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behind. Collapsing, the knight pushed himself up into a kneeling position, only to
have Kluge's blade cleave down, decapitating him.
Backed into a corner, one of the Nazis was holding two serjeants at bay,
feinting first at one and then the other with his broadsword. Pushing past two more
men who were locked in hand-to-hand combat, Kluge came up behind one of the
serjeants and, swinging his sword as if it were an axe, split the man's head down to
his chin.
The remaining serjeant turned to defend himself against the threat of Kluge's
attack, giving his former opponent the opening he needed. Swinging his
broadsword like a baseball bat, the Nazi's titanium-edged blade sliced through the
serjeant's body armor and opened his abdomen. Slipping in his own entrails, the
serjeant fell screaming to the floor.
Adding to the chaos of battle, de Beq and his reserves now entered the fray,
sweeping across the courtyard to systematically take out the remainder of the
punkers, some of whom were still trying to put up a fight. One of the punkers broke
through to the hall, spraying a burst of machine-gun fire which did little damage
but shifted some of the fighting to that part of the hall for long enough to
overwhelm him.
Drummond, meanwhile, was doing his best to stay clear of the swordplay,
rationing his meager supply of ammo and determined to make every shot count,
concentrating most of his effort on protecting Father Freise and keeping himself
alive. His face was a mask of grim determination as he stood shielding Father
Freise, his P-38 held rigidly in front of him in a two-handed combat stance. One of
the Nazis came for them, his sword held out to his side, taunting Drummond to fire.
Without changing his expression, Drummond fired two rapid shots, both of
which slid neatly under the rim of the black coal-scuttle helmet. The Nazi,
completely rigid, toppled forward, landing at Drummond's feet.
Turning to his right, Drummond pumped three quick shots into the chest of
another of the Nazis. The impact of the bullets caused the man to stagger back, but
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he recovered almost immediately, continuing his advance on Drummond and
Father Freise.
Aiming at the Nazi's face this time, Drummond squeezed the trigger again.
CLICK. Nothing happened. Drummond tried again, but after fifty years in
the castle dungeon, the damp and corroded ammo refused to go off.
Reaching behind his back, Drummond grabbed his bayonet and, taking it by
the point, threw it at the advancing Nazi.
Cartwheeling through the air, the bayonet struck him in the chest butt-first
and clattered harmlessly to the floor.
The Nazi smiled unpleasantly, and blind panic seized Drummond for just an
instant.
Then Father Freise shouted, "The sword, John! Grab the sword!"
Drummond threw himself onto the floor, grabbing the sword that lay next to
the body of the Nazi he had just shot. Rolling clear of the black-clad corpse, he
came up into a crouch, the sword held menacingly in front of him.
The Nazi was pressing one hand against the wounds in his chest, trying to
heal himself while he decided whether to finish off Drummond or Father Freise
first. Abruptly, spinning towards Freise, he cocked his sword arm back and then
snapped it forward, his sword arching overhead and flashing down toward Freise's
shoulder.
Drummond's own reactions were faster, as he swung his sword in a desperate
attempt to block the blade, but his aim was off. Instead of stopping the Nazi's
sword, he felt his own blade slice through the wrist of his opponent's sword arm.
The Nazi screamed, and his sword, still clutched in a black-gloved hand, spun
through the air, narrowly missing Father Freise. In a frenzy, Drummond began to
beat at the Nazi with his sword until the man collapsed, a large pool of blood
spreading from the end of his right arm.
Behind Drummond, one of Kluge's black knights was locked in a hand-to-
hand struggle with one of de Beq's men-at-arms, the Nazi repeatedly driving his
knee into the warrior's crotch with little or no effect. Finally, the two combatants
tripped and crashed to the ground, where the Nazi was able to get on top of his
opponent and gouge his thumbs deep into his eye sockets. Howling in pain, the
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blinded man-at-arms furiously rammed his hands deep into the pit of the Nazi's
stomach and then, wrenching upwards, grabbed the bottom of his ribcage and split
his chest open.
The Nazi screamed and staggered back against the wall, his heart and lungs
hanging out of his body. Slumping into a seated position, his heart thumped feebly
to a halt and the lungs slowly deflated. A wheezing scream caught in the Nazi's
throat as he died.
Still clutching his sword, Kluge staggered out of the great hall, hacking and
slashing at the mailed men in red surcoats, who had made short work of his punker
vanguard and now were slowly gaining the edge on his black knights as well. Even
on the run, unable to take a close count, Kluge could see that four or five of his SS
men were down, some of them to rise no more. It was not supposed to go this way!
A serjeant lunged at Kluge with a spear. Sidestepping the attack, Kluge
swung his sword at the man's midriff and felt the blade embed itself in the man's
spine. Unable to free his weapon from the body of the badly wounded serjeant,
Kluge let it go, and was turning to bolt for the safety of the gatehouse and the forest
beyond when he saw Drummond and Father Freise coming cautiously out of the
hall, Drummond with one of Kluge's swords in his hand.
Bending down, Kluge seized the spear the serjeant had dropped and, drawing
back his arm, launched it at Drummond with all his strength. The six-foot oak shaft
flew just shy of its mark, its iron head grazing Drummond's head with great force
and opening a nasty wound in his scalp, but not killing him.
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