LongWalkers: Return of the Nephilim
by Stephen Quayle and Duncan Long
Since my new book "Longwalkers - The Return of the Nephilim" is written in a fictional format, derived from my movie script - I have included the personal letter that I received from the pilot who flew a 12-foot tall, dead, cannibalistic giant out of the Middle East after destroying a Special Forces group hunting the Taliban in 2005. The giant had six fingers and six toes and the Longwalkers book cover is a VERY accurate artistic representation of the actual event. The pilot related to me in our subsequent phone call certain things that only someone who actually observed the giant could have possibly known. I suggest those of you who know what "The Days of Noah" really means, prepare accordingly!
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Table of Contents
LongWalkers has 30 Chapters, 288 pages, 7 full-page illustrations and the actual letter mentioned above.
The book takes the reader around the world and through time in search of the truth about the returning giants. The action begins at Gaul in 109 BC and transits to; the Grand Canyon, Utah in 1919; Tempe, Arizona; Nemrut Dagi, Adiyaman Province, Turkey; Lake Titicaca, Bolivia; Florence, Italy; Fort Mead, Maryland; Salisbury Plain, England; Neu-Schwabenland, Antarctica; the Kremlin in Moscow, Russia; Fort Huachuca, Arizona; Sakkara, Egypt; Izamal, Yucatan, Mexico; San Francisco, California and Khartoum, Sudan.
FICTION based in fact
5 x 7 1/2"288 pp
All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, no portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the publisher. Neither the author nor the publisher assumes any responsibility for the use or misuse of information contained in this book.
Gaul, 109 BC
And it came to pass when the children of men had multiplied, that in those days were born unto them beautiful and comely daughters. And the angels, the children of the heaven, saw and lusted after them, and said to one another: Come, let us choose us wives from among the children of men and beget us children.
And they became pregnant and brought forth giants. And when men could no longer sustain them, the giants turned against them and devoured mankind. And they began to sin against birds, and beasts, and reptiles, and fish, and to devour one another's flesh, and drink the blood. Then the earth laid accusation against the lawless ones. —Enoch 6:1-2, 7:1
The battle would be soon. Of that, Consol Marcus Junius Silanus was certain. He wore full armor. Sitting on his horse, the consol squinted toward the sun that glimmered over the hill above them, its beams filtering through the thick morning haze toward the Roman legionnaires arrayed in the forest clearing along the Rhone River Valley. Wisps of fog rose from the river and danced like sprites before melting away with the coming daylight.
Silanus gazed up the hill that the Teutons would undoubtedly charge down before the sun had climbed much higher. They would slam into his men in waves; the barbarians always thought they'd overcome the ranks of Roman soldiers through brute force. But the savages were always wrong. The Roman fighting machine had been carefully honed for centuries and would chew up those foolish enough to try such tactics, just as it had time and time again in the past. There would be a horrible slaughter and for all practical purposes, the battle was already won.
Silanus' scouts had spent weeks searching for the perfect site to funnel the enemy into. Their trap was the thick forest on either side of a clearing with a long slope toward the open river valley.
The Romans had set up camp in the valley in what the barbarians would see as a weak position. With any luck, the Teutons would become overconfident, thinking they could snare the legionnaires in a weak position. In fact, the Romans would be waiting, luring the savages to attack, and the battle would turn to the Roman's advantage.
However, all was not certain.
The majority of Silanus' troops were raw conscripts.
And there were the rumors that threatened to weaken the resolve needed for victory. Camp gossips had been spreading tales; their claim, that giants walked among the enemy. That tales would be proven false the moment the enemy closed with the Roman ranks. But in the meantime, it created fear among those unseasoned by battle.
What stories soldiers will believe. Silanus shook his head. Then, with a grim smile, he reminded himself that one time not that long ago, he had believed the camp gossip as he prepared for his first battle. The enemy had a thousand chariots, he had been told. He had lost control of his bladder that day, before even one of the enemy had come into sight, and then four threadbare chariots had come onto the battlefield. He and the others had laughed aloud that day.
And the slaughter had been great, just as it would be today.
A green soldier will believe almost anything he's told about an enemy. But seeing the massacre dealt by Roman swords quickly demonstrated the superiority of training and tactics. It was not rare to see hundreds of an enemy fall before the Roman gladii and pila for each Italian who died.
