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Archangel Halley	By : MikoNoNyte Category: +S through Z > Shadow Hearts Views: 1844 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Shadow Hearts, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Archangel Halley
- 1
A/N The Archangel Intervention occurred in Archangel Russia
1918-1919, beginning even as the armistice was signed in Europe ending World
War 1. Additionally, the battle at Belleau Woods was one of the two major
offensives in which the United States Marines fought during WW1. Some of
the people mentioned in this story are real, their role an historical truth,
while some are fabrications; any errors or changes to actual history are my own
doing and are not meant as a disrespect to the men and women of either side who
lived and died in the conflict.
Needless to say, I do not own Shadow Hearts; that privilege belongs to
Sacnoth/Nautilus.
This story is a one-time, adult entertainment piece centering on
Halley.   And this is dedicated to Rex, a true Halley fan, now an
Angel in Heaven.
>
>

Archangel Halley
I
            Chicago Illinois
on a hot summer afternoon, the clear yellow light of the sun shone down from
equally blue-white skies and the concrete sidewalkong ong Cleveland Avenue
shimmered in the heat. Wave after wave of hot air rose like watery
illusion over the sidewalks and Halley, his English woolens a heavy burden in
this weather, had sweat pouring down his face and chest and dripping like rain
from his soaked hair. They had walked for two hours from the train station
alongth Uth Union and Koudelka Iasant and Halley Plunkett found the heat
oppressive.
            Halley
pulled the wool cap from his head and scratched; his head itched and the hair
needed not only cleaning but trimming. He hadn�t had a bath in a week and
he stunk; not only that, his shoes had holes and his trousers were
thinning. Catching sight of himself in a glass front building, Halley
started: damn if he didn�t look like a stinking vagrant!
            At
fifteen, Halley looked more like twelve, with boyish features, bright green
eyes and just a slight pout to his full lips, courtesy of his mother; his
father didn�t have a bright-eyed pout in his bony body.    In
the fall of 1914, he and his mother, Koudelka Iasant, had taken ship out of Southampton
to America, in search of his father. It had never occurred to him that
his mother and father had never married. His mother had merely shaken her
head when asked why Edward Plunkett had left her alone and pregnant. Damn
him for being so stupid and naive at the time. And damn his father
too.
            Koudelka
told him that he looked somewhat like his father, and Halley had scrutinized
his reflection in the cabin mirror aboard the liner. The slanting light
coming in from the porthole shaded him, making his upper half look grey while
illuming his feet. He ran long, slender fingers through oddly cropped
mouse brown hair and squinted. No, he still looked the same. How
come he didn�t look different, more like his dad? His dad was tall, well,
taller than his mother, and adventurous. Halley was adventurous, brave
and, he thought, smart and powerful. He had inherited his mother�s
magical abilities, more like psychic abilities really and, although he had yet
to master them, he was very good. Looking at himself, Halley laughed;
what an idiot, standing and admiring the view in a mirror! He pulled on
his handy hat, settling it just so, and then left the cabin at a jaunty pace
for a walk around the deck.
            A week
out of England the liner docked in New York and Halley got his first glimpse of
America. His heart leapt into his throat and he was torn between
staying at his mother�s side and haring off to explore. The city was enormous,
and full of people. As they walked down the street from the quay, Halley
heard voices from every country he had ever heard of, and few he had not.
Irish, French, and Italian voices mixed with the thicker accents of Eastern
Europe and the Baltic�s. Halley felt he could stay here and learn just
by listening, but Koudelka urged him on, heading for a small, dingy hotel on
the corner of Henry and Catherine. And that afternoon Koudelka left
Halley to make inquiries after Edward. Halley wondered why she didn�t
know where he was.
            �Because
it�s been years since I saw him, Halley. I do not know where he is
living. And I am not sure where his parents reside. Just be
patient. You knew we could not simply come and knock on a door to find
him,� Koudelka told him and Halley watched as she walked purposefully up the
street toward a post office.
            Halley
sat down on the hotel steps, watching as a gaggle of local kids erupted from
houses down the street, their enthusiastic shouts, and the subsequent bounce of
a ball telling Halley they were out for fun. Maybe they�d like another he
thought, and stepped into the street to join them.
            Sometime
after dark Koudelka returned, a net bag telling tales of food shopping.
Halley, scuffed and dirty pla playing with the other kids, yelled his hello
and then turned toward his new friends.
            �I gotta
go. That�s my mom; we�re gonna eat now, I guess,� he said and pulled his
hat from his back pocket. He struck the hat against his leg a few times
to shake it out and sent dirt puffing into the evening air before putting it on
and running down the street toward the hotel.
            �Any luck
Mom,� he asked after they finished their supper of soup and sandwiches.
            Koudelka
shook her head before turning her eyes toward her son. �No,� she
answered. �But we�ll look again tomorrow. I have a feeling we�ll
find his parents here, in New York.�
            �How
come?� Halley was leaning against the sill of the one window, his back to the
outside. One shade-less lamp stood on the stand by the sagging double bed
and another on the table where they had just eaten. A cockroach scurried
across the hardwood floor, disappearing into the shadows under the bed.

�Something he told me when we were � well, we were both quite drunk at the
time,� she answered, and her lips were parted, turned up into a brief smile of
remembrance. �It was the night before we took on Elaine, and Patrick was
down in the lab making explosives while your father and I drank � well, too
much.�
            Halley
laughed, and Koudelka�s soft chuckle joined him, her eyes crinkling in
amusement.
            �Soundske yke you both got along so well,� Halley said, hinting at his desire to hear
more, but his mother turned into the shadows, the dim light hiding her features
from her son�s prying eyes.
            �Not
exactly,� she said softly. �We argued too; but mostly about Patrick,� she
said.
            �The
priest,� Halley commented.
&;&nb;
�Yes. He gave his life for �� she shrugged, �I don�t know, justice I
suppose. His love of Elaine drove him to the priesthood and his love of
her drove him to �� she looked down at her small hands, folded on her
lap. �-to sacrifice everything to bring about her salvation.�
            Halley
watched, waiting for his mother to continue speaking but she didn�t, instead
she rose and walked like a wraith into the washroom and closed the door.
