LeBlanc

The roar of the cannons thundered in the distance. It was hard waiting in that hole, not knowing if one of those shells had my name on it. It took a minute, but eventually the first explosions hit our position. I looked over at Derrick and any thoughts about how fun this might be had left his mind. We were two kids stuck in a bunker in Northern France waiting for death to claim us. And yet the hours crept by. Two hours, three hours, four hours passed. Our little hole dug into the earth wasn't comfortable, but it was an adequate shield for the ammunition that was being hurled at us. Looking over at the people we were sheltered with, the experienced soldiers and the fresh recruits became easy to spot. LaBlanc was relaxed and confident. He had been here for a while.

He leaned over and shouted in my ear as shells pounded away at the earth mere yards away. "The first rule is to not panic! Second rule is to have patience!"

And then, as quickly as it started, the lead hail stopped. For a moment there was quiet. Our ears rang and heads throbbed from the percussion of ammunition landing in the earth. Then the sentries began shouting orders. Derrick and I looked at each other in confusion, but LaBlanc got up from his seat and calmly chambered a round. Muttering something in his native language, LaBlanc then walked out while others ran. One of the officers yanked us up and out of our seats, barking orders. "Get up boys, the Germans are on their way! Every man to the wall, now!

Finding an opening near LaBlance, Derrick and I stepped up onto a bench. Bullets began flying just overhead as the Germans made their desperate bid to push us out. I was terrified of what I was about to do, but it needed to be done. Racking the bolt back and then forward, I shouldered the rifle. The recoil was fierce, but my target fell from view. Reloading, I aimed again, pulling the trigger. Each time, again and again, I made a widow, I made an orphan, I brought the reality of this war straight to a family on the other side. And yet each life taken would have gladly taken mine in this godforsaken place. It came down to a simple truth, either they'd go home in a box, or I would.

What had at first looked like a mighty wave about to break our defenses quickly fell apart. The Germans were pushed back to their own lines. Derrick and I both shared a sigh of relief, but we weren't done. Soon our own officers gave us the order to counter attack. Our captain pulled out his colt, chambered a round, then picked up a bayonet from a dead soldier. Not one to lead from the rear, the captain ordered us to follow, and he jumped up the ladder, disappearing into the smoky haze.

"Come, children. Stay with me and you will find safety. The Lwa will protect you as I have asked them to." LaBlanc said as he climbed the ladder next to us. Without much choice, we followed our newest friend into no man's land. Dodging bullets and hiding behind every stump and ever busted piece of armor, we made our way closer to the German lines. LaBlanc seemed to be as calm as ever, not fearing what might happen next. As we followed our confident leader, I spied in the distance a soldier taking aim. Out of instinct, I grabbed Derrick and we both landed in the dirt. But LaBlanc didn't see. A shot rang out and LaBlanc fell.

Fearing the worst, I returned fire and ended that soldier before he could aim for us again. I rushed forward and dragged what I thought would surely be a lifeless corpse into the crater we were stuck in. However, when I flipped LaBlanc over he was very much alive despite the clear bullet wound in his chest.

"LaBlanc! Where are you hurt?"

"Hurt? I am unharmed, child."

I wondered how this could be possible, but LaBlanc then undid his coat. Underneath was several layers of fabric and metal around his vital organs. The bullet indeed struck his chest, but it never penetrated.

"How?" I asked in confusion.

"Some others had an idea. They made armor to wear into combat. That's lesson four. The spirit of iron is a blessing to those that require his protection."

Helping him up, we continued the counter assault as other soldiers from our company enveloped us and pushed onwards. Reaching the German lines, we came down on them hard. LaBlanc casually jumped into the trench and emptied a clip. Shaking, I mounted my bayonet and followed him in with Derrick close behind. After our guns were empty, Germans came back with a vengeance. I caught a bayonet with my own and followed my training. That worked for the first one, but the second was a superior fighter. The soldier sent me to the ground and was about to impale me, but then something awoke deep inside. Faced with the possibility of never seeing my family again, fear turned to anger.

