All The Heroes-Part Three

Posted on March 23, 2026 by jenicek

Once over the threshold, the quality of darkness shifted. While the stairway they had climbed down was only illuminated by their torches, this chamber was filled with a blackness, gooey as treacle, thick and muffling. The light from their torches only lit a small circle around them, a flickering island in this vast ocean of night.

“Which way should we go?” asked Ashe.

“Let’s find the wall and move along that,” replied Neve.

There was no way of knowing how large this chamber was, and with no landmarks to guide them, it was a challenge to get to the wall. After what felt like an age, they came to the edge. It was carved in the same manner as the walls of the stairs were, but the light was too weak to get a sense of what was carved there. Ashe thought it was likely more horrific scenes, but kept that to himself.

Soon after they had found the wall, a glint of metal could be seen to their left. They stopped and froze, not knowing if it was friend or foe. When it was clear that it was not moving, they crept towards the gleam. It was a brazier, built on a scale for a giant.

“Look at the size of this!” said Neve, “It’s enough brass to make everyone at home a caldron with enough left over for belt buckles!”

“Over here, there’s a ladder to climb up and light it,” added Ashe, his uneasiness forgotten in the thrill of discovery.

“We should try and light it,” she said.

“I’ll do it,” he replied.

Ashe wasn’t sure if this would work. It had been many years since anyone was here. But there was no harm in trying. Once at the top, he dipped his torch towards whatever was in the brazier.

WHOOM!

A blaze roared upwards. He squeezed his eyes shut, having become unused to bright light.

“Gods!” Neve cried out.

Still squinting, Ashe looked around. Lit braziers lined this enormous room. He could see that they were all linked by blackened gutters, allowing them to be all lit with a single flame. This chamber was as large as the village they both grew up in. Darkness still masked the ceiling.

Ashe climbed down, and he and Neve gazed in awe. The carvings were, as he predicted, scenes of cruelty and horror. He avoided too close a scrutiny of them. Neve was enchanted.

“We should look around,” he said, hoping to distract her.

She gave him a wide grin and nodded. As they walked across the floor, which was laid with tiles as big as windows, they came to a furrow. It looked like something extraordinarily hot had melted the ceramic like wax off a candle.

“Must be from her last battle with Kenic the Bold,” he said.

“That’s how he must have died,” she replied with a faint smile.

“The legend is they slew each other.”

“Of course.”

Hopping over the furrow, they continued on. The flames from the braziers made shadows dance across the floor and walls. It felt, at least to Ashe, like malicious spirits lurked just out of the corner of his eyes. He did not ask Neve what it felt like to her.

“What’s that?” asked Ashe, pointing to what looked like a large boulder off to their left.

It was no stone. Lying on its side was a skull the size of a small cottage. The skin was drawn tight over bone, the mouth a rictus of a smile.

“Kenic’s sword was sharp enough to cleave stone, the stories say.”

Neve reached out and stroked the face of this dead monster.

“What a waste.”

“She would’ve killed us both for being here if she were still alive,” Ashe pointed out.

Neve did not reply. She lingered a moment longer, then continued on. Ashe felt as though something cold had caressed his back. He shivered and followed her.

A distance away, he found a helmet, man sized. Picking it up, he could tell it was of excellent quality, made of a bright, blue steel. No rust marred it, even after all this time. It had a T-shaped opening so the wearer could see. The only flaw was that the leather strap to hold it in place had snapped. He excitedly showed it to Neve, who nodded but said nothing.

The reason for the broken strap became obvious. A figure in bright, blue armor was embedded in the floor, in the manner of a stone thrown into wet sand. Like the giantess’s skull, he was naught but skin and bones, though the back of his head was cracked.

“Kenic the Bold,” whispered Ashe.

“Perhaps too bold,” commented Neve.

He shot her a sharp look, but she didn’t react. In Kenic’s right hand was a sword. Not just any sword, but Lyanval, the blade of the sky, with an edge so keen that it was said that it could cut a thought in twain.

With great reverence, he knelt and took it up, murmuring a prayer to the gods of justice. It was light, much lighter than it had any right to be. Lyanavl glinted in the firelight, somehow more wholesome than this place.

“Neve! Look!” Ashe shouted, holding this spell-wrought sword aloft.

She had moved on, walking towards a massive throne. Ashe put on the helm and gripped the sword as he ran to catch up with her.

“Neve, did you see?” he said, as he caught up with her.

“I see,” she said.

Sitting on the throne was a tremendous figure, dressed in bejeweled robes, arms flung to the sides, absent only a head.

“Gods!” Ashe whispered.

“I know,” Neve replied.

The smallest jewel he could see was the size of a goose egg. It was wealth on a scale he could barely comprehend. They were set for life.

“Help me get some of these out,” he said to Neve, but she was gone.

“Neve?”

The only sound was the crackle of fire from the braziers. He looked to his left. Nothing. He called her name and tried his right. She was there. He breathed again.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“This was hers,” she said.

Neve was standing in front of a felled tree. Wait, that didn’t make sense. As he got closer, it was no tree, it was a staff. Though it must have been carved from a tree. It was gnarled and covered with mystical inscriptions. There was a sense of dread purpose to this item, though item seemed too small a word for it.

“Be careful, this feels wrong.”

She whipped around at him.

“Wrong? Please tell me how?”

Ashe stopped. Neve had always spoken her mind, much to the dismay of the townsfolk. This was not the same.

“Her staff, I don’t think you should trust it.”

“And why not, Master Ashe?”

He frowned, for them, the masters were subjects of scorn.

“Because of everything we’ve seen on the stairs and here.”

“You don’t know the whole story.”

“Let’s fill our rucksacks with jewels, we can live like royals for the rest of our days!”

“Some things are more important than wealth.”

“Like what?”

She placed her hand on the titanic staff as it writhed into a size she could hold.

“Writing your own story.”

Posted in Adventure, Fantasy, Mysterious, Short Stories, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on All The Heroes-Part Three

All The Heroes-Part Two

Posted on March 16, 2026 by jenicek

Morning was cold and grey. Outside the cave, rain continued to steadily fall. They made a modest breakfast of now even staler bread and some strips of dried deer meat.

“Well,” began Neve, “let’s get going.”

“Right,” replied Ashe.

Neve had prepared some torches for them. Pitch-soaked rags that she had liberated from the fishermen, who used them to patch their boats. With a whoosh, they ignited and brought light and some warmth to the cave. Nodding to each other, they delved deeper in.

Water dripped, echoing in this cathedral of nature. It suggested a place, long abandoned. Perhaps for good reasons. Neither friend would admit to that feeling, so they pressed onwards.

The path slowly descended, making the pale light of the entrance fade and eventually disappear. Light from their flickering torches made Ashe think of fireflies in the darkness of night.

“It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” murmured Ashe.

“Well, if Enpharah was a giantess, she’d need a lot of space,” replied Neve, in a hushed tone.

“Wait.”

They stopped.

“Listen,” whispered Ashe.

In the unknown darkness before them, a sound could be heard. A distant roar.

“Monster?” asked Neve.

“Maybe?”

Standing there, they waited to hear if it got any louder. It didn’t, nor did it quiet down. Looking at each other, their faces amber in the torchlight, they agreed to keep moving forward.

Soon, the path became steeper, and the air was cooler.

“Watch your step,” advised Neve.

“I’m being carefu-” began Ashe as he lost his footing.

His head cracked against the stone floor, and he was sliding down this slick path. He dropped his torch, so this blood-chilling descent was in pitch darkness. He thought he heard Neve call out to him, but it was difficult to hear anything with his head ringing. He tried to pray to a god, any god, but his thoughts were a jumble of terror and confusion. This was not the way he wanted to die.

Ashe felt the rock underneath him begin to vanish, he reached out to stop himself, but the slippery stone offered no purchase. Time seemed slow as he moved over the edge of this drop. Just before he was flung off into the lightless void, someone grabbed his forearm, and he slammed against a rock wall.

“HOLD ON!” yelled Neve.

Gazing upwards, he saw her face over the lip of the drop. They worked together, slowly to climb up. When he was back on solid ground, he saw she had braced herself on a low stone outcropping. It was inches next to where he had fallen. If he had been a little to the right, he would’ve shattered his legs.

