{"id":86,"date":"2016-07-11T17:44:05","date_gmt":"2016-07-11T17:44:05","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/?p=86"},"modified":"2016-07-11T17:44:05","modified_gmt":"2016-07-11T17:44:05","slug":"fangs-of-the-ss-camp-cuckoo","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/fangs-of-the-ss\/fangs-of-the-ss-camp-cuckoo\/","title":{"rendered":"(Fangs of the SS) Camp Cuckoo"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"army<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cIstanbul? That makes sense. But how the fuck do I get to Istanbul?\u201d Mirsky stops muttering to himself and looks up from the letter. In his mind, he\u2019s already on the way. \u201cI\u2019ll get Bing and Bob and we\u2019re on the road to Istanbul.\u201d Deserting the Army is just an obstacle to be overcome. Sure, it\u2019s been nice to be given the opportunity to kill Nazis, but this is his sister and she\u2019s more important than anything. He starts figuring angles, scams, different ways to make it happen.<\/p>\n

Thoughts, memories of Leah keep intruding. What she must be going through. Memories of how scared he was, the first times he had to do what needed to be done. She was always the tough one. Fearless. Anyone could stand up to the Russians, they were just thugs, but she stood up to their father, stood up to the Rabbi, stood up to all the scary old women who looked and judged. She stood up and never backed down. All alone. He always had his gang at his back.<\/p>\n

He carefully smooths out the letter, folds it, and puts it back into the envelope. He tucks the letter away safe into an inside pocket. Each movement is precise and controlled. Those who knew him, back then, back in the cities, they would have recognized that style of moving. Benny Mirsky getting ready to do what needed to be done.<\/p>\n

The plans he\u2019s making, the possibilities unfolding in his mind, they all keep coming back to one person, the one person who might be able to help him, the one person who might have the juice to get him out, the one person who might understand what he\u2019s going through. \u201cYeah, but he killed Simco. Put him down like a dog. But do I give a runny shit? This is Leah. Leah\u2019s in danger. So, no, I don\u2019t care. Not now. The monsters exist. I know. I saw them. Do I care? No. Leah\u2019s in danger. Deal with it, move on. And remember, I saw them go down, those monsters, if they\u2019re shot in the head enough. And I know how to shoot things in the head. Anything that gets between me and Leah.\u201d<\/p>\n

He gets up and heads towards the tent’s exit. He doesn\u2019t feel his exhaustion any more. Doesn\u2019t care that he\u2019s still wearing the dirty bloody fatigues from the night before. He\u2019s got his rifle and the letter.<\/p>\n

Fisher calls out to him. \u201cWas it good news, in the letter?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mirsky just shrugs and keeps going. \u201cGood and bad.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere you off to?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGonna go see if I can cut a deal with a rabbi.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHuh?\u201d On the sound of Fisher\u2019s puzzlement, Mirsky exits into the cold Tunisian morning and into the bustle of the camp. He looks around, spots Iron Joe, the walking tank, looming over the tents some distance away. He squares his shoulders and heads in that direction. A blast of dark humor shivers through him and he starts to hum \u201cWe\u2019re Off To See The Wizard\u201d to himself.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Maccabbee is exhausted. Drained. He\u2019s slumped back in the passenger seat of the Jeep, and is barely aware of jolting and the noise as Malkuth drives them into Camp Cuckoo. He can feel the big golem\u2019s concern and that makes him even more tired. It\u2019s not just the pressures of combat and command that have made him so tired. The fatigue is part of the price that he paid, part of the price that he\u2019s still paying. No action without sacrifice. Without even concentrating, in the blackness behind his eyelids, he\u2019s aware of all the golems, even the three of them in Jeep behind them.<\/p>\n

These days, he\u2019s not even safe behind his eyelids. The visions are becoming more frequent. Instead of blackness, he sees The Tree. He sees the golems placed on The Tree, signifying their Sephiroth. He sees himself, suspended in the midst of The Tree, all the pathways running through him, all of the power flowing from Kether, through him, to the golems. No power from him, he had been so stupid, so completely misunderstanding when he\u2019d started, he\u2019s just the focus, a prism splitting the light. And he\u2019s on fire.<\/p>\n

Malkuth glances at the man next to him every once in awhile, concerned. The Rabbi needs to sleep. The golem doesn\u2019t know much, being only almost two years old, but he does know that the man needs to rest and that this twitching and crying out isn\u2019t it. His broad flat featured face creases in worry and he flexes his hands. He stops that when the steering wheel starts to bend and twist. He\u2019s ruined more than one Jeep before he learned his strength. He concentrates on his driving, weaving the vehicle through the Army camp.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe doesn\u2019t look good.\u201d The voice is low, something like a woman\u2019s voice, pitched just right to be heard over the sound of the Jeep\u2019s engine but not loud enough to disturb Maccabbee.<\/p>\n

