by Craig Zerf
Colonel Paul Tibbets had named the Boeing-B29 Superfortress Bomber after his mother, Enola Gay.
After approximately six hours of flight time the aircraft and crew were, as planned, flying at 31060 feet altitude. The bomb bay doors were opened and the package was released at exactly 8:15 Hiroshima time.
Little Boy took 43 seconds to fall to its predetermined detonation height of 1968 feet.
In the resultant explosion over five square miles of the city was destroyed and over 100 000 people died.
Colonel Tibbets buried his head in his hands and prayed to his God for forgiveness.
You were/will be there…
The series VII interstellar warship, Solar Enterprise, of the Earth’s first fleet rang battle stations the moment that it came out of light speed. All weapons were brought to bear on the class three planet, ninth from the sun in the Judabar system.
Eriteam was small blue-green planet with a population of six billion and it was a member of the Equal Life alliance, a loose affiliation of twenty-two planets that had, some two weeks prior, declared war on the Earth hegemony.
Earth’s leadership had decided that an example would be made. They simply could not afford a long protracted war at this moment.
Admiral Simeon N’Dlovu and ship’s captain Peta Petrokov stood two yards apart. Each held a key in their right hands.
‘On my mark,’ said the admiral. ‘Three, two, mark.’
Both keys were inserted. The screen above them lit up.
‘Again,’ continued the admiral. ‘Three, two, mark.’
Both keys turned one revolution clockwise.
The screen counted down from ten to zero.
On zero the ships fission cannon pulsed twice.
The planet of Eriteam ceased to exist.
For men had now become as powerful as the gods.
You were/will be there…
The tall insect-like warriors stormed into the peaceful village, shrieking their war cries, the new risen sun reflecting off their garishly lacquered armor.
Above them, smaller winged versions of the same, dove and tumbled through the air, dropping boulders onto roofs and smashing chimneystacks to the ground.
Surprised villagers ran from their cottages, armed with whatever weapons that they had to hand. Swords, axes, pitchforks and wooden cudgels. But their resistance was utterly futile. The enemy attacked as if they were all berserkers, screeching and shrieking. Their lower set of arms they used for grasping their opponents while the upper set of bladed appendages hacked and chopped at them. Slashing, dismembering and beheading.
And the Unicorn spoke again - They are here…
The Forever Man jerked awake, his head throbbed with both pain and memories.
Memories that were so intense and real that he could still smell the air, the earth and sand. The people.
The banging continued and it took him a few moments to realize that someone was actually hammering on the door.
He stumbled out of bed and went to the front door.
Tad pushed past him into the room, behind him was Roo and Gareth of The Ten.
Tad thrust a folded piece of paper into Nathaniel’s hands.
‘Read this, it’s a demand from the Fair-Folk. Gareth found it on the lower game trail. He also found a couple of dead bodies close by. Milly has been kidnapped,’ he continued. ‘The Fair-Folk have her and they want you to present yourself to them in return for her safety.’
Chapter 25
Father Donald Haven had been a priest for over forty years. He had found his calling in his early twenties and, after his year of discernment, he had been recommended for training. The next six years had been spent at theological college from which he qualified with a PhD in theological philosophy.
He had gone on to work in Africa, South America and India before coming home and requesting a small diocese in Wiltshire. The church had complied and he had lived many happy years there. He had never married, always being of the feeling that the Lord was more than enough companionship for him and his flock were his children and his family and his friends.
After the pulse, he had done all that he could to help those around him and, luckily, the area where he lived had been relatively free of the roaming bands of thugs and criminals that had become so prevalent after the world had been driven backwards into the dark ages.
When the Fair-Folk had first arrived, father Haven had suffered a brief crises of faith but, after much prayer and contemplation, he had come to the conclusion that the Fair-Folk and their minions must also be part of the Lord's great plan and, as such, should also be treated as God’s children.
At first they had shown themselves to be as fair as their name. They had crushed the rogue element and brought law and order back to the land. They had encouraged production and trade and they had started a system of couriers and message delivery that stretched across the length and breadth of the land.