“My gods, that was close,” she said.

“You saved me,” he said.

“We’re in this together.”

They sat there for a while, their hands locked. Neither wanted to let go just yet.

“I dropped my torch,” he said.

“I saw,” she said with a tired smile, “You just had to make this more exciting.”

“Things were getting a little dull.”

They laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was better than crying.

“What’s next?” Ashe asked.

Neve let go of his hand, stood, held up her torch, and looked around. Water poured into the pit before them from above.

“Over there!” said Neve.

On their left, the edge of the pit dropped off. Ashe got to his feet, and they moved cautiously towards that area. It was a step leading to more steps that encircled the pit. However, these steps were not carved for humans. They were wide and deep as they were tall, and broad enough for seven to walk abreast with room to spare.

“Steps for a giant,” Neve said, her eyes wide.

“We’re on the right path!” shouted Ashe.

There was an echo, which caused them to freeze. They did not move until after it had died down, and nothing replied. Releasing their held breath, they relaxed.

“Let’s hug the wall,” suggested Neve.

“I agree.”

Taking care, they climbed down each step. It was slow going, but they made good progress. After three complete rotations, they took a break. They still had provisions, mostly talk biscuits. Named for their ability to stimulate conversation, since they were hard and almost devoid of flavor, and people would rather chat than eat them, Ashe and Neve gnawed on these while they rested.

“Look up!” exclaimed Neve.

On the wall next to them were intricate carvings. Neve stepped back to get a better view.

“Careful,” warned Ashe, who was still not quite over his near plummet.

“Right, right,” she said distractedly.

Ashe followed her to see what was carved into the wall, but also to make sure she didn’t step off the edge. Engraved into the rock was an image of Enpharah. On this panel, she stood above a forest, wielding a jagged staff that sent blasts towards fleeing soldiers.

“I wonder,” pondered Neve, “did she carve that herself, or did she hire guild artisans to do that?”

“Maybe enslaved ones,” he answered.

“She’s beautiful.”

Ashe didn’t reply. Enpharah’s face was a rictus of savagery. She seemed to take an absolute delight in slaughter and carnage. It was as far from beauty as he could conceive.

“It’s something and no mistake,” he answered.

Neve grinned at him, and he smiled back. If she knew it was not a true smile, she said nothing. Things got slower after that. Neve was determined to see each engraving. Ashe had to convince her not to go back and see the ones they had already passed.

“We can see those when we come back,” he said.

She reluctantly agreed.

Every image was more horrifying than the last. Magic used to destroy people and cities. Slaves worshiping this enormous sorceress. The dismemberments, in particular, were intricately detailed.

Eventually, they needed to rest, climbing down these giant steps and nearly plunging into an unfathomably deep pit took it out of both of them.

“I’ll take the first watch,” said Neve, her head raised towards the newest engraving, which seemed to be of Enpharah transforming a herd of cattle into monsters.

“Sure,” said Ashe, who was weary and sore.

Despite being in the lair of one of the great villains of the Last War, he quickly found slumber. His dreams were unsettling, full of giants and dark magic. When Neve woke him, she was grinning from ear to ear.

“Good news! I was able to make you a new torch,” she said.

“That’s great!” he said, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Here you go!”

He was handed a new torch.

“Where did you find wood?”

“Oh, it’s not wood.”

Ashe examined his new torch. It was pale and rough to the touch. On the bottom, there were two knobs. Just like a…

“BONE?!”

“Calm down! I found it while you were asleep. I had more pitch and rags in a jar in my pack.”

“It’s a human bone,” he hissed.

“Do you want to go back and get a good stick?”

Ashe just stared at his oldest friend.

“Whoever this belonged to, they’re long gone. I doubt they’ll begrudge us this.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“Fine, if you’re going to be a holy man about it, I’ll take that one,” Neve said, snatched the bone torch from his hand, and gave him hers.

He nodded, but wondered if she understood.

“Okay, let’s get going,” he said.

Neve bowed and said, “As you wish, your grace.”

For that moment, everything felt normal.

They continued down, the ever-present sound of falling water reverberating around them. After the morning, if it was indeed morning, they came to a chaotic pile of irregular stones, carved with what looked like eldritch characters.

“What happened here?” asked Neve, running her hands over the runes.

“That,” replied Ashe, pointing up.

Beyond the shattered ruins was a darkened doorway. Tall enough for a giant to stride out with room to spare.

“We found it,” said Neve.

“Aye, we did.”

Torches held aloft, they slipped into the sunless unknown.

Posted in Adventure, Fantasy, Mysterious, Short Stories, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on All The Heroes-Part Two

All The Heroes-Part One

Posted on March 9, 2026 by jenicek

“All the heroes are dead,” declared Master Brakk.

Ashe frowned. That couldn’t be true.

“There are a lot of heroes,” he countered, “They can’t all be dead.”

Master Brakk laughed. It was not joyful, it felt more like a slap.

“Boy, every single one died in the Last War.”

“Sir Arganuve of the Shining Shield?”

“Slain by Dehah the Blackguard.”

“Grimstaff, from the Company of Practitioners?”

“Transformed into a fly and eaten by a frog.”

“Flamebow, the sun’s archer?”

“Doused by the Sea-Sirens.”

“The Sortilege Sages?”

Master Brakk let loose an aggrieved sigh and said, “Boy, we could sit here all day and go through the Champion’s Enchiridion and all of them will still be dead.”

“What about the villains? The Dark Warlords? The Fell Spellcasters? The Demonic High Priests and Priestesses?”

“All gone, defeated or their power broken.”

Ashe pondered this while Master Brakk scraped out his pipe and refilled it.

“The world needs heroes,” said Ashe with certainty.

“Does it?” asked Master Brakk as he filled his pipe.

“Of course it does!”

“Things are a lot less dangerous these days. Folks can go about their business without worrying about the nonsense of heroes and villains.”

“What if evil returns?” asked Ashe.

“Evil is still here, but it’s just everyday evil.”

“What does that mean?”

“People are still people, but sins haven’t disappeared. If someone shortchanges you on a sack of grain, you don’t need someone with a magic sword to ride up and fix that.”

Ashe looked at this village elder, seated on an old wooden chair, smoking his pipe, and dispensing wisdom from his porch. Or at least what he considered wisdom. Master Brakk hadn’t been farther than a few miles from this village as long as Ashe had been alive. Maybe never.

Still, being rude would bring only trouble, and not the good kind.

“Thank you, Master Brakk, may the day be fruitful,” said Ashe as he nodded towards the old man as he took his leave.

“Anytime, young one,” replied Master Brakk, “And may your nights be serene.”

Ashe was only a few steps away when Master Brakk shouted, “PUT HEROES OUT OF YOUR MIND! THEY BRING NOTHING BUT PROBLEMS!”

He winced at this undesired attention, a dozen other villagers all stared at him. None of them said anything, but their disapproval rolled over him like stink from a bog. Pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders, he proceeded to the north gate.

Neve was waiting for him there. They had been best friends since they were both small. Partially because the other children were either much older than them or, later on, younger. Mostly, they were friends because they both loved the tales of the Epoch of Heroes. She was whittling as he walked up.

“Any wisdom from the Great and Sage Brakk?” she asked as she sheathed her knife.

“Nothing useful.”

“Why do we have to call him Master?”

Ashe shrugged and said, “It’s tradition, I reckon. Sign of respect?”

“Just because you lived long enough to get grey in your hair or beard, doesn’t mean you know anything!”

“Everybody else disagrees.”

Neve burst into laughter.

“Most folks are as dumb as a rock and twice as thick.”

He kicked a stone through the gate and watched it vanish in the tall grass beyond.

“Did you ask about the cave?”

“No point. He went on and on about how there were no heroes or villains anymore.”

“He’s just going to tell you, ‘You stay out of that cave, young fellah. Nuttin’ but sorrow for those who poke their noses where they don’t belong!’”

He grinned. She did a very good impression of ‘Master’ Braak.

“Something like that.”

“I guess we’re on our own then.”

“Probably so.”

