by Lucien Black
Lucien
Black
High Stakes
Book 1:
Blitzkrieg
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 & 2010 by Lucien Black.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Other books by Lucien Black
No Vacancies Adventure Series
No Vacancies Volume 1
No Vacancies Volume 2
No Vacancies Volume 3
No Vacancies Volume 4
No Vacancies Volume 5
No Vacancies Volume 6
Outcast Trilogy
Outcast: Where Angels Dwell
Volume 1
Outcast: Hell on Earth
Coming January 2012
High Stakes Trilogy
High Stakes: Book 1 Blitzkrieg
Dedication
The world is full of people that either claim to be or labeled as Heroes. Very few people in this world can actually fulfill such an honored title. However, there was a time in our history, when thousands of men and women set aside their own lives to fight for the greater good. To fight an enemy of unparalleled evil, committing atrocities against mankind that could not be overlooked.
As the next decade approaches, the number of veterans that fought World War 2 dwindles and soon, the last of these great heroes will pass on to the next life. The history books barely scratch the surface of what really happened. It is our responsibility as parents to educate our children and grandchildren to the sacrifice made by these men and women.
While this book, and the subsequent stories yet to be told, takes WW2 history with creative license, it is dedicated to these men and women that I hold in such high regard.
To some, they were the Greatest Generation. To others they were just normal men and women doing what they felt was right. To many, they were truly heroes.
“Like so many of our people, we have now had a personal experience of German barbarity which only strengthens the resolution of all of us to fight through to final victory.”
King George VI
“Today we may say aloud before an awe-struck world: We are still masters of our fate. We are still captain of our souls.”
Winston Churchill
Chapter 1
Dec 12, 1941, Pearl Harbor, Hi
The smell of burning fuel and dead bodies filled the air with a wicked tang a few days after the attacks. The Japanese hit us hard that day. Everyone fought. Men tried to fight back; women tried to care for the wounded. In the end, all the courage I could muster was to find cover and hide out until it was over. All I could do was keep my head down and hope I didn’t get killed. He was right you know, my father. He always said I would amount to nothing. I can remember it like it was yesterday.
Chapter 2
1934, Small Town USA
It was 1934 and we lived in a small town nestled in America’s heartland. My father, a policeman in the neighboring city was a hard man. He spent his days chasing criminals and his nights chasing away his demons with a cheap bottle of whiskey. Mom, Katherine, died two years earlier. She was a warm and loving woman. She took care of us and always had a smile on her face. No one knew she was unhappy. No one ever considered she would take my father’s revolver and take one in the mouth. We were never the same after that.
I came home from school, just as I had always done so many countless times. This time my father was home early. “Great,” I thought as I walked up to the front door. Earlier that day, I had gotten into a fight with some of the colored kids at school. They beat me up pretty good and tore up my school uniform. “Dad’s going to kill me.”
Just as I said it, the front door opened. Behind the screen door, my father looked like something out of a comic book. His hair tussled with sweat. Still in his uniform, but his shirt was unbuttoned and hanging to the side. In his left hand, that favorite bottle of whiskey, almost empty.
“What the hell happened to you, boy?”
The screen door flung open.
“Um. Nothing, pa. I just…”
I didn’t get the chance to explain what had happened that day. Those four coloreds jumped me, beat me up and took everything I had. I didn’t get the chance to say I tried to fight back but there were just too many of them. That they were bigger than me. That they were better fighters than me. My dad grabbed me by the collar and threw me into the house.
“Was it them colored kids again?”
He threw the whiskey bottle across the room. The glass shattered against the wall, leaving a stain that streaked towards the ground. “I thought I showed you how to take care of yourself.”
“Pa, there were too many…I couldn’t”
The first slap is always the hardest. It came across my face and knocked me senseless. Up was down. Down was up. Before the fog lifted, slap number two landed against my jaw.
“I can’t believe you let yourself get beat up by a couple a colored kids. What are the guys at the station going to say when they hear about this?
The third slap knocked loose my front left canine.
“Your nothin’ but a coward. That’s what you are. A Coward!”
The last blow hit me just above my left eye and sent me into a brief unconscious state. The last thing I remember hearing was my father’s final message to me.
“I’m ashamed to call you my son….”
I drifted off into unconsciousness.
*
When I woke four hours later, dad’s drunken stupor had him passed out on the couch. It was 8:37 and the radio was still playing that night’s episode of Accordiana. Vivienne Segal sounded wonderful as she sang with Oliver Smith. Mom used to sing to me too. I tried to remember the songs she sang as I lifted myself from the floor and proceeded to the bathroom. There, I tended to my wounds.
The blood had dried by the time I had woken up. I did the best I could to clean and treat them. I had a couple of seasons in the boy scouts and thankfully had my first lessons on first aid. I took my blood stained school shirt and threw it in the trash. I certainly couldn’t wear it to school tomorrow.
