Chapter Seventeen The Lewis List: “Strategy”

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(Photo by Zoe Holling on Unsplash)

Imam Demir floated on the currents and delighted in the sensation of flight in the grey and black body of the hooded raven. The moment The Maid of Orleans had begun praising Jesus the demons had fled and Demir understood the necessity of flight…literally. Looking up into the trees he saw the hooded raven picking at a walnut with a twig and projected himself into the bird and commanded it to fly.

Demir sang songs of Allah and the blood of the infidels he would spill as he wove through the clouds towards the village of Great Rollright. The sun had set and the wind from the Atlantic on Demir’s left wing picked up as a storm front began to roll over the English countryside. The Raven seemed not to mind the wind and pressed on with only a few emphatic nudges from his passenger. Eventually, Demir could see the barn and buildings of the farm where the Ebbinghous Battalion and Sturmbannfuhrer Benjamin MacBeth were preparing for their eventual mission. He knew he would have to answer questions about his own role in the reconnaissance of the doings of the Fellowship. But, Macbeth’s anger would be dealt with quickly as the information of the interesting people assembled by the Fellowship was revealed. “Who was that Bronze man and that giant black man?” Demir thought. “I know of the others. Legend speaks of the King Arthur and the small child that fought like a man in France. These I have heard of. So the Christian God continues to resurrect people from the past to fight us. So be it. Amen as the infidels say. But, they have no clue that we are here on their very doorstep. And, soon the head of the crusader beast will be severed. This man should no more have been a king than his brother who he had replaced. No matter! He will die just as the other would have died.”

As the last thought left his consciousness, the raven settled before the doorstep of the farmhouse. And, instantly he stepped out of the Raven and dismissed it. And, as he stepped to the door the Raven staggered away dazed and exhausted as if it were a drunken sailor.

Demir opened the door and stepped into the living room of the farmhouse. The Kommando was gathered around the building and the kitchen. Dinner was finished and Macbeth and Delbart Tesch and the different squad leaders were seated around a large table with a map as a trio of privates efficiently worked on cleaning the leftovers of dinner in the kitchen. Everything stopped as every eye in the room turned towards the small man with the cane standing inside the door.

The Imam walked over to where Macbeth sat, “Food immediately!” He called towards the kitchen and then sat in a chair quickly abandoned by one of the squad leaders. “We may have to adjust our plans. The Fellowship has brought in unknowns. This will require more information.” A private brought a plate of bratwurst and sauerkraut to the Imam who looked at the food with disgust. “Is this food Halal?”

Receiving a blank stare from the private he repeated himself, “I need purity. Pure food!” His anger beginning to rise up into an uncontrollable rage, the door to the kitchen opened and Hilel Cady walked through the door with a covered tray of chicken and rice cooked by the two Bosniaks.

Cady walked up to the Imam and bowed low and whispered, “As-salāmu ʿalaykum, Imam your food.”

The Imam grabbed the plate and began to eat with the appetite of a starving man. The supernatural efforts expended during the fight at the Eagle and Child and the flight back to Great Rollright against the wind created a voracious appetite. He scooped the food with his fingers and crammed the food in as fast as he could swallow. The private brought him a large stein of water and watched as the Imam drank two steins one right after the other. No one in the room said a word as he stuffed himself. The sounds made as the Imam ate were angry and primordial. In only a few minutes the food disappeared and he held out the plate to Cady as if to say dispose of this.

Immediately, the Imam stood and moved around the table to look at the maps arranged in the center. “Where are you planning on ambushing the king? Has there been any contact with our men in London? Any chance to catch the King with the new Prime Minister. That genetically deficient gnome of a man? What a coup that would be if we could catch the two together and eliminate the complete leadership of the beast.”

“Yes, we have a communique from him. Their new intelligence contact – their spy – with the Americans is assembling teams of covert operatives for the coming war. That genetically deficient gnome you talk about has a name and his name is Winston Churchill. He not well liked, but from what our man has told us, he is aggressive and warlike and not likely to stand down from the Reich. The American Spy is a businessman from Canada. He has extensive contacts around the world and understands the Islamic mindset. So he will not be an easy target. The American President trusts this man and he has the same energy and determination as you do. But, our man says that there are rumors that the King, Churchill and the American President will be meeting soon to discuss America’s assistance to England. We were in the process of attempting to determine where such a meeting might take place. So far our only idea is to perhaps capture this American Spy and force him to reveal the plans America has for England.”

“Excellent!” The Imam straightened and looked around the room at the magnificent specimens of warriors assembled. They may not be Muslim warriors, but they were impressive none the less. And, their fanatical loyalty to Macbeth was a testament to the training they had gone through. Demir thought that if he had ten thousand of these men he could conquer the world. No wonder the maniac Hitler was so confident and arrogant. Perhaps his arrogance was more the sign of a true believer walking in his divine destiny. A man worthy of his efforts to destroy the Crusaders. “I will need a squad of your best most innovative men. You and I will make a trip into London to perform reconnaissance of the most likely places for that meeting. And, I want to meet with our contact to look him in the eyes. I want to make sure that he is a true believer and not someone feeding us the kind of information that will bring us to our doom.”

