Page 01
Author's Notes:
What happens when worlds collide? The Corvusian Army has been sent into a strange fantasy world, like the ones in the books. Drake Squad has been tasked with patrol the frontier of this fantasy world, and there encounter many things both beautiful and terrifying... How will they conduct themselves so far from home?
All characters herein are 18+ in age.
Village Maidens' Favor
It's been about a month since we walked through that freaky portal. All the swirly purple lights and mossy ancient stone had me feeling some sort of way. But now, after a month of bivouacking it in the beautiful countryside of some fantasy land called Valenholme, it feels kind of worth it.
Sarge has us setting up a patrol base for the night in the hills along our route north along the ridge of the mountains, and has been yelling at us-- Drake Squad, First Company, Third Battalion-- about priorities of work for the past half hour. A lot of the boys, me too, I guess, aren't taking it as seriously as he'd like. All this time patrolling down cobblestone roads, past folks looking like they stepped out of a Ren-Fair, or were extras in a historical documentary about medieval times took the threatening feeling out of it.
With that spirit, I'm leaning up against the trunk of something like a large oak tree as I write this, listening to the birds sing away above me. It isn't like any bird song we have at home, but it's just as Tweedle-dee-da as anything you'd hear on our side of the portal. For the past hour, I've had my rifle lying next to me, with no sense of mortal danger or need to pick it up.
When they had secretly mobilized us and the spooks told us that we were gonna go through a portal to some alien world far off from our own, I figured we'd be fighting oversized bugs or moisty-looking grey men. They had tried to talk it up and make it sound like a seven-foot-tall troll would pop out from every corner and our best chance for survival was carrying a grenade launcher. Instead, everything seems so eerily familiar. It's just like home, but it's not. It's just like some other dimension that took the flashing lights and technology out of it, and left the green and old way of things.
Even down to the people, it's much the same. Humans, who would have guessed it? The intel girls must have known, but when I stepped out of the portal and there was no shit, just fifty dudes dressed in robes and tunics looking at me, I was a bit surprised. No amount of pre-briefing could have prepared me for this fantasy land.
Of course, there was Dobbins, who was too ready for this shit. That nerd played one too many games of Castles and Cave Drakes, and he is having the time of his life right now. Every little encounter just explodes his little nerd mind. From the group of bandits we drove off the dirt road they call a highway, to the gnomes who needed help rebuilding one of their tiny houses.
Hearts and minds. That's what command says we are here for.
Now, we are on a discreet hill so as not to disturb the local populace of a small village below. People still get a little freaked when they see us. We may be red-blooded humans, but we look really different. Digital green cammies, guns, helmets, and the fact we are two heads taller than them on average, make us stand out. Strauss, our squad's comms guy, theorized it was because we had better diets back home. Drink your milk kids...
Luckily, to avoid too much fear and panic, their king had sent out a proclamation of the alliance he had with the brass back in Corvusia. The scientists get to research this eerily familiar place, while they send us corn-fed boys out to drive off bandits and win hearts and minds.
But I'll tell you what's on my heart and mind-- those village girls below. We'd seen a few of what Dobbins called "fair maidens" frolicking around, doing their chores throughout the day. They had noticed us from time to time and looked rather uneasy. Honestly, I don't blame them, some of these dudes are creepy fucks, i.e. Dobbins (What the fuck is a fair maiden?). But we would just wave and stick to our patrol base, so after a while, they had gotten used to us. But that doesn't stop us from passing those binoculars around to take a look at 'em.
Greggor, our medic, has pointed out the variety of shapes and sizes these girls come in. Something only a doc would notice, I suppose. He has an eye to admire every curve and bump that sticks out from underneath their dresses and aprons. But to me, they look like nice girls, the whole place just is a simpler time. Not like the consumerism-hell hole we are from. What do the girls at home say? Not a cell phone in sight, just people living their best life?
Maybe the "aliens" here have it right.
"Heller, you going to fucking sit there daydreaming all day or you gonna get me my sector sketch?"
The gravelly and jaded tones of Sarge's voice forced Sub-Corporal Heller to put his pencil down at that moment. The sounds of the birds above were so peaceful, it was a perfect day for writing his notes, and not one to be wasted fortifying a position they would just abandon tomorrow. He had a book to write; after all, he figured folks back home would want to hear all about this place from someone who saw it firsthand, if it was ever declassified.
The corner of his lip curled as he was forced to put his notepad away in a pouch meant for ammo.
"I keep telling you boys not to let your guard down. This all seems comfortable and familiar, but if you paid attention, there is some dangerous shit out there. Don't let it catch you with your pants down... Heller."
Sarge never let up. He was a rather miserable bloke, the Army was his life. After a few divorces, he clearly decided to marry the stripes on his shoulder.
"Aye, sarge," Tag snapped back enthusiastically, with a mischievous grin, as the rest groaned and returned to their positions. The squad's jokester winked at Heller as he feigned devotion to his duty of laying in the prone with his rifle perfectly balanced.
"Shut up, Tag." Sarge rapped his crooked helmet, as he knew he was mocking him.
Reluctantly crawling back into a rut on the perimeter, Heller got into a prone position, rifle leaning against a small berm he had carved out earlier. His battle buddy, Dobbins, had been perched there "observing" any activity through his binos. But at that angle, he clearly was observing the sleek auburn-haired village girl below.
It's like he'd never seen a woman before. Maybe these girls were closer to what this nerd could even understand.
"You're quiet over there, Dobbs."
His usually over-analytical blabbering was silent. Heller didn't pay much attention to it and sighed, as he picked up a small note paper and doodled out his sector sketch. From the large, mossy-roofed house with the pig pen on his left, to the edge of the broken fence on his right-- that was his line of fire. He put a halfhearted effort into understanding the potential angles of attack therein, but his mind was off somewhere else; perhaps, he, too, was being sucked in by the visage of striking village girls below. He didn't need binos to leer at them. In particular, a pair stood on the edge of a garden, one with fiery red hair done up in pigtails, and another with bright silver hair neatly brushed that ran to the small of her back. They seemed to be arguing over something trivial, and looked cute every second doing it.
"No fucking way." Dobbs broke his silence.
"Yeah?" Heller had already decided he wasn't interested in whatever lame observation he was about to make.
"You seeing this?"
Heller rolled his eyes, giving his battle buddy a despising look, while picking up his rifle.
Looking through the scope, he tried to follow what Dobbs was frantically pointing out. Scanning the village, he saw a bunch of the villagers standing around, some of them grabbing things, others running. It didn't make too much sense, at least until he looked towards the opposite side of the village down the main drag.
Five huge hulking creatures, greyish-green skin, wearing rags and patched pieces of metal armor, and armed to the literal fang with spiked clubs and various rusted-looking cleavers.
"Orcs," Dobbs so confidently declared.
Heller didn't pay too much attention to labels for the shit he'd seen since he had been there, but with what movies he'd seen, he figured it was a pretty apt term for what they were looking at.
That's when the first screaming broke out from the locals. A general panic ensued below, as they scrambled to run for safety inside their cottages or put up a hasty defense. About half a dozen town guards in chainmail had formed a defensive line, but they looked just as scared as the rest.
"Sarge!" Heller yelled out.
His gruff NCO trotted over to see what the fuss was about. "What the fuck, Heller?"
"Trouble down below." Dobbs handed him the binos.
