by Mark Vance
Eventually, we discovered that Moonlight Serenade was the song in question, and within days the pilot’s widow of the Black Hameldon Bomber shared with us that Moonlight Serenade was played during the last dance she shared with her husband the night before he left to go overseas. They would never dance together again in this lifetime. My point in sharing this encounter is to convey the depth of intimate knowledge that demons retain concerning our friends, loved ones, and ancestors. Fallen angels have been present on Earth throughout human history and they know every human being that ever lived well enough to imitate them. Their knowledge of such intimate details helps them establish credibility with the unwary and non-discerning masses, especially grieving families that are struggling to cope with the loss of a loved one.
I would also like to share with you that over a period of years as an adult, I have been physically attacked multiple times by demonic entities, seeking my complete destruction. Choking and suffocating seem to be the preferred methods of these violent satanic assaults. It’s as if the source of their angst with me is the very breath of life itself. As long as I have that breath in me however, I am committed to telling the truth and sharing God’s Word with others. For the Bible says “all believers are ambassadors of Christ and that they must be ready to give an account of their faith, when they are asked to do so.”
“I strongly believe that Native-Americans represent a portion of the “elect” that the Bible refers to in the Book of Revelation. It is therefore imperative that Native-Americans of all tribes, remain spiritually pure if they are to be of service to the Great Spirit during the Biblical end times and beyond. A blind guide is of no use to anyone, and the modern, secular world is full of them. I implore all Native-American people to stay righteous and holy. Holy simply means set apart for God’s service. To remain holy, you must be able to discern spiritual matters accurately and effectively, and never succumb to the modern, secular philosophy of the empowerment of man. The Bible clearly warns against this misguided philosophy by declaring “professing themselves to be wise, they became fools.” “Therefore, I encourage everyone listening to this message to follow the Biblical directive which states, “come out from among them to show yourself worthy to God.” “You can begin by showing reverence to the glorious role in the Kingdom of God that the Lord has in store for all of us.
I have learned that historians have documented the presence of Cherokee people in North America since 536 BC. Research has genetically linked members of the Cherokee Nation to the ancient Hebrew tribe of Gad, one of the original Twelve Tribes of Israel. All the ancient Tribes of Israel were dispersed by the hand of God centuries ago in response to gross immorality and flagrant disobedience. They were dispersed, but not forgotten by the God of the Bible. The Bible clearly portrays the role of the Tribe of Gad in the Biblical end times scenario, and its governing role in the future Kingdom of God. The Kingdom of God is an earthly Kingdom, and the Cherokee Nation, and all Native-Americans, are destined to inherit the Earth once again and to rule and reign with Jesus Christ. The United States of America is not specifically mentioned in the Biblical end times scenario of the Book of Revelation. God allowed that entity to punish us for a season because of our flagrant disobedience. In the end however, the return of Native-American people to power and dominion is a Biblical certainty. As you prepare for that reality, I implore you to stay in God’s Word, avoid the secular world’s counterfeit spirituality, and never forget that you are special in the eyes of the Lord, with your destiny preordained before the foundation of the Earth was laid.
I will now ask my Uncle Wohali to lead us in a Benediction and the sharing of our ancestral prayer, as we give thanks to our Father in Heaven for His forgiveness, and the assurance of our return to His favor and acceptance. May we all be found worthy of such responsibility in God’s perfect timing …”
A Prayer of the Great Chief Crazy Horse
“The Red Nation shall rise again and it shall be a blessing for a sick world; a world filled with broken promises, selfishness and separations; a world longing for light again. I see a time of Seven Generations when all the colors of mankind will gather under the Sacred Tree of Life and the whole Earth will become one circle again.”
Crazy Horse (1840 - 1877)
Cherokee Prayer Blessing
May the Warm Winds of Heaven
Blow softly upon your house.
May the Great Spirit
Bless all who enter there.
May your Moccasins
Make happy tracks
in many snows,
and may the Rainbow
Always touch your shoulder.
Author Unknown
PART IV
EPILOGUE
Chapter Ten
Full Circle
“I am the Lord your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, do not fear, I will help you.” Isaiah 41:13
On the flight back to Atlanta, Steve and Kay are seated together inside the airliner’s crowded coach section. Both of them are physically and mentally exhausted from the whirlwind trip to Tahlequah, Oklahoma and the emotional high of sharing their spiritual experiences with the Cherokee Nation. The acceptance and support they received from the Cherokee people was extraordinary, and the outpouring of love and encouragement could not have come at a better time. As the pair settle in for the two and a half hour flight, Kay eyes Steve critically for several moments before suggesting,
“you really should try and get some sleep. You look like you’re absolutely worn out.”
“If I actually look like I feel, I’m probably scaring people.” he joked, leaning against the airliner’s side window and closing his eyes, anxious to surrender to sleep.
