by Tim Wheat
“Chase.”
“Yes, General?”
“I have something else quite serious to discuss with you.”
“Sir, if it is all the same to you, I’d like to put this all off until tomorrow. I’m so exhausted…”
For the third time, the General cut him off. “This is important. Rex, when was the last time you spoke with Mary Elizabeth?”
His demeanor changed in an instant and Rex Chase was now at full awareness. “I dropped her off at her place a few hours ago. I was on my way back there when…” his voice trailed off. He didn’t want to go into that story just now. “Why? What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
Chase’s head began to swim, making logical thought almost impossible. He felt his hands and armpits break out into a cold sweat as he awaited The General’s answer. Though the reply was just about instantaneous, it seemed slow, and the words spoken would stay with Chase forever.
“I’m sorry. Nothing is ever easy about this, so I’ll just say it,” The General’s voice filled with sympathy. “Rex. She’s dead.”
Chase felt the air rush from his body, and his stomach felt like it had taken a blow from a twenty pound sledge. He stammered to find words, incredulous at what he had just heard. “Wh…Wh…Who is dead? My Mary? My beautiful, innocent Mary?”
The General nodded his head in affirmation, and he put his hand on the young man’s shoulder, which was now shaking.
“But I, I, I just saw her. What could have happened? What happened?”
The General, wanting to spare him the details, rubbed Chase’s shoulder and replied. “All I know is that she is dead.”
Rex Chase’s six foot four, two-hundred and thirty pound frame was no longer being controlled by his mind. He sobbed, wretched on the sidewalk, and attempted to make his way up the steps to his apartment. His legs, shaking as hard as the rest of his body, wouldn’t support him, though, and he collapsed at the foot of the stairs. A kind of despair he had never known before filled his soul and poured into the rest of his body. Tears flowed from his deep blue eyes in a stream that seemed to never end, and he didn’t bother to dry them. How could this have happened? What did she do to deserve such a fate? Who was to blame? All of a sudden, and without warning, Chase felt his body shoot to its feet, and begin running.
“Wait. Rex. Wait.” but The General didn’t have a chance at stopping or catching the world class athlete.
Rex Chase was still crying as he ran, but his body was at the height of its senses now. It seemed as if he possessed a never ending supply of adrenaline, which even after the trials of the day, served him when commanded. He covered the distance to her house at a speed most vehicles could not have matched, and as he rounded the corner where his love had lived, a large crowd appeared, along with no less than a dozen marked police cars. Chase found a path around the neighbors who had gathered, and got within yards of the crime scene before a detective was able to grab him by the arm and get his attention.
“You can’t go in there.”
“I’m her boyfriend. I’m her boyfriend. I was going to marry her,” Chase blurted out, his breath coming in gasps, and the words the detective said next sent a chill down his spine.
“Sir, you don’t want to go in there.”
Despair washed over Chase once again and he collapsed to the pavement, weeping and lamenting his lost love. A female officer, which was quite rare in the field, came to him and offered some small amount of comfort. After a few minutes, Chase began to gain some control over himself again, and it was then he met Patrick Castle for the first time.
“I am told you were her boyfriend, young man? It seems odd to me, as I don’t remember Mary Elizabeth mentioning a boyfriend?”
Chase composed himself, rose to his feet, and offered the elder Castle a handshake.
“I just met her sir, but I swear to you I would have loved her until the day I died.”
Tears welling up in his bloodshot eyes again, Chase noticed Patrick Castle’s demeanor to be different from his own. His was not sorrow, but determination. Recognizing that he should stay composed, Chase swallowed hard, as The General joined their company.
“Patrick, I came as soon, and as fastas I could. I thought it prudent to tell young Mr. Chase here. I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds.”
“You did not,” said Castle. “Mr. Chase and I haven’t been formally introduced yet.”
“Edward Rex Chase. Patrick Eugene Castle,” said The General, motioning between the two.
The two men shook hands again, and the presence of the young man impressed Castle. Even though Chase had been crying, and his appearance was disheveled, something about him was impressive.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t have met under different circumstances, Mr. Chase.”
“I don’t know if it is possible to overstate that sir. If you don’t mind, could you please tell me what happened?” Chase searched for answers.
“Yes, Patrick, what seems to have happened?” asked The General.
“Believe me when I say this, Mr. Chase. You don’t ever want to know what happened. I made it to the scene before the police had proper control, and I witnessed with my own eyes what happened. It will be burned into my mind forever and I don’t want to burden you with that cross.”
Chase nodded and averted his eyes while The General spoke again.
“Are there any leads? Do they have any ideas?”
Castle replied rather with little hope, the picture of his daughter, head grotesquely unhinged at the neck, etched in his brain.
“We don’t have too much to report so far, but I’m paying for the best minds in the business. The only real lead that we have right now is that someone stole the neighbor’s car earlier this evening, but then we found it a street over, all beat up. It looks like someone might have just taken it for a joyride.”
Chase’s head snapped up, and his weary brain flew into gear.
“Sir, the stolen vehicle wouldn’t happen to have been a black V12 Lincoln Model K luxury sedan?”
