Sorry for the silence, here’s a small snippet. (Spoiler alert, the Americans and British took Sicily toward the end of 1942.)
February 14, 1943 - Eastern Mediterranean Theater Headquarters, Heraklion, Crete, Kingdom of Greece
“Ike! What brings you all the way out here?” William Stormcloud asked as he shook General Eisenhower’s hand.
Eisenhower was more sober. “Got some news you need to know that I didn’t want to put on the radio, Bill. Can we go to your office?”
“Sure thing, Ike. You look like you could use a drink.” They went into the office, and William went to the liquor cabinet. “What do you want?”
“Scotch, if you have any. You may want one yourself as well.”
Startled by that, William took down two glasses and poured a generous helping in each, putting one on his desk in front of Eisenhower as he sat down. “So what gives?”
Eisenhower sipped his drink, playing for time. “We’ve found out why the Red Cross hasn’t contacted you about the status of your people in Sicily. I’ll be blunt. They didn’t report any prisoners of war because there weren’t any. Sicilian locals have directed our Graves Registration teams to six mass graves so far, all with Texans in them, confirmed by their dog tags. We’ve uncovered at least one thousand bodies, there’s probably more out there. The locals say it was done by the SS, specifically the First Waffen-SS Panzer Division.”
William slammed the expensive scotch in one shot, then stared at the empty glass. After a moment, he spoke. “Thank you for telling me in person, Ike. First SS, huh? The Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler, old brush-lip’s personal bodyguard. Figures it would be them. Saw ‘em strutting around Berlin back when I was at our embassy there. Looked at anyone who wasn’t lily-white Aryan like they were less than road grime. Yeah, I can easily see those bastards doing that.”
“I’ve sent a courier to Washington with that same info, along with copies of all the evidence we have so far. After the war, there will be trials, I can personally assure you.”
“Thank you again, Ike. Can you stay for a day or so? I need to touch base with you tomorrow about our next moves over here. My aide will find a place for you to bed down.”
“Certainly, Bill. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Both men stood, and unusually, Eisenhower came to attention and saluted. William returned the salute.
That evening, just before sunset, William took a large, ornate wooden box from behind his desk, carrying it out to where his Lend-Lease jeep waited. He dismissed the driver and drove himself to the top of the highest hill in the area. He gathered wood and tinder, preparing a small fire, but didn’t light it yet. Instead, he took the box from the jeep and carried it over to the wood. He sat, facing west, then opened the box. He removed his war bonnet and jars of war paint. With the ease of long experience, he painted his face, then carefully set the bonnet on his head.
Just as the Sun touched the western horizon, he lit the fire, then began chanting the Comanche prayers for the dead, and for vengeance.
A Greek goat herder observed from a distance. As William’s chant began, he knelt, crossed himself, and recited the Lord’s Prayer.
Copyright 2026, D.A. Brock
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