In a rage, I rolled to the side then kicked the cat's knee, sending him to the ground as well. Jumping on him, I grabbed my rifle and plunged the bayonet deep in his chest, blood coating my face and chest. Struggling to my feet, yet another soldier broke through LaBlanc and Derrick, making straight for me. I swung wide with my left fist and caught him in the jaw. It was like years of pent-up anger came to the surface in that moment, and I pushed forward to defend the backs of friends new and old.

By nightfall we had cleaned out the trench that attacked us. However, other units on our flanks had no such luck. Without much choice, we crawled back across no man's land. Safely back in my own bunk, I cleaned off the mud and blood. LaBlanc came to greet us once again. Sitting down, he took off his helmet and offered a cigarette which I readily accepted.

The Ghost Cometh

A curve up ahead forced me back into the present. The farm truck wasn't exactly quick, but at least it was steady as I snaked through the curves. Not wanting to risk getting in an ambush, once across the river I took the inland road from Weldon Spring to New Melle before turning back toward the river. I'd come in from the west, and hopefully catch whoever was waiting for me by surprise. How many would be there? A handful I could take care of. Start picking them off from the safety of the tree line and then let them come at me. They'd have to cross a couple hundred yards of open ground before they'd reach me, and by that time I would have every one of them dead or dying. In daylight with a steady rest those sorts of shots are simple.

But what if there were dozens? Maybe, just maybe I'd make it out in one piece, but that was a big "if". It was likely that one agent would get lucky, especially if the fight dragged out longer than I liked. Running out of ammunition was a possibility too. Now I was going up over the hill and down below was the farming valley where the Arbogasts made their home. Coming to a stop, I got out and checked over my ammunition and weapons. Rifle, pistol, a bayonet, and a pocket knife. Not a lot, but in the right situation that was all I would need. Scanning the fields below, I didn't see anyone. In fact, there was only one extra car in the farmhouse driveway. The stress was starting to eat at me, but it was no time to break down. If the Arbogasts were still alive, they were going to need me at my best.

Elsa did her best to remain calm, but in truth this was terrifying. So much pain and suffering from the war was threatening to overwhelm her senses. She looked at her husband who wasn't just acting calm, he was calm. Almost like he knew what was going to happen. Her brother had been muttering prayers for salvation and pleas for mercy. His work had yet to be completed in this life and he didn't want to leave it just yet. The two Marigold agents weren't in much mood for prayers though.

"You really think the man upstairs is listening, preacher?" John asked with a snarl.

"He is always listening, young heathen."

"Not to men like us he ain't. Slim, see anyone yet?"

"No. Road is empty."

"Well then, looks like he's not going to make it in time. Too bad, I guess you three weren't good enough hostages for our purpose."

Bobby stifled a laugh, drawing the ire of both agents. "And what, exactly, is so funny to you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Really, I am. It's just that you lads have no idea who Ethan Kelly is."

"Ex-soldier, just like you I imagine."

"Oh heavens no! Sure, I was in his majesty's army, but this boy you just called? Did anyone tell you what unit he was in?"

"No."

"308th Infantry. If anyone is going to—" A knock at the door interrupted him. The two agents stood up and froze.

"Slim, how the hell did he get up the drive without you noticing?"

"He didn't! No car turned in."

Another knock at the door compelled them to answer. "John, what do we do?"

"Blast a few through the door!" A third knock was answered in an instant as several shots rang out, bullets putting holes through the thin door. Letting the front door slowly swing open, they were expecting to see a body. Instead there was nothing. Nothing except an empty porch overlooking an empty driveway. Slim cackled at the realization of what was going on. "John, we're being silly. There's no one there! Could have just been a tree branch hitting the side of the house."

"I don't know, we can't be too careful. Keep watching the front, I'll go around to the back."