            Summer
turned to fall and war broke out in Europe. Halley and Koudelka moved
from the small dingy hotel room to a boarding house in Brooklyn. It meant
traveling by bus and that meant money. Halley quickly revealed to his
mother just how good a roustabout he truly was, as well as a gambler, turning a
tidy sum into more than mere pocket change with his dice throwing.
Koudelka frowned but said nothing, as it wasn�t much different for her.
She turned a tarot card or two at the local eatery and that brought in enough
to pay for the room.
            Winter
saw them both wishing for better luck finding Edward and his parents. By now
Koudelka worked odd jobs and searched for the Plunketts on the weekends.
Finally, after considerable searching, they finally found Edward�s
parents. Residing in a comfortable home ing Ing Island, they had taken a
bus as far as the faire would take them before continuing their trek on
foot. Finally they approached the property; a palatial house at the end
of a long curved and graveled drive, lined with poplars and a fountain at the
foot of the stairs. Those stairs were of white marble and glistening mica
caught the light of the sun as Halley and Koudelka approached.
            Hal sto stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the mansion, its pristine
white and red exterior an ele bac backdrop for trellises of climbing roses,
small pink, white, and yellow blooms exploding on the canes and a sweet
fragrance coming to their noses as they went closer. Halley shook his
head, wondering what kind of wealth could live here.
            But well-heeled
or not, neither of the elder Plunkett�s seemed pleased to meet Koudelka Iasant
or her bastard son. Halley stood, wide-eyed and shocked, to hear the
uncharitable words coming from the elder Plunkett�s mouth while Koudelka made
them understand she wanted none of their money but only searched for Edward for
her son�s sake; to meet and know his father.
            Mister
Plunkett had kept them to the vestibule, the sunlight playing on the fine
parquet floor and showing the silver-grey of the man�s thinning hair in the
bright yellow light. �I know my son had dalliances; it�s to be expected
of a young man,� Mr. Plunkett was saying. �But if you think you can come
here and demand��
            �Mr.
Plunkett, I am not demanding anything,� Koudelka said, her voice soft in the
wide vestibule of the mansion. �I merely brought my son to see his
father.�
            �He�ll
get nothing here,� Mrs. Plunkett said from the hallway, her steps light as she
joined them but her eyes fiercely possessive.
            Koudelka
sighed. �Let me say this more clearly,� she began, and Halley could feel
the build-up of his mother�s power. �I-do-not-want-your-filthy-money,�
Koudelka�s voice was like a gun, each word a bullet aimed at the two elders,
who stepped back with the force of her presence. �I brought my son to see
his father; I don�t give a damn about your wealth. You can keep it
in hell for all I care. I only want to find Edward.�
            There was
insulted silence from the pair before Mr. Plunkett grudgingly nodded. He
produced an address book from the telephone table and quickly wrote an address
on a slip of paper.
            �It�s
been five years since we heard from him. He may not be there,� he said.
            Koudelka
snatched the paper and, turning on her heels, strode from the house, Halley a
shadow behind her. The whole way back to their boarding house Halley
thought about the Plunketts, their wealth, the opportunities they had that he
would never see, and he thought about his mother�s position, her power rising
up in his defense.
            �I may be
poor, but I�ve got mum,� he thought. �She�s doing all this for me.
Dad never ��
            He
stopped those thoughts as the bus came to a noisy stop at their corner.
And he held those thoughts in silence until after supper when he finally
confronted his mother.
            �Why
didn�t you tell me, mum. Why keep it a big secret? Dad left you!�
he accused, stomping back and forth on the carpet at the foot of the bed.
    &nbsbsp;bsp;      �No, he
did not,� Koudelka responded, and took his shoulder, directing him to sit on
the bed. �He left to seek his fortune. I remained, that is all.�
            �But you
were pregnant! He should have stayed.�
            Koudelka
sighed. �He did not know. And by the time I realized, it was too
late. I had no idea where to seek for him, and frankly Halley, I had no
desire. Edward � Edward was a nice enough man, but I would not marry
him. I didn�t want to marry him. We� the night we spoke, before
fighting Elaine, I said some things to him I would not have said had I been
less drunk. I told him � I told him I wanted to be loved. To be
loved Halley, not married. You are my son, my only true son; I love you.
I know you love me. You are all that I need. You always have been
all that I need.�
            �But
mom!� Halley protested and Koudelka put a long fingered hand over his mouth.
            �No,
Halley. It�s enough. We will find your father; that�s what is
important now. You need to meet him; he needs to know you exist.
That is all.� She remained silent afterward and Halley sighed, his
shoulders hunched as if to weather a storm, but by the morning it was
forgotten; the harsh words of the Plunketts were put behind him and he thought,
he believed, that his father would welcome him.
            By late
summer they found Edward Plunkett; in Chicago Illinois working as a shipping
clerk. How the adventurous had fallen! They had caught a train out
of New York, spending the last of their hard earned cash to get to Chicago.
They had to walk up toward the lake and the summer sun was unremittingly
hot. They stood on the street outside the shipping firm, Edward having
hustled them back outside once he saw who it was. And Halley watched as
both surprise and shock played on h is still rugged features, for Edward was
not only surprised to see Koudelka, he was shocked to see he had a kid.
His wife would never understand, he told them. He had never told her of
his travels all over the world, or of his adventures in England. He had
dalliances with many women, some of them quite beautiful, but none ever came
knocking at his door; until now.
            �Oh sure,
I remember we talked; both drunk as Croesus. I told you about my
exploits in school and later � and you told me about your father and what your
village did. You curled up around your bottle and I passed out! James
woke us up, remember? Spouting his puerile shit about wicked whisky and
pagan indecency.� Edward said, one calloused hand rubbing absently at his
neck. �And I remember what happened afterward, after we defeated Elaine �
but I never thought � I never dreamed we had a kid. I mean, Christ
Koudelka! I only slept with you that one time!�
            �Edward,�
Koudelka answered, her voice firm. �Halley wanted to meet his father and,
under the circumstances, I agreed. He�s gone through so much this past
four years,� Koudelka looked down at the simmering concrete and shrugged.
