew over thirty yards, landing feet from Tram. The small Vietnamese slid through the mud and saw that the girl could have been no older than twelve. On a hunch Tram raised the sleeve of the girl’s parochial school-type shirt. He raised her arm to show Ryan and Mendenhall. Through the driving rain and the flash of chain lightning they both were shocked to see the needle track marks on her young arm, Will felt like vomiting.
Ryan rolled to his left toward three bodies that they had brought down at during the first phases of the assault. He had to use his knife to cut away a man’s business jacket sleeve and shirt. He grimaced when he saw the same needle marks that Tram had discovered.
Ryan slid back into the small depression where Will and Tram were. Tram, probably the best trained sniper the men of the Event Group had ever seen was now shooting to wound and not kill. Will and Jason caught on really quick. Ryan pulled his radio free of his belt and tossed it to Mendenhall.
Season of the Witch Page 30