Chapter One
The day was crisp and the breeze, though not constant, was biting. Fall was well on its way, and to think that before a massive supercell moved over the country the temperature hovered around 81 or 76. The temperature had dropped about 10 degrees, leaving everything free of frost, but already the mornings were growing chillier. Fall was my favorite season back then, and still is to this day. To me, the Fall season symbolized my love of the outdoors. I didn't mind the other seasons, but Fall would forever be first in my heart. Perhaps due to the ease with which I could go outside, or maybe the chill air that would burn into my lungs as I practiced for my many sports teams, or perhaps it all went beyond even that. You see, I met my best friends in Fall. I was eleven, at the time, and had just moved over 6000 miles across the ocean and to a new country. Why move so far away? The War was coming. This War was unlike anything we had ever seen before; bodies lay on roadsides and in ditches, cars were stopped and abandoned like they carried the plague. Once pristine neighborhoods had been ransacked and pillaged, nothing left of them but broken windows and doors, and some shutters hanging loose on their hinges. Gunfire was all around, echoing through empty cities and overgrown fields; explosions were constant as well.
CHK-CHK-CHK-CHK!
TACKA-TACKA-TACKA-TACK!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The sounds went on and on, a giant aviary with the guns calling out to their brethren. The ground shook with the footsteps of an approaching thunder giant, and our car had been flipped thrice, throwing two occupants from the burning wreck as my father and I lay pinned beneath the suffocating smoke and burning steel. Voices cried out, sirens wailed, and throughout it all my hand remained clasped to my little sister's. I would never let go of her hand, even after it was ripped from my grasp I would forever feel it's presence. So...so cold, it was. So small a hand, though it was so very dear to me. For many years thereafter my nightmares would be plagued by that hand, watching it get ever farther away as I desperately gave chase, always to no avail. I remember waking up as light was shone on my eyelids, and I looked up into the face of God, of my Eternal Savior, and the first thing I remember thinking was that He was much scruffier than my father had described, and I believe I must have said this aloud for His weathered and bearded face broke out into a warm smile. My voice was dry paper, crumbling away the longer I held it out to Him. His eyes grew sad and His face dropped, shaking His divine head. My heart stopped then, and I lost consciousness.
"Ich gebe nicht einen Dreck, sauskrel! Lassen Sie mich meine Tochter, befehle ich dir!" (Translation: "I do not give a damn, pig-head. Let me see my daughter, I command you!") My father's voice! So he hadn't been ripped away like my sister. My heart broke to hear his voice, and I cried out to him, my eyes opening painfully and feeling a burning sensation in my chest as I reached out a hand to him.
"Papa! Ich habe Angst, bitte helfen Sie mir! Ich bin heir, Papa!" (Translation: "Papa! I am scared, please help me! I am here, Papa!")
"LASS MICH DURCH, SHEIßE KOPF! HOLEN SIE MIR AUS DEM WEG!" (Translation: "LET ME THROUGH, SHIT HEAD! GET OUT OF MY DAMN WAY!" ) My father shouldered his way past the doctor and came to my side, his gray beard and hair such a familiar and welcome sight I wept for it. Past my watery haze I saw my father's pained face, the smile there genuine and loving. He wasn't looking too well, and I asked him about what happened to God? His face grew confused and he clearly didn't understand that I had seen the deity in the wreckage. I explained it to him, throwing in the word "dummy" at the end like the old me would have. That made the both of us smile, and father told me that while he himself hadn't seen God, the fact I did and had been sent back to the Earth meant that God truly loved me. I smiled and hugged him, feeling the familiar quiet strength in his small frame. My father was by no means ever cruel, but he could be if he so chose.
"Papa...was geschah mit Ellie und Trudy und Lyssa? Haben sie zu Gott zu gehen? Werden wir sie wiedersehen?" (Translation: "Papa...what happened to Ellie and Trudy and Lyssa? Did they go to God? Will we see them again?") I asked him finally, my voice muffled by the warmth of his scratchy and gray suit. His body stiffened against mine, and he pulled back to look into my eyes. From the look on his face, and even though I was very young, I knew the next words he said would be a lie and my own shoulders drooped as I began to sob, remembering Trudy's hand in mine; the hand that would haunt me until the day I died. To this day I still have the nightmares, of the night when I couldn't protect her. The worst part was that I would never know who killed her or my other sisters, nor what happened to my mother. They never found her body, and not knowing has always been the hardest part. I felt my father's hand go under my chin, and he raised it and stared directly into my eyes. His were deep, gentle pools of understanding, compassion, and confidence, and his words gave me new resolve.
