U.S. Army Mage Corps: SWORD

by John Holmes

  The G-3 stepped up to the briefing screen. “Next slide, please” and an overhead shot of the Gorengal Valley appeared, compete with unit positions and axis of attack.

  “H hour for this Operation is set for 0700 tomorrow, local time. That is the approximate time the spell on Staff Sergeant Bognaski will wear off, and he will attempt to negate the protective spells around the target. By H minus one, Strike Team Seven will maneuver to be in position to terminate the target. At H hour, assuming the target is neutralized, 1st Platoon, Company C, 1-27th Armor, will attack eastward, neutralizing all threats and providing a distraction for Strike Seven to attempt to recover Staff Sergeant Bognaski, under cover of magic provided by Sergeant Smith. Once the target is down, and the magical interference over the valley is gone, Colonel Scarletti and Captain Lang will teleport into the valley and engage any magical elements and creatures. Bravo Company, 4th BN, 75th Rangers, will parachute into the eastern end of the valley to provide a blocking force.”

  Sergeant Major McGhee muttered under his breath “Sounds like that shitstorm, Operation Anaconda.” Scarletti shot him a look and he shut up.

  “Hopefully, once the Shaman is out of the picture, there won’t be much to deal with, and resistance will collapse” said the Operations Officer

  “Hope is not a plan” said Scarletti, but he knew this was the best they could come up with. The Pentagon had given him the go ahead, with a caveat: If they DIDN’T take down the Shaman by themselves, a tactical nuke was going to be detonated, whether or not his people were out of there. They would blame it on Pakistan, of course, but they were giving them a chance to avoid the whole thing entirely.

  “What do you think, Tim?” asked Scarletti.

  “Lots of moving parts. What about the Brass Dragon? I assume Aed is going take care of him. By the way, did I see that old bastard over on the other side of the runway earlier? What were they doing to him?”

  Major Kusuma, the Corps Logistic Officer, chimed in, his Indonesian accent sounding strange in the room.

  “It’s a special request that he had flown in last night on a C-17, straight from Aberdeen Proving Grounds. The RPG threat is pretty high, and ever since he took that hit in Russia from the ATGM, he’s paranoid about it. So he had a suit of reactive armor and Kevlar made for him.”

  McGhee burst out laughing. “That, I’ve gotta see! I’m going over there to bust that old lizards balls!”

  “Laugh it up, fuzzball, but we haven’t covered your end of the operation yet. You’re going to teleport in with me, and your mission, whether you choose to accept it or not, is to secure that sword, and destroy it.”

  That brought a gasp from the G-4. “Sir, with all due respect, as a Muslim, I cannot let that happen! That is the sword carried by the Prophet!”

  Scarletti shot back “And if it gets in the wrong hands again, there will be Jihad and slaughter all over again!”

  “But Sir! It is a priceless artifact!”

  “At this point, I could really give two craps. Major, your oath and loyalty is to the United States of America. If you cannot reconcile your religious beliefs with your mission, you are free to resign at any time.”

  “Colonel, I have fought beside you all over the world, even against my fellow Muslims. I am asking you, please reconsider the destruction of the sword. In the hands of the right person, it can be a powerful weapon against those who corrupt Islam.”

  Scarletti eyed him, then said “McGhee, if at all possible, without any risk to yourself or anyone else, secure the sword. If it looks like it will be a problem, destroy it. Understood?” He continued to eye Major Kusuma though.

  “I got you, Sir.”

  “Thank you, Colonel” said the small Indonesian.

  The meeting broke up with Colonel Scarletti giving grudging approval to the plan.

  Chapter 30 Village of Al-kahut

  Jimmy Bognaski was, as they say, in the Hurt Locker. He knew it the second he returned to consciousness. He didn’t open his eyes, just lay there listening to his surroundings, feeling things out.

  The first thing he noticed was the pounding headache issuing from the base of his skull, where the rifle butt had smacked him. The next was that he was sunburned AND ROASTING. Last, that he was spread eagle, with his hands and feet tied to something. “Not cool. Not cool at all” he thought to himself.

