Even in terms of fictional Heydrichs, this one is truly away with the Aryans, but altogether convincing enough for you to believe that he would not be seen as too deranged to be given the keys to the 3rd Reich.
Lancashire Life: An account of The Great Patriotic War
- Thread starter Nick NWO
- Start date
Yep, Heydrich is not a nice guy!
as we say in Lancashire - "he's a barm-pot, a loon-ball, a not-right, a gob-shite, he's a fuckin' nutter!"
Thanks for comments and support guys!
“And you shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.”
Justice
“And, the rest is, as they say, history.”
Blome had concluded his story and silence filled the room as McKendry remained motionless, still perched on the edge of the desk as he watched the doctor sit back in his chair, an air of satisfaction covering his face. He looked back at the agent and raised his hands palms upwards:
“Heydrich had his entire family killed because they, like him, also carried the rare toxins that could be cultivated to manufacture vaccines. He would not risk….”
“He could have had them locked away, or at least…he didn’t have to kill them, especially the children….”
“No!” shouted the doctor, his temper rising, “You do not know Heydrich! He would never have allowed any possibility of vaccines to be created! Never! You are here now, aren’t you? In time, you would have discovered the truth and made every effort to capture at least one of the children! He knew that. Besides, Lina would never have agreed to confinement. No, my friend, it was the quickest and kindest thing to do. You surely must know that Blut Spenden has brought your country to its knees; has given Heydrich and Germania the upper hand throughout our struggle.”
“He didn’t kill himself though doctor.”
“No, of course not” the doctor laughed, “and why would he? He believes that the entire events were orchestrated by God, but that God demanded his family as a blood sacrifice, and who am I to argue with him? He is, of course, guarded day and night, to prevent any attempted abduction, and you see, sir, he does not fear assassination. Of course he does not! His death will mean any prospect of a cure is gone forever. He knows this!”
McKendry stood from the desk as the awful truth finally dawned on him. He quickly processed all that he had heard, envisaging and then abandoning various kidnapping scenarios in his head; finally resting on the fact that Heydrich could not be killed. Not only did they need him alive, it was essential that he lived.
Blome smiled up at the agent:
“I can see what you are thinking. There may be other carriers? Well let me tell you, there are not! He even had distant cousins and so-called relatives with no blood link whatsoever killed, such was his paranoia. I and my team have tested millions of German and non-German people for the same toxins, sir, and let me tell you, it does not exist!”
“It must exist” came the weak and quiet reply from McKendry.
“Hmmm, well I suppose you will have discovered in your mausoleum death stinking cities that around 3-5% recover from the plague? Your doctors will have also attempted to develop vaccines from their blood, yes? But to no avail, yes?”
McKendry stepped back towards the doctor:
“Death stinking cities…”
The doctor had now resumed his diatribe:
“You see there is no cure, other than Heydrich himself! How marvellous it must be for you to be faced with this truth!” he laughed before becoming serious once more, “I, of course, and many of my senior staff are no longer permitted to leave this facility. I was allowed to visit Heydrich in Britain periodically, under armed guard of course, my last one being in the spring of 1947. But”, he sighed, “since he became the Fuhrer, it seems he values my mind less and less. It is but a small price to pay for my equally humble part in bringing the degenerates to their knees.”
He looked back at the stony face of the American and laughed.
McKendry stared hard at him, “We had to bury tens of thousands of people from those death stinking cities; buried and then burned. We couldn’t even say goodbye to our loved ones.”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders:
“This is war. There are casualties.”
“Blome, I am not alone on this island. Myself and another agent have spent quite a lot of time and effort carefully hiding explosives in strategic positions all over this facility. It would seem that your hero’s paranoia has made it easier for people such as me to get into this facility rather than people like you getting out.”
“Explosives? But the phials and canisters? If they are damaged then I could become infected myself! You cannot leave me in here agent!”
McKendry smiled and moved closer to the doctor, who instinctively flinched away:
“My parents, my wife and my two daughters died in those stinking cities you describe. Died in pain as a result of your evil.”
Blome paled: “I….but I could not have known, how….you have my deepest condolences…..but wait, please…there is more!”
The Agent showed the blade to the doctor, and slowly moved it towards the man’s face.
“No! No, wait! I have more information! Heydrich…he…he is insane you see! He wants to…wants to kill us all!”
McKendry smiled.
Blome continued his panic stricken attempted bargaining, “He told me...he….he fears the military you see….he has arranged his…his insurance!”
“I don’t believe you and I don’t care” came the calm reply
“But you promised!” he spluttered, “you gave me your word you would not kill me!”
