Save the Last Bullet for God Read online

  “SAVE YOUR LAST BULLET FOR GOD”

  AN ANAMORPHOUS NOVEL ABOUT ORIGINS, ALIENS AND THE TIME

  J.T. ALBLOOD

  Copyright J.T. Alblood 2015

  Smashwords Edition

  DNE EHT

  You, dear reader, are already aware of the events of WWII and you are experiencing the consequences. However, that is not the subject of this book. This book deals with Operation WTA, a secret mission completed in the midst of WWII.

  The story is a complex one and includes aliens; mystics; occult societies; the thousands-year-long invasion of aliens into the human genome; retro-chronal causality; and the secret codes within DNA, the number Pi and the Holy book. Ultimately this story will explain the causes and outcome of Operation WTA.

  Table of Contents

  13 January 1943

  Spring 1933

  Spring 1920

  Spring 1933, Berlin

  1 December 1957

  Part 2

  2012, Istanbul

  TV Talk Show

  The Labyrinth

  The Exchange

  Creating Something Together

  Elif

  I Can’t Take My Words Back

  Part 3

  Limbo

  Winter 1214

  Cuci

  West

  The West of the East

  Gurgenc

  The Far West

  Limbo

  Subconscious

  Limbo

  Overconscious

  Limbo

  Francisco Pizarro

  1941, Princeton

  Relativity

  Wilhelm Reich

  Limbo

  Limbo

  Berlin 1933

  YTILASUAC

  RETROCAUSALITY

  13 January 1943, Munich

  Maria Orsic

  Autumn 1938, Berlin

  Wilhelm Reich

  The SS officer squinted through the burnt scar tissue on his face as he finished memorizing the Sanskrit codes. He nodded and stood at attention.

  Himmler watched me through the smoke of his cigarette as I leaned over the Sanskrit text to scrutinize the code before approving it. When I looked up, satisfied, Himmler placed his lit cigarette in the ashtray, stood up and, in a single motion, yanked his gun from its holster and pointed it at the officer.

  “Mr. Reinhardt,” Himmler barked. “You know your duty! You will keep the localization signal on until the spaceship arrives,” he commanded.

  The gunshot rang off the metal walls as blood spattered on the file and the SS officer collapsed to the floor.

  Leaving his gun on the table, Himmler took his cigarette from the ashtray and drew on it. He exhaled casually and turned to me. “Mr. Reich, your spaceship now has an active navigation system.”

  I took my eyes off of Reinhardt, whose body gave a few more involuntary twitches as he breathed his last. I looked at Himmler.

  “What about the camouflage?” I said flatly.

  “You will have more than you want. A year from now, when we set the world on fire, even God will not know what to do.” Himmler smirked and drew on his cigarette once more. “The Führer’s orders are clear: ‘Take over the spacecraft. Send one person to Hell to provide the coordinates to the spacecraft.’” Himmler smirked as he said the second part and as poked the dead Officer with his foot. “‘Then begin the blitzkrieg and kill God by having the assassin…’”—Himmler turned his gaze to me now—“‘…enter Hell through the back gate.’”

  I looked at the blood soaked file in my hand and saw some of the Sanskrit letters begin to change shape.

  1935, Orient Express, Near the Bulgarian border

  Wilhelm Reich/ Clairvoyant Vanga

  There were only two of us in the train compartment moving through the dark night.

  I buried myself in J.R. Koldeway’s archeological excavation drafts, sifting through the pictures of clay tablets and the pile of papers with notes in different handwriting. Hellen rested her head on the window slowly flipping through a style magazine without reading it.

  Hellen moved her head away from the window, and pushed my paper down gently. “Is he coming with us?” she asked.

  “Where”, I asked.

  Hellen whispered, “To that blind mystic’s village.”

  “Of course…”

  Otto Reinhardt came into the compartment with three glasses and a crystal whiskey decanter.

  I took the glass from the Nazi Officer taking note of the burns on his face. “Maybe the right question is ‘What the hell are we doing in this mountain village in the middle of the night?’” I said before downing my drink in one swallow.

  We still had another several days before we reached Mesopotamia.

  1934, Oslo

  Wilhelm Reich

  To the murderer of my son,

  Mr. Reich:

  During our dig, we discovered a 5000 year-old sepulcher. One of the clay tablets contains a Sumerian cuneiform message from Maria Orsic to you. The text is near indecipherable, but we have made out the phrases “captured” and “need your help”. Find me as soon as you can.

  Robert Johann Koldewey

  P.S.Concerning the two questions that have come to your mind, the answers are ‘no’ and ‘yes’.

  No, this is not a trap.

  Yes, I am planning to kill you.

  It was surprising to find such a letter on my desk on my first day of work at Oslo University—even more surprising since R. J. Koldewey had died in 1925.

  BOOK 1

  THE ALPHA TAURI STRAIN

  Spring 1933, Berlin

  Wilhelm Reich

  It’s the wrong time to be in Berlin if you’re a communist, a hardliner, or a contrarian.

