Jewel of Hiram (The Chronicles of Crash Carter Book 1)

by Frank Felton

  The Nazis cut off our tactical supply lines and we were ordered to conserve ammo. The last thing our group of soldiers wanted was to be overrun without having a fighting chance. We were trained to fight to the end. The goal was to make the other poor sonofabitch die for his country. The worse part was all the time we had to think about it, especially at night, as we were ordered to turn out all lights to be in total darkness. I’ve said it before, I hate the darkness.

  I tried to write a letter to my dad back home, in the hopes that maybe someone would find it on my body and tell him how much I appreciated him. I never spent much time with him, and we were not close. The reality now appeared that I might never see him again. I’d had many opportunities to visit over the past few years, but never did.

  Such feelings are fleeting for me, but I think my dad would appreciate this letter. I don’t show emotion often, or well, for that matter. Emotion has not much of a home in my heart. I couldn’t finish the letter. I just didn’t have that much to say to him. He would pass away while I was overseas. The news never reached me, so I never had an opportunity to grieve.

  I fell asleep that night and drifted away into a previous dream from many months before. In states of metacognition, memory recall is not always perfect. Reflecting on the oddities of such dreams can be quite telling. It seems I was lounging in a coffee house on a Mediterranean beach, when in walks none other than General Dwight D. Eisenhower. Known as “Ike”, he was accompanied by his aide-de-camp.

  In this dream, I am not sure if he sought me out, or if I sought him, but this was no casual encounter. The back story is hard to establish. In matters of the non-physical world, you often are subject to encounters just as you would be running into people on a busy street. His first question led me to believe it was he who had sought me for advice.

  It was a loaded question, one in which he tried to ascertain whether I was on his side, or whether I would try to deceive. Espionage was in full swing, both from the Germans, and the Soviets. I’ve been known to be very adept at such things. Or perhaps it was just my ego. After all, why would a 4-star general seek the advice of a Private?

  “Mac, I’ve got a conundrum here,” remarked the General. “We’ve promised the Soviets a second front in Europe, and I’ve got to deliver. My question to you is, should we come in from the tip of Italy, or a full frontal assault in northern France, where the Germans are expecting us? I’ve got to be honest, I think we can get them on the run in Italy, and the thought of going into that hornet’s nest in France frightens me. They are waiting for us in France.”

  Now this was a trick question if ever I’d heard one. My studies entailed a great deal of reading in European history. There are mountains of literature on great battles and warfare strategy employed in this theater. I wore the same uniform as the General. My objective, aside from being on the Allied side, was to get into German territory to recover a long lost asset. Nonetheless, the General had made an amateurish attempt to mislead me into uncovering a bias, tipping my hole card to reveal myself as a subversive agent.

  Historians have debated the Western Front and a few believe the northern assault to be some great conspiracy theory. The only conspiracy is that a full-scale invasion of Italy was even considered. I measured my response, as I was talking to the great General Eisenhower, but I was nonetheless a bit offended at being patronized. I folded my hands neatly in front of me, on the table. I leaned in closer.

  “General, with all due respect, I understand your question. But just how many young men do you intend to slaughter with such a half-witted strategy? Sir.”

  “Come again, soldier?” Ike was taken aback at this brazen act of insubordination. He was not a man accustomed to snippy retorts.

  “I said, ‘with all due respect’, General. Sir.”

  I patiently waited for a real answer.

  “Look, Mac, I wish I could save them all, I really do. But I’m a flag officer. I send men into harm’s way to protect the greater good. We’re dealing with the lesser of two evils. Life is not all sunshine and rainbows; and war sure as hell not.”