“I said I would show you mercy, which is more than you did for my family. I will keep my word Doctor Blome.”
McKendry pressed his gloved hand against the doctors mouth, as the thin serrated knife plunged into the right eye of the evil genius and continued to travel inwards until it pierced his brain, ending his muffled scream in a deafening silence.
………………………………………………………………………………………...............................................................................................................................................................................
The Commander listened in shocked silence as McKendry relayed to him as much of the story of his encounter with Blome as was possible.
“Jesus Jim! That’s some bag of information you’ve got there! You obviously got out OK and made it back to the States. What the hell did the white suits over there make of all this?”
“What do you expect? Nobody could quite believe it. Some figured it could have been a ruse of some sort, but the prevailing view was that Blome had been telling the truth. For my part, I was promoted and given the task of trying to come up with a solution. I recruited researchers and genealogists from all over. We flooded Germany with as many agents as possible, attempting to find any kind of living relative. All turned up blanks, and some where captured - in fact too many; we had to call the operation off. As the years went by it was just me. Just me hitting brick walls.”
“And all the while, you’re top of the Nazi hit list!”
“Yep, I sure was. Some of the guys who were captured obviously talked. They knew what we were trying to find. It will have been reported back to Heydrich soon enough, and his reaction? Probably laughed his insane head off!”
“At least the research facility was destroyed and a pile of the sonsofbitches ended up dead!”
“True, at least we did that. I didn’t know if the original disease they developed was as stroke of genius or an accident, but I’ve a good idea we either knocked their Red Death programme back by years or killed it dead altogether.”
The Commander went silent, contemplating all he had heard, as McKendry stood again from his chair:
“Ron, we need to put out an alert to find the Morris family. We’re wasting time.”
Commander Truman looked back up at the agent and studied his face for a moment:
“I think I already know the answer, Jim, but I need to hear it from yourself. What has all this got to do with the boy, this John Morris and why do we need to apprehend him?”
McKendry sighed, knowing that he had to relay the remainder of his story:
“Six months ago we received a letter from a Major Karl Shultz. I travelled back to Germany with the intention of questioning him. The man was dead, but another man, Johan Weber, was not.”
Justice
“And, the rest is, as they say, history.”
Blome had concluded his story and silence filled the room as McKendry remained motionless, still perched on the edge of the desk as he watched the doctor sit back in his chair, an air of satisfaction covering his face. He looked back at the agent and raised his hands palms upwards:
“Heydrich had his entire family killed because they, like him, also carried the rare toxins that could be cultivated to manufacture vaccines. He would not risk….”
“He could have had them locked away, or at least…he didn’t have to kill them, especially the children….”
“No!” shouted the doctor, his temper rising, “You do not know Heydrich! He would never have allowed any possibility of vaccines to be created! Never! You are here now, aren’t you? In time, you would have discovered the truth and made every effort to capture at least one of the children! He knew that. Besides, Lina would never have agreed to confinement. No, my friend, it was the quickest and kindest thing to do. You surely must know that Blut Spenden has brought your country to its knees; has given Heydrich and Germania the upper hand throughout our struggle.”
“He didn’t kill himself though doctor.”
“No, of course not” the doctor laughed, “and why would he? He believes that the entire events were orchestrated by God, but that God demanded his family as a blood sacrifice, and who am I to argue with him? He is, of course, guarded day and night, to prevent any attempted abduction, and you see, sir, he does not fear assassination. Of course he does not! His death will mean any prospect of a cure is gone forever. He knows this!”
McKendry stood from the desk as the awful truth finally dawned on him. He quickly processed all that he had heard, envisaging and then abandoning various kidnapping scenarios in his head; finally resting on the fact that Heydrich could not be killed. Not only did they need him alive, it was essential that he lived.
Blome smiled up at the agent:
“I can see what you are thinking. There may be other carriers? Well let me tell you, there are not! He even had distant cousins and so-called relatives with no blood link whatsoever killed, such was his paranoia. I and my team have tested millions of German and non-German people for the same toxins, sir, and let me tell you, it does not exist!”
“It must exist” came the weak and quiet reply from McKendry.
“Hmmm, well I suppose you will have discovered in your mausoleum death stinking cities that around 3-5% recover from the plague? Your doctors will have also attempted to develop vaccines from their blood, yes? But to no avail, yes?”
McKendry stepped back towards the doctor:
“Death stinking cities…”
The doctor had now resumed his diatribe:
“You see there is no cure, other than Heydrich himself! How marvellous it must be for you to be faced with this truth!” he laughed before becoming serious once more, “I, of course, and many of my senior staff are no longer permitted to leave this facility. I was allowed to visit Heydrich in Britain periodically, under armed guard of course, my last one being in the spring of 1947. But”, he sighed, “since he became the Fuhrer, it seems he values my mind less and less. It is but a small price to pay for my equally humble part in bringing the degenerates to their knees.”