"Jetzt horen Sie mir zu, dummes Mädchen, trocknen die Tränen. Was wäre lhr Großvater sagen, wenn er sah, weinst du?" (Translation: "Now listen to me, silly girl, dry those tears. What would your Grandfather say if he saw you weeping?") Papa's eyes twinkled with amusement as he spoke of Grandfather. My own eyes twinkled and I giggled wetly, drying my tears on the back of my hand. I licked my lips, tasting the odd metal that rested there. I knew my lips had been chapped, and I licked them again. Mother had always told me to not provide more wetness to chapped lips, but the rough ridges were so fascinating I continued to feel them, pulling on it with my teeth and getting an interesting peel on my tongue. Papa was distracted by something from the hallway, and suddenly he threw a blanket over me and left my room. Determined to keep my father with me despite his orders to stay put I stood up and followed, pulling the odd contraption attached with pins to my arm behind me.
While I walked with vigor to the door I peeked my blonde head around the doorframe and what I saw would haunt me like that hand. My warm and gentle Papa had grabbed a man by the neck and was poking a metal object through it, letting odd jelly spurt over wall and uniform. Papa moved on to another man, using a prong to rip out the man's chest and letting the jelly of his insides splatter everywhere. Papa grabbed their guns and smacked two officers with them, killing the first by grabbing the head in his hands and, with the sound a pencil made when I snapped it in class, the man fell against the wall. My Papa grabbed the guns in his hands, and used them in a sort of dance, TACKA-TACKA-TACKA-TACK'ing the remaining three men before him, firing still long after they had fallen. The walls were coated in red jelly, and so was my Papa, little droplets all over his face and his scratchy and gray suit covered in it. I was scared of Papa, terrified as I ran behind the bed and shivered not with cold. Of course, my attempt at hiding was for naught, as Papa came back and smiled at me.
"Arabella, warum sind Sie verstecken sich vor der Tür? Haben Sie keine Angst, werden die Uniformen nicht, Sie zu verletzen. Komm her, mein Schatz." (Translation: "Arabella, why are you hiding from the door? Don't be scared, the Uniforms are not going to hurt you. Come here, sweetheart.") My Papa's voice was soft enough, and filled with so much compassion I could not bring myself to stay sheltered from him. I moved from behind my safe place, standing small before the red wave of his wrath, fearful that he would condemn me to the fate of those he had just put to permanent sleep.
"Ich...ich habe keine Angst vor den Männern, Papa, ich habe Angst vor dir. Ich konnte mich nicht aus der Suche zu halten, und ich sah, was Sie getan haben. Warum haben Sie sie zu Gott, Papa schicken? Es waren Männer von Deutschland, und ihr habt mir gesagt, dass wir anderen Menschen, nur Taschen oder Ziele nie schaden." (Translation: "I...I am not afraid of the men, Papa, I am afraid of you. I could not keep myself from looking, and I saw what you did to them. Why did you send them to God, Papa? They were men of Germany, and you told me we never harm other humans, only bags or targets.") My voice was silk and roses, my eyes were loyal and bowed to him, staring at the pale white of my feet. I heard his sharp intake of breath, his soft cry, and in my moment of hapless confusion I rose my eyes to meet his as they turned milky white, as they stared ahead at something unseen, and, unsettled, I stepped to him and cried his name. It took only a second for the metal to rip through his chest fully, covering my paper-white face with the odd red jelly. The object withdrew, and punctured once more, more violently than before, and ripped to the side, tossing my father the way I had tossed my doll in a temper tantrum. I screamed once more, my full-moon eyes terrified as my father caved in on himself, slumping against the door. In his place stood a tall man, dressed in the pale green of the Men of Germany, and on his face was fear and concern as he looked at me. There was no object in his hand, that was held by a man behind him. The first stepped away, his face young and absent of the stubble my father once said was indicative of manhood. My pooled eyes beseeched his, my lip quivering as I swallowed the solid ball in my throat and choked on the salty tears that wanted so desperately to burst like his chest just had.
"Ich...ich bin so traurig, kleines Mädchen...Bitte haben Sie Verständnis, dass dies notwendig war. Er war ein Verbrecher...Ich wollte nicht, ihn zu töten, das verspreche ich. Ich habe ihn nicht getötet, wenn. Er tat." (Translation: "I...I am so sorry, little girl...Please understand that this was necessary. He was a criminal...I did not want to kill him, I promise. I did not kill him, though. He did.") The young man's voice was soft and pleading, one of his hands extended to me palm first as though imploring me to not let my dam of pure emotion burst, and the other pointing with all fingers at the man behind him. This man's words, expression, and actions would not keep me silent.