Sturmbannfuhrer Macbeth stood –as did every man in the room – and said, “I will have the men ready in the morning, Imam Demir! Heil Hitler!” His right arm shot out in the Nazi Salute and he waited for the Imam’s response. Which was completely nothing. The Imam merely smiled and then spun on his heel and walked out the door of the farmhouse followed by Hilel Cady.

 

 

 

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Chapter Fifteen “The Lewis List”: Darkness and Light!

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Photo by Good Free Photos on Unsplash

 

“That is indeed the case gentlemen,” Mary answered Sherlock and Challenger. “I would expect that considering your own situation as newborn creatures, that it would not be beyond understanding that I could be alive at this end of history?”

The group of men mostly followed the logic of the situation and shook their heads as if they understood The Mother’s logic.

Sherlock, however, was not so fast to just accept the non-explanation. “I would agree with you Madam, except I for one have always maintained that you and your Son are as Mythical as I was Fictional. So regardless of the reality I, Professor Challenger, and Mr. Savage there find ourselves in. I must maintain a certain skepticism. Label me a modern day doubting Thomas if you will. But, I find it difficult to the extreme to admit that I have been wrong all these years about something so important. And, yes, I realize the importance of that decision. I just have never been presented with any cogent facts in a precise and convincing manner to change my mind.”

Sherlock looked at Challenger and Doc as if to say, “Back me up here fella’s”! Then continued

“However – again – considering the mounting evidence. I…Did you feel that?” Sherlock turned to look behind him as if there were someone approaching with ill intent. Doc, Bass, and Challenger all turned as well. Then Joan of Arc began to sing.

Her voice was strong as a trumpet rallying the troops. She stood before the door of the pub with her arms outstretched and her face to the sky. Jack realized that she was singing the 91st Psalm in an archaic style that evoked images in Jack’s mind of nuns and monks chanting in St.Paul’s Cathedral in London. And, for a moment Jack caught a glimpse of an army of dark creatures streaming down the street. Emerging from the ground, and falling from the sky like dark and putrid coals of brimstone. His attention, however, returned to the young woman and the boundaries between the natural and the supernatural continued to blur revealing Joan encased in a circle of brilliant light radiating out from her body in all directions. And, as she sang the words of the psalm exploded out towards the creatures hiding in the darkness.

“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.”

Surely he will save you
from the fowler’s snare
and from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday.
A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.
You will only observe with your eyes
and see the punishment of the wicked.

If you say, “The Lord is my refuge,”
and you make the Most High your dwelling,
no harm will overtake you,
no disaster will come near your tent.
For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways;
they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
You will tread on the lion and the cobra;
you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

“Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him;
I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
He will call on me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will deliver him and honor him.
With long life, I will satisfy him
and show him my salvation.”

Joan’s words broke the darkness like a strong wind on a foggy day and a sense of peace fell on the street, and the vision changed to one of panicked creatures fleeing from the angels that now appeared behind the words of light.

The vision ended as quickly as it started.

As the peace came over the street it touched the hearts of everyone standing in front of the pub, leaving Sherlock with a profound sensation. For the first time in his short corporeal life, he was clueless as to how to respond. Looking at Challenger as if he might have an answer, he saw that the professor was as lost as he was. Then they heard the trilling sound and turned to look at Doc. The giant bronze man was looking into the sky with that same rapturous look on his face and realized that the strange whistling or trilling sound that was coming from Doc had been harmonizing with Joan’s song. Challenger then grabbed Sherlock and pointed towards where Tecumseh and King Arthur had been standing near Joan. The two men were kneeling and also had the same looks of reverence on their faces.

Challenger looked at Sherlock and remarked, “It seems there is much more to being a human than what our creator has led us to understand. And, considering the fact that Mr. Bronze statue himself seems to understand this, perhaps we should investigate further. Although, I for one despise having to admit my personal conundrum in the matter of spiritual things. I deplore ignorance in any matter much more.”

But, as Joan sang the last verse – and before Sherlock could answer Challenger’s question – she began to run down the street with the butcher’s knife in her hand raised above her head as if it were a sword, her spirit had drawn her attention to the small man at the end of the street holding a cane over his head and chanting loudly.

Everyone except for the mother and the Inklings ran after the young woman. Surprisingly, Challenger caught the teenager and passed her and shouted, “There on the corner! A decidedly evil looking cretin is attempting to flee! After him gents!”

However, as the group arrived at the corner they found their quarry was gone.

“Quite interesting Savage. Don’t you agree?” Sherlock asked. “The man seems to have simply disappeared. Normally, I would ignore such an illogical suggestion. But, considering today’s events, I am disposed to believe that something supernatural may be the most logical conclusion.”

Doc turned to Sherlock and nodded in agreement. “Hard to come to any other conclusion. As there are not any doors near the corner for the man to disappear into, and there are no vehicles on the street in any direction that are close enough to be considered a likely mode of escape.”

Challenger looked at his partners and just shook his head. “I’ve seen some pretty amazing things in my imaginary life. But, this reality business is not what I had imagined life would be…if I had actually been able to imagine.”

Joan of Arc looked at everyone and waved the Butcher knife in their faces. Her petite face glowing with pure warlike aggression. And, since Challenger’s face was the closest to her own, Joan pressed her face up to his and whispered, “He is Devil…Demon!”

