(AN: Well, first of all I apologize that this took so long to get out. I've started a new job and my original idea was that I would dedicate about an hour each evening and maybe Saturdays to finish up the chapter. And then, as I'm fond of saying, 'Reality Ensued'. Because my new company was a start-up, it took up pretty much all of my time, was very stressful including lots of drama and stuff that goes with a start-up.
This went on all the time throughout the week, and by the weekend all I wanted to do was binge-watch Numbers with the wife and not even touch my laptop. So, here we are, a few months later and way behind schedule. I don't even want to think about my TSWCTK fans and what they think of me. If you guys are reading this, I promise I'll post an update, shortly after this one is posted. I appreciate your patience in this regard. And without further ado, on with the show!)
(Location: Mountain pass of Æsfjålla, on the border of Arendelle and Amdalsøura, 1330 hours local time)
It was a beautiful mid-summer's day in the valley between the two mountains, the midday sun's rays reached even the bottom of the valley. The mountainsides were lush with greenery and verdant vegetation, a far cry from the harsh conditions it would be in the dead of winter, when the valley would be impassable. The two mountain peaks, called Twinsrinn in the country's ancient native language, stared down at a small convoy of military trucks was slowly snaking it's way down one of the mountainsides and into the valley. Overhead, an AH-6J 'Little Bird' gunship buzzed in a slow figure-8 holding pattern, keeping a vigilant eye ahead for any ambushes or other dangers.
Leading up the convoy of the 'Damned' was an IAV Stryker. Battered and weathered from six month's worth of sandstorms in Dubai, it was nonetheless deadly with its load-out of weapons. The turret-mounted Mk-19 grenade launcher pivoted remotely back and forth, searching for targets. Inside the heavily armored vehicle its occupants, soldiers of the 'Damned,' could be heard bantering over a radio blaring vintage country music.
(BGM: 'Oakie from Muskogee,' by Merle Haggard)
"Man, you mean to tell me you've never read 'Lone Survivor'? Sar'ent Barnes, you wanna school High Speed, or should I?"
SGT. Barrigan was at the wheel and chuckling at the expense of Lt. Perkins, shaking his head but never taking his eyes off the road. They were currently taking a narrow winding path down the mountainside, with steep 1,000 foot drop and no guard rails. A single wrong correction in the steering course would send the armored vehicle plunging to all their deaths. Meanwhile SFC Barnes responded to Barrigan's jibs with just a small grim smile, his scarred face twisting it into a grimace. The senior sergeant of Kilo Company was at the MK-19 gunner's station, scanning for threats.
"Tell me you at least read 'Generation Kill' loot," Barrigan continued, "that shit should have been mandatory readin' for any boot before they deployed to the Sandbox or the Rockpile."
2nd Lt. Perkins paused for a moment, then shrugged nonchalantly.
"Eh, didn't have time to read the book when I was in ROTC, but I watched the miniseries on HBO over spring break..."
The junior officer was wearing an upgraded coyote brown plate carrier and a spec-ops helmet with NVGs, all courtesy of Captain Pilton's 'benefactor.' Perkins wanted the armor ostensibly for the extra protection, but also because he thought the Gucci kit would make him more bad-ass. All it did was reinforce his nickname, 'High Speed'. Perkin's response just added fuel to the fire, as Barrigan burst out laughing and even Barnes chuckled.
"Man, you're hopeless, sir. Watching the miniseries instead of reading the book is like sayin' you watched the Lord of the Rings movies instead of reading the Tolkien books. It's completely different."
PFC Cooper, who was perched in one of the rear passenger seats, looked up from cleaning his Scout Tactical.
"I read the book and watched the miniseries. I liked Sgt. Brad Colbert, and the actor who played him did a good job."
He looked over Barnes.
"You know, what's 'is name who was in 'True Blood'?"
"You mean Alexander Skarsgård?"
Cooper nodded.
"Yeah, him. That guy was pretty badass."
Perkins turned to the private.
"Yeah, Colbert's callsign was Iceman, right? Didn't our battalion 1st Sergeant get his handle because he kinda looked like the actor?"
Something caught Barrigan's attention off the road, but it turned out to be nothing. He then shook his head.
