The Blackbird That Wasn't 626z5b

The Blackbird That Wasn’t

Herman Lloyd Bruebaker

Cover design by Cory A. Bruebaker

Copyright © 2016 by Herman Lloyd Bruebaker.

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-5245-5047-9 eBook 978-1-5245-5046-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Rev. date: 10/11/2016

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To Amy Carpenter

Contents

Novels by Herman Lloyd Bruebaker The Blackbird That Wasn’t Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Chapter Twenty-seven Chapter Twenty-eight Chapter Twenty-nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-one Chapter Thirty-two Chapter Thirty-three Chapter Thirty-four Chapter Thirty-five Chapter Thirty-six Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight Chapter Thirty-nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-one Chapter Forty-two Chapter Forty-three Chapter Forty-four Chapter Forty-five Chapter Forty-six Chapter Forty-seven Chapter Forty-eight Chapter Forty-nine Chapter Fifty Chapter Fifty-one Chapter Fifty-two Chapter Fifty-three Chapter Fifty-four Chapter Fifty-five Chapter Fifty-six Chapter Fifty-seven Chapter Fifty-eight

Chapter Fifty-nine Chapter Sixty Chapter Sixty-one Chapter Sixty-two Chapter Sixty-three Chapter Sixty-four Chapter Sixty-five Chapter Sixty-six Chapter Sixty-seven Chapter Sixty-eight Chapter Sixty-nine

Novels by Herman Lloyd Bruebaker

(Harry Warren Series-Science Fiction) Treachery in the Night Pharaoh’s Promise The Lost Jewels Brotherhood of Karnuk

(Bruce Sherman Series-Supernatural) Blood on Winter Snows Feast of Black Phoenix Shadows of the Beasts Troubled Waters off Argentina

Other novels by Herman Lloyd Bruebaker Some Dreams Best Forgotten age from Limbo Days of Black Thunder Red Star Rising The Last Drum Beat

Table of Darkness Tomorrow Afternoon We Die

The Blackbird That Wasn’t

For the last few minutes, the tall marine colonel silently stood before a window overlooking San Diego’s sprawling naval base. That ugly, unavoidable stench of war was heavy in the air this early morning of April 16, 1943. Last year the United States Navy sharply reduced Imperial Japan’s offensive advantages at the Battle of Midway. This was a great morale booster following America’s humiliation by Pearl Harbor’s staggering losses on that infamous Sunday December 7,1941. Afterwards, the shadows of war threatening America signaled this was going to be a long tumultuous affair. But amidst this fighting there existed another war few people knew about. Its bloody battles scattered across the globe weren’t to terminate Adolf Hitler’s wide spread conquests or smash Tokyo’s sweeping victories. There was a greater danger to mankind’s existence than the ruthless Axis Pact. This sinister threat was fought in the darkened shadows of man’s deepest fears. Of course, there were swift denials of these battles by religious fundamentalists. Their denunciations permitted the evil forces to reap far more successes than any brutal crushing of political doctrines. This marine officer was no stranger to Satan’s schemes. Since last year, this rugged-looking man had stopped three ambitious evil plots, but not without heavy losses. On this warm sunny day he again took up the sword against the Devil’s chief troublemaker. By 1943, Bruce Sherman was a warrior challenging the shadowy world of demonology. No books were written about his exploits nor did newspapers proclaim his victories. These struggles fought with brute force excluded religious exorcism. He was among a few warriors forming the nucleus of an ancient clandestine clan known as Theta. After turning away from his study of the naval port’s aggressive work pace, Colonel Bruce Sherman wasn’t in a good mood. “What’s our confidence level on these reports?” he asked in an authoritative voice that was noticeably edgy. The question wasn’t directed to the two Army types in his office but to another marine officer. Formerly attached to the Marine Commandant’s Washington office, Billy Jordan

was quick to reply in his cold business like manner. “It’s very high.” Though they were good friends while fighting the Japanese last year in the Pacific, he was now uncomfortable around Bruce. Since returning from an European ultra-secret mission the rugged man rarely laughed as he used to. The colonel impatiently waited for further explanations. “Continue.” “ became alarmed after discovering the intrusion was overlapping our covert in the same region.” Major Jordan’s Western accent became suspicious. After quickly giving the army officer a sharp glance he said. “After intercepting the message Operations easily confirmed its origination point.” “And where would that be?” “The Army’s G-2 office here in San Diego.” “I strongly protest this unauthorized interception of our classified messages.” the third officer in the room bitterly interrupted. “The Marine Corps has no legal authority interfering with our covert.” The major’s indignation increased after Bruce disgustedly looked his way then turned away. Bruce asked Billy. “What do we know about this enemy agent?” “Not much at the present.” Billy replied. “Forty-seven year old Ignacio Median’s last known address was a small village twenty miles from the San Diego border. For the last sixteen months he worked for their local police as a paid informer. There was a footnote. According to Mexican intelligence the farmer rarely produced anything of importance. Then three weeks ago this all changed. His name began appearing in intercepted Abwehr dispatches to Berlin from Mexico City. Shortly after that we began closely tracking Median’s activities.” Bruce looked at the angry major before curtly asking. “Why is G-2 interested in this man?” “He’s a minor player in our classified operation.” “What kind of classified operation?” “I’m sorry, colonel, but that information is very sensitive.”

For several hostile moments Bruce regarded the man’s arrogance. “Just a moment please.” Holding up his hand demanding silence at the same time he flipped on his desk inter-office phone. “Betty, please call General Marshall in Washington. Yes, I’ll wait.” He then looked at the major who was curiously watching him. “I’m asking you once more. Why is army intelligence interested in this Mexican citizen?” The major indifferently replied. “Median was involved in our classified covert.” Major Ralph Chandler IV found this marine colonel to be more than annoying. But if he was trying to coax him into revealing their covert’s objectives, the man had another thought coming. After sixteen years in the army he found this young colonel distastefully rude. The major was still furious after his sergeant and he were detained by the base military police and escorted to this small office. Though strongly protesting their apprehension his words failed to change the MPs’ orders. After a few minutes, Major Jordan deducted this muscular-built major lacked a strong character and definitely came from wealth. His arrogance was reserved for those he disliked and this colonel was disliked. After returning to his office Major Chandler intended to run a background check on this colonel. The smart ass idiot needed chopping down to size and he was the one who would do that. After the phone rang he reached over and picked up the instrument. “General, this is Bruce Sherman. Yes, how are you? Oh well, things could be better down here. But I won’t take up your time knowing things in Washington are terrible these days. I’m calling concerning an operation Army G-2 is conducting across the Mexican border. I have Major Chandler from that agency in my office. He’s reluctant to discuss his mission that, unfortunately, is dangerously overlapping one of mine.” During their short discussion Bruce evasively explained his clandestine operation. Chandler felt an uneasiness began to stir. “Yes sir, cooperation would be considered long as Delta 301 remains the senior agency. I appreciate your consideration, sir, and have a good day.” Sternly looking at the uncomfortable major he handed over the receiver. “General Marshall would like a few words with you.” While the major nervously listened to the Army’s Chief-of-Staff, Bruce walked over to an icebox and removed three bottles of cold soft drinks. He stood for a

moment observing the stern-featured master sergeant sitting with a thin arrogant smirk. He obviously found delight in hearing his superior officer being chewed out by the all powerful Army chief-of-staff. Without asking he handed one to the master sergeant and marine major then stepped to the window. Colonel Sherman never understood why enlisted personnel were delighted whenever their officers got into trouble. Last year Bruce Sherman was a first lieutenant fighting Japanese soldiers in the Pacific. After abruptly jerked from combat and flown to London, he was inducted into Theta’s shadowy ranks. After that his life became a controllable nightmare courtesy of the Devil’s comrade Forcas. His thoughts briefly wandered back to Major Chandler wondering if that man suspected his sergeant hated his guts. Probably not since he was so self-centered. Every once in a while the army major mumbled a weak yes, sir. Leaning against a file cabinet Billy studied his foxhole buddy from the Pacific campaigns. After Bruce departed the war zone he hadn’t seen him again until yesterday. Detached from his Washington assignment Billy was flown priority seating to San Diego. After that the puzzling issues became a blur. Whatever Bruce was involved in had the powerful backing of an unseen political column. Even the Army’s Chief-of-Staff wasted no time answering his calls. Though Bruce’s executive officer had yet to be fully briefed on his new assignment, Billy wasn’t certain if he wanted to be. Physically speaking Bruce Sherman hadn’t changed that much. He was a rugged-built man from the farmlands of Fostoria, Ohio. His dark brown hair was neatly cut according to Marine regulations. In fact, everything about the colonel was all gung-ho. But it was his icy blue eyes which immediately caught everybody’s attention. Billy always thought they were deeply-troubled. But the marine officer itted Bruce Sherman was handsome in a rural manner that women didn’t always find attractive. Billy silently questioned Bruce’s rapid advancement from lieutenant to full bird colonel in such a short time. He had never heard of such a dizzy climb in rank. While stationed in Washington he made friends in the Naval Bureau of Personnel. There were career benefits having connections inside BUPERS. When finding the time Billy intended to discreetly look into the matter. If necessary, Jordan would blackmail his three buddies owing him favors.

With a deep sigh the colonel walked to his desk and sat. By now the major blushing from General Marshall’s butt chewing was replacing the receiver as if it was a serpent. For a few moments Bruce studied the major uncomfortably seated in front of his desk. “Do we have a communications problem, Major Chandler?” the colonel harshly demanded. “There’s no problem, sir.” he managed to reply. “What would you like to know?” Though it was embarrassing submitting to this colonel’s authority, he obediently nodded. But once leaving this cramped office he was calling his uncle. The powerful United States Senator would readily take care of these two marine officers. Nobody degraded a Chandler and got away with it. But for the time being there was no choice other than obeying the harsh-mannered colonel. After his uncle deflated this meddlesome marine sweet revenge would be his. Bruce suspiciously questioned. “Why was army intelligence clandestinely operating across the border?” There was a short cold silence. “We have good reason to believe there will be an invasion force coming across the border.” Chandler was feeling his imperiousness coming back. Though revealing part of their covert it wasn’t enough for this nosy colonel to claim credit. A few moments ed before Bruce dubiously asked. “An invasion?” the colonel momentarily paused then skeptically added. “From Mexico?” “Well, not exactly from Mexico, but more like through Mexico.” A disbelieving silence stung the air. “Perhaps, you better explain that?” Bruce finally recommended. The slightly overweight major coughed to hide his exasperation following the phone conversation. He wasn’t used to this lack of respect. Before this day was over he would make sure this colonel knew of his family’s powerful influence reaching into the White House. “Four months ago G-2 intercepted two messages suggestive of an invasion against America. The first origination was from the Mexican village Los Amos.”

He stopped talking after Bruce flipping open a thick folder scanned its first two pages. The major was immediately interested. Where did Delta 301 obtain such extensive information. Their file folder on Medina was only four pages. The colonel took his time before nodding. “That would be Ignacio Medina’s hometown?” After Chandler nodded Bruce said. “Please continue.” “The first message informed Medina a special team would be arriving and he was to assist.” “And where are they arriving?” “There was no mention of a location.” There was another short silence. “What about the second message?” the colonel indifferently asked. “That was intercepted four days later instructing Medina to provide logistics for the team.” “I’m a little confused about your suspicions. I don’t see anything particularly alarming in their contents.” He was busy scanning the message copies. “Were these the only ones?” “Yes, sir.” Chandler disguised his impatience. There was a covert to work and it was been interrupted by this meddling colonel. If Delta 301 was planning to take credit for smashing the invading force they had a rude awakening coming. While Bruce casually studied the vaguely worded messages, Chandler thought what would happened after his uncle smashed their balls? Still standing alongside the filing cabinet, Billy thoughtfully regarded the two officers verbally fencing with one another. If it was his call he would kick that major from the office. No, that was wrong. He would personally kick his ass off the base along with that smirking master sergeant. After a few moments Bruce looked up and asked. “Who is your in

Mexico?” “Colonel Modesto Castner of the Mexican army intelligence.” Billy was puzzled over Bruce’s sudden hesitance in continuing this discussion. Since Bruce’s arrival in San Diego Billy found him strangely cold to those about him. This was an emotional coldness that was difficult to define. From his advantage point Billy kept studying those in this office without their knowledge. He had already decided Master Sergeant Brent Rowlett strongly disliked his army senior. After a few more minutes Billy classified Ralph Chandler as a presumptuous fool trying to carve himself a place inside an army who didn’t want him. He was left behind after the war came. Bruce thoughtfully closed the folder causing Chandler more discomfort. The colonel’s expression was cold and disbelieving what Chandler had said. “According to our file the messages were in your possession for two weeks?” There was a sharp accusing tone in Bruce’s words. “Yes, sir.” “Why?” “This was a serious possibility G-2 wanted to confirm.” “And have you confirmed your suspicions?” The colonel’s harsh tone was causing Chandler to squirm. “No, sir. Not yet. But we have a strong lead.” “When was the last time you talked with your ?” “He called two days ago.” Bruce’s manners became icy after menacingly holding up his hand. “I don’t mean phone s. When was your last personal ?” “There has been none.” Bruce sat for a few moments skeptically staring at the man. “Are you telling me there has been no personal s? Then what about your office? Surely they

have met Medina?” “Median insisted on phone calls.” Bruce sat for a few moments. “Personally, I believe you’re blowing these messages out of context.” Chandler was taken by surprise. “But Medina is part of an invasion force.” Bruce shook his head. “Not an invasion force but more like a strike team. I’m hoping you know their sharp differences. During wartime there are numerous coverts sneaking across the Mexican border. Militarily, there isn’t much we can do to stop those insertions. With this war going on our manpower is seriously overburdened.” Bruce sternly advised. “However, your activities are dangerously close to our covert.” His facial expression became harsh. “And that I cannot tolerate.” The army office was quick to argue. “Medina warned us the Germans were going to cause considerable embarrassment to the United States.” “What kind of embarrassment?” “Medina promised to provide more details at our next meeting.” Seeing Bruce’s raised eyebrows he was quick to explained. “The wanted a face-to-face meeting this time.” “Did he show up?” “No, sir.” “As I see it, Major Chandler, your hesitation might have caused your informer’s death leaving G-2 with a cold trail?” The blushing major didn’t answer. “Billy, when is our team arriving?” “Tomorrow morning.” Bruce looked at Chandler and curtly asked. “When is your next meeting with Colonel Castner?” “He’s flying in from Mexico City early tomorrow morning.”

The colonel thoughtfully looked at the thick folder lying on his desk before glancing at Billy. “I want a top level meeting tomorrow at 0900 Hours. That includes Major Chandler and his staff.” Bruce’s sharp edged words defined his disgust how this covert was unraveling. “We have two weeks of lost time to catch up and with preciously little time to do so. Major Chandler, please bring all documents and evidence ive of G-2’s suspicions. Then we’ll decide how to advance from here.” Major Chandler was taken aback by his orders. “Sir, I believe there’s a mistake here. This is an Army operation.” Bruce frowned. “It may have been but not now. As of this moment your covert is subjected to my agency’s authority.” When Chandler started to object the colonel sharply announced. “You’re dismissed until tomorrow morning at 0900 hours.” The colonel watched the army pair angrily depart his office. After a few moments Bruce growled a few condemning remarks about the obvious incompetence among G-2 ranks. “So what do you think?” he asked his executive officer. “If what he claims is true and I don’t think it is…we might have big trouble brewing across the border. But I’m not sure about that major. Chandler seems to be pretty stupid and arrogant to boot.” “That’s my thinking.” Bruce skeptically replied. “But either way their clandestine operation is overlapping ours and I can’t permit that. We have too much to lose.” Billy nodded while silently mumbling he didn’t know what their mission involved. “So how do you want this handled?” Walking back to the window Bruce stood for a while. “Before the meeting we need some issues defined. I’m not impressed with Major Chandler’s claim about this alleged invasion from Mexico. I think he’s overstating his covert’s boundaries.” Bruce was quiet for several moments. “Call the FBI office in San Diego and see if their agents and informers have heard increased chatter about suspicious

activity on the Mexican side. I don’t have much faith in what he said. But there’s something that has him aroused and we need to know what that is.” With political relationships between Mexico and Washington at a record low, Bruce mumbled this wasn’t the time for disagreements. Sticking his head out the door, the colonel instructed Betty to run a profile on the suspected agent. After locking the file in a cabinet, he sat behind his desk crowded with files and folded maps. Billy curiously noted they all concerned Mexico.

Chapter Two

“That man is going to be a regular pain-in-the-ass.” Major Jordan growled after the Army types slammed the door behind their departure. When Bruce didn’t reply the marine veteran looked over his shoulder. The colonel was seriously reading Delta 301’s daily intelligence summary. His grim expression was suggestive of a cold nonsense personality that wasn’t there on the Canal. Bruce Sherman was what many women considered handsome. But others snubbed their noses at this man raised on an Ohio farmstead. At times his country manners sneaked through his educated front. His flat forehead with lines etched into the tanned skin was part of a classical thinker’s face. Any man from the First Marines’ landing on Guadalcanal, was a combat veteran before the second shot was fired in anger. Together they had spent weeks in those stinking jungles where marines fought and died like caged animals. Like so many marines Bruce walked away a changed person. The moment Billy saw those icy blue eyes, he knew his friend had changed more than the others. Back on the Canal Bruce wasn’t a loner personality. In fact, he was the other way with an easy-going smile and fast laughter. While Billy watched, Bruce thoughtfully scanned those pages with increasing impatience. The major ed his general’s guarded comment before departing Washington. Bruce Sherman was a man to stay away from like the plague. His superior never explained what he meant and Billy didn’t ask because he didn’t want to know. Bruce looked up. “Have you read these pages?” “I read them three times.” he uneasily replied. “So I gather you saw those references to the dead blackbird?” “I saw them.” Billy dubiously glanced at another folder the office manager brought in then quietly left. “Do you think it’s possible?”

“And why not?” Bruce challenged with a grin that wasn’t amusing. “If you had been with me these last few months this only scraps the surface.” With a deep frustrated moan Bruce leaned back in the uncomfortable, standard issued Navy chair. Studying his friend who was raised on Chicago’s back streets, Bruce ed their bullshit sessions in the Canal’s muddy foxholes. “You were always talking about supernatural stuff associated with the Aztecs. Many times you argued the positive creditability of those legends. So what changed your mind?” Bruce gestured at the folder. “If accepting those myths at face value why is it so hard accepting a blackbird brought back to life?” “You’re acting as if you believe this stuff?’’ Billy shrugged. “Back in the jungle you didn’t. I your heated arguments about phantoms and such. What made you change your mind?” Bruce exhaled as if wanting to avoid this discussion but at the last moment said. “Whether I believe or not, isn’t our point here. For now that blackbird is our main focus.” He stared at the puzzled major for a moment. “Do either of us need convincing?” His question was razor sharp, warning Billy whatever threat Delta 301 was engaging would prove mind boggling. Billy was surprised at his icy demand. “No.” “Good, so we won’t waste time arguing the whys and the why nots. It’s obvious G-2 unknowingly stumbled across the beginnings of a demonic plot and the fools don’t know it. We are looking at a myth coming back to life.” The colonel paused while momentarily studying his executive officer. “You’re here because demonology is your area of expertise. Are you comfortable with this? Good. So let’s not fence around with words and get down to brass tacks?” Bruce slipping a page from the file Betty brought in slowly read its contents. “This analysis suggests during Sumeria’s final days, Zaebos often used the blackbird as his vehicle of transmigration between the spiritual world and our mortal plane. But my question is why he’s in Mexico and not the Middle East?” Though always preaching the authenticity of demons, Billy was visibly shaken by their materializing. “There are legends claiming Zaebos was in Mexico during Cortez’s conquest of the Aztecs.” A disturbing thought rushed through Billy’s mind causing him to abruptly hesitate. “This isn’t ordinary intelligence, is

it? This is all about Zaebos. You’re here because Theta fears Zaebos has come back?” Bruce’s icy blue eyes suddenly narrowed. “Do you have a problem?” Billy knew their discussion had sharply converted to military bearing and leaving behind personal touches. So when he responded it was crisply. “No, sir. No problem.” “That’s good because I requested your transfer. And no this isn’t ordinary intelligence. We’ll be operating outside the normal clandestine boundaries. An expertise of demonology is essential for those on my team.” There was another pause. “Are you familiar with Theta?” The colonel’s razor sharp inquiry sent cold chills up his spine. At that moment Billy knew his answer would reserve his appointment to Delta 301 or see him thrown back into battle. “To be truthful I don’t know that much about Theta. What little I do know always left me bewildered.” The major paused. “Am I to assume Delta 301 isn’t military but Theta?” “I’ll let that . What you must never forget is Theta never operates in the open. We always work under the shield of naval intelligence.” The colonel studied the officer. “So what do you know about Theta?” The colonel’s skeptical expression had ed so Billy assumed his first test was ed. “What I learned was from my college studies in pagan religions.” He sheepishly grinned and scratched his chin. “To be honest during that class I flirted with a pretty red head. Needless to say, I didn’t listen to the professor’s lecture. But I do my professor saying their history is so distorted it’s difficult unraveling truth from fantasy.” “What about the redhead?” Bruce asked in a frosty manner causing the major discomfort. He uncomfortably felt these questions were like his grade school classes. “I never made any headway with the redhead.”

The senior officer regarded his awkward responses with a thin smile. “So you lost a chance making hay with the redhead. But now you’re with Theta and losing opportunities will kill you. So we’re back to the question. What do you know about Theta?” Billy skeptically itted. “Theta historically originated during Troy’s last few days. Supposedly, their people possess powers that’s staggering to the imagination. But how did you get into it? Hell, whenever you hear the name Theta it’s usually contained within ancient legends.” The colonel held up a hand interrupting Billy’s heavy-handed briefing. “Theta legends are often exaggerated so pay little attention to them. Far as everybody is concerned, we’re with the special intelligence group Delta 301. That’s all they ever need to know. But you and I will talk about Theta later on. But right now we need to focus on Zaebos’ reentry from death.” “Yes, sir.” For a moment Bruce dubiously looked at Billy. “Before your tour with Delta 301 is over you might wished more attention was shown his lecturers.” Walking to the icebox he removed two bottles of cold coke, handed one to Billy then returned to his chair. “But first, I’ll give you some background information about our covert starting several months ago. That was when Theta heard rumbling another supernatural event was stalking the shadows. As Theta collected more evasive facts it was clear Zaebos would be our primary villain. That’s when Operation Demasquer was activated. After wrapping up another operation in California, I was ordered to San Diego.” Finishing his coke with a long swallow Bruce leaned back in the chair. Clasping hands behind his neck he studied Billy. The career officer was that sort of person nobody gave a second thought. His brown eyes aided by glasses and thin moustache cast that adventurous look which Billy wasn’t. “Does Theta have confirmable evidence that Zaebos is released from his curse?” “Yes, we do. Everybody’s dandruff began flying after a jeweled chest was found in the Mexican desert.”

“Zaebos has to have a host body to survive. Is there any evidence whom he transmigrated into?” “We have a possible host body.” Bruce was pleased with Billy’s probing. Though the man was in battle his skills existed in analysis and strategic planning. The major would do well in Theta’s shadowy world. Billy was seated front of the desk with crossed legs, holding an empty coke bottle and having pinched forehead because his thinking. “Theta’s field intelligence identified a German SS overt expressing interest in Zaebos. We don’t know why Himmler is messing around with the Infernal Empire, but it is something he would find interest in. Theta’s interest perked after rumbles confirmed Zaebos was transmigrating. Little by little, pieces began linking and matters got nasty. Delta 301 was rapidly assembled in San Diego with Betty managing the front desk.” “Assuming Operation Demasquer is cornering and disposing Zaebos. How does the SS covert figure in?” “Theta believes the host body is among that operation. Therefore, Operation Demasquer involves disposing of Zaebos and probably smashing the SS threat.” “Yesterday you mentioned ghost whisperers.” Billy indifferently shrugged. “Who are these people?” “Ghost whisperers are gifted people with scary powers to see beyond the boundaries of death. Some are able to communicate with the dead. It’s not known how many are scattered around the world because of their secrecy. But you wouldn’t know if meeting one on the street.” Pausing Bruce drank some soda water. “Down through the centuries ghost whisperers are the bridge between mankind and our spiritual worlds.” “Are they good or evil?” “It all depends how they use their gift. I’m certain there are evil ones but I like to think most are good. Our first clue surfaced after they identified the German covert Operation Einspritzung. G-2’s interception of their plans to cause political embarrassment is no concern to Delta 301. Our present concern is Colonel

Castner’s involvement.” Billy skeptically asked. “Isn’t that the colonel Chandler is working with?” “Yes. Chandler is in deeper than he realizes. Some months ago, Theta identified Colonel Castner as Himmler’s primary agent in Mexico. Shortly after that Theta’s Mexican operatives discovered he was secretly setting up the groundwork for a major enemy clandestine. Up to that point, Theta only had shadowy facts to work with. After G- 2 stumbled across the German covert things got messy.” Billy chuckled. “That’ll cause Chandler to shit his pants.” “It will after he learns Costner is agent-in-charge of Operation Einspritzung.” Billy swallowed some soda water without even knowing it. This entire matter was beyond belief. After reporting for duty, Billy spent two days reading thick reports Betty Barnett unloaded on him. He was thoroughly stunned when Bruce Sherman walking through the door introduced himself as Delta 301’s commanding officer. Their small office suite located down the hallway from naval intelligence had no have a bronze nameplate on its door. It was as if Delta 301 didn’t exist. “What do we know about Operation Einspritzung?” Bruce shrugged. “We don’t know that much. Except for Colonel Castner we aren’t certain who else is involved. Our sources inside SS intelligence confirmed its agents are about to leave . We don’t know their names or how they’re traveling into Mexico. Whether they’re coming straight to Mexico or the States we don’t know. How Zaebos fits in we don’t know.” He frowned for a moment. “So our first priority is defining what G-2 knows that we don’t. There are too many ifs and maybes in our quest.” “This team that’s arriving tomorrow morning what about them?” Billy asked. “I asked Betty but never got an answer.” “Betty is a good woman to have around, Billy. Just don’t get her mad because I won’t intervene on your part.” There was slight amusement in his warning. The colonel yawned then walked to the window affording a sweeping view of

the sprawling naval base. Delta 301’s office manager Betty chose well their office location. The old office building in the base’s middle offered an excellent view of San Diego’s vital war time harbor. Clasping hands behind his back the tall man quietly stood at the window. After successfully terminating another covert against Forcas he was summoned before Theta’s Grand Council in England. There he was told Forcas, Biblically known as ‘Snatcher of Lost Souls’, was masterminding another devilish scheme. After Bruce departed the British Isle, Theta flexing its shadowy muscles made ready to challenge this newest supernatural plot. Having never heard of Zaebos Bruce was briefed on this Middle Eastern demon and sent back to the States. “What’s your opinion of Zaebos?” he asked Billy. “You’re going to have your hands full with this one. In legends, he’s characterized as clever and particularly quick at adapting to changing developments.” A few months ago if told he would be fighting demons on an one-to-one basis, Bruce would have laughed. But a few months can change a person’s outlook on life. Lurking just inside history’s shadowy confines, Theta was an extraordinary intelligence organization dating back to Troy’s final days. Their primary objective was smashing devilish schemes hatched by Forcas. If solving conflicting political problems along the way, so be it. Their amazing ability to compromise even the most secretive government and military commands was very frightening. After yawning again Bruce turned to look at his executive officer. Though cherishing the thrills of wild adventures, Billy couldn’t imagine his reckless ride that was about to happen. “What do we do about Major Chandler?” He was quiet for a while. “I don’t trust officers who run off looking for glory and to hell with their men. People like that can quickly spoil our investigation. And for that reason I don’t want those screw ups fully briefed on our activities. We can’t afford to blunder this one.” “I can understand that. While we were in the meeting Betty pulled down his service jacket. It wasn’t a surprise that jerk was ed over for promotion the maximum number of times.” The major made a disgusted face.

Bruce’s expression contemptuously tightened. “That’s interesting. Some of this is beginning to make sense. We have a mentally challenged man trying to save his crumbling career. So if he was to crush this alleged invasion his army future would be reinstated. At least, in his narrowed mind that’s how his plans are supposed to work. This man has to be a real screwball. Even with their critical shortage of majors, the army doesn’t want him leading men into combat. I guess the only positive in his corner is the family fortune.” The officer made a disgusted expression. “And we know how money breeds political connections. No matter how you look at it that ain’t good for us.”

* * *

When Betty knocked on his door then entered Bruce barely noticed. He was too absorbed in reading a lengthy intelligence summary. “This just came in.” she said while handing three pages to the thoughtful colonel. “I uncovered two things about Major Chandler. His uncle is a powerful United States Senator. Also, the man is obsessed in finding our bomber that recently crashed in the Mexican mountains.” Bruce shook his head. “What bomber? There’s nothing about it in our daily intelligence summary report.” “Never the less it’s reported missing. That crash is causing angry responses from Mexico City. The interesting factor about this crash is the strong political undercurrent keeping the accident hush-hush.” “How old is the report?” “Our people intercepted a coded message from their Air Ministry to its fighter squadrons to closely monitor the situation. This was two hours ago.” “What was one of our bombers doing in Mexican air space?” “There’s no records so we don’t know.”

“That suggests the flight was a black ops. Where did the flight originate?” “That’s still an unknown.” Bruce thoughtfully evaluated her information with growing suspicions G-2 was treading the waters. “That report carries some disturbing implications. Check your sources and see if you can dredge up more information. Also a complete activity probe ever since Chandler stepped onto Californian soil. And while you’re checking get hold of our Division in Yuma. Maybe their ears heard something.” When Betty stood up he instructed. “I want you to attend tomorrow’s meeting and closely listen to what the army is not saying.”

Chapter Three

After Betty left, Bruce quietly analyzed what little was known about Zaebos’s latest transmigration into the mortal world. The savage possibilities weren’t encouraging. Neither was fighting the Infernal Empire’s warrior caste. His emotions ran chilly. In his last three engagements against Forcas, the aggressors weren’t the warrior caste and that probably hastened their defeats. But this time Bruce knew the battles would be far more barbarous than in the past. There was no doubt, each new clash with Satan’s Kingdom of Darkness developed more complications. Beyond his office door he heard Betty moving about. Sometimes her tyrannical habits got on his nerves. But after recognizing her valuable contributions, Bruce let their personality differences with a grain of salt. Hearing a foghorn the colonel knew another destroyer was heading out to sea to contest Jap warships. He didn’t know how long he stood at that window absorbed with grim thoughts of those savage battles back on the Canal. Fighting on battlefields and challenging demons had their stark differences. “They’ll never let you go back.” Betty sternly advised after coming in with a cup of hot coffee. She was a short and stocky woman with small green eyes suspiciously challenging everything in her path. Though claiming her age was fifty-four, Bruce suspected she was more like the late sixties. But regardless of age her steps were lively, cautious and with a sharp mind that absorbed facts faster than anybody he knew. The Naval Intelligence people down the hallway didn’t get along with this demanding woman and avoided her like a loose grenade. Wearing her long black hair in a tight bun did little to favor the square face’s strong chin and aquiline nose. To those not knowing Betty, she was an intimidating female. Borne in Paris, to parents of considerable wealth Betty Barnett was destined for a prearranged marriage when fleeing and ing Theta. Few people knew her background and Betty never saw a reason to boast. His first impression was if selecting brighter colors her looks would improve. Later, he decided that wouldn’t make a

difference. She was a tyrannizing dragon on the loose, regardless of what she wore. “Here’s your coffee.” she spoke like a congenial grandmother. “It’s a lot better for your digestive system than those sweet soda pops.” Turning around Bruce grinned. “If you say so,” he said knowing it was useless to argue. “Other than wishing you were back on the Canal,” Betty somberly asked. “What else was running through your mind?” His thoughts were too private so he said. “Did you know before Pearl Harbor the Navy counted only 113,000 men and women in uniform? Now we have more than two million uniforms and needing more.” After sitting she solemnly replied in her usual aloof manner. “That’s because war is a relentless monster devouring everything in her bloody path.” Her cheap perfume frequently caused his eyes to smart. But because she liked the blend nobody dared to complain about its offensive spicy aroma. He again stared at the busy harbor for a few minutes figuring she had quietly slipped from the office. At times Bruce was uneasy with her moving about like the silent wintery breezes. Turning around to complete some paperwork. He stopped short when seeing Betty humbly seated in front of his desk with hands folded in her lap. He had wanted to be alone but so much for that. Concealing his disappointment, the marine officer sat behind the desk before thoughtfully studying her solemn face. “What do you know about Zaebos?” Bruce asked while opening a folder with top secret stamped across its front. There was no hesitation on her part when replying. “Zaebos a high ranking demon from the Infernal Empire has or did have close ties with Forcas. Myths often classify him as an extremely clever warrior chieftain.” Betty thoughtfully spoke very slowly with her forehead pinched in deep concentration. “Zaebos’ immense distaste for crowded cities explains why he establishes his base of operations in sparsely populated regions. He prefers barren deserts because he’s from the Middle Eastern deserts.”

She stopped talking for a moment. “He favors the blackbird as his transmigration host.” The colonel nodded. “Zaebos is one of the few demons who does. But I’m confused if his realm is the Middle Eastern countries, then why is he in Mexico? That’s a long way from the Middle Eastern deserts. You would think after escaping from that jeweled chest his spirit would flee to the Middle East?” Speaking in her heavy French accented English she challenged. “I guess that you’ll have to decipher. Zaebos hasn’t stepped from the shadows for quite some time. But never underestimate him. For more information I called my friends and they should be calling back.” Her stony expression never changed. “But there’s something about this demon you should know up front. Zaebos never travels beyond Hell without his trusted Brothers of Darkness. Myths rarely mentions these devilish freaks thus we know very little about them.” “Then they’re pentads?” he presumptuously suggested. “No, they’re far more powerful.” she corrected. “And definitely more clever.”

* * *

While they conversed in this small sparsely furnished office, war developments across the battling globe continued unraveling in strange twists. In Berlin, SS Reich Marshal Himmler was consulting his staff regarding Operation Einspritzung. During those briefings the former chicken farmer eagerly listened with a wide smile. He often boasted it was time Berlin demonstrated to those arrogant Americans how clever could be. Their heated discussions would have immediate importance on the Theta covert.

* * *

The colonel briefly thought about what laid ahead of their covert. Then with a soft sigh he replied. “We’ll discuss this at a later time. But for now what are our updates on the German covert?” “Other than what the ghost whisperers are saying.” Betty said. “There’s no new Intel.” “Theta puts great trust in those people.” With what could have been a weak smile Betty said. “That’s because their predictions are usually accurate.” “If they’re that good…why can’t they tell us more?” “Psychic phenomena can only predict so much. It’s up to us to fill in the missing gaps.” Bruce didn’t comment for a few moments while Betty quietly awaited his instructions. “How’s Billy doing?” “He’s doing fine. At first he tried pulling rank on me but he went down in a blazing ball.” She grinned. “He’s came around. We’ll never be friends but that’s not part of the job.” “That’s good to hear. After spending time on the Canal with him I know he can be pushy at times. But I brought him here because of his expertise on Mexico’s ancient gods.” “He’s without doubt a genius on those gods.” For the second time this day Betty smiled and that was not part of Betty. “We’ll get along. Why do you think Zaebos is transmigrating into one of the SS operatives?” “It makes sense. Both are in Mexico or soon will be.” He lightly tapped his heart. “This tells me he’s going to up with Operation Einspritzung.” After Betty walked from the office, Bruce again wondered why she insisted on wearing such out-of-the-fashion clothing. Because she was enormously valuable in managing their office he gave her certain freedoms. The colonel was amused when learning the Naval Intelligence people down the hallway called her the ‘evil witch from Hell.’

For a few minutes he sipped his now lukewarm coffee. Again Bruce found himself standing at the window allowing conflicting thoughts to churn in his mind. The two agents reporting for duty tomorrow would make up his team. Betty didn’t know who they were or wouldn’t betray their identities. This clandestine operation already promised to be a complicated mission. Knowing this he only needed those whom he trusted and preferably having previously worked with him. Bruce had endured a deep loneliness since his last mission in Long Beach. There was only one woman who could soothe his emotional drain and she wasn’t in California. While in England Bruce had asked the Trojan Princess about Lorelei Ramcke. There had been a short silence before she changed the subject. The colonel knew this was Theta’s way of saying don’t ask the question again.

Chapter Four

Anxious to depart the office before Betty lectured him about drinking soda waters, Bruce grabbing his service cover waved at her in ing. Actually his smile was a disillusion because his thoughts were heavy. This came after learning suspicious fractions in Berlin were increasing their efforts to forcibly remove iral Canaris, chief of ’s intelligence gathering organization. If this was successful there would be a serious impact on Theta’s shadowy quests. One strange thing about this war was Theta’s occasional cooperation with Nazi intelligence. Of course, all of this was very secretive. The mutual assistance could not threaten neither country. It was strictly limited to diabolic issues. Stepping into the morning’s warmth the marine colonel looked about. Since December 7, 1941 San Diego was growing at a furious pace. Having come from a small farming community everything was big to Bruce. Walking to a black Packard the colonel stood there for a moment before opening its door. While thoughtfully analyzing his few options in confronting this newest menace from Hell, Bruce never noticed that large blackbird perched in a nearby tree watching him. Then suddenly his senses perked as Bruce turned around with a wide smile on his troubled face. That faint scent of perfume was very familiar. “Got a kiss for a lonely gal?” a seductive voice asked. The voice belonged to an average height, attractive woman with long, silky blond hair. Without waiting for his response, Lorelei Ramcke lightly kissed his cheek and smartly stepped back with a smile. Her green eyes sparkled while greeting this man she had worked with only a short time ago. The forest green skirt and blouse uniform was seductive though few knew there was an automatic in her purse. “Do I need to say I have terribly missed you?” she sweetly asked. Bruce returned the smile as warmth was generated in his body. “You don’t have

to but you can anytime it suits you. And by the way I missed you.” Looking at the short lieutenant standing at her side he laughed. “Hell, you two weren’t scheduled to arrive until tomorrow morning.” Lorelei pouted. “We could come back?” “Like hell you will.” He approvingly appraised her trim body in the marine uniform. “They still got you in a major’s uniform, eh?” Giving the accompanying lieutenant a quick glance he laughed again. “Damned, I’m glad to see you two.” Opening the car door he suggested. “C-mon, let’s go get something to eat and talk. I want to hear all the gossip after Long Beach.” While rounding the automobile more than once she returned the snappy salutes of ing seamen. Her small facial features molded with a graceful touch of class would brought wolf whistles if she weren’t in uniform. Lorelei waited until Bruce got behind the steering wheel before smiling. The iring sailors would been shocked if knowing Lorelei Ramcke was once a SS Sturmbannfuhrer in Himmler’s ruthless killing machine. This was before her transfer to iral Canaris’ Abwehr. After the black expensive automobile was waved through the main gate she rested her hand on Bruce’s leg while driving through the busy city. Theta pressured the White House to approve her new citizenship. It was a bizarre twist confirming during wartime there are many incidents defying logic. Though holding the rank of major in the United States Marine Corps Lorelei refused to change her name. In war, there are strange partnerships and this one was no different. While driving downtown San Diego, Bruce felt that special warm serenity always introduced when they were together. That stark loneliness carried when they were parted was now vanishing. Her new citizenship meant never again would they be parted. This farm boy from Ohio felt like shouting to the world that his true love was again with him. As his shiny black Packard slowly maneuvered through San Diego’s heavy traffic, Lorelei was fascinated with what she saw. This Southern Californian city had definitely become a military town following Pearl Harbor. Her naval recruit center was rapidly training thousands of sailors needed to crew the numerous warship hoisting their commissioned flags. Next to the naval recruit center was

the Marine Corps Recruit Depot also hardening men to replace their fallen warriors in the Pacific. Throughout the county factories were working around the clock manufacturing war equipment needed to quash bloody Japanese encroachments in the Pacific. Warships slipping from West Coast shipyards were making their way to the North Atlantic to cut German victories there. “Theta didn’t tell us what was coming down,” Lorelei inquisitively replied. “ said you would do that. So what has Theta thrown us in this time?” He waited until the traffic started moving again. “Have either of you heard of a demon named Zaebos?” “Not I.” “What about you, Charlie?” “I know a little about him. Not much but enough to make me afraid of him.” When Bruce didn’t reply Charlie stared out the window. Charlie Markson was a slightly overweight man with quick laughter and friendly smile. Because of arthritis in his right hand his naval enlistment was denied in 1941. But this didn’t stop him from ing Theta’s divisions. These people were in the background providing everything their front agents required. This was Charlie’s second mission with Bruce and Lorelei. Only a few knew the owner of a popular Long Beach restaurant was Theta’s primary agent in that city. After pleading for a field assignment he worked with Bruce against the Centaur Oracles. Charlie knew if Bruce Sherman was in the field it promised to be hot and heavy with bloodshed. Because they worked great together in Long Beach, Cassandra saw no reason they wouldn’t again. Because of the many sinister schemes going on throughout the world, Charlie got his second chance in the field. “I’ll brief you the best I can.” Charlie said after a short silence. “Zaebos first historically appeared after the Babylonians defeated Rim-Sin of Larisa. That was around 1823-1763 BC. Larsa was the surviving fragment of the great Middle Eastern empire Sumer. Legends praise Mammurabic successfully defeated the Sumerians after following the advice of a mysterious general whose name was forgotten over time. This was recorded on a stone fragment found in Syria sometime during the Eleventh Century.”

“But how does this involve Zaebos?” Lorelei impatiently asked. “Archaeologists believe that general was hosting Zaebos’ spirit.” “Oh.” the woman mumbled. “That would do it.” While driving through Friday’s heavy traffic Bruce occasionally thought about their covert’s ambitious objectives. He needed trusted comrades in this new clash with Forcas’ buddies. Several times he glanced at Lorelei and smiled. Her eyes the color of emeralds always fascinated him. But it wasn’t that long ago when emotions were obscured by generated distrust because their agencies were on opposing sides. At that time Abwehr agent Lorelei Ramcke was in Lisbon to assassinate Theta agent Bruce Sherman. Matters became twisted after their governments secretly agreed to fight the greater threat of demonology. After putting aside their political differences, they went into the Romanian mountains to stop Forcas’ Feast of the Black Phoenix. It was during this terrifying struggle their emotions gradually drifted into a deep complicated love. Lorelei rarely thought of those few days when evils greater than anything she thought possible became the norm. There were undisclosed reasons behind Washington granting her citizenship that she didn’t know about. But Cassandra was determined to use her skills to resist the evils in a world gone insane. Lorelei was only too eager to do this long as she was with Bruce. The Trojan Princess could see future complications that could brutally erode their relationship. Kissing Bruce was out of the question while he was driving so she leaned over and lightly kissed his cheek. She impatiently knew further intimacy would have to wait until that night. Sitting in the back seat Charlie chuckled. “Hey, you two lovebirds, we got a mission ahead of us. Don’t you want to hear what I have to say? Hell, you may even learn something?” There was a brief pause. “Tonight you can play around all you want to but now we focus on the business ahead of us.” Lorelei squeezed Bruce’s hand and cheerfully said. “Sure we want to hear it. Just don’t get your tit in a wringer.” Charlie laughed. “Now that’s better. And another thing, Bruce, stop teaching this

lovely woman such sayings. For Pete’s sakes can’t you be original? Tit in a wringer is something I’d expect from a country bumpkin not from an educated gentleman of the United States Marine Corps.” Leaning forward he praised. “And while I’m thinking of it. Congratulations on your promotion to full bird colonel.” After seeing them smiling he said in a slow thoughtful manner. “All right, now back to my lecture and please no further interruptions. There’s one thing you got to about demons. They always retain the lifestyles of their past life. For Zaebos that would be life of a destroyer warrior.” Lorelei was changing the radio dial for a station playing Glenn Miller’s swing music. Charlie smiled. The one thing Lorelei quickly adjusted to in her new life was dance music. But when failing to find Glenn Miller, she stopped spinning when hearing the hit song ‘Don’t Sit Under The Apple Tree’. Smiling she leaned back and sweetly told Charlie she was listening. “All right, I hope you’re finished strolling through dreamland.” Charlie smiled again. Around these two he did a lot of that. “I don’t have to remind you the blackbird is Zaebos’ transmigration vehicle from his spiritual world. He’s one mean son-of-a-bitch so watch your backsides when fighting him. Forcas trained him well.” “When was the last time he slipped from his twilight zone?” Lorelei asked. “During Cortez’s invasion of Mexico.” After ing a slow moving bus Bruce asked. “Was Cortez his host body?” “No. Zaebos transmigrated into the demented body of Cortez’s friend Carlos Aguilera. That lieutenant loved torturing Aztec priests. Somewhere along the way he developed the hideous habit of eating human hearts torn from his victims.” He made a gruesome face. “And this was while they were still alive. That bastard was a real angel.” “What do we know about the man?” “Not really that much. Most of it comes from legends that fail to paint a true ing of Carlos.”

Bruce thoughtfully theorized. “We need to establish his role in the Spanish Conquest and connection with Zaebos.” After they ed three streets Lorelei asked. “Is this operation about Zaebos’ time in Mexico?” “It looks that way. We have two points of interest. First, there’s the discovery of a jeweled chest that I’ll tell you about later. Then we have a Mexican informer’s alleged involvement with a SS covert. Those alone made Mexico a heavy core of interest.”

Chapter Five

After arriving at a restaurant popular with the Navy and Marines, Bruce inched through its parking lot until finding an empty slot. Even the mid-afternoon business was brisk. After they got from his expensive car Bruce locked its doors. After February 1942 no new cars rolled off assembly lines now committed to manufacturing America’s war needs. After Betty asked Bruce what car he wanted while in San Diego keys to the shiny black Packard Clipper was handed over. Walking towards the entrance Bruce praised Gloria Dawn’s gorgeous view of the bay. Because of their pricy menu few enlisted men patronized the famous bayside dining site. “Before I forget better warn you about the Brothers of Darkness from Beelzebub’s kingdom. They’re mean as one-eyed junkyard dogs and always around Zaebos.” When they questioningly looked his way Bruce indifferently added. “At least, that’s what Billy told me.” Pausing in the front entry Lorelei looked at Bruce and asked. “What is this Beel or whatever?” “Most people doesn’t know the Infernal Empire is militarily organized. Beelzebub is their top dog, Lucifuge Rofocale prime minister and Samuel their prince of evils.” He questioningly looked their way. “Do you get my drift?” “Not really.” she sheepishly itted. “So where does Satan fit into this?” Charlie laughed while waiting to be seated. “Anywhere he wants to.” After shown to a window table overlooking the bay Charlie continued after their meal orders were taken. “Just Zaebos can transmigrate anywhere in the world. Distance and time frames present no problem for the dead. The Brotherhood of Darkness can be everywhere and nowhere without warning. So in other words they’re some nasty bastards on the loose.”

“How do they get around?” “Transmigrating into blackbirds.” After their food was brought Bruce thoughtfully looked at Charlie and solemnly promised. “I must get Betty and you together on this Zaebos thing.” “Who is Betty?” “She’s our office manager whom you’ll meet later on today.” Bruce hesitated before adding with a mild chuckle. “But I better warn you beforehand Betty takes some getting used to.” During their meal Bruce pensively regarded his friends knowing soon they would all be walking through Hell. After coffee was brought, the Fostoria native leaning back in his chair tried relaxing but that didn’t happen. “Perhaps, I better give you a nutshell of what’s coming down the chute.” Sipping coffee his expression turned dark. “Our troubles began when a Mexican farmer plowing his soil uncovered a small jeweled chest. Being a poor man the first thing he did was dump its contents.” “What was in that chest?” Lorelei asked. “A mummified blackbird.” Bruce slowly said while curiously observing their reactions. The colonel wasn’t disappointed after Lorelei narrowing her eyes disdainfully predicted. “Let me guess…Zaebos?” “Why do you say that?” “Because everything we have discussed points toward this demon rising from the ashes. Am I not right?” “You’re right. Theta’s speculation combined with Mexican ghost whisperers widely ed the theories. My executive officer is an expert on Aztec deities and also shares their suspicions.” “Is he trustworthy?” Lorelei asked.

“Yes. Because of his expertise on Mexican gods Theta thought he might be of use to us. On a more personal note, Billy and I were foxhole buddies on Guadalcanal.” After a few moments of silence Lorelei nodded. Finishing his coffee Bruce thoughtfully stared at the bay before looking back at their solemn faces. “All of this is going to get pretty complicated. We presently know very little about the SS covert and even less about Zaebos’ emerging.” “I’m a little confused.” Lorelei confessed. “How does Theta know they’re connected?” “A good question. Theta was investigating Zaebos’ emergence when army intelligence accidentally stumbled across a SS covert. Interest increased when G2’s operation began spilling over into our activity. Some principles in this Mexican affair are associated with the SS operation. Well, after that matters really got screwed up. I’m hoping tomorrow’s meeting with G-2 and Colonel Castner of the Mexican Army intelligence will provide an understanding.” Loud talking among the patrons provided a noise backdrop concealing their discussion. A radio’s volume turned down broadcasted news about various war fronts. In China the Japanese 11th Army was preparing for a savage offensive in the western province of Huped. If their campaign proved successful the Japanese would control the all important Yangtze province. American planes were heavily bombing Sicily’s cities of Palermo and Catania. Whenever the news concerned naval involvements conversations were fewer while ears perked up. After all, San Diego was a major naval port. Whenever German losses on the Eastern Front were announced, Lorelei stared at the bay with a painful gleam in her green eyes. Bruce and Charlie exchanging worried glances pretended not to notice. They knew she had cousins with the German armies fighting Soviet forces outside Leningrad. After draining her iced tea Lorelei questioningly looked at Bruce. “What else can you tell us about G-2’s compromising? What you have said thus far doesn’t make much sense.” “Theta was investigating Zaebos when G-2 intercepted a suspicious message to Mexican nationalist Ignacio Medina. Because of static interference its contents

weren’t fully copied. But there were enough that G-2 believed Himmler was launching an operation that would cause Washington considerable political embarrassment.” There was a cold silence before Bruce thoughtfully continued. “Earlier I met Major Chandler, G-2’s primary agent. All I learned was the man is a real asshole and not that smart.” “What embarrassment were they talking about?” “We don’t know.” “But G-2 is sure it’s SS sponsored?” Charlie asked. Bruce nodded. “Fragments of what they learned strongly suggest SS involvement.” The Theta agent toyed with his coffee cup. “The phase Operation Einspritzung appeared three times in their transmissions. Friendly sources in Berlin confirmed the operation will take place somewhere inside Southern California.” Charlie sighed. “Sounds like we need to tap our friend.” Lorelei solemnly shook her head. “I don’t think he can help this time. Too many unfriendly sources are interfering with his agency’s activities.” Unknown to Delta 301 Himmler’s newest operation was compromised before its team was assembled. In Mexico, oracle readers were deciphering affairs not favorable to Theta or even Himmler. But it was the ghost whisperers’ warnings that increasingly alarmed Theta. With such wide spread global violence, nobody noticed those bloody outbreaks of demonic activity. Further clairvoyance flashes were troubling when Tezcatlipoca and Tlaloc angrily complained about their interrupted slumbers. These Aztec demons were considered the most inactive. So when they stirred real trouble was in the winds.

* * *

While Lorelei and Charlie discussed what little was known about their assignment, Bruce thoughtfully listened to the newscaster detail American naval losses in the Pacific. Though the Imperial Navy was brutally battered at Midway, Jap submarines were still collecting crippling successes against the American Navy. Not until his thoughts were interrupted did Bruce look at his friends. Charlie repeated himself. “Is Theta convinced this isn’t another of Himmler’s wild ass schemes that never get off the ground? I still Theta’s Norway covert when they lost a whole team in one of his clever Nazi traps.” “Cassandra was convinced enough that she ordered a Code Purple Priority putting Theta on full alert.” Having finished his coffee, Bruce refused another refill from a smiling waitress. “Billy tells me we’re looking at some nasty times on this one.” “What happened to the dirt farmer?” “According to the Mexican police he died by mysterious means.” “What about the mummified bird?” “The farmer’s land was thoroughly searched without finding a single feather.” “Why was this jeweled box buried there in the first place?” Lorelei asked. “Like so many legends this one is exaggerated. But after stripping away the obvious distortions, Theta’s decoders reduced the myths to manageable texts. And here’s what they came up with. Cortez had a ruthless staff officer named Carlos Aguilera. After thoroughly studying his drastic personality psychics are convinced Zaebos had diabolically took over the man.” “What do we know about this man?” The colonel was silent for a few moments before stating. “Myths agree Carlos Aguilera was brutal, sadistic, unpredictable and difficult to control. Does that tell you what kind of man he was” “Sounds like a nice fellow.” Lorelei asked. “What happened to Carlos?”

“Apparently because of their friendship Cortez delayed interfering but he finally ordered his arrest. His brutality was creating wide-spread civil unrest. Written s from that era claim Aguilera was tried by his peers and sentenced to die. But before it was carried out angry priests stormed his jail cell. According to Billy these Aztec priests were known to celebrate some terrifying rituals unique to their culture. It’s suspected Zaebos after hearing them transmigrated into a ing blackbird. And that was what the priests were hoping he would do.” Bruce paused for a moment then continued. “After killing the bird they preformed an ancient ritual then locked his remains in a small jeweled chest. They secretly buried that chest in the Mexican desert. Over the centuries the chest was eventually forgotten.” Charlie nonchalantly replied. “Those priests weren’t stupid and knew killing a major demon was impossible. So they resorted to a little known ritual banishing his spirit to an endless wandering along the shores of death. They did this by trapping his spirit inside the bird. It was that blackbird the priests killed and not Zaebos who was trapped inside.” “And their curse was broken when that farmer opened the chest.” Lorelei mumbled when ing their covert in the Romanian mountains. “Yes.” Bruce solemnly agreed. “If that was all it took to release his spirit why didn’t his Brothers of Darkness or whatever do that centuries ago?” Lorelei skeptically asked. The colonel shrugged his indifference. “We may never know why. Maybe the peasant’s discovery fulfilled certain obligations. Actually, it doesn’t matter either way. What does matter Zaebos is out and running loose.” He thoughtfully looked at Charlie. “My question is why didn’t Zaebos run to Europe? With all the chaos Hitler’s Third Reich is causing…Zaebos would be free to roam unchecked there.” “Any one of numerous reasons.” Charlie annoyingly replied. “We’re also running loose in no true direction.” “Hopefully after tomorrow’s meeting we’ll have something to work with. But there’s nothing we can do until tomorrow. In the meanwhile, Lorelei and I have some serious catching up to do.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I bet.” He looked at Charlie. “Before tomorrow I need you to confirm some questionable facts.” In the next few minutes Bruce explained what was needed. “They need to be checked by the meeting.”

* * *

While leaving the restaurant nobody noticed the blackbird perched in a nearby tree. Strangely enough it was curiously watching their approach. Walking into the warm sunlight with patchy clouds Lorelei was reminded of ’s springs. But while Himmler remained in ruthless power she never could go home. Only because of iral Canaris’ rapid intervention after Romania did she barely escape Himmler’s evil claws. Once seeing Lorelei had no place to flee Cassandra offered her a probation slot in Theta. Then she was sent to Spain for safe keeping. After working the Long Beach covert she was on her third clandestine operation. Always astonished at Theta’s far reaching powers Lorelei never regretted g on with the ultra-secret intelligence agency. But working with Bruce thrilled her the most. After Lisbon she was deeply in love with Bruce. Though he was a complex personality Lorelei loved the moody man without restricting conditions. In their often unpredictable violent profession, there was no time for conditions. Though disapproving of their relationship the Trojan Princess kept quiet. Maybe in the future their affair might be leverage in keeping the headstrong woman under control. Leaning against the Packard’s front fender she asked. “This is going to be tougher than Romania, isn’t it?” “Yes.” Bruce said after a short thoughtful pause. “I thought after Romania

nothing could be worse than that. Then along came the Centaur Oracles in Long Beach and that was bad. Now we’re challenging Zaebos.” He shrugged then moments later predicted. “Maybe there aren’t easy ones?” Bruce briefly thought about that Romanian assignment when teaming up with the German Army to battle Forcas on his home turf. Every four hundred years the Feast of Black Phoenix was celebrated. During this period Satan’s right hand man was afforded another chance challenging his imprisonment. Between fighting the devilish Sisters of the Veil protecting Forcas’ temple and challenging the master demon their grotesque struggle had been bloody. Though crushing his bid for freedom it emotionally took something from each of them. But they knew physically imprisoned never stopped Forcas from spiritually departing his tomb via transmigration. Now he was about to unleash another fiendish plot but this time using Zaebos. Bruce forced a weak smile. “We’re going to see more action than a rooster in a henhouse.” He paused before saying. “But we won in the past and I don’t see why we can’t this time.” Lorelei was quick to uneasily chuckle. “Sure why not? After all he moves around in the body of blackbird.” she sarcastically remarked. “Zaebos is just another regular guy on the street, huh?” This woman fluently speaking English ired Bruce’s tall muscular body in his forest green uniform. In January she worked with Bruce and Charlie in Long Beach where they fought the sinister Centaur Oracles. Had it not been for her former boss’ secret assistance they would have lost that challenge. It remained a deep-layered secret ’s chief intelligence agency and Theta occasionally worked together to smash Satan’s plots. Now that pipeline was in serious trouble and this was troubling. “With our pipeline closed,” Bruce solemnly complained. “We’ll have to find another way.” “Don’t be disheartened…where there’s a covert there’s a weak link.” she confidently replied. “That’s good to hear because I know little about these Aztec gods.”

“Well, don’t expect anything from me. Their incredible thirst for sacrificing humans is disgusting. But what about those army guys from G-2, can’t they help?” Bruce responded. “I wouldn’t trust Major Chandler far as I can spit. He’s a silver-spooned, incompetent bastard if I ever saw one.” When she suspiciously raised her eyebrows he lightheartedly promised. “You don’t believe me? Well, wait until tomorrow morning and I promise you’ll believe.”

Chapter Six

Walking around the car he unlocked its door then without losing a moment they tenderly embraced while emotionally kissing. The loneliness they shared since Long Beach was burning away. But their fiery emotions demanded more satisfaction. The colonel was rounding the car when suddenly an uneasy feeling they were being watched swept through his emotions. But when curiously looking around he saw nothing suggesting a threat. After slipping behind the steering wheel he realized everything was suspiciously regarded. “After Theta identified the Mexican colonel as a double agent, Betty has been running an extensive profile on him.” Bruce replied trying to hold down his ions until reaching the Bachelors’ Quarters. “After our 0900 meeting Billy will brief Charlie and you on Zaebos.” She snickered in a loose sort of way. “Good he can do that. But right now don’t waste time getting to the base.” “Are you in a hurry?” After pouting she snickered. “You better believe it.” Lorelei responding to his tender kiss placed a massaging hand on his right thigh at which time he eagerly said. “All right, all right our priority is getting on the base.” After starting the powerful Packard engine he shifted the transmission lever. “Hold onto those thoughts, honey.” “Believe me you don’t have to worry about that.” After laughing Lorelei thoughtfully studied his face before observing other cars in the parking lot. Since the war began gasoline rationing was strictly enforced. Windshield stickers specified their allowance. The most common was the ‘A’ sticker which was good for four gallons per week (sixty miles) according to government regulations. She saw some ‘C’ decals specifying doctors, ministers, mail carriers, and etc. Lorelei wondered how many counterfeit stickers were on the road? Curiously glancing at the windshield’s right corner she saw a ‘C’ decal.

Between that allowance and his military priority the Packard had unlimited gasoline. While the car weaved in and out of slow moving traffic a blushing Lorelei tried getting comfortable. Her throbbing ion was such she tried crossing her legs. This didn’t help because the panties were already damp. Several times she impatiently sighed while squirming for a better position. Though Bruce heard her he was too busy driving. After Lisbon Lorelei hadn’t been sexually active with another man. Because her sex drive was of a demanding nature it wasn’t long before Lorelei was experiencing heat flashes. When Bruce glanced her way the seductive smile urged him to hurry.

Chapter Seven

While Bruce planned to battle another devilish scheme thousands of miles away in Berlin another plot was finalized. Just as Colonel Sherman had reservations about the covert, SS Brigadefuhrer Martin Oberhausen wasn’t all that happy about this hasty arranged conference. The smart black uniform was tailored to his six-foot muscular frame. Four rows of campaign ribbons added splashes of color to the otherwise solemn garment. At that moment he was impatiently standing before a large window that framed Berlin’s heavy damages. Adolf Hitler’s Third Reich capital was suffering from numerous British air raids. His dark colored eyes gleamed with displeasure. Not because of the devastating enemy bombings but how fast this operation was thrown together. Such haste promised enemy compromising. The elimination of surprise would be a serious disadvantage to his plans. Several minutes had ed following the briefing by two senior German officers. If they had hoped to surprise him with their ambitious plans it had failed miserably. “Martin.” the seriously overweight general sternly said. “This covert was planned with exacting care to the last detail. There’s absolutely no way anything can go wrong.” When the lieutenant general turned his back a chill raged through his body as if looking at death. His rank of Obergruppenfuhrer was two levels above Martin, but at that moment he wished to be somewhere else. Though detesting this man’s vicious reputation for sadistic brutality there was no other man who could carry through his ambitious plans. “No covert is without risks,” the large framed man disrespectfully snapped. This stupid mission should have being rejected outright. Prior to his briefing, General Oberhausen was decorated by the Fuhrer who eagerly reassured him this mission would negatively impact American morale. After that ceremony Martin knew he was involved whether he liked it or not. His major concern was

plugging those security holes the plans already had. After walking to the table and opening a blue folder he hastily read its first page detailing several objectives. There was no attempt to hide his disdainful disapproval. “I demand total freedom in selecting my men.” His voice was such insolence it chilled the room’s occupants. “Of course, Generalfeldmarschall Goering made it clear all requested resources were to be immediately honored.” “What about equipment?” “It’s on the way to Mexico.” “It states here the ship sails to Buenaventure, Columbia after ing through the Panama Canal.” He looked up with a piercing glare. “Why?” “To refuel and take on additional equipment we thought not wise to transport through the Canal. The American Navy closely tracks all vessels routed through its locks.” This SS general was displeased with the Luftwaffe’s plans. “Every time that ship enters port it provides another opportunity for spies to study her.” “There should be no suspicions directed at the LISBON.” “During war every ship is a suspect.” For a few moments the SS general studied his orders then cynically informed. “My team will board the ship in Buenaventura and not this port you designated.” When the Luftwaffe general started to protest Martin’s scowling made him think twice about it. “By that time I will hopefully have corrected these mistakes I have noted in these operational orders. Until deciding otherwise my people are operating independently with extreme discreet.” Exhaling a heavy cynical sigh the SS brigadefuhrer returning to the window indifferently watched flames eating away Berlin’s industrial districts. The two Luftwaffe generals nervously waited for him to speak. “You’re failing to appreciate Theta’s uncanny ability at deciphering clues, otherwise, thought cleverly hidden. It’s my ass out there and not yours. So we’ll

pursuing this mission my way of doing things.” He gave the departing Luftwaffe planners little note while studying Berlin’s burning. For a long time Martin stood at the window staring at those reddish glows across town where enemy bombs fell four hours ago. But his mind was far away. There would be much work carrying through this crazy plan and for that he needed special men. Men who were unafraid of dying and men who weren’t fearful of Theta. A wide wicked smile abruptly crossed his harsh featured face. General Obserhausen knew just the men to take along. A trip to ’s Moselle Valley would provide men for another plan Berlin didn’t know about. Martin knew that pesky group headed by Cassandra would be in the field against him. Many centuries had ed since locking horns with the Trojan blond haired bitch. As usual he eagerly looked forward to battling her challenges. Gradually there emanated from the depths of mankind’s most terrifying nightmares a stirring of troubled emotions. This exonerated outburst was instantly sensed by those having clairvoyance gifts. Their excruciating fears couldn’t be exorcised. Word quickly spread Forcas was again ordering his henchmen to excommunicate the forces of light. Old hunched over women frantically examining ancient oracles tried forecasting where this purge would emerge? General Oberhausen was right that in every covert there were risks of exposure before its time. Himmler’s operation was compromised before his brigadefuhrer reached ’s Moselle Valley to recruit his special team. Ancient oracle readers were plucking from history’s unwritten laws, clues that were decipherable only to those reaching out to the spirits. A frown briefly touched Martin’s mouth. So the Trojan bitch was emerging from her shadows to do battle? This was no surprise since he was expecting Cassandra but didn’t know when or where. Back in England, Theta’s central operations were urgently reevaluating the few clues they possessed at this early stage. After numerous whispers drifted through the psychic world Cassandra ordered her resources mobilized. There was no doubt another clash against Forcas’ demons was in the making. This clearly explained why she was troubled by those clairvoyance flashes. Tezcatlipoca and Tlaloc angrily rising from their slumbers could only mean one thing. Zaebos was released from his curse.

Chapter Eight

Lorelei asked as the base’s main gate came in view. “I’m still confused what this blackbird incident and the army’s doomsday messages have in common?” “Exactly what we don’t know. But that jeweled box definitely confirms Zaebos is on the loose. With what little we know he’s connected with the SS covert.” “Then you’re blindly deducting the jeweled box and Himmler’s plot weren’t originally connected?” Lorelei asked.“That’s Theta’s current suspicions.” “That’s some pretty sketchy assumptions.” “According to witnesses a foreigner whose description matches a known German agent was seen on the farmer’s land?” Lorelei wasn’t convinced. “If we don’t possess the chest does that matter?” “It doesn’t. There’s another fact I didn’t mention back there. This isn’t one of those run-of-the-mill coverts associated with Satan’s Infernal Empire. This one takes on a personal touch for Theta. To fully understand you must know about Troy’s final hours.” Lorelei indifferently raised her shoulders. “So tell me.” Bruce wasn’t offended by her mild defiance but still there was a short pause. “When the Greeks finally stormed the city, Cassandra stood on its burning walls wailing the demise of her beloved city. Even as the city’s walls were crumbling a Greek officer rushed up the stairs to where the princess stood without escort.” “Let me guess?” Lorelei interrupted with a thin smirk. “That Greek officer was Zaebos?” “That’s the general belief. But Zaebos never reached Cassandra because of the goddess Hera’s intervention. From that day onward there has existed a personal grudge between those two and time recognizes no boundary.”

Not fully understanding its significance Lorelei asked. “Now let me see if I got this right. While Troy burned he tried raping Cassandra but this failed when another deity appeared on the wall. After that Zaebos fled into time’s shroud. I’m sure Zaebos was stirring up trouble so why wasn’t he heard from until Cortez’s time?” Bruce was slow acknowledging her inquiry with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. “So how did Zaebos gain Himmler’s confidence so fast.” “That’s simple.” Bruce patiently said. “Zaebos selected his host body as somebody already close to the generalfeldmarschall. Transmigrating into that body was a simple matter.” “I guess that makes sense.” For some reason Bruce thought of iral Canaris. In 1935, Captain Canaris assumed command of the old German intelligence agency known as Geheimer Merldedient. From that date onward iral Canaris made Abwehr into a successful spy organization. But this was of little concern to the jealous Himmler who wanted the agency under his control. Over the last few months the SS savagely slashed at Abwehr’s throat until they gradually lost their fighting edge. Even as they talked the agency was losing key personnel. That was why Canaris insisted Lorelei never return to while Hitler was in power. “So what’s bothering you?” she sternly challenged. “Nothing.” “Like hell!” she gruffly disputed. “I know you better than that. So what gives?” After a short pause another serious expression touched her features. “What did Cassandra tell you?” “She said we can expect the worse this time. After all we did decimate his Sisters of the Veil, stalled the Feast of Black Phoenix, wiped out the Centaur Oracles and for the finishing touch razed his home turf in the mountains. I guess all of that really pissed off Forcas.” “I imagine it would. Are there any other demons coming to help Zaebos?”

