Operation Wolfe Cub: A Chilling Historical Thriller (THE TIME TO TELL Book 1) (38 page)

Pretty soon, four of his neighbors squirmed to gather up enough courage to speak out also: “Yeah, that’s right—”

“That’s right, Preacher…first it’s Jews, then it’ll be—then it’ll be us Americans!”

“That’s not what God wants…German Satanism is what they are!”

“Yeah, that’s right!”

The priest stroked his beard, looking as if he were deeply entertained. “So now some of you…you thinketh real Christians don’t kill, maybe. And me? I think
none
of you are real Christians of War.
Hmmm
, I seeeeeeeee. We have much work to do this morning.”

He cleared his throat, opened his Bible to where his bookmark was, and pulled up his reading glasses that hung from his neck on a chain sturdy enough to leash a dog with. “Nobody here is a real Christian just yet. For it is I—with the power. It is I with the power of Gauwad’ehh—to teach you real, true Christian faith in my father’s house.”

He continued, “Christians of the New Testament like to teacheth peace and looove’hh. They say the Bible was the greatest—the greatest book ever written’ehh. Yet we have a problem and God sees you right here now. Either you are ignorant—or you deny the word of Gauwad’ehh! This is your problem! Christians of the New Testament embrace the Old Testament. Yes, that’s right. All of us, everyone, embraces the Old Testament. Instances lay before you.”

He opened his hands. “Look at the Ten Commandments. That’s Old Testament. Did you hear? Ten Commandments were written—in the Ooooold Testament’ehh!”

He adjusted his reading glasses and rearranged his papers while shaking his head in total denial.

“Genocieede’hh! That’s right, genocide. The Germans are doing it, and so are weeeeeeee!” Right here—America. We are at war! We are a founding nation of—slauuughter. We’re cleansing the evil as we speak. It may get worse—and, oh yes, it
will
get worse…we’re killing for what is right’ehh. It is genocide, and it is God’s will. It’s good triumphant over evil….
hmmm
yesss…holy warrrrr.”

He took a break to drink from his shiny, ornate brass cup as he kept one eye on the crowd.

Everyone, even the children, were glued to their chairs in shock, stiff as mannequins. Then, with a somber sense of gratitude, he held his cup up, giving them all a silent toast, sort of relaxing his crowd.

Surprise seemed to be his disguise, as he set the stage for a chilling surprise once again.

WHAM!

He hit his Bible, yelling, “The Bible teaches
genocide!
”

Then calmly, he went on, “It’s the greatest book ever written, they sayyyy. Christians taketh out what they want from the great book. Call it evilll. It’s—selective reeeeading of holy words, I verily say…those down the street’ehh. Those here on
Church Street’ehh…those preaching right now say certain things in the great book do not apply to their teachings’ehh.”

He burst out, slamming his Bible repeatedly, “Real Christians would never do that! God is perfect. God is forever with all the wisdom of perfection! God and his people tell us right here in these scriptures.”

He went on, clenching his fist, “God doesn’t change his mind thousands of years later and say—‘Oh, forget what I said.’ Poppycock! It’s here in this book now! Bible’s Old Testament scriptures aren’t out of print. It does not amuse, no? Is that the kind of God you want?”

He continued, “Are you
real
Christians or not?!”

Calmly, he pulled out a piece of paper with quotes, but before he read them off, he looked at his shaken-up audience. “Old Testament, brothers and sisters…these are words from Gauwad’ehh: Book of Exodus, chapter 34, verses 11 through 14; Book of Leviticus, chapter 26, verses seven through nine—”

He then stopped in the middle of his quotes, feeling interrupted by the hundreds of shuffling pages in every corner of his church. Pages flapped and fanned out loudly, as if he were giving a sermon in the middle of a paper factory.

“This is
Gauwd’s
time, not yours! Look up chapters ‘n verses later—on your own time!”

Everyone, including the Coolidges and Johnsons, quickly took his advice by closing their Bibles immediately.

Eddie, being the last person to close his Bible, glared at Chantain, as if feeling the whole sermon was preposterous.

Chantain moved her lips silently: “Give—it—more—time.”

The priest moved on, “The Bible details the fury of God’s genocidal wrath’ehh! Massacres after massacres. Multiple prophets under the direction of Gauwad’ehh. Even in the words of—God himself.”