The gods willing, soon his troops would know better, too. Silanus turned toward the centurion next to him. “Do you believe the rumors?”
Silanus suppressed a smirk. The centurion's voice betrayed him. “About the giants.”
“I have heard stories, general. Some of the men half believe the tales. Even some of the scouts claim it's true.”
“They'll see soon enough,” Silanus said. “These Teutonic giants will prove to be no bigger than our conscripted Celts. Giants of a sort, yes. But like the Celts, these will fall to our blades just like other men. You'll see. And one day soon, most likely before either of us sees the cold of the grave, what's left of this tribe we'll fight today will be signing a treaty with Rome. Five years from then, they'll be marching with Roman soldiers to fight other barbarians. Then they will likely hear the rumors of enemies with dragons, or ogres, or some such thing fighting with the enemy. There are always rumors.”
The centurion started to reply, but then held his tongue as Silanus lifted his hand.
In the distance, a trumpet warned of the approaching enemy.
Silanus surveyed the ranks on either side of him. The soldiers rose, lifting weapons and checking equipment. Shields were lifted and the men looked worried as they got into formation. Within a minute, they were standing shield-to-shield, silent except for the soft rustle of leather and steel.
This is the time when discipline overcomes fear, the consul thought. This was the time when Roman soldiers proved that training and obedience were worth more than raw might or numbers.
Silanus turned toward the top of the hill where the Teutons were now appearing, casting long shadows that almost did make them look like giants to the Romans far below them. A roar spread up and down the Teutonic line, a crude counterpoint of spears, swords, and battleaxes banged against shields, adding to the din.
The consul smiled grimly. He'd heard this song before, and it had ended with piles of dead Celts who had the mistaken notion that blind force could overwhelm trained legionnaires. Soon the Teutons would learn a very hard lesson.
And so would his men when they stood triumphant on a bloody field.
“Hold your formation!” the centurion beside Silanus warned three wide-eyed troopers who had taken a few steps to the rear, as if driven back by the din above them.
Now it is time, Silanus thought. This was the moment when leadership made all the difference. He kicked the flanks of his horse, and charged down the ranks. “Hold formation!” the consul cried. “Stand fast!” he ordered, continuing his gallop. “Show these barbarians the might of Rome. For our gods and our country.”
A mighty yell from the hill above signaled the Teutons' charge.
Silanus slowed his horse and turned to face the enemy. Some of the barbarians were totally naked, clothed only in war paint. Others wore gothic armor that clanked as they rushed down the hillside, waving their weapons as they charged. Here and there, the clumsy stumbled to be trampled by those behind them.
Silanus squinted into the light. Some of the enemy did look big, perhaps due to the relative shortness of their comrades. But the sunlight at their backs gives the illusion that some are giants. Their feet pounded like Hannibal's elephants; the ground seemed to shake.
“Hold your ranks,” Silanus yelled, warning a line to his left that seemed to waver. “They're only men.”
Only as Silanus turned back to face the enemy did he realize just how mistaken he had been.
The approaching berserkers grew ever larger the closer they came. On and on they came, bigger by the footstep. With horror, the consul realized there truly were giants within the Teutonic ranks. The creatures stood an impossible 15 feet or more tall. Their faces were like something from a nightmare: slits for noses and double rows of pointed teeth.
Silanus' horse reared in terror, blocking his view just as the giants clashed against the locked shield of his legionnaires. Struggling to regain control of his mount, Silanus saw the Roman lines crumble almost everywhere the giants struck. Once the soldiers faltered, the Teutonic monsters wrecked havoc, their long reach and heavy weapons slaughtering his soldiers like men cutting wheat with scythes.
Silanus drew his sword. Before he could defend himself, a giant leaped over the troops protecting the consul, slamming against his horse and bowling it with Silanus over.
The general struggled to rise and found his leg pinned under his dead horse. One of his soldiers sprang forward to defend the consul only to be felled with a single blow from the giant's axe.
The giant stepped over the dead body and stood, towering over the Roman consul, a nightmare grin on its face. The creature lifted its heavy blade with a single hand.
