Demien

Kenneth Morvant

Description

The time has come . . .The Nephilim, abominations that represent the offspring of the "sons of God" and the "daughters of man," have stepped out of the shadows in a bid to conquer humankind.All the while, beings far more terrifying than what the public thought was discovered at Roswell are crossing dimensions in a bold gamble to capture Earth, enslave humans, and destroy the Nephilim.And in between: HUMANITY.Young physicist and archaeologist Trevor Pendleton is tasked with assembling a team to unravel the mysteries of the natural and supernatural that threaten to ravage mankind and rip the world apart.Time is short and the stakes could not be higher.

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: eLectio Publishing
• Date de parution: 01 mai 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781632131034
• Langue: English

Extrait

Table of Contents
Title Page and Copyright Information
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
About the author
DEMIEN



Kenneth Morvant




eLectio Publishing
Little Elm, TX
www.eLectioPublishing.com




Demien
By Kenneth Morvant
Copyright 2015 by Kenneth Morvant
Cover Design by eLectio Publishing, LLC
ISBN-13: 978-1-63213-103-4
Published by eLectio Publishing, LLC
Little Elm, Texas
http://www.eLectioPublishing.com
The eLectio Publishing editorial team consists of Christine LePorte, Lori Draft, Jim Eccles, and Sheldon James.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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Publisher’s Note
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
To Sharon, the love of my life for her support and help. To my children, Britney and Trevor, and whatever pets are alive when you read this (Bronson, Liam and Kikit currently). Also, my good friend John Earle for his help .
CHAPTER ONE
Captain Jack Stratton pulled hard on the stick of his P-47 fighter as he dropped a tank-busting bomb on top of a German Panzer. The G-force pushed him down hard into his seat. As he climbed, he banked to the right so that he could see if his aim was true. The tank went up in flames with shrapnel flying everywhere, and he smiled. He leveled out and banked left as he waved at the cheering GIs. His gleaming plane with a bucking horse painted on the side and the words Bucking Bronco screamed past them with contrails on his wingtips. Stratton was an imposing figure at six foot plus. Despite that fact, he looked small in the large fighter. He was a young, steely-eyed pilot who could easily pose for a recruitment poster. The eighteen-cylinder radial engine’s throaty roar sang in his ears. Out of ammo, he looked at the fuel gauge. I’d better run for home .
He rolled to the right and climbed. The pitch of the engine changed as the propeller clawed for sky. Northwestern France was no place to be without ammo. He scanned the clear blue skies, looking for enemies to avoid and friendlies to join. Seemingly from out of the sun, a lone ME-109 streaked in behind him and unloaded the last of its large 20MM rounds. They ripped through the left wing and into the engine. One round found its mark and blew a cylinder off the engine. Through the gaping hole in the cowling, he saw the piston on the crankshaft jerk back and forth until it was ripped from the engine. He watched it fall away. His former elation fell just as rapidly. Oil streamed over the windshield, and he tried to open the canopy to hit the silk and escape his flying coffin. It only went back a few inches. Battle damage blocked it from going any further. Hot, acrid oil stung him in the face. The smoke and odor choked him. His heart pounded as he tried to think of a solution to his dire condition.
The 109 pulled up alongside him, inspecting its handiwork as they flew in formation. Stratton saw the other pilot as he smiled and shook his head. Its yellow nose revealed that it was an experienced flight group that patrolled the skies over Northwest France. The pilot looked confident as he scanned Stratton’s crippled craft. He pointed down to the numerous victories painted on the side of the 109. Then he pointed to Stratton and pointed again at his victories. Stratton would be the next one. He swallowed hard as his enemy slowed and resumed his position behind the crippled plane.