Sarge took a second to observe. "Get the fuck up! Let's go!"
His command summoned the seven-man patrol to their feet, weapons in hand. Heller slapped on his Kevlar and racked his carbine's bolt before giving the magazine a slap. A month of wandering the wilds and this was about to be the most action they had seen. The bandits ran off after they fired a few warning shots, he had a feeling these "orcs" were more of a stand-your-ground type.
It was a half-mile downhill sprint to the village from their position. The group of them had spread out into an arrow formation and Heller had the left flank of things. Dobbs, for being a nerd, was a pretty fast runner, his lanky legs carrying him like a gazelle. Heller's mind was focused on keeping up with him until he heard the shrill screams of terror and bloodshed
Entering the outskirts of the village, the horrified cries and terrifying scatter of objects, both living and inanimate, sent a chill to Heller's bones. He had seen some action before in Nubara, back on the other side of the portal, but never before a man lying cleaved in two by a giant orc. It was a gut check for all of the soldiers, yet they charged on.
"Fly! Flee! These beasts will make corpses of the lot!" The half dozen town guardsmen were full route in the opposite direction, as they found the main road of the village. Having thrown down their shields and spears, the cowardly defenders disavowed themselves of their duty and made for the hills.
"Heller, Dobbs, Spicer take the left flank. Greggor, Strauss, and Tag with me on the right."
Each team hugged the mossy stone walls of cottages and other structures. Their hearts raced as they kept their rifles shouldered. They could hear blood-curdling screams followed by beastly roars just ahead.
"By the gods!" A stout man turned an alleyway corner and ran into Heller, nearly setting them both on their asses.
Heller, for his part, nearly shot him, so out of his element and full of adrenaline. The man was frozen, looking at the muzzle of his rifle, it was as if he couldn't comprehend the human before him wearing such strange garb and carrying spears with no blades. He didn't have words to express his confusion, he only mumbled as they both stopped in the moment. Behind him, he shielded two women, one older, most likely his wife, and the other younger, the maiden with silver hair.
"Go! Keep running!" Heller shoved them back behind him. His eyes fixated on the girl, whose own fearful eyes pondered him for a moment. His eyesight, nor Dobbs' binos did the girl justice. As she heeded his warnings to flee, Heller couldn't help but look at her. She was the most inherently feminine girl he had ever seen. Not a touch of spray tan, hair extensions, or yoga pants. Just 100% natural woman. Down to how she carried herself was beautiful. If only the cries of bloodshed didn't pull his attention away Heller would have been captivated.
In the space of time Heller's attention was fixated on the daughter, The family fled behind them without further question. They did not take long to honor his command. The squad advanced, turning the corner to meet the chaos.
"All right, boys, this is it." Spicer, the youngest of the squad, a bandolier of golden brass around his neck, charged the handle of his automatic weapon like he was about to charge the trenches of Sud-del-ire.
Heller and Dobbs agreed with his observation and snapped their bayonets on the front of their rifles.
"Holy--" Dobbs was first to spin around, advancing no further than the corner and leveling out his rifle, as his jaw dropped.
"Aahhhhhhhh!" The piercing cry of a villager reverberated in the backs of their skulls. On the ground, not but a few meters from them, a girl was lying with her hands above her head, shielding herself, as a giant orc approached her.
Up close it was easy to understand how terrifying they were. Eight feet tall, built like a tank with giant muscles, giant fangs in their mouths, and all manner of weaponry and rusted plates of metal strapped around them. Their whole purpose in life was to spread destruction.
None of that spoke to the spear it carried between its legs. Neither did said spear dangle at that moment. It proudly stood to attention, unsheathed and prepared to do battle with its female foe. The red-headed village girl on the ground certainly knew such a weapon could only be meant for her. As she cried out in the most blood-curdling way, the orc grabbed her by the pigtails and raised her from her cowering position on the ground, bringing her face to face with its weapon as it growled lustfully.
"Ahhhh!" The battle cry of a desperate soldier rang out, as Heller body checked the large beast from the side. The orc was sent off balance, stupefied by the sudden appearance of strangely dressed humans. The girl, who was dropped back to the ground, looked just as surprised, terror still in her eyes as she crawled backward through the mud of the street.
Having knocked the orc off its feet, Heller acted first and wasted no time blasting it with several successive bursts of fire. Who needed a magical sword when you had the all-mighty 7.62x33mm? The heavy rounds blossomed the body of the orc with dark red buds of blood and flesh, as Heller left nothing to be desired. Once he was sure it wouldn't be getting up, he swiveled his head, catching his breath before landing his eyes on the girl.
Mud-caked but just as fiery, the maiden lay in the muck of the street, frozen. With eyes wide, she looked at a soldier in a uniform few from her world had seen. In her eyes, over the corpse of the orc stood a hero, but her mind, otherwise, was blank with fear. He couldn't linger too much on her, the adrenaline pumping through his veins beckoned him forward.
"Go, run!" he told her. It took several shouts and some coaxing. Finally, she knew enough to crawl to her feet, still unsure what she had just witnessed or where to go. In shock, she disappeared to what Heller hoped was safety.
More gunshots rang out by that time. Sarge and his team on the right were engaging with an orc that was battering the door of an inn-like structure where several villagers sheltered, "The Busted Keg," if the violently swaying sign above the orc's head could be believed. It amazed the men how many rounds the beasts could take as they engaged them at range.
"Keep firing! Don't stop 'til he falls!"
Ahead, a few villagers brave enough to fight back were holding off one orc with spears the fleeing guardsmen had dropped. By the looks of it, the orc was just toying with them for sport, enjoying the fighting for as long as it could. Heller wondered if these orcs were sentient, or just beasts full of rage. They obviously had a bit more smarts than an ape, with their weapons and tools. But what really motivated them outside the lust for blood and depravity?
"Move, move!" Strauss grabbed the collar of a brave villager, who was holding a broken window casement with both hands as a shield. He had been rocked with a blow from the orc's mace just moments before. He was a wee lad with a fierceness in his eyes. Behind him, an old man with a spear had the look of revenge. If it could be told, the two bodies beyond the orc that lay hewn must have been their family, a tragedy that deserved a bit of blood lust on their part.
"Hey! Steady on! I ain't about to leave 'em standin'!"
But there were more efficient ways to deal with these orcs, and as Strauss grabbed them backward and cleared the way, Spicer let loose with the Hog.
A steady stream of thick bullets rattled off the belt-fed machine gun as the orc, regardless of its tattered armor, was riddled. Most of the villagers ducked for cover at the sound and sight of it, the magic of the off-landers they heard only in rumor, here manifested before their eyes.
"He's down." Strauss let the two villagers' collars go. "Seek shelter with the others." He shouldered his rifle and took a few shots at an orc that was smart enough to duck around a corner.
They had the initiative by then.
Bullets flew, unhuman growls and curses were thrown, and townspeople rejoiced as the last of the orcs began to flee before Drake Squad of the Corvusian Army.
As things settled, the village slowly came back to life. Cheering replaced the sounds of destruction, and the sobs for those who were lost were subtle. All together, three villagers and one town-guardsman were killed that day. Sarge took a quick headcount of his men as the village broke out in celebration, a sigh of relief crossed his rarely relaxed face as he counted all seven alive and well.
"Heros!" They called them, as dozens circled the soldiers. Promises of payment, gifts, and all manner of hospitality were thrown to them.
