U.S. Army Mage Corps: SWORD

by John Holmes

  Smith sat back and turned his attention back to York, ignoring the screams all around him. The lights had gone out, and caustic brick dust hung in the air. He lit some Magelight on the end of his fingers, a soft blue glow that reflected back the blue of her eyes. One pupil was completely dilated and didn’t react to light, and an angry red bruise was swelling on the same side of her forehead as the dilated eye. Exhausted from the long drive, the explosion, making a shield and the magic he had used on Bognaski, Smith felt like his mind was full of sand, and he struggled to remember the words of a sleep spell. Then, before he completed the Greek words, he remembered that for a head injury, you wanted to keep the patient awake.

  “Jamie, stay awake. Come on, it’s me, X. Stay awake.” Her eyelids started to close, and he didn’t know what to do next. In the distance sirens were rapidly changing pitch, getting closer to the fire burning at the front of the building. As he watched, helplessly, her eyes rolled back in her head and blood began to pour out of her nose, bubbling as she tried to breathe.

  “OH FUCK! HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP!” he screamed.

  No help came. The First Responders were attempting to put out the burning cars in front of the pub, and the wreckage blocked the shattered entrance. The young NCO watched helplessly as York went into convulsions.

  “Shit Shit Shit” he thought to himself, and looked over at Bognaski. No help there, he was still out cold.

  “COLD!” Smith almost shouted. He extended his hands in either direction, placing one hand on the convulsing medic’s chest and, with the other hand, grasping the brass foot rail that ran the length of the bar. He felt an electric surge run through his arms, and immediately York’s core body temperature began to drop as the rail heated up. Her convulsions stopped as a layer of ice began to rapidly form over her chest, moving to cover her whole body. His hand was blistering where he held the rail, but he didn’t let go until she was covered in frost and not moving.

  Chief Houchins appeared out of the smoke a minute later. Smith lay back against the bar, coughing on the smoke that drifted in from outside. Luckily, the building itself hadn’t caught fire, and they were all soaked from the sprinklers. Beside her was LTC Bates, in full body armor, lighting crackling from his hands, looking for a threat. Seeing none, the fire left his hands and he squatted down by Bognaski, started looking him over. Houchins kneeled between York and Smith, reaching out to feel York’s still body.

  Xavier coughed, then said “… read somewhere … lower body temp … less brain damage… head injury, couldn’t stop” he coughed again and spit. “… couldn’t stop her bleeding. Please … help her.”

  The Senior Medical Officer of the Mage Corps looked at him in astonishment. He had done almost the exact right thing, instinctively, with no medical training. “She’s going to make it, Sergeant Smith.” I hope, she added to herself. “You did the right thing, now let’s get you out of here.”

  Another Mage, this one a Captain wearing the Field Grey Strike Beret, had materialized. He lifted Bognaski in his arms and disappeared, followed quickly by Bates with Smith and Chief Houchins, with her arms wrapped protectively around the body of Jamie York.

  Chapter 21 Mage HQ Operations Center

  Colonel Scarletti sat at the head of the briefing table, bleary eyed and holding a steaming cup of coffee from Stewarts. The sun was just starting to rise over the end of a disastrous night. Around him were gathered the Mage Corps Staff, all looking as sleep deprived as he did.

  On a flat screen TV, a twenty four hour news channel was silently replaying scenes of destruction from downtown Saratoga. Burnt out cars mixed with live shots of bodies under covered sheets being carried out on stretchers. The announcer, a petite Asian American woman, looked to be in shock. Several times, she lost her rhythm of reporting. Scarletti reached for the remote and turned the sound back on.

  “… ate Police are not commenting on the explosion, and moments ago, trucks bearing the logo of the Department of Homeland Security arrived on the scene.” She glanced down at her notes and continued. “A spokesperson at Saratoga Hospital confirmed that there were twenty three dead and more than fifty injured being treated there and at Glens Falls Hospital, many of them critical.”