Silanus searched for his sword and saw it lying on the ground. He stretched toward it and found it was just out of his reach. He turned back toward the giant.
The axe now hung in the air high overhead. The Roman renewed his efforts and his fingers sipped over the hilt of the sword without gaining purchase. He strained to grasp the sword. A hideous laugh came from the lips of the giant.
Silanus looked upward and saw the axe fall with impossible speed, splitting the general's helmet and skull.
Grand Canyon, Utah, 1919
Professor Franklin Kincaid squinted in the sunlight, feeling as tired and old as the red dust that covered his hat and jacket. The climb down the cliff face had started with exhilaration, but as his middle-aged muscles started to feel the strain, the cool morning air heated up and a sluggish feeling overtook him.
Yet he pressed on. “Almost there, old boy.” Talking to himself was a habit that often brought great discomfort of students and peers. Here by himself with no one to hear, he found it comforting.
Kincaid carefully lowered himself the last ten feet to stand on the ledge that was his destination. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and then opened his canteen for a much-needed drink. As he replaced the cap on his canteen, he examined the face of the cliff in front of him. Not obvious from any distance, up close he could see the chisel marks that had created the ledge and perhaps a large passageway somewhere in the rock face - though now the stone remained fused solid, apparently by some impossibly hot source of energy. The professor tried to imagine what variety of machine could have produced enough heat to melt solid rock.
One thing was sure. “There's no way I'll ever get through that.” But he hoped to find a small passage like those often left in ancient structures. The purpose of such passages varied with the culture. For some, it enabled the living to, on occasion, visit the land of the dead. With others, it provided a route for the spirit of the one entombed to later escape and travel to Heaven. Whatever the reason for the passageway, there was a good chance it was here somewhere if he searched carefully. If he discovered it, it might provide a way into the chamber that he believed lay just beyond the rock face.
Finally, he located a cut, filled with rubble, in the face of the rock. “Now we'll see whether or not this has all been a wild goose chase,” he whispered, removing his rock hammer from his belt. He started prying away the loose rock, being careful to keep it on the ledge so none went careening down toward the Colorado River that flowed far below.
After nearly an hour of work, he had tunneled five feet into the tight passage, pulling one stone at a time from the hole. The only question was what exactly lay at the end of the ancient entrance that he believed had remained hidden for perhaps five thousand years. He labored another half hour and was finally rewarded with the collapse of the last of the rocks that tumbled into what must be a huge cave beyond, judging from the echoes.
“This just might be it!” He wriggled back out of the hole to collect his backpack, a smile on his face. After the years of ridicule from his peers, he might finally be proven right. Yet, his momentary triumph was bittersweet since he knew he could never reveal his secret. “At least I will know. Someday, perhaps, so will everyone else.”
Kincaid removed his crumpled felt hat and laid it on the rock ledge, then weighted it down with a stone so a gust wouldn't send it tumbling through the air. After tying the end of a hemp rope to his ankle and the other end to his backpack that lay on the ground, he took a deep breath and paused for only a moment to consider what he was about to do. Then he wriggled into the narrow opening.
All went well until he was halfway through the shaft, at which point the rock hammer on his tool belt became hung up on something. With his hands stretched in front of him in the narrow passage he crawled through, it was impossible to reach the belt to release it. It was also impossible, he soon discovered, to scoot backward the way he'd come. The hammer had him trapped.
He fought down the feeling of claustrophobia. “Stay calm,” he whispered. A cold sweat was forming down his back. “Just slow down and don't panic.”
Then took a deep breath and tried to methodically twist and squirm, hoping he might somehow manage to free himself. He wriggled back a few inches and abruptly the hammer sprang free. “Thank you, Lord,” Kincaid said with closed eyes. He started forward again. “Next time, the tool belt stays behind with the hat.”
After inching his way several more feet, his fingers brushed the edge of the shaft and he grasped the rim and pulled himself forward. Before dropping into the darkness beyond, he took a small pebble from his jacket pocket and dropped it into the gloom. The rock fell only a few feet before rolling some distance and stopping. There was at least a ledge of some sort if not a whole room ahead of him. He pulled and kicked his way forward until he tumbled into the shadowy cave.