While a few of the younger soldiers were eager to explore those options, Sarge put a stop to it.
"We seek no payment. We are soldiers of Corvusia, here to defend civilians and spread our hopes for peace between our nations." His words were mechanical as he read off a script he was given from a higher command.
That went over most of the villagers' heads, they all oohed and aahed at his eloquent words, but these were not eloquent folk.
"Errant knights! Rangers from afar! I insist you stay in my home tonight! We will feast and drink in your honor!" a man, more finely garbed than most, proclaimed, to much praise, an invitation to the men.
"Isn't there a constitutional amendment against that?" Tag, who was known for always having something to say, said not-so-subtly.
Sarge threw him the signature look, to which Tag raised his hands innocently and smiled. With a shake of his head and a gruff sigh, Sarge turned back to the man who presumably was in charge of this village.
"Sir, we don't require any lodging, we have a camp not far from here that will suffi--"
"Is the humble home of the mayor of Reddenshire not to your satisfaction?" He rubbed his beard in a dejected fashion.
"No that's not, I... uh." Sarge had begun to stumble around. He wasn't the sort of guy you put in public relations.
"Fine sir!"
Heller's skin crawled as Dobbs interceded. His tone and use of fragrant words gave him second-hand cringe.
"We humbly thank you for your offer of hospitality!" Dobbs let his rifle hand in front of his interceptor vest do the talking as he flamboyantly flung his arms about in conversation.
Sadly, enough the village people seemed responsive to it, after all, they acted much the same. Which Dobbs had picked up on.
"What my commander, here, is saying is that we seek not to impose upon you the burden of our presence. We are humble warriors who do not require lavishness."
The villagers were caught up in the narrative, more oohs and aahs as Dobbs went on. Sarge looked hot for a second after Dobbs had interrupted, but he also couldn't argue with the results.
"My apologies!" The mayor rose to the level of Dobbs' flamboyance, his own arms dancing as he spoke. "I should have known of your humble nature like the garb you wear."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Spicer whispered openly.
"But alas. For all you have done, we cannot let you lie in the elements." He gave a hearty laugh which the village echoed along with a few hear-hears. "Indulge me and take up shelter in the barracks. Our guardsmen, cowards that they are, certainly won't be using it. And it deserves to be occupied by such noble warriors."
The squad all smiled at Sarge, whom they knew hated the idea of taking any sort of gift from the locals.
"Hey Sarge, it ain't like command gotta know."
"Yeah, just for the night."
"Command is all quartered in that one fancy castle anyways."
"All right, all right, lock it up." Sarge gave them all the death glare like they would be pushing for it later.
Of course, they all found it worth it; shit-eating grins on all of their faces.
"Fine." Sarge nodded to Dobbs, who, for some strange reason, was acting as translator.
"We would be very grateful for such accommodations."
"It is settled! Tonight, we feast and celebrate the victory of our heroes!"
"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"
They were soon led off to their accommodations, the villagers showering them with praise as they passed, as if on parade. Kisses, hugs, and slaps on the back gratified them that they had done the right thing that day.
A few of the village girls even looked kindly at them, waving their fingers and batting their eyelashes upon eye contact. L
Dobbs blushed, as he waved back to them.
"Fucking nerd." Heller gave Dobbs a stiff punch in the arm.
"What was that for?"
"You know what for."
Heller teased his battle buddy as they were led away. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl whom he saved from that orc, still caked in mud, looking at him. She held her hands in front of her heart and mouthed the words, "Thank you." From a distance. Even Heller blushed at that.
"It has been one hell of an evening for us all. After we tended to some of the wounded, helped bury the bodies, and cleaned up the town a little, the whole village went into party mode. I've seen some block parties back home in Lakeside Heights, but this definitely takes the cake. Before even the sun had set on the horizon, there were roaring bonfires in the streets, tables arrayed around what, a few hours ago, was a battlefield, and the finest meats you could think of roasting. The smell, itself, sent me to a whole other plane of existence than that portal.
It's crazy how quickly they bounced back from what, otherwise, was a horrific tragedy. But in their minds, it could have been worse, and such horrors were common in the countryside.
Dobbs, again, had to be put to work to translate that we didn't need any fine garbs that were offered to us for the evening, Sarge just wanted us to get into a fresh pair of cammies. For now, Sarge seemed to be content to have Dobbs act as the spokesperson for their patrol during this. It let him not deal with people, one of Sarge's favorite things not to do. Plus, it lets Dobbs shine.
I nearly walked away red-faced when Dobbs professed, "It's like I keep rolling nat-twenties on my charisma checks with these people!" In a small way, I'm excited for him as the dork got a bit of love and admiration, two things he is short of back home.
When night fell, the smiles were just as bright as the fires lit the streets, music was played all around, and celebratory drinks were passed between them from large casks they threw up on the sides of the road. Sarge looked mortified as a tankard of ale was placed in his hand. The old stickler was probably weighing General Order Number One and not offending these folk in his mind. Tag and Spicer, of course, had already guzzled down a tankard the second it was handed to them, the villagers cheering them on as they picked up another. It seemed like the merriment would consume them whether they liked it or not, and even Sarge took one for the team and downed his.
We all took that as permission to go for it. I lingered at the edges of the party, chatting with thankful villagers as they approached me. A few slapped me on the arm and told me how they admired the body slam I had given the orc earlier. I was pretty stoked with the compliment; the whole hero-admiration piece was starting to get my head big.
Speaking of hero admiration, for a minute I was beginning to get envious of all these tankards of ale being handed out, I was about to go find one when two foaming pints of it appeared before me in the hands of some really pretty girls.
"Sir!" They had both called to me all flustered, like I was a superstar. I was starting to feel like I was in Dobbs' fantasy, as well, for a second. Their voices harmonized as they offered the ale. But the funny thing is, once either girl noticed the other... it was on. Their glances were like knives, cheeks puffed, and I'll be damned if I could hear them growling. Women sure don't change this side of the portal, but I won't complain since I never had two girls fighting over me back home.
I recognized both of them. On my left was the red-headed girl I saved from a rather gruesome fate with the orc in this very muddy street. She looked to be tough, but I don't think she would have liked the pipe that orc was gonna lay with her. As she stared down the other girl, she had a fierceness in her eyes that only a redhead could have. Alternate dimension or not, that fact did not change.
On my right was the silver-haired chick I saw through the binoculars as she worked in the field, and then ran into during the advance into the village. While she was no less fierce, she had an innocent sweetness to her as she stared the other down. I got a chill down my spine as I thought about these two going at it-- over me, no less.
They traded words, "Find your own Emberlyn," and, "I was here first, Lyra!" as they got closer to me.
Neither paid attention to the ale in the tankards as it sloshed around, so eventually I had to break it up.
I told them, "Whoa, whoa, ladies, I am not opposed to double fisting."After the fact, I could have chosen my words better. Both looked a bit red-faced as I said it. Even after I realized back home fisting had a double meaning, I wonder what exactly they thought I had meant. Damnit Dobbs... where was that nerd when I needed him.
After my slip of the tongue, both girls darted off and left me with my two tankards of ale. I spent the rest of the night, eating and sharing stories of home. Lots of the village folks asked me what it was like. At the time, I honestly wasn't sure what to say, other than, "Nothing like this." That did little to quench their curiosity with me, and so I tried to explain to them the whole zombified world of commercial consumerism and rampant forced marketing to the masses, but if I remember their expressions correctly, it did not quite translate.