�Edward, they took me from him; against my will they locked me up, leaving
Halley on his own. How could I deny him? Can you not at least speak
to him?� and she indicated Halley, standing by the curb.
            Halley,
back from him memories of crossing the Atlantic and struggling to find his
father, stood with his hat in his bony hands, and scuffed his shoes against the
curb outside the manufacturing plant and silently hated; hated how itchy and
dirty he was, standing here in the heat of thternternoon; hated how his father
seemed more interested in his reputation and what his wife would think than in
his own son; hated his father for having the balls to save his mother�s life
and then run away; hated his mother for letting this bastard do this to her;
and hated himself for being born all over again � just like before, when his
mother had been kidnapped and held prisoner in Calios Hospital. He stood
there, listening to his mother�s kind and gentle voice as she explained things
to Edward Plunkett, and wished he could kill the man.
            Edward�s
voice, high pitched and grating to Halley�s ears, made arguments against his
further involvement, refusing to take them to his home, refusing to get
involved, until finally Halley could stand it no longer and yelled, his voice
hate filled, �I wish you were dead, you fucking bastard!� and ran down the
street, eyes tear-blinded, ears deaf to the voices calling out for him to stop.
            That was
the last time Koudelka or Edward saw Halley Plunkett.

II

            The
weather, already freezing cold, had gone from bad to ungodly. The daytime
highs had been cold enough in the teens and twenty�s, but then the first
night-time frost rolled in and the soldiers knew they were in deep
danger. The soft, soggy ground that looked passable by day, quagmire that
it was, became frozen tundra at night in the sub-zero temperatures. At minus
twenty degrees the ground was so hard it couldn�t be pierced with a pickaxe and
the throbbing cold radiated up through boots and blankets. And the little
medical hut in Lower Toulgas in northern Russia was no warmer inside than
out. The snow and ice had built up to the sash of the small dingy windows
and the ice rimed on the grimy glass, let in little of the November
light. November 11, 1918.
            Halley
Plunkett, found himself wondering at his own sanity even as he stuffed gauze
into the wound on the soldier�s belly. It was a waste of good material,
he thou&nbs The man had a wound to the gut and, despite the doctor�s
assurance, his life expectancy was only until sundown. If the damn sun
would ever rise to go down in this God-forsaken country, Halley thought.
As he worked, he thought back to his arrival here in Toulgas, in Northern
Russia, and thought that this had to be Yuri�s revenge!
            �Archangel,
the coldest place I�ve ever been too, including in space with Yuri! What
the hell am I doing here? Why did I volunteer for this? I must be
nuts!�
            Halley
Plunkett, barely nineteen years old, was huddled in his bivouac, army coat
wrapping his spare frame; he wore the standard issue United States Army khaki
and brown and felt completely out of place in them, even though everyone else
wore the same. Well, not the French or the British, but that was
different. Shrugging in the cold, he warmed his hands over the open
brazier set up in the center of the barracks, rubbing his hands to spread the
warmth.   He looked around and noted the handful of off-duty
soldiers; some sleeping, some writing letters, one just reading, and all
wrapped in their coats.
            �Hey,
English, you gonna hog all the heat?� one American asked, his accents rich with
New Jersey sights and sounds.
            Halley
smiled, thinking how often he had heard that over the last year.
            �How can
you stand this?� Halley asked and plunged his hands inside his coat before
moving back to his bunk.
            The
American tossed a pair of gloves at Halley and laughed. �You put those on
before you ruin those magic fingers of yours,� he said.
   p;&np;        �Louie,
you�re not supposed ...� Halley began but stopped when Louie waved him off.
            �Just me
an� the boys here and we all know your tricks, kid. �Sides, you saved our
bacon back in France. We�re all grateful for that and don�t think
otherwise.� In spite of his thick Jersey accents, Louie was tried and
true Italian with dark wavy hair, bushy brows, and deep brown eyes; he had been
a friend and neighbor before they shipped out with the American Expeditionary
Force to France in 1917. That had been after Halley ran from his mom and
Edward and after he had hopped a train out of Chicago for New York and after
Guido Salvaggi.
            Winter
found Halley hanging with the street toughs of New Jersey. He had fled Chicago
and headed east, his feet taking him as far as they would before hopping a
train. He spent a few cool nights in the back of a freight car before
dropping off outside Jersey where he followed his nose to the local
eating-house. There he begged scraps. He paid for the next begged
meals with work sweeping up and taking out trash, cleaning dishes and other
assorted chores. The eatery owner, a short, rotund man in his middle
forties, was of Italian ancestry and was proud of his grandparents making the
trip to America, but was just as proud of the old homeland. Pictures of
northern Italy and its vineyards, farms and beautiful women, adorned the dingy
walls. Guido Salvaggi was also proud of his son, who was serving with the
American Army.
            �In trainin�
he is to go to war to protect all of us citizens,� Guido would always say and
point proudly at a picture of his boy, in army uniform, gracing the front
window. �His momma woulda been proud too, I tell you,� and a warm smile
would briefly grace his aging features.
            Guido had
lost his wife two years before but often spoke as if she were still among the
living, showing off their wedding picture, which hung on one wall, with
pride. Mrs. Salvaggi was a small woman, dark hair and eyes, but a broad
smile that showed an equal love of life and love of her man. One night,
after closing, Halley asked about Guido�s son and his decision to go into the
army.
            �What can
you do there?� he asked while washing up the last load of dishes.
            Guido put
away the last of the supplies into the walk-in box and wiped a proud hand down
the glistening counter. He took off his stained and dirty apron, tossing
it into the box by the rear door, the one marked �wash�, and took a seat at the
counter.