John slinked his way to the back door and cautiously opened it. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Looking left, then right, he jumped off the back porch and swept under the house, making sure he wasn't hiding right below his feet. Confident that he wasn't in immediate danger, John continued around to the front of the house. There was still nothing to indicate a problem. Maybe it was the wind? No, something felt… off. They did name this guy the "ghost" after all. Now out front next to the porch, he and slim locked eyes.

A shot rang out, causing John to jump. Slim had been there, and in an instant, he was blown back inside the door. He looked around, trying to figure out where the shot came from. Nothing had changed though, every little thing seemed to stay the same. Another shot echoed through the valley and a searing pain pierced his side. John fell over in the dirt and looked down at the bloody mess which used to be his stomach. Panicking, he looked around once more. Then it dawned on him that when he fell, he lost control of his pistol. Searching the area around him he spotted the revolver. He knew that he wasn't going to live long, but this was his last chance to eliminate the target. Reaching for his sidearm, his hand got within an inch. Just a little further…

A big knife suddenly drove itself through his arm, pinning it to the ground. The pain now was unbearable. John screamed as a boot pinned his other arm down. Looking up in horror, he couldn't make out the face of his attacker, but he saw the barrel of a pistol staring right at him. Finally focusing on who he presumed was Ethan Kelly, he caught a glimpse of the cat.

"How many?" Ethan growled.

"T-two." He said weakly, barely able to form the word.

"What do you mean 'Two'? Moreau didn't send more?"

But the cat didn't reply. He had already lost too much blood, most of it was now soaking into the gravel. Two cats wouldn't have been enough for this. Pulling the bayonet out of the cat's arm and reattaching it to the rifle, Ethan quickly made his way into the house. Sweeping around the room, the blood trail was evident. He had hit the other one in the shoulder, but the agent was still mobile. Leaning into the kitchen, he saw the Arbogasts there. Bobby was comforting his wife while Abelard was lost in prayer. Deciding he could talk later; Ethan continued his search for his missing man.

The blood trail led out the back door and continued across the backyard. There in the distance, running through the cornfield Rocky and Freckle had snuck through the week prior was the second agent. He was making for the tree line. A smart move, but he was too slow. Ethan estimated the range and shouldered his rifle. For a moment he thought about running up to the agent and interrogating him, but if the blood trail was any indicator this one wasn't going to last long either. Deciding to put the cat out of his misery, he let a bullet fly which quickly closed the distance and tore through the cat's back. He was dead before he hit the ground. The dirty work had been done, but now came the clean-up. Confident that the danger had passed, I made my way back into the kitchen.

Abelard looked up after completing his prayer, and what stood in the doorway did not appear to be that child he had seen before. Now Ethan was a soldier. He looked like one, he walked like one, and he fought like one. Bobby too looked over his shoulder and saw a mere glimpse of someone who had survived a week behind enemy lines under constant assault. But in an instant, that image was gone as Ethan set down the rifle and immediately entered the kitchen.

"Is everyone alright?"

Else gathered herself, taking a deep breath to stay calm. I knew exactly what she was going through. She too looked up at me, nodding in confirmation. Bobby too replied. "We're fine lad, for now."

Righteous fury erupted from Abelard though. His sister had nearly been killed due to our incompetence. "We are not fine, Bobby! Mr. Kelly, what unholy thing has your crew unleashed upon my family?"

"We were found out when retrieving that whiskey from the cemetery. Moreau must have figured out the plan. What I don't understand is why Asa Sweet would only send two agents. They think I've killed twice as many at once, Mordecai himself said I was the main threat."

The sunlight dimmed in moments as the sun dipped below the horizon. I stood there contemplating what was going on. The bigger picture was eluding me, I could feel it. The clock in the parlor struck half-past eight and let out a single bell, but it was quickly followed by the phone ringing.

Bobby got up from the table. "Who would be calling a funeral home at such an hour?" Answering the call, Bobby didn't even get a word in before a deep voice came through the line. "John? Is that you?"

Bobby held the phone out for me to accept. "I think you're about to find the answer to your question, lad."

I put the speaker to my ear and replied. "This is Ethan Kelly."

