Til Valhalla

by Richard Fox

  Carius looked over Sigmund’s shoulder to the reunion. “There are good days and bad,” the colonel said. “No battle is without loss, without the tithe of blood and souls that victory demands. I have waged war on…four continents now. There are few moments I can remember as being worthy of the suffering. But today…today is a jewel. Yes? A jewel beyond price.”

  “What of tomorrow?” Sigmund asked.

  “Tomorrow is another opportunity,” Carius said, “but we won’t be here. There will be a significant demilitarized zone around Darwin and the last sliver of Chinese territory. Naturally, we’re seeding the place with as many sensors as possible while we still have the time. If the Chi-com ‘get lost’ in the outback, I imagine the Home Guard will cause them hell. Or the crocodiles.”

  “Or the drop bears,” Roy said.

  “There are bears?” Carius looked out to the treetops.

  “Yes…sir. Vicious…creatures,” Roy said with instant regret. “Where will we go next?”

  “Canberra. We’re guests of honor at the official Union ceremony,” Carius said. “You’re aware the treaty passed, correct? There’s some posturing and final bureaucratic nonsense in Geneva, but Australia is now part of the Atlantic Union.”

  “We’ll have to change the name,” Sigmund said. “Maybe…Oceania? Wait. No. No, don’t give anyone that idea.”

  “Above our paygrade,” Carius said. “Now that the bulk of the fighting is over, for now, the werbezirkus begins in earnest.”

  Roy looked at Sigmund.

  “Dog and pony show,” Sigmund said.

  “I misspoke.” Carius’ helm canted to one side. “A new change just hit my inbox. What are the Strike Marines always saying? ‘Semper Gumby’? The three of you are needed in Brisbane. I’ll detail a cargo aircraft to you.”

  A schedule streamed down Roy’s HUD.

  “We’ll do our part, sir,” Sigmund said.

  Chapter 21

  The funeral procession moved slowly through Brisbane. The Telemark led the long line of the dead, towering over the Australian soldiers with their dead. Roy and Digger carried the head of a flag-draped casket bearing Payne in his Armor on their shoulders, arms wrapped over each other in a gesture of closeness Roy had never encountered at military funerals back home. Sigmund bore the front, Payne’s feet, by himself.

  The city was used to war, windows long gone from explosions, the outer neighborhoods reduced to rubble in the last battle, yet the boulevard to the cemetery was pristine, lined with people. Every building bore Australian flags hung from windows.

  Bagpipes played “Amazing Grace” as the Telemark continued into the cemetery. A field of simple white gravestones all in seemingly endless rows radiated out from a slight hill in the center where Payne’s grave was prepared. Black-clad men and women were already seated nearby. Roy recognized President Baron and Prime Minister Jacobson, leaders of the Atlantic Union as a whole and Australia.

  The Telemark set Payne down next to the grave and stood at the head.

  Roy didn’t care to listen to the speeches. That the politicians felt they needed to intrude on this moment kindled an anger in his heart. For all the times he’d heard Baron—or any other leader detached from the battlefield—they never took responsibility for the ultimate price of their decisions. Young men and women lost their lives, while elderly politicians lamented the sacrifice.

  We don’t fight for you…tall poppies, Roy thought. Only decent thing you’ve done is agree to let Payne be buried in his Armor like he wanted. We fight for the soldier next to us. To protect the innocents at home. Why don’t you just shut up already?

  He was glad for his Armor, masking his emotions. There was another funeral he had to attend for his brother, and the fact that these solemn events would be a regular fixture of his Army career was a painful fact he wanted to ignore.

  “My turn?” Digger asked through her speakers as President Baron returned to his seat. “Right, then. I’m no orator. No public speaker. I’m just a digger. Another daughter of ’Straya that joined up to do her duty. Don’t hold me to some great expectation for a speech.

  “Corporal Jessie Payne was me mate. The best there could be. There was never…never a moment when I had to wonder if Payne would be there for me. Shot and bleeding? Payne pulled me out of the fire and bound my wounds. Ordered to leave me to die? He carried me out of hell. When I was lost in the darkness, a slave too used up and starved? Guess who found me, brought me back to the light.

  “You don’t lose a mate like that. You stick with them. Get a spike in your head and a suit of armor to fight by their side. And a true mate will never leave your side…then they’ll never leave your heart when they can’t be with you. They live on. And it’s up to us to be that same mate for them, even when they’re gone.

  “Payne’s…someplace better. He’s waiting for me, watching. Making sure I live up to the mate he fought and died for. Maybe it’s heaven. Maybe it’s Valhalla. Don’t care. Payne’s there and he’s probably raising as much hell as he did down here. I just need him to save me a spot at the bar, because I’ll have stories to tell.

  “He was me mate. No, he’ll always be me mate. Good on ya, Payne. Till we meet again.”

  She beat a fist to her heart.

  Soldiers removed the flag and folded it into a triangle.

  General Calhoon stood to attention.

  “Honor guard, ready!”

  The Telemark cocked their cannon arms at the elbow.

  “Aim!”

