"Oh, I've heard this silly line of talk before," Snarf said in the same arrogant tone.
"Silly?" Cloy countered, "This coming from someone stuck in a box for thousands of years."
Apparently, that hit a little below the belt, because Snarf looked completely shocked.
Cloy looked straight ahead and meekly muttered, "Sorry."
Arsch and I shared a strange glance.
Let me back up for half a second here. If it seems like I was too blase about this whole god thing, I can assure you I was not. I was more than a little shocked to be in the company of immortals. I had figured it out after killing a dragon with a fucking Stinger. The question that I repeated to myself over and over was, so what? In other words, what should I have done differently? Cloy said I couldn't hurt Snarf, and Snarf couldn't hurt me. That meant that I was powerless to get rid of the little asshole. So I had to be amicable. Also, I truly didn't want to piss off someone who, at the very least, had the power to make a tree sprout always cold ale.
We walked in awkward silence for another few feet before Snarf picked up his story where he left off.
"Their monuments were magnificent, reaching for the stars and the planet center alike," he said.
"The core tunnel," Arsch remarked.
"Correct," Snarf said. "They declared themselves the chosen race, and stated they had dominion over all that they could see, touch, or hear."
"That angered Pantodynamos greatly," Cloy said.
Snarf nodded in agreement. "The god of gods was not one to act directly and gave the dwarves a final opportunity to repent. He placed a gate or portal near the edge of the core tunnel. A place he knew the dwarves would find."
Cloy nodded; they at least agreed on that little detail.
"Pantodynamos wrote massive warnings in every known language on the portal. Warnings that stated only the divine could open the gate without repercussions. He also placed statements of knowledge and riches beyond measure," Snarf said.
I nodded, thoughts of Babel and many other parables coming to mind. "They opened it, didn't they?" I asked.
Snarf at least didn't ask if it was one of my three questions, and answered, "They didn't even wait a day."
“And the gher?” I asked.
“Poured forth from the portal, and reigned hell upon the dwarves, and all mortals in creation,” Snarf said.
I shuttered a little. Dragons, oraks, and magic all gave credence to Snarf's tail. It's one thing for someone to tell a story about a monster in a Scottish Locke; it's another to learn that Nessy is not only real but very dangerous.
"I've never heard that story," Arsch said in reverence.
"Me neither," I added comically.
No one laughed.
For the next three days, we walked, we ate, we slept, and we talked. Nothing was as nearly entertaining as that first story, and no matter how hard I pressed, I could never get my companions to give me a sliver of information about gods or anything else.
On day three, the temperature cooled slightly, and the air became wet. A faint sound could be heard in the far distance.
Arsch smiled, "The Gnoricon," he said, holding his hand to his ear.
"Thank God," I said. It was time for a change of scenery.
"Which one?" Snarf asked cynically.
I rolled my eyes and adjusted my pack.
We walked the final mile or so until hitting one of the most magnificent sights I had ever seen.
Our path led us to a large opening in a cliff face. Gnomes had helpfully placed magical torches up and down the walls of the far and near faces of the enormous canyon. Up was nothing but eternal blackness, down was a crystal clear river, the size of the Mississippi.
It flowed swiftly but did not roar. Large shapes circled and loomed beneath its waters.
The far side cliff face had a similar tunnel that appeared to be nothing more than a black smudge against the brown rock.
A very Indiana Jonesesque bridge hung between the two tunnels.
Above the tunnel entrance hung a large gate that jutted perpendicularly to the wall.
Looking around, I saw that our side also had the nasty looking gate. It was a large slat of iron with hundreds of spikes of varying lengths protruding in weird directions from it.
"The Gates of Narsen," Arsch said, following my gaze.
A single flimsy rope held ours in place by a metal ring on the end.
"That doesn't look safe," I said.
"Just hope you didn't insult the watchers," Arsch replied.
"Watchers?" I asked, hoping he wasn't referring to some sort of mystical entity.
"Yeah, the three lookouts," he said. "We got three of them watching this bridge at all times. One of em' pulls a rope and," he slammed his two hands together, indicating what the gate would do to us, and presumably the bridge.
"Must be lonely out here," I remarked. Memories of gate guard as a private made me shutter.
"They only sit there a bit, then they change out. Actually a pretty easy assignment," Arsch said.
I looked around, "Change out with who?"
"The other guards," Arsch said.
"Is there a hidden outpost or something?" I asked. We had walked for three days and not seen a single soul.
"Yeah, we passed them on the way in. Platoon of fifty or so," Arsch said, looking around.
"Are you trolling me?" I asked.
All three looked at me and shook their heads in confusion.
"Are you lying to get a rise out of me?" I asked again, clarifying.
"No," Arsch said.
I looked at Cloy and Snarf, who just shrugged.
"Enough talk though," Arsch said, suddenly becoming serious. "I'll cross first, verify it's safe, and then signal you."
I nodded.
The bridge didn't look safe, and the shapes which I could see far beneath looked hungry.
Arsch began his reconnoiter.
I looked down towards the river, "You know what those are?"
Snarf leaned over the edge and peered down.
"Cave fishers," Cloy said.
