TEASERS
Occasional postings of excerpts from my upcoming books ranging from Practical Theology to Inspiring Historical Novels
From the tentatively titled book "The Impossible Dream" - a historical World War II novel based on the life of my father, Dr. Joseph Sazyc
A rough draft of the second half of chapter 3:
Carefully and quietly, we moved from house to house. No bodies, dead or alive. Occasionally a chicken would protest our invasion of their village, now seemingly left to them to rule. I wanted to shoot them and shut them up! But that would only get the unwanted attention of Germans who were no doubt somewhere within earshot of a gunshot. We would occasionally hear the rattle of gunfire to the north, and even started hearing the distant rumble of tanks reving up again far to the south.
Suddenly I heard what sounded like mumbling a few hundred yards away.
I carefully peeked around the corner of the little wooden house but didn't see anything. My heart started pounding. "Did you hear that?" I whispered to Ivan. He nodded. I peeked around the corner again.
Suddenly machine gun fire echoed loudly nearby. Radislow and Fyodr began running back towards the stream. "Lord!" A loud rattle again! Without even thinking, after looking around the corner of the house and seeing my right flank collapse, I hid back behind the house, literally throwing myself backwards... or was I being thrown? When I landed on the ground, I felt one of my fingers burning and beginning to sting. I looked, and the tip of my middle finger was gone! "Bozhe moi!" Ivan, obviously scared, was looking to me for direction. I looked to my left to see where Fabek and Miroslow were. I couldn't see them. There was no sign of them. I gave the hand signal to stay down anyway.
What to do? What to do?
Another loud volley of a machine gun.
Where was this coming from? Evidently somebody had an angle on us because I heard the bullets fly past me like angry bees.
Then we heard them! Raised voices in German and Polish coming from the left. They were not pleasant voices as I heard several of the German expletives my friend Boris taught me back behind the schoolhouse when we were boys. They must have gotten Fabek and Miroslow! It sounded like Fabek was saying Miroslav was hit. Then I saw them. Fabek had his hands in the air and a rifle at his head. Where did they come from? The town looked absolutely abandoned! But such is war.
The sound of tank ignitions and tank engines began to fire up towards the center of town.
More rapid gunshots
I felt a sting in my leg. Then my finger, which I didn't have time to think about suddenly went from a burning to a throb. I didn't realize I was losing large amounts of blood. For the first time I noticed blood was all over my uniform and the ground. And something was stinging my leg as if some giant wasp was aroused from the slats of the old wooden house and added to my agony by stinging me.
I threw up.
Like the blood that was flowing out of my finger, I suddenly felt life flowing out of me. I was getting sleepy, but the throbbing didn't stop. I wished somebody would just cut my whole hand off!
I was fighting it, but my eyes began to close. It seemed like my hearing was going too. There was a high pitched tone ringing in my ears. I faintly heard Ivan shouting and two or three voices shouting in German right on top of me. I opened my eyes back up.
I was surrounded. It was my love Vara, Mama Vera, Sister Sasha, Brother Volodya. They were looking at me. But they were crying. I smelled frankincense and the voices of a church choir.
They were singing the funeral dirge.
Then everything went black.
The throbbing in my hand and my leg woke me up. I opened my eyes. Everything was a little hazy.
Standing over me was a man. His blue eyes, bluer than any eyes I've ever seen, were focused on mine. They seemed to cut right through the haze into my soul. I was stunned by his appearance. His face was chiseled as if by the most gifted artist. His blond hair was combed back and shined in the dim sunlight that came through a little window in the room. And he was in uniform, a uniform unlike anything I have ever seen. It was blueish-gray, buttoned to the top, and fit him like a second skin. There were medals and stripes. Glorious. Nothing like our tattered Polish uniforms. For a moment, my physical pain was interrupted by the stunning vision that stood before me.
Then he spoke!
"Captain." Then tipped his head towards me.
It was spoken in flawless Belarusian. And he knew my rank.
Mama Vera once told me that I might one day encounter an angel, but that it would not look like the icons in our church, that the angel would more likely look like one of us. This man looked like one of us, yet more stunning than any of us. He was almost like the pictures of the ultimate soldier I would draw as a child, yet more handsome than I could ever imagine.
This was my angel! He was sent by God my Father to take me to my earthly father who died of the swine flu when I was but 2 years old! I would finally meet my father! And how appropriate that God would clothe his angel like the imaginary soldier heroes of my childhood.
He just stood there, looking at me.
I pulled my hands back towards my sides in order to scoot my body up and perhaps sit up and gaze on him more intently. I saw that my injured hand was in a bandage so I was left to do it with one hand. Seeing I needed assistance, my angel stretched his hand out to help.
That's when I saw it.
A sharp pain went through my chest. My heart leaped into my throat. My hand and leg suddenly started to throb violently. My breath left me. His angelic face became serious.
On his arm above the elbow was a red band. On that band was
.... a swastika!
This wasn't my angel!
This was a devil!
