U.S. Army Mage Corps: SWORD

by John Holmes

  Scarletti snorted. “If we put it out in the media that the Talibasha are beheading our troops, it will be extremely demoralizing to our guys. Rumor control is bad enough.”

  “I don’t know, might fire them up. Anyway, that there is one powerful Undead.”

  Cunningham chimed in. “That, I’ve never seen. Never even actually heard of it. What are they? Death Knight sounds kinda corny, if you ask me.”

  The contractor leaned forward in his seat, talking to himself, then he sat up. “Last time I saw a Death Knight was 1915, at Ypres. Last time I fought one, the ONLY time I fought one, was at Sharpsburg. That was in 1862. I was young and stupid then”

  Major Perez grunted. “You mean Antietam.”

  A smile broke out on his face, and he slipped into a southern drawl. “Young lady, MY side called it Sharpsburg. I was a bit of a soldier of fortune then.”

  Scarletti interrupted with “Old story. Get one with it, I’ve never seen a Death Knight either. What are they?”

  “Extremely powerful undead. Basically, someone who had a lot of power in mortal life and didn’t want to give it up. In return for continued existence, they agreed to serve a high level mage. Problem is, well, one of the problems, anyway, is that sometimes they don’t pass on after the Mage dies. They continue on, existing in a kind of soulless limbo, until another sorcerer activates them again.”

  “I’ve faced undead before, fairly recently” said Scarletti. “They aren’t really that hard to take out. Shot to the head.”

  “You’re not getting it, Tony. What was that series of movies that came out recently? Lord of the Rings, that’s it. Think Nazgul. VERY powerful, and VERY hard to kill.”

  “Well at least there’s only one, not nine. Let’s move on. Krause, one frame at a time.”

  The scene advanced slowly. In the background, a troll could be seen tearing into a body clad in Multicam, ripping off a limb and gnawing on it. Major Perez started to look a little green, but kept watching. Her view focused on a man standing off to his side.

  What they saw was a man who looked remarkably like Osama Bin Laden; but Bin Laden had been dead for three years now. Same tall height, black and grey beard, but he had a green turban wrapped around his head. His eyes, though, weren’t normal. They were a solid black, no whites at all.

  “Explain that to me, G -2. I know what it is, but I want to see what you think.” said Scarletti.

  “I can’t explain the eyes. The green turban, well, that means he’s a Sufi Muslim, the more mystical branch. That explains the mage aspect. Again, why the eyes? They weren’t in Sergeant Smith’s report.”

  “The reason he didn’t mention the eyes is because someone with those kind of eyes hides them with a hypnotic spell. It interrupts the nerve signal so that a person sees what they expect to see, not what’s really there. Those eyes … he is possessed. Whatever that man was, he isn’t human anymore. That explains a lot. It’s a Marid, a very powerful Djinn, or what we call a Genie here in the west.”

  “Better and better” said the G-3. “I’m not sure we can handle this. That’s a whole lot of hurt waiting in that valley.”

  “Which is why we're not going to go storming into said valley. The question is, are they going to stay there? There has got to be a reason why there are that many magical creatures gathered in one spot. I can’t figure why the attack on our base, either, except to remove forces that might interfere with whatever is going on.”

  LTC Cunningham asked him the question. “Are you going to go with the plan that you briefed me on? The one you and Jose came up with? It’s pretty dangerous.”

  Scarletti turned his chair around and faced the wall for a minute, thinking, then turned back. He looked to have aged ten years in the minute he had spent contemplating what he was sending one of his soldiers into.

  “Sergeant Smith will have memories implanted that makes him think he is angry at the army, angry at the mistreatment we gave him after getting his platoon killed, and that the link I removed that existed between him and the Marid is still in effect. He will think that we have all been killed in the attack on the FOB, and that he is the only survivor. He will be compelled to seek out the Marid and join up with him. He will wake up the day after tomorrow at the head of the Gorengal Valley, thinking he’s defecting. Strike Team Seven will shadow him as he moves down the valley and attempt to take out the Marid if Smith gets in trouble or is unable to extract himself with useful information.”