“Zepar may?” “Is that good or bad for us?” “Bad.” Bruce said. “He’s another scoundrel you don’t want to meet.” An amused expression crossed her face. “If I had my choice, darling, I prefer not meeting any of them.” The roguish mask briefly lingered then her seriousness came back. “This could be our last time alone.” There was a sparkle in her emerald green eyes. “So I can think of better activities than acting like two awkward lovers?” The drive to their naval base accommodations seemed to take forever. After parking the Packard they tried not rushing into the multi-storied building housing an increasing number of commissioned officers. The enlisted sailor sitting behind a small desk smiled when they signed in. He gave little interest to the marine officers walking up the stairs to the second floor. The enlisted rating went back to reading his dime novel. Behind him a radio softly played Glenn Miller’s swing music but Lorelei hadn’t notice. There was a burning fire in her body that music couldn’t extinguish. Once inside the room they quickly disrobed and climbed under the bed covers. After that neither knew of the ing time as they eagerly removed their loneliness. It didn’t matter they shouldn’t have been in the same room.

Chapter Nine

Because it was mid-afternoon there weren’t many officers in the housing. Most were either working or attending one of the base’s many training schools. The pimple faced seaman soon grew bored with his western novel and yawned. Laying down the dirty dog eared pages, he indifferently scrutinized the small lobby having a few chairs and nothing else. Why there were any chairs at all puzzled the enlisted man. Any gold braid coming in at this time of the day wasn’t in the mood for sitting. Because there were too many male and female officers on the base, it was necessary to house them together until more housing could be built. Their quarters were divided by a narrow ageway that depended on personal discretion. But it was no secret there was more than sleeping going on upstairs. He smiled again. That couple g in thirty minutes ago fitted in that grouping. ing the major’s shapely body caused his manhood to press against the tight fitting tros. He smiled knowing he would be visiting his downtown whore after liberty call. The watch stander’s desk used to be positioned alongside the stairs. That was changed some weeks ago when a young prissy ensign complained enlisted men were staring up her dress when she was going up the stairs. He smirked when thinking about the homey-looking woman from Kansas. She should have been appreciative a man was looking up her dress. That was probably the only time her body was given special interest. He rubbed his groin when thinking about that blond haired major. It would have been a treat looking up her dress. Suddenly there was a noise jerking the sailor from his lewd thoughts. The seaman hurriedly looked about. He was going to reach for his rifle propped against the wall but angrily decided not to. The damned thing didn’t have bullets. It was then he saw the source of movement and faintly grinned. It was only a blackbird probably having flown in by mistake. Chuckling at his stupid nervousness the kid from South Dakota walked to the opened door and looked out. He still had two stinking hours before being relieved. Standing in the warm sunlight for a few moments the seaman went

back inside to finish his root beer soda pop. He complained it would have tasted better with ice. When the beautiful black-winged creature fluttered down to perch on his desk the sailor glanced over his shoulder. Coming from farmlands he saw many of these birds and thought nothing of it. When a lieutenant came in and signed the log the watch stander didn’t comment. The officer gave the large bird a displeased glance then walked up the stairs. The sailor turned to say something but no sound came forth. There was a brief struggle before the man lay sprawled on the floor behind the desk. The bitter scent of death was briefly strong then nothing. There would be a young prostitute that night eagerly waiting for her sailor who wouldn’t be coming.

* * *

Bruce was pulling on his socks when Lorelei returned from the hallway’s female bathroom. Her hair was springy after been combed so many strokes. Its golden luster shined in the sunlight filtering through the room’s only window. The German smiled as the colonel slowly dressed. She silently told herself it was easy adjusting to the fact she was now a ed American with cleverly forged past. Having worked the German Embassy in New York City prior to the war it was easy absorbing the information Theta fed her. After slipping on her forest green tunic Lorelei looked over at the man she loved so deeply. She was ignoring Cassandra’s cautioning not to fall in love while spying. Though growing up in a caring family it was hard surviving through the depression economically crippling the globe. In the United States she was amazed at such an abundance of items available only on the German black markets. Even with America’s strict rationing there were far more commodities than available in her country. “Have you ever been to Mexico?” Bruce asked while buckling the Sam Browne belt around his waist.

“I was in Mexico City some years back.” Now fully dressed Lorelei sat in an overstuffed chair. “Why?” “This covert may take us there.” He checked his .38 caliber handgun before slipping it in a waist holster behind the tunic. “Sound interested?” She laughed. “Anywhere you go…I go.” Bruce never finished his questioning before the door crashed into a hundred pieces. Lorelei was startled when a hairy, partly clothed man charged into the room growling and menacingly swinging his arms. His body possessed a powerful offensive odor that nearly gagged his intended victims. Whipping out his handgun the colonel leaped across the bed while firing at the creature. Lorelei opened fire once recovering from her momentary shock at seeing this huge monster of despicable horror. Pieces of decaying flesh torn from the gruesome body did little to stop its vicious charge. Bruce yelled for her to run out the door. Thinking that was a good idea she fired couple rounds at the monster’s disfigured face during her scramble across the bed. Finding safely in the hallway she made ready to open fire when it fled the room. After rapidly firing at the monster Bruce made a hurried retreat from the trashed room. With that snarling thing stomping in hot pursuit they ran down the stairs two at a time while awkwardly reloading their empty guns. As the mutilated thing noisily lopped down the hallway, a young ensign foolishly opened his door to investigate the gunfire. Because of his ill-timed action the officer’s face was smashed into a bloody distortion from the monster’s single swing. The creature growling a horrible groan never lost his pace. That screaming ensign tumbled to the floor squirming and clutching what was left of his face. Once in the lobby the wailing creature angrily looked around for his victims. After seeing the opened door he ran into the bright sunlight. By this time the gunfire had brought patrolling sentries running onto the scene without knowing what they would find. Pausing for a spell in the blinding sunlight this thing from Hell shielded his eyes from the glare. All the time he was loudly wailing words nobody understood. Seeing Bruce standing not far away, the beast pounded his chest as if sounding a mating call then stomped down the small flight of wooden steps. That was when

the flabbergasted sentries began firing at their eye popping discovery. Even though bullets twisted loose his rotten flesh the creature reached the bottom before toppling over. His terrifying charge was over in a few minutes.

* * *

That was when chaos broke loose on that street. While an excited crowd quickly gathered Bruce stood over the decaying body not able to dislodge his strange fascination. But Lorelei lost no time taking control of the tyrannizing situation. The handful of reluctant sentries obeying the shouting major were having a difficult time moving back an increasing number of curious onlookers. They weren’t successful until the military police’s wailing sirens arrived. Vehicles were slamming to screaming halts as their occupants jumped out to see what was going on. People were running from buildings across the street but all of this Bruce Sherman didn’t notice. His full attention was reserved for this scornful thing from Hell. Its physical appearance was more than six feet tall with huge misshapen head, pus-filled lips and small beady eyes. The powerful frame was matted with thick, smelly black hair with an offensive stench rising from the grave. Lorelei failed discarding her disdainful thoughts about this terrifying part human and part animal. After the military police gradually restored order Lorelei pushed her way through the excited onlookers. “What is it?” Lorelei asked though afraid what his reply might be. After motioning the senior Shore Patrol officer over Bruce turned to Lorelei and somberly said. “This is Zaebos’ way of letting us know he’s around.” Then turning to the officer he crisply ordered. “I need full photographic coverage of this thing then send the prints over to Delta 301.” He gave the housing structure a quick glance. “You better send a party inside because you have a dead watch

stander behind his overturned desk. While running from the building we heard screaming upstairs so check that out.” Before the young lieutenant departed Bruce sternly warned. “I must remind you this is a naval intelligence matter and all information will be immediately censored by Delta 301. Am I understood?” After the officer hurried away Lorelei complained. “Didn’t take him long to find us?” “Nope, it didn’t.” Pausing he watched some seamen loading the twisted body onto a pickup. “Our opposition struck the first blow and we still don’t have the slightest clue what they’re up to.” Looking over at the woman whose blond hair was tossed about in their rapid retreat from the building he asked. “Are you all right?” “Of course, I am.” she muttered none too happy. “I run from monsters every day.” Bruce forced a teasing grin. “That’s good. I like my women reckless when it comes to chasing monsters. So what do you think of our reception?” “It could have been a little lighter on the violence.” “Probably won’t get any better,” Bruce warned. Though standing in San Diego’s warm sunlight he felt very cold inside. “Charlie was going to his restaurant in Long Beach. Call and tell him to get his ass back here on the double.” After Lorelei went into the building to make a phone call, Bruce talked with the duty Shore Patrol officer. Shrouding this incident was important but Bruce knew they had lost control of that. Too many people witnessed the monster been taken away. Minutes later his woman reported Charlie was on his way back. By now more military policemen were on the scene roping off the immediate crime scene. Other marines with MP armbands were inside the housing quarters investigating two other deaths. The whole development seemed like something from their worst nightmares. Neither realized this was only the beginning of a horrible chain of events. “Do you feel like going to church?” Bruce asked.

“Why?” Lorelei somberly asked. “Did this little incident stir your religious emotions?” There was a slight grin on her red lips. His facial expression remained solemn when replying. “No, that’s not it. I thought of something when looking at that monster. Don’t ask me why but I thought of a Catholic priest Granny often spoke about. They were friends when running around wasting bad guys. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’s still serving that little chapel she talked about?” “But what about briefing the base commander about this event?” she skeptically asked. “Isn’t that proper protocol?” “We don’t have time for that. Anyhow at this very moment Betty is hot footing it over to his office. She’ll properly handle the situation.” “You put a lot of trust in that woman.” she dubiously questioned while getting into the Packard. Bruce smiled. “Oh, she’s more than an office manager. Just take my word on that. Never lock horns with that gal or you’ll regret it. She may look meek and powerless but not for one moment believe that. I don’t know that much about Betty. She was sent here by . But I do know she’s very close to the Trojan Princess. The woman walks too confidently among the military not to have served sometime in her past.” He was silent while starting the car. “She knows everything going on around us. Just this one warning and that’s never get on her bad side.” She thought about what he had said. “I’ll that.” A thought jolted her mind. “Do you think she knows ?” “Honey, Betty probably knew what color panties you wore before leaving Spain.” He grinned at her wide-eyed reaction.

Chapter Ten

As the shiny black Packard Clipper drove from the naval base Bruce thought about his own past. This was encouraged when mentioning his great grandmother’s nickname. Bruce Sherman’s farming family were never affectionate. His father worked from dawn to dusk plowing out a poor living on his forty-acre farmstead in Fostoria, Ohio. Having spent very little time with his gruff Dad Bruce developed his stubborn traits from Granny. His father losing faith in God daily cursed everybody and everything while denying his skills as a farmer were seriously lacking. After the old woman died, Bruce learned from the bank it was Granny’s money that kept the Sherman family afloat. This was what irritated his Father who spent considerable time complaining about the old woman. In the early thirties Granny came to the Fostoria farm where she died. Not physically able to do the farming chores she entertained Bruce with numerous tales of witchcraft and demons. After Granny’s death a lovely woman visited her grave site. Later on he learned that woman was the Trojan Princess. But he was shocked when learning Granny was formerly a Theta assassin. After struggling through school Bruce graduated with decent grades earning him a full to the University of Ohio. He never knew that grant came from Theta. Without his knowledge Granny had recommended him for a future slot among Theta’s elite ranks. Finishing the college’s Army ROTC program he earned his second lieutenant’s bars. He first served in the army’s tank corps but this soon bored him. Before the infamous December 7, 1941 he transferred to the Marine Corps and knew right off he had found a home. The Corps was good to him and he in turn gave the service everything he had and more. After assignments in counter intelligence he became addicted to its dangerous shadows. Bruce never knew Theta was closely monitoring his progress. Then one day he was abruptly jerked from battle in the Pacific and flown to London where he was officially inducted into Theta. “Bruce,” Lorelei repeated for the third time, “are you listening?”

“Sorry. I guess I was daydreaming.” She gave him a short displeased glance. “I wish you wouldn’t daydream while driving.” Frowning at his mocking smile she then asked. “Did you go back inside?” “I saw the enlisted man’s heart was torn out.” Bruce cynically said. “But he was alive when that happened.” she said with a slight tremble. “That’s how the Aztecs killed their victims.” He first met Lorelei Ramcke in Lisbon while plunging into his second Theta clandestine adventure. At first their relationship was unfriendly because she worked for Abwehr. Then through some bizarre twists they began working together. It was Theta’s cooperation with the Nazis that presented Bruce with his second victory against Forcas. This time in the Romanian mountains. Since then Lorelei and he had become discreet lovers. “Oh, that’s gruesome.” She was silent for a few moments while thinking about the monster. “So what do you know about this Catholic priest?” she pensively asked. “Only what Granny told me.” Bruce was silent. Whenever facing dangers his reflections of Granny rushed back offering emotional . This was happening again. But from all of her demon tales Bruce couldn’t Granny ever talking about the Aztec deities. “Granny said he spent much of his priesthood in Mexico.” “And this makes him an expert on Aztec deities?” she suspiciously asked. Bruce ed a slow moving bus. “Well, it makes him smarter than us. Granny’s stories about demons and gods were about Troy, Greece and Rome… but never about the Mexican gods.” “Yes, I guess it does.” Lorelei thoughtfully watched the streets before mumbling. “I can’t get the sight of that gaping hole in the sailor’s chest out of

my mind.” After stopping at a signal light she watched grim faced crowds crossing the street and most were in marine or navy uniforms. “Never in my life have I witnessed such an animalistic practice.” “Then hold onto your bra because it’ll get worse.” Lorelei looked at her lover and scornfully said. “I wish to God you would quit saying that.” Bruce found it amusing. “Just wanted to keep you abreast of our situation.” Then after a short pause he jokingly added. “And speaking of breasts…boy do you have a pair.” When she disapprovingly raised her eyebrows he quickly said with a lustful grin. “That’s for better or worse.” She gave him the evil eye. “We’re working a covert, darling, not getting married.” Reaching over she massaged his groin. “But, honey, you just keep those thoughts warm for later.” When Bruce started to touch her leg Lorelei laughingly said. “Nope, nope you just drive and we play later.” A few moments ed before she teasingly replied. “Show some respect, stud. We’re going to church so clean up your thoughts.” They hadn’t driven very long before Lorelei asked. “Do you really think this priest can help us?” “I’m hoping so. Right now even a remote chance is worth checking.”

* * *

Since founded in 1769 by Father Junipero Serra, San Diego was known for its many churches. This Friday afternoon in 1943 was no different. Leaving the sprawling downtown districts that were rapidly expanding since Pearl Harbor, Bruce drove along the busy bay area to a Roman Catholic Church. It was small when compared with the other Catholic churches in the region and there were many. Servicing the spiritual needs of three hundred Mexicans the white-washed chapel was tucked among tall pine trees. Reached from the parking lot by a

winding gravel path Bruce and Lorelei slowly made their way to the varnished door. Bruce felt he had been here before. It was exactly how Granny frequently described its beautiful isolation. After the chapel door opened a priest hurried toward them with a wide smile. Before the shaking of hands Bruce knew this was Father Oscar Lampkins whom Granny often spoke of. Time gave his unhealthy body three hundred pounds since Theta. Yet, his health issues was no stumbling block for this happy man. Having spent many years attending his poverty plagued flock, the man’s brown eyes happily looked Bruce over. Lorelei instantly felt his contagious pleasant personality washing over her troubled soul. “You must be Bruce Sherman,” Father Lampkins cheerfully greeted. His frame wrinkled by time’s ravages was clothed in his order’s simple brown cassock. Those many years in the agricultural fields working alongside his parishioners proved most unkind to the old man. “Your grandmother spoke highly of you, my son.” A sad expression briefly touched his face. “Elizabeth was a good woman. A woman the Lord was indeed proud of.” Bruce smiled. “I was always proud of Granny.” Guiding them to a stone bench under a bunch of tall pine trees the elderly man kept talking afraid there was little time left. “It came as no surprise when you were inducted into Theta. Elizabeth always bragged that one day you would be the bearer of many great deeds.” Arriving at the benches crafted by Indians some three hundred years ago he gestured they sit. Looking over his shoulder at an elderly woman coming from the church’s side door he yelled. “Marie, bring iced lemonade for our guests.” After the fat Mexican woman disappeared into the chapel his faint smile negatively changed. Lorelei noticed this without comment. “How well did you know Granny? I know she often spoke of you in glowing .” Bruce curiously asked. “We were close friends.”

Father Lampkins paused for a moment. But it was long enough for Lorelei to see both pain and sadness flickering in his weary eyes. She knew right then they had been more than casual friends. “Some years ago when Elizabeth was wounded Marie nursed her back to health. There were many touch-and-go problems.” The priest chuckled. “After that those women were like sisters with hearts of gold.” “Granny often spoke of Marie.” “Your grandmother and I were stationed in Northern Africa during that country’s very troubled times. There was death and blood all around us. But even among that isolated land blasted apart by violence we found time to experience good times.” His voice dropped to a near whisper while reliving those days. “I can clearly that day when she lead a mounted column from the British fort we resided in. Whenever seeing skies that are cloudy and gloomy I’m reminded of that day. You could feel death drifting in the winds. It clearly was bad omens of things to come. Before mounting her horse Elizabeth kissed me and said it was not a good day to die. Then like Joan of Arc she lead her patrol through the gates. For some weeks bandits had raided the villages in our province. Since the army couldn’t stop them Theta expected us to do it.” His voice was briefly very sad and Lorelei detected a touch of guilt in his words. “I had been fighting a high fever for several days so over my angry protests the fort’s doctor grounded me. Otherwise, I would have been in that patrol. We always did things together whether they were good or bad.” After he paused, Bruce was hesitant in asking. “What happened after she left the fort?” For a spell the priest stared at the skies while nursing his painful memories of the past. A past he obviously found very special. Lorelei sensing his painful thoughts patiently waited until he was ready to talk again. A glance towards Bruce showed he wasn’t that patient. While waiting Lorelei enjoyed that serenity among the pine trees insulating the chapel from those noises below the hill.

“It was days before we learned what had happened to Elizabeth’s patrol. A British mounted patrol came upon the slaughtered detail. They had furiously fought for their lives but in the end they lost. Your grandmother was badly wounded and left for dead by the demons they had been chasing. Taken to another fort Elizabeth was itted into their field hospital. Back in her younger days Marie was a nurse with the British Colonial Army so she nursed Elizabeth back to her health. But there were many doubtful moments when they were sure she would die. But your grandmother was a stubborn fighter and she lived. From that day onward she walked with a painful limp.” He rubbed his eyes pretending there were specks of dust in them. “Because your grandmother’s wounds never fully healed, she was medically discharged from Theta. That was when she went to Ohio and lived on your family’s farm.” “So that’s why she walked that way?” Bruce mumbled. “She never talked about her past much less why she walked with that painful limp. My pappy never understanding Granny spent his time ridiculing her. But did he ever know she was once a secret agent?” “I seriously doubt if she told him. When she was discharged her life was shattered. Theta was her total life. And when it was no longer there Elizabeth was helplessly lost. I visited her twice before she died. Elizabeth itted the only thing in her life worth living for was you, Bruce. She was already looking to your future by entertaining you with all those tales.” He smiled. “You didn’t know it but she was preparing you for that day when Theta called.” “How did you go from Theta to the priesthood?” “After I lost your grandmother my next step in life was becoming a priest. Battling demons weren’t the same when Elizabeth wasn’t at my side. Marie lost her zeal for nursing and came to California. She was here when I was assigned to this chapel.” Sadness touched his jolly expression. “When your grandmother died we went back for her funeral. But because of bad weather our train was late arriving in Fostoria so we missed the service. After that it took me several months to soothe Marie’s grieving heart.”

When hearing the three hundred-pound woman noisily leaving the chapel the priest softly advised with a teasing voice. “Don’t say anything and let’s see if she recognizes you?” The cheerful old woman carefully served their guests tall glasses of icy lemonade and was about to depart when suddenly her eyes sparkled. With a loud yelp of joy she dropped the wooden tray and pulled the startled man to his feet. Wrapping large flabby arms around the marine colonel she cried happily. “Bruce.” Marie began sobbing while Lorelei quietly sat watching this affection. “Praise be the Lord I see you once more.” It was several moments before Marie permitted Bruce to sit. “Eliz always bragged about her special grandson. Said things of greatness would one day fall on your shoulders.” Wiping away her tears the Mexican woman kept shaking her head. “Praise be the Almighty Lord, you sure look good.” After leaning down she tried picking up the fallen tray and nearly fell over. Stepping over Lorelei picked it up and with a smile gave it to the overjoyed Mexican. After thanking Lorelei for her kindness, the old woman walked away mumbling she must light candles to the Virgin Mary. Lorelei smiled after Marie disappeared into the chapel. “As you can see, Bruce, your presence affects many people. When seeing you coming up the path a flood of memories were released. Those reflections representing the best years of my humbled soul made me feel young again.” He smiled before happily saying. “This may sound crazy but for a few seconds I saw Elizabeth walking behind you smiling and pointing. She sure was proud of you.” There was another short painful frown. “She never accepted leaving Theta’s folds. Counterintelligence was in her blood right up to the day she died.” Lorelei thoughtfully noted Bruce was still embarrassed by Marie’s affection. The colonel drank Marie’s tart lemonade before saying. “Granny never talked about her past. But I always knew she was a special person. But she did talk a lot about this chapel. While walking here I felt in my heart I had been here many times. In

my thoughts neither Marie or you were strangers.” Then Bruce’s expression became solemn. “But I’m afraid I come with a troubled mind, Father Lampkins.” “Yes, I know. Last night Cassandra called and said you would soon be visiting me.” After a depressed sigh the aged Catholic priest sat down the glass and folded his arms. “Our friend revealed the wondrous things you have done in such a short time. Elizabeth would have being very proud, my son.” There was a short pause while he grinned at Lorelei. “And you must be that amazing woman Cassandra talked about. It does my heart good to know Bruce has you at his side, Lorelei Ramcke. And it’s good you two fought well in the Romanian mountains. Because those mastered skills shall see you through this very difficult covert. By now Forcas knowing how you fight will advise his demons how to contest your moves. I don’t have to warn you about walking the shadows. But these are a bunch of sadistic cutthroats from Hell’s darkest corridors and caution must be your guide word.” “Then you know why we have come?” “Yes. Cassandra spoke of the mummified blackbird in its burial chest. This isn’t a good omen for mankind. Once again Zaebos is on the loose and it’ll be your task to dispatch him back to Hell where he rightfully belongs.” Looking at Lorelei for a moment he said. “I can see by your facial expression that you’re having trouble believing.” Lorelei lightly shrugged her reply. Expecting her reaction the colonel again looked at the priest. “Do you know what the demon is up to?” Bruce asked. “No. All I know is what Cassandra told me and that wasn’t much. Theta knows this plot was hatched by Himmler and somehow San Diego plays a part in it.” he said not too enthused with their future prospects. He then looked at Lorelei. “Death is only an inconvenience to these demons, my dear woman. Since you have twice fought demons this should be of little surprise? When that poor

peasant opened the jeweled chest, he unknowingly fulfilled an old curse’s conditions for emergence.” His facial lines became dark and tight. “By reading between Cassandra’s words, I fear there’s much more to this curse than throwing aside its shackles. The Trojan Princess nervously spoke of omens carrying terrible fears for our future. The last few days my faithful are confessing they fear another evil is about to fall on the Holy Church. Even San Diego’s ghost whisperers are fearfully warning of an apocalyptic crisis about to burst from the past.” “Surely there are suspicions?” The priest slowly shook his head. “Because nobody knows that’s why Theta sent you. The fact Zaebos was freed from his curse carries many evil implications. I guess you already know about the hatred existing between this demon and Cassandra?” “Yes.” Bruce said. “Then that should tell you this crisis will be more thunderous than the rest. My superstitious flock may have little education but they know these strange fears are threatening their everyday lives. In Mexico there are many omens appearing in their ancient ruins. The faithful masses are terrified. Cassandra believes this plot was hatched by Himmler’s evil encouragements but San Diego’s ghost whisperers think otherwise. They contend the omens of destruction boils from Hell itself,” he said not that enthused. Bruce itted with a troubled tone. “This whole thing is like a giant puzzles with most of its pieces missing. Since Granny held great respect for you, Father, I was hoping you would share your wisdom about this demon.” Father Lampkins chuckled then the amusement quickly left. “I don’t claim to be an expert on Zaebos. I’m not even certain if anybody really is. During my years working among Mexican peasants I heard many frightening tales about their deities. Their ancient culture will make your skin crawl. The Aztec culture nearly drowned in bloodshed and brutality encouraged by this demon.” “Do they often talk about Zaebos?” “Oh yes and with immense terror.” After a deep sigh the old man looked about

his beautiful landscaped garden that was his pride and joy. “There are many stories of the evil blackbird told among superstitious peasants on Mexico’s mountains.” “I have heard stories about Zaebos’ transmigration into Carlos Aguilera’s body?” Bruce questioned. “What do you know about this?” Father Lampkins nodded. “That’s only one of the many well known Zaebos tales.” After a short pause spent critically studying his guests the priest uneasily spoke. “Legends are many about this evil man riding with Cortez. Not one hints of comion or mercy shown his victims. His thirst for human blood was most terrifying and his hatred for the Aztec priesthood even more appalling. Cortez never hesitated to use terror during his conquest. But his friend was causing enormous civil unrest. Finally growing angry with his lieutenant he sentenced him to death. Legends graphically tell how the priesthood came during the night and kidnapped the evil man. Practicing their own rituals they condemned him to an everlasting Hell.” He paused before somberly continuing. “The myths are commonly known to every school child in Mexico. But I suspect the information you seek isn’t well known. But it isn’t I whom you wish to seek knowledge from but one of my parishioners. Jose Aguilera has been a member of my humble church for over twenty years. He knows a lot about this demon. Even to this day the Aguilera family name carries heavy shame because of his blood line.” “Then Jose is kin?” Lorelei curiously questioned. “Yes. Jose is a descendent of the evil man.” “Do you know where he’s at right now?” Bruce asked. “Jose works for a landscaping company. It would be impossible to find him before his work day is over.” Father Lampkins thoughtfully watched Marie walk from the chapel. “Poor woman.” he sadly mumbled. “She never fully recovered from your grandmother’s death. But today I swear there’s a spring in her steps.” He gave the marine colonel a brief weary smile. “In you… she sees Elizabeth.” There was another short silence. “I must warn you this covert will be different

from anything you have encountered. Zaebos thinks like a warrior because that’s what he is. So you never let your guard down. Not for a moment or he’ll stomp across your emotions like nothing you have experienced.” “Is there anything that sets this demon apart from the others?” “Yes… his personal appearance is always the same rugged physical frame with cruel dark colored eyes piercing your private thoughts. His harsh featured facial lines will be Oriental extraction. Zaebos was associated with Middle Eastern regions. This demon has a bitter temper that without warning turns into bloody violence. You won’t see his real body unless he’s transmigrating.” This old man having served Theta many years paused to study his blooming flowers all around them. “Most of all, he loves blackbirds and uses their bodies to whisk from one point to another. When these birds are in your vicinity be careful with your words. There’s no sure way of knowing if he has transmigrated into their bodies or not.” Lorelei asked. “How does he control the birds’ behavior? I mean we’re talking about birds not humans.” Father Lampkins frowned. “Nobody knows. These demons are viciously evil with few equals among the Infernal Empire. Those Aztec priests did mankind a favor when condemning Zaebos. But that farmer because of his greed unknowingly released many terrors that only you can remove. They know this and they’ll viciously come after you. In the past Minerva’s Shield always frightened them. This time it might not.” “What’s a Minerva’s Shield?” Lorelei asked. “That’s Theta symbol.” “Oh.” she sheepishly grinned. “I think the group has already struck.” Bruce briefly told of the murderous monster back on the naval base. The Catholic priest occasionally sipped iced lemonade Marie quietly brought while they talked. But for the most part holding the frosty glass he listened with a darkening expression.

After finishing his report Bruce unconsciously drank the tart drink. “Though the thing was ugly as hell it proved very easy to kill.” Father Lampkins quietly disapproved of Bruce’s calmness. “That probably was a brother from the left hand path. But at this point it’s hard to define his identity. It could have been any demon from Beelzebub’s empire. These stupid demons will never cross the river of death.” He stopped talking after a harshness crossed his wrinkled face. “After killing this demon what happened to his body?” “It’s isolated in a guarded confinement on the base.” The priest disapprovingly shook his head. “No, no that won’t do. After killing these things a special ritual must be celebrated over their remains.” Lorelei asked. “What happens if we don’t?” “The demon will be reincarnated and you’ll have to fight it again.” He uncomfortably shifted his heavy weight on the hard bench. The old man failed to hide his pain before Lorelei saw it. “I seriously doubt if in the beginning Zaebos will send his best troops…they’ll come later. Zaebos wants to confirm your weaknesses and strengths. After I think about it you probably confronted a ghoul. These simple minded demons feeds on dead bodies though occasionally they’ll ally with Zaebos.” Father Lampkins felt a strong uneasiness stirring in his deep seated emotions. It was the same he experienced as a young Theta agent after walking into a clever trap. There were too many memories flowing through his troubled mind. He studied Lorelei for a few moments before turning back to Bruce. “But this thing started out as a blackbird.” she challenged. “How do you know that?” “A large number of blackbird feathers were near the murdered sailor.” she replied then quickly added. “And another thing. The sailor’s heart was torn from his chest.”

He was silent for a few moments. “That’s a bad omen and you must exercise great caution. There are recorded incidents where ghouls transmigrated into blackbirds.” He thoughtfully sipped the lemonade. “Though few in number these ghouls transmigrating into blackbirds often gained special powers.” Only Lorelei observed that warm breeze slipping through the trees causing their leaves to gently rustle. Scents from the many flowers should have gently massaged her troubled senses but this didn’t happened. For some unknown reason the invisible tranquility failed to wash away their complicated crisis and this troubled her even more. Bruce skeptically asked. “What kind of special powers?” “By adopting the wings of a blackbird they can travel great distances without detection. But here lies their weakness. While a ghoul changes from bird back to his own body he’s vulnerable for a few seconds. That’s when they can be destroyed.” The Catholic priest drained the last of his lemonade. “The Trojan princess gave me a warning for you. She said never accept what appears to be but is not.” “What does that mean?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. That’s for you to decipher. Many times Princess Cassandra speaks in confusing riddles.” “Did you ever fight a major demon?” It was a moment before he reluctantly replied. “Yes, there was one that I the most.” There was a painful mask touching his wrinkled face when those bitter memories surfaced after so many years lying dormant. He looked at Bruce. “That was when I met your grandmother. The demon named Haborym was a gold plated bastard.” “Did you kill him?” “You rarely kill high ranking demons. Stifling their goals is the most you can hope for. Minor demons may be killed but the major ones can’t.” the priest

informed still feeling a quiet respect for the demon he fought to a standstill in Mexico many years ago. “Elizabeth and I had unsuccessfully chased that demon for weeks. But Haborym was different. Then he made a serious mistake causing his demise. Sometime these things are stopped by their own kind because of something they recklessly done. There’s one thing you must never forget when fighting Beelzebub’s kingdom…they’re very jealous of their domains. This happened when Haborym made the mistake of violating sacred grounds belonging to the Eastern Paradise.” Seeing her confusion he went on to explain. “In Aztec myths the Eastern Paradise was where their slain warriors were taken. When the duke challenged this domain Huitzli-pochtli, Aztec god of war and ruler over the Eastern Paradise, battled in my place. It was this unexpected assistance that developed a stalemate Haborym couldn’t oppose and he lost.” The man of cloth glanced at Bruce. For a few moments, the priest was lost among his cherished memories when challenging demons with Elizabeth at his side. A smile touched his face when boasting. “Those were our younger years. Chasing exciting adventures was in our blood, Bruce. You should have seen your grandmother back then. Elizabeth was lovely with a striking figure and daring personality. Not a single thing on Earth frightened her. Her energy in battle was amazing. But from those thunderous years we matured a friendship that only death parted.” Lorelei expressed surprise. “I didn’t know demons crossed over to help the forces of good?” “It occasionally happens but not very often. So I wouldn’t count on it. Beelzebub’s kingdom exists in a shadowy world mankind has trouble accepting in its entirety. We find it easy enhancing angels but have trouble accepting demons in all of their ugliness. These foul fiends spend their time trying to smash our devotion for the saintly spirits.” “Why doesn’t your Church fight these demons?” Lorelei skeptically asked. “At one time our Holy Church celebrated rituals neutralizing these evils. But down through the centuries, our religious leaders chose to explain away these demonic evils as segments of our wild imaginations.” He divided attention between those two listening to his every word. “Because of

their skirting the truth we’re at a disadvantage most of the time.” He sighed his frustration. “If it weren’t for Theta’s clandestine interventions the demons would always win their battles.” Lorelei got to her feet and thoughtfully looked around them. The cool breezes drifting through the pines briefly had her attention. “What I don’t understand is how Bruce fought Forcas to a standstill on the Eastern Front and stopped him from celebrating his Feast of the Black Phoenix?” she suspiciously questioned. “But when we challenged the Centaur Oracles they were destroyed. Why is this?” “That’s because the Oracles weren’t individual demons. Collectively they were left open for destruction. The demonography world is very difficult to define and frequently it’s contradictory. That’s why they’re so hard to fight.” “If that’s true,” Bruce somberly asked. “Then won’t Zaebos experience trouble in Mexico? After all he belongs in the Middle Eastern Countries and not Mexico?” “That might play a role later on.” The old man awkwardly stood. “But the man you should speak with is Jose. He has vast knowledge of this demon that I don’t have. Come back this evening after my six-clock Mass and talk with him. Jose always attends Mass without fail. But heed my words, Bruce, and celebrate that ing ritual over the dead ghoul without delay.” As Bruce and Lorelei accompanied the old man to the church’s gravel parking lot, neither noticed three blackbirds perched in some pines curiously watching them. When there was a sudden chill in the gardens Lorelei abruptly halted and suspiciously looked about. Neither Bruce nor the priest noticed her cautiously regarding their immediate area. There was something different about these chapel grounds since they arrived though physically everything looked the same. Those birds shrouded from sight didn’t fly away until the black Packard drove off. Quietly sitting close to Bruce the former SS officer couldn’t explain those bothersome feelings crowding her mind. The sun was bright above San Diego with a slight breeze drifting over the coastal city. She should have been happy but she wasn’t. Instead, Lorelei saw only gloomy days ahead of them.

Chapter Eleven

It wasn’t until the luxury car drove down a winding road to mix with the city’s traffic that Bruce spoke. “So what do you think?” “Like what?” “What’s your opinion of the old man?” “Seemed like a kindly old soul and his tale about fighting the demon was interesting. But physically speaking.” She stopped talking for a few moments. “That man had better lose some pounds. It certainly isn’t healthy having that much fat weighing down your heart. I had an uncle carrying three hundred pounds and one day he dropped dead.” While stopped at a signal light Lorelei looked at her lover. “When I’m old and my body is sagging are you going to still love me?” Bruce pretended to think about it. “Honey, I would love you regardless how much you weighed. It’s not your body that I love but what’s in your heart.” After pausing he sheepishly grinned. “Of course, there are other parts of your body that I really like.” He jokingly made a poker face. “And what are those?” Lorelei teasingly asked. “I rather show them to you tonight.” Lorelei lightly punched his arm. “I bet you would.” After comfortably shifting her body on the seat she laid a hand on his leg. This gave her comfort and with the way nasty things were gathering, Lorelei snatched any reassurances she could find. After lightly kissing his cheek Lorelei returned to her troublesome thoughts. There was a lingering disturbance she couldn’t identify. She knew it originated back at the chapel but not of the chapel. Father Lampkins was a very interesting person. It didn’t take much effort to

visualize him chasing bad guys some years back. But Father Oscar Lampkins was not that man he publicly shown. Elizabeth and he must have made a fascinating couple. The drive through downtown traffic was very slow and even worse after turning onto the naval base. After finishing another hard day, thousands of workers were wearily ing through the main gate. Deadlines had to be met and that meant lots of overtime. Lorelei curiously noticed with so many men away at war, America’s women had stepped up filling their absences. Reading his thoughts Lorelei solemnly said. “It’ll be a miracle if we identify the Germans in time.” “But you’re still trying, right?” “Sure. Didn’t I promise? There are back channels that might produce the information we need.” She stopped talking for a moment. “My will get the information to us one way or other.” The colonel shook his head. “Fighting bad guys is easy when compared to challenging these things from the grave.” She frowned. “There’s no argument to that. I’m just hoping this Jose fellow can help us.” “Yeah, me too.” the colonel replied guardedly. She stopped talking for a moment after they turned down a wide street flanked by wooden warehouses. “Do you have any doubt Carlos Aguilera was hosting Zaebos?” “No. Everything is confirming Zaebos is on the loose in Mexico. Everything points toward Carlos being his host during the Spanish Conquest. We’ll take those two facts and expand our objectives from that point.” She frowned. “Are you comfortable with that?” Her voice was one of strong doubts. “No, I’m not comfortable with it. But at the moment it’s what we got in hand.”

* * *

Minutes ed while Bruce was preoccupied with his driving duties. Lorelei analyzed what little they knew. This narrow street cutting through the base wasn’t as crowded as the ones around the central core. She ed the radio’s weather forecast as been cool with no clouds. That wasn’t the case now. Black clouds were gathering with a few lightning streaks slashing through the overcast. Suddenly Lorelei screamed and grabbed Bruce’s shoulder. “Watch out!” Bruce immediately responded by slamming on the brakes causing the large car to fishtail on the street. No thunderous collision shook the quiet neighborhood. But there was a soft thump against the windshield. Luckily, there were no other cars or they would have plowed into the oncoming traffic. Bruce jumped from the car to see what he had hit. Lorelei followed and stood at his side staring at their victim lying on the pavement. Looking around Lorelei saw nobody rushing out to investigate. About that time Lorelei’s interest was jolted when a young excited kid rode up, jumped from his bike and let it fall as he ran over. “Hey, mister, did you see that?” He made sweeping motions with his hand suggesting dive bombing. “That was the craziest thing I ever saw. The birds were racing straight at your car, mister. Birds don’t do that…they fly away from cars.” The teen blushing with excitement kept stomping his bare feet. Bruce suspiciously looked at the youngster. “Birds did you say birds. I only saw one and it’s lying on the street.” “Yeah, mister, but that other one was smarter and didn’t slam into your car.” The short, freckled-faced kid made another sweeping gesture with his hand. “It took off in that direction. But that was crazy. The blackbird made a circle before perching on that tree across the street. It flew away after you jumped from the car.”

When Bruce scowled at the kid he eagerly said. “I’m not crazy, mister. Wait until I tell my friends about this. They ain’t gonna believe me ... that’s a fact.” After that he grabbed his bike and raced away to tell his friends. He gave the colonel a loose salute while vigorously pedaling down the near deserted street laughing and waving his free hand. After bewilderedly watching the kid disappear down the winding street Lorelei sucked in her breath. “Do you think this was an accident?” She never got a reply. Bruce carefully picked up the dead bird and laid it on the sidewalk. Before getting back into the black car the Theta agent suspiciously looked around. The second bird was nowhere in sight and that satisfied him. This time Lorelei scooted closer to her lover and placed an arm around his shoulders. As the Packard roared into life, she debated what would have happened if the enger window was opened and that bird flown in. She knew without a doubt her face would have been smashed. Shivering she squeezed his shoulder. They hadn’t got into the covert and already Lorelei was wishing they were going home. For a few moments that thought frightened her. They had no place to call home.

* * *

They were hardly out of sight when the freckled-face kid pedaled back to the accident scene. With a smirk curling his mouth he looked in the direction they had driven. As hot sunlight beat down on his shirtless body it released a terrible odor that soon drifted away. It was a rancid smell one expected from decaying flesh. But it wasn’t present when talking with Bruce. When two older people came walking he gave them a threatening glance that sent them hurrying down the street. A deep thoughtful expression crossed his boyish features. Walking back to the dead bird he leaned over and carefully picked it up. Then his hand briefly swept

over the bloody form while muttering some strange words. Then he gently released the blackbird in the air. Instead of falling that rejuvenated bird squawked and winged away. The smiling boy walked his bike into some nearby bushes. Right after that there was a loud fluttering of wings as a large blackbird flew away.

Chapter Twelve

Knowing their time was running out Bruce used the mobile phone and called Betty for the warehouse’s address. Minutes later they parked in front of a small wooden building supposedly not in use. Before leaving the car Bruce momentarily studied the rusted door that was locked with a heavy chain. Though still shaken by the blackbird incident Lorelei briefly scrutinized the surroundings. While wearing the SS uniform she had been through some hairy situations in Europe. But for some reason that blackbird matter really spooked her. She again looked around. There were plenty of vehicles parked in the general areas though few people were seen. Across the street was the base motor pool where there was steady traffic coming and going. But she saw nothing suggesting a threat. After leaving the Packard Bruce was immediately confronted by two armed marines. For a moment Bruce silently noted their firmness towards duty. Considering what laid behind the metal door their alertness was appreciated. The lanky black sergeant silently appraised the colonel’s polished shoes, pressed uniform and marine haircut. He mentally cursed what he didn’t need was a spitand-polish colonel snooping around. It was easy to see this marine officer was gung-ho. The sergeant snapped off a smart salute after viewing Bruce’s wallet ID. Both marines on guard duty uncomfortably eyed Lorelei stepping from the Packard. These men already nervous about guarding the building’s contents didn’t want any trouble. The sergeant suspected trouble was what they were going to get. After putting the wallet in his pocket Bruce thoughtfully observed their tensions. “I’m Colonel Sherman and that’s Major Ramcke. We’re with naval intelligence.” The two soldiers again snapping to attention didn’t step away from the locked door. “I’m here to examine the body.” The sergeant silently groaned here was trouble with only twenty minutes left on their watch. “I’m sorry, sir, but nobody goes in without verbal approval from Major Chandler.”

The second marine kept a sharp eye on the female officer. There was something about her that made him uneasy. Though nervous about blocking these officers’ entrance, Chandler’s orders were firm about that gruesome thing beyond the locked door. Having serious reservations about refusing naval intelligence into the building, the sergeant ed Major Chandler’s curt orders about no onsite judgments. “Sergeant,” Bruce harshly snapped. “It so happens Major Chandler works for me and not the other way around! Now I want to see that corpse without further delay!” The marine with a bad case of facial acne unconsciously stepped back while tightly gripping his rifle. He personally didn’t like this situation and when the colonel glanced his way he swallowed hard. This hardnosed senior officer probably took no gruff from enlisted men so his ass was in dire straits. “I’m…” Bruce angrily waved his hands after seeing this was going nowhere. The two marines were caught between conflicting orders. “Do you have his phone number?” The sergeant uncomfortably nodded. “Make a call and tell the bastard to get his ass down here on the double! Or I’ll make certain his next station is guarding a pile of shit in Greenland!” The intimidated soldier rushed inside the building to make his call. Bruce leaning against his car’s front fender impatiently smoked a cigarette while waiting for Chandler. Lorelei wisely kept her silence. A few minutes later a gray sedan noisily braked and Chandler jumped out blushing with anger. He abruptly halted when seeing Bruce’s furious expression. “What the hell are you doing?” Bruce yelled. Standing several steps away, Lorelei noticed the two marines were silently observing this bitter verbal exchange with silent amusement. But those facial masks became solemn after sensing Lorelei was observing them. They hadn’t liked the insolent army officer right from the beginning. As for the colonel, well

he was marine, and that counted for something. For a few moments the sergeant could see his marine career going down the toilet. He swallowed hard when Lorelei looking his way said nothing. “Protecting evidence…” “Evidence for what,” Bruce growled. Behind them the marines expecting a change of orders quietly unlocked the steel door while still blocking its age. Unable to control his temper Bruce slammed his balled fist down on the car’s hood causing Lorelei to jerk back her head. “Unless you want to find your ass in the brig, marines, step aside!” Whirling upon Chandler he furiously snapped. “Chandler, you and I had better reach an understanding right now! I’m the officer-in-charge and not you! If you ever again pull another stupid stunt like this, I’ll kick your worthless ass all the way to Greenland! And I’ll make certain General Marshall countersigns the orders. Do we understand?” His neck muscles were budging while the face turned a deep red from anger. After the marines pushed open that heavy metal door, Bruce roughly pushed Chandler aside when rushing in. Lorelei kind of felt sorry for the startled major but that quickly ed. Anybody threatening her man immediately was on the top of her shit list. In the middle of this semi-darkened warehouse was a chained enclosure within which the body was placed for safekeeping. But those olive green crates substituting as a sarcophagus were bare! Bruce stopped so quickly Lorelei bumped into him. Both agents were angrily staring where their monster had previously laid. Gasping his fearful reaction, Chandler shook his head when Bruce contemptuously glared at him. Without been told the two marines fanned out searching for the gruesome remains of a monster. Neither Bruce nor Lorelei gave their chances much hope. “Would you like to explain this?” Bruce curtly demanded. “It was here…” Chandler stammered. “I’m certain it was! But as you can see it ain’t now!”

While Bruce shouted at the astonished army major, Lorelei hiking her skirt carefully stepped over the chains. She thoughtfully looked at those crates hurriedly pulled together to lay the monster on. Turning around she observed the only exit door was tightly chained so their hideous monster hadn’t escaped that way. Lorelei frowned while studying the small warehouse that obviously wasn’t used in a long time. During her casual search Lorelei saw a broken glass window close to the ceiling. She now knew how the monster got away. Behind her she heard Bruce angrily shouting at the mumbling major. With a displeased grunt she stooped alongside the boxes and gingerly picked up a black wing feather. This was too crazy the woman grunted under her breath. So much for their captured monster. So much for that ritual Bruce was supposed to celebrate over its bloody remains. She was still fingering the feather when Bruce ed her a few minutes later. Lorelei handed him the feather. “Our friend winged his way out.” Lorelei cynically charged pointing at the broken ceiling window. “That doesn’t surprise me.” “So what do we do now?” Bruce didn’t speak for a few minutes while the army officer nervously stood nearby. “Call Charlie and tell him we have a meeting four hours from now.” After she nodded and left the encirclement Bruce turned upon the army major. “Did you hear that? Four hours and be there or I’ll have your ass thrown in the brig for screwing up my operation.” The major was so bewildered he merely nodded. “You really don’t know what you’re getting into, Chandler. So take my advice and stop while you’re ahead.” Without giving the man an opportunity to argue Bruce stormed from the warehouse and waited alongside the Packard. A short time later Lorelei walked

from the warehouse and curiously looked around. Bruce hadn’t reined in his anger when the army major stomping from the warehouse jumped in his car and roared away. With no monster to guard Bruce dismissed the two marines. They wasted no time hurrying to their barracks. Though the sergeant intended to boast about a monster Bruce knew nobody was going to believe him. “Did you get hold of him?” “Yes, Charlie will be there.” she calmly said while climbing into the Packard. “Where was he at?” “Charlie and Betty are following up some phone leads.” Bruce nodded. “Well, at least somebody is making headway in this storm.” He exhaled then forced a grin after thinking how fast those enlisted men abandoned their post. But he didn’t blame them. “Was it really important we physically had that body?” “Not really. But we did learn one thing. After killing those things if we don’t amputate their functions we’ll have to fight them another day.” He paused when a devilish grin briefly touched his face. “Did you see how I quashed Chandler’s balls on this one.” “That you did,” she agreed with a faint smile. “The bastard deserves it. But forget about him until the meeting. Let’s go eat then drive back to Lampkins’ chapel. I want to interrogate Jose before the meeting. He might shed some light on this nightmare.” “Are you always hungry?” Lorelei teasingly asked. Bruce laughed. “What can I say? Work makes me hungry.” Lorelei touched his groin and laughed. “I know something that makes me hungry. If you truly love me you’d satisfy my hunger pains.” She made a pouting

face and giggled. “What’s got over you? Damn, you were never this sex crazy in Long Beach.” The question was jokingly asked. “Beats me,” she replied before giggling again. “Maybe my body’s clock is ticking faster these days.” For a moment Bruce looked at Lorelei then jokingly replied. “Well, something is ticking.” After leaving the empty warehouse without resolving her question, two birds quietly flying overhead watched the Packard drive away.

* * *

While leaving the naval base, other developments in Bruce’s savage war against Forcas were maturing in the shadows. One such event unfolding in Central Mexico would seriously affect their covert. In the ruins of a powerful Toltec state ostentatiously existing between the Tenth and Twelfth centuries, terrified peons heard whispering sounds. They believed these were coming from ancient gods resting under cold stones following the violent demise of their ancient culture. Theta was again warned by global ghost whisperers a major supernatural event was about to burst into reality. The superstitious peasants not revealing what they had heard fled to their poor abodes. Throughout Central Mexico where ancient cultures once flourished strange noises were heard by the faithful. When the sacred volcanoes Popocatepetl and Istaccihuatl overlooking the Valley of Mexico violently belched, this brought excited volcanologists with their primitive instruments. But they discovered nothing because the rumbling wasn’t caused by natural disturbances. Not knowing about these Aztec spiritual readings, Bruce and Lorelei enjoyed a quiet meal while examining their few clues. Bruce impatient to talk with Jose kept glancing at his wristwatch.

Chapter Thirteen

After eating the investigators drove back to the small hilltop chapel overlooking San Diego’s harbor. As the few faithful began arriving for Father Lampkins’ sixclock Mass, Bruce sat on the bench waiting for Jose. Feeling restless Lorelei walked among the many flowers enjoying their delightful scents. Though twice fighting demons she still found it difficult reining in her disbelief. Soon this Friday would be history and another terrible day would explosively bounce across a war weary populace. Stooping to pick a red flower she sniffed its fragrance with a thoughtful smile. If these Americans thought they had a rough time, they should be in where bombs destructively rained down every day. Once when looking over her shoulder, she regarded Bruce silently sitting on the stone bench staring at the harbor crowded with warships of all sizes and shapes. That was when Lorelei ed how long it had been since she last enjoyed the simple things of life. While waiting for Jose the war continued clawing across the globe. It was on this day the Luftwaffe conducted their first daylight raid on London with thirty FW 190s. The good news was only two bombs struck their targets. But it was humorous when four disoriented German pilots landed at the British W. Malling’s airfield outside of Kent, instead of their own. An air fleet of two hundred and forty British warplanes accidently dropped heavy bomb loads on a lunatic asylum near Dobrany, Czechoslovakia, instead of their designated target at Pilsen. While bombs destructively dropped on Berlin, a few trusted men on iral Canaris’ staff judiciously collected the information Lorelei needed. Bruce silently observed a heavy cruiser departing San Diego. There was no way he could know the warship would be sunk in combat. In the Pacific the final touches of a revengeful ops against the Japanese was being rechecked. Bruce found the gentle cool breezes comforting though accomplishing little in pacifying his troubled thoughts. He couldn’t discharge his uneasiness about the blackbird attack. The bird’s crashing into the windshield was no accident.

Strangely enough he felt that bird knew what it was doing. About that time Lorelei heard Bruce talking and turned about. A short, overweight Mexican in faded jeans and patched shirt was seriously conversing with Bruce. That must be Jose Aquilera? After ing the two men she faintly smiled when introduced to the older man with thinning silver hair and dark eyes that were friendly and trusting. Right after that Marie stepped from the chapel with her wooden tray and three glasses of tart lemonade. The colonel held his glass while Lorelei’s was left on the bench. Marie explained Father Lampkins was preparing for Mass and wouldn’t be able to them. After that she waddled away like a pregnant woman. Lorelei wondered if she was losing her sense of detection because she hadn’t heard the large woman’s heavy footsteps. “We were talking about Carlos.” Bruce explained. “Carlos Aguilera is mucho depravado.” Jose bitterly said. “We would be very grateful for anything you can tell us.” Bruce bargained. It was a moment before the old Mexican squatted on the grass and spoke in his broken English. “Carlos was borne 1485 in the southwestern Spanish province of Estremadura at a place called Medellin. Carlos’ father was an officer in the Spanish infantry. And you must not forget Carlos and Cortez were borne in the same village. When Cortez was given his commission to explore he took along his amigo. That was a poor choice because from their relationship came mucho problems for the infamous explorer.” During their discussion Jose frequently sorted through the facts assuring no discredit fell on his family name. Lorelei noticing this chose not to comment. More talking Mexicans were arriving either in rattling old pickups or walking to the chapel. These arrivals frequently distracted Jose’s attention. After noticing scattered patches of dark clouds Lorelei knew they weren’t there minutes ago. The day was rapidly drawing to a close above this Southern California city. It was easy noting this man carried troubled thoughts which she doubted would be shared with them. Lorelei quietly studied this soft spoken man with the long crooked nose a physical trait of the Aztec Indians. His dark weathered skin the color of worn

leather was earned from thirty years of hard labors in the sun. “What you know about the Tenochas?” Jose asked when they remained silent. “You could start off telling us about the Tenochas?” Jose coldly moaned. “I fear you know little about my people history calls Aztec.” He gently rubbed his beardless face with a rough callous hand. “Before you can comprender Carlos Aguilera you must comprender the Tenochas.” He didn’t bother explaining while stumbling to his feet. “This diabolic hombre history knows as Carlos Aguilera found his evil traceable to the demonio possessing his mind.” Cool breezes drifting through the gardens soothed his wrinkled skin. “First off you must comprender it was from Spanish writings the name Aztec came. Our myths boast we come from a mysterious kingdom known as Aztlan. Thus the Spanish called us Aztecs and that name stuck fast in their books. We were a loose knitted tribe wandering about seeking a place to call our own. For many years my people were driven away by those people already settling the rich lands. But such troubles tend to weld together a demoralized people. And the battling made my people strong minded and powerful with the spear.” He noticed the chapel door was softly closing thus keeping him out while Father Lampkins celebrated Mass. “When did your people come to Mexico?” Bruce asked after realizing occasional urgings were necessary since the man’s mind tended to wander. “It’s told in the year of Our Lord 1168 they entered an area known as Lakes of Anahuac in the northwest’s rugged coldness. This is two miles from Lake Texcoco. They marched carrying their god’s image before their weary ranks into that chosen new homeland. But over the following years they savagely fought for their right to remain there.” He stopped talking for few moments. “In the Tenochas’ reckoning of time this was One-Acatl 2-Reed. But within two hundred years they would be the undisputed masters of all Mexico.” There was a faint pride sparkling in his weary eyes. “When did the Spanish come?” Bruce asked.

“According to your historical ing that was 8th day of November in the year of Our Lord 1519.” “And in a few centuries your people introduced an amazing culture.” Jose grinned. “You must recognize that my people were very supersticion. Many of these wonders the Spanish looked upon with mucho envy came from other cultures my people inherited.” “And did your human sacrifices come from other cultures?” Lorelei asked. Jose frowned. “No, that came from the Aztec god Huitzilopochtli. This was good because that faith kept my people going until they found a homeland. Huitzilopochtli commanded my people to ‘wander the lands, send pioneers ahead, have them plant maize, when the harvest was ready, move up to it, keep him always among our people and feed on human hearts torn from warm bodies.’ And my people learned well.” Jose stopped talking and curiously looked about the lush flower garden. “But that was a time long ago.” “What about Carlos?” Lorelei already noted his bitterness when talking about the man. “Family records write he was a gentle man planning to enter the priesthood after returning from the New World. While in Mexico he married a lovely Aztec woman who bore him four sons. It was from that union I carry his name.” “Why did he change so much? From being a gentle man to a ruthless murderer needs explaining?” “Nobody is certain why he changed. It’s noted in Cortez’s diary Lieutenant Aquilera commanded a patrol sent to quash Texcotzingo’s small rebellion among the poor farmers. Both Cortez and Carlos underestimated the people’s wrath when their gods were scorned.” After Marie waddled from the priest’s residence with her heavy wooden tray Jose politely waited until she served refreshments then quietly left. Jose didn’t understand her iring gaze at the smiling marine colonel. “It’s recorded when arriving in what today is Molino De Flores National Park,

they were attacked by mobs of angry macehuallians.” Seeing her unspoken confusion with the name he faintly grinned. “In the Tenochas society a macehuallian was their farmer warrior. They were the foundation of our culture. Each male at an early age was trained to be a warrior then sent home with his weapons. It was something like your American National Guard.” He sipped Marie’s lemonade trying hard not to grimace from its bitterness. “Lieutenant Aguilera’s orders were to capture the troublesome rebels and kill their chiefs. When five days ed and they didn’t return, Cortez sent a larger force retracing their steps.” When Jose didn’t speak but stared at the grass with a troubled expression Bruce asked. “And what did they find?” “The patrol had been massacred with hearts torn from their still warm bodies.” Lorelei sourly asked. “Just like the Aztecs?” Jose was offended by her curt remark. “Yes, just like the Aztecs. The wounded lieutenant was tied spread eagled against a rock and forced to watch his men die in this horrible manner. Then the macehuallians set upon the helpless officer and tortured him. Their mistake was leaving Carlos barely alive. The rescuing patrol took the near insane man to Cortez’s house where he was slowly nursed back to health. But it was mucho time before he was well enough to leave his bed.” The landscaper rubbed his chin with the frosty glass. “There are legends among my people claiming Carlos was miraculously healed. Dairies written by his men claim he became very evil seeking revenge for his horrible torturing.” Bruce thoughtfully predicted. “Torture has a tendency to change people.” “That is true. From that day until his death Carlos devilishly punished the natives with reckless brutality. He raped young Aztec women with no regard for their society standing.” His face was wretched when mentally reliving those crimes. “But it was the priesthood who felt the worst blunt of his anger.” “What did Cortez do about his friend?”

“At first, he tried excusing Carlos’ evil behavior because of his torturing. But soon it became apparent his savageness was stirring up anger among the people.” Jose studied the quiet colonel with a piercing interest. “After a speedy trial Carlos was sentenced to death. But before the Spaniards carried out his sentencing the priesthood struck one night.” Suddenly excusing himself the old Mexican left the surprised agents. Holy Mass was finished and Jose wanted confession. Bruce sat for a few minutes digesting what Jose had selectively said. The salty breeze felt good on his face. After standing with a soft moan Bruce and Lorelei walked to the Packard with their own thoughts about Jose’s issions. Finding their car blocked by parked pickup trucks, Bruce patiently leaning against the front fender crossed his arms. The icy blue eyes suspiciously reflected his uneasiness that danger was stalking these grounds. A few Mexicans wandering from the chapel climbed into their battered trucks and with smoking exhausts rattled away. But they were still blocked in. “Did you notice how Jose skirted some questions and others were carefully answered. Though agreeing to talk with us the old man was cautious with what was said.” His companion nodded her agreement. “When coming up here I saw a public library along the way. On our way back we should stop by and look up a few things.” “You doubt Carlos was Zaebos?” “Not a doubt. After such a miraculous recovery his evil personality fits what often happens after another spirit enters the body. I don’t think there can be any doubt about Zaebos’ transmigrating into Carlos.” Bruce briefly debated what he had heard from Jose. “From what I know about that period it was certainly ripe for such transmigrations. Violence was a daily feature among those natives even before the Spanish came with their own brand of savageness.” “How are you feeling now?” Bruce asked while a couple climbed into their battered old Ford pickup and chugged away. He smiled after climbing in the car and holding her hand. “I’m concerned about you, honey. You’re my whole life and I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m fine.” she mumbled while gently stroking his hand. “Why do you ask?” “I was just checking. Since our run in with that bird you have been pretty shook up.” Lorelei merely shrugged and looked away. He knew not to press the subject. More than once Bruce slowed because of traffic gridlocks. San Diego’s streets weren’t designed for such heavy usage after numerous wartime industries moved into the region. But like everything else changes were evolving very quickly. Defense industries crowding the city provided good wages with steady work hours. But such population explosions creates crime and San Diego was rapidly experiencing prosperity’s dark side. When they were held up for several minutes, Lorelei chuckled and he asked why. “Did you see Chandler’s face after seeing the monster was gone?” “No, not at first.” “I thought he was going to piss in his shorts. The asshole didn’t know what to say. I bet if we weren’t there the clown would have blamed those guards?” “Didn’t I tell you that he was a dipstick?” “Yes, you did.” “And did you believe me?” “No.” Bruce laughed. “Now do you?” “I definitely do now.” When ing a War Bonds rally Lorelei studied the crowds buying treasury notes that was financing the war. An unfamiliar actress was spearheading that drive. After blinking her eyes the German shifted her attention to something else. But her mind refused to entertain suspicious thoughts about that bird crashing into the car. If she thought that was mind boggling then the single bird flying one hundred

feet above the Packard would have been frightening.

Chapter Fourteen

By the time they reached the San Diego Library it was dusk. After the sun went down many patrons came to quietly read or study. After asking directions from a research librarian, the two were soon sitting with a stack of books detailing the Spanish Conquest. Lorelei became deeply involved with a thick volume on the conquest written by a historian living two hundred years after the event. Bruce rapidly scanned the colorfully written by a conquistador during Cortez’s plundering of Mexico. It didn’t surprise him the ing was Spanish slanted. She held up a book. “This clarifies the Aztecs looked upon war and religion as one of the same.” Lorelei thoughtfully whispered. When Bruce looked up she continued reading. “It states blood was the drink of their gods and sun worship was more than an essential part of their everyday lives. But Mictla-tecuhtli as their lord of the dead interests me.” She stopped reading and looked up. “Mictla-tecuhtli as god of the north was granted the color black. In the Aztec culture, geography didn’t play a role in their world. Colors did. Each direction was given a color.” She hurriedly glanced at the page. “East was red; south was blue and evil; west was white and thought to hold powers of goodness; north was black and the color of gloom. It was the northern color that Mictla-tecuhtli ruled.” Stopping her reading the German pensively looked about the library. “Did you know his symbol was the blackbird?” After Bruce shook his head Lorelei shrugged. “Back then blackbirds were thought to be the winged fowl of death.” “Interesting,” Bruce indifferently agreed. She grinned. “Oh, but you haven’t heard the best part. Once a mortal’s soul was condemned by Mictla-tecuhtli his spirit stayed among the walking dead.” “Zaebos?” Lorelei nodded. “Sounds like it. This chapter details how Mictla-tecuhtli dates

far back into Sumer’s mythology. There he was a local god.” Hosting a troubled expression she paused. “He also presided over death and evil.” “So what you’re saying is Zaebos and this Mictla-tecuhtli are buddies?” “Either friends or rivals. Here is a footnote stating this particular god was known by more than forty names associated with demonography. This busy fellow really gets interesting. Take a look at this chart.” While Bruce glanced at the genealogy diagram she kept whispering. “As you can see all names are generated from the name Zaebos. Yet, if I read this right they were two different gods.” The woman briefly stopped reading and pensively looked around their table. She was curious if anybody was listening but there weren’t any nosy people. “Down through history the blackbird was identified as the winged fowl of death?” The colonel frowned. “Time doesn’t change.” After glancing at his watch Bruce solemnly said. “Got to go if we’re to get back in time.” Once outside he paused and looked at his woman. “Obviously there’s no doubt we’ll be challenging Zaebos after crossing into Mexico. There Zaebos is on his own turf. If I read the myths right Zaebos can draw his strength from the Aztec lord of the dead.” “Any idea how we go into this one?” “Not a clue. I guess the first thing we need to do is fully understand what brought us to this point?” “And how do we do that?” “Maybe our meeting will answer a few questions.” While walking to the car Bruce suspiciously looked around. When Lorelei asked what was wrong he said. “I have this feeling we’re being watched.” “But by whom?” She was carefully turning around searching the murkiness. “I don’t see anything.” “I dunno. Maybe it’s just my imagination working overtime.”

She wasn’t convinced it was his imagination. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked after deciding if there was a threat it was invisible. “No, it would take too long. There were over thirty volumes on the Spanish Conquest. But I did learn that era was one of bloodletting. Aztec deities were dangerously jealous of anybody trampling their turfs.” “Then why aren’t they contesting Zaebos?” she asked. “He’s a foreigner amidst their ranks.” “Right now he’s just one piece of the puzzle. I’m hoping our meeting with Chandler will tell us a lot.” Once inside the luxury automobile Lorelei asked. “I wonder what Chandler’s blunder is going to cost us in the long run?” “There’s no telling.” “So what are you going to do about him?” “Well, for one thing we aren’t fully sharing our information with G-2. But because we need access to what they know, Delta 301 will string them along the best we can.” Bruce looked at his partner and skeptically suggested. “Doesn’t this remind you of the Centaur Oracles ops? Chandler is very much like Detective Knollman of the Santa Ana Police.” “He does at that. But I still think you’re making a bad mistake by cooperating with G-2.” Only after the Packard left the parking lot did four blackbirds perching in the trees quietly wing into the air. This time they didn’t pace the car.

Chapter Fifteen

Because Delta 301’s offices were too small, the meeting was assigned to a larger room four doors down from the naval intelligence suite of offices. Across the naval base, a new multi-storied building entering its final stage of construction would house the Navy’s regional intelligence system. But that wouldn’t be ready for another four months. Because of the war effort, every building on the base was straining to accommodate new expanding services. The so called conference chamber was painted a depressing gray. Other than a metal table that groaned each time pressure was applied and six squeaking chairs there was no furniture. When Bruce and Lorelei entered, Charlie and Billy were standing at the one dirty glass window and conversing in near whispers. The two sulking army types sat at the table angry for their intentional isolation. “Billy and Charlie.” Bruce warmly greeted while ignoring Major Chandler and his smartly dressed sergeant. At first glance it appeared these soldiers came from a general’s inspection. Their sharply creased uniforms with polished shoes d their arrogance. “Well, let’s get cracking time is wasting.” Sitting at the table he waited until Lorelei pulled up a chair across from the army types. The master sergeant was jittery every time Lorelei looked his way. With so many construction sites it was hard to secure unclaimed furniture. Everywhere a person looked it was obvious America wasn’t ready for this global war. But each day she was struggling to correct that catastrophic shortcoming. Glancing over at Charlie he asked. “How’s everything in Long Beach?” “Fine and dandy. Sandy sends her best. She has that office running in high gear after that bastard was transferred.” He was referring to Long Beach Naval Base’s intelligence offices. Operating from there they defeated the Centaur Oracles. It seemed like months ago but actually it was only a few weeks. Charlie smiled. “You were right. Sandy’s a great office . Runs the

facility like a crafty chief petty officer.” Bruce grinned. “I figured she would kick ass if need be.” After that he fingered a single paper Betty had brought in. Couple times he suspiciously looked at the uncomfortable army major. The marine colonel after leaning back in his squeaking chair thoughtfully studied those seated around the table. The cold tension between his staff and G-2 went undisguised. “All right, first let’s get down to the basics. A lot has happened with nothing falling in place and that ain’t good.” He paused. “With that said let’s get down to business. The reason for this meeting is to concentrate our efforts. But before we do that I need something clarified.” Holding up a sheet of paper he skeptically said. “This brief concerns one of our bombers that was shot down in Mexico.” His icy blue eyes turned on the army officer. “Major Chandler, why was that bomber flying over Mexican air space?” Lorelei saw Chandler’s surprised expression though he tried covering it up. “The United States and Mexico signed a military assistance pact allowing reconnaissance flights over their country.” “Yes, we do and it’s shaky as Hell. But I hope you know flying reconnaissance flights over a friendly ally had better be justifiably? If not your ass will be hung out to dry.” For a moment Bruce studied the major’s uneasiness. “But out of curiosity, what aircraft were you using?” “It was a B-24 but I don’t know why that should matter?” “What was its mission?” When the major didn’t respond Bruce harshly snapped. “When I ask questions, Major Chandler, I expect answers.” “Their flight was classified.” Chandler said after a short cold silence. Bruce stared at him for a moment before reaching for the telephone. While the others watched he angrily dialed a number then impatiently waited for his party to answer. “This is Colonel Sherman of Delta 301, San Diego. I need information on an Army Air Corps flight originating from,” Holding his hand

over the mouthpiece Bruce impatiently demanded. “Where was the plane based?” Chandler remained silent causing Lorelei and Charlie to curiously exchange glances. Following a deep disgusted groan Bruce took his hand from the mouth piece. “It was a B-24 originating from a regional army base and flying a reconnaissance mission over Mexico.” When his face tightened Lorelei knew there was trouble. “When?” Bruce stared at Chandler with a gaze that was frightening. “Were there rescue efforts? No. And why not? They did. No, I’ll handle it. Goodbye.” Lorelei divided her attention between Bruce and the major. Without warning the colonel slammed down the receiver while scowling at the uncomfortable major. “That flight was reported missing two weeks ago.” Bruce angrily said. “Why is this aircraft still uned for? A report filed by the Mexican Air Force, stated G-2 denied rescue efforts on the day the plane went down?” When Chandler remained silent Bruce jerked up the phone while scowling at the uncomfortable major. “Who the Hell were you working for, major? This isn’t a private war. So let’s get one thing straight right now! When I want answers…I want answers!” The anger was such his neck muscles were bulging. “Washington classified our mission top secret.” Chandler stammered. Before Bruce could further his angry barrage the phone rung. After identifying himself Bruce mostly listened while Yuma Operations detailed what was known about the plane. With a slow thoughtful nod Bruce replacing the phone kept sternly regarding the nervous major. “Your photographic reconnaissance flight flew out of Yuma two weeks ago on a flyover of the Sierra Madre Mountains.” Ignoring the stunned army officer Bruce studied an unfolded Mexican map that Betty brought in. “The B-24 reportedly crashed on Cerro Chorreras. According to this map that’s a ten thousand foot high plateau. Cause of crash is listed as unknown.”

