Blue Flame

“Summon the spirit ‘Aufpasser,’ Keeper, Guardian,” demanded Erik.

There was no need as Fritz Hansen, the Spirit Keeper, after detecting strange anomalies at the portal went to investigate and materialised in the earthly portal.

Fritz felt fear coming from his son and his pregnant daughter-in-law, who he saw lying in a glass coffin looking helpless. He saw the protective pentagram and symbols replaced and became concerned as the mortal with the demon aura now stood in front of him and gave him a stark warning, “If you attempt to raise the alarm in the spirit world, it would not bode well for your mortal family,” said Erik pointing to Freda.

The bemused commandos in the room could not understand what was happening and Hans ordered them to go upstairs which they did with great haste because they felt scared.

Fritz waited to see what would transpire before summoning help and knew his Spirit Guide wife would not be far away.

“What do you want demon?” Fritz asked.

Hans looked on bemused. Erik appeared to be speaking to an empty spot on the floor. ‘What is this devilry’ thought Hans, as he slowly edged his way behind Twigg as instructed to await the signal from Hitler’s Jewish psychic.

Hans was a mortal spectator in the room and could not perceive what the others were witnessing.

The room became a swirling kaleidoscope of illuminated vivid colours. Crimson lights emanated from the glass coffin containing Freda, the two Keeper’s myriad of rainbow colours swirling around the portal, and the dark blue, almost black, aura emanating from Erik.

Twigg glared at Erik, and asked again, “What are you doing, and what do you want?”

“I am here to help mankind. They have lost their way and need guidance. I demand the help of the spirits to accomplish my goals,” said Erik.

“You can demand nothing demon, your kind only wanted to destroy mankind,” said Twigg and sounding defiant, added, “We will stop you as we have always done in the past.”

“And what do you hope to achieve?” Fritz asked.

Erik grinned and told them, “With your cooperation, I can bring about new world order and …”

While the Keepers glared at Erik as he spoke and unable to pick up any emotion to know he was lying, Twigg and Fritz did not notice Hans, who now stood behind Twigg.

Eric had, and seeing Hans in position, yelled, “Now, Hans!”

Hans lunged at Twigg, pushing him to the location on the floor that Erik had shown him. Fritz saw this, panicked, and tried to flee back into the spirit world, but with everything happening too fast, Hans had forced Twigg into the portal before Fritz could escape.

“Excellent, excellent,” shouted Erik, clapping excitedly. “Right on target.”

Hans looked on in horror as the mighty Twigg shook. A force seemed to enter Twigg’s body, knocking Hans of his feet. Hans watched from the wooden floor, as Twigg stood fixed to the spot, convulsing as if some powerful invisible force shook him. Hans saw Twigg’s face distort and small particles of flesh floating away from his body, swirling around him. Watching with horror, Hans saw Twigg disintegrating before his eyes which unnerved him and he looked at Erik grinning as he stared where moments ago Twigg stood.

What Hans didn’t see was the portal’s blue flames intensifying, as a multi-coloured tornado swirled around violently as the two Keepers intertwined, stuck together like conjoined twins. After several moments, the blue flame disappeared, leaving the fused slow-spinning rainbow vortices rotating around a flameless portal

Erik laughed and sounding condescending, said aloud. “I knew I could do it. My calculations were correct, “I have closed a portal. Now me and the Füehrer can live forever.”

Erik then looked down at Hans on the floor with his mouth agape. ‘You’re not so tough in my world,’ he thought, sneering at him.

Hans got to his feet, and trembling like a frightened child, asked, “What devilry is this?”

“You need not know, so carry out your orders. Now, give me your pistol,” snapped the Jew.

Hans’s hand shook as he handed Erik his Luger.

Erik walked into the glass room and over to the glass coffin. He opened the lid, pointed the Luger, and as Freda put her hands up to protect herself, Erik fired two shots, one into Freda’s head, and another into her stomach and closed the lid.

“You’re going nowhere,” he said to the corpse and smirked as two crimson spirits filled the coffin, like red smoke in the wind.

He looked over at the swirling rainbows in the portal, grinned, and shouted, “At least you can spend eternity close to each other,” he laughed as the crimson lights settled down, as Freda, now a Spirit Guide, realised the situation was hopeless. She watched her husband and father-in-law’s spinning auras, before melding with the smaller crimson light of her unborn child within her prison.

