Of Gods & Grunts
By
Kyrell Kendrick
Copyright © 2020 by Kyrell Kendrick
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Kyrell Kendrick
[email protected]
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Cover Art by Bookcoversart.com
For my wife Bre, without whom I would be lost.
Chapter 1
"What the hell does staff sergeant even mean?” Specialist Garcia asked.
He was my Bravo Team Leader and a huge nerd. We were in the middle of watching Lord of The Rings extended edition for the eighth time. We were fifteen minutes into a discussion about what rank Aragorn would be if he joined the army.
“Like is it supposed to be a sergeant that has a staff, or is it a sergeant that works on a staff? How come all squad leaders are supposed to be staff sergeants, even though they aren't?" Garcia continued.
I was convinced Aragorn would be an officer, but a lower-ranking one, like a captain. He would have used his name to get a senator or some politico to sponsor him into Westpoint, or worst, the Airforce Academy.
Donny, my Alpha Team Leader, was convinced it should be staff sergeant because he ran around with a squad and could actually fight.
The two were getting into those deep-seated discussions that only happen during the most tedious times.
Afghanistan sucks. It’s a shithole country infested by backward idiots who can do two things well, treat women like property, and place IEDs. It may not be PC to say so, but facts are facts.
"Staff Sergeant Holden!" came a call from the other side of the tent.
I unassed my cot with a distinctive squeaking noise, and walked to the rear area, which was cordoned off from the rest of the tent.
Sergeant First Class Woolch and Second Lieutenant Hamby sat around a satellite photo of the combat outpost or COP with grid lines superimposed on the picture to make it look like a map. The photo was laminated, and the LT had drawn an ominous green circle around an intersection less than a click away.
"The CP just spotted someone on the RAID doing some weird stuff here," the LT pointed at the map.
"OK?" I asked, with a bit of an attitude. We were on our down cycle, with two of my squad manning the guardian angel tower in the center of the compound. Down cycle meant we got to fuck off, every sixth day. Which meant we got to rest. Which meant we weren’t supposed to get tasked with anything. It was our chance to do laundry, hit the gym, and catch up on sleep.
"Old Man wants you to get your squad and go check it out," my platoon sergeant said.
"It's our down day," I pointed out, trying desperately to get out of the inevitable patrol. My voice, unfortunately sounded like a young son of a sith lord bitching about power converters.
"No one else is available," platoon daddy said. "CP is going to send a couple from headquarters to relieve your angels, and then I need you to SP."
“Fucking TOCroaches,” I complained. I snatched the sheet and returned to the front of the tent so I could brief my squad.
My team leaders already had looks of frustration on their faces.
I didn’t spew a preamble. I sat down and gave the brief. It wasn't exactly a hard plan; we were going to walk out there, see if there was anything strange, and then call EOD if there was.
Explosive Ordnance Disposal, or EOD, were the busiest bastards in RC South, and as such, typically had a reaction time of four hours. That meant if we found anything untoward, we were going to waste four hours for EOD just to show up. That didn’t include time to examine or BIP whatever was there.
I groaned inwardly and went through the typical mission prep.
Pre-combat inspections completed, trip ticket filled out, and we SP'd, or started our patrol.
We crossed the wire onto a hard-packed dirt road, down a city older than our country, filled with people who believed Muhammed lived on the moon, and Apollo 11 was a conspiracy.
Most patrols are dreadfully boring. The patrol started out normally.
Ten minutes later, and I heard someone yell, "Contact!"
A bright flash of light, immense heat, and thudding pressure resonated throughout my senses.
I was cartwheeling through the sky, but instead of falling to the ground, I kept going.
A spider's leg fell off its body. No, not fell off, was unmade. Undone. I saw the vision clearly.
I could no longer see the sky, just empty space.
It was so lonely. So very lonely.
I traversed the cosmos; nebulae, stars, and other cosmic bodies passed like specs in the distance. I was traveling through space and time.
"I'm dead.” My voice was hollow, and I could barely hear it resonate through my jaw into my ear.
A goat's leg became unmade in a similar fashion to the spider. I heard an awful voice that was human and spoke a language that reminded me of Korean.
I continued to fly through the universe.
I won't lie; I was afraid of what awaited me.
The familiar weight of my plate carrier, M4, and assault pack reassured me. For some reason, I clung to my possessions in an attempt to keep some semblance of sanity. I gripped my weapon hard.
If I were dead, why would I have my weapons on me?
A young girl, a child, with dark brown hair, a dirty face, and sad eyes cried as her leg vanished from existence.
The same voice bellowed out a demand.
Then I heard it, a different voice. An ageless voice. I knew it to be divine the moment it hit my ears. I both feared and adored it.
"The contract is complete," the voice said in all languages at once, "ask of me what you desire."