  A metal scraping sound hissed close by, the sound of a steel blade being drawn across a sharpening stone. “Really, really not fucking cool” he thought again.

  “I know you are awake, Staff Sergeant.” The voice was speaking English with a pronounced British accent. He knew that voice, but he couldn’t place it where. It started to annoy him. He opened his eyes when a shadow blocked out the sun. What he saw caused him to wrench violently at the ropes holding him.

  Looming over him was a tall, skeletal figure clad in the rusted remnants of armor. He was carelessly swinging the tip of a gleaming, five foot long sword about an inch above Bognaski’s neck. The soldier turned his head to look at the man standing beside the skeleton.

  “What kind of freakshow are you running? Can’t you come up with something better than Drogure from Skyrim? I mean really, isn’t that copyright infringement?”

  With a soundless scream, the Death Knight slammed his sword downward, and the tip pierced Bognaski’s neck before the Shaman stopped it with a hand on the Knight’s arm.

  “Typical American, how do you say it, ‘talking shit’ in the face of danger.” The Shaman smiled broadly, and made a dismissive motion the Death Knight. The huge creature stepped back and stood at attention; but its red eyes burned fiercely.

  “I think Skeletor is kinda pissed at you” said Bognaski, as he felt the little trickle of blood running down his neck.

  The tall man shook his head. “Pay him no head. He knows where the power lies. Now, what shall I do with you, shit talking American soldier - mage? Why did you walk into my valley?”

  “How about you let me up?”

  “Depending on your next words, I may let you up, or I may leave you to roast out here in the sun. Maybe I will even call one of the tribeswomen in here to play a little Kipling on you with her knife.”

  “You said it already. Power. I want it. I have been getting fucked around by the Army for thirteen years now, and I’m still a goddamned Corporal. I’ve seen my friends die, and the frigging LEFT me to die on the FOB. I’m tired of getting shit on, and anyone who has the kind of power to drop a rick on a base, that’s what I want.”

  The Shaman stroked his long grey beard and said “You would kill your fellow Americans?”

  Bognaski thought long and hard about that, knowing his life was in the balance, then answered “No. But I can serve you in a lot of ways, if you teach me what I need to know. I’m a better combat mage than any of these local jokers you have around here. Even old rusty there” he said, nodding at the Death Knight.

  The ropes holding him down unraveled themselves, and he groaned as circulation returned to his hands. Then he sat up and looked around. He was sitting in a natural amphitheater, and around him on the rocks were hundreds of Durkistani tribesmen, armed with a variety of weapons. Most were pointed in his general direction.

  “I don’t suppose you have any beer in this place, do you?”

  Chapter 31 Taran – Gar mountain, Durkistan

  The clearing glistened on the moonlight, until the rotorwash of an MCH-47 blasted the powdery snow up into the air, generating instant whiteout conditions. At the tailgate, Staff Sergeant Joey Haren tried to peer through the obscuring flakes, his night vision goggles turning them green as he scanned back and forth, hands resting lightly on the machine gun bungee corded to the ceiling.

  Next to him stood the crew chief and beside him a smaller soldier, wearing bulky winter camo and a large pack, armed only with a pistol. Jamie York felt the cold bite through her gortex, but kept herself warm only by hunching down further into her cold weather gear. Inside her head, the prophet was trying to talk to her, bu
t York kept the voice far away as she concentrated on what to do when they set down. Someone from Mage Strike Seven was supposed to meet her there in the clearing and bring her back to their hide site.

  She felt the crew chief slap her on the shoulder as he yelled over the roar of the turbines “THERE’S THE SIGNAL!! GO!” and he started to push her down the ramp. She stepped off just as a stray wind off the mountain lifted the helo up two feet. She landed heavily on her forearm and felt a sickening SNAP! A burning sensation raced up her arm, and she fought the urge to throw up. Inside of head, Erato started talking warning her of danger, She looked around widly, but the night was too dark and the snow too heavy to see anything.

  “JAIME!” she heard a voice yell through the silence following the crash. A few meters from her a volley of gunfire answered the voice, which had been Sergeant Smith calling for her. Tracers started zipping back and forth across the clearing, and she tried to pull herself towards where his voice had come from.

