The trek back to Hersch manor was thankfully far less stressful than the morning. It was a long walk back through the destroyed city, through the forest and up the hill, though Michaels hardly noticed. His head was still spinning, and the consistent ringing in his ears had done little to cease.
The perplexing events that had just proceeded him were beginning to sink in. He'd had little time to process them up until now, and the tiring walk alone through dense bush and muddy grounds gave the Seargent plenty a time to replay them in his mind.
He should be dead.
Undoubtedly and unequivocally dead.
And yet somehow, he was all in one piece (vaguely speaking)
It was the radio. It had to have been. Something about that long-distance radio he'd swiped from General Braltr's experiment lab had messed with the tripods mechanics.
For a brief moment he considered the possibility that Braltr had known, though this idea made little sense. If it had been the radios fault entirely, then why hadn't they used it sooner?
Michaels was reminded of his own tampering's with the device. The weird inner mechanisms of the radio, stringy and sticky to touch. He'd shoved a wire from the beacon in there, not bothering to inspect the intricacies of either and hoping that it'd all work out. For what it was worth it seemed it'd worked out for the better.
Earlier on in his trek he had tried to make contact with Abigail. Through the pain in his fingertips and screaming rib cage he'd tried and tried again, surfing through radio signals in a desperate attempt to reach her. The sound of static became a cruel sound, taunting him as he went. His previous radio had been smashed upon impact with the wooden floor of the town hall. This new radio seemed set to an entirely new wavelength. The realisation that he'd be on his own a little while longer had not phased him, instead he'd started walking. The next mission was clear. Martians and tripods and Nazis be damned, all he could focus on was his girl and his men. Once he knew for sure that Abigail was in good hands, he'd get to work on the second part.
***
Relief came flooding thick and fast as Michaels hand rapped against the cool hard wooden door of the manor. No sooner had his hand returned to that of his side did the door swing open to reveal a myriad of scared faces and soot ash covered people, though one face truly stuck out from the crowd.
"James!"
She came running towards him, and before he'd had time to brace his body for impact he was crashed into by a running Abigail. She was panting, with dried blood down her face and clothes that were either torn or burnt.
"What the hell happened to you!" she exclaimed, clutching onto him dearly and deeply. The presence of her against his chest felt good, regardless of the bruised ribs and cuts she was inadvertently digging into.
"You honestly wouldn't believe me if I told you" he said, offering up the faintest of chuckles.
"Its so good to see you" he then murmured into her ear. His grip tightened around her as his mind flashed back to the broken, headless body of Jones.
"I know what you mean. I missed you terribly, the others had to stop me from going back in there and finding you"
"I wouldn't've forgiven myself if you had. You're safe, Im safe, that's what matters at the moment"
He pulled her back, their embrace over. Staring into each other's eyes Michaels noticed the heavy rings under her eyes. Coupled with her bloodshot look and tear stricken makeup, he began to wonder what sort of a mess he must look like.
"Come with me" Abigail declared. She put forth her hand and he gladly took it. Together they bustled past the large commotion of refuges seeking shelter within the walls of Hersch manor and retired to the kitchen. The room was quiet once the door was shut behind them, though if one listened faintly the noises of crying children and sobbing mothers were still very clearly present. Abigail led Michaels over to a chair and sat him down, inspecting his wounds. As he revelled in the touch of her skin she recounted to him her tale.
"After we got separated I ran... of course I ran. Don't know what the soldiers were doing there or how theyd managed to speed the tripod invasion up. Anyway, what few of us were left seemed to finally lose them through back alleys and such. Gathering a few more people we made our way to the outskirts of the forest – which is when I got your message! Oh James I was so worried for you. But the people were right, we had to keep going, and so we did. The only truly safe place of refuge seemed to be back here. Once we arrived, many prepared for doom at the hands of the Martians until someone pointed out the vile things had vanished... and then a few hours later you showed up and here we are!"