"That's a negative, High Speed. 1SG Crosby got the callsign Iceman because he was a stone-cold motherfucker who formed up and led Zulu Squad."
The Stryker's final occupant was the young specialist sporting a mohawk and a red bandana, toying with his bayonet knife with an air of boredom. Finally SPC Martzen sheathed his knife and stood up, making his way to the front of the IFV and where the conversation was. He finally spoke up to Barrigan.
"Hey sarge! I never pegged you for listening to this old-school country shit?"
Barrigan's dark complexion creased into a frown.
"I grew up in Tulsa, and my old man loved Haggard and Johnny Cash. He died when I was still in boot camp, so it's all I got of him."
He turned his head slowly and deliberately, lifting his Oakley sunglasses and fixing the young soldier with a hard glare.
"Or do you think because I'm black I should be listening to rap?"
Silence fell in the Stryker's interior, and for a full two minutes there was just the rattling sound of the armored personnel carrier going over bumps and rocks, but then it was broken when Barnes burst out laughing, followed by Cooper and Barrigan. Finally Martzen, realizing the prank joined it. The sergeant continued.
"Bunny, you need to get your brain-mouth filter working again. Lissen, my old man worked construction in the summer, but in the winter months he worked the rodeo circuit in the south, actually got him a coupla belt buckles."
Barrigan chuckled.
"Hell, I'm more redneck than pretty much anyone in the Damned 33rd."
Cooper chuckled and chimed in.
"Nah sarge, you're still not as hillbilly as ol' Pri'at Gobbi."
"Hey, I liked Pete, that kid was alright..."
Their banter was interrupted by the radio crackling to life, and Miller's voice coming through the static.
"All units full stop, repeat, all units full stop! Wild Bill's got a surprise for us..."
Barrigan keyed the mic on his radio.
"Roger that, all units, full stop."
The Stryker IFV ground to a halt, followed by the two HUMVEE's that were following it. The one at the back of the column switched off its engine, and 1SG Randolph 'the Interrogator' Dossler emerged from the driver's door. The other HUMVEE sat with its engine idling, then the door opened, revealing Captain Pilton. The leader of Kilo Company was in the process of lighting a cigarette when he looked up.
"Oh, hi. We just reached the border, so I figured this was as good as any time to stop and give the troops a sit-rep."
He clicked his Zippo shut and smiled at the audience.
"You're welcome to tag along too, if you're curious."
Pilton killed the ignition and stepped out of the HUMVEE, gesturing behind him with his cigarette.
"I know it's weird to have only one guy per HUMVEE, but the boys didn't want to take turns riding in the Stryker, so I let `em all ride in it at once."
He placed the cigarette in his mouth.
"Risky? Yeah, probably. But I trust Frank's driving skills, as for me I don't trust anyone else's driving skills but my own, especially on these mountain pass roads."
Ahead, the Stryker's rear hatch opened, and the other soldiers filed out, stretching their legs and checking their weapons. Pilton nodded at Barrigan.
"Frank, you and Old Thunder set up a parameter, make sure there aren't any hostiles nearby."
He heard the soldier let out a 'Roger that' and finished his cigarette, flicking the butt away. As Pilton continued down the road he saw a small cairn of rocks. At the top of the pile was a small stone obelisk, etched with Nordic runes. The leader of the 'Damned' stared at the runes, as if reading them.
"Hmm, 'Here marks the border of the the Kingdom of Arendelle'."
He paused, ostensibly puzzled.
"Why does that sound familiar?"
Pilton gave an aside to the audience and smirked.
"Oh come on, I'm bullshitting you. Of course I know the movie. Everyone's who had a daughter under 15 has seen that flick at least a dozen times. I'm just a bit surprised, that's all."
He turned and made his way back to the vehicles.
"I mean, I was expecting something different for our first mission, that's all."
Pilton glanced at the audience again.
"Our first mission? Well, according to our mutual friend and benefactor, there is supposed to be a contact that is going to give us a mission, one that will help out this story reach its logical conclusion. In exchange for which we will receive solid intel on LTC Long's whereabouts."
He shrugged as he reached for his pack of cigarettes.