“I’ll make sure that nobody disturbs you.” Kay offered.
“It’s not that … it’s the visions I’ve been dealing with since the transference process. It’s all so real, like I was actually there in 1945. The whole gruesome experience lives in my subconscious memory and plays involuntarily again and again in my head. I’m worried that the Black Hameldon Bomber crash will always haunt my sleep.”
“Somehow, you have to let it go enough to get some rest. I’ll wake you if it looks like you’re having another bad dream.” Kay suggested.
“Promise?”
“I guarantee it!” she said reassuringly.
“Okay, I don’t want the cabin crew to see me having fits, convulsing, or reacting to any kind of stimuli. It could get back to the company. The less they know about all of this other-worldly phenomenon, the better.” he insisted. “I don’t want to have to explain to my employer or the FAA what’s going on in my head.”
“I understand dear, get some sleep. Sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams? Very funny.”
“Sorry. It just slipped out.” she assured him, watching as Steve leaned against the side window and slowly drifted off into much needed sleep.
June 12, 1945, 09:30 Hrs., Base Air Depot 2, U.S. Army Air Corps., Lancashire, England.
As he walked down the long row of airplanes, Curt Lemond was fidgeting nervously and struggling to keep the explosives concealed under his baggy coveralls. He was very distraught as he shuffled along, searching for his target in the bright morning sunlight. He had never held a bomb before, much less two at the same time, and he was nearly paralyzed with fear as he dragged himself down the long line of heavy bombers. There were dozens of them parked in front of the Air Transport Command hangar, so many that the line stretched across the Air Transport Command ramp and beyond. To him, it looked like the entire U.S. Eighth Air Force was parked at BAD-2 this morning.
Squinting in the bright morning sunlight, he cursed his carelessness for leaving his glasses behind in the truck. The error meant he had to strain to read each bomber’s tail-number and his search was taking longer than planned because of it. He’d encountered every possible combination of numbers already, but so far no 5095. The ground crew had no doubt moved her late last night after he and the other
O.S.S. men left the work detail.
Shuffling down the long line of aircraft, with the bulky explosives hidden awkwardly under his clothing, Lemond eventually came upon the B-24 he was seeking. For a moment, he stood only yards away from aircraft 5095, pausing to read the tail-number emblazoned on its right vertical stabilizer. Grunting in disgust, he muttered, “66235” and resumed walking, never looking back. If he had, he might have noticed the numbers 5095 on the bomber’s left vertical stabilizer as he passed.
Continuing his fruitless search, he strained to read each tail-number, still pursuing his quarry and completely unaware of his galactic error. The fact that aircraft 5095 had undergone a hurried replacement of its right vertical stabilizer at the BAD-2 facility had been of little interest to Lemond or the other O.S.S. men. They were therefore completely unaware that because of time constraints, the tail-number on the bomber’s right vertical stabilizer had not been changed when the unit was replaced. Lemond and his O.S.S. associates had always approached aircraft 5095 from the left side when they were manipulating the bomber’s engine components and hydraulic lines, and performing other acts of minor sabotage to induce mechanical delays. The fact that there were actually two tail-numbers on aircraft 5095 had gone entirely unnoticed.
As he continued walking down the long column of B-24 heavy bombers, he eventually reached the end without finding his target and became highly agitated. He was afraid James Tyree and the others might have left already for the States. With that in mind, he was heartened when he noticed a lone bomber parked next to the main hangar, some distance away from the others. It was a good thirty yards from him, but he felt certain that it had to be the Tyree airplane. “That must be it!” he exclaimed, approaching cautiously as he struggled to read the distant tail-number. “5095 … 5095.” he kept repeating over and over again as he squinted in the bright morning sunlight.
Unable to completely focus his eyes, he scanned the ramp nervously, relieved to see other ground crewmen working nearby as he continued to approach the lone bomber. Inching closer and closer, he strained to read the distant markings. “Damn!” he cursed himself again for his absent-mindedness with the glasses. His astigmatism and the bright morning sunlight were both working against him as he kept inching closer, trying to decipher the blurry tail-number. “All right! That’s more like it!” he suddenly exclaimed, walking very deliberately toward the open bomb-bay doors of aircraft 42-95695, and about to make a monumentally fatal blunder.
When he reached the bomber’s open bomb-bay, he gave the flight crew standing nearby a perfunctory greeting and entered the bomb-bay unchecked. Unknown to Lemond, Aircraft 42-95695 was positioned near the hangar only because the facility’s lone fuel truck was out of order this morning. All aircraft requiring fuel at BAD-2 were scheduled to be towed to the fuel pumps next to the main hangar. Aircraft 42-95695 was just the first one of several scheduled to be towed to the hangar in sequence.