Over time their rules had become harsher and harsher. More draconian as opposed to merciful and sympathetic.
And then they had outlawed the owning of bibles. It was then that father Haven had realized that, as opposed to being God’s children they were, instead, the spawn of Satan and he had done all that he could to subtly preach against them.
It had proven difficult. Church congregations had fallen to almost nil as people blamed God for the pulse, the Fair-Folk, the hardships and disease. Still, the father tried his hardest. Even now, he sat at his rickety old desk in his cottage, a single candle burning for light, as he hand wrote a bible. It was not perfect and almost every page was on a different size and texture of paper ranging from laid woven to newsprint to recycled brown wrapping.
But paper was incredibly hard to come by, with the Fair-Folk ban on any individual below Superior Human owning any. Also, the father was writing from memory. However, it would suffice and, once he had one, then he would save and beg enough paper for a second and a third. It would take him many years, but the Lord’s word would live on.
Using a piece of stone he rubbed a sharp point into the stick of charcoal that he was writing with and continued. Slow, careful strokes. The word eternal, written illegally by candle light in the hand of an old man who hoped that his memory was serving him correctly.
The door to the cottage literally exploded into the room, such was the force with which it was kicked in. Two Orcs, a goblin and a human rushed into the room.
The human pointed at the priest. ‘There,’ he shouted. ‘I told you.’
The Orcs grabbed father Haven under his shoulders, lifting him up from his chair. The goblin scuttled over, grabbed one of the pieces of paper off the desk and quickly perused it. Then he started to load all of the papers into a sack, both the blank ones and the written.
‘Well done,’ grunted the goblin as he addressed the human. ‘You should get a promotion to Worthy for this. You can be proud of yourself.’
Father Haven looked at the young man that he had known since his birth. A man that he had christened and baptized.
‘Jonathan,’ he asked. ‘Why?’
The young man ignored him, looking away instead.
The goblin struck father Haven across the face. ‘Quiet. Under human. You have been found guilty of hording books and paper, as well as attempting to copy out subversive literature. The penalty is public execution. Death by hanging.’
‘Hold on,’ said Jonathan. ‘There was no mention of death. You said that he would be shunned. No one said that he would be hung.’
The goblin turned to face Jonathan. ‘Would you like to take his place, Worthy human?’ It asked.
The young man shook his head and looked down, hiding his fear and his guilt.
‘Jonathan,’ called father Haven. ‘Don’t worry, lad,’ he said. ‘I forgive you.’
The goblin struck the priest again. A solid blow that split his bottom lip open. Then he backhanded him with a follow through, splitting open the flesh above his right eye. Blood flowed freely down the priest fa
ce and dripped on the floor.
Without warning, father Haven tore free of the two Orcs and leapt forward, delivering a crushing head butt to the goblin's nose, crushing it almost flat and thumping the creature to the floor.
‘I forgive you, Jonathan,’ he shouted again. ‘But I don’t forgive this evil heathen creature.’
With that the priest disappeared under a flurry of blows from the two Orcs as they smashed him to the ground, kicking and punching him into unconsciousness before they dragged him off to the lock-up, helping the prostrate goblin as they did so.
But Jonathan stayed where he was. Standing in the front room of a small cottage, lit by a single candle.
After a while he found a cloth and used it to wipe up father Haven’s blood.
Then he sat down on the old wooden chair and wept.
Chapter 26
‘You cannot simply give yourself up,’ said Tad.
‘I agree,’ added Roo.
‘What are my options?’ Countered Nathaniel.
‘Well, for one, don’t give yourself up. They are probably going to kill Milly anyway. Let’s face it, the Fair-Folk aren’t known for their kindness and empathy.’
‘Don’t say that,’ snapped Nathaniel. ‘There’s no reason for them to kill Milly unless I don’t comply.’