He looked back at the stony face of the American and laughed.
McKendry stared hard at him, “We had to bury tens of thousands of people from those death stinking cities; buried and then burned. We couldn’t even say goodbye to our loved ones.”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders:
“This is war. There are casualties.”
“Blome, I am not alone on this island. Myself and another agent have spent quite a lot of time and effort carefully hiding explosives in strategic positions all over this facility. It would seem that your hero’s paranoia has made it easier for people such as me to get into this facility rather than people like you getting out.”
“Explosives? But the phials and canisters? If they are damaged then I could become infected myself! You cannot leave me in here agent!”
McKendry smiled and moved closer to the doctor, who instinctively flinched away:
“My parents, my wife and my two daughters died in those stinking cities you describe. Died in pain as a result of your evil.”
Blome paled: “I….but I could not have known, how….you have my deepest condolences…..but wait, please…there is more!”
The Agent showed the blade to the doctor, and slowly moved it towards the man’s face.
“No! No, wait! I have more information! Heydrich…he…he is insane you see! He wants to…wants to kill us all!”
McKendry smiled.
Blome continued his panic stricken attempted bargaining, “He told me...he….he fears the military you see….he has arranged his…his insurance!”
“I don’t believe you and I don’t care” came the calm reply
“But you promised!” he spluttered, “you gave me your word you would not kill me!”
“I said I would show you mercy, which is more than you did for my family. I will keep my word Doctor Blome.”
McKendry pressed his gloved hand against the doctors mouth, as the thin serrated knife plunged into the right eye of the evil genius and continued to travel inwards until it pierced his brain, ending his muffled scream in a deafening silence.
………………………………………………………………………………………...............................................................................................................................................................................
The Commander listened in shocked silence as McKendry relayed to him as much of the story of his encounter with Blome as was possible.
“Jesus Jim! That’s some bag of information you’ve got there! You obviously got out OK and made it back to the States. What the hell did the white suits over there make of all this?”
“What do you expect? Nobody could quite believe it. Some figured it could have been a ruse of some sort, but the prevailing view was that Blome had been telling the truth. For my part, I was promoted and given the task of trying to come up with a solution. I recruited researchers and genealogists from all over. We flooded Germany with as many agents as possible, attempting to find any kind of living relative. All turned up blanks, and some where captured - in fact too many; we had to call the operation off. As the years went by it was just me. Just me hitting brick walls.”
“And all the while, you’re top of the Nazi hit list!”
“Yep, I sure was. Some of the guys who were captured obviously talked. They knew what we were trying to find. It will have been reported back to Heydrich soon enough, and his reaction? Probably laughed his insane head off!”
“At least the research facility was destroyed and a pile of the sonsofbitches ended up dead!”
“True, at least we did that. I didn’t know if the original disease they developed was as stroke of genius or an accident, but I’ve a good idea we either knocked their Red Death programme back by years or killed it dead altogether.”
The Commander went silent, contemplating all he had heard, as McKendry stood again from his chair:
“Ron, we need to put out an alert to find the Morris family. We’re wasting time.”
Commander Truman looked back up at the agent and studied his face for a moment:
“I think I already know the answer, Jim, but I need to hear it from yourself. What has all this got to do with the boy, this John Morris and why do we need to apprehend him?”
McKendry sighed, knowing that he had to relay the remainder of his story:
“Six months ago we received a letter from a Major Karl Shultz. I travelled back to Germany with the intention of questioning him. The man was dead, but another man, Johan Weber, was not.”
That seems the logical conclusion. But this very clever author of ours has shown himself to be a master of red herrings and false trails ......
That has been my working theory too. Johan became aware of it and so was a danger.
Well guys, its now been over a year since I first started this story.
By the time McKendry was driving John home, I knew what the significance of John would be and how the story would end. I haven't changed my mind on this since. A few subscribers did work it all out, but I can confirm that I haven't changed the ending because of that. Its all set in stone now, and to alter it would not be true to the story.
As the story has progressed, the hints have become outright confirmations!
Homeward stretch now! the third post from now will confirm or deny your working theories. However - the story wont be over - there will be time for a little more.
Hopefully the thread can continue for a while after that for any questions etc.
Cheers guys.
PS see below description of the "who do love" poster. I'm going to try to do it myself today, but if there anyone with design skills who could do have a go it at for me, that would be great!