The familiar voice on the other end of the line let out a deep sigh. "So, I take it my men—"

"Are dead. I don't forget a voice, Asa. Now, what's going on?"

"Well, if all is going according to schedule, Mr. Kelly, you're about to be out of a job."

"What?"

"Lackadaisy, boy. I needed you out of the way, but Moreau isn't done with you yet."

"What the hell does he want? Patch me through to him, now!"

"Sorry, but no. Mordecai will be leaving instructions for you. Good night, Mr. Kelly."

As the line went dead, I slammed the receiver back onto its cradle. The Arbogasts looked at me with concern. "What's going on?" Elsa asked.

"I'm in the wrong spot. I should have figured! Moreau wanted me out here, and now… oh my God!"

I immediately went for the door, but Bobby chased behind me. It was quickly getting dark, and I needed to get on the road that instant. "Wait! Ethan, what's happening?"

"The Lackadaisy is under attack, or about to be. The crew are sitting ducks if they're still there!"

I looked back at the farmhouse as I gunned the throttle and hoped I wasn't too late.

Burning It Down

Zib was pulling his hair out at Mitzi's stubbornness. She was still insisting on staying even though she had to know that it would mean certain death for her and whoever else was still at the Lackadaisy. After all, the Mill Street gang had met a gruesome end not long ago. As for Ivy, she was trying to be in two places at once. In the speakeasy, she had managed to get Rocky away from any and all booze. It would be a while until he sobered up, but at least he was sleeping off a depressive episode. Losing his remaining family was hard on the cat, but Ivy needed him to put together a plan and figure out how to keep this place open in the long term. After helping Rocky as much as she could, Ivy turned her attention to the other major task.

Ivy was doing her best to get Riley and Ethan's things packed. Checking under the bed, she spotted a small box and pulled it out. Curious, Ivy opened up the lid only to find that it was packed to the brim with old items from Ethan's past. She couldn't help but satisfy her curiosity by digging deeper into the box. Most of the items were related to the military. One item in particular was a medal of a Valkyrie wielding a sword. Pinned to the rainbow stripe was a small silver star. There were also several newspaper clippings with Ethan's name circled in pen as well as anecdotes about a "Ghost of Charlevaux". Ivy already knew that Ethan was in the lost battalion, but could he have not been telling the full story?

While looking through the box, Riley entered the room, startling Ivy when she noticed the presence of the 10-year-old kitten. "Riley! Jeez, you scared me!"

"Oh, sorry… What are you doing?"

"I was… just making sure that your brother's things were in their proper place. Don't want to leave anything important behind."

"In that case, this book needed to go back in there too." Riley held out the small book of stories she had been looking through. Ivy recognized immediately what it was. She had a suspicion that most of the things in the box and what she had seen from Ethan were somehow tied to this ghost story the other veterans had talked about that night.

"Riley, who's the Ghost of Charlevaux?"

But before Riley could answer, the sound of the door opening interrupted them. Ivy got up and went to see if Ethan had made it back in one piece.

Downstairs, Zib was still arguing with Mitzi when Viktor walked through the door. With a sigh of relief, the exasperated cat greeted the longtime associate back to his natural habitat. "Viktor! I'm glad you're here. I've already got the band moved out to the Sable estate and we're nearly packed up with the rest. Ethan is buying us some time, whatever that means, but I need you to talk to Mitzi. The woman refuses to leave!"

Viktor looked down at Zib, then over to Rocky who was passed out on one of the lounge chairs. Finally, his eyes settled on the widow of the cat to whom he had faithfully served for years. She was sitting on a barstool pouring herself yet another drink, a single shot 410 by her side. He felt the wounds from weeks ago. They were nearly healed but the pain would be there forever. He was too old to keep playing a young man's game, and as much as Mitzi denied it, so was she. Coming near Mitzi, she wouldn't even make eye contact with him. Viktor sat down on the stool next to her and turned to Zib.

"Go find Ivy, get everyone out. Won't take long." Zib nodded his head in understanding and immediately got to work, starting with whatever remained of his meager personal possessions.