The story sounded a lot less painful and more civilised than the hell Michaels had endured. He winced as she pulled a little too hard on one of the fresh stitches.
"So tell me, honestly and truly. What happened to you out there? And for that matter where are the others. I was expecting them to be back but no ones heard a thing and I"-
"Jones is dead"
Michaels heard Abigail sigh as her touch on his wounds slackened.
"James im... Im so sorry. What happened?"
And so Seargent Michaels began to recount his tale. He spoke of the children he'd encountered, of the Nazis and their experiments. It pained him to recount such recent memories, and Abigail looked on in horror as he recalled the bullet ridden corpse of Jones and the disappointed look in Benson's eyes as he realised Michaels wouldn't take the shot.
"He was right there Abigail... right there! I could've taken the shot and been done with it"
"Shhh" she mewed, stroking his hair from behind now.
"If I hadn't lost my hand none of this would've happened... I would've taken the shot if I had trust in my own accuracy. If only you hadn't taken it off"
Abigail frowned slightly.
"Excuse me?"
"Maybe there could've been a way to keep it. I don't know... sew it back on or something!"
"Seargent Michaels your hand was well an truly gone by the time I came to you. You'd be dead in a ditch somewhere if it weren't for the help of your friends and I"
She left him sitting on the chair. He saw he walk back in front of him without turning around, reaching for the door and slamming it shut behind her as she left him alone in the kitchen.
Michaels sighed.
"That could've gone better" he muttered to himself as he slowly stood up.
The wounded Seargent made his way slowly to the back of the kitchen. Catching himself in the reflection of the oven, he noticed how beaten he truly looked. His clothes were little more than torn rags at this point and his face was battered and bruised to the extreme.
This looks becoming a bit too familiar he thought as he exited the kitchen through the back door and made his way through an empty hallway into the study.
For all it was worth his mind was still scattered. Michaels could feel the loud turmoil of hundreds of thoughts echoing inside his head, all vowing for supremacy amongst the rest.
Friends. Abigail. Radio. Home.
His legs hadn't quite prepared themselves for a break from resting so soon, and he found himself stumbling into the study. Falling onto a seat near a desk he propped himself up and placed his secret project out on the desk in front of him.
The beacon came out first. The large cylindrical piece of metal, with wires poking out the bottom and a large bulb atop. It'd been glowing green the last time he'd seen it, calling in the Martians to execute the German scientists. Regardless of how it worked, it seemed to thankfully be shut off. The bulb sat atop the strange device dull and grey.
The radio.
The 'Seargent Michaels approved' modified radio.
Giving himself a moment to steady himself on the chair, he leant forwards to inspect the thing more clearly.
Cuts and scratches clearly marked the chassis but apart from that there seemed to be no long term internal damage done to the device. Though Michaels determined he'd be none the wiser if there was any damage. The device was alien, much too alien for his liking. Regardless he placed his hand to the dial and began to play around with it. The familiar static noise picked up almost immediately, and he began surfing wavelengths.
He had something rather fundamental to share.
***
"Repeat that please Seargent"
Michaels cleared his throat, uttering the sentence again. The voices on the end sounded as if they were in disbelief. Michaels couldn't blame them, they were hearing the sound of hope for the first time in a while, even the best of soldiers would've gone wild upon hearing such news.
"I said, I have found their weakness over"
"The Martians?"
"Precisely General Sharpe. I don't exactly know how... or why for that matter. But I can confirm they have a weak spot"
He could now hear murmuring picking up behind him. This new long distance radio was impressive, and he had half a right mind to praise the German scientists for their ingenuity. Just a day earlier it'd have been quite impossible for Michaels to imagine making contact with his homeland. Nevertheless, that's what he was doing right this moment, a fact that continually surprised him.
