CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINETEEN – Part Seven
Salvation
There must be a beginning of any great matter, but the continuing unto the end until it be thoroughly finished yields the true glory.
- Francis Drake
It was cold, so very cold. He did not understand why it was so bloody cold. The hall he was walking down appeared to be solid, looking similar to any of a dozen castles he had roamed while working on the staff of the King. The inherent draftiness of the old castles would support a chill in the air but not harshness of the cold he was feeling. None of that was of primary concern, however, for what did concern him was where he was and most importantly, why he was where ever the hell he was. Almost as soon as he had that thought he found himself approaching a broad door flanked by a pair of old fashioned torches, the flames of which cast dancing shadows across the door and floor. Before reaching the door it slowly opened to reveal a dimly lit room dominated by a large four post bed. Stepping through the doorway he saw upon the bed was woman lounging provocatively, wearing a satin gown that revealed nothing but displayed the woman’s body and all its charms to full effect.
Suddenly finding himself standing at the foot of the bed, he was surprised to find that the woman was his wife. How was that possible when she was in England and he was… where ever the hell it was that he was. Those thoughts vanished from his mind when the woman’s eyes opened and lunged from the bed to engulf him in an embrace.
“Malcolm my darling, oh, Malcolm my darling!”
Wrapping his arms about her, Drake felt tears well up in his eyes as felt the glorious presence of his beloved wife pressed against him. Oh, how he so missed her.
“Cecilia, dearheart, oh, how I love you!”
“And I you, my love,” she replied as she lifted her face to gaze into his eyes.
“Come, lay beside me and rest.”
Suddenly Drake realized that he was very tired. He was perplexed because he did not know why he should be so tired. Lying upon the soft bed, his head propped atop a pillow, he gazed into his wife’s beautiful eyes, adoring the sight of her after so long. Why, he suddenly thought, had it been so long since he had seen Cecilia? He opened his lips to ask that very question aloud when a series of dull booms were heard echoing from outside the door.
“What the hell is that?”
Looking back from the door to Cecilia, Drake felt a pain in his chest at the sudden forlorn look that was plastered across his wife’s face.
“Dearheart, what is going on?”
“Malcolm, my darling, I miss you so much -- ,” the rest of Cecilia’s words were washed away by the harsh metallic sound of straining motors. The room started to vibrate as if it was moving, being born upon wheels. Drake was confused and looked to his wife.
“What the hell is going on, Cecilia?”
She cast a pained look toward the door at the sound of fists pounding upon its heavy wooden planks. Looking back at Drake she caressed his face lightly with her fingers and leaned down to kiss him lovingly and tenderly.
“Come home to me, my husband.”
“What? I’m here with you now, Cecilia,” Drake replied, ignoring the shouts from the door, the vaguely familiar voices calling out, the words slowly become distinct and in so doing becoming unwelcome.
“You must wake up, my love. Wake up and come home to me,” Cecilia replied sadly, tenderly, once more caressing Drake’s face with tears in her own eyes.
Ignoring the shouts coming from behind the door that were now clearly recognizable as his name, Drake pulled Cecilia into his arms almost fiercely. “
I am with you now, I don’t want to leave!”
“Please, Malcolm,” Cecilia cried as she returned his fierce embrace.
“You must wake up and come home to me. Come home to me and our sons!”
The booming noises that had been growing in intensity suddenly split the air within the room with a thunderous crash that sent the room heaving. Drake found himself thrust up and out of the bed almost explosively, he going one way and Cecilia going in the opposite direction. Scrambling to his knees, feeling very weak and having a sharp pain lance through the left side of his head, Drake screamed out his wife’s name, the room having been plunged into darkness. The thunderous crashes continued to boom and were joined by smaller crashes that were lighter in timbre but came far more rapidly. A sudden light caught Drake’s attention, a faint shadow briefly hovering in front of the light before disappearing. Finding himself on his feet he raced for the light, knowing somehow that Cecilia had been that faint shadow and that he needed to catch her before it was too late.
“Cecilia! Wait!”
Abruptly the light was before him and before he could think Drake found himself sailing into the light. A blinding white flash caused him to clamp his eyes shut. He suddenly felt a weight across his body and the resurgence of the excruciating pain along the left side of his head. Opening his eyes slowly, hoping to find once more his beloved wife gazing back into his eyes, Drake began to take note of his surroundings with his other senses. Instead of Cecilia, however, he found himself staring into the face of a very distraught Padraig O’Rourke. Blinking his eyes, and finding that small act to be suddenly very painful, Drake looked again and found that the vision had not changed and adding to it were the aromas that were unmistakably those of man waging war against his fellow man.
“Holy Christ, I hurt, Paddy. What the hell happened?”
“Thank all ta Saints, Colonel,” O’Rourke cried as he squeezed Drake’s shoulders with strong emotion.
