“Traitors,” Frances yelled, “kill them all.”
Caught between the blistering wall of machine-gun fire from Task Force Saber’s fortress and the wave of charging Directorate swordsmen to her left flank, Carlene’s band of robotic soldiers twisted in place, firing in both directions.
The moment Carlene was killed, Firdos screamed in anguish. In that moment of shock, Firdos’ mind escaped its hypnotic shell. His survival instincts overcame his mindless loyalty to the Directorate, and it warned him to keep silent. He was momentarily stunned. What has become of my life? How in the name of Allah have I come to this deathtrap?
Firdos was not going to rush to his death. He kept his small squad of fighters hunkered down in the depression until Carlene’s squad was fully engaged in their attack. It was clear to him that Goldstein’s plan was hopeless.
Firdos looked over at the massive hulks of men beside him. The four of them were peering over the edge of the ditch at Frances for direction, but all they saw was her back as she scurried into the tree line. She was pressing her left hand on her hip, trying to stop the bleeding from a bullet wound.
“You men, you are under my command now. Look at me and tell me you understand what I’m telling you,” Firdos said.
Their eyes were lifeless mirrors. From their lips came the irritating buzzing hum, and Firdos vaguely understood that somehow this eerie sound controlled these childlike beasts. Firdos felt a twinge of compassion for them and he wondered why. There was nothing he could do to break the spell.
Still undiscovered by the FITO forces defending the fortress, Firdos made a decision. He opened his jacket and ripped apart his white undershirt. He took a sword from one of his soldiers and tied the white flag to it and raised it over the edge of the depression.
Peter’s scout platoon began their exfiltration down the cliff when he saw the white rag fluttering up from a ditch near Carlos’ earthworks. He radioed to Carlos.
“Commander Carlos, can you hear me?” Peter spoke into the mic clipped to his body armor.
“Loud and clear, Peter. I see you’re headed down to the water.”
“Roger, Carlos. There’s an enemy unit trying to surrender to your left front. I will take them prisoner.”
“Ah, good eyes, Peter. They’re all yours.” Carlos continued firing at the next wave of Directorate attackers. “We should be heading down to the shoreline as soon as we push this gang back into the woods.”
“Roger, out,” said Peter.
Peter and three warriors quickly surrounded the depression where Firdos and his men huddled.
“Throw all your weapons out here,” Peter ordered. His men leveled their rifles at the captives. Firdos complied, but the four brutes just stared beyond them and kept humming their brainless drone.
“Harmonicas,” said Peter.
Peter’s three fighters fished in their pockets, and with harmonicas to their lips and rifles still fixed on their prisoners, they all blew out the C major notes. The giants in the ditch opened their drooling mouths wide and ceased the throbbing hum.
Peter spoke to the men, “Now listen: lay down your bows, right now.”
They obeyed.
“Throw your swords out here, now.”
They unsheathed their swords and threw them at Peter’s feet.
“Daggers.”
They complied again, and they held out their hands for Peter’s scouts to bind them with plastic zip-ties. Their clothing was ragged and they reeked of a foul odor.
Peter and his men led them back to the cottage and locked them in the cellar with the sleeping executives. Olivia Kingston woke up and recoiled back into the corner of the concrete room.
“What are you doing? Who are these creatures?” she said.
“They’re your new roommates,” said Peter. “Play nice.”
Botis had about enough of this torment. He was, after all, an earl in the kingdom, not some lowly spirit of the world. His pride had swelled at the role he was filling as the commander of this human army. He even took some pride at being Michael’s prime target. It had been a long time since he went one-on-one with the Captain of the Lord’s Host. But he couldn’t do both.
Botis reported back to his boss and complained about his predicament.
“Hey, Lucifer,” he said, “give me a break here. I got this mob of humans fighting these do-gooders. I possess the body of this crazy woman, and now I have to contend with enemy angels sniping at me from the sky.”
The voice from the pit throbbed into Botis’ presence, “Stop whining and handle it.”
