HOW CAN MAN DIE BETTER?

 

One lone futuristic Higgins boat finds itself the sole protection for the trapped convoy of WWII's Operation Tiger.

A major with no knowledge of how to lead finds himself the unwilling host to an ancient entity, Sentient.

He must find it within himself to be more than what he believes he can be or soldiers who trust in him will pay a terrible price.

HOW CAN MAN DIE BETTER?

“We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone.”

- Orson Welles

 

I fixed my face into stone. I would do what I could until I figured the rest out.

St. Marok's taught me:

Real life is nasty. It's cruel. It doesn't fight fair.

It doesn't care about heroes and happy endings and the way things ought to be. In real life, bad things happen. People die. Fights are lost. Evil often wins.

But until it did, you kept swinging with all you had.

And sometimes, miracles happened. Not very damn often … but enough times to keep you trying.

“We’ll slip in between those two new E-Boats. Each team has one last Stinger. When we fire, we’ll hurl the Argon batteries into them as we pass. Then, we head to those drowning soldiers and pick them up.”

“Just how the hell do we do that?” barked Reese. “Throw a fishing line over those damn high bulkheads?”

In desperation, I hurled my thoughts at Sentient. ‘What he said.’

‘I do not have the time to explain, nor you the mental capacity to understand the permeable dialectic structure of reality. Just tell that pest “A futuristic form of Osmosis.”’

So, I did.

Reese snorted, “That don’t make no sense.”

Sgt. Savalas snapped, “Shoot now. Bitch later. Much later!”

I took a deep breath, “This is where we hold them! This is where we fight! This is where they die! Remember this day, for it will be yours for all time.”

We sailed between the strange looking E-Boats. We fired. We might as well have launched fireworks at them. The Argon batteries did a bit better, starting fires and killing a few Nazis on the decks.

Cloverfield swung his Sig Spear over his shoulder, took aim, and killed a few more. Reese and Wilson did the same. Sgt. Savalas followed a heartbeat later.

Then, we were past them, quickly turning towards the floundering soldiers. The salty sea spray burned my eyes as we moved at a fantastic speed.

Some of those soldiers sank even as we neared them. The Rocinante rocked violently as a torpedo from one of the new E-Boats scored a direct hit.

“Hey!” yelped Porkins. “I thought we was protected from their torpedoes.”

“I-I have an enemy in New Orleans. And he is more intelligent than humanly possible. He sent these ships to kill me.”

Reese twisted about in his seat to glare at me. “So, we die because you made a bad enemy? They ain’t dying like you just claimed they would. But because of you, we will!”

The Rabbi met him glare for glare. “Remind us again how Rick saved you in Calcutta.”

Reese’s hot eyes never left mine. “That was then. This is now.”

The Rocinante rocked violently again from another direct hit.

“H-How many hits like that can we take, Major?” quavered Porkins.

Reese answered for me. “Not too damn many more and that’s for sure, Franklin.”

A huge hatch beneath Theo and me opened, and a familiar voice called out, “Well, you guys sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

Sgt. Savalas added his glare to Reese’s. “Damn you, Rick, you brought Rachel out here?”

I was about to tell my friend that I had no memory of bringing the nurse here, but he angrily snapped. “Save it, Blaine! I don’t believe in that Dark Passenger of yours anymore. Not if it puts Rachel in jeopardy!”

Blaine, was it? I sighed. I had lost another friend to Sentient.

As the rest of my Spartans rushed out of the enormous hatch, Rachel grabbed Theo by both arms. “Oh, don’t be that way! I made him promise to keep mum.”

“Doc” Tennyson walked hurriedly to me as I slid from my seat. “My God, Major! The medicines, splints, and other aides in that chamber. And all of them with simple self-explanatory directions. We could deal with a full-fledged disaster.”

Rachel was literally dancing around my former friend. “We will be able to save ever so many of even the worst of the wounded. Oooh!”

A wave of frigid water washed over our ankles as three dozen wounded soldiers tumbled through the bulkheads at our feet.

Theo glared at me and said low, “I hate you for putting Rachel at risk like this.”

She grabbed a tiny fistful of his jacket.

“Stow that kind of talk, Mister! I huddled scared out of my wits all during the Blitz, praying for a chance to get back at those bloody Nazis. And this, Sgt. Savalas, is the answer to that prayer!”

The Rocinante lurched terribly as two torpedoes hit us at once.

‘That Reese is correct. We shall sink if hit with too many more torpedoes. But if Morton cheats, then so will I.’