  Chapter 17 `Mage Corps HQ, Colonel Scarletti’s Office

  Sergeant Major McGhee sat in a chair, off to one side of Scarlatti’s desk, chewing on a wad of dip in his mouth, and occasionally spitting into a plastic cup.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that shit in my office” said Scarletti.

  “Sorry, but like you said, Tony, a man’s gotta do what a man’s’ gotta do.”

  “Fine, just remember to call me Sir when Smith is in here. No need to give him bad habits. I was just thinking, how long have we known each other?”

  The old NCO scratched his jaw, thinking. “Let’s see, well, England in ’44. That makes, oh, seventy years, seven major wars and more than a few small ones.”

  “And aside from Jose, you and I are the only ones left that remember the big war.” Scarletti thought hard. “Well, no, scratch that, there’s Justin. But he’s been in the rehab ward since we dug him out of that tunnel in Chu Lai.”

  “I told that dumbass not to go underground. Too many creepy crawly things. Still wish I knew what he ran into. Beholder, I expect.” They both fell silent for a minute, thinking of lost comrades, until a knock on the door sounded.

  “Come in!” said Scarletti.

  Smith walked in and stood at attention, rendering a crisp salute. “Sergeant Smith reporting as ordered, Sir!”

  Scarletti returned the salute, and then motioned for Smith to sit. He opened up a manila folder that was sitting on his desk, which Smith assumed was his 2-1, or personnel file. The Colonel started reading out loud.

  “Xavier Smith, born June 13th, 1992, Home of Record Hempstead, New York”

  Smith interrupted him “It’s not pronounced ‘Javier’ like in Spanish, Sir. It’s ‘Zavier’, like Saint Francis. My friends call me X.”

  The Colonel raised his eyebrow, and McGhee hid a grin, but he continued reading. “Joined the Army in 2014, four year degree in Western History, tested at” and here he whistled low “your Armed Services Thaumaturgy Aptitude Battery was a 99th percentile. Top 1% of the people tested.”

  McGhee spit into his cup and said “Don’t get a big head, kid. You gotta be in the 95th percentile to even be trainable.” Smith said nothing, merely continued to sit at attention, realizing that he had screwed up interrupting the Colonel, and resolving to keep quiet.

  “Top honors at the Defense Magic Institute, six months apprenticeship at Fort Hood with Sergeant First Class yadda yadda, in 3rd Brigade, First Cav, did well with bullshit bullshit yadda yadda … assigned 3rd Brigade, 11th Mountain Division, FOB Reigoux, wounded in action exactly one week after arrival, Purple Heart, Army Commendation Medal, meritorious promotion to E-5.”

  He closed the file and laid it back down on his desk, then told Smith what their plan was for getting intelligence on the Gorengal Valley, including the false memory implant.

  “At zero eight hundred tomorrow morning, Jose Cervantes is going to lay you out on a stretcher in the medical wing, and he is going to wipe the past few days from your mind.” He saw Smith wince. “No, not like Chief Krause’s mind probe. You won’t feel a thing. Then he is going to input memories of your team chief ripping you a new ass for getting your platoon killed, and your demotion. Chief Houchins is going to implant a feeling of extremely strong hatred of the Army, and then we are going to transport you via teleport right outside the entrance to the Gorengal Valley. I’m pretty sure you’ll get picked up right away by tribesmen. Do NOT let them fuck with you. You are a Mage, and you have enough power to impress the shit out of them. They will bring y
ou to the Marin, your memory will return in twenty four hours, and hopefully you’ll do one of three things.”

  “Which are what, Sir?”

  “Well, one, you get a chance to pop him in the back of the head and end the threat. Not very likely. Two, you can somehow pinpoint his location for MST-7 and they can take him out. More likely, Ahmed is a damn good shot, but again, not probable. Three, you gather what intel you can and get the hell out of dodge, calling in the Cavalry, and we have a hell of a fight on our hands. Most likely.”

  He paused for a second, and then continued. “Son, I’m going to lay it on you straight, no bullshit. This will be dangerous. I honestly don’t expect you to come out of this in one piece, if at all. I promise you, though, that I will do my damndest to see that you do make it through OK. That and the fact is, you aren’t going to be getting much of your memory of the last forty eight hours back, either.”