He slapped his Bible repeatedly. “All you—”
Whack!
“—have to do—”
Whack!
“—is open your eyes—”
Whack!
“—and read it!”

He then raised his hands. “It is I! I—have the power of Gauwad’ehh—to help you understand that you are not real Christians until you embrace
all
of God’s word. God’s words are not fruit that you pick and choose. Praise the Lord and have mercy on your souls for not following all of God’s word.”

He continued, sipping from his cup in between sentences, “Look at Noah.”
Sip
. “God cleansed the earth with the flood of water.”
Sip
. “Hu! Noah’s Ark—his survivors?”
Sip
. “That is all that was left of them.”
Sip
. “That was genocide, don’t you think?”
Sip
. “You know that one, so we will move on.

“Moses! Look at our beloved Moses’ehh! Book of Numbers 31:7; Numbers 31:15. They killed the kings of Midian...and the people of Israel took captive the women of Midian and their little ones; and they took as
booty
all their cattle, their flocks, and all their goods. All their cities in the places where they dwelt’ehh—and all their encampments, they burned with fire.

“Moses was enraged with the officers of the army…so you spared the women! Kill every male among the little ones, and kill every woman who has had sexual intercourse with a man, but keep the virgins for yourselves…divide them up even-lyyyyy. Numbers 31:15. Moses defeated the leaders of Midian. Joshua 13:21.”

He huffed before continuing, “Moses, ladies and gentlemen, was on the ballll…here we are. Taketh more holy accounts I want you to read: the books of Judges, Joshua, and Numbers too…amen, praise the Lord…look at our beloved Joshua! Book of Judges 6:1; Exodus 17:13…Deuteronomy. Be sure to read Deuteronomy 25:17! Don’t forget Samuel…1 Samuel 15:2, 1 Samuel 27:8, 1 Samuel 30:1…all these! Genocide is hiding in the cracks of time!”

Just as the priest was working his mysterious ways, so was another. This little person was Doll. He warmed up with a sputter; then he puckered until finally he hummed along with a nice, constant whimper.

This didn’t help to soothe the priest. Quite the contrary, his reaction was like splashing cold water on his face without knowing who did it. Immediately, he scanned the crowd, trying to pinpoint the epicenter of his newfound nuisance. The source was not easy for him to find because the echo bellowed back and forth from everywhere. Eventually, he found him to be in Chantain’s arms, behind several pews and well positioned out of sight.

By then it was too late. Doll’s contagion had spread to yet another baby in Julie’s arms. She immediately gave Arlis a bottle, quickly shutting him up. Then she glared at Chantain, suggesting she do the same.

When Chantain caught on, she whispered, “There now… watch the wild man up there with the big voice…that’s it, good boy.”

The priest continued, “Praise the Lord for seeking quiet…thank you mothers. Now brothers and sisters, genocide cannot be right and wrong. The truth holdeth the staff which bears all. Christians aren’t the judges of God’s word in his Bible. They cannot condemn or excuse the brutal conduct of prophets. Christians say genocide never took place to cover it up…that is—hog wash!”

He went on, “The Bible must be a lie then. Do real Christians conceallll? No! Some say God or prophets in scriptures
dreamed
that it happened because they
wished
it to happen. To hell with that...interpret, my people. May they burn in Hell! To all the wishful thinkers…
to Hell with you!
”

He stopped for another sip of water. “This is what I sayyy… bloodshed and genocide is forestalled until the great Joshua returns’ehh! The World War may never be over brothers and sisters. The scriptures in the Bible were holy wars, and we have a God of War. We will have a peaceful God only when the wars are gone. Take my word, which is the old word’ehh!”

Just then, a brief time elapsed while the priest gave a subtle hand signal to two young boys hiding behind the sanctuary,
holding beautiful, ornate, gold-plated platters. Immediately, they stumbled to the front. As the priest motioned, they slowly moved on down the center aisle and passed their platters in opposite directions.

Generosity they received. Coins clattered, metal to metal, onto the golden platters as they slowly circulated hand to hand. Plenty of money was there to give. Adults and children reached out to drop in their share. Some were dumping handfuls, while others delicately placed silver dollars and half dollars.