‘There’s no reason not to if you do comply,’ continued Tad. ‘Anyway, be that as it may, we could threaten them back. Tell them that we declare out and out war, see what happens then.’
Nathaniel snorted. ‘We’re on full alert as it is. We've got 600 000 of the buggers breathing down our necks. How many troops do we have?’
Tad shrugged. ‘Not exactly sure. Around three hundred thousand.’
‘Yep,’ agreed Nathaniel. ‘And bear in mind that is everyone. Every able bodied person that we can spare to fight. And they’re strung out along the wall, concentrated in the forts. If they hit us with all 600 000 at one point I really do not know how long we could last.’
‘We would react. Bring troops from other parts of the wall to reinforce.’
‘Fine,’ agreed Nathaniel. ‘And then if they send another 600 000? And another? You know that they can.’
‘I think that, whatever you do,’ said Roo. ‘They are going to attack. I think that this whole kidnapping thing is a ruse to take you out of the equation and, as soon as they have you either dead or in custody, then they’re going to attack.’
The marine nodded. ‘I agree.’
‘So,’ continued Roo. ‘You achieve nothing by giving yourself up. Stay with us. We attack them first, send out the cavalry. Get Papa Dante and his men to sow some discord and sabotage. Take the fight to them. It’s the only chance that we have.’
‘It’s not a bad plan,’ agreed Tad.
Nathaniel shook his head. ‘No. You guys might not understand this but I am not going to abandon Milly. I will not let that girl down again.’
Tad leaned forward and looked Nathaniel in the eye. ‘Boss, I know that this sounds harsh but, suck it up. You cannot put your guilty feeling about a single girl above the fate of a nation. Of an entire people. The human race. Milly has to be sacrificed. It’s a crappy thing to say but that is how it goes.’
The Forever Man smiled and shook his head. ‘No, my friend. You’ve got it all wrong. If I didn’t go, if I let that little girl die because of me, then all that we stand for is wrong. If I do that, we will have lost our humanity. And we would have done so without the Fair-Folk's help. Without honor, without dignity, we are less than human. And anyway – who said anything about giving myself up? This is what is going to happen,’ continued the marine. ‘I will go. I will go alone and I will find Milly and bring her back, or I will die trying. That is that – no discussion. You will obey your king. Now, get ready to defend the wall, for, whatever happens, I think that we are all in for a very rough ride.’
Chapter 27
Axel drummed his fingers on the table, hammering out a staccato rhythm born out of frustration. Opposite him sat Jack Olsen and the twins, Donny and Lonny. On their left sat the professor and father O’Hara.
The prof’s head was nodding onto his chest as he wavered between sleep and consciousness. Although the venerable old scholar was still invited to every major meeting, it was now done more as a courtesy than in any hope of worthwhile feedback or constructive advice. The professor was only in his mid seventies but he had, of late, started to slip slowly into a state of almost permanent dementia. His once magnificent mind now struggled with minor tasks such as reading, or remembering where the dining hall was. As well as this, he had started to suffer from major personality changes, becoming suspicious and confused and fearful of strangers.
Father O’Hara was still nominally in charge of the Abbey’s church and pastoral care for all, but he too had started to slip. His heavy social drinking and late night carousing had started to take a heavy toll on his liver, not to mention has mental faculties. His eyes had begun to show signs of jaundice and he had started losing weight. But he still had the strength of a bull and the energy of a man half his age, although he had become more aggressive and cantankerous in equal measures.
‘Six hundred thousand troops,’ reiterated Axel. ‘All within a couple of days striking distance of Hadrian’s Wall. Have the Fair-Folk said why?’
‘They reckon that it’s a training exercise,’ said Jack. ‘Nothing aggressive about it.’
Axel snorted his disbelief. ‘They can train anywhere in the country, so why there? No, they’re preparing for war. They mean to strike against king Hogan’s Free State. The only thing that I can’t figure out is why are they waiting?’
‘There are rumors,’ said Donny. ‘Unsubstantiated, but still quite wide spread.’
‘What rumors?’ Asked Axel.