Before long, Sarge couldn't take the levity any longer and ordered us to turn in. With a rather hurried range walk, he led us back to the barracks that the village had offered us before. They had been kind enough to give us the key to the place so we could lock things up, and it took everything we could do to prevent Dobbs from playing with the swords and armor that had previously belonged to the town's garrison.
Now, as I write this, I sit at a large oak table at the center of a few beds where the guards would sleep, under candlelight. There is something to writing by candlelight that has a romantic feeling to it, that is if you want to feel all juicy and gross inside.
Who knows what tomorrow brings."
"You boys better be getting some rest here soon, I want to get out of here first thing tomorrow," Sarge grunted, as he stood at the head of the table where his soldiers all lingered late into the night.
"Wha? Sarge, why the rush?" Tag held up his hands, a sly grin on his face as he knew exactly the reason.
A few other protests came, as well. Heller suspected that they could be content to stay here for a long while. There was certainly an appeal.
The older man, whose stubble was shadowing his jawline, just stared at them. He would feel better the more distance they put between themselves and these vices. He already was feeling a bit tipsy from the evening's activities, but his bleak seriousness never ceased. He did not want to have to report any of this up the chain of command, but the longer they stayed there, the higher the risk that they would get busted for this. Sarge, himself, had already lost some stripes before, he didn't want to be there again.
"The man is allergic to fun," Tag jabbed at Greggor with a low tone.
Whether Sarge noticed or not, Heller couldn't say. Perhaps all that ale was hitting him hard.
"Whoa, would you look at this..." Spicer interrupted the whining of the rest of the squad from his perch above the door looking out the single arrow slit of the barracks.
The rest of the men looked over to him, curious as to what exactly he was on about, as he jumped down from his perch and unlocked the main door of the barracks.
"Spicer, what the fuck are you--"
Sarge was cut short as the door came ajar, and just on the other side of the threshold, a group of ladies stood, beaming. Their wafting scent already filled their nostrils, and while many of the men were red-faced looking at them, Sarge went pale. He had the look of "I'm totally going to lose another stripe."
The boys were enthralled, there were six ladies in all, all of them the beautiful maidens that they had seen throughout their stay in the village. Heller, himself, recognized two faces, his red-headed and silver-haired friends, who still glared at each other menacingly.
This was about to be a very interesting night.
"Hi! We brought some ale and food for you all." The lead girl, a tall brunette with short hair and a worldly smile, peaked around the corner at all the men staring back at her. "Such powerful warriors certainly have more of an appetite. Can we come in?"
There was something about how she emphasized appetite that seemed off.
"Yes!" five of the men immediately shouted.
"No." Sarge was drowned out by the enthusiasm of his juniors.
Despite the senior's half-hearted and dejected objection, the girls found their way into the barracks. Their tiptoeing seemed suspicious, and despite it being dark outside, none of them carried a lantern. But what they did carry with them was of interest-- between two girls, they struggled with a cask of ale, one they had set aside at the party. Greggor, being a big guy, grabbed it off their hands with ease, the maidens looking impressed. Setting it on the table, Tag resecured the door and the six girls all mingled with the squad, who eagerly gathered around. That was all except for Strauss, who was married, and Sarge, who was losing his mind. That did make the ratio positive, though, something the boys were all too happy about.
"So, what fair winds bring you beautiful maidens herein?" Dobbs laid out the cheesiest line on this side of the portal, one that made Heller want to puke, yet again.
Ironically, they ate it up; one of the older girls, an auburn-haired beauty, was giggling.
"Yeah, isn't it late for you all?" Tag added, with a tone that lacked the cheese of Dobbs, but still steeped in creepiness. Tag was known to lead on a little strong, a vibe that these ladies, again, seemed to be clueless about.
Heller noted that they seemed a little tense, but in a nervous yet excited way.
"We figured you lords needed some more ale and food. You have been traveling for long, no?" asked a long-haired brunette, wearing a blue flowing dress tied along a white blouse. Sneaking into the center of the room, she spun around with a tray of meats and cheeses, her face alit with a welcoming smile.
"And we wanted to keep you boys' company!" added in a cheery tone, from a short petite blonde, who skipped forward with her golden hair flowing behind her. She had a charm to her that injected you with excitement and immediately caught a few of the soldier's eyes.
"Soraya!" Heller's silver-haired friend from before, smacked her on the bare shoulder as she blushed.
The girls, again, each shifted in their stance awkwardly, cheeks redder as time went on.
"Well, we certainly welcome it," Greggor spoke up, taking up the offer of a sliver of choice meats off the dray of the dark-haired maiden, who held her breath as he neared.
Food was soon laid out, and ale began flowing once more. Each of the men and women had a tankard, horn, or stein in hand as they mingled. Most sat along the tables and benches at the center of the barracks. The stone walls echoed with laughter and joviality, as they became familiar.
They learned each other's names, the girls each taking turns introducing themselves. There was Emberlyn, the silver-haired girl that Heller was most familiar with. Fiora, the auburn-haired girl making eyes constantly at Dobbs. Lyra, the feisty girl who shot daggers with her eyes at Emberlyn for sitting close to Heller. Selene and Elowen were black-haired sisters, with Elowen being the oldest of the six of them. And finally, Soraya, the youngest of the women, as it was told, had just come of age to be called so.
Slowly they began to pair, and traded stories about home. The girls asked about the men's lives back in their world, and the members of the squad struggled to explain the concepts of the world they hailed from. Things like television, the internet, consumerism, and technology did not really translate well. They had few implements with them to try to explain, but the girls would simply ask more and more questions, to the point that they could not answer.
Heller, himself, spent a lot of time talking with Emberlyn and Lyra, each of whom jousted to get a word or question in, as he described his life. They fed his ever growing head, admiring everything he had to say about what, in comparison to reality, was a pretty humble life back home.
"Do you have a house or a farm back home?" Lyra ran a hand over his forearm, judging whether he spent his time in the fields plowing the harvest.
"Oh no, I live in the barracks bac--"
"Of course, he doesn't have a farm, he is a noble knight!" Emberlyn browbeat her rival.
"Oh... no I'm not a knight, just a sub-corporal."
Tag, who was impatiently waiting in the wings of their conversation, rolling his eyes, watching the trio take up all the air.
As both girls continued on, Heller noticed something he felt ashamed to have seen. As they leaned in and wiggled about, hardly taking a breath in their conversation, the necklines of their dresses slipped open, and as far as he could tell, nothing lay beneath. Having glanced at a few nipples and side boob from several of the girls in the barracks, he wondered if the lack of undergarments was normal for this world. Even more, was their disregard for how revealing they were being normal?
"Do you have a wife?" The ever direct and feisty red-headed Lyra stared deep into Heller's eyes, her lips pursed with seriousness.
"Uh... no, no I'm single."
Both girls almost immediately came an inch closer to him. Tag glared with jealousy as Heller shrugged.
Their curiosity seemed to be insatiable, and as the night wore on, all began to settle into the endless stories of both the old world and new they came from, as well as the path and adventures that had led them to this day. The girls had begun to mix in with the men, sitting beside them, interestingly close enough that their sweet scent made the lack of sleep the men had previously felt an afterthought.