Neve picked up her rucksack and tossed Ashe his. They clasped forearms, like the heroes of old did, and set off. As they climbed the hills beyond their village, Ashe looked back at the collection of buildings with their little chimneys sending slender smoke up into the sky and thought, “When I return, everything will be different.”

While it was technically Spring, the winds chilled them as they followed the road out of the village. After an hour or so, they stopped and looked for the sign they had carved into the side of a tree. It wasn’t difficult to find, and it led them to the narrow path through the woods. The trees were tall and close together, but Ashe and Neve were on the skinny side, so it was easy, if a bit slow, to move through.

When they were halfway, the two friends sat and ate a modest meal of dark bread (slightly stale), a hunk of cheese (somewhat oily), and a wrinkled apple (which they shared).

“What do you think we’ll find?” pondered Neve.

“It’s supposed to be where the final battle between Kenic the Bold and the sorceress Enpharah took place,” said Ashe.

“Wasn’t Enpharah a giantess?”

“Giant Sorceress…” wondered Ashe.

“That must have been a mighty battle!”

They both agreed on that. There was more discussion on what might be there. Obviously, treasure. Heroes, and villains were known for carrying treasure, enchanted items, like weapons, armor, and jewelry. Maybe even a book of spells.

Setting off, their heads full of the promise of untapped glory and fortune, they made their way up the slope of the distant mountains. It took them longer than either anticipated, and the sky had grown dark as they finally reached the cave, and the growl of thunder could be heard, growing closer.

A wind could be heard groaning, deep in the cave.

“Maybe we should camp near the front,” suggested Ashe.

Neve, who was not one to back down, bit her lip and said, “Maybe you’re right. Let’s grab some wood for a fire.”

They ran back to the forest’s edge and grabbed all the fallen sticks they could find. A fat raindrop plopped on Ashe’s head. It was soon followed by more of its siblings. Both of them ran back, hunched over their precious wood, keeping it dry.

Once in the cave, they found a large stalagmite, which would give them enough cover from the storm, which now raged outside. It was a challenge to light a fire, with wind on both sides, but Neve held up her cloak, and they were able to start a small blaze. Warming their hands, they agreed to take watches in the night. Ashe went first, after losing two out of three rounds of stone, parchment, dagger.

A jagged spear of lightning stuck nearby, illuminating the cave in a way that made Ashe wonder if it might follow them in. It was the sort of thing that happened in stories.

It did not, but the possibility seemed awfully real. When he woke up Neve for her watch, she stretched, seemingly unaffected by the terrible din.

“Get some rest, big day tomorrow,” she said.

He pulled his cloak tight around him and eventually slept.

Though not well.

Posted in Adventure, Fantasy, Life, Magic, Mysterious | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on All The Heroes-Part One

The Squad-Part Fifty

Posted on March 2, 2026 by jenicek

“Two, thr-”

Sarge, Banks, and Chang emerged from the forest, surrounding Mister Famlulus and Spinelli. They were dressed as guerrilla fighters, with no insignia or rank, though heavily armed.

“My compliments on evading capture,” he said, not taking the knife away from Spinelli’s neck.

“I’m not interested in your compliments,” said Sarge.

“Just give us the tablet, and we’ll let you live,” added Banks.

“Or not,” mused Chang, “we’re fine just shooting you.”

“I’m also okay with shooting him,” added Spinelli.

Mister Famulus smiled with two-hundred proof malice.

“So you’re willing to sacrifice Private Spinelli? That seems out of character for you.”

“There are three sub-machine guns aimed at you,” observed Sarge, “I know you’re fast, but can you dodge all those bullets?”

“Spinelli here can’t.”

“It’s okay with me, Sarge. I could die happy knowing that this bastard will go straight to hell,” said Spinelli.

“I am an agent of order,” replied Mister Famulus, his wicked smile gone.

Laughter filled the clearing.

“You’re a killer,” said Sarge.

“Yes. I make no apologies for that. Each life I take maintains the peace.”

“You enjoy it too much,” stated Chang.

“And how many lives have you all taken?”

“We’re not like you,” said Banks.

“Of course you aren’t. I am singular.”

“Thank God!” exclaimed Spinelli, “More of you would be a damned nightmare.”

“You came here for the key, didn’t you?” asked Sarge.

“Did you actually bring it? That was foolish.”

“Did you bring the tablet?” inquired Chang.

Pulling it out of his coat, while still holding the knife at Spinelli’s throat, he held it up to them.

“And you called us fools?”

His predator’s grin returned, and he said, “That depends.”

“On what?” asked Banks.

“Who’s still alive.”

With uncanny speed, Mister Famulus’s knife was buried in Banks’s shoulder. Sarge and Chang open fire as he leapt behind a boulder.

“This is better,” he said.

“Why is that?” growled Sarge.

“Because none of us are meant for peace. This end was inevitable. After all, we are of the same breed.”

“No call to be rude,” said Spinelli.

Sarge, who was creeping towards the right side of the boulder, signaled to Spinelli to circle left. He nodded and picked up his own rifle on the way. Chang, meanwhile, treated Banks’s wound.

“One last chance to surrender,” said Sarge.

“You don’t want that,” replied Mister Famulus.

“I could live it,” she said.

He laughed with malignant glee as they rounded the boulder. Before either of them could fire, he flung dirt in their eyes. Spinelli was kicked in the ribs, he could feel some of them break as he fell backwards. Sarge wiped her eyes and fired through her tears.

Mister Famulus jumped on top of the boulder and said, “This is a treat. My assignments never present any sort of challenge.”

Chang, having barely dressed Banks’s shoulder, opened fire. Mister Famulus hurled a rock at Chang, knocking his gun out of his hands.

“Well, maybe not as much as I thought.”

Sarge grabbed his left boot and yanked it as hard as she could. Mister Famulus slammed down, bouncing off the stone on the forest floor. As Sarge raised her machine gun, he swept her legs, making her fall. Mister Famulus got to his feet and said, “Get up. We’re not done.”

Gazing at him, Sarge could see he was in a fighting stance, but he didn’t attack. She slowly stood up and aimed her weapon at him.

“You don’t want to do that.”

“I really do,” she said.

“Think of the pain you’ve been carrying, not just in the war, but for your entire life. You want to deal out some of that yourself, I can smell it on you. So fight me, make me pay.”

Mister Famulus grinned with blood running down his face. He licked his lips, savoring the taste. The smart move was to shoot him dead. One and done. He deserved it. He was sent here to kill them all. The prospect of it clearly delighted him.

She aimed her machine gun at his head. No chance to miss. Just squeeze the trigger, and this monster would be gone. A jumble of anger and fear seeped through Sarge, producing an overwhelming hunger to cause damage to this thing.

Spinelli, now on his feet, winced as he pointed his rifle at Mister Famulus.

“Sarge?” he asked.

Banks and Chang came around the other side. Mister Famulus was surrounded. Their weapons were raised, and they all waited for what Sarge would say.

Lowering her weapon, she said, “We’re going to kill this Goddamned monster. No guns, but feel free to use knives and anything else you can lay your hands on.”

The remaining members of Echo Company exchanged glances and dropped their guns and replaced them with knives.

“Thank you all, I’m going to relish this.”

Sarge punched him right in the face. It was perhaps the most satisfying thing she had ever done. His head snapped back, but only for a split second. He grabbed her and flipped her over his shoulder to the ground. Spinelli rushed him, slashing his side, but got a sharp blow to his broken ribs, causing him to fall back.

Banks had a thick tree branch in his good hand and knocked Mister Famulus off his feet. Chang was right there, leaping with a knife, but received a kick to the knee for his troubles.

The fight continued as they moved through this bombed-out area. For every blow they landed on Mister Famulus, he hit each of them. It was difficult for Echo Compact to tell how long this brawl had gone on. Time was either slowing down or passing far too rapidly.

All of them were wounded, blood bloomed on clothing, and they had all lost whatever weapons they had at the start. Even Mister Famulus was bleeding, though infuriatingly, his breath wasn’t ragged.

“I really have to thank each of you, this has been a rare joy,” said Mister Famulus, who then spat out some blood.