I felt white-hot anger erupt in my chest but just as quickly felt the soul-crushing freeze of loss and abandonment. The clash of such opposite emotions in such a climactic way brought a scream to my lips that would go unconquered. It erupted and exploded, tearing from my throat as I collapsed onto my knees beside the odd jelly-stained body of my Papa. The scream came and came some more as I pounded on Papa's chest, imploring him to awaken and give me that sly smile that implied some sort of shared secret. His body moved like a puppeteer's marionette, unresponsive but for the effects of my small fists on his chest. The younger man and the older man both shrunk back from me, eyes in the full moon stage and mouths open like the darkest pits of Hell. I turned from my father's form to both of them and directed my scream in their direction, standing up shakily and stumbling toward them in a sort of stupor. The Uniforms quickly backed into the jelly-stained hall, where many other Uniforms were cleaning up the fallen Uniforms. As my screaming continued and I approached even closer, my voice faltered as did my stride. I collapsed onto my side with fuzzy darkness beginning to take over my vision and distorted silence taking over my hearing. I saw many legs rushing around, and felt myself floating like the Lord Himself was calling me home. Not long after I was submerged into the inky blackness and quiet of the Void.
Engines; that's what I first heard. Bumps; that's what I first felt. Petrol and sweat; those are what I first smelled. A metal bench; that's what I first saw. Confused and bewildered I made to push off the bench, moving my hands to do so, when I discovered that I could not move them. I writhed around and around as I tried to free them, finally sitting up and screaming in terror as I realized I was in a truck somewhere. However, I had trouble hearing my own screams due to the cloth that was tied over my mouth, blocking the sound I put forth heartily. Looking around in a more controlled manner, I wondered how I ended up in a half-track; the name was familiar to me as Grandfather described them when they marched past our house and took my cousins and uncles. Unable to find an answer to the slew of questions I possessed, I settled for examining the men around me. They were all still, faces blank as their hearts must be. The Uniforms were Roman busts, carved from a strong rock such as marble or granite. They were pillars in the bumping half-track, immune to its disconcerting lurches. Several of the Uniformed Statues, younger-looking than the rest, actually swayed and bounced and winced as I did, while the others enjoyed pointing to them and laughing. Attempting to sit forward so I may speak to them, I felt a hard metal object smack into my face, drawing a hoarse croak from my ruined throat, and the impact made me sniffle and flinch away.
"Bewegen Sie sich nicht, Schlampe, oder ich werde deine Kehle aufgeschlitzt." (Translation: "Do not move, bitch, or I will slit your throat.") A voice snarled, close to my ear. I whimpered and nodded to him, burying the indignation and rebellious intentions as effectively as I could. For good measure the man hit me in the gut with the same object, making me double over and spit that odd, red, metallic jelly onto the floor. I was shoved back against the wall and croaked in pain as my head slammed hard against the steel, feeling a fist connect to my nose and break it, followed by many snickers and hollers and curses.
"Freche Kind! Wie konnte sie es Wagen in unserer LKW spucken?"
"Gute treffer, Gregor! Lehren, ihr eine Lektion!"
"Reinigen sie es auf! Lecken sie aus dem boden wie ein guter Hund!" I flinched from the harsh tone, whimpering pathetically as I shook with fear.
"Gut? Was wartest du Mädchen? Eine Einladung?" (Translations: "Insolent child! How dare she spit in our truck?" "Good hit, Gregor! Teach her a lesson!" "Clean it up! Lick it up like a good dog!" "Well? What are you waiting for? An invitation?")I sniffled and slithered off the bench, keening in pure agony as the abuse had aggravated all of my injuries from the crash and bent over, licking up the foul jelly as I had been ordered. All finished I stumbled back to the bench and collapsed onto it, crying with my hoarse voice into the metal. They left me in my pit of despair then, and went back to their silence. I had noticed several of them holding cigarettes and lighters to one another and felt myself drawn to those small fires in this time of depression. Forcing myself to sit back up and face them with a Roman bust of my own, I croaked out to them proudly.
"Entschuldigen sie, meine Herren, ich konnte eine Kippe und Licht?" (Translation: "Excuse me, sirs, could I have a kippe* and a light?) The looks on their stone faces was funny to me, though I did not show it or express it I any way, shape, or form but merely stared at each one in turn, letting them all see my seriousness. One of them finally responded, passing a small rounded-white tube to me, and another flicked his light and set my cigarette alight. I chanced a look at the Uniform beside me for the first time, and his face seemed highly impressed by not only my knowledge of the term kippe (*most common German slang term for "cigarette") but also by my question in of itself.