  Smith hesitated, and then said “Isn’t this the part where you ask me to volunteer, Sir? Not that I wouldn’t!”

  “No. I’m ordering you to do this. This isn’t the fucking playground. I’m sitting on a time bomb that might go off at any minute, break out of the Gorengal, threaten our forces there, even threaten the US.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out, saying “Look, Sergeant Smith. Sometimes we all have to put our lives on the line in this business. With this war going on, we have a casualty rate in Strike of almost 50% over a ten year period, so go figure the odds of making your twenty and retirement. Defense is almost as bad, with the IED threat. We do it because we are the only ones who can do it, and if we didn’t, the mages working for the terrorists would go through our regular troops like a hot knife through butter. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes Sir, I do. Just one question, if I could.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Will Chief York be along with Strike Team Seven on my backup?”

  Sergeant Major McGhee laughed out loud, almost choking on his dip. “Facing death and thinking with your dick! Ha! We’ll make a Strike Mage out of you yet, Smith!”

  Smith turned beet red. “It’s not like that, Sergeant Major. It’s just, well, we kind owe each other our lives, and I trust her.”

  “Uh huh.” McGhee kept the shit eating grin on his face.

  “Lay off the kid, Tim” said Colonel Scarletti. “Yes, Sergeant Smith, she is going. MST -7’s Mage Healer was killed when we went on that undead op in Russia, and they haven’t replaced her yet. Specialist Mya. She took a dose of nerve gas to the face. And no, she isn’t going because you asked. She’s going because I expect the Strike Team to take serious casualties, more than a regular medic can handle. So when she gets eaten by a dragon, or gets her pretty little head chopped off, you don’t have to feel guilty.”

  “OK, I won’t, Sir.”

  “Bullshit you won’t. Now get out of here and report to Staff Sergeant Bognaski. I’m pretty sure there’s some NCO Professional Development laid on for this afternoon, and you can never get enough

  Chapter 18 Mage Corps HQ Classroom 17

  “Make sure you sign the roster going around the room. Without your signature, you’re not going to get credit for this NCOPD, and I’m not going to cover for your ass. That applies primarily for Headquarters Company Personnel, but also for people that are TDY. That means you, Staff Sergeant Bognaski.”

  Bognaski put a pained look on his face and said “Why are you always picking on me, Top?”

  “Because you’re a dirtbag, and I have no idea who you blew to jump up from Corporal to Staff Sergeant.”

  “Your mom” muttered Bognaski under his breath, and those seated around him laughed. The First Sergeant, an older NOC with a growing spare tire around his middle from too much time sitting down at a desk, glared at him, then turned away.

  “Staff Sergeant Grey from the JAG section is here to give a class on the legal employment of magic off the battlefield. Please pay attention to her and actually learn something.”

  The NCO stood up and walked over to the front of the room. She had a no-nonsense attitude about her, and a serious expression on her face. Smith had seen it before when a non-mage soldier worked in the company of Mages. It made many people uncomfortable, like the Air Force Liaison Officer. SSG Grey looked as if she had learned to relax, and focus on the business on hand. Her seriousness was all about the job.

  “Good afternoon. For those who don’t know me, I’m Staff Sergeant Alexandra Grey, from the Corps Judge Advocate Generals’ office. The class I’m going to be conducting today pertains to the legal use of magic off the battlefield. Next slide, please.”

  The projected image on the wall flipped, and showed a picture of a burned body. Behind the body, a cordon of riot police were attempting to protect someone in cuffs, while an angry crowd threw rocks.

  “Last week in Los Angeles, an off duty US Navy Mage got into an altercation at a bar with a gang member. The end result is what you see here. The fight escalated and the sailor used a Hellfire spell to defend himself, or attack, we’re not sure which. In the fight, which happened at two in the afternoon, a teenaged girl suffered third degree burns to her face and two buildings burned down, as well as the gang banger burned to a crisp. He was too intoxicated to remember exactly what happened, but before the LAPD rescued him, an angry crowd had smashed both of his hands with baseball bats and were getting ready to string him up.”

  She paused to let the image sink in for a minute, then said “Next slide, please”.