Bruce again studied the military map. “That aircraft carried a crew of five.” He angrily snapped. “Why didn’t you go in after them?” He picked up the Mexican report. “Two weeks ago the Mexicans would have assisted.” “Such attempts would have generated interest that we couldn’t afford.” “What if there were survivors?” the colonel suspiciously said. “You abandoned those men. Why? What do you expect to find up there? And furthermore, how does that mountain connect with your invasion theory?” “It was a routine flight.” Chandler mumbled while battling his uneasiness how that colonel overrode his security layering. “That’s a bunch of bullshit, major, and you know it. Routine flights don’t fly black courses nor do they bring an army intelligence team down from Washington to review its photographic coverage.” Chandler was now nervous. After telephoning his uncle, the senator warned his problem nephew to stand down then disconnected the call. This was on his mind when answering. “I made the decision not authorizing a rescue operation. That would have alerted the Germans of our interest.” For a few moments Bruce stared at the nervous major. “And why are you so desperate to connect the mountains to Operation Einspritzung?” It was apparent the major was wrestling with his betraying the G-2 covert. “We have reliable intelligence that Medina made four trips up the mountain.” “And what do you know about those trips?” Major Chandler uneasily shifted on his chair. “We never knew what he was transporting up the mountain. Secrecy shrouded his movements. Those trips were made by train pulling canvas-covered flat cars. Whatever was under the canvas justified carrying armed men as security.” “Did your agency confirm Medina’s activity?” “Before we could Medina dropped off our radar.”

There dropped a cold silence in the room. “Your people made a lot of blunders. I swear to God your mistakes was what a ten year old would do.” Bruce critically replied. “But your biggest mistake was overlapping our covert.” He gestured at Major Ramcke. “She is Delta 301’s German specialist. Please produce copies of those messages for her to examine.” The major didn’t speak for a few moments while weighing his options. He wasn’t as cocky as during their previous meeting. The fact his uncle backed down on facing Colonel Sherman was bothering him. Seeing no other option, he snapped open the briefcase’s lock and reluctantly pulled out several sheets. “On March 31st, Army G-2 at Yuma intercepted a message from Berlin to a small village across the border from San Diego. The originators were using a simple code so we lost no time deciphering it.” While talking Chandler curiously observed Lorelei indifferently scanning the messages. “The unnamed agent was instructed to relay its contents to a field operative named Ignacio Medina in Tijuana. It was easy tagging Medina since he was usually high profile.” “After you were informed the plane had crashed.” Bruce’s words were bitterly spoken. “What actions did G-2 take?” “I notified Colonel Castner and he agreed to investigate the crash site.” “And when did you discuss this with him?” “Right after we learned the bomber had crashed.” “That would be two weeks ago, right?” “Yes.” “What was the colonel’s reaction to this?” “I don’t have a report on what he found.” “So what I’m understanding is neither Yuma Air Base or G-2 investigated the crash? But what’s disgusting is there are several crewmen still uned for.” When the major started to object Bruce cynically waved him down. “Continue with the texts.”

There was an increasing nervousness on his words. “The first interception contained instructions from Berlin. Medina was to meet a special team arriving from Berlin. Their objective was to cause political embarrassment in the the United States.” At this point Lorelei speculated. “At that time did Washington know Medina was compromised?” “No.” After the former SS agent thoughtfully scanned the short paragraphs she looked up. “Major Chandler, you were set up by Reichssicherheitshauptamt or RSHA as you call it. RSHA is primarily concerned with German internal security. But they do have a division that’s responsible for international coverts. It’s headed by SS Oberfuhrer Kaus Wigram, a very capable spymaster.” Lorelei was silent for a few moments. “It’s obvious you’re inexperienced to deal with the SS. In the first place, SS doesn’t use simple codes when communicating with their field agents. That should have been your first red flag.” The colonel interrupted. “What about the message? Is it RSHA?” “In the past I have read his messages and this one has his touches.” Lorelei confirmed after handing the paper to Bruce. “But it’s for certain that Himmler compromised the army’s project.” Chandler was shocked. “How do you know all of this?” he contemptuously asked. “I already told you Major Ramcke is our German expert.” Bruce informed then ignoring the officer asked Lorelei. “What do you think?” “There’s no doubt Wigram’s people compromised their operation. But I’m puzzled why they used a simple code. General Wigram’s style usually has few lockouts.” Her attention was abruptly interrupted when staring at the Mexican map. “It’s possible… no it’s for certain Wigram wanted the army to know RSHA was treacherously penetrating G-2’s corridors.” Lorelei studied the worried major for a few moments. “How well do you know the colonel?”

The major was confused. “What do you mean?” “My question was simple. Did you know the Mexican colonel was a German agent?” When the army major hesitated Bruce curtly ordered. “Please answer her question.” The major slowly shook his head. “I didn’t know Colonel Castner was a German agent.” he uneasily stammered. “When I earlier talked with you,” Bruce sharply said. “You indicated Colonel Castner was coming to San Diego. What happened to that?” “He cancelled our meeting. Said he had other pressing matters needing immediate attention.” Bruce sarcastically replied. “I’m sure he did. Now let’s untangle my confusion about this Medina fellow. When was your first ?” “For the last six months Ignacio Medina supplied our San Diego office with information about a German spy cell operating from Tijuana.” This declaration surprised the colonel. “Were you able to shut down the cell?” “Not yet, but his information was promising. G-2 is confident in a matter of months we’ll close down the cell.” Bruce held back his anger. “Major Chandler, don’t you know the FBI is responsible for investigating enemy espionage? I’m certain if Director Hoover learned about your activities there would be some burning butts before the day ended. I’m told Hoover is real touchy about people treading on his turf.” For couple of minutes the colonel studied the disturbed army major. “But let’s talk about that crashed bomber again. What’s on those cameras you desperately want to reclaim?” When it became obvious Chandler wasn’t answering Bruce looked at Lorelei and asked. “Your opinion?”

“There are too many loose ends to make an accurate evaluation. But it’s obvious the army’s operation has been compromised. And I strongly believe the SS wanted G-2 to break through their security shields. As for Colonel Castner, that was a complete breakdown on the army’s part. Major Chandler, you should have profiled the Mexican colonel before he waded into your covert. Then you would have discovered his treachery.” She arrogantly shook her head. “I have to say very sloppy work on your part.” Again Major Chandler remained silent. Bruce thought over the situation. The army’s operation was threatening Operation Demasquer and that’s unacceptable. Their best option was shutting down the G-2 mission but quickly refused such an option. They were curious what Chandler had stumbled across. But everybody at the table remained silent while Bruce studied the unfolded Mexican map. The maturing heavy tension inside that room worried Lorelei. His thoughts kept focusing on Father Lampkins’ remark about Zaebos disliking populated areas. If that was so then those rugged mountains would suit the demon. Bruce thought over what little they knew then cynically nodded. “Very well, this is what we’ll do for now. Major, it’s pretty obvious the Germans have blown holes in your ops. Therefore, G-2 will continue investigating the possible spy cell on our border.” Chandler harshly interrupted. “What about the crash site?” “Delta 301 will investigate that.” When nobody spoke he briefly glanced at those around the table. “Do I make myself clear?” After they nodded he said. “Very well, we shall meet again tomorrow morning.” “I cannot attend.” Chandler harshly replied. “Why?” the colonel indifferently asked without looking his way. “I have orders directing my departure to the crash site.” Refolding the map Bruce chose silence for a few moments. “I thought that I

made it clear the crash site will be investigated by Delta 301 and not G-2. Technically, you have no authority conducting coverts outside our borders. Furthermore, my office manager is typing up a lengthy report of your activities for General Marshall’s immediate attention.” Bruce’s facial expression became unfriendly. “I’m sure a copy will be sent to Director Hoover.” “But I have my orders.” Chandler growled while grabbing his service hat. For a few moments Bruce stared at the defiant major. “Those orders have been countermanded. You’re not visiting the crash site for any reason whatsoever.” His voice became sharp. “Do I make myself clear on that?” The Theta agent suspiciously watched Chandler and his sergeant depart after slamming the door. “That boy sure has a problem listening,” he bitterly growled. “Are you going to let him get away with that?” Lorelei angrily demanded. “For the time being.” Billy spoke in an unfriendly tone. “Before you arrived, I learned the Chandler family comes from old money back East and have been prominent in military matters since 1776. The damned fool has given the Army several embarrassing legal issues and they would love to give him the boot. But here is his crutch. His uncle is Senator Chandler on the powerful military committee. Until today he ran interference whenever his nephew got into trouble, which was quite often. After Betty made a call to FDR the senator was called on the carpet and that he didn’t like.” When Bruce failed to further the discussion Billy challenged. “What about the monster? You didn’t bring it up for debate.” “There was no need to. Lorelei found tail feathers alongside the crates. The thing transmigrating into a blackbird flew through a broken ceiling window. He’s history.” Bruce groaned after a short pause. “So forget about the monster. We have other matters needing our immediate attention. Billy, work with Betty on putting together an operational package for our entering Mexico.” Then looking Charlie’s way Bruce said. “I need you to do some legwork. Check

on that bomber’s activities. The plane was assigned to the 37th Air Photo Reconnaissance Group stationed on the Yuma Air Base.” He pensively shook his head. “G-2 was looking for something on the Sierra Madre Mountains. The question is what were they looking for?” “Is that all?” Charlie asked while getting to his feet with a groan. After Bruce nodded he left the room. Lorelei thoughtfully studied Bruce’s wretched expression for several minutes while he talked with Billy. These last few months were bizarre without understanding what was unraveling. Everything is coming to roost. The team agreed the mountain met Zaebos’ requirements. It also met the isolation that the SS needed. Bruce turned his attention to her. “I think we got ourselves a mess of hornets this time?” “It won’t be the first time.” Lorelei imperviously suggested. “No, and probably won’t be the last neither.” Bruce thoughtfully complained. “Seems like when we finish one covert there’s another waiting in the shadows.” Lorelei remained quiet for several moments. “Well, this time we don’t run around searching for the bad guys’ hideaway. We know where they are.” She paused while a troubled expression crossed her face. “The problem is getting there.”

Chapter Sixteen

After the meeting’s participants scattered, Bruce and Lorelei returned to Delta 301’s offices. They found Betty at her desk busy typing a report. Looking up for a moment she smiled then returned to her istrative duties. Bruce paused while Lorelei poured two cups of coffee at the small table reserved for brewing the beverage. Lorelei drank lot of coffee since coming to America, but still preferred a strong dark beer or iced tea unsweetened. After handing the colonel a cup she said. “I don’t understand why you didn’t smash that man’s balls. He’s deliberately disobeying you.” After shrugging the woman confidently added. “You could have forced it out of him?” “No, that wouldn’t have worked. The fool won’t reveal anything worthwhile. With his career in shambles Chandler only has tunnel vision. In his twisted mind if he successfully terminated this matter he’ll be back in the army’s graces. That’s what he thinks. But General Marshall outright said that wasn’t happening. If the Army’s chief-of-staff knows about Chandler he must be a royal screw up.” When they entered his office Betty grabbed her steno pad and followed. “I have a full profile on the mountain range where the bomber allegedly went down.” “Very good.” In the short time Bruce had been with the office he had learned one thing. When Betty strongly recommended something of a suspicious nature, her mouth tightened like a small child pouting. She was doing that now and Bruce agreed without hesitation. “So when do we leave?” Lorelei impatiently asked. “I was thinking about tomorrow morning.” Bruce sat behind his desk while nursing the coffee. “Whatever Chandler’s covert is all about its key is on that mountain.” Betty nodded agreement then asked. “How are you going to handle this? Black

ops or high profile?” The colonel didn’t hesitate. “Make it high profile. I don’t want surprise visits from their intelligence people. What about your friends? Have they come up with more information on Zaebos?” “Not yet. We’re finding out Zaebos is very evasive.” “Yeah, that he seems to be. What about information on Carlos Aguilera?” “Officially, there’s not much. How about your meeting with Jose Aguilera?” “I would like more background information so we’re going back to the chapel. Jose seems to be our best source for data on Carlos. Since we know Carlos was the host body for Zaebos the more we know about the lieutenant the better off we’ll be.” The colonel was silent for a few moments. “From what I have deducted so far Carlos will be our primary link in getting to Zaebos.” Bruce looked at Betty sitting with note pad ready. “What do you think?” “Without doubt he’s our corridor to Zaebos.” she indifferently replied while writing a reminder. Bruce dubiously nodded. “We can assume Carlos is historically our main person of interest. Now back to our current involvements. See what you can dig up on Ignacio Medina.” “We have considerable information on the Mexican. G-2, naval intelligence and our files provided a thorough background on him.” Bruce nodded. “Before disappearing Medina was purchasing vast amounts of supplies. We need to know what he was buying and where he was taking them.”

* * *

While they drove from the naval base an event occurring in Mexico’s western seaport of Mazatlan would have a direct bearing on their clandestine operation.

A rusted merchant named PEARL OF LISBON was tied alongside the busy dock. Little attention was given the old double stacker built in the early twenties for swift runs across the Atlantic Ocean. Without interruption from man or weather the seaport angrily growled like a bunch of fighting animals. Numerous forklifts and heavy duty trucks unloaded and loaded cargoes. After darkness fell harsh lighting illuminated its confusion of ships and workers. In the Spanish language Mazatlan meant ‘place of the deer’. As would be expected the seaport attracted spies from every power on the battling globe. One Mexican laborer unloading LISBON’s secondary cargo of South American canned fruit became suspicious of six heavy crates being hoisted over the sides by cranes. He never would have paid attention if there weren’t Mexican soldiers scattered along the dock. They were guarding four rail cars on which the crates were secured. A causal look about that dock warned the agent something sinister was underway. It was impossible to get closer to the ship but he had seen enough to report the matter to his superiors. Sometime later that train pulling four flatcars protected by armed soldiers chugged from the port and disappeared into the night.

Chapter Seventeen

While expressing sharp disapproval of Major Chandler’s lack of obedience, Bruce drove into the hills above San Diego. Lorelei listened with a keen ear and spoke little knowing he needed time to air out his doubts. After rolling down the car’s window she enjoyed the cool air caressing her face. Though there were faint industrial scents in the evening it was for the most part erased by salty air. While the road lazily curved around the hills it was possible to look down on the harbor where warships were either coming or leaving the vital port. Though a savage war was being fought thousands of miles away it was impossible to black out the city. Too many construction sites were working around the clock. On this retreating Friday night, it was a beautiful sight to this woman having witnessed full blackouts in her own battered native land. Then a terrible emotion briefly crossed her mind. She kept seeing that blackbird dive bombing the Packard. Lorelei was puzzled why this minor incident was bothering her so much. During her uniformed time in the SS she fought in some savage situations where her courage was never questioned. Yet, a simple matter like that blackbird slamming the car was causing too many uneasy moments. She turned on the radio hoping to find Glenn Miller’s swing music. His music often soothed her troubled emotions but this time it miserably failed. There were several cars in the chapel’s lot when Bruce parked the Packard. For several moments Bruce sat with hands on the steering wheel. Lorelei quietly waited after glancing at his hesitation in leaving the auto. Bruce was staring at the night’s illumination created by a bright overhead moon. Nothing was more precious in this world than Lorelei. For a few moments Bruce studied her uniform. The forest green serge man-made jacket with straight, six gore skirt looked good on her. Beneath the jacket was a long sleeve khaki shirt with four-in-hand necktie. Green cap and brown shoes made the uniform. On her shoulders were green detachable major rank. Even in uniform Lorelei was seductive but in her emerald green eyes he found more than lust. She was everything he wanted out of life. Her dark past was the coin’s other side and this he would have to accept. More than once he nearly lost her in their

Romanian covert. Then the colonel snapped his attention back on their clandestine operation. “So what’s your thoughts on Operation Demasquer?” Bruce finally asked. “I don’t know. There’s something about this operation Theta isn’t warning us about.” she pensively replied. “Though I keep examining what we know none of it really snaps together. I’m certain there’s a stronger undercurrent we aren’t seeing and that’s scaring me.” “I agree with you. Chandler believes his ace in the cards are those film canisters aboard the crashed bomber. But neither G-2 or Chandler have a clue what’s on that mountain. And the sad thing is we don’t know neither.” “But I’m wagering my life on that mountain is the SS covert and Zaebos. What about the large crates on trains disappearing after leaving the seaport? What about Medina’s four trips up the mountain. Bruce, they’ll pointing that direction.” “All your theories sounds good, sweetie.” he skeptically agreed. Rounding the Packard he opened her door. After kissing her the door was closed and they walked to the chapel. They found Father Lampkins in the garden attending his flowers. When seeing their approach he summoned Marie. Couple minutes later she appeared with her wooden tray of lemonades. The old Mexican woman enviously eyed Bruce for a moment then hobbled away mumbling a prayer to the Virgin Mary. The colonel politely smiled his thanks for the tart drink. Cool breezes drifting through the hilltop region brought many fragrances. Their height muffled the naval port’s harsh grumbling throughout the hours. The Catholic priest welcomed this pause from his gardening. Ever since Bruce’s first visit he was unable to discard an uneasy emotion about their future. “So how was your discussion with Jose?” “It was very enlightening though I would like to talk with him again.” “His wife was here a while ago asking if I had seen him.”

“Is there something wrong?” “I don’t think so. But Jose usually doesn’t work this late without letting his wife know.” Lorelei asked with some concern. “He isn’t in trouble, is he?” “I don’t think so. Jose wouldn’t hurt a fly.” “Those are the ones who usually get in trouble.” After that Lorelei remained silent for a while. Bruce obviously shared her worries as they strolled about the gardens. As San Diego neared eight o’clock the air became crisper with its bite. Small batches of black clouds continued gathering but local weather forecasters gave them little attention. At one point Bruce stopped to watch a destroyer slowly leaving the harbor on another war cruise between the West Coast and Pearl Harbor. Later that evening the British Royal Navy announced their submarine P165 was sunk by Nazi Uboat 123. The British never got their revenge before U-123 surrendered to Allied navies in 1945. If able to see into the future Bruce would know the departing warship struck a floating mine and sank with heavy losses. The colonel quietly observed the priest’s wretched facial lines after they sat on the bench. The priest skeptically asked. “So what can I do for you? Because I doubt if this is a call for spiritual guidance?” “No, I’m afraid we come seeking more answers. From your knowledge of early Mexican history,” Bruce began. “Does the name Cerro Chorreras mean anything to you?” The Catholic priest shrugged. “Yes. In fact, it was a very important part of the Aztec’s economic history. It’s geographically part of the Sierra Madre mountain chain,” Bruce became curious why the priest spoke guardedly. “Cerro Chorerras has a very dark history. Back in Cortez’s days there were two ancient mines on that plateau.” Another pause was imposed. “During Cortez’s time those mines produced something like twenty million dollars in high grade silver. You have to understand in his day that was a lot of money.” “It still is. Are they producing?”

“The last mining company was French and by the 1930s their riches were finally mined out.” A thought occurred to Bruce. “Did Carlos Aquilera ever visit there?” There was no hesitation on the priest’s part when he said. “Yes. We know from Cortez’s personal diary Carlos was there several occasions. Once he was checking questionable production figures. Later, he would smash two peasant revolts concerning the brutality of their mining conditions.” Lorelei dubiously asked. “Father, we’re trying to piece Carlos into the mountain’s history. Was there any one incident that was horrible even for him?” He paused to think about something drifting through his mind. “Oh yes, there was one highlighting Carlos’ insanity. Myths claim before that visit was over blood ran thick on the plateau. Carlos was widely known for his impatience, especially, when concerning the priests. On this visit Carlos was there to suppress a small group of Aztec priests provoking the miners. When the verbal confrontation turned nasty Carlos sadistically killed them all.” A disgusted frown touched his face. “Carlos had the surviving priests buried alive. That probably hastened his demise. Centuries later the Frenchmen were having trouble finding Mexicans to work the mine.” “Why was that?” Lorelei asked. “They were terrified of roaming ghosts. It was no surprise the phantoms were Aztec priests.” “Did these ghost sightings happen after the French came?” “No. There are myths about phantoms appearing all the way back to Cortez’s time. And another strange thing about these appearances… they happened the same time every year.” “Are Mexicans generally superstitious?” “Oh, they’re very much so… particularly those living in the barren regions away from populated areas.” “Any large cities close to this plateau?”

“No.” “What about villages?” “There’s one twenty miles from the base.” Father Lampkins guardedly replied. “But since the Spanish left there’s been little activity on the mount. It’s what you Americans would call a ghost town.” Bruce briefly debated whether to further his questioning. Finally, with a grunt he said. “Two weeks ago a plane crashed on Cerro Chorreras.” “Yes, I know about the B-24.” “How did you know?” Bruce suspiciously asked. “From what I’m told the crash was a hush-hush subject?” Again the priest smiled. “When you’re the parish father to these people having relatives in Mexico, there are no secrets. I was told about the crashed bomber nearly two weeks ago.” Stooping the large man plucked a single weed from among the yellow flowers. “Over the years I have heard stories that made my neck hairs stand up.” Bruce frowned. “If you know so much about the ill-fated plane then what’s the Mexican government saying about it?” “They’re unhappy. In fact, whomever authorized that flight didn’t file flight plans with the Mexican Air Force per treaty regulations.” The priest stopped talking while thoughtfully looking at his flowers. “I don’t know the political relationships between Mexico City/Washington. But I do know they’re very strained. Emotions regarding army flights over their country aren’t that good. There are many Nazi-iring people in Mexico. President Camacho is busy trying to keep the country on an even keel. I’ll have to it his corrupted policies never reduced those strained relationships.” “What about their military structure?” Lorelei asked. “Now that’s a hopeless situation. After declaring war against the Axis countries in 1942, Mexico mustered seventy thousand men in the army and another four hundred thousand badly trained reservists. Even now the military is in dire straits. To be a serious threat their Air Force’s ninety planes requires extensive

overhauls. But there’s no funding. Their naval forces consist of three 2,000-ton gunboats, eleven armored coastal patrol boats and one heavy transport. Their conscription program started when the war broke out is so mismanaged it’s in total ruins.” Lorelei curiously asked. “How does Mexico militarily deal with enemy submarine activity off their coast?” “They have a treaty with the United States Navy to conduct coastal patrols with full permission to fly patrols. The Navy has unrestricted privileges. This is where Navy and Army Air Corps different. Because of unpopularity the American Air Corps must file special flight plans whenever flying into Mexican air space. I’m told because of their repeated violations, the Air Force is the direct cause of numerous political problems across the border. Mexico City frequently complains but the War Department doesn’t seem to care. They talk about doing something as the problem gets bigger. I’m sure that B-24 was flying an unauthorized course when it went down.” “Do you think the Mexican Air Force shot it down?” “No.” “That was a fast reply?” Bruce skeptically said. “One of my parishioners has a brother in their Air Force. He told her all planes were grounded that day. With the problems their planes repeatedly have groundings aren’t unusual.” “Then why did it crash?” Lorelei asked. “Maybe mechanical problems?” “I don’t think so. The pilot would have had time to radio a distress call.” Bruce firmly disagreed. “When they tell you something how can you be sure they’re truthful?” Lorelei suspiciously questioned. After the priest sharply looked her way she said. “Just curious. That’s all.” The priest forced a thin smile. “They don’t lie to their priest. Because I was well-

known in those regions my donkey and I traveled without harm from bandits or interference from corrupted police. You have to recognize Mexico’s interior uniqueness is difficult to understand. The root of their problems come from the country’s cultural differences and wide diversification of political ideals.” He paused for a moment. “Let me see if I their population numbers.” He smiled at her dubious expression. “There are approximately fifty-five percent Mestizo and twenty-nine percent Indian. Fifteen percent white and other foreigners make up only one percent of the population. Though Mexico’s official language is Spanish, fourteen percent speak the Indian tongues. Just as America has serious racial problems with the blacks, Mexico cynically regards the Indians. And that’s the country’s stumbling block.” “What about Mexico City’s relations with Berlin?” Lorelei asked. His expression was quickly unpleasant. “Now there’s another major problem. has always enjoyed a political closeness with Mexico. I wasn’t surprised when learning there’s an extensive network of German spies inside the country and along their borders. If wanting to embarrass the United States Berlin couldn’t have found a more perfect place to do so.” “What about Zaebos worshipping? Is it wide spread or limited to remote areas?” Father Lampkins nervously chuckled. “Zaebos’ followers never experienced a problem moving about the remote mountainous regions. Though the Catholic Church is the largest practiced faith there are wide gulfs created by supernatural cults. You have to these Aztec cultures were around long before civilization came to Europe. Their cultural history is richer than most people know. Back when the Greeks were active in Trojan history the Valley of Mexico was being settled. In 753 B.C when Rome was founded the large temple city of Oaxaca was beginning its two thousand year cultural stages. Then again in 117 AD when the Roman Empire was at its greatest peak these people built their Sun Temple at Teotihuacan.” The priest contemptuously shook his head. “I have heard many Americans degrade these peasants as simple minded and lazy bums. In 500 A.D. the Pueblo Indian cultures in Utah, Colorado and Arizona were blossoming. But that was when the Toltecs under King Chalciuh Tlanetzin built lavish temples honoring the Sun and Moon at Teotihuacan.”

For a few moments the former Theta agent thoughtfully studied his guests. “Why am I telling you this? You need to appreciate their history. These cultures you’re about to engage aren’t lazy or primitive. They are far above these prejudices.” The holy man looked at the high moon. “With each expansion came new ideals and religions far too numerous to copy down. If Zaebos arrived in their villages with a flock of blackbirds that changed into humans, they would believe with little hesitation. Maybe it was done out of fear but still it was committed in Zaebos’ favor.” In thoughtful silence the trio walked among these colorful hues feeling the cool breezes and privately nursing their conflicting emotions. Their reflections were so absorbing none noticed four blackbirds noisily settling in one pine tree within hearing distance. “I don’t know what will happen when you come face-to-face with Zaebos, but I can tell you this much. If you were to fight Zaebos on American soil all advantages would be in your corner. That’s because Americans bound to their Christian teachings doesn’t examine pagan beliefs. But in Mexico, you’re walking his turf where all advantages are in his corner. The Mexicans accept supernatural incidents much faster than the Americans. This increases his ability to freely move about, thus weakening your chances of cornering him.” The Catholic priest stopped and somberly advised. “ this, Bruce, because it might be your best piece of advice. Even though their temples crumbled long ago and there are no pagan priests today, don’t foolishly ridicule their native gods. Today Huitzilopochtli and Mictlatecuhtli are still looked upon with discreet favoritism by thousands of Mexicans.” As they slowly walked to the Packard Bruce smiled at the priest. “You seem confident we’re going to Mexico?” At the luxury car Father Lampkins grinned and predicted. “Zaebos will make certain you come to him.” After the Packard drove out of sight, Father Lampkins stood in the gravel parking lot thoughtfully ing when Elizabeth and he chased demons in

Northern Africa. All of that seemed so long ago. But those reflections came swiftly and this worried him. Elizabeth’s grandson was walking into Hell.

Chapter Eighteen

The discussions with Father Lampkins didn’t relieve their tension while driving back to the base. They both recognized the importance of understanding Zaebos before crossing the border. At that moment this wasn’t happening. While Bruce sorted his stressful thoughts, pilots from Squadron 339 P.38 were going over the final details of their special mission. There was retribution excitement in that marine hut on Guadalcanal’s Henderson Field. Their assignment was exceptionally important in of morale. Operation Vengeance was planned as tropical rainstorms pounded the airfield and twice that day Japanese bombers came over. It was nine-thirty PM in San Diego when Bruce slowed his black car. Up ahead the wreckage of two cars blocked their age from the winding hilly road onto a busy city street. It soon became necessary to stop behind a long line of impatient cars waiting for the twisted hunks of metal to be towed away. The entire scene appeared quite innocent. After a disgusted sigh Bruce leaning against the armrest thoughtfully stared at the starry heavens. Thoughts of this new covert were heavy on his mind. As if there weren’t enough obstacles, Major Chandler was throwing unnecessary problems their way. Tomorrow he would Theta operations and relay his troubled concern to Cassandra. Reflections of his blond hair sponsor drifted as other details dominated. Sitting close to her lover Lorelei thought about . While she was there not once had the woman thought Berlin’s ambitions were wrong. Now far away from the Third Reich she was beginning to realize how wrong she had been. “What the hell…?” Bruce protested. Two men quickly opening the car’s rear door slipped in. Before anything could be done the frowning men showed their revolvers behind the suit coats. “What do you want?”

The manner in which their entries were executed those cars around them didn’t suspect anything foul. One man arrogantly warned he knew they were armed long as hands were in plain sight nobody would get hurt. Bruce was instructed to place his hands on the steering wheel and leave them there. The second ruggedlooking man with dark colored eyes told Lorelei to lean back against the dashboard facing them. “iral Canaris sends his regards,” one solemnly said with a stony expression. He was slightly taller than Bruce with a husky built and obviously welleducated. With the mention of ’s spymaster Lorelei relaxed and thoughtfully studied their uninvited guests. “I don’t know an iral Canaris, gentlemen.” Her emerald eyes twinkled with suspicions. “Perhaps you have invaded the wrong car?” “I think not, Major Ramcke. We have information to deliver. How you choose to handle this information isn’t our concern.” The taller one’s voice gained a sharpness edged with impatience. “We have come at great personal risk to bring this information from iral Canaris. Because of that our value to the Third Reich is finished. I’m certain within hours the FBI will arrest us but before this happens I have some names for you.” Lorelei appeared unconvinced. “And why would your names interest me?” The taller one was growing impatient with this former Abwehr officer. “The names are associated with Operation Einspritzung.” When the code name ed Lorelei was unable to suppress her surprise in time. The courier noted this and with a sly smile continued. “We have little time, Major Ramcke. Please listen carefully. Brigadefuhrer Martin Oberhausen and Obersturmbannerfuhrer Paul Muhleman are in command of five Luftwaffe pilots. Their names are Hauptmann Ormond Pilsen, Rudolph Seibt, Sigmund Schulz, Val Weissar and Norbert Osterkamp. The last four names are Luftwaffe oberleutnants. Their dossiers will be sent through undisclosed channels within ten hours.” There was an impatient pause. “Please carefully guard this data. Abwehr went to extremes obtaining these files from Schutzstaffel headquarters. iral Canaris has no idea what this operation is all about, except it could embarrass the United

States very badly.” “What about your safety?” “Tonight we’ll cross the border then friends can protect us until the war is over.” An envelope was handed to Lorelei. “Protect that with your life, major. Good men died getting the information.”

* * *

A few minutes later those men left the Packard and quickly disappeared into the night. After the wrecked cars were removed, traffic resumed its slow and horn blowing progress through San Diego’s downtown sections. Bruce drove for several minutes before Lorelei broke the silence. “The information was so crucial Canaris risked the safety of his moles by bringing them in from the shadows.” After reading the text she looked at Bruce. “We got real trouble on our hands.” Lorelei angrily moaned. “Do you know the names?” “The Luftwaffe ranks I don’t recognize. But Oberhausen is very familiar. Muhleman sounds familiar but I don’t know where I heard his name.” As the black car proceeded through downtown she soberly continued. “The last I heard Brigadefuhrer Oberhausen was attached to Einsatzgruppe C. Are you familiar with those groups?” Bruce growled angrily. “Only too well. While on my Eastern Front covert, I encountered the killer squads from Army Group Nord. They’re some pretty hairy bastards.” “Then Martin won’t disappoint you. While serving under Otto Rasch in the Ukraine, he achieved successes far beyond imaginable depravity. He’s the type of monster Himmler loves.” She was silent for another block.

At the naval base’s main gate Bruce patiently waited while the marine checked their ID cards. Afterwards Bruce asked. “Are you saying Oberhausen is Zaebos’ host body?” “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” “You seem convinced?” “I am. Oberhausen is a copy of Carlos. No doubt about it.” Arriving at their assigned quarters Bruce and Lorelei left the parked sedan. Those scattered black clouds failed to shield the bright moon most of the time. It was a romantic night as they walked the few steps to a bench and sat. Officers coming and going into the bachelors’ quarters paid little attention to the conversing colonel and major. It was sad sitting on a bench under the starry skies with a beautiful woman and all he could think of was his mission against Zaebos. Lorelei was uncomfortable on the hard bench while her thoughts centered on . A country she loved very much but never would see again. Though officially a citizen of the United States she still loved her native land. It wasn’t that was evil but those in power. Glancing over at Bruce she tenderly smiled. Though the man could be romantic usually his thoughts were locked on the covert they were working. It took some painful getting use to before accepting this. Lorelei snatched what love she could from the obsessed agent. “So now we know who the cutthroats are,” Bruce pensively said. “Question is what are their plans?” “I don’t know. But I find it curious the general’s team are all pilots.” Lorelei questioned. “If Operation Einspritzung calls for pilots then they’re taking out targets with air strikes.” “We’re getting pieces of their covert,” Bruce growled. “But we don’t know their targets.” Lorelei didn’t speak for several moments. “Perhaps, our trip to the crash site will tell us more?”

Chapter Nineteen

Across town Father Lampkins tearfully recited the Last Rites. Jose Aguilera’s bloody body had been found by farm workers in an irrigation ditch. These farm laborers knowing the local police would do little to find the killer, transported his body to the hilltop chapel. Soon sorrowful men respectfully carried his bloody body into the church. A gloomy air instantly engulfed that small plateau. Three men after gently washing his torn body clothed Jose in a faded suit his wife tearfully brought from home. Other women tried comforting the weeping widow and two children left behind by his death. There was a lot of wailing and praying in that building. The old priest knowing this was the demon’s handiwork made a decision that was against Church practices. He conducted Jose’s burial at night. Adding extra measures for Jose’s protection two pagan rituals were whispered over his covered grave. All the while Father Lampkins recited the pagan funeral rituals sharp lightning streaks tore across the heavens. Thunder violently shook the ground they stood on. The chapel’s faithful gathering around the grave fearfully whimpered but they stayed out of respect for their departed friend. When the service was over a handful of frightened Mexicans hurriedly drove away but most went to the chapel for prayers. No lights were turned on. There was no need to. Soon candles were petitioning the Holy Virgin for divine protection against those evils stalking the night. The many votive candles brightly illuminated that small chapel. After funeral rites were completed the emotionally shaken priest telephoned the naval base. The base duty officer telephoned Betty relaying the priest’s summons. It wasn’t long after that Lorelei and Bruce found the priest wandering his gardens deep in prayer. “I’m glad you could come, my friends.” the priest emotionally greeted. “Jose was my best friend.” His swollen eyes were red from sobbing. “What happened?”

“We don’t know. When his body was found it was a horrible mess of deep cuts. It would appear somebody with a sharp object brutally attacked him.” “Where did this attack occur?” “He was working on a landscaping job.” “What actions have the police taken?” Lorelei asked. “Do they have any suspects?” The Catholic priest angrily shook his head. “The police wasn’t called. They don’t investigate crimes involving Mexicans.” She was shocked by his remark. “Then may I see his body?” she asked. “Jose was buried.” Lorelei was startled. “But it’s dark.” “Yes, I know. I have sinned in the eyes of our Lord.” the priest muttered. “But it was necessary to protect Jose’s soul.” He nearly choked on the tears trickling down his weathered cheeks. “I’m sure the Lord will forgive you in light what had to be done.” Lorelei comforted. “But Zaebos just eliminated the one person who could extensively help us.” “The Lord will provide.” the priest sorrowfully promised. “I sure hope so.” Bruce said. “Before coming over Betty received a call from Theta operations in Arizona. An informer in Mazatlan working the docks reported a strange cargo unloaded from the Spanish freighter PEARL OF LISBON. He was unable to confirm what the crates contained but their heavy security caught his interest. The large bulky crates were loaded onto rail cars then the train left. Though unable to read their shipping numbers there was something else he reported that may interest you.” Bruce coughed to clear his throat then said. “There were seven men from the ship who climbed aboard the rail cars. Theta believes those men may be Himmler’s covert mysterious?”

“That means the battles will soon begin. In my office I have another surprise for you. It was delivered a few minutes before your arrival.” A puzzled expression briefly touched his face. “Is there any reason it was forward here and not to your office?” “None that I can think of,” Bruce suspiciously replied. When they walked into the tiny office a brown package sat on his desk. While both men discussed Mexican myths Lorelei quickly tore open the wrapping and found several stapled pages. She acknowledged them as if they were Christmas gifts. Bruce sat on a hard wooden chair watching his partner breeze through the contents with occasional nods of delight. Uncomfortably settling his bulky frame on a chair, Father Lampkins curiously observed this former SS officer absorbing the pages like a sponge. The priest was the only one seeing the coldness in her eyes. After their first meeting he rightfully deducted there were two emotional powers battling her soul. One was dominated by a deep love for Bruce Sherman. The second was a deadly spirit recognizing no boundaries. A chill flowed through his body when realizing the second spirit was in control. Though wanting to sympathize with her struggle he found little strength to do so. This battle could only be fought by Lorelei Ramcke. He looked toward Elizabeth’s grandson knowing he was unaware of his lover’s inner pain. In the forties pain was everywhere. An example of that was in his chapel where simple folks mourned the ing of their friend Jose Aguilera. Father Lampkins felt his old professional curiosity rise to the occasion. “If only you had their names.” he mumbled. Lorelei smiled while holding up the stapled pages. “We have their names and dossiers.” For a moment he studied this woman before guardedly saying. “I won’t ask how those dossiers came in your possession.” “Does it matter?” Lorelei skeptically challenged. “What does matter is we now know who the enemy is. We have faces to go after.”

* * *

Across the Pacific Ocean four Liberator bombers took off from their Australian air base carrying eighteen empty one hundred and sixty-five gallon auxiliary fuel tanks. Their cargoes were a vital part of the Henderson Field project. This was happening while three people seriously talked about challenging Forcas’ buddy Zaebos.

Chapter Twenty

Later when looking up from her reading Lorelei forced a thin smile. “There’s no doubt about it.” she cynically speculated. “Those seven men departing the PEARL OF LISBON were General Oberhausen’s team. I still don’t know what was inside those crates. But our friends in Berlin warned us that Himmler and Goering are closely monitoring the ship’s movement. And here’s a special note from British intelligence. They believe the ship was shadowed by U-boats during her crossing the North Atlanta.” “Perhaps our agent in Mazatlan can determine the train’s destination?” Bruce suggested. Lorelei soberly said. “I doubt if he’s still alive?” “The Mexican transportation agency should be able to track the train’s movements?” Bruce said. “Not really. I’m sure by now the Germans have greased the hands of their corrupted officials.” Father Lampkins warned. “The Mexican government is corrupted and I’m sure their transportation agency is also.” Bruce shrugged but Lorelei predicted with a thin smile. “If what Jose said about Zaebos not liking populated centers then that train is heading deeper inland.” Bruce looked at the priest. “What about that mining area? Are there people there?” The priest shook his head. “No. The mines were deserted after the French left.” He was feeling his old counterintelligence skills stirring and that felt good. Bruce was quiet for a few moments. “Things are coming together. Knowing Zaebos dislikes populated areas we can assume he’s going to Cerro Chorerras. Actually, that’s his only choice. What about the mining area? Have you been up there?”

The priest slowly shook his head. “I know about the place but never been there.” Lorelei suggested. “Maybe Betty can get us a physical layout map?” There was a short thoughtful pause before Bruce said. “That’s a good suggestion.” Bruce walking the few steps to the hill’s crest looked at the harbor with far away thoughts. After Theta sent him to the Eastern Front, he struggled through some horrifying escapes. After his extraction of the Russian Countess Tanya they had fled across Russia’s snowy nightmares all the while barely escaping capture. Their flight across Nazi occupied Europe was no better. It was Forcas’ game and they were his pawns. The last throw of the dice came after stealing a German bomber and flying across the English Channel. When seeing the Dover cliffs they thought freedom was within their reach. But that hope was savagely quashed when German fighters jumped the aircraft sending it down in a flaming ball. Tanya died in that burning hell and he lived. Since then there had been times when her reflections drifted through his troubled thoughts. Bruce came back to the priest and Lorelei. “When we were hopelessly blocked by the Russians or Germans, Forcas guided us through their violent mazes. That was because Forcas had to defeat us without cheating.” He bitterly shook his head. “Now it appears Zaebos has the same intentions.” After watching several grieving Mexicans going into the small chapel the priest he said. “If all of this is true, Bruce, there’s a swamp of bad times ahead of you. I don’t know that much about Forcas though the name is familiar. But I do know Zaebos and I fear for your safety.” When Bruce failed to reply Father Lampkins thought about the Russian countess. The Trojan Princess told him about their wild flight across enemy territory. Some of the things they accomplished was above amazing. Then when success was within reach Forcas snatched Countess Tanya’s life. The game was over. Observing Lorelei’s excitement after receiving the profiles he wondered about her. Though she was now an American citizen, he seriously questioned if she had completely cut ties with ’s intelligence machinery?

“The one piece of advice that might help is deities often react with unpredicted emotions. The worse of the lot are Mexican gods. They’re a strange group unlike any other in the world… so be careful.” Father Lampkins warned. “You’re convinced we’re going to the mountain?” Bruce said with a thin challenging grin. After exhaling the old man solemnly predicted. “I know that you will. Zaebos is making sure you come to his turf where he commands the advantages.”

Chapter Twenty-one

After leaving Father Lampkins praying in the chapel for his dead friend, the Theta agents drove to the naval base in silence. Lorelei sat in front staring ahead as if in a self-induced trance. Her thoughts focused on those deep planted agents forced to surface. iral Canaris considered her data so important two schweigeagentens (silent agents) were brought in from the cold to personally deliver the information she needed. Once surfacing from the cold it was vital they leave California soon as possible. Their best hope was crossing the Mexican border before morning. Hesitation on their part would find them arrested by the FBI. Lorelei’s mind was crowded with discouraging thoughts of their last few days. That blackbird incident again demanded reflection. “This is the second time Zaebos savagely struck causing death in his wake.” Bruce thoughtfully said. Stopping at the main gate their ID cards were shown to a stern-faced marine who waved them through. First he wanted to relieve his bladder then off to find a place for dinner. “And we’re still running around in circles.” “Patience,” she gently advised. Moments later her attention was drawn to a small formation of men in work clothing stamped with large black ‘Ps’ on their shirts. Mean-looking guards walked alongside their ranks, swinging rubber clubs as if practicing baton whirling. In her country disciplinary cases were sent to punishment battalions in the battle zones. But in the American Navy slackers were sentenced to washing greasy pots and pans or picking up trash about the base. She didn’t understand the logic behind that. Lorelei occasionally glanced at Bruce who was preoccupied with thoughts of their lagging covert. When in that mood she knew better not to interrupt his thinking.

Minutes later when he questioningly glanced her way she said. “ what you told me back in Romania about taking one step at a time. That also applies over here.” She waited until the black car was parked in front of their quarters. “Zaebos is trying to rattle your cage hoping you’ll do something real stupid. Don’t let him have that chance or it’ll be your last. Far as the covert is concerned we’re in better straits. We know the Germans came ashore in the Mexican seaport with what probably was supplies for their covert. We also know their names and backgrounds. So cheer up… we’re no longer walking the darkness.” She silently watched the slow moving traffic for a few moments. “Look I’m sorry about Jose Aguilera but, unfortunately, there are many Jose Aguileras in this war.” Bruce gave her a short glance before climbing from the car. While crossing the lawn she said. “If Jose Aguilera was an expert on Carlos Aguilera… there are other experts out there. We just have to find them.” “What about those men?” Bruce asked before reaching the front lobby. “They’re Abwehr ‘S’ men or schweigeagenten agents planted in this area long before the war started. Such agents are instructed to stand ready for orders. But until that happens they become part of their community. In 1940 the FBI smashed Canaris’ spy cells in the States. After that those hidden resources became exceptionally important. I can tell you one thing though. Those ‘S’ agents were clever at disguising themselves.” Lorelei sadly looked at the colonel and said. “I’m sorry but I’m praying they’ll reach the border.” The enlisted man manning his lobby desk smiled when recognizing the woman and said. “Good evening, Major Ramcke and Colonel Sherman.” The sailor in his undress blues watched them sign the log. The desk had been moved and now yellow tape enclosed where the watch stander had died. So this was the famous colonel who fought that monster? His buddy witnessing the entire mess was right about one thing. This female major was one hell of a looker. His sexual fantasies about the blond was short-lived when the phone rang. After informing the officers they were needed in their offices the seaman observed

their rapid departure with a smirk.

* * *

Minutes later when entering Delta 301’s cramped offices they instantly felt something was amiss. Major Jordan emerging from his tiny office hurriedly came over. His worried facial features told Bruce enough. Their three civilian secretaries were busy even at this time of the night. The confusion of voices talking on the phones and chattering typewriters didn’t pause as Lorelei and Bruce ed their desks. After grabbing her steno pad Betty followed them into the colonel’s office. Billy came in next and closed the door. “Who hit the panic button?” Bruce sharply asked. “We got trouble!” Billy moaned. “And it’s coming from all directions like a damned gale at sea.” “Please define.” Bruce instructed after sitting behind his desk and motioning the others to be seated. “Two German spies were arrested tonight by the FBI while crossing the Mexican border. Anyhow, Major Chandler got wind of their arrests and using his G-2 status had them released to his custody.” Trying hard not to lose her calmness Lorelei asked. “Where are the men now?” “They’re down the hallway, madam.” Billy said gesturing over his shoulder. When she started for the door he cynically said. “I wouldn’t go there, madam. That dumbass major and his sergeant are with them.” When she scowled at him Billy contemptuously warned. “They aren’t a pretty sight.” About that time Charlie arriving in the office stopped short when seeing Lorelei’s pale face and Bruce’s disgusted expression. The woman shoved some files into his hand and told him to guard them with his life. She then rushed from

the room. Bruce anxiously hurried down the hallway with Billy close behind. Slamming open the door the major angrily stared at what she saw. Sitting in the bare room’s middle were two chairs. The occupants’ hands were tied while their mouths were taped closed. Their bloody bodies were torn from the rubber hose whippings. When the door crashed open, Sergeant Rowlett whirled about with a sadistic mask on his sweating face. Lorelei muffled her shock when rushing over to check their bodies. After coming in Billy slowly closed the door. He had seen many Jap bodies after interrogations on the Canal but these men were in worse shape. “What the hell have you done?” Bruce nearly shouted. “They are spies, colonel, damned Nazi spies!” the sergeant stammered confused why the bird colonel was angry. “No, you stupid asshole!” Bruce snapped while roughly jerking a rubber hose from the sergeant’s hand and hurling it against the wall. “They were double agents you son-of-a-bitch!” Knowing he had to quickly cover up Lorelei’s comion for the two men, Bruce sucked in his breath before stiffly turning to Billy. “Get some medical help in here…” “Won’t do any good,” Lorelei growled after straightening up. “They’re both dead.” “Who gave the permission for this, sergeant?” Bruce bitterly demanded. “This isn’t Nazi ! Who the hell do you think you are…the Gestapo?” “Major Chandler ordered me to.” By now he was totally confused while nervously watching the woman examine their wallets. “There’s nothing but the usual stuff in their wallet. I already checked.” Sergeant Rowlett tried mustering his deflated courage but found that was impossible. There was something about the colonel and female major that frightened the combat veteran. He felt they were more than what they pretended to be. And that Major Jordan was another basket case. He was always staring at people as if peeking into their inner thoughts and finding everything that he hated. The sergeant’s perspiration wasn’t produced by the torturing but from a

terrible fear of the colonel. When Lorelei approached the sergeant nervously mumbled. “I was carrying out Major Chandler’s orders, madam.” He knew that excuse was weak but it was all he had. Bruce angrily paced the room while the others quietly watched. Finally he faced the sergeant. “Do you realize what you have done?” Knowing he was in trouble the enlisted man could only nervously shake his head. “You have destroyed our only pipeline into iral Canaris’ intelligence agency.” The colonel disgustedly shook his head. “Do you even know who iral Canaris is?” “No.” Rowlett stammered. For a moment Bruce stared with stunned fury at what the sergeant had itted and supposedly he was military intelligence. Then with a moan he looked first at Lorelei standing alongside the chairs and at Billy. For a moment he didn’t know what to say or even how to suppress his inner fears. It was as if he was standing in the middle of a swirling darkness while Zaebos stood by devilishly laughing. Coming into that room still carrying the files Charlie quickly sized up the situation. It was obvious from Billy’s dumbfounded expression he was confused what was unfolding. Seeing the dead men caused Charlie to pause. The tension inside that room strongly smelled of death. “All right, folks, let’s try and put the damned pieces back together.” While slowly inhaling Bruce turned to the sergeant. “How did the FBI find these men?” “According to the arresting agents they got an anonymous call.” Lorelei softly mumbled. “Zaebos.” Disgustingly shaking his head Bruce said. “Let’s damage control this mess.” He looked about the room before a terrifying thought chilled his body. “Where is Chandler?” There was a nervous silence from Rowlett.

“He didn’t?” Bruce growled after the realization struck him. “Damn what else can go wrong?” “I…” Whirling to look at Billy the colonel was pale faced. “The damned fool has gone to the crash site!” There was little hesitation before he anxiously ordered. “Billy, get hold of North Island and see when we can get a plane! Betty will file for Mexican clearance.” Before Billy opened the door Bruce said. “While you’re at it when Chandler left?” After the major hurried from the interrogation room Bruce turned on Rowlett. “What the hell were you two thinking?” “This is an army matter?” the sergeant nervously mumbled. “No, it isn’t. This matter is far above your heads. You can’t even imagine what you’re walking into! And worse yet, you have caused damages we might not be able to correct.” He observed the sergeant glancing at the door. “Do that, sergeant, and I promise you’ll be carried out on a stretcher. Do you understand?” The man nervously nodded. “All right, I want answers. No playing around or I’m going to jam your damned balls so far up, you’re have to piss like a woman, got it?” “Yes, sir.” Rowlett stammered. The colonel patiently waited until medical personnel loaded the bodies onto stretchers and left before asking. “When did Chandler leave San Diego?” “Two hours ago after interrogating the spies.” “What do you think is on that plateau?” “Major Chandler will find evidence there’s an invasion coming from Mexico.” “And who do you think is invading the States?” The sergeant nervously shook his head.

“Whatever Chandler is looking for on Cerro Chorerras will be far more than you can physically or emotionally handle.” Again pacing the room Bruce occasionally stopped to glance at the nervous sergeant. “You don’t even know what you’re looking for, do you? All Chandler can think of is solving this covert and finding promotions heaped high. Is that it? Well, I have news for you assholes. What lies on that plateau is more than your worse nightmares want to tangle with.” There was a knock and when Charlie opened the door three MPs came in. “I want this man under strict guard with no visitors.” Lorelei watched the handcuffed man escorted down the hallway before reing Bruce and Charlie. She momentarily stared at the blood stained flooring before muttering. “Zaebos just made certain we come to his turf.” “Looks that way, doesn’t it?” A few moments ed before Bruce mumbled. “Did we ever have a choice about Mexico?” Then he gruffly answered his own question. “Hell no. Right from the beginning that bastard was setting us up.” Minutes later Billy came into the interrogation room. “I got hold of North Island. Chandler checked out a Douglas DC-3 two hours ago. His flight plan over Mexican air space was listed as routine aerial reconnaissance.” “Does North Island have a plane for us?” “One is being serviced right now. I took the liberty asking for a multi-engine aircraft and a marine squad to go along.” When Bruce started to object he sternly said. “Chandler took fifteen soldiers with him. I don’t think it’s wise to charge up there with no back up.” “Good.” Bruce agreed after a short pause. “Billy, I want you to stay behind and assist Betty. Things may get bizarre but don’t let it bother you. Ask Betty for help when you don’t understand what to do. Also while we’re getting ready call Father Lampkins and have him meet us at North Island.” Billy nodded. “Anything else?” he asked. The marine major felt an emotional warning it was best if he didn’t go. He would never believe what was unraveling. His friend wasn’t the same man

sharing his foxholes on Guadalcanal. Bruce was a very changed man and Billy wasn’t certain if he wanted to know why.

* * *

Betty was typing the fly over request when Billy was about to leave and looked over his shoulder. “I’ll be gone for two or three hours. Is there anything you want me to do?” The older woman shook her head without looking away from her machine’s keyboard. “Nothing that I can think of. But the colonel wants transportation on standby.” “That’s taken care of.” After the door closed, she sat for several minutes pondering over something that was bothering her. Reaching for her phone Betty made one short call then hung up the receiver. She would have been really worried if hearing the conversation of two sailors walking their building. They were talking about the increasing presence of blackbirds on the base. In fact, there was one bird perched on Delta 301’s window sill.

Chapter Twenty-two

Two hours later after changing into marine camouflages, the Theta team made their way to the naval air station on North Island. There was a badly disguised urgency in their movements. Father Lampkins arrived dressed in clothing suitable for the rough mountainous terrain they were flying into. Never liking airplanes the Catholic priest buckling his seat belt would remain pale faced until the twin-engine plane roared into the night. His three hundred pounds barely allowed him to buckle in. Billy had carefully selected thirty combat veterans from the base’s marine detachment to accompany Theta’s intelligence team. The executive officer was suspiciously surprised there was no interference when using Delta 301’s code. After thirty minutes and the plane failed to take off Bruce impatiently entered the enclosed flight cabin. Seeing him the flight crew shrugged their shoulders. “What’s happening?” he demanded. “Why aren’t we in the air?” “Operation has us on hold.” the pilot replied. “I just called and they said the State Department has grounded our flight until further notice. But we are to remain ready to fly out on their command.” “I’m on a critical timetable.” Bruce angrily remarked. “Yes, sir. I understand. But do you see that yellow pickup sitting along the runway?” He waited until the colonel nodded. “I was informed by Operations there’s a Navy sharpshooter with orders to shoot out our tires if we try flying out.” Bruce frowned. “I guess they’re serious, huh?” “Yes, sir. I think they are.” The colonel stared at the yellow vehicle then shrugged his shoulders. “Well, there’s not much we can do. Let me know when the clearance come.”

Lorelei found the camouflages uncomfortable while sitting alongside a small oval window. She soon discovered it wasn’t the garments making her ill at ease, but inner emotions warning of extreme dangers ahead of them. When boarding the aircraft she was surprised to find thirty marines in full combat gear. They silently observed the female major walk down the aisle and sat up front. After she ed conversations weren’t so loud. Casual listening to their scattered talk didn’t take long to realize these men were all veterans from the fierce battles on Guadalcanal. After returning from the enclosed cabin Bruce wasn’t cheerful. Knowing better not to interrupt his silence, she thoughtfully rehashed their background information on the German covert. She was again thankful for the ruthless schooling SS intelligence agents were subjected to. Her mind was like a sponge absorbing data as fast as it was obtained. Majority of it chilled her emotions. Finally, Bruce spoke. “State Department has grounded us.” Lorelei was bewildered. “Why?” she groaned. “I don’t know and neither does the pilot. He was informed if we tried taking off a sharpshooter would blow out our tires.” “Then are we going back to the office?” “Not a chance. Our orders are to stay put until clearances are approved.” Everybody waited for the roaring noises generated when the DC-3’s twin PrattWhitney power plants were started. Two hours slowly ed and the DC-3 was still grounded. Lorelei finally looked about. The cocky marines were chattering among themselves unaware of the nightmarish world they were heading into. She smiled when observing the priest’s hands tightly grasping the seat’s armrests. He must have sensed her attention and gave the woman a nervous weak grin. Sitting across from her Charlie was reading the pilots’ dossiers. After a few minutes the portly man glanced up with brows scrunched, shrugged his shoulders and went back to reading their personal histories. Seated alongside Lorelei was Bruce. He had already visited the cockpit four times and each time received the same reply. North Island Operations had

grounded their transport. But the Delta 301 team were to remain on the aircraft for a swift departure once the grounding was lifted.

* * *

Thirty minutes later a van pulling alongside the plane issued C-ration boxes to the impatient marines. Each time Bruce entered the cockpit all conversations stopped until he returned. His negative thoughts were defined by the cold emotional expressions tightening his face. Four hours later another van stopped alongside the silent transport. At least provisions were made for their body demands. Lorelei handed over Bruce’s C-ration box with a frown. “These were hastily prepared by the mess hall. The Spam sandwich isn’t that bad but my carton of milk is warm.” she complained. The colonel grinned. “Find anything you like?” After sorting through the box he decided on a candy bar, can of peaches and pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes. “This isn’t Gloria’s but it’ll do in a pinch.” “I’ll make it. But Gloria’s meatloaf sure sounds good. So what’s the deal? Why are they holding us on the runway?” Bruce shrugged. “I can’t get an answer. Operations isn’t talking and our pilot is in the dark.” Unwrapping the candy bar he bit off a chunk then exhaled. “But we might as well use the time studying what we know about Zaebos.” The colonel looked over his shoulder and said. “Charlie, Father Lampkins move closer.” After they obeyed he thoughtfully looked at each team member. Charlie chewing on a second candy bar expressed his impatience that after four hours they were still sitting on the runway. Every fifteen minutes the pilot would open the cockpit door and shake his head then close it. Afterwards, Bruce would softly curse the State Department’s interference with his covert. The marines stopped long enough see the stern faced pilot then resumed their chattering and munching on the rations.

Fortunately for the occupants, San Diego’s weather was cool so the aircraft’s interior wasn’t unbearable. For a few moments the colonel observed the marines Billy selected from the base detachment. They were calm though occasionally voicing their complaints about the grounding. Their staff sergeant was a tall, dark complexioned Indian who kept a stern eye on his men. Bruce sat for a moment then asked. “Now that you had time to study their profiles, what’s your opinion?” “They scare me if you must know.” she uneasily itted. “Those files are very intimidating.” “So what’s bothering you?” There was a short pause while staring at the window’ s reflection of her worried face. “It’s that one common connector each man shares.” After seeing she had Bruce and Charlie’s undivided attention Lorelei continued. “Take for instance, the captain of that Luftwaffe group Hauptmann Omond Pilsen was raised near St. Florian’s Church in Koblenz. Then Rudolph Seibt’s home address is near Tier’s cathedral. Sigmond Schultz comes from Kastler-Doktor in the Moselle Valley and his home is near the church there. Val Weissar was raised at Neumagen-Dhron in the Moselle Valley and again near the town’s church. The last Luftwaffe pilot Norbert Osterkamp was reared in the Moselle Valley’s Trittenheim and near their church.” Lying aside Osterkamp’s file Charlie dubiously asked. “I don’t follow your line of thought.” “With the exception of Pilsen, each man comes from the Moselle Valley and lived near a church cemetery.” “It could be consequential?” Bruce doubtfully suggested. “If we were talking about somebody else, I might agree. But our Zaebos research reveals he plays around with pendulum effects.” When Bruce didn’t with her thoughts she patiently explained. “Pendulum is the swinging effect defined as events happening in the past that reappears in the future.” She momentarily looked at Bruce. “You still don’t follow? All right, let me explain it this way. Each of these men lived near church cemeteries. This alone

may not mean anything to you but German residences near cemeteries aren’t preferred by my people. Germans have a strange regard for the graveyard.” Charlie suspiciously observed her darkening mood. “Then we have another issue to contend with. At first their first names were a puzzle. what I told you about Zaebos’ fixation on name meanings? You do? Good. Let’s concentrate on the meanings of their first names. Then you may see a pattern forming. Ormond means ‘ship of man’, Rudolph is Teutonic for ‘famed wolf’, Sigmond translates as ‘victorious protector’, Vale means ‘night power’ and last of all Norbert is German for ‘sea brightness’.” She sadly shook her head. “You still don’t see the association, do you?” “No.” Bruce replied. “Each of their first names translates into warrior titles.” “I still don’t follow your reasoning.” Bruce itted with a slight shrug. “Guys, this and maybe what I’m saying will make sense. We aren’t dealing with ordinary men. And their commander definitely isn’t mortal. Immortals, evil as they may be, tend to view things much differently than we do. Ancient warriors named their kings or warlords with titles suggestive of ruthless powers. A name back then had direct bearing on a person’s personality. My people knowing this were very careful when choosing names for their children. Back in the olden days this name choosing was very important. Coming from that era Zaebos will naturally follow that tradition.” Bruce forced an apologetic grin. “Sorry.” Father Lampkins quietly observing her darkening mood wondered if the others did too? “What does your name mean?” he asked. “According to my parents Lorelei is Teutonic meaning ‘lurer to the rocks’.” Bruce smiled. “What the hell does that mean?” Lorelei indifferently grinned. “I don’t know.” She leaned her head against the seat disappointed at their lack of creativity in seeing the associations. A few minutes ed before she exhaled.

“All right, let me explain it this way and I want you to carefully listen to everything that I say. Each of their service records noted exceptional ability with aircraft. None of the men are above forty-four years of age and none were decorated for battle achievements. There’s one notation I’m disappointed Father Lampkins didn’t catch.” Hearing his name the priest curiously looked her way. “In that section reserved for religious preference none stated Christianity.” She patiently waited while the priest quickly flipping open a file found the general information page. “As you can see they all listed Asmodeus.” Another silence ed while Bruce scanned the files. “Now here’s another item you all missed. I noted with increasing alarm their duty assignments were never together. Yet, Zaebos went looking for these particular men for his operation. Why would he do that?” “Maybe they trained together?” Bruce suggested. “No, their training periods were too far apart. I doubt if they knew one another before Zaebos called them together.” “Why are you so fixed on their backgrounds?” Charlie asked after laying down the file he had been studying. “Have you ever heard of the religion Asmodeus?” Charlie shook his head. “Nope, can’t say that I have.” When Lorelei looked towards Bruce he also shook his head. “That’s not surprising. All over Europe there are small occults devoted to strange and often time bizarre beliefs. Most people off their behaviors as harmless and that’s a bad mistake. This faith known as Asmodeus ranks high among that loose grouping. In demonography, Asmodeus is a destructive demon frequently identified with the Biblical serpent from the Garden of Eden. That alone makes him very much part of their Infernal Empire.” Bruce was more than confused. “Are you saying these men are demons?”

“Yes. I knew there was something strange about those men. After rereading their dossiers what that was never came together. That is, until I went back over the files and noticed their last assignments. Then it all came together like a thunderous storm. And that’s when my blood ran cold. Charlie, open Sigmond’s file and tell me his last assignment.” “Stukageschwader 163 Immelmann,” he read. “That was in the summer of 1938, right?” “Yes.” “Gentlemen, that squadron in 1937 evaluated the new dive bomber that you know as the Stuka. That last entry tells me that Sigmond while testing the plane was killed. What about Seibt?” “I have his file.” Charlie eagerly said. “He was with the Second Staffel First Gruppe and his last combat flight was in the summer of 1940.” “Seibt’s squadron suffered high losses while battling British flyers over before its fall. That also was a Junkers 87 squadron. Now what about Val Weissar?” It was a few moments before Bruce looked up from reading the file. “Gruppe of St.G 1 and that was June 10, 1942.” “Val flew operations in North Africa and probably took part capturing Bir Hakim in June of that year. The Stukas suffered very heavy losses during that campaign. Now what about Norbert?” “I have his file.” Bruce said while opening it. “Norbert was with First Gruppe’s KG 76 and the last entry was June 1940.” “The 76th fought in Poland and by 1940 was seriously under strength from combat losses. The Stukas’ structural weaknesses were beginning to show by that year.” She studied their interested expressions then spoke again. “You don’t have to check the other files because they say about the same thing. Each of those pilots flying sturzkampfflugzeugs in various campaigns died in combat.”

“So we’re talking about demons?” Bruce harshly asked. “Not demons but still very much part of the Infernal Empire. I believe what we’re facing are cabales.” Neither man spoke since they didn’t know where her discussion was heading. But wherever it was going meant trouble for them. “In occultism, cabalas are astral bodies violently dying prior to the end of their natural lives. Because of this they’re earth bound and sentenced to suffering until the end of their original life expectancy.” “But they died during wartime…” “War or not your life expectancy is ruled by destiny. If it isn’t your time to die then you aren’t going to. Maybe that’s where battle heroes come from. But the bad thing is Zaebos can jerk their tormented souls into host bodies.” Charlie asked somberly. “Then these men are technically dead?” “Yes.” “Oh shit, not again.” Bruce groaned glad his men down the aisle couldn’t hear their discussion. “So how do we know if they’re cabalas?” Lorelei shrugged. “If I my studies they don’t eat food but will drink on occasion.” “I’m afraid to ask.” Charlie mumbled. “But what do they drink?” Lorelei frowned. “Human blood…what else?” A short reflection on their Romanian covert left Bruce with a bitter taste. “Well, before long we should know if they’re on the plateau.” he muttered. Lorelei thought over his statement for a few moments then argued. “I don’t think Zaebos is there. At least, not right now.” She stopped talking long enough to sheepishly grin. “Of course, I may be wrong.” “Where did you learn all this stuff about demons?” Charlie asked.