  They extended the weapons up at an angle.

  “Fire!”

  Shots sounded over the graveyard.

  Calhoon repeated the sequence twice more and the Telemark lowered their weapons. They didn’t move as the VIPs and the rest filed away.

  “That’s it, then,” Digger said through the lance channel. “War’s over for the most part, and Payne’s not here to see it.”

  “This fight’s over, at least,” Sigmund said, “but war will never end.”

  “Don’t know what I’ll do with myself without this suit,” she said. “Lots of talk of a ‘peace dividend’ and releasing soldiers back to civilian life. Not a word about that in the Armor Corps, though.”

  “Australia is part of the Union now,” Sigmund said. “Member states’ Armor and Strike Marines are integrated. Your assignment—and Roy’s—to this lance was temporary, but we can make it permanent.”

  “Telemark for good? Fair enough,” Digger said. “You all can take me to Utah, show me what wild times they have out there.”

  “We have excellent potato recipes, green Jell-O with carrots in it, and fry sauce,” Roy said. “The fun you may be after’s out the main gate of Fort Knox.”

  “I’m going to get you to live a little, mate,” she said.

  “Australia wasn’t enough of an experience?” he asked. “And yes, sir, I’ll be Telemark. To honor my brother’s memory at the very least.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Sigmund said. “We’re on the next flight back to Knox for refit.”

  “Not too soon, I hope,” Digger said. “No bar in town will charge a soldier in uniform tonight.”

  “Think I’ll—” Roy started.

  “You’re coming,” Digger said. “Stand there and make sure we don’t get into too much trouble. Enjoying yourself proper’s optional.”

  “Oh…OK, then.”

  Sigmund knelt and scooped up a handful of dirt and rubbed it against his hands. He spread the dirt down his face and soil fell onto Payne’s casket.

  Roy beat his chest in salute.

  Digger put a hand over her heart. “Farewell, mate.”

  Epilogue

  Roy gripped a metal handle the size of a two-by-four hanging from the ceiling of the heavy transport craft, a big plane called a Destrier. He shifted his Armor’s shoulders against the jet pack bolted to his back.

  “You seppos were keeping this girl hidden from us,” Digger said as turbulence rattled the cargo bay.

  “You’
re one of us now.” Sigmund leveled a finger at the Atlantic Union crest on her chest. “And stop pretending ‘seppo’ is a term of endearment. Destriers need air superiority to operate. This would have never made the flight to the Damocles. We’re not boxed up like sardines, so stop complaining.”

  “We’re riding to the fight in style,” Roy said. “Now we get to visit Kenya and help out the revolt against the Chi-com–controlled government. Fun times.”

  “I hated the thought of Aussies mucking about in other nations’ troubles…now I’m loaded for bear and about to join in a fight that’s not obviously mine,” Digger said.

  “You’re OK with it now?” Roy asked.

  “People suffer in Nairobi the same as they suffered in Darwin. Fight to bring peace to people…that’s something I can get behind now. Speaking to my parents and old friends that got out, I wish I could’ve been there sooner. Now I’m Armor with the Union. No reason to sit on my duff and think about making the world better. I can do it with my mates,” she said.

  “Good enough for me,” Sigmund said.

  “Prepare to drop!” a crew chief shouted from the back of the cargo bay. He slapped a button and air rushed in as the ramp lowered. A city burned beneath them.

  “Easy mission,” Sigmund said. “Roy, set?”

  “Ready.”

  “Digger.”

  “Green across the board.”

  “Then follow me.” Sigmund ran down the ramp and dropped. The Telemark followed, their jet packs activated, and shot angel wings of fire behind them.

  “Til Valhalla!’”

  THE END

  The Telemark will return in the next Ember War novel, THE FALL OF EARTH!

  Coming late 2019.

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  From the author

  Hello dear reader, thank you for joining me on this story of war and brotherhood. Your feedback is essential, so please leave an honest review at your earliest convenience.

  Special thanks to my team of Red Shirts who did beta reads and my gratitude goes to the Australian readers who made sure I got the finer points of Australian dialogue and geography just right. Any errors are mine and mine alone.

  Why a prequel? Good question. World War III--and the events in this book are the tail end of that conflict--was always a part of Ember War lore and begged to be told. Returning to some familiar faces was fun, but telling the Telemark's story was a joy.

  If Til Valhalla is your first step into the Ember War universe, you're in for a wild ride! No need to wait for The Fall of Earth, pick up The Ember War and the free short stories for signing up to my spam free mailing list.

  The next prequel novel will be The Fall of Earth, but don't let it stand between you and reading the rest of the Ember War novels. I think you'll enjoy The Fall of Earth more if you've finished the first series.

  Much more on the way. The third Ember War series--The Ibarra Crusade--will be out in 2020!

  Thank you,

  -Richard Fox

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  Read The Ember War!

  Til Valhalla takes place roughly 5 years before The Ember War, learn how Marc Ibarra became so powerful, and his plan to save humanity from an alien threat!