Peering inside the bomb-bay, he was tense, expecting to be challenged by her flight crew any minute. Instead of challenging him however, the flight crew appeared indifferent to what he was doing, as they chatted cheerfully under the bomber’s right wing. Ed Hickey had instructed him to place both timed explosives inside the open bomb-bay near the center fuel tank, and he immediately began surveying the bomb-bay for a suitable hiding place. As he did, he gingerly removed the explosives from under his coveralls and tried to remain balanced on the bay’s narrow catwalk. He would still have to set the timer on each device. Nate Watson hadn’t wanted to do it in advance as a safety precaution, or so he’d said. The crudely constructed O.S.S explosive devices had been designed so that the timers had to be set before the arming switches were activated, or so Lemond erroneously believed. He had been so nervous when Nate Watson went over the details with him that he found himself struggling now to remember what he’d actually been told.
With his hands shaking badly, he clutched the first explosive, trying to recall the sequence Nate Watson had drilled into him for arming it. The timers had actually been set to a zero second delay to save the batteries and allow Lemond the chance to calculate a more accurate time delay between arming the device and ninety minutes into the proposed flight. It was done for timing accuracy and preservation of the ignition source, not for safety. He would now have to set both timers, conceal each device separately, and exit the bomb-bay without arousing suspicion.
Fidgeting nervously, he tried to calculate the setting for the first timer by estimating the time the bomber would be ready to depart. With sweat pouring into his eyes, he glanced around the bay uneasily when he thought he heard others approaching outside. His worst fear was being caught with the explosives by the flight crew if they should suddenly appear. They would no doubt beat him severely before finally turning him over to the military police. The notion of being beaten brutally by a dozen enraged men terrified him more than what the bomb might do if he made a mistake. That primal fear was very much on his mind as he eyed the bomb’s timer with only a portion of his attention. His concentration was divided between setting the timing device accurately, balancing on the narrow catwalk and wondering what to do if the flight crew suddenly appeared. Pausing awkwardly, he stared blankly at the first miniature clock-like device and listened intently for any sign of the flight crew.
Holding the first timed explosive in his right hand, he wiped the sweat from his left eye with his other hand and enjoyed a momentary reprieve from the stinging, burning sensation. With his right eye filling with sweat also and the irritation becoming unbearable, he decided to switch the explosive to his shaking left hand for just a moment to wipe the sweat from his right eye. In doing so, he enjoyed a temporary reprieve from the intense burning sensation, until the instant his shaking left forefinger inadvertently bumped the bomb’s master arming switch. The miscue momentarily displaced the tiny spring loaded arming switch slightly out of the off position. With the bomb’s timer still preset to a zero second delay, an enormous explosive blast suddenly shattered the early morning silence of the BAD-2 airfield, as flames and debris shot into the air, and several secondary explosions erupted in rapid succession.
Across the main ramp preflighting his B-17, A.J. Williams felt each concussion and saw the smoke and flames rising high over the Air Transport Command hangar. He didn’t know where his good friend, James Tyree was at the moment, and his first thought was for his friend, as he watched thick black smoke billowing over several parked B-24’s.
“What the hell happened?” he shouted at the radio-operator.
“A B-24 exploded!” the radio-operator replied, as he listened intently to his headset. The rest of the crew immediately raced to the bomber’s viewing ports to look, and stared in awe at the rising smoke column in the distance.
“Who was it?” Williams demanded. “Which crew was it, dammit?” he shouted frantically as the radio-operator listened to an incoming report.
“Uh, Tyree, James Tyree they think, but they aren’t sure.” the radio-operator replied, as Williams continued staring in horror at the rising black smoke.
“Was anyone in it? Was anyone inside?” Williams demanded.
“They don’t know. There are a lot of men missing …” the radio-operator reported, as Williams cringed in response.
From his hilltop two miles away, Ed Hickey exclaimed, “my God!” as he watched the smoke rising high into the air and felt several shock waves rumble across the countryside. “Holy Jesus!” he groaned.
“Do you think Curt got out before it blew?” Nate Watson shouted at him frantically.
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Hickey snarled, scanning the distant scene with his binoculars.
“We better get out of here right now!” Watson exclaimed, scrambling to gather their camping gear.
“Not until we know what’s happened!” Hickey barked.
“But …”
“We aren’t leaving here until we know for sure! No buts about it!” Hickey ordered, drawing his .38 caliber revolver and
aiming it directly at Watson’s head. “Drop that equipment!”
Instantly frozen with fear, Watson could barely manage, “uh, okay, Ed, okay, whatever you say.” as he dropped the camping equipment. “But what now?” What do we do now, Ed?” he implored, as he tried to regain an element of self control and not antagonize Hickey further.
“Now, we check with our contact in operations.” Hickey replied coolly, still aiming the revolver at his head. “If it worked, we’d better get those telegrams going right away. They were supposed to be dead two weeks ago, remember?” he snarled, staring into Watson’s frantic eyes and back at the rising smoke column.