Chapter III

Help Always Welcome

"The most persistent sound which reverberates through men's history is the beating of war drums." ~Arthur Koestler, Janus: A Summing Up

---Outskirts of Mombassa, Kenya, British occupied airfield---

June 18th, 1944, 1431 hours (02:31 p.m)

The sounds of war filled the African air as the British Eighth Army continued about with their daily duties. The sounds of continuous yelling and shooting rang over the sands and dirt of the Kenyan earth of their region. It has been a year since these brave men, alongside the American forces, fought against General Erwin Rommel ("The Desert Fox" as the soldiers call him) and his skilled Afrika Korps all over North Africa and won victoriously even with the odds against the strong British military forces by three to one. Tanks and jeeps drove through the camps on their way to the ports just north of the airfield to be shipped to France as aid for the Allied Expeditionary Forces as they continued on through to Germany. Hurricanes, Spitfires, and Typhoons flew over the prideful soldiers, the soldiers cheering and waving as they flew off into the distance. They sold their hearts and souls into believing that the war is near it's certain end, wishing a safe return back home to England, for they have seen more than enough war then they ever wanted to see. In the midst of all of this, a tall, slender man walked his way through the camps, watching the men train and shoot their firearms at distant targets, coming closer and closer to the main command tent. Guarded by two S.A.S officers, the soldiers barred his way with their Lee-Enfield rifles, "Name and rank!" the officer on the left ordered, obviously the higher ranked officer than the man on the right. The stranger removed his officer's cap and stood at attention, "Captain Terence Wright." he responded with order. The men brought their rifles to their sides and snapped back to attention, both giving a salute, "Major General Philips is waiting for you, sir!" the man on the left added before both men removed their hands from their salute. "Carry on." the Captain ordered as he swept aside the tent's fabric and entered.

When Wright came inside, their was an average-sized, physically fit man sitting in his chair with another man, this one a bit short, standing next to him, outlining a map of Africa to the sitting man. "Captain Terence Wright, reporting as ordered, sir!" the young Captain interrupted. Both of the officers' stopped speaking to look up at the soldier who stood before them with curious eyes staring right into Wright's. The tent became silent as night, so quiet that some say the men could even hear the blood run through their veins. This moment of silence lasted an entire minute before Terence spoke again, "Is one of you Major General Philips of the British S.A.S?" the young man questioned. The shorter officer pulled out a small cigarette box and an even smaller match box, lighting one before he stuffed them back into his pocket, not saying a single word. The sitting officer was more courteous and actually replied to Wright's question, "I am him, young Captain. But I do not recall asking for a Yank Captain to report. Where is Major General Lewis?" he asked, trying his best to be calm in his voice. "I requested that I come instead and the Major General gave me the ok, sir." Wright insisted in his own defence. The tent rumbled as an MKII Spitfire flew overhead, by the sound of it, the fighter was very close to the ground which infuriated Philips the moment after in which was followed by a loud BANG on his table from his fist, spilling a cup of tea all over his hat that sat next to his pens. "Somebody tell those lads up there to be more bloody careful!" he ordered the man next to him with fury in his brown eyes. In a second, the man rushed out of the tent and headed towards the strip with his cigarette still in his mouth. The Major General gave out a frustrated groan as he tried desperately to dry off his officer's hat with a handkerchief, mumbling and groaning the whole time. Terence was starting to get impatient with this, what he called, pathetic excuse for an S.A.S officer and decided to speak up before he was completely forgotten about, "I'm here to take command of Operation Savannah effective immediately, sir!" Philips stopped all motions of his body after hearing such orders from the Captain. The man studied Wright for the longest time, quietly and carefully, as if he were Death himself looking upon a new soul ready for his time in Heaven or the fires of Hell. All was quiet yet again, save for the sounds of men and machine outside the thick walls of the green tent.

