Hammer of Angels: A Novel of Shadowstorm by G. T. Almasi

generating considerable discord for the Greater German authorities. I think it’s only a matter of time until the Reich asks for our assistance with the Jewish slave uprising, but we may find our plan to help extinguish this rebellion has a problem.
    As expected, there has been a sharp increase in official acts of retaliation. One event from Wales deserves particular mention:
    Last week the German Army staged a raid on a rebel slave camp in a forest outside the small Welsh town of Moulton, west of Cardiff. The raid was a disaster for the German attackers thanks to the extra firepower provided by one of our Vindicator Levels. No rebels were captured at the cost of four German vehicles destroyed and a dozen Wehrmacht soldiers injured.
    Next morning, the regional Staatszeiger chief sent a company of his men to Moulton with orders to sweep the town clean. Even the slightest hint of resistance was met with immediate incarceration.
    An elderly woman who loudly voiced her disapproval was pushed to the ground and beaten by the SZ troops. Townsmen who tried to intervene on her behalf were shot dead in the street. The women and children who ran to their aid or fled for their lives were also shot, the youngest victim barely more than a toddler. Amateur photographs of this tragic event were anonymously sent to our embassy and are included for your reference. These images were also sent to every news outlet in Britain. They were strictly repressed, naturally, but the pictures found their way to the Circle of Zion, who circulated them in their underground newspaper.
    I fear reprisals such as these will make it impossible for us to reverse public support for the rebellion. If so, I sincerely doubt we can stop what has begun.
    Your humble servant,
    â€”John J. Louis, Jr., American Consulate, London

14
    Same morning, 4:05 A.M. GMT
    Gestapo Headquarters, York, Province of Great Britain, GG
    Gestapo headquarters used to be the Yorkshire School of Fine Arts. The place has been converted from a stately and spacious temple of creativity to a twisted warren of tomblike offices and interrogation chambers. Airy classrooms and studios are now dark, dank cubes reeking of cigarettes, stale sweat, and chronic paranoia. The lights are on, but they’re so dim I still need my infrared vision to distinguish between what’s alive in this place from what isn’t.
    Reich officials are notorious for being absolutely fastidious about their records. It’s as though they don’t want to forget any of the bullshit they’ve pulled. The hallways are lined with dozens of padlocked black filing cabinets. Gaps in the otherwise solid wall of cabinets indicate where we’ll find office doors.
    Brando and I sneak down the main hallway and scan for heat signatures. I’ve got Li’l Bertha clicked into my left hand while my partner grips his handheld infrared scanner. Jade was right. There are shimmering orange blobs upstairs, but the first floor seems to be deserted. This must be where all the younger field agents sit when they aren’t out on raids.
    Halfway down the hall Brando comms, “Let’s conk these elevators out.”
    I poke the up button to call an elevator, and hop on the first car that arrives. I use my synthetic right hand to pry the control panel away from the wall. Then I reach behind and rip the panel from its frame in a shower of sparks. Out of service.
    Back in the hallway, Brando hits the up button for me. When the second elevator car opens, I rinse and repeat. Now we only have to cover two stairways, one at each end of this main corridor.
    Brando opens his X-bag and grabs what appears to be a pudgy tea saucer. It’s a proximity mine, one of two we have with us. These little mines don’t produce a lot of physical damage, but they scare the holy hell out of people and encourage them to find another route. We creep forward and sneak up the stairs to the first landing. I don’t want to alert the