“I hate to admit it, but I really enjoyed this,” said Sarge.

The other members of Echo Company had to agree.

“Sadly,” began Mister Famulus, “nothing lasts forever.”

In quick succession, he struck Banks, Chang, and Spinelli. Like rag dolls, they crumpled to the dirt.

“Let’s finish th-”

Sarge slammed him on his ear, and he staggered. She knew it was a dirty trick, but the rules of engagement were far in the rearview mirror. They fought savagely, tumbling through the burnt remains of this forest. Eventually, even Mister Famulus was gulping for air as they struggled to their feet.

“I must admit, you’re tougher than I anticipated,” he gasped.

“Happy to disappoint,” she huffed.

“As I said, it’s been a rare treat, but I have to kill you now.”

Sarge wiped a mix of soot and blood off her face and said, “You keep saying that, but I’m still here.”

Even after the beating, his speed was still astonishing. He knocked Sarge down and, with one hand, began to strangle her. Slowly, he compressed her windpipe. She tried to pry his hand off, but he slapped it away, as you might do to a grabby child.

“It’s over,” he whispered.

As her eyesight was fading, her right hand felt something. It was rough and jagged. With the last of her strength, she grabbed it and thrust towards his face as it evaporated to grey.

Release.

She coughed and wheezed till she could draw breath again. The desire to sleep plucked at her sleeve, but she pushed it aside. Next to her was Mister Famulus, a sharp, burnt shard of wood protruding from his eye. For a split second, she thought he might come back to life, like a slasher from some old horror film.

She poked him. He did not lurch back to life. Satisfied he was gone, Sarge rummaged through his coat and pulled out the tablet. Miraculously, it was unharmed, though there was some blood on it. She tried to stand, but wounds and exhaustion made that impossible. So she crawled back to where the rest of Echo Company was. It took much longer than she wanted.

Each one of them was still breathing, though none moved or reacted to her. All of them needed real medical care, and that might as well be on the moon. She leaned against a rock and spat out blood. Not good.

“Let’s see what this was all about,” she said to herself as she pulled the key out.

Running her hands over the tablet, it was apparent that it still didn’t have a keyhole. She laughed out loud.

“Perfect!” she said between wet breaths.

Sarge let the key fall on the tablet. It clinked, metal on metal, for a heartbeat, then was absorbed into it.

“That’s weird,” she thought as she closed her eyes.

“Please, state your name,” said a mellifluous voice.

“Are you an angel?” she murmured, her eyes still shut.

“Please, state your name,” the voice repeated.

“Sarge.”

“Name ‘Sarge,’ accepted. What can I do for you?”

She reluctantly opened her eyes. On top of the tablet was a glowing face, vaguely feminine, smiling at her.

“Again, are you an angel?”

“I am not.”

They stared at each other for a beat.

“Then what the hell are you?”

“I am the Centralized Arcadian Hub, or CAH. Though feel free to alter my designation. How can I help you today?”

“Can you heal my men and me?”

“I am not designed as a medical aid.”

“Then what good are you?” sniped Sarge, who had hoped the afterlife might be easier.

“Do you wish to request medical aid?”

“Can you do that?”

“Yes, that is one of my functions.”

Sarge stared at this luminous head.

“Are you doing it?”

“Do you wish to request medical aid?” the head repeated.

“Holy hell YES!” she shouted.

“Requesting medical aid. Medical aid inbound.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” muttered Sarge.

“While you wait, do you have any other requests?”

“Can you fix the world?”

“I do not understand your request. Please rephrase for clarity.”

“I feel like I’m gonna vomit,” she said.

“A likely symptom of blood loss. Please be patient, medical aid is on its way. Is there any other requests I can fulfill while you wait?”

Sarge turned and retched to the side. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she replied, “I’ll bite, what can you do?”

“I can access all of the resources of Arcadia.”

“What does that mean? Food, power, resources, information?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“All of those and many others. Would you like a list?”

“Could you turn off all the power in Acadia?”

“Yes, though I must warn you that the loss of human life would be an extinction-level event. Do you wish me to proceed?”

“No!”

“Understood. Do you have any other requests?”

“Why me?”

“Because you activated me. I was created as a contingency when leadership has failed.”

“So you’re saying I’m the new leader of Arcadia?”

“That is correct. Do you have any other requests?”

“Oh yeah. I have some ideas.

The sounds of approaching people could be heard.

“Medical aid is almost here. Do you have any other requests?”

“How much food does Arcadia use versus what it has stored?”

Medics arrived and began stabilizing Echo Company. Sarge was questioned, ‘How many fingers am I holding up?, “Are you experiencing these symptoms?’ and so on.

“Arcadia currently has sufficient food stores for a population of ten million times the current inhabitants. Do you have any other requests?”

Sarge smiled and said, “So many. Let’s get to work.”

THE END

Posted in Adventure, Mysterious, Science Fiction, War | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on The Squad-Part Fifty

News of the Good and Bad Variety

Posted on February 23, 2026 by jenicek

Hello, constant readers. I must apologize to you all because I will be a bit late with the next chapter of The Squad. Last week, I got hit with a medical issue, which left me with less time to write than I needed. The details are unimportant, except to me, of course, and I will not share them here.

However, the news is good. I got the care I needed, and am on the mend. I’m feeling much better, doing all the proper follow-ups, and so on. So please, no worries on my account.

Since tomorrow is going to be a blizzard here on the East Coast, I shall have the time to finish my weekly installment.

Thank you for your patience, and listen to your doctor.

Leo Byrne Jenicek

Posted in Announcements, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on News of the Good and Bad Variety

The Squad-Part Forty-Nine

Posted on February 16, 2026 by jenicek

A crow sat on the remains of a stone arch and regarded them suspiciously. Dark clouds had been gathering since early morning, and the rumble of thunder grew closer. As they moved through the bombed-out remains of this nameless village, Spinelli had the uneasy sensation of being watched.

“We should find some shelter, it’ll rain soon,” he said.

“No, we press on.”

Spinelli stopped and looked at Mister Famulus.

“Have you ever dug dirt in the rain?”

“No.”

“Well, I have, and you know what? It keeps filling up with water and dirt, which is mud, in case you were wondering, which means you’re just moving mud around.”

Just then, a raindrop darkened a jagged stone poking out of a pile of debris. More followed, and the barrage of water began.

He stared at Spinelli for a beat and said, “Very well. Shelter for now.”

They ran to a nearby, mostly intact building. It had been a men’s clothing shop, though most of the wares were gone. Looted when the Eastern Troopers moved through. It was dirty but dry.

While waiting for the weather to clear up, they ate some MREs they had acquired from the several Eastern patrols they had encountered. Those poor souls were beyond the need for nourishment. As they ate, Spinelli smiled, thinking about how Ramirez wouldn’t touch these, claiming they were poisoned, but found his appetite diminished after that. Putting down his fork, he looked at Mister Famulus.

“Why do you guys like this?”

“You need to be more specific.”

“The war, why do you enjoy watching people die for nothing?”

“Your fellow soldiers don’t believe that it’s for nothing.”

“But it’s a lie, and that’s not what I asked you. Why do Arcadians enjoy it?”

“Would you rather be happy than sad?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a simple question. Happy or sad?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Answer please.”

“Happy, of course!” shouted Spinelli, “What lunatic wants to be sad?”

“Would you want to be happy all the time?”

“Sure!” Spinelli said.

“Really?”

He paused and thought.

“Eternal joy, no suffering or grief. Every desire fulfilled.”

“That sounds… boring.”

“Exactly.”

An unpleasant notion sidled into his thoughts.

“We suffer for them.”

“It keeps the peace.”

“Millions have died. Just so these spoiled brats can have something to feel sad about. But, you know, not too sad.”

“It’s more complex than that, but essentially.”

“You think that’s fair?”

“You should understand that life is inherently unfair.”

“Unless you’re an Arcadian.”

Mister Famulus just shrugged. Spinelli grabbed his rifle and aimed it at this heartless monster.

“All of you deserve to die!” he yelled.

Mister Famulus did not move, only calmly replied, “Maybe. But you can’t kill everyone, and you won’t kill me.”