"Honestly, I don't care whose side we're on as long as it gets me closer to Long. As I said before, we had to treat with some very unsavory characters in Afghanistan and Iraq to complete our mission, and this is no different."
As he reached for his Zippo, the Damned officer continued.
"Oh real quick, there is something about me that I think I should let you know."
He clicked open his lighter and lit his cigarette whilst talking.
"As you might have inferred, there is going to be some debate about whether I'm the villain of this story or not."
He paused and took a drag from his cigarette.
"As I said, you'll just have to watch and see if I earn that title or not."
Pilton paused and exhaled smoke from his lips.
"For what it's worth I consider myself a reasonable man, not some one-dimensional monster. All I want is to see LTC Long be served justice for tearing the Damned 33rd apart. I'm not even interested in any of the Exiles under his command, to be honest with you."
He pocketed his lighter and took another drag from his cigarette.
"But even I have my berserker buttons, so to speak."
He held up three fingers of his cigarette hand.
"Three, to be precise. I can't stand liars, blackmailers, or slavers."
Pilton continued towards the Stryker.
"Now, that last one might seem a bit odd, but let me tell you, the reason is because of the sins of my father."
He stopped by Perkins, who was scanning an outcropping of rocks with his F2000 bullpup.
"...Or rather, the sins of my great-great grandfather Aloysius Beauregard Pilton. You see, being from the Antebellum South, and a wealthy land-owner, he participated in the time-honored tradition of owning slaves."
He paused.
"Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those bleeding-heart liberal fucktards that say we should be payin' reparations and shit like that, I just can't stand assholes who think that people are chattel that can be bought or sold. Mostly because I had to live with great-great-grandaddy's reputation throughout all of school and growing up."
Pilton gave a wicked smile.
"You might say it made an impression on me."
He looked up and saw 1SG Dossler approach. He turned to the audience.
"But I digress. It's time to get back on the clock."
The Interrogator saluted Pilton.
"Sir, Private Cooper reports contact, two klicks out."
Pilton returned the salute.
"Alright, Sar'ent, don't keep us in suspense. Is it a welcoming party?"
Dossler shook his head.
"Negative, it's one male."
"Hostile or armed?"
"Unsure about the first, but the contact is unarmed. He sure is going through a lot of trouble to try and approach us unseen, sir."
Pilton nodded.
"Roger that, lead the way."
He followed Dossler to where Cooper and Barrigan were taking cover behind a craggy outcropping of moss-covered rocks. Pilton crouched down and made his way towards the young private.
"What's the sitch, Coop?"
The private responded, never taking his eye off the scope of his Scout Tactical.
"Contact is still inbound, 800 meters and closing."
"Threat assessment?"
"Minimal, sir. He looks like one of those prissy, over-dressed prince types you'd find in a fairy tale, sir."
Pilton nodded and stood up, much to the alarm of the two soldiers on cover.
"Captain Pilton! Sir, you need to get down!"
The captain smiled down at Cooper.
"Why? Prince Charming is unarmed, he doesn't look like a threat, so I'm going to go and greet him."
Barrigan stood up.
"Sir, with all due respect, that is a bad idea."
Pilton turned to his adjunct, still smiling.
"Well, if you're so worried about my well-being Frank, then why not tag along?"
Barrigan glanced down at Cooper and then back to his CO, then racked a round into his combat shotgun.
"Roger that. But if Prince Charming so much as twitches, I'm turnin' his prissy cracker ass into hamburger."
The captain's smile broadened into a wicked grin.
"I'd expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from you, sar'ent."
He turned to the Interrogator.
"Dossler, get on the horn to Miller and have him scan the area to make sure this prince isn't some sort of feint or scout for a much larger attack force."
1SG Dossler saluted and made his way back to the Stryker.
"Coop, I want you to cover us and be Barrigan's backup if necessary, but nobody does shit unless I say so, got it?"
The private nodded.
"Roger that, sir!"
Pilton then turned his attention back to the figure in the distance, who by now was less than 300 meters away. At this range both Pilton and Barrigan could make out details even without the aid of a scope or binocs. Their contact was a young man, probably in his early to mid twenties, with auburn red hair and long mutton-chop sideburns. He was wearing a canvas traveling cloak over a pair of dark blue breeches and riding boots, a matching blue waistcoat and a crimson cravat. To his credit, the stranger didn't seem at all perturbed at the sight of two armed men approaching him, but rather paused and waited.