“It’s Michael,” said Botis.
“Oh, why didn’t you say that?” hissed the prince. “Forget the idiots on the ground. Kill the archangel.”
That’s what I wanted to hear. So long, suckers. You’re on your own now. And Botis abandoned Frances’ body for good and gathered his demons for the battle in the air.
“Look at them, the angelic fools,” Botis said to his minions. “They’re always smiling when we attack them. Well, we’ll wipe those idiotic smirks off their angelic faces.
“Attack!” Botis ordered, and the spiritual clash in the heavens was on.
Sandy faced her husband. “Can you hear me?” she said across the crashing waves. Henry let out a long sigh full of guilt and apology.
Henry nodded. Neither wanted to speak. They just stared at each other.
A ball of thunder and lightning crashed high overhead.
Sandy said, “Michael and Botis are going at it. The angels will win again. I don’t know why the demons even keep trying.” Her voice was void of any emotion.
“What about our son?” said Henry.
“He’s among the last of our fighters up on the cliff. He’s going after Goldstein.”
Hank and his scouts watched a wounded Frances and her twenty giants occupy the fortress, now abandoned by Carlos and his fighters.
“Ammo check,” Hank said.
Robby went down the line of scouts, got their status, and reported to Hank.
“Doesn’t look good, brother. No one has more than one extra magazine. The two SAWs have only what’s in their drums—about fifty rounds each.”
“Okay enough for one attack and possibly a few rounds extra,” said Hank.
“Guys, listen up,” said Hank. “Be smart with your fire. Expect a sword fight when we run out of bullets. They are low on arrows, too. Do not be impressed by their size. Slash at their legs and guts. Protect yourselves with quickness and maneuver. Pair up, and fight in twos. If your battle buddy is incapacitated, carry him to the exfil point and both of you leave the fight. We will take as many of these beasts as we can and then get out.
“Do not push it. Fight hard and get away. You all got it?” Hank said.
“Roger, Hank,” they said.
“Look,” said Hank. “Goldstein and his two bodyguards have joined up with Frances. I know what he did. He convinced Frances that Carlene was acting on her own. That’s how that snake operates. Always shifting loyalties for his own gain. Remember, troops, Goldstein is mine.
“Everyone ready?” he said.
The warriors nodded. They knew full well that the situation favored the enemy. The Directorate had superior numbers and they were protected by a well-designed earthwork.
“Take courage, my magnificent warriors. The battle belongs to the Lord,” Hank said.
Robby and his eight men moved over to their attack position on the right. Hank with seven men and Althea—mounted on Sadie—shifted to the left. The two wolfhounds stayed with Hank, and the shepherd and the bulldog joined Robby’s troops.
The wind had ceased. The cold Halloween night was dead still, save for the flashes of blue electricity overhead from Michael’s sky war with Botis. The strange dark cloud over Salem had dispersed as the grotesque energy from the revelers and their demonic allies dwindled. Their black Satanic rituals were over.
Hank stood motionless at the front of his scouts, waiting for the precise moment to attack. He igno
red his exhaustion and the bleeding graze in his left thigh. He breathed in the clear ocean air, knowing it may be his last taste of life.
He looked over at his faithful comrade, Robby, who was down on one knee at the forefront of his scouts. Hank raised his rifle over his head, muzzle to the sky. Robby stood up and held out his hand to his men, palm up. Hank swung his rifle down and both units crept silently toward the fort.
Without the telekinetic field from Andrew’s devices or the support of the demonic forces, Commander Frances O’Donnelly had only her human strength to control the twenty savage brutes under her command. The giant thugs all lay exhausted and heavy against the interior wall of the earthworks.
“What am I going to do with these worthless brutes?” Frances said to Romano. The two executives sat cross-legged next to each other in the dirt, filthy and discouraged.
“Here,” said Romano, offering Frances a tablet from a round pillbox he pulled out of his pocket.
“What’s this, Doctor? Cyanide?”