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen the Lewis List: The Cowardice of Evil

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(Photo by JR Korpa on Unsplash)

 

The Tilly drove off down St. Giles street with the two Bosniaks under the watchful eyes of the Section D men passing an innocuous-looking character standing on the street about a block away from the action. A small wizened man dressed as a professor stood leaning on an ornate cane topped with a golden apple. His weathered face, sprouting a wispy gray Fu Manchu beard, held small beady eyes shaded by a bowler hat that watched the Tilly drive by. He seemed to blend into the weathered tan plaster side of the building on the corner. If anyone had noticed the diminutive figure they might have mistaken him for an oriental mannequin escaped from a wax museum. His breathing was shallow and controlled as he chanted a quiet incantation. As he chanted; dark forms appeared in his sight, and a powerful sense of superiority rose up in the man’s soul. The demons obeyed his commands to descend upon the group surrounding the King of England.

Imam Sabri Demir imagined himself standing in the place of sacrifice deep underground at the ancient altar built by the hands of Nimrod himself. The most ancient of evils, conqueror of peoples, the hunter of men. Sabri Demir held to the exultation of Satan. He was an adept of adepts. Master of all the channels to the underworld. The Demons answered his beck and call. Isis, Nut, Athena, Minerva, all answered to him. The end would come and he would rule. The ancient rule would again rise up. Hitler was a tool and he would play him like an instrument of destruction. Himmler was his vehicle.

Himmler had been there at the altar in the ruins of Babylon south of Baghdad when the invocations were performed. Himmler believed the ceremony would guarantee the victory of Hitler’s Aryan Empire. But, Demir was following his master’s design and was dedicating Himmler to Satan’s uses. Legion now was Himmler’s eternal partners.

Thousands of years of ritualistic murder and dedication was coming to its conclusion with the wars that were brewing. It was inevitable. Satan would rule this world forever. His power would never be relinquished to that illegitimate child Jesus. Myths! All of the sacred scriptures were myths. The only true power was that of Lucifer the Brilliant One! Demir could hear the war cries of the demonic horde that he had unleashed on the streets of Oxford. The smell of sulfur and the cries of the dammed mingled with their screams of delight as their imaginations played with the thoughts of destruction and death.

As the chant propelled the demons towards the Eagle and Child, Demir raised his cane over his head in anticipated victory. The King of England would die today and his soul would be Satan’s. His exultation continued to rise up and the desire to sing a song of devastation fought with his intention to remain unseen.

As the demonic horde approached the pub darkness began to overshadow the street and as it did, bystanders who had been watching the proceedings began to disappear into their businesses like people expecting a rainstorm.

Imam Sabri Demir began to laugh as his occult trance began to overtake his desire to remain hidden.

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen “The Lewis List”: Can’t tell the players without a scorecard!

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(Picture is of King George VI)

King Arthur and Tecumseh were the first to exit the pub and both men had their pistols up and searching for targets. Next came Challenger, and Holmes followed closely by Joan of Arc who somehow had obtained a large butchering knife. Most everyone saw Doc leap from the window and land in the middle of the street with the ease of a mountain lion and were gaping at the scene before them.

Doc and Bass were advancing on the two men now holding their machine pistols in their raised hands. Sherlock and Challenger quickly moved behind Bass and the three advanced towards their prey. But, just as they took their first steps a Standard 12 Tilly pulled up behind the Bosniaks and out clambered four members of Section D of his Majesties Secret Intelligence Service carrying sten guns. Stepping out from behind the wheel of the vehicle was His Majesty King George VI himself. He was accompanied by a striking woman with Mediterranean features and long salt and pepper hair under a dark brown beret adorned with a patch with the gold letters GC overlaid against the image of a double bladed sword on a red background. She wore matching para-military dungarees without any insignia or rank displayed.

Both the King and the woman walked over to Tecumseh and Arthur, who immediately put his arm around George and gave him the kind of hug that a long-lost uncle would give.

By now an extremely large crowd had assembled in the street halting the sporadic traffic and emptying the shops of people gawking at the spectacle of their King standing in the street talking with strangers.

Two of the Section D men quickly manacled the two men and hustled them into the Tilly, while the other two accompanied Doc and now Holmes and Challenger to the second floor of the Pharmacy. Unfortunately, the third man that Doc had incapacitated was gone. The radio equipment, however, remained in place. Whoever the man was he had Whermacht connections.

By the time they returned to the street the local constabulary had arrived. The Chief Constable Charles Fox was quickly accosted by William Stephenson and taken to His Majesty. A short but enthusiastic discussion entailed as to the disposal of the two Bosniaks into the care of Stephenson and the Section D men. And, they were trundled off in the Tilly.

Sherlock and Challenger stood off to the side in the shade of a large Elm and watched with fascination the apparent ease with which Stephenson navigated – with the presence of The King emphasizing the importance of the moment – the legal process. Eventually, Doc and Bass joined the two detectives under the tree and they began to discuss the details of the afternoon. Sherlock, Challenger, and Doc all focused on the fact that there were Eastern European’s armed to the teeth with the top of the line Nazi equipment stalking their group. And, not the least of the details was how the King of England was personally getting involved. And, all of them could not take their eyes off of the mysterious woman in the beret. As famous as each of them was in their own previously fictional worlds, they were hesitant to approach The King and his escort.