Malkuth takes a quick look back at Binah, who\u2019s hanging onto the .30 cal machine gun. \u201cDon\u2019t worry about it. I\u2019ll take care of him. He\u2019ll be fine.\u201d He whips his head back to pay attention to the road before the Jeep slides into a muddy crater, but not so quick that he can\u2019t see the doubt on her finely crafted features.<\/p>\n

As always, Malkuth feels especially lumpy and ill formed around Binah. And jealous. The questions that he\u2019s had ever since he saw for the first time, saw her clay flesh move for the first time, life ripple through it as she lay on the slab in the Temple. Why did he have to be created first? Why does he have to be the lumpy ugly one? Why couldn\u2019t the Rabbi have gotten his shit together before making him. The last thought is painfully blasphemous, literally so. His scroll of creation, the one buried inside his forehead, just behind the Hebrew word EMETH, burns and twitches. A toad of fire, buried in clay, muttering at him to behave.<\/p>\n

As he\u2019s done every time, he drops those thoughts. Concentrates on the task at hand. Concentrates on being a servant, created to serve. His thick stubby fingers shed clay dust as he strangles the steering wheel. This time, he doesn\u2019t care that his fingers leave dents in the metal.<\/p>\n

The Jeep, carrying the two golems, loaded down so far its springs groan in protest, wallows through the mud. In the back, Binah keeps her balance, hanging onto the .30 cal. She looks down at the back of Malkuth\u2019s head. Understanding, and through that, compassion is written into her very being and she feels pity for the big lug. Created to protect. Created to care. Created to serve. And now it\u2019s becoming more and more difficult to follow those orders as they get further into this war. So many different orders, so many different directives, all grinding against their primal orders. Those old kabbalists, creating the first golems all those centuries ago, had no way of foreseeing golems going to war in an army, had no way of foreseeing golems having to take orders from anyone else but their creator. She senses possibilities in this conflict. Under her fingers, each with a delicately etched fingernail, the grips of the .30 cal deform.<\/p>\n

The closer they get to the camp, the worse the road gets. Malkuth doesn\u2019t talk again, just concentrates on the driving, tries to avoid the worst of the ruts and rocks for the Rabbi\u2019s sake. Maccabbee rouses to a patchy wakefulness after a patch of ruts that Malkuth can\u2019t avoid no matter how much he tries. \u201cWe about back?\u201d<\/p>\n

Malkuth doesn\u2019t speak, just grunts and gestures with his head to sprawling Army camp that\u2019s just becoming visible as they come around a curve and start heading down a hill.<\/p>\n

Finally, the Jeeps come to the camp\u2019s entrance and the guards wave them through, not afraid, exactly, they\u2019ve seen them before, but they\u2019re made uneasy by the otherworldliness of the Golems. In this arena of buzzing, screaming modernity, internal combustion engines, fighter planes, mass produced death, electric lights, and total war, the Golems give off a scent, an aura, that is ancient and strange. Dust and magic, mud and the ineffable name of God. Moving, living statues that embody the Other. And they carry machine guns and kill Nazis and Nazi monsters like nobody\u2019s business. Admiration mixed with the heebie-jeebies, the heebie-jeebies mixed with admiration, depending on how recently the American soldier has seen combat. Those feelings aren\u2019t made any more definite by Geburah grinning at them and then saluting with two of its arms. The uniforms that the golems wear are tattered, slashed by vampire claws and pierced with bullet holes, showing damage that would have killed any human soldier many times over.<\/p>\n

Driving through the camp, the golems attract all sorts of eyes: side eyes, evil eyes, wondering eyes, admiring eyes. They suffer the scrutiny without comment, even Geburah decides not to fuck with the humans. Eventually, they come to a section that\u2019s fenced off from the rest. The gate to this section has a sign hanging above it: Camp Cuckoo. The sign is topped by the skull of some sort of monster, all tusks and ripping teeth, and framed by flame blackened remnants of a Nazi super weapon.<\/p>\n

\u201cHome sweet home.\u201d Hesod\u2019s tone is so flat that you could cut the irony with a knife.<\/p>\n

The two jeeps come to a stop in front of a large tent. They all get out of the jeeps. Geburah\u2019s still twitchy, excited from the combat with the vampires. A twitchy golem is never a pleasant thing to see. Its fingers, all its fingers, all twenty of them on all four hands, drum on the hood of the Jeep. Rapid syncopation with odd backfills, picked up from Berber drummers in the Djemaa el-Fna in Marakech.<\/p>\n