Goldstein couldn’t restrain the vile grin. “It’s our only hope right now, my dear chairwoman.” He popped one in his mouth and held the pillbox open for her. “Take one.”
Frances swallowed a pill, closed her eyes, and let the powerful chemical concoction course through her bloodstream. When she opened her eyes she was energized, ecstatic, and deeply fond and respectful of Romano Goldstein.
“Wow,” she said.
“Yeah, wow,” said Romano. “You have relinquished command to me, haven’t you, Frances?”
“Of course, of course. You’re in charge, Doctor Goldstein. What’s the plan, Commander?”
“Arrange the men in two rows, up against the dirt wall there.”
Frances ordered the hulks to get into a semicircle of two rows and listen to Commander Goldstein.
Goldstein began the hum again. Frances picked up the next note in the ominous chord.
Romano knelt in front of one of the soldiers and held the man’s massive jaw in his hand and peered into his weary eyes. “Look at me,” Goldstein sang. “I speak murderous power to your bones and depraved bravery into your heart. Wake up. You will slash your sword into the bellies of our enemy and throw them over the cliff. Now hum, you dumb gorilla.”
Frances watched Goldstein go from man to man, expertly manipulating them into his web.
“Frances, get these idiots ready for the enemy attack. Force this fly in the ointment off the cliff and into the ocean.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Sandy jumped across the fissure and stood next to her husband.
“Henry, I refuse to forgive you for leaving me. Gabriella’s gone. I’m alone and our son broke out of rehab and he’s in danger up there. Doctor Goldstein is a fraud. He’s evil. He’s one of the leaders of the Directorate and he’s now in charge of what’s left of their army on the cliff.
“And I … I don’t know if…,” Sandy said.
Henry waited, chewing his lower lip, staring at Sandy’s face.
“I have the same powers Gabriella has … had—over there across the crevice.” Sandy looked up at Henry for a response, but got none.
“I’m directing the battle from here, using these kids as runners.” She waved vaguely at the tent. Only Sam stood by with a metal cup of coffee in his hands, keeping out of earshot of the couple.
“I can see the battlefield. I get orders from the Spirit and the angels and I relay them to the troops up there. My last order…,” Sandy wasn’t sure if she could trust Henry with real truth.
“I don’t know if it was from above or just from me. I told Hank to kill Goldstein.”
She watched Henry’s eyes and she knew he was trying to conceal his anger.
“I have to get over there.” She bounded back to her post and looked to the sky. It took her several minutes to process what she was seeing.
“Thomas, are you still with me?”
“Yes, Commander Sandy, what is it?” said Thomas.
“Tell me what I am viewing here in the sky.”
“There is an army of enemy reinforcements inbound to this location. Possibly a hundred fresh soldiers. The Directorate has no knowledge of these forces, but they are allies of our enemy. ETA twenty minutes.”
“Here we go, girl,” said Althea. She pulled her fingernails through Sadie’s tangled mane. “Now our job is to hang back from the first attack, and when we see one of our guys in trouble we charge and help him.”
Sadie snorted and pawed the ground.
Hank and Robby directed their attack forces against the enemy in the fort using bounding overwatch. Each of their squadrons was divided into two sections. One section ran to a covered position and fired their weapons at the rim of the earthwork. The other section advanced past them and took up a protected firing position. They leapfrogged ahead, attacking the earthworks through barrages of enemy arrows.
Althea watched the enemy fire wildly over their heads. Arrows flew by her into the trees.
“Those big fellas look like they’re on some crazy drugs, girl,” she said to her mount.
“What’s that, Sadie?”
From the horse’s mind to Althea’s: The angel Thomas told me Goldstein hypnotized the brutes. They have no idea what they are doing, but they are dangerous.
“Oh, dear God,” said Althea, “these people are beyond evil. Lord help us.”
He is.
Hank’s squadron and Robby’s squadron advanced to within twenty feet of the wall without any casualties. The giants rose up over the wall, swords in hand, and charged down onto the Task Force Saber warriors. The earsplitting dissonant drone pulsated through the air. Hank’s men recoiled at the repulsive blast.