Erik went over to Hans and looked up at his ashen face glaring wide-eyed at him as he handed back his Luger, smirked, and said, “You have done good work here SS-Oberfüehrer, the Füehrer will be pleased.”

Erik and the trembling Hans left the cellar and went upstairs. Hans’s commandos saw their leader shaken. They all thought that the sooner this part of their mission was over the better, they’d never felt so scared. These soldiers were the elite of the German army and although they had witnessed and caused many scenes of death and carnage, this was something that seemed far worse than simply dying.

They all went outside the cottage and looked towards the edge of the Black Forest as the rumbling became louder and the first row of trees collapsed forward. With the sound of splintering and cracking wood, two large Weinmach MS40 heavily armoured earthmovers pushed their way through. Smaller diggers, cranes, and various other excavation and building equipment, along with trucks carrying men and supplies, followed closely behind.

The convoy made its way sluggishly toward the cottage.

Hans looked at his watch. The slow pace of the machines infuriated Hans and his men. The heavy vehicles only appeared to inch their way forward. The commandos all looked relieved when they saw three vehicles swerve past the others and speed towards them. Two half-track Maultier cargo trucks and a Kubelwagon jeep approached the cottage.

Hans breathed a sigh of relief as he saw his replacement, SS-Oberfüehrer, Benno Von Arent, sitting in the front.

“Good, now we can get away from this place,” Hans told his relieved, battered, bruised, and terrified men.

Erik glanced at Hans and smirked as the Kubelwagon stopped in front of him and the commandos.

Benno got out and saluted them. They returned the salute and Benno, Eric, and Hans went inside the cottage. Benno took blueprints and other documents from a case and laid them out on the kitchen table.

“You don’t look well SS-Oberfüehrer, you look like you have seen a ghost, was everything alright,” asked Benno as Hans trembled and glanced at the cellar door.

“Yes, he is fine,” said Erik smirking, eager to get on with the next phase.

A truck pulled up outside and a dozen infantry soldiers jumped out and formed up into a line. The Gestapo officers gave the soldiers their orders and they unloaded their cargo of furniture. Hans’s commandos offered to lend a hand until they found out the items were going to the cellar.

Another truck pulled up. This one’s rear compartment was armoured and its cargo differed from the first having various sized, heavy narrow crates and a rectangular red strongbox.

Hans, Benno, and Erik were organising and planning. Erik stopped when his furniture came through the cottage. He went with the soldiers down to the cellar to oversee the delivery.

It didn’t take long to complete the task. The soldiers went outside to wait for the slow, heavy excavation equipment and to speak with the commandos who told them about the creepy cellar.

Hans, Erik, and Benno came outside. Benno pointed out the area for the excavation and building of an underground bunker.

Erik gave an order to a Gestapo officer, who marched to the back of the armoured truck.

Benno looked at his watch and told Hans, “Your job is finished here SS-Oberfüehrer. You need to carry out your next assignment. There is a camouflaged Junkers Ju252 cargo plane waiting at a makeshift airstrip, 40k North West, at the rim of the Black Forest. The plane will take you and your team to a transitory airstrip near Farge port. A truck will pick you up from there.”

Hans smiled and breathed a sigh of relief as Benno clicked his heels together… “Heil Hitler!”

The commandos returned the salute and Hans ordered his men into the Kubelwagon.

“Wait!” shouted Erik stood behind the BUCH MOSE strongbox,beckoning Hans to return.

Hans glared at Erik as he got out of the Kubelwagon and went over to Erik, who said, “You know how important this is, and the Füehrer insisted that you and I place this into its new home.” He smirked.

The Kubelwagon drove around the slow oncoming convoy of heavy machinery and along tracks and small roads around the Black Forrest region. The commandos, relieved to be away from the cottage, remained deep in thought and confused as they made the slow journey to the airstrip. Milky orange dusk enveloped the sky as they reached the Junkers, covered in camouflage netting. The pilot ordered them to hurry with the plane not being equipped to fly at night.