“During my military training such lectures were required by the Chicken Farmer. You either learned or went back to the army usually on the Eastern Front.” “Then you do know about Zaebos?” Bruce suspiciously asked. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?” “Actually, I know very little because we never got into Mexican myths. Himmler was fascinated with the Middle Eastern myths.” She paused and smiled. “And believe me those were bad enough. I the tedious studies were boring as Hell and damned difficult to learn.” A few minutes ed while each pondered their own thoughts. Suddenly Bruce looked at Lorelei and asked. “You mentioned one pilot didn’t come from the Moselle Valley?” Interrupted from her thoughts about the Germans Lorelei nodded. “That would be Pilsen. Who I believe is the pivot man in this group of cabalas. His last entry was in 1941 while flying with VIII Fliegerkorps on the Eastern Front. I knew his name was familiar, but couldn’t where I had heard it. Then it struck me. His Stuka squadron attacked the Russian battleship OCTOBER REVOLUTION at Konstadt on 23rd September 1941. Though his squadron flamed out they seriously damaged the ship. The squadron’s heroism was recorded in our national newspapers.” “What happened to Pilsen?” “He collided with a Russian fighter.” “That’s suicide.” “Yes, but during war time mortals look upon that as brave. Regardless, it disturbs a person’s true destiny. So by dying in that manner he was reduced to a cabalas.” Bruce moaned. “I swear this covert is getting stranger than a female wolf in the henhouse.” Giving her a short smile he said. “I’m going to check on our progress. Be right back.” After Bruce left Charlie dubiously asked. “What the hell is a Chicken Farmer?” She chuckled. “That’s Heinrich Himmler’s nickname though you don’t say it to

his face. Not unless you want to die on the spot. As SS Generalfeldmarschall, he’s ’s true evil. Before coming into power he owned a small chicken farm.” Lorelei thought about it for a few moments. “That’s how the name came about.” “Have you ever met the man?” Her immediate expression was nasty. “Too many times.” Charlie praised with a sincere smile. “We never would have linked their connections without you.” Lorelei was silent for a few minutes. “It’s a strange thing, Charlie, but before Lisbon I never gave a second thought that wasn’t right. It just never occurred to me. But away from the Third Reich I’m seeing things much clearer. Hitler’s regime must be destroyed. Only evil emerges from Nazism and I know this now. And even as we willingly accept help from the Abwehr, the fact still stands Hitler is bent on enslaving the whole world. Theta is busy fighting demons and smashing the Third Reich while doing it.” When Bruce came back after a few minutes Charlie looked up from reading a file and asked. “How’s everything looking?” “We’re still grounded. But I did learn Betty is on the way over. Maybe we’ll find out what’s happening on the other end of this runway?” “I hope so. Sitting here not knowing what’s going on sucks big time.” “Agree with that.” the colonel moaned after several moments. Sitting down the colonel got comfortable before staring out the window. No matter what he did Bruce couldn’t shed an uneasy feeling they were being watched. Finally, he sighed and looked around. He motioned toward Lorelei. “How long has she been sleeping?” “Not very long.” For a moment the priest studied her peaceful mask. “She’s amazing as hell.” “Yeah, that she is. She’s full of surprises. You should have been with us in

Romania while chasing Forcas.” Bruce smiled. “Hell, she even had a Roman soldier two thousand years ago falling for her. She nicknamed him Crooked Nose because of his broken nose.” “You’re pulling my leg?” Charlie snorted then chuckled. “Nope, I’m not.” Bruce exhaled then seriously added. “When working for Theta there isn’t one dull moment.”

Chapter Twenty-three

After a while the plane’s interior was free of talking as marines sought what little sleep was possible. The Douglas D-3 was a low-wing monoplane whose fuselage was so high off the ground that a ladder was used to come aboard. Though originally designed as a civilian enger aircraft, it was easily adapted for wartime duties. This particular model not modified for hauling cargo kept its enger design. Twin Pratt & Whitney power plants’ steady roar would often lull the mind to sleep. The DC-3 carried a wing span of nine feet with a length of ninety-five feet while weighing twenty-five thousand pounds. After putting this information together, Father Lampkins was amazed the thing even flew. After a while the priest reciting his rosary for spiritual comfort leaned back against the seat to impatiently wait until Betty arrived. After Bruce spoke of the woman in glowing he was curious to meet her. Lampkins possessed a fear of flying and while growing up never conquered that anxiety. When Elizabeth and he fought evils they courageously met whatever Satan’s people threw at them. However, flying was another matter. His skin was clammy with the stomach in knots. He tried everything to get his mind off flying high above the ground. Thoughts of Elizabeth with blazing guns in hand and fearlessly charging straight into the thick of battle always produced smiles on his weathered face. Nothing bothered that woman with her long black hair flying in the winds of death. She was a good woman and definitely a good Theta agent and there were few like her today. The priest missed that woman so much that he often felt like crying. After Bruce returned from the pilot’s cabin he instructed the Delta 301 team to gather outside the plane. Father Lampkins was the last to climb down the ladder. They hadn’t stood outside very long before a gray Navy sedan stopped alongside the DC-3. When an older woman stepped out the priest assumed she was their front office manager. He told himself she was tough looking. Bruce looked at the others and solemnly introduced. “This is Betty Barrett our front manager. You already know Lorelei and Charlie but you haven’t met Father Lampkins.”

Afterwards folding his arms he faced Betty. “What’s going on? Why are we still stranded out here?” Betty’s expression remained serious while briefing the strike team. “I’m sorry for the delay. Unfortunately, you’re caught inside a royal screw up…courtesy of Major Chandler.” Bruce angrily asked. “What did the fool do now?” Betty didn’t speak at first. “When G-2 sent that bomber across the border it was in violation of Mexico’s air space treaty. Army Corps flights are required to file course and purpose petitions with Mexican Military Intelligence. Chandler not bothering to do this really pissed off their intelligence agency. Once was bad enough but Major Chandler turned around and once again illegally flew into Mexico.” Betty thoughtfully studied the faces staring at her. “Our State Department is trying to defuse this international incident before it destroys what little relationship still exists between the two countries.” “That’s crazy.” denounced Lorelei. Betty frowned. “The political mechanics in Mexico City are very complex.” “But Zaebos can do great harm to Mexico as well.” Bruce snapped. “Don’t they realize this? Zaebos’ people are unlike the Germans or even Japanese. Their brutality is beyond our imagination.” “Bruce, most people across the border doesn’t understand what’s happening.” “Well, they better real soon. The hour glass is just about empty.” Bruce warned. “So when do we leave? Chandler is hours ahead of us.” Betty looked around before skeptically responding. “Within the hour. Theta is bargaining with the Mexican Intelligence. But I can tell you it’s been made clear your plane will not land on Cerro Chorerras.” “Then where do we land?”

“That’s what they’re arguing about. They did compromise on one thing. Your plane can depart and while airborne Theta will radio your destination. Don’t argue the point. Cassandra warned me this was a major concession on their part.” “This is damn screwy.” Bruce growled. “That it is.” Her expression darkened. “My friends couldn’t dredge up more data on the demon. You’ll have to work with whatever you have which I know isn’t much.” Betty silently watched the agents climb aboard the DC-3. Her inner emotions were strained. The woman didn’t see a bright future shining on that plane load of warriors. Once inside her sedan Betty chose not to look over her shoulder as the plane roared down the runway.

* * *

Knowing they would be airborne for hours most of the occupants drifted off to sleep. Father Lampkins wasn’t about to sleep while they were flying. He noticed the tall Indian sergeant occasionally pacing the aisle assuring his men were asleep. Even though the plane’s interior was warm and cozy this failed to draw the priest from his twilight zone. Having not touched his ration box he now checked its contents. The peanut butter/jelly sandwich and carton of milk was his selection. In the following ten minutes he nibbled on the bread and sipped milk while his thoughts were far away. Father Lampkins still ed that stormy day when visiting Elizabeth’s grave in Ohio. The rain was pouring down in sheets while lightning hurled burning streaks across the gloomy skies. He thought of Marie’s sobbing that Elizabeth was angrily yelling at the demons. That was something Elizabeth would do. Whenever the priest faced frightening events he always thought of her gutsy challenges. After that his disturbing emotions would calm down. As the DC-3 roared through the stormy skies he was again reaching out for her courage.

The priest suddenly had a strange feeling somebody was staring at him. Looking around he saw nobody walking the aisle. His heart was pounding so hard he grabbed his chest. But this wasn’t a heart attack. It was much worse. His throat was closing spastically. It was after his gaze turned to the window that the man let out a frightened yell. This naturally startled the sleeping engers causing them to grab weapons while leaping up. Jerked from his restless sleep Bruce knelt alongside the trembling priest. Lorelei and Charlie were standing behind him with concerned faces. The husky marine staff sergeant curtly motioned his men back to their seats then waited until Bruce dismissed him. “What happened, Father Lampkins?” Bruce asked silently surprised the former Theta agent was so terrified. “Calm down there’s nothing up here that can harm us. You just had a bad dream.” After nervously rubbing a hand across his sweating face the priest stammered. “It wasn’t a bad dream because I wasn’t asleep. But I saw it.” He looked up trying to find a friendly face. “I swear it was plain as day. I swear on my rosary it was out there.” “What was out there?” Lorelei uneasily asked. “A large blackbird cocking its head was watching me squirm.” Even before the words tumbled out he knew nobody was believing that. “Father,” Bruce softly comforted laying his hand on the man’s trembling shoulder. “We’re ten thousand feet up. No bird flies that high, especially a blackbird.” He was stressing out because everybody was staring at him in disbelief. “I swear it was out there.” the man cried. When Bruce started to say something Lorelei roughly jerked on his arm for attention. After annoyingly looking at her, she nervously gestured toward the window. What he saw was shocking even after having witnessed so many supernatural happenings since enlisting in Theta’s folds. A large blackbird weighing maybe ten pounds was easily flying alongside their plane that was traveling one hundred and sixty-five miles per hour. After a few moments which seemed much longer to the plane’s occupants, it cocked its head then with a

shake of his small head flew off into the night. Lorelei paled before covering her mouth with a hand. She was having a hard time believing what was just witnessed. Charlie simply stood watching without breathing. Father Lampkins already knowing what was out there refused to look. For a few moments Bruce stared at the window disbelieving what he had seen. Finally, after briefly laying a hand on the Catholic priest’s shoulder Bruce returned to his seat. Before ing them Charlie talked with the sergeant explaining everything was all right. He was dumbfounded the marines didn’t seem that concerned. “If I hadn’t seen it,” Bruce mumbled. “I would never have believed it. A bird physically cannot fly this high. And they sure as hell can’t keep pace with a plane flying over one hundred miles per hour. It’s feasibly impossible.” Charlie snapped. “Feasibly impossible or not I saw it.” “Zaebos knows we’re on the way.” Lorelei nervously replied after soothing her shock. Bruce argued. “There’s no way.” A wide smile suddenly touched her face. “Sure there is.” “How do you figure that?” “He knows because his possessed blackbirds are tracking us.” “Impossible.” Bruce snorted. “Oh yeah?” Lorelei growled. “What about this covert that isn’t impossible?” For a moment Lorelei stared at Bruce, who was still disbelieving then at Charlie who was frightened by the thought. With a disgusted moan she laid her head back on the seat. “What are you doing?” Bruce curtly asked. “I’m going to sleep. What else is there to do?” she said with an indifferent shrug. Seeing their surprise the woman casually advised. “Why worry about it now?

Zaebos knows we’re on our way so we’re safe until landing.”

Chapter Twenty-four

After Bruce was awoken by the DC-3’s rough rocking motions, he sat for a moment allowing his mind to adjust. The seats never designed for comfort left his body aching like the dickens. Lorelei looked at him with a thin smile. It was apparent she hadn’t slept for a while. Looking about the crowded interior the colonel saw several marines standing in the aisle chattering in near whispers. Others were snoring unaware of their flight’s bouncing response to the rough weather conditions. He grinned when seeing Father Lampkins’ maladjustment to the flight. It was a few moments before he looked across the aisle and saw Charlie was sound asleep. “How long did I sleep?” Bruce finally asked. He mentally agreed a cup of hot coffee would have hit the spot about now but there were none to be had. “You slept maybe an hour. But don’t worry you didn’t miss anything,” she said with a grin. “What about you?” “I couldn’t sleep. There’s too much on my mind.” Bruce sat for a few moments with a dumbfounded expression. “I had this crazy dream that was so real it’s frightening.” Lorelei studied him for a moment. “What was your dream about?” Bruce nervously chuckled. “I dreamt that a blackbird was flying alongside this plane.” He shook his head before adding. “Damn it was so real I get goose bumps just thinking about it.” “I hate to tell you, my darling.” Lorelei sweetly said. “But your dream wasn’t so preposterous.” “What do you mean?”

“There was a blackbird out there.” He stared at his lover for a moment. “That’s impossible.” he sharply protested. She imively shrugged. “Well, it may be impossible, but that bird was plain as you and I are sitting here discussing its impossibility.” After a short silence she somberly continued. “The pilot came back a while ago. Said there’s a bad storm ahead of us but with luck we should reach our destination before it hits. And oh yeah, that reminds me Betty said North Island received a warning the Mexican intelligence people are tracking us.” “But we have Mexico City’s permission according to the Air Space treaty.” Lorelei shrugged. “Maybe their government approved our request but that doesn’t mean their intelligence has to honor it. Betty theorized there’s German sympathizers in the agency trying to shield the German covert on Cerro Chorerras.” “Sounds like it. Wouldn’t surprise me if Nazi influences keep rising to the surface. With the central government so unstable there’s a power struggle and we should have anticipated that.” He curiously gestured over his shoulder. “What about the men? How did they react to the blackbird incident?” Lorelei suspiciously answered a few moments later. “Strangely enough it didn’t bother them. How do you explain that?” He crisply said. “I don’t. Did North Island say anything else?” “Only that the Mexicans are silent about that crash. Friendly sources in Mexico City warned Theta the Federal police aren’t the least bit friendly.” The colonel frowned. “Sounds like intelligence can pull political strings?” “They have the ear of their Presidential Palace.” Lorelei shifted her weight while softly cursing the uncomfortable seat. “There was something else. Though the message was very vague I got the impression Theta was knee deep in other troubles. There’s lots of activity inside Mexico that doesn’t make sense. But whatever that may be it’s moving awfully fast.”

“Ever since arriving in San Diego I have had nagging suspicions there are major issues unraveling that Theta aren’t telling us about.” “You think it involves our operation?” Bruce nodded after some thought. “I do or at least indirectly.” There was little enthusiasm in his words. After the colonel rested his head against the seat she knew he was lost in his troubled thoughts. He was finding the cushioned seat uncomfortable. This particular DC-3 was flying American Airlines commercial flights when the war broke out. With an acute shortage of aircraft it was leased to the government. Lorelei wondered how many civilian engers complained about the lumpy seats. After exhaling the German woman began talking. “According to Charlie, the Sierra Madre Occidental is one of three ranges making up the Sierra Madre Mountains. Millions of years ago that general region was viciously exploding with volcanic activity. Occidental Range has stupendous waterfalls one is the Basaeahic that plunges down over one thousand feet. There are complex and very dangerous steep sided canyons the Mexicans calls barrancas.” There was another short solemn silence. “Why do I feel like a damned tourist guide? But oh well, did you know this range has canyons deeper than the Grand Canyon in America?” Bruce merely shrugged his indifference. “Well it does.” Lorelei was having a difficult time forgetting that lonely blackbird flying above ten thousand feet. “Before our plane ran into this roughness, Charlie went to sleep and hasn’t woken up since. I guess he can sleep through anything? But there was something he said about this mountainous area that interested me. Supposedly it goes though radical transformations the further we fly. Deeper south it increases in altitude with peaks that are home to trees and rare flower species from the more temperate zones. As we cross the Tropic of Cancer, it becomes humid with thick carpeted jungles of vines, tropical plants and animals adjusted to living in heavy rainfall.” Lorelei paused and grinned. “Are you listening?”

Bruce nodded before mumbling. “Sure I am.” “Then what did I say?” she teasingly challenged. Bruce didn’t speak for a few moments. “You said something about a deep canyon with waterfalls plunging one thousand feet.” The colonel faintly grinned. “Thought I wasn’t listening, did you? Now I’m disappointed because you know I always listen to you.” He shifted his weight on the lumpy cushioned seat. “You’re a smart ass, did you know that?” Lorelei briefly looked at the colonel. “I checked with the pilot and he said the Cerro Chorerras is jungle terrain. You should feel right at home since you were at Guadalcanal? Isn’t that island jungle?” “A large part is. How about you? Ever been in jungles?” “Nope and from what I hear about them I rather not.” Bruce’s laughing was loud enough the sergeant standing in the aisle glanced their way. “Well, welcome to the club, lady. It’s a different world altogether. Any new updates on the plateau?” “Six hours ago a Mexican reconnaissance flight over Cerro Chorreras is missing.” “Did they lose radio or lose the plane?” Bruce curiously asked. “They lost the plane.” “That’s not good. What about Chandler’s flight?” “Before North Island lost Major Chandler radioed his plane had landed. After that radio silence.” “Well, at least he landed.” Bruce mumbled. “But this doesn’t sound good. Two planes not answering radio calls suggest trouble.” She nodded agreement. The plane went through another tumultuous pocket that jerked around its cursing engers. The colonel groaning his uneasiness looked toward her for more answers.

“What else do we know?” “Betty said our plane will continue on its current course until notified otherwise. She repeated the Mexicans aren’t allowing us to land on the mining plateau. Now let me see there was something else Betty radioed.” She was silent for a few moments. “Oh yeah, now I . French intelligence reported those crates from the LISBON were approximately four hundred fifty-six feet long and approximately twenty-five feet high.” “What do you make of those figures?” Bruce curiously asked. Lorelei was thoughtful for a short time before a smile again touched her features. “Well, I be damned. They do make sense. General Oberhausen selected only Stuka pilots for his operation. The measurements of a Stuka is thirty-six feet long and thirteen feet high. That’s allowing those extra feet for packing.” She lightly slapped his arm. “Honey, that train transported Stuka main frames to Cerro Chorerras.” Her smile was contagious. “What about the wings?” Bruce skeptically questioned. “They’re probably already on the plateau. Damn, Oberhausen were two steps ahead of us at every turn. Two weeks ago British naval intelligence reported another Spanish ed merchant unloaded eleven crates onto eighteen wheelers. Their measurements were three hundred and fifty-three feet long.” Lorelei was silent before another smile touched her face while the emerald green eyes twinkled. “Stuka wings are three hundred forty-three feet long. That’s it, honey. We have solid evidence Operation Einspritzung is quartered on Cerro Chorerras.” Lorelei slowly nodded her head. “That would explain why Mexican intelligence is against our investigating the mining area. They’re protecting the German covert.” “But don’t they know eventually we’re getting up there?” Charlie asked after listening to their discussion. Lorelei agreed then went on to explain. “They know. But their current plans are delaying our arrival. By then the Stukas are gone.” After yawning Charlie said. “We have another unexplained factor.” They looked

at Charlie stretching his arms. “The main fuselage would be heavy but just how heavy?” “When empty the Ju 87 weighs five thousand one hundred and four pounds.” Pausing her forehead was pinched while thinking. “When combat loaded the Stuka tips the scale at seven thousand four hundred-ninety five pounds. I don’t know the weight of the wings. Why do you ask?” “I was just thinking. Even when empty those fuselages are heavy and without doubt hard to manage.” Charlie stated. “So my question is how will they assemble the planes, much less removing them from the rail cars?” She shrugged her reply. “Two weeks ago a British Intel summary reported large crates been transported by truck from the docks.” Bruce pensively said. “There was no tracking so we don’t know where the trucks were going.” Lorelei interrupted. “With our few confirmable facts maybe we know their destination. I believe there were a lot of smoking mirrors thrown up by the Mexican intelligence. Cerro Chorerras should be our only objective.” She paused for a few thoughtful moments. “That explains why that bomber was on an overfly. Chandler was seeking undisputed evidence to his invasion theory.” The woman skeptically itted. “Maybe the army major wasn’t so stupid after all.” Though Bruce’s facial expression was solemn his inner emotions were excited. “You’re right. Operation Einspritzung is originating from Cerro Chorerras, which means Zaebos will be there.” “But we already know that?” Father Lampkins challenged. Bruce eagerly shook his head. “Yes, we read the facts but not one of us fully accepted them. Now we have to. And we have to accept that Mexican intelligence were discreetly protecting the German operation.” The priest skeptically asked. “All right, so we now know Nazi influences are meddling in Mexican agency’s objectives. But what do we do about it?” Bruce indifferently shrugged his shoulders. “We do nothing. There is nothing we

can do. But we’ll continue our quest while keeping an eye open for their challenges.” “O.K, now we know what’s coming at us.” Charlie strongly said. “What’s the flying range of a Stuka?” He looked toward Lorelei for his answer. She solemnly replied. “Six hundred twenty miles but that’s depending on what armament is aboard.” After that the agents were satisfied a major breakthrough was achieved. The Theta agents sat in a huddle discussing what to do next. Minutes later the pilot received new coordinates turning them away from the border they had been following. The directional change was so slight nobody aboard the aircraft knew it. Father Lampkins was reciting his rosary when feeling the change but said nothing. He did pay more attention to the marines. The priest suspiciously regarded their indifference to everything happening since leaving San Diego. He was concerned how the uniforms calmly accepted the blackbird incident. After that the episode wasn’t discussed as if it never happened. Charlie spent the last thirty minutes reviewing the German dossiers. Whatever he was searching for kept escaping his attention. Finally, he laid the files on the seat and absentmindedly stared out the small oval window. The colonel observed Charlie’s wrestling with a problem. If he wanted advice then Charlie would ask. Finally, the colonel asked. “Charlie, what’s on your mind?” “I been thinking. We are about to attack the Germans on Cerro Chorerras without knowing anything about the mining plateau.” The man helplessly threw up his hands. “We don’t even have a regional map.” Lorelei had been listening and interrupted. “But that’s not true. We have somebody who extensively knows the mining area.” Bruce’s interest perked. “Who?” he hurriedly asked. Lorelei started to brief him then stopped. “Why don’t I let Sergeant Lightfoot tell you.” She glanced over her shoulder and called out the name. “I think you’re going to find this man more than interesting?”

* * *

There was a shuffle of boots down the aisle before a copper-toned staff sergeant stood at their seat with a stern facial expression. In those few seconds of sharp scrutiny Bruce found the tall man favorable. Ezra Lightfoot was a decorated veteran from the jungle fighting on Guadalcanal. His still healing scars on the right cheek told of recent battles. The eyes were dark with an unfriendliness that wasn’t hard to overlook. His movements were deliberate with caution woven into them. The staff sergeant’s face was square with strong chin and narrow forehead emphasizing cold acceptance of life itself. His polished boots and each piece of equipment met combat regulation in every sense. Only after Bruce motioned for him to relax did he do so. Bruce asked. “What’s on our plate, sergeant?” The man’s husky voice was deep-throated with a deep self-confidence. “Aerial intelligence reported Major Chandler’s aircraft is parked on a dirt runway facing outward for takeoff. Four hours ago a reconnaissance flight from Yuma air base reported noticeable activity on Cerro Chorerras. The flight didn’t receive hostile gunfire.” “How did you obtain this information?” Bruce apprehensively questioned. All incoming messages concerning the operation was to be routed only to him. “I’m sorry but the text was routed to me from Marine intelligence on the at Yuma Air Base. I’m confident they were not knowingly bying your authority.” For a short period the confused colonel was staring at the sergeant’s intelligence loop coming from Yuma. Betty hadn’t mentioned this covert. The colonel decided his best response was learning more from this sergeant. Bruce sucked in his breath before saying in a firm voice leaving no doubt what he thought about this new development. “Well, Sergeant Lightfoot, since I’m the primary agent on this covert all incoming messages from Yuma will be routed to me and not you. Are we understood?” He waited for the staff sergeant’s response

which came almost immediately. “Good. Later we’ll discuss this matter at greater length. But now let’s discuss our covert. What do you know about this plateau?” “Cerro Chorreras is physically ten thousand three hundred and thirty-five feet high. The ancient mining complex covers approximately one square mile and after that the jungle closes in.” “How did they get their ore down the mountain?” “There’s a spur line running to the site. The last time I was there the tracks were in pretty bad condition. It was during the Thirties that the French quit working the mine. After two thousand years of constant mining its silver ore finally played out.” Bruce’s interest perked. “The last time?” The sergeant proudly grinned. “I visited the mine as a young brave.” Bruce dubiously suggested. “Perhaps, you better define that, sergeant.” “I’m of the Shawnee tribe from northwestern Utah. Long ago when Aztec merchants traded with tribes across the mountains, they came across our tribal lands twice a year. My people were friendly with the warrior people and prosperously traded with them for many centuries. Years ago when reaching my tenth year I chose Cerro Chorreras for washing my veins. It’s an ancient ritual inherited from our Aztec brothers. Even our language is a dialect of the UtoAztecan tongue. That’s how close our peoples were.” Bruce noticed the few marines not sleeping were cynically listening to his words, though this didn’t bother the Indian. This silently told the colonel this man was accustomed to racial harassment. “My Shawnee kinsmen back in the olden days were basically diggers, meaning they dug for scarce foodstuffs from the soil. But those of my people living close to the trade routes enjoyed a lasting friendship with our Aztec brothers.” Because this marine was promoted to staff sergeant meant the Marine Corps was overlooking the wide spread harassment of Indians. They judged Sergeant Lightfoot on his combat ability. For the time being Bruce cautiously would

accept the Corps’ decision. Both Father Lampkins, Lorelei and Charlie were dividing their attention between the stern-faced Indian and Bruce. Bruce would later learn Theta had installed a secret Division on the Yuma Air Base. Bruce finally broke the cold silence. “So what did you do on your tenth year?” “I spent a month chanting prayers and cleansing my soul.” Lightfoot continued standing at parade rest while staring straight ahead. His cold indifferent expression never changed. “It’s an ancient Aztec rite still practiced in some parts of Mexico.” “Tell me something, sergeant.” Bruce curiously asked. “What god were you praying to?” The Indian didn’t hesitate in answering. “I petitioned the Aztec god responsible for that rite.” “And who would that be?” “Mictla-tecuhtli.” Bruce skeptically said. “The Aztec lord of the dead?” The sergeant cautiously nodded though fearing the colonel was changing his mind about religious freedoms on the covert. Moments ed before Bruce thoughtfully asked. “Are you comfortable with your religious preference?” “Yes, sir.” “Then it’s settled. I don’t care who you pray to long as it doesn’t interfere with our operational objectives.” “Thank you, sir.” Lightfoot replied with a thin smile of relief.

Chapter Twenty-five

Shocked by his ission of pagan worshipping, Lorelei lost her newly founded respect for the Indian. “Did your people also sacrifice humans?” Lorelei harshly interrupted. The plane was gradually losing altitude meaning they were nearing their destination. But all attention in that plane was focusing on the tall sergeant. In particular was the Catholic priest interested in his words. Lightfoot’s face darkened. “My people never subscribed to such depravity,” he mildly defended. “But such barbarism has been around for many centuries. When studying Aztec history you’ll discover for over one thousand years the Mexican Indian cultures didn’t practice this bloodletting. Two hundred years before the Spanish Conquest this practice existed for political reasons that weren’t good.” He directed his explanations to a thoughtful Lorelei. “In Ancient India, Greece and yes even in Rome’s earlier years, human sacrifices were practiced. Down through the centuries this was looked upon as a special bonding with their gods.” “I can think of better ways getting closer to God.” Lorelei grumbled. “So can I. However, in your Hebraic-Christian faith there’s the most solemn of all human sacrifices.” When she looked at him with a piercing glare he solemnly added. “Jesus Christ dying on the cross.” Seeing the major’s unspoken disapproval he said. “In my people’s culture we believe religious beliefs are privately cornered in our hearts.” “Were you always taught the Aztec ways?” “On the reservation where I was educated, Mormon and Protestant missionaries forced their lies down my throat. Their sole objective was erasing our ancient

teachings and this they tried with extreme brutality.” He indifferently shrugged. “They taught their spear of faith so sternly that many of my people secretly returned to our ancient gods. The missionaries were cruel in their teachings so my heart long ago hardened to their ideals.” He looked around the aircraft knowing his fellow marines were of mixed emotions about his spoken words. Some faces showed resentment but it was nothing he hadn’t endured in the past. Their shortcomings failed to bother this Indian. In those few minutes Bruce finished his analyzing this muscular Indian. The square-facial structure showed strength and stressed determination. This staff sergeant walked with a hard cold authority earned from years of forced training. When talking his words demanded obedience from the enlisted and hopefully respect from the commissioned ranks aboard that DC-3. After solely judging Lightfoot on military benchmarks Bruce knew he was going to like this man. “Sir, during recruit training my drill instructor discovering my religious preference spent thirteen weeks punishing me. But his torturing and beatings failed to change my mind. It only hardened my resolute to pray silently to my gods.” While the plane charged through another low air current that brutally shook the fuselage, he unconsciously grabbed the seat for and kept talking. “Now I’m coming back to the place of shadows. This time I come not to pray and cleanse my soul but to find a B-24’s wreckage.” His dark eyes tried piercing Bruce’s icy blue eyes. “There’s no reason my religious views should negatively affect our mission, sir.” Bruce shook his head after some thought. “I see no reason, sergeant.” “Thank you, sir, that’s greatly appreciated.” “We’re on the plateau to find the crashed site. Religious beliefs, no matter what they may be, have no bearing on our duty performances.” The colonel’s voice adopted a strong warning as he slowly looked at the marines. “Am I clear on this?” Lorelei noticed the thin smile on his face after the marines positively answered with an unified yes, sir.

Returning his attention to the sergeant Bruce asked. “Do you know where the crash site is located or do we have to search for it?” “From Major Jordan’s description, I believe the plane crashed down a slope about two miles from the mine.” “Will it be difficult to reach?” “Unless the terrain has drastically changed over the years it’ll be difficult traveling.” “When was the last time you were there?” “Fifteen years ago.” “Nature can change during that time?” “The jungle always changes, sir. It’s a dangerous place where those not understanding her evils will die most horrible deaths.” “The Canal’s jungles changed.” “Yes, sir.” the Indian agreed with a deep-throated laughter. “But this place in the shadows won’t have Jap battleships firing at us.” Bruce faintly smiled. “Were you on the Canal?” “Yes, sir with the First Marines. Major Jordan was my XO.” A thin smile came over Bruce’s face when saying. “Now I . Billy called you Chief Crazy Horse.” “That’s me.” he proudly said. Bruce leaning back in his seat thoughtfully appraised this Indian that Billy had boasted so much about. “Well, Sergeant Lightfoot, I’ll be the first to say this. I don’t give a damn who you pray to long as you protect our butts while we’re up there.” The Indian laughed a deep-throated response that caused Lorelei worry. “I promise to do that, sir.”

After the sergeant returned to his seat Bruce looked at Lorelei and smiled.

* * *

“What was that all about?” “One of these days when we have time remind me to tell you how that man killed one hundred Japs while firing a machine gun with two wounded arms.” He paused and smiled knowing his spirits were slightly inflated. “Billy nicknamed him Chief Crazy Horse. That man isn’t afraid of anything. And that’s going to be a damned big plus in our corner.” Lorelei skeptically looked at Bruce. “Do you believe what he said about that god?” “Sure, why not?” Father Lampkins though feeling ill from the aircraft’s bumping through the storm’s outer edge protested. “But he’s pagan.” Bruce shook his head. “So?” For a minute or two the colonel critically regarded their shocked expressions. “His religious views are really bothering you two, is that it? Why? There’s no reason it should? Just as he said religious beliefs are a personal matter.” His voice got a little harsher. “If you want to keep your minds busy then I suggest thinking about that German covert. They will kill us and not his pagan views.” Father Lampkins not finding satisfaction with Bruce’s stubbornness dropped into a cold silence. For a moment he visualized Elizabeth’s determined face and grinned. But it was so slight nobody noticed.

Chapter Twenty-six

Later when Bruce later looked over his shoulder, the Shawnee Indian was thoughtfully staring at the oval window alongside his seat. A heavy serious expression masked his face as if the burdens of a crazy world was resting on his broad shoulders. It was difficult seeing beyond his dark brown eyes and finding anything but anger. The colonel didn’t know about those terrible nights he stood in falling snow without clothes. The Mormon missionaries wanted the youth to confess his stupidity in believing the Aztec gods. Only then could he come in from the freezing weather. Their only accomplishment was hardening his opposition to their beliefs. With the coming of morning, his friends frantically dragged the trembling rebellious lad into their warm hut. He was gradually brought back from another near brush with death. Though his friends complained about the brutal punishments their fears fell on deaf ears. After all, they were only Indians. On the reservation Ezra Lightfoot academically learned fast and boasted it was a gift from his god. This only brought on more punishments. The missionaries fought to break the lad’s iron clad spirit while refusing to believe it wasn’t in their interest. When away from the reservation the young lad sat around warm fires listening to tribal elders tell exciting stories of their olden days. While growing up his muscular body became hard. Mastering the skills needed to survive in a prejudiced white man’s world came easy for Lightfoot. When old enough Ezra Lightfoot immediately enlisted in the Marine Corps. The exceptionally tough life on the reservation served him well in recruit training at Paris Island. After recruit training he was assigned to a regiment landing on a strange place called Guadalcanal. In a short order two Silver Stars and four Purple Hearts were awarded this fearless Indian from Utah. Staff Sergeant Lightfoot muttered something under his breath though nobody on the plane heard him. His heart was warning they were walking into a murderous trap established by evil spirits. The Shawnee already suspected there was more to this expedition than finding a crashed bomber.

It would never be said Sergeant Lightfoot was popular with his fellow marines. His skin coloring and religious preference prevented that. But he was still promoted to staff sergeant while on the Canal. In combat skin coloring and religious preferences were forgotten. But in battle fellow marines followed his orders without hesitation. Otherwise, they kept their distances from him. He gave the colonel a sharp thoughtful glance. Because he was a puzzle this bothered the Indian. Colonel Sherman was a powerful spirit. This he felt in his heart and the heart never lied. As for the major he couldn’t make up his mind about her. There were dark shadows around her heart disallowing one to peek inside. Sergeant Lightfoot knew she was a fighter from way back. When that blackbird appeared alongside the window Lightfoot saw some fear in her green eyes. Yet, the Shawnee knew this woman would never back away from those evil spirits shrouding this mission. Sighing deeply the man leaning against the seat felt at peace because he was going home. When visiting the Aztecs’ ancient home he never felt out of place. Warm spirits filled his heart promising he would not walk alone on the mountain. In Mexico there was no tyrannizing his people. Lightfoot felt no need to mentally examine these marines under his command. They were battle hardcore and would react without hesitation to his orders. While walking in the shadows of death these men would forget their distrust of his pagan gods. When fighting on Guadalcanal their courage were finely tuned with savageness. Every last one of them were bloodied veterans. Though Major Jordan never fully briefed the sergeant, they knew this clandestine operation was engulfed in a bizarre covert. This he felt every time the colonel looked into his eyes. Those icy blue eyes revealed much about the colonel. No marine jumped from lieutenant to full colonel in a matter of months. Even in the Corps this was never done. His tribal elders taught that a man’s truth were in his eyes. If this was true, Colonel Sherman was a warrior of great standing. Later Bruce was summoned to the flight cabin. There the pilot informed him their destination was an old abode fort on the desert two hundred and fifty miles from the mountain’s base. The pilot added for their safety they were to disembark fast as possible.

* * *

One hour later the DC-3 arrived at their destination. The pilot flew over the garrison once allowing Bruce to scrutinize their surrounding area. Situated on barren desert terrain, the old army post was a sad disappointment to those hoping for a comfortable berth to sleep on that night. Built in the 1800s it had survived two savage attacks during Mexico’s last political upheaval. Post buildings consisting of four small abodes were in advanced neglect with its gate post in worse condition. The seventeen foot walls were little better considering at one time cannon shells knocked down some sections. Even the Mexican national colors gently flapping in the breeze was torn and faded. Bruce curiously noticed sixty feet from the winding dirt road were railroad tracks. After landing Sergeant Lightfoot stood by the opened hatch shouting to quickly unload their gear. When finding their rucksacks the marines fell in waiting further orders. Standing out of their way Bruce noted the sergeant frequently looked at the skies. His expression was a combination of impatience and alarm. When the marines were finished unloading the co-pilot nervously locked the door and hurried to his seat. The DC-3 bumping over the uneven road soon climbed into the skies. Minutes later the aircraft was out of sight. “Marines, get inside the fort and prepare for unfriendly forces!” Lightfoot shouted. “What the hell…!” Bruce furiously demanded. “I’ll brief you later, sir!” he shouted. “Not later, sergeant, but now!” The enlisted marines rushing past them were quickly posting their machine guns on the crumbling walls. During their rush into the fort Charlie, the priest and Lorelei were pulled along whether they liked it or not. Squad leaders anxiously walked the abode ramparts checking their defenses or doubling up on the weaker sections.

“We need to talk now!” Bruce angrily said. “What the hell is going on?”

Chapter Twenty-seven

From the walls came the urgent call. “Enemy fighters engaging the DC-3!” After this declaration, Lorelei and Bruce anxiously watched the transport changing their course and speeding back toward the old fort. The pilot in his desperation tried escaping the single engine fighters by banking left and right. But the heavy DC-3 awkwardly responded to the rapid commands to escape the enemy’s blazing wing guns. While they watched there was a large explosion before the plane fell crashing to the earth in three fireballs. There was a stunned silence on the fort’s walls. Instead of attacking the fort those fighters flew away and was soon out of sight. Bruce angrily turned on the sergeant. “Now do you want to tell me what just happened?” His face was a darker color while facing the shocked Indian. “And I don’t want any bullshit.” Suggesting they go inside the fort in case more threats arrived the sergeant began talking. “While our gear was unloaded the pilot received a warning three rebellious pilots of the Mexican Air Force were going to shoot down the DC-3. He hoped to be airborne before they arrived.” For a few moments the Indian sadly observed the columns of black smoke. “They were closer than he thought.” “Who called the warning?” “The pilot didn’t know. But they had to be military if knowing the plane’s radio frequency.” “This operation just changed directions.” Bruce harshly said. After climbing a wobbly ladder to the ramparts they ed the priest, Charlie and Lorelei. “It appears we have more trouble than was factored in.” Lorelei cynically snapped. “You think?”

Ignoring her bitter remark Bruce locking hands behind his back thoughtfully studied the neglected fort. “Sergeant Lightfoot was warned by the pilot that rebellious pilots were on their way. Obviously, their objective was successfully carried out and they departed.” “Why didn’t they attack the fort?” Charlie asked. The colonel had no answer. Their actions made no sense. “While flying here the pilot received new orders from Betty. We’re to remain here until a train arrives.” Not giving them an opportunity to ask questions, the colonel climbed down the ladder to uneasily walk inside the crumbling court.

* * *

The garrison consisted of three elderly Mexicans in faded beige uniforms that didn’t match. The old bearded men stayed out of their way. Lightfoot saw the old rifles the three troopers carried. The rifles they carried were useless in battle. Lorelei was going to talk tactics with the colonel when a marine sounded the alarm. Bruce was on the crumbling wall staring at three army trucks speeding toward the garrison when Lorelei ed him. The sergeant and priest stumbled onto the squeaking platform. The priest wasn’t carrying a rifle so a marine handed him one without comment. “Sir, what do you think their intentions are?” the Indian sergeant soberly asked. “I don’t know.” Bruce replied. “But after seeing their Air Force shoot down an unarmed aircraft, I seriously doubt if they’re friendly. Order the men to prepare to defend their positions.” Three military trucks were fast coming their way. A white flag mounted on the first vehicle didn’t change Bruce’s order to defend the fort. Because they were flying the white flag the colonel shouted to hold their gunfire. Lorelei didn’t

share his cautious regard for the white flag. She was already distrustful of the Mexican military as a whole. The convoy halted about 60 feet down the dirt road. Not knowing their intentions and ing Betty’s warning the Mexican Army was heavily influenced by their past German associations Bruce shouted. “First machine gun one magazine rapid fire on my command!” Turning to his right the colonel arrogantly ordered. “Five automatic rifles, two magazines, short bursts. Commence firing on my order!” A few minutes ed those marines manning the walls. Everybody was uncertain if the Mexican soldiers were going to attack or lay siege on abode outpost. But if they did attack, the Americans were determine to bring down as many as possible. Lorelei holding an assault rifle finally asked. “What the Hell are they waiting for?” Without looking at her the colonel solemnly replied “Your guess is good as mine.” Charlie walked over to Bruce and asked. “Why aren’t the troops leaving their trucks?” “Don’t know.” “Then why don’t we open fire on them?” Bruce looking at the man sharply replied. “Until they show negative behavior we can’t fire on them. The first truck is flying the white flag.” “Sir, an officer is leaving the first truck.” A private stiffly walking alongside the officer carried the white flag. As they neared the fort his nerves were rattled. When they were closer and he saw those marines lining the walls his confidence dropped even lower. For a few minutes he mentally cursed the stupid officer walking them into the pits of death. When the gate swung open and two officers walked out to meet them, the soldier’s opinion of this meeting still was negative.

“Major Trujillo at your service, sir.” Bruce didn’t respond at first. The Mexican officer interested him. His tailored uniform and polished leather items told Bruce this man hadn’t been in the field. “Colonel Sherman.” he said while returning Trujillo’s smart salute. “I’m afraid, sir, that I’m a little confused over your arrival with soldiers. Your defense minister authorized our presence.” Everything about this major bothered him. Even when saluting Major Trujillo made it vulgar and unmilitary. Again clicking his boot heels he saluted. “I can assure you, Colonel Sherman, we come bearing no hostility. May I present my orders?” While the major stood at attention Bruce read his orders stamped by Mexico’s Ministry of Defense. Looking at the Mexican he said. “Everything seems to be in order. May I inquire as to the number of troops you have?” “Eighty-five soldiers, sir.” “And are they accompanying us to the mountain?” “Only to the mountain’s base, sir.” The colonel nodded. “Sergeant Lightfoot!” Bruce shouted. “Mexican Army detachment coming in the fort.”

* * *

Reacting to Major Trujillo’s hand signal, the three trucks roared into life and after parking front of the fort eighty-five soldiers noisily disembarked. After four tent bundles were unloaded the vehicles then drove down the winding road. With this transfer completed there was an urgency among these Mexican soldiers marching under the gateway. Minutes later while the marines curiously watched

they hurriedly pitched their tents. After coming back inside the gate slammed close behind Bruce. He stopped short and suspiciously observed their badly suppressed fears. The tents’ black lettering ‘United States Army’ was badly stenciled over. But it took Bruce only a moment to recognize why Major Trujillo’s regular soldiers ignored the outpost’s guardians. They were Indians. Mounting the walls Sergeant Lightfoot waited until his Apache scouts inspected the walled compound. He watched Lorelei leave one abode with a wretched expression then informed Bruce their interiors smelled to high heaven. That night the Americans would sleep under their individual shelters. Their grumbling stopped once the abodes were checked out. Major Trujillo arrogantly walked over to Bruce. “My men will stand guard this night.” he crisply reported. When Bruce didn’t reply the insulted Mexican walked across the small compound. His soldiers had finished posting their larger tents against a battered abode wall. Trujillo noticed the Americans wasted no time establishing wall defensive positions in the blazing hot temperatures. “That man has a serious attitude.” Lorelei angrily groaned after the officer walked away. “I won’t argue that.” the colonel lightheartedly agreed. Lorelei dubiously looked around before saying. “Since we’re here what’s next?” “Major Trujillo brought a sealed envelope from San Diego. We’re to stand down until tomorrow afternoon. A train from the coast is on its way here. Further orders will be on that train.” “San Diego sent an envelope with that major? You have got to be kidding. You do know he read it?” Lorelei exclaimed with disbelief clearly etched on her face. Bruce grinned. “I’m sure he did but it doesn’t matter. Betty’s message was in a code the Mexicans couldn’t decipher.” He wearily sighed then indifferently shrugged his shoulders. There was a covert to be worked and this standing down didn’t meet his approval. Standing by her

side Bruce pondered the situation as he seen it. His icy blue eyes thoughtfully evaluated their surroundings with an increasing alertness. Charlie had left the wall and was watching several marines sorting through some sea bags thrown from the plane before it flew into the cloudy skies and exploded. Once leaving the aircraft that desert heat slammed their bodies like a wall of scorching flames. It took no time before their clothing were soaked by perspiration. While some marines walked security on the seventeen foot walls, others were pitching the individual shelters. Charlie noted the Mexican soldiers were idly sitting about their tents. Whereas the Americans were kept busy by their hard nose staff sergeant. The first oddity Bruce noticed was the lack of noises in this isolated terrain. There was an unnatural silence about the sloping sand dunes with a scattering of cactus. When Charlie came over they exchanged unspoken concerns. The fort wasn’t an ideal defensive position no matter how it was approached. “Do you find it strange after the DC-3 was shot down an army column arrives?” Bruce thought about it for a few moments. “No, not really.” Charlie complained. “Are these soldiers here to kill us or monitor our progress?” “I haven’t figured that out.” Bruce said. “It might be both.” Charlie got a little edgy. “And have you figured out that sergeant? He seems to operate on his own an awful lot?” Bruce shrugged his shoulders before walking away. Those marines not on guard duty atop the wall were now in formation awaiting Lightfoot’s weapons inspection. Bruce counted four such inspections since they arrived. After that Lightfoot dismissed his men then with two Indian scouts walked around the compound ignoring the Mexicans suspiciously watching them. They had pitched their large tents against a battered abode wall. That would reduce the wind’s force after night cloaked this sad excuse for a garrison. Lightfoot approvingly looked at his marines’ half-shelters positioned across the small compound. There would be no surprises dropped on them that evening. The marines were sitting in front of their pup tents eating canned rations and casually chattering. After setting guard stations for the night Major Trujillo

disapproved of Sergeant Lightfoot posting his own sentries. There was a wide sandy gap separating the two groups where small dust devils wildly danced about. Lightfoot felt safe with their defensive firing field. The officers’ tents situated in the middle commanded a three hundred and eighty degree visual of the enclosed compound. After studying Lightfoot’s inspection the colonel disapprovingly shook his head. “You have any feelings about this place?” Bruce asked Lorelei. Finishing a can of ham and beans she cynically nodded. “Yes, and they’re all bad.” “What about Trujillo?” “He’s a bad nightmare waiting to happen.” “Yeah, that’s my opinion. The Mexican intelligence is keeping close tabs on us so he’s probably their spy.” Again observing the staff sergeant’s inspecting their positions he commented. “The sarge definitely runs a tight ship.” “That’s because he isn’t comfortable with those soldiers been here.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

A hour later Bruce gestured at Lightfoot quietly moving about the tents stopping long enough to whisper something to each man before moving on. “Our sergeant obviously doesn’t trust him neither?” he said. “I think we better doze with one eye open and one hand on our guns?” The Mexican and Americans intentionally set their camps apart with neither side caring what the other thought. When nightfall came Major Trujillo chose to sleep inside an abode with two guards posted outside. Noticing this Bruce snickered at the man’s uneasiness. Scattered small fires flickered and danced in the cold breezes lasting through the night. Though they were in a foreign territory, Sergeant Lightfoot made certain the Stars and stripes were flying from a long pole. The major angrily noting this gave the colonel a piercing stare. Shrugging his shoulders Bruce smiled a response. After setting up their half shelters Lorelei and he sat out front. “Sort of reminds me when I was a little girl,” she dreamily reflected. “Back then I spent weekends camping with BDM.” Bruce asked. “What’s BDM?” “It’s the Bund Deutscher Model for girls. The boys had their Deutsches Jungvolk. The Party encouraged our youth to go on long marches without adult supervision.” She paused and smiled. “I learned a lot about life during those marches.” “I imagine you did.” Bruce replied with a thin grin. “But I grew up on a farm with little time for camping. Too much work to do before the sun went down.” Neither spoke for a while as thoughts rumbled back to their more carefree days. Bruce reflected on those hot summers following a horse drawn plow. Lorelei, on the other hand, ed her weeks with BDM. One summer she visited Blutordensburg, or as it was popularly known among SS , the Citadel of the Order of Blood. She saw first-hand Berlin’s training court for the Nazi Party’s future elite leaders.

She thought how sad it was that young minds were so awe stricken with rituals and glorious promises of better days. Now that she was older Lorelei saw those false hopes shattered under the screaming dying infantrymen. Though the night was peaceful her inner senses warned this wouldn’t last. Curiously looking around she saw the marines may appear relaxed but they actually were tensed after Lightfoot whispered his night orders. Their sentries walking the wall no longer strapped their weapons. They were now carried for swift usage. But the Mexicans were overly relaxing and this bothered her. “Have you studied these marines Lightfoot chose for this mission?” Lorelei was nibbling on a piece of pound cake from the ration box. “They’re some mean looking dudes.” “According to Lightfoot they’re brave warriors with no fear of the supernatural.” “I find that suspicious. Anybody claiming they don’t fear the unknown is downright crazy.” Pausing for a moment she then cynically continued. “By fearing the unknown gives you a longer life.” “Do you fear the supernatural?” Bruce asked. “You damn right I fear their corridors.” Finishing the pound cake she didn’t expect an answer and didn’t get one. Lorelei watching a shooting star rip across the heavens found its path fascinating. In the ancient days such signs were favorable omens. When Bruce wasn’t impressed she rested her elbow on the hot sands and thoughtfully looked around. “Were you able to read Trujillo’s thoughts?” Lorelei asked. The sands were so hot she removed her elbow. “No.” Bruce unhappily answered. “Every time I tried his mind threw up a darkness that was impossible to cross over. I’m uncertain if he knows what I’m doing? Or he’s suspicious of everything around him? It’s hard to say which.” “So what’s our plans for tomorrow?” Bruce gave her a questioning glance. “After the train arrives tomorrow we’ll travel to the mountain’s base which is two hundred and fifty miles from here.

There we’ll be met by an unspecified number of Indian guides.” “Why do we need guides?” “Because we’ll be following a forgotten trail up the mountain’s side.” The colonel disregarded her skeptical glance. “Only a few people know about this path.” “How about Zaebos? Does he know?” “We better hope to God he doesn’t. Look, sweetheart, I know it’s a bad gamble. But what choice do we have? Mexican politics won’t let us fly in.” After that the colonel thoughtfully looked at the starry skies searching for answers explaining their bizarre mission. Lorelei was quiet for a few minutes before asking. “When American soldiers settle down for the evening what do they normally do?” “I guess they sit around bull shitting. Why do you ask?” “Have you noticed Trujillo’s men aren’t eating or drinking water?” Glancing Bruce’s way she suspiciously speculated. “Isn’t that a little strange?” “Everything is strange about this mission.” Bruce said. After that Lorelei studied this barren spot in the desert before deciding even Hell wasn’t this hot. The temperatures were like an oven. Lorelei couldn’t when she had perspired so heavily. It was like walking through a steam bathhouse with heavy clothing on. Bruce briefly studied his lover knowing she was more than miserable in the heat. Her thoughts were obviously somewhere else. The long blond hair was now stringy wet while perspiration glistened on her face. More than once she annoying reached up wiping away the moisture from her face. In his prejudiced thinking she was still a pretty woman. “What are you thinking about?” She shrugged after a few moments. “I was thinking how miserable I am in this cursed heat and that brought back more horrible memories. But, instead of damned heat it was snow. Lots of damned snow.”

“The Eastern Front?” Bruce asked while peeling off a candy wrapper. She refused a bite when it was offered. “Yeah, the Eastern Front 1941. You never would believe how cold it was that winter.” Her facial expression was numb while thinking back to those months on the Russian Front. “Our Soviet prisoners said it hadn’t been that cold in a long time.” “I heard it was damned cold.” She paused. “It got so cold our vehicle drivers kept small fires burning under their oil pans. The artillery range finders required pressing your eyes against glass lens. But when the gunners lowered the devices their eyeballs were jerked loose after freezing to the glass. I was with a SS panzer division back then. During those six months I never adjusted to the terrifying blizzard conditions. I probably cursed the Russian winter hundreds of time each day.” Pausing the woman sadly shook her head. “If you were wounded chances are the body would be frozen solid by morning.” “Why were you transferred from the Front?” Bruce asked while biting into the melting chocolate of another candy. “I was seriously wounded and flown out.” she remorsefully said. “Four months later my regiment was totally wiped out.” Lorelei stopped talking for a minute then looked at Bruce. “Even with all the horrors I have faced fighting demons… sometimes I think those few months on the Eastern Front were worse. One of these days this slaughtering has to end. That’s when I want to live in a place where there aren’t blizzards and I don’t sweat away pounds because of the cursed heat.” She looked at him with a pleading in the green eyes. “Do you think there’s such a place?” Bruce reached over and took her hand that was clammy and sticky from the perspiration. “I’m sure there’s such a place. And when we find it I hope to god I never touch another gun.” “Do you think Theta will let you do that?”

Bruce thought about it for several moments. “Probably not.” Smiling Lorelei squeezed his hand. “Are you taking me with you?” “Wouldn’t go anywhere without you, sweetie.” he said with smile. Charlie had posted his shelter next to Bruce’s and for the last few minutes thoughtfully listened to their talk. So that was how she knew so much about the Third Reich. She was once part of its destructive terrors. After a few minutes Charlie knew it didn’t matter. Lorelei Ramcke was a good person and her past was her past. The former member unconsciously mixed a packet of coffee grounds then sat the metal cup on a small fire in front of their shelters. If knowing he had been listening Lorelei showed no concern. Leaning over a little to look around Bruce she asked. “How are you doing in this damned heat?” Charlie complained. “I have never experienced such blazing temps.” There was a thoughtful silence. “Did either of you pay attention to Major Trujillo’s uniform shirt?” They shook their heads. “There was a small swastika pin on its collar.” “That doesn’t surprise me.” Lorelei groaned. “Now that we know his political views maybe we should keep one eye open tonight.” Bruce cynically agreed. “Yeah and one hand on our guns.” Leaning over Charlie slowly stirred the boiling water. “I still think it would have been faster flying.” he complained. “Yeah, and I agree. They’re deliberately slowing us down.” “But why?” “It’s giving Operation Einspritzung time to assemble their planes.” Bruce casually predicted. “Sometime you have to wonder what side Mexico is on.” “It’s not the people. Their politics suck big time and we’re caught in the middle.”

“And this doesn’t bother you?” Charlie dubiously asked. Finishing the candy bar the colonel was silent for a moment. “Why worry about it? There’s nothing we can do. Anyhow, we have enough problems getting our covert into high gear. Before leaving San Diego the State Department warned me about the complexity of Mexican politics.” Bruce then indifferently shrugged his shoulders. “At times I swear Theta is bending over backwards to concur with Mexico City’s demands.” Lorelei bitterly complained. “It seems that way.” Charlie mumbled after removing the hot metal cup with a folded handkerchief. From where he sat Bruce commanded a good view of the garrison built to house fifty soldiers. Age and neglect weighed heavily on its crumbling structure. He grinned when ing Lorelei’s amusing remark ‘the fort would be hard press to withstand an invasion by rabbits’. For a moment Bruce watched Sergeant Lightfoot talking with a Mexican sergeant over by the abodes. When the Shawnee came over he was worried. “I was just informed the train might be delayed later than we thought. Supposedly there’s a bad storm on the way. So I guessed we better be ready? I already told the men to anchor down their tents.” “Why did you post extra guards?” Bruce asked. “I don’t trust the bastards.” the sergeant angrily said. Bruce nodded. “Good enough reason for me.” After the sergeant left Charlie finished his coffee then walked into the shadows for a nature call. Lorelei looked around. “I guess there’s no broom closet around here?” she teasingly asked. Bruce shook his head. “No broom closet.”

“That’s too bad.” “And I don’t see any disabled Soviet tanks neither.” For a moment he looked at his distressed lover and said. “I guess you’re out of luck, sweetie.” Lorelei responded to his sarcastic reply by sticking her tongue out at him. Father Lampkins came over and awkwardly sat down. “Have you wonder why there are no blackbirds tracking us?” he suspiciously asked. When offered a cup of coffee he shook his head. “I suppose Zaebos figures we’re blocked in.”Bruce said. Lorelei was tying her wet hair in two pony tails when glancing at the priest. She felt sorry for him. The man was doing his best to keep up with the younger marines and failing. His three hundred pounds was a burden Father Lampkins accepted without complaint. Bruce was now standing in the hot sun studying some black clouds gathering over their immediate region.

Chapter Twenty-nine

With a thin smile Bruce leaned over and lightly kissed Lorelei on the lips then stood with a grunt. The colonel walked over to the marines’ tents arranged in a defensive manner. Sergeant Lightfoot was squatting by a fire warming his hands. Like war paint reddish flames cast jagged shadows across his serious facial lines. Bruce noticed the marine rifles earlier stacked against one another in front of the tents were gone. That’s when he saw Lightfoot’s automatic lying by his leg for quick usage. Seeing the colonel’s interest he motioned at the Mexican tents across the sandy gap. Bruce smiled his approval. Squatting down Bruce accepted a cup of coffee and complained. “You would think after one hundred sixty-seven years, the Corps would teach the grunts how to make a good cup of coffee?” While talking he saw a Mexican soldier positioned atop a nearby abode. It afforded him a complete command of their surroundings not to mention the marines’ camp. “They aren’t the best soldiers I have seen in my lifetime. But that one on the roof doesn’t know my best sharpshooter has his ass in sight.” The Shawnee was silent for a few moments before cynically replying. “That taco breath won’t piss again if their stupid major tries anything nasty.” He was serious again. “Lorelei mentioned they haven’t eaten or drank water since we got here.” Bruce pretended to glance indifferently about the old army post. With the exception of three marines walking guard posts his other men weren’t in sight. This garrison was definitely not the ideal defensive position. “This damned fort is a powder keg waiting to explode.” the colonel theorized. “Yes, I know. My heart tells me to sleep with both eyes open, colonel. This might turn into walking through a damned Nip mine field at night.”

The Indian moved a couple feet away from the warm fire dragging his rifle with him. Without changing facial expression he kept talking low enough for the colonel to hear but nobody else was able to. “A man left camp nearly an hour ago. Crept away is more like it. I sent one of my trackers after him. Nobody gets away from Broken Hand.” Pausing for a moment the Indian rubbed his chin. “Broken Hand ed us before we left Diego.” Bruce finished the coffee with a bitter expression. “I assume Broken Hand is good at his job?” “Broken Hand is a damned good Apache scout.” “That’s good. While we have the time there’s something we need to settle.” The sergeant’s expression didn’t change from its stern no nonsense mask while Bruce spoke. “We have a difficult mission ahead of us. I’m going to lean heavily on your wisdom about the Mexicans. But don’t forget I’m the commanding officer and not you.” He paused for a moment. “I something Billy Jordan said. Sergeant Lightfoot is a damned good marine but at times he forgets who is the senior. Are we going to have this problem?” “No, sir. I’m sorry. In the past I worked for officers who preferred I made the decisions and not them.” “Good but I’m not those officers, sergeant. When you suggest actions I’ll approve or disapprove them.” Twenty minutes later a tall, lean framed and dark complexioned marine slipped back into camp. The Mexican sentry atop the abode never saw him. Pretending to button his pants he leisurely walked across the sandy compound. The last hour or so the night air turned chilly. Broken Hand squatting alongside the fire warmed his hands. There was a sense of death radiating from this Apache when looking at the flames. “Much evil flirts this place, Lightfoot,” he softly warned. “That soldier was fast going somewhere when I lost him in the darkness.” When the Shawnee expressed surprise his scout lost a badly trained Mexican soldier he tried smiling. But this development was too serious for such expressions. Broken Hand was pretty upset over the incident.

“While coming back I saw Trujillo squatting like a squaw in the darkness near the western wall.” “What was he doing crapping?” Bruce asked. “I never saw him leave the abode.” “You wouldn’t have. He crept through a hole in the wall.” “What was he doing?” “Talking with somebody I couldn’t see.” “The best of us loses a rabbit some time or other, Broken Hand.” Lightfoot respectfully replied. “But what hit you?” The Apache reaching up wiped away blood trickling down his left cheek. “A damned blackbird came out of nowhere.” He bitterly smiled. “But he won’t do that again. I wrung his damned neck with one twist.” “You did a good job, Broken Hand. The spirits indeed walked at your side this night.” Then the sergeant thoughtfully looked at that Mexican walking the abode roof with rifle loosely swung over his shoulder. “It’s about time plan two went into action.” Bruce frowned. “Mind telling me what plan two is all about?” he grumbled. Again ing Billy’s curt warning about Lightfoot’s impulse planning Bruce became uneasy. He sometime wondered who commanded this expedition. It was obvious the Indian had forgotten their discussion a short while before. Lightfoot whispered something to the Apache who after nodding compliance crept back into the darkness. Trujillo’s sentry atop the building never knew he had talked with Lightfoot. “Ever since that Mexican officer arrived I have nursed deep distrust for his Mexicans. My heart tells me the woodpecker is plotting to do us in. So my men were briefed on plan two. In the coming few minutes they’ll slip from their tents when the moon is shadowed by those stormy clouds. Over from your tent is a bunch of fallen stones. The major and you stay there until trouble comes. You’ll be part of a cross fire.” Bruce didn’t argue but kept staring at the Shawnee with increasing annoyance.

“Make your blankets look like somebody is under them.” When Bruce finally nodded agreement the Indian grinned. “Oh yeah, Broken Hand told me those three soldiers garrisoning this place fled couple of hours ago. They ran down the road like their tails were on fire.” The colonel stood for a moment before saying. “They probably know something is coming down tonight.” Lightfoot solemnly nodded. “That’s my thinking, sir.”

Chapter Thirty

True to Lightfoot’s predictions those Mexicans on guard duty never knew when his marines crept into the darkness. Tonight there would be no sleep in that camp. When the small fires died the sentries joked how crazy those Americans were. Even small children knew fires kept wild animals from wandering among the tents searching for food. The hours slowly ed those cold uncomfortable marines huddled in their darkened hiding places. So far nothing confirmed Lightfoot’s warnings. But these marines didn’t complain because their inner senses also warned of trouble on the hoof. Pressed against the crumbling wall and behind some fallen stones, Bruce and Lorelei clutching their weapons patiently waited for the anticipated trouble. After adjusting to the night’s lack of good illumination they scrutinized the spooky compound. That night there would be no sleeping in the fort’s macabre surroundings. Relieving sentries didn’t notice there were no marines walking guard posts. At one point a Mexican soldier quietly walked among the marines peacefully sleeping inside the pup tents. But not once did Trujillo’s men check the sleeping marines. Hours drifted slowly for those hiding in the darkness waiting for something to strike their tents. Rolling black clouds continued shadowing the crumbling walled compound and blocking illumination for longer periods of time. These were ideal times for aggressors to attack but only the winds disturbed that night’s serenity. Cold night air encouraged their imaginations to wildly visualize scenes not yet happening. Indians never backed away from supernatural events. However, tonight they suspected the evils storming from the darkness would be above anything they had witnessed. So the Indians patiently waited with fingers on their triggers. From their earliest age Indians were taught the importance of patience and they learned well. As the hours ed no faster than a snail’s crawl their minds visualized nightmarish events.

After heavily sweating from the day’s heat the Apache known as Broken Hand was thankful for the night’s chill. But he found none of this to be threatening. Later that might change after experiencing sharp pangs warning danger was on the hoof. Broken Hand’s sharp vision easily penetrated the night’s murkiness without finding danger. But he knew it was out there. Ezra Lightfoot squatting behind a pile of fallen abode bricks cautiously eyed their surroundings with a grim expression tugging his mouth. Time crept with no terrorizing beings revealing their fangs. But he showed no doubt his forecast was wrong. The night was still young though there was a disturbing darkness treacherously shrouding the compound. His heart embraced the warning danger was stalking their ranks. He just couldn’t see it. Another Apache by the name of Yellow Hair crouched at Broken Hand’s side with the same patience. Once Lightfoot glanced where the three officers were hiding. The colonel knowing his plans were ideal for this situation never had objected. He was a good officer. The Shawnee knew the colonel would countermand any plans thought to be ill-advised. Their earlier discussion still weighed heavily on his mind but there was no resentment. The other Indians weren’t sure of the colonel, but in time they would learn to trust him. Restlessness was the one emotion killing warriors in troubled winds. Once in the past seven-year old Lightfoot patiently waited six hours until a buck appeared. That night his family feasted on fresh meat. Lightfoot knew hunting man was little different from stalking deer. Both required patience and cleverness. Yellow Hair, a lanky Apache from Arizona, silently stared into the inky night without impatience or fear. Then his eyes saw something moving in the darkness just beyond their compound. About that time the Shawnee also sensed danger just beyond their visual limitations. Strong night winds were causing dust devils to wildly dance across the sandy compound. Simultaneously sensing that unmistakable strong smell of death the Indians exchanged quick confident glances. They knew other than mortals were aimlessly moving about the cramped compound like whispering death. Moments later Broken Hand gently nudging the sergeant gestured toward their camp’s eastern edge. Lightfoot nodded he saw the movement. Time for squatting was over as death silently crept closer. Danger was entering their ranks like

sneaking demons of death. Lightfoot motioned toward the post’s western flank. Yellow Hair nodded he understood. His eyes were already detecting black garbed figures slipping among the marines’ tents. Lightfoot couldn’t understand why the Mexicans hadn’t seen them? Though sensing something sinister was about to break from its murderous cloak, Bruce still hadn’t seen the threat among their tents. His senses couldn’t see a murky shield created by ing black clouds and swirling dust devils. Lorelei too felt they were about to come under attack. A series of smooth automatic motions followed as her finger slowly tightened on the automatic rifle’s trigger. Her slender body was tensed for a sudden leap up. Emerald eyes stared intently into the darkness trying to pinpoint their dangers. It was a feeling she readily recognized from her battles on the bloody Eastern Front.

* * *

The cold night’s serenity was broken when a machine gun’s angry chattering let hell break loose. Hearing Lightfoot’s signal for independent firing, marines jumping from their concealments ed the savage firing. Black garbed figures were caught in the open with no escape corridors. From somewhere among the marines sailed a grenade. Dropping amidst the aggressors it exploded in a brilliant flash followed by terrible screams. That soldier atop the abode never had an opportunity to the ruckus. A single bullet fired by Yellow Hair sent him tumbling off the roof. Gunfire harshly shattered the night for a few minutes then followed by a cold silence. While most marines cautiously searched the bodies for signs of life, others posted security perimeters in case more intruders came back. Sergeant Lightfoot and Colonel Sherman hurrying about the compound searched for clues without finding any. Jerking a black mask from one body the colonel stared at a dead Mexican. Lorelei wisely stayed in the shadows nursing her suspicions something wasn’t right with this scene. Bruce contemptuously stared at the dead aggressor. “Who do you think they

are?” Lightfoot squatting alongside a body quickly rifled his pockets without finding any identification. “I don’t know but they sure as hell smell to high heaven.” “That they do.” Bruce agreed while looking about the small neglected outpost. His eyes feasting on no one object suspiciously knew there was a missing link. The apprehensive feeling flowing through his body was similar to that time he was chased by wild boars back home. He quickly gave the Indian a concerned glance. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Lightfoot after reluctantly nodding shouted. “Spread out! Search for live Mexicans! Somebody get that Mexican major out here on the double.” Marines quickly searched the crumbling abodes and compound. Without being told two marines scrambled up a wobbly ladder to post guard. Lorelei was reloading her rifle when the winds suddenly stopped blowing. Then the black clouds parted allowing feeble moon illumination to shower the terrain. This sudden weather change prompted the marines to pause and suspiciously look about. Standing only couple feet from Lorelei Charlie didn’t ask if this was strange. Seeing Lightfoot’s wretched facial expression told him enough. It wasn’t long before marines found dead Mexican soldiers scattered beyond the walls. This failed to surprise Bruce now quietly standing near a blazing fire waiting for their reports. The marines’ emotions should have been stunned by what they found but they weren’t. This attack initiated by an unknown enemy was smashed without one casualty. Within minutes two cursing marines came back half dragging Major Trujillo between them. “Sir, we found him tried to a cactus outside the wall,” one marine reported without hiding his contempt for the cursing Mexican officer. Momentarily studying the major’s glassy eyes Bruce grumbled. “This man has been drugged. What about his other men?” Disturbed by this development the colonel uneasily looked about. “Did you find any others?”

