“No one even knew that these still existed,” he said. “It was believed that the oldest pair was on display in France, a set given to King John II of Castile by Pope Eugene IV in 1446. When I was selected to come on this mission, the pope asked the caretakers at the Vatican Museums to search through their storerooms to see if there were any special weapons that I could use. They found this sword and helmet, which was given to the first Grandmaster of the Teutonic Knights after it became a spiritual military order. It was to be used in the Fourth Crusade. I hope to be worthy of it.”
“How did you rate such a piece of history?” Calvin asked. “Shouldn’t this be in the museum?”
“It probably should,” the chaplain acknowledged, “but I used to run some public relations sites for the pope, and he not only wanted to reward me for my service, but also to make sure that the servant of God on this mission was well armed in defense of the faith, regardless of what that might entail.”
He pulled the sword out of its scabbard, and Calvin could see that it was a work of art. An ornate weapon, it was almost four feet in length, with a cross guard and pommel made of solid steel. “It’s made of high carbon steel,” the chaplain said, “and is fairly light, although it would have been hard for anyone at that time to use it one-handed. The hilt is embellished with the coat of arms of Pope Innocent III, one of the greatest popes of the Middle Ages. The blade has his name on it, in addition to the rest of the design and filigree. Although I do not consider myself to be worthy of such a weapon, the pope has bidden me to carry it to the stars.” Calvin could see that the scabbard and helmet were similarly ornate.
“The sword is beautiful,” Calvin said, “but I don’t think the helmet will fit under a combat helmet. Also, I’m not sure that either of your weapons are what I’d call combat-ready, as they are hundreds of years old.”
“Not to worry,” Father Zuhlsdorf replied, “the pope had Vatican craftsman re-forge them for strength, and then he re-blessed them. They are as ready as any of the weapons that your soldiers carry, plus they are blessed by the pope.” He paused and reached around the corner of the office door to retrieve another sword that he had left propped up against the wall. “Besides, if one of them breaks, I always have this.” He held out the sword to Calvin.
“What is it?” Calvin asked.
“It’s Durandal,” Father Zuhlsdorf replied with a touch of awe. “It is said to have belonged to Count Roland, who was the paladin of Charlemagne. People believe that this sword has a tooth of St. Peter, a hair of St. Denis, the blood of Saint Basil, and a piece of the raiment of the Blessed Virgin Mary in its hilt. The legend says that it was given to Charlemagne by an angel and is supposed to be the sharpest sword ever made, as well as indestructible. I think I am ready for anything that we might find down there.”
“Having a named sword is certainly cool,” Calvin said, “regardless of whether any of its story is actually true. Are you any good with them?”
“I’ve received the same downloads as the soldiers did, and I’ve been sparring with them,” the priest replied. “I haven’t been able to beat Yokaze or Night yet, but I’ve been able to beat everyone else at least once.”
“Let me know when you beat Yokaze,” Calvin said, “and I’ll ask Skipper Griffin if I can borrow you to be my new weapons instructor. He’s damn...I mean, he’s darned good.”
Father Zuhlsdorf smiled. “Thanks, but I’ve heard it before. Especially working out with the members of the platoon. They are a...colorful...group in manner, as well as in expression. I still would like to go to the planet.”
“Have you heard what we are facing?” Calvin asked.
“Yes, I have,” the priest answered. “Quetzalcoatl, who purports itself to be a god. It is not, of course, which is one of the reasons I feel I must accompany you. My sword was last used during the crusades, which were meant to liberate the sacred city of Jerusalem. As I understand it, you intend to liberate this planet from the influence of a false god. I believe that the reason both the sword and I are here is to help with the accomplishment of this goal.”
“OK, you’ve convinced me to take you,” Calvin said, “assuming that Skipper Griffin will allow it. You work for her, not me, so I need her permission. The only other problem that I see is that the beliefs of some of the members of my platoon are not completely in line with your beliefs or the beliefs of the church. I can’t take you if that is going to be an issue that divides the team. In combat, we have to be a single unit where everyone watches everyone else’s back. Can you do this?”