As the tithing continued, the priest signaled to the organist to play along with the chiming of coins. Money was exchanged to the matching tune of some odd configuration of the organ’s sporadic harmony.

The priest carried on, humming in monotone, “
Hummm
,
hummm
…there sayeth more books, chapters, and verses to taketh to your homes. America,
hummm
, on the path of righteousness…
hummm
, we here were called upon by our Heavenly Father in this world war.
Hummm
, let there be genocide until we have the holy goodness of peace on earth.
Hummm
, forever and ever.

The organist hardly paused as she stopped to turn the pages to the beginning of a brand-new song announced by the priest. “Sing along please…everyone, the Christian battle hymn, ‘A Mighty Fortress Is My God,’ page 44.”

He carried on, “
Humm
, Micah 3:1; Micah 6:16; Habakkuk 2:8,12–17; and lengthy literature from the book of Isaiah; Isaiah 4:3, 5:7–18, 26:21, 33:15, 34:2…
hummm
, read it all… read, read, reeeead brothers and sisters, read’ehh.”

He went on, “Now we sing…sing along…‘A Fortress Is My God’…Praise the Lord for the War of Righteousness.”

Chapter 11

Time stepped along, turning the pages of Doll’s life with the Coolidges. However, none of history’s hidden ways would have mentioned this time without tethering in the weather. Time was largely unrecorded. As remembered, storms were intermittent, appearing then disappearing, leaving forgotten thorns in beds of forlorn warnings. Of course, storms appeared, then faded away to no one’s dismay.

Looking back from the weather’s time frame, nothing came blowing in by way of Devil’s, except Doll. He had drifted in almost a year ago.

Weather is often associated with legend, but then again, maybe not. One ancient ruler, “Augustus,” Latin for “majestic,” is one of a few. Maybe he didn’t seem threatening enough in the spheres beyond. He was just a natural-born man with a Roman name who later became popular. Some of the trivial truths he left behind seemed as interesting as his name, however. He was adopted. Later he was renamed “Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus,” or “Octavius,” as he was called later.

Augustus went on to become Rome’s first great emperor in 27 BC, without really changing Rome’s gross worldly approach. He died quite normally too—except he died in the forever memory of his name. In other words, he checked out with his ticket to death in the month of August, leaving the world behind—wholly in the same condition that it was.

Of course, the weather never tried to take the blame for destroying him or his empire’s fame. Rome, along with its many leaders before and after Augustus, fell through societal
failures. The great demise came through long-ailing tortures of political, economic, religious, military, and foreign invasions, as well as menacing traitors from within the great empire itself. Rome wept, and then fell from its towering nest onto the rocks where it lay to die. It didn’t matter whether the weather was sunny or not as its eerie super-era came to pass. The natural elements hardly had a care in the world.

Eons later, calm days occurred quite often in the small town of Devil’s. Plenty of glorious, sunny afternoons shone down on the region’s calendar. Usually, it was in the summertime when it happened, and this particular summer was in 1945. More specifically, it was the sixth day, and the month was August.

Down through the town and up its quaint streets was that same, inviting farmhouse belonging to the Coolidges, showing off its white-painted appearance, even though signs of age were imminent. Small insidious marks of weathering had begun to show upon the walls. Time would tell if it would get worse and how quickly. Beginnings of cracks ran along the lap siding and chimney stacks.

Despite the ever-persistent conditions, the good day gave at least one cause for celebrating. A celebration worth mentioning was a grand celebration in which the date was picked out by Chantain, coincidentally—or not. As ill-omened as she was, she was brave enough to pick the name of “Doll” all by herself. Just as she picked out Doll’s name, she was kind enough to pick his birthday too.

And so it was. An official birthday came to be. Cars were parked close and far, all throughout the Coolidge parking lot in front of their house.

To emphasize the importance of Doll’s first-time occasion even more, a chorus of what sounded like mainly women could easily be heard from outside the open windows of the family home. A beautiful, high-pitched harmony of
soprano carried on and swept along with that old, familiar tune known to practically everyone: “
Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthdaayy dear Doll-aaaall. Happy birthday tooo youuuu
!”

The happy song could be heard out in the forest, attracting yet another odd group. Rabbits, raccoons, squirrels, deer, quail, and a few birds appeared all at once from the outer rims of the meadow and along the dense tree line. They kept their distance as they always had.