Preston W. Child, Tasha Danzig
The Hunt for Excalibur
Prologue
The island was undefended, yet many had died in the initial attack. Two days into the occupation, it became evident that the landscape was ideal and the inhabitants easy to subdue, therefore leading to instant hoisting of German flags. Fear ran rampant among those who chose to stay after the evacuation, but they hoped that adherence would profit them mercy.
Four years on, the islanders had become accustomed to their occupants, although most of the Jewish citizens were dispatched to concentration camps by now. Other islanders had to suffer under the greed of Nazi garrisons, full of soldiers who had to be fed. These intruders annexed all fishing and agriculture, leaving the islanders starving. Rations were garnered for the soldiers first, and this caused a lot of subdued resentment among the islanders.
Ronald Hall was a widower, having lost his wife to pneumonia while she was pregnant a year prior. At thirty years of age, he was already tasting the bitter essence of life, but his older brother, Colin, cheered him a great deal with his eccentric recklessness. They elected to give the Nazi’s no morsel of fear on their part, although they kept within the rules as not to be picked out unnecessarily. Their town had come to a crisis, and the two brothers decided to foolishly brave the bad weather on October 13, 1944.
When the night was ripe and the weather so foul that no man would walk there by choice, the two set out to the former town hall, where the German Luftwaffe had settled their headquarters for Guernsey. Curfew was imposed between 11 p.m. and 5 a.m., which only proved the amount of trouble Colin and Ronald would be in, should they be discovered. All the two brothers wanted to do was to relieve the German stores of some food, in order to help their neighbors — Jewish families still living there, as well as those exploited by the alien monsters for their farming production.
“Hurry,” Colin whispered to his trailing brother, his blond hair whipping in the cold gusts. They crawled up the hillock from where they could examine the guard stationed. As planned, they split up at the base of the low hill, using the surrounding tree line to advance towards one of the three smaller entrances to the building hosting the Nazi officials.
“Meet you at the tower base,” Ronald told Colin, who nodded affirmatively.
Each managed to find a way into the storage rooms, where the guards did not walk in this weather. Above them, only mounted security lights revealed any movement to the eye, their beams only displaying the showering rain that gleamed as the droplets fell through the light. On occasion, some cruel commandant would force one of the troops to walk that way in the pouring rain, but the Hall brothers even had this timed right.
Ronald was the first one to make it out. He waited at the tower base, a ruin several meters from the town hall. The path was relatively safe, as the shadows cast by the tall trees impaired visibility from the roof of the guarded building. He waited in the heavy downpour, the sack in his hands growing heavier by the minute as it took on the water.
“Come on, for God’s sake,” he murmured under cover of his collar, shrinking his body deeper into the shelter of the branches. Finally, he saw his brother careen forth from the building, making straight for him. On his back, he was carrying a bag of provisions that weighed him down greatly, but what brought sheer panic onto Colin was what was on his tracks.
He ran right into Ronald and screamed, “Run! Run, Jesus, just get out of here!”
Without question, Ronald obeyed the order and scarpered into the wet grassland on the other side of the trees. On Colin’s heel were two Nazi’s, shooting at them. After managing to break in undetected, they certainly made a calamitous exit. Their only saving grace was that they knew the terrain better than the men occupying it. Under a leaning oak, they took refuge to wait for the soldiers to pass and hopefully give up the search.
“They are going to kill us. Oh my God, we are going to die,” Ronald whispered to himself.
“Shut your mouth, Ron!” his brother shoved him. “Just be quiet. Under those uniforms, they are just men, after all. They are going to get too cold to run after a few canned goods and medicine.”
“I do hope you are right,” Ronald sighed nervously, his voice shivering from the cold that gripped him. Their coats were drenched through, but their lives were more important. Soon the dreaded shadows of the German devils appeared in the edge of the mounted security light’s beam. Colin grabbed onto his brother’s sleeve as they both held their breath. In the hellish storm, the wind was muffling the conversation between the two men as they discussed the next course of action. The two British brothers sat frozen in position, watching the Germans’ body language. It appeared that the soldiers had called off the search because of the harsh environment, but as they turned in their tracks to leave, they summoned someone to take their place.
The Hall brothers glanced at one another, but remained perfectly still. It was not long before the most terrifying sound came to their ears. Thus far, they had thought it only a rumor, but they were about to meet one of the most sinister characters purveyed about among the islanders for years. From afar, the sound grew louder, and even in the absence of the Nazi soldiers, the two brothers clawed at each other in terror.
“What is it?” Ronald asked Colin, but Colin could not move. In fact, he closed his eyes and prayed. “Colin!” he pushed his brother, but he needed not hear it from Colin, as the dire shape of her came into view, accompanied by the growls of her beasts.
Colin finally opened his eyes to look upon the horrible shapes, ready to pounce in the light. “Holy shit, Ron, she is real!”
“Who? Who is it?” Ronald asked.
His brother gasped, “The woman with the dogs.”
1
Best Laid Plan
Over the course of the day, Court was feeling apprehensive. He had never done something like this before, but he really needed the money. It was Tuesday. Paul, his drinking buddy and instigator from the local pub, were working at the junk yard next to Hamish Auto Repair, where Court was a mechanic.
Both men had families, but Court had to take care of his wife, grandson and the child’s mother, since the boy’s mother could not take care of him by herself. Court and his wife thought it only fair to help out with young Brian, since the child’s father was Court’s son. It was sore to admit, but Court’s son had abandoned his child and girlfriend when he got the news of her pregnancy.
Court did not raise his boy that way, but his wife insisted that it was not their fault that their son turned wayward. Joe was a grown man and he had chosen his path, one of delinquency, destination regret. They just referred to Joe’s girlfriend as their daughter anyway, as she was close family, and more loyal than Joe, who was blood.
“You done with Dover’s diff work, mate?” Tony asked. Tony Hamish was Court’s boss only in name, the signature on Court’s checks. Other than that, the two middle-aged men had known each other since early high school at Queen’s Park and kept a close friendship. It was when Court was retrenched from his job at the ironworks that Hamish stepped in to offer his friend a job.
“Almost, Tone,” Court answered, his oil-stained face wincing under the hoisted up chassis of the Peugeot 406.
“Been taking a bit long on that, haven’t you? You alright, mate?” Hamish asked.
“Aye. No worries. My hands are just clumsy today, but I will get it done long before closing,” Court reported, lying to sound far more emotionally stable than he had been of late.
He could never tell his friend and employer about his personal problems, his wife’s illness and his mounting debt. Court was a proud Glasgow fighter, not some needy sorner, sponging on the charity of others. Another thing he was not was a criminal. Thus far, in his fifty years on the planet, Court Callany had never broken the law, save for the odd traffic fine.