Bass Reeves being the direct sort of individual was about to call the others on their almost schoolboy shyness when the woman detached herself from George, Arthur, and Tecumseh, and walked over to speak to them.

“Don’t be shy gentlemen. I don’t bite. And, in an indirect way, I am responsible for your being here. After all, it was my Son and I that tasked Fred to fetch you all.” The woman reached out to shake Doc’s hand first, “Let me introduce myself. My name is Mary and I am the head of the Global Security corporation called the Graal Corporation. But, you can call me The Mother.” She shook each hand in order, looking each of them in the eyes with the mesmerizing force of a born leader.

Bass Reeves was the first to make the connection. “The Mother? Mr. Stephenson was talking about Fred being an angel? Is that correct, Maam?”

“Yes, Mr. Reeves. Fred is indeed an angel. One of the very best assigned to this part of the world. If prone to being a bit creative with the way he handles his assignments. But, then again they are allowed much leeway in the way they get the job done.

Challenger caught the drift of where Bass was going with his questions and stepped in with his own, “If that’s is indeed the case…Ahhh…Mother…that would seem to imply some very outrageous assumptions. Such as the one about who your Son might be? Are you telling us that you are The Mother of Jesus Christ the Son of God?” Challenger and Sherlock’s faces betrayed their disbelief in what they were hearing and stepped back a pace as it to say, “Okay, I’ve had enough of looney-bin ideas and events for one day. Now this woman claims to be the Mother Mary?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twelve “The Lewis List”: Reconnaissance

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Doc Savage and the distinctive likeness(es) thereof are Trademarks of Lester Dent, Inc.
Characters copyright © Lester Dent or their respective owners. All Rights Reserved.

(Derek’s Note: Happy Thanksgiving Everyone! May you find the peace that comes from His Presence as you gather with family today! A reminder that I am posting these “Rough Chapters” as a blessing and to solicit comments and critique. Please feel free to comment on my blog. And, if you like my writing, you can purchase my first book “Those that Remain” on Amazon Those that Remain )

 

Chapter Twelve – Reconnaissance

Arthur’s dinner suggestion had no sooner been spoken when Mr. Slowey appeared at the door and began to herd everyone to the bar. Arthur’s statement that he was buying was due to the fact that he had brought enough food to the Eagle and Child to feed – seemingly – the entire city of Oxford.

“The Mother recognizes the unique nature of the situation we all find ourselves in and would like you all to know that she is going to take care of everyone’s needs. And, that starts this afternoon with a small token of her appreciation for your participation.”

Mr. Slowey’s wife could be heard in the kitchen giggling and gossiping with Margaret Carter…who volunteered to help cook for everyone…as she prepared the large Lamb roast and all the trimmings. And, Mr. Slowey was pouring his best bitter, scotch ale and stout.

Tecumseh sat at a table close to the door with The King, while the Inklings and William Stephenson stood at the bar watching and talking about Arthur as if he were Aslan Himself. Sherlock and Challenger were deep in a discussion with Bass Reeves about the uneasiness they were feeling with their current situation and the seemingly nonchalant attitude of Tecumseh and Arthur. Joan of Arc sat alone in the center of the room sipping a small glass of Kopkes port as she seemed to be in a state of shock over everything that had taken place. Doc Savage was nowhere to be seen, with his absence noticed only by Bass Reeves.

Doc Savage quickly pulled Mr. Slowey’s great coat over his shoulders and his slouch hat over his head to disguise his remarkable features and disappeared out the back of the kitchen as everyone was trying to get comfortable. “I’m not hungry.” Thought Doc. “There is something going on here that I can’t put my finger on. All my instincts are shouting at me, and I’m not going to discover what that is from inside the pub. And, anyone with a desire for stealth can only mean trouble. Obviously, our unique group has been assembled for a purpose. And, we are being monitored. But, by who? And, what is that purpose?”

Doc emerged out the back of the establishment and turned into the small alleyway. Quickly Doc walked down the alley in the opposite direction from St. Giles street and worked his way around to the north of the pub to a position behind a butcher shop at the end of the block to observe the street. A quick once over showed nothing out of the ordinary. People strolled down the street window shopping or attending to appointments at the various businesses along the street. Many of the buildings held shops on the ground floor of the building and apartments above, and this is where Doc began to focus his attention. Slowly and methodically he began to scan the upper story windows along the street. Some of the windows were obscured by the branches of the trees that lined the street. His instincts were telling him that the most logical place for someone to observe the comings and goings of the Eagle and Child would be from directly across the street in the small pharmacy. And, his patience and observational skills paid off as the glint of a pair of binoculars showed behind the open window of the second story window. Then down the street a few houses down from the pub stood two men dressed very much in a style that Doc surmised to be out of place. They were dressed as longshoremen on the streets of a University town. Most of the people walking the streets were of a much better class of citizen as they were the wives of the professors and staff of the various Colleges that make up the University of Oxford. “Why would two dock workers be standing around on the streets of Oxford?” Doc thought to himself.