Hans’s men removed the netting, and the pilot started the Jumo 211F engines. Hans and his commandos climbed aboard and the plane took off. The commandos, still unnerved by their experience, stared ahead in silence throughout the short flight.

Hans looked at his watch in the moonlight, “2:00 am. We could have walked there quicker,” he grumbled. He and his men had now been waiting on a small roadside at the now deserted airstrip for several hours. They then heard engines and saw headlights coming toward them.

Four ‘Moles,’ Opel Maultier trucks loaded with cargo and troops pulled up alongside them. Hans and his men climbed into the back of one vehicle for the short journey. The night sky was quiet, but everyone on the vehicles knew at any moment things could change. All the troops looked on edge as they listened for the sound of aircraft.

They arrived at a jetty at the port of Farge, pulling up alongside a sleek U-boat, where two young SS officers met them. “Heil Hitler!” said the fresh-faced youngsters, snapping to attention and raising their arm in salute. Hans returned their salutes, marched past them, and boarded the U-boat, followed by his commandos.

Previously, pity was not in Kruger’s nature, but after the unnerving events he’d witnessed at the cottage, he could not help but feel sorrow for the two young officers. He knew there was no room on the U-boat to accommodate them, so they would be a disposable loose end.

The other troops got out of the trucks and started offloading the cargo into the U-boat. Several of the U-boat crew came from below decks and assisted. They loaded small heavy wooden crates, marked with a large black stencil:

PRODUCTO DE ARGENTINA

MAQUINARIA AGRICOLA

Argentine agricultural machinery.

Captain Viktor came on deck, while the rest of his officers stayed below supervising the storage of the heavy cargo. Several other trucks arrived during the night with storage containers that dockside cranes hoisted into watertight compartments. Other trucks arrived with smaller crates they loaded into the conning storage area within the vessel. Several hours into the offload they all ran for cover as allied bombers flew overhead, dropping their payloads onto the nearby town of Bremen and the Valentin submarine pens close by. The bombing was brief and once over they continued with the loading. By daybreak, the U-boat’s crew felt exhausted.

The Captain stood on the conning bridge and watched his men load the last of the cargo into the U-boat. He felt angry, because not only was his crew’s complement less than half, just twenty-eight men but also they had to work tirelessly loading the boat. He, along with the rest of Germany knew they’d lost the war and knew they were transporting looted- treasure.

Kruger and his men came out of the U-boat, now attired in black S.S. uniforms.

The sailors just milled around on the jetty.

The Captain thought that with the U-boat now loaded, they should soon be underway. He wanted to get back out onto the familiar ocean, maybe for the last time. Karl always hoped that he would die at sea, a maritime warrior.

Hans issued an order to his men and they rounded up the U-boat crew at gunpoint and ushered them aboard. Hans then ordered the Captain to join his men. Captain Viktor clenched his fists, angry about getting orders from an S.S. murderer, but he had no choice; his orders had come from the top.

The SS commandos locked the crew in the hot forward compartment of the vessel with the six remaining torpedoes.

“What’s happening sir,” asked a submariner.

“I don’t know but we’d better rest,” said the Captain who sat on the cramped steel floor, rested his head on his knees, and thought about his wife and kids.

The jetty was now silent, except for screeching seagulls and the groan of twisted wrecks, buffeted by the waves.

Hans Kruger and the two young SS officers stood on the jetty. Kruger looked at his watch, satisfied that everything had gone according to schedule. All he had to do now was wait for the Füehrer.

* * *

With the battle raging outside, a grisly sight greeted S.S. Officers Otto Guensche and Heinz Linge, as they entered Hitler’s quarters within the deserted Füehrer bunker. After hearing two shots and seeing an SS officer leaving Hitler’s drawing-room, they carried out their orders.