When both Pilton and Barrigan were close enough, the young man gave a florishing bow.
"Good afternoon, strangers. Welcome to Arendelle."
As he greeted them, the young man took in both of the strangers. They were dressed in what appeared to be clothes of a drab mossy green color, but upon closer inspection was actually a cloth made of of very small intricate geometric patterns in varying shades of green and brown. One was dark-skinned, obviously someone from the southern continents beyond the sea, brandishing what looked like a kammerlader rifle, but was sleek and made of some sort of dark black furniture. The other was clearly the man of rank, based off the way he carried himself. He was slightly shorter than his companion, but had piercing grey eyes and was smoking some sort of cheroot. The man smiled.
"Thanks, I always appreciate a nice welcoming committee. I am-"
He paused and gave another smile, this one not so genuine.
"I'm sorry, but I feel it would be insulting if we gave our names before you had a chance to introduce yourself."
The young man flushed slightly, whether in embarrassment or anger, but either way he recovered quickly.
"You are quite right, my apologies. I am Prince Hans, of the Southern Isles, youngest of my family name."
The stranger returned the bow.
"Captain William Pilton, commander of Kilo Company, of the Damned 33rd."
The commander of the 'Damned' glanced over.
"This is Sergeant Frank Barrigan. And it goes without saying but I wouldn't suggest any funny business, as he's got an itchy trigger finger."
Pilton then turned to Hans.
"Well, now that the introductions are out of the way, why are you here?"
Just as Hans was about to speak, the captain held up a forestalling gloved hand.
"-And before you say anything, I highly doubt you came all the way here out to the middle of nowhere just to welcome us to a kingdom that you yourself are just a visitor to."
He leaned in.
"Unless...you're here for a reason?"
Prince Hans' pulse quickened as he recalled the conversation he had with the entity in the dark red crystal. It was a long story of how he acquired it, and the prince still shuddered at the foul deeds and terrible rituals he had to perform in order to communicate with the creature residing within the crystal. But, as his benefactor revealed, it would be all worth it. The young prince would have his heart's desire, and all of his older siblings would be the jealous ones.
Suddenly, Hans remembered something the entity told him, and he reached into his pocket. It turned out to be a mistake, as the dark-skinned soldier trained his weapon onto the prince. There was a rasping click! and although he was not familiar with the weapon's functions, he knew enough to know that the weapon was now primed and ready to fire. He swallowed hard, and spoke as evenly as his nerves allowed.
"I-I am just reaching for something, something that your Captain Pilton might recognize..."
Barrigan glanced over to Pilton, who gave a slight nod. He then turned his attention back to the prince.
"Fine, but no funny shit!"
Prince Hans let out a breath, and slowly withdrew a hand from his pocket. He held something that shone in the midday sun, and approached Pilton. He handed it to the leader of the 'Damned', and stood there. Captain Pilton directed his gaze to the trinket. It was a brass disc, and upon closer inspection it turned out to be a challenge coin. On one side it had an eagle grasping an olive branch in one claw and a bunch of arrows in its others, the sigil of the United States Army. Pilton turned the challenge coin over, and on the other side was a fanged skull with the Roman numerals XXXIII, along with an inscription in Latin: Numquam Damnati Quiescenti.
Captain Pilton noticed some engraving at the bottom, and brought it closer to read it. When he was able to, the officer almost dropped the coin in shock. In small letters was engraved the phrase
"To David Long, congrats on your promotion!"
(BGM: 'The Man Comes Around' by Johnny Cash)
He pulled out his cigarette pack, unbeknownst to either the prince or his subordinate there was a slight tremor in Pilton's hands as he lit his cigarette. After taking a deep lungful of smoke, he exhaled and addressed the audience.
"Well, this is a stroke of luck."
He held up the challenge coin.
"This is LTC Long's challenge coin, given to him by the Old Man himself. And that makes sense..."
The leader of the 'Damned' turned the coin over in his hands.
"This trinket is the thing that seals the deal, a sign that he's our contact. This Prince Hans is going to lead us to Long, and will help us complete the mission."