"I can't allow you to take command without the proper clearance. The blokes in America would have called me up about this change of command." the British officer explained clearly to the quiet Captain. Wright was starting to lose his patience as he heard while he looked at pictures that surrounded the tent. He saw pictures that took place in the first Great War which in ways was intriguing to him. He remembered that his father was also in the first world war years ago, inspiring him to become a soldier. Reality struck him like a brick on a watermelon when he heard the Major General shout his name, "WRIGHT!" waking him from his memories. "I have the papers with me." he replied, quickly pulling out an envelope with a very unusual postage stamp on the front and handing it over to Philips. Philips opened the envelope with precision and speed and pulled out a thick folded piece of paper that slept inside the envelope. He quickly unfolded the paper, pulled out reading glasses, and started to read sentence after sentence, paragraph after paragraph, mumble-reading at the same time. "Signed, Major General Jebadiah Lewis, Secret Tactics and Combat Department." Philips finished. He sat the paper down onto the table along with his glasses and gave a deep sigh, worrying Wright. "Secret Tactics and Combat Department? That's a real part of the U.S government?" Philips asked suspiciously. The Captain just stood there stiff as a board. He knew he wasn't allowed to inform anyone outside the U.S government, not even the basic military, about the department named, but if he didn't tell the Major General, he would not be allowed to take command of the top secret operation. He took deep breathes and tried to stay calm. "Said department is not allowed to be known to those outside the highest levels of federal security, but said department has authorized this officer's command of said operation, sir." he explained carefully as if his life was on the line, in which it was. Major General Philips laid his hands on his chest and rested back on his chair, continuing to gaze at the man before him, thinking about what he should do. Allow Captain Wright command of Operation Savannah? Or turn him away and be demoted for failing to assist England's own ally? He personally didn't trust Terence since the minute he came inside the tent, not because he was American, but because of his eagerness to basically take control of the situation, determining if the devastated squad lives or dies in this foreign country. Philips cleared his throat and exhaled deeply. Finally making up his mind, he pulled out an ink stamp, dipping it into the firm sponge of ink and pressed it onto the paper, revealing the knife of the Secret Air Service in black ink. Philips pulled out another stamp and repeated, only this time, leaving a print of the British Intelligence symbol, referencing this order as incredibly important. "Your base of operation's location can be found with the coordinates in this." Philips pulled out an envelope with the words 'TOP SECRET' over the postage stamp and handed it to Terence. "Do NOT open that until you are outside the base by half a mile. Dismissed." The Captain stood at attention and quickly saluted, followed by the Major General's salute. Wright presented an about-face and walked out of the tent with a grin on his tan face, leaving the forty-two year old British officer at his desk, whispering a prayer for the squad's safety.

---Kenya, Africa, 'The Pridelands', Pride Rock---

June 18th, 1944, 1802 hours (06:02 p.m)

A loud THUMP sounded through the little den as Peterson's knife erected from the thick exterior of the wooden log that hanged from the rock walls. "We already searched here, here, and here with no trace." Jackson explained, pointing to circled areas on a map that sat on the rock table, crossing out certain parts with a black pen. Jackson hovered his left hand over the eastern section and ran it around a triangle mark that he had made. "These plains have no decent cover for a Kraut outpost, in other words: they would be ultimately right out in the open just waiting to be fired upon." Charles lightly scratched his cheek and continued to look over the eastern part of the map. With what they have seen, the north, northwest, and western terrain hold no clues on the location of the elusive German army, even with how well the lions are with tracking. Peterson's bootsteps echoed through the little cave as he walked back and forth between the hanging log and his where Simon sat, cleaning his B.A.R without a word. Peterson had just recently taken interest in using his knife as a throwing weapon, thinking that he would look 'cool' to the lionesses, but to no avail on his part. "Well, what about the Outlands?" Shelton asked his Corporal. Jackson laid his hands on the side of the rock table and relaxed his body, allowing his torso weight to put pressure on his arms. Jackson gave out a coarse sigh, the sigh of 'bad news' to the squad's ears, "No. Simba won't allow anyone, not even us, in there. Sorry Sarge, but we need to go to Plan B." With much disappointment, Charles crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling in deep thought. His vision started to flash again as memories and visions flooded his mind like a motion picture. The next thing he knew, the air was filled with the stench of sweat and salt with a hot beam of the sun burning his flesh as the sounds of gunfire and blood-curdling screams of pain rang through his ears. "It can't be." he thought to himself. But it was. He was on the island of Guadalcanal.

