SEIZE YOUR LIFE AS A SWORD

 

Things get crazier for Churchill, Cloverfield, and Blaine 

thanks to Sentient wanting to lift herself from depression.

SEIZE YOUR LIFE AS A SWORD

“A question that sometimes drives me to distraction: am I or are the others crazy?”

― Albert Einstein

 

My face must have shown my troubled thoughts at what Sentient had just told me.

Churchill clamped a firm hand on my shoulder. “Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

Cloverfield got into the act, and I figured my face must have been a sight. "Death, in itself, is nothing; but we fear, to be we know not what, we know not where."

“Thanks … I think.”

I believe Sentient wanted to tweak my nose because of my tattle-tale face.

‘Vitus Bering, shipwrecked in 1740 on Bering Island, was found years later preserved in snow. An autopsy showed he had had many lice, he had scurvy, and had died of a “rectal fistula which forced gas gangrene into his tissues.’

‘And you’re telling me this just why?’

‘That there are many worse ways to die than the one which will probably befall you.’

‘Probably?’

‘Nothing in this life is certain … especially in your life.’

Before I could think of an appropriate retort, General Bradley barked, “There you two are!”

I quickly looked up, fearful that he had spotted Nurse Reynolds and Cronkite. I need not have worried. The General had the two MPs by the nape of both necks and was shaking them as if they needed fluffing.

“Where have you two AWOLs been these past two weeks?”

“Two weeks?” the two of them yelped. “We’ve been right here!”

“Sure, you have! What did you two do with Prime Minister Churchill and Major Blaine?”

The taller, more erudite of the two gasped, “We ain’t done nothing, sir!”

The other gulped, “What he said, sir.”

“Really? Then, why is Whitehall chewing my ass, right along with Eisenhower saying otherwise?”

Nurse Reynolds walked right up to General Bradley with a reluctant Cronkite trailing behind ,,, way behind.

“What is this rubbish, General? Mr. Cronkite and I just left Major Blaine’s hospital room only minutes ago. He was still comatose, looking near death. Mr. Cronkite even took a photograph of the poor man. He wants to send it to ….”

Bradley barked, “He already has, Nurse Reynolds. Two blasted weeks ago!”

Cronkite lifted the camera from around his neck staring at it as if it had betrayed him. “The film of that photo is still in this, General.”

The general in question ripped a newspaper photo from his right shirt pocket.

 “You mean this photograph? Blaine looking like a male Snow White all pale and wan. His Spartan helmet gleaming beside the most decorated pillow in the United Kingdom?”

Bradley ironed his face with a rough hand.

“In my office … from which I have just been so rudely and incomprehensibly wrenched … is the Distinguished Service Cross and the Silver Star that President Roosevelt pushed through for Blaine at the uproar generated by your photograph of him laying comatose in bed in juxtaposition with your photo of his severed hands still clasping the handles of that new fangled gun which saved the lives of all those rescued soldiers.”

Bradley growled, “That damn pillow. King George himself pinned a reissued Victoria Cross on it to replace the one Churchill was supposed to have pinned on it. The outrage on both sides of the Atlantic over Blaine’s, Churchill’s, and your disappearance is driving Eisenhower to a frenzy.”

Churchill reached inside his coat and withdrew the box with the royal seal on it, looked hard at it, and shook his head.

Rachel frowned. “I do not understand. I have gone nowhere.”

Bradley sighed,

“You have been missing for two weeks. I would say you being here is impossible except for the fact that not thirty seconds ago I was in my office being chewed out by General Eisenhower for not showing up for the briefing at St. Paul’s School … which my calendar said was scheduled for tomorrow!”

Bradley muttered, “My life would have been so much easier if Blaine had just had the good taste to die at the hands of Rommel’s men.”

Nurse Reynolds exclaimed, “Bollocks! He lost his poor hands! Is that not good enough for you?”

And with that, she slapped him so hard that his head rocked back from the force of the blow.

Cronkite sputtered, “Nurse Reynolds! That man is a general!”

“Then, he should bloody well act it.”

Bradley rubbed his jaw. “You … have a point … and a mean right cross. I should not have spoken like that in front of a … woman.”

Cloverfield drawled low, “You notice he did not say ‘Lady’.”

Nurse Reynolds said menacingly, “You meant those words?”

The general wisely backed up. “I mean everything I say, Nurse. I just should have considered you were a … civilian.”

Churchill exclaimed an echo of the thought in my own mind, “What is going on?”

I looked over at him. He was disappearing … as was Cloverfield.

I cried out to the former MI6 agent. “Go to the barracks. Check out the rest of the Spartans!”

And he was gone … along with Churchill.

A strange strength flooded through me. My ears popped painfully. I staggered up from the stone bench.

Bradley appeared clear to my eyes … and alone. No MP’s or Cronkite or Nurse Reynolds.

‘Having fun, Sentient?’

‘It’s just beginning, little ant.’

 

“When I cannot understand where Ĕlōhīm is leading, and life seems to be but a hard and cruel fate. Still, I hear that gentle whisper ever pleading, ‘God is working, God is faithful. Only wait’.”

– Rabbi Lt. Amos Stein