The smiling, rosy cheeked face of General Eisenhower, against a backdrop of a fluttering stars and stripes flag, and beyond, rolling green hills and fields of wheat. The caption underneath – “Who do you love?” in large black lettering, the answer below in even larger black italic lettering – “The Chief! That’s Who!”
By the time McKendry was driving John home, I knew what the significance of John would be and how the story would end. I haven't changed my mind on this since. A few subscribers did work it all out, but I can confirm that I haven't changed the ending because of that. Its all set in stone now, and to alter it would not be true to the story.
As the story has progressed, the hints have become outright confirmations!
Homeward stretch now! the third post from now will confirm or deny your working theories. However - the story wont be over - there will be time for a little more.
Hopefully the thread can continue for a while after that for any questions etc.
Cheers guys.
PS see below description of the "who do love" poster. I'm going to try to do it myself today, but if there anyone with design skills who could do have a go it at for me, that would be great!
The smiling, rosy cheeked face of General Eisenhower, against a backdrop of a fluttering stars and stripes flag, and beyond, rolling green hills and fields of wheat. The caption underneath – “Who do you love?” in large black lettering, the answer below in even larger black italic lettering – “The Chief! That’s Who!”
The Commander
Agonisingly slow minutes had passed since he had allowed Sheila Morris onto the pier in pursuit of McKendry, her son, and the woman he now thought to be Maria. The Commander had gone through in his mind all of what McKendry had told him about the mission and about the boy, and was now becoming nervous. He was still toying with the idea of sending soldiers onto the pier, only to revert back to his original decision, and reassuring himself that less was better. He had to trust McKendry. If anyone was to bring this whole sorry saga to a positive conclusion it was him.
He was still staring at the rear of the wooden structure, when the Sergeant approached him and saluted. Commander Truman did not look at the soldier but carried on watching expectantly for any sign of activity on the pier:
“Report Sergeant.”
“The rear yards a mess, sir. Lieutenant Oliver’s body is there, sir. I’m not an expert but I think his neck has been broken.”
“Dead, I presume?”
“Dead, sir. The rest of the guests are being detained for the moment. We’ll transport them back to HQ for full debriefing.”
“Good work.”
“Thank you, sir. Also there are bullet holes in the upper bedroom, from where the boy climbed out of the window. Looks like someone’s took a couple of shots at him and he’s fired one back. An empty gun, a service issue gun, sir, was found at the foot of the bed.”
“Anything else?”
“A severely beaten elderly woman in the rear yard. One of my men said she’s the landlady of the place. She’s conscious and I was able to briefly speak to her. Sorry sir, but she confirmed that Lieutenant Oliver was with the other woman who chased the boy. She confirmed that Oliver, in her own words is ‘one of them blasted cohabitaters’ - I think she meant ‘collaborators’ to be honest. I’m making arrangements to transport her to the local hospital. She’ll need a bit of time to recover before we can properly question her, but her story does point to the woman who chased the boy speaking in German.”
“Indeed” said the Commander quietly.
Agent Connor walked swiftly back to the pier to join the two men:
“Sir, a light cruiser is being dispatched from Fleetwood, along with a string of gun boats. They should be out there within the next half an hour. Additional units are also on the way to the town as we speak. I’ve requested a full lock down of the town; trains, roads everything. There is no-one on that pier who’s going to be escaping anywhere quickly!”
“Thanks Connor, I’m not sure there is anyone on that pier even thinking of what they plan to do next to be honest, and I think that at least 3 of the 4 probably don’t even care if they are killed as long as they accomplish what they are intending to do. We’ve just gotta hope that the boy comes walking off that pier alive and well.”
“Sir?” came Connors puzzled question.
The Commander turned to look at both men for the first time:
“Ok, Sergeant I want Oliver’s body to be taken to the hospital morgue. Connor, you organise an autopsy. I wanna know everything about that sonofabitch. Also, get onto Manchester. I want all known friends, associates, colleagues, you God dam name it, of Oliver’s to be arrested today and held pending questioning. I want his office and his house searched thoroughly! Also, get onto Boston; I want all of his known family and associates, stateside, to also be questioned!”
“Yes sir, straight away sir” said the agent as he turned away with the sergeant to carry out their respective instructions.
“At least there has been one good thing so far!” said the Commander, as both men stopped to look back at their boss “we’ve found the goddam mole!”
A single shot cracked the air, as the Commander swivelled his body back to the pier, a nauseating sinking feeling hitting his stomach.
Agonisingly slow minutes had passed since he had allowed Sheila Morris onto the pier in pursuit of McKendry, her son, and the woman he now thought to be Maria. The Commander had gone through in his mind all of what McKendry had told him about the mission and about the boy, and was now becoming nervous. He was still toying with the idea of sending soldiers onto the pier, only to revert back to his original decision, and reassuring himself that less was better. He had to trust McKendry. If anyone was to bring this whole sorry saga to a positive conclusion it was him.