Pilton glanced over to Barrigan and Hans, seemingly oblivious to his monologue.
"Don't need to bring the boys in on the particulars, it's on a need-to-know basis."
He turned and gave Prince Hans a real, honest-to-goodness broad smile.
"Well, Prince Hans, I hear you might have some troubles, and as it turns out my men are very adept at solving problems."
He held up the coin again and lowered his voice.
"Assuming you can help me find this coin's owner, right?"
The prince nodded, still perspiring. Pilton grinned.
"Well, that solves it."
He turned to Barrigan.
"Frank, this young man is our contact, and Kilo Company now has a mission, we're on the trail of that traitor Long."
Pilton gestured to the rest of his men.
"Get back there and tell Dossler to rally the troops and get ready to get under way."
Barrigan gave a 'Roger that' and got on his radio. As he spoke the other soldiers of Kilo company started towards their vehicles. The Stryker's engines snarled to life. Pilton nodded at the prince.
"After you, your majesty."
As Hans followed Barrigan, Pilton fell in step beside him.
"Hansie, my boy, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship..."
(24 hours earlier: in a forest in Sheffield, South Yorkshire, 1239 A.D., 0500 hours local time)
SGM Wolfe was furious. He was standing in the castle's courtyard, it was still dark, although there was a faint glow just starting to manifest itself on the horizon. The objects of the sergeant major's fury were standing in front of him. SSG Connors, SGT Torrez and PFC Gobbi were standing in formation, blinking owlishly at their senior NCO, looking hungover, or worst, still drunk. Wolfe's face creased as his frown deepened, and he finally spoke in a low, guttural voice tinged with fury and potential violence.
"You buncha fuckin' idiots..."
He directed his glare to each soldier individually, finishing with Gobbi, then continued.
"Apparently you shit-stains didn't listen closely to the safety briefing, that or else myself and Gunny Jackson weren't succinct enough."
Connors opened his mouth.
"B-but sarge-"
Wolfe turned his attention to the offending NCO.
"Did you hear a zipper unzip, Sar'ent Connors? Then shut your fuckin' mouth, I ain't done ranting!"
He glanced down, and noticed in the early morning light that the sergeant was missing parts of his uniform.
"...And where in the actual fuck are your pants?"
I-I don't know, Sar'ent Major!"
He turned to PFC Gobbi.
"Pri'at, you managed you get yourself entangled with the innkeeper's wife? You mind explainin' that to me?"
Gobbi gave a sheepish grin.
"Ah, there was a lot of alcohol involved, sarge..."
Wolfe shook his head, then turned to Torrez, who had a large shit-eating grin on his face.
"An' you, sar'ent. You got anything to say for yourself?"
SGT Torrez continued grinning.
"C'mon, sar'ent major I tried to break up the fight..."
"-the same fight you instigated...what in the hell and holy fuck did you say again?"
Torrez shrugged.
"Nothin'...I was puttin' the moves on this hot ginger chick, come to find out her boyfriend is some big-ass knight in plate armor."
He paused and glanced over to Gobbi.
"For what it's worth, the pri'at did try to get me to see reason, but...well, we were both drunk, sooo..."
Wolfe's eyes flicked over to the private, then turned their gimlet glare back to Torrez.
"And?! Don't keep me suspense, Torrez!"
The younger NCO shrugged.
"So the knight asks me in this who Shakespeare 'Forsooth, art thou accosting my beloved' or some shit like that..."
Wolfe leaned in.
"And what the fuck did you say?"
Torrez's grin broadened.
"I said 'Fuck no, I ain't tryin' to accost nobody. I'm just tryin' to play a game of hide the sausage with this hot ginger here...'"
He glanced over to Connors.
"An' the rest, well, it got kinda blurry after that."
The sergeant major let out a sigh, and took a step back.
"If it were up to me, I would re-institute the Damned 33rd's policy on public flogging."
Wolfe's attention was diverted by the high-pitched whine of their Sea Hawk's APU spooling to life. He then looked back at the three soldiers.
"But fortunately for you fucknuts, we're wheels-up at 0700 an' LTC Long wants all y'all geared up and ready by then."
He straightened up.