When probing the major’s cluttered mind Bruce was startled when discovering so much hatred. After meeting Trujillo’s dark opposition he rapidly withdrew his telepathic efforts. There was too much devilish confrontation inside Trujillo’s thoughts. Lingering there would only erode his thoughts. “We found two mutilated Mexican privates not far from the cactus.” “How did they die?” Lightfoot wanted to know. “It looked like the blackbirds killed them.” “That shouldn’t be a surprise.” Lorelei cynically replied. “It isn’t.” the colonel said after suspiciously staring at the major awkwardly brushing away hands that were helping him stand. “Throw him into the abode. Right now he isn’t worth a plug nickel to us.” After the jinxed officer was dragged away he turned to Lorelei and said. “I didn’t hear any birds squawking.” After quickly reconnoitering the general area the Shawnee returned to give the disheveled Mexican a disgusted glance. After breaking through the fleeing clouds the moon confirmed this wasn’t an ideal defensive site. Most marines stood around giving the colonel their full attention. Lorelei uneasily scrutinizing the small-enclosed area experienced only dreadful emotions. Once bathed in moonlight this garrison revealed few hiding places. Bruce didn’t comment while waiting until Lightfoot spoke. He was surprised his confused emotions churned around like a thunderous storm at sea. “When those soldiers were found?” Lightfoot anxiously asked his men. “Were their hearts intact or gone?” “Gone.” a marine nervously confirmed. “This is most distressful.” Lightfoot solemnly declared. “Removal of the heart during battle is a sign the messenger of death is about to swoop down in his black coach.” He looked at the two Apaches. “Broken Hand, other than that one bird did you see any others?”

Yellow Hand said. “I saw two or three a few minutes ago?” “Where?” “They were perched on the East wall.” There was a short anxious pause before the tall Shawnee whirled on the balls of his feet while shouting, “Johnny and Mark, front and center on the double!” He menacingly pointed a finger at the marines who weren’t happy their names were called. “Get your butts on the wall by the gate! When seeing hostiles get your butts down here on the double. We’ll dig your foxholes while you’re up there.” Looking Bruce’s way for a moment he then turned to his men. The two marines sprinting across the compound rapidly climbed a ladder onto the wall. “Richard and Daly, dig foxholes facing east and west and stay alert! Get the lead out of your assholes and start digging. Now listen up all of you! Dig them deep if you want to live.” After that there was a noisy explosion of sounds as marines hurriedly started digging. Knowing what was happening the Indians were faster in their digging than the whites faces. Before Bruce could ask Lightfoot sharply said. “Cabals will hit before dawn!” “Why foxholes?” Bruce asked bewildered about the activity around them. “Why are you abandoning the walls?” “When Cabals attack, those walls won’t be worth a piss ant but foxholes offer some measure of safety.” When seeing Lorelei suspiciously questioning his orders he explained. “Madam, that attack was only a stinger by Zaebos’ people testing our fighting abilities.” “They failed didn’t they?” she asked. Looking around she saw Charlie frantically digging in the hot sands. The Apaches were scooping out sand in hurried but measured moves. “No madam, they discovered what they came for. Next time we won’t be so lucky.” When Bruce asked about the foxholes he was silent for a few moments.

“Foxholes are protection for us because Cabals won’t go around holes in the earth. Cavities represent the burial plots they left.” “So who were these intruders?” “They weren’t cabals. While the intruders occupied our attention the real demons snatched hearts from the dead which provided the means for their transmigrations.” Lightfoot was coldly silent for a few moments. From a casual glance the peaceful evening appeared harmless but everybody knew this wasn’t the case. After a deep sigh the sergeant predicted. “They will strike before the sun rises.” “Attack with what?” Lorelei bitterly demanded. Lightfoot frowned. “With whatever Zaebos’ people drums up from the depths of Hell. Colonel, I recommend you two dig behind those rocks over there. It’ll provide excellent crossfire when trouble arrives. I also suggest we place our heavier weapons along that outer rim. That’ll give us a broader killing field.” He nodded when Bruce reluctantly approved his plans.

* * *

Confident his staff sergeant had everything under control Bruce helped Lorelei dig their foxhole. The colonel noticed the marines though uneasy about the threats seemed rather calm. While walking away Lightfoot mumbled to Yellow Hair and Broken Hand their colonel was a good man. After satisfied their light machine guns were defensively burrowed into the soft sands, the three Indians walked into the shadows. Finding good places to make their stand wasn’t easy but digging the loose sand was. During all of this the Indians didn’t converse but nursed their guarded reflections. There was no need for talk.

Yellow Hair, a stout Apache from an Arizona reservation, rested his rifle on the foxhole’s edge after sands were scooped out. This dark skinned man was nearly six feet tall with strong shoulders and arms. Yellow Hair coldly knew his inner strength was ready to confront whatever evil was tossed at him. He once thought there was nothing more hellish than fighting in Guadalcanal’s stinking jungles. When Lightfoot sought him out he agreed to his fighting team only because the Shawnee was asking. Now he wondered if that impulse decision was the right one? Fighting was in his blood. It was his birth right. Among the Apaches death was just another walk toward their shadowy future. After digging his hole Broken Hand thoughtfully stared into the darkness finding strength to discard his discomfort. This twenty-three year old Apache was a man crowded with prejudiced beliefs. The white man had caused him much anguish while growing up. In his mind death was another huddle before reaching the Almighty Spirit in his shadowy future. The other Indians, particularly the non Apaches, found enough reasons to distrust this angry man. Two deep scars on his face was testimony of his outrage toward the white men. After scooping sand to make a able foxhole, she then lined the rim with rocks for added protection. When finished the weary woman indifferently watched other marines digging their defenses against another nightmarish enemy. After fighting Satan’s chief troublemaker in Romania, Lorelei thought never again would she feel fear like she did there. But she was wrong. For a few moments she studied Bruce standing top of their hole studying the terrain. He was everything she ever wanted out of life but it was a constant fight for his love. Lorelei had no doubt Bruce loved her though he was obsessed with fighting demons. With a grunt the colonel leaned on some rocks and evaluated their chances of surviving this terrifying evening. Bruce found himself lonely this night. “When you were young did you read books about demons?” she curiously asked. “Yeah, it was part of Granny’s educational tools.” “Did you find them fascinating?” “Most of the time.” he mumbled. “Did you ever think they were real?”

Bruce smiled while stepping back in the hole. “Though we have fought demons, honey, it’s still hard accepting what’s going on.” With a deep grunt suggesting frustration the colonel looked away from her smiling face. His intense interest was again on the outpost’s southern approach skirting an one lane road leading toward the mountains. Having deep respect for the Indians’ keen sense of approaching death, Bruce was steadily growing comfortable with his special detachment. What troubled him was their lack of good information about Zaebos. When fighting Forcas it was easy to collect data but Zaebos was like the shadows he flirted within. Grunting something under his breath Bruce glanced over at his lover and smiled. Though the perfumed scents were gone her perspiring body still smelled nice. But Lorelei Ramcke wasn’t feminine in her camouflaged clothing and Bruce didn’t care. “The redskins…” Bruce corrected her with a faint frown. “They’re Indians.” “In your movies they’re called redskins.” Lorelei mildly objected his curtness. “Hollywood is make-believe, honey.” “I know that.” she snapped pretending to be offended then her voice changed. “But why do you always approve of Lightfoot’s recommendations?” “Because I know Indian minds are clever as hell.” “If they’re that clever,” she cynically asked. “How come they always lost their wars?” “We outnumbered them.” Lorelei chuckled and afterwards didn’t converse for a while. Staring into the darkness, she impatiently waited for the intruders Sergeant Lightfoot promised would come. She glanced uneasily at the abode building where Major Trujillo was locked in. Maybe he wasn’t responsible for their last attack but she knew somewhere along the way he would betray them. The other marines shared similar emotions about the foul mannered Mexican major. For a moment she

thought about iral Canaris’ struggle against Himmler’s backstabbing schemes to wrestle control of the Abwehr from him. Though now an American citizen she still loved and deeply respected the iral. “Bruce,” Lorelei softly said. “Yeah, what do you want?” “I love you.” she whispered. It was a moment before the colonel replied. “I love you too.” Bruce didn’t look at the woman standing in the foxhole. “We’ll get through this damned war, Lorelei, I don’t how… but we’ll get through it.” “Is that a promise?” “Yeah, I promise. And when this is over we’ll both retire in Ohio and peacefully live out our lives.” There was a thoughtful pause. “After this war the most dangerous thing I plan to do is gathering chicken eggs without breaking them.” She heard him softly exhale wondering such a dream was possible. “And we’ll have a broom closet?” Lorelei softly muttered in a teasing manner. Bruce chuckled. “You really got a thing about broom closets.” “You better believe it. It’s not the broom closet itself but what they represents.” Bruce shaking his head laughed but not too loud. “Bruce.” “Yeah.” “When this mission is over make me a promise.” “What’s that?” “Let’s not visit Mexico again.” “I think I can promise that.”

“There’s something else I want?” Bruce looked at the woman with her dirty blond hair tied in ponytails. “I’m afraid to ask what?” he slowly itted. “I want to fill a bathtub with hot water and bubbles then you and I lay in it.” “You want to do it in a bathtub?” Bruce asked with a broad smile. He was surprised they were talking about sex when a bloody battle was about to drop on them. “No, don’t be stupid. I just want you to hold me and whisper how much you love me. That’s all. No broom closet. No disabled tank. Just the two of us soaking in hot water and holding one another.” He gave her a lingering kiss. “Did you know that you’re weird as hell?” Lorelei flashed a seductive smile. “I’m your girl.” “That you are and don’t forget it.” Rubbing a hand over his weapon Bruce became serious again. There was a battle to be fought. Huddled in his foxhole several feet away Charlie grinned. He could see her smiling face when moonlight filtered through the rolling clouds that reappeared a few moments ago. Whatever they were talking about brought soft laughter from Lorelei. Charlie had repeatedly pleaded with the Trojan Princess to assign him to a field operation. After this one he was planning to request a change back to . It was safer there. Every once in a while he thought of Father Lampkins. The old man was in deep pain but wouldn’t back down. Every once in awhile he could see the large man mumbling his rosary. Occasionally Broken Hand peeked over his hole’s rim. During the cold night the Apache solemnly nursed his disgust with this situation. Being a patient man from his birth the Apache scout could wait much longer than these white men. A smirk crossed his dark complexion. Ever since coming into this prejudiced world his life had been one cruel struggle after another. In Arizona an Apache was lower than a snake’s belly far as the white man was concerned.

The husky man shifted his one hundred-ninety pounds without making a sound. When glancing at Lightfoot’s hole he thought about his linkage with the ancient Aztecs. Maybe he was good for this mission because they needed a brave attuned with the savage Aztecs. But when the gunfire ended and hostilities stopped, such men as Sergeant Lightfoot was dangerous in the eyes of other tribes. “Broken Hand.” Lightfoot whispered. “What do you need, sergeant?” “You never told me where your home soil is.” “Tucumcari.” he suspiciously replied. “Why do you ask?” “No reason. Just curious that’s all.” Lightfoot was quiet for a few moments. “Did you always live on a reservation?” “Off and on until enlisting in the Corps. My grandparents managed a miserable living on rocky parched land nobody else wanted. It may have been a tough life but we always had food and love.” The last sentence was spoken with great pride. “That is good.” Lightfoot solemnly praised. “Man should never go without love in the heart and food in the stomach.” He stared at the dark skies before softly saying. “I shall return in a few minutes.” “Where are you going?” “To check the foxholes.” “Again?” Broken Hand exclaimed. “You just checked them not long ago.” The sergeant grinned. “Some of our brothers aren’t Apache or Shawnee. They are proven warriors on the Canal but out here we aren’t fighting Japs.” “If they leave their hole during battle.” the Apache contemptuously spat. “Spilling of blood is their fault and not yours.” While checking his rifle the Shawnee said. “I’m their sergeant. It’s my duty to

remind them safety lies in their foxholes.” He paused for a moment. “Did not the great Geronimo concern himself with those braves under his leadership?” Broken Hand slowly nodding his head respectfully said. “Geronimo was a great Apache chief.” “Yes, he was. But I’m not a great war chief. I’m only a sergeant concerned about his men who haven’t fought the terrors we’re about to face.” After smiling at Broken Hand the sergeant cautiously made his way across the compound striped with dark shadows. The stern faced Apache watched his Shawnee brother go around each foxhole. Hearing their short conversations he thought the sergeant was a fool risking his life. During his tormented years in Arizona, Broken Hand developed a deep hatred for the white men supervising his reservation. Economically disadvantaged the Apaches were treated like mad dogs. So why should he embrace comion for those finding pleasure in stomping his people? He surly ed those few acres of barren land his father laboriously worked to sustain a wife and eight hungry kids. Because his weak-spirited father never abandoned that worthless plot, he died behind a crude horse drawn plow. Before leaving San Diego Broken Hand piously kneeing on the ground celebrated an old Apache ceremony known as Blessing Way. This ritual granted him the guiding hand of their Great Spirit. Broken Hand wasn’t offended when other marines ridiculed him. But now he could see in their eyes they weren’t laughing. He was a muscular man with anger flirting in his eyes. This man with scars on his chest was known to pick fights with the white men. Back on the Canal he heard rumors about a staff sergeant prowling the night hours killing Japs. Broken Hand listened to the gossip about this man who single-handedly terrorized the Japanese infantrymen. When Sergeant Lightfoot asked him to come and fight a great evil he readily said yes. It was good for the spirit to follow such a great warrior in battle. For a while Lorelei observed Lightfoot creeping from one foxhole to another. No matter what she thought of the Shawnee he was filled with courage. Resting her chin on the rifle’s cold metal the major sadly thought of her many friends who also were courageous. But now their bodies were buried and forgotten on the Eastern Front. This was an evil war the world was viciously fighting. When on

the battlefield political ideologies were thrown aside. The body was too busy struggling to survive. After a few moments she sighed while praying the spilling of blood would soon cease. Thoughtfully looking into the semi-darkness shrouding this abode fort in the barren desert, she thought it would be interesting to study the Indians’ service jackets. Knowing about their struggles to stand tall she found them impressive. She heard Bruce whispering her name. “Yes?” she responded. “How are you holding up?” “Good though I rather be someplace else.” “I hear you on that.” Bruce mumbled after a short silence. Yellow Hair was close enough to their foxhole to hear the major whispering. She was a strange woman. Then his thoughts drifted to other matters important to this powerfully built Apache. He never spoke against those rituals he didn’t find faith in. Each man had to embrace his own beliefs and walk the walk to his destiny. After scratching his scalp the Apache thought about those Aztecs once walking these grounds with a heavy sadistic hand. His great grandfather rode with Geronimo during his bloody raids against the Mexicans. Even today, when the name Chiricahua Apache is mentioned people silently harbor their fears. When the chief surrendered in 1886 his relatives were there. Later when the Blue Coats returned the aging chief to Fort Sill where he died in 1909 his grandfather was there. Warring was thick in his veins. Courage was his birthright and this he proudly carried into battle. Yellow Hair quietly shifted his weight on the hot sands without taking his eyes off the staff sergeant rechecking their alertness. The Shawnee was a good leader carrying concern for his men. After grunting his disgust he looked around with strong feelings this evening was evil. Distant lightning was a warning demons were stalking this ancient land. His wandering thoughts were abruptly halted when seeing movement in the darkness near the crumbling walls. Yellow Hair was about to warn Broken Hand when seeing he too had sensed the danger.

For the last few minutes Lorelei studied Bruce’s intense scrutiny of their southern approach. She longed for this terrible war to end so she could have a chance at happiness. Marriage to this American was high on her list of accomplishments. Suddenly an emotional coldness caused her to tightly clutch the rifle. Emerald green eyes cautiously appraised the darkness lying in front of them. There was no denying this terrifying feeling was warning their presence was about to be violently challenged.

Chapter Thirty-one

For the last few minutes Lorelei leaned against the cavity’s cold sands trying to identify her uneasiness. “We got visitors.” she anxiously warned. “Yeah, I felt it minutes ago but I don’t see them.” “That’s because they aren’t out there!” she abruptly stammered. “They’re in the compound.” Pressing her body against the sands Lorelei aimed her rifle while crying. “Fire the flares! NOW!” Bruce didn’t question her warning before quickly firing the flare gun. Almost immediately after its dull thump in the air their entire area was brightly bathed in a harsh illumination. Caught away from his foxhole when the flare burst Sergeant Lightfoot let loose a curse before jumping into the nearest hole. When its occupant complained he yelled at the marine to shut up and fire at the intruders. Once exposed the black garbed figures in hunched over positions jerked up and charged the holes as marines opened fire. The wild chatter of gunfire and exploding grenades broke the evening’s peacefulness. Cries of pain were heard amidst the brutal gunfire from automatic weapons. Three screaming figures in black charged the foxhole where Lightfoot was rapidly firing his weapon. One demon was brought down by heavy caliber bullets ripping apart his body. Another aggressor threw his hands in the air after a nearby grenade exploded tearing loose his head. The body kept running for a few steps before flopping over. The third hostile was only inches from the hole when lifting his dagger. That was the last thing he did. Lightfoot kept spraying the hostile with machine gun fire. At first the marines were too busy fighting the attackers to observe that loud fluttering of blackbirds. It was Lorelei who observed the birds winging inside the compound. Before her terrified eyes they were changing into mortals carrying swords and wicked-looking daggers.

While twisting around Lorelei saw a tall, hairy aggressor about to plunge his blade into Bruce’s back. “Behind you!” she shouted while bringing her rifle up to kill couple more demons charging their position. After killing the back stabbing demon Bruce smiled at his woman. “The blackbirds!” she shouted while rapidly reloading her weapon. “They’re transmigrating!” A quick glance showed more demons coming over the wall. There was no slack in their ing this tumultuous bloodletting and shattering of already dead bodies. The stench in the night air was terrible. Bruce was cursing while analyzing their desperate situation. It was impossible holding back this devilish flood of diabolical nightmares. While Bruce and Lorelei savagely fought the aggressors, Sergeant Lightfoot saw their survival chances rapidly eroding with few encouragements in sight. Squawking blackbirds winging into the walled compound amidst flashing explosions, were transforming into cabals. Another demon was killed after jumping over some rocks and plunging onto Broken Hand’s bayonet. “Bruce!” Lorelei yelled while inserting another ammo clip into her weapon. “Those birds are all landing on one spot?” She only got a quick nod from the colonel who was furiously firing at several demons charging their hole with ugly swords. A thought raced through her mind. Laying aside her rifle the German woman jerked a grenade from her web belt, pulled its pin and hurled it hard as she could. The explosive ball momentarily seemed suspended in slow motion before falling amidst the transmigrating demons. There was a brilliant explosion. Following the smoke’s clearing no blackbirds were changing into slimy humans from the grave. The craziness of this briefly unnerved the fighting marines. Then they too began hurling grenades into the circle. Those explosions accomplished another surprising turnabout when the screaming demons lost their voices. These stumbling creatures from Hell now slowing their charges began rapidly disappearing in popping displays of reddish flashes. Lorelei bewilderedly watched as the dead figures lying about their hole gradually disappeared. Within minutes after the attack there was silence among the startled men.

After glancing at Bruce Lorelei stammered. “What?” “Just wanted to tell you that I love you.”

Chapter Thirty-two

Without warning a strange change came over the Shawnee’s body as a horrified expression twisted his thoughts. When Bruce started to question this Yellow Hair grabbed his arm while shaking his head. It was obvious to those gathering around Lightfoot was caught in a deep trance. Placing his hands on the hot sands, he forcefully leaned backwards until his eyes were focusing on the dark heavens. When marines, not of Indian bloods, unconsciously stepped backwards, Yellow Hand calmly told them to stand fast. Then without hesitation Yellow Hair posted Sioux braves in defensive positions around the gathering. When marines not of Indian bloods started losing their cool, the believers slipped among their numbers encouraged them to hold their positions. After Lightfoot scooped sand in his hand a brief puzzled expression settled on his face. The Indian sergeant was desperately fighting an unwanted spirit trying to control his body. When Bruce started to halt this Father Lampkins curtly motioned him not to. The Shawnee now deeply in a trance dropped to his knees. He had lost his inner battle. In an ancient gesture of surrender Lightfoot placing his hands on the sands leaned back. A cold disbelieving mood washed over those standing around. “Be warned for you have foolishly wandered into realms dominated by my forces, so saith Baalberith.” Nobody accepted these harshly spoken words from Lightfoot’s mouth as his own. “Go forth this day to your lands and come not again. You have lived this night only because I granted it. Tally and my mercy will not be repeated. Now go for you do not belong here.” “What do you want?” Bruce demanded of the voice using the sergeant’s body as his host. “Who speaks?” “Bruce Sherman.”

There was a short pause. “Theta is not welcome here.” “You have not answered my question, Baalberith!” Bruce harshly growled. “What do you want?” “I bargain not with mortals! Tally and you shall be crushed like the slimy pest you are.” “I run not from slime such as you, Baalberith!” Bruce boldly declared. While speaking Bruce ed his great grandmother’s words. Never bend before evil but show courage and determination. She lectured him many times this causes the evil to think twice. “You are weak and unable to defend yourself against my powers…” “Forcas thought that and he was defeated. I have no fear of your powers as they are weak and evil. I walk with the shield of Minerva as my protector and source of strength. Whose shield do you carry this day? It is thou who must go forth from this land, Baalberith, or suffer defeat’s heavy hand.” There was a short pause before a horrifying laughter caused cold goose bumps on the marines. While listening to this bizarre exchange of words it was like watching scenes from a horror movie. After Sergeant Lightfoot groaned then collapsed on the ground, Bruce and Charlie quickly helped him to his unsteady feet. It was a few moments before the Shawnee nodded he was all right while brushing sand from his hands. The marines silently stood waiting for explanations what had happened. Some knew, but were reluctant to it it really happened. Lorelei felt a cold breeze drifting through the compound. With suppressed fear she briefly observed streaks of flashing lightning darting across the heavens. “This isn’t good,” the priest mumbled. “Who did you say Baalberith was?” Lorelei asked. When Bruce looked her way she helplessly shrugged “There’s too damned many names in this covert to .” “He’s a demon from the Infernal Empire.” Bruce thoughtfully explained. “But

what’s this demon doing in Mexico? He doesn’t belong here.” “What do you mean he doesn’t belong here? I thought demons went anywhere they wanted to?” Lorelei skeptically asked. “Believe it or not but demons are restricted to their own domains. That’s why Zaebos has caused so much conflict in Mexico. He belongs in the Middle East and not here.” Bruce said. Bruce looking at the Indian’s distressed expression knew the worst was yet to come. However, his dark thoughts were restricted to him. For the last few minutes, the Catholic priest nursed growing fears what they had just fought was only a fraction of the nightmarish evil about to fall on the old crumbling fort. Lorelei’s thoughts lingered around that snowy morning on the Eastern Front. The enemy furiously attacked her regiment with more than fifty tanks and several hundred infantrymen. It was a bloody no mercy battle lasting all day and into the night. She felt an icy chill racing through her emotions. Hours before that attack she couldn’t push aside a horrible feeling they were about to view death’s murderous side. That same emotional warning was again dominating her attention. Father Lampkins mumbled. “If Baalberith is here then we have more trouble than originally anticipated.” Few marines noticed the colonel’s wretched expression as their attention was on Sergeant Lightfoot. For a few moments he watched as sharp lightning bolts repeatedly flashed across the heavens. Bruce skeptically predicted. “I can’t believe the Infernal Empire is actually invading the Aztec deity kingdoms.” He paused while such a war’s implications gradually sunk in. “That would be crazy.” The staff sergeant was slow to reply. “Crazy or not that’s the only reason Baalberith would be here.” The colonel uneasily questioned. “I never heard the Infernal Empire crossing into this domain?”

“Neither have I. But Baalberith’s unwelcome presence will be met with vicious opposition.” The Indian exhaled the way a person would expel reflections so horrible they were unthinkable. Bruce felt his stomach fluttering when recognizing a badly disguised fear in Lightfoot’s eyes. If the Shawnee was afraid then it was time to express the same emotion. For a few seconds the colonel felt trapped in a huge darkened chamber. Father Lampkins standing among the stunned marines recognized their fear only because one day in his past he too had experienced it. In the ing few moments the colonel grasped control of his falling emotions. Then in a cold business like tone he asked the sergeant to explain. The sergeant swallowed hard before saying. “Of all the deities Aztec gods are the most jealous. It’s said when Zaebos first came there was a frantic combining of violent challenges. Ancient legends record Chiuacoatl commanded that opposition. She’s also known as the ‘Snake Woman’.” For a short time he unfavorably thought about the ugly goddess. “Her worshipping demanded the sacrificing of war captives to quench her thirst for blood.” Bruce shrugged off his bitter expression. “She sounds like a delightful choice for leadership.” “Not really. Myths celebrated her many losses on battlefields. But Chiuacoatl doesn’t fight alone. Her companion was Tlazolteotl, also known as the Goddess of Filthy Things.” Lightfoot slowly shook his head in iration. “This witch is known for her illicit love affairs. She probably tried using her ions on Zaebos. We know he possesses no desire for women but thirsts only for the touch of old men. Tlazolteotl was a young sensual woman with cravings for excitement. Those ancient wars provided the blood and sexual affairs she craved.” Bruce suspiciously looked about. The night was changing as dangers matured unseen by the mortals. Those lightning bolts were strangely interesting. Their forceful appearance and irregularity disturbed Bruce. Later he bitterly ed such demonstrations in Romania while fighting Forcas. “What about the Mexican major?” “He’s alive.” Lightfoot said. “But I can’t say that much for his emotional state.

He obviously saw more than we did.” Seeing the priest sitting on a rock holding his throbbing head Bruce walked over. “How are you doing?” he asked. “I have felt better.” The priest managed to grin before a sharp pain tore through his head. “So what’s been decided?” Bruce waited until the Indian reached them. “We believe the Infernal Empire are forcing their way into the Aztec domains.” There was no surprise on Father Lampkins’ face. “They’ll fight back.” “I figured as much.” When Lorelei ed them she thoughtfully asked. “You think that’s why Zaebos is here?” “Maybe but I suspect there are other objectives on his mind.”

Chapter Thirty-three

Following their battle with the demons it was decided to brainstorm their future activities. While the enlisted marines established defensive measures Bruce gathered his key staff. The two Apaches squatted alongside a thoughtful Lightfoot. Sitting on folded legs Charlie thought about their last few hours. Because of his size Father Lampkins sat on a large rock offering little comfort. Yellow Hair studied Bruce and Lorelei thinking how a perfect couple they appeared. But what none of them noticed was the assembling of ugly black clouds. “What shall we first discuss?” Bruce asked looking at each person for several seconds. “Why not discuss the pilots?” Lorelei asked. “For the life of me I don’t see their connection with the merging spiritual worlds.” “They could be decoys? While we’re trying to decipher their objectives more important issues are slipping past our attention.” Charlie suggested. “Then you believe we should ignore them?” Yellow Hair skeptically asked. Charlie quickly shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean that. Those pilots are here for reasons that we aren’t seeing. And it’s very important we know what that is.” Yellow Hair challenged. “I thought it was agreed they were flying across the border on air raids?” Turning to the Indian sergeant Bruce sternly asked. “And your opinion?” “It’s obvious demons are invading the Aztec deities. Such events were never spoken of in our conjuring lodges. Down through the ages deity boundaries were laid out. Individual gods and demons were charged to remain within their lands. Not since God exiled the evil angels have there been attempts to bring the worlds together. Their invading would violate those laws established by the gods. You can expect many bloody battles to be fought because of Satan’s stupidity.”

“I thought we were talking about the pilots?” Broken Hand impatiently asked. Lightfoot defended his opinion. “We were drawn here to take part in this conflict. As the facts are emerging we all agree this is a massive event. We don’t know what their general plan may be. But we do know what’s facing us on Cerro Chorerras. And there we should be concentrating our efforts.” Father Lampkins skeptically mumbled. “Don’t you think Theta should have briefed us on the wider circles of evils? Neither Betty or Operations mentioned the merging. In my way of thinking that’s because we aren’t supposed to be involved. Our hands are full just going after Zaebos.”

* * *

The round table discussion lasted another thirty minutes with no true direction agreed on. It didn’t take long after that before the enlisted marines retired to their holes. They felt safer in the holes than on the ground. Bruce again checked the major huddled in an abode corner whimpering demons were after his soul. The Mexican kept ignoring Bruce’s presence while drifting through his nightmarish mental prison. With a frustrated sigh the colonel left him alone. Walking across the compound Bruce paused to look at the now empty Mexican encampment. Then he ed Lorelei and Father Lampkins sitting around a small fire discussing their plight. “How’s the major?” Father Lampkins asked. “He’s totally out of his mind. The man keeps crying demons are after his soul.” Charlie sat after fetching a candy bar from his backpack. “Maybe he’s better off not knowing what’s going on?” he cynically suggested after a few moments. Bruce agreed before glancing at Lightfoot. “I saw you examining the bodies. What were you looking for?”

“I uncovered more questions than answers. Most of those soldiers were murdered by cabals.” The Indian kept swishing a twig back and forth in the sands. “It’s easy to identify their handiwork.” Pausing for a moment he uneasily looked at the others. “Six soldiers found outside the wall weren’t mutilated. They instead died from sheer terror.” “What we witnessed tonight would drive anybody nuts.” Bruce dubiously speculated. “No, this didn’t apply to those Mexicans. Agree what we fought tonight was horrifying but we survived. They didn’t and that’s bothering me. I suspect there were horrors we didn’t see while those six men did.” “Like what?” “I don’t know.” Father Lampkins fingering his rosary silently prayed for guidance. Bruce sarcastically shrugged his shoulders. “If the Infernal Empire were conspiring to annex Mexico’s deities don’t you think their main thrust would be on the mount?” “We’re minor players with no connection to their conspiracy.” Yellow Hair suggested. “Is Satan bad looking?” Lorelei asked deciding the subject should be changed. When they questioningly looked her way she sheepishly shrugged. “Just curious.” After a few moments the priest dubiously shook his head. “Nobody has seen Satan and lived to talk about it. So I don’t know what he looks like. The Bible has some descriptions and so does various cultures down through time.” A short silence later Lightfoot indifferently suggested. “Maybe Satan is what you want him to look like?” Bruce chuckled though there was no amusement on his face. “He can’t be any worse looking than some of those Aztec deities?”

“The Ancients in Mexico always saw their gods as ugly and mean looking. That separated them from those graceful classical lines the Greeks and Romans chose for their gods.” The priest stopped listening long enough to direct his attention on the rolling black clouds and slashing lightning bolts. “Have any of you observed our weather?” he curiously asked. “It’s been like that since San Diego.” Bruce brushed off the priest’s troubling remark. “Thunder shaking the earth, lightning bolts streaking across the skies like flaming arrows and rolling black clouds are definitely unusual.” Father Lampkins apprehensively argued. “But there’s something else that’s bothersome? Such conditions are usually associated with the evil underworld. This weather we’re seeing is local.” For a few moments he curiously watched Sergeant Lightfoot’s swishing that twig around in the sands. “What are you doing?” The Shawnee glanced at the questioning priest and shrugged without his hand stopping the twig’s movement. “Why?” “Because you’re scattering that sand in the same defined motions.” the priest curtly charged. “Even as we talk you haven’t changed the rhythm. So what are you doing?” The Indian didn’t speak for a few moments while staring at the Catholic man of cloth. Then glancing at Bruce who was thoughtfully watching without comment he coldly said. “In my mind I hear voices…angry voices debating what happened this eve. They’re confused with this invasion of their domain and aren’t in harmony as what must be done.” “That’s known as clairaudience,” Father Lampkins suspiciously explained. “In other words you have a psychic ability to hear voices beyond normal channels.” “My people call this compromising with the gods by another name.” While talking Sergeant Lightfoot’s hand slowly arranged the sands into what vaguely looked like a serpent. “I have no conjuring lodge to hold my mediumistic touch with the gods nor am I a sorcerer, yet, I see with clarity events to come.” His

voice became unsteady while the hand constantly moved sands into a small circle at his feet. Paying closer attention to those patterns Bruce thoughtfully said. “I have seen that ritual, sergeant. We had Indians living near where I grew up in Ohio.” A frown touched his facial lines. “You’re communicating with the past so tell me what you see?” The Theta agent was troubled as definitions of what he was doing became clearer. Lightfoot reluctantly obeyed. “It’s a strange world I’m seeing in my mind.” He gave the colonel a quick fearful glance. “I see a dark underground cave entered through a hole in the earth and guarded by seven doors. There are many wandering souls crying aloud with hands raised above their heads.” Suddenly his voice became slow and hesitant as words issued from his mouth. “I see towers of stone with strange inscriptions. Figures in black walk the ramparts ignoring those wretched cries for mercy. I hear prophecies spoken by ghosts without faces. I do not understand their words but I share the terror of what they’re forecasting.” The Shawnee fearfully shook his head. “There are fires everywhere with faint figures walking about…” Then his connection with the worlds beyond was snapped causing the Indian to jerk back in horror. When the priest started to jump to his assistance this time Bruce shook his head. Everybody waited breathlessly until the sergeant silently questioned why they were so shocked. “What?” he bewilderedly asked. “You just described Aralu.” Bruce mumbled. “I did?” Lightfoot weakly challenged. “And what is Aralu?” “The underworld abode where Babylonian dead go never to return.” Bruce apprehensively explained. “Babylonian dead,” Charlie exclaimed. “What’s the Babylonians have to do with our situation?”

It was moment before the colonel shrugged. “I don’t know. The Babylonians never were associated with Mexico. It’s doubtful if they even knew this section of the world existed. This is becoming awful confusing. Sergeant Lightfoot experiences astral projection involving Baalberith from the Infernal Empire. Then we have the sergeant’s clairaudience connects with Aralu. Both projections are foreign to the Aztec world. By all rights, neither have business being here in the first place.” He helplessly shrugged. Lorelei skeptically said. “All of this highlights our suspicions Satan has invaded Mexico’s ancient domains.” She studied their mixed expressions. “With this in mind, we must brace ourselves for the terrifying events awaiting us.”

Chapter Thirty-four

Lightfoot was about to reply when his face twisted in terror. “Into the foxholes!” he started screaming. “Into the holes and stay no matter what you see!” The others not daring to disobey were jumping into their scooped out holes. “Stay in your holes!” Those four marines on the walls scrambled down the shaky ladder and ran like hell across the compound. While their friends shouted encouragements they dived into the holes. They did this before thunderous noises erupted above the army outpost. With a last glance over his shoulder, Sergeant Lightfoot dived head first into a foxhole as ear deafening horse hooves raced downward. Then everything above the crumbling outpost erupted into chaos. There were flashing lightning bolts explosively striking the ground. Thunderous barking caused everybody’s eardrums to painfully ache. Bruce and Lorelei not knowing why they leaped into the hole cautiously peeked over the rim. What they saw stung their emotions with icy disbelief. From the skies abruptly emerged a black coach drawn by four powerful snorting horses. This phantom coach struck the ground with a loud thump as two faceless riders leaping down ran into the abode. Major Trujillo’s terrified screams filled the night air. Moments later the black robed figures reappeared dragging their struggling victim who was then roughly thrown inside the coach. After the riders jumped onto the driver’s box, the carriage with sharp whipping motions charged into the night and disappeared. For a few seconds both Theta agents looked at one another. This wasn’t the first time they witnessed this death coach. After it was gone the nasty weather conditions instantly changed to a peaceful moonlit night. Minutes ed over the devilish outpost before marines cautiously left their protective holes. The suspicions why they were spared were many and for the most part unspoken.

“What was that?” Charlie asked still emotionally numbed by the experience. The colonel hesitated before solemnly stating. “That was the death coach as depicted in ancient Greek and Roman myths.” There was another silence before the colonel said. “The driver was Thanatos, Greek god of death.” “But why kidnap the major? What did he do to arouse their contempt?” Charlie asked. Accepting ancient myths coming to life was hard to accept. But witnessing an ancient Greek death coach tearing from the heavens was even more difficult. “No telling. But we should be asking why a death coach from the Greek myths emerged in Aztec domains?” the colonel thoughtfully suggested. “And asking this we have to face the terrible reality there’s a civil war among the underworld. The deity boundaries have definitely collapsed.” The colonel watched his marines stepping from their foxholes. There was no question they were bewildered by the sight of a horse-drawn coach appearing from the skies. But a closer look at their eyes revealed no hint of fleeing. Bruce smiled. They were marines standing fast their ground. “This foreign invasion of supernatural beings fortifies Satan is invading the Aztec deities.” Bruce gently massaged his chin. “This suggests trouble not only for us… but also for the Aztec deities.” The Theta agent looked at those faces staring at him and made no further comment. “Why couldn’t this be part of their mythology?” Charlie asked still seeking logical explanations for this bizarre twist of events. All of this was confusing to the marines. But it also meant whatever came at them would be unpredictable. While debating this turn of events the men began noticing the gathering of black clouds to their East. “The Aztecs never had horses or coaches until the Spaniards brought them over.” Charlie frigidly explained. He momentarily paused after Bruce nodded his agreement. “I agree when unleashing his diabolic forces Satan challenged the old Aztec gods for domination over their kingdoms.”

“Mictla-tecuhtli will never stand down without violent opposition.” Lightfoot curtly promised. “But the question is how will the lord of dead approach us?” The Indian replied without hesitation. “He will wait and watch. This explains what I earlier witnessed.” Slowly turning he pointed toward a tall cactus beyond the compound. “A brown owl has perched there since our arrival. Watching our every move the owl is curious why we’re here but uncertain if we’re a threat or not.” “Why haven’t the blackbirds killed that owl?” Charlie asked. “The blackbirds usually won’t attack because an owl’s powers are far greater than theirs.” Father Lampkins thought about that cactus but never saw an owl. “The owl is Mictlan-tecahtli’s personal envoy, gentlemen. The Mexica people weren’t the only civilization fearing the owl as a bearer of death. Egyptian hieroglyphs matched the owl with death. The American Pima Indians saw the owl as a symbol of death. Even the ancient Jewish people saw the bird as demonic.” Pausing the priest sucked in his breath before speaking again. “If that bird is representing the lord of dead then it’s safe to assume it’s Torquemada.” “These names are confusing.” Charlie moaned. “Torquemada is the Aztec underworld god from their nine hells. In their myths he often ran errands for the lord of dead. And there’s no reason to think he’s not doing that now?” “If we hope to win we must have the Aztec gods on our side.” Bruce solemnly announced after a few thoughtful moments. Lightfoot firmly declared. “We’re committed whether we like it or not. What happened tonight shows Zaebos considers us a major threat to his plans and he’ll be back.” “If that’s the case we need the Aztecs help.”

Charlie was surprised he was talking about Indian deities as if they really existed. “They will helpif we’re truthful and clean of heart.” A minute later Lightfoot somberly watched the brown owl disappearing into the night’s cloak. “The dice has been tossed. All we do now is await their decision.” the Shawnee somberly advised. His hardened emotions were cold. The gleam in his eyes was now suspicious of their surroundings.

Chapter Thirty-five

Two hundred-fifty miles away from the old fort and high above the desert a slight breeze cooled the mining complex. There was a brisk activity under the camouflaged netting concealing their assembling Stuka aircraft. Morale was high knowing their deadline would be successfully met. Often that day Luftwaffe airmen would happily break into gutsy German songs. For the last thirty minutes six men dressed in Luftwaffe’s light blue uniforms stood within a circle enclosed by small rocks placed end to end. Inside this sacred circle blazed a small fire. It wasn’t built for warmth against the cold night. It served another purpose. Each man held a tiny black feather in their left hand while paying adoration to a blackbird strutting about their flickering fire. Their leader Martin Oberhausen was proud of these men standing around the fire. They would do well on his mission. Breezes occasionally would wildly danced the flames until they were nearly extinguished. At the last moment the fire leaped back into its burning existence. These men were softly chanting a hymn not heard since the days of a Middle Eastern kingdom called Sumera. It praised a blackbird swooping down during a crucial battle. That day a certain crippling defeat was turned into a glorious victory for the outnumbered Sumerian armies. When the bird stopped prancing Martin suddenly reached down and grabbed the bird. It offered no resistance. Raising the blackbird above his head, Martin chanted a special praise while their excitement rapidly increased. His eagerness in celebrating this ritual soon became contagious. The others offered deep iration for the black-feathered creature. After snapping the bird’s neck with one hand Martin continued his mumbling. Sharp lightning flashes menacingly ripped across the skies. A gathering of blackbirds quietly paraded around this circle of rocks. They ignored one of their numbers were murdered. Following the ritual’s conclusion one man carefully smoothed out the sacred circle while another kicked away the rocks.

This was a signal. The birds took to wing without a sound and flew high seeking their enemies. The ritual’s participants now emotionally worn out stood in the coldness slowly gathering their strengths back. After a short prayer to the gods Martin thoughtfully studied each pilot crowding around to hear his words. “She will send her warriors from the shadows.” Martin confidently boasted. The SS general walked a few steps to look at the dark skies. His harsh facial features were partially concealed by the night’s shadows. “Cassandra carries a personal deep hatred for me.” Ormond Pilsen solemnly asked. “But will she come?” “Yes. The blond bitch will send Theta’s best men after us. Why shouldn’t she?” He was confident she would come. Was he not wearing the armor of a Greek officer while Troy burned to ashes? During that fierce fighting Zaebos saw the young Trojan princess on its breached walls. Her wailing petitions to muted gods went unanswered. As Greek soldiers ruthlessly stormed though Troy’s streets looting and raping, Zaebos rushed up the stairs intending to grab the screaming princess. Then the area was suddenly brightened by a dazzling brilliance stinging his eyes. Hera, the city’s worst enemy, felt comion for this young woman. Having predicted the city’s demise after Trojans foolishly pulled a huge wooden horse through its gates, Cassandra was tearfully witnessing its fate. Zaebos was thrown down the steps until his body rolled against King Priam’s headless body. It was centuries ago that Zaebos became obsessed with destroying this Trojan prophetess. Later, he learned she was granted that rare gift of living forever. From Troy’s ashes poets would sing praises of its courageous defense. But the victorious Greeks were looked upon with scorn. He was furious when Cassandra was given the command of an ultra-secret intelligence clan named Theta. It required little time before this clan wa smashing diabolic plots. Their singular aim was fighting demons.

Val Weissar remained silent for a short while. “Who will come from the shadows?” he asked. “Her chief agent is Bruce Sherman.” Oberleutnant Weissar in his Luftwaffe uniform was stern in manner with a solid muscular body and short-blond hair. This small oval-faced German thoughtfully regarded the land once dominated by Aztec gods. Gone were those days when gods and goddesses recklessly toying with mortals reshaped their futures. Now only in the pages of novels or myths were there found stories of this timeline. Today religious mortals claimed demons and angels were the germs of overly active imaginations. Zaebos smiled his approval. Their ignorance allowed the Infernal Empire to stroll undetected through time. Figures such as Jupiter and Minerva were only distant memories. Ancient deities faded when man no longer worshipped in their temples. Gone were those days when men took up sword and fought courageous battles in the name of their gods. The frowning SS general folded arms tightly against his chest. He turned around observing the mechanics assembling the Stukas. Without a factory’s machinery their work was slow. But he was confident they would be ready in time to launch his bloody campaign. “Is this agent alone in his struggle?” “No, he has a clan.” the demon cynically said. Before transmigrating into Martin Oberhausen’s puny physical shell Zaebos conferred with Forcas. Satan’s main troublemaker warned him about this clever mortal carrying Minerva’s shield of truth. “He won’t be easy to quash. This man is borne of bravery but we can destroy him.” Another oath was angrily spoken to the darkened skies. Minutes ed before a single blackbird appearing from the skies landed on Martin’s outstretched arm. The demon and bird mentally conversed. Then in a fluttering of black feathers the bird flew away to be lost among the skies’ vastness. The news he brought greatly disturbed the SS general. The demon thoughtfully walked a tight circle around the fire’s ashes before

turning to his men. “Sherman defeated our first challenge.” This statement caused angry mutterings among the Luftwaffe uniforms. “He fought back our charges at the army outpost,” After growling into the winds he bitterly said. “Come, it is time to crush this puny man.”

Chapter Thirty-six

After their close brush with the grave warriors the marines didn’t sleep rest of that night. The three Indians never closed their eyes afraid the twice-killed spirits from the grave would return. Throughout the evening frequent scattering of blackbirds came and went much to the marines’ displeasure. Nobody wanted to sleep in the tents, instead, they found places in the shadows to lay their bedrolls. Those unidentifiable noises during the night were heard but no patrols investigated. The cold Mexican night affected the defenders both physically and mentally. With five of their lifeless numbers under blankets, nobody allowed their alertness to slacken. Finding it impossible to sleep Father Lampkins crept over to where Bruce and Lorelei sat against a crumbling wall. They looked up and smiled at his unanticipated appearance. Spreading out his sleeping bag the priest settled down to momentarily stare at the millions of stars twinkling above them. He ed Elizabeth loved iring the distant bodies. A cold breeze drifted through the compound stirring dirt devils that swirled about until expending their dusty existences. Except for the squawking blackbirds the evening was peacefully quiet. “Are you all right?” Bruce asked. “The best that can be expected under these bizarre circumstances,” the man of cloth pensively itted. “I have spent a lifetime teaching lost souls how to find peace in a troubled world.” The elderly man paused for a few moments. “But I never really believed what happened tonight could actually happen. This clashing between demons and righteous forces seems so outlandish. And this comes from one who fought demons in the past.” Neither Lorelei or Bruce commented but solemnly listened. The man nervously chuckled. “Doesn’t that sound stupid? Me…a man of God… not believing in what the Bible teaches?”

“It doesn’t sound stupid to me.” Bruce replied in an understanding tone. “Today’s world takes some getting used to. I know that only know too well.” The priest thoughtfully studied the dark skies in a different manner than before. “I’m sure you have heard this many times how God works in mysterious ways. Take you for instance. He plucked a farm boy from Ohio’s cornfields. Then after some belligerent operations against evil, changed that young man into a confident agent of the shield.” He knew Bruce’s silence was embarrassment, because he hadn’t learned how to gracefully accept praises. There was a snug grin on his troubled face. “Back in San Diego, you came to me for advice about the Aztec gods. Now the tables are turned. I’m coming to you seeking advice on how to successfully deal with this nightmarish world we’re walking through.” “I’m not certain if I’m the person you should approach for advice,” Bruce itted with a sheepish expression. “I find this diabolic world confusing and often challenge an understanding of its evil talons.” “How do you survive?” “By learning from past mistakes,” Bruce said after a short pause. “That doesn’t sound too complicated.” Bruce uneasily chuckled. “Believe me it’s very complicated.” “I wonder if Zaebos was here tonight?” Father Lampkins asked after a short pause. “I don’t think so or I would have felt his presence.” Bruce disagreed. “What are your plans since Major Trujillo is gone?” “We wait for the train.” Bruce indifferently said. “Without transportation we’re doomed. We wait because I’m certain Mexico City will send more soldiers. We need an army escort if hoping to move around unopposed.” Sergeant Lightfoot mixed a coffee and squatted alongside the colonel. “You still arguing there are two active operations?”

“Judging from the few facts we have Einspritzung is divided into two sections. One is political which is the one Major Chandler’s people stumbled across. Then there’s the more dangerous sector which is Zaebos’ objective.” The colonel thoughtfully studied the priest. “Satan’s presence confirms there’s a collision of supernatural worlds. I’m certain Zaebos wasn’t here but his Brothers of Blood were in one form or another. We know cabals came seeking renewal of their spirits. The death coach confirmed a splashing over of supernatural worlds. All in all we have a full-blown crisis with few plans to tackle it.” Father Lampkins somberly hesitated for a moment. “ what I warned you about this country’s German relations? I won’t deny there are many Mexicans sympathizing with the Nazis but don’t make the mistake that all Mexicans are Nazi loyalists. Because that’s not true by a long shot. Most Mexicans are strongly loyal to their country. And goes even more for their uniformed services. Mexico City and Berlin have politically dwelt with one another for too many years. Because of this there’s a warped sense of loyalty among many of their educated classes.” “What about Trujillo?” Lorelei asked the priest. “Was he a sympathizer?” “We weren’t with him long enough to target his political convictions.” “But what bothers me is why that death coach came for him?” Charlie asked. The priest looked at Bruce with a sharp questioning glance. “The coach of death comes in many forms. This one hasn’t collected dead since the days of Classical Greece and Imperial Rome?” “Does that matter either way?” Lorelei asked. “I think so. Its explanation may define our own problems.” “We have a visitor.” Bruce curiously warned. A magnificent blackbird landed on the old abode wall some feet away. Lorelei was reaching for her rifle when the colonel discouraged her. “We can’t go around shooting every blackbird we see. It’s impossible to determine which are real and which are spying for Zaebos.”

“There’s another issue to seriously consider, Lorelei,” Father Lampkins soberly warned. “This is Mexico the land of very superstitious people. They look at the blackbird as part of their devilish world. So while in Mexico exercise caution in prejudging the birds. It’s impossible to predict how the people will react.” Snorting under her breath how insane all of this was, Lorelei resting on her sleeping bag watched blackbirds come and go rest of that night. The colonel and Catholic priest discussed various issues she didn’t take part in. Her troubled reflections centered about finishing this covert alive. When a blackbird quietly landed on the wall just above her head she thoughtfully stared at the fowl before it abruptly winged into the night’s cold mantle.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Soon as the sun crept above the horizon Lightfoot was shouting at his marines to rise and shine. There was an outbreak of activity as men wearily assembled for morning inspection by their hardnosed sergeant. There was a strained silence encouraged by last night’s activity. Trying hard to forget last night the Shawnee finished his roll call and reported to Bruce. Afterwards there was a short breakfast break. Walking guards nervously observed a handful of blackbirds randomly perched along the walled compound. Sergeant Lightfoot found a deserted spot to quietly recite petitions to the muted Aztec gods for guidance. Only the winds answered his desperate pleas but this didn’t discourage the Indian. Bruce wasn’t hungry so walking a few feet away from the outpost he curiously studied the clear skies. Only a few patches of clouds hung over the rolling sand dunes. It was impossible to find evidence a vicious battle took place last night. During the night those fallen cabals disappeared after resuming their original forms. A working party buried the Mexican soldiers’ mutilated bodies in marked graves. Though believing in the demons’ existence the horrors of last night still weighed heavily on the marines’ silent minds. Hearing somebody coming up from behind Bruce faintly smiled at Lorelei. “What were you thinking about?” she thoughtfully asked after a short silence. He indifferently shrugged. “I was thinking about last night.” “You’ll have to it it was violently different?” “Does that bother you?” “I’m getting use to these situations.” He momentarily watched his overly cautious men. Following their formation there was little talk among the ranks. “You got to it those men fought like

true knights?” She nodded. “Sort of reminded me of those German soldiers back in Romania?” “Yeah but that seems like years ago.” Bruce mumbled. A moody expression settled on her facial features for a moment. “Yes, it does. But have you noticed how many of our opinions changed along the way. Political alliances changed while life indifferently continues. First, we were in Romania chasing demons, then Long Beach and now Mexico. We sure get around, don’t we?” she asked with an unfriendly smile.

* * *

Their thoughts were interrupted by a sentry’s booming voice. “Sergeant of guard! Post One! Unidentified sedan approaching!” Post One was the gate. The colonel and sergeant didn’t hesitate in rushing to the post. After Lightfoot ordered defensive positions there was a dull explosion of activity of pounding boots on the wall ramparts. Being second-in-command Lorelei scrambled up the wobbly ladder and posted herself over the gate. All attention was on the green sedan parking at the fort’s gate. A dark complexioned army lieutenant stepped into the sunlight. He skeptically looked at the Americans manning the wall for a few moments. That was the time taken to decide he didn’t like these Americans. After a disgusted sigh he casually walked over and smartly saluted Bruce. “Lieutenant Julio Greigio, Mexico Army at your service, Colonel Sherman.” he reported in near perfect English. This army officer wearing a tailored uniform with highly polished leather holster and boots walked with arrogant authority. His slender frame wasn’t weak while dark green eyes calmly appraised the scene. One mile away he had stopped the car and cautiously appraised the fort. It was in such a horrible condition it was crazy to call it an active garrison.

There was a short pause before the officer finished his military greeting. “I’m assigned to escort your command while in my country.” Bruce nodded. “I assume you were sent by your government to take the place of recently deceased Major Trujillo?” Bruce received no reply when the lieutenant spoke to his orderly. The enlisted man removed a backpack from the sedan’s trunk then followed the Mexican officer into the dirty abode chosen as his quarters. A few minutes later the orderly left the garrison and without a word drove down the road. Bruce and his team stood in a huddle discussing this changing development. The mood among their marines was not friendly. By mid-afternoon the temperatures had soared. Their sergeant cancelled their physical exercises. Whenever possible the men stood in the shadows cast by the fort’s walls. It helped some though they were scorching hot. Lorelei leaning against the crumbling wall tried escaping the sun. She frequently brushed a hand across her face wiping clean the perspiration. But the relief was short. Several times she cursed the heat but that only made the discomfort worse. Sitting in a small patch of shadows made by the wall Father Lampkins prayed his rosary. Once Bruce brought a cup of water to the priest and they briefly talked. When Bruce walked up Lorelei was in a bad mood because of the sweltering heat. “How did the army know about Trujillo’s death so fast?” she suspiciously wanted to know. “I don’t know.” Bruce replied. “With Mexico City spying on us anything is possible.”

* * *

While they discussed the twisting mysteries of their covert, PEARL OF LISBON sailed from the Mexican port for South America. This time her luck ran out after the United States Navy sent a submarine after the rogue ship. She didn’t escape their torpedo and quickly sank with full crew. After informed of her loss Generalfeldmarschall Hermann Goering soon forgot about the incident. Berlin was experiencing serious problems on the Eastern Front at a place called Kursk.

There the war’s largest assembling of artillery and tank divisions would be savagely fought. When it was over the Nazis lost the battle.

Chapter Thirty-eight

With no further orders Sergeant Lightfoot walked about the fort. Too many confusing issues were churning his troubled thoughts. But the stroll failed to ease his thoughts so he reed the others. “This is really a screwed up situation,” he cynically groaned. The hot sun was causing him to drink more water than usual. After draining his canteen he nodded his approval while snapping it on his canvas belt. “Damn, it’s hot.” “You already said that.” Bruce said. Lorelei smiled. “I just thought of something really far-fetched. What if Zaebos came back to challenge the lord of dead for his freedom?” Bruce itted after a few moments of thoughtful silence. “You may have a point there.” Exactly two hours later, their sentry walking the rampart shouted what everybody impatiently wanted to hear. Their promised train was slowly approaching the old fort.

* * *

From their first sight the Americans sharply disapproved the train provided by the Mexican Army. Engine Number 56 was moving relatively slow for a freight train. Built in 1903 by a British rail company it was leased to the French mining company on Cerro Chorreras. After a troublesome struggle the company went bankrupt. Once this happened its rolling stock was shanghaied by the Mexican government for unpaid taxes. After that it saw heavy use in this rugged country where trains were in heavy demand. Engine 56 was over 71 feet long with the usual 4-4-2-wheel assembly. By burning low-grade coal it was designed to

conserve fuel. But after so many years pulling heavy freight all over the country the boiler required more coal these days. Sergeant Lightfoot was the first inspecting the coach and found it terribly poor by the worst standards. A small pot-bellied iron stove fueled by smelly coal heated the coach when the nights turned cold. The dirty coach smelled of body odors and old tobacco. Its twenty leather seats were torn in many places and several were missing coverings. After inspecting the coach the Indian paused on the small railed rear platform and gagged. But Engine 56 would have to do. The marines patiently lined up then loaded into its single enger coach. All the while Engine 56’s boiler kept belching rolling steam clouds down the tracks. Bruce and Lorelei stood along the tracks watching the Mexican lieutenant in his tailored uniform give the engineers their short instructions. Afterwards, Lieutenant Greigio ignoring their cynical stares climbed aboard the coach. He was about to issue orders to the noisy marines when Lightfoot came in like a conquering hero. Lorelei looking at her lover complained. “I’m not sure which of these Mexican dudes is the worst.” Ignoring their contemptuous attention, Lieutenant Greigio selecting a seat near the car’s rear angrily studied the old outpost. It had to be the most wretched place he had ever witnessed. The sergeant positioned marines with automatic weapons on the coach’s sides while another three were posted on the roof. The two monitoring the engineers also acted as point security. Lightfoot cast the lieutenant short hostile glances while inspecting the old car. When Colonel Sherman and Major Ramcke walked in the marines greeted them with various yells causing Greigio discomfort. There was a serious lacking of discipline among these American soldiers. He was hoping their colonel would countermand the Indian’s orders but this didn’t happen. The colonel and major intentionally ignoring the Mexican sat up front. While their train jerked and noisily chugged from the old fort, the Mexican lieutenant thought about last night’s bizarre activities. Whatever Major Trujillo did to anger the gods wasn’t his concern. But today everything was a blurry mess and that was his concern. Once in a while Greigio stole glances at the female officer. She was a shapely bitch with nice tits just yearning to be fondled. His

lustful iration of Major Ramcke was interrupted when the Indian sergeant walked down the aisle. Greigio avoided his piercing glances knowing the foul mannered redskin would get his just due soon enough. “There’s one thing for certain,” Lorelei complained after an hour aboard the bouncing rattling train. When Bruce looked her way she cynically smiled. “We aren’t going to sneak upon anybody aboard this damned thing.” she groaned. The enger coach swaying in snapping motions soon had her neck muscles aching. Looking around she seen the marines wasn’t bothered. “It’s the best their Army could do on such a short notice. I’m told Mexico has a serious shortage of rail rolling stock.” Minutes later Bruce tried justifying this wreck loaned to them but would later quit. The short window curtains buckled out of the way smelled strongly of aged cigarette smoke. Intending to relieve the offensive scents Bruce opened the window, but after a few minutes decided that didn’t help. Two thirty gallon wooden drums was their water supply that would have to be carefully rationed. His command now consisted of twenty-four marines eager to go into battle. Last night’s ghoulish battles served notice what they could expect. If the men were afraid it didn’t show. Most of their conversations were about women left behind or how they were going to kick demons’ ass. Then Bruce briefly thought about Betty’s sealed envelope containing their orders. Bruce wasn’t dumb he knew Mexican intelligence had read the text but it wouldn’t do them any good. The message was in ancient Trojan code. Father Lampkins growing tired of the jerky motions ed them with a forced smile. “Maybe it’s my wild imagination, Bruce,” he whispered after leaning closer to the pair. “But have you by any chance paid attention to our Mexican guest?” “Not particularly.” “Have you noticed Lieutenant Greigio doesn’t eat or drink?” Bruce pretended to look over his shoulder at the rear door. In doing so his attention briefly ed Greigio’s silent sitting at the window. The Mexican was mentally too preoccupied to notice. Turning back around the colonel indifferently said.

“So we have a cabal among us?” “Not a cabal but a czarnobog. They’re much worse.” The priest pulling his rosary from the coat pocket began unconsciously fingering the beads. Seeing Lorelei’s bewildered expression he whispered. “A czarnobog is a much higher form of Slavonic demons.” “What’s a Slavonic demon doing in Mexico?” she anxiously whispered. “He’s here after the boundaries collapsed.” Father Lampkins thoughtfully regarded his friends suspiciously sitting across from him. “Satan screwed up when invading Mexico.” “You don’t think he was sent by Mexico City?” Bruce dubiously whispered. “The czarnobogs aren’t politically motivated. But the host body is and that’s how he arrived here.” The priest thoughtfully studied his friend before asking. “That envelope given to you by the engineer? Was its contents a secret?” “No, they aren’t classified. They were sent by the American Embassy in Mexico City.” The colonel was silent for a few moments. “Some of it you already know. Our destination is Cerro Chorreras where we can expect armed resistance from the Germans. This train will drop us off at the mountain’s base. The embassy arranged for our Indian guides to meet us at a small train watering station.” “Any new updates on the mining area?” Charlie asked. “Yes. Mexican aerial reconnaissance reported the single runway is cluttered with debris and not enough room for an aircraft to land. The merchant LISBON left port and was shortly afterwards sunk by an American sub. Army Air Corps increased air patrols along our border, especially the Arizona border. Mexico City reported since Operation Einspritzung will launch from Cerro Chorerras their border security was stepped up.” After a short silence the priest skeptically asked. “Why don’t the Mexican Army attack Cerro Chorerras?” “Something about protecting one of Mexico’s national treasures.” “So it isn’t all attacking the Germans but their protecting the historical

site?” Father Lampkins somberly asked. “Chandler’s violating their treaty put us in the hot seat. And maybe the German influences were slammed against. But right now we have a puzzle with too many missing pieces. Sooner or later, I’m certain they will fall into place…they always do. We know the Germans are assembling Stukas. That’s an established fact. Where they’ll bomb is another missing piece. Launching any attack from Cerro Chorreras is militarily out of the question because of its distance from the border. There would be sufficient time to launch countermeasures against the planes?” The colonel stared at the harsh desert their train was traveling. He was having uneasy emotions those dangers ahead was so terrifying the mind would recoil in horror. “Father, you’re our expert on Zaebos. Other than our theory Zaebos is going back to recharge his powers, what else is Cerro Chorreras drawing Zaebos back?” “I don’t know.” “What about Carlos Aguilera?” “According to old documents he visited the mining operation several times. But we already talked about that.” “Yeah, I know. But were there considerable unrest among the miners when he was there?” The priest nodded. “After the Spanish came civil unrest became a problem. But this we already talked about.” “I’m having a hard time understanding the political climate back then. Was there a difference between Aztec and Spanish brutality?” Bruce asked. “I would think cruelty is the same regardless what color skin isters the savageness?” When Lightfoot ed their discussion the priest gestured him to answer. He was thoughtfully silent for a few moments. “In raw reality you’re wrong. The Aztec enforced their demands with physical terror that was justified by religious fears. You have to one thing about these people’s gods. Unlike yours they were mean avenging deities. This land’s early people were very

superstitious. This explains how a handful of Aztec soldiers controlled large numbers of slaves and prisoners.” “Did the Spanish operate the mines differently?” “Yes. The first thing Cortez did was denying the peasants worshipping their gods. This was a festering blunder plaguing Cortez throughout the time he was here. In numbers there were only a few Spaniards compared to the many thousands of Indians. But his domestic policy from the beginning was brutality unmatched with any era in recorded history.” “Who was Cortez’s primary enemy?” “Without doubt the priesthoods.” “Was Aguilera obeying Cortez’s internal policies of enslavement control?” “He needed no policy justifying his demoniacal behavior. He was obeying Zaebos’ transmigrating spirit.” There was a short troubled silence. “Actually he had no choice.” For a few minutes Bruce watched the countryside as the train gathered speed. “Numerous condemning comments about Lieutenant Aguilera survived time. And they all agreed the Aztec priests played a prominent part in his life?” Something kept nagging him their answers were within touching. “According to those living back then the man was driven by his murderous obsession to kill the priests.” “Yes, I you saying that before. And didn’t Jose Aguilera say about the same thing?” The priest nodded agreement. “That’s what I thought. From the top of your head, Father, was there any particular incident between Aguilera and the Aztec priests that stands out?” Father Lampkins shrugged with a frown. “Are you familiar with Cortez’s landing on Aztec soil in 1519 AD? He did so with five hundred and eight soldiers, sixteen horses and several pieces of artillery? On Holy Thursday of that year after founding the city of Vera Cruz, he set into motion one of the most astonishing conquests in the history of mankind. Little did he know his arrival coincided with the predicted return of the Aztec’s Plumed Serpent? The Aztec

emperor Moctezuma was anxiously informed the gods came back with lances that spit fire, warriors with two heads and six legs and they live in houses that floated.” The priest paused for coupled moments. “To make matters even more foreboding comets raced across the heavens that day. Cortez carved his destiny into history by plundering, raping and destroying a crumbling empire.” “But what he did was no different than what the Ancient Egyptians, Greeks and Romans did with their conquering armies? The only difference is Cortez accomplished his conquest with only a handful of greedy men.” Lorelei said. The troubled priest paused for a moment. “But there was a major difference. Maybe if a man of comion had landed in the New World events would have been much different? But that wasn’t the case. He used the Aztecs’ religious beliefs to throw them off balance. From that first day Cortez recognized his true enemy was the priesthood. Because of this Carlos Aguilera murdered with no restraint.” Bruce was quiet for a few moments. “Men who set out to conquer are never gentle men. Comion isn’t a acceptable word in their plans.” The Catholic priest thoughtfully fingered his beads. “But back to your question. On April 20, 1519, Cortez received reports the forced labor on Cerro Chorerras were about to mutiny. Though Malinsi tearfully pleaded with Cortez not to send Lieutenant Aguilera he went anyhow. A bloodbath followed. No matter what myth is consulted the death toll among the priests were awfully high. The few priests living through that massacre were buried alive. Since then the plateau has been known as the Place of Wailing Souls.” The priest bitterly added after several moments. “And it lives up to its name.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

A hushed tension flowed over the Theta agents as they absorbed the implications. Now there was no confusion what was dragging Zaebos to the abandoned mining plateau. “What do you know about the massacre?” Bruce abruptly asked the priest. “If you’re looking for finer details I’m not the man to ask. I know about the massacre because it’s retold in so many myths. But I don’t know details. Maybe Sergeant Lightfoot would know?” “All right, I’ll ask him. But first I have another question for you. Who is Malinsi?” Father Lampkins nervously chuckled. “Malinsi is probably the most controversial woman in Mexican history. During the early days of their invasion twenty slaves were sent to Cortez hoping to placate him. One of them was a beautiful, meddlesome soul according to one Spanish chronicler. History strongly confirms those traits. A later portrait of her painted by Jose Clemente Orozco wasn’t beautiful. But this was contributed to the hatred she aroused among her people. Aztec translation of her name is bad luck and strife. Spanish missionaries baptized her Marina meaning one who came from the sea.” Father Lampkins watched the train round a curve then pick up speed again. “Her own people called her la Malinche meaning traitoress. Cortez was smitten by her charms as he called her mi lengua or in Spanish meaning my tongue. Malinsi became his trusted interpreter. It’s believed many of his decisions were issued after consulting his lover.” “And she disliked Aguilera?” Lorelei asked. “That would be a very mild description of her feelings for the lieutenant.” the priest corrected with a thin grin. “She saw in him the very depth of Hell and repeatedly warned Cortez of his evil deception. But time would before Cortez turned on his long time friend.”

Lorelei smiled. “Sounds like a remarkable woman?” “Whether you hated or loved her, Malinsi was remarkable. It was she who established Mexico’s multi-racial framework of mestizo or mixed blood. She gave Cortez a child that symbolically made her the first Mexican mother. Their first child was both Indian and Spanish. And Malinsi was mother of the first child who was both Indian and European.” He slowly nodded his head. “Yep, she was a most remarkable woman.” Lorelei and Charlie stared at him with no comment. Time ed while the colonel thoughtfully reread the two pages of instructions sent by Theta. Father Lampkins recited his rosary three times while trying to understand his troubled thoughts. There were too many fears eroding his self-confidence. During his past coverts Bruce encountered fears but they were always suppressed. There had to be a key unlocking this new invisible chamber of fears. What that could be was beyond his reasoning.

* * *

Sergeant Lightfoot visiting the rear platform briefly stood in the cold air before coming back inside. He momentarily stared at Lieutenant Greigio in ing. Accepting Bruce’s invitation to them meant another briefing was about to start. Their canteen water was nearly gone. The enger car had the two thirty gallon drums of now hot water. Lorelei established a rationing schedule. Observing their gloomy expressions warned Lightfoot some serious issues were discussed while he was gone. “I have some questions.” Bruce informed. “About that massacre of priests on April 20, 1519.” Mention of the incident drove cold chills up Lightfoot’s spine. “The gods cried that day while their priests died at the whim of a man.” “I’m confused why you haven’t level with us about this event?” The Indian raised his eyebrows in a silent challenging manner before the colonel continued.