There was no dinner in the house. Dad had not made any and I certainly wasn’t hungry. Slowly I made my way into bed and covered myself with the thin sheet.
An hour later, between my sobs, I heard the front door slam and the car start. Dad must have been thirsty. As soon as the sound of the engine drifted away, I began to fall asleep. The last words my father ever spoke to me danced in my brain like hot oil on a pan.
“I am ashamed to call you my son…”
Chapter 3
Dec 12, 1941, Pearl Harbor, Hi
It was hard to escape injury that day. Even though I hid through most of the battle, I still took some shrapnel in the left arm. It hurt and the sling was annoying. I also banged my head as I crawled under the supply boxes. It was the same place that my father had hit me so many years before.
“ANDER GET IN HERE!!!”
He never even got up from behind his desk, but the bite of his yell startled me nonetheless. I took a deep breath and made my way into the office. Inside, the man, Lt. Brooks, sat at a metal desk surrounded by paperwork, maps and reports. His head bandaged from a wound he took while defending Pearl Harbor. Someone said he took out three Zeroes on his own. The typical American Hero.
“Yes sir.”
“Can you explain to me son, why you were found hiding beneath a stack of supply crates? Can you explain to me why in your country’s time of need you
scurried away like a frightened mouse?”
“Sir, I…”
“Can you explain to me while men, women and children were being murdered; you thought it prudent to protect your own ass?”
“It was…”
“I never gave you permission to speak soldier.”
He reached across the desk with an envelope in his hands. I figured this was coming next.
“You’re out of this man’s military, effective immediately. Your discharge papers are in there and your travel arrangements have been made. You are nothing but a coward, Jack Ander. You are a disappointment to your family, a disappointment to your country and a disappointment to yourself. Now get out.”
I turned and headed towards the door. The last words my father ever spoke to me danced in my brain like hot oil on a pan.
“I am ashamed to call you my son…”
Chapter 4
Dec 12, 1941, Pearl Harbor, Hi
The Pacific Air passenger plane sat on the runway with its engines ready to go. I carried the few belongings I had in a small green duffel bag. I never figured I would make it very far in the Navy. I never figured they would even take me. I definitely knew I would live up to my father’s expectations and receive a dishonorable discharge.
The stewardess took my ticket and I boarded the plane. Behind me, a woman was dragging along her son. He was a wild one, moaning and carrying on. I didn’t really understand anything he said but he was getting on my last nerve. I made my way up the stairs to the plane door and ducked my way inside. As I entered the plane, I swore I heard someone say, “help them.”
Ignoring the vague message, I made my way to my seat. It took a few more minutes to get the remaining passengers to theirs. Luckily, the woman and the annoying boy sat in the row to my left. Rolling my eyes I figured it couldn’t get any worse.
“They won’t make it without you.”
An hour later, I shot up from my chair and must have looked a fool. I heard the voice again. I had no idea what was going on, but more than likely it was something to do with the hatred of flying I possess. I looked around the plane to see what was happening. Most of the passengers were asleep or reading the newspaper. The woman to my left was fast asleep and her son sat in a trance like state, rocking back and forth. In his hands was the latest sports page and he was reciting over and over again the statistics as if they were a mantra.
“Ted Williams, batting average, .39995.”
The kid must have been a retard. I heard once before that kids like him had like photographic memories for numbers but couldn’t carry on a conversation about the comics or anything for that matter. Poor kid.
I decided the best thing to do was sleep as much as possible. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore everything around me. The kid’s rambling was actually like music and started to put me to sleep. In between his statistical mutterings, I thought I heard him say my name. The plane started to rock a little and I wondered was this how life was going to end.
Chapter 5
Inside the cockpit, the Pilot struggled to keep the plane from jostling about.
“I thought you said that the weather report had us clear all the way stateside.”
“It did. I don’t know what’s going on.”
They fumbled with the controls, pushed, and pulled against the stick to keep the plane righted. A small cloud in the distance started to increase in size and was on a collision course for the plane. Sweat trickled down the pilot’s forehead as he chewed on his lip and held firm on the planes controls.
“Ralph, that cloud looks like it’s coming right for us.”
“I know.”
“Maybe we should turn back.”
“I can’t Bill. The stick is stuck.”
“Mine is too.”
The cloud grew bigger and bigger as the metal plane was drawn ever closer. Lightning and wind increased as the plane jumped and shook.
*
I never did fall back asleep. The turbulence had everyone on the plane frightened and things were getting ugly. The stewardess did her best to keep everyone calm, but things were getting out of hand fast. People were shouting and started to get up from their seats. I stayed put in my chair, since I figured if we crash, at least I have something to hold on to while I died.
I looked to my left and saw the kid wasn’t fazed at all. He sat there still mumbling sports statistics that were barely audible over the whine of the engines and noise of the passengers. His mother, oddly enough was still asleep. She had not stirred once since they finally made it to their seats.