I took a hefty drag from my kippe and blew out a perfect smoke ring, my eyes alight with the obvious challenge. The Uniforms' carved faces of marble or granite crumbled before me, melting into cheery smiles by the heat of my offered camaraderie. In response to my smoke ring the eldest of the men around me, a grizzled veteran with a salt-and-pepper beard and flecks of each in his dark hair, blew a series of 10 smoke rings from one drag of the kippe between his index and middle fingers. The veteran, I referred to him from that moment on as "Smokey," turned to me and I saw his eyes alight with youthful joy and his face split into an impish smirk. I bowed my head to him in submission, but quickly brought the kippe to my lips and blew a series of seven smoke rings. In a random order the other Uniforms tried to match our precisely-shaped smoke rings, but those that did only got to about three or four; nowhere near my or Smokey's grand total. I jumped slightly as I heard a man from the elongated turret call out to whom I assumed was Smokey.
"Oberstabsfeldwebel Heinrich! Wir stehen kurz vor Schweinfurt!" (Translation: "Sergeant Major Heinrich! We are nearing Schweinfurt!") Smokey nodded gravely, giving me a wink and tossing his kippe over the side of the half-track, picking up his long-rifle and holding it diagonal on his lap. The other Uniforms followed his actions, tossing away their kippe and hoisting their diverse rifles. I let my eyes wander to the Uniform beside me, a man I would forever refer to as "Blinky" due to his tendency to blink a lot, blinking a question to him. He inclined his head to me in return, and then looked at Smokey, gesturing to me and to the crate beneath the bench I was sitting on. Smokey grinned in appreciation of whatever mute conversation they were having, and all of the other Uniforms averted their eyes as I was hoisted onto the bench and hastily undressed by Smokey and Blinky. They wrapped something around my chest and hips, making both areas flat and firm. Smokey then leaned down to the crate while I shivered in my partial nudity, and when he stood back up he held a uniform like his, only much smaller. They gave me warm underclothes to wear, though they weren't bulky like they looked to be, and then helped me put the uniform on. That done, Blinky drew his knife and viciously attacked the blonde locks I had been so proud of for so many years, leaving it ruffled and wild, and just barely reaching my ears. Smokey placed a helmet over my head and Blinky a belt on my waist, complete with ammunition packs and a pistol. I knew not what they had in mind, so I voiced my confusion.
"Blinky, Smokey, was los ist? Warum gibst du mir eine gleichmäßige und langfris Gewehr? Warum muss ich ein Messer und Pistole?" (Translation: "Blinky, Smokey, what is going on? Why are you giving me a uniform and long-rifle? Why do I have a knife and pistol?") The Uniforms before didn't answer for awhile, but eventually it was Smokey who responded. He also looked amused by my choice of nickname for himself and his comrade.
"Hör zu, Mädchen. Sie müssen handeln, als ob sie ein Soldat in der Heer sind. Wenn Sie auf lassen, dass sie nicht zu uns gehören sie unaussprechliche Dinge mit dir machen. Ich bin nicht bereit zu stehen und geschehen lassen, nicht ohne zu versuchen, um zu helfen. Fühlt sich "Blinky" die gleiche Weise. Als wir nach Schweinfurt erhalten unsere Mannschaft lernen sie, diese Waffen zu benutzen. Sie ein Mitglied dieser Familie zu werden." (Translation: "Listen, girl. You need to act as though you are a soldier in the Heer (German Army). If you let on that you do not belong with us they will do unspeakable things to you. I am not willing to stand by and let this happen, not without trying to help. "Blinky" feels the same way. When we get to Schweinfurt our squad will teach you to use those weapons. You will become a member of this family.") My eyes were widening as he spoke, to the point where Blinky placed a hand on Smokey's shoulder and gave him a look I couldn't see. Smokey nodded firmly, a small smile dominating his features. I smiled as well, realizing in a flash that this man was willing to break the law in order to keep me safe. Of course, I wasn't to know that the War would be anything but safe. Smokey's unit had been told that they would be held back, only seeing action when there was no one else. However...soon after we arrived in Schweinfurt we learned that this was not the case. We would be sent to the Front lines in a major push against the Western nations. Unintentionally I was swept up in the surge of patriotic nationalism, eagerly agreeing to accompany Smokey and Blinky for as long as my body would allow. They smiled wide and pounded me on the back, and even now I blame those two for the inconsistent dull pains I get in my back. So we were off to war, and while I was unaware of it at the time I would be drastically changed by War's end.