“I’m referring to your god’s association with that mountain. Isn’t it true Mictlantecahtli was on the mountain that day when blood ran uninterrupted?” “Why would he be there?” the Indian guardedly asked. “That’s what I want you to tell me.” Bruce harshly ordered. “And please don’t insult my intelligence claiming you don’t know. I know damned well you know what’s going on around us. These last thirty minutes I have learned many things about this country’s gods and some were pretty scary. Take the owl for instance?” He glanced thoughtfully at Lorelei and the priest for a moment then looked back at Lightfoot. “You know the brown owl is closely associated with the lord of dead? In fact, many consider the brown owl as Mictlan-tecahtli’s personal messenger. Of course, this you already knew. We all know the brown owl has been sneaking around more than those damned blackbirds. So don’t you think it’s about time you brought us up to date?” It was a few moments before the Indian somberly asked. “What do you want to know?” “Is it true Zaebos draws his strength from Mictlan-tecahtli?” The colonel paused for a moment. “I thought the Aztec deities were at odds with Satan’s Infernal Empire?” “They are bitter enemies.” “Then explain the connection between your lord of dead and Zaebos.” A troubled mask settled on the Indian’s already tensed face. “In 1519, there was a serious mutiny among the miners at Cerro Chorerras. Cortez sent his trusted officer to put down this new rebellion. After learning the priests were openly inciting this disobedience, the furious lieutenant unwisely ordered them slaughtered. Blood ran thick that day while their tearful wails to the heavens were ignored. Finally, one god couldn’t ignore the wails and rushed to their aid.” There was another short pause. “By the time Mictlan-tecahtli arrived many holy men were either dead or dying. The lord of dead pleaded for mercy on their behalf. Aguilera laughed then ordered the few dying priests to be buried alive. I don’t know why the gods didn’t violently react. Maybe they were shocked?

After the holy men were buried Aguilera ordered the burning of every temple throughout the land. That was when the lord of dead bargained for a pact he would forever regret. Lieutenant Aguilera agreed to stop the massacre if Mictlan-tecahtli gave him demonical strength. Seeing no other choice the pact was sealed.” The colonel glanced at the others before solemnly saying. “So that’s how a demon from Infernal Empire crossed over into Aztec boundaries?” “It’s a little more complicated than that.” Lorelei skeptically asked. “Why didn’t the other gods protest this pact?” “They tried. There was a tremendous rumble but what could they do? The lord of dead was too powerful. So other Aztec gods accepted the crossover even though they didn’t like it. There was driven a huge split between various deities that never healed. Now that Zaebos has come back the domain is furious.” Bruce stared at the dirty glass for a few moments. “Sergeant, have you communicated with your god?” “I have been praying if that’s what you mean?” “Is he answering your petitions?” “No.” “And why is that?” The Shawnee shrugged. “Maybe I’m not supposed to know what I’m asking for?” “And what are you asking for?” “Basically an understanding of what’s going on.” “Some time that’s the hardest thing to find, sergeant. After we fought those damned blackbirds you petitioned for help. Whatever came of that?” “Camaxtli,” Lightfoot sternly informed, “hasn’t answered my petitions.”

“And why is that?” “I don’t know.” Sergeant Lightfoot suspiciously itted. There was a short pause before he continued. “Have you prayed to your god? Of course, you have. We all have in one way or other. That’s mankind’s way of doing things. When in trouble our tongue rattles off petitions for help and we don’t always find answers. There are times when we must find the solutions without their help.” “And you think this is one of those times?” “Yes, I do.” The Shawnee Indian elapsed into a cold silence while thinking about their options. “Maybe the gods have already helped and we don’t know it.” Then there was silence. “Continue, Sergeant Lightfoot.” The Indian frowned. “Or they haven’t helped because Zaebos hasn’t violated their domain in a way to justify their appearances?” The sergeant sucked in his breath then crisply replied. “Presently, that’s all I know, sir.” Bruce replied in a cold unfriendly manner. “Thank you, Sergeant Lightfoot. That’ll be all for now.”

* * *

After their discussion the colonel leaned his head against the cold glass window. He soon was iring the distant Sierra Madre Occidental’s breathtaking spectacle stretching west for eight hundred miles. The Occidental went through several terrain transformations that were startling but beautiful. Further south the ranges would experience radical increases in altitude hosted towering peaks dotted with tall green trees and colorful wild flowers. Then when crossing the Tropic of Cancer it became humid with thick carpeted jungles of vines and tropical plants all squeezing together. Amidst all of its beauty Bruce knew there was another darker side. For it was on these mountains Aztecs aggressively mined their minerals and ruthlessly

enslaved thousands of doomed people. It was on this wide mountain where many slumbering Aztec priests rested. The train’s constant swaying on the tracks soon lulled Bruce into a restless slumber. Not sleepy Lorelei conversed with the Catholic priest about this wild land that was civilized long before the Romans built their first huts in the seven hills. She occasionally watched the Mexican lieutenant visiting the toilet on the coach’s far end. Dozens of suspicious eyes silently watched him returning to his seat. Lorelei noted their resentment didn’t bother the officer.

* * *

After slipping into his deep sleep, the colonel walked through fields swirling with a thick mist. When anxiously searching for another human being he found nobody. His mind startled by this abrupt isolation critically analyzed the unfamiliar surroundings. Then all of this changed. Apparently his dream was taking through another time frame on the same plains. Mental imagining didn’t have to be logic. Now strolling unmolested through a vast army camp Bruce abruptly realized where he was. The high fortress walls belonged to Troy! It didn’t mattered Greek soldiers were ignoring his wandering through their camp. How could they see a man not borne for another three thousand years? Bruce stared at Troy’s towering walls as its gate noisily opened allowing a huge wooden horse to be dragged inside. This wasn’t possible he screamed. Why were the Trojans so stupid? Didn’t they suspect those Greeks were playing tricks on their religious views? He had to stop the Trojans. Running toward the walls Bruce was stopped when the metal gate slammed closed. Looking up he could see a lovely blond haired woman tearfully pacing the ramparts. Now his dreams fast forwarded when Troy’s walls were burning and Greek soldiers were pouring through the opened gate. Moments later his spirit was whisked atop the walls to watch King Priam’s youngest daughter pacing the now burning walls. Fighting soldiers top the

fortifications had once laughed at her foolishness. But she accepted their ridicule because it honored an ancient legend foretelling of Troy’s destruction. Supposedly this city built by the gods Apollo and Poseidon was being punished for angering the jealous gods. The woman suddenly looked his way as if knowing he would be standing there. Sobs escaped her lips when again dropping to her knees and loudly petitioning the gods’ assistance. Then Bruce was moving back as if suspended on magical cords. The city was fiercely burning as outraged Greek soldiers ran through her streets looting and raping. Bruce wanted to warn the princess of approaching danger but no words flowed ed his tensed lips. A husky Greek officer with sword in hand was running up the steps toward Cassandra. Before reaching her the goddess Hera intervened thus sparing Cassandra an untimely death. But her salvation was to come with a high cost. Bruce heard his name whispered several times before his icy blue eyes reluctantly opened. Troy’s burning walls were no longer present Lorelei was shaking his shoulder and urgently calling his name. The Catholic priest nervously observed while Sergeant Lightfoot rushed back into the coach. Marines uneasily observed their colonel being shaken by the woman. None of the soldiers knew what was going on. But the smiling Lieutenant Greigio never left his seat. For a few moments Bruce reoriented his bewildered mind. The colonel tried understanding his unexplained fears that were slowly driven from his mind. The old train was laboriously climbing another ascending terrain. Before a hour ed the train would again descend another sloping terrain. The temperatures were much cooler than during the day. In the night skies there were few clouds or evidences predicting grim futures. “What happened?” she anxiously asked. “Did you have another nightmare? Was it the same one?” She heard Sergeant Lightfoot yell at his men to stand down as there was nothing wrong with the colonel. Bruce not answering right away kept staring at this woman he found trust in. He

sighed as if this would relieve those nightmarish experiences but as always his feeble attempts miserably failed. “Yes.” he nodded. “I dreamt Cassandra was on Troy’s burning walls.” Color gradually returned to his flesh. The restriction in his throat was gone allowing his breathing to become normal again. “The same vision you had in Romania?” Lorelei nervously asked. She was holding his hand for . “Yeah, the same one.” he itted after a short silence. “But I never get the burning walls.” “There’s a reason for everything we dream.” After leaning over Lorelei lightly ran her finger across his cheek. Seeing her astonishment he impatiently asked. “What?” “This smells like soot.” She managed to mutter fearfully while slowly shaking her head. “You didn’t just dream this time.” Holding up a blacken finger Lorelei firmly stated. “You were there this time.” “That’s impossible?” Bruce dubiously itted. “I don’t think so.” She thoughtfully stared at the finger. “Just think on my finger is real soot from a burning city thousands of years ago.” With a delighted sigh she solemnly added. “A girl sure doesn’t get bored around you, do they?” “Maybe one day I’ll be able to analyze that dream. But right now I sure as Hell don’t know what it means.” “Maybe right now it isn’t important.” the priest interrupted. A contemplative expression crossed the man’s wrinkled face while staring out the dirty window. “Many a day I walked the land such as this, istering church rites to the poor peasants. At first I thought it was their imaginations about demons stalking this land.” He was deeply depressed by what was happening. “Even today after fighting demons for many years I often deny their existence.”

“It’s not your fault.” Lorelei softly comforted with a worried smile. “A year ago did any of us think this was possible? Personally, I wouldn’t have guessed it. It wasn’t until Romania that I started believing.” She shrugged with a worried expression. “But even today with all of this crap going on I still find it hard to fully accept.” She paused for a brief spell. “So we’re all novices in this weird game.” After casting Bruce a thoughtful glance she asked. “Wouldn’t you agree?” After Lorelei repeated her question Bruce slowly nodded though it was evident his thoughts were far away. “I suppose so.” he mumbled. For a moment she studied his facial lines finding only troubled reflections. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” Bruce forced a grin. “No, I suppose I didn’t.” Exhaling a deep sigh he shifted his weight on the hard seat and sheepishly suggested. “All right, ask me again. I’ll listen this time.” “Forget it.” she annoyingly snapped. “Whatever. I have some pretty heavy thoughts rattling around my brain.” Bruce was again calmly focusing on his thoughts. “Tell me what Greigio is doing?” “He’s staring out the window.” “Anything else?” “Like what?” “What about his concentration?” Lorelei pretending to look towards the coach’s rear studied the Mexican’s face for a brief spell. “He’s looking out the window with a confounded expression. Other than that he isn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. Why?” Bruce groaned his frustration. “Maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t there.” After Lorelei made an impatient gesture for him to continue the colonel looked out the window. The train’s click clacking thirty miles per hour over changing

terrain was extraordinary for such old machinery. More than once when ascending a steep grade Engine 56 shuddered but laboriously made it. She finally gave up trying to get Bruce talking again. His thoughts were far away. “How familiar are you with this general area, Father Lampkins?” Lorelei asked after a short pause. “Pretty good though my ministry was further south. Why?” The colonel suddenly breaking his silence shrugged his confusion. “There’s something not right and I’m not certain what that could be.” He briefly looked up after Sergeant Lightfoot sat across from him with a deep frown across his mouth. “Are you talking about our covert or your dream?” the priest asked. Bruce was annoyed. “The operation, of course.”

Chapter Forty

It had being an hour since his puzzling vision. After listening to Sergeant Lightfoot the marines were relaxing. Lorelei thoughtfully looked about the enger coach appraising each occupant with a critical suspicious eye. The smirking Lieutenant Greigio seemed too snug with his unspoken thoughts. When trying to break through his thoughts, Bruce encountered a black swirling mass dislodging his efforts. Charlie was sleeping and at times looked as if he would tumble from his seat. Each time she looked at the priest he was reciting his rosary. The German woman studied the Shawnee seated across from her with folded arms and eyes closed. She knew he wasn’t slumbering. A deep frown twisted his mouth warning his reflections weren’t pleasant. Tired of sitting Bruce walked over to the small coal burning stove bolted to the flooring. An old soot crusted pot heated the coffee. Their limited supply of coffee beans was nearly gone. Stepping outside on the small platform he thoughtfully observed the ing desert terrain. There was no doubt in his mind that vision was a warning. When leaving the interior he noticed the Mexican lieutenant was mentally removed from his crazy Americans. There definitely was no love lost between the marines and their spy. The train was again loudly groaning its protests while climbing an ascending terrain offering more hostile features than below. Finally, with a grunt Bruce walked back to his seat and sat with a thump. “Pretty, isn’t it?’ Father Lampkins asked. Praying the rosary provided spiritual comfort to the former Theta agent. He didn’t hide his fears of what laid ahead of them. The train laboriously puffing its way over winding tracks, darted through scattered patches of woody terrain, changed to barren rocky landscapes and then back through forest surrounded tracks. After pulling the beads in his pocket, Father Lampkins studied Bruce for several minutes. The senior officer was definitely weighed down with too many personal and operational worries.

“We’re moving away from populated regions so expect to find stronger superstitious beliefs.” Gesturing over his shoulder he asked. “What about him?” “The lieutenant’s mind is cluttered with wild thoughts that makes no sense.” “That’s because he’s a cabal,” the elder priest warned. “He has no clear mental thoughts. Probably what you’re encountering are confused emotions about dying then reappearing on earth. I Cassandra’s warning a cabal is exceptionally dangerous because they possess no predictable reactions.” He stared at the ing landscape while debating what was bothering him. Suddenly the priest bitterly muttered. “Now I know what’s wrong, Bruce.” Having the colonel’s attention he exclaimed. “We don’t have blackbirds following our train.” Bruce quickly opening the dirty glass window leaned out for a better view of the skies. Except for several smaller birds winging through the air there were no blackbirds. With a serious expression the colonel slowly closed the window. “Zaebos knows we’re coming?” Father Lampkins nodded. “But we already knew he was expecting us.” “But let’s hope Zaebos doesn’t know about our changed plans.” The colonel pointed at his rosary and solemnly suggested. “Perhaps, you should say several more asking for help?” The Mexican continued looking at the ing scenery. After noticing he was disoriented Lightfoot began paying more attention to his behavior. “How far away is our next stop?” Lorelei asked. After comparing this landscape with Egypt she couldn’t dislodge a cold uneasiness disturbing her thoughts. “Another several hours after this train gets the lead out of its ass.” the priest bitterly complained. Bruce cynically chuckled. “That’s not happening anytime soon.” The Catholic man of cloth’s face darkened. “This rail line is called ‘Way of the Wind’ by the natives. It only leads up the mountain to the mines.” He became

solemn while thinking about those days when he optimistically wandered this land on a donkey. “A lot of bad vibes are up there, Bruce. But this is the perfect place for Zaebos to unravel his evil schemes. And don’t forget that double agent traveled up the mountain on four occasions.” The priest was silent for a few moments. “The Church tried converting these people. But their efforts were always brutally smashed by the paganism ravaging this region. More than one priest and nun were put to death up here. The further we go the more blackbirds we’ll see. So it’s best if Sergeant Lightfoot warn his men not to shoot.”

* * *

The Shawnee’s eyes suddenly popped open to critically observe the talking priest. “We’re entering a superstitious region where its natives jealously protect the blackbird and their Aztec legacy. Under no circumstances are we to harm a blackbird no matter what they do. They are held in fearful esteem among these people.” He kept dividing his attention between the thoughtful colonel, silent major and suspicious Charlie. “All of this goes back when the Aztecs ruled these lands.” For a moment he looked at the stern-faced sergeant then advised. “Make sure your trigger-happy men are aware of this anger. Or we may find ourselves spread eagled in the desert for the buzzards to feast on.” “My men already knows about the blackbirds. Everywhere you look in Mexico there are Catholic Churches.” Lightfoot argued. “So why do the pagans have such influence?” “It’s really simple. Down the hill the Westernized Mexicans greedily cherishes the feel of gold. But in the mountains the natives are different. With few chances of escape from their pitiful poor conditions they distrusted the Church’s promises which often were empty. In the end they turned to their ancient gods.” “Sounds like the Middle East?”

The priest solemnly shook his head. “No, they’re much worse up here.” He thoughtfully watched the ing desert terrain becoming more hostile. “Aztec domination ended four hundred years ago. That isn’t very long in mankind’s long history. Memories of the feather gods remain strong in these poor people’s minds. That’s why we must walk with a cushioned step.” Bruce suspecting something was foul looked over his shoulder at the Mexican lieutenant. “How long has he sat in that position?” Lorelei shrugged. “Maybe two hours or more.” Bruce’s look was of disappointment. “And none of you found this unusual?” Charlie growled. “What about the man that isn’t unusual?” The colonel angrily shook his head then walked over to where the officer sat staring at the dirty window without expression. For a few moments Bruce analyzed the Mexican’s non blinking eyes and cold face. When the lieutenant didn’t acknowledge his presence Bruce gently tapped him on the shoulder. There was no response. Glancing over his shoulder Bruce uneasily shrugged. Lorelei and the priest quickly ed him. The Mexican was unconsciously staring at nothing beyond the coach. The train laboriously puffing its slow way up a gradual ascension left behind the hot sandy terrain. Temperatures steadily dropped while the train’s only car stubbornly buckled the stronger winds blowing across that region. Seeing them gathering about the lieutenant Sergeant Lightfoot instructed his men to stand down. He then came over with a puzzled expression. When responses from the motionless Mexican failed Lorelei looked at Bruce. “Look at his eyes staring into empty space. He doesn’t even know we exist.” “He’s alive but he isn’t alive.” Lightfoot mumbled. “Our guide is from the living dead, colonel.” Bruce didn’t discuss the frightened implications when Sergeant Lightfoot gave him a fast take. “Zaebos is pulling us into a trap.” Lorelei cynically suggested.

“It looks that way.” Bruce mumbled. “Greigio’s trance was is self-induced or otherwise doesn’t matter. His trance is broken means the demon spirit has left.”

Chapter Forty-one

A few moments of uncomfortable silence ed before the colonel sharply ordered. “Check with the engineer and find out when we’re reaching the drop off zone.” The Indian nodded then left the coach. A few minutes later Bruce wanted Lightfoot’s report faster than he was getting it. So he and Lorelei climbed over the coal car. After jumping from the coal car into the open engine cab the colonel looked about with a sharp questioning curiosity. The two marines standing guard shook their heads before again scrutinizing the ing scenery. Everything was rapidly becoming rocky as the engine chugged its slow age across another stretch accented with rolling sand dunes and scattered cactus trees. Bruce commented about the varying temperatures. The priest had said it was common in this part of Mexico. “See anything unusual?” he asked. The engineer nervously shaking his head kept staring ahead by leaning out the window. By climbing atop the coal car Lorelei was able with binoculars to study their approaching terrain. “I don’t see anything up ahead.” she shouted to be heard above the roaring firebox producing 205 pounds per square inch of power. A lanky Mexican shoveling in coal paid little attention to the crazy Americans. His second duty was monitoring boiler pressure ing on a gauge above his head. The dirty engineer occasionally snapped harsh instructions to which the coal man always replied with a gesturing finger. After flashing his toothy grin he went back to shoveling the sooty black coal. Once when looking up at the woman standing above him, he grinned at her breasts tightly pushing against the camouflaged shirt. For the most part, everybody cramped into that small open-ended cabin was preoccupied with their individual duties.

“See any trouble?” Bruce yelled back. “No.” Bruce quickly gave Lightfoot a glance. “What do you think?” “Everything is too quiet. The engineer said we have another hour before reaching the drop off zone.” After rounding another curve the old engine gained speed and the sergeant skeptically remarked. “This covert is very strange.” After a short silence the colonel nodded agreement. Lorelei jumping down from the fuel car handed the binoculars to Eddie, the marine assigned to monitor their engineer. “With the glasses I can see maybe couple miles. Nothing suspicious was noted.” A frown followed by a thin grin touched her face. “How many more miles to the mountain’s base?” “Probably sixty… give or take.”

Chapter Forty-two

Father Lampkins stood on the coach’s rear platform thoughtfully watching the countryside . He experienced a coldness dart through his body like the touch of death. After quickly looking about he saw two birds purposely winging toward the train from different directions. One was a magnificent blackbird with its feathers gleaming under the fading moonlight. Coming from the opposite direction a brown owl flapping its large wings. The priest abruptly realized both birds were in a race to reach the train. The Catholic priest muttered a short prayer to the Blessed Virgin for protection from these evils from Hell. Then the priest hurriedly went back inside. Inside the coach marines uneasily stared out the windows as the train sluggishly traveled up another slope. It was a beautiful sight but with all the nightmarish events falling around them there was no joy expressed. Charlie leaning his upper body out the opened window tried seeing what lay ahead of them. The desert air was briefly polluted by the train’s smoky exhaust. For a moment the man sniffed a strange odor he didn’t readily identify. But it quickly faded. Casting aside his puzzled concern the elderly man continued watching from the window. For a number of years he spent time behind the scenes while Theta agents ventured into the shadows. Charlie was thirsty for adventure but Cassandra repeatedly denied his requests. Finally, growing weary of his constant petitions she sent him into the cold. Now Charlie wondered if his decision had been a good one? As the tracks executed another winding turn Charlie twisting his body back inside fearfully gasped. The other marines were unaware of the nightmarish danger among their ranks. Finally casting aside his fears Charlie screamed a warning. Lieutenant Greigio was stiffly walking toward Charlie! Awkwardly grabbing his rifle propped against a seat the man nervously brought it up. But the Mexican knocked it from his trembling hands. Another marine trying unsuccessfully to wrestle this cabal was thrown against the wall snapping his neck. Another marine squeezed off two bursts before the demon grabbing his hand snapped the bone. The screaming soldier was thrown against the wall so

hard his blood splattered the wall. Still in shock Charlie diving to the floor grabbed his rifle but he was slow bringing it up. The demon infested man brought his balled fist crashing down on Charlie’s shoulder. Screaming in pain Charlie rolled on the flooring. Father Lampkins was caught off guard when the demon stiffly turned on the marines. Gunfire broke out as bullets harmlessly pierced the cabal. With growling defiance the demon grabbed the half unconscious Charlie and threw him against the seating. Then seconds later the Mexican officer after crashing through the window limped into the desert and was soon out of sight. When the gunfire began Bruce shouted at the startled engineer to stop. Not waiting the colonel and sergeant jumped from that slow moving train. Running back they hastily climbed the coach’s four steps and rushed in with readied rifles. Taking only a moment to analyze the situation Lightfoot started issuing orders. “Sergeant, secure the engine!” Bruce shouted. Whirling about Bruce noted the kneeling priest was bandaging a marine’s bleeding shoulder. The confusion inside the coach was quickly brought under control. An enemy from the grave had violated the coach, however, this hadn’t affected the marines’ quick response to the staff sergeant’s orders. “What happened?” “The cabal.” Father Lampkins mumbled. “Leaped through that window.” Lorelei crossed the crowded coach and before she asked questions, a savage commotion erupted beyond the window. The same owl and blackbird the priest had earlier seen were viciously fighting. Their contest was over in a few minutes. Then in a surprising move that owl effortlessly hurled that mangled blackbird through the broken window. With a loud protest the victorious brown owl stayed only for a few moments before flying away. A stiff tension settled inside the coach because each man knew an important change was just executed. But not one man knew exactly what. While the sergeant checked his men Bruce left the train searching for the Mexican officer. But there was no corpse in sight. Realizing time was against

them Bruce had the train underway in a few minutes.

* * *

Later as Colonel Sherman’s train approached their drop off zone, Tuesday the 20th was rapidly approaching its conclusion. In other parts of the embattled globe the British Eighth Army attacked ’s North African positions at Enfidaville. Their renewed fierceness eventually drove back the poorly-equipped German regiments. While the train slowed its already tortoise pace, Tokyo announced Shigemitsu’s appointment as Foreign Minister. In Europe the RAF began their nightly nuisance raids over Berlin with 11 Mosquitoes. Primarily designed to wear down German civilian morale these raids would continue well into 1945. While their train gradually came to a halt German units were savagely fighting increased resistance in the Warsaw Ghetto. Like so many days since December 7, 1941 the day was soaked in blood.

Chapter Forty-three

Not long afterwards Bruce cautiously climbed down from the halted steam hissing engine. Above them the skies were gathering the makings of a battering thunderstorm. Even though the region didn’t show signs of recent rains it was evident from the cold humidity. The worried sergeant reported visibility extended no more than two miles. Sensing Lorelei was coming up from behind Bruce turned while lowering his binoculars. He forced a thin smile. “How are the men?” he asked. “This last event shook them up. No use lying about that.” Lorelei sadly itted. Staring at the mountainous terrain miles ahead of them she said. “Our two injured men died a few minutes ago. There was nothing Lampkins or Lightfoot could do to save them.” “From the beginning this covert has cost losses that shouldn’t have happened.” She indifferently shrugged while studying his wretched facial features. “But they did happen and that’s the misfortunes of war. We both knew this operation has so many side issues it’s hard to keep track. But that’s how it is and we have to cope with it.” “Maybe.” After observing the marines’ disembarking to stretch their muscles she saw no visible panic in their activities. She instead noted a cold acceptance of the incident. There was a lot about these men that interested her while at the same time disturbing her. Lorelei intended to discuss this matter with the staff sergeant. “We have learned a lot since San Diego. Now it’s just a matter of connecting all the activity.” she said. He kept looking her straight in the eyes without rebuttal.

“The main thing they taught us in leadership school was never allow emotions to interfere with your objectives. You have to bear it and keep going. And that’s what we’ll do now.” Raising the glasses to his eyes he thoughtfully studied the sandy land lying two miles ahead of them. “The enemy is making no effort to stop us. Why?” “Why should Zaebos be concerned? This rail runs straight to the mines and nowhere else.” Lightfoot soberly said when coming up behind them. “We’re blocked in and Zaebos knows that. So he’ll jerk our chains for awhile.” The Indian uneasily shuffled his feet. “But that isn’t our primary concern.” He stopped talking for several moments. “We have visitors.” When Bruce started to look around he cautioned. “Don’t look but we have at least fifteen blackbirds perched on the coach’s top.” “How do we know they’re demon controlled?” Lorelei cautiously inquired. “They could be ordinary birds?” She knew that statement was foolish, but it detoured her troublesome thoughts allowing her focusing on their current challenges. “The fact they aren’t flying away tells me they’re Zaebos’ friends.” “A good point taken.” Lorelei mumbled. “I believe the balance of evil has been upset.” the Indian somberly speculated. “When the owl attacked that blackbird that was a turning point in this battle of evils. For centuries the blackbird has been Zaebos’ messenger. This hasn’t changed. Down through time the owl was the messenger of death. In Mexico the owl, or tecolotl, always allied with Mictlan-tecahtli. When that owl killed the blackbird this symbolized Mexico’s anger toward Zaebos.” Lorelei suspiciously asked. “Does this mean they’ll help us?” “I believe they will. Whether it will be direct or not I don’t know.” the Shawnee cynically declared. “I believe the Lord of Darkness is no longer tolerating Satan’s invasion.” The Indian turned his attention toward the train’s engine’s belching steam. “For

many years the Lord of Darkness ruled Mictlan. Those sacred grounds are where the deepest Hell of Chignahamictlan exists. From there will come wailing spirits viciously contesting Zaebos.” Sergeant Lightfoot returned to the enger coach to fetch Father Lampkins. While he was gone those few minutes Bruce thoughtfully studied the surrounding landscape. The towering mountain’s base seemed only a short walk away. He watched Lorelei walk several feet away from the train. She suspected considerable labor built this railroad to the mines and prior to that hundreds of slaves hauled the heavy silver bars down the mountain. Only once did she nervously observe the blackbirds perching on the coach’s roof. Several blackbirds gliding about the train caught her attention. It was impossible to disguise her uneasiness about the arrival of those birds. Since none touched ground this confirmed they were demon-possessed. After couple flew menacingly too close Lorelei angrily shooed them away. Afraid she would use the rifle Lorelei left it strapped across her back. Sergeant Lightfoot was coming back with Father Lampkins and his two Indian scouts. They abruptly halted when Lorelei pointed at the coach’s roof. “This isn’t good,” Lightfoot uneasily declared. “No argument to that.” Lorelei said before looking at the nervous priest. “As you can see our friends are back and that worries me.” A bunch of squawking blackbirds dived bombing the Apache changed course when he raised his balled fist and shouted some strange phases. “What did you say?” Bruce asked when coming up. “An Apache chant warning evil spirits to stay away.” “Does it always work?” Bruce indifferently asked. “Sometimes it works and other times it doesn’t.” “Let’s get aboard and find the drop off zone. I’m anxious to get this over with.” Bruce ordered when the Apache didn’t translate his war cry.

By now any sight of the Euphagus Cyancephalus bird heightened their alertness. Broken Hand skeptically looked at Lightfoot when the birds suddenly stopped their noisy squawking. With hands braced on her hips Lorelei studied the region with growing misgivings. The birds were silently watching them. Even the newly arrived birds chose places top of the train. Then without warning there was a noisy exiting of the blackbirds until not one was seen. “Shit!” Yellow Hair mumbled. “The birds…they all gone!” “Where?” Bruce stammered. Lightfoot shook his head. “I don’t know.” When Bruce asked where was the nearest village the sergeant hesitantly replied. “That would be El Toro.” Unfolding the regional map Betty had sent Bruce found the name penciled in. “That name is listed on our new orders. We’re to meet our Indian guides there? How far to the village?” When the sergeant hesitated Bruce asked him. “What’s wrong?” It was obvious the Indian wasn’t enthused about visiting the site twenty miles ahead of them. After Bruce gave them a hostile glance he cynically replied. “We sure as hell can’t stay here. Those damned birds are gone but for how long.” “Let me see that map?” Lorelei snapped. Not waiting for his response the former SS major grabbed the map. The first thing she saw were the words Militar Inteligencia. She suspiciously looked at Bruce. “Where did you get a secret Mexican Army intelligence map?” “Betty included it with our latest package from San Diego. Why?” “El Toro is penciled in. Why? How old is the village?” she said while handing the map over. “What’s going on?” “El Toro is our drop off zone.” There was a short numbed silence. “San Diego gave no reason why we stop there. Since we’re unable to Delta 301, I have to assume they have good reasons.” the colonel said after another short pause.

The priest glanced at the map. “El Toro isn’t a village. That’s probably why this military map doesn’t list it. The village isn’t twenty miles ahead of us but around that curve. See that rocky knoll to our East? That’s El Toro.” His wrinkled face was now stressed. “When the mines were working El Toro was a watering stop for the trains.” “How far to the mountain’s base?” Bruce dubiously asked. “Another ten miles, give or take.” Lightfoot suspiciously said. The Shawnee chose a cold silence for several moments. “Do we meet our Indian guides there?” Bruce skeptically replied. “Yes. If we want those guides we go to this village.” He stopped talking and for a few seconds looked at the mountains where their mission would end. “Who are these Indians?” Charlie asked. “Betty doesn’t identify the Indians who will guide us. But these people supposedly knows of a secret path up the mountain’s side.” Lorelei snorted. “How does Betty know how secret this path is? Bruce sharply said. “We aren’t in a position to second guess Betty. If she stated we’re to stop at El Toro. Then we stop at El Toro. No further arguments on the issue.” When Bruce cynically looked at Lightfoot the frowning Indian grunted. “No argument.” he said while defensively holding up his hand.

Chapter Forty-four

Once the classified agenda of Spanish ed PEARL OF LISBON was in Betty’s possession, she painstakingly deciphered each fact listed on the pages. At first the clues evaded her attention. By the time Colonel Sherman’s detachment was disembarking the train at El Toro she found what was sought. After ing San Diego’s ghost whisperers she was told the group had fell off their mental radar. After anxiously calling her Mexican intelligence Betty learned two Mexican officers traveling with Bruce were dead. After expressing her fears to Theta , Betty was told this frequently happened when compromising the demon controlled domains and not to worry. Yuma’s parting words were to keep strong the faith. Suddenly a chill tumbled through her emotions like a slashing dagger. During her long service with Theta, Betty had seen what was happening but this time she failed seeing the scattered clues. Because the complicated covert was spinning out of control it may be necessary to throw Bruce’s team to the wolves. This might be the only way to slow down Satan’s sweeping victories. Betty’s cold hardness fell apart when tears flowed down her cheeks. She was fond of the colonel and Lorelei. Bruce was exceptionally resourceful when faced with insurmountable odds. She hoped he would again come through but the odds were against the team.

* * *

After departing Engine 56 the marines was slapped with scorching temperatures. Zaebos’ winged friends kept harassing them. Twice they fought off blackbirds swooping down in nightmarish attacks? The soldiers viciously fought off the attacks but not without losses. After marking two graves for future recovery the detachment fell in for weapons inspection. Sergeant Lightfoot would at times mutter another petition for divine help.

By now the weary marines decided any help would be welcome regardless from what quarter it came. The Shawnee and his two Apaches kept reminding them survival depended on their walking tall. This wasn’t always accepted but they willingly followed their advice. Increasing strong winds threatened to knock them over while swirling sand devils were creating physical problems. Lightfoot was worried as winds peppered them with tiny grains of sand. It was like millions of tiny bullets fired by unseen enemies. Lorelei nudged close to Bruce and said. “Honey, we can’t stand around all night. If we aren’t entering El Toro tonight then let’s get back in the coach. At least it’ll protect us from this storm.” A few minutes later Bruce ordered the marines back in the coach. There was no hesitation on the enlisted ranks. “Sergeant Lightfoot, front and center.” Bruce ordered in an impatient tone. “Sergeant, we’ll remain inside until dawn. Have the men settle down and eat their rations.Post sentries and rotate every three hours.” “Yes, sir.” Lightfoot responded. “And, sir, it’s going to rain.” Lorelei argued while suspiciously staring at Lightfoot. “What’s so special about rain this evening?” “It shall rain take my word.” The sergeant then moved about the coach giving out orders and asg the guard roster for their remaining six hours until dawn. Outside the weather was harsh with strong roaring winds battering the coach. Occasionally lightning streaks tore across the heavens. But on the positive side there were no blackbird attacks. After eating the enlisted men tried finding comfortable positions on the seats and slept. Bruce opening a can of fruit cocktail nibbled on the fruit bits. Having the men cooped up in the coach wasn’t a good defensive move but it was his only option. With no shelter other than the coach strong winds kicking up sand and not to forget the bird attacks he was limited on choices. Stirring fruit until he found the three cherries Bruce grinned.

Lorelei had been watching him. “You like your cherries?” she asked in an amusing tone. Bruce chuckled. “Well, it’s damn better tasting than those beans and ham you crave.” She shrugged. “Lightfoot said these storms rarely last more than several hours. Then it’s scorching hot again.” She spooned a helping of beans and ham that she chewed before asking. “What if our guides come tonight?” “They won’t come. They’re not that crazy.” Bruce pointed at her ration. “Now eat your ham and beans like a good girl and quit asking questions.”

Chapter Forty-five

When dawn sluggishly appeared a few hours later, small sandy dunes partially covered the coach’s wheels. Bruce walked outside and exhaled his disapproval of the conditions. After ordering Lightfoot to check the engine he asked Yellow Hair and Broken Hand to inventory their munitions. “I don’t see the Indian guides.” Lorelei uneasily said. “Yeah neither do I.” Once a low flying plane came over, wiggled its wings and was gone. Nobody knew if that meant the plane radioed their coordinates or recognized the rogue column’s train. The mystery where the missing guides were was solved. Nearby they were sprawled on the ground their blood soaking the sand. Their horses were likewise slaughtered. For several minutes there was no sound from the shocked marines. There was something different about the area. This was before Lorelei realized the weather had again changed. The skies were blue while a gentle breeze drifted through the area. Except for their dead guides the immediate area was peaceful. “What now?” Father Lampkins skeptically asked. “Reorganizing is our top priority.” the colonel replied after a short silence. “Without those guides we have no way getting up to the mines.” “What about the train?” Charlie halfheartedly said. “We would be ambushed along the way.” Lorelei said. “Zaebos holds the heights and advantages.” Charlie watched the two Apaches climb onto the coach while watching for blackbirds. Minutes later two marines found the engineer and his stoker half buried in the sands. They too were dead. But this came as no surprise. Father Lampkins silently observed Bruce standing behind the coach his interest directed

to their rear. “What about Zaebos?” Bruce walked a few steps before saying. “It’ll be awhile before his planes are assembled.” Lorelei uneasily said. “So Zaebos strikes again.” The colonel sucked in his breath then soberly replied. “Zaebos has nothing to do with this. This was purely political. I imagine the villains were the Mexican Army. They’re still trying to slow us.” “But wouldn’t we have heard them during the night?” Charlie asked. “Not really. The storm covered their sounds.” Lorelei asked following her cold silence. “So now what?” “The only choice is going back to the old fort and reorganized.” “But what about the Nazis?” Charlie asked. “While we’re sitting on our butts they’ll escape.” “I don’t think so. The Mexicans loyalists are also tracking them.” After their meeting the train was again on the move. There were mixed emotions about this new development. This time the enlisted marines weren’t kept in the dark, but fully briefed on what was happening. Though Bruce assured them once the barricades were lifted their quest to the silver mine would resume. But Lorelei quietly suspected some marines didn’t believe his promise. Been conditioned to obeying orders they silently kept their doubts. Bruce’s mind whirled through the unfolding negative events rapidly following their landing on Mexican soil. Visions of their transport been shot down by the Mexican Air Force cause an angry smirk to twist his expression. Lorelei observed Lightfoot wasn’t angrily cursing his handful of slow responding men. After a short break the Shawnee held weapons’ inspection. The marines didn’t

have to be told another unauthorized strike was in the works. Their primary target was still on the loose. Lorelei sat at a window thoughtfully watching the desert terrain slowly . It felt weird the train was backing down the tracks. Though her emotions were scattered she was sure her love for Bruce was increasing each day. Soft sunlight bathed his features while the icy blue eyes twinkled. For a few moments she thought of that day in Lisbon when ordered by Abwehr to gain his confidence. Her first impressions weren’t favorable. She classified him as arrogant and coldly detached. During their short time in the Romanian mountains Lorelei discovered this man from Ohio’s plowed fields was a complex personality and very hard to decipher. The closer they came to the old fort Bruce was putting together new plans to stop the Nazis from launching their hatred against the United States. The German influences inside the Mexican military was causing Bruce more problems than the demons. “We’re losing too many people.” Bruce muttered. “Sometimes that happens.” “Maybe so but I don’t like it happening on my watch.” he cynically replied. There was a troubled silence. “If tomorrow is the anniversary of Aguilera’s massacring those priests maybe there’s a connection. Otherwise, why is Zaebos deliberatively going into harm’s way?” “Father Lampkins and I have discussed this.” “And what did you decide on?” “We didn’t decide on anything.” The afternoon sun showered Lorelei’s shiny blond hair. Though she was a very beautiful woman there was a coldness about her that bothered Lightfoot. When another Mexican Air Force plane flying two thousand feet altitude ed over without challenging them the sergeant tried hard not cursing that pilot. Like the others that Mustang soon vanished.

“That makes four flyovers.” Bruce harshly said. “But they aren’t strafing us.” Charlie replied. “And that’s a good sign.” He paused for a few moments. “Isn’t it?” “No. That’s because we’re cornered. But trust me they will attack at a time of their choosing” Lightfoot promised. After a short silence Lorelei suspiciously charged. “You don’t seem too concerned.” Bruce looked at her then solemnly theorized. “There are no attacking birds because we’re currently not a problem for Cerro Chorerras. As for those flyovers the Mexicans are monitoring our progress.” the colonel paused then grinned. “When reaching the fort I’ll start worrying.” Lorelei sipped hot water from a metal cup before asking. “Do you think the train transporting supplies to the mines is still up there?” Bruce shook his head. “I doubt it. Why?” “I was thinking if it was then we could use that to come down the mountain.” For a few moments she studied his expression. “You haven’t thought about coming down, have you?” “To be truthful I haven’t given it much thought. Getting up the mountain and defeating the Germans and demons pretty well crowded my thoughts.” Lorelei smiled. “Then push aside those thoughts. We have to have a plan for departure before getting up there.” Bruce didn’t reply.

Chapter Forty-six

For several minutes Betty studiously reviewed a stack of photographs while worry lines etched her forehead. Twice had she walked to the window in Bruce’s office. She was troubled after their train returned to the old abode fort and there had been no communications. There was no use asking the Mexicans for further reports. Mexico earlier ordered a no fly zone over their deserts. When Billy came into the office she looked up. Seeing her wretched features Billy casually asked. “What’s up?” “Where have you been?” Betty curtly asked. “I have been trying to get hold of you the last two hours.” “Been busy.” She gave him a nasty look before saying. “Colonel Sherman’s strike force is off our radar.” Billy didn’t appear that concern. “I wouldn’t worry about it.” A minute later Betty shoved a stack of photographs against Billy’s chest. “These were taken by a Mexican military flight yesterday. The second group was snapped today by one of our naval planes two hours before Mexico declared the deserts no flight zones.” The major briefly studied the prints before indifferently shrugging his shoulders. “This print reveals no new activity on Cerro Chorreras. Previous flights gave evidence there were considerable activity. We know the Germans are up there. So what’s new?” When his stern expressions didn’t change she said. “Do you see the changes?” He shook his head. “All right, now look at Major Chandler’s plane.” Carefully analyzing the prints Billy looked up with a thin smile. “The plane has been slightly repositioned.”

Betty degradingly snapped. “If a person wasn’t searching for differences that change would be easily overlooked. However, the difference was just enough to allow a plane’s landing. Now direct your interest to that stone building near the shaft’s entry point. Yesterday those three rail cars were further away. Today, the cars are in new positions.” “So? The Germans are preparing defenses. Is there any other new activity?” “No. We’re certain the ground crews are assembling Stukas under the camouflaged netting.” she predicted. “The logical solution would bomb Cerro Chorerras.” the major skeptically suggested. “You know damn well that’s not possible. For unspecified political reasons the Mexican government refuses bombing strikes.” When Billy shrugged she was furious. “Do that and we’ll start a political crisis with Mexico. And right now that’s the one thing Washington doesn’t need.” “Why tell them in advance?” he sarcastically argued. He silently wondered why Bruce listened to this woman’s advice? “Mexico City guessed we might try that. One hour ago I had a nasty phone call from Washington. The Secretary of War stressed such military actions would seriously weaken an already strained relationship. The bottom line is we cannot diplomatically afford such disruptions. The Sec stated under no circumstances were we to conduct bombing raids on the plateau or anywhere along the rail line.” Betty grunted her frustration. “Those orders left no room for aerial assaults.” “Sounds like diplomatic lap dancing?” Billy angrily pointed out. “Today there’s a lot of that between Mexico City and Washington. Sometimes it appears Mexico City considers us a greater threat than her former German friends.” Betty drank coffee while studying the major with greater interest than before. “In 1942 both Mexican houses of Congress unanimously approved a declaration of war against the Axis Powers. This didn’t remove the ties many Mexicans had with . I’m afraid that’s what we’re encountering now. The Mexican President is having a tough time keeping his government together. Bombing what they consider a national treasury would probably topple their government. Washington cannot allow that.”

“And there’s no way we can by those orders?” “None that I know of.” She waited until Billy nodded his reluctant compliance with the State Department directive. Billy was serious-faced when asking. “But what about Chandler?” “We don’t know if he’s alive or a prisoner.”

Chapter Forty-seven

When the train stopped at the fort everybody scrambled from its enger coach. Sergeant Lightfoot the last to leave was anxiously shouting for assembly. The two Apaches brushed ed the colonel and major then ran inside the deserted garrison. Their quick inspection revealed it had been deserted since they left what seemed like months ago. Even with that assurance the Indians felt uncomfortable with the strong scent of death violating this crumbling compound. Lightfoot later walked the shaky wall ramparts on another thorough inspection. Inner emotions nagged him before long this abode garrison would be locked in a deadly struggle. After looking over their defensive positions Bruce and Lorelei walked the walls. From the seventeen foot wall they were given a decent view of the surrounding areas. The horrific memories of their last stay kept disturbing their efforts to be positive over a negative. Temperatures ranged from scorching hot to damned cold. Far as the eye could see there was sand with a few scattered cactus trees. The term miserable failed to properly describe the land. “Will we ever get to Cerro Chorerras?” Lorelei asked in a defeatist tone. “Yeah one way or other we’ll get there.” Bruce said though his confidence was noticeably limited. “Before then are we expecting trouble from the Mexican Army?” “We will sooner or later.” Bruce warned. “There’s Nazi loyalists in their army and those soldiers will disobey Mexico City’s standing orders and attack.” “Out of the thirty marines we started out with there’s only sixteen left. What are your plans? We definitely can’t stand off dedicated attacks against this fort.” The colonel didn’t reply. The truth of the matter there were no plans. When using the wireless radio it quit transmitting in the middle of his distress call. Without the services of Indian guides they never could find that forgotten path

up the mountain side. Aerial assaults were out of the question. If Mexico City withdrew opposition to aerial bombing by now it would be suicidal.” Bruce thoughtfully looked around hoping for a hint what to do.

* * *

The Catholic priest holding his well-worn rosary began fingering the beads while petitioning Jesus Christ for protection. But the old man knew his stroll through life was about to take an unwelcome detour through the shadows of death. When seeing their few battle ready marines walking the walls he wondered what they thinking? The Catholic marines had already attended confession. He unconsciously walked further away from the fort. His mind focusing on the rosary had forgotten the Shawnee’s warning about staying inside the fort. Because the scene was so peaceful it never crossed his mind there was danger beyond the fort’s crumbling walls. In his younger years he was bright and quick in his fight against demons. That had changed. He was no fool. His younger days were just that…his younger days. Wanting to ask the priest questions about the mountain Bruce couldn’t find him. Walking to the sergeant he asked. “Where is Father Lampkins?” “I last seen him down by the tents.” “Not there.” Lorelei came up and replied. “He left the fort several minutes ago. The last time I saw him was about forty feet on our east flank.” “What the hell is doing out there?” Bruce angrily exclaimed. A few moments later she calmly said. “Probably praying his rosary…” Then terrified words issued from her mouth. “Bruce, there’s large numbers of birds heading his way!”

This was before Lightfoot began shouting and pointing at the black flight. The priest having seen the threat broke into a laborious run for the fort. But his three hundred pounds allowed only a moderate painful pace. His heart was pounding faster while his feet felt like blocks of concrete. Father Lampkins knew survival was reaching that gate. Bruce was yelling while the priest kept pushing his strength over its limit. By now the marines were shouting encouragements at the old man to move faster. Sergeant Lightfoot dividing his attention between the running priest and those birds kept pumping devastating gunfire. Father Lampkins was only feet from the old fort when the squawking birds swept down like a single glossy black cloak. “Fire! Kill the damned birds!” the Indian shouted. The desert’s serenity was disturbed by a thunderous collection of gunfire ranging from rapid fire Thompson submachine guns to MI semi-automatic rifles. The ear deafening noise was matched only by the screaming blackbirds charging through a murderous killing field. Lorelei was firing rapidly as she could while tears streaked down her cheeks. She knew the priest had little hope of reaching the gate. All the while she was screaming at him to run faster. Father Lampkins stumbled several times in the soft sands then quickly leaping up continued toward hopeful safety. Marines were fast reducing the number of airborne threats. He wasn’t that far from safety when challenged by the first wave of dive bombing blackbirds. Thrown to the sands, the terrified old man was unable to shield his squirming body from their black screaming death. Marines continued firing desperately hoping to drive away the murderous blackness. Sergeant Lightfoot and several marines recklessly raced from the fort while firing into the black ranks. The priest was being savagely ripped apart by the birds. The running Americans continued firing their guns fast as the chambers would react. The old man’s screaming wasn’t heard so often nor did his flaying arms resist the murdering birds. By the time the yelling marines reached that black swarm he was sprawled on the bloody sands staring at the heavens with horrified unseeing eyes. Seeing the man was dead the birds quickly took to flight, but not before many were shot out

of the sky by avenging marines. Then suddenly the harshness disappeared. Bruce, Charlie and Lorelei running from the fort knew before seeing his mutilated bloody body his time on earth was finished. For a few moments the colonel bitterly knelt alongside the bloody body. He didn’t bother wiping away his tears. Their operation was getting slammed while being blocked by political lap dancing. While the sands were littered with dead birds the skies were clear of threat. Father Lampkins’ body was silently carried inside the fort where he was laid to rest in an abode hut. The marines had developed a fondness for the old man. So it was no surprise when a heavy emptiness fell over the crumbling outpost. “Father Lampkins didn’t deserve this.” Lightfoot growled when his two Apaches walked up. “He good man. His god will greet him with open arms.” Yellow Hair respectfully mumbled. While standing over the body Bruce’s anger increased to the point he turned to Sergeant Lightfoot. “Sergeant, cover Father Lampkins with the Mexican colors. Then raise our Stars and Stripes.” His grievous voice then strongly added. “Prepare to defend the outpost against enemy forces.”

Chapter Forty-eight

Two hours ed over the old fort since Father Lampkins had died. There wasn’t much talking among the marines on the wall. Yellow Hair commanded the wall’s right sections and kept pacing behind his men and occasionally conversing with the edgy marines. One machine gun was assigned to his grid. The left flank was assigned to Broken Hand. Because the winding dirt road was in his sector two machine guns beefed up his position. The sergeant and five marines were armed with assault rifles. Their duty would be to replacing fallen men during combat. Bruce, Lorelei and Charlie would free lance on the wall. When pausing alongside the Shawnee Bruce asked. “This all we can do. Do you have any suggestions to improve our defenses?” Bruce found no argument in the sergeant’s words. “The only way this will stop is bombing Cerro Chorerras.” “The Mexican government won’t authorize bombing strikes. We already talked about that.” Bruce annoyingly replied. “We could always go in their back door?” “Given the current political climate between our governments I wouldn’t do that. Either way they have the advantages. Politically there’s nothing we can do. What they’re looking at is the future. This war won’t last forever.” Lorelei walking up ed their discussion. “When it does end the two countries must go back coexisting. If we go around attacking their sovereign soil the wartime tensions will haunt their peacetime relations. Washington and Mexico City both recognizes this.” Bruce frowned. “I swear you’re beginning to sound like Betty.” he growled. Lorelei thoughtfully looked around. “Maybe I am. I’m aware only a few in

Mexico City and Washington know what’s going on. Chandler’s ill-advised reconnaissance flight created this festering boil that has Mexico City in an uproar. If he hadn’t violated their damn rules we wouldn’t have this crisis.” “But don’t they know Chandler operated beyond his authority?” Charlie growled. “Mexican intelligence knows and don’t care. This is a problem of our making. I’m sure they know Chandler was known for his reckless private little schemes. He was an arrogant son-of-the-bitch who came from a very rich family with strong White House political ties. Chandler thought he could do anything and get away with it. This flight was another of his stupid sorties that got out of control. But all of this is past history and they don’t care.” “But Chandler was compiling evidence the Nazis were using Mexican territory to launch an attack on the States.” Charlie argued. Bruce nodded. “That we now know. But Nazi influences inside the government are swaying the Mexican intelligence. According to Betty it’s those influences that turned their intelligence against us.” “So what is this damned authorization bit with Mexico?” Charlie sharply asked. “I thought the two countries were working together in this war?” “It’s political stuff going back to the first part of this century. Mexico City maintaining good relations with our Navy allows aerial flights over Mexico without prior approval. Obtaining clearance for our entrance should have been easy but Chandler’s stupidity caused complications. Whenever army requests appear there’s red flags.” There was a short pause before he continued. “Nobody understands why Mexico find the thought of American troops on their soil so disgusting. I personally think it goes back to when our army whipped their ass during the Mexican/American War.” Bruce stopped talking for a moment. “Right now our Navy Blue is hopping mad because their flights along the coast were abruptly halted. And it’s all because of Chandler.” After that the colonel was lost among his conflicting thoughts. After awhile he asked Lorelei. “Incidentally, what fuel system does the Mustang use?”

“North Island told Betty it’s an injection carburetor with a two-stage supercharger. Why?” “What about the dive bomber?” “The Stukas doesn’t use two-stage supercharger systems?” “But can they be installed on the Stukas?” “According to our aircraft experts they cannot.” Bruce’s expression turned dark. “The Luftwaffe has been known to do the impossible. Installing the injection carburetor shouldn’t pose problems for their mechanics.” “But why bother?” Charlie asked. Bruce was silent for a few moments. “The P-38’s Allison twelve-cylinder, turbosupercharged engines has a distinct sound.” Charlie waited few moments before asking. “So? What’s your point?” Bruce slapped his knee in delight. “That’s it! That’s why the Germans are replacing those systems.” Everybody looked his way with dubious expressions. “Don’t you understand? By flying low they’ll escape our radar. If anybody hears the engines’ roar they’ll give it little thought. They’ll probably think the Air Corps are practicing low altitude night flying.” He smiled broadly. “I have to say that’s a damned good Trojan horse.” “But will it work?” Sergeant Lightfoot skeptically asked. “Why wouldn’t it?” Nodding after a moment he sternly added. “Those hearing the planes will think they were Mustangs and not Stukas. Yeah, it’ll work.” “So we know how they’ll do it,” Lorelei speculated. “But we don’t know their targets.” “How does Cerro Chorerras fit in?” Charlie asked. “Because of its isolation Cerro Chorerras is ideal for assembling the aircraft.”

Lorelei slowly shook her head. “From there they’ll fly towards the American border.” “What about refueling?” “I reading a classified report about Luftwaffe squadrons in North Africa using impoverished strips for refueling. We’re talking about Mexican deserts. If that worked in North Africa it’ll work here.” Lorelei advised. “But identifying their locations won’t be easy.” Bruce complained. “What about the Mexican Air Force?” Lorelei asked. “They should have maps of all known airfields?” “They probably do but they’re not sharing.” Bruce argued. “General Oberhausen will use airfields not known to the Mexican Air Force. I’m certain there are many private landing strips in the desert they don’t know about? Their only requirement would be invisibility from aerial flights.” “I still say our planes should conduct aerial reconnaissance flights.” Lightfoot said. “Can’t do. According to Betty Mexico City has temporarily banned all American flights over their country.” “Then have their air force fly over?” Bruce shrugged. “That won’t work. There’s too much corruption inside their air force not to mention Nazi sympathies.” For a few moments the Indian glanced at the hut where Father Lampkins’ body rested. “Well, we got to do something. Sitting on our butts isn’t accomplishing anything.” Lightfoot bitterly grumbled. Bruce sinisterly smiled. “I don’t plan sitting on our butts, sergeant. When the time is right we’ll move rapidly.” “And when is this?” “When the opportunity arises. I want your men ready to move out at a moment’s

notice,” the colonel thoughtfully ordered. “ we have lost good men because of Operation Einspritzung. We’ll lose more if not thinking like them.” He looked at his staff. “Don’t think we’re smarter than they are because we definitely aren’t. This damned demon has thousands of years on us. Do you all understand?” After they nodded Charlie asked. “Are we getting more men? And what about guide replacements?” “Before leaving San Diego I signed a State Department memo stating Operation Demasquer wasn’t authorized reinforcements.” “No loopholes?” Lorelei curiously asked. “Not a single one. If I didn’t know better a lawyer wrote that memo.” Bruce grinned. “And they probably did.” The two Apaches returned to walking their sectors. Their rifles were loosely held for instant usage. Charlie mumbled something about stupid political interferences before walking several feet away from the colonel. Where he stopped would have been the priest’s position to defend. He briefly thought about the former Theta agent. Though Father Lampkins was difficult to understand he was a good man. Maybe in the end that was all that mattered. “You never answered Charlie’s question about Indian guides.” Lorelei curiously asked. Bruce thoughtfully studied the mountains two hundred and fifty miles away. “We were so damned close then had to back track.” Lorelei shot him an unfriendly scowl. “I know that and the men knows it. But you haven’t answered where are the guides?” “That’s because I don’t know.” He was silent. “Our major problem is too damned many political blockages.” Moments later he frowned while clasping hands behind his back. Walking away his thoughts were engaging options that would get them away from the fort.

Chapter Forty-nine

For several minutes following their discussion, Bruce stood on the seventeen foot wall silently observing the outlying sandy terrain. It was most unfriendly with scorching temperatures that went over one hundred and twenty-nine. Later, Yellow Hair warned Bruce that one mile away parked in the shadows of four large cactus trees were two dark colored sedans. Sergeant Lightfoot wanted to take a squad and determine their intentions but Bruce refused. Their clumsy surveillance didn’t bother Bruce. It wasn’t long before Lorelei ed Bruce. He gave her a brief glance before returning his attention to the brown sedans. “Are you still convinced their refueling will be near the border.” “Yes. It’s only logical. The Junkers 87 has a limited flying range of three hundred and forty-two miles. Within this figure you allow for takeoff and climb, vectoring, positioning for attack and finally carrying out their strafing es. All of this consumes fuel. Installing a new fuel system won’t improve its range. Wherever those planes are going will have to be within a round trip range of six hundred and eighty-four miles. Probably even shorter if and when encounter hostile receptions on the way back.” Bruce speculated. “What if range wasn’t factored into their plans?” Lorelei grunted before leaning against the crumbling abode. “That would make their flights suicidal.” “Maybe that’s their plans.” Bruce cynically argued. “But there’s no way in Hell they’re returning to Cerro Chorerras after hitting their targets.” The colonel again looked at the hidden sedans. “Zaebos has a purpose. But the Luftwaffe raids makes no sense.” He waited until Lorelei nodded. “So what is Zaebos up to?” “Maybe he’s on Cerro Chorerras to celebrate a ritual? We know the infamous massacre’s anniversary is tomorrow.”

“I know we have discussed this before. What if Zaebos isn’t up there because of his murdering those rebellious priests four hundred years ago?” Bruce somberly challenged. The late afternoon sunlight caused her blond hair to gleam in its warmth. For a few moments Bruce thought how much he loved this German woman before his emotional reflections ed. He had other things to worry about. “I still don’t understand why he celebrates such a ruthless murdering? And another bothersome puzzle…why didn’t Zaebos flee to the Middle East after that jeweled chest was opened?” Lorelei asked. He negatively shrugged his reply. “I only know something on Cerro Chorerras draws him there.” She frowned. “Like what?” “I don’t know.” Bruce silently sorted through his confused thoughts. Finally, he skeptically announced. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Lorelei stood for a few moments contemplating his rapid exit. After yawning she folded arms behind the head and thoughtfully stared at the blue heavens. In the last hour those ugly black clouds had disappeared.

Chapter Fifty

The colonel asked couple of marines if they had seen Lightfoot? They hadn’t. Soon afterwards the commanding officer rounded some stones and found his three Indians squatting in a circle mumbling unfamiliar phases. He impatiently waited until Yellow Hair saw him standing there. The tall Apache nervously whispered to his friends and their ritual was concluded. This was the signal for Bruce to cautiously approach. They suspiciously observed his slow walk with folded arms against their chests. “Why aren’t you on your posts?” he harshly demanded. Sergeant Lightfoot replied in a cold manner. “We are petitioning the gods to aid our quest, sir.” The colonel looked at the two Apaches with an unfriendly expression. “Hurry up and finish your prayers. You are needed on the wall.” Bruce then solemnly said. “But first I need some insights explained.” Ignoring the frowns from Yellow Hair and Broken Hand he turned to Lightfoot. “I’m confused about something. Yesterday you mentioned Zaebos was once given strength by Mictlan-tecahtli?” “Yes but that was long ago.” “To the gods time is only an inconvenience.” The Shawnee stood silently. “Tomorrow is the anniversary of his murdering those priests on Cerro Chorerras. Is this important?” There was a short hesitation on Lightfoot’s part before exchanging brief glances with his two Indian friends. “There’s considerable unrest in the bowels of Mictlan’s Chignahamictlan. This is also creating chaos in the other eight hells.”

“How do you know this?” Bruce asked thinking how they looked like those wooden Indians in front of smoke shops back home. Their folded arms and smirking faces were no way friendly. “Camaxtli sent word by his messenger.” Without looking over his shoulder he somberly continued. “Further up the road on a cactus is a brown owl dispatched to warn us of serious changes in the nine hells.” Bruce was confused. “Why has this chaos disrupted Michtli’s kingdoms?” “ Father Lampkins warning us how jealous the gods become if their kingdoms are threaten by outsiders? This has happened and the shock waves are spreading like giant waves from a fierce storm at sea.” “Will Camaxtli assist us?” “No.” “Then what good is he?” “Camaxtli will not directly oppose Zaebos.” the sergeant sternly said. “But he will provide information that might help us fight this murderous demon.” Bruce was quiet for a few moments then with a deep frustrated sigh he itted. “I guess we should be appreciative? What other warnings did he bring?” “The divine owl brought word Huehuetoetl was sent to Cerro Chorreras.” Mention of this Aztec deity produced worried expressions across the Indians’ faces. Seeing Bruce’s confusion Sergeant Lightfoot solemnly explained. “Huehuetoetl is associated with fire and wears a fire serpent as his headpiece. He also controls time in the Aztec world. A sweep of his hand can stop or push back time. Even Mictlan-tecahtli walks softly in his presence.” The sergeant’s voice became very serious. “No other deity can do the things he does.” “Can this deity do battle?” “His sole responsibility is controlling time. But the gods wisely saw fit to send along a companion on his quest to Cerro Chorreras.” Yellow Hair explained. “Known in the Aztec world as Macuiltotec, this deity can do battle. His role in the culture is god of the arsenal and was very much feared among the warriors of

his day.” “Let me see if I got this right? An owl brought word the gods sent the god of time and war to Cerro Chorerras?” Bruce dubiously asked. “Yes, sir.” “Will they fight this battle?” “No.” Broken Hand interrupted with a frown “Then why come if they won’t fight?” “They expect us to physically fight their battles.” “How do we do this with the Mexican Army getting in our way?” the colonel asked. “If we have faith the gods will make certain we’re there when the battles begin.” Lightfoot confidently promised. “Somewhere along the path we shall have guides.” After the Indians didn’t further their visions Bruce returned to the wall. He was more confused than when finding the Indians. Bruce suspected the Indians weren’t sharing everything they knew about the deities. After some serious thoughts Bruce reed Lorelei. While climbing the shaky ladder to the rampart, he felt a disguised tension that was affecting his few marines manning the wall. Lorelei was thoughtfully staring at the spot where Father Lampkins went down. When she looked to him for an explanation he helplessly shrugged his shoulders.

* * *

For one hour Zaebos restlessly paced a grassy area near the jungle. His mind was cluttered with anger when kicking the damp soil. Hazy, dark reflections crowded

his mind when he last rode onto this plateau. In those days this was a very busy mining operation and had been for hundreds of years. That day he was furious at the slowness of those worthless Aztec miners. When he was defiantly challenged by the rebellious priests his temper was short. Nobody knew which Spaniard started slashing at the miners, but when the blood stopped flowing only a few defying holy men remained standing. Their bitter words against his presence saw them buried while still alive. Slowly walking about the weedy area he loudly cursed their bones beneath the soil. When the general suddenly screamed Cassandra’s name the mechanics briefly looked up then nervously returned to their work. Only his pilots seemed unconcerned with his rash behavior.

Chapter Fifty-one

After three hours and those two mysterious sedans were still monitoring the old fort, Bruce began worrying about their presence. It was late afternoon when the temps began cooling the hot desert. Twice Bruce had walked the wall ramparts in a dark mood. When the cars didn’t leave the colonel decided they may be a threat. Lorelei had walked the ramparts for awhile and occasionally stopped to observe Bruce’s restless mood. For the last few minutes the colonel stood studying the mountains over two hundred miles away. She finally ed him. “So close, but so far away.” she dubiously replied. When he glanced her way she continued. “That last message from San Diego… what did it say?” Bruce didn’t reply at first. “Mexico City refused to approve reinforcements nor would they authorize air strikes on Cerro Chorerras. But I already told you that.” She noted Bruce’s unenthused expression. “Were those the only restrictions mentioned?” “Yes.” “What’s keeping us here?” “We need guides which we don’t have. The Mexican Army cancelled that by killing them.” Lorelei shook her head. “I have been thinking about that. Bruce, we found no evidence the Army murdered those Indians. So who did? Who is our primary opposition? Think about it. What if Zaebos’ blackbirds killed the guides?” “But there were no evidence of bird attacks.”

“Zaebos can summon other demons to do his wishes.” she skeptically argued. “So let’s say demons didn’t kill our guides. Then this leaves the Mexican political fractions who are mad because of Chandler’s violations. But the more I think about it the stronger I feel they will only go so far in stopping us. They refused additional marines from San Diego…right? Good. They refused air strikes on Cerro Chorerras…right? Good.” Lorelei smiled. “They left open only one option that we can legally use.” “What are you talking about?” “Simply put Mexico City stated what you couldn’t do. But there was nothing mentioned about what you could do.” She smiled. “Obviously the Nazi influences were byed but to save face they threw up political road blocks. That allowance was a major concession. It’s what they didn’t say that gave us considerable leverage in this operation.” There was a short pause before she eagerly explained. “The Mexicans and Soviets are alike in many ways. You have to carefully listen to what they didn’t say to find options that may be our advantage.” “We don’t have the manpower to attack the Germans. With that in mind what are the other options that I’m not seeing?” Bruce skeptically asked. “There wasn’t restrictions on recruiting local Indians to beef up your team force.” She held up a hand. “Before you say anything some of Mexico’s desert tribes are fierce warriors. Up ahead of us is El Toro. But Betty thought it important enough to pencil in its name. I already talked to the sergeant. Lightfoot briefed me on its history. While the mine was working trains stopped at El Toro to load water and coal for the engine boilers. Since mining stopped in the thirties things have been pretty rough in that area.” Bruce was beginning to grasp her train of thoughts. “And how does El Toro fit into our objectives?” “I talked this over with Lightfoot. He believes we could recruit their men folk.” Seeing Bruce was enthused with the plan she continued. “Honey, we don’t have time to waste. Tomorrow is the massacre’s anniversary. And those Stukas aren’t going be there tomorrow.” She exhaled then solemnly kept talking. “Except for manpower we have what is needed. The train over there will get us to El Toro. Lightfoot is certain we can recruit Indians there. So what are we waiting for?”

When Bruce looked in the direction of those sedans Lorelei continued her argument. “Forget about them. They are monitoring us and nothing else. If the Army wanted us dead they would have done it long ago. I’m betting if we load onto the train the Army won’t interfere. This is all political saving face for Mexico City.” Bruce called the Apaches and Lightfoot for a meeting of the minds. Charlie and Lorelei stood by while Bruce explained Lorelei’s recommended plans. Strangely enough the Apaches agreed while Lightfoot was hesitant. But after one hour of arguments it was settled.