Doc walked slowly bending slightly to disguise his height, until he came to the pharmacy. Slowly he turned to see if the two men almost directly across the street were watching. But, their attention was on the front of the Eagle and Child and not their compatriots hiding place. Taking a quick glance through the front windows of the establishment, Doc jumped up and grabbed the edge of the second story window of the room next to where he had seen the binoculars. The window luckily was open and Doc was in the room quickly and silently. He was in a converted store room for the pharmacy as shelves of bottled remedies and supplies lined the walls and a number of tables in the middle of the room designed as work tables for the process of filling prescriptions.

Normal background noises of a home and the quiet hum of the business below accentuated the clinical smells of the chemicals in the room. The door to the room was closed and to the right and where it should lead to a staircase. Doc assumed that the other room was directly across the hall. He removed the great coat and the hat placing them on the window sill. Slowly turning the knob to the door, Doc heard a muffled voice coming from across the hall…speaking Serbo-Croatian. Doc intuitively knew that he was listening to a native Bosniak giving instructions to the men across the street. He hesitated for a moment as the realization of how he would know that after being alive for only the last hour or so, followed by another thought that told him that Doc Savage was the master of more languages than any man currently alive. The thought continued and became louder and insistent, “It’s how your life was written Clark. You have many skills and strengths that you and the others will need to draw upon in the future. Be strong and courageous!”

Doc glanced out the window as he prepared to open the door and noticed that Bass Reeves was now standing outside the pub and had his eyes on the two men down the street, and had gained the attention of the men.

Doc realized that things were going to escalate quickly. So he opened the door and came face to face with the man in the other room. He was a small man in the process of removing a headset attached to a German Army Torn.Fu.d2 portable radio set. He had set up his radio in what looked to be the chemist’s bedroom. The radio set sat on the floor underneath the window sill. Laying on the beside table was a Luger pistol, and leaning against the wall next to the window and radio was an MP 40 machine pistol.

The man took one look at the giant bronze man and froze, which Doc took advantage of and struck like a cobra. Doc’s left arm reached out and grabbed the man’s neck and shoulder applying precise pressure to the baroreceptors on the the right side of his neck and he dropped as dead. Doc caught the man and laid him on the bed unconscious.

Doc stuffed the luger in his pocket and draped the machine pistol over his shoulders then looked out the window, and instantly jumped through the open window with the luger in his hand, shouting a warning to Bass Reeves who would know nothing about automatic weapons.

The two Bosniaks were reaching for their MP 40 machine pistols that had been concealed beneath their greatcoats. Bass Reeves glanced up and to his left as Doc catapulted from the window, and saw the movement of the two men his curiosity had been focused on in his peripheral vision, and muscle memory took over and the Colt Peacemakers materialized in his hands and steadied upon the two targets.

At that moment is seemed as though someone kicked an ant’s nest.

 

 

 

Chapter Eleven The Lewis List: Reunions

Ebbinghous Battalion

(“Used with permission from the SOFREP website, a service of SOFREP, Inc.”)

Sturmbannfuhrer Benjamin MacBeth drove all that day and into the night. At midnight on the third day. He turned into a large estate in the small village of Great Rollright. There were a number of vans and cars parked in front of a large barn. And, he was immediately met by three men dressed in black clothes and carrying the brand new MP 40 submachine guns. He was welcomed by the three guards with the deference due their leader, and he quickly tasked the three men with assisting the two men in the back of the lorry unload the duffel bags into the barn.

The lorry was soon surrounded by a full Zug (Platoon = forty men), and the unloading was completed in short order. Macbeth was stretching his back and legs when Kompaniefeldwebel Delbart Tesch approached saluted and announced, “The men will be ready for inspection momentarily Major.” Benjamin turned and watched as the men organized themselves for review by MacBeth, their operational commander.

Macbeth quickly walked down the line studying every face. He had personally selected each of these men from the training program. A few – the Sergeants – he had groomed from their Hitler Youth days. This unit had grown together over the last five years, and Macbeth had driven his men relentlessly until they were the match of any SS Unit in the Whermacht. But, for the purposes of this operation, Macbeth had agreed that the men of the Ebbinghaus Battalion would augment his Kommandos. His men were the arbiters of purity, pure Aryan supermen. Where the Ebbinghaus Commandos – although highly trained and motivated – were a mixed breed of fighters trained for behind enemy lines operations. Indeed, many were not even German. His men were tasked with the tough jobs and the cleansing of the world for the purposes of the coming thousand year Reich. He was determined to prove that the Aryan race was the purest and highly developed race on Earth. And, he knew that training…and fear…was the way to excellence and victory. So he had taught these men to fear him. The looks on their faces as he stopped momentarily before each man released an intoxicating wave of satisfaction in his evil sadistic heart. It was the Ebbinghaus men that he was worried about. Mixing mutts with his supermen was unsatisfactory.

MacBeth harbored a pathological hatred developed as a young man for the British and the Royal Family in particular. Although his father – a Presbyterian Pastor – had taught him that his genealogy as a MacBeth could not be connected to the historical king of the north, he had convinced himself he was the rightful heir to the Scottish throne. His delusion became so pronounced he eventually rebelled from his father’s faith and sought out spiritual leaders who led him into occult rituals…human sacrifices…designed to give him supernatural power over his enemies. It was during one of these meetings at a midnight meeting deep in a forest in Bavaria where Macbeth met Heinrich Himmler.