            �What can
you do in the army, you ask?� he began, his eyes naturally gravitating toward
the picture of his son, Frank. �I tell you, Hal, you can meet beautiful
women in the army,� he said and when Halley looked back, startled, Guido laughed
heartily. �Not that they�re in the army, boy. Only perverted
women serve in the army; no I mean you can meet beautiful women wherever you
go, while IN the army.�
            Halley
shook his head and put away the drying towel before grabbing his hat and coat
from the hook.

�Seriously, Guido, what�s with the military? I mean, can anybody join?�
he asked.
            Guido
pinned Halley with his raven black eyes as the young man joined him at the
pristine counter.
            �You thinkin�
of enlisting, boy? You�re old enough; but I think you�re not big enough
or strong enough maybe,� the older man said, as he looked his young helper up
and down like a prize heifer. �You think twice before you go haring off
to war, kiddo. Yer just a boy. Now, let�s go home.�
            They
shared the same flat, Guido and Halley, Guido not wanting the company but not
wanting to deny the boy shelter. That�s what he said anyway, the first
time he caught Halley bedding down in the back alley. Halley was
grateful; he liked the older man, and he liked the bed, all lumps and
poking-out stuffing and missing-buttons and springs popping out that it was.
            The
summer came with news of the European war; the Russian offensive was successful
in knocking out the Austrians from the war, while the battle, known at the Somme
began. The news was dire, but nobody seemed to mind or to care; it was Europe�s
war after all. That summer Halley met Louie and the rest of the 5^th
Street gang, taking in his f bas baseball game with his new friends.
The five of them, Halley, Louie and three friends, piled into the bus to Harrison
to watch the Newark Peppers take on the Buffalo Blues, Halley trying to
understand the importance of this game to his friends. Once they arrived
they sat in the bleachers, and Halley hounded Louie with questions until
finally Louie, taking Halley�s cap from his head, swatted him with it.
            �Will you
shut the hell up, Hal? Geez you don�t need to know all that, just watch the damn
game!�
            Halley,
grinning affably, grabbed back his hat and stuffed it on his head. �Silly
Americans and their games,� he muttered which earned him the hotdog and beer
run. And after the Peppers beat the Blues, the bus ride home was punctuated
with punched shoulders, snapped suspenders and good-natured
rowdiness.   Halley felt at home with these other boys, especially
Louie, who lived in the neighboring brownstone. Handsomely Italian, Louie
had all the girls on the block swooning and a few from across the water in New
York as well. Halley and the other boys had to content themselves with
Louie�s castoffs.
            The
summer months moved slowly, Halley worked for Guido, or took in an occasional
ball game with the guys, or discovered how to bat in a sandlot game in the park
down the street. And after work, Halley listened to Guido�s stories of
his son and the tales he told with pride in his voice and a gleam in his eyes,
and made his own private wish, and that wish led him to hell.
            In late
fall, the paper on the ides of November 1915, brought tears to Halley�s usually
bright eyes. He finished his nightly cleaning and picked up the paper,
reading the dire news from Europe. The British Expeditionary Force had
concluded, finally, the Battle at the Somme, and the paper reported deaths
estimated at over 60,000 British soldiers and thousands more French.
Halley could not believe it. He turned to Guido and showed him the paper.
            �Frank�s
going to war against these bastards, isn�t he? The president of this country is
going to declare war, isn�t he?� Halley said, the paper shaking in his
trembling fists. Guido shrugged.
            �So the
rumors say, kid, what with the Lusitania and all. But it ain�t happened
yet. What do you want to do?� Guido asked solemnly as he took the
paper from Halley and sat him down at the counter. He poured a mug of
thick black coffee and shoved it into Halley�s fist. �Here, drink this.�
            �I want
to kill �em. I want to kill the bastards that started this war,� Halley
said through gritted teeth.
            �Now,
that�s a mite tough to do, Hal. There�s a lot of men fightin� and dyin�
over there. It�s their war. What you wanna get involved in it for?�
            Halley
looked down at the dark liquid in the cup, his work roughened hands large,
large enough to circle round the thick ceramic mug. �We fought to give
people a chance,� he thought. �We fought to keep hope alive for the little
guys, right?� he asked himself. �Why else did Yuri and Alicsk
sk
everything to take down Simon and that alien god? Why did I? Not so
we can get killed fighting in some stupid damned war!�
            Halley�s
fists gripped the thick mug, his knuckles turning white and he felt his own
power awakening after months of sleep. He felt the gut-grinding hatred
warming his blood, making his heart pound hard and the blood burn and course
through his veins like fire. On the counter, small items began to
tremble, and across the room a table skittered across the floor.
            �What
the-? Halley, that you?� Guido asked, suddenly aware that his once
peaceful caf� was now rattling as Halley trembled.
            A row of
stools, stacked neatly against one wall, shook and tumbled to the floor, their
legs pointing in all directions. In the kitchen, the pot caddy began
swinging on its ceiling hook, the pots clanging and banging as if some
invisible child was smacking each one in turn.
            �Halley.�
            The
coffee pot on the kitchen stove rattled, traveling off its trivet and then
crashing down to the hard floor, shattering and sending steaming remnants of
coffee across the floor while the drawers with silverware and cutlery began to
rattle, edging their way out of the cabinets to suddenly crash to the floor.
            �Halley,
stop it.�
            The caf�
floor rumbled under Guido�s feet, and the chairs and tables in the center began
walking across the floor. Suddenly the furniture rose into the air,
tables, chairs, stools, flying around the room on ghostly hands; cutlery and
utensils joined the gyrating dance, spinning dangerously before the entire
ensemble flung itself at the front window, crashing to the outside and sending
shards of glass pummeling into the street along with shattered furniture.
            �God damn
it, Halley,� Guido breathed.
            �I gotta
go, Guido. I gotta go there,� Halley said softly, the remains of his now
shattered mug lying in his bleeding hands, coffee running down the counter and
dripping like black blood onto the floor.
            �Yeah,
kid. I think you do,� Guido said, looking at the wreck of his once
pristine establishment. �What a mess.�

III
            Packing
the wound, Halley placed tape across it and then flicked the blanket, a thin
grey army issue, over the wounded man.
