Free Shadows Will Fall by Trey Garrison Page B

rope and dropped to the bridge. For good measure and a little spite, he shot the commander in the forehead, just to be sure.
    He went to where the farmer was cowering under the cart. The man didn’t know what to make of him. After all, he wore black SS trousers and boots, a dirty black undershirt, an old-fashioned flier’s leather jacket, a crimson scarf, and—of all things—a battered black cowboy hat. The farmer’s ears still rang from the explosion and the gunfire. The acrid smell of cordite and the crawler’s ruptured coal furnace burned his nose.
    â€œHello, friend,” Rucker said. He tried French, then his spotty German, and then the few words of Greek he’d picked up from Nick.
    The Greek worked. He used the very first phrase Filotoma had taught him.
    â€œHave I got a deal for you, friend,” Rucker said, holding up a gold coin from a hidden pouch in his pistol belt and pointing to one of the horses.
    The confused if grateful farmer was shaken up, but he smiled when he realized what Rucker was proposing.
    I n the prisoner enclosure, Terah was rolling her eyes at this miniversion of the 1926 Nuremburg rally. “God, they lay it on thick,” she said.
    â€œYou should see what they do for formal gatherings,” Deitel said dryly.
    The prisoners—including the local villagers who’d been captured—had slowly and inconspicuously formed a semicircle around Amria, blocking her from the German’s view. On her knees, she worked her hands out of the manacles. She drew a deep breath and concentrated, starting to recite the words to the spell she’d been working through the last day. Her chants were drowned out by the thrumming and hiss of the machinery.
    Dr. Übel made the final adjustments to his infernal machine, and the power rose. The orb at the center of the platform was a plasma globe fully six feet in diameter. Coils and cables connected it to a large, flat octagonal device, which in turn was connected to the body of the large machine. The machine itself was connected to the control panels, back near the observation stage, and the one master control panel on the stage, which stood a good hundred yards away. Tendrils of purple and pink danced inside the orb and its glow steadily increased, as did the thrumming sound. The orb would capture and amplify the spear’s ambient energies, projecting them out to the Death’s Head Legionnaires who now stood surrounding it.
    Filotoma spat on the ground.
    â€œLittle Amria, if you are going to do something, better do it now,” he said.
    Amria’s head rolled back and her eyes closed as she chanted her mystical incantations. Her hands fluidly traced shapes in the air. Deitel couldn’t quite be sure—it had to be a trick of the light—but it looked as though her hands were starting to glow.
    â€œI don’t think Fox is going to make it back,” he whispered to Terah.
    â€œHe said he’ll be here, so he’ll be here,” she snapped at him.
    Deitel put his hand on her shoulder. She placed her own on his.
    Dr. Übel returned to the machine connected to the orb. The light bathed him in an unholy glow. He clutched the Spear of Destiny in his gloved hand and surveyed the scene around him. The humming from the orb grew louder in proximity to the spear. The stoic faces of the legion volunteers looked skull-like in the orb’s glow. Übel plunged the spear into the device and stepped away. He walked as fast as he could to the observation stage, climbed onto the dais and settled himself behind the master control panel. Then he pulled his goggles over his eyes and looked to Major Hoffstetter. The major nodded his assent.
    â€œFor the Reich!” Dr. Übel shouted, and pulled the master switch.
    Tendrils of eldritch lightning exploded out from the orb, encompassing the maroon-clad soldiers of the Death’s Head Legion. Even the most seasoned soldiers observing the