“Maybe I can’t kill them all, but starting with you would be pretty satisfying.”

“Even if you did. The best-case scenario would be your capture by the Eastern forces. Which would be unpleasant for you. Someone would be sent to this area, and the key would be found. Your arrangement with the Director would be voided, and the future of the remaining members of Echo Company would be uncertain.”

Spinelli grimaced.

“But take your shot. Maybe I’m wrong,” he said with a smirk.

It would be easy. Just squeeze the trigger. No. He had to see this through and lowered the rifle. Mister Famulus began to eat his MRE again. Spinelli ate as well, though it tasted of nothing. They sat there, the rain battering the windows and roof, waiting for it to let up.

After a few hours, Spinelli lay down and slept. He woke up to a crack of lightning and thunder, illuminating Mister Famulus. The killer sat in the same place, completely still, as if he were lying in wait. When he was a kid, Spinelli had gone to a zoo where they had a tiger in a cage. Even though it was imprisoned, he remembered looking into those golden eyes and thinking that it would stalk and hunt him, given the chance. Pushing down his impulse to flee, he eventually drifted off to an uneasy slumber.

“Time to go.”

Opening his eyes, he saw that the storm was over and morning light filled the ransacked shop. He gathered his things, and they set off through this village. With the sun up, it looked more hospitable. Greenery was sprouting amongst the shattered stonework, a springtime rebellion in defiance of war.

As buildings and their ruins became fewer, they found themselves on a north-east road. About a mile later, Spinelli said, “We need to go east from here.”

“After you.”

It was slow going through the forest, the massive evergreens made a labyrinth. They had to stop periodically to adjust their path. No birds sang, and they saw no animals. It felt as though nature was holding its breath.

“How close are we?” asked Mister Famulus.

“Close, it should be a half a klick to the east.”

“Should be?”

“Who are you, the grammar squad?” said Spinelli, “You know what I meant.”

“I believe I do.”

Past a line of looming fir trees, they climbed up a steep incline. They came to an area with shattered trees and craters. A faint scent of burnt wood lingered.

“This is where your Captain Pentagast tried to kill us. Well, one of the places,” said Spinelli.

“She was sloppy.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“Where is the key?”

“Buried.”

They stood there for a beat.

“Where?”

“This way,” said Spinelli as he moved deeper into the wrecked woodland.

Counting his footsteps, he stopped between a blackened boulder and the ragged remains of a tree trunk.

“Here.”

“Start digging,” said Mister Famulus.

“Right,” said Spinelli as he took out a shovel, “Don’t suppose you care to lend a hand?”

“You suppose correctly.”

With a sigh, he got to work. The ground was hard and rocky. Almost immediately, he was sweating. He took off his wool Trooper coat and continued. After the hole was waist-deep, Mister Famulus spoke.

“You can tell them to come out.”

Wiping his brow, Spinelli answered, “What are you talking about?”

“There are three people watching us. As ambushes go, not very sophisticated.”

“Do you think I came all this way to trap you?”

“I think you’ve wasted enough of my time.”

“It’s just you and me out here.”

Mister Famulus threw a knife, cutting Spinelli’s cheek and embedding it deep in the jagged stump behind him.

“The next one goes through his throat,” said Mister Famulus loudly, “And to show that I’m not playing games.”

He leapt towards Spinelli, holding another knife at his neck.

“You have till the count of three.”

Posted in Adventure, Science Fiction, War, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on The Squad-Part Forty-Nine

The Squad-Part Forty-Eight

Posted on February 9, 2026 by jenicek

“Rank has its privileges,” thought Spinelli.

After an hour, they came to a dirt road and followed that for the rest of the morning. The only conversation was related to whether they were going in the right direction. Which, as far as Spinelli was concerned, was a-ok with him. His traveling companion didn’t seem to be one for casual conversation. He also suspected that all his stories would be about killing.

At noon, a jeep drove towards them and stopped when Mister Famulus waved them down. The driver was a second Lieutenant with a fresh uniform and a matching face. He saluted when he saw the oak leaves.

“Morning, Major. Can I offer you and your man a lift?”

“I need your jeep, Lieutenant,” stated Mister Famulus.

“Sir?” he replied.

“Was I unclear, Lieutenant?”

He paused, as if he was waiting for a ‘just kidding.’ It did not.

“Sir, I have orders to rendezvous with my Company-”

“Do you know the penalty for refusing a superior officer’s order in wartime?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

They stared at each other for a beat.

“Get out of the jeep and start marching! Double time!”

The Lieutenant leapt out of the jeep, nearly tripping over himself doing so. Spinelli and Mister Famulus watched as the green officer took off down the road.

“You drive, I’ll navigate.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” said Spinelli with a salute.

While it was springtime, the sky was a robin’s egg blue, and everything was in bloom, there was a mood of anxiety, at least for Spinelli. If Mister Famulus felt anything other than grim annoyance, it was impossible to tell.

By nightfall, Spinelli suggested they make camp.

“If you’re tired, I’ll drive.”

“The key isn’t going anywhere.”

“Stop, and I’ll take over.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

Sitting in the passenger’s seat, Spinelli found himself drifting off. His dreams were a jumble of agitation and an unavoidable sense that something terrible was about to leap out at him.

“Wake up.”

Spinelli opened his eyes to see that they were on a forest road. There were lights ahead and the sound of marching boots. A utility vehicle pulled up next to them and stopped. These were the Allied Gallic Legion. The officer, a captain by her insignia, saluted and spoke in her native tongue.

“What is she saying?” asked Mister Famulus.

“Please excuse the Major, Captain. He doesn’t speak your language,” replied Spinelli.

“How fortunate for him that you do,” said the captain, “Please inform him that a full brigade of Eastern Troopers have taken the city of St. Arsoix. We have been ordered to fall back.”

“The major wishes to know how many Eastern Troopers are ahead?”

The captain laughed and replied, “It feels like all of them, but it’s likely two thousand. You are welcome to join us. When we make camp, you can radio your superiors for new orders.”

Mister Famulus shook his head and said, “Tell her we need to get past her men, have her order them to the side.”

“Is he a fool or does he love death?” the captain asked of Spinelli.

“It is difficult to say,” he answered, “But we have our orders.”

“I will wish you good luck then,” said the captain with a rueful smile.

She then stood up and shouted orders for her men to make room for the jeep to pass on the right. The Legionnaires did so, with a resigned weariness.

“If you change your minds, please follow our tracks,” she said with a salute as she drove off.

They quickly passed the Gallic Legionnaires and then were alone once more.

“Was she suspicious?” asked Mister Famulus.

“Only of why we seemed to eager to die.”

“They shouldn’t have retreated.”

“What makes you say that?”

“They showed weakness to the enemy.”

“They showed common sense. They were outnumbered ten to one.”

“If entrenched, the losses would be manageable.”

Spinelli stared at him. Light was low, just the flashlight he was using to read the map, but Mister Famulus’s face and compassion were unacquainted.

“That’s cold.”

“Practical.”

“A good officer tries to keep their soldiers from being killed pointlessly.”

“Don’t fret. I still need you alive. “

It’s the still part, thought Spinelli, that makes me nervous.

They came to three-way junction and stopped.

“Which way?” demanded Mister Famulus.

Spinelli looked at the map.

“Straight will bring us right into the heart of St. Arsoix, so that’s out. South will give us a wide loop around the city, but it will take longer. North is closer to the city, but it will cut time off our trip. It’s more likely to have patrols. I’d suggest south.”

“We go north.”

“Excuse me?”

Mister Famulus turned and regarded Spinelli with a baleful glower.

“There are two ways of getting through enemy-held territory. One, have more people, more guns, artillery, and if you’re lucky, air support. Two, be sneaky so they don’t know you’re here. Since I don’t see a regiment following behind us, option two is the smart choice.”

“I can handle any patrols. By the time they go missing, we’ll be long gone.”

Spinelli pinched the bridge of his nose before responding.

“You are one scary piece of work, I’ll give you that. But Eastern Troopers, don’t underestimate them. They’re tough.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

Spinelli shrugged.

“Okay then, lead on, tough guy.”