(This next section contains war violence and mild gore as reference to the hellish combat of Guadalcanal. Discretion is advised to readers under the age of 14. Thank you.)

October 19th, 1942, 1221 hours (12:21 p.m)

---Guadalcanal, Three Miles South of Henderson Field, 2nd Marine Division---

Charles wanted to scream, but he couldn't, for this Hell was too horrible for such a reaction. He felt a hand grab his shoulder and was pushed viciously into a crater left by a grenade. "GET YOUR ASS DOWN, LEIUTENANT!! ARE YOU CRAZY?!" yelled the man on top of him. Charles felt another person next to him, but when he tried to see the man that saved his life above him, his eyes were caught by the sight of a dead Marine that laid next to him, looking right into his eyes. The dead man's chest was blown wide open, his ribcage in plain sight with a few of the broken bones petruding from some of the skin. For a second thereafter, Charles felt warm but wet on his chest. But Charles didn't need to look at what he was laying in, for he knew right off the bat. He himself was laying in the dead man's pool of blood. In shock at what he had seen and felt, Shelton pushed the man above him off of his back and quickly grabbed the dead Marine's M1 Garand rifle and aimed in alarm at him. In his defence and response, the Marine rose his M1A1 Carbine and aimed at Charles, finger on the trigger just ready to be pulled. When Charles recognized the mystery soldier that saved his life, he opened his mouth in amazement and shock. "It can't! Your dead!" he thought to himself, not even realizing that he was still in the middle of a goddamned battlefield. Charles lowered his rifle while the Marine, instead of lowering his Carbine, moved to the edge of the crater and started to fire at the Japanese soldiers. The man had the patch of a Staff Sergeant, now Charles definitely knew this guy! "STAFF SERGEANT EVANS?!" Charles exclaimed trying to keep his head as low as he could to avoid the incoming fire that flew over their heads. Staff Sergeant Michael Evans, Charles's second-in-command and best friend of his unit, all starting with being together at basic training at Pearl Harbor just weeks after the bombing. Shelton wanted to greet him like a friend, but there was a little problem: they were in a warzone, so he tried his best to act like the officer that he used to be. "WHAT'S THE OBJECTIVE?!" Evans yelled. Charles crawled up the side of the crater until he was in firing range of his targets, but he didn't fire. If he fired at all, his position would be given away to the snipers. As he looked around the battlefield from his new foxhole, he saw the bodies of soldiers pile up as they were ripped apart by grenades and gunfire. He saw a young soldier in a foxhole up ahead, who didn't even look eighteen, crying and screaming out of fear curled up in a ball before he was shot by a Japanese rifleman a second later. This wasn't a battle anymore for Charles, this was his personal Hell as he smelled the stink of burning flesh and death all around him. He noticed the ridge just less than half a mile from their position that housed the MG nests and snipers. Now with this knowledge back in his head, he felt in control once again of the situation. "EVANS!! GET ME A .30 UP HERE NOW!!" he ordered his friend and fellow soldier. "COVER ME!!" Evans replied. Charles shifted his postion to his left a few crawls and fired his M1. "GOLD PLATOON!! SHIFT FIRE AND SURPRESS THAT RIDGE!!" Charles ordered the men behind his position. In a single instance, all of Gold Platoon started to shower the Japanese bunker with SMG, rifle, and machine gun fire, buying Evans enough time to fall back and run to a bunker the Marines captured hours ago.