"Dis-missed! The lot of you get outta my sight, an' if I see any of you fuckheads so much as using the porta-shitter without permission I will personally round all of you up and turn y'all in the next Human Centipede, is that clear?"
When the three soldiers straightened up and saluted, Wolfe dismissed them. As the last of them, PFC Gobbi, scrambled up the stairs to the castle Wolfe saw movement out of the corner of his eye The old sergeant major saw who it was and immediately came to attention, saluting in the process. Lieutenant Colonel David Long, the Exile's CO, approached and returned Wolfe's salute.
"As you were, sergeant major."
SGM Wolfe relaxed, and turned his attention back to the castle. For a moment there was just the sound of birds twittering in the glow of the early morning sunlight. Finally Long spoke up.
"So, the men...will they be battle ready?"
Wolfe shrugged.
"Probably not..."
Long nodded, and glanced about the courtyard, as if looking for something. Finally the sergeant major broke the silence.
"Is there something else, sir?"
The Exiles' commander nodded.
"Sergeant Major...I'm...I'm sorry for not heeding to your advice. About the men going on leave, that is."
A small smile creased the sergeant major's lips.
"For what it's worth sir, a night of drunken debauchery didn't diminish their battle-readiness, sir. The lot of `em are as ate up as a chicken noodle hoagie, before they went on leave..."
(Meanwhile)
Inside their improvised barracks the Exiles were busy gearing up and getting ready for their next mission. SSG Connors was pulling on a fresh pair of pants, while Torrez and Gobbi were pulling on their PALS armor and gear. PFC Mayfield, dressed in his Zulu Squad armor save the helmet, goggles and balaclava, walked up to Gobbi.
"So, did ol' Big Bad Wolfe read you guys the riot act?"
Gobbi shrugged.
"Yeah, he was a bit harsh, but honestly we had it comin'."
"Speak for yourself, Romeo..."
Both privates looked up and saw SGT. Torrez. Geared up and wearing his Oakleys and boonie hat, he grinned down at Mayfield and Gobbi.
"Did Pete tell you what went down after the innkeeper got knocked the fuck out?"
Mayfield turned and saw Gobbi flushing pink.
"Awww, lookit! Pri'at Gobbi got him some!"
PFC Gobbi tried to shush Mayfield, but the damage was already done. PVT. Davis, their medic was already making his way over, followed by Lt. Bradley. Even Connors, who was busy packing his Heavy Trooper armor away into a crate. The medic spoke up.
"So Pete, I hear you had another romantic rendezvous! Won't Princess Jasmine get jelly?"
Gobbi shook his head.
"It weren't nothin' like that...I-I just passed out."
"Yeah, while the innkeeper's wife was trying to stick her tongue down yer throat, pri'at!"
The soldiers looked up at Connors.
"Hey, don't look to me for gory details, I passed the fuck out shortly before Gobbi did."
He struggled with the lid on his crate.
"Motherfucker this shit's a pain! Man, I hope ol' Whiskers is yanking our chains about this being a combat op. I really don't want to have to put this Heavy Trooper armor on again in the middle of summer."
Mayfield nodded, Gobbi's embarrassment temporarily forgotten.
"Yeah, testify. This Zulu kit's hotter than hell now, an' it's not even full daylight out."
He looked down at a crate that was already packed.
"Honestly, what in the actual fuck is the old goat thinking? Chocolate bars and cold weather gear? In summer?"
He held up one of the bars with it's brightly colored wrapper.
"Melkes-joko-laid? And it ain't even Hershey's it this weird Swedish shit."
"S'not Swedish, it's Norweigian..."
The soldiers looked up at Lt. Bradley.
"Well, loot? Got any ideas as to why we're being issued this shit?"
The young officer shook his head.
"Negative, gentlemen, that's above my pay grade."
Bradley went back to his crate and picked up an old, leather-bound tome. Torrez grinned.
"What's up with the book, El-Tee? We gotta pop-quiz tomorrow?"
Bradley shook his head.
"No, this is something Merlin gave me, it's a history of the region that we're going to. Just trying to get up to speed on the socio-political climate..."
"C'mon, El-Tee, this is a routine mission, not a book report."