* * *

By the time they were ready for departure Corporal Eddie had the boiler pressure stabilized. Before the war the skinny marine from Chicago worked for the railroad. As the train slowly left the fort Bruce stood on the coach’s rear platform. After Lorelei ed him they watched the two cars driving back to the coast. When the colonel glanced at Lorelei she gave him a devilish I-told-you-so expression. “So you were right…again.” He watched the fort getting smaller as the engine gained speed. “Get the Indians and Charlie together for a meeting.” After climbing the ladder onto the coach’s roof Bruce scanned the desert for threats. There were none and neither were there blackbirds to be seen. He nodded at the two marines Lightfoot posted there for security. The staff was patiently waiting for him inside the coach. “Corporal Eddie estimated we should reach El Toro in three hours. Our plans must be finalized prior to that.” Bruce looked at Lightfoot. “Let’s start off with the first question. What can you tell me about El Toro?” “There isn’t much to tell. You can’t even classify it as a village. There’s a handful of abode buildings with a coal bin storage. El Toro has a deep well for

water. The French built the watering stop after they laid the railroad. It’s approximately two hundred fifty miles from the fort. El Toro lies at the mountain’s base. Supposedly, there’s a forgotten path leading up the mountain that only the El Toro’s villagers knows about?” Bruce was still doubtful. “You’re planning on recruiting men from El Toro?” After Lightfoot confidently nodded Bruce asked. “Why would they agree?” “Revenge.” Yellow Hair predicted. “The French harassed and cheated the villagers and they haven’t forgotten.” Bruce agreed. “More reason to go.” He paused. “We are finally going to Cerro Chorerras so let’s get the job done and go home. I’m sick and tired getting jerked around.” “I’ll second that.” Broken Hand curtly said. “Sergeant, I want a thorough weapons inspection and inventory our munitions. I want to be combat ready when this train stops at El Toro.” Lightfoot nodded his grim agreement. “Once the train stops Yellow Hair will jump off and check the water tower for hidden threats. Broken Hand will reconnoiter the main plaza. Three men positioned on the roof will watch for airborne threats. Rest of our marines will form firing teams.” Bruce matured a deep frown. “On the Eastern Front I worried about Soviet tanks.” he angrily mumbled. “Now I worry about killing damned blackbirds. What a shitty deal we got here.” “It’s gonna get worse.” Lightfoot sternly warned. “Hell, they’re only birds. There has to be something we can do to kill them faster?” He later heard Lorelei and Lightfoot conversing behind him but his muddled thoughts didn’t pay attention. Granny always theorized for every problem, no matter how difficult, there was a solution. For a moment his mind sadly reflected how Father Lampkins frantically struggled to reach the gate. But his three hundred pounds restricted his flight. Then that reflection quickly faded.

“What do you think about this political crap?” Lorelei asked. “It’s complicated.” Bruce moaned. Lorelei grunted. “Which of our missions haven’t been complicated?” Knowing he was pretty upset over losing Father Lampkins she softly lectured. “Fighting demons will always be complicated and scary as hell. But this is to be expected. At least we know where Zaebos is.” Bruce slowly nodded though his thoughts were elsewhere. “Earlier Lightfoot spoke of the desert tribe at El Toro? But he never finished updating me.” She was very serious when speaking. “The people he was talking about once were very rich, owned many farms and lived in lavish mansions. Mention of their name terrified the land’s enemies. But after the Spanish came they were reduced to slavery.”

Chapter Fifty-two

Bruce suspiciously studied Lorelei for a moment. “Are we sure they’ll fight on Cerro Chorerras?” “They will stand tall and fight?” Bruce complained. “That’s more than I can say for their Army.” “Don’t downgrade them too much.” Lorelei mildly warned. “They basically only know what we say is up there. Their military intelligence haven’t made a concentrated effort to confirm or deny it and probably won’t neither. You must these people are very superstitious. Our activities have all the markings of compromising evils they rather not disturb.” Bruce argued. “I have never heard of El Toro until today. But still the name worries me.” Lorelei sighed before saying. “We could argue these issues until the sun turns black and never achieve any headway. The fact remains Mexico City is not about to challenge the demons. Down through the centuries Mexico weakly dwelt with the supernatural either by compromising or totally ignoring their existence. Actually this isn’t any different from the way America handles such incidents. I’m afraid we’re on our own.” “So what you’re saying is the Mexicans won’t interfere with our covert on Cerro Chorreras?” Bruce asked. Lorelei paused before answering. “Up there they won’t. Father Lampkins talked about Cerro Chorerras with much fear. He said there was no other place in Mexico plagued with so much terror as Cerro Chorerras.” “There’s no argument to that.” Bruce agreed. His attention was drawn to the three Indians studying a photograph with unfriendly expressions. “What have you found interesting?” he asked them.

“Yes, sir.” the Shawnee replied while handing the photograph to the colonel. Bruce glanced at the 8X10 aerial photograph. “So what am I looking for?” “That was in the last package from San Diego. We didn’t pay attention to the smoky fingers until now. As you can see the smoke is coming from that small triangle. It’s our opinion that’s Zaebos petitioning Chiuacoatl the Snake Woman.” Yellow Hair said. “This is most distressing because she frequently challenges the other Aztec deities.” “She is most ugly,” Broken Hand said with a disgusted expression. “Her image is a large open mouth showing horribly bad teeth. Chiuacoatl’s shrines are always underground in perpetual darkness and only reached through a small crawl space. Her worship always demands the sacrifice of war prisoners.” It was several moments before Bruce responded to the mention of Snake Woman. “I thought you said the Aztec gods were opposing Zaebos?” Lightfoot shrugged his shoulders. “That is true.” “Then what’s the smoke all about?” It was Yellow Hair who said. “Chiuacoatl is what you would call a rogue goddess. She does exactly what she wants and that’s usually on impulse. A person captures her attention by promising sacrifice. Sacrificing in her honor is a gruesome sight. Zaebos will need a male and woman to complete her ritual.” Ignoring Lorelei’s sharp glance the Apache kept looking at the map. “Zaebos has his war victims.” Glancing Bruce’s way he asked. “Any word on Major Chandler’s command?” Bruce slowly shook his head. “They’re still uned for.” The muscular Apache brave slowly exhaled. “I pray they died fast.” “What about the smoky fingers?” Bruce impatiently asked. “The ritual was already exercised. But that’s not all.” Lightfoot cautioned. “In

that ritual Zaebos asked for a forgiveness that was rejected by the angry deities. But this doesn’t really matter to the scheming demon. Your suspicions were right, colonel. He is petitioning Mictlan-tecahtli for renewal of his strength. It was originally granted during his transmigration through Lieutenant Carlos Aguilera. But not this time. Though his petition was denied it set into motion another divine intervention. And this was his real reason for petitioning the Snake Woman.” Bruce solemnly asked. “So what is Zaebos’ final objective?” “He’s trying to leave Mexico. But when that chest was opened a series of traps were erected around him by the furious Middle Eastern gods.” “If that’s the case why all the violence?” Lorelei dubiously asked. “Because he was offended by the Aztecs the demon wants revenge.” “Then how does the United States fit into his plans?” “I don’t think they’re playing a part in his plans.” Lightfoot somberly itted. For a few moments Bruce sitting by the window indifferently watched the sandy terrain . It was a tedious display of sand and more sand with a scattering of cactus. “I hope you’re right about El Toro. Maybe the Mexican Army won’t challenge us on Cerro Chorerras but they sure as hell have us cornered. If we don’t get those guides we lose the war. It’s that simple.” For a few moments he divided his attention around his staff. “It’s simple as that.” he harshly said.

* * *

While the opportunity presented itself Sergeant Lightfoot completed another weapons inspection. Chow time was called. While the marines ate their rations the train steadily closed the distance to El Toro. There was little talking among the men. Thoughts about what laid ahead of them crowded their minds. The fact

they had lost forty eight percent of their original number did not set well. Lorelei thoughtfully finished a small can of chicken dumplings. It wasn’t her favorite but there wasn’t a can of beans and franks. She even tried trading with the enlisted men but they had no cans of beans and franks. The entre made her thirsty so she drained her canteen. Standing with a sigh Lorelei carefully walked the few swaying feet to the thirty gallon drum of water. With a scoop she filled the canteen then returned to her seat. Bruce was so preoccupied with his troubled thoughts he never knew she had left the seat. On this Friday April 23rd Theta claimed minor victories against Satan but he still held the ace card. As the strike team finished their C-rations they knew their worse challenges were yet to come. One by one the moody marines refilled their canteens with little talk among the ranks. Charlie slowly ate the canned pound cake for a while before asking. “We don’t have maps of this area so what else can anybody tell us about El Toro?” Lightfoot finished his can of fruit cocktail. “What I know comes from legends. Father Lampkins was well versed on the plateau.” Bruce shrugged. “Well, it’s better than nothing.” Lightfoot rehashed what he knew. “Long before the Spanish came there was a worn path to Cerro Chorerras. This was in addition to the main dirt road the miners used to hand transport the silver bars down below. It was well guarded along the way. Then the Aztecs built a small fort to guard the main road.” Lightfoot paused for a moment. “Four hundred years before Cortez a famous battle was fought there. Many people died. But it wasn’t until the invaders burned their temple to Tezcatlipoca that Tezcatlipoca and Yacatecuhtli marched with their warriors. But they waited too long. The fort was burning and its defenders were all dead. The war lasted a long time.” Lorelei solemnly commented. “Damn, there was a lot of violence in this region.” “Yes, there was. But after that the fort’s ruins were looked upon as a place of haunted spirits.” His facial expression turned bitter. “Then came the Spanish. Cortez eventually built a small abode station over its ruins. El Toro basically remained the same until the French came. Then the village was expanded into a

watering station for the train going to and from the mines. The villagers sold fruits and other commodities to the train crews. I’m afraid that’s all I know about Teotihuacan.” “Who are the Indians there?” Lorelei asked. Lightfoot grinned. “The Xochimilcas lives there today.” “And in the past?” “The Xochimilcas.” “Then they should know the mountain?” “They do. In fact, they were the ones who carved out the hidden path.” “Is there any reason to doubt their dependability?” “No. At one time in their distant past Xochimilcas were brave warriors fighting alongside their Aztec brothers. They owned land, operated silver mines, built temples and were able to read and write. In other words they were a noble race.” “So what happened?” Lorelei curiously asked. “The Spanish came. Cortez quickly banished the tribes from their lavish estates and made it illegal for them to read or write. In general they were exploited by Mexico’s new masters.” “Soon the great Xochimilcas tribe became beasts of burdens to the foreigners now controlling their lands. So instead of living in lavish houses they waited on tables and tilled the lands once belonging to them.” Lorelei silently reviewed what the sergeant had said. “So you trust these Indians?” she finally asked. “I trust their history.” he solemnly replied. “Is it wise to trust history? Over time it does change.” The Shawnee slowly shook his head. “Until the Spanish came Xochimilcas’ history didn’t change. Their values didn’t change. They were a noble people.

Yes, I trust their word. And more importantly they’re the only people able to help us.” When Lorelei looked out the window the sergeant softly exhaled his respectful disgust and walked back to the platform. There he spent the better part of thirty minutes observing the train’s forty miles per hour trek over the now straight railroad track course. Sergeant Lightfoot harbored suspicious regard for the female major. Something about her didn’t fit together.

* * *

When Yellow Hair ed him on the platform the sergeant nodded without comment. It was one hour later that they communicated. “I see bad blood between you and Major Ramcke is again flowing the wrong way?” Lightfoot indifferently shrugged his broad shoulders. The sneer remained frozen on his face. Moments later Yellow Hair tapped his heart. “She is a good woman, my brother of the spear.” “So you say.” the Shawnee grumbled. “So what’s the problem? You were getting along with her for awhile. What changed that?” the Apache angrily demanded. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “All right, if that’s your wish.” Yellow Hair said. For a few moments he observed the barren sandy terrain the train was ing through. “If troubled thoughts remain undisturbed they will poison your thoughts.”

When the Shawnee gave him a nasty glance Yellow Hair replied in a cold accusing manner. “As top sergeant, your thoughts must not be poisoned. Every man on this team depends on your guidance.” “Do you know how the Aztecs mined the ore?” Lightfoot abruptly asked. “No. But what’s that got to do with my question?” Yellow Hair annoyingly asked. Lightfoot didn’t answered. “The ore is first ground into a powder. Then water is added until a mud forms. Salt, quicksilver and vitriol are then mixed. Before the Spanish came, blindfolded mules walked around in the mud until quicksilver thoroughly saturated the mixture. It was a time proven progress.” He paid little attention to Yellow Hair’s disturbed expression. “When this progress was completed the particles of silver were loaded into furnaces and baked until evaporated. Only then did you have silver. When the French worked Cerro Chorerras those progresses were basically the same. After the French laid the railroad ore transfers were easier and thus more profitable.” When it became clear Lightfoot wasn’t answering his question Yellow Hair groaned and reentered the coach.

Chapter Fifty-three

For a short time the colonel pensively thumbed through the photographs San Diego sent on the first train. Giving Lorelei a nervous grin couple times, Bruce glanced at the photos with little more than casual interest. At one time he paused to observe the ing scenery which frequently changed. “Hold it.” Lorelei quickly said. “That print you’re holding has writing on its back. Give it to me.” The photo had caught her puzzled interest. Few moments ed while she read Betty’s handwriting. Looking up she asked. “Why did Betty scribble information on a POW camp in Yuma, Arizona?” Bruce shook his head. “I never saw it?” After scanning the notes he said. “I don’t know why she thought it important?” Lorelei didn’t agree with Bruce’s coldness. “No, the question is why Betty sent these notes disguised? Is she trying to tell us something?” Fingering the photograph he asked. “Like what?” The German woman took the aerial photograph from his hand and carefully read it. “This is just a bunch of physical facts about the camp.” She looked at the colonel with a puzzled expression. “Maybe it’s not the camp we’re supposed to be interested in but the prisoners themselves?” “I still don’t know.” Gently tapping the print with a puzzled expression she replied. “Charlie once told me before sends out orders there are three departments they have to through.” “Maybe Lightfoot can tell what Betty is trying to tell us?” For a couple moments she uneasily stared at the Indian standing in the rear talking with Yellow Hair and Broken Hand. “You put a lot of trust in that man?” Lorelei skeptically mentioned.

“You don’t trust him, do you?” “Let’s just say I have reservations about him?” “Why?” “I don’t know. Lately we have been so damned busy I haven’t had the time to analyze him.” Bruce didn’t speak for several moments. “I trust the man’s judgments when involving Mexican supernatural incidents. And as a marine he’s smart and can handle all the problems we might run into. Until I have cause to doubt him the man is top notch in my thinking.” “You’re the boss man.” Lorelei reluctantly agreed with a frown. Still she couldn’t discard a nagging fear the Indian was walking into a situation he couldn’t handle.

* * *

In another part of the world the war savagely continued. After secret deployment miles behind the Tunisian Front, the American Army’s 2nd Corps captured some wooded heights near Mateur. There they fought back Nazi fierce counter attacks. It was during those fierce battles General McNair was severely wounded. On the American Home Front another war was going on, but this one concerned cooking oil. The war abruptly stopped shipments of vegetable fats from the Far East. Glycerin extracted from those fats were needed for making explosives. This shortage was solved when housewives saved their used lard fat. Then weekly they took it to their butchers for channeling to the proper agencies. In a war such as this everybody was expected to lend a hand.

* * *

While Lorelei thoughtfully read the POW camp report Bruce studied the major. She was very attractive in marine camouflaged fatigues. Blond hair pushed under the forage cap escaped in thin strands. There was something about this woman warning of unbridled rage if given an opportunity to escape. After intensely studying the POW roster of prisoners captured during the recent North African Nazi campaign, her interest suddenly peaked. Lorelei read how the Yuma POW camp was built to provide much needed labor for the surroundings farms. Each prisoner earned fifty cents per day working in the fields. Why Betty included such information was raising more suspicions. “Learn anything?” Bruce asked after her silence got on his nerves. “You have read her notes three times.” For a moment he shifted his weight on the hard seat. “Have I?” Lorelei asked then wearily exhaled. “Just curious. The camp has prisoners from the 5th Panzer Division, one hundred men from Deutches Afrikakorps, a handful from the 164th Light Africa Corps and a mixture of ratings from several panzer regiments.” “Is there anything wrong?” he asked. “Nothing that I can detect.” Lorelei carefully replied. “According to Betty’s notes the trusted inmates are paid to work agricultural fields around Yuma. If breaking the honor code they’re transferred to Canadian POW camps which aren’t so friendly.” Laying the print on her lap she nervously shrugged her shoulders. “You seemed upset? Did you recognize any of the names?” It was a few moments before Lorelei solemnly itted. “I know three of the names.” Bruce readily saw she was having a problem with the names but not until he questioned her silence did she guardedly replied. “I know three of the POWs. One name was my uncle serving with the Luftwaffe. What’s puzzling is why he was captured in North Africa? His Me-109 squadron is posted outside Berlin. Another was my second cousin attached to a security regiment guarding Luftwaffe’s testing grounds at Rechlin. What I don’t understand is why Luftwaffe officers were wearing army uniforms?” “What about the third POW? Is he another family member?” Bruce suspiciously asked.

“No. Jacob Bottner is an aviation scientist from Rechlin.” She stretched her arms. “Bottner heads a development team specializing in fuselage structural stress. He was instrumental in deg the Focke-Wulf fighter fuselage in 1939. Prior to that he was well-known for his work during the last war.” Her voice faltered then stopped altogether. A stunned expression crossed her facial features like a rusted dagger. “I something now. Damn, I should have caught the hints Betty was writing. We both know she always has a motive for everything she does. Now it’s all beginning to make sense.” “What’s making sense?” Bruce impatiently asked. “Well, in the first place Betty scrambled the names so Mexican intelligence wouldn’t put importance on their jobs. But she was hoping we would. Now back to the notes. The transmigrating cabals all came from Moselle Valley which we already knew.” A wide victorious smile brightened her face. “It didn’t make much sense until I added the last name. Damn it, all the while the clue was staring me straight in the face and I didn’t see it.” Bruce held his hand up. “Easy now, Lorelei, slow down and start all over. I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re mumbling about.” Lorelei exhaled to hamper her excitement. “In 1914 Jacob Bottner was involved in modifying the Gotha’s wing system. Whatever he changed worked against the bi-plane. There were several crashes before the Ministry ordered it reverted back to the old system. After that those heavy dual-winged planes flew without mishaps.” She stopped talking for a moment. “But here’s the one clue Betty wanted us to catch. During this transition period five Gothas left their base on a bombing mission and never returned. Their planes were never found nor were their crews recovered. After the war British and French troops testified hearing planes flying over before a series of explosions. When search parties went out the next day they never found the wreckages. The missing squadron remains an aviation mystery to this day.” Bruce studied her excitement before saying very solemnly. “In other words the pilots Oberhausen selected are playing hosts to spirits lost 29 years ago?” She quickly nodded with a satisfied smile.

“Good god this covert is getting more bizarre if that’s possible? So you think those Stukas are going to attack the POW camp? But how do they know Jacob Bottner is imprisoned there?” “I don’t know. But how does most of this damned stuff happen? There are no feasible explanations for the supernatural. It just happens.” She was quiet for awhile before offering another supposition. “Perhaps, Operation Einspritzung’s objective was confusing us while General Oberhausen went after Bottner?” “Your theory sounds great.” Bruce praised. “But how will an air strike against Yuma cause political damages? I could understand if they were attacking San Diego or Long Beach… but Yuma?” “They aren’t attacking the POW camp. They’re going after Jacob Bottner. They’re here to extract revenge for their senseless deaths and nothing else. It’s one thing to die in battle but to die because a stupid fool made a faulty modification is another issue.”

Chapter Fifty-four

The closer they came to El Toro the air became warmer. Lorelei experienced a deep satisfaction for breaking Betty’s notes behind that photograph. She soon leaned against the hard seat to stare at ing scenery. An excitement warming her thoughts occasionally brought smiles to her face. It was a well deserved breather from the swirling dust and sweaty confinement back at the fort. The sergeant stood on the platform drinking from his canteen and wistfully staring at the distant Sierra Madre Occidental Mountains. The towering brownish colored heights appeared inviting. But closer they came to its base the rougher they looked. Within the hour they would be leaving behind the desert’s hot blazing terrain. El Toro was now within their reach. That was their last barrier then up the mountain they would go. At first he didn’t know Lorelei was on the platform. “Are your men combat ready?” she asked in a cold business manner. “Yes, madam.” “While I was coming out they seemed very calm.” “They’re marines trained to kill. Most of them are combat vets wisely fearful of what’s confronting us. No man ignores the wizardry plaguing this country, but they will fight.” “You worship the Aztec lord of darkness?” she suddenly challenged after wanting a deeper study of the man’s religious preference. “I have done so since standing even with my mother’s knees. It’s the only religion I have known or wish to acknowledge.” The Shawnee cast a quick glance before looking back at the ominous mountain peaks. “Though my heart lies within Mictlan-tecahtli’s palm I know there are evil sorceresses stalking my spirit. I fear the campfires of my people now burn

low. My tribal wise men doesn’t know how to rescue me from this diabolism I’m strolling into.” For a few moments Lorelei’s green eyes stared at his Thompson machine gun. “Do you believe guns have saved your spirit?” The Indian remained silent. Reaching over she lightly tapped his heart. “It’s here where weapons to challenge Zaebos are found and only in there. Heed well my words of wisdom.” For some reason Lorelei felt no alarm when seeing a brown owl flying not far from the train. It was several moments before he reluctantly nodded. “Every Mexican believing in the ancients knew when his bejeweled chest was found? The moment Zaebos felt Mexican sunlight on his trembling coldness his angry spirit swept through Mexico. Those disbelieving in the old religion ignored the obvious omens. But those who expressed loyalty to the old gods knew Zaebos had transmigrated into the soul of a willing host.” She paused before exhaled softly. “I knew this before leaving San Diego. Later Father Lampkins lectured me on Zaebos. These people will loudly weep when we go to Cerro Chorerras.” Lightfoot quickly defended. “The priest was a good man, major. But his knowledge of the demons on Cerro Chorerras comes from myths and not the heart.” “Maybe you are short changing his words?” “I don’t think so. One of the problems facing us is Coatlicue isn’t convinced of our goodness of the heart.” The sergeant thoughtfully looked toward the mountains. “We must express caution when in their land. Even today many Mexicans know Coatlicue is very unpredictable and mean hearted. She owns nothing other than the rattlesnake skins wrapping her wrinkled body. When walking there are scratched indentions in the soil from her clawed feet she uses for digging graves.” Lorelei though feeling distrust for the Shawnee knew a bondage must be mended

if they hoped to successfully trample Zaebos. “Why should Coatlicue be concerned?” “Coatlicue is also known as Llamateuctli. She wears a two sided mask with one in front and the other behind her head. Not only is Llamateuctli the giver of life and death, but also the instigator of war.” Lorelei pretended to tremble. “Both masks are with open mouths and large budging eyes that see all and forget nothing. And forget not the owls because they fly the winds as her messengers.” When a marine came out offering Lorelei a cup of water she smiled. Nobody aboard that train knew news of Theta’s battling Zaebos was widely circulating throughout the mountains. Before softly sighing she wondered how many would still have air in their lungs after Cerro Chorerras? Lorelei asked. “So what do you think will happen on Cerro Chorerras?” “She who wears a skirt of braided serpents secured by another snake may be puzzled by our appearance?” the Indian cautiously said. “It’s still uncertain how the ancient goddess will take sides.” Lorelei bitterly charged. “This land is crowded with too many spirits and demons.” The Shawnee realized with a jolt what the major was attempting to do. Still the heavy hand of distrust shrouded his thoughts when he slightly shook his head. “Long ago our destiny was written in star dust. All of this time the gods patiently waited until it was time to unmask our fate. Just as our colonel serves Cassandra of Troy, long ago you were destined to serve the gods of Mexico.”

* * *

San Diego was enduring a short rainy spell, when Betty stood at the window observing the sheets of water falling on the base. For the last few minutes Billy

sat in the reception area watching the woman. The major didn’t trust Betty and the feeling was mutual. They had been discussing new data sent by . For days information behind the enemy lines had stopped. Now it was sporadic filtering out thanks to British spies. “British intelligence believes the German aviation scientists were in North Africa testing an unknown weapon.” Billy curiously asked. “What kind of weapon?” “We don’t know. Several days ago regiments from the British 1st Army broke through German defenses. Though our facts are sketchy most of the aviation experts were killed during that fighting. That was when Jacob Bottner was captured. wants to get hold of that man.” “Surely doesn’t want the colonel to corner the man? The Mexicans have his strike team so shadowed they can hardly breath.” “The last batch we sent on that train had clues I’m hoping Lorelei will catch.” Betty predicted. “Supposedly, is moving Bottner to another location?” Billy asked. Betty shook her head once suspecting the major was fishing for further information. She now curtailed her information flow. “No. They believe Bottner is safe there.” “But doesn’t Yuma Operations know General Oberhausen will go after him?” Betty shrugged his shoulders. “They know. suspects those Stuka pilots aren’t necessarily after Bottner. They have other objectives to complete.” she cynically said. “Two of those men on the mountain are the spirits of Gotha pilots who flew on a 1917 bombing mission and never returned. It was because Jacob Bottner redesigned a wing structural that failed. Their transmigrated spirits wants revenge because he indirectly caused their deaths. The other three are spirits having died because Bottner modified their machines with a supposedly better wing design. Everybody wants Bottner dead for one reason or other.” “And I guess wants Bruce’s team to extract Bottner?”

“No. Extracting Bottner is ’s problem.” Betty bitterly said. “Bruce’s team has one objective and that’s bringing down Zaebos.” When Billy left the office thirty minutes later, Betty suspiciously waited until he was gone before making a short phone call. The smell of intrigue was heavier than before.

Chapter Fifty-five

It was nearly dark when Colonel Sherman’s column reached El Toro’s outskirts. After stepping from the train the Shawnee cautiously held his weapon for instant firing. When the night air became colder there was a steady bite on the flesh. He hand signaled his two Apache scouts to quickly check out the suspiciously quiet perimeters. El Toro was a small compacted watering station with only five modest abode buildings. It was evident little activity had recently visited this outpost. Bruce was ed by Lorelei as they skeptically studied the situation. “There’s something wrong here.” she anxiously whispered. “I hear you.” Bruce said while observing Broken Hand defensively trotting into the village. Moving with the swiftness of a prowling wolf Yellow Hair reconnoitered the train stop area. It had been some time since water filled a tall wooden tower. He found some boards nearly collapsing from sun rot. The Apache suspiciously rechecked the wood planks. There was something not coming together. Intelligence stated the station recently watered a train? That wasn’t what he seen. The muscular Apache Broken Hand stood in the falling darkness trying to understand El Toro. None of the abode hearths belched thin wisps of smoke confirming human presences. There was nobody walking the main street, yet, his inner emotions warned eyes were on his every move. He slowly turned a complete circle seeking signs explaining this abnormal silence. Broken Hand found not one sign encouraging him there wasn’t danger. After glancing over his shoulder the Apache noted the others were waiting alongside the train. Sergeant Lightfoot had two fire teams standing ready if he encountered trouble. Broken Hand cautiously walked down the debris cluttered dirt street clutching his rifle for action. This Apache experienced an increasing gnawing suspicion treachery was clinging on this night’s edges. His eyes studied the abode buildings in ing while sensing he was been watched. Still nobody came out

either protesting their arrival or welcoming them. Stopping half way down the street he slowly turned as his eyes critically studied the somber situation. His keen mind became a swamp of sharp apprehension the longer he stood there. Having fought six months in the Canal’s stinking jungles Broken Hand knew well the smell of death. In El Toro there was such a smell and it was strong. “There was no mention El Toro being deserted.” Bruce doubtfully said. Lorelei mumbled. “I don’t like this.” After the sun disappeared behind the horizon a dull illumination blanketed El Toro’s immediate area. With this disadvantage clouding his visual control, Broken Hand was forced to cautiously creep through the shrouding darkness. His emotions became tight with anticipation of dangers yet to come. The Arizona Apache’s face was perspiring from the tension. At one point, the Apache slowly turned in a small circle while intensively studying the decaying buildings. Why wasn’t they acknowledging their arrival? There was no way they didn’t hear the noisy train. He counted six flat top abode houses facing the street showing dim flickering lights inside. And there were no hearths distributing their warmth. With his safety margin gradually decreasing the Apache moved surreptitiously closer to one house. His hand was tight on the M1 rifle. In his puzzled mind this man saw tribal braves wildly dancing around roaring fires. This whole situation didn’t set well with him. The last time such reflections appeared, a Japanese bullet sent him spinning to the stinking mud on Guadalcanal. “Where are the people?” Bruce asked Lightfoot. “I don’t know.” Her whole body was feeling an unnatural chill. “Do you think this is another supernatural incident?” Lorelei asked. Bruce shrugged without looking her way. When the colonel didn’t reply she shook her head causing the blond hair to toss

about. “Damn, Bruce, I need help on this one.” “I’m not answering because I have nothing to say. Even when I fought Forcas there weren’t this many problems.” After glancing at her he complained. “This is when we need Father Lampkins to advise us.” Lorelei frowned. “He’s dead.” He sighed his frustration. “I don’t understand these unpredictable Aztec gods. With the Infernal Empire meddling in their affairs nothing is normal in the Aztec supernatural world.” Bruce’s smile was false but he deemed it necessary. For a few moments she stared at Bruce. “Do you know what I need?” she awkwardly asked. While watching Broken Hand cautiously checking the abodes he dubiously asked. “I’m afraid to ask.” “I need a broom closet.” “I was afraid you would say that.” Bruce replied. “I would be willing to take a substitute.” In an abrupt move surprising Lorelei the colonel leaned over and planted a lingering kiss on her lips. “I bet you would.” He then returned his sharp attention on the two Apaches scouting the deserted village.

Chapter Fifty-six

Broken Hand couldn’t suppress that feeling of death while slowly approaching a crumbling abode house. Bad times certainly had fell on this watering station since the mines shut down. When peeking inside he was startled to see a fire crackling in a small hearth. Jerking back he blinked his eyes hoping to erase that imagine. Moments before there was no fire. Swallowing hard the Apache cautiously again looked inside. It was while his dark colored eyes scanned the interior that Broken Hand felt the cold hand of death brush his shoulder. After seeing what was not inside he whirled to scream a warning. About that time the loud squawking of blackbirds filled the air. Hundreds of birds flying from the darkness swooped down on the startled mortal. Broken Hand having no protection helplessly struggled against the clawing and pecking fowls. Before slipping to the ground his blood splattered against the abode wall. After hearing his friend’s scream Yellow Hair needed no orders to open fire at dive bombing black deaths. There was only a brief hesitation before Lightfoot shouted to unleash their hidden weapons. Yellow Hair fighting his way through the screaming birds kicked open the nearest door and fled into the one room darkened house. The frightened man slammed the door just before blackbirds crashed against its old wood with sickly crunching of tiny bones. While three dozen large brown owls appearing from the skies flew into the masses, marines desperately fought this diabolic attack from the darkness. Soldiers running about firing their guns brought down many black plumage creatures. According to Lightfoot’s plans at the first sight of trouble his men were to seek shelter as fast as possible. But this wasn’t happening. “Automatic rifles, two magazines, short bursts, commence firing!” Lightfoot was shouting above the ear deafening noise of swooping blackbirds. For a moment the Shawnee angrily watched his owls tear into the blackbirds ripping apart their bodies. Bloody bodies were falling to the ground while black feathers floated down. These smaller birds would normally have fled at the sight

of the larger brown owls. But tonight this wasn’t happening. Terrified screams mixing with thunderous gunfire echoed above the old watering station. Several marines running toward an abode were surprised when the door swung open. Terrified villagers roughly pulled them inside. The door banged closed before charging birds could fly inside. Charging down the single street Lightfoot kept shooting wildly into the night air. All the while he was shouting at his marines to seek shelter. Viciously encountering a barrage of screaming birds several marines made their last stand in the street. The carnage continued. A couple of blackbirds struck him so hard the sergeant was thrown to the ground. But he kept firing until that threat was eliminated. The bloody sergeant continued struggling through the airborne attacks firing wildly and replacing Thompson machine gun clips so fast the weapon was getting hot. Reaching the half way mark on this short street the sergeant tore a leather pouch from his waist. Then dropping his useless gun Lightfoot began dropping small pebbles in a circle around him. His bloodied men making it into shelters watched him awkwardly begin his ancient ritual. Raising his hands to the skies the Shawnee Indian screamed his summons to the slumbering gods. The menacing blackbirds flying around in confusion began avoiding him. “Hear my words, ancient ones of Mexica!” he shouted while noticing those few dead marines lying in the dusty street. “Listen well! Your faithful summons the spirits to rise and challenge this evil violating your ranks!” With left hand raised above his head Lightfoot lowered the right to lightly tap his heart. “Listen as your faithful calls for help! Come with your spears to kill this threat! Dally not for the sounds of death carriages are thundering in the distance!” Sergeant Lightfoot looking toward the train was horrified to see it was being attacked by swooping blackbirds. His frightened expression slowly turned to anger as birds noisily circled his safety ring. If he appeared calm and cool headed that was untrue. “Is this how the gods of Mexica defends their faithful?” Lightfoot angrily screamed at the darkened heavens. “Do you sneak around afraid to meet your aggressors? Step from the shadows and fight to keep your domains! Fight not

and Satan will rule your slimy souls forever!” After the heavens didn’t furiously rumble Sergeant Lightfoot found himself alone on this embattled street. Expecting assistance because this was their battle and not his, the Shawnee was angry they were turning a deaf ear on his pleas. Glancing around the sergeant rapidly appraised the grim situation. There were several hundred birds swarming about like black dive bombers. His surviving marines inside three abodes helplessly watched him standing alone inside his magical stones circle. When charging the birds smashing against an invisible wall crashed to the ground. Though safe inside that circle Lightfoot knew only too well his men weren’t as secure. A decision was quickly made. “I’m coming in!” he screamed to be heard above the chaos. Those marines inside the houses when hearing his command laid down a fierce covering fire. After exhaling the sergeant sprinted across the street into a crumbling mud house. Though not much it did represent safety. All the while he was wildly firing into the air. From inside the houses rapid gunfire shattered the charging blackbird ranks. After running through the opened door Lightfoot spun about and dashed to a window. The slamming door crushed some birds. While his men manning the windows maintained a savage resistance, Lightfoot ran from window to window appraising their trapped position. “Where’s the colonel and major?” he anxiously shouted. Another sergeant answered between shooting down blackbirds. “They made it in the second house.” There was a thunderous roar of fluttering wings outside the abode dwellings. The air was now filled with a terrifying thunder that shook the old abode houses. The dusty street was stained with the blood of fallen birds. From this violent pandemonium rose that terrible cry of owls ripping through their ranks. Lightfoot knew the smaller birds were getting a brutal battering from the larger winged fowl. He also knew the owls were outnumbered. Their count

steadily dropped as black birds swarmed about with savage thirsts for revenge. “Sergeant!” one marine cried out. “I’m low on ammo!” “So am I!” another soldier shouted. “Make your shots count. We can’t get out until those damned things are gone!” The sergeant angrily saw a handful of terrified villagers huddling in the corner afraid to help. After hearing a scream, Lightfoot whirled about to see a marine on the floor clawing at his bloodied face. Blackbirds were flying through the compromised position until a villager leaped up. Grabbing the fallen marine’s weapon he took his place at the window. Bullets splattering the black bodies sent them crashing to the ground. His actions caused the others to jump up defending the house. A couple of frightened villagers laboriously dragged an overturned wooden table to another window. Pushing it against the opening they crushed some birds while plugging the compromised square. But almost immediately desperate pecking erupted as birds clawed their way through the dried mud. With no ammo for his gun another wounded soldier dashed about helping his comrades. With brutally slashed faces two screaming marines laid on the dirty floor. Four old women tried stopping their gushing blood. Lightfoot muttering some choice petitions to his indifferent deity, snapped in another clip then aimed his Thompson at the roof. While marines fired through the windows others were firing at the roof. Pieces of dried mud began crashing down as birds clawed and pecked through the ancient mud. Even a fool knew these marines were losing their battle with the demon possessed blackbirds.

Chapter Fifty-seven

Suddenly the village was engulfed within a strange bluish glow that was difficult to describe. There was a wild scramble among the confused blackbirds not yet retreating into the darkness. After their harsh squawking was gone a strange quietness settled over the battered station. While the blue glow remained suspended Sergeant Lightfoot cautiously ventured onto the street littered with dead birds and several fallen marines. He paused to curiously look around not certain what to expect. His emotions weren’t of alarm, instead, serenity filled his troubled soul. The frightened villagers slowly leaving their houses looked around with wonder.

* * *

One marine jerked on Lightfoot’s sleeve after failing to respond to his cries. The sergeant looked in the direction he was anxiously pointing. There the blue illumination was the strongest as two materializing figures stepped from the dancing glow. They walked among the carnage expressing both sorrow and fury at what they saw. Yellow Hair mumbled what the others fearfully thought. “Sergeant, that’s the lord of darkness.” Lightfoot stammered. “I know.” With that said he knelt with clenched fist against his chest and head humbly lowered. From that position the Shawnee didn’t see his surviving marines forming a weak defensive formation. The colonel stopping in the street angrily looked about. One look at the wide spread carnage caused many moist eyes. There was loud wailing as elderly women hurrying from their houses began attending the wounded. Yellow Hair noticed Lorelei’s face was tight with

emotions while walking among the wounded and dead. Then suddenly there was fearful mumbling among the villagers dropping to their knees. They had recognized who was standing among them. Mictlan-tecuhtli, ruler of the lowest section of Hell known as Mictlan Opochcalocan, stared without expression at this mortal paying him homage. His tall body was covered with bones and a mask in the shape of a human skull. The long black hair was curled. These marines not knowing this deity from another time didn’t genuflect. Aztecs once widely worshipped this god whom rarely left his kingdom shrouded in complete darkness. Now he was part of a bloody era most Mexicans didn’t believe in. “Arise, mortal,” the lord of dead sharply ordered. His voice was so thunderous the villagers quaked as their courage fled. After Lightfoot did as ordered the deity reaching out with a bony hand touched his forehead. It had been a long time since encountering a living person. Sharp flashes of lightning ripped across the heavens while roaring thunder shook El Toro. All across the land superstitious souls fell trembling to their knees. Their petitions to the pagan gods echoed loud and clear to the heavens. This omen surely meant Mictlan-tecuhtli was prowling Mexican earth in search of wandering lost souls. “Why have thou summoned me?” Lightfoot initially found no words ing his trembling lips but this soon ed. “I come bearing arms against those arrogantly violating your faithful. My companions and I come from a land defending downtrodden women.” As more words rushed from his mouth the Shawnee didn’t notice his courage was returning. “I have petitioned the great lord of Mictlan Opochcalocan to stand with us.” “And why would I do that?” “Because we have come to battle the evils stalking your domain.” “I find no fault with this violence,” the god sharply denounced.

Lightning and thunder prompted the station to strangely glow under this bizarre unfolding. The villagers now knowing what was happening was afraid. Most of the marines not knowing what was going on was afraid. This declaration stunned Lightfoot for a few moments. “This evil one destroys what the great Aztec gods built. They come butchering young spirits not yet born in their mothers’ wombs.” Lightfoot gently beat his heart. Anger flushed this god’s face while contemptuously staring at Lightfoot’s right hand freed of blood. Anybody asking for his presence was to bring a bowl of blood as offering. The hand was to be washed with blood drained from a freshly slaughtered victim. For a few seconds the lord of darkness looked around seeing many things that disturbed him. And most of all this arrogant mortal was beginning to bore him. Lightning bolts struck the ground causing fires to erupt. One abode house burst into flames. Perched on nearby roofs were forty brown owls summoned as guardians of this lord of darkness. While others locked their attention on this deity from the burning depths of Hell, Yellow Hair thoughtfully evaluated what surrounded them. There were no blackbirds to be seen. That was good. So why was the Apache experiencing pains warning of treachery? “I find no fault with this evil one?” the tall one barked. “You do not find fault in those burning your temples and slaughtering your priests?” Lightfoot stammered. Lightfoot was bitterly challenging the master of that kingdom sometimes called the ‘Land of No Smoke Hole’. This defiance was creating unrest among the frightened villagers. And there was another maturing threat that only his Apache friend uneasily noticed. The impatient owls were becoming threatening. “Who is this evil one you so harshly speak of?” the deity demanded a few moments later. “Zaebos.” Sergeant Lightfoot cynically charged. “The foreign demon strolls unchallenged across lands once dominated by great Mexica tribes. Why is this? Why does Aztec’s ancient gods slumber while Satan’s Infernal Empire violates their borders and trashes their domains?”

Surprised he was defying the Aztec lord Lightfoot nevertheless continued his mutiny. “Can it be our ancient gods are afraid of Satan’s thugs? Will his demons devour innocents and slaughter unborn children while their guardians quake with fear?” The villagers and marines were shocked at his brashness. Yellow Hair knew challenging the unpredictable lord of darkness was dangerous. But Apache tribal elders had warned him the gods must be met with sharpness, regardless of the dire consequences. Michtlan-techuhtli didn’t approve of men with weak hearts and the Shawnee knew this. “You dare speak with such insolence?” the lord of darkness growled. His angry roar sent weak-minded villagers stumbling to their feet and fearfully wailing. Mictlan-techuhtli showed no interest in their fleeing the street. Controlling his shaken emotions Yellow Hair stood ground analyzing the unfolding challenges. He was the only person seeing several brown owls take to wing. Minutes later he heard terrified screams from the shadows of night. Swallowing before arrogantly voicing his words Lightfoot petitioned. “Wise men speak of your greatness in humble voices, oh mighty one. They boast Mictlantechuhtli never turned away his faithful. I come standing before you as one of those faithful. Evils are stalking the Mexica lands. As a mortal, I can never defeat this evil thus with humbled heart, I plea for your divine intervention.”

* * *

For the first time his companion cynically spoke. “Come, Mictlan-techuhtli, these mortals bore me.” Lightfoot turned his eyes on this woman dressed in a simple white skirt and blouse. She was with large mouth showing horrible bad teeth and in Lightfoot’s opinion wasn’t pretty or trustworthy. “Who are you?” he sharply demanded. “How dare you speak with such haughtiness!” the woman spat. “No mortal approaches Chiuacoatl with such boldness…”

“If you’re Woman Snake why have you forsaken the Xochimilcas in their hour of need? Are you not their goddess and patroness?” With a sweeping hand the Shawnee pointed at dead bodies lying about. “Haven’t enough victims drained their blood to satisfy your thirst?” Sudden cold emotions jolted his loyalty to the ancient lord of darkness. Lightfoot knew without doubt his future was threatened. It was at that moment the Indian suspiciously regarded this pair in a different light. “Fire in the hole!” Yellow Hair abruptly shouted. That phrase used by American military to signify detonating explosions sent conditioned marines into battle formations while their guns swung toward the two deities. Lightfoot’s Thompson machine gun brought up instantly began firing. The two Aztec deities were shattered as lightning and thunder drowned out the firing guns. When it was all over the marines slowly got to their feet while cautiously regarding their perimeters. There was strong anticipation of further violence. The whimpering villagers not knowing what to do wrung their hands and sobbing at what may befall their tiny station. Bruce shouted to tighten ranks and stay sharp. Those villagers still able to think straight ran into their houses. Minutes later they came back with old rifles to stand alongside these foreigners facing down the evils in El Toro. Lightfoot gave Yellow Hair a short glance. “When did you first suspect?” The Apache frowned while suspiciously looking around. “When the owls flew away. If that was truly Mictlan-techuathli his guardian birds never would abandoned him.” With that said Lightfoot thoughtfully counted the number of brown owls perching on nearby roofs. Lightfoot was not concerned when they flew away. The violent disorder in the old watering station only lasted a few minutes. When no angry gods stormed their humble sphere her terrified citizens slowly returned. After Bruce walked over his attention was on the chaos that left a dwindling number of marines. “Who were those two?”

“Demons from Satan’s Infernal Empire.” After the bluest glow disappeared so did the thundering and lightning and El Toro became strangely quiet. Only drifting breezes disturbed the battle littered street. The colonel after smelling the stench of death in the night air observed his Indians’ indifference. Those villagers too scared to remain on the street were back in their abode dwellings. Five husky villagers clutching old rifles silently prayed for strength to do battle with those evils stalking the night hours. That serenity bathing El Toro remained only for a few minutes before a terrible pounding came from beyond the village. Lightfoot walking among his marines stared at the darkness wondering what new evil would emerge? After throwing his challenge at Satan’s feet the Shawnee knew blood would flow. Lightfoot having worshipped the Mexica gods for his whole life now debated if that had been a wise decision? The yelling came nearer as the Shawnee encouraged his men to stand firm and make ready to do battle. Then suddenly the pounding of earth and terrifying yells stopped. Silence now reigned.

Chapter Fifty-eight

The suspicious silence lasted only a few minutes then came the soul tingling chanting. It was impossible to pinpoint where the sounds were originating. But after a few minutes the rhythmically singing stopped. For the time being the incident was forgotten while Bruce silently observed four marine bodies carried to one spot and laid out. The night air was chilly. The temps kept changing and this worried Lorelei. When they entered El Toro the air was warm. She wasn’t certain if this was a mental coldness while standing in the middle of that violently contested street. When the thunderous chanting stopped Bruce ordered his few marines to stand easy, but ready to fight if the need arose. Lorelei was totally puzzled as one event changed to another. They seemed to have no logical relationship to the other radical detours. “What’s going on, sergeant?” she asked who was as bewildered as the others. “What about that spine chilling chanting?” “I cannot answer that.” It was few moments before Lorelei fired off her defiant reply. “You can’t answer or won’t answer?” Lightfoot suppressed an increasing urge to snap back but he didn’t. “Madam, I don’t know what’s going on. Just as I don’t know why we came to El Toro expecting guides. And I sure as hell didn’t expect finding this bunch of diabolic events.” “Hey you two!” Bruce angrily ordered. “Stop your damn arguing!” Lorelei was embarrassed and nodded. “I’m sorry.” she mumbled. The colonel sternly looked at his sergeant. “What the Hell are you doing?”

Lightfoot sucked in his breath. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” The Indian looked at Lorelei and tried apologizing. “I’m sorry, madam. I guess there’s too many incidents thrown at us.” The woman failed to respond and he really didn’t think she would. The major was too mad. “Good. Now act like professional soldiers that you are.” Gesturing at some new activity Bruce asked the still blushing sergeant. “What are they doing?” Two solemn faced village men were ceremoniously waving a bunch of dead weeds tied with faded red ribbon over the dead marines. Yellow Hair again kneeling alongside his friend’s body didn’t stop the tears dampening his cheeks. An Apache was never embarrassed when weeping over a fallen brother of the spear. “They’re petitioning Tlacahuepan, younger brother of Huitzilopochtli, to entrust these brave warriors’ spirits to the gods of their choosing.” Minutes later Bruce watched without comment the villagers solemnly conducting their cleansing rituals over the bloody corpses. When one distrusting marine started to interrupt the sergeant called him down. Even with all the bizarre events happening since departing San Diego, this marine veteran refused to believe. He nodded with little enthusiasm. “We should express our appreciation because they rarely do this for foreigners.” Lightfoot explained to Bruce. “Tlacahuepan was the Toltec war god adopted by the Aztecs. They considered it appropriate to call this god because our men died fighting for them. One villager said if they have no place to reside their spirits would be itted to Eastern Paradise. That’s where slain Aztec warriors go after dying in battle.” The Shawnee broadly smiled. “Quite a honor, sir.” “And why are they doing that?” Bruce suspiciously asked pointing toward the street. Village women hurried among the dead dusting sand and muttering phrases of praise. When that chanting abruptly turned hostile Bruce looked toward Lightfoot.

“They’re bitterly cursing those evil spirits challenging our sacred quest on Cerro Chorerras. This simple liturgy demands the evil ones be imprisoned in the black depths of Chignahamictlan.” The Indian paused for a moment before saying respectfully. “That’s the deepest Aztec hell. These poor peasants are appreciative of our fighting the evils that kept their poor existence in a private Hell the last few years. They’re celebrating rituals to preserve their brave souls who died defending their village. Considering what they encountered I say let them indulge in their religious rites.” In agreement with his suggestion Bruce and Lorelei somberly listened as the Indian colorfully briefed them on the explosive events leading up to their arrival. Soon the women concluding their chanting walked over to where the men were cleansing the fallen marines’ souls. “Satan nearly us fooled us when Mictlan-tecahtli and Snake Woman appeared in that blue illumination.” Lightfoot said. “But lucky for us we saw through their deception and killed the scheming bastards.” With an angry sigh he gestured at the street. “That’s when their nightmares came after us. But I’m afraid we came close to losing the battle.” Sergeant Lightfoot watched two villagers gently carry another bloody body to be laid among the others. His voice was sad when speaking again. “Much happened this evening, sir. Not only did we stop Satan’s scheme in this desolated village but released Huehuetoetl’s curse. These people can now peacefully live without having the old man strolling their streets.” She looked Bruce’s way. “We aren’t stopping Zaebos while standing around here. We need guides up the mountain and we definitely can’t use the train.” “Their men folk will help us?” Lightfoot confidently suggested before walking over to the village men.

* * *

As midnight ed this abode village April 26th arrived with few promises of peace. American bombers raided a German airfield at Bari in Southern Italy as the global war savagely continued. For some time Sergeant Lightfoot squatted among the Xochimilcas Indians and bargained for their assistance. Bruce and Lorelei walked the short street wondering if this clandestine operation would ever end? “When do we leave El Toro?” “Before long.” Bruce said indifferently after glancing towards the Shawnee Indian anxiously talking to the villagers. “Patience is our best tactic.” Shrugging she frowned. “To be truthful this Mexican covert is scaring me.” The woman paused for a moment. “Do you think he can recruit the Indians?” “If anybody can it’ll be Sergeant Lightfoot. They’re our only hope getting up that mountain.” Lorelei stood silently for a moment. “What about Bottner?” “Is that man worth all of this trouble?” As they continued their slow stroll, Lorelei pondered his statement for a few moments. “Actually, he’s worth a lot more if alive. Bottner may be a damned pain-in-the-ass but he’s brilliant in structural airframes. Bottner ed the German Army in 1903 and was commissioned after graduation from officers’ school. On May 9, 1915 he was assigned to the 55th regiment fighting at Aubers Ridge, . It was there as a captain of infantry, he received the Iron Cross Second Class for bravery under combat conditions.” She stopped to change the strapped weapon from one shoulder to the other. “During a heated battle against General d’ Urbal’s French Tenth Army, Bottner rescued three wounded German soldiers from a trench that was under heavy machine gun gunfire. He was wounded and sent back to to recover. Captain Bottner never returned to battle. Professionally trained as an engineer he became interested in the Kaiser’s struggling aviation wings. By late 1917 Herr Bottner was recognized as ’s top aviation fuselage expert.” “But was he responsible for those five pilots’ deaths?”

“Indirectly, yes.” Lightfoot was delicately negotiating with a handful of antagonistic Indians. She wondered what had caused their sudden angers? “According to SS psychological profiles he has a deep inflated ego. This frequently caused him trouble with high ranking Third Reich officials. He refused to accept expert recommendations. This landed him in hot water concerning those Gotha modifications. The twin-engine kampffugzeug was designed by Oskar Ursinus to carry ’s war across the English Channel.” “Did it?” “Did it what?” she asked while thinking about the short nosed fuselage suspended from upper wings. “Carry the Great War to the English people?” Bruce impatiently asked. “The Gotha was symbolic with death from the skies.” The night air was colder causing the woman to suspiciously look at the skies. Whatever Lightfoot said had calmed the hostile Indians. At one point, a villager jumping to his feet shook a balled fist at the darkened skies. During their heated discussions, Xochimilcas women nervously brought cups of bitter drink to the bargaining men. “After the war what happened to Bottner?” “He went to Italy where the Regia Aeronautica Company welcomed the eccentric scientist with open arms.” She kept casting uneasy glances toward Lightfoot squatting among the wild chattering Indians. “This employment lasted until 1936. In 1937 Bottner became a card carrying Party member and close friend of Hermann Goering. That year he was employed by Focke-Wulf Flugzengau. He also spent considerable time with the Messerschmitt industries. Then in 1940 Bottner dropped into the shadows of Luftwaffe secret research programs.” The colonel grasping hands behind his back watched Yellow Hair emotionally perform tribal funeral rituals over Broken Hand’s bloody body. “I wonder why our attention is now divided between Bottner and Zaebos?”

“Whatever it is Lightfoot won’t talk about it. It wouldn’t do any good interrogating the others who are solidly behind the Shawnee.” Lorelei stopped talking for a moment. “ how in the beginning our men bitterly distrusted the sergeant? Now they nearly worship the man.” “I don’t know about worshipping the man but they do trust him. In combat that’s a strong bonding.” “Aren’t you going to their meeting?” she suspiciously asked. Bruce shook his head. “Nope. I would only get in their way.”

Chapter Fifty-nine

After their meeting broke up the sergeant went over and knelt alongside Broken Hand’s body. He softly spoke some words over his departed friend then lightly tapped Yellow Hair’s heart. After ing Bruce and Lorelei in the street he nodded without speaking for a while. Though impatient for his progress report Bruce waited with a cold expression Lorelei didn’t understand. Old men collecting dead blackbirds would occasionally regard the American colonel. Then went back to their gruesome tasks while muttering words the Americans didn’t understand. She suspiciously noted the village men from Lightfoot’s bargaining had disappeared into the night’s dark folding. “This is what the village elders told me.” Lightfoot cautiously began his report. “They were waiting for us. Though El Toro was a clever trap drawing us from Cerro Chorreras the few villagers didn’t know this.” “But El Toro was mentioned in Betty’s report.” Glancing toward Bruce she bluntly asked. “Isn’t that right?” “Yes.” The Indian offered an explanation. “It’s possible this stop was added by unfriendly sources. After all the report arrived on the train and any number of people could have added the El Toro stop.” By this time Yellow Hair finishing his ritual came over. “When we got here nobody welcomed or shouted insults. I have discovered why. Twenty-three poor souls were ruthlessly murdered in their homes by Cerro Chorerras demons.” Four emotional teens ceremoniously carried bloody bodies into the crumbling abode houses. “Old men who couldn’t fight, terrified women and small helpless children were Zaebos’ victims.” Bruce pointed at some twisted bodies among the blackbirds. “What about those

owls?” “I collected two dozen browns. Traditionally, the owl and blackbird are enemies. But two dozen owls weren’t enough and they died.” A short sorrowful silence followed. “Broken Hand was my first scout to fall.” “Sergeant, I’m sorry about your friend.” “Broken Hand died like a true Apache fighting in battle.” Lightfoot emotionally replied. Pointing at the skies he said after a moment. “There he will reside with the Great Spirit of his people.” The Shawnee sighed heavily to expel his sadness. “But life must march forward. We were reckless and nearly fell prey to Zaebos’s treachery.” “Quite a diabolic situation we walked into.” Bruce speculated. “Yes, sir.” Sergeant Lightfoot bitterly agreed. “And to make matters worse Zaebos achieved his objective.” “Which was?” “Stalling us. There’s something on Cerro Chorerras that he must accomplish without interference. By having his demons fight us in El Toro the damned bastard probably got the time he needed.” Bruce didn’t seem upset. “Obviously Zaebos outfoxed us again. That happens but we aren’t letting him win this engagement. Whatever is happening on that mountaintop we need to know about it. Getting up there is our immediate priority so what about the villagers? Are they helping us or not?” A thin smile touched his strained features. “They are guiding us up a mountain trail nobody else knows about. They’re out back rounding up their horses and should be back within the hour.” The sergeant thoughtfully looked in Cerro Chorerras’ direction. “We can’t travel the tracks as his demons will be watching. Neither can we use the road winding up there. They’ll be watching that too. But this little known path was carved out for escaping if trouble hit the mining site. Nobody but the Xochimilcas know this path.” “Can they be trusted?” Lorelei suspiciously inquired.

“I believe so. Before the demons left for the mountaintop they forcibly took a young woman.” Lightfoot thoughtfully said. “She’s probably Zaebos’ sacrifice.” The Indian stopped talking when several villagers rode into the area leading a herd of horses. “These people are pretty pissed off.” “Let’s inventory our weapons and munitions.” Bruce sternly ordered. For a short while Lorelei silently watched Sergeant Lightfoot conducting a thorough inspection. It was hard not to be impressed with his calmness under stress. But she suspiciously noted the night air continued to become colder. It came with a scent of lingering death. Above the station village clouds were again gathering in tight black bunches. After turning to Bruce, Lorelei softly said. “Maybe all of this was meant to be? I know Nazi influences is responsible for some. But have you given thought Arizona isn’t running to our aid because we’re doing exactly what they want? The thought has ed through my mind more than once. We know Zaebos wants to go home after so many centuries. The incident at this place doesn’t seem to be random. For that I believe El Toro is somehow connected to our mission.” “How so?” Bruce quietly listened. “Maybe these incidents were suspended in time waiting for us to free them? Sounds crazy but then again what part of this covert hasn’t been crazy? I can’t think of one event that wasn’t bizarre.” “What about Satan’s compromising this land?” Bruce asked still not convinced of her theory. “I have been thinking about that. At first it was puzzling why Satan’s gang didn’t march in and lay claim to this land? Their gods are too disorganized. Then it made sense bit by bit until a whole picture began forming. Bruce, Zaebos has nothing to do with Satan’s invasion. But they are shrouding his reasons for been here.” She grinned at his surprise. “That’s right, darling. Satan and Zaebos are operating differently. While we tried cornering Zaebos, Satan rushed in doing his

thing. But Satan isn’t gaining ground because Theta is stopping him.” “That’s pretty wild thinking, sweetheart.” “I don’t know why. We have already discussed the possibility.” The colonel frowned. “That’s right, sweetie, we discussed but never accepted the theory.” After their inspections Yellow Hair and Lightfoot approached the two officers with grim expressions. After smartly saluting the sergeant crisply reported. “We have sixteen marines and eleven locals making up our strike team. Yellow Hair finished inventorying our munitions. We have sufficient weapons to go around.” “And munitions?” “Enough to start a small war, sir.” Lightfoot grinned. “You won’t believe this, sir, but three days ago two trucks dropped off ammo and extra weapons. The villagers were instructed to hide them until we came.” “Betty?” Lorelei speculated with a wide smile. “Either her or .” Bruce replied. “The elderly men estimate our trip will require the better part of ten hours, sir.” “Hard riding?” “No, sir. The horses couldn’t withstand such punishment. It will have to be an easy ride.”

* * *

When the sounds of a low flying aircraft emerged from the darkness everybody positioned for another bruising attack. While they watched the plane flew over

the village dropping a parachute that fluttered to the street. One marine ran over, collected the package and gave it to the colonel. While the others gathered around the Theta agent untied the padded box’s straps then removed a small wireless radio and four hand held short ranged radios. Lorelei handed three radios to Yellow Hair for distribution to the squad leaders, The thick envelope was carefully read before Bruce looked at the anxious faces. “ informs there will no help from the Mexican Army or Air Force once we’re on the mountain. Of course, we knew that, Whether this is political or religious motivated doesn’t matter. Once our boots step on Cerro Chorerras we’re on our own.” Lorelei was quick to interrupt. “How did know we would be here?” Bruce replied. “They were apparently tracking our movements. Well, sergeant, let’s get this show on the road.”

Chapter Sixty

After five torturous hours following a barely visible path through tall weeds cutting into the flesh, Bruce halted the team for a short much needed rest. The tired marines not accustomed to horse riding appreciatively scrambled off. Some used this pause to go in the bushes for nature calls. A handful established guard perimeters in case demons were lurking among the hostile terrain. But most simply stretched out on the grassy ground staring at a winding stream’s icy waters. All around them thick layers of jungle vines mixed incompatibly with tropical plants of various sizes and hues. April was the height of Mexico’s dry season. This allowed them the privilege of traveling without fierce downpours that would have hampered their progress. Bruce restlessly walked among the troops resting alongside a small shallow stream. Pine trees reaching high above them cast shadows on shorter wild fig trees and brilliant red blossoms of the chilicote trees. Xochimilcas Indians huddling alongside the stream ate food taken from cotton bags. Lorelei heard the whispering among them and knew the talk was about her. Used to such dominating heights the Indians weren’t physically affected by their agonizing pace toward Cerro Chorerras’ top. Though he was never pointed out Lorelei soon identified the kidnapped girl’s father. Leaning her rifle against an aching leg Lorelei annoyingly wiped moisture from her face. “Lightfoot said we have another three hours of this hell.” “Yeah, I know. He told me earlier. We should reach Cerro Chorerras before dawn unless running into trouble.” For a moment he studied her wretched facial features twisted by near exhaustion. Their ride through torturous hostile terrain was draining everybody’s energy, except for the Indians. Bruce sat down by his lover. “Luckily we haven’t been spotted by their blackbird guardians. But how are you

doing?” “Don’t worry about me. I’m all right. But I have to tell you that riding a horse has never been my thing. Even so, this is one of the most beautiful areas I have ever seen.” After a silent spell the colonel nodded. “It certainly has its moments.” Later the colonel talked with Yellow Hair. Not wanting to walk about she sat on the damp grass nibbling on a piece of thick bread stuffed with spicy beans. Lorelei foolishly allowed her thoughts to turn toward home. She wondered how many of her relatives had died from the fierce Allied bombings? Home was now blurry in her thoughts. Lorelei often suspected this was how her sanity was protected in this savage war. Her family wasn’t rich by most standards but love was one emotion not equally shared in the Ramcke household. She was ignored while her brothers nearly drowned in fatherly and motherly affections. Lorelei never got over this isolation. Lorelei knew long as Bruce’s love was there she could make it through this war. Looking around she saw the Xochimilcas Indians thoughtfully studying her while whispering. In their tribal culture women did not fight battles but stayed home and made babies. Her thoughts were interrupted after Bruce reed her on the grass. “Yellow Hair said there has been no blackbirds.” “How can he tell through all of this overhanging vegetation? Hell, most of the time I can barely make out the riders ahead of me.” Lorelei complained. Bruce forced a thin smile. “There are several brown owls flying reconnaissance.” “Oh, this is bizarre.” “It can be if you let it. I know you’re weary and so are all of us. If we don’t keep a stiff upper lip Zaebos will win. I have a feeling this whole thing is just about over. Then we can leave Mexico.” “Yeah, I’ll believe that when it happens.” she stiffly replied.

He smiled even though it was weak. “What about a nice steak dinner in a fancy hotel followed by two weeks of leisure without demons and nightmares?” When Lorelei half heartedly nodded he suggested. “Good. Keep that in mind for the next six hours.”

* * *

After flying from Cerro Chorerras, Lieutenant Rudolph Seibt guided his specially modified Stuka through the night keeping close to the ground whenever possible. Soon it was necessary to seek the heights when crossing a 6800 foot high mountain peak. Later he emerged on arid terrain known as the Sonora Desert. This landscape covered most of Arizona and parts of Mexico’s western half of their state Sonora. It certainly didn’t meet with his approval. He checked the instrument iring the low wing cantilever monoplane’s performance. The American power plant performed above their highest expectations. Steady roar of its engine was comforting to this lonely German now flying at 1,000 feet to escape prowling Mexican fighters or unexpected American planes from across the border. Lieutenant Seibt shouldn’t have worried. The Americans confident of their aerial security weren’t flying additional air patrols. The German pilot chuckled knowing after tomorrow they wouldn’t be so cocky. Roaring through a perfectly clear moonlit evening, the Luftwaffe pilot leveled at five hundred feet when nearing his refueling point. The terrain was clearly desert and sparsely populated. After landing on a dirt road he quickly alighted from his machine. A Mexican crew hurriedly refueled the hungry aircraft from an old pumping truck. The men were paid handsomely for this treacherous deed. But what they didn’t know after the refueling they would be murdered once his Stuka was gone. With his plane’s fuel cavities filled, the pilot climbed back into his cockpit, pulled the hood closed and then roared down the dusty stretch. After that stopover Lieutenant Seibt was on his own until finding another landing strip closer to Arizona’s border. Flying at five hundred feet above this seemingly endless uneven desert wasn’t a chore. The veteran kept a sharp lookout for unfriendly traffic on the desert flooring as his plane roared through

the darkness. Later after seeing a single blinking light he lowered his landing flaps. The cleverly disguised landing strip secretly constructed some years previously for German intelligence came into view. The smooth surface felt good as his wheels touched and he throttled back. The Stuka rolled to a halt as men ran from an underground concrete bunker to push the dive bomber. While this was going on Lieutenant Seibt walked down the ramp that descended into a red illuminated chamber. After the door slammed close the reddish glow turned off and bright lights once again flooded the small chamber. Entering the control center for this isolated subterranean base, a husky German dressed in Mexico’s familiar white tros and tunic approached him with clipboard. Cameras cleverly hidden in tall cactus stumps monitored the surrounding desert sands. Specially trained Luftwaffe personnel sent from Berlin months ago rushed about conducting individual duties. “Oberleutnant Seibt, I’m Obsersturmfuhrer Brachnell,” the SS officer sternly greeted. “Welcome to Site 38. Did you encounter any resistance during your flight?” “No?” The pilot decided he didn’t like this cocky SS officer. “The Americans have increased their air patrols along the border.” “Are they concentrated or random?” “No special patterns.” the SS lieutenant advised. “What about the other aircraft? Have they left the mountain?” “No.” Shown to a cot near the control center the weary pilot rested. Once his eyes closed Seibt’s mind embraced various nightmarish dreams bringing smiles to his strained facial features. Years ago iral Canaris gave

detailed plans to Adolf Hitler regarding establishing clandestine spying sites in Mexico’s deserts. But Abwehr never received approval for the launching pads. SS Reich Marshal Himmler got hold of their scheme and without Canaris’ knowledge secretly constructed the sites for his own use. Those people involved in building the underground hangers were slaughtered to assure the sites remained classified. The secured sites were forgotten until Operation Einspritzung. Personnel discreetly flown into Mexico were distributed to undetected posts in the desert’s sandy expansions.

* * *

Even the best-kept secret can fail and this was the case with Site 38. Lying on the hot sands an Indian youth curiously watched that lonely airplane land and then disappear beneath the hot sands. When that strange looking plane didn’t reappear the youth crept into the night. Once out of sight he trotted across the desert knowing there would be rewards for this information. Those pieces of silver would buy whiskey and loose women in his village some miles away. Used to the heated sandy rolling terrain this kid felt his ions rising to the occasion. His bare feet dug into the sands while racing through the darkness. His excited thoughts were so centered around women he was unaware of several blackbirds high above him. Within sight of the tiny village’s twinkling lamps suddenly from the heights screamed blackbirds.

Chapter Sixty-one

Not quite three hours later the column of horses carrying very weary cargoes paused in the thick jungle. The Xochimilcas Indians quickly tied their horses then crept into the darkness to check their surroundings. Sergeant Lightfoot scrambling from his horse hand motioned the others to quietly do so. It was nearing dawn and the trees heavy with dripping moisture stood like towering sentries seeing all but warning nobody of these intruders. Yellow Hair silently slipped through the jungle until reaching the outskirts of the mining complex. Stretched out on the wet grass he studied the sector. Minutes later he crawled through waist high grasses until he was out of sight. Like a squirrel he scrambled up the tallest tree then remained concealed among its heavy leaves. His sharp eyes cautiously scanned the mining sector crowded with stone buildings many of which were constructed one thousand years ago. The black hair was covered with an army cap while camouflaged streaks of green and brown distorted his face. The Apache was using all deception tricks his tribal elders taught him. Their enemy beyond those trees were quite busy. He counted a number of patrolling sentries whose attention was on the site and not their rear flanks. Their careless attention was good for the strike team. Hidden among the trees’ thick forage Yellow Hair suspiciously noted the mining facility’s brisk activity. There were few signs of security countermeasures. However, this was misleading. He knew they were expecting them to arrive by railroad. Daring not to breath aloud the warrior claiming linkage to great Apache war chiefs suspiciously studied the situation. The crews were working around the clock assembling those aircraft. This was his first sight of a Stuka. God they were ugly Yellow Hair thought. The Japanese didn’t have Stukas. Though seeing only a few soldiers walking security the Apache knew they were out there. After carefully climbing down he crept back into the shrouding darkness and found his stern-faced sergeant.