“Of course,” the chaplain replied. “I have always enjoyed the lively discussion of beliefs, but do not hold someone to be less worthy just because they believe differently than I do. We are all God’s children, after all. As far as talking to Captain Griffin goes, I already spoke to her and secured her permission to go, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“It seems like you already have all of your bases covered,” Calvin said. He stood up and offered his hand. “Welcome to the team,” he said.
Father Zuhlsdorf shook the platoon commander’s hand, being very careful not to drop the burden in his other hand. “Thank you,” he said. “I am very happy to be a part of it.”
Squad Bay, TSS Vella Gulf, Keppler-22 ‘b’, August 12, 2020
“This is our first mission,” said Bob as he watched the Terrans preparing weapons, stowing their gear in rucksacks and clipping things onto harnesses. “Doug and I are curious. What equipment should we bring? Do we really need everything that we trained with?”
“I’d bring anything that you thought you might need, plus all of the things that you thought you probably won’t need, and then throw in all of the stuff that you’re sure you won’t need,” replied Mr. Jones, their fire team leader. The former CIA operative still hadn’t learned the lizards’ expressions yet, but seeing what he guessed was a puzzled expression on Bob’s face, he added, “Any equipment you leave on the ship is pretty damn worthless to you, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes it is,” said Bob, “but that’s a lot of stuff to have to bring if you’re not going to use it. It is hard for Doug and me to carry all of it.”
Mr. Jones raised an eyebrow skeptically. “If you leave anything behind, you are sure to need it,” he said. “The best way to be sure that you won’t need it is to bring it.”
“I fail to see the logic in that statement,” noted Doug.
“Don’t worry about it,” replied Mr. Jones. “Bring everything you can carry without it affecting your ability to move quickly and silently. Once you’ve been on a few missions, you can decide what things you need to have, and what you can make do without.”
Bob pulled out a bladed weapon from a drawer. “You’ll definitely want to bring that,” noted Mr. Jones. “Can I see it?” Bob handed it to his fire team leader.
Mr. Jones took it and looked at it critically. In form, it was similar to many of the swamp hatchets and tomahawks he had seen. It was about a foot and a half long, although the grip was modified to fit the therapods’ hands. The blade on top was in the shape of a large, sideways letter “J,” trailing to a thick, wickedly sharp point on the back. Unlike most tomahawks, there was an edge across the top of the weapon that ran from the head of it all the way back to the point.
“Interesting,” noted Mr. Jones. “Our tomahawks normally don’t have an edge across the top like that. What is it for?”
“Cracking open the shell pods of a crustacean on our home world,” replied Bob. “They’re very tasty.”
Doug looked up. “It’s also good for defending yourself from a jusssole, which is a snake-like creature of the swamp,” he added. “The creature’s mouth can open up big enough to get the entire head of the weapon into it. Once you get the jusssole to try to swallow it, the user then drives the point on the back of the axe into a tree or the ground, effectively pinning the snake in place. Then you use a second blade to cut its head off while it flips around.”
“Yes,” agreed Bob. “The
y’re very tasty too. You just have to watch out for their fangs. They’re extremely poisonous.”
“Do you carry a bladed weapon?” asked Doug.
“Yeah, I do,” replied Mr. Jones, pulling out a knife that was almost long enough to be considered a short sword. The blade alone was over 12 inches in length and almost two inches wide, with a curved point at the end. The knife had an edge cut from both sides at the top and a cross-guard to protect his hand. “If it was good enough for Colonel Bowie,” he continued, “it’s good enough for me. It’s big enough to get the attention of anything I poke with it, as well as to provide a little bit of defense, if needed.”
“I’ll just stick with my kris, mon,” noted Sergeant Margaret ‘Witch’ Andrews, drawing the wavy blade from its sheath. “The blade has 13 waves in it for good luck,” the Jamaican woman continued. “Usually, most people start running, just by me pulling it out.” She looked at it and smiled. “The blade has also been infused with poison, so most cuts be fatal.”
“Is that legal?” asked Leading Seaman Sigvar Borsheim.
“Does it matter to you if it be not?” countered Witch, looking up at him through narrowed eyes. Borsheim shook his head quickly, not wanting to annoy her any further. His luck was bad enough; he didn’t need a witch’s curse too. She held it out where the therapods could see it. “See the way the dark black iron and the silvery nickel layers merge? These patterns are the blade’s pamors. Each has a specific meaning and name which gives it a special magical property.”