His surprise evident, Castle’s demeanor changed, and he noticed the difference in Chase after his reply.
“Why yes, yes it was.”
Chase went from feelings of despair, and mourning, to outright hatred and extreme focus. Patrick Castle and The General not only sensed the change in Chase, but saw it as well. His demeanor no longer represented a man in mourning, but one on a mission. His bloodshot, deep blue eyes, went from tears to determination, and the look on his face seemed to be forged like a blade in cold, hard steel. If Castle was impressed before, he became twice as impressed now.
Chase went on to explain to the men the events of the day, leaving out the personal moments her father wished not to hear. He mentioned bumping into the boy at the game, and then recognizing the same young man to be the one who had hit him with the black Lincoln. He told them of the extended car chase through the city into the countryside, and how the madman had forced him off the road, and then tried to finish him off with a .45 after they crashed. Not wanting to forget anything, the three men met with one of the detectives and wrote down every detail Chase’s “picture memory” could recall. After a few hours, the weariness evident in his face, Patrick Castle decided they had gotten enough for one day.
“My boy, you have done a fine job. If you want, I am more than happy to send some personal guards with you to your house.”
The offer was a fine one, and Chase appreciated it, but he answered with something neither The General nor Castle expected.
“No, thank you, sir. General, if I’m not mistaken, I do believe I have a plane to catch, and a lot of reading to finish.”
Transforming from prey to predator had been instant, and permanent. With the killing of Mary Elizabeth, Dietrich Hoff and Hans had unintentionally summoned a previously unknown and untapped wrath. Edward Rex Chase was no longer a boy fumbling his way through life. He was now a man with purpose and laser sharp focus. The events of the day burned deep into his soul and forever chang
ed him.
*******************
40.
“The head bone’s connected to the neck bone. The neck bone’s connected to the shoulder bone. The shoulder bone’s connected to the back bone. The back bone’s connected to the butt bone. The butt bone’s connected to the leg bone… Wait a minute.”
George Ahiga, though he was now alone in the middle of the desert, had awoken early, with the intention of making one of the camp’s trucks functional. He often sang while he worked, though he wasn’t much of a singer, and his friends often gave him grief for it. He didn’t care what anyone thought, though, and the singing didn’t just help pass the time, but kept his mind limber.
Two vehicles were missing from the camp, and Ahiga assumed that the fleeing workers had stolen them when escaping the gun battle. Six vehicles remained, and they were a mess. As luck would have it, four inflated tires, amongst the six trucks, still existed. Two of the vehicles still seemed to have functioning engines. A different two vehicles were still in possession of their glass. One of the vehicles seemed to be in tip top shape from a mechanical standpoint, but the more he worked on it, the more frustrated he became. He had spent hours replacing the battery, and the cables, and the starter, and the fuel pump. Nothing he tried had worked, and he was becoming a bit despondent.
When he began to feel that way, though, he would think of the Professor’s dying request, and Ahiga’s resolve strengthened. Though he had only known Angela for a short period, he had pretty much asked her to marry him, and he had meant it. George smiled at the thought.
“You are crazy, Chief. She’ll be done with you in less than two weeks.”
He went about doing his business, whistling cheery tunes, and sometimes breaking out into song.
The Bing Crosby tune “Pennies From Heaven” had been a popular one a year ago and he sang the words aloud though he hadn’t listened to much radio in recent months. As he worked, he thought about how he had enjoyed listening to live broadcasts by a warm fire. He imagined himself with Angela Sarff, Crosby playing in the background, a cozy fire…
His mind drifted, and his senses had been nearly offline. As the sound of trucks neared, Ahiga had just enough time to dive away from one of the trucks, and melt into the countryside.
Two U.S. Army International personnel trucks ambled into the camp, and did not attempt to be stealthy in any way. The big diesel engines whined as their operators rounded the final corner, and lowered their feet on the gas. Ahiga watched in silence from a safe perch on the side of the mountain. He had planned for just such an incursion of the enemy, but had not expected the army to appear. Perhaps they had received word of the gun battle and were now there to relieve him.
George studied the vehicles as they came to a stop just in front of the embattled cabin where most of the carnage had occurred. While attempting to enable a vehicle, he had become frustrated earlier, and built the defensive position. It had been a way of resting his mind, as military planning always seemed to do for him, but now served a useful purpose. A few feet to the right sat his German sub-machine guns, and with the 9mm ammo he had taken from the other dead commandos, he had fifteen hundred rounds. The discovery of an ammo can filled to the brim with 9mm shells had been a blessing the day before. Just to his left, with a makeshift tri-pod he had built from sticks and twine, sat the M1 Garand, poised for combat. He had found another bandolier near the body of the second dead guard, and now had one-hundred and eighty rounds of 30.06 at his disposal. A few feet to his rear sat the detonator for the explosive devices. Knowing he could need to defend against a superior force, he had placed the rest of his dynamite in strategic places throughout the camp. His plan was to wait until as many men as possible entered the killing zone, and blow the devices to serve as his initial contact.