He was still staring at the rear of the wooden structure, when the Sergeant approached him and saluted. Commander Truman did not look at the soldier but carried on watching expectantly for any sign of activity on the pier:
“Report Sergeant.”
“The rear yards a mess, sir. Lieutenant Oliver’s body is there, sir. I’m not an expert but I think his neck has been broken.”
“Dead, I presume?”
“Dead, sir. The rest of the guests are being detained for the moment. We’ll transport them back to HQ for full debriefing.”
“Good work.”
“Thank you, sir. Also there are bullet holes in the upper bedroom, from where the boy climbed out of the window. Looks like someone’s took a couple of shots at him and he’s fired one back. An empty gun, a service issue gun, sir, was found at the foot of the bed.”
“Anything else?”
“A severely beaten elderly woman in the rear yard. One of my men said she’s the landlady of the place. She’s conscious and I was able to briefly speak to her. Sorry sir, but she confirmed that Lieutenant Oliver was with the other woman who chased the boy. She confirmed that Oliver, in her own words is ‘one of them blasted cohabitaters’ - I think she meant ‘collaborators’ to be honest. I’m making arrangements to transport her to the local hospital. She’ll need a bit of time to recover before we can properly question her, but her story does point to the woman who chased the boy speaking in German.”
“Indeed” said the Commander quietly.
Agent Connor walked swiftly back to the pier to join the two men:
“Sir, a light cruiser is being dispatched from Fleetwood, along with a string of gun boats. They should be out there within the next half an hour. Additional units are also on the way to the town as we speak. I’ve requested a full lock down of the town; trains, roads everything. There is no-one on that pier who’s going to be escaping anywhere quickly!”
“Thanks Connor, I’m not sure there is anyone on that pier even thinking of what they plan to do next to be honest, and I think that at least 3 of the 4 probably don’t even care if they are killed as long as they accomplish what they are intending to do. We’ve just gotta hope that the boy comes walking off that pier alive and well.”
“Sir?” came Connors puzzled question.
The Commander turned to look at both men for the first time:
“Ok, Sergeant I want Oliver’s body to be taken to the hospital morgue. Connor, you organise an autopsy. I wanna know everything about that sonofabitch. Also, get onto Manchester. I want all known friends, associates, colleagues, you God dam name it, of Oliver’s to be arrested today and held pending questioning. I want his office and his house searched thoroughly! Also, get onto Boston; I want all of his known family and associates, stateside, to also be questioned!”
“Yes sir, straight away sir” said the agent as he turned away with the sergeant to carry out their respective instructions.
“At least there has been one good thing so far!” said the Commander, as both men stopped to look back at their boss “we’ve found the goddam mole!”
A single shot cracked the air, as the Commander swivelled his body back to the pier, a nauseating sinking feeling hitting his stomach.
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"Woman hold her head and cry
'Cause her son had been shot down in the street and died"
"Johnny was a good man!"
nice one TimM!
...or maybe its this?
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John
The boy was terrified.
He had mustered all of the strength his young body would give him and sprinted as fast as his legs would take him straight across the wide promenade. He thought that there may have been other people around, perhaps even a pig or a solider, but there was only silence; an eerie silence. He didn’t have a plan as he ran from the hotel into the street other than the vague notion that there would be adults who would rush to his aid and would surely protect him from this horrible woman. She would be arrested and he and his mother, and Dotty would be safe. Was this the reason Mr McKendry was trying to take them away to protect them? Was it this nasty woman who was the cause of all of this?
John only saw military vehicles parked in the road, and all appeared to be empty. There would be no help for him from anybody if he dared stop just for a moment. He had heard the woman noisily descending the stairs behind him and knew instinctively that he needed to keep moving. The boy ran in a direct line to the pier on the opposite side of the promenade. He and his mother had visited the wooden structure the day before, and John had the sudden idea that he would be able to hide himself away in one of the small shops and stalls that ran along its length.
He crashed headlong into the first door that he came to, and panting to get his breath, desperately pulled at the handle. It was tightly locked. He moved swiftly up the pier to the next, a stall selling seaside souvenirs and knick-knacks and again tried to pull the door open, his frustration causing his eyes to sting with tears as this door in turn would not move. John continued moving until he stopped in his tracks. He was standing in a large open area, that stretched from the railings on each side of the pier, the shops at his rear, and in front of him, on either side of another building stood the gates. He threw himself against them, shaking them in desperate rage, as he willed them to open up and allow him to continue running.
