Chapter Sixteen

Let us endeavor to live so that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry. - Mark Twain

Chapter 16

In case you’ve ever thought that somewhere there must be a shadowy group of powerful men, and maybe women, who gather together on a regular basis to plot and scheme towards a mutual goal of world domination, well, you’re absolutely right.

Far beneath the Washington Monument is a secret room in a secret bunker, beyond several secret doors. There are also hidden armed guards along the route, so if you were to somehow stumble your way through each secret entrance, you would not make it to the secret room where a shadowy organization schemes and plans for the day when they will rule the world, because you would be shot and disposed of in a secret incinerator and your ashes would be made into fireworks sold at a roadside stand in South Dakota.

Just so you know.

In this incredibly secret meeting room, a group of men and women in severe suits, and some military garb, were having their annual ice cream social.

Really.

They were celebrating their successes over the past year. Several dastardly laws had been passed in a variety of strategically important countries. Taking over the world by force is fine, if necessary, but a quiet, legal coup is far preferable. A couple more years like this year, and the world would be kneeling before their might.

There were a variety of frozen confections spread out on the black glass table top. As they were munching on their ice cream treats, one of the group cleared his throat.

He was wearing the dress uniform of a high-ranking American military officer. A great many medals and ribbons adorned his jacket. He had steel grey hair, and cold, calculating, blue eyes.

“Some rather exciting information has come to my attention,” he said, “and I can not wait any longer to tell you.”

The other members of this secret organization stopped their conversations and turned to listen as they ate their popsicles and ice cream cones.

“We have discovered something startling, and useful. A group of Rangers had a most extraordinary experience recently. They should have all been killed, we’d tipped off the group they were invading, after all, but instead all came back alive.”

A blond woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun said, “It is not unusual for an elite team to survive a military action, even when the odds are against them.”

“That’s true,” the officer continued, “but the manner of their survival was most remarkable. You see, none of them should have survived because they were shot to pieces. One man received a wound to his head that should have killed him instantly. Instead of dying, however, they made their way back out and are presently recovering from their wounds and waiting for their next mission.”

“Coincidences and apparent miracles have been known to happen,” said a man with dark, tinted glasses and a black mustache.

“I agree,” said the officer, “but in this particular case, I looked into it a littler further. Here is what I have learned: our military is unkillable.”

The room burst into laughter.

“It’s true!” the officer shouted. The others laughed even harder.

“Fine, I’ll prove it to you. Guard!”

A guard stepped into the room and saluted the officer.

“Soldier, do you know me personally?”

“No, sir.” the guard said.

“Excellent,” the officer said. He drew his pistol and shot the young man in the head.

The young man was, understandably, shocked, but still very alive.

“What the hell did you do that for, sir?” he asked.

“Just checking,” the officer said. “Go get medical aide and then back to your post.”

The soldier, very confused now, saluted, turned and left the room again. The back of his head was a gory mess. Several of those attending the meeting set down their ice cream and wiped their lips uneasily.

The blond woman spoke again. “That’s not proof, that’s a magic trick.”

“I understand your skepticism, but I’ve personally shot, stabbed and hung twenty soldiers, and all of them are still walking around, albeit with unexpected promotions and pay raises.”

“Well, if you’re telling the truth, this is a a very interesting development indeed. Any explanation? And do we know if the same is true for other militaries?”

“No, and no. I suggest, however, that we make our move immediately.”

“A military move?”

“Well, not immediately. Not as a direct order from us. It’d be better to get someone else to make that call. But it’ll be easy enough to arrange a need to go to war. We’ve done it before.”

“Yes, but that was part of the plan for a quiet takeover. The war made lawmakers eager to pass stupid laws that benefit us. All out war?”

“Yes, all out war. No one will see it coming.”

“Interesting. It might work.”

“It will work.”

A man in a dark grey suit said, “I’ll get some appropriately doctored intelligence into the right hands. We could be at war in 48 hours.”

“What if we’re wrong?”

“Well, it’s not like it will matter. We’ll find out pretty darn quickly if we’re wrong.”

“That’s true. All right, let’s do it.”

The next morning, the head of the CIA was provided information which indicated that several countries were banding together and planning an assault on the United States. Phone calls to baffled diplomats did nothing to convince the United States government that the information was not correct.

Curiously enough, the countries being accused were, in fact, planning an assault. However, this was because they’d discovered their own soldiers had acquired the ability to not die, and they thought a little payback was in order.

Within twenty four hours, the United States had a strong military presence in each of the countries indicated in the report provided to the CIA.

In forty eight hours, military operations were in full swing, and the soldiers were quickly learning a disturbing new fact: the enemy soldiers weren’t dying either.

Ares walked along a rubble-strewn street in Iran. Sporadic bursts of gunfire had given way to a constant barrage. The stink of gunpowder was heavy in the air as the soldiers from each side tried to fill the opposing army with as many bullets as they could.

Ares watched this new development with some concern. After all, some of these guys really ought to have died after the fortieth gunshot wound. Instead, they seemed to just shake off the pain and keep fighting.

Ares tried influencing the fight, to give the United States an advantage, but the Iranian military did not let up. So, he tried giving some support to the Iranian military, who had no more success than the United States when it came to killing one another.

It was incredibly frustrating. All this build up was simply teasing Ares - he needed some carnage. The fighting continued, and the only change was the amount of ammunition either side had on hand. Sooner or later, they were going to run out, and then what? Hand to hand combat? A serious game of chess?

Ares’s bloodlust needed to be slaked. A soldier ran towards him on the sidewalk, carrying his own arm.

“Hey there, pal, need a hand?” Ares asked. The soldier stopped and looked at the muscular man in black leather. Ares took advantage of the situation and grabbed on to the soldier’s head. He pulled up vigorously, removing the soldier’s head from his shoulders. He then dropped the head to the ground.

The soldiers head looked very surprised. His body, with no brain to keep the vital functions running collapsed where it stood. The head, however, did not die.

Ares’s lip reading skills were not particularly strong, but it looked to him as though the had was saying “Screw you, asshole!”

“Screw you, pal,” Ares said, and gave the head a good square kick, sending it tumbling and rolling down the street. “That oughta teach you not to smart off when you ought to be dead.”