“Like what?” asked Bob. “Can you draw some on mine?”
“They have to be added at the blade’s forging, mon,” explained Andrews. “If you be a believer, I be happy to have one made for you.”
“Yes, please!” agreed Bob. He held up his tomahawk. “Can they make them like this?”
“I know not,” she replied. “If they cannot, I can work with your weapon makers to at least add this.” She showed Bob the picture inscribed into the weapon’s handle.
“Who is that?” asked Bob.
“It is Semar the Mysterious,” Witch replied with a touch of awe in her voice. “He is my guardian spirit.”
“Is that my guardian spirit too?” asked Bob.
“I do not know, mon,” replied Andrews, “but I will help you find your guardian spirit when we get back if you wish.”
Bob nodded happily.
Doug looked at Vice Sergeant Ismail Al-Sabani standing next to him. “Do you have a kris?”
“No,” replied Al-Sabani, “I have a janbiya.”
“What is that?” asked Doug.
“A janbiya is an Arabian dagger,” answered Al-Sabani holding up the sheathed blade. “It is a short curved blade with a saifani handle made over 100 years ago from a rhinoceros horn.”
“Can I see it?” asked Doug.
“I am afraid not,” replied the Saudi. “Like the weapon of Sergeant Andrews, my blade is both a weapon and a spiritual object, and there are rules that must be followed to avoid defaming it. My janbiya only leaves its sheath for combat or ceremonial events.” He held up the sheathed blade. “You can see from the sheath,” he continued, “that the blade bends toward my enemy. I do not need to turn my wrist, so it is a better stabbing weapon than a straight-bladed knife. Its blade is heavy, so I can inflict deep wounds or cut through muscle and bone. I can also stick it in sideways and twist so that I can reach internal organs more easily. In my country, it is a formidable and much feared weapon.”
“Whatever blade you carry needs to be something that you are comfortable with,” interjected Wraith, walking by the group, “and something that complements your fighting style. Do not choose one of our weapons to try to blend in with us. Use your own weapon, as you know best how to use it. Most of us will let you try our weapons to see if you like them; if there is a reason for not letting you use try them,” she said, acknowledging Al-Sabani, “we can have replicas made that you can use.”
“What do you use?” asked the Saudi.
Wraith drew a straight short sword from the scabbard at her side. Al-Sabani could see Korean characters running up the length of the blade. “Like most of the other platoon members’ weapons,” she said, “this is a special sword. It is a sa-ingeom, or ‘four tigers’ sword, from the Joseon-era in western Korea. It has a 35-inch blade, which was made mostly by molding, rather than hammering. These swords were crafted with the greatest care, using only the highest quality steel. By tradition, these swords were forged only for the king and could only be made at certain times; there is only a two hour window to produce these every 12 years. It was given to me by the president from her collection. It is, quite literally, priceless.”
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty
Shuttle 01, Keppler-22 ‘b’, August 12, 2020
“What do you think of these?” Steropes asked as the shuttle detached from the Vella Gulf and began its descent to the planet’s surface.
Calvin looked up to see Steropes holding two black, leaf-bladed knives. “Nice,” he replied. “Are those throwing knives?”
“Yes they are,” Steropes answered. Without warning, he threw the one in his right hand at Calvin. Surprised, all Calvin could do was raise an arm to protect himself. The knife hit his arm and bounced away, hitting Ryan in the shoulder before falling to the ground.
“Would you two gentlemen stop fucking around,” Ryan growled, “please?” He said the word ‘gentlemen’ as if it were a curse. He bent over and picked up the knife and handed it to Calvin, who was still too stunned to speak. He took the knife and saw that it was made of rubber. The knife was hard enough to hold its shape and look convincingly real, but was made of rubber.
“First, let me say that was not freakin’ cool,” Calvin said to Steropes. “And second, what the hell did you do that for?”
“I just wanted to make sure that they looked real enough to be believed,” Steropes replied. “You’ll see.”
“Five minutes to touchdown,” the shuttle’s WSO, Lieutenant Gino Bianchi, called.