Adolf Hitler, dressed in his beige uniform and Eva Braun in a blue floral skirt lay dead in what appeared to be a suicide tryst. Their faces contorted with blood staining their clothes, floor, and furniture. Wispy smoke drifted from the barrel of a Luger pistol lying on the floor beside Hitler’s body. Both he and Braun had white powder around their lips, with a bottle of cyanide capsules, and an empty carafe of water overturned on the table. Small gunshot wounds on their heads still smouldered as Otto and Heinz, glanced at each other, smiled, covered the bodies with plain woollen blankets, and lifted them onto trolleys. They wheeled them to the bunker’s elevator and took them to the surface. With no ceremony and little respect paid to the corpses as Heinz, Hitler’s former valet, and Otto, spat on the corpses before wheeling the bodies outside and dumping them into a bomb crater within the gardens of the chancellery. Artillery shells and gunfire exploded around the buildings as the two S.S. Officers’ removed the cap off a large tin drum and poured a pungent-smelling liquid over the corpses. They ignited the fuel, and with a whoosh, the two bodies erupted into flame.

The two men watched as the corpses incinerated in the inferno. Otto noticed something strange as Hitler’s jacket dissolved in the flame. He nudged Heinz and pointed to Hitler’s forearm. Heinz looked and shrugged.

“The bastard isn’t dead,” said Otto.

Heinz sighed as the inflammable incendiary mix took only minutes to incinerate the flesh from the bodies, leaving only ash and bone.

“We can say nothing about this,” said Otto sounding concerned.

Heinz nodded, and the pair walked away from the cremation, heading away from the bomb-wrecked gardens and toward the sound of battle to surrender.

The following day, newspapers around the world headlined the news: Adolf Hitler is dead. They reported that he and Eva Braun committed suicide. The word celebrated as the war in Europe was over.

Neither Otto nor Heinz ever mentioned what they saw on Hitler’s body as it burned at the war crimes trial in Nuremberg. They told the court that they had seen Hitler and Braun’s corpses, along with the cyanide and Luger. They told prosecutors that their orders came directly from SS – Grupenfüehrer Heinrich Műller Chief of the Gestapo before he fled Germany with his whereabouts unknown.

Otto and Heinz went to their graves without ever telling anyone what they saw tattooed on Hitler’s forearm; the concentration camp serial number of its Jewish resident.

While Germany burned, Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun sat drinking cognac in their cabin, as the U-boat headed towards its final destination. They laughed and joked as they discussed their future together, seemingly unconcerned about the fate of war-ravaged Germany. Hitler knew with his cargo he would rebuild his shattered Reich, either in this life or the next.

8

You never can tell whether bad luck may not after all turn out to be good luck

Silence fell over the capacity crowd at the Sheffield arena, where minutes earlier the raucous sound of cheering and yelling coursed through the stadium. Two boxers had stood toe-to-toe in the centre of a ring, slugging it out for the European middleweight crown.

The popular boxer from Sheffield had dominated the first few rounds of the fight and the crowd cheered him on. Now in the sixth round, he knew by looking at his bruised opponent that he could finish the fight after feeling less power coming from his punches. Although an earlier clash of heads left a minor cut on his eyebrow that the last punch opened but he ignored it and thundered a shot into the fighter ribs. He grinned as the fighter winced, dropped his hands, and left the way open for a clean left hook to the jaw which he knew would end the fight with a knockout. He was about to deliver the haymaker when his body juddered and with a shocked expression, collapsed to the floor.

The cheering stopped, and the audience looked stunned as the referee pointed and the other fighter went to stand in his corner, shrugging and shaking his head. The referee knelt and checked the fighter.

“It’s a bloody fix. He never touched him,” yelled someone in the audience, followed by jeering and booing that echoed around the arena.

The referee stood up and looked shocked as he beckoned the ring doctor.

With their hometown hero now lying motionless in the centre of the ring, the crowd went silent watching the ring doctor examined the fallen fighter.

Pandemonium ensued as the doctor ordered the ring cleared. Corner men and the other fighter who looked shaken left the ring. Everyone in attendance knew the situation was dire, and the fallen fighter now had another fight to win, the fight for his life. The ring announcer reassured the audience while the doctor and the fighter’s trainer performed CPR on the splayed-out boxer.

Paramedics arrived on the scene and went into the ring with their portable monitors and lifesaving equipment. A paramedic set up an Ambu-bag and intubated the boxer, then squeezed the bag to get air into his lungs. Another paramedic charged up a portable defibrillator, and when the gauges reached 100 joules, he shouted, “Charged.”

The doctor placed paddles on the man’s chest. “Clear,” instructed the doctor as he pressed the button, sending a powerful surge of electricity coursing through the boxer’s body, arching it off the canvas floor.