  The General took a sip of coffee. His aide sat with a condescending gaze. He was aware of the General’s feint. Ike was not going to budge, or drop his poker face, until he knew for certain just which side of the fight I was on. So I gave him my reply:

  “OK, then, General, here we go. I could go through an entire list of why an Italian invasion is foolhardy, but suffice to say that northern France is your only option. You have a ready-made logistics depot in Great Britain. You can store men, machinery, and ammunition to your heart’s content. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying ‘an amateur studies tactics, a professional studies logistics?’ Second, you may find it easier to get ashore in Italy, but once there you will have a distinct disadvantage--rocky, mountainous terrain, massive rivers, and a much longer hike to reach Deutschland. If you think the Rhine will be difficult to cross for a mechanized cavalry, what about the Alps? I’m sure at West Point you learned about a guy named Hannibal who tried to invade Rome two thousand years ago with Elephants. You might fancy yourself Hannibal reborn, but I assure you, sir, his victory led to losses of men and treasure that your political benefactors cannot, and will not, stomach. He was cut off by his own political class. History might smile on him, but he was….”

  “OK, enough.” Ike replied.

  “But sir, I’m just getting started.”

  I am passionate about warfare and strategy. I could have rambled on for an hour, but the General got what he needed with the first salvo of my harangue. Every battle in history has a lesson, and every confrontation in the present most likely has a corresponding lesson from ages ago. The best military leaders are students of history. They study warfare and tactics, because even as weapons advance, basic principles of warfare do not. And of course, the movement of men and machinery into theater is of supreme importance in victory. Simple-minded leaders who command legions of men always get me tense. They don’t deserve the rank.

  This was not the case with General Eisenhower. He was a studied and intelligent man, and certainly no fool. He was, however, thorough, and took few unnecessary risks. He had simply thrown me off his trail, just as he soon would with the Germans when the Allies invaded Normandy. He was clever, and he knew the foundation of all strategy.

  All warfare is based on deception.- Sun Tzu

  After a brief pause, I couldn’t tell if the General was sizing me up as a smart-ass, or if he was genuinely contemplating my advice. I took a sip of my coffee.

  I continued, “General, the only use for invading Italy is to keep them out of the major land war, and keep the Med free.”

  “I said. Enough. That will do,” Ike replied.

  “But sir, this really can’t be the questions you came here to ask.

  “You talk a lot, don’t you Mac?”

  The General sat back in his chair, looked me in the eye, and nodded. He turned to his aide. With that, the General got up from his chair, and put on his parade cap.

  “OK. Brief him,” he ordered the aide.

  The aide jumped to his feet, and saluted sharply; “Yes, Sir, General Eisenhower.”

  “Have my plane ready at 1400 hours and alert my staff.”

  General Eisenhower turned to me.

  “I’m glad we got you on our side for this one, Mac. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

  I saluted sharply. The General returned the honor, and with that, he turned and began to walk out of the building.

  “Thank you, sir. I have a feeling history will gaze favorably upon you long after you are gone.”

  With a laugh, the General replied, as he pushed open the door. He turned his head briefly to address me one last time.

  “That a fact? Well that’s good to know. Good to know. One more thing, General Patton will be there to relieve you in the morning.”

  The aide spent the next hour asking my advice on many dilemmas the General faced. Primarily he was concerned with how to d
eal with the raging egos of some of the world’s most infamous leaders, from de Gaulle to Roosevelt. He even had to deal with difficult men whom were his own subordinates; other Generals he had leapfrogged to become the most powerful military man on the planet.

  I didn’t have all the answers, but I gave him the best advice I could muster. I was mostly right, in retrospect. As I’ve said before, I was always passionate about history, and politics is closely entwined with all military action. Whether it be politics of nation versus nation, or internal leadership, the same basic issues come up again and again.

