SIDE-LINED NO LONGER

 

Major Richard Blaine has an unexpected and unwelcome guest for Armageddon -- General George S. Patton.

SIDE-LINED NO LONGER

“The Lord God is subtle, but malicious he is not.”

 - Albert Einstein

 

Sentient laughed merrily in my mind, inordinately pleased with herself.

‘This Tribal Chieftain was just bemoaning to his subordinates how he chaffed at being sidelined on this, the most important day of the War.’

I felt a light kiss on my cheek. It floored me. Sentient was certainly in a mood. Maybe when I disappeared from her consciousness, she believed she had lost me forever.

‘The Tribal Chieftain obviously never read “The Monkey’s Paw,” or he would know to be careful for what you wish, for you just may receive it.’

General Patton was six foot two inches, but the way he held himself made him appear taller. Contrary to his naysayers, he didn’t hold himself ramrod straight.

Actually, he stood with his shoulders hunched slightly forward.

His force of will projected outwards not upwards. He was a force of Nature as so many falsely thought of me. I knew the truth and felt embarrassed by the talk.

Did Patton feel the same?

No.

One look in those haughty eyes said he and I were galaxies apart in how we thought of ourselves.

But I felt saddened by the knowledge gained from my surfing the “Tides of Times” that he would soon be murdered by the machinations of “Wild Bill” Donovan, head of the O.S.S., to prevent the popular general from running for president in 1948.

I idly wondered if he had been involved with Eisenhower’s use of the two O.S.S. assassins, Fred and Manfred, to murder me in my hospital bed.

Maybe if I survived this war, I might look up Donovan and ask … diligently.

Patton stormed up to me. “Major Blaine! I should have known you were behind ….”

The general frowned, “You suddenly look so sad. Damn it all! I don’t care why. Just bring me back!”

His surroundings suddenly hit him. “Gods! What happened to this place?”

“Reinhardt König, General.”

“That Kraut pinhead? He’s just the SS’s quack theorist.”

“Not so much a quack as a lousy student of math. His theories were pretty much correct. His calculations not so much.”

He cocked his bullet head. “Blaine, do you have any idea how ridiculous you look wearing that Spartan helmet?”

Rachel laughed, 

“Speaks the man wearing an antique Colt revolver on his hip, flaring riding breeches, and sparkling, gaudy rings on his right hand, looking nothing so much as a militant Sultan in search of dancing girls.”

With a wordless guttural cry, he wheeled, raising his riding crop to hit her, but since the Tunnel, Rachel was no longer as she had been.

She was stronger than three men, faster than four, and more flexible than an Olympian gymnast.

Rachel spun around, pulled his arm towards her, heaving him off balance.

Placing her bottom into his hips, she bent quickly over, squatted, and lifted the man easily as he wailed.

Rachel rolled the general off her shapely hip easily. Proving he had been off the field of battle a long time, Patton hit the blackened cobblestones with a loud “WUFF!”

She put the heel of her combat boot on his throat and laughed, “General, you have let others do your fighting for you far too long to be that cheeky.”

Rachel smiled thinly. “Next time, you would do better to sic your dog, Willie, on me.”

I restrained Theo who was about to lunge forward with a gentle hand.

“Your fiancée has hurt his pride in front of soldiers. Let that be enough, old friend.”

Rachel and Theo both glared at me, and I shrugged, “I just stated what has been unstated for too long.”

Proving I wasn’t as smart as I thought, Helen murmured within my mind,

‘It is not only that, Richard, but that thee called him “old friend” for the first time.’

Now, it was my time to be stunned: Helen could talk to me mind to mind.

‘Ever since thee invaded my mind, you oaf.’

‘I like it when you talk dirty to me.’

Patton growled, “Is someone going to help me up?”

“Of course, Tribal Chieftain,” laughed Sister Ameal,

 adding to his discomfort by lifting him up to his unsteady riding booted feet by the hand as if he were but a toddler.

I bent, picked up his riding crop, handing it to him.

As I did, my eyes flicked across the holographic image of the village’s courtyard filled with horrendous scattered corpses of the innocent victims of SS science gone amok.

“I hear you want to get into the action, General. Let me help you.”

As I gripped his arm and willed the two of us into one of the few clear spots in the courtyard, I heard Helen, Sister Ameal, and Darael cry out.

“No!”

Have I ever told you I have trouble with impulsiveness?