            �Try to
get some rest, Harry,� he said. The soldier, nearly unconscious from
pain, did not respond. The room was far too cold for these men, and with
the drop in temperatures to the minus twenty�s last night, they had lost three
men; three men that would not go home to wives, children or lovers; a British
and two Americans. Halley ground his teeth as he moved on to the next
man.
            The
machine gun fire had ceased half an hour ago, and Halley instinctively knew
that to be a precursor. Captain Boyd and his men had withdrawn yesterday,
leaving the doctor and the wounded men in Lower Toulgas while he tried to rally
the troops in Upper Toulgas against the Bolshevik troops. Boyd had no
idea there were this many soldiers at hand; he had no idea that he was cut off,
surrounded by enemies well familiar with the Russian winter and the terrain,
and no idea how to get his men home. Halley wondered as well, wishing he
hadn�t volunteered for this little tea party. Wishing he had stayed in America.
Wishing � ah hell, what did wishing ever get me, he wondered.
   &n&nbs        Wishing
had gotten him on a boat to the States. He and his mother Koudelka
boarded the steamship in Southampton that late fall in 1914 to waives and hugs
and furtive kisses of, not only the London Rats, but Yuri and Alice. The
others had already left, heading who-knew-where, and he and his mom were
heading for adventure; heading for America and his father. Edward J. Plunkett.
Just the name gave him gooseflesh. The man who had saved his mother;
strong and adventurous, the man whom his mother had fallen in love with, and
then the two of them, along with that crazy priest, had destroyed the monstrous
Elaine and cleared Nemeton Monastery of its evil. Well, in his mind
anyway. He knew that wasn�t the truth; he knew the evils of that horrid
place lived on, even today. But he liked to think of his mother as a heroine,
and his father� Why the hell hadn�t he stayed? Why had he left his
mother behind in England?
            And then
had come the reality of meeting his damned father. Halley should have
known he was illegitimate, but it had never occurred to him. His mother
had lavished him with attention and affection when he was a baby; he never
thought of the lack of his father until he attended his first days in public
school. Then he had known he was missing a vital part of his life, but he
accepted it since he could do nothing else and he also learned to take each day
as it came. And then he learned not to trust anyone or anything when his
mother was kidnapped and taken to Calios Hospital and he learned he had to
stand on his own two feet. That was when he brought Joshua, Chris, and
Sharon into his life. They too had been abandoned, or left orphaned by
parents and uncaring society; oddly enough, the same society that had bred his
father, Edward, and had imprisoned his mother; or so said Koudelka.
            However,
when his mother had agreed to go to America, he had joyfully accepted that too
without thought for the consequences. How had he missed the subtle
movements his mother had made? How had he missed his own questions, left
unanswered? He had no father now, nor mother, abandoning them in Chicago
that summer day three years ago. So much had happened since then. So
much tragedy, so many injured, and so much death.
            His own
powers, inherited from his mother, had blossomed while he fought along side
Yuri and the others. The gifts that allowed him to fight and help defeat
both Albert Simon and then the alien god, were as nothing in this damned
war. So many had died, and so many more would die before this was finally
over. And what tore at his heart, what ripped through his anger and his own
hostility were the injured. The ones he could help and sadly, the ones he
could not.
            What are
we fighting for, he wondered. Freedom... life, love? Who the hell
knew! At least with Yuri we knew we were fighting a just cause. But
here, in Lower Toulgas � what the fuck are we doing here! His
thoughts rambled as he checked the next soldier, and then paused when he heard
the crunch of snow outside.
            �Doctor,
someone�s coming,� he said and turned just as gunshots flared into the room,
bullets spattering along tar war wall and leaving deep pockmarks to show their
passage. The door burst open, crashing against the retaining wall and
Russian soldiers entered, their guns pointed at everyone and everything.
A dozen men dressed in the Bolshevik army colors thundered into the small hut
and pressed guns and bayonets to the throats of injured and helpers
alike. Halley found himself pressed back against a cold wall as a handful
of soldiers detached themselves and began ransacking the room. Boxes of
medical supplies were torn open, their contents scattered along the floor; a
precious bottle of penicillin was smashed and he heard the doctor moan at the
waste.
            �Please,
please stop. No, you don�t know what you�re doing,� the doctor cried and
offered slight resistance before a soldier gave him a blow with the butt of his
rifle and then shot him.
            �No!�
Halley yelled and another gun butt met his own head but he shook off the pain
and, landing on his knees, crawled over to the wounded doctor. �John,
John! Hang on. I�ll help you,� he said quickly, hands already pulling off
the bloody surgical coat.
            �No � no;
it�s too late. Save the others; save your strength for them,� the doctor
said, clutching his gut.
            �I- we
need you, Doctor. They need you.�
            Halley
ignored the doctor�s feeble protests, pulling off the coat and exposing the
blossom of blood beneath. He placed his hand on the wound, covered it
with his palm and concentrated. He had watched Alice do this very action
more than a dozen times when Yuri or one of the others had been severely
injured, and he pictured her in his mind now, remembering how she worked her
healing magicks. She would place her small, delicately boned hand over
the wound, barely touching, and summon her healing power; a white energy would
gather in her palm and spread out over the wound, trickling down like
snowflakes. This was followed by a burst of healing that would not only
totally heal the wound but give the recipient strength to continue.
            Halley
felt it in his palm first; a tingling not unlike what he felt when Alice had
healed him. His own healing skills were not dissimilar, only more
dramatic being airborne magicks; he closed his eyes a moment, centering his
will on the healing and the tingle became a burn, warming his hand. It
felt like the skin was peeling back from his bones when a sudden burst of
energy left his fingers and moved to the recumbent doctor, bathing him in brilliant
green and yellow energies. Halley could see it in his mind and when he
opened his eyes, he saw it. A little smile curled the corner of his mouth
and he pushed a little harder, offering up more of his precious life-force for
the doctor�s recovery. Beneath his hand the wound closed, the precious
blood drying up and the skin puckering into pink newness.