  The invasion would be no cakewalk, and the breakout from the beaches entering the German heartland cost many lives. You do the best you can with the tools God gave you. A General goes to battle with the army he has, not the army he wants. The same can be said for any number of elements that he must account for – politics, terrain, enemy forces, et cetera. Ike was simply trying to execute a battle plan given his available assets and a plethora of data points. It is an arduous task given this fight spanned the globe.

  ~~~

  I awoke from my dream. It was daybreak. I had survived yet another night pinned down in the middle of Europe.

  Ike was right. General Patton’s 4th Armored Division broke the German line that day and saved our unit from annihilation. Aside from a few more engagements in January, my fighting days in World War II were over. We were part of some mop-up operations across Germany, but by Spring I found myself very much at ease. The sound of bombs and gunfire had abated.

  Just a few more pieces needed to fall into place; I would be at the doorstep of achieving my objective. Our final duty in Europe was to head south, in May 1945, to seize one of Hitler’s strongholds known as the Eagles Nest. After fighting subsided, we slowly made our way across Europe. The Five-O-Deuce was among the first to enter one of Hitler’s homesteads, known by its German name as Kehlsteinhaus. It sat atop a mountain peak in the Bavarian Alps.

  It is here that my story starts to get interesting. The Nazis looted large numbers of antiques, gold, art, and other treasures from across Europe. It was one of Hitler’s obsessions, although he was a failed artist in his own right. These pieces were stored in bunkers across Germany. A large cache was found in a salt mine in Austria. Many of the more famous works of art and prized pieces were taken to the homes of Hitler and the upper echelon of the Nazi party.

  Hitler, and the Nazis, was not only anti-Semitic, but anti-Freemason. They disbanded the fraternity with the Enabling Act of 1933 and sent Masons into concentration camps. They raided Masonic Lodges and plundered their antiquities as well. Part of this no doubt was due to the Semitic origins of Freemasonry, tracing its lineage back to the nation of Israel, the Tribe of Judah, and the building of King Solomon’s Temple.

  The Monuments Men were engaged in tracking down these treasures and returning them to their rightful owners. By 1945, they had established two primary collection points to gather these treasures, at Munich and Wiesbaden. One of the secondary collection points was at Offenbach, where they processed millions of books, Torah scrolls, archives, and property seized from Masonic Lodges. In a battle that saw millions of soldiers fighting across several continents, the chances of getting all of these artifacts secured was an impossible task. It continues to this very day.

  One item of Masonic significance had been stolen from Versailles, and now rested atop that Bavarian mountaintop inside the Kehlsteinhaus. It would fail to reach Offenbach, because I stashed it away and carried it home with me. While I was not inclined to pillage, it was common to take a souvenir home from the war, not for profit, but as a personal memento for the sacrifice of crossing oceans to liberate the continent from a cruel fate. I would have no trouble slipping this item back with me. It was far more than just a memento.

  As the Allies moved across Europe, I volunteered to assist the Monuments Men as they endeavored to keep safe the arts and artifacts in newly liberated areas. They had less than 500 specialists across the theater. In addition to uncovering stolen items, they were tasked with collection and repatriation. They were happy to receive any volunteer assistance they could get. I first aided in searches at Berchtesgaden, and then at Neuschwanstein Castle. My zealous dedication ensured my name was passed along to other Monuments Men as my unit made its way south to the Bavarian Alps.

  As we approached the Eagle’s Nest, my senses honed to razor-sharp acuity. I knew we were close. I could feel the presence of that which I sought drawing at my soul. I entered the house with my commanding officer, as I was now his personal driver. Such duty had few volunteers, as entrenched sympathizers and snipers remained throughout the countryside. They’d love to take a shot at an officer. For me, to be the first inside these structures was well worth the risk.

  Inside the Eagle’s Nest, the energy grew stronger. The object of my obsession was near. The compound had the look of a museum, with artwork hung neatly and shelves of books adorning the lower walls. Hitler may have been a megalomaniacal dictator, and murderer of millions, but the man had a certain taste in art which was profound. It could be said that, aside from a lust for power, his desire to be an artisan drove him.

  Outside the main study of the Fuhrer, I caught sight it. I knew instantly I had found that for which I was sent. Under a coffee table sat a little old chest which had a symbol which I recognized. It was the symbol of the Masons, the square and compass. This had been the symbol of the Craft since at least the 1500’s. My father had a ring that he wore depicting the square and compass I had seen many times before. In time, when I got home, I too would join the Lodge. It was somewhat a family tradition for the McCormacks.

  As I approached, the chest began to glow.

  I hurriedly looked around to see if my commanding officer noticed. He was engrossed in casing the voluminous number of artifacts in the palace. He paid me no attention. I quickly opened the chest. It was mostly empty, except for brittle pieces of parchment, and a worn cotton sackcloth. The sackcloth glowed. I unwrapped the object inside. It was beautiful; made of the finest materials, diamonds and gold, rubies and emeralds.

  As I reached for it, the glowing stopped. It was badly damaged. As I suspected, only half of the Jewel was here. It had been cut in half more than 1,700 years ago, by none other than Marcus Aurelius himself, in a failed attempt to destroy its power.

  I waited for what I thought would happen. I felt numbness in my hand. My entire body felt limp, and my hand continued its journey all of its own accord. My excitement and anticipation reached an apex, as my body made contact with this Divine artifact. What happened next startled me.

  Nothing.

  7. The Jewel

  A prudent man sees the evil and hides himself, but the simple pass on and are punished. - Proverbs 27:12

  Der Ring des Nibelungen, commonly referred to as The Ring of supernatural beings and common folk in a world of fantasy.

  Both stories trace an eponymous magical jewel that grants powers over the entire world, but these stories were much more than just fanciful adventure. To the reader, such a story of magnificent quest is fulfilling in itself. It can cause the deeper meaning of the author to go unnoticed by the masses. One must truly absorb the work to understand the lessons.

  To them it is a struggle between half a dozen fairytale personages for a ring…Only those of wider consciousness can follow it breathlessly, seeing in it the whole tragedy of human history and the whole horror of the dilemmas from which the world is shrinking today. – George Bernard Shaw

  Tolkien was a devout Catholic, whose writing influenced everyone from C.S. Lewis to Led Zeppelin. He captured the imagination of the multitudes while conveying simple truths that transcend the ages. His religious beliefs are not defining characteristics of the work, but his writing is heavily vested with the themes of good and evil, fate and free will, power, temptation, and divine providence.

  Once the war in Europe ended, I would have my own run-ins with fate and divine providence. Evil lurked just beyond the horizon. I cou
ldn’t see it yet, but it was always there.