They turned left onto the north road. Any tiredness that Spinelli felt was wiped clean by their heedless plunge towards danger. It was different from when Sarge ordered Echo Company into peril. He knew he could rely on his squad mates and Sarge to do their jobs, and everyone had each other’s backs. There was a better than even chance that Mister Famulus would shoot him in the back after they got the key.

After about a half hour, the skies above the trees began to lighten. Spinelli kept looking for enemy activity, but the low light and morning mist worked against him.

They turned around a bend and heard, “Stoy!”

From the woods on both sides, four Eastern Troopers appeared, guns aimed at them. The man in charge, probably a non-com, shouted at them.

“What are they saying?” asked Mister Famulus with a baffling calm.

“They said we are now prisoners of war and we’re ordered to get out of the jeep, put our hands on our heads, and kneel.”

“I see.”

“We should do that.”

Each of them got out of the jeep. Spinelli put his hands on his helmet when her heard a stomach-churning snap. The Troopers in front of him looked with horror. Then the bullets began to fly. Spinelli threw himself to the ground and reached for his sidearm. One of the Troopers fell dead next to him, and the other began to run back into the woods.

Mister Famulus ran after him. No. Running implies effort. He sprang at him and knocked him flat to the forest floor. With a gesture as quick as a thought, he slit the Trooper’s throat.

Standing, Spinelli saw the others, all dead. This wasn’t a fight, it was a slaughter. Each of the Trooper’s bodies were twisted like pretzels. Despite having avoided church for most of his adult life, he unconsciously crossed himself. Something hit him in the chest, and he jumped backward, landing in the jeep.

“Put that on,” said Mister Famulus.

It was an Eastern Trooper’s uniform.

“This should help us blend in.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. But his casual brutality and preternatural speed and strength made him seem like he was built, not born. With his hands shaking, Spinelli changed into the enemy uniform. Mister Famulus moved the bodies off into the trees and collected their weapons.

“Do you want to drive?” he asked Spinelli.

Hands shaking, he whispered, “No, thank you.”

With that, they drove off. Spinelli could not stop thinking about how Mister Famulus moved, it was familiar. He knew some tough guys in the army, but that wasn’t it. Somewhere else. Then a chill hit him, in defiance of the warmth of the spring morning.

The figure that they all fought when looking for Ramirez. They moved the same way. He hoped it was him.

“God help us if there are more,” he thought.

Posted in Adventure, Mysterious, Science Fiction, War, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on The Squad-Part Forty-Eight

The Squad-Part Forty-Seven

Posted on February 2, 2026 by jenicek

“This is good hooch,” thought Spinelli as he sipped.

The Director sat in her armchair and stared at him.

“You had something to tell me,” she stated.

“I do,” he said, savoring his drink.

“Private Spinelli, I’ve agreed to this meeting based on your assertion that you have valuable information to share.”

“Yep.”

“Let me speak directly, either start sharing or you will regret wasting my extraordinarily valuable time.’

Mister Famulus stood perfectly still behind the Director but seemed ready to inflict pain.

“Right,” he said, putting down his glass, “I know where the key is.”

“I see. So why wait to share this?”

“Out of loyalty. To Sarge.”

She regarded him the way the nuns at St. Anthony’s did. Presumed guilty.

“Why change your allegiance?”

“Because she and Ramirez are dead,” he said, downing the rest of his drink.

“Not M.I.A.?”

He sighed and looked at his boots.

“I really wanted to believe they were somewhere, hurt maybe, but still…”

He could hear his glass being refilled.

“They were both valiant soldiers,” said the Director in a compassionate tone.

Spinelli looked up. She held her own glass up.

“To absent friends,” she said.

“To absent friends,” he repeated.

They both drank. Mister Famulus remained silent.

“So, where is the key?”

“Slow down. I have terms,” he said.

She leaned back and said, “By all means, go on.”

“First, Banks, Chang, and me, nothing happens to us. We don’t end up, M.I.A., if you get my meaning.”

“I can assure you-”

“Lady, don’t spit on my head and tell me it’s raining.”

She laughed at that and replied, “Fair enough.”

“Second, the others can never know about this.”

A smile played across her face.

“They don’t know you’re here.”

“No, and they won’t.”

“Why not?” she mused.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“On the contrary, it matters a great deal. All of Echo Company has been a united front. All of you lied right to my face at that dinner, and rather convincingly, I might add. If I didn’t know better, and I do, I might’ve been fooled.

“So I ask you again. Why can’t your companions know what you’re doing?”

Spinelli closed his eyes and quietly said, “They still believe Sarge and Ramirez are alive. That there’s a way to win this… Whatever this is. I just want to make sure they can live long, happy lives. There are only three of us left.”

“Even if it’s a lie?”

“My whole life is a lie. Where I grew up, everything I was taught, that Goddamned war. So yeah, lying and I are old friends.”

“Then,” she said, holding out her hand, “it seems we have a deal. Is a handshake sufficient?”

“Not even close, but it’ll have to do,” he said, grasping her hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

“So, where is the key?”

“Safe.”

“That’s not a location.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not up here. I guess you already know that, because if it was, we wouldn’t be having this little chit chat.”

“Back in the war then.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Tapping the coffee table between them, the wood transformed into a glowing map, with troop positions marked.

“Let’s zero in on the location,” she said.

“No, no, no. Not like this.”

“You’re pressing your luck, Private.”

“It’s not buried in someone’s garden.”

“If I wanted to play games, I’d take out my chess set.”

“Send me down, and I’ll get it.”

“I’ll send a squad of Expendables with you. Just for your safety.”

“Who is expendable? It better not be me.”

“Not at all. I believe you encountered them back in the war.”

“Are those the jokers with bombs in their chests?”

“They have their uses.”

“They have no training, they’re more likely to kill themselves and me than be of any real help.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Mr. Famulus, you can accompany Private Spinelli to the hiding place.”

Looking at this predator, Spinelli asked, “What do you say, chuckles? Up for a road trip?”

Mister Famulus just looked at him with eyes absent of empathy.
“He possesses many sterling qualities, but a sense of humor isn’t one of them. Isn’t that right?”

“It’s a distraction,” he stated.

“Okay, I get it,” said Spinelli, the hairs on the back of his neck at attention.

“I’m delighted we could come to an accord. You two can leave immediately.”

“Tomorrow morning,” said Spinelli, “If I just disappear, the others will be suspicious.”

Tapping her chin, she said, “Agreed. Get a good night’s sleep.”

“Bring the tablet,” Spinelli added.

“Why?” The Director gave him a look that made his stomach flip-flop.

“So you’ll know I’m telling the truth. Do you think I can overpower this guy?”

With a shrug, she said, “Very well.”

“Aren’t you going to tell him to kill me if I try any funny business?”

She smiled at him.

“Right,” Spinelli said.

“Mister Famulus, please see our guest out.”

Spinelli stood and finished his drink.

“I can find my own way back. Don’t want to be seen collaborating.”

“As you wish.”

Mister Famulus pulled a card from his inside pocket and handed it to Spinelli.

“Be at these coordinates at six A.M.”

“Got it.”

Placing a large hand on Spinelli’s shoulder, he leaned in and said, “Tardiness will not be tolerated.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

On the elevator, Spinelli broke out in cold sweat. This had to work, otherwise…

When he met up with Banks and Chang, they asked, “Did you have a productive day?”

“Very!” he said with a smile, “I met a charming brunette. We’re taking a little trip tomorrow. Did you know they have a beach resort up here?”

“You do all right for yourself,” said Banks.

He shrugged.

“How long will you be gone?” asked Chang.

“A few days at least. Have some beers for me while I’m gone.”

Closing his notebook, Banks said, “Not much we can do right now. You might as well have some fun.”

“Thanks, Corporal!”

They sat and talked for a while longer, then each returned to their own quarters. Spinelli slept very badly. The risk of this loomed over him. But he made his choice.

Getting up earlier than he had to, he showered and ordered pancakes for breakfast. He only ate a quarter of them, but drank several cups of coffee. Looking at his watch, he headed out.