Turning back to Mitzi, he sat there for a minute waiting in silence. Yet Mitzi still didn't look up at him. Finally, Viktor decided to break the silence, that elusive thing he loved so much.

"Vhat? No hello?"

"I'm not leaving Viktor. This is all I have left of Atlas. I can't abandon it."

"You are not captain of ship on ocean. Don't go down with ship."

"Viktor, what am I going to do without this place? I can't go back to life on the road."

"Who said you go on road? You will find way to come back. You are unsinkable Mitzi May!"

"Yeah, well, I've sunk hon."

"I thought same way, but now I have purpose again. New life ahead. You must do the same."

Mitzi at last turned her head to reveal a face of tears and running makeup. She was a wreck, a grieving woman who couldn't let go. Viktor knew that face all too well, but he had finally let go of an old life so that he could embrace a new one with his daughter. But that didn't mean he couldn't be there for his old friends, especially Ivy and Mitzi. Grabbing her hands and folding them inside one of his, Viktor used his other hand to wipe the tears from her face.

"You must let go. Atlas would not want this for you. He would not want this for us."

The moment had finally come. Cling to the old, or embrace the new? Mitzi didn't want to sit there and wait to die, but leaving behind the life she had loved so well was hard. But maybe, just maybe, if what Ethan said was true then she would make it. Lackadaisy wasn't just a speakeasy, it was a family.

"Okay. I will go. Viktor, thank—"

The door to the speakeasy suddenly burst open as Zib half-dragged and half-carried Rocky with him. "They're here! Make for the back entrance!"

Mitzi shot up at the sudden intrusion. "Who's here?! Mordecai?"

"No, the feds!"

But before they could move, a tall dark stranger hurried through the doorway leading a dozen men in uniform. "You are all under arrest by order of the Treasury, no one move!"

Mitzi recognized the cat immediately. "Drago…" She said.

"The one and only, my dear. Now, hands where I can see them. You're all taking a trip."

Viktor grabbed his shillelagh. His mind held only one thought, to give his friends an avenue to escape. He hesitated slightly, knowing what this might mean, but then lunged for the first policeman. The big Slav was quick. He reached the man and in one quick motion sent the officer to the floor followed quickly by another, blood oozing from both of their heads. Viktor took all the intruders by surprise, all except the Texan. Quick as a viper, Drago reacted and shot three times. Viktor, hit by two of them, stumbled back but still went for another strike with the club, this time focusing on Drago. The fed pulled the trigger as another two shots pierced Viktor. The Slav dropped to the ground groaning in pain. Mitzi screamed in horror while Zib froze.

"Hands up, now! Unless you want to join him."

Zib quickly put his hands up, dropping Rocky face first in front of him. Mitzi, did the same, her eyes not leaving Viktor as he mouthed "I'm sorry" to her. Mitzi collected herself. "Alright, Drago. You've got us. Now get the man a doctor, please!"

Drago shook his head in disappointment. "Sorry ma'am, but I've got my orders. Seargent, arrest our suspects. Boys, you know what to do.

Mitzi couldn't process what was happening, but it became apparent quick enough. The officers were busting all the liquor in the cabinets and on the shelves. All the illegal booze spilled to the ground and began soaking into the limestone floor. Then someone produced a match. Zib cried out. "What? Are you crazy! That'll burn down the whole block!"

Drago laughed. "Not quite, Zib. We're in a cave, the flames will burn themselves out once all the oxygen is gone." He then nodded to the officer who flicked the lit match into the bar. Everyone was then quickly escorted out. Everyone that is, except for Viktor. Mitzi begged and pleaded to bring him with the others, but her cries for mercy were ignored.

Bait

The scene topside had changed dramatically. Police cars surrounded the building as officers combed through every inch. Two unmarked cars waited for their passengers. As the door opened, Rocky was thrown in face first, still too drunk to make sense of what was happening. Zib was shoved in next with Mitzi being treated a little more gently before the door was slammed shut and locked. Zib thought to make light of the situation. "So, when do we get our one phone call? I know a decent lawyer."