  She had made only a few feet when she felt rough hands grab her under the shoulders. A bolt of pain shot up through her arm, and she vomited in the snow. Her pistol was pulled from its holster, her pack was stripped off her back, and her captors took off at a jog, dragging her through the snow into a tree line further down slope. A blast of Hellfire rocketed down the slope, catching a tribesman standing a few feet away and turning him into a torch. As he burned, York could see through her pain a figure clad in rusted armor rushing through the snow towards where she thought her friends might be.

  On the opposite side of the clearing, Specialist O’Neil had been firing methodically, sighting at individual muzzle flashes. The Hellfire conjured up by Sergeant Smith washed out her nightvision monocular and completely wiped out the night vision in her unshielded eye. Behind her, Ziv cursed, even though he had had enough warning to throw up his arm in front of his face.

  They all saw, in the glow of the burning corpse, the Death Knight striding towards them across the snow, eyes blazing. Brit turned to Smith and asked him “Can you handle him?”

  “Maybe’ said Smith, even though, inside, his heart was pounding. He stood up and started focusing his power, concentrating on both an offensive spell and a shield at the same time.

  Ziv put a hand like a steel vise on his shoulder and said “If you said yes, I would have said you were a fool. Now run. O’Neil, you worthless woman, take the Mage with you and get the hell out of here.”

  “No fucking way, you dipshit.”

  The big Serb let a half smile pass over his face. “Run. If you stay and die, Nick would kill me. Take him” and he shoved Smith at her. O’Neil grabbed him, looked once at Ziv, nodded, and took off running. Ziv turned, pulled out a Ghurka fighting knife, and walked slowly into the clearing.

  Deep into the woods, following a trail that led up the mountain, Smith gasped between breaths “Where is Ziv going?”

  “He’s buying us time, you asshole. Now RUN!” Behind them they heard the clang of steel on steel, modern combat knife against rusty sword. Smith stopped and turned, but Brit grabbed him and yelled in his face, tears streaming down her eyes. “RUN YOU STUPID FUCK!”

  Chapter 32 Mage Strike Team Seven hide site

  A gloom settled over the cave as Specialist O’Neil made her report. SFC Agostine poked at the fire with a long stick.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Brit nodded “There was no way. Even if he managed to beat that thing, there was at least a dozen towelheads on that ridge. Good as he is, Ziv was outclassed. That frigging skeletor had a goddamned sword.”

  “And they got Chief York.” Brit nodded in answer to his statement.

  Smith spoke up “We have to get her back. One way or another.”

  Agostine grunted. “No, what we have to do is finish the mission. If we rescue Chief York along the way, that’s well and good, but I’m not making it part of the plan. Especially since we’re down another man.”

  Smith glared at him, but said nothing. O’Neil walked over and sat down next to Smith, and held out her hand.

  “Sorry I yelled at you back there. Ziv and I have been through a lot together, and you didn’t know him like I did, but I saw that you wanted to stay and fight. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

  Smith looked at the proffered hand and slowly reached over rand shook it. “Maybe” he said. “Sorry about your friend. It all happened so damned quick. I just, I mean, I saw Jaime get hauled off, and I tried to stop them, but …”

  “Yeah, well, shit does happen quick. It ain’t like the movies.”

  Doc Hamilton came over from helping Ahmed sort through Ziv’s equipment. “I know you just went through a lot, Brit, so you take the middle on the march. Red will take point, then Ahmed, Me, Nick, Smith, then you, then Jonesy. We leave in five mikes.”

  Smith looked over at Agostine, who was checking the action on his weapon. He looked back at him. “Said I wasn’t going to make it part of the plan. Didn’t say I wasn’t going to move the plan up by a day so that she doesn’t get her fingernails peeled off.”

  They set out through the pine trees, feet crunching through the snow. As they descended down the mountain, the snow faded out, to be replaced with bare rock and soil. The sun slowly rose as they filtered their way through the trees, advancing in a bounding overwatch. As they neared the open floor of the valley, PFC Redshirt held up his hand, and they sank to the floor of the forest.

