Well, after finally getting access to my account again and finding all my stories gone...I was thinking about not bothering adding anymore. But my muses decided that was a bad idea.
Yes I have changed the name of the main character to Mark W Callum, but I'm sure you can all guess who it is based on...please enjoy and review-thanks folks
Chapter One
Figures slowly picked their way over the sands late in the afternoon of what was to be come known as The Longest Day , stopping at anything and everything that remotely looked like it was once a living human. Even the most battle hardened of men felt sick to his stomach at such a sight. The beach from shoreline to the edge of the entrenchments was littered with the broken remains of what was once someone's father, a son, or brother. Now they were nothing more than a bloodied footnote in military and world history. Those that tended to the wounded and the dying hoped and prayed that the sacrifice would be worth it.
Staff-Sergeant Mark W Callum, knew all too well what had happened. In that split second when he took it upon himself to knock that young lance-corporal out of the way, he knew what was about to occur. Just before the world around him exploded in a mix of sand, metal and his own blood and guts... life was so very clear, for that all too brief moment everything around him froze.
He could see the look of sheer terror on the young lads face, a boy that was far too young to be witnessing such horror up close and he really wished a that moment he could recall the lads name but he couldn't and that angered him. He noted with a deep sorrow the sheer number of dead and dying that covered this once peaceful stretch of French coastline, the way the smoke had mingled with the early morning air creating an almost living fog. And beyond the sand in the fortifications he could make out the look of shock and panic in the faces of the German soldiers that had been caught out by the landing forces. Finally his eyes were drawn to how the mortar shell hung in the air before it sent him towards his death.
The pain wasn't so bad now instead of it burning and tearing throughout his entire body in waves, it now merely ached like a bitch and then some. He could taste his own blood, not that he ever minded the taste of blood and he even found himself laughing as he realised he was now half the man he used to be, literally. It's amazing he thought to himself that he had managed to survive the shell exploding at his feet, it had been the bullet to the head that had mercifully ended his life.
Soon , he thought as he waited for the mass exodus of the newly departed souls to begin.
The thought of watching friends and comrades leave him behind saddened him. But this was always the case, he was never to be allowed peace nor salvation not unless he renounced everything that he had once fought so hard for. Then that would mean having to also deny his love for her and that was something he could never do. So he would remain a damned soul forever cursed to an endless cycle of life and painful death.
They say in the last moments just before you die your life plays out before you, giving you the chance to reflect on all that was and what could have been. Mark smiled, knowing that his was quite a long tale and not one that could be told in a mere heartbeat.
He tried his best not to laugh when the poor medic nearly threw up at the sight of his body spread over the sand. Strange he thought, how that even in the state of death he still had his wicked sense of humour.
The sounds of the wounded and dying faded as did the noise of the now distant battle, the Allied Forces making slow but steady progress ever forwards. Good... at least this meant something, he turned and wanted to scream out in anguish at seeing the twisted body of the young lad he had died trying to save laying there, even now they would not let him have some comfort. Had his death meant him saving the boy, he would have gone to his grave a contented man, but no... they had decided that the youngster had to perish too, showing him that his noble gesture was once again futile and meaningless.
Mark like so many others was twice condemned, first because of his own fall from grace and secondly because he then fell in love one that should have been above such petty mortal emotions. For he had so many lifetimes before fallen in love with an angel, and she had returned his love in ways that even now after all the countless years he could never fully comprehend.
An old familiar voice awoke him from his bitter-sweet memories.
"Now then Mark, me old mucker ...I had no idea thee was about this here neck o the woods"
Mark laughed for only Jacob Stuart would greet him in such a fashion, he too was a damned soul although his path to damnation was different and over the years they had encountered each other many times both in life and in the all too brief moments where they were caught between life and death.
"Where are you?" Mark asked, as he looked over the sands, after shooting his friend a quick smile.
Jacob lent on a twisted piece of fortification and scratched his chin as he scoured the beach for his remains.
"Ah, I'm o'er there" he pointed "and o'er there" he laughed as he pointed out a third time "oh, and o'er there, I gets about a bit tha knows, lad" his thick Yorkshire accent was as usual strangely welcoming and full of warmth.
"What on Earth are you doing with the American landing forces?"
"Ah well for sum reason, I found my sen being one o those damn Yankees" he grinned at his playful dig at what under normal circumstances would be called a friend.
Mark reacted the way Jacob expected and playful punched him on the arm, but stopped before he landed a second blow.
"Fuck it's getting cold quick" Mark cussed in his usual drawl.
"Aye that it is... we shouldn't be feeling the cold.. that's right peculiar that is" Jacob was actually shivering as he spoke.
Both Mark and Jacob started to search for the source of the sudden chill in the air. Something deep inside told Mark to turn around, so he did slowly not sure that he really wanted to see what was happening or the source of such a cold chill.
There stood before Jacob was a huge figure in a thick heavy robe, its face obscured by a deep cowl.
Both Mark and Jacob were not small men but this cloaked figure towered over them both making them look like children.
"You two are to come with me" it intoned, they both felt rather than heard its strangely echoing voice.
"Happen so, but we ain't like most of these others hereabouts tha knows"
The cloaked figure stopped and turned.
"I know who and what you are Master Jacob Stuart, and you too Mark William Callum"
"Then why?" Mark went to ask but was silenced when a long bone finger reached out and touched his lips.
"You are both to be given a second chance"