Luckily, Gold Platoon held their fire long enough for Staff Sergeant Evans to acquire and man a .30 Browning Light Machine Gun, allowing him and Gold Platoon to surpress the Japanese for an extended period of time until the 1st Armoured arrived and destroyed the machine gun nests. This allowed Charles to lead his men into the ridge bunker directly with no casualties, a miracle they all called thinking that snipers could still pick them off as they ran up the hill. The armor created a perimeter around the surrounding area, ensuring a safer clearing of the bunker. But it wasn't.

"ROOM CLEAR!" shouted a Private. Charles was doing his best not to think about his duties in the Pridelands, his squad, the royal family, his father, and especially Vitani, but he was starting to lose hope in being able to return with every Japanese soldier he killed. "Good work, Gold Platoon! One room left!" he praised. The last room was down in the deep basement that connected the bunker to an underground tunnel that the Japanese dug as a precaution against naval bombardment. A sickening smell was creeping through the metal door, filling the halls with death. "Private Jensen! Open that door! Evans! Search the rest of these rooms with your squad for documents!" Shelton ordered, trying his best not to smell the air. Evans rallied his men together and started whispering his own orders to the squad of twelve. The squad broke up seconds later, already searching drawers and cabinets without question. Thoughts about his squad in the Pridelands started to fly throughout his brain, personally wishing that they could follow orders like these men under his command. Sounds of crackling paper and breaking wood echoed over the cement walls of the damp halls in many directions. Sometimes Evans enjoyed his job a little too much when it came to breaking things which Charles joked about constantly ever since they were both little lads. Charles chuckled to himself quietly as he remembered when Evans and him got in serious trouble for 'accidently' starting a fire in their neighbors backyard with fireworks in 1926. His daydreams were interrupted when loud banging replaced the crashing and breaking sounds from before by Private Jensen's door duties, trying to kick the door free of the locks. The rest of Gold Platoon was still topside with the tanks awaiting further orders from Evans and himself, so he had to make sure that Jensen wouldn't get into trouble, but it was already too late. Just before Jensen was sure that the door would soon yield it's way open, a Japanese officer opened the door roughly into the Private's face, pushing him onto the ground. Before Charles could open fire, the soldier quickly grabbed Jensen by the collar and threw him inside the room before closing the door. Charles felt his body stiffen up completely, unable to move from the shock of the event. The only thing he could hear was the horrific screams of the Private as the officer killed him, but seconds later, all went silent. For his men, that was the scariest thing to experience; to hear death only to fall silent as a tomb. Dumbfounded and horrified by what had happened, Charles just stood and stood. He just suddenly remembered this moment the last time he witnessed this, only to be seeing it again. He felt his stomach churn and his heart beat faster as his hand made his way slowly to the door handle. For the first time in his life, he was truly afraid of what could happen next. The Japanese soldier could be waiting with a pistol aimed at the door, Jensen's body sprawled across the floor with his arms and legs removed. No, he didn't want to know anymore. He quickly twisted the handle and pushed the door gently, shouldering his M1 awaiting his enemy. He felt a wave of heat and smell fall over his body as the door opened up more and more. Charles gave a small gasp at what happened to the Private in his eyes. Jensen's body sat against the wall facing the door with a Katana stabbed into his chest, pinning the young man to the wall. Along the left wall was a line of Allied P.O.W's whom were executed by slit throats across their necks. Charles lowered his rifle slowly as he continued to stare at the bodies of the dead men in which started to make him gag a bit as the smell became intoxicating to him. Just as soon as he turned to the right walls of the room, his mind and body felt light as a leaf as his vision flashed yet again. He was going back to the Pridelands after all.

Charles started to become nauseated and weak as his vision started to fail, forcing him to fall onto the cement. He was starting to think that his own death has finally come. "Vick. Peterson. Simon. Jackson. Simba. Nala. Kiara. Kovu." he started thinking to himself as he stared into Jensen's eyes, unable to move. "Vitani." he whispered as he fell to the darkness.