"Weak spot?! Seargent Michaels be careful how you proceed. We are currently under extreme duress down in this ruddy basement dwelling, nobody is in any mood for games. Besides, how in god's green earth could you be in Europe now and yet communicate with us"
"Well sir" he started "that's actually the source of everything. I recovered an experimental radio from the Kraut base upon entrance. After doing some fiddling it seems to emit a certain radio wave that damages the Martians somehow. I was terribly close to one of the things when I switched the radio on. You should've seen it General, it fell like a tonne of bricks"
The murmuring continued, though louder this time. He could hear the excitement through the crackling static of the experimental radio and before long the General was back.
"Son, did you say radio waves?"
"Yes sir I did"
"Interesting... The krauts are no doubt up to something, we might as well use it to help us get ahead in this thing. Lets use this miracle of a transmission to our advantage, send us the exact wave length you were tuned into and all the pieces of information you can muster from this radio. Once that's done, let's see about getting you home son."
A pang strung at Michaels heart. After his ordeal in the town, nothing seemed more attractive than the idea of returning back home to the good old U S of A. Though no matter how hard he tried to see the positive, he knew he'd never go through with such an offer. Benson was still out there, being torn and minced by Braltr for one of his madcap experiments. If Michaels were leaving Europe, he'd been doing it with Benson by his side.
Such an opposition however would undoubtedly derail the advancement in anti-tripod weaponry, and so Michaels kept his mouth shut for now.
"Your father was a perfect soldier before his incident Seargent Michaels. It seems you may have achieved in following his footsteps"
"Only time will tell General Sharpe..."
Concluding the conversation with a simple "oorah" he began to conduct communication with Yosemite's best scientist Dr Malkins, dissecting and developing humanities last hope.
The two went back and forth, offering suggestions and trading insight as the day turned to night. Dr Malkins ended their transmission with a simple and cordial thank you, offering him solace in the fact that this information would prove to be the piece that changed the tide of war.
Michaels grunted something in response. It had been a spectacularly busy day for him, and he needed rest. He signed off, leaning back in the study chair as the static died down and the lights on the strange radio flickered and dimmed.
He closed his eyes, letting himself float down a stream of his own consciousness as he began to dream.
Men in suits carried him forwards towards his father, dropping him on the floor in front of him. His father stood facing away from him, aiming his rifle at several white rabbits and pulling the trigger, killing them stone dead with pinpoint accuracy.
Clapping from behind him and cheers of joy as his father turned to face him revealing the face of Benson. He was cut and bruised, with one eye hanging lazily down by his chin.
"You'll never be as good as him"
Michaels tried to shake his head, but it were as if a vice had him in its grip.
"You'll end up just like him. Betrayed and alone, your efforts fruitless"
He could move now, and he was. He jumped up, running forwards and through the figure, falling face first onto the ground.
Turning round he was greeted yet again by the glowing green eyes of the Martian war machine. This time however it simply stood, watching him, testing him.
One of its appendages began to move, slinking down and out towards him, reaching his stomach and resting by his chin.
Terrified, afraid and alone he peered down, stifling a scream as he was greeted by the face of Mallory. It was a distorted face. Her skin bubbling and popping as her jaw began to unhinge itself and her eyes burst from within her skull.
"jjjjaaaaaaames!"
He screamed for real this time. The face changed and distorted once more, skin growing and blonde hair growing until it resembled that of the face of Abigail Hersch.
He was back in the manor.
In the study.
In the chair.
He was panting, she was crouched down in front of him, holding his hands. Michaels glimpsed the night outside, pitch black.
"Its ok, you're ok. You just fell asleep and had one of your nightmares is all"
Michaels sat up, groaning as he went. His over usage of his body over the day had started to settle in. His back was incredibly stiff and his legs felt as if they weighed a tonne of bricks. His continuous headache kept pumping away at him as he got to his feet. He was a broken man, he knew this. Whatever shit he'd initially signed up for, this wasn't it. And yet, somehow, he still felt this dedication. To his girl, to his brothers. He knew without a doubt what the right thing to do was, he just didn't know how Abigail would take it.
