James Moore - SNAFU - Hunters

It tried to hit Crowley. Like any sensible man, he tried to get the hell away from it. When that fist hit the snowy ground, the earth shook. I mean that. I remember when I was a kid there was a farm hand that was heavy enough you could almost feel a tremor when he walked past in a hurry. His name was Earl and he died of a massive heart attack while he was trying to get an old generator to work again.

I didn’t think maybe the ground shook. I saw the snow ripple away from where the monster hit and I saw Crowley lose his balance and scramble back to his feet as the thing came for him.

The German said something else, his voice hoarse and crackling from whatever was broken inside of him. I looked away from the fight for a second and stared at that smiling face, and I lost my temper. Two steps brought me close enough to raise my heel over that bastard’s head and to stomp down with all I had in me. He stopped laughing and his temple got a dent in it.

I don’t know what to say about Crowley. I guess part of me doesn’t think he was human. All I know was he took a punch from that thing. He blocked it with his arm and instead of being crushed into a pulp, he actually deflected the blow. He got knocked back a dozen feet, and he landed on his backside again, but he took that blow and wasn’t crushed. Hell, I’d stomped on the Nazi’s head and likely killed him, and by all rights Crowley should have died when he caught that punch.

He got right back up, that smile of his wide and nasty, and his eyes as glassy and feverish as the man I’d just killed.

And he roared words at the tank-monster and it flinched back from him like he’d aimed a flamethrower at it.

Crowley walked closer to it, taking his time as the thing stumbled back, that rough, unfinished face screwing into a different shape and a noise coming from it that was like a thousand tortured cats screaming at the same time.

It came for him again, stomping down the snowy road and making that horrible noise as the metal of its body started to heat up. At first it steamed the air, and then it started glowing. Crowley stood his ground as it rumbled his way, and kept speaking, saying things that hurt my mind as much as the damned thing I was looking at did.

It tried to grab him, but Crowley danced past, taking a glancing blow from an arm that was red again, but not wet. No, it smoked and steamed and burned and as Crowley spun away I could see the fabric of his jacket catch fire from the intensity of the heat.

The blow was enough to throw Crowley again, but he didn’t stop. He kept speaking and pulled off his jacket and dodged again as it turned to find him and then stumbled in his direction.

It might have hit him too, but by that point the entire shape was losing cohesion. It was melting and dripping and falling into fiery drops that burned right through the snow.

Crowley walked backward as it kept coming. It fell to the ground on its rough knees and then slumped forward, its arms still reaching for him.

Crowley kept talking, even as it collapsed completely, sloshing into a pool of white hot metal that faded under the level of the snow.

It finally stopped screaming.

I thanked God and trembled.

And then I passed out.

When I woke up again I was in a house. It was a small affair, but it was warm and it was dry and I was on a bed.

I guess I must have gone back to sleep for a while, but when I came to again Crowley was sitting on a chair near my bed. He was clean and dressed in fresh clothes. I was clean too, and dressed in a pair of worn but comfortable long johns.

“How did we get here?”

Crowley didn’t smile. “I carried you. Not really that hard to figure out, really.”

“Thanks.”

“You saved my life. I figured I owed you.”

“I figured the other way around. You did something to me. Put a spell on me or something, but that red thing couldn’t even touch me.”

“Wicht. Or wight.”

“’Scuse me?”

“It was a wicht in German, or a wight in old English.”

“I have no idea what that means.” I hurt everywhere and I was feeling a bit cranky, but I was also feeling mighty grateful. I outweighed Crowley by a good bit, but he got me away from all of that craziness. I had no idea how far he’d carried me. All I really knew was that I was safe, I was warm and clean and someone had even splinted up my arm nice and tight.

“It’s a kind of minor demon.”

“Minor?” I sounded dubious, but only because I was.

He nodded and then reached to an end table on his side of my bed and offered me a cup of warm broth. Chicken soup never smelled or tasted so good. It was just the right temperature, too. I could drink it without burning the sin out of my mouth. “You keep that down, there’s bread and cheese.”

“Where are we?”

“Allied side of France. I have a few friends here. One of them is helping us, because I helped her once upon a time.”

“You said that thing was a minor demon?”

“Ralf Rotenfeld was the man who summoned it. He’s the fella you kicked in the head.”

“What was he trying to do?”

“Win the war, I guess. Not the first time and not the last some jackass will try. Instead of summoning a major demon from the pantheons of hell, he got an inconvenience.”

I know I must have stared like a fool. Crowley grinned at it. “’Inconvenience?’”

“You should try keeping up. Repeating myself is annoying.” The words were said without malice. “That thing was a minor demon. He couldn’t control it, because he couldn’t figure out what its name was. Sometimes names have power. Not always.”

“How did he even summon it?”

“That knife of his, I don’t know where he found it, but that was… that was old and powerful.”

“I dropped it.”

“I found it. It’s safe.” He waved the notion aside. “In any event, it’s gone now. Banished.”

“What happens now?”

“You go back to the army and tell them that you encountered Nazis and lost your entire group.”

“Where are you going?”

“Maybe you didn’t notice, but I wasn’t a part of your squad. I was just along for the ride.”

“I sort of got that when you had your talk with the sarge.”

He nodded. “Nice enough guy for a moron.”

There was a long silence while I considered his words.

I was almost ready to drift to sleep when Crowley spoke again. “Unless you’re looking to get a section eight, I wouldn’t mention the wight or me. It won’t go well if you do.”

“I have to report what happened.”

“Nazis happened. It’s enough. You have an arm with three breaks to it, and you have a bad infection in the other arm. Your feet don’t look so good and if I had to guess you’re going to lose a few toes to the frostbite.” He was very direct. I listened on with a growing sense of horror. “Likely you’re done with the war. You leave the right way, you go home a hero. You leave the wrong way and no one believes you, but they’ll all say what a shame it was you came out broken.” He stood. From my perspective he was very tall. “Your choice.”

Crowley cut me a chunk of bread and a thick cut of cheese and I nodded my gratitude. While I was eating it he looked my way again and said, “I don’t like to mention these things, but I have to. Don’t go thinking about doing what Rotenfeld did. It won’t go well. No matter who tries to win that way, it ends badly. Keep yourself clean is what I’m saying. I owed you. Maybe I still owe you, but don’t push it.”

He grabbed his supplies then. A small sack. Not remotely military issue. Then again, neither were his clothes.

“Where are you going?” I hated that I asked. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.