  She paused to listen to the microphone attached to her ear. “I just received a report that, although this seems to have been a conventional car bomb, there is trace evidence that magic was used on the premises last night, and unconfirmed reports that one of the critically injured at Glens Fall Hospital is a soldier assigned to US Army Mage Corps Headquarters in Stillwater, New York. Whether they were a target of this attack or a not so innocent bystander remains to be seen. This is Julie Chung, reporting from the site of the latest failure in America’s endless war against terrorism.”

  Scarletti turned off the TV and faced is staff. A deep anger settled down in his face, highlighting the wrinkles and making his burn mark go pale.

  “Report.”

  LTC Bates spoke first. “Sir, at approximately 02:17 this morning, a VBIED, estimated to be around one hundred pounds of Semtex, went off outside The Parting Glass restaurant. The explosion ignited the gas tanks of surrounding cars and blew in the front wall of the pub. Three of our personnel were at the bar at the time. Chief Warrant Officer Two York, Staff Sergeant Bognaski, and Sergeant Smith, along with a civilian female who we believe was accompanying Staff Sergeant Bognaski.”

  Scarletti looked down the table at Captain Lang. “Captain, why were these three off post, drinking at a pub?”

  “Sir, they asked permission to drive to Fort Drum last night to pick up some personal effects from their barracks. All three needed uniforms and clothing. I gave them permission seeing as how they were going back in country and we had finalized the mission plan. Sergeant Smith said they stopped by the Parting Glass to celebrate before the mission tomorrow, and said it was his idea. Staff Sergeant Bognaski said that it was his idea to wind down before returning to Durkistan. I think the truth lies somewhere between the two. I accept full responsibility for their actions, Sir.”

  Scarletti sighed. “Not your fault, Captain. We were out-thought by our enemy, once again. The Mages at Homeland Security can see a magical attack being prepared in CONUS from a billion miles away. We, and they, never thought of a conventional attack. Go on with your brief.”

  Bates nodded and continued. “I was up going over some refinements for Operation FALCO, trying to figure out how best to put Smith on the ground, when the Duty Officer, Captain Muns, monitored the 9-1-1 call over the County Sherriff’s network. We immediately went into lockdown in case it was a coordinated attack, as per SOP, and initiated a head count. That was when we woke you at your quarters.” Scarletti lived in a small, two bedroom house a mile off post, right on the Hudson River, and the phone call had shaken him instantly awake.

  “And you teleported out with Captain Muns and Chief Houchins when you found out you came up three short on your head count.”

  “Yes Sir. I knew you would be at the TOC within the minute, and I had located the three of them with a scrying spell. I felt that there was no time to waste.”

  Scarletti nodded, said “Well done” and then turned to Chief Houchins. Like Lieutenant Colonel Bates, she was soot stained, but she also had splashes of blood on the front of her ACU’s.

  “How are they, Chief?”

  “Well, Smith is OK except for some smoke inhalation. He’ll be fine after some sleep. Bognaski took a foot long wooden splinter through the lower portion of his right leg. It hit an artery, but Smith was able to put a tourniquet on it and stop the bleeding. I spent more than an hour working with the surgeons at Saratoga Hospital closing the wound. He will be sore, but back on his feet tomorrow.” She looked exhausted, with dark rings under her eyes showing through the smudges.

  “Now for the bad news. Chief York, well …” She looked for a moment as if she might break down and start crying, but then she stiffened her back and continued speaking. “Jamie will make it. Smith lowered her core bod
y temperature, which inhibited the brain swelling and clotted the ruptured artery in her head. If it wasn’t for that, she would be dead. Thing is …” and again she stopped.

  “Go on, Megan. We need to know.”

  “Sir, her EEG shows minimal activity. Right now, they have her in a medically induced coma. When and if she comes out of it, she will, in all probability, be brain dead.”

  Scarletti thought for a minute, and then said “That’s not an acceptable answer. We need her. Find a solution. You’re a healer. Heal her.”

  “I don’t know if I can. Once the damage is done, well … I can still feel her spirit, so she isn’t dead, but her higher brain functions maybe be damaged.”