Lt. Bradley looked up and saw Gunnery Sgt. Jackson walking in. He, like the rest of the 33rd, was fully armored and geared up, his desert MARPAT standing in stark contrast to the Exiles' green ACU's. Jackson nodded to the group of soldiers.
"Wheels up in ten mikes, gentlemen."
He glanced over to Lt. Bradley.
"Orders, sir?"
The lieutenant nodded.
"Alright, we're going in two trips. First round's gonna be SGM Wolfe, myself, Mayfield and Davis."
He gestured to Torrez.
"Sgt. Torrez will pilot Deadly, and bring one of our HUMVEEs for transport. The rest of Exiles will follow in the second wave, Gunny Jackson will serve as crew chief and go-between for myself and command. Questions?"
None of the soldiers spoke, so Bradley nodded.
"Alright, what Merlin said, let's keep this smooth and by the numbers. No screwups this time."
He looked over to Gobbi.
"That means no seducing the princess, go it, pri'at?"
That elicited a chuckle from the Exiles, but the private took it in stride.
"Roger that, sir!"
(3 hours later, somewhere over the North Sea)
"Shit! Man, I've never seen such a storm!"
The Sea Hawk helicopter shook violently from the turbulence and wind shears as it flew. Somewhere off the coast of England the Exiles had run into a massive storm at sea, which was originally by design. The wizard Merlin had told them he needed a storm to cover their tracks, saying that if they flew out in the open it would not be wise. When Gobbi asked why, Merlin had replied that the Enemy had spies everywhere.
The private, in spite of the violent shaking in the cabin, felt goosebumps again, wondering what sort of enemy could be so powerful that it required a typhoon for cover. He felt the craft jerk suddenly, and recalled that not only was their chopper having to navigate this storm, it had to do so carrying a two ton military truck. Fortunately the wizard had cast a spell of feather-light, but the HUMVEE was still as liability. His thoughts were interrupted as he heard SGT. Torrez's voice come through his headset.
"Alright, we're almost over this hump stand by, it's gonna be a bumpy ride."
Gunnery Sgt. Jackson glanced over his shoulder, and saw Lt. Bradley sitting closest to him. The lieutenant looked green around the gills, so Jackson decided to goad him.
"Hey, El-Tee! You alright, sir?"
Bradley shook his head and shouted over the din.
"That's a negative, gunny. I hate flying, and this turbulence is trying to dislodge my spleen."
"Oh hell sir, this little dust up? Aw hell sir, this ain't nothin'! Back down range, when my unit was stationed in Okinawa, we were flying back from an op and hit this hailstorm over the sea of Japan. Shit, that was a motherfuckin' storm, you should have seen it! The turbulence fucked everyone's shit up...Everybody was retching their guts up, hell even the pilot shot his lunch all over the windscreen, and the RTO barfed all over his radio, shorted it the fuck out! We ran out of barf bags so everybody was puking in their Kevlars an' passing it down. And it wasn't lightweight stuff either, it was that thick and chunky salsa puke! Here, wanna bite?"
Bradley almost lost his lunch, and laughter reverberated throughout the cabin, even over the storm's din. The mood among the Exiles was light, even cheerful. Little did they know, but, in spite of the wizard's precautions, they were still being watched.
Glossary:
Twinsrinn: Ancient Norse word for 'The Twins', in examining the topography of Arendelle I noticed there was a large outcropping of mountains including two peaks and decided to throw in a GOT's reference :)
Kammerlader: A breech-loading black powder rifle that was issued to the Norwegian Armed forces in the 1840's. It is notorious for being one of the few breech-loading rifles to be used by a European power when most of Western Europe was still using muzzle-loading flintlock muskets. And it's only mildly anachronistic since the events of Frozen are supposed to take place in the summer of 1839.
(AN: DUNDUNDUUUUUUNNNN! Well, for those who know who the Big Bad is it shouldn't come as a surprise. and for those of you who don't, well, I don't like ruining the surprise. For this chapter I actually had more sketched out, including getting to the actual coronation and introducing Duke Weselton to the Damned, but I figured you guys had been waiting long enough and plus it gives me something to go off for the next chapter. I hope you guys enjoy the references, I sure do ;)
Anyways, next chapter should be up by the end of this month or the first part of November. Until then!)