They watched the portable monitor showing the man’s heart rhythm as a flat line, so the doctor increased the voltage to the maximum 300 joules and shocked him again. The paramedic handed the doctor a syringe containing Epinephrine, which he then injected into the boxer’s chest.

The medics continued CPR several for minutes until the doctor checked the boxer’s pupils and confirmed the information on the monitor.

“Fixed and dilated,” said the doctor. “And it’s reading flat line on the monitor.” He looked at his watch and said, “Time of death, 19:05.”

The medical team lifted the boxer out of the ring, put him on a gurney, and wheeled him out of the arena, with the sound of crying and mourning filling the stadium. They put the body in the ambulance and covered it with a sheet.

The ambulance drove away, heading to the Hallamshire hospital. The doctor, a medic, and the boxer’s trainer sat in the back, along with the body.

Gus, the trainer, held his head in his hands, and after several minutes, mumbled, “I don’t know what happened. One minute he was winning, the next he…”

A loud belch emanated from the corpse, making them jump.

“It’s just a reflex,” said the doctor as the boxer sat bolt upright and the sheet slipped off.

“What round is it Gus?” asked the boxer.

“Round six,” stuttered the shocked trainer taken aback.

“Did I win?” asked the boxer.

With his mouth agape, Gus nodded, and the boxer lay back down.

Although taken by surprise the medic’s reflexes kicked in and he placed monitors and re-sited the lifesaving equipment onto the sleeping boxer.

“Arrhythmia… sinus rhythm and respirations are normal,” he told the doctor.

The bemused doctor looked at his watch and exclaimed, “That’s impossible. He’s been dead for nineteen minutes!”

The ambulance pulled up to the front of the accident and emergency department. The dazed doctor, paramedics, and trainer went inside, while the hospital staff wheeled the sleeping boxer to the Intensive Care Unit.

PATH RC389: 2011

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* * *

Vibrant sights and sounds of nature filled the woodland around the cottage, with the trees, foliage and flowers in full bloom, the quaint old cottage looked picturesque. Church and Pinky spent most of their time outside walking among the hedgerows. Church had set up a website www.PATH.com, which now provided him and Pinky with a useful tool for the first contact in finding relatives of lost soul’s location, using Google maps.

One evening, while Church sat at his desk updating the website, the familiar smell of Brussels sprouts filled the room.

He smiled and looked at the portal as Granny Pearl appeared.

“Hi Gran,” said Church, “Have you got another assignment for us?” He asked, hoping it would be lucrative, like the last one.

Church pressed a button on his newly installed intercom.

“Pinky, Granny Pearl’s here.”

“Church, I have another assignment for you both. We have a problem, and with the upheaval and damage repair still going on within the spirit world after the Diabolus encounter, we hoped you would help. The location was close,” Granny Pearl told him.

Pinky came in the portal room.

“Hello, Sharon, I hope you are well.”

“Hi, Granny Pearl,” said Sharon, facing the portal. “Yes, I am okay. Have you got another assignment for us?”

Pinky sat at Church’s desk while Granny Pearl explained, “A psychic surge emitted from a split in the fabric of our world, hitting the mortal world. Although extremely rare and usually harmless, it was the first time that a surge hit someone who was injured. Because of this, the mortal died, entering our world before his time. We returned the soul but he now has the gift and unprepared. We sent a Spirit Guide to make contact, but a mortal intervention’s needed, as the newly gifted one doesn’t seem to get on with the Guide we sent.”

Church nodded at Pinky, who smiled.

“Yeah, it sounds simple enough. No problem Gran, give me the details.”

* * *

People inundated the Intensive Care Unit of the hospital wanting to see the wonder patient. Journalists waited for the story from the man who had been clinically dead for almost 20 minutes and came back. The head of the hospital restricted the number of visitors, only allowing close friends and relatives.

The boxer settled into a private ward. Although still attached to monitors, he was free of the tubes and drips, so he could move around the room.

‘I’m bored,’ he thought, ‘I hope I’m not here long, and the voices in my head stop annoying me.’ His thoughts interrupted by the odour of onions filling the room and he sighed, ‘Oh, not again’ he thought.

“Hello, laddie,” said a Scottish voice.