"Its ok James. Its over, im here" she said, pressing herself to his chest. He could feel the rhythmic beat of his heart pushing against her face. The closeness felt good. It felt right. It pained him to be seconds away from ripping it all apart.
"I love you Abby"
"I love you too James"
He pulled back slightly, allowing them to make eye contact with one another. Her eyes burned into his with a sort of compassion he'd never felt before. Not from his mother, from anyone.
"Abby... I've been thinking"
Her eyebrow raised. Not the best of starts Michaels scolded himself
"...yes?"
"I can't stay here"
It was Abigail's turn to pull back now. They were still holding hands, but now looked more like a junior prom night couple making sure to keep their chaperone in the back happy.
"What do you mean you can't stay here"
"I mean I can't, I won't. Bensons alive and out there, probably being tortured for information as we speak by General fucking Braltr. I gave him my word I'd keep him safe today and I failed. I owe it to him... to all the men and women trapped in Braltrs fuckhouse of pain and misery to at least try. Please tell me you understand"
Abigail's eyes began to shimmer as water welled up at its base. He went to wipe her eyes but she pulled away, their electric touch evaporating into the air.
"I... I think I understand. You have a duty to your men and the country you serve"
Michaels sighed.
"What sort of a man would I be were I without integrity"
He saw her nod. She had her arms wrapped around herself, clearly cold.
Michaels sprung forwards, begging for the reconnection. The touch. He grabbed her from behind in a loving embrace.
"Come with me. Leave this place and help me rescue Benson"
He could see her face in the reflection of the window. It was sorrowful, mournful. He knew the answer that was coming before she'd uttered it herself.
"Im sorry James. I can't do that, not to my people, not to the town"
Michaels nodded, dipping his head. They were still embraced in a strange sort of romantic yet melancholy moment.
"I made a promise to him you know... my husband. When he left me in charge of the town he told me treat it as if it were my own. It was his life, his blood sweat and tears. Our last exchange was me giving my word to keep the town safe"
And now Abigail turned around to face Michaels once more. They were inches apart now, the chaperone clearly skiving off for a late-night drink in the teachers' lounge.
"What sort of a woman would I be were I without integrity"
The intensity had returned much to Michaels joy. The electricity, the fire. They yearned for each other, leaning in to kiss passionately and leave one another with a lasting memory of joy and love.
For the moment, Michaels had forgotten about the countless missions. He threw aside all worries of promises and death and marching tripods. All he cared about was this moment, with her.
The moment continued. The intensity building as he grabbed her and picked her up. She squealed in delight, a noise doing nothing but spurring him onwards as he stumbled forwards. His lack of dual hands meant the position was difficult to manage, though he didn't care. He had no care in the world, all he knew was Abigail.
They brushed forwards rather aggressively, slamming into the study desk as they continued their passionate ritual.
The sound of a crunch and a crash was the only thing capable of bringing both Michaels and Abigail out of their moment and back into the real world. They turned their attention to the floor, where the clutter that had been taking up space on the desk had been casually pushed aside.
Michaels heart leapt as he began to worry about the strange radio. Luckily however it seemed to be intact and no pieces out of place.
It was the other piece of strange technology that had Michaels in a panic. He did nothing to stop it, nothing to try and fix the mistake for it was too late. Abigail was confused. Her face revealed nothing but a dull sense of annoyance at the sudden emergency breaks put on by Seargent Michaels.
The Seargent hardly noticed her. He was sweating, his heart racing. Panicking as the two sat locked in an embrace that would progress no further.
The strange cylindrical device sat lobbed to one side on the floor. Strange noises were coming off it and the large bulb on the top was once more glowing a sickly green.
Vivid images of German scientists reduced to ash and bone came to the forefront of Seargent Michaels mind as he pulled back from Abigail and exhaled sharply
"Fuck"