“I thought fer sure I ‘ad lost you this time. Now don’t be goin’ an’ tryin’ ta move, ye’ve got a nasty crease along the side o’ yer head.”
The booming crashes that Drake had vaguely heard during his vision,
Or whatever the hell that was, he thought to himself, remained to be heard now that he was awake and each explosive crash sent spikes of pain driving through his brain.
“Where the bloody hell are we, Paddy, and more important, how are Danny and McRae?”
“McRae was cussin’ like a trooper when we buttoned him in the other ambulance,” O’Rourke reported somewhat absently as he fussed over the bandage wrapped around Drake’s head.
“Irked to no end that he was shot he was, the silly bugger.”
“Where’s Danny? How is he?”
Looking Drake in the eye O’Rourke said with painful sadness,
“’E didn’t make it, Malcolm. Ta fuckin’ bullet wasn’t even slowed by ta wireless set an’ ‘e was gone before you even grabbed ‘is arm.”
Digesting the information brought the sight of the wireless set on Lyons’ back spraying sparks as it was punctured by the bullet back to Drake’s mind. Jerking as if he had touched a live wire, Drake struggled to rise up to a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the sharp throbbing pain in his head.
“God Dammit to Hell!”
“I’m not sure He has, Colonel me-darlin’,” O’Rourke quipped as he gently assisted his friend up knowing that Drake needed to be sitting even if it was medically inadvisable.
“But ifin He hasn’t it’s only ‘cause our lads did the job for Him!”
Gripping the Irishman’s shoulder in silent thanks, Drake fought off a wave of nausea and then gasped as a nearby explosion sent bolts of pain coursing through his head.
“Son-of-a-bitch this fucking hurts!”
“Well you know what they say, Colonel,” O’Rourke said as he grinned with relief. He knew from experience that a cursing Drake was a mending Drake.
“Feeling the pain is better than the alternative.”
Another series of explosions shook armoured ambulance, eliciting a gasp through gritted teeth. With his eyes tightly clenched shut as he fought to master the pain, Drake asked,
“What the bloody hell is going on out there, Paddy?”
Grabbing a syringe loaded with a half dose of pain killer, O’Rourke jabbed the needle into his friend’s arm while he answered.
“In ta two hours ye’ve been out, Colonel, things ‘ave become quite excitin’ ‘ereabouts. Ivan was more than a tad upset that we left ta party we started in Naro-Fominsk an’ was most insistent for us ta comeback.”
“So we failed then,” Drake replied somewhat indifferently as the pain killers started working its magic.
“Nay, nay,” O’Rourke said enthusiastically as he poured a drink into Drake’s canteen cup and forced into the man’s hands.
“I tell ye, Colonel, ifin I didn’t already knew ye led a charmed life I would start thinkin’ it now.”
“What in God's name are you bloody well talking about?”
Crawling onto the cot to sit next to Drake, O’Rourke took a sip of his own drink before continuing.
“Right after ye were hit, it stopped snowin’, an’ I mean right after ye were hit. Then we traveled no more than a mile an’ we noticed ta cloud cover was startin’ to break up. An’ what do ye know was circlin’ about like a bunch o’ hungry bloody sharks above those clouds? The Royal bloody fuckin’ Air Force!”
The shocked look Drake gave to his friend caused the Irishman to chuckle. “
An’ I’m not just talkin’ ‘bout Typhoons neither! Wellingtons an’ Buckinghams by ta score an’ even great big bloody Halifax heavies comin’ through ta clouds huntin’ fer Russian bear! What we’ve got right now is a ring side seat ta an exposition on ta proper use o’ air support, Colonel me-darlin’.”
“Good God,” Drake muttered as he finally heard the heart warming sound of aircraft engines flying about overhead.
Oh, if we could have only had that support a few days ago, he thought sadly.
“So where are we and why are we standing still? Why aren’t we moving to the west to link up with the rest of the Army?”
O’Rourke’s evil grin would have brought shivers to Drake if it had been directed at him instead of some unseen foe on the far side of the armoured side of the ambulance.
“Cap’n Lightfoot said that Colonel Kippenberger an’ Graf Strachwitz decided that it would be a bloomin’ shame ta force Lord Gort’s lads ta fight for this property seein’ as we’re already here an’ ta RAF is around ta support us.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” Drake said softly as the full effects of the pain killers started to take effect and he felt himself start to drift away.
“Not today, Colonel me-darlin’,” O’Rourke grunted as he got up and lowered his friend back onto the cot.
“Today yer simply ta man who turned a fuckin’ disaster into the open door ta the end of this bloody war.”
To that Drake had no response other than to close his eyes and drift off to sleep.
**
Up Next: We leave Drake, O'Rourke and the rest of the Paras to heal, rest and refit and move on to things going on around the rest of the world where we will find that some exciting things have come about.
Stay tuned for more!