“Let’s go ladies!” Ryan shouted. “Gear up! When you’re done, check your neighbor!”
The squad began to putting on their helmets and checking all of their gear for the final time.
Space Force, Keppler-22 ‘b’, August 12, 2020
The shuttle landed on what appeared to be a pristine beach, nearly 100 yards wide. The waters were calm, and the scenery appeared restful, even idyllic. The pseudo-palm trees swayed in the gentle offshore breeze. The shuttle touched down, and the boarding ramp came down. The Space Force charged out of the shuttle and took up defensive positions, but there was nothing to see or defend against.
“All clear,” Master Chief called, seeing nothing but the swaying trees.
Calvin walked out of the shuttle with Steropes. As they exited, they saw that the shuttle had set down about 50 yards from a rock that was sitting in the middle of the sand. Six feet in length and slightly ovoid in shape, the rock was interesting because it was the only thing that marred the perfection of the beach. No other rocks could be seen in the water, on the beach or in the tree line. Seeing the rock, Calvin walked toward it with Steropes, Master Chief, Staff Sergeant Patrick ‘The Wall’ Dantone and Corporal Charles ‘Rocket’ Applebaum. The shuttle lifted off behind them to go back to the Vella Gulf, and the rest of the squad began moving toward the tree line. Finding the air safe to breathe and seeing no sign of danger, Calvin allowed the troops to take their helmets off.
“Oh, blessed sun,” Doug said, stretching in the warmth.
“Now if we only had a snack,” Bob added, “this would be perfect.”
As they reached the rock, Calvin saw that it was not a rock, but some sort of animal that had an outer carapace like a turtle, as well as a third pair of legs. Judging by the smell, the creature had been dead for some time. There were no tracks or sliding marks around it. “I wonder how it got here,” he commed.
“There are tracks made by some type of large creature coming from the fo
rest,” Staff Sergeant Dantone answered, “but the tracks stop four meters away. Judging by the impression in the sand, something brought it here and threw it to where it now lies.”
“That would have to be an awfully big beast,” observed Rocket. “That thing in the sand must weigh several hundred kilograms.”
“Don’t anyone move!” Ryan said softly over the platoon’s implant net. “There is a monster dinosaur just inside the tree line.”
Calvin slowly turned his head toward the tree line. “I don’t see it,” he said after looking for a couple of seconds.
“Use your infrared,” Ryan replied. “It blends in with the trees. It’s even swaying with them in the breeze.”
Calvin switched his helmet to infrared. “Holy shit!” he said quietly. “That thing is huge!” He switched the infrared back off. Now that he could see it, it was a sight that Calvin didn’t think he’d be able to get out of his head for a long time. The creature had six limbs and was standing on what passed for its hind legs. It looked like a giant bear, but had the leathery, hairless skin of a dinosaur. It was mottled in the colors of the foliage, allowing it to blend in so well with the background that it almost couldn’t be seen without turning the infrared back on. Both pairs of arms ended in claws that had four eight-inch long talons. It was the biggest living thing Calvin had ever seen. “It’s got to be 15 feet tall!” he commed.
Although the monster continued to watch them, it made no motion toward them; it continued to sway in the gentle breeze.
“LOOK OUT!” yelled Sergeant Tagliabue. “Monsters coming from the ocean!” The crash of antimatter grenades going off punctuated his warning. Part of the group that was still back near where the shuttle had been, Tagliabue had seen creatures rushing out of the water toward Calvin’s group, and he had triggered a burst from his trident.
The dino-bear forgotten, Calvin turned to see a horde of creatures boiling from the water, with antimatter grenades detonating among them as they emerged from the waterline. They were monsters that looked like giant six-armed starfish with octopus heads attached to their bodies. The starfish were 12-feet wide from the tip of one tentacle to the tip of the opposite tentacle with a central body about 3 feet in diameter. A purplish-gray head projected almost four feet from the central mass of the creature’s body. Calvin and Ryan were closer to the forest and had an instant to aim their laser rifles, but they were already on Rocket and The Wall, who only had time to take snapshots at the creatures before they had to defend themselves.
When the Gods Aren't Gods: Book Two of The Theogony Page 15
