Hammer of Angels: A Novel of Shadowstorm by G. T. Almasi Read Free Book Online Page B

little English town of Haxby.
    My partner follows the train with a pair of high-powered starlight binoculars. “The five-sixteen commuter train, right on time,” he comms. Brando hands his binoculars to the Circle of Zion’s local leader, a no-bullshit fifty-something woman named Miriam.
    â€œLet’s hope
die Teutsch
are always so predictable,” she says in the German-British accent so many people have here, although Miriam also sprinkles in some Yiddish now and then.
    Die Teutsch
simply means “the Germans,” but Circle members always say it with enough blazing hatred to set fire to a bucket of water. Brando and I have spent a week with these people—most of whom are runaway Jewish slaves—to establish contacts and open routes for smuggling in food, supplies, and of course guns ‘n ammo. I’ve gotten a munga-intense crash course in Jewish history, or as I call it, My Intergalactic Space God Fell Asleep at the Wheel and All We Got Was This Shitty Existence. If there’s anybody who’d be up for exploring new planets and getting off this round hell, it’s Jewish people.
    For now we’re here to see what we can do about making Earth a little less crappy for the Space God’s Chosen Ones. The United States has agents all over Britain, waiting to begin the festivities. Party time will begin in London when the Germans’ central communications facility inexplicably explodes. This will be closely followed by a series of electric power grid disasters. That’s when smaller groups like us will go to work.
    Our job tonight is simple. We need to blow a chunk out of the rail line to York while the nightly trash train passes over it. Taking out a group of container cars full of garbage will be appropriately disruptive without garnering the negative public reaction we’d get from derailing a trainload of businesspeople.
    The rhythmic passing of the commuter train fades as it enters town. A minute later, all the lights in the area blink out.
    The rebellion has begun.
    Miriam stands up and leads us across the field. Our muscles and joints protest vehemently. We’re all stiff from lying in a February ditch for ten hours. Fortunately, Brando and I are wearing high-tech long underwear beneath our plain brown pants and coats. We also wear those funny Scally caps, like kids who deliver newspapers in old movies. Miriam wears very worn-out boots, torn pants, and an ancient coat topped off by a brand-new, very official-looking policeman’s hat. It’s the closest we could get to a railway inspector’s uniform. Miriam will supervise her two “workers” as we make a “repair” to the rail.
    As we cross the field, Brando asks Miriam how she escaped to the Circle.
    â€œI was at a fish cannery in Hull when the Rabbi made contact. I told him about the factory’s routine, and he came up with a plan to help us escape. That night, our overseer—a real
farbrekher
with a thing for raping young females—came to the women’s shack. I cut open his neck with a can lid.” Miriam’s stories always get right to the point. “Then we carried his body to our master’s front porch, set fire to our shack, and hid in the warehouse. When
die Teutsch
came pouring out of their big house, the Rabbi snuck in and stole some rifles. He brought them to us, and we shot all the Germans.” Miriam points out a rut in the ground. “Watch your step.”
    While Brando watches his step, I ask Miriam, “What happened then?”
    â€œThe Rabbi led us deep into the forests.
Die Teutsch
can’t see into caves or through thick tree canopy. They rely too heavily on their toys. We always hear their vehicles coming and make it dangerous for them.”
    â€œSo you win these fights?”
    â€œNo.” Miriam shrugs. “But neither do they.”
    We arrive at the tracks and get to work. My partner and I crouch over the rail while