I looked at her, expecting some further explanation.
"Giant crawfish," she explained.
"How giant?" I asked, trying to determine their size from so far away.
"Larger than a horse," she said, and then put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "They're also attracted to light. So if you fall in, douse your torch."
Arsch was already to the other side and started waving his torch.
"Looks like you're up," Cloy said, as she stepped in behind me.
Snarf, as usual, took up the rear. At first, I was a little hesitant to have the bastard all the way behind me, but he seemed happy.
I walked forward on the rickety bridge. Have you ever seen that one movie or cartoon with the ropes and the planks? Every step seems to be a gamble against gravity? Yeah, I was on that cliche bridge. From Shrek to Indy, the rope bridge has been a staple of good suspense.
It's completely fucking different going from one hole in a cliff face to another hole in a cliff face, with horse-sized crawdads swimming hundreds of feet below.
No loose boards, no swaying, and no creaking all reassured me, however, that the gnomes kept the bridge in good repair.
My and Cloy's footsteps were the only sounds I could hear as I walked forward, step by step across the unreal chasm.
Even the river didn't make any noise. I imagine its waters had smoothed the rocks over millennia.
Arsch stood watch on the other side, his torch still visible, illuminating his back.
I was twenty feet from the hole when I heard the groan.
With equipment, I weigh about two-fifty. Cloy is like one forty soaking wet. Snarf might weigh twenty. Gnomes are stout, but they aren't exactly big. They weigh about fifty for the heaviest. So when my five times the weight of a gnome started to pull pressure on one of the anchors, the anchor decided it had had enough.
Like an asshole, the anchor quit its job, cleared o
ut its savings, and booked a trip to Amsterdam, leaving everyone who depended on him flapping in the breeze.
Just like every other job, when one guy who's doing half the work says fuck it, the other guy who's getting paid the same, but doing twice the job is probably gonna quit. Lucky for me, that specific anchor decided they needed another paycheck before quitting.
The distance between boards on the bridge was wide enough that I could easily grasp them, like a ladder. That would be great if the rope bridge fell flat. Unfortunately, with just one rope support gone, the bridge twisted and caused me to fall to the side.
I grasped for anything I could and found myself holding the hand of the diminutive Cloy.
She had one hand holding the top rope, and the other assisting me.
I was holding her hand with my left and grasping the bottom support rope with my right.
"My Dude!" Arsch yelled.
The bridge began to groan further as the weight transferred to the top left support rope.
I heard other shouts as the watchers struggled to figure something out.
Cloy looked down at me and said, "Grab the main support!"
The bridge was only two feet wide and about two feet tall, but that four feet from the bottom right slat support to the top left main support looked awfully long.
Adrenaline surged through me as I pulled hard with my right hand. I didn't want to accidentally pull Cloy into the cave fisher feeding frenzy below.
She was a lot stronger than she looked, and she assisted in getting me to the main support line.
I heard a whistle as an arrow embedded itself in the plank near my chest.
A thin but sturdy-looking rope was attached to the arrow with some sort of strange hook looking thing.
"Attach the hook to your strap!" Arsch yelled.
There was no way I could let go without falling. I had an extra sixty pounds of gear on me, and my arms were starting to shake.
Cloy reached across me, and removed the hook from the arrow, and attached it to my drag handle on my plate carrier.
"He's hooked!" Cloy yelled.
I heard the sound of iron clicking and a windlass setting. Moments later, my plate carrier began to tug.
For those unaware, every plate carrier or tactical vest has a drag handle on the back. That way, when bubba, the four hundred pound asshole from Georgia who drank sweet tea and ate gravy his whole life, falls over from a heart attack in the middle of BFE, you can drag his ass back to the MEDEVAC, praying you don't get shot because dumbass didn't bother to watch what he was fucking eating his whole life.
A few seconds longer, and I was being tugged off the rope.
"Let go!" Arsch cried.
My military training kicked in, and I immediately let go. You have to trust your fellow soldiers and your equipment.
I swung like a pendulum until I hit the side of the cliff wall, and everything went dark.
When I was a teenager, I used to go to my uncle and aunt's house near Wichita, Kansas, for Christmas. Some of my fondest memories were playing with my cousin, who was like four at the time and overall just enjoying small-town life.
I thought it was a little weird that he was hitting me in the face to wake me up while I was deployed.
"My Dude, please!" Arsch said, smacking lightly, but quickly in the face.
Slowly I clawed back out from that place of comfort.
"What?" I asked, still groggy. I had a terrible headache, and my shoulder hurt.
Seeing that I was starting to come to, Arsch stood up, panic on his face.
"A cricket nest heard the accident, and they are starting to swarm!" Arsch exclaimed in a stage whisper.
I sat up; vertigo pulled me in every direction.
"Cloy?" I asked.
"They're both safe on the other side," he said, pointing across the chasm. "But we won't be. Please?" he begged trying to help me to my feet.
His urgent tone and the knowledge that my other two companions were safe helped me to focus. I gingerly stood up and immediately put my arm against the wall for balance. My bag was on the ground, my ACH strapped neatly to the outside.
I will never cross another rope bridge again without wearing my helmet.