  The next scene was of a ‘MERIKA TODAY newspaper. The main headline screamed “MAGE SOLDIER ARRESTED FOR SEXUAL ASSAULT” and smaller headlines went on to proclaim the outrage of Reverend Billy Sharps, the grief in a community located just outside a southern US Army base, and calls for better regulation of Mages.

  “As you can see, we’re not doing ourselves any favors. The exact details of what happened between Specialist Jeff Goreman and three women at a local bar are unknown, but apparently he was busted for using an illegal ‘date rape’ spell.”

  She flipped to the next slide, where a passage from Army Regulation 678-3 was highlighted on the screen.

  “Chapter 3, para 3-11, section (j) Mage Corps soldiers will conduct themselves both on and off duty in a manner which brings credit to themselves, The Mage Corps, and The United States Army.”

  SSG Grey turned the slide off. “Sergeants, we all know that being a Mage is a thankless job. The general public is afraid of you, politicians see you as a tool to get votes, and any time you do stupid shit like these examples, it makes it worse. So for your own good, THINK before you act.”

  One of the guys sitting in the front row spoke up. “Hey, it’s not like we volunteered for this shit. We just tested high and the army grabbed our asses.”

  Bognaski knew the guy who was speaking, and didn’t like him. “Hey, Taylor, you can always resign, you know.”

  Taylor turned to look back at Nasty. “Yeah. Right, and if I used my combat skills back on the block, the po-po will be up my ass so fast you couldn’t say Open Sesame. Why don’t you resign, Nasty? Cause you ain’t got no place to go, that’s why.”

  They glared at each other until the First Sergeant stepped in between. “That’s enough of that. SSG Grey has a valid point. Sometimes we’re our own worst enemies. Next time you guys are out in the real world, just remember to keep your spells to yourselves.”

  “Don’t we have a right to defend ourselves if attacked?” asked another NCO towards the back of the room.

  Grey answered “Good question. Under the Geneva Convention Magic Accords of 1963, you DO have the right to self-defense, only in the degree necessary to extract yourself from the situation, while bringing minimal harm to civilians. That sailor is facing life in Leavenworth, even though he was probably defending himself, for what happened to that girl.”

  From the doorway, Sergeant Major McGhee chimed in. “Your legal problems are going to be a walk in the park compared to what I’m going to do to any of you who screw up like t
hat. I can’t even begin to imagine what Colonel Scarletti will do."

  He turned and walked out of the classroom, leaving silence in his wake. Nothing like a heavy boot to put the kabash on levity.

  “Not that any of you paid attention in school, but remember, the attempted takeover by Mages of the United States Government in 1897 left a very, very bad taste in the public’s mouth. For the most part, they just don’t like you, or trust you. Don’t go thinking that you’re some kind of hero for fighting in the war, because the public won’t think you are. Veterans Administration figures show a sixty percent higher rate of suicide among discharged Mages.”

  The First Sergeant stood up from his desk. “Thank you, Staff Sergeant Grey. Hopefully your lesson will sink in through some thick skulls, though I doubt it. Next up we have a notice from the G-4. It seems a lot of you have been abusing the crap out of your Kindle SpellBooks, and she is getting tired of re-issuing items which will last longer if you would just do a PMCS on the damn things. Also, I don’t know who came up with a spell to crack the encryption and allow downloads, but then next person that is found with porn on their KSB is going to lose rank. I’m tired of this crap.”

  Smith looked over at Bognaski, who was hurriedly deleting files off his SpellBook, trying to hide it under the table.

  “Now, speaking of SpellBooks, they are all connected to the Army Online Training Center, and I don’t care what you guys downrange have been doing. You have plenty of time to study and complete the online courses in your KSB. Just to see what you have been doing, I want you all to open up to ‘Camouflage and Concealment’, pick a partner, and work the spell on them. I don’t expect to see anyone fifteen minutes from now. After that we’re going to go outside and practice ‘Weapons Targeting Enhancement on the M-4 Rifle’. ” He waddled out of the room to get a cup of coffee and left them to work.

  A collective groan came from the class, but desks were shuffled and people paired off. Smith and Bognaski moved over to corner. “What a load of bullshit” said the soldier Nasty had argued with, and Bognaski jumped all over him.