"Oh, I'm afraid you won't be needing legal representation, Dorian." The driver replied. It was only then that Mitzi and Zib recognized who was sitting up front. Mordecai pulled down his collar and checked his watch. "Apologies, Mitzi, but I did warn you."

"And who's your friend here?" Mitzi asked, concerned that she didn't recognize the face. The cat turned his head and tipped his hat. "Adam Moreau, Miss May. But besides the speakeasy, we're just after Ethan Kelly, your "ghost". Cooperate and you'll walk out of this without so much as a scratch."

Mordecai then took notice of who the Savoys had pulled from the apartment upstairs. Sera was staring at the girls like a feral animal that had just caught her prey. Nico was wearing a bruised cheek in the shape of what could have only been the heel of Ivy's shoe. Riley clung to Ivy as the terrified girls were shown to the backseat of the sedan ahead of them. Mordecai gave an audible growl. "Is that really necessary?"

"To catch a big fish you need a lot of bait, Mr. Heller. Now, I believe you had instructions for our fish?"

"Very well." Is all Mordecai said before stepping out of the car and making his way into the apartment. As he climbed the staircase, everything still felt familiar. He passed by various photographs, many of them created by Miss M. One specific photograph stared back at him. Pausing, he looked up to see smiling faces. It was the Lackadaisy crew celebrating five years of operation. Everyone was there, even that annoying violinist. Everyone also had smiles worn proudly on their faces. Off to the side, Mordecai saw himself. He too was wearing a smile, though it was subtle. He didn't even recall forcing himself to smile for that picture. Was that happiness on his face? Genuine happiness?

Continuing up the remaining stairs, Mordecai found his way into the apartment. No weapon could be found, and he knew that Ethan had taken whatever he could carry. The mess in the apartment annoyed him to no end, but a particular pile in one of the bedrooms beckoned him. There on the bed was a small stack of papers with many things strewn about from what must have been the site of the struggle. Laying the letter neatly at the foot of the bed, the glint of a medal caught his eye. Lifting it up, he recognized the pattern and style. It was a Victory Medal. Not all that noteworthy on its own, but the silver star was something else. Ethan Kelly had distinguished himself.

"Intriguing." He thought. Looking at more of the things on the floor and the bed, it became apparent that Ethan Kelly was no mere soldier. One newspaper article had a passage circled in it. Picking up the article, he read the words which apparently warranted such attention.

"In my travels in Germany this winter, I met several enemy soldiers who were on the other side of the battle in the area of the "Lost Battalion". Many were experienced, hardened, and disciplined German soldiers who would not scare easily, but at the mention of the "Ghost of Charlevaux", they all would grow quiet and tell me of this soldier's exploits. Comparing their stories to the one of Ethan Kelly, I've concluded that this brave Montanan and the "Ghost" are one in the same…"

Despite his German roots, Mordecai had never heard of this "ghost" before. A small book on the bed offered the possible answers. Written by the same author as the article, Mordecai picked up the book and thumbed through it until he got to the story of the "ghost". A fast reader, he picked up many connections between this story and the observations he had made about Ethan Kelly. Sticking the book in his pocket, Mordecai quickly exited the apartment and made his way outside as police focused their efforts on the speakeasy.

Outside, Mordecai noticed Drago standing next to the sedan conversing with Moreau. As he got in, their conversation concluded. Moreau shook hands with his old friend. "Give the boys in Chicago my regards, Dom. Hope you can get some rest before your train."

"Ah, 5:30 isn't too early, Adam. Besides, I got a nice suite on Panama."

"Enjoy the first-class seats, my friend. Now, if you excuse me, I believe my Cajun associates are ready to go."

"Take care, Adam. Give Ethan my regards when he shows up."

"Will do."

Rolling up the window, Moreau started the engine and looked at the "bait" in the backseat. As the two sedans rolled out, the movement caused Rocky to sit up. "Miss M, what's happened?"