“Tell the angels to blow the trumpets,” said Althea to Sadie.
In seconds, the power of the horrific humming dissipated.
The girl and the horse watched as the Task Force Saber fighters regained their calm courage and charged back at the massive swordsmen.
“There,” said Althea, pointing her pistol at a giant with his broadsword raised over her cousin David squirming backwards on the ground. Before the enemy could bring his weapon down, Althea put a bullet through his head and he fell on top of David. Robby pulled the dead brute off David, helped him to his feet, and supported him to the exfiltration point.
Pistol in her left hand, sword in her right, Althea controlled Sadie with her legs, but Sadie needed no direction as they charged into the raging melee.
“You’re a natural warhorse,” said Althea. She leaned forward in the saddle and Sadie kicked back with both hind legs, knocking out two enemy fighters.
The hand-to-hand fight lasted over an hour. Hank was a cyclone of lethal violence. Movements almost too fast for Althea’s eye to follow. He fought by executing precise karate movements from a Shiko Dachi to a Fudo Dachi then he’d fly into the neck of a confused attacker with a Nidan Geri and finish him off with a slash of his Kabar knife across the throat.
Hank was covered with blood, wounded on his right side and left arm. Still twisting, crouching, leaping, stabbing in a continuous fluid killing dance through the enemy force. Althea had to force her attention from Hank’s devastating onslaught so she could support the others in the fray.
Finally the fight on the field was down to six giants against Hank, the two wolfhounds, Sadie, and Althea.
The dogs had one of the hypnotized swordsmen cornered against a tree. Hank was fending off the other five when a war club struck him in the head and felled him to the ground. Still conscious, he held his sword in front of his bleeding supine body as two giants reared back for the kill.
Sadie charged and rammed one of Hank’s attackers. Althea shot another. Suddenly Sadie let out a chilling scream and Althea cried, “No!” as an enemy swordsman thrust his weapon into Sadie’s throat. The sword’s point pierced through Sadie’s neck and stopped within inches of Althea’s abdomen. The horse reared back on her hind legs and smashed her front hooves into her attacker, crushing his skull. Then Sadie cras
hed to the earth next to Hank with the hilt of the massive weapon sticking out of her bloody throat.
Althea rolled free and dragged the severely wounded Hank behind a rock wall. She unzipped her jacket, ripped her tee shirt from her body, and pressed the cloth against the deepest gash in his abdomen. Hank removed his belt and bound the blood-soaked rag to his body.
“Inject this,” groaned Hank. He pulled a fat plastic syringe from one of the pockets on his body armor marked with the word “X-Stat.” Althea placed the blunt end of the syringe into Hank’s open wound and pushed down on the plunger. Hundreds of tiny sponges squirted into Hank’s artery and the bleeding stopped in seconds. He gulped down the last of his water and threw his canteen on the ground.
“I’ll be okay,” Hank said.
Althea read the lie on his face. “Sure. You’ll be fine, Hank.”
They watched the three remaining crazed monsters howl with maniacal laughter at the wounded warhorse struggling on the ground. Sadie’s eyes bulged out. Her tongue hung from her gasping mouth. One of the savages grasped Sadie’s back legs in his huge hands and dragged her across the field. The other two crazed soldiers grabbed Sadie’s front hooves and they circled around in a demonic dance, whirling the horse above the ground between them.
“Oh my dear God,” said Althea. She started to rise up over the stone wall and Hank grabbed her belt and pulled her back down.
The three savages laughed and hummed that satanic buzz—they whirled around faster with the dying animal between them and hurled Sadie over the cliff.
“Go,” said Hank. “Get down to the water.”
Althea shook her head, tears streaming down her face.
“This is an order, soldier. You get down there now. Run.”
Althea clinched her teeth and shook both fists in protest, but she pushed herself up, took a runner’s stance, and sprinted to the nearest exfiltration point and jumped down the rocks.
Proof Through the Night Page 28