My beloved Vara's devout mother Matrona once told me that Satan also often disguises himself as a human, or an angel of light, that he was once with God in heaven and was the most beautiful of all creatures until God threw him out for his rebelliousness.
A devil has come to take my soul to Hell!
As I sat up, he straightened himself and again, in perfect Belarusian, "You will be okay yungen." The bullet did not hit your bone." I couldn't speak. I just stared at him.
He turned around and slowly walked towards a desk and chair in the corner of the room and sat down in the chair. He crossed his legs, the sunlight from the little window beside the desk reflected off his shining boots right into my face. He gazed at me with a puzzled look on his face, picked up a golden cigarette holder that was on the desk, pulled out a cigarette. "A cigarette, Captain?"
As if the heart that leaped into my throat stayed there and gagged my vocal cords, I still could not speak.
He took the cigarette himself, lit it, and took several puffs, looking at me intently.
The fog in my eyes and in my brain was beginning to lift. I was not dead.
I was captured!
"Captain Sazhitch...." He knew my name! "Why are you fighting for the Poles? They are primitive dogs. You are a Litvin!"
As if my emotions weren't already thoroughly confused, not only was he speaking in my mother tongue, but he was speaking the language of my very soul, my Litvin soul! You see, the Poles did not allow us to speak in our mother tongue. Although we fought for them, it was not without a deep resentment. And yet this "German" spoke my language!
Was this indeed Lucifer? ...or was he the Captain of the LORD'S host? But with a swastika?
It was as if he were channeling Mr. Vladimir who, when I was a 10 year old boy, opened up his treasure chest of books about the glory days of Belarus during the Grand Duchy of Litva. Mr. Vladimir would repeatedly put his big fat finger in my chest in his home, in the market, wherever we would chance to meet, and say, "Don't ever forget! You are a Litvin!"
Then a wave of terror once again spread through my body. This person sitting there, wearing the mark of the beast, looking through my very being, is certainly Lucifer! How can he know my soul so!
Puffing on his cigarette with his head slightly tilted back, he spoke again. "I know you are not fully awake yet, but I want you to know the Fuehrer will take care of you. And when you have fully recovered, the Fuehrer will give you and your men who came with you real weapons, not the playthings your 'superiors' gave you. The Poles fought nobly here in Kutno with their sticks and horses, but they will all die eventually. Lead us to your line, and we will find your Belarusian friends. We will protect them. And you will command them. They need not fight any longer for these dog Poles. The Fuehrer will give all you Litvins new weapons if you fight for us and help us defeat the red Marxist trash."
Lucifer was making an offer for my soul.
A rough draft of the second half of chapter 3:
Carefully and quietly, we moved from house to house. No bodies, dead or alive. Occasionally a chicken would protest our invasion of their village, now seemingly left to them to rule. I wanted to shoot them and shut them up! But that would only get the unwanted attention of Germans who were no doubt somewhere within earshot of a gunshot. We would occasionally hear the rattle of gunfire to the north, and even started hearing the distant rumble of tanks reving up again far to the south.
Suddenly I heard what sounded like mumbling a few hundred yards away.
I carefully peeked around the corner of the little wooden house but didn't see anything. My heart started pounding. "Did you hear that?" I whispered to Ivan. He nodded. I peeked around the corner again.
Suddenly machine gun fire echoed loudly nearby. Radislow and Fyodr began running back towards the stream. "Lord!" A loud rattle again! Without even thinking, after looking around the corner of the house and seeing my right flank collapse, I hid back behind the house, literally throwing myself backwards... or was I being thrown? When I landed on the ground, I felt one of my fingers burning and beginning to sting. I looked, and the tip of my middle finger was gone! "Bozhe moi!" Ivan, obviously scared, was looking to me for direction. I looked to my left to see where Fabek and Miroslow were. I couldn't see them. There was no sign of them. I gave the hand signal to stay down anyway.
What to do? What to do?
Another loud volley of a machine gun.
Where was this coming from? Evidently somebody had an angle on us because I heard the bullets fly past me like angry bees.
Then we heard them! Raised voices in German and Polish coming from the left. They were not pleasant voices as I heard several of the German expletives my friend Boris taught me back behind the schoolhouse when we were boys. They must have gotten Fabek and Miroslow! It sounded like Fabek was saying Miroslav was hit. Then I saw them. Fabek had his hands in the air and a rifle at his head. Where did they come from? The town looked absolutely abandoned! But such is war.
The sound of tank ignitions and tank engines began to fire up towards the center of town.
More rapid gunshots
I felt a sting in my leg. Then my finger, which I didn't have time to think about suddenly went from a burning to a throb. I didn't realize I was losing large amounts of blood. For the first time I noticed blood was all over my uniform and the ground. And something was stinging my leg as if some giant wasp was aroused from the slats of the old wooden house and added to my agony by stinging me.
I threw up.
Like the blood that was flowing out of my finger, I suddenly felt life flowing out of me. I was getting sleepy, but the throbbing didn't stop. I wished somebody would just cut my whole hand off!