  “There’s a way. Do it if you have to.” Scarletti’s face was a hard mask, and a look of fear came across Houchins’ face.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You can, and you will. It’s a direct order. Have her brought by medflight to the Battlefield.”

  “What is he talking about?” whispered Captain Lang to Major Perez, who was sitting next to him at the end of the table.

  “In order to strengthen the spirit, it is sometimes possible for an extremely powerful Mage to cause another spirit, of a fairy or demon, to co-inhabit a body. The idea is to combine Chief York’s’ memory and spirit with the higher order thinking of the possessing spirit. The Saratoga Battlefield is overrun with spirits and magical energy, like all battlefields. It’s a prime nexus for interaction with other multiverses.”

  “That sounds kinda batshit crazy and dangerous.”

  “It IS batshit crazy, and very dangerous, but the alternative …”

  The Mage Corps Chief Medical Officer got up and left the room, a look of tiredness, worry, and outright fear on her face. Colonel Scarletti watched her go. Sometimes command got in the way of friendship, but that was the nature of the beast.

  “Moving on. Obviously our plan to insert Smith is blown. Either the enemy has observers around here, which I highly doubt, or they have a trace on Smith. Much more likely. Either way, the plan is blown, and we’re back to square one. I can put a stop on the trace on Smith, but he’s out as far as an insertion.”

  The G-3 spoke up. “Not necessarily, Sir. What if we just switched Smith with Bognaski? If you think about it, if the enemy has ANY intel on our Mages, he’s a much more likely candidate to jump ship. Smith can still insert with Strike Team Seven, along with York, depending on what happens to her. All the assets are in place.”

  Colonel Scarletti turned to Cervantes, sitting on his left. “Jose, can you still do the memory implant?”

  Stroking his thin grey moustache, he thought about it for a bit, then answered “Yes. It will take a bit of preparation on my part, maybe an hour, but I agree. Bognaski is a better candidate anyway. He does have a bit of cynicism in him.”

  Laughter broke out among the staff when Major Cunningham said “A bit? That’s like calling Niagara a waterfall.”

  “OK, gentlemen. Operation FALCO is a still a go. Three, I want the OpOrder on my desk in two hours. Two, make SURE that you send Sergeant Agostine every single bit of intel we have on the Gorengal, Smith’s memory video of the ambush. and a complete update on the creatures we saw on there. Four, call over to Kahndali airfield and make sure JSOC has the weapons that MST -7 is going to need. Jose, do you need me for anything?”

  “No, I can handle this.”

  “Good. I need to go see a very old friend.”

  Cervantes raised an eyebrow and said “Áed Dóiteáin?”

  “Well,” said the scar faced old soldier, “what better to fight a dragon with, than another dragon?”

  “… Mages can be both a source of inspiration and of fear on the battlefield. Regular Army soldiers will be glad to have your abilities, but they will fear the unknown. Do your best to create an atmosphere of trust and familiarity.”

  ~ FM 3-80 BATTLEFIELD THAUMATURGY, DEC 2011

  Chapter 22 Mage HQ, Medical Section

  “No fraking way. Not gonna do it.” Bognaski shook his head back and forth to emphasis his rejection of the memory implant.

  “Staff Sergeant, you have two choices. Either you do this willingly, or I knock your ass out and you do it unwillingly. I prefer the former.” Jose Cervantes leaned forward, resting his arms on the table between them.

  “I see why you and the Colonel are such good buddies. Both of you are pricks.”

  Sergeant Major McGhee reached over and lightly slapped Bognaski on the face, a small tap on the cheek. Nasty flinched away from it.

  “I was raised in the old Army, Bognaski. I could take you out back and beat the ever loving crap out of you, the way we used to do it. I’d rather not. How about you do it for your country?”

  “Screw my country. Most of them don’t even KNOW we’re still fighting in Durkistan, if they can even find it on a map.” Although his leg was mostly healed, the pain and the itching were making him irritable enough to argue.

  “It’s always been that way, Staff Sergeant. I know, trust me. No one really cares about us, in the end, but we go ahead and do it anyway, because SOMEONE has to.”