--- Kenya, Africa, 'The Pridelands', Pride Rock---

June 18th, 1944, 1805 hours (06:05 p.m)

A white, blinding light seared Shelton's dark eyes that illuminated his vision from the darkness for a moment before the light disappeared. After the light was gone, he found himself in the den with his men as they were before; Jackson at the rock table, Peterson throwing his knife idiotically, and Simon being quiet as usual. He felt a stinging pain run through his brain as he slowly regained his memory of what he was doing. "What happened?" he asked to himself out loud. "You were thinking about our next orders until you said "Vitani"." Jackson answered, still looking over the map. Charles was struggling to remember him saying the lioness's name, but all he got was nothing. He felt like he was starting to suffer from amnesia only he was remembering his horrific past and not his simple life. Everyone was quiet until Peterson's knife made a loud PING when it struck the ground. "Damn it." Peterson said to himself as he started to walk to his knife, ready to throw again. "I said her name?" the dazed Sergeant asked. Jackson took his attention from the map to look at Charles with the grin of a clown on his face. "Looks like you're finally starting to come out of the closet, sir." he commented before giving a little laugh. Charles didn't reply straight away, he just gave a shrug as a sign of annoyance. After all this time, the guys never let him off with reminders of Vitani even with all the PT and scolding Charles gives them. Charles thought up a nice comeback against this attack and gave a small nod. "At least I don't cry "Dotty. Dotty." in MY sleep, Corporal." Simon and Peterson chuckled as Jackson's cheeks illuminated a reddish color. Charles got him right where he wanted him. Jackson just shook his head and pointed his finger at Shelton, eliminating the smug grin from his face and replacing it with a stern and serious look. "Keep Dotty out of this." Jackson warned. For once, he wasn't joking around. Peterson felt compelled to sheath his knife and stand in between the two men, thinking that a fight would start if it got any farther. Nobody wanted to see Charles beat Jackson to a pulp again even when Jackson deserves it. "Keep Vitani out of this then, Corporal!" responded Charles. Jackson was starting to make an advance before Peterson rested his arms on their chests and tried to push the two away from each other. "Alright, we don't need anyone going to Rafiki now do we? Now you both calm down." the young soldier intervened. Both Jackson and Charles tried their best to calm down for a period of time. "Alright! Jackson, your on 0500 recon tomorrow morning in the Eastern Plains. Peterson, 0700 at the Pridelands/Outlands border. Be extra careful. Simon, 0900 in the southwest region for three miles." Charles ordered. He waited for a minute as his men tried to collect the data that was ordered to them before he continued on. "Any traces of any German activity are reported to me immediately, no excuses! Pick your teams. Dismissed!" The men urgently left the den, still looking back at their commanding officer before they all disappeared in the sun.