  My school days in Vienna and my medical education were far behind me. I was now in the capital city, enjoying the harvest of my psychiatric career with the support of my mentor, Dr. Sigmund Freud.

  I had plenty of respect, fame, money, and women.

  It’s not easy in one’s career to get to this point, but my occupation was never easy. Psychiatry is the interpretation of data obtained by the rational and systematic application of information to humans, and the art of making decisions on this basis. Psychiatrists spend every minute making decisions and putting their choices into practice. At other times, we put them into categories, such as right or wrong, useful or harmful. All of this is assisted by memories. An algorithmic mistake at any of these stages has the potential to create a problem that might be unsolvable. We psychiatrists are merely the ones who help solve the problem before, or after, it emerges. In all of this we must take the conditions of our patients into account.

  At the moment, I’m in the session room in my clinic. The window is on my left and I’m facing the wall. The door is directly opposite and the patient couch is to my back as I wait for the session to begin.

  With a squeak, the door opens slightly, and the sequence of decisions begins, along with all of the implications they entail.

  The door opened. a) It is a fellow employee b) It is a patient

  If the answer is (b): The gender of the person is

  a) Woman

  b) Man

  c) None of the above

  If the answer is (a): What kind of woman?

  a) Very young

  b) Young

  c) Middle-aged

  d) Other

  If the answer is (b): Her features are

  a) Average and not attractive

  b) Average and moderately attractive

  c) Beautiful but not attractive

  d) Beautiful and attractive

  e) Nondescript

  If the answer is (d): Why don’t you sleep with her right away?


  a) Because she is my patient

  b) She is married

  c) I have too much to lose due to my status

  d) She talks too much

  e) If it turns out badly, I have to suffer the torture of further sessions

  The answer is (d).

  The patient who enters the room is Mrs. Hellen Schumann. She has sessions every two weeks and for months, I’ve had to make the same decisions and rethink them every time she comes to my office.

  On this day, I took a good look at her fashionable, bobbed, jet-black hair, prominent blue eyes, tiny nose, full lips (always dark red), and her face, and how it combined harmoniously with her porcelain white skin. Her dress hugged her slim waist revealing her womanly curves and a pleasant scent of bergamot wafted through the room.

  “Berlin is increasingly becoming an interesting place,” she said. “I saw more than a hundred Buddhist monks wandering the streets. Can you believe it? ”

  Without expecting an answer, Hellen put her fur wrap on the armchair with gentle movements. Taking a white silk handkerchief out of her bag, she laid it on the pillow with grace, then sat on the edge of the leather couch before laying down.

  She’d been coming to the sessions from Munich every other Thursday at 3 or 4 p.m. As a well-educated, young woman from a wealthy family, she was married to the head of the Technical University of Munich, Winfried Otto Schumann, an intelligent, promising, middle-aged scientist. Hellen’s only problem, she said, was the shallow minds of those around her, people of different ages and disciplines, and the disturbances she caused by candidly saying everything she thought about them. She did this without thinking.

  I thought her treatment was very easy. At any point I could have told her: “Just talk less, and, if you manage to talk one-third of the time that your conversation partner talks, you can get rid of all your problems.” But a quick, easy treatment would weaken my reputation as a doctor. Besides, I had financial concerns. To be honest, she was a nice woman, too.

  She would come into town on the morning before each session and stay the night at the house of her cousin. She had a difficult relationship with her cousin due to her cousin’s crisis with jealousy.

  How did I know this?

  “I feel stressed when I even think about going to the house of that fat, hung-up idiot and staying there. I’ve been stressed about it all day. Please don’t misunderstand, it’s nice to see you and benefit from your treatment, but it’s not something I can endure. Don’t you agree? I can’t turn my life into a nightmare of always trying to compensate for my idiot relatives. . .”

  Now you know how I knew, and you have an idea of how much she talked. If you can imagine this repeated in every session and covering the same topics, you can understand my distress, at least a bit.

  Hellen respected her husband. She found him very intelligent, but his tendency to have sexual encounters with the young assistants at his institute was a slight problem. Another problem was that he didn’t come from an aristocratic family, so he didn’t know the important social rules.

  “Actually, I love my husband. Maybe I didn’t when we got married, but over time, I came to. He’s at the head of a very important department, and he has a prestigious job. I sometimes want to make him tell me more about his job, but I just lose interest at some point. Really, it might not be so difficult. My husband might just be unable to describe it well. You might say that he’s an academician. You’re right, maybe I can’t devote myself to him. He educates many students, and he has young, elite students. I mean, they’re above a specific level. I’m young too, and elite as well, but the problem might not be this. I might be too young to understand what he’s been working on. Somehow, he finds young female assistants there but they probably don’t understand his job either. They might only be successful at pretending to understand so that they’re able to charm my husband.”

