. . . And Death Shall Have His Day.
May, 1940
Thump. Thump. Thump. His soft footfalls seamed deafening in the practical silence that filled the air. However, John Dawson could faintly hear the crackling flames behind him. He turned his head, knowing what he would see but unable to prevent himself. He didn't let out a sob at the sight of the massive pillar of black smoke behind him. He was already past that stage.
Why did this happen? he asked himself. Better yet, how could it happen? The Germans hadn't played this hard in the Great War, twenty years prior. Why now?
"Bastards." he spat. "God damn them to Hell. All of them, for eternity."
He didn't sound angry, not even mildly perturbed. All the anger had boiled out, to be replaced with white-hot rage, so hot in fact that he no longer felt it eating at him. But it was there. For now horror and sorrow had taken precedence - disbelief had been banished before now. After all, Lucy was almost assuredly dead. How could he not believe anything if he had accepted that?
"I hear you." one of the other soldiers said. "This wasn't supposed to be how it went. First Poland - at least the Commies didn't take a slice of the damn place like we were afraid they would - then Denmark and Norway - now this. I bet you anything that those bastards across the Channel that we so mistakenly call our 'allies' are next. Anything at all."
"I agree." John spoke without hesitation. "They sit nice and safe and watch us collapse under the weight of the Nazi behemoth - I hope they get what's coming to them, and soon. Why, the Australians and Canadians helped us more then they did."
"True - very true, in fact." the other soldier said. "But now that prick in the United States - Roosevelt - can't just twiddle his thumbs and ignore Europe, can he? No. He has to take a stance, one way or another, and soon. But God save us if he sides with the Huns."
"Why would he? We've been his allies in the past. We have a common history."
"Who knows why Americans do anything? They're all arrogant bastards."
John couldn't disagree. He looked behind him once more at the burning, shattered remains of his beloved home city, then began to weep.
__
"Mein Fuhrer," the soldier said. "There it is."
Adolph Hitler turned, looking across the river to the massive tower that dominated the skyline of the city.
"At last. All through the Great War I dreamed of this moment. My victory is assured!"
The Fuhrer of Germany watched as the Iron Cross flew from Big Ben.
May, 1940
Thump. Thump. Thump. His soft footfalls seamed deafening in the practical silence that filled the air. However, John Dawson could faintly hear the crackling flames behind him. He turned his head, knowing what he would see but unable to prevent himself. He didn't let out a sob at the sight of the massive pillar of black smoke behind him. He was already past that stage.
Why did this happen? he asked himself. Better yet, how could it happen? The Germans hadn't played this hard in the Great War, twenty years prior. Why now?
"Bastards." he spat. "God damn them to Hell. All of them, for eternity."
He didn't sound angry, not even mildly perturbed. All the anger had boiled out, to be replaced with white-hot rage, so hot in fact that he no longer felt it eating at him. But it was there. For now horror and sorrow had taken precedence - disbelief had been banished before now. After all, Lucy was almost assuredly dead. How could he not believe anything if he had accepted that?
"I hear you." one of the other soldiers said. "This wasn't supposed to be how it went. First Poland - at least the Commies didn't take a slice of the damn place like we were afraid they would - then Denmark and Norway - now this. I bet you anything that those bastards across the Channel that we so mistakenly call our 'allies' are next. Anything at all."
"I agree." John spoke without hesitation. "They sit nice and safe and watch us collapse under the weight of the Nazi behemoth - I hope they get what's coming to them, and soon. Why, the Australians and Canadians helped us more then they did."
"True - very true, in fact." the other soldier said. "But now that prick in the United States - Roosevelt - can't just twiddle his thumbs and ignore Europe, can he? No. He has to take a stance, one way or another, and soon. But God save us if he sides with the Huns."
"Why would he? We've been his allies in the past. We have a common history."
"Who knows why Americans do anything? They're all arrogant bastards."
John couldn't disagree. He looked behind him once more at the burning, shattered remains of his beloved home city, then began to weep.
__
"Mein Fuhrer," the soldier said. "There it is."
Adolph Hitler turned, looking across the river to the massive tower that dominated the skyline of the city.
"At last. All through the Great War I dreamed of this moment. My victory is assured!"
The Fuhrer of Germany watched as the Iron Cross flew from Big Ben.