Both genders shifted where they sat, even Strauss, who kept his distance out of respect to his wife at home, felt an awkward stir. Sarge had tried to keep away, but the youngest of the village maidens, the petite, blonde-haired Soraya, would not let him out of reach.
"So, you are, uh, a knight, sir?" Her light voice prickled the hairs on Sarge's neck as the young maiden in white brushed against him. She sat flush beside him, though her frame was dwarfed by his.
"Oh, no, no." Sarge's round cheeks flushed red, as he scratched his stubble nervously. A few of the men chuckled at seeing their boss so flustered. "I am an N-C-O, ma'am, not a sir, I work for a living." He gruffly cleared his throat as her big blue eyes stared into his soul.
"Enseeoh? Wow." The distinction between modern military ranks and their equivalence to medieval-period titles went over Soraya's head. But her noticed interest in Sarge was not going over anyone else's.
"You must be a brave warrior to be elevated to such a title." Soraya began to trace the sergeant's hairy forearm with her dainty fingers.
"Soraya... leave the poor man alone," Lyra shouted across the circle of newly acquainted friends to her younger companion, while rolling her eyes.
"Shh!" Soraya held a finger to her pursed lips, as she refused to back away from her older companion.
"That girl... I swear." Lyra shook her head. She was just a hair further away from Heller than Soraya sat to her new friend, but was in a relentless stalemate with the silver-haired Emberlyn.
Both traded glares from across Heller's back, both glaring at him as they took measured efforts to scoot closer to each other. A scoot from one begot a scoot from the other.
"So you have no wife, then what are girls like... back where you are from? In your world?" Emberlyn fluttered her eyes, hoping that the girls he was used to had silver hair and less than fiery demeanors, making her a perfect match.
"I hear that even the women there had jobs, and are soldiers. Are they fierce, and strong?" Lyra cued in on the motive. Heller was stunned by how ravenously she was looking at him.
"Uh, I... uh, well." He swallowed as both girls leaned in.
Not far from the awkward interchange between two ripe young women honing in on a lone Heller, Greggor was chatting with Selene about medicinal herbs in this world. The fun facts Greggor was hurriedly writing down, as his black-haired lady friend giddily gave him as much knowledge as he could eat up.
"You never know when you may run out of supplies and have to resort to good, old field medicine." The large man with shoulders built like bricks and a barrel chest had a keen and innocent interest in herbs. The boys often teased him as being a gentle giant. Something Selene seemed to be fond of as she chatted eagerly with him.
"So you are a doctor?" She leaned over, looking at Greggor's notes and doodles. Her dark black hair tickled an exposed part of his arm, sending a shiver up his back.
Her sharp feminine scent burned his nostrils as she hovered around him, causing him to stammer. "Uh... no, just uh, medic."
"Medic..." She pondered the word for a moment, leaning closer. "I bet you know a lot about the body..." Her hand held on to his arm, as she leaned over his notepad to see his scribbles in a script foreign to her.
Greggor's face was bright red, coughing before quickly changing the subject.
Just a few feet away, on an itchy wool blanket, Dobbs and his auburn-haired friend Fiora were hitting it off nicely.
"Never have I quested through such a humble and... beautiful... land as this." He hung on the word beautiful, looking her in the eyes. Where a girl from their world might have gotten the "ick", this maiden was fascinated with Dobbs' ability to speak their flavor of the common tongue. How exactly their language was so similar to ours, the Army intelligence at the pre-operational brief never explained, but it made things very convenient as they got to know the local fare.
With a sweet giggle and a palm to her lips, Fiora ate his one-liners up. "Oh my... you speak about our lands so greatly when the stories I've heard of your land of Corvusia would humble us."
Dobbs kept his suave posture until his eyes drifted south, and noted two protrusions beneath the thin fabric of her dress atop her bosom. Clearing his throat to recover, Dobbs donned the campiest expression of charm possible. "Well, bright lights and digital signs can never match the wonder of the stars."
Spicer, who overheard, nodded as he had to admit that was a good delivery. His own new friend, the eldest girl Elowen, giggled at the line as the two chatted on about life and their past experiences.
Nearby, Sarge was doing everything to keep Soyara off of him.
Heller noted just how close everyone was getting, and just how much ale was being passed around.
"Tell us," Lyra impatiently snapped.
"Well, I mean girls are not that much different back home, I suppose. Every one of them is different whether they are quiet and laid back or fiery and upfront. They work alongside us and still do many of the same things. I guess, if anything, here you all emphasize more ofyour feminine natures."
"Feminine natures?"
"Yeah... I mean, dresses, the way you speak, what you do, how you act. It's just more feminine."
Both girls sat quietly and listened; even Soraya listened across from them, as she wrapped her arm under Sarge's.
"It's not, uh, it's not a bad thing, by any means," Heller clarified.
"So, do you like us more?"
"Like you more?"
"Since we are more feminine." Lyra sat up straight, pushing her breasts out. There, too, amidst her more modest bumps, was the clear protrusion of nipples. Heller wondered if none of these girls wore bras?
"I don't know if it's a matter of liking you more. Just, you all are different in your own way."
"But... would you rather have us?" Lyra leaned in, the top of her blouse drooping down, her pert cleavage in full view, as Heller needed no imagination to know the color of her areolas.
"Have...?"
Across the way, Soraya's fingers were digging into Sarge's arm, her small frame shaking.
"Sarge... what is your real name?" Shifting to her knees, her blue orbs looked up at him.
"It's... it's Paul."
"Paul..." his name lathered her tongue. "Are you wed, Paul?" Soraya held her hands together as if she was praying to the gods he was not.
"Nuh... no... not anymore."
"Anymore..." She pondered for a moment. Most in the barracks were watching this exchange. There was a suspicious apprehension amongst the other girls as to what Soraya would do next.
Even Sarge seemed more nervous than any of the men had seen him. Not the orcs or the most vicious fighting in Bastonia made him sweat like sweet and innocent Soraya. But what she said next, truly stole the rest of the color in his face.
"Paul... wed me then. Take me as your mate. I am pure! I haven't known a man! I could give you strong sons!" She pressed her flat chest against him, her head level with his, even as he sat and she was on her knees. She lathered his stubbled cheek with kisses, the mouths of the other soldiers agape as the other girls face-palmed.
"There she goes." Selene shook her head, holding the bridge of her nose between her fingers.
"I told you we shouldn't bring her along..." Elowen, the eldest, shaking her head, muttered to her younger sister.
"I told her to go easy, okay?" Selene got defensive.
A collective gasp stole the air of the room as the incredibly forward Soraya shed her white dress to prove her dedication to the matter. Sarge, most of all, was agape, nose to tit with perfect pink nipples atop a flat chest. The young maiden Soraya wore no undergarments, just as Heller suspected the other women were not.
The men had no shame in staring at the shimmering naked skin on the incredibly forward and eager girl as she jumped into Sarge's lap. While she boasted little in the bosom, her hips were feminine and a visual affirmation of her desire to bear the older man fruit, as they widely tapered in contrast. Sitting back against his chest, she rubbed her ass into his crotch, smiling as she found a bulge growing there.
"Soraya! You little spawn of Carneth!" Selene chided her, waving her hands in disbelief.
Laying her head back into Sarge's shoulder, pulling his cautious hands around her stomach, and wiggling around his lap, Soraya shot her friend a steely glance.