I checked for my M4 and found it was still in place.
I reached down and grabbed my bag, a feat of balance and strength that almost did me in.
Hefting the bag, and doing my best to ignore the scream of my shoulder, I started forward after Arsch.
"Once they swarm, they won't stop for at least a few days," he said.
Apparently, and I had no idea about this, crickets eat everything, including other crickets. I always thought they just ate plants, but apparently, they eat other insects too. Also another interesting fact, a group of crickets is called an orchestra.
I heard the sound come from behind me, in the direction of the river, a thousand chirps, at least a few octaves lower than what crickets should sound like. They were coming down the chasm, and they were coming fast.
Arsch sped up his pace, and I did my best to follow him.
The sound was getting noticeably louder. As they got closer, I could make out individual noises, like the clicking of mandibles, the scraping of chiton against stone, and the horrific stridulating of a meter long insect that weighed like sixty pounds.
They were chasing us.
The noise of scratching chiton against rock intensified behind us. The acoustics of the cave amplified the noise, making it sound like a mass of crickets was right behind me.
I turned to look back but saw nothing.
"This way, My Dude!" Arsch yelled, heading down a tight passageway.
I barely fit.
"Can we hide?" I asked, nauseated and tired from a short run that should have been nothing.
"No," Arsch said, "We have to block them or outrun them!"
Based on how close the noise was getting, I realized that I could not outrun them. I had to block them somehow.
We twisted down several corridors, that terrible sound reverberating like some sort of evil timer.
After three more minutes of scurrying, where I banged up my knees, elbows, and head more than once, we finally turned into a passageway that was halfway blocked by a stalag thingy that hung from the ceiling.
I instantly threw down my ruck and began to dig into it.
"What are you doing?" Arsch gasped, obviously out of breath as well.
"Blocking!" I yelled.
I found the bandoleer containing an M18A1 Claymore Mine. Skipping all the normal checks and the protocols designed to keep me from blowing my hand off, I quickly unscrewed the fuze well and inserted the electric blasting cap.
My Expert Infantryman Badge instructors would have nogo'd me in a heartbeat, but I didn't give a shit; they weren't being chased by a horde of fucking crickets.
As the scrapes got louder, I dug in my ruck for the precious hundred mile an hour tape.
I spent at least three seconds in the dark, looking for the edge of the damn duct tape, before finally exposing enough to wrap the claymore around the top of the stalag hanging down thing.
I shouldered my ruck, ignored the pain, grabbed the bandoleer, and fed the spool of brown wire out. Thankfully the mine was new, so it wasn't the giant clusterfuck like all the blue training ones.
"Cover your ears and open your mouth!" I yelled to Arsch.
I had left my torch by the entrance, so I could see when the crickets were coming.
I grabbed the clacker and put the plug into the bottom. I pulled the wire safety bail down and stared intently at the area illuminated by my light.
A shot of adrenaline hit me, and my heart raced as I saw the first ugly bug pop into view.
It looked nothing like a cricket, except maybe the overall shape. It was a translucent bug, with large mandibles, two antennae that swayed back and forth, and two large rear legs with razor-like spikes protruding.
Ok, I guess it did look like a cricket except for the color, but the dam
n thing was three feet long and moved with surprising speed.
I slammed the top of the clacker down hard, expecting nothing until I hit the damn thing at least three times like in training. It blew immediately.
I learned from some EOD guys one of the factors to use explosives for is its cracking ability. Started with an f, like frizzance or something like that, anyway, C4, which is what is inside a Claymore, has a high cracking ability. It explodes at over eight thousand meters per second.
The hanging rock thingy stalagmite or stalactite, couldn't compete with my Claymore.
I saw the giant rock slam into the ground. I say I saw it, even though there was more than a little dust in the air because I couldn't hear it.
That's right, one hundred feet away in a cave is not enough distance to effectively mitigate the sound of a Claymore.
Both my ears felt as if they were stuffed with wax. I was effectively deaf. I laughed and smiled.
Arsch rolled over to look at me; his hearing was saved by proper hand placement.
I saw the look of confusion on his face, which just made me laugh louder.
"Are you OK, My Dude?" he asked, confusion replaced by concern.
"We're alive!" I said. I was deaf, and I knew I was speaking too loud. It's hard to regulate your voice when you can't hear yourself.
Arsch smiled, "We are indeed, My Dude."
At least that's what I thought he said. The little guy always spoke quickly, and it was hard to read his lips.
I hit my hand against the side of my head and said, "Mwop, mwop," as I tried to clear my ears. There was no use.
Arsch looked at me once again in confusion.
"I'm deaf," I said once again a little too loudly.
He nodded, and being smarter than me, slowly mouthed, "Follow me."
It didn't take long to get into hand and arm signal use again. In the infantry, we practiced light and noise discipline constantly, and eventually, it became second nature.
Arsch and I walked for several hours to get away from cricket infestation
Chapter 19
I was thankful for many things. I was thankful to be alive. I was thankful to have a guide who knew how to live in the caves. I was thankful that Cloy and Snarf were most likely safe.
Of Gods & Grunts Page 17