Benjamin MacBeth was a born psychopath. A fact that Himmler recognized when MacBeth had joined the SA – the Brownshirts – early during the rise of the Nazi Party to prominence. Himmler groomed MacBeth and stoked his beliefs about his ancestors until he became firmly entrenched in the genetic purity philosophies driving the extreme Aryan ideas of the Fuhrer. Himmler’s control and influence over MacBeth were complete and gave Himmler a highly trained deadly tool that was now poised to strike at the newly crowned King George VI and others in the British government. Himmler had dangled the perfect motivational carrot in front of Macbeth, leading him to believe he would be the new king of an independent Scotland when England surrendered.

Macbeth reached the end of the line and proceeded to move to a position just a few feet in front of his Sergeants. Quietly he snapped his arm out in a salute and said “Heil Hitler” just loud enough for the Non-Comm’s to hear. Then looking at his second in command, Delbart Tesch, “Dismiss the men. And, get me some food Delbart. It’s been a long drive and you and I have much planning to do.”

“Yes sir!” Delbert answered. Then asked, “Should I have food brought out to the barn for those two men that arrived with you?”

MacBeth answered as he turned and walked away towards a large rundown estate farmhouse. “Negative, those two can take care of themselves. In fact, no one is to interact with our guests unless I specifically require it. Understood, Spiess?”

As Delbart turned and followed he answered, “Perfectly clear Major!” As Delbart followed behind his commander towards the farmhouse he noticed that where his shadow fell, it obscured the ground or the objects on the other side of the umbra. As if the shadow was not just the absence of light but the presence of something darker. Delbart’s skin crawled and thought, “Welcome back…whoever you are…”

 

 

 

Chapter Ten The Lewis List: Obscure Purposes

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(Photo by Samuel Zeller: https://unsplash.com/@samuelzeller?utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=photographer-credit&utm_content=creditBadge)

Obscure Purposes

Thomas Slowey – the owner and proprietor of the Eagle and Child – pocketed the ten-pound note from William Stephenson and ushered the rest of the afternoon’s customers out the door, while Jack and Ronald shepherded the eclectic troop into the Rabbit Room, which became quite crowded. Jack took up a position near the hearth and was joined immediately by Tecumseh, who gave Jack a look that he could sit down. Jack thought to himself that if ever a man could command with a look this man was him and proceeded to sit down on a stool right near the ash can.

Tecumseh looked at the faces gathered before him; William Stephenson, Margaret Carter, Joan of Arc, Sherlock Holmes, George Edward Challenger, John Ronald Reuel Tolkein, Owen Barfield, Hugo Dyson, Clark Savage, Jr., and Bass Reeves. Tecumseh’s gaze fell upon the questioning look of Thomas Slowey and said, “Thank you, Mr. Slowey, for making your establishment available for our impromptu meeting. I am sure that we will be taking advantage of your excellent selection of refreshments after we conclude our business.”

Mr. Slowey – fingering the ten-pound note in his pocket – smiled and left the room, as the prospect of more business settled into his understanding.

Tecumseh looked around the room for a moment and then said, “My name is Tecumseh. And, yes that means I’m pretty old. I was born sometime in the late 1700’s and history says that I died in battle during the Battle of the Thames. Well, I can assure you that those reports are false. As here I stand before you. However, the fact that I live today is not that remarkable. How this came about is. And, if I can get the story told before Fred shows up and steals your attention, that will be a bonafide miracle”.

Tecumseh looked around the room to see if the Angel had somehow found a way to enter the room without being noticed. Seeing that he hadn’t he began to tell his story. “I was indeed mortally wounded at the Battle of the Thames and thought I was done for. But, as I began to drift off into death I saw a great light and there were a number of women” Joan of Arc jumped from the seat she had been given by Sherlock and gasped, ”This too happened to me! When I saw the Virgin Mary!” …” dressed in ancient clothes who quickly picked me up from the ground and as quickly as they appeared I found myself in a room carved out of rock, and the women began to work on my wounds.

I spent many months recuperating in the Fortress of Lyonesse, as it is called, being tended to by who many of you might call the “Lady of the Lake”. Who is actually none other than Mary the Mother of Jesus…” Tecumseh looked at the young French girl and smiled. “Yes, young one, she is most definitely alive and involved in the affairs of us all. Indeed that is why she has gathered us all here!”

“But, to continue my story.” Tecumseh started. “I have been alive engaged in the business of the Kingdom of Jesus Christ. And, now you all have become my new assignment.”

Tecumseh looked around the room as if to give a moment for questions, but only one hand rose. That was the hand of Professor Tolkein who was hovering – with Jack, Dyson, and Barfield – over the book Fred had given to Jack. And, without looking up Ronald pointed to the character list in the book and asked. “Everyone on the list is here except one. Are we expecting The Summer King to just appear as our recently resurrected – and favorite…I might add – characters did? Or, are we missing something here? Is this “Fred” going to bring him into the room? I am afraid Mr. Tecumseh, you have not solved anything with the story of your salvation from the hands of the American Military. You have merely raised the curiosity of a group of professors that demand answers to questions much more difficult every day from our students.” Ronald stood as he was talking and held the book out towards Tecumseh. “It says here that King Arthur…or Artur as it is written…should be one of our group. That seems to imply that we are at that stage of history where his services as King are needed…if not destined!”