Blinking in the darkness, he rose to his feet as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim interior lit only by the sunlight filtering through the narrow opening he'd come through. Here and there, gold glittered and even under the shroud of dust that covered everything, he could see the glow of gemstones as well. Even just a casual survey of the area made it obvious that the chamber was one of the greatest archeological finds in modern history. The chamber extended into the darkness hinting at the immensity of his find. “Truly amazing,” he told himself as he eyed the ancient artifacts that surrounded him. “Well worth the effort.”
Kincaid untied the rope around his ankle and carefully pulled his backpack through the shaft. Once it was beside him, he opened its flap and retrieved a battered kerosene lantern and carefully lit its wick. The light flickered and then grew bright. He turned to see what was in the chamber around him, catching his breath at what he saw.
Some of the treasures were easy to identify, obviously coming from the Early Dynastic period of ancient Egypt: Gold-leafed chairs, statuary of gods, a collection of papyrus scrolls. The place was a literal treasure trove of relics. “At least five thousand years old from the looks of them.”
Kincaid's eyes continued to adjust, he shuddered at the huge stone giants that stretched from floor to ceiling; the inanimate figures seemed to watch him as they shimmered in the shadows.
Next, his attention was drawn to the walls. He pulled a whiskbroom from a pocket and brushed the dust away from the surface of the closest to expose the lettering and hieroglyphics on the wall. Some of the spiked and oddly shaped characters resembled the so-called; these he couldn't read. But the conventional Egyptian hieroglyphics were a different matter. Possibly the walls would prove to be a giant Rosetta stone for translating the Angel Enochian. That would be fantastic.
He started reading the incised forms and, after a few minutes, frowned. “It's even worse than I feared.” He continued reading and then stopped, turning toward the giants standing like stone columns around the wall of the cavern. He stepped toward one and examined the copper collars that seemed to bind the statue; its wrists and ankles had similar manacles, all with the green patina that reflected the thousands of years they had been in the cave. “Looks like the bands are still intact, but certainly showing their age.” Copper couldn't stand the test of time, it seemed. But at least the bands were still in place now. “At least we can be thankful for that.”
There was no more time to waste. He held up his lantern and looked around, trying to get his bearings. If this was an Egyptian chamber, of which he was certain, then what he was searching for would be... Where?
He thought a moment. “There!” he said, almost jumping at the echo of his voice returning from the deep tunnels branching from the main chamber. He stepped carefully over a jumbled pile of bronze statuary toward the archway formed by the outstretched wings of the disk of Horus Behudety. He eyed the snakes representing the goddesses Nekhbet and Uazet coiled at either side of the ancient deity.
Pulling the rock hammer that had nearly got him trapped in the shaft, Kincaid carefully tapped at the center of the archway, now filled with clay bricks. His blows loosened the clay and then the way crumbled and fell in a cloud of dust. With a cough, Kincaid pushed the rubble out of his way and stepped into the chamber he'd exposed.
The beam of light from his kerosene lantern shown on the flat, pear-shaped amulet lying on a sacrificial table; the golden amulet was just as described in the ancient texts: Three inches long with a hole at the top, ringed with gemstones and having two protrusions on its rim.
The professor stepped gingerly toward the table. Unaccustomed to actually picking up objects at dig sites, he forced himself to break his own rules and picked up the amulet, finding himself holding his breath as he were picking up an explosive. Somewhere ancient machinery creaked, and suddenly the whole cavern was bathed in light.
The professor looked upward, but was unable to see the source of the light. “Edison would be jealous.” He turned his attention back to the front surface of the amulet to study the complex geometric design comprised of a triangle, cross and circle, plus two six-pointed stars. On the back of the device was an intricate design with five groups of 72 tiny gems, each group on a ring; at the top was a V notch.
No more time to waste now. He forced himself to put it away, carefully wrapping the jeweled artifact in a handkerchief and placing it into a pocket that he buttoned shut.
He checked his wristwatch. It was getting late - later than he had thought. If he was to ascend the cliff face before darkness fell, he'd have to get moving. He reluctantly crossed to the shaft he'd entered and turned for a moment to look at everything one last time. “How I regret not having the time to explore.”
But there was a world to save.
“And, God willing,” he said, as if addressing the giants lining the walls of the chamber, “you'll stay asleep for another millennia or two.”