  “We might have arrived at different shores of understanding due to a different education and different starting points. I grew up in an aristocratic family, and I spent my childhood learning all the rules that are a compulsory part of that status. I learned to apply them and care for them. My husband, though, grew up in a simple peasant family. He might have tended toward mathematics, because, with their simple rules, he had plenty of time…”

  The sequence, topics, and even the specific content were the same, thus, I could get back to my usual work: reviewing my next article and revising it. Occasionally, I would add, “Hmmm, yes, possible,” and move slightly in my chair.

  So I buried myself in my research as Hellen moved onto her mother-in-law’s vulgarity, the diminishing quality of her social environment, and fortune tellers.

  “My mother-in-law is actually…”

  “Hmmm,” I said, moving in my chair a little bit.

  “…social environment…”

  “Yes,” I nodded my head.

  “Vril means ‘I love God’ in Sumerian.”

  “Hmmm?” I surprised myself by asking. I looked up from my article and listened more closely.

  “Sumerian,” she continued, “The language that the Vril community uses to get in touch with the aliens is Sumerian. The background of the German language is also Sumerian; it’s actually easy to understand. I’m interested in fortune telling and supernatural activities. I’ve attended almost all their meetings and participated in their activities. Of course, like some others, I disagreed at first with dear Winfried about this issue. His strict mathematical doctrines and his manly and peasant intelligence prevent him from flexible thinking, so I can’t blame him for it. When his strict attitude began to constrain me in my activities, I naturally wanted to get rid of him and prove to him how right it was what I’ve been doing. During the Vril sessions, I asked for some piece of technology or other example as proof for my husband from the Arian scientists on Alpha Tauri. I was given a lot of pages with many convoluted mathematical formulas and incomprehensible texts and explanations. I studied them a lot, but I didn’t understand what they were and, in my despair, tentatively gave them to my husband. He threw them on the floor when he learned where they came from. I collected the scattered papers from the floor, wanting him to look through them, at least. As far as I understand, resonance vacillates at seven different frequencies between a layer around the Earth called the ionosphere and the Earth’s surface. It is something like the Earth’s heartbeat. He asked me a lot of questions. I couldn’t answer them as I didn’t know, but finally he’s gained some respect for the Vril community…”

  Hellen was talking too much again, but she had my interest. “What is the Vril community?” I asked.

  “You would like them, Doctor. The Vril girls are so beautiful. They purposely don’t cut their hair because they make ponytails with their hair that go past their waists. They actually use their ponytails to communicate with aliens. When the government learned about their relationship with the aliens and their superior technology, Adolf Hitler appointed Heinrich Himmler, whom he trusts the most, to inspect this community. Himmler took their headquarters to Berlin and organized a lot of scientists, like my husband, to work with them. It is such a secret that my Winfried doesn’t even tell me anything. I have been harmed the most by this, actually. Before, I used to attend the community’s activities twice or three times a week. Now, I can only attend them when I visit you. This might be the main reason for my depression. What do you think, Doctor?”

  “It’s possible…,” I confirmed, a little bit late. Hellen was beginning to ramble on and I was beginning to bury my head in my work again.

  “The pure race of Arians is in touch with the Earth from a planet in a faraway galaxy, and they talk to us via Maria Orsic.”

  At that, I jolted upright. “Maria Orsic? Did you just say Maria Orsic?” This was the first time I’d asked my beautiful patient a question I cared to know the answer to.

  “Yes, yes, Doctor. Maria Orsic is the head of the Vril community, and we owe her a lot.”

  “With long blonde hair?”<
br />
  “Yes. How did you know? I must confess she’s more beautiful than any other woman I’ve seen up to now. Her every move is graceful. I think she came to Munich from Vienna long ago and, before that, from somewhere in the Balkans.”

  “Croatia?” I asked, my heart now pounding.

  “I’m not sure,” Hellen responded. “Might be Croatia. As you know, it’s a very complicated territory, and its map is always changing.”

  “Is she in Berlin now—I mean, with the Vril community?”

  “Yes, don’t you read the papers? They always appear on the agenda; they’ve increased their prestige by making their young, beautiful girls get married to military officers. Are you sure you live here, Doctor?”

  “Well, I have a busy and challenging profession,” I muttered as memories attacked my mind. Was she as beautiful as before? Would she remember me? Could I see her again?

  “Oh, the session is over,” said Hellen. “Time passes so quickly and smoothly with you, Dr. Reich.” She stood up slowly and stretched her lower back slightly, enough to push her heavy breasts against the top two buttons of her blouse.

  She was leaving and I had to do something.

  “Actually, I really enjoy spending time with patients like you,” I lied desperately.

  Hellen turned to look at me.

  “I’m even doing a study about whether the treatment process can be supported by seeing patients outside of the clinic,” I continued.

  Hellen’s prominent blue eyes looked me over as if they saw me for the first time, and a little smile greeted me.

  “I’m open to any kind of offer that prevents me from going to my cousin, especially if you’re a part of it, Doctor.” Her tone had changed, and she sounded distracted. “What do you have in mind?”