The human voice replied, but I couldn't understand it.
"Very well, your wish is granted," the divine voice said.
At the moment, the divine voice concluded; I alighted into the center of a circular room that smelled of charred flesh and blood. A man in silver robes with black writing stood, a wicked grin on his face.
A spider, goat, and young girl all squirmed in small cages on the outside of the large circle, in which I was the center.
The man was tall and lanky, clean-shaven, with black hair that was neatly cropped. His face was evil incarnate.
The man darted with his hand, and I felt a burning sensation in my throat and ears.
He said in his language that resembled Korean, a sentence. A millisecond later, the words translated into my mind. It was like watching a dubbed show. His mouth moved, but it moved wrong with every word.
"You are my slave," he said, pointing his finger at me.
I rotated my selector to semi.
"You will kneel before me and accept your position as my warrior, or you will suffer in misery for the rest of your life."
I'm not a smart man, but I know what a threat is, and the douchebag had just threatened me. Also, I was a little cranky from my trip. You know, that little jaunt across the fucking universe?
I quickly raised my M4 to shoulder height and squeezed two rounds into h
is chest.
The man's strings had been cut, and like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he crumpled to the ground hard.
Feeling very off-put by the fact that he said I was his slave, told me to kneel and whatnot, I decided I would take out a little aggression and put two more in his face. You never know if someone is wearing armor, and I had no desire for the threat to get up and shoot me in the back or something.
I quickly spun around when I heard a commotion.
I caught a glimpse of a large man running out of the room, but before I could say or do anything, he was gone.
I looked around and examined the room I had been dragged to. The most ornate hourglass I had ever seen stood in a corner, the sands in it paused from movement. All manner of gems decorated the casing.
"Please," I heard a pitiful whimper.
I looked down to see the young girl with one leg covering her ears.
Tears streamed down her face creating little lines on her dirty cheeks.
Ensuring there was no more threat, I bent down and picked up the wisp of a child. She weighed maybe thirty pounds, and I guessed her age at five or six.
"Shh," I reassured her, "Everything is OK."
Chapter 2
If I were smarter, I would have looted the room and grabbed a lot of the treasure. Instead, I focused on taking the young child to her family.
"Where do you live?"
She clutched me tightly as I made my way through labyrinthine corridors and stairs of what I later learned was the palace of Bolokbal.
Lightning flashed through the windows, and candles in glass globes cast an ominous glow over the entirety of the well-appointed building. Every door and window had an emerald green eye etched into its frame.
Next to every main door was a suit of armor and a weapon lying on the ground as if the guards had stripped down to undergarments and walked away from their post. The estate was ominously empty.
Eventually, I made my way outside into the cold rainy night.
Rays of light peaked through shuttered windows and closed doors. The roads were made of cobblestone, and the houses were brick and wood. Chimneys released smoke into the night. Flashes of lightning illuminated the large city. No one was in the street.
The obvious lack of modern technology was the first thing I noticed. No cars, hydrants, signs, telephone or electric poles were visible.
"Where am I?" I asked the empty city.
Instinctively I walked away from the palace. I had just killed someone, rescued a girl, and had absolutely no way to know where I was or how I got there.
I tried to desperately protect the young lady from the falling rain. She tried her hardest to become one with me.
With every lightning strike and thunderclap, the little girl squirmed.
I moved as quickly as I dared, considering the circumstances. My medium ruck was full of batteries, ammo, a claymore, and a wooby. My plate carrier was strapped with extra magazines, two frags, and a PVS-14 night vision monocle. I had my advanced combat helmet, or ACH, and my M4. My M4 had a 4x tactical scope called an ACOG, a mini taclight, and a PEQ 15 infrared and visible light laser.
In other words, I had at least seventy pounds of equipment on me, not including the thirty-pound girl. I wasn't moving anywhere fast.
After twenty minutes of walking through the deluge, I found a public place. I didn't want to barge into someone's home, but I needed to get out of the rain.
The sign on the outside showed a mounted knight with a lance. The writing underneath was indeterminable, but it was definitely an alphabet.
Based on the outward appearance of the bar, I half expected bikers or a seedy bunch of thugs. It was the only place that was open, though, and I needed help.
I walked in the girl in my arms, my M4 hanging from the single point on my right shoulder.
A lute player stopped plucking when he saw me. A wave of silence fell over the bar, as chairs and benches creaked so the many patrons could take a look at what had just walked in.
The smell of warm stale beer assaulted my nostrils. I'm sure there were other smells, as I could clearly see freshly baked bread and some meats, but the stale beer was overpowering.
"Help," I said cautiously to the crowded bar.
In the dim light of the single massive chandelier hanging over the common room, I could make out many faces and many people. I was in awe.