I was fighting it, but my eyes began to close. It seemed like my hearing was going too. There was a high pitched tone ringing in my ears. I faintly heard Ivan shouting and two or three voices shouting in German right on top of me. I opened my eyes back up.
I was surrounded. It was my love Vara, Mama Vera, Sister Sasha, Brother Volodya. They were looking at me. But they were crying. I smelled frankincense and the voices of a church choir.
They were singing the funeral dirge.
Then everything went black.
The throbbing in my hand and my leg woke me up. I opened my eyes. Everything was a little hazy.
Standing over me was a man. His blue eyes, bluer than any eyes I've ever seen, were focused on mine. They seemed to cut right through the haze into my soul. I was stunned by his appearance. His face was chiseled as if by the most gifted artist. His blond hair was combed back and shined in the dim sunlight that came through a little window in the room. And he was in uniform, a uniform unlike anything I have ever seen. It was blueish-gray, buttoned to the top, and fit him like a second skin. There were medals and stripes. Glorious. Nothing like our tattered Polish uniforms. For a moment, my physical pain was interrupted by the stunning vision that stood before me.
Then he spoke!
"Captain." Then tipped his head towards me.
It was spoken in flawless Belarusian. And he knew my rank.
Mama Vera once told me that I might one day encounter an angel, but that it would not look like the icons in our church, that the angel would more likely look like one of us. This man looked like one of us, yet more stunning than any of us. He was almost like the pictures of the ultimate soldier I would draw as a child, yet more handsome than I could ever imagine.
This was my angel! He was sent by God my Father to take me to my earthly father who died of the swine flu when I was but 2 years old! I would finally meet my father! And how appropriate that God would clothe his angel like the imaginary soldier heroes of my childhood.
He just stood there, looking at me.
I pulled my hands back towards my sides in order to scoot my body up and perhaps sit up and gaze on him more intently. I saw that my injured hand was in a bandage so I was left to do it with one hand. Seeing I needed assistance, my angel stretched his hand out to help.
That's when I saw it.
A sharp pain went through my chest. My heart leaped into my throat. My hand and leg suddenly started to throb violently. My breath left me. His angelic face became serious.
On his arm above the elbow was a red band. On that band was
.... a swastika!
This wasn't my angel!
This was a devil!
My beloved Vara's devout mother Matrona once told me that Satan also often disguises himself as a human, or an angel of light, that he was once with God in heaven and was the most beautiful of all creatures until God threw him out for his rebelliousness.
A devil has come to take my soul to Hell!
As I sat up, he straightened himself and again, in perfect Belarusian, "You will be okay yungen." The bullet did not hit your bone." I couldn't speak. I just stared at him.
He turned around and slowly walked towards a desk and chair in the corner of the room and sat down in the chair. He crossed his legs, the sunlight from the little window beside the desk reflected off his shining boots right into my face. He gazed at me with a puzzled look on his face, picked up a golden cigarette holder that was on the desk, pulled out a cigarette. "A cigarette, Captain?"
As if the heart that leaped into my throat stayed there and gagged my vocal cords, I still could not speak.
He took the cigarette himself, lit it, and took several puffs, looking at me intently.
The fog in my eyes and in my brain was beginning to lift. I was not dead.
I was captured!
"Captain Sazhitch...." He knew my name! "Why are you fighting for the Poles? They are primitive dogs. You are a Litvin!"
As if my emotions weren't already thoroughly confused, not only was he speaking in my mother tongue, but he was speaking the language of my very soul, my Litvin soul! You see, the Poles did not allow us to speak in our mother tongue. Although we fought for them, it was not without a deep resentment. And yet this "German" spoke my language!
Was this indeed Lucifer? ...or was he the Captain of the LORD'S host? But with a swastika?
It was as if he were channeling Mr. Vladimir who, when I was a 10 year old boy, opened up his treasure chest of books about the glory days of Belarus during the Grand Duchy of Litva. Mr. Vladimir would repeatedly put his big fat finger in my chest in his home, in the market, wherever we would chance to meet, and say, "Don't ever forget! You are a Litvin!"
Then a wave of terror once again spread through my body. This person sitting there, wearing the mark of the beast, looking through my very being, is certainly Lucifer! How can he know my soul so!
Puffing on his cigarette with his head slightly tilted back, he spoke again. "I know you are not fully awake yet, but I want you to know the Fuehrer will take care of you. And when you have fully recovered, the Fuehrer will give you and your men who came with you real weapons, not the playthings your 'superiors' gave you. The Poles fought nobly here in Kutno with their sticks and horses, but they will all die eventually. Lead us to your line, and we will find your Belarusian friends. We will protect them. And you will command them. They need not fight any longer for these dog Poles. The Fuehrer will give all you Litvins new weapons if you fight for us and help us defeat the red Marxist trash."
Lucifer was making an offer for my soul.
Stay tuned for the next teaser!