As Charles was finishing the final overlay of the map, he noticed something shining in his bag that was shown through the golden sun's rays of light. He set down his ruler and walked over to the black bag and pulled out the shining object with awe and shock. The object was the Japanese Katana that was stabbed into Private Jensen that day on Guadalcanal! Charles slowly pulled the sword itself out of its sheath and swung it cautiously, feeling the weight shift from hilt to the metal blade's tip. Charles brought it upright and looked at the hilt's décor for the longest time. His memories of that day ran through his head very clearly but with skipping images almost like a dream long since past. "Charles?" a voice called behind him. Charles hurriedly placed the sword back into the leather sheath and tucked it away inside his bag. When he turned around to see who the voice belonged to, Kovu was standing near the stone table with a sense of confusion and curiosity on his face. "What was that?" the young prince asked. Charles quickly turned around and finished zipping up the bag with the sword inside. "It's nothing, just a few mapping rulers." he lied. Both Kovu and Charles knew this was by far a lie, for the rulers were on the rock table that Kovu was standing next to. Charles walked over to the table and started clearing it of the map and materials that lay on the rough surface of the rock. Kovu noticed the struggle that the young human had while quickly putting the paper and rulers away which perplexed him. "Is something wrong?" he asked. Charles ignored the prince and just continued to clean up the table with as much speed as he could muster. Truth was, Charles was always very nervous around royalty or people of higher rank and stature above him. Charles wanted to get out of there quickly as his bones shook and his heart started to beat faster and faster. "What do you need, your Highness?" he asked while he focused on his task. He was expecting Kovu to say something about Vitani or throw out an insult for being a human being, but what came out wasn't even on the young man's mind at all. "I want to join your war party." said the prince with a calm voice. Charles stopped as soon as he picked up the black pen and turned his attention to Kovu and eyed him for awhile. "And why would you want to do that?" the young Sergeant asked coldly. Kovu didn't move at all but Charles knew for a fact that the prince was indeed thinking about this matter. Possibly an answer he wanted to give that would be convincing enough. Kovu lightly pushed a small pebble aside with his paw and looked down at the rocky floor. "I feel that I should protect the pride that I will rule one day." he answered with bit of mumbling in between. Charles thought that, by how Kovu sounded and looked right now, he just wanted to join to be a hero, which was what most young men do in war, only to be killed as soon as they touch the battlefield. Shelton took the pen in his hand and gently set it in a small pouch in his vest and zipped it up. "I know what you want, Kovu, and you won't find it in a warzone. Believe me on that." Kovu's ears drooped after hearing the accusation and shifted his paws a bit for a moment. Charles continued on as he finished up the cleaning, "This is not a simple pride war, your Highness. This is a real human war. I've seen soldiers fall to the ground dead before any of us even heard the shot. Is that what you want to be called a hero for? For being shot at random from a hidden enemy?" Kovu took a deep breath and relaxed his muscles a little as Charles gave his lecture. Everyone was starting to think that Charles tried to sound like Vickers with his lectures and orders even though it was rare for Vick to give lectures on heroism and the realities of war. Kovu lately had started to take interest in fighting the German Army and most likely wished to be a hero for everyone. This didn't fool Charles at all though. "I don't want the royal family getting pissed at me because their prince got shot in the ass from a Kraut sniper." Charles finished. Kovu didn't say anything, allowing Charles to finish the cleaning and setting the mapping equipment aside. People have always thought of a battlefield of war as the prime of fame and glory, but this wasn't the case for Shelton, for he knew what war is really like: a place of death and destruction that mankind will never set aside. Kovu finally broke his silence and tried to back up his decisions, "I won't be a problem, I swear." Charles wiped away the sweat from his forehead as the African sun started to shine throughout the cave in its rotation. "If I allow you to join my platoon and fight alongside me in combat, you are to follow my orders exactly. There will be NO exceptions for you because of your title in the pride. I will not call you "Highness" or "Prince". I will refer to you by your rank or name. Is that clear?" With his request granted, Kovu gave a smile and gave Charles a nod. Charles didn't smile nor did he nod, he just gave a little salute and picked up the bag of maps and rulers, eagerly waiting for Kovu to leave before he would end up sweating his eyes out. Kovu turned away and started walking to the exit of the cave. Before he left, Kovu turned around and gave a devious grin. "You know, you should start talking to Vitani more. She needs someone to talk to." The prince gave a quiet chuckle before Charles could even respond and walked out of Shelton's sight. The Sergeant became a little irritated and picked up his own bag and started walking outside. "Maybe. Guess it can't hurt." Charles thought to himself The war for the Pridelands has just begun and he already has heavy baggage in the ranks.

Hey! Spartansoldier2 reporting! I have decided to make my chapters a bit longer to make it more 'interesting'. Hope you enjoy this chapter and hope to have you wanting more. Over and out!

-Spartansoldier2