He turned and saw her, as he realised he was trapped.
Maria
The assassin was infuriated.
She blamed Oliver for this. Had the sentimental fool not got in her way, she would have slit the boy’s throat by now. She had known as soon as she had entered the guest house that this was going to be her last mission; a suicide mission. She’d accepted that. It seems that the simpering traitor Liam Oliver hadn’t, and that he still clung to a notion that they were somehow to escape! No, the man was a fool! She didn’t have to explain herself to him. She had enjoyed the verbal torture of the woman, Sheila, as she had described how she had mutilated her son, Brian. As far as Maria was concerned, if she was going to die, she would enjoy what little time she had left before finally killing the boy and his mother, and then the priest! How dare Oliver interfere! The only reason that she did not shoot him dead on the spot was that her priority had now become capturing the fleeing child, and Oliver would have to deal with the others.
She would, however, do it quick this time. When she caught the boy, she would kill the boy.
John was in her sights from the moment she charged out of the entrance doors into the street. She could see where he was headed, and was inwardly elated as she realised he was running into a trap. The arrogance of Maria would even convince her own mind that it was a trap of her own making.
Maria did not hesitate as she passed the parked military vehicles. She knew what they were and why they were there; she even caught a glimpse of two soldiers crouching behind the vehicles and could see another small group hiding behind ornamental casings near the pier entrance. She took the precaution of pressing the gun into the small of her stomach, to keep it out of view, as she ran, but even as she continued to move she knew that it may end here and now for her.
By the time she had reached the pier entrance, following in Johns footsteps, she had concluded with a delighted chuckle that the only possible reason she had been allowed to go through was that she was chasing the boy, and what mother would harm her own son! The realisation also came home to her that the Americans were not willing to even attempt to apprehend the boy, let alone herself. Why would they not risk harm to the boy? The answer was blindingly obvious to Maria, and confirmed to her why her mission must succeed.
He was there!
Maria had sprinted down the aisle that separated the large concert hall from the rail at the piers edge, and continued to run past the structures of the small shops until she came to a sudden stop in a wide open space. She could see immediately that he was trapped; that she had him!
The boy was backing away from her, his wide eyes, full of fear, never leaving her, as Maria trotted to a stop.
She raised her gun, took aim and fired.
She smiled at the result, and walked calmly forward.
McKendry
The man was determined.
His mind; his whole being; his sense of purpose was focused on one thing and one thing alone.
The Commander had known this. He had told the soldiers to let him through, and McKendry knew that the Commander also knew that there would have been no point in arguing the issue. If they had tried to stop him, McKendry had already reasoned that he was prepared to shoot his way through if necessary. The grim look upon his face as he hurtled past the Commander must have been enough to make the point clear.
Still, he could not help but wonder, as he passed the Concert Hall, how on earth he was still alive. Just seconds before the Commander had arrived, bellowing orders to ceasefire, McKendry had momentarily flinched as the 3 shots fired in rapid succession had cracked in the morning sunlight. He didn’t know what had happened; didn’t have time to contemplate it. He only knew that the weapon that fired the shots was aiming straight at him. He could see the solider, as he pulled the trigger in quick succession, yet no thud came and no impact came.
The agents mind became fully alert, as the loud bang reverberated against the wooden buildings, and his heart sank as he realised the shot had come from the centre of the pier in front of him.
McKendry moved swiftly past the locked up stalls and cafes, a wide space on the pier opening out in front of him, gates barring access to the other side The gable end of the last shop obscured his vision and as he quickly scanned the open space for any sign of movement, he realised that Maria could only be on the other side of the shop structure, and so moved cautiously forward until he came to an abrupt stop.
They were there.
Sheila
The mother was single minded.
Nothing would stop her from saving her son. Nothing.
If the soldiers had not let her through, she would have clawed and punched at them until they had done so. They would have had to kill her to stop her from being with her son, and saving him from this evil bitch who had so tortured her mind with the gloating details of her first borns death. The horrendous images of her blood soaked son continually plagued her mind. She could see her Brian, in her mind’s eye, screaming in agony, crying for his mother and Sheila had to use every ounce of her willpower to push the images from her soul. She could not allow herself to be distracted for one moment. She had to be strong for John.
The shot rang out into the air, and Sheila stumbled to a juddering halt, leaning heavily against the Concert Hall walls to her left. She paused and waited for barely a second before a grim and furious determination swept over her, as she raised the gun in her outstretched arm and again began to run forward.
She saw him first; the American man, McKendry, and she stopped. He was directly in front of her, but facing away at a right angle from her, so that she could see the outline of his grim face, silhouetted against the bright morning sun.