Maccabbee moves slower than any of the golems, levers himself out of the passenger seat. \u201cWe did good. Killed a lot of vampires, drove off that attack.\u201d His attempt at enthusiasm fails underneath the weight of his weariness.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot enough.\u201d Geburah punctuates each words with an ominous marching drumbeat.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was a good night’s work. Thank you.\u201d A flickering expression that\u2019s more of a grimace than a smile. A hand waves vaguely in their direction. \u201cI’m going to write some reports, get some sleep. You’re all free to do what you want, but stay close, we might get word of another mission at any time.\u201d Without waiting for any response, Maccabbee goes into the tent, Malkuth following. The remaining golems all look at each other. The silence made by Geburah stopping drumming on the hood of the Jeep says all that needs to be said.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a large tent, room for a cot and a small table and chair. Cold and damp. A floor made out of shipping pallets keeps away the worst of the mud and water. A metal trunk at the foot of the cot, stack of old battered books on top of the closed lid. Battered typewriter on the table. Maccabbee dumps his gear at the foot of his cot and slumps tiredly on it. He stares fixedly at his hands, watching them tremble. Malkuth stands by the tent\u2019s entrance, a concerned expression furrows his face.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou get some sleep, Rabbi.\u201d<\/p>\n

For a minute, it\u2019s as if he doesn\u2019t hear the golem. Then he sighs deeply, straightens, and looks up at Malkuth with a wry grin on his face. \u201cWhat are you, my mother?\u201d His fake Yiddish accent is pretty good. \u201cSuch a worrier, you are.\u201d<\/p>\n

Malkuth\u2019s Yiddish accent isn\u2019t as good. \u201cGo ahead and break your mother\u2019s heart, you little pisher<\/i>. I made brisket.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maccabbee snorts out a laugh. \u201cNow I know you\u2019re not my mother. She never made brisket in her life.\u201d He gets up off the cot, sways, and stops to get his balance. He waves a hand towards Malkuth, stopping the golem\u2019s abortive movement of help. Gathering his strength, he goes to the table and sits down. Sets up the typewriter with a form from a small pile on the table and starts typing an after action report. Hunt and peck. He speaks without looking up. \u201cSoon as I finish these reports, Malkuth, I promise that I\u2019ll rest. You go, be with the other golems. I’ll be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

Malkuth hesitates. Hard for a large animated stone statue to look indecisive, but he manages. Shifts in one direction, then the other.<\/p>\n

At the sound of creaking boards, Maccabbee looks up from the typewriter. His face and voice harden. \u201cGo. I\u2019ll. Be. Fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

Malkuth nods deferentially and his voice is monotone. \u201cIf you say so. But please get some sleep, if you can.\u201d He turns and lumbers out of the tent.<\/p>\n

Maccabbee continues to type, occasionally blots the blood that drips from his nose.<\/p>\n

The golems are clustered around the entrance, sitting on ammo boxes, except for Geburah, who is pacing. They all look at Malkuth as he comes out of the tent.. His shrug sends a patter of dust and grit off his shoulders, visible through rips in his uniform.<\/p>\n

Tipareth\u2019s bearded features show frustration. \u201cIs he going to rest? He’s not doing well, we can all see it.\u201d His deep voice slows for emphasis. \u201cI can FEEL it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Malkuth spreads his hands, the blunt powerful fingers. \u201cWhat can I do? I’m not going to sit on him until he sleeps.\u201d He tries a grin, a wretched failure. \u201cI\u2019d squash him flat.\u201d<\/p>\n

The attempt at humor is completely ignored. Binah stands, almost as restless as Geburah. \u201cWe’ve got to do something. We all know what’ll happen to us if he pushes himself too hard and dies.\u201d She stops and looks at the ground. Her voice softens as she brings up what they\u2019re all not trying to think about. \u201cOr if he gets shot in the head. We’re in the middle of a war, after all, going toe to toe with Nazis and vampires every chance we get.\u201d<\/p>\n

And now they\u2019re all silent, exchanging glances that acknowledge that none of them has a suggestion of what to do.<\/p>\n

The silence holds until Malkuth, as he was created to do, brings them back to The World, the Here and Now. He claps his hands together, a brisk cracking sound. \u201cI’m going to stay here and keep an eye on him, maybe try to get him to eat something.\u201d He keeps his voice strong and confident. \u201cThe rest of you go walk around, find out if there’s anything going on. If we’re to protect the Rabbi, we need to know when and what we’ll be going up against. So, go! Get!\u201d<\/p>\n

The other four golems look at each other and find nothing to say. Reluctantly, with backward glances towards Malkuth and the tent, Tipareth, Geburah, Binah, and Hesod walk away.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cIstanbul? That makes sense. But how the fuck do I get to Istanbul?\u201d Mirsky stops muttering to himself and looks up from the letter. In his mind, he\u2019s already on the way. \u201cI\u2019ll get Bing and Bob and we\u2019re on the road to Istanbul.\u201d Deserting the Army is just an obstacle to be overcome. Sure, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[12],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/86"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=86"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/86\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":88,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/86\/revisions\/88"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=86"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=86"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=86"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}