Stratton tried desperately to maneuver out of his gun sights, but the plane barely responded. He heard the first heavy round streak past the canopy and then silence. He’s out or jammed . Then he heard the rapid fire of the 13MM guns as the projectiles pelted the armor plating behind his seat. He tried to shrink behind it. The guns went silent again. I’m still flying. At least for now. The other pilot pulled back alongside Stratton, shook his head, saluted him, and peeled off as he headed for the safety of his own base.
Stratton’s plane shook from the loss of a cylinder and the condition of the airframe. I’ve got to get this thing across the Channel. At least to the British patrol boats . He realized where he was, and he still had to pass over a German airbase. The smoke trail off the engine pointed him out to the enemy. I’m going to have to be real lucky .
Just then, he saw the “foo fighters” the other pilots had talked about as they sat in the tavern recounting their exploits-bright orbs of light that flew formation with them sometimes. But this one did not quite fit the description. Several small ones circled the fighter and flashed back and forth. They suddenly left, and then one large one came toward him. It moved in closer and kept pace with the battered plane. He squinted and saw some sort of craft within the glowing orb. It was flat and round, without wings, elevators, or rudder. Is that one of the German’s new ones? He didn’t believe his eyes. As an aeronautical engineer, he knew the impossibility of what he was seeing. He felt the heat from the bright light and felt weird inside. He noticed the dried blood on his left arm and followed it to where it started on his forearm, but there was no wound, not even a scar. Where did the blood come from? I have to have some sort of wound.
He saw several enemy aircraft as they rose up to meet him. Well, that’s it. I’m dead. Suddenly they turned away and leveled off. He looked at the strange craft again. I guess you’re my lucky charm today . He saw a flash, and the craft streaked away at an unbelievable rate. That’s not anybody’s craft. Up ahead, he noticed several aircraft in formation. I hope they’re not Germans .
As they closed with him, he could see they were Spitfires. They formed up with him, and then his radio crackled, “Looks like you’re on your last legs, old chap.”
“I’m glad you guys showed up. I can’t bail, so I have to ride this one down.”
“Who was your escort?”
Not wanting to sound like a section eight candidate, he replied, “Just one of those foo fighters.”
“Whatever it was, it was tracked on radar. Are you sure? It scared off the Jerries.”
Thinking fast, he answered, “My canopy is pretty messed up so I couldn’t make a positive ID.”
“Well, we’re with you now. Are you going to ditch, or can you make it back to base?”
“Negative, I’m not going to risk the landing gear or a belly landing, and my fuel consumption is higher because of the damage to the airframe.”
“Roger, we’ll find you a patrol boat for you to ditch near so they can get you out of there.”
Stratton lost altitude as he crossed the channel. He finally saw the white cliffs of the coast as he tried his best to make a water landing. He managed to keep the nose up until his speed was reduced, and the plane bounced to a stop on the water.
The patrol boat raced in close as he splashed to a halt. The crew quickly hopped on the wings and pried open the canopy before the fighter sank. They lifted him out of the craft as water poured into the cockpit. They rowed the inflatable to the patrol boat and helped him over the side of the craft. The boat’s captain smiled and asked, “Are you wounded? I see some blood there on your uniform.”
“No, I don’t think so. Don’t know where the blood came from.”
“Well, just the same, our medic will look you over. Oh, by the way, Major Pendleton, at your service.”
“Captain Jack Stratton. I’m stationed at Derby base.”
“Yes, I already know. Apparently someone upstairs wants to chat with you. We have orders to deliver you to London immediately.”
“London?”
The captain smiled. “Yes, quite a large city. You may have heard of it.”
“Who wants to see me?”
“They did not dispense that information to me. Need to know rules, I guess. Still, it gets one’s curiosity up.” He smiled again. “Maybe they want to work out a payment plan for that plane at the bottom of the drink.”
Stratton smiled, but he was not in the mood for humor after his experience. He felt lucky just to be alive. He shivered in the cold of springtime Britain as the craft motored up the coast to deliver him to headquarters in London.

CHAPTER TWO
Present day
The Egyptian desert blazed under the sun’s r