What I didn't realize at the time was the Knight's Lance was one of the few mixed-race bars in the city of Teletha.
Three stout men that resembled Gimli from Lord of the Rings walked forward, large clubs protruding with spikes rested on their shoulders. Each one of them had a sash with the same knight as the sign outside.
I suddenly became very aware that there were no humans in the bar. Dwarves, thin dwarves, which I found out were gnomes, elves, and one very large pig looking creature were all that were in the bar.
"What's going on?" the lead dwarf asked, knuckles tight on the grip of his club.
"This girl needs help," I said.
An elf with long white hair down to the middle of his back appeared from behind the bar. The dwarves noticed him and moved out of the way.
"Who are you?" he asked while taking my measure.
"Staff Sergeant Holden, United States Army," I replied. I mean, how else do you introduce yourself? I still had no fucking clue where the hell I was, and I was kind of on edge.
"You have a powerful weave about your throat and ears," the elf pointed out.
I kept my hands visible and wrapped around the little girl.
"The writing and symbols on your sleeve, I do not recognize them," he said, peering in close at my right shoulder.
I looked down to see my name, rank, and the US flag on my combat shirt.
"He's a spy for the Archmage." The closest dwarf spit, "I say we wallop him and throw him out on his ass."
I loosened my grip on the girl and readied myself. If I needed to shoot more people, I would.
"You're a fool, Tankoos," the elf said, "this human is not from here."
I kept my eyes on the dwarves as the elf closed in to examine me further.
"Never have I seen such perfect lines of embroidery. The strange material on the symbol here," he said, pointing to my US flag, "it is not metal or fabric, but it has a glow to it."
"It's just magic," the dwarf said.
"There is no weave upon it, yet it reflects the light perfectly," the elf said. "May I touch it."
The elf wanted to touch my IR flag, and I was OK with it, but I was tired of standing there like some fucking anomaly.
Summoning as much tact and diplomacy as possible, I asked, "This kid is cold, and I'm tired. I'll give you the damn thing if I can sit down."
"Of course, of course," he said, turning around, "follow me. Tankoos, guard the door. No one else in, especially if they are human."
Tankoos nodded.
I followed the elf back toward his apartment. A single writing desk, small bed, and armoire were the only furniture in the room.
"Please wait here."
He left the room and shut the door behind him.
I set the girl on the bed and took a knee before her. "Are you OK?"
She nodded.
I dropped my ruck and removed my ACH. I put them in a corner.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" I tried using my calmest voice, and it seemed to work.
"Pretinia," she replied meekly.
"That's a very pretty name."
The door opened behind me and the elf entered with a large tray in his hand. A kettle, two cups, some very dark bread that was still steaming, and a bowl of some sort of oil with spices adorned the flat wooden serving vessel.
He gently placed the tray on the desk, poured two cups of tea.
"My name is Dykon Winterrock," he said, handing me the first cup.
"Kevin."
"When you said Staff Sergeant Holden, I assume you were using a formal title?" he asked.
"I was."
"So, you are a soldier?"
I nodded.
He handed the other cup to the little girl and said, "Be careful young one, it is very hot." His smile was warm and fatherly.
"Your clothing and weapon are like none I have ever seen. I would hear your story if you were willing to say it," he said as he sliced a piece of bread, dipped it in oil, and handed it to me.
The bread tasted like that really dark rye you can get in the German Bakery back home. It was complemented with a zesty fragrant oil. I suddenly realized I was hungry, and I devoured the first piece in true military fashion.
The elf sat at his desk and gestured for me to join the girl on the bed, which I did. She slid in closer to me.
I relayed the events that had transpired less than an hour prior, and the elf took it all in without question or interruption. His eyes flicked between the girl and me as I relayed the parts of killing the asshole who said I was a slave.
"And that's how I wound up here," I concluded my story, stood up and went for a second piece of bread.
The elf handed me the entire loaf and the bowl.
I smiled broadly.
"I need to ask some questions," he said. His eyes twinkled, and I could see an almost bemused smile on his face.
"Shoot," I said while I stuffed another piece of bread into my maw.
"The man that you killed, he is the same that cast the dweomer onto your throat and ears?"
I nodded.
"You are sure that you killed him?" he asked, looking intently into my eyes.
I've killed more than my share of assholes on the planet, and I know what it looks like when someone gets shot and dies almost instantly. The man was, without a doubt, dead. "He's dead for sure. I put two in his head and two in his chest."
He looked at the girl, "Did you see this?"
She nodded.
"And it is as he says?"
She nodded again and gripped my arm tight.
The elf balled his fists and raised his arms in the air, looked up, and said, "Thank you, Donker, for this day!"
I watched the obvious prayer with marked curiosity.
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