"This affair moves too slowly for me. I've waited my whole life to know a man like this... I want it..." Her last three words were a message as she stared deep into the older man's eyes and brought his hands to her nubs. She landed sugary pecks on his flesh that felt forbidden. The soldiers were awestruck at the beautiful girl's intense desire to get plowed by a man they only knew for his foul temper and many divorces. What did he have exactly that gave him such luck?
The youngest soldier, Spicer, became curious as he looked around at the girls pairing off with each soldier, looking very guilty. Nearest to him, Selene, hid her very red cheeks beneath her long dark hair, as she gasped at the lewd movements of her friend grinding in the older soldier's lap.
"So what's with her?" He scooted closer to his new friend, trying to get a good look at her face which she hid.
Moving between her and the show, it was apparent there was something the girls were hiding. Selene's face said it all, a guilty expression of knowing that told of a plot amongst these maidens to do something that Soraya may have acted on quicker than the other girls were comfortable with.
"Eek... uhhhhhh." Selene's face turned red again; she took a long swig of her ale.
"Hey..." Spicer, always bold and to the point, softly grabbed her chin and turned her head towards his. They met gazes, to which she melted into his hand, letting him hold her willfully. "I don't like being deceived." His stern gaze conveyed just how serious he was.
A few feet from them, another girl lost the veil of her deception, as Fiora straddled Dobbs and held his collar tightly.
What happens when worlds collide? The Corvusian Army has been sent into a strange fantasy world, like the ones in the books. Drake Squad has been tasked with patrol the frontier of this fantasy world, and there encounter many things both beautiful and terrifying... How will they conduct themselves so far from home?
All characters herein are 18+ in age.
Village Maidens' Favor
It's been about a month since we walked through that freaky portal. All the swirly purple lights and mossy ancient stone had me feeling some sort of way. But now, after a month of bivouacking it in the beautiful countryside of some fantasy land called Valenholme, it feels kind of worth it.
Sarge has us setting up a patrol base for the night in the hills along our route north along the ridge of the mountains, and has been yelling at us-- Drake Squad, First Company, Third Battalion-- about priorities of work for the past half hour. A lot of the boys, me too, I guess, aren't taking it as seriously as he'd like. All this time patrolling down cobblestone roads, past folks looking like they stepped out of a Ren-Fair, or were extras in a historical documentary about medieval times took the threatening feeling out of it.
With that spirit, I'm leaning up against the trunk of something like a large oak tree as I write this, listening to the birds sing away above me. It isn't like any bird song we have at home, but it's just as Tweedle-dee-da as anything you'd hear on our side of the portal. For the past hour, I've had my rifle lying next to me, with no sense of mortal danger or need to pick it up.
When they had secretly mobilized us and the spooks told us that we were gonna go through a portal to some alien world far off from our own, I figured we'd be fighting oversized bugs or moisty-looking grey men. They had tried to talk it up and make it sound like a seven-foot-tall troll would pop out from every corner and our best chance for survival was carrying a grenade launcher. Instead, everything seems so eerily familiar. It's just like home, but it's not. It's just like some other dimension that took the flashing lights and technology out of it, and left the green and old way of things.
Even down to the people, it's much the same. Humans, who would have guessed it? The intel girls must have known, but when I stepped out of the portal and there was no shit, just fifty dudes dressed in robes and tunics looking at me, I was a bit surprised. No amount of pre-briefing could have prepared me for this fantasy land.
Of course, there was Dobbins, who was too ready for this shit. That nerd played one too many games of Castles and Cave Drakes, and he is having the time of his life right now. Every little encounter just explodes his little nerd mind. From the group of bandits we drove off the dirt road they call a highway, to the gnomes who needed help rebuilding one of their tiny houses.
Hearts and minds. That's what command says we are here for.
Now, we are on a discreet hill so as not to disturb the local populace of a small village below. People still get a little freaked when they see us. We may be red-blooded humans, but we look really different. Digital green cammies, guns, helmets, and the fact we are two heads taller than them on average, make us stand out. Strauss, our squad's comms guy, theorized it was because we had better diets back home. Drink your milk kids...
Luckily, to avoid too much fear and panic, their king had sent out a proclamation of the alliance he had with the brass back in Corvusia. The scientists get to research this eerily familiar place, while they send us corn-fed boys out to drive off bandits and win hearts and minds.
But I'll tell you what's on my heart and mind-- those village girls below. We'd seen a few of what Dobbins called "fair maidens" frolicking around, doing their chores throughout the day. They had noticed us from time to time and looked rather uneasy. Honestly, I don't blame them, some of these dudes are creepy fucks, i.e. Dobbins (What the fuck is a fair maiden?). But we would just wave and stick to our patrol base, so after a while, they had gotten used to us. But that doesn't stop us from passing those binoculars around to take a look at 'em.
Greggor, our medic, has pointed out the variety of shapes and sizes these girls come in. Something only a doc would notice, I suppose. He has an eye to admire every curve and bump that sticks out from underneath their dresses and aprons. But to me, they look like nice girls, the whole place just is a simpler time. Not like the consumerism-hell hole we are from. What do the girls at home say? Not a cell phone in sight, just people living their best life?
Maybe the "aliens" here have it right.
"Heller, you going to fucking sit there daydreaming all day or you gonna get me my sector sketch?"
The gravelly and jaded tones of Sarge's voice forced Sub-Corporal Heller to put his pencil down at that moment. The sounds of the birds above were so peaceful, it was a perfect day for writing his notes, and not one to be wasted fortifying a position they would just abandon tomorrow. He had a book to write; after all, he figured folks back home would want to hear all about this place from someone who saw it firsthand, if it was ever declassified.
The corner of his lip curled as he was forced to put his notepad away in a pouch meant for ammo.
"I keep telling you boys not to let your guard down. This all seems comfortable and familiar, but if you paid attention, there is some dangerous shit out there. Don't let it catch you with your pants down... Heller."
Sarge never let up. He was a rather miserable bloke, the Army was his life. After a few divorces, he clearly decided to marry the stripes on his shoulder.
"Aye, sarge," Tag snapped back enthusiastically, with a mischievous grin, as the rest groaned and returned to their positions. The squad's jokester winked at Heller as he feigned devotion to his duty of laying in the prone with his rifle perfectly balanced.
"Shut up, Tag." Sarge rapped his crooked helmet, as he knew he was mocking him.
Reluctantly crawling back into a rut on the perimeter, Heller got into a prone position, rifle leaning against a small berm he had carved out earlier. His battle buddy, Dobbins, had been perched there "observing" any activity through his binos. But at that angle, he clearly was observing the sleek auburn-haired village girl below.
It's like he'd never seen a woman before. Maybe these girls were closer to what this nerd could even understand.
"You're quiet over there, Dobbs."
His usually over-analytical blabbering was silent. Heller didn't pay much attention to it and sighed, as he picked up a small note paper and doodled out his sector sketch. From the large, mossy-roofed house with the pig pen on his left, to the edge of the broken fence on his right-- that was his line of fire. He put a halfhearted effort into understanding the potential angles of attack therein, but his mind was off somewhere else; perhaps, he, too, was being sucked in by the visage of striking village girls below. He didn't need binos to leer at them. In particular, a pair stood on the edge of a garden, one with fiery red hair done up in pigtails, and another with bright silver hair neatly brushed that ran to the small of her back. They seemed to be arguing over something trivial, and looked cute every second doing it.