  Sergeant Agostine moved up beside him, and Ahmed followed, laying his sniper rifle on a log. The rest of the team spread out to provide security around them. Smith came up to join them.

  “What have we got here?” he pulled out a map and laid it on the ground, orienting it the village a thousand meters away and several hundred meters below them. Ahmed panned his rifle scope around, checking targets. He called them out softly.

  “I count more than a hundred fighters.”

  “Well, we were told to expect a thousand, so that’s good.”

  Ahmed answered, not taking his eye off the scope. “It will be hard for the Shaman to old them there for any length of time without immediate action. They are probably back at their villages.”

  “Good for us.”

  Red asked “What, exactly, is our mission again?”

  “Observe and report. Observe and Report,” said Agostine. “What else? Any sign of the big guy?”

  Ahmed continued to look and reported, “Yes, there he is. And there is Bognaski, right next to him. And there is Chief York. She is bound to a stake.”

  “Suffer not a witch to live” muttered Red.

  “You surprise me, Redshirt. That doesn’t sound Navajo.”

  “Mission school. They beat a lot of things into us.”

  Ahmed lowered his rifle. “I see no sign of the dragon. The Death Knight is standing to their left. Ziv appears to be chained and staked to the ground, and there is another man in American uniform hooded and bound, also.”

  “Well, at least Ziv is alive. Stupid idiot trying to impress me” said Brit.

  They were all startled by Smith vanishing, and the sound of someone running off through the woods, towards the village. Red started to get up to run after him, but his Team Leader pulled him back down.

  “GodDAMMIT!” Agostine hissed between his teeth. “Fucking stupid dumbass! Doc, get on the horn and tell JSOC that Smith flew the coop.”

  Chapter 33 Gorengal Valley

  Xavier Smith ran. He ran to try to save his two friends, although he didn’t consciously think of it. He had used a scrying spell, and he had seen what Ahmed had seen, and even more. Bognaski had stood as a man entranced, something Ahmed couldn’t see through his scope. He ran across the broken fields, finally coming to rest behind a building. The invisibility spell he had cast on himself was waning in the face of the Shaman’s power, and he feared that the link between them would only grow stronger and get past Colonel Scarletti’s masking spells. Now that he had made it to the village, though, he had no idea what to do.

  The
Shaman ordered the bounded and hooded man in the American uniform to be brought in front of him and made to kneel. Then the hood was stripped off, to reveal the face of Major Kusuma. He looked up at his fellow Muslim, not seeing the hideous creature hiding beneath his skin.

  “You cannot do this!” he yelled. “This is a perversion of all the Prophet held holy!”

  The Shaman laughed and said “I don’t think so. The Prophet was a man of violence and war. You know this. Join me on the Jihad, brother.”

  Kusama spit at his feet. “I came to warn you, to talk sense into you and get you to give up the blade. Our religion will never survive as long as it is cloaked in barbarism. Jihad is NOT the way!”

  “Let’s just agree to disagree, shall we?” said the Shaman, and he swung the Sword of Muhammad, severing Major Kusamas’ head with one easy blow. It rolled away, and his corpse fell aside, spitting arterial blood.

  Bognaski stood still as a statue, ignoring the scene, standing directly in front of York where she was tied to post in the center of the village. As he watched, two Trolls came up and seized healer, ripping away the ropes that bound her and forcing her to kneel in front of the Shaman. Bognaski looked on impassively, still not moving. The Shaman held up the bloody sword, glittering in the rays of the newly risen sun. The crowd immediately broke out into a chant of “ALLAH AKBAR!” over and over, prostrating themselves. He then handed the sword to Bognaski, who turned to face Chief York.

  “Jesus Christ” whispered Smith to himself, then “Don’t do it, Jimmy!” Knowing it meant almost certain death, he gathered his focus and raised his hand.

  Agostine watched him through the binoculars. “Don’t do it, kid!” he said out loud. “Ahmed, if Bognaski swings at York, take him out.” The sniper nodded and settled back down behind his scope.