            �You�ll
live now John, just rest please,� Halley said quietly, then turned toward the
watching Russian soldiers. �No thanks to your stupid actions,� he growled
at them in his broken Russian. The soldier standing close to him offered
the butt of his rifle to Halley�s chin, threatening but not delivering.
They had all seen him heal the man; this one was a magic user; best leave him
to the commander.
            The
doctor struggled to sit up, pulling his bloody coat back on and turning both a
grateful and fearful gaze onto his young assistant. He knew Halley had
abilities normal men did not; he had witnessed battlefield healings in France,
in the Battle of Belleau Wood, and he had seen other magicks as well.
That was not what worried him. Halley had a temper and the Russians did
as well. If this escalated, they would all die horribly. He needed
to establish a perimeter, a peace zone.
            �Halley,
ask them to let you work on the other wounded. Hell, ask if they have any
wounded that you can help.�
            Halley
looked startled. Help the enemy, he thought? But then a commotion
at the small entranceway stopped him from doing even that.

Melochofski, the Russian Commander, was a bear of a man, standing well over six
feet tall and broad at the shoulders; he was dressed in the standard uniform of
the Bolshevik army but with a black fur cap and black fur coat. His voice
was deep and powerful and when he spoke, no one in the tiny room thought
anything but that HE was the man in charge.   He entered the little
field hospital, his openly angry and hostile gaze capturing each man in the
room, eyeing the shivering injured soldiers and immediately bellowed an order
in Russian.
            Halley grit
his teeth, listening carefully to the man�s orders. He turned to the
doctor, and translated:
            �He�s
ordered us all killed,� he said quietly.
            �God have
mercy,� the doctor said. He looked at his patients lying on thin pallets
and at the Russian soldiers and noted their fatigue. Perhaps they were
just as tired as he and his men. �Halley, break out the rations; get the
commander a meal; the best we�ve got. Try to placate him.�
            Halley
nodded and, showing his empty hands to the Russian soldiers, approached the
stores and pulled open a case. One soldier followed, his gun prodding
Halley in the ribs, but then pulled back when the young man handed him a box of
field rations, indicating he should take it and then placed a packet of cheese
and some tinned meat on a plate. He grabbed a handful of the nearly stale
crackers they were using instead of bread and waived over to Francois to find the
bottle of rum the English Commander, Boyd, had left behind. All this he
took to Melochofski and placed on a small surgical table.
            �You, eat
this, yes?� Halley asked in broken Russian, not for the first time kicking
himself for not listening closer when Yuri had spoken the god-forsaken
tongue. The Bolshevik leader looked down at the offering and a little
smile cracked the bulldog face; he sat on a small chair, his very bulk
creaking the wood of the seat, and began to eat. He was just making head-way
into the first mug of rum when a disturbance at the cabin door brought Halley�s
attention. A woman of striking appearance entered and surveyed the small
log hut; she was dressed much like the commander in a black fur coat, but she
had deeply beautiful brown eyes and a small twist of light brown hair sticking
out of her hat. On a couple of torn up beds and a pallet lie the wounded
soldiers � six men covered in bandages and blood. Next to them, was the
doctor, his white coat spattered with blood, and next to him �?
            �Who are
you?� she demanded of Halley.
            Halley
tilted his head and offered up his once boyish smile; it had no effect on the
woman. �I am Private Halley; I help here,� he said slowly, his Russian
pronunciation less than adequate.
            �Ah, you
are the doctor�s helper, yes?� the woman asked further. �Good,
continue. And help our men who are injured as well,� she indicated a
small group of soldiers leaning against the doorjamb.
            Halley
realized she wanted him to help and sighed. �We don�t have a lot of
supplies. And your men destroyed so much,� he said in English without
thinking.
            �Ah,
English,� she said with a grin. �I know English; small. You fix
soldiers. I keep from getting killed, yes? You prisoners,� she
offered in broken and heavily accented English, the last with a gloved finger
pointing at Halley.
            �All
right,� Halley said and reached for the small bandage box. �I�ll look them
over.�&nbWellWell the doctor got his wish, Halley thought, as he made his
rounds, offering up bandages and healing to the soldiers standing like
belligerent bears in the small cabin. One of them had closed the door,
blocking the cold and snow from entering once more, but the inside temperature
was now frigid, their own breaths fogging before them.
            Halley
glanced aside once to check on the commander and saw the woman standing behind
him, her hands working at sore muscles as she bent closer, her mouth at his
ear. He wore a pleased expression, and the hardness was momentarily
replaced in his brown eyes. Halley wondered briefly at the power of women
before turning back to another injured soldier.
            Halley
continued ministering to the injured, both his and the Russians until the last
man had been succored. He was turning back to the doctor when he noticed
that the Bolshevik commander was standing, staring at him. With one
eyebrow cocked, Halley stared back, waiting for the Russian to say something. Instead
the big man gestured and growled something to his men before turning toward the
door. Halley sighed and took the few remaining steps across the floor to
stand next to the doctor. The Bolshevik woman watched as the commander
left, then turned toward Halley.
            �You stay
here,� she said thickly, pointing at the floor before bunching her fist.
�You leave, you dead, understanding?�
            Halley
nodded. �Yes. But what --?�
            �You
minding here. You men,� and she turned to the remaining Russian soldiers,
�You guard these men; if you kill them, I will kill you, understand?� she said,
switching to Russian. There were nodded understandings then she strode
from the hut.
            Halley
remained frozen for a moment before turning to the doctor. �I think something
must be up. They left awfully fast,� he said tly.tly. Doctor Wilson
nodded.