  ~~~

  Despite my theories on the location of the Jewel holding up, I was wrong about one thing. Actually, for those scoring at home, I was wrong about several things, but I’m not going to list them all out for you. I had dreamed that I would enter some type of mystical transformation, or transfer of power, when I finally beheld and made contact with the Jewel. I had traveled vast distances, across an ocean, and then marched through bullets and blood over half of Europe. As relieved as I was to reach the objective, I couldn’t help but feel let down at the end.

  I was perplexed. This was not what I envisioned. I pictured myself leaving this body and flying through the air. I would be empowered with abilities beyond this world and capable of conquering my enemies with supernatural powers. It was a bit of wishful thinking on my part, but I was hoping for something, anything, aside from rucking it out as a run-of-the-mill foot soldier, confined to a human body with extremely limited abilities.

  C’est la vie.

  I took to heart the adage that sometimes the treasure we seek is not the treasure we find. Or, as my drill instructor so eloquently stated, “assumption is of the mother of all foul ups”. He didn’t use the word foul.

  Perhaps this deep disenchantment in my soul is because I’d assumed I knew more than I did. The sheer fact that the Jewel was there is nothing but remarkable. The limit of mankind’s knowledge is greatly constricted, but even the angels fall far short of the omnipotent understanding. I resigned myself to carry on the mission faithfully, to wait the proper time with good and wholesome intention, until the Master would make known to me the time and place.

  I trudged on, one foot in front of the other. After all, I am merely a servant. My powers of knowledge and insight were gifts, but oh how I longed for that power to become physical. The quest must go on.

  ~~~