Man Without a Cross

Copyright © 2014 Jacob Scott Kerr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY Clayton Kerr

WestBow Press

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-4776-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-4777-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-4889-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014914868

WestBow Press rev. date: 12/19/2014

Contents

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

To my Mother who likes a good,

Christian novel.

I

Jump now!

There was a shrill cry as the assault transport shuddered under the impact of another blow.

Go-go-go!

The strike team members lined up and began to jump out the open door. There was another hit and then the pilot yelled, We just lost an engine and have to ditch; jump now!

The man in black armor ushered his team members out the door. The fourth man jumped out, his parachute cord caught, and the large chute deployed.

Jones, your next-

The front of the jet exploded and the pilots screamed. The airship began to spin, fishtail, and pitch crazily. The cockpit was gone. The man in black shoved Jones out the door. His chute cord caught, the safety device opened, and then snagged on the rear fin of the jet as it began to spin uncontrollably to the ground. The remaining team members lost their balance and fell. Several banged hard against the sides as they tumbled around the jet’s interior.

Everybody out!

The man in black forced himself along the pitching interior until he reached the door. He turned to offer his hand to one of his men struggling next to him, but another blast rocked the armored jet and he fell out the door. His parachute deployed, and then he was floating to the ground. Above him there was a scream, and then the jet exploded…

Vallion sat up fast, bathed in a cold sweat. It was another of his nightmares, a flashback of what he had left behind him and wanted to stay behind him. In front of him, the computer monitor began to beep and a message appeared. He smiled grimly, now he would find out for sure. Ever since he had first witnessed death, he had wanted to live forever. After losing one of his strike team members in a failed raid, Vallion was determined to find the means to live forever. He had researched everything available about mythological sources of youth or eternal life. Every lead ended in failure. It seemed that no matter where he turned, he could not find the answer; it was as though there was simply no cure for death.

So he decided to make one.

Despite Vallion’s desire to cheat death, he continued to lead his mercenary teams on dangerous missions, usually with a high degree of success. As time passed, he discovered a dark organization reaching out into the military facilities he typically targeted commandos. The organization began subverting these facilities, and it was the raids upon these which dealt Vallion his first string of failures. Despite his best efforts, his attempts to destroy or sabotage those facilities operated by the organization met with inevitable failure. Most of these facilities were hidden research stations, terrorist or guerrilla strongholds, or hazardous materials and weapons establishments, in volatile nations, which needed to be destroyed to prevent their misuse. With the enormous amount of capital that he soon acquired from his successful contracts, he began to develop specialized armor and weapons that were well ahead of the times. He eventually was able to downsize to a commando team consisting of five hand-picked individuals aside from him. They went through a myriad of missions together before they finally met with disaster.

He felt lightheaded, and knew that he was about to have another flashback. He fought against it, but it was no use…

Faust stood before him. The giant was smiling menacingly, So, this is the famous Vallion. You do not seem nearly as intimidating as the descriptions. I am somewhat disappointed, for I had been looking forward to a challenge. I guess that I shall have to kill you anyways. Your friends are already dead or dying. Listen!

He held a small remote in the palm of his right hand. Pressing it, he switched on the room’s overhead speaker. Instantly yells and screams were blasted into the room, Striker One, this is Striker Two I need aid now! Position is quadrant three-oh-one, southern hall.

There was an explosion, and another scream. Gunfire and the clash of steel sounded and then Striker Two screamed into his helmet’s mike. Instantly, Faust switched to one after the other of Vallion’s squad mates. Each in turn had his own cryptic message. When the last scream died away, Faust smiled.

They are dead, and now, I will kill you.

Vallion jerked awake again and hastily reached for a pill bottle. Shaking out a pill, he quickly swallowed it. Instead of working on his cure for death, he had taken a short break to do a long-overdue medical exam of himself. At the depressing thought of his death-cure failures, he also thought of this pill bottle and the small white capsules inside. They had been a medical breakthrough for him. A single pill lasted an entire week, preventing the plaguing flashbacks. The pills cheered him somewhat when he thought of that success.

He read the result of his medical test, and his insides seemed to turn cold. The more he read, the wearier he felt. When he finished he leaned back in his seat, and sighed. It was true then. He had cancer. The two things that he wanted most in life had been to live forever and to kill Faust and his organization. Now it seemed as though he would not succeed at either.

He stared off into space. With the rise of Faust’s organization to power, several small bands of guerrillas had taken up arms against him. If he could find the leader of one of the more sincere, freedom-loving revolutionists, instead of some terrorist just trying to further his own goals, then he could pass on his knowledge of war, tactics, and hand-to-hand combat. He swiveled around in his chair, and stood. For a moment, he stared at his black armor piece that hung upon the wall. It was time to don it once again, only this time, he wouldn’t be out to destroy. Instead, he would be out to pass on his knowledge before he died.

He picked the flat, short piece of armor off the wall. It was only about a foot long by a foot wide, and a few inches thick. It was smooth, a little glossy, and extremely rigid, like a piece of steel. He slipped his arms through the shoulder straps, and settled it on his back. He then pressed a switch on the wall, and a portion of it swung inward. He took one last look around the small laboratory, and then ducked through the door, which shut behind him without a sound. Once inside the dark hall, he quickly began to move forward. Lights came on immediately after the door shut, but he didn’t need them. He had memorized the entire tunnel by heart, and could easily have run through it in the dark.

After a few minutes of walking, he came to the end of the tunnel, and entered a large, circular room. Several vehicles stood on raised platforms around its circumference. In the center of the room stood what might have passed for a train engine’s turntable, save for its lack of tracks. He walked past a small, compact fighter jet and stopped before a large motorcycle. Computers lined the walls, and on either side of the turntable stood a series of additional computers and workbenches. By each of the vehicles stood a small, touch screen. He tapped the screen nearest to the motorcycle a few times, and the turntable rotated toward him. He climbed onto the cycle and grasped the handles. Immediately, a covering slid over him, completely enclosing him. The turntable finished rotating toward him and he revved the engine. Suddenly, the kickstands on either side of the bike flipped up into its sides and he moved onto the turntable. Once on, the kickstands dropped back out of the sides to stabilize the bike. He waited a moment as it swiveled around and faced his cycle towards a second, unlit tunnel. The turntable stopped, and he revved the engine again as the kickstands retracted.

Vallion gunned his motor and shot down the tunnel; the darkness swallowing him as though he had never existed.

II

As Vallion shot down the tunnel, a door slowly opened at the end and a spot of light appeared. His cycle whipped through the opening and the door slowly shut behind him, merging once again with the mountainside. The camouflage was perfect; no one would ever guess that there was