‘Sources say that the king’s consort has been kidnapped and the Fair-Folk have demanded king Hogan’s surrender for her safe return.’
‘I wouldn’t put much store by that,’ denied Axel. ‘Nathaniel doesn’t have a consort. Nor a wife or girlfriend. And even if he did, he’s a leader. He would never put her before the safety of his people.’
‘Who is this?’ Asked the professor.
‘King Hogan, prof,’ answered Axel.
The prof nodded. ‘Oh, him. Nice man. American wasn’t he? Some sort of soldier. I remember him well. Good with an axe. Immortal, I seem to remember…although that doesn’t make sense. No one lives forever. Must be thinking of something else.’ His head nodded to his chest and he fell asleep.
‘So what now?’ Enquired Jack.
Axel took a deep breath and then let it out slowly.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Whether we like it or not, we are at war. At the moment it is a low level, cold war. But it is escalating. The Fair-Folk have reduced humanity to little more than draught animals. Menial laborers and serfs. We compete amongst ourselves for food and shelter, social standing and political gain. Capital punishment has been legislated for even the smallest of crimes. The Fair-Folk have taken away our history, our rights and even our religion.
I think that the Abbey is the only small part of the old United Kingdom that still provides some sort of sanctuary from the most draconian of the Fair-Folk rules but, mark my words, that will not last much longer. They mean to declare war on the Free State and, at the same time, or perhaps even before, they will destroy us as well. They can brook no more rebellion, no matter how subtle. So, what to do? I tell you this, when you are at war there are only three options. One, ignore it. Remain neutral like Switzerland in the pre-pulse days. That would be an impossibility. I feel that the Fair-Folk will regard all who are not for them, to be against them. Secondly, one can run. Thirdly – fight.’
Father O’Hara banged his fist on the table, making all except Axel jump in surprise.
‘Fight!’ He bellowed at the top of his voice. ‘If da pig faces want a fight, well, by God and Jesus we shall give dem one. Fight!’
Axel smiled. ‘I agree, father,’ he said. ‘But I a
lso council running.’
‘No,’ roared the Irish priest. ‘No running. Running is for cowards. We shall fight and, God willing, we shall win.’
‘Yes, father,’ agreed Axel. ‘We shall fight. But I suggest that we attempt to get the elderly, the women and the children to safe haven before we start. Sometimes discretion is the greater part of valor, after all, at last estimate the Fair-Folk had two million troops under arms.’
‘Fine den,’ agreed the irate priest reluctantly. ‘Let de bairns and de fogeys go. Den we fight da rest.’
‘Fighting someone are we?’ Enquired the professor.
‘Yep,’ answered O’Hara. ‘We’s going to kick de ass of da Fair-Folk. Heathen bastards that they are.’
‘Oh, good,’ mumbled the prof. ‘Never did like them. Odd lot, I say. Will there be soup?’
Father O’Hara looked nonplussed for a moment at the professor’s non sequitur, but he rallied well.
‘Yes, my old friend,’ he assured as he patted the prof’s hand. ‘Dere will be soup. Lots of soup. As much as you want.’
‘Good,’ said the professor as his head, once again, slumped to his chest. ‘I like soup.’
‘Okay, gentlemen,’ continued Axel. ‘I am going to put together a task force to start the evacuation. We will start by sending small groups out under the cover of night. Final destination, the Free State. I know that it’s just as likely to fall as we are but we have to unite somewhere and that is my choice. Now, to cover our evacuation I want you, Jack, to take all of our guerilla teams and wreak as much havoc as you can on the Fair-Folk and anyone who supports them. That includes the so called Worthy humans and Superior humans. Poison wells, burn buildings, dig up roads, lay lethal traps. Kill them, Jack. Kill as many as you can.’ Axel turned to father O’Hara. ‘Father, happy with that?’
O’Hara nodded. ‘Kill dem all, heathen bastards.’ And he took a swig from his ever-present flask of whisky.
Chapter 28