  Click HERE (mybook.to/TEW) to read it now! Or keep going for a peek at the first chapter…

  Chapter 1

  THE NEAR FUTURE

  Humanity’s only hope of survival entered the solar system at nearly the speed of light. The probe slowed as the sun’s heliosphere disrupted the graviton wave it rode in on from the abyss of deep space. Awakened by the sudden deceleration, the probe absorbed the electromagnetic spectrum utilized by its target species and assessed the technological sophistication of the sole sentient species on Earth.

  The probe adjusted its course to take it into the system’s star. If the humans couldn’t survive—with its help—what was to come, then the probe would annihilate itself. There would be no trace of it for the enemy, and no chance of humanity’s existence beyond the time it had until the enemy arrived. The probe analyzed filed patents, military expenditures, birth rates, mathematical advancement and space exploration.

  The first assessment fell within the margin of error of survival and extinction for humanity. The probe’s programming allowed for limited autonomous decision making (choice being a rare luxury for the probe’s class of artificial intelligence). The probe found itself in a position to choose between ending its mission in the sun’s fire and a mathematically improbable defense of humanity—and the potential compromise of its much larger mission.

  Given the rare opportunity to make its own decision, the probe opted to dither. In the week it took to pass into Jupiter’s orbit, the probe took in more data. It scoured the Internet for factors to add to the assessment, but the assessment remained the same: unlikely, but possible. By the time it shot past Mars, the probe still hadn’t made a decision.

  As the time to adjust course for Earth or continue into the sun approached, the probe conducted a final scan of cloud storage servers for any new information…and found something interesting.

  While the new information made only a negligible impact on the assessment, the probe adjusted course to Earth. It hadn’t traveled all this way for nothing.

  In the desert south of Phoenix, Arizona, it landed with no more fanfare than a slight thump and a few startled cows. Then it broke into the local cell network and made a call.

  ****

  Marc Ibarra awoke to his phone ringing at max volume, playing a pop ditty that he hated with vehemence. He rolled off the mattress that lay on the floor and crawled on his hands and knees to where his cell was recharging. His roommate, who paid the majority of their rent and got to sleep on an actual bed, grumbled and let off a slew of slurred insults.

  Marc reached his cell and slapped at it until the offending music ended. He blinked sleep from his eyes and tried to focus on the caller’s name on the screen. The only people who’d call at this ungodly hour were his family in Basque country…or maybe Jessica in his applied robotics course wanted a late-night study break.

  The name on the screen was “ANSWER ME”.

  He closed an eye and reread the name. It was way too early—or too late, depending on one’s point of view—for this nonsense. He turned the ringer off and went back to bed. Sleep was about to claim him when the phone rang again, just as loudly as last time but now with a disco anthem.

  “Seriously?” his roommate slurred.

  Marc declined the call and powered the phone off. He flopped back on his bed and curled into his blanket. To hell with my first class, he thought. Arizona State University had a lax attendance policy, one which he’d abuse for nights like this.

  The cell erupted with big-band music. Marc took his head out from beneath the covers and looked at his phone like it was a thing possessed. The phone vibrated so hard that it practically danced a jig on the floor and the screen flashed “ANSWER ME” over and over again as music blared.

  “Dude?” said his roommate, now sitting up in his bed.

  Marc swiped the phone off the charging cord and the music stopped. The caller’s name undulated with a rainbow of colors and an arrow appeared on the screen pointing to the button he had to press to answer the call. When did I get this app? he thought.

  Marc sighed and left the bedroom, meandering into the hallway bathroom with the grace of a zombie. The battered mattress he slept on played hell with his back and left him stiff every morning. Dropping his boxers, he took a seat on the toilet
and answered the call, determined to return this caller’s civility with some interesting background noise.

  “What?” he murmured.

  “Marc Ibarra. I need to see you.” The voice was mechanical, asexual in its monotone.

  “Do you have any frigging idea what time it is? Wait, who the hell is this?”

  “You must come to me immediately. We must discuss the mathematical proof you have stored in document title ‘thiscantberight.doc.’”

  Marc shot to his feet. The boxers around his ankles tripped him up and he stumbled out of the bathroom and fell against the wall. His elbow punched a hole in the drywall and the cell clattered to the floor.

  He scooped the phone back up and struggled to breathe as a sudden asthma attack came over him.

  “How…how…?” He couldn’t finish his question until he found his inhaler in the kitchen, mere steps away in the tiny apartment. He took a deep breath from the inhaler and felt the tightness leave his lungs.

  That someone knew of his proof was impossible. He’d finished it earlier that night and had encrypted it several times before loading it into a cloud file that shouldn’t have been linked to him in any way.

  “How do you know about that?” he asked.

  “You must come to me immediately. There is little time. Look at your screen,” the robotic voice said. His screen changed to a map program, displaying a pin in an open field just off the highway connecting Phoenix to the suburb of Maricopa.

  “Come. Now.”

  Marc grabbed his keys.

  ****

  An hour later, his jeans ripped from scaling a barbed-wire fence, Marc was surrounded by desert scrub. The blue of the morning rose behind him, where his beat-up Honda waited on the side of the highway.