"No fucking way." Dobbs broke his silence.
"Yeah?" Heller had already decided he wasn't interested in whatever lame observation he was about to make.
"You seeing this?"
Heller rolled his eyes, giving his battle buddy a despising look, while picking up his rifle.
Looking through the scope, he tried to follow what Dobbs was frantically pointing out. Scanning the village, he saw a bunch of the villagers standing around, some of them grabbing things, others running. It didn't make too much sense, at least until he looked towards the opposite side of the village down the main drag.
Five huge hulking creatures, greyish-green skin, wearing rags and patched pieces of metal armor, and armed to the literal fang with spiked clubs and various rusted-looking cleavers.
"Orcs," Dobbs so confidently declared.
Heller didn't pay too much attention to labels for the shit he'd seen since he had been there, but with what movies he'd seen, he figured it was a pretty apt term for what they were looking at.
That's when the first screaming broke out from the locals. A general panic ensued below, as they scrambled to run for safety inside their cottages or put up a hasty defense. About half a dozen town guards in chainmail had formed a defensive line, but they looked just as scared as the rest.
"Sarge!" Heller yelled out.
His gruff NCO trotted over to see what the fuss was about. "What the fuck, Heller?"
"Trouble down below." Dobbs handed him the binos.
Sarge took a second to observe. "Get the fuck up! Let's go!"
His command summoned the seven-man patrol to their feet, weapons in hand. Heller slapped on his Kevlar and racked his carbine's bolt before giving the magazine a slap. A month of wandering the wilds and this was about to be the most action they had seen. The bandits ran off after they fired a few warning shots, he had a feeling these "orcs" were more of a stand-your-ground type.
It was a half-mile downhill sprint to the village from their position. The group of them had spread out into an arrow formation and Heller had the left flank of things. Dobbs, for being a nerd, was a pretty fast runner, his lanky legs carrying him like a gazelle. Heller's mind was focused on keeping up with him until he heard the shrill screams of terror and bloodshed
Entering the outskirts of the village, the horrified cries and terrifying scatter of objects, both living and inanimate, sent a chill to Heller's bones. He had seen some action before in Nubara, back on the other side of the portal, but never before a man lying cleaved in two by a giant orc. It was a gut check for all of the soldiers, yet they charged on.
"Fly! Flee! These beasts will make corpses of the lot!" The half dozen town guardsmen were full route in the opposite direction, as they found the main road of the village. Having thrown down their shields and spears, the cowardly defenders disavowed themselves of their duty and made for the hills.
"Heller, Dobbs, Spicer take the left flank. Greggor, Strauss, and Tag with me on the right."
Each team hugged the mossy stone walls of cottages and other structures. Their hearts raced as they kept their rifles shouldered. They could hear blood-curdling screams followed by beastly roars just ahead.
"By the gods!" A stout man turned an alleyway corner and ran into Heller, nearly setting them both on their asses.
Heller, for his part, nearly shot him, so out of his element and full of adrenaline. The man was frozen, looking at the muzzle of his rifle, it was as if he couldn't comprehend the human before him wearing such strange garb and carrying spears with no blades. He didn't have words to express his confusion, he only mumbled as they both stopped in the moment. Behind him, he shielded two women, one older, most likely his wife, and the other younger, the maiden with silver hair.
"Go! Keep running!" Heller shoved them back behind him. His eyes fixated on the girl, whose own fearful eyes pondered him for a moment. His eyesight, nor Dobbs' binos did the girl justice. As she heeded his warnings to flee, Heller couldn't help but look at her. She was the most inherently feminine girl he had ever seen. Not a touch of spray tan, hair extensions, or yoga pants. Just 100% natural woman. Down to how she carried herself was beautiful. If only the cries of bloodshed didn't pull his attention away Heller would have been captivated.
In the space of time Heller's attention was fixated on the daughter, The family fled behind them without further question. They did not take long to honor his command. The squad advanced, turning the corner to meet the chaos.
"All right, boys, this is it." Spicer, the youngest of the squad, a bandolier of golden brass around his neck, charged the handle of his automatic weapon like he was about to charge the trenches of Sud-del-ire.
Heller and Dobbs agreed with his observation and snapped their bayonets on the front of their rifles.
"Holy--" Dobbs was first to spin around, advancing no further than the corner and leveling out his rifle, as his jaw dropped.
"Aahhhhhhhh!" The piercing cry of a villager reverberated in the backs of their skulls. On the ground, not but a few meters from them, a girl was lying with her hands above her head, shielding herself, as a giant orc approached her.
Up close it was easy to understand how terrifying they were. Eight feet tall, built like a tank with giant muscles, giant fangs in their mouths, and all manner of weaponry and rusted plates of metal strapped around them. Their whole purpose in life was to spread destruction.
None of that spoke to the spear it carried between its legs. Neither did said spear dangle at that moment. It proudly stood to attention, unsheathed and prepared to do battle with its female foe. The red-headed village girl on the ground certainly knew such a weapon could only be meant for her. As she cried out in the most blood-curdling way, the orc grabbed her by the pigtails and raised her from her cowering position on the ground, bringing her face to face with its weapon as it growled lustfully.
"Ahhhh!" The battle cry of a desperate soldier rang out, as Heller body checked the large beast from the side. The orc was sent off balance, stupefied by the sudden appearance of strangely dressed humans. The girl, who was dropped back to the ground, looked just as surprised, terror still in her eyes as she crawled backward through the mud of the street.
Having knocked the orc off its feet, Heller acted first and wasted no time blasting it with several successive bursts of fire. Who needed a magical sword when you had the all-mighty 7.62x33mm? The heavy rounds blossomed the body of the orc with dark red buds of blood and flesh, as Heller left nothing to be desired. Once he was sure it wouldn't be getting up, he swiveled his head, catching his breath before landing his eyes on the girl.
Mud-caked but just as fiery, the maiden lay in the muck of the street, frozen. With eyes wide, she looked at a soldier in a uniform few from her world had seen. In her eyes, over the corpse of the orc stood a hero, but her mind, otherwise, was blank with fear. He couldn't linger too much on her, the adrenaline pumping through his veins beckoned him forward.
"Go, run!" he told her. It took several shouts and some coaxing. Finally, she knew enough to crawl to her feet, still unsure what she had just witnessed or where to go. In shock, she disappeared to what Heller hoped was safety.
More gunshots rang out by that time. Sarge and his team on the right were engaging with an orc that was battering the door of an inn-like structure where several villagers sheltered, "The Busted Keg," if the violently swaying sign above the orc's head could be believed. It amazed the men how many rounds the beasts could take as they engaged them at range.
"Keep firing! Don't stop 'til he falls!"
Ahead, a few villagers brave enough to fight back were holding off one orc with spears the fleeing guardsmen had dropped. By the looks of it, the orc was just toying with them for sport, enjoying the fighting for as long as it could. Heller wondered if these orcs were sentient, or just beasts full of rage. They obviously had a bit more smarts than an ape, with their weapons and tools. But what really motivated them outside the lust for blood and depravity?
"Move, move!" Strauss grabbed the collar of a brave villager, who was holding a broken window casement with both hands as a shield. He had been rocked with a blow from the orc's mace just moments before. He was a wee lad with a fierceness in his eyes. Behind him, an old man with a spear had the look of revenge. If it could be told, the two bodies beyond the orc that lay hewn must have been their family, a tragedy that deserved a bit of blood lust on their part.