The others were scattered nearby guarding their precarious position. Little attention was shown his discreet arrival. The sergeant looked his way after a short time. There was little illumination because of the jungle’s thick growth wet from morning moisture. Lightfoot was impatiently waiting for his report. “Considerable activity under the netting. I saw few security countermeasures. They’re expecting us to come by rail so their gun placements are hidden.” Yellow Hair reluctantly reported. “But their rear is unprotected.” “How about the Stukas? Are they assembled?” Lorelei asked in a near whisper. “There’s work on three machines under the netting. Two planes are uned for. I assume they have flown off Cerro Chorerras.” “What about Chandler’s DC-3?” Bruce asked. “Is it in flying condition?” “The aircraft appears undamaged.” Bruce replied. “The site will have to be neutralized if we hope to get away. So you can execute your plans to make it happen, sergeant.” The colonel watched his top sergeant order four marines to carefully off load munitions from the pack horses. He then looked at Lorelei. “We don’t know the exact number of personnel out there. Though your estimated count of one hundred sounds reasonable to me.” He was talking to Lorelei and catching Charlie’s attention. Lorelei argued. “One hundred against our twenty-seven doesn’t sound very good odds.” “Yeah I know. The first thing we need to do is determine what ritual Zaebos celebrated.” Lorelei shook her head. “I don’t understand the importance of identifying his ritual. If it was celebrated then what can we do?” Bruce patiently explained. “Knowing what was celebrated may tell us how to stop him?” “But why do we care if he escapes or not? Wasn’t our objective getting him out

of Mexico? Nothing was said about gently leading him away.” “Well, it isn’t that simple, my dear. Immortals can scheme against mortals only if observing certain rules. Otherwise, mortals would never have a chance. When Zaebos transmigrated into Agrilura’s body he violated a serious host of deity laws. That’s why after the Aztec priests imprisoned him in that bejeweled chest nothing was done.” “But what about those missing dive bombers?” Charlie asked while suspiciously looking at the brisk activity quietly moving about. Bruce annoyingly shrugged. “That’s not our problem. The Army Air Corps can have that challenge. Finding Zaebos is our priority.” When Lorelei bewilderedly shook her head he smiled and walked away leaving her standing in a shaft of dim moonlight streaming through the trees. His attention was on Yellow Hair squatting before a pile of small gray squares. The Apache didn’t look up from his careful fastening small packs of plastic explosives together. Alongside him squatted another marine preoccupied with assembling a British 81mm medium mortar. Once she questioned where the additional munitions and weaponry came from. Lightfoot gave her a short glance then walked among his busy marines. “Do you think the demons are still here?” Charlie asked Bruce. “Yes. But Yellow Hair believes our primary opposition will be the German personnel left behind.” Lorelei walked a few steps but stopped when seeing a marine removing fourbarreled weapons from their canvas holders. Walking over she leaned down and picked up an anti-tank rocket launcher. Sergeant Lightfoot excused himself when seeing her interest in the weapon. Sensing his silent presence Lorelei glanced his way and frowned. “Where did the Indians get these?” she inquisitively asked. “They came with the pack horses. Are you familiar with that launcher? My teams tell me they’re different from our bazookas.”

“And they are. The 8mm rocketenpanzerbuchse 43 are issued to German tank killer squads.” She thoughtfully turned it over in her hands like a new toy from under the Christmas tree. “This shoulder-fired launcher is equipped with rear and front sights allowing greater flexibility. It has a maximum range of 132 yards and muzzle velocity of 340 feet per second. Did you say your marines have never fired these?” The sergeant suspiciously nodded. “Then they have a surprise coming. When fired there’s a loud report followed by a burst of flames shooting from the rear. That’s followed by a dull rumble. When firing the gunner must expect a sharp kick, otherwise, he’ll miss his target.” “How do you know so much about this weapon?” “I’m Delta 301’s German weaponry specialist, sergeant.” She carefully laid down the launcher on its canvas sack. “Send your fire teams over and I’ll give them a few pointers.” Softly calling out some names he told them to report to the major. Afterwards he ed the colonel sitting against a tree studying the map included with the package parachuted down. The small strike team was kept busy preparing for their attack. Sentries scattered among the jungle undergrowth watched their flanks. With a deep sigh the Indian sergeant sat when invited. For a moment Bruce curiously watched Lorelei talking to a gathering of marines. High above them gathering ugly clouds abruptly faded leaving behind a clear sky. The winds died down which was a plus for them since body odors wouldn’t alert the Germans. “What can we expect out there?” “Probably battle-seasoned soldiers with a scattering of SS ratings? Either way we’ll need every advantage we can find.” He pointed toward Lorelei conducting her crash course on the launcher. “She may swing advantages our way with those rocket launchers.” Thirty minutes later Xochimilcas scouts quietly appeared from the darkness. Bruce and Lightfoot jumped up for their reports. Stopping her lecturing Lorelei came over and stood alongside Bruce. The villager named Manuel softly coughed then said in broken English. “Men are hiding in two buildings near the mining shaft. They have many guns.”

Yellow Hair confidently said. “I was right. They’re anticipating trouble coming up the road.” “What about blackbirds?” Lightfoot anxiously asked. Manuel nervously agreed. “There are many evil birds.” “That’s not good for us. The damned things are hard to kill without shooting our own people.” The Shawnee was thoughtfully silent for a moment before looking at a nearby marine corporal. “Johnny, did you bring those signal pistols like I told you to?” “Yes, sergeant.” the lanky kid from South Dakota sharply answered. “Also grabbed two boxes of flares.” Lightfoot looking at Bruce explained his plans. “Those flares are flammable and when impacting with birds will burn the bastards. But I’m hoping the noises will disorient the birds.” “You’ll have to rapidly fire the shots.” Lorelei cautioned. “Yeah I know.” Lightfoot replied in a crispy tone. Bruce thought about the existing few options and finally nodded. “All right, sergeant, put your plans into operation. It’s getting close to dawn. we have to be in position with the breaking of light.” After the Shawnee nodded his colonel added. “We need at least one prisoner for interrogation.”

Chapter Sixty-two

The marines and Xochimilcas quietly made their final approach through the jungle until reaching its outskirts. Lying before them was the ancient mines that books bragged about, reckless men greedily schemed over and governments lied about down through the centuries. Still shrouded by darkness Bruce’s strike team slipped unnoticed from the jungle’s concealment and in the waist deep grasses set their weapons up for the dawn assault. Lightfoot and Yellow Hair shortly afterwards pinpointed the hiding Germans. Their information was converted into distances and heights as marine gunners adjusted their weapons for firing. “All we have to do is wait.” Lorelei whispered. She noticed a young marine impatiently lying behind a large rock with his flare gun ready for illuminating the general region. Another marine alongside him would keep loading two signal pistols so that a steady invasion of flares could be sent up. After a few minutes lying amidst the damp waist high grass the female agent anxiously tugged Bruce’s sleeve. “Up there.” She pointed out while feeling an acid surge in her stomach’s pit. A large blackbird was flying circles above them. She knew it was curious about their arrival but the glossy black creature didn’t squawk while circling. Bruce clutched his rifle knowing they couldn’t fire because it would shatter their surprise. The blackbird circled three times before abruptly swooping downward. Then suddenly the winged threat silently plunged into the grass. After watching it fall Lightfoot crawled through the high grass to pick up the lifeless bird. He managed to get back without being seen. So confident their enemy would come by rail the Germans weren’t guarding their rear flanks. There were no obvious injuries or bleeding wounds, yet, this messenger from hell was dead. Disgustedly dropping the bird he gave Bruce a puzzled glance. When the first light crept above the horizon the two gunners began dropping

high explosive shells into the 81mm mortars. Instantly giving out a dull thump the shell hurled into a high arc over the aircraft assembly areas then fell straight down. Those was when the Germans became aware of the invaders. Their protected cranked-winged dive bombers exploded in brilliant balls of flames. The gunners slightly adjusting their ranges continued dropping small bombs down the smooth barrels. Flames destructively shot high into the air as mortar shells were walked toward the shelters where Germans were viciously challenging the invaders. The bipod’s base plate when shifted changed their firing directions. Those terrifying blasts rapidly continued as marines smoothly went through their automatic motions. The gunners rapidly changed ranges by adjusting the quadrant sights. Leveling vials and elbow scope allowed the gunners to walk their explosions toward other selected targets. The two marines preoccupied with rapid firing paid little attention to those screaming birds frightened from their perching by exploding shells. Chandler’s DC-3 was cornered by fiercely burning smaller explosions as German gasoline supplies blew up. Jumping up a freckled-faced marine began firing his signal pistol at the invading birds. Soon as a pistol was fired it was handed down to another marine who quickly pulled down the level in front of the trigger and reloaded 27mm flares. This set of smooth operations allowed the gunner to maintain a steady firing that was flaming out the birds when impacting. The sudden invasion faltered then halted altogether as bursting flares sent panic through the burning winged ranks. What could have been savage deaths by pecking and ripping claws was now annihilated. But this victory didn’t come without cost. Three marines lay lifeless in the grasses bloodied from the swooping winged threats. Bruce and Sergeant Lightfoot charged the confused Germans now dislodged from their concealments by devastating mortar explosions. Armed with heavy assault rifles the SS soldiers fought well though in the end their defenses were overrun. Swinging about in a flanking movement Yellow hair and his squad of riflemen closed off another escape route. When Germans tried running into the jungle, Xochimilcas Indians commanded by a blond-hair corporal opened fire and that retreat was quickly stopped. The battle lasted only thirty minutes before gunfire’s vicious chattering and ear

deafening explosions ceased. An uneasy truce hung over this silver mining site broken only by burning wreckages and crackling of smaller fires. Holding their weapons in firing positions marines carefully walked among the dead and wounded. Two Germans wearing red-cross armbands cautiously emerged from the smoky clouds carrying canvas medical bags and holding hands in the air. Bruce reluctantly allowed their attending the wounded. The Americans suffered the loss of two men with none wounded. The smell of death now was powerfully strong in this mountainous region. Weak breezes generated a scattering of loose debris. Sergeant Lightfoot ordered the damaged buildings searched while guarded perimeters were established. A solemn Bruce wandered about appraising their grim situation. Thanks to General Oberhausen Cerro Chorerras’ runway had been cleared for his Stukas’ take off. The troubled colonel stood in front of a burning building built six hundred years ago. No gunfire shattered the silence nor were the screams of dying men heard. As with any battle’s bloody ending, the wounded was cared for while marines walked among the battlefield searching for their fallen friends. “The area is contained, sir.” Yellow Hair reported when walking up. “The enemy lost ninety-eight men with ten wounded and twenty prisoners.” “What about the blackbird threat?” “Their threat was contained, sir.” “Very well.” After the Apache trotted off to check his sentries the colonel looked at Lorelei’s cynical approach with an assault rifle in her right hand. “You all right?” he asked with concern. She snorted. “As well as can be expected.” Lorelei curiously watched some prisoners roughly herded into a nearby stone building. The one door was guarded by dirty faced marines. “We were wrong about them. They’re from the 23rd SS Freiwilligen-Panzere Division Nederland.”

“That doesn’t sound German.” Bruce coldly said. She frowned. “That’s because they aren’t German. The 23rd Freiwilligen-Panzer Nederland are Dutchmen enlisting in the SS after Hitler invaded Holland.” “Strange Himmler would entrust his operation to turncoats?” “He probably chose them because they ed through Mexican immigration with little attention. Holland was neutral until the war snatched their lands.” “Smart move on his part.” She smiled cynically. “I never said he was stupid.” Charlie walked up. “So does this mean we’re going home?” “Are you in a hurry?” the colonel asked with a thin smile. Charlie replied with a grim expression. “Truth of the matter-yes.” “Soon as we tie up some loose ends we’ll return to San Diego.” Bruce looked at Lorelei. “Any luck locating Chandler?” “Lightfoot is searching the buildings.” “And what about the three Luftwaffe pilots?” “The fools died fighting the fires that were destroying their planes.” Bruce was quiet for a few moments. “Who got away?” “Seibt and General Oberhausen.” After a moment the colonel replied in a troubled voice. “Obviously by now they’re beyond our reach.”

* * *

Their conversation was interrupted when a corporal trotted over to say Sergeant Lightfoot requested their presence in a nearby stone building. While walking across the grassy expansion separating the jungle and buildings, Bruce thoughtfully appraised those damages committed to the ancient mining facility. Most buildings were heavily damaged by flames. He ed the State Department’s instructions about avoiding damages on the plateau. The stone buildings built by the Aztecs centuries ago were extensively damaged by exploding shells. So much for restricted warfare. The sergeant met them in front of a damaged building. “I think you should see this.” he coldly advised. Without waiting for their reply the Indian went back inside an Aztec temple. Inside there was an overpowering smell of decaying age while sunlight shown through a hole in the roof. In the cluttered room’s middle were four marines who angrily parted ranks when they approached. Lorelei gasped when seeing the center of their attention. A square dark stained stone hosted the body of Major Chandler. The tortured body was stretched out with his throat slashed. A stone bowl placed under his neck caught the draining blood. The empty bowl was still wet with blood. Lorelei found it hard controlling her anger. Their attention was momentarily directed at a young Xochimilcas maiden lying on top of Chandler’s naked body. Sergeant Lightfoot didn’t need to detail what had transpired in the semi-darkened chamber. The young screaming Indian girl was forcibly held over the American while her heart was ripped out. It was obvious this ritual to Chiuacoatl was hastily celebrated warning Lightfoot that Zaebos was gone. Swallowing his fury the colonel turned around. “What went on here?” he sharply demanded. “A cleansing ritual for Zaebos’ crimes against the Aztecs. It was hastily celebrated four hours ago.” Lightfoot said indifferently. Lorelei suspiciously asked. “How do you know this?”

“Normally the woman would be thrown over the bodies of four other victims before her throat was cut. Her blood was received in a special bowl blessed by Chiuacoatl. Sometime before dying her heart was torn out. This sacrifice is done four hours before dawn. Meanwhile, another four victims were swung four times over the two victims. Afterwards, they were thrown onto a pile of glowing coals.” “That is diabolic.” Lorelei moaned. He cast a brief glance at the pale faced woman. “Yes, it’s diabolic but that’s how the Aztec culture managed to survive. After that the roasted victims were ceremoniously pulled off the coals and sacrificed by removing their hearts. That, major, was a normal Snake Woman ritual.” Suddenly the Shawnee sensing another supernatural incident anxiously looked about. His facial features instantly tightened while the eyes narrowed. Bruce was too busy staring at Chandler’s body to notice. But Lorelei saw his emotional response. For a few moments Lorelei felt as if she was imprisoned inside a darkened chamber where only horror existed in all its hatred. Bruce stared at Chandler’s body then said after a thoughtful pause. “Let’s talk about the ritual? Was its conditions met?” “I don’t think so but I didn’t expect all would be met. This probably was a means Zaebos used to snub the Aztec gods?” Yellow Hair speculated. “But wouldn’t his reckless attendance disturb the gods?” Lorelei asked now forcing her attention off the dead girl. “I would think so. If that was the case Zaebos celebrated this rite half ass to dishonor their rituals?” The Shawnee briefly observed the Indians carefully removing their dead kin while softly chanting four verses over and over. While they lifted the bloody body the four marines snapped to attention and saluted. Lorelei noted the Indians’ thin appreciation. When her bloody body was taken from the chamber they followed. What bothered Lorelei was the Shawnee’s uneasily looking around once outside. Charlie possessed serious concerns about those gathering black rolling clouds.

They had come to symbolize another evil event about to occur. There were occasional lightning bolts streaking across the skies like flaming torches carried by the gods. Colonel Sherman’s battered command tried ignoring these conditions announcing another supernatural event about to emerge from the dark shadows. After days of bizarre conditions the few surviving marines were hoping they would cease. But this wasn’t about to happen. The enlisted marines’ apprehension steadily increased after observing Lorelei and Lightfoot’s grim expressions. Charlie vocalized the marines’ concerns when saying. “I recommend we get the hell off this mountain.” Standing in the chilly air Bruce looked at Lightfoot. “We’re leaving after our objectives are successfully concluded. But if it will make you feel better, Betty got an authorization to fly in an aircraft for our extraction.” The sergeant didn’t breath for a moment. “And how long will this take?” “It’s flying from Yuma. Estimated time of extraction is ten hours.” “We may have trouble before then. I have a strong feeling we’re about to be hit again?” In just a few seconds the colonel’s confidence turned to one of anxiety. “By whom or what?” “I don’t know but the feeling is stronger.” the sergeant itted. “Maybe you should call for an earlier extraction?” “I can’t do that. During our fighting the wireless radio took a bullet. It’s now worthless. So, gentlemen, we have a ten hour window and nothing earlier.”

Chapter Sixty-three

After their discussion the staff sergeant thoughtfully walked about the battle zone trying to put aside his growing feeling of doom. When Yellow Hair tried talking to him and failed the Apache knew that his own apprehensive thoughts were the same as Lightfoot’s. Without been told the Apache began surveying the mining complex for a better defensive position. It wasn’t long before he discovered the few ancient buildings that weren’t burning were structurally unsafe. And definitely not suitable for a position that might come under attack. For a moment Yellow Hair stood looking at the burning buildings. The Mexican government was going to blow their minds after learning their national treasure was ablaze. He embraced no sympathy for those statesmen in Washington. Let them earn their paycheck. He had to. After the Apache briefed his staff sergeant the two sought out the colonel. He wasn’t that difficult to find. The grim faced officer was discussing another problem with Lorelei when they walked up. Bruce regarded them for a few moments. “Staff Sergeant Lightfoot, I know whenever you salute me like that there’s trouble on the horizon?” The slight smile on his face was seen by the two marines. “Yes, sir.” “You both can stand at ease. So give it to me a little at a time. What is it?” “We have a serious problem that’s not going to wait ten hours.” Lightfoot firmly reported. “We have another event coming down the loop, sir.” “Are you sure?” Bruce skeptically asked. While talking he searched the Indian’s eyes and found real fear. That was when an icy emotion tore through his body. Lorelei stepping to his side remained silent though her questioning thoughts were felt by the colonel.

“Yes, sir.” “Any idea what this event is all about?” “No, sir. But I know we’re in severe danger.” “Then we need to find a defensive position.” After quickly turning around he cynically replied. “But where is a damned good question? Just about all the buildings are burning or about to collapse.” “Sir, I believe we have one ideal position that was untouched by the fighting.” Bruce thoughtfully looked at the Apache corporal whom he was recommending the Bronze Star for his saving two marines caught in the cross fire of a German machine gun. “Continue, corporal.” “Behind us and not noticed during our pre-battle reconnoiterer is a stone tower.” While Lorelei followed his hand’s direction Yellow Hair kept talking. “The tower is seventy feet high with no battle damages. The structure was apparently built several hundred years ago. The flat top was designed for defensive purposes.” There was a short silence. “While surveying I’m sorry but I missed seeing the damn thing. My attention was primarily reserved for the mining sector and not the jungle to our right.” Bruce was looking at the tower across the once grassy expansion and built against the jungle’s edge. “Don’t worry about it, corporal. I never seen it neither. How about you, Lorelei?” “I never thought to look in that direction.” she said. “Like everybody else I was only interested what laid in front of us.” The colonel didn’t speak for couple minutes. His attention was on the tower standing alone like an orphan child. Finally making up his mind Bruce firmly said. “Sergeant Lightfoot, get our men over there and prepare defenses on the double.” Before they left the colonel said. “Good job, Corporal Yellow Hair.” Bruce and Lorelei watched the few marines hurry towards the tower. When

Lightfoot asked the Indians to stay he wasn’t surprised when they politely refused. The sergeant glanced towards the main mining area knowing those damaged buildings were death traps. Minutes later his attention again fell on the stone tower rising seventy feet above the ground. It would serve well their needs for nearly ten hours. Walking towards the tower he could hear Yellow Hair’s loud commands. By the time he arrived Yellow Hair had their defenses well underway. Lorelei was curious why the enemy overlooked the tower’s height for observation. She shared the Shawnee’s uneasiness something wasn’t right on the plateau. The marine survivors were on the top completing their preparations for another diabolic attack. They had driven back multi-demon attacks and this was a great morale boosters and this they needed more than anything. “How’s the interrogation coming along?” Bruce asked Lorelei as they walked toward the tower. “I have finished. The soldier is Frederick Berenger, Dutch citizen, age 23, SS scharfuhrer, weapons specialist. But the sergeant doesn’t know anything about the general’s plans.” she reported. “He was brought here to service the Stukas’ machine guns. They were promised a plane would fly in tomorrow to pick them up. They were also warned to expect an attack from us.” The major was silent for a moment. “I stood aside letting Yellow Hair do the first questioning. The prisoners didn’t know I spoke German and didn’t say much during his questioning. But when things seemed fruitless, I started asking questions in German and this threw them off balance.” “You learn anything?” “Not really. The SS and Luftwaffe don’t speak to one another. And the Luftwaffe pilots were very arrogant toward the others.” “What about the other prisoners?” “They said about the same thing. Berlin promised they would be extracted after their job was done.”

* * *

While establishing defenses top of the tower, Bruce and Lorelei began experiencing stronger uneasy emotions trouble was on the way. Once on the roof Bruce then inspected the machine gun that was giving them trouble. Afterwards, he casually looked around the structure used by Aztecs and later the French as a watchtower. Judging from the thick dust layers the Germans never used the stone structure. A winding set of steps lead to the roof. From there he silently watched the grieving Xochimilcas Indians departing with the remains of their young kin. There was considerable sorrow among their column ing into the jungle. After the last horse disappeared into the thick jungle the marines hurriedly rechecked their firepower atop the tower. A low wall ran around the elevated open space offering an excellent view of the mining area. Yellow Hair eagerly found plenty room for the placement of his mortars and machine guns. “Did you ever figure out who killed that blackbird before the battle?” Lorelei asked the sergeant. “No, madam.” His cold reply was disrespectful. Lorelei then cynically asked. “Surely you have an idea rattling around in that head of yours? We have seven hours before extraction and I sure as hell don’t want another surprise.” She paused for a moment. “So give me your best guess. Who killed the bird?” Seeing the two about to argue Bruce walked over and bitterly snapped. “Hey you two! Stop the bickering and get your thoughts together!” He paused for a moment then sharply said. “Sergeant Lightfoot, I think it best if you she is an officer.” His bitterness emphasized the word officer. Lightfoot’s jaws locked before he respectfully responded. “Yes, sir.” For a moment Lightfoot glanced at the angry woman. “Camaxtli.” The major didn’t comment and instead looked away. Leaning against the low parapet Lorelei suspiciously stared at the surrounding terrain. From their height no threat could approach the mining complex without being seen. Then why were the Germans so stupid and not supervised the grassy expansion before it

entered the jungle? “Now let me get this right, Sergeant Lightfoot?” she frostily asked. “With so many Aztec gods and goddesses thrown at us these last few days, I’m confused. You say Camaxtli may be helping us? Why would he or she do that? Earlier when we were dying he or she never lifted a hand to help us?” Her question was cynically expressed. “You tell me in a convincing manner why I should believe you.” “Camaxtli is here because he was petitioned in the past.” There was a short pause while trying to contain his disgusted opinion of the arrogant female. “And it’s a known fact, Camaxtli hates Zaebos for what he has done to cripple Mexica.” Lorelei made a disagreeable face. “I thought all Aztec gods hated Zaebos?” “That’s true but Camaxtli has more reasons to hate Zaebos than the others.” She shook her head. “Don’t bother telling me, I probably wouldn’t believe it anyhow. All I want is getting the hell off this mountain alive. Nothing more.” Without furthering their discussion Lorelei gave Lightfoot a dirty glance before walking over to the machine gun that frequently jammed. Only because every piece was needed it was positioned. Lightfoot angrily glanced Bruce’s way who grinned. Yellow Hair reed them after assuring another machine gun was properly set up. He gave Lorelei’s angry retreat brief interest. Looking at his sergeant foolishly arousing that a woman’s wrath, Yellow Hair believed Lorelei Ramcke would make a good Apache squaw. She was full of angry driving force disallowing men to dominate her fate. That was the staff sergeant’s main problem. He couldn’t accept the fact Major Ramcke was smarter than he was. “Much evil wanders this place, sergeant.” Yellow Hair suspiciously warned. “Yeah I know. I feel the throbbing in my heart. Whatever Zaebos celebrated has aroused the gods.” “What about this cleansing rite you spoke of?” Bruce asked after walking up.

“It’s an Aztec ritual washing away all the fury Zaebos possessed for the gods. This should have allowed his spirit to depart without interference?” “So what’s the problem?” Bruce indifferently asked. “I don’t know.” The sergeant lightly tapped his heart. “In here I feel warnings we’re about to get hit with whatever Zaebos specially prepared for our arrival.” Walking to the stone parapet the sergeant critically scrutinized their single defense until that promised aircraft arrived. “Zaebos probably suspected we would defeat the SS detachment. So he prepared another reception that hasn’t materialized. I’m confident it’ll be another diabolic event.” He stood for a few moments before turning to the pensive colonel. “I used to think Guadalcanal was horrifying.” Lightfoot frowned. “But that was before Mexico.” “This land is different that’s for sure.” Sergeant Lightfoot, a veteran of six major bloody campaigns shook his head. “No, sir. It isn’t different. It’s downright terrifying while recognizing no boundary.” “Yeah I agree.” Bruce glanced at his wristwatch. “But we must hold this position for another six hours and twenty minutes.” After the sergeant nodded then left the colonel reed Lorelei. “See anything?” he asked. “No, but there’s something out there.” “Yeah that’s what Lightfoot said.” “You always believe him?” she asked in a nasty way. “Just about, sweetheart.” he replied with a teasing grin. “Do you know what’s your problem? Sergeant Lightfoot gets under your skin. Don’t let him.” “He’s a pig.” she spat. Bruce said. “No, he’s not. Sergeant Lightfoot is a damned good marine. But he finds you too overbearing. Let upon him and you might find him a good friend to

have around.” She responded by sticking her tongue out at him.

Chapter Sixty-four

Another thirty minutes sluggishly ed the impatient marines atop that stone tower. The changing hot and cold conditions created an overpowering death stench drifting over the embattled region. Lorelei stared at hundreds of charred blackbirds lying about until she felt like vomiting. She occasionally saw three brown owls randomly flying above the plateau as if patrolling. Lightfoot twice warned his marines not to shoot the birds. The blackened ruins emitted slender columns of smoke curling upwards before disappearing. There were two buildings still burning though their flames were now weaker. Occasionally glancing at the stone building housing their secured prisoners Lorelei tried forgetting what they represented. Every once in a while lightning streaked across the skies. After the camouflaged netting was burned the burnt Stuka fuselages were exposed. The entire scene was bizarre looking. With the blackbird threat still fresh in their minds the marines frequently glanced at the heavens. More than one marine silently prayed they wouldn’t have to fight the birds again.

* * *

When the dull distant chanting began Bruce spun around expecting another attack. But there was nothing beyond the tower. That spine-tingling singing continued as Lightfoot bewilderedly walked around the oval wall searching for the disturbing source. Then suddenly the breezes drifting over Cerro Chorerras stopped. There were no sounds other than that chanting. Staring at the jungle with increasing interest, Lorelei slowly turned a full circle trying to pinpoint the singing’s origination. Lorelei found nothing. But she did notice their two Indians were studying those sounds with frowns tightening their dark complexions. This wasn’t in the least encouraging.

“What are those words?” Lorelei asked Sergeant Lightfoot after walking over to where he stood with Yellow Hair. When he didn’t respond she curtly speculated. “You both know what’s being said, don’t you?” Without looking at the demanding woman the Shawnee slowly informed. “The chanting roughly translates as this place of sorrow will soon be freed of tears. The winds shall flow from the south.” Lorelei shrugged her shoulders. “What does that mean?” “I don’t know.” Lightfoot itted while leaning his weapon against the wall. “The Aztecs believed southern winds were good omens. Place of sorrow could mean Cerro Chorerras is filled with painful cries from those once working the mines?” “Or it might symbolize those priests killed by Aguilera?” Yellow Hair muttered. The Apache gave his sergeant a quick glance before looking back at the jungle. “Listen to the chanting, brother. Those words speak of a place where only darkness reigns. That isn’t good. There’s much weeping out there. Can’t you hear their pleas?” Lightfoot smirked. “I only hear the winds.” “Then listen carefully, brother of the spear, and you’ll feel the pain in their words. The spirits want to be freed of their endless torture. Here in the land of coldness there’s a lingering thirst for peace and the touch of mercy. Those words say there’s a place where hunger is not, where the cries of pain are muted and where the cold winds are gone forever.” Lorelei asked. “Are they talking about this dreadful place?” Yellow Hair nodded with a long face expressing his deep concern. “But where is this chanting coming from?” Bruce asked after a few minutes. “It sounds as if the chanting is drawing close?” “That’s because it is.” Sergeant Lightfoot coldly declared. “The restless spirits desire to walk on soil.” “What spirits?”

The sergeant looked at him. “Those priests who were murdered by Zaebos. Their spirits were disturbed when Zaebos celebrated that rite to cleanse his troubled soul. After waking up they now demand to walk in the sun’s warmth.” “So what do we do?’ Bruce curiously asked while glancing about their surroundings. It was times such as this that he frequently wished Theta never had came into his life.

Chapter Sixty-five

Lightfoot thoughtfully stared at the jungle outskirts where tradition claimed the priests were buried alive. With a deep cynical sigh the Shawnee turned to his Apache brother of the spear and said. “We must make preparations for their arrival.” Lightfoot wondered if there was a reason that from the Indians he carefully selected for the strike team, only Yellow Hair remained. The few marines manning the rooftop defenses were mostly white skins. Their courage wasn’t yet challenged. But they were learning the dark diabolic side the hard way. “It would be best.” Yellow Hair reluctantly agreed. For a few moments Sergeant Lightfoot stared at the jungle’s lush green before saying. “We need two people. One will complete the triangle and another to impersonate the goddess.” “You need a woman?” Bruce uneasily asked while hurriedly glancing at Lorelei’s cold expression. “Why?” “If we hope to satisfy these angry spirits, sir, there must be a woman impersonating a goddess they will obediently bow before?” “And if we don’t?” Bruce unpleasantly asked. “Then we die this day. these spirits aren’t common workers arising from their graves. These priests were spiritual leaders allegedly possessing awesome powers we cannot even start to understand. If Major Ramcke plays her role well the spirits shall willingly return to their graves. But if they suspect we’re lying we shall die most horrible deaths this today.” Bruce reluctantly asked. “So what do we do?” When Lorelei moved to his side they held hands. Yellow Hair solemnly replied as if this was an everyday happening. “We will

cleanse the curse Lieutenant Aguilera placed on their souls. But everything focuses on how well Major Ramcke performs.” He thoughtfully glanced her way. “Can you do this? If you even have the slightest doubt, don’t try it.” “I don’t speak their language.” Lorelei stammered hoping that was a good excuse. “You don’t have to. Rarely do their deities speak to the priests. You can perform without speaking.” “And what do I do, sergeant?” she asked. “I don’t even understand these Aztec gods.” “I’ll coach you. You only have to listen and obey whatever I say. There won’t be an opportunity to regain the ground we lose.” The Indian stopped talking long enough to study the woman’s nervousness. “Don’t worry, madam, I’ll protect you. That I promise. All you have to do is believe in me and trust my commands. When they appear act arrogantly because that’s how the priests accepted their deities.” Lightfoot pointed at some flat ground between the mines and jungle. “We’ll create a sacred triangle by placing rocks in such a formation. The colonel and Yellow Hair will occupy the bottom part. I will be the tip and you’ll stand in the middle.” The Apache paused for a moment. “We will be celebrating a ritual rarely practiced among the Aztecs. These holy men knowing this will approach us very cautiously.” “I’ll do my best.” Lorelei stammered not certain if she wanted to know what laid ahead. Lightfoot forced a thin smile. Turning to the marines standing along the enclosing low wall he asked. “I seeing a Marine Corps flag in one of your backpacks. Who has it?” There was a short silence before he bellowed. “I don’t have all frigging day to wait! Who has the red flag?” “I do. Sergeant.” a short, lanky marine from Texas mumbled.

Lightfoot and Yellow Hair approached this young kid with big eyes and moonshaped face. Bruce stepping alongside Lorelei smiled then looked at his sergeant. After digging the folded flag from his backpack he was reluctant to hand it over. So Lightfoot jerked it from his skinny hand. “Why are you carrying a Corps flag?” the Shawnee curiously asked. “It was my grandpa’s.” the jarhead proudly said. “He had it on Wake Island.” “How did you get it? Wake Island garrison fell to the Japs.” “My brother brought it out with him.” There was a pause then the lad emotionally continued. “My Grandpa was a master sergeant who died fighting the Japs. My brother was a marine pilot who was taken off the island by submarine. It was mailed before he was killed during the battle for Midway.” “I knew the marines on Wake.” Lightfoot thoughtfully replied. He didn’t say anything when the young Texan’s eyes moisten. “Maybe I knew your Grandpa?” “Master Sergeant Billy Bob Mackfield.” Yellow Hair exclaimed. “Your Grandpa was Old Bitter Boots?” He laughed then respectfully added. “He was my senior sergeant after boot training.” Then sadness fell across his face. “I’m real sorry about your Grandpa. He was a damned good marine who always looked out for his men.” Lightfoot sighed heavily. “I’m sorry about Gunny Mackfield. I never met him but I knew of him. He wore more medals than I could count.” For a few seconds he looked at the folded red flag in his hand. “So this flew over Wake? I’m sorry but I need to cut it up.” Seeing the young man’s shock he added somberly. “This cloth flew over Wake where a lot of brave men died fighting the enemy. Now we need to cut it up so more good marines won’t die.” It was only a moment or two before the Texan sadly nodded agreement.

* * *

“All right, marines, listen up! We have another supernatural happening barreling ass at us. If we don’t survive at least we’ll go down fighting. So let’s get down and kick some ass. I need these items on the double. Mason and Brian, I saw piles of seashells close to that old temple area. Go get at least fifteen good ones and get back on the damned double. There isn’t much time. Joe and Mike, I saw rattlesnakes in the grasses. I need ten of those damned things. Kill them real carefully. I need the whole bodies. Chunks won’t do me any good. Todd, go out there and bring back ten blackbird tail feathers. There’s plenty dead birds out there. Now you all know what’s needed. So get the lead out of your butts and go.” He looked at two corporals standing near their machine gun. “I need a triangle fifteen feet wide and twenty feet long. There’s a pile of smooth rocks in front of the prisoner detainment. Bobby and Gerald, go get enough to make the triangle. Got that? Good. Then go get them.” Yellow Hair watched three men run across that wide expansion of flat grassy ground that was blacken in spots. He could see the marine assigned to finding snakes cautiously moving through waist deep grass. With a dull grin he looked at Lightfoot talking with the displeased colonel and nervous major. “This is a rarely celebrated rite but it’s a powerful ritual. We have to move cautiously and with purpose. If we don’t the table will turn on us real fast. Among the ancient tribes it was known as the Crossing Over Blessing. Those cursed priests will expect to find Aguilera but we’ll be there instead. Once the ritual starts they’ll respond positively knowing it’s for their benefit. But if anything goes wrong be ready to hit the ground if I yell. Do you understand, madam?” When she nodded the sergeant forced a weak smile. “Good.” The Shawnee stopped talking while uneasily scrutinizing their surroundings. He knew there was a lot which could go wrong. But if they wanted to go home everything had to be right. With a deep sigh he looked at the colonel and major. “The colonel and Yellow Hair will be fully dressed but we won’t.” Lorelei suspiciously asked. “How so?” “I will be wearing only my shorts.” “And me?”

The Shawnee sighed. “You’ll be nude, madam.” “I’ll do what?” she quickly snapped. He forced another thin smile. “I hope you aren’t bashful?” She gave him a dirty look. “Actually you won’t be totally nude. Around your neck will be a necklace of seashells with a bolt of five dead rattlesnakes around your waist. And a dead snake will be wound around your head like a tier.” “You got to be kidding, Sergeant Lightfoot!” she angrily growled. “What in the hell are we going to ... a damned Dionysian orgy?” The sergeant was now blushing. “No madam, this is very serious.” He looked at the colonel’s astonished expression. “I know this sounds wild but if we expect to survive then we’ll celebrate this rite. It calls for a goddess and that’s the major’s role.” “And who am I impersonating?” “Mictecacihuath.” “I forgot but who the hell is he or she?” “Micteacihuath is the lord of darkness’ mistress.” “Oh, this is great.” she moaned. “Now I you talking about her. She’s a real frigging bitch.” The Shawnee only nodded while cutting the Marine Corps flag into four long strips. “And what happens if the real one turns up? Worse yet what happens if this Lord of Darkness decides to appear? What do we do then?” Lightfoot after finishing his cutting looked up with a sour expression. “Then we better pray he doesn’t.” While angrily shaking her head Lorelei walked to the wall. She saw one marine hurrying back with a number of dead serpents swung over his shoulder like ropes. Lorelei moaned at the thought of those rattlesnakes around her body. She didn’t care if they were dead or not. The thought was still disgusting. The sound

of shells banging together caused her to look toward the runway. Two marines were running back with a sack of shells. A few minutes later she watched as they quickly positioned the rocks in a large triangle. “Why do I have to wear those cursed snakes around my body?” Lorelei demanded. “Just the thought sends chills up my back.” “Rattlesnakes have a special meaning to the Aztecs. This goes back when without land they wandered the barren deserts. The rattlesnake became symbolic with the Aztec people. But be thankful the serpents are dead. According to myths, the drug crazed priests often used live ones in their rituals.”

Chapter Sixty-six

In the following few minutes there was a furious burst of urgent activity on that wide expansion of partially burnt grassy flatland. All thoughts were on one objective and that was preparing for another supernatural event. Yellow Hair rushed about the high tower asg tasks which Lorelei didn’t understand. Most of the time she couldn’t hear their verbal exchanges. Once when looking down on the weedy area she saw the triangle was finished. The sergeant pacing the rocky boundaries occasionally stopped and adjusted loose rocks. Satisfied everything was ready he returned to the tower’s top. “It’s ready.” he solemnly announced when seeing Bruce and Lorelei holding hands. “I’ll protect her, sir. I promise. If there was another way we would do it in a heartbeat but there isn’t. At least nothing Yellow Hair and I know about.” “I believe you, sergeant.” Bruce motioned toward the early afternoon skies. “The clouds are gathering again.” “That’s why we must hurry. The gods are stirring as are the dead priests.” Lorelei followed the sergeant down the steps. She wasn’t physically or mentally ready for this new clash with the diabolic worlds. By now there were random lightning bolts and loud thundering over Cerro Chorerras. When reaching the bottom stairs she kissed Bruce then watched as Yellow Hair and he left the tower. Lorelei couldn’t think of a single time when she felt so lonely as she did now. The sergeant while stripping down to a pair of olive green shorts noted her hesitation. He somberly motioned her to undress. Turning his back on the woman the Indian tied one wide red cloth around his head then stuck seven blackbird tail feathers in front. A marine handed him a wooden staff with four lifeless serpents dangling from its tip. Giving the undressing major a hurried look the corporal charged upstairs to his assigned post. After Lorelei groaned her displeasure Lightfoot turned around to see her standing fully unclothed while carefully putting a tier of dead snakes around her

head. She made an ugly expression of contempt. Leaning down she picked up a belt with white seashells noisily banging together. “You do know this is gross?” Lorelei sarcastically moaned. After the Indian nodded she secured the belt with five dead rattlesnakes hanging down her waist. “Don’t even think about it, sergeant!” she sharply warned. Sergeant smiled. “I wouldn’t dare think about it, Major Ramcke. But still I have to say you have a very beautiful body. One a goddess would be proud of.” “Well, thank you but keep those thoughts to yourself. Thank you.”

* * *

When stepping from the dusty smelly tower Lorelei was nearly blinded by the bright sunlight. Those marines posted on the tower’s top were too occupied watching the jungle to heed her slow embarrassed walk to the triangle. As she slowly approached Bruce couldn’t help from iring her shapely body and long legs. That necklace of seashells cracking together hid her well formed breasts. In the few minutes it took preparing for their deception the black clouds continued hovering over this mining region. Sharp, brilliant lightning bolts ripping across the skies created a sinister scene. Briefly stopping at the rocky triangle’s tip Lightfoot looked at Lorelei and gently said. “I stay here but I’m only ten steps away from you. The spirits will stop where the colonel and Yellow Hair are standing at the triangle’s bottom. They cannot come closer unless our triangle is broken and that we won’t let happen. As the ritual unfolds I’ll softly coach what you have to do. But don’t worry you’ll be safe.” With that said he motioned her to walk into the middle and wait. They didn’t have long to wait. To the left of their hasty made triangle there appeared a dazzling bluish illumination that gradually faded. Both Indians gasped when seeing a single figure standing inside increasing winds rustling everything except the triangle. Those standing inside the rock encirclement felt

an abrupt chill disturbing their emotions. “Camaxtli.” Lightfoot fearfully moaned. The man was tall with long black hair and painted forehead highlighting his black unfriendly eyes. This god known as ‘Lord of the Chase’ was largely worshipped in the Huexotzingo and Tlaxcala regions of the Aztec’s ancient world. Around his arms were silver bracelets twinkling in the bright sunlight. His whole body painted with white stripes caused him to appear hostile to those standing not far from him. The bow loosely held in his hand was known to send arrows to the exact spot he aimed. For a moment he studied Yellow Hair and Bruce standing inside the stone circle. Camaxtli’s inquisitive interest turned to Sergeant Lightfoot standing there in his Marine Corps issued olive green shorts. But those freshly killed serpents hanging from the wooden staff caught his brief interest. After that the god silently scrutinized this powerfully built Indian. His headband’s glossy black feathers were dancing in the strong winds whipping around their triangle. But none slipped loose and fluttered away. There was something about this dark skinned warrior that intrigued the hunter god. However, nothing captured Camaxtli’s interest for very long. Lorelei fearfully observing this ancient god became aware of another appearance. Anticipating only the worse, the woman slowly turned in time to see a hunched over old man with fire bowl on his head. Though associated with fire, Huehuetoetl was there to judge the arrival of the cursed priests’ spirits. His wrinkled and bearded face turned her way without comment. Lorelei barely stopped the frighten gasp ing her lips. The god of time didn’t see this slip and that was good. Goddesses never found him ugly. The lightning became intense while claps of thunder shook the stone buildings. Above them black, ugly clouds whirled around as if confused where they should be. “Easy, major.” Lightfoot softly warned. “The old man is here to maintain order when the spirits arrive. But believe it or not right now he’s our best ally.” “What about that painted one? Is he friendly?” Lorelei fearfully whispered without looking at Lightfoot. “That’s Camaxtli, god of the chase.” Lightfoot confidently declared. “I have

been petitioning him.” “Is he with us?” “He hasn’t decided.” Those marines posted atop the stone tower were the first to see a dancing bluish illumination near the jungle’s skirting. Amidst the boisterous chanting ten ragged skeletons slowly rose from the rumbling earth with bony arms lifted above their heads. As the startled marines agnostically watched each lost their shackles of fear. The transformation from bony remains in tattered clothing rapidly continued. Before reaching the triangle these skeletons would become ten robust coppertoned men. They wore long white garments decorated with strips of hammered gold and huge earplugs of shiny gold. By now the region exploding into thunderous wild chanting was accompanied by flashing lightning and barking thunder. The cursed priests curiously looked at the protective triangle. When looking up they saw the blackbirds and confidently smiled. Large numbers of glossy feathered blackbirds flew around in circles. The priests arrogantly approached but stopped some feet away from the magical rocks. One tall Aztec priest stood unafraid before the bold princess. He remained unafraid because she was unprotected by warriors with unshielded swords. His broad head with Mongolian tilt of the brown eyes stared at the dark skinned warrior holding a long wooden staff tipped with lifeless rattlesnakes. The whipping wind did little to soften his despicable refusal of these confronting the religious figures. “What right give you to stand this sacred soil?” the priest boisterously demanded in his harsh native tongue. Encouraged by his knowledge of these cursed spirits Lightfoot spoke arrogantly loud. “I stand before your footsteps with Micteacaihuath’s powerful right hand over this soil.” There was no hesitation on the man’s part. “Why does the mistress of our Lord of Darkness oppose our arrival? Are there not enough problems in Chignahamictlan demanding her influence?”

While sharply tapping his staff on the hardened soil, Lightfoot stood strong and straight as he spoke. “Even the deepest of nine hells dare not restrain the brave mistress of darkness. She comes from her darkened kingdom to assure justice is committed this time. Listen well and heed my wise advice, holy men of our people. Go in peace and trample not those destinies now offered your wretched souls. The evil hand of Lieutenant Aguilera is no more.” There was an angry response to the name. “Fret not those sorrows of times past. Lest your spirits suffer again the shackles of servitude to those wretched demons from the hellish domains.” While tapping harder his staff on the ground the snakes rattled against the wood. This practice used to call forth spirits from the East didn’t go unnoticed by these scoffing holy men. “Stand aside, weak one, for your powers are of little use against us!” The tall holy man raised his right hand and from the fingers burst reddish streams of fire. “Fly, brothers of darkness, pluck their hearts from these foolish challengers of our world!” Anticipating resistance Lightfoot quickly raised his right hand signaling a muffled explosion then two birds tumbled to the ground. The startled Aztecs quickly looked around seeking the source of this magic but not seeing the marine sharpshooters hidden atop the tower. Smiling over his victory the Shawnee began tapping the ground. As previously instructed, Lorelei began shaking her waist causing the dead snakes to wildly swing about. The smoothness of her long slender legs and blond patch between her thighs were briefly displayed. Not one holy man noticed nor did those marines on the tower. There was too much going on to ire a woman’s beauty. The dull reports of firing guns confused the blackbirds now flying above the chaos. Lightning bolts plunging to the soil kicked up flaming patches. Thunderous reports slapped the peacefulness of this high plateau like exploding bombs. Scattered about the grassy grounds individual fires were bursting into rapid spreading devastation. While the holy men whirled around scrutinizing this unanticipated resistance, more blackbirds plunged lifelessly to the ground. Louder were the violent explosions then stronger did the wicked chants rise

above the noises. Lightfoot regarded several fissures opening wider as flames from the abyss of darkness shot upward. This chastising of their battered courage, failed sweeping aside the marines’ valiant stand against the evils beneath their feet. Bursts of near blinding lightning sharply increased its intensity. Mictlan-tecahtli’s kingdom of darkness tried gorging their besieged position with little success. More than once did the cursed priests call down the circling blackbirds. And each time sharpshooters eliminated their screaming swoops. “Halt your opposition for it is useless!” Lightfoot angrily challenged. “We come avenging those evils possessing our spirits.” “The intruder taking your spirits long ago departed. Now these great lands are ruled by the blood of your fore fathers. There’s no reason you must seek revenge. Listen well to my words and return to your graves. Accept this peace offer from Micteacihuath.” Lightfoot’s voice became harsh and loud. “But linger and your futures will be swindled by your own foolish actions.” “I think not, foolish one, for the sun shines hot above the ground.” the priest’s voice gained an exasperated manner. “The crowded corridors in Chignahamictlan are cold and hostile. We have chose to live in the warmth of day.” The tall one raising his hand angrily sent a finger of reddish flame toward Lorelei, who at the last moment dodged the fire. “Woe to those opposing our desire for warmth!” Contemptuously glaring at these despicable holy men challenging their cursed detention beneath the soil, Lorelei ignored Lightfoot’s hand motions to restrain her fury. She knew about the Aztecs’ devotion to expressing their emotions in dance. Erasing all boisterous noises from her thoughts she began dancing. Mentally listening to swing music played by Glenn Miller’s band she totally ignored everything else. Even though angry at her ignoring his commands, Lightfoot was enthralled by Lorelei’s bewitching motions. Closing her eyes Lorelei continued the irresistible dance. Her shapely body diabolically eliminated the spirits’ despotic behavior. This provided that single

moment of distraction which Lightfoot needed. After raising his snake-adorned staff, the Indian chanted a short sentence prompting the menacing birds to fly away. This left the holy men alone on their strange field of contest. There was no question Lorelei’s fervent dancing was crumbling the opposition’s invincible powers. Drunken by her provocative body motions, the holy men never realized their invulnerable shields were disappearing. She mentally became intoxicated by her own mental thoughts. Intensely driven by the reflections of Glenn Miller’s exhilarated music her shapely body became a whirling blur while twisting to music only she could hear. When defiant gunfire from automatic weapons began chattering, the holy men recovered from their captivation of her suggestive body movements. But it was too late to spin their diabolical powers into forcible play. One by one these egotistic men from an age of debauchery, existing four hundred years ago, tumbled to the ground. White garments were bloodied while high caliber bullets brutally smashed their heads. Previously instructed to reduce their heads to bloody pulps, Bruce’s marines coldly executed the decadent enemy. Released from their roles of impatient silence on the triangle’s base, Bruce and the Apache Indian rushed to stand alongside Lorelei. Dazed from the wild dancing she was swaying on her feet. Lightfoot raised his hands high into the air while chanting another strange ritual phase. This was for those Aztec gods quietly observing their elimination of the cursed holy men. Dropping to one knee the Shawnee crossed his heart four times with the snakeadorned staff. Mumbling peace offerings to indecisive Camaxthli and Huehuetoetl, he motioned Bruce not to approach. Holding the nude woman tightly against his chest, Bruce whispered everything was all right. She kept sobbing anyway. The Shawnee didn’t relax his cautious stand while cynically regarding the dreadful confusion. Suddenly those spirits viciously condemned by Mexican religions, disappeared in an explosion of bluish light. Satisfied no further trouble was within their boundary Lightfoot ran from the encirclement. He was shouting at his marines to assemble down below. Meeting an emerging marine, he ordered him to take

Lorelei’s clothing to her. Then while his men were charging down the steps he quickly redressed. It required Lorelei and the sergeant little time to dress and stand among the men. “Exactly what happened?” Bruce impatiently asked. “The priests whom Lieutenant Aguilera buried alive were given a chance to rest in peace. When refusing they were destroyed.” “What about the other two?” “You mean Huehuetoetl and Camaxthli?” After Bruce nodded the sergeant looked where two ancient deities stood appraising their activities. “The Aztec deity have approved our ritual.” “What do we do now?” Lorelei asked once her overtaxed composure relaxed. “We wait for extraction and go home.” “Wow.” Lorelei moaned. “I love those words.” As they were walking away from the tower Charlie asked. “Do you anticipate another attack?” “I hope not.” As their marines walked to the runway the Shawnee asked. “What do we do about the prisoners?” “I’ll radio Mexican authorities to come after them.” After reaching the pickup point Bruce ordered his men to stand down. Establishing guard perimeters was ordered while the others waited for the promised aircraft. This they gladly did. Everybody was relieved this time demons wouldn’t be coming after them.

Chapter Sixty-seven

Silently sitting on a rock Lorelei thoughtfully glanced around. At times she found it hard accepting what supernaturally came down Cerro Chorreas’ loop. It was difficult believing even though she was part of it. The colonel sitting alongside her chewed on a straw. He occasionally looked at the blue skies now barren of clouds. Even though in three hours the bright sunlight would fade it was pleasantly enjoyed. The enlisted marines didn’t speak of this unearthly engagement as it really didn’t happen. She debated if that was what everybody should do. “What were you thinking of when dancing?” Bruce asked. Lorelei smiled. “That was the easy part. I thought of Glenn Miller’s music and danced my dreams.” She gave Bruce a short glance. “I can truthfully say it was a terrifying experience I won’t try again.” Sergeant Lightfoot coming over sat on the grass. “I don’t think we’ll see the Aztec gods again.” “But what about Zaebos?” Lorelei asked. “We’ll see him again.” The sergeant studied his colonel before asking. “Then where do we start?” “That’s a good question.” Lorelei pondered the crisis for a few moments. “We could start with Yuma’s POW camp?” Both men looked her way with questioning expressions. “I have been thinking what if Zaebos or General Oberhausen didn’t come to kill Bottner?” “Then why did they come?”

“Maybe Zaebos transmigrated into Oberhausen for a short time. But his next leap was obviously Jacob’s body. But before doing this the demon had to cleanse his soul of past sins against the Aztec gods. Lightfoot speculated this was satisfied when sacrificing Chandler’s body. Now he was free to depart Mexico. But what about General Oberhausen? His face is well-known among world-class intelligence agencies. Zaebos had to choose another host body.” She grinned while looking at the thoughtful men. “Why not Bottner?” “If your theory is correct? What about Seibt? There’s a Stuka somewhere out there?” Bruce challenged not convinced of her new theory. Lorelei stared at the grass for a few moments. “Maybe Seibt is flying distractions? Anything that will draw attention away from General Oberhausen’s going in to snatch Bottner.” She waited a moment then said. “I think we chased the wrong theories?”

* * *

After the naval DC-3 taxied to a halt Bruce’s strike team quickly climbed in. Little time was lost before the plane turned around and was airborne. No marine was happy about leaving their dead friends on Cerro Chorerras. But there wasn’t time to collect the bodies. Bruce promised another plane would arrive shortly to take custody of the prisoners and remove their deceased marines. Cold rations were distributed with bottles of warm beer. Bruce visited the cockpit for several minutes. After establishing communications with San Diego, Bruce was updated on Theta’s war against Satan. Though the battles weren’t discussed Betty informed him Theta was gradually gaining headway. “Did they extract Jacob Bottner in time?” Lorelei asked when he returned from the cabin. “No.” he theorized after a short silence. “Apparently a Stuka crashed in view of the POW camp. While rescue crews rushed to the burning plane, nobody noticed a single blackbird flying over the compound fence. It was thirty minutes before

the alarm sounded announcing POW Jacob Bottner was missing from his cell.” “Weren’t they warned an extraction of the POW might be attempted?” Lorelei angrily demanded. “The facts are sketchy at the moment but it seems the camp commandant wasn’t fully briefed about the situation. He had the man removed to their maximum security cell block. Of course, that wasn’t enough and four prison guards were killed.” The colonel uneasily watched the sun going lower as their twin-engine plane thundered across Mexico. He noted Lorelei’s suspicious glare. “I wasn’t informed why Washington wanted Bottner detained. But they screwed up and none of it was our fault.” “Who were you talking to?” “Betty. In fact, I got the impression she wanted us out of Mexico as quickly as possible.” He looked briefly at the woman seated alongside him. “Why do you ask?” She shrugged with a worried smile. “Honey, I just want this covert to end.” “I do too.” Bruce stared at darkening skies their DC-3 was ing through. “Too many good marines have died the last few days. Plus we lost two very good friends. The bad thing about this entire covert is I still don’t understand what’s going on behind the scenes.” Handed a green bottle of warm beer Bruce didn’t refuse. Chugging down some the colonel settled back against the seat and thoughtfully studied his companion. “For some reason we were shuttled into confusing side trips that didn’t connect with our covert.” “Maybe they weren’t supposed to?” Lorelei theorized. “Alright…here’s what we have done. Terminated and won the battle in El Toro. Took out the Stuka problem on Cerro Chorerras but two planes were missing. One was the general’s plane that crashed in Yuma.”

She fell into a cold silence. “That leaves Seibt’s Stuka.” “And no hint where he’s at.” She briefly glanced at the beer bottle. “Do you like that stuff?” Bruce shook his head. “Neither do I but at least it satisfies the thirst.” After that both settled into their own thoughts. The interior was strangely quiet while the weary marines rehashed what they had been through the last few hours. Charlie after deciding he had enough excitement was soon asleep. But one marine was having troubled thoughts crowding his mind. And that was Yellow Hair. During the short time he had known Broken Hand they had bonded. Now he was gone and that hurt.

* * *

At first Lightfoot was satisfied listening to the tired, irregular roar of two Wright Pratt engines. But this soon ed. His mind painfully wandered through another valley of disappointment. After glancing at Major Ramcke and Colonel Sherman he smiled his approval. The colonel was a lucky man having her devotion. From their first meeting he saw that love struck gleam in Lorelei’s eyes. Lightfoot always embraced the feeling man should have a good sturdy woman at his side. Such a partnership never came his way. No matter what he tried trusting Major Ramcke wasn’t coming his way. Old tribal men promised his place in the clouds would one day happen. Even that was never fulfilled. His place in life was walking a lonely path where true love never found a resting nest. The Indian silently moaning his hurt thoughtfully looked about the plane’s interior. His men were quietly sitting in their seats. Some were digesting what was witnessed during various stages of their nightmarish struggles. For others disbelief was obvious in their tormented eyes. Even so they stood tall. Lightfoot looked up when Yellow Hair sat alongside him. The muscular Apache

silently looked around seeing their marines uncomfortably dealing with the supernatural happenings. Once looking at the skies their lumbering transport was flying through Yellow Hair wondered if Broken Hand had met his reward after death? He missed his friend from Tucumcari. Losing a true friend was a painful knife thrust through the heart. When this war was over he would visit the Arizona desert grave and pray for his spirit. Sighing he looked back at the sergeant who was silently studying his wretched expression. “It never goes away.” Sergeant Lightfoot softly advised. The Apache stared at him with tormented eyes. “Friendship among our brothers of the spear is precious as the earth that provides our life. When that gift is jerked away it’s like a blade of grass plucked from the soil that never will grow. The Corps will bury Broken Hand with all the honors he deserves. His kin will grieve and throw sand on their bodies.” There was a short pause. “Then life will go on.” There was another short pause. “The woman who shared his lodge will smear soot on her face and wail. But nothing will change. Our friend and brother of the spear is dead. In time his decaying flesh will fall away. Nobody will ever know how Broken Hand bravely fought demons and shed his blood. No songs will be sung around campfires and no legends will be told how bravely he fought and died. His casket with its American flag will be properly buried. But the white man in his home town will boast how another lazy Apache found his place among the clouds.” “An Apache’s destiny is known only to his people.” Yellow Hair bitterly agreed while watching the colonel visit the cockpit again. His near whisper was angry. “Why do we wear this uniform and fight bloody hatreds of the world? When those same hatreds are heaped on our people back home?” “Because we love this country even when showing its bitter side.” Lightfoot studied the major sitting down the aisle from them. “There are white faces who respect and fight for our right to walk tall. Colonel Sherman is a good man. The major would be a fine squaw in any tribe. Maybe after this war is over white faces will show us respect? Until that day, we must never allow our hearts to be poisoned by their hatred, otherwise, we become like them.” “You speak words of truth,” Yellow Hair pensively said after a short silence.

“Major Ramcke was truly a brave warrior today. She would have won the respect of eagles. Sadly enough as you mentioned nobody will sing our praises. What happened on that mountain will always remain with the drifting winds. It never happened.” “Only in our hearts and the cavities of our memories will we relive these terrors our hands fought the last few days.” Lightfoot sadly itted. “And you must bury your disappointments, my friend.” When Sergeant Lightfoot glanced his way the Apache emotionally whispered. “It’s shown in your troubled eyes. Your devotion for the Aztec’s lord of darkness has taken a battering. But that’s no reason to abandon your devotion. Many times we demand something the gods favors not. There are times when we stand with uplifted arms and open empty palms only because the gods felt we didn’t need the petitions.” “Then why did Camaxthli and Huehuetoetl appear?” “Because they stood tall assuring injustices didn’t occur. Anyhow, we don’t know if Mictlan-tecahtli abandoned you. After all, we did walk away from that confrontation alive. Isn’t that a sign to praise?” His voice became cold and demanding. “Do not throw away years of devotion for your god, my brother of the spear. This may very well be a testing path for your spirit? All I know is we fought many evils and walked away with our spirits. That in itself is a powerful omen our gods were watching.”

* * *

Bruce stopped at their seats. “How are you guys holding up?” “Fair enough, sir.” Lightfoot crisply reported. “That’s good because the men aren’t. Maybe you two should circulate and encourage them?”

“How much longer in the air, sir?” Yellow Hair asked. “The pilot said we’ll be landing in San Diego in three hours.” “That is good,” the Apache itted with a forced smile. He couldn’t shed the nagging fear death was approaching with its wings spread wide. The colonel looked at him then nodded. After the man settled in his seat, Yellow Hair knew within those few seconds the colonel sadly looked into his inner thoughts.

* * *

Darkness was slowly cloaking the night as another day ended. Even though the low flying Douglas DC-3 was at full throttle it was a lumbering giant. Modified as a transport the plane wasn’t armed. This weakness didn’t bother Bruce since they were flying inside the United States air space. Returning from his sixth visit to the pilot’s cabin, the colonel looked at Lorelei peacefully sleeping with her head against the window’s cold glass. Even when sleeping she was a lovely woman. With a grunt the tormented colonel sat resting his chin on a balled fist. Betty had sent more messages using a simple code he deciphered without a manual. Things were heating up involving the global war. and Japan were far from being defeated. Savage battles challenging Satan’s Infernal Empire were being fought all over the globe. Theta was barely holding the line. It was all that mattered at this point in time. Hearing movement behind him the colonel looked over his shoulder. Yellow Hair and Lightfoot were slowly moving down the aisle talking with their marines. Sensing his presence Lorelei opened her eyes and somberly asked. “How much further?”

“Not very long.” Bruce said. “The pilot detoured from our course when told said there were air exercises the last few days. He wanted to avoid meeting those planes in case they were trigger-happy. But how about you? Did you get some rest or just restlessly drifting in and out?” “Drifted about. I see you didn’t get much sleep. So what’s the matter?” “After talking with Betty, I learned this war has taken some nasty turns the last few days.” “So what else is new?” she solemnly asked. “Japan and are too entrenched to hope for an early end. Neither one is going to surrender.”

Chapter Sixty-eight

Hell abruptly burst upon the lonely transport flying through the darkness. Two marines were thrown against the seats as their blood shattered. It took Bruce only a few seconds to know the DC-3 was under attack. Lorelei looked at their port engine after it burst into flames. Too much was going on to be alarmed. There was a blur of grayness as an object shot ed the aircraft. “It’s a Stuka!” she cried. Though the Junkers Ju 87 swooped ed the crippled plane, Bruce knew it would come back for another murderous strafing run. The plane was unable to fight back. Their pilot was already putting the plane in a dive for lower altitude. The infamous dive bomber completing its loop came again with MG 17 machine guns blazing. Shattered chunks from the transport fell to the earth in a burning descent. Though seriously damaged the sturdy plane continued its escaping. The Stuka dashing by made a sharp loop and started back for its third strafing. “Lightfoot!” Bruce shouted. “Can the door be opened while airborne?” “We don’t have enough parachutes.” “I’m not concerned about parachutes! Can the door be opened while airborne?” “Yes, sir.” Lightfoot yelled to be heard above the winds rushing through the violated fuselage. “Then open it!” While two marines pulled back the wind pounded door Bruce grabbed a 50caliber machine gun. Handing it to a corporal the Theta agent motioned what he wanted done. The man’s puzzled face turned to smiles as he quickly positioned himself at the door. Another two men grabbing his legs steadied the gunner.

“The Stuka pilot will strafe us again that’s when I want you to open fire! Got it, marine?” Realizing what the colonel was doing the sergeant whirled about and shouted orders. “You guys put a machine gun in that torn section over there! I want another gunner at the door with a MG! All right, marines, get the lead out of your ass cause the Nazi isn’t waiting!” There was an explosion of frantic activity inside that smoking fuselage. The pilot desperately banked and twisted trying to get away from the dive bomber now roaring in from behind. The sturzkampffugzeug’s wing guns punctured the transport’s wings. Those 7.6mm bullets tore loose metal that now flapped in the brisk winds. “May day! May day! Flight 6712 under attack by a German fighter…” Before he could give their coordinates bullets smashed the radio. During its last strafing a spray of bullets killed the co-pilot now slumped over his instruments. Blood was splattering from his head or what was left. Laughing at the destruction he was istering on the burning DC-3, Lieutenant Seibt started another sweep the doomed plane. That was when his amusement ended. While ing the burning transport, machine guns fired by marines caused electrical fires bursting into a consuming nightmare. While his cockpit became a fiery funeral chair the Stuka sharply went into a screaming dive for the earth. The Luftwaffe pilot totally engulfed in flames tried in vain to push back his cockpit canopy. That Luftwaffe pilot instead screaming from his burning pain started laughing. Then was a giant fireball as the dive bomber crashed. “Buckle in, marines!” Bruce yelled after seeing the German dive bomber crashing behind them. “We’re going to flame out!” Even while he shouted fires broke out on engine one. Pieces of the port fuselage broke loose after been machine gunned. By now the wounded DC-3 was in a screaming dive towards the desert.

* * *

Before Betty returned to her desk, one of the naval intelligence agents down the hall swung open the door. “Betty!” the excited young officer nearly shouted. “We intercepted a message from the DC-3 transporting your team to North Island!” He paused to catch his breathing. “It was attack by a German Stuka!” Recovering from her surprise Betty asked. “How bad?” “Before the pilot could radio his positioning the radio went black. Yuma Air Base and North Island are scrambling planes to suspected coordinates.” Seeing her cold expression he explained. “By using the time that plane extracted them from the mountain along with its expected speed they have a possible crash site.” Only a few moments ed before she collected her scattered thoughts. “Thank you, Johnny, I owe you one.” After the ONI agent closed the door she picked up the phone and dialed a number. Her hand was trembling. “This is Delta 301, San Diego, Colonel Bruce Sherman’s command.” At first her voice wasn’t controlled. But this quickly changed. “Request Priority Blue, Yankee Three. Theta aircraft shot down by German Stuka on grid Zebra Delta Nine. Rescue/recovery requested.” Betty impatiently while her requests were been approved. What seemed like hours to the stern-faced woman was only three minutes before she heard the approval code. “This is Delta 301, San Diego reporting compromise on the Californian/Mexican border. Enemy aircraft identified German Stuka dive bomber reported shooting down a DC3 Douglas.” As she talked a frantic scrambling of fighter planes commenced. From North Island, Yuma Air Base and Riverside’s March Air Force Base squadrons flew into the skies hunting Stukas that weren’t there. Only a few people knew the American Air Corps along that border only had 16 modern fighters. Rest of their aircraft were outdated models. America was struggling to supply their combat units new planes.

Chapter Sixty-nine

Unable to maneuver the burning plane after his guidance system was destroyed, the pilot kept frantically radioing ‘May Day’. Bruce didn’t know the pilot never radioed their coordinates before bullets smashed the radio. Everybody aboard the doomed transport buckled tight and grabbed hold of solid objects. The damaged plane screamed defiance while diving for the darkened desert. The low wing monoplane weighing more than thirty thousand pounds plowed into warm sands. Thunderously carving a destructive trench its weight finally jerked the burning aircraft to an abrupt halt. Moments after the plane stopped Sergeant Lightfoot began shouting to quickly abandon the craft. Yellow Hair stumbled through the twisted wreckage making certain nobody was left behind. Two lifeless marines were dragged from the plane. Bruce helped a dizzy Lorelei from the death trap while flames raged through the interior now empty of human cargoes. It was impossible to remove two lifeless bodies wedged against their instrument . Running away from the wreckage her survivors dived behind sandy dunes just as the plane exploded. Flames and black smoke shot high into the night skies. Lying on the hot sands Bruce watched the plane burn until there was only whiffs of smoke and a glowing reddish pile showing where the DC-3 crashed. Within minutes of the crash Lightfoot reported their casualty list. His face was tight from grief. “What’s wrong, sergeant?” Bruce demanded. “Another four marines died, sir.” Holding her hand against a forehead cut to stop the bleeding Lorelei asked. “Where is Yellow Hair?” “He didn’t make it, madam.” For a moment the German woman stood still. The words cut a burning slash across her emotions. Though Bruce held her tight it did nothing to stop her grief.

The Staff Sergeant was the only survivor from the marines climbing aboard that DC-3 on the North Island Naval Air Station. It seemed like weeks ago. Zaebos had won the battle.

THE END

About the Author

Herman Lloyd Bruebaker lives in Riverside, California, with his family. The author has several major projects underway.