            �You help
me, Hal, but you keep your ears and eyes open, understand?� the doctor ordered
quietly. �You may be our only hope if something happens.�
            Halley
blinked but said nothing, instead turning his energies to picking up and moving
aside the debris from the ransacking.p; Bp; Barely an hour had gone by since
the arrival of the Russians into the small hut and Halley was suddenly getting
a tenselingling in his gut, as if something were moving outside. He
finished sweeping up the broken medicine bottles and was just taking up the
remaining linens when he heard it: a roar like a god descending to earth,
an explosion of sound so loud and so intense than he winced even before he fell
to the floor. Another explosion of sound followed immediately afterward as,
whatever had caused the noise in the first place, impacted the ground
nearby. The small medical building shuddered and rocked, dust floating
down from the whitewashed ceiling; Halley and the doctor were on the floor,
their arms covering their heads as heavy caliber shells exploded into the
frozen earth less than a thousand yards away.
            �It must
be the Canadians,� Doctor Wilson yelled to Halley. �They�ve managed to
move the big guns; they�ll be giving the Russkis what for now,� he said even as
another explosion deafened him.
            Halley
acknowledged the comment with a nod, turning his head slightly to evaluate the
remaining soldiers. Three wounded Russians were lying on pallets across the
room; he knew they would not interfere. The other four were stationed two
at the door and two near the supply door. One was walking toward a small
window across the room. Halley made his move, jumping up and sprinting across
the small space, he leapt onto the soldier�s back, grabbing him around the neck
and giving a quick twist. The soldier was startled but turned with the
assault and Halley was unable to break his neck. With a grunt the soldier
brushed off the smaller man. Across the room the two by ther rar raised
their rifles, aiming at Halley, who was now rolling to his feet.
            �I hate
you,� he growled, forcing his anger to rapidly focus his power. �I hate
you, I hate you!� his growl became a shout and suddenly the room with filled
with howling wind; the soldier in front of him sailed up off his feet and into
the ceiling, hitting it with a satisfying thud and a bloody splat before falling
dead to the floor. Halley turned on one knee and faced the remaining
soldiers, his concentration still on his power.
            �I hate
you, hate you!� he continued to scream at them, his power continuing to
manifest, growing and growling into a cyclone of wind that picked up the
soldiers and smashed them into the wall, the cracks as their skulls impacted
audible above the noise of Halley�s wind. When the winds died, Halley was
kneeling, his head down.
            �Hal, you
all right?� the doctor asked.
            �Yeah,
I�m fine. �Cept I just killed a bunch of men in cold blood.� He
said nothing more, merely walking to the door and pulling it open. He
stepped outside and retched into the frozen snow.
            The
bombardment continued whether Halley was ill or not, the sound leaving the
injured swooning and the uninjured numb. The Canadian�s had indeed
managed to turn their big guns to face both north and south and were pounding
the Russian emplacements, showing the Russians that they were not to be
underestimated. The Russians had surprised the allied forces with their
seemingly impossible crossing of the swampy forests and arriving early on the
morning of November 11, 1918. They had subsequently cut the little town
of Toulgas in half, with the allies to the north and the Russians to the south
and, with little doubt from the repeated weapons fire, surrounding the entire
town. Captain Boyd found himself out manned and out gunned to the north,
while Doctor Wilson and his few assistants had been left at the medical hut,
little knowing that the Bolshevik forces were on their doorstep.
            Halley
wiped his mouth and looked up into the snowy mounds that was Lower Toulgas and
cringed as yet another volley pounded into the soldiers beyond the wrecked
homes to his left. He was turning back in when he spotted the movement
out in the snow and saw the Russian woman returning, dragging something large
behind her. Halley didn�t think, he merely ran at a crouch through the
snow to the struggling woman, lifting the nether half of her burden and
together they ran across the snow to the hut.
            Once
safely inside, the guns suddenly stopped, and the woman pulled the great coat
from her burden, revealing Commander Melochofski. He had been wounded,
shrapnel the size of Halley�s fist was in his chest and with each beat of his
heart blood bubbled out, slicking the already blood-soaked uniform.
Looking closer Halley poked a finger at the wound, testing it but the damage
was severe. He looked up at the woman, a worried frown on his young face.
            �I can�t
save him,� he said. �It�s too deep; too much damage. And he�s lost
too much blood.�
            The woman
nodded once and pulled Melochofski onto her lap, settling him onto her,
touching his face with her fingers.
            �Leave
me,� she said and Halley stood and closed the exterior door before joining the
doctor.
            �He�s
hurt bad,� Halley told the doctor.
            �What
will happen now?� the doctor asked.
            Halley
shrugged. �The big guns have stopped, obviously. I think the
Canadians have sent a message; and I think the Commander got it. But
whether the Russians will pull back...? I don�t know. But I don�t think
we�re safe here. I don�t know what to tell you, Doctor.�
   &;&nb;        �We can�t
move the wounded. We don�t have weapons, or support. We need
someone from Boyd or even Lieutenant Dennis; did you see the Americans when you
were out?�
            Halley
shook his head. �No, but it�s white out there; and the guns were still
going off and I had other things on my mind. Look, if you think I should,
I can go for support. I might be able to reach Boyd in Upper Toulgas,
help him send back support. But what about the woman? She�s
Bolshevik � Soviet. She saved our bacon, but I don�t know if we can trust
her.�
            Doctor
Wilson looked at the grieving woman, a corpse lying across her lap, her hands
holding the dead man�s hands, and sighed.
            �I don�t
know. You talk to her. Maybe she�ll back down. Maybe you�ll
have to kill her.�
            �I won�t
kill a woman!� Halley growled. �Damn, I�ve killed too many men in this
fucking war as it is!� He shook his head to clear it of the sudden anger
he felt building up, threatening to burst his control. �I�ll talk to
her.�
            Halley
approached the Russian woman and knelt in front of her; he reached across to
check Melochofski�s pulse but she shook her head.
            �He is
gone,� she said quietly, a touch of sadness tingeing her voice.
            �I�m
sorry,� Halley offered but the woman waved it off with a flick of one
hand.
            �Is not
you; he was my � um, lover,� she said and sighed.
            �Look��
Halley sighed. �I don�t even know your name,� he said.