Sheila was puzzled. What was he doing?
She watched as McKendry, both arms raised in the air, slowly lowered his right arm, the one that held the gun, before placing the weapon onto the floor, and kicking it, sending it skidding away out of her view.
A fleeting glance – just the faintest and barely detectable flash of his eyes to the right, came from the American and caught Sheila’s eye for one crucial second. It was enough for her to notice the alarm and the fear in those eyes; enough for her to realise the knife edge danger that they balanced on.
With heart thumping, Sheila slowly lowered herself to the floor and crawled forward on hands and knees, until she reached the end of the wooden shop wall; the whole of the wide open space on the pier revealing itself to her.
The vision implanted itself into her eyes, and would not fade away, even as she immediately pulled her head backwards.
The mad woman was seated, legs splayed out, on the wooden decking of the pier - the rail that guarded against the sea below, propping up her back. The woman was smiling. There was blood on her face; around her mouth and smeared onto her lips. It was the blood of her son, for in between the legs of the monster lay the slumped body of John. His eyes were closed and his skin was pallid; the blood soaked clothing hiding the entrance wound were the bullet had struck his body.
The demon held a knife to his throat with one hand and with the other was smearing her sons blood onto her fingers before rubbing the blood onto her lips and tongue; into her mouth.
And she was laughing.
The boy was terrified.
He had mustered all of the strength his young body would give him and sprinted as fast as his legs would take him straight across the wide promenade. He thought that there may have been other people around, perhaps even a pig or a solider, but there was only silence; an eerie silence. He didn’t have a plan as he ran from the hotel into the street other than the vague notion that there would be adults who would rush to his aid and would surely protect him from this horrible woman. She would be arrested and he and his mother, and Dotty would be safe. Was this the reason Mr McKendry was trying to take them away to protect them? Was it this nasty woman who was the cause of all of this?
John only saw military vehicles parked in the road, and all appeared to be empty. There would be no help for him from anybody if he dared stop just for a moment. He had heard the woman noisily descending the stairs behind him and knew instinctively that he needed to keep moving. The boy ran in a direct line to the pier on the opposite side of the promenade. He and his mother had visited the wooden structure the day before, and John had the sudden idea that he would be able to hide himself away in one of the small shops and stalls that ran along its length.
He crashed headlong into the first door that he came to, and panting to get his breath, desperately pulled at the handle. It was tightly locked. He moved swiftly up the pier to the next, a stall selling seaside souvenirs and knick-knacks and again tried to pull the door open, his frustration causing his eyes to sting with tears as this door in turn would not move. John continued moving until he stopped in his tracks. He was standing in a large open area, that stretched from the railings on each side of the pier, the shops at his rear, and in front of him, on either side of another building stood the gates. He threw himself against them, shaking them in desperate rage, as he willed them to open up and allow him to continue running.
He turned and saw her, as he realised he was trapped.
Maria
The assassin was infuriated.
She blamed Oliver for this. Had the sentimental fool not got in her way, she would have slit the boy’s throat by now. She had known as soon as she had entered the guest house that this was going to be her last mission; a suicide mission. She’d accepted that. It seems that the simpering traitor Liam Oliver hadn’t, and that he still clung to a notion that they were somehow to escape! No, the man was a fool! She didn’t have to explain herself to him. She had enjoyed the verbal torture of the woman, Sheila, as she had described how she had mutilated her son, Brian. As far as Maria was concerned, if she was going to die, she would enjoy what little time she had left before finally killing the boy and his mother, and then the priest! How dare Oliver interfere! The only reason that she did not shoot him dead on the spot was that her priority had now become capturing the fleeing child, and Oliver would have to deal with the others.
She would, however, do it quick this time. When she caught the boy, she would kill the boy.
John was in her sights from the moment she charged out of the entrance doors into the street. She could see where he was headed, and was inwardly elated as she realised he was running into a trap. The arrogance of Maria would even convince her own mind that it was a trap of her own making.
Maria did not hesitate as she passed the parked military vehicles. She knew what they were and why they were there; she even caught a glimpse of two soldiers crouching behind the vehicles and could see another small group hiding behind ornamental casings near the pier entrance. She took the precaution of pressing the gun into the small of her stomach, to keep it out of view, as she ran, but even as she continued to move she knew that it may end here and now for her.
By the time she had reached the pier entrance, following in Johns footsteps, she had concluded with a delighted chuckle that the only possible reason she had been allowed to go through was that she was chasing the boy, and what mother would harm her own son! The realisation also came home to her that the Americans were not willing to even attempt to apprehend the boy, let alone herself. Why would they not risk harm to the boy? The answer was blindingly obvious to Maria, and confirmed to her why her mission must succeed.