Perhaps, though, his planning wasn’t going to be needed. He watched as the Army personnel secured the area, and took note of the death that had occurred two days before. Ahiga had not moved any of the bodies, except for one. He had positioned the body of the commando he had executed into an area near the bottom of the hill he was defending. The idea was to create more of a killing field with his explosives by spreading his attackers out across the camp. His idea was working as planned, though he hoped he would not have to use it.
Two of the army personnel were advancing toward his position, and most of the rest were holding spots throughout the camp, eyes scanning the forest. Ahiga was as still as the pheasant he had hunted once in Illinois. Sometimes, on a cold day, you would step on one before it flew into the air. He watched with intense interest as the two men grew near, holding the detonator close until he knew their intentions, when he noticed a small man exit from one of the trucks.
With jet black hair and a very slight mustache, Ahiga could tell from the way he walked that the man was in charge. He wore the silver eagle of a colonel on his shoulder boards, and George began to think he might just walk out of here. If the army found this place to be inactive enough to send a full bird colonel out with just a dozen other men, the area must be secure.
Looking down on the hill below Ahiga took notice of the unfolding situation around him, and recognized that in order to maximize his explosive impact, the time was now. He had focused the direction of the bombs into the middle of the camp, and he estimated the enemy’s, if they were his enemy, casualties would be fifty percent in their current positions. It would be a significant advantage to the start of a battle, and he held the detonator close as he made his decision. His mission, however, was not to kill at all costs. His mission was to spy. It was a new job that he was not a hundred percent comfortable with, but he decided to hold off on the explosives. These men might be his compatriots, and then the one nearest to him spoke in a hushed voice.
“Mein Gott, das war ein gemetzel,” the man uttered in native German.
“English, you moron. Always speak English,” was the quick retort from his lieutenant a few feet away.
“I apologize sir; I thought the area was secure.”
“You are not paid to think. You are paid to follow orders. Most days those would be my orders, but thanks to our colonel over there, you have a new boss. He says no German, so you speak no German. I don’t care if a Yank has your nuts in a vise and has raped your mother right in front of you. Got it?”
“Yessir.”
Ahiga listened to the short exchange, measured his breathing and prepared to blow his explosive charges. Some Americans spoke native German, but no Americans spoke native German, enlisted in the Army, and called his fellow citizens Yanks. These men were not there to help him, and the same man who had sent the commandos had perhaps dispatched them as well. That man figured to be Dietrich Hoff.
George went over his plan again in his mind. First he would blow the explosive charges, which would kill or wound half of the Germans. He would then move to the M1 Garand, which had an effective service range of five-hundred yards. Every man was within two hundred yards of his current position, and they all looked to be carrying small caliber rifles. Ahiga knew that he had the upper hand in the beginning of the battle. Six clips of the deadly 30.06 caliber sat loaded and ready for service, so he would have to make the most of his forty eight rounds, but he had no doubts of the efficacy of the first stage of his plan.
After the initial surprise had worn off, however, George knew the enemy would zero in on his position, and if the escaped commando had debriefed them they would have intelligence on his tactics. Then, he saw something that stirred a deep feeling of anger within him. He recognized the man who was speaking with the colonel. When George had first seen the commandos flanking his position in the previous battle, he had gotten a good look at their faces. One hundred and fifty yards in front of him stood Angela’s captor. Though he hadn’t seen the man kidnap her, he knew that the rest were dead. All of George’s illusions about a peaceful resolution now dissipated as he resisted the urge to begin the battle by putting a single shot from the M1 through the man’s temple.
; “Get back to the plan, George. The only way you come out of this alive, and save Angela, is to stick with the plan,” he murmured.
Once he exhausted his prepared forty-eight rounds from the Garand, he would have to reassess the situation. If at all possible, he would like to re-load, and keep the enemy at a distance. With the appearance of the commando, though, he now knew his chance of a lull would be slim. Chief assumed the man had reported to his superior, the little one with the mustache, and they would be prepared. Whether it was grenades, or rockets, or a heavy machine gun, George assumed he would have to skip re-loading the M1. That left him a similar option to what he had chosen to do in the last battle, and that was to become mobile, and try to outflank his enemies. Perhaps he could kill one or two in this manner, and then retrieve his sub-machine guns for his last stand. If they had a heavy gun in that other truck, though, his goose was cooked.
George turned his body in absolute silence and studied the hillside behind him. Thirty yards away and a slight distance to his left, was an outcropping of rock littered with large boulders. His best bet would be to attempt to flank his foes, and then retreat to the machine guns, grab his M1, and fall into position behind the outcropping and boulders. Even a heavy machine gun would have a difficult time with the cover, and he made up his mind. Turning back, he saw the two leaders still discussing an issue of importance, and the other men holding to their positions.
“God help me” George muttered as he wired the detonator cable to the detonator itself.
His life could very well end in the next few minutes, but George Ahiga’s focus became sharper than at any other point in his life. The details of his plan flowed through his head in rapid succession, a skill he had used to force out the noise of battle, and bring into sight his goals.