The Inklings were all now shaking their heads in agreement, Savage, Holmes, and Challenger also shook their heads in agreement as each of them had intellects matching the four Inklings. It seems that Fred and Tecumseh had collected some of the most imaginative and decisive minds for the assignment.

“Yes, well that is the sticky wicket as you Brits like to say.” Tecumseh walked over to Ronald and asked, “Can I have this for a moment, Professor? I promise to give it back.” He proceeded to thumb through the first few pages of the book and there on the pages – as he turned each page – the words appeared describing exactly how everything was happening. Down to each jot and tittle.

Tecumseh turned the book towards the assemblage as if turning the pages – as would a teacher in Kindergarten – of an illustrated edition of “The Sword in the Stone”, he showed them all the words appearing on the page as he spoke. “It seems that the book is doing its job. Now it seems it’s time for the author of the book to do his job. And, that is to write where we are going next. And, if I may give a bit of a clue, shouldn’t really be as hard as you are all imagining.” And, he handed the book to a rather perplexed Jack Lewis.

“But, how in blazes am I supposed to write in the book that which I have absolutely no clue about how to accomplish!” Jack stood and held the book out to Tecumseh and watched in frustration as the words, “…absolutely no clue how to accomplish!” appeared in golden script on the pages. Jack felt he was on a roll and continued, “And, what about these other names? Himmler? Kahn and Cady? Macbeth? It seems that not only do we have modern authors imaginations strolling the streets of Oxford. But, now Shakespeare? Nothing like having two ancient Kings competing for our attention. Can you imagine the conflict between Kings Arthur and Macbeth? What in all of God’s good Grace was…whomever has us gathered here…thinking?”

George Edward Challenger – disgusted with Jack’s small tirade – stood up and tore the book from Jack’s hands and poking his prodigious nose to within inches of Jack’s face he challenged him, “Mr. Professor big brain Lewis, I suggest you grab a handful of courage and do what ya do best. You take ideas out of thin air and set them to pages, correct?”

Jack stepped back carefully to get some distance from the giant dwarfish man, “Yes!?” He stammered.

“Oh come on Man!” Challenger continued to push into Jack’s space and even poked him in the chest. “How would you respond to one of your own students if they answered you with such a milque-toast answer!? I may be the living resurrection of someone’s imagination. But, I’m enough of a man…now…to understand that we each have a role to play here. And, you, my over pampered academical daydreamers, don’t seem to be grasping that!” Challenger took the book and poked his finger on the next blank page. (right after the words”…seem to be grasping that.”)”Well, if you were to write a book about how and where the legendary King Arthur was to appear? Where in the Bloody Hell would your over-rated imaginations say that WAS!?” With that Challenger shoved the book into Jack’s chest and – adjusting his great coat with a Harrumph –sat back down next to Sherlock and Savage, who were both looking with horror at the bullying tactics of their compatriot.

A moment of silence resulted as each gathered their courage to say anything.

“Yes, well, I would like to express the Prime Minister’s concerns…” William Stephenson stood up as if to address the group. But, before he could begin there was a scuffle at the door as Mr. Slowey was attempting to guard the door against another very large individual, and soon the individual walked into the room with Mr. Slowey’s arms pinned to his side and his feet a good foot above the ground. The man walked into the room, then turned and set Mr. Slowey down as if he were shutting a door in the room.

Tecumseh spoke up. “This is why I said that I didn’t think you needed to worry. Ladies and Gents! Let me introduce you to The Summer King, the one the only, eternal King of England, King Arthur Mac Aedan!”

Arthur walked over to Tecumseh and stood with his back to the group and gave Tecumseh gentle punch to the shoulder. “Thanks for the introduction my friend! What do we got going this time?” He said as he turned to the group.

Arthur was large if not larger than Doc, and much bulkier. But, it was the face that caught everyone’s attention. His face was square and strong with perfectly proportioned features framed by a perfectly trimmed gray beard, and his very long hair was braided and fell across his right shoulder. He wore innocuous black dungarees and a Canadian Pendleton shirt tucked into an intricately worked leather belt covered with Celtic symbols. On his feet were top of the line combat boots – that William Stephenson recognized as the boots they had been handing out to his operatives. On the right side of his belt he carried a holstered M1911 .45 pistol with red scrimshaw grips, and on the left a Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife.

Arthur put his lumberjack sized arms over Tecumseh’s shoulders and asked with a grin, “I’m starved! Anyone ready for dinner…a Pint? I’m buyin’?

 

 

 

 

Holy Pollination

zac-durant-470103-unsplash

Photo by Zac Durant on Unsplash

(Derek’s Note: Will post another chapter of “The Lewis List” later today)

Yesterday, as I was on my prayer walk, I walked through a part of the street – about two blocks – where the houses all have the same type of tree in their yards. I have no idea what kind of trees these were, but they were all attracting bees.

They were good-sized trees (30 – 40 foot high), and since yesterday was the first day of fall here in Northern California, the leaves are all still green and lush. And, the trees almost formed a tunnel over the street. As I walked into this part of the street, the sound of the bees was profound. It was loud enough to be the only thing I was thinking about…like hearing a jet taking off from a distance. I was fascinated. I could see that they were attracted to what looked like very small flowers at the apex of where the leaves sprouted from the branch, and thousands of tiny brown petals were raining out of the trees and covering the sidewalk and street.