            �Petrovna. Ileana Petrovna.�
    &nbsbsp;bsp;
Halley nodded. �Look Miss Petrovna, we need help here; if your men
come back, they�ll kill us. The wounded, the ill, they need to be
evacuated. I�ll need help for that and I�m going to get it. But I
either have to trust you or kill you.�
            The young
woman looked around the small cabin, her russet brown eyes pausing at the dead
Russian soldiers piled along one wall, their corpses evincing a violent death.
            �Your
work?� she asked. Halley nodded. �You sol soldier; I am
soldier. We work together maybe?�
            Halley
pursed his lips, wondering where she was going with this.
         &;&nb; �To my
own lines I want to go,� she said. �You want your lines. We go
together, get there together.� She paused and reaching down, closed Melochofski�s
eyes. �We be ransom for each, our lines are mixed. Understand?�
            Halley
nodded. �All right. But if you betray me, Petrovna,� and his green
eyes held a glint like steel, �I will kill you.�
            The woman
smiled slightly, and slid the lifeless body from her lap.
            �And I
will you.�

IV
            After
half an hour of preparation, the pair left the field hospital at a low
crouch. Petrovna knew where her patrol was stationed and Halley knew that
Boyd had to be across the Dvina River, which cut Toulgas in half.
They set out at a fast run, skirting the field hospital and then skipping
quickly to the lea wall of a blown out building across the street. Ahead,
lay a mile of streets and derelict and destroyed buildings leading to the
bridge and Upper Toulgas where Captain Boyd and his Infantrymen were
located. To the right of the bridge and beyond the remains of the Lower
Toulgas lie the Russians. And patrolling the river were the Russian
gunboats.
            Slowly
they made their way from shelter to shelter, each pile of snow offering a
chance to wait and watch; each blown out building offering equally a chance to
be shot by patrols. Voices were carrying in the silence of the snowbound
town, and even though they were not close, Halley knew they were Russian.
He glanced back at Petrovna, but she made no move to iceptcept the speakers,
merely raising an eyebrow and indicating he should continue on. Halley
nodded silently and gestured toward the river, his chosen direction.
            Just
before the river Halley and Petrovna stopped, stretching out along the snowy
debris and looking out across the river. In the wan light of late
afternoon, Halley could see that the bridge had been blown, and only a few
girders were left to cross the span of the Dvina River. Below he saw
patrol boats, dark hulled, heavily armed, and bristling with Russian
soldiers. Halley snorted.
            �Just
great.� He looked up at Petrovna but she was watching the patrol boat
maneuver under the bridge, making its way upriver. She poked Halley�s arm
and pointed.
p;&np;           �Patrols,
and army,� she said in English. �Over Dvina you go; your army.�
            Halley
nodded. �You go first; I�ll wait for the patrol to move on. And
Petrovna,� he reached out a gloved hand and offered it to the woman.
�Thanks.�
            �We meet
again, yes? Not with guns but Vodka,� she said, a smile breaking out and
bringing sunshine to her face. Halley looked at this Russian woman and
suddenly understood what Commander Melochofski had seen in her.

�Yes. Good luck, Petrovna,� he said when their handclasp ended.
Halley watched as Petrovna scuttled down the snowy embankment, moving at a half
crouch along the shoreline. He continued to watch her until she vanished
into the shadows beneath the broken span, and waited. A few minutes
later, he heard voices calling out in Russian and the sound of the boat�s
engine as it powered around. A minute after that he heard the scrap of
the hull against the shore and knew that Petrovna was aboard the patrol boat
and headed for her lines. Halley settled down into the snow bank,
watching and listening, and waiting for dark.
            He didn�t
have long to wait as the overcast and snow filled sky darkened quickly in the
northern climes. With one last look around, Halley rolled over the crest
of the embankment and slid down the side. About half way down he pushed
his booted feet into the snow and ground his heelso tho the frozen soil beneath
to stop his descent. Then, in a half crouch, he began the trek to the
bridge; if he could make the nearside girders, he thought he might be able to
climb up and use them to cross the river. It all depended on stealth and luck
as the patrol boats were still on the river.
            Both
British and Russian guns had pounded the Svina Bridge, reducing it to a
skeleton of its once expansive self. By demolishing it, both sides
prevented the other from sending tanks or heavily armored vehicles across to
opposing lines. And by demolishing it they prevented help from getting to
the injured in Lower Toulgas. Halley silently counted each step up from
the embankment, each handhold he found in the first stone piles that hadn�t
been rendered to fractured dust became a litany, a silent prayer for safety and
luck. By the time he reached the top, sweat was pouring from him in hot
rivulets, running down inside his coat and soaking his thermals. He shook
his head to clear it, laid down flat along the top girder, and looked around.
            Behind him
lay Lower Toulgas in snow packed and frozen darkness, with the small medical
facility and the Russian patrols. To his right along the bank were
patrols, their brief lights giving away their positions. There were too
many of them for Halley�s comfort. He scanned the dark beyond the river
but could not make out any movement on the British side; whatever movements
Boyd and his infantry were making they were invisible; or not there at
all. That thought did not comfort Halley at all. With a swallowed
prayer, he began to inch his way across the span to the first break in the
girder. He would have to stand and jump to the nexpporpport but it was little
more than eight feet distance, he could do that easily.
            With a
steadying breath, Halley stood and, crouching low, scuttled to the end of the girder,
his eyes scanning the dark length ahead. When he was six feet from the
end he stood and ran full out, his feet nearly lifting off from the metal
beneath him until he reached the break and leapt, his body flying across the
distance and landed lightly on the next girder. His boots skidded
slightly on the icy metal but then dug in and he crouched low again to proceed
along the metal brace. Below, in the river, he could hear the putter of
the patrol boat and he turned sharp eyes to try to catch it�s reflection in the
water. A dark shadow moved over the surface two hundred yards up river
and Halley threw himself to his belly, hugging the girder. Long minutes ticked
by while toat oat chugged its way down river, slowly coming under the derelict
bridge and passing on to Halley�s left. With breath held, Halley watched
it proceed, each chug of its engine taking it out of gun range. Just as
the boat pulled out of range, the sound of shootingan.
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Archangel Halley