A sibilant jinking of metal joints drew my eyes to the bow of Rocinante. A strange jutting cannon rose gleaming and deadly in the full moonlight. It was as if that Martian Death Ray from H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds had been given life … or should I say Death.

Stairs formed beneath it to take someone to fire it.

‘Have that malcontent Reese shoot it. He owes you for Calcutta.’

I didn’t like the tone to Sentient’s words. ‘Why?’

‘It is a prototype from 310 years from now. To shoot it for long will cost the person his hands. But the gloves I have tucked in his belt will help somewhat with the pain.’

‘What? No! I am not a general that I will order someone to maim themselves doing a job that I can.’

‘You will not!”

The stairs melted back into the bulkhead.

‘Watch me.’

I raced to Reese and snatched the gloves from under his belt as Rachel watched with a frown. “I’ll take these.”

“Hey! I didn’t even know I had those.”

“Then, you won’t miss them, will you?”

Running up to the Martian Death Ray, I grabbed Cloverfield by the left upper arm. “James, I need a boost.”

His brows furrowed at my use of his first name. “Why?”

“Because Theo is too mad to do it right now. And we have no time for him to cool off. I don’t act now; you all will die.”

His eyes narrowed even more. “Why don’t I go up there instead of you?”

Rachel was suddenly at my side as I said, “Whoever shoots that gun will lose his hands.”

“No!” they both yelled.

“James, I am not a general to order someone to maim themselves. The rank is mine. So, is this task.”

Rocinante rocked from another torpedo hit. “James!”

“You’re a wanker for making me do this!”

He made a stirrup of his fingers and boosted me up to leap to the malevolent weapon. Oh, merde, I was such an idiot.

‘Yes, you are. I will not minimize the pain.’

‘I’m not asking you to.’

‘The way to fire is self-evident. Even a simpleton like you can do it.’

‘I’ll miss you, too.’

Theo was frowning as if suspecting something was up. I called down to him and the Rabbi.

“Amos, Theo, the Spartans are yours now! I’ve done what I can. Be good shepherds.”

‘You do not have to do this!”

‘Sure, I do. Now, charge those two tin cans!”

The wind of Rocinante’s charge almost blew off my Spartan Helmet. I clung to the Death Ray while I pulled on Reese’s stiff gloves.

I blew out a breath. Sooner or later, everyone sits down to a banquet of consequences ...and the indigestion from this one was going to kill me.

What would be my last thought? Would I even finish it?

Mr. Morton’s two E-Boats seemed to be rushing up to me when I knew it was quite the opposite. This was not going to be “that good night” nor was I going to go gently into it.

I frowned. That poem had not been written yet. How did I know that?

‘You are about to die and yet, you still can drive me to distraction!  I … I will miss you.’

‘Now, you tell me.’

I grabbed the dual grips and pulled the triggers as I aimed at the Nazi boats.

Screaming wetly, I wrenched my smoking palms from the grips.

I expected pain but not like that.

I flexed my steaming, gloved fingers. All right. I had been hurt before. I could do this.

I could.

I drew in a frigid lungful of air, willing myself to grip those trigger handles. I squirmed in agony.

I pried open tearing eyes to target those sons of bitches sent from Morton.

Maybe I was a lousy soldier, a lousy leader, a worse teacher.

But I could spare those who trusted me to watch out for them.

I could.

I just couldn’t hold back the screams anymore. I just could not.

 But there was one thing I could do. I could hold on.

I had held on all my life, never giving the bullies in my life the satisfaction of crying “Uncle.”

And I wouldn’t cry it now.

I screamed but I held on.

I held on, shooting dazzling acid beams of light into one E-Boat and then the second.

Then, a grenade tossed from the nearest E-Boat hit the outer edge of the Death Ray’s housing. An invisible force came between me and the explosion.

Still, flames enveloped the rounded outside of the turret. Dozens of jets of cold sea water doused the sizzling funeral pyre in front of me, enveloping me in reams of steam.

To my friends on the deck, it must appear as if I were being consumed in my own Viking funeral.

My head was so light. My hands were flaming comets. I fought back bile. Everything was going dark.

Over the stench of my burning flesh, I smelled the apricot perfume of … Helen Mayfair?

That could not be.

But it was.

I heard her voice. She was reading a favorite poem of hers to me in that mysterious, deadly library at St. Marok’s. I remembered that particular evening so clearly.

And for a heartbeat, the terrible agony eased just a bit. Just a bit. But still, that “bit” was wonderful.

“To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late.

And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds,

For the ashes of his fathers,

And the temples of his gods?”

The deck seemed to evaporate, and I fell to it as if into clouds.

I smiled, thinking, ‘I held on.’