Beyond the fact that this was the end of summer and the beginning of Fall, it seemed strange for bees to be this active pollinating these trees. And, I remember thinking, “Every bee in Butte County has to be here!”

Then The Lord began to speak.

He said that the act of prayer is like pollination. That as I walked the street and prayed for the people living in the homes, I was pollinating them with the hope of Jesus Christ. That just like the bees transferring pollen from flower to flower fertilizing them. As I prayed over the people in those homes, God would begin to move over their lives pollinating their destiny, potentially producing fruit. I may not be the harvester. But, fruit would be produced because someone prayed/pollinated for them.

I was given a vision a few months back that I blogged – “Changing of the Guard…or saving the Prayer Orphans. – about the prayer orphans. That was actually my purpose yesterday, to pray over the prayer orphans. Those families/people that used to have someone to pray for them, but now they don’t, because that person (Grand Parent, Parent, Aunt, Uncle) has passed away. These people are flowers that need their pollination to be finished.

The Lost need Holy Pollen! Without it, fruit won’t be produced for the Kingdom. As we pray we are storing up treasure (Honey) in Heaven. Golden Holy Honey!

 

 

 

 

 

Bass Reeves

Bass Reeves

Portrait of U.S. Marshal Bass Reeves | Courtesy of the National Park Service at Fort Smith

(Derek’s Note: Bass Reeves, U.S. Deputy Marshal


“Maybe the law ain’t perfect, but it’s the only one we got, and without it we got nuthin” – Bass Reeves


Born to slave parents in 1838 in Crawford County, Arkansas, Bass Reeves would become the first black U.S. Deputy Marshal west of the Mississippi River and one of the greatest frontier heroes in our nation’s history.)

 

Chapter Four

Bass Reeves

The Saloon door opened out stepped Cole Younger, Jesse James, and Belle Starr. Late Summer Sunday afternoon in Okmulgee Indian Territory cast a drowsy spell over the three after a successful day of gambling and drinking. The sun setting to the west burned through the dust raised by wagons leaving town. The dusty orange light casting long shadows across the doorways of the shops on Moore street. The young messenger boy skipped ahead to the west on Moore street. They shuffled along the sidewalk following the boy, sent to collect the three, towards the stables where their horses were being tended to. Supposedly, one of their horses had come up lame and the livery hand wanted to discuss what could be done for the horse.

Cole turned to Belle…who had his arm, “This is probably just an excuse to sell me a new one Belle. Most likely he had us marked as big spenders and this is just an excuse to make his pitch and sell off one of the nags left behind by someone unable to pay their bill.”

“Just keep this short Cole. I think Belle and I would like to get to dinner sooner rather than later.” Jesse complained.

Belle glanced back at Jesse, who was walking behind the pair and smiled. “I’m hungry too Cole. Just buy the horse so we can go eat.”

Cole looked back at Jesse. “Who says it’s my horse, friend?” Motioning towards the rapidly disappearing messenger boy. “That squirt didn’t say whose horse was lame. And, since you weigh more than I do, it’s probably your’s! And, if that’s the case, Jesse, you can pay for your own dang horse!”

The walk from the saloon to J.W. Griffin’s establishment took only a few minutes. Jesse walked through the doors of the stable and stood for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the gloom inside the building. As Cole and Belle followed through the door, the hairs on Jesse’s neck rose. “Somethings not right here…” Jesse thought as a stable hand stepped around the edge of one of the stalls and approached. Jesse glanced at Cole and noticed the look of concern on his friends face. The stable hand was tall and lanky. His shoulders formed a triangular block with the man’s hips, and as he stepped closer Jesse saw that the man was black. And, although his hat obscured the top part of his face Jesse instinctually understood the man he was facing was the legendary lawman Bass Reeves, and he was reaching for his Colt Peacemakers.

Jesse, Cole, and Belle began to draw their own pistols when the big lawman disappeared in a blink.

Bass Reeves, drew his Colt Peacemakers. Finally, months of preparation had come to fruition. The famous outlaws Jesse James and Cole Younger, and accompanying Younger was the cherry on top, Belle Star. Reeves was famous for the speed of his draw. Many times evil-doers had gotten the drop on him, only to find that was their last action on Earth. As the guns left their holsters the gloom of the stables disappeared and Bass found himself standing at the end of a busy city street in the bright sunlight.

Bass slowly took a deep breath. He was standing in the middle of an empty cobbled street bordered on both sides by shops and houses all attached to each other in a neat row. In front of the shops stood tall elm trees that filtered a warm but comfortable sunlight. Turning around Bass could see a large town down the road comfortably nestled by trees and ancient landscaping. Not a speck of dust anywhere to be seen.

Bass turned to look the other direction and came face to face with an automobile carrying two white males in the front and two young women; one perhaps a child, in the back. Their mouths open aghast at the giant black man holding two deadly looking Colt Peacemakers in the middle of the Oxford Street.

“Hells Bell’s good Lord Jesus! Something tells me I ain’t in Okmulgee anymore!” Bass exclaimed as he holstered his pistols.