Soul Census - War of Shadows - Book 1

Chapter 4.2 - Trophy Scars

Earth Date: 15th of August 1939 CE
Location: Nyack Shipyards, New York, USA, Earth

Maddock sat down on the ground, leaning against the container. His gaze fell onto the horizon and the river ahead. Despite the brisk breeze that blew, the water was eerily calm. There were no birds, crashing waves, or dinging buoys—just silence.

He glanced at his watch. No signal, but the time told him it had been over an hour since he’d lost sight of Wolfe. Maddock stood up and looked out at the Margarete. Something must have gone wrong; he should go aboard.

As he contemplated defying Wolfe’s orders, he heard a sudden commotion from the warehouses—the sound of doors swinging open and the bustle of men. Maddock ducked down and slipped behind the shipping containers. His ears picked up the sound of German voices coupled with wet footsteps. He dared a peek between containers, keeping his pistol at the ready.

About twenty feet away were six goons. He could not tell if they were carrying, but the long coats they wore probably hid some iron. One of them wore a fancy bowler, and from all the barking coming from that guy, Maddock surmised that he was the one calling the shots. He continued to watch as they crouched over on the pier, pulling a tarp off of a launch boat. It looked as if they were preparing to board the freighter.

Maddock clenched his teeth. Wolfe was clear about not interfering, but these bimbos were gunning for him. They started the onboard motor, but they were not launching yet. The leader yelled at another, who jumped off, then ran back to the warehouse, leaving five of them on the boat.

Holding his heater in one hand, Maddock reached into his backpack and pulled out the scimitar with the other. Holding the scimitar made him feel more than just comfortable… it made him feel powerful. He felt one with the sword, like it was an extension of his own body. Readying both weapons, he broke cover and charged at the Huns.

With his new abilities, his senses became ultra-heightened. The world around him slowed, but his body was not encumbered by the shackles of time. He moved with what must have been blinding speed to his adversaries’ eyes.

His first target: the leader. The Kraut looked up at him, their eyes meeting only for a fleeting second before Maddock’s gun barrel flashed and a spent casing flew out to the side. The shot’s sound barely registered in Maddock’s ears by the time the bullet sent his enemy into a watery grave.

Maddock kept charging, his feet barely touching the ground as he propelled forward. Two more shots from his pistol—a fatal chest hit on one, sending him into the water, and a clipped shoulder on another who was in the process of reaching into his coat. Another Hun managed to throttle the engine, and the boat began to move just as Maddock’s shot whizzed by, barely missing the intended target.

The three surviving Germans in the boat got their iron out and pumped metal, but with Maddock’s abilities, he could see the bullets coming out of their gun barrels. He weaved away, letting the shots go by. Another tap-tap from his own pistol and one more Kraut went overboard to join his comrade in the afterlife.

Maddock was close now… close enough to dispense with the pistol and unleash the fury of Taylan Chagatai’s sword. He jumped up off the pier, clearing the gap of water to the boat. He let his pistol fly away and came down with the full force of his scimitar.

The blade melted through the closest one, going from the shoulder all the way down the middle—cleaving him in two before Maddock’s feet even touched the hull. The sword seemed to sing to him, with a hum he’d never noticed before. It was almost as if it was alive and enjoying this.

Maddock had to fight to keep balance as the boat rocked hard when he landed. The other Hun did not fare as well and had to grab onto the hull to stop from falling into the water. Once he recovered, he tried to level his pistol up at Maddock, but it was so slow to Maddock’s eyes that he could have danced around the German singing “The Flag on High” if he wanted to.

He kicked the bean shooter out of the German’s hand, then spun with his blade, sending the Hun’s head splashing into the water in one clean, elegant motion.
Sensing something from behind, Maddock whirled around, swinging his scimitar defensively. Shots sparked off the blade as bullets whizzed past him. The gunfire came from the pier, where the last Nazi stood.

Maddock ducked his head down to evade the additional shots, but one grazed his hip. The shot should have hurt, but he felt no pain right now. More shots flew above his head. He dug his hand into a nearby German’s coat, searching for a gun, but instead came away with an unexpected treat: a German stick grenade.

Maddock peeked out at the pier, calculating the angle and force to land it just right. Bullets peppered the boat, and a cloud of wood splinters rained up at him, cutting his face. Not enough to stop him from pulling the cord and flinging the grenade.

The potato masher spun in the air and hit the Kraut in the head with such force that it sent him right into Queer Street, tumbling to the ground. Whether dead or unconscious, it didn’t matter, as the grenade’s follow-up explosion finished him.

Maddock relaxed a bit and looked around. All the Germans were dead. He checked his face: some blood, nothing serious. The wound on his hip burned, but it wasn’t bleeding much. Another trophy scar. Maddock pulled out his deck, relieved that his last cigarette was still intact after all of that. Remembering that he’d lost his light somewhere, he dug around in one German’s pockets and then another before he found a pack of matches. He smiled and lit the cigarette.

“Top that one, four-eyes,” he said, with a puff.

Conflicted as to his next move, he decided to get closer to the freighter. That way he could make sure that if he did call down the Furies for Wolfe, they’d be closer to the boat. At least that’s the excuse I’ll be telling four-eyes …