When he reached the rendezvous point, it was a small corridor off the main drag. Spinelli tried to ignore the thought that it was a perfect place to murder someone. After a few minutes of waiting, he heard a voice behind him.

“Time to go.”

Spinelli spun around and saw Mister Famulus standing in a darkened doorway. There had been no doorway before.

“Sweet Jesus! You need to wear a bell!”
Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he swore that the faintest of smiles creased that immobile face.

“Follow me.”

Stepping over the threshold, the door closed behind him with a hiss. Mister Famulus was dressed in fatigues with a gold oak leaf on the collar.

“Major, huh?”

“It will facilitate things.”

They passed into another room filled with lockers. Opening up one of them, Mister Famulus removed a rifle and handed it to Spinelli. It was real. It was also loaded.

“And I didn’t get you anything!”

“An unarmed soldier is conspicuous. We need to blend in.”

It occurred to Spinelli that Mister Famulus didn’t consider him a threat in any way, shape, or form. A little insulting but true.

In the next room, there was a large map on one wall and what looked like jet-fighter seats on the opposite side.

“Where is the key?”

“We need to come out somewhere uninhabited,” said Spinelli while studying the map.

“Why?”

“Because if we come out in a base, no matter what papers you might have, there will be questions. Which, depending on the answers, might end with bullets.”

“Pick an area nearest to the key.”

“It’s near the eastern front. North of Bergwitten.”

He looked at the map, then said, “Sit in the chair.”

Spinelli did so. Mister Famulus strapped him in, which was concerning.

“What’s the deal?”

“It’s for your safety.”

He was not joking. After they both secured, the bottom dropped out of the world. It probably didn’t last that long, but it felt like being on a roller-coaster with almost all down parts. After some stomach-lurching twists and turns, it finally stopped.

Looking at his dangerous companion, he seemed to be wholly unaffected by the ordeal. Spinelli, on the other hand, shakily released his straps, stumbled out into what looked like a shelled-out medieval building, and expelled his breakfast.

Mister Famulus stood next to him and asked, “Are you done?”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Spinelli said, “Yeah, nothing left.”

“Then on your feet.”

They exited and saw a field of wildflowers, bright blue and yellow. A warm breeze stroked their faces. Spinelli smiled.

Taking out a paper map and compass, Mister Famulus asked, “Which way?”

Studying the map, Spinelli replied, “Northeast. We should hit a road in about three clicks.”

Mister Famulus gestured for Spinelli to take the lead, which also meant he was in the line of fire. Leading from the rear, real officer material.

He hitched up his rucksack and began to march.

Posted in Adventure, Science Fiction, War, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on The Squad-Part Forty-Seven

The Squad-Part Forty-Six

Posted on January 26, 2026 by jenicek

Banks, Spinelli, and Chang sat alone in the massive dining room. The table was set with gleaming silver cutlery, crystal water glasses, and a pristine, dark blue tablecloth. All other tables had been cleared except for theirs.

“I’m glad we wore our dress uniforms,” said Spinelli, “I’d hate to think we’d look out of place.”

Chang looked out the enormous window at the Earth, slowly spinning outside, and observed, “If we were dressed in golden robes and diamond-encrusted crowns, we’d still be underdressed.”

“Listen, we need to keep our heads on straight,” said Banks as he brushed imaginary dust off his own jacket, “Speak carefully.”

“We know, Corporal,” said Spinelli.

“Not sure why we were invited for this fancy dinner,” wondered Chang.

“Whatever it is, it’s not for our benefit,” answered Banks.

“Hey, we’ll be okay,” offered Spinelli.

“We’re Echo Company,” said Chang.

Banks smiled tightly and nodded.

“Apologies, gentlemen,” said the Director as she entered the dining room, shadowed by Mister Famulus.

They all stood at attention at the sound of her voice, more from habit than from respect.

“I thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Long overdue. Please sit.”

No one sat till the Director did.

“Are you hungry? My chef has prepared a succulent meal for us.”

“Very kind, Madam Director,” said Banks.

“So formal! I’d hoped we could get to know each other better,” said the Director with a smile.

“Why?” asked Spinelli.

Banks frowned, but the Director seemed unperturbed.

“You are the heroes of Echo Company, it’s long overdue.”

Memories of absent friends settled over the three remaining members.

“I’m sorry, this must be a difficult time for you all,” she said.

“There was no body,” murmured Chang.

“The inner working of Arcadia can be dangerous, even to someone as brave and capable as your Sergeant.”

“I’m requesting clearance to continue the search for her and Ramirez,” said Banks.

“I assure you, every resource has been deployed towards finding them.”

Before they could reply, a neatly dressed sommelier appeared at their table with a bottle of wine.

“Director, are you and your guests ready for the first bottle?” he inquired.

“Severn, thank you! I think you will all enjoy this vintage,” said the Director, who indicated that he should pour.

Swirling the dark, red wine, the Director took a deep sniff and then sipped it. Her eyes lit up.

“Well done, Severn! An excellent choice!”

“You flatter me, my Director.”

Each of them was poured a generous glass. The Director raised her glass and asked, “Should we drink to new beginnings?”

Banks gripped his wineglass and declared, “To Echo Company!”

“To Echo Company!” said Spinelli and Chang.

“To Echo Company,” said the Director as they clinked glasses and then drank.

The wine was exceptional.

“Will you grant us leave to continue our search?” asked Banks.

“I have reservations about putting your lives in danger-” she began.

“Danger is part of our job,” interrupted Banks.

Chang and Spinelli exchanged a look.

“Of course, I understand.”

“Then we can resume the search,” he stated.

The Director looked at Banks and said, “I’m afraid that’s not advisable.”

“Didn’t you just say you understood?” Banks asked.

“I understand your desire to do so, but given the recent, unfortunate losses-”

“Our people are current M.I.A.,” said Chang, “they are not considered losses.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Any progress on the assassin who attacked us?” asked Spinelli.

“The investigation is ongoing,” answered the Director.

Each of the soldiers glanced at Mister Famulus.

“Based on what we’ve seen of your citizenry, there can’t be too many people with those sorts of skills,” observed Banks.

“It is a factor my people are taking into account.”

At that point, an appetizer was served, a pâte served with freshly baked bread. Like the wine, it was outstanding.

“You must have many, many responsibilities,” said Banks.

Tabbing the corners of her mouth, the Director responded, “Quite true.”

“So I have to ask, when you have so many things to do, why ask us to this leisurely meal?”

“I sometimes forget the way you lived before this was ruled by the whims of fate.”

Banks felt that had not changed but simply nodded.

“There is something that you can do for me,” she said.

Mister Famulus appeared table-side and produced the featureless, metal tablet that had caused so much trouble.

“We believe that there is information vital for the safety of Arcadia, including those still fighting the war, on this tablet.”

“You can’t unlock it?” asked Spinelli.

“Sadly, no.”

“If you and your people can’t open it, what do you think we can do?” asked Chang.

“When you encountered Pete Sanders, did he pass anything to you or have anything on him that might be a key?”

They all shook their heads.

“I know he seemed to be a nice guy, a little out of his depth, but let me make this clear. He was no angel, he was a dangerous man.”

Banks sighed and said, “He seemed more in danger than dangerous.”

“Your Sergeant told Captain Pentagast that she had the key. Strange, she didn’t share that with her trusted friends.”

“She said what she had to. You know, since I had been kidnapped by Captain Pentagast and her goons.”

“Pentagast overstepped her authority. I am truly sorry that you had to endure that.”

“Sarge got me out.”

Raising an eyebrow, the Director turned to Banks and Chang and asked, “She said nothing to any of you?”

“Not about a key.”

“Nope.”

“If she were found, you could ask her yourself,” Spinelli pointed out.

“Indeed. I will have to apply more resources.”

The rest of the meal was, food-wise, excellent. Even better than the food they ate daily, which they all had to agree was very, very good. More courses came out, and the Director made small talk with them. On the surface, all very amiable and casual. However, each member of Echo Company couldn’t shake the feeling that she was waiting for some moment of weakness to exploit. It felt very much how a mouse must feel when a cat is nearby.

After dessert, she excused herself and said, “We must do this again sometime.”