He was there!
Maria had sprinted down the aisle that separated the large concert hall from the rail at the piers edge, and continued to run past the structures of the small shops until she came to a sudden stop in a wide open space. She could see immediately that he was trapped; that she had him!
The boy was backing away from her, his wide eyes, full of fear, never leaving her, as Maria trotted to a stop.
She raised her gun, took aim and fired.
She smiled at the result, and walked calmly forward.
McKendry
The man was determined.
His mind; his whole being; his sense of purpose was focused on one thing and one thing alone.
The Commander had known this. He had told the soldiers to let him through, and McKendry knew that the Commander also knew that there would have been no point in arguing the issue. If they had tried to stop him, McKendry had already reasoned that he was prepared to shoot his way through if necessary. The grim look upon his face as he hurtled past the Commander must have been enough to make the point clear.
Still, he could not help but wonder, as he passed the Concert Hall, how on earth he was still alive. Just seconds before the Commander had arrived, bellowing orders to ceasefire, McKendry had momentarily flinched as the 3 shots fired in rapid succession had cracked in the morning sunlight. He didn’t know what had happened; didn’t have time to contemplate it. He only knew that the weapon that fired the shots was aiming straight at him. He could see the solider, as he pulled the trigger in quick succession, yet no thud came and no impact came.
The agents mind became fully alert, as the loud bang reverberated against the wooden buildings, and his heart sank as he realised the shot had come from the centre of the pier in front of him.
McKendry moved swiftly past the locked up stalls and cafes, a wide space on the pier opening out in front of him, gates barring access to the other side The gable end of the last shop obscured his vision and as he quickly scanned the open space for any sign of movement, he realised that Maria could only be on the other side of the shop structure, and so moved cautiously forward until he came to an abrupt stop.
They were there.
Sheila
The mother was single minded.
Nothing would stop her from saving her son. Nothing.
If the soldiers had not let her through, she would have clawed and punched at them until they had done so. They would have had to kill her to stop her from being with her son, and saving him from this evil bitch who had so tortured her mind with the gloating details of her first borns death. The horrendous images of her blood soaked son continually plagued her mind. She could see her Brian, in her mind’s eye, screaming in agony, crying for his mother and Sheila had to use every ounce of her willpower to push the images from her soul. She could not allow herself to be distracted for one moment. She had to be strong for John.
The shot rang out into the air, and Sheila stumbled to a juddering halt, leaning heavily against the Concert Hall walls to her left. She paused and waited for barely a second before a grim and furious determination swept over her, as she raised the gun in her outstretched arm and again began to run forward.
She saw him first; the American man, McKendry, and she stopped. He was directly in front of her, but facing away at a right angle from her, so that she could see the outline of his grim face, silhouetted against the bright morning sun.
Sheila was puzzled. What was he doing?
She watched as McKendry, both arms raised in the air, slowly lowered his right arm, the one that held the gun, before placing the weapon onto the floor, and kicking it, sending it skidding away out of her view.
A fleeting glance – just the faintest and barely detectable flash of his eyes to the right, came from the American and caught Sheila’s eye for one crucial second. It was enough for her to notice the alarm and the fear in those eyes; enough for her to realise the knife edge danger that they balanced on.
With heart thumping, Sheila slowly lowered herself to the floor and crawled forward on hands and knees, until she reached the end of the wooden shop wall; the whole of the wide open space on the pier revealing itself to her.
The vision implanted itself into her eyes, and would not fade away, even as she immediately pulled her head backwards.
The mad woman was seated, legs splayed out, on the wooden decking of the pier - the rail that guarded against the sea below, propping up her back. The woman was smiling. There was blood on her face; around her mouth and smeared onto her lips. It was the blood of her son, for in between the legs of the monster lay the slumped body of John. His eyes were closed and his skin was pallid; the blood soaked clothing hiding the entrance wound were the bullet had struck his body.
The demon held a knife to his throat with one hand and with the other was smearing her sons blood onto her fingers before rubbing the blood onto her lips and tongue; into her mouth.
And she was laughing.
MuttDaniels
Banned
Amazing, a truly amazing story. As a current Blackpool and former Manchester resident I can see in vivid technicolor the images you are portraying. And Ironically today I took my son also named John too Central Pier but alas no U.S Navy warships from Fleetwood were in sight . Thank you for providing us with one of the best timeliness on this sight and I eagerly await its no doubt masterfully written conclusion.
. Thank you for providing us with one of the best timeliness on this sight and I eagerly await its no doubt masterfully written conclusion.