  Bognaski pondered for a moment, then leaned back and said “Aw, fuck it. Can you at least give me a memory of me nailing that cute redhead over in the intel section? You know, the one with the glasses and the big boo..” Cervantes held up his hand and cut him off.

  “No, we can’t. Just sit back, and let me do my job.” He held up his hands and started muttering under his breath. Bognaski’s eyes dilated, and his breathing got shallower. Then they closed and he slumped back on the chair, a small bit of drool working its way out of the corner of his mouth. Cervantes came around the table and placed his hand on his head.

  “You hate the Army. You have been mistreated for years, denied promotions, held back from using the power that you have inside of you to really take the fight to the enemy. Your country is corrupt, and your fellow soldiers, your squad mates in Iraq, all died in vain. You are disgusted by how the war was run, and you are impressed by the Shaman’s power and ruthlessness. You have left the base after its’ destruction to seek him out and become more powerful yourself.”

  Bognaski repeated the words under his breath, several times, then exhaled and went limp.

  “That’s it?” asked Sergeant Major McGhee.

  Cervantes’ face was pale and drawn, with beads of sweat on his brow. “Trust me, that was incredibly difficult to do. I think I might need to sit down.” and he collapsed backwards into the chair.

  Taking a gulp form a glass of water, he continued “In a way, it is far better to have Bognaski do this than Smith. He actually DOES hate the Army, and subconsciously blames it for his friends dying in that Osprey crash. Smith would have been much harder to convince.”

  “Seems like it was pretty short to me. How is that going to cover the last two days since the FOB was destroyed?”

  “The mind is an incredibly powerful thing. It will invent memories, based on what actually happened, and distort them to fit what I’ve put into his mind.”

  McGhee mused on that for a second, and then asked “And how do we get him back?”

  “Well, that’s a bit of a problem” said the old Mage, looking at Bognaski’s unconscious form. “The only other time I used this spell, both times, the subject was killed in action. I gave it up in 1918.”

  In another room, three doors down, Chief York lay strapped to a gurney, leather straps holding her body to the bed as it convulsed. She had a piece of rubber in her mouth to prevent her from breaking her teeth, and her eyes had rolled back in her head. Chief Warrant Officer Houchins sat at the side of the bed, chanting her way through a spell that was designed to help mesh the two spirits together. Dark black circles ringer her yes, and tears streaked the dirt that ran down her face.

  Slowly, York’s body stopped flailing against the restraints, and her breathing settled down to a steady rhythm. Houchins stopped chanting and relaxed against the chair, finally closing her own eyes f
or a minute. She woke back up when she heard a soft whisper coming from York. The voice was low and melodious, and not at all like Chief York’s voice had been.

  “Chief, where am I?”

  Houchins breathed a sigh of relief. The fact that she had addressed her as “Chief” meant that York’s personality had survived. Now, the hard part, would be to find out exactly who, or what, was residing in her.

  “You’re at Mage Corps HQ, in the medical section.”

  A puzzled look came across York’s face. “um, why?”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  She thought backwards. “We were at Fort Drum. Me, X and Nasty. That’s all I can think…”

  Houchins knew that trauma survivors often blocked memories, going back to even days before an incident. She didn’t feel that it was a serious problem, and continued her gentle questioning.

  “And how are you feeling now?”

  “I don’t know. Kind of strange, kind of disjointed. Not really myself. What happened?”

  “There was a car bombing at a bar you were at. Everyone is OK, but you received a nasty concussion and had an aneurism. Sergeant Smith saved your life by lowering your body temperature and slowing the bleeding. I’ll give it to you straight, since you’re a medic. You were clinically brain dead.”

  York reached up and touched her head, feeling the bandage there. “Did you … am I still me?”

  “So far as I can tell, just from talking to you. Last night, out on the battlefield, I performed an Introductionary Spell, opening your body up to an elemental who helps your higher brain functions to work.”

  “You did WHAT?” York lurched against the restraints trying hard to get out of the bed, a look of anger appearing on her face. Then she fell still again, her face falling into a blank, her mouth moving to form words, pleading words, arguing with herself for long minutes.