Once the Director and Mister Famulus had left, Echo Company made their way back to their quarters for a post-action breakdown.

“Corporal, you really cut right to the chase,” said Chang.

“Sarge would be proud,” added Spinelli.

“I hope so. At least we didn’t give her what she wanted,” Banks said.

“Because it’s not like we could give her what she wants,” lied Spinelli.

“No way to help,” prevaricated Chang.

They stayed for a while, throwing ideas around about what to do next. Whatever happened, they would never give up the key. Spinelli and Chang said good night and went back to their own rooms.

Banks sat down in a chair and scribbled some ideas down in a notebook, but found his inspiration lacking. He pulled out his bookmark, placed it at where he stopped writing, and then froze.

Something was written on the bookmark. Numbers, coordinates, and a time. Flipping through his notebook, he found what he was looking for.

Checking his watch with a big grin, Banks thought, six hours, twenty-three minutes and counting.

Posted in Adventure, Mysterious, Science Fiction, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on The Squad-Part Forty-Six

The Squad-Part Forty-Five

Posted on January 19, 2026 by jenicek

Sarge finally arrived at Élancourt. The Cathedral du Saint-Gratien sat in the center of this medieval town, being visible long before entering. Having Celia made moving through the narrow and labyrinthine streets easier. Looking up while waiting for some traffic to clear, Sarge saw a gargoyle leering down on her. In fact, there were gargoyles everywhere. It was a little unsettling, but no one else seemed to mind.

Cafes and bars were everywhere, filling the air with the scents of food and the buzz of conversations. Soldiers seemed to be the lion’s share of the customers. No one questioned her presence, she was just one more GI.

After a bit of navigation and some directions from a local, she found her way to City Hall, where the Army had set up its regional HQ. Sarge parked Celia, then entered. She presented her papers to the Corporal at the front desk and passed the contents of her courier bag to her.

Pentagast had provided real battle reports from her post. It was unlikely someone would open them beforehand, but it had to be legitimate.

“Come back later, there’s always something to be sent,” said the Corporal, who barely looked at Sarge.

“Understood.”

Another courier arrived just then, and Sarge slipped away. There was a small restaurant a few doors down from City Hall, so she parked Celia in the alley next to it and went for something to eat before her next step.

Le Château Blanc was emblazoned on the awning, and it was bustling with soldiers.

“Welcome! Welcome, Sergente!” said the maître d’ in an ebullient voice, “Are you dining alone today?”

“Yes,” she replied, looking around the crowded eatery.

“Hard to believe that a hero such as yourself is unaccompanied!”

“If you don’t have a seat-” she began.

“There is always room for our liberators! Follow me, s’il vous plaît!”

He led her to a very small table near the window. Clearly, they had crammed every available seat into this modest establishment. The table was a crate with a red and white checkered tablecloth, and the chair had three matchbooks under one leg to keep it from tipping over, but there was a tiny vase with daisies in it.

“I’ll be right back with your menu.”

“Why don’t you bring me your house specialty?”

“Ah! That would be the bœuf haché sur un petit pain avec du fromage avec des frites!” the maître d’ said, “It pairs very well, with our local malbec, if I might suggest.”

“Sounds great,” she said.

“Your waiter will be back with your wine,” he said as he moved through the crowded restaurant with a skill honed from years of service.

Sarge looked out on the square beyond the window. People were bustling about, civilians and military personnel. The possibility of being recognized weighed on her as she traveled, but people had their own problems. So far, she hadn’t crossed paths with any Arcadians. Unless they were planning something subtle. Now she was thinking like Ramirez.

“Por vous, mademoiselle.”

She jumped at the voice, knocking over the glass of Malbec. The young waiter blushed and said, “Apologies, mademoiselle. I will replace that at once.”

With a practiced movement, he cleared the glass and slipped away.

“Hey, I get it,” said a nearby soldier. She had jump wings pinned to her tunic and sergeant’s stripes on her sleeve.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

“They appreciate us, and that’s great, but they don’t know. They can’t.”

Sarge looked at her and nodded. The paratrooper returned the nod and went back to her own meal. The young waiter appeared with a new glass of wine, making sure not to startle her.

Rising up in the middle of the town square was the Cathedral du Saint-Gratien. Like the rest of this town, it was infested with gargoyles. She wasn’t superstitious, but all those grotesque figures unsettled her. She had a vague memory of being told that gargoyles were put there to ward off evil spirits. If that were true, Élancourt was the safest town in the world.

Just then, her waiter returned and placed her food in front of her. Bœuf haché sur un petit pain avec du fromage avec des frites was a cheeseburger and fries. She laughed out loud.

“Is there a problem?” asked the maître d’, who appeared as if my magic.

“Not at all, monsieur, not at all,” she said with a grin.

Taking a big bite, flavor exploded in her mouth. Savoring the perfectly seasoned and cooked burger, her eyes closed and she smiled.

“Perfect!” she said after finishing her mouthful.

“Merveilleux!” he said with a wide smile, as he and the waiter left her to enjoy her food.

Sarge forced herself to eat slowly. The fries were salty and crispy on the outside, fluffy inside. The wine paired perfectly. She never thought she’d have the best cheeseburger of her life here, but maybe it was an omen. After this last meal, she needed to head into that massive Gothic structure. The possibility of pleasant surprises was about to drop sharply once she entered the cathedral.

Sooner than she preferred, the meal was over. It was extended by a delightfully luscious, warm apple tart. She paid her bill and left. Walking across the town square, the Cathedral du Saint-Gratien loomed more imposing with each step. Like the town, it was covered with gargoyles. She thought this was a piss-poor way of welcoming parishioners.

Her mom was not much of a churchgoer, but her grandmother was. One time, her grandmother took her to church, and the preacher shouted a lot about what would happen to the wicked when they shuffled off. It was graphic and horrifying. She burst into tears and had to be taken outside. This led to a huge fight between her mom and grandmother. She never went back to church after that. Her mom told her to never be frightened by stories and to trust only what she knew was real.

Standing at the massive, open doors, Sarge took a deep breath and entered. Her footsteps were lost in the vastness of this holy place. A person would be afraid to sneeze here.

Two long rows of pews led to the altar, where a large, gilded crucifix hung. There were both townsfolk and soldiers praying. Sarge felt like an intruder. Pulling a slip of paper out of her pocket, she was about to unfold it when she heard, “Welcome and peace be with you!”

She whipped around to see an older nun, standing there, hands folded.

“Forgive me, my child. I did not mean to alarm you,” added the nun.

“Just a little jumpy, sister.”

“An occupational hazard, I imagine.”

“You could say that.”

“What can the Church do for you this day?”

“Someone recommended I see the Chapel of the Stars.”

“Ahhh! We are not supposed to have favorites, but I do find it a sanctuary for introspection.”

“I guess we can all use some of that,” said Sarge.

“Now more than ever. You will find it right off the north aisle,” she said, pointing towards the right side of the cathedral.

“Thank you, sister, have a good one.”

“May the Lord bless you this day.”

Sarge took two steps, then turned back.

“Sister, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, my child.”

“Why are there so many gargoyles all over this town?”

Smiling, the nun replied, “Today is a lovely day, but we are blessed with an abundance of rain in this region. Without them, some say we’d have floated out to sea.”

“I didn’t know nuns could be funny.”

“We are as God made us.”

“Thanks, sister.”

“You are welcome, my child.”

Sarge walked slowly to the Chapel of Stars. It was modest, compared to the main cathedral, but still impressive. A dark blue stained glass window, punctuated with gold stars, dominated the back wall. One young woman sat near the front, praying. Sarge took a seat a few rows behind her to wait. Perhaps ten minutes later, she got up, knelt in front of the altar, crossed herself, and exited.

Checking that no one else was here or coming in, Sarge moved behind the altar. The lectern was covered in a dark blue stone, with a field of stars of gold or brass. Sarge pressed the stars in the sequence that Pentagast had drilled into her. Once finished, there was a pause. Then the floor behind the lectern slid open with a hiss, and a ladder leading down was illuminated.

Sarge took one last look around and began her descent.

Posted in Adventure, Mysterious, Science Fiction, War, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on The Squad-Part Forty-Five