“How can anyone sleep through this?” I said, puzzled.
Suddenly the plane dropped. If felt like an eternity until the pilots were able to right us. The force was so great that everyone on the plane that wasn’t in their seats had either fallen to the ground or held on to whatever they could for dear life. This was bad and was getting worse by the second.
I jumped up from my seat and started looking frantically around the plane. I knew there were parachutes stowed somewhere, but there wouldn’t be many. I figured better me than them right. I pushed my way to the back of the plane. People were shouting and crying.
“Get out of my way!” I demanded, a fury of adrenaline pumping through my veins gave me a sort of feigned bravery to save my own ass.
I knocked some guy to the ground with a shove. I knew I had to get off this thing. I knew I had to live.
“You’ll be the only hero.”
The words rang in my head and I tried to push them aside. I got to the back of the plane. Stuff was falling everywhere and we dropped again. This time the plane took a nosedive and I fell backwards into the aisle. I could hear the engines struggle as the pilots worked feverishly to right us. It was then I thought that we wouldn’t recover. The plane was moving too fast. The turbulence was just too strong. We were going to die.
“They will all die if you don’t help them.”
With those words, everything stopped…all the noise…all the commotion. Everything became still and quiet. I looked up down the aisle and the other passengers were frozen. It was as if time itself had stopped.
I pulled myself off the floor and started walking forward. The plane was still pitched down so it was difficult to keep my footing. I walked by using the seats to stabilize myself. The faces of my fellow passengers were as frozen as their bodies. Shock, horror, and fright lined their faces. Tears clung to the skin, yet gravity had no effect on them. I touched the tears of a woman that had her arms locked tight around her purse. They were still wet.
“You have to help them Jack.”
The words were no longer in my mind. This time the words were real. They came from someone a few rows ahead of me. I made my way to my seat. I looked to my left and the boy was gone. His newspaper folded neatly on his seat. The mother still in a cationic state with her head leaned up against the bulkhead.
“They need a hero Jack Ander.”
I spun about and saw the boy standing in the aisle behind me. I wasn’t sure how he was able to get behind me, but there he was. He was calm. He was clear. He was coherent. But, his eyes were gone; replaced by two deep black ovals. He pointed at me and started talking.
“There are children there Jack Ander. Children that need your help. You must go to them. You must help them.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You will be the only hero there Jack.”
“Hero. Kid I hate to tell you but I am no hero. I’m nothing but a coward.”
“No Jack. You will be the only hero. They won’t make it without you.”
I turned away from the boy. I could no longer take hearing this nonsense about me being a hero. I pushed my way to the front of the plane. Everyone was still stuck in time.
“You are the only one Jack.”
As I moved closer to the cockpit, vibrations started to run through my body. People were moving, but slowly as if time was starting up one second at a time. Closer and closer, I pushed to the cockpit doo
r. The kid was still talking to me. Saying the same thing over and over.
“Hero.”
I made it to the cockpit and reached for the door handle. Just as my skin touched the metal, time jumped and everything started up again. With all my strength, I pulled on the door and it burst open.
Then there was nothing but darkness. The last words my father ever spoke to me danced in my brain like hot oil on a pan.
“I am ashamed to call you my son…”
“He was wrong.”
Chapter 6
Elsewhere on another world, in another time:
It was a brutal act of violence. I stood by…we all stood by and watched as the Defiler laid waste to everyone in the room. She was a 16-year-old kid; a gothic-punk girl named Caitlyn. The power flowing through her body was far greater than I imagined and certainly far greater than our leader, Purge, ever led us to believe. Caitlyn was a genetic mishap, an anomaly if you will. Born with the uncanny ability to aggravate pre-existing health conditions in the human body, with just a whisper, the entire room fell to their knees. Thankfully, we wore protective gear designed and supplied by our team’s tech guru, Interact. It prevented her abilities from harming us; however, the men in the room were not quite as lucky. Some clutched their chests; others their heads. Some went deaf, some blind. Brain tumors exploded. Blood clots raced through veins, popping inside hearts and brains. She was just a kid really, so when she joined us, no one ever suspected that she would soon take the helm and lead us against our enemies. None of us would dare cross her.
When it was over, and the screams subsided, Purge stepped into the room and removed the earplugs that protected him from Caitlyn’s ability.
“Well done, my Defiler,” Purge said as he gently patted Caitlyn on the back. He was a frail man, with skin gray resembling a corpse long dead, but Purge was one of the most feared criminal masterminds to take control in last 100 years. The word is that he spent years building his fortune and recruiting others like us; other genetic anomalies that he could mold and shape into soldiers for his cause. Interact called him a psychic vampire in that he fed on psychic energies rather than blood. Only his voracious appetite for dominating everything in his path matched his strength.