"Hey! Steady on! I ain't about to leave 'em standin'!"
But there were more efficient ways to deal with these orcs, and as Strauss grabbed them backward and cleared the way, Spicer let loose with the Hog.
A steady stream of thick bullets rattled off the belt-fed machine gun as the orc, regardless of its tattered armor, was riddled. Most of the villagers ducked for cover at the sound and sight of it, the magic of the off-landers they heard only in rumor, here manifested before their eyes.
"He's down." Strauss let the two villagers' collars go. "Seek shelter with the others." He shouldered his rifle and took a few shots at an orc that was smart enough to duck around a corner.
They had the initiative by then.
Bullets flew, unhuman growls and curses were thrown, and townspeople rejoiced as the last of the orcs began to flee before Drake Squad of the Corvusian Army.
As things settled, the village slowly came back to life. Cheering replaced the sounds of destruction, and the sobs for those who were lost were subtle. All together, three villagers and one town-guardsman were killed that day. Sarge took a quick headcount of his men as the village broke out in celebration, a sigh of relief crossed his rarely relaxed face as he counted all seven alive and well.
"Heros!" They called them, as dozens circled the soldiers. Promises of payment, gifts, and all manner of hospitality were thrown to them.
While a few of the younger soldiers were eager to explore those options, Sarge put a stop to it.
"We seek no payment. We are soldiers of Corvusia, here to defend civilians and spread our hopes for peace between our nations." His words were mechanical as he read off a script he was given from a higher command.
That went over most of the villagers' heads, they all oohed and aahed at his eloquent words, but these were not eloquent folk.
"Errant knights! Rangers from afar! I insist you stay in my home tonight! We will feast and drink in your honor!" a man, more finely garbed than most, proclaimed, to much praise, an invitation to the men.
"Isn't there a constitutional amendment against that?" Tag, who was known for always having something to say, said not-so-subtly.
Sarge threw him the signature look, to which Tag raised his hands innocently and smiled. With a shake of his head and a gruff sigh, Sarge turned back to the man who presumably was in charge of this village.
"Sir, we don't require any lodging, we have a camp not far from here that will suffi--"
"Is the humble home of the mayor of Reddenshire not to your satisfaction?" He rubbed his beard in a dejected fashion.
"No that's not, I... uh." Sarge had begun to stumble around. He wasn't the sort of guy you put in public relations.
"Fine sir!"
Heller's skin crawled as Dobbs interceded. His tone and use of fragrant words gave him second-hand cringe.
"We humbly thank you for your offer of hospitality!" Dobbs let his rifle hand in front of his interceptor vest do the talking as he flamboyantly flung his arms about in conversation.
Sadly, enough the village people seemed responsive to it, after all, they acted much the same. Which Dobbs had picked up on.
"What my commander, here, is saying is that we seek not to impose upon you the burden of our presence. We are humble warriors who do not require lavishness."
The villagers were caught up in the narrative, more oohs and aahs as Dobbs went on. Sarge looked hot for a second after Dobbs had interrupted, but he also couldn't argue with the results.
"My apologies!" The mayor rose to the level of Dobbs' flamboyance, his own arms dancing as he spoke. "I should have known of your humble nature like the garb you wear."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Spicer whispered openly.
"But alas. For all you have done, we cannot let you lie in the elements." He gave a hearty laugh which the village echoed along with a few hear-hears. "Indulge me and take up shelter in the barracks. Our guardsmen, cowards that they are, certainly won't be using it. And it deserves to be occupied by such noble warriors."
The squad all smiled at Sarge, whom they knew hated the idea of taking any sort of gift from the locals.
"Hey Sarge, it ain't like command gotta know."
"Yeah, just for the night."
"Command is all quartered in that one fancy castle anyways."
"All right, all right, lock it up." Sarge gave them all the death glare like they would be pushing for it later.
Of course, they all found it worth it; shit-eating grins on all of their faces.
"Fine." Sarge nodded to Dobbs, who, for some strange reason, was acting as translator.
"We would be very grateful for such accommodations."
"It is settled! Tonight, we feast and celebrate the victory of our heroes!"
"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"
They were soon led off to their accommodations, the villagers showering them with praise as they passed, as if on parade. Kisses, hugs, and slaps on the back gratified them that they had done the right thing that day.
A few of the village girls even looked kindly at them, waving their fingers and batting their eyelashes upon eye contact. L
Dobbs blushed, as he waved back to them.
"Fucking nerd." Heller gave Dobbs a stiff punch in the arm.
"What was that for?"
"You know what for."
Heller teased his battle buddy as they were led away. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl whom he saved from that orc, still caked in mud, looking at him. She held her hands in front of her heart and mouthed the words, "Thank you." From a distance. Even Heller blushed at that.
"It has been one hell of an evening for us all. After we tended to some of the wounded, helped bury the bodies, and cleaned up the town a little, the whole village went into party mode. I've seen some block parties back home in Lakeside Heights, but this definitely takes the cake. Before even the sun had set on the horizon, there were roaring bonfires in the streets, tables arrayed around what, a few hours ago, was a battlefield, and the finest meats you could think of roasting. The smell, itself, sent me to a whole other plane of existence than that portal.
It's crazy how quickly they bounced back from what, otherwise, was a horrific tragedy. But in their minds, it could have been worse, and such horrors were common in the countryside.
Dobbs, again, had to be put to work to translate that we didn't need any fine garbs that were offered to us for the evening, Sarge just wanted us to get into a fresh pair of cammies. For now, Sarge seemed to be content to have Dobbs act as the spokesperson for their patrol during this. It let him not deal with people, one of Sarge's favorite things not to do. Plus, it lets Dobbs shine.
I nearly walked away red-faced when Dobbs professed, "It's like I keep rolling nat-twenties on my charisma checks with these people!" In a small way, I'm excited for him as the dork got a bit of love and admiration, two things he is short of back home.
When night fell, the smiles were just as bright as the fires lit the streets, music was played all around, and celebratory drinks were passed between them from large casks they threw up on the sides of the road. Sarge looked mortified as a tankard of ale was placed in his hand. The old stickler was probably weighing General Order Number One and not offending these folk in his mind. Tag and Spicer, of course, had already guzzled down a tankard the second it was handed to them, the villagers cheering them on as they picked up another. It seemed like the merriment would consume them whether they liked it or not, and even Sarge took one for the team and downed his.
We all took that as permission to go for it. I lingered at the edges of the party, chatting with thankful villagers as they approached me. A few slapped me on the arm and told me how they admired the body slam I had given the orc earlier. I was pretty stoked with the compliment; the whole hero-admiration piece was starting to get my head big.
Speaking of hero admiration, for a minute I was beginning to get envious of all these tankards of ale being handed out, I was about to go find one when two foaming pints of it appeared before me in the hands of some really pretty girls.
"Sir!" They had both called to me all flustered, like I was a superstar. I was starting to feel like I was in Dobbs' fantasy, as well, for a second. Their voices harmonized as they offered the ale. But the funny thing is, once either girl noticed the other... it was on. Their glances were like knives, cheeks puffed, and I'll be damned if I could hear them growling. Women sure don't change this side of the portal, but I won't complain since I never had two girls fighting over me back home.
I recognized both of them. On my left was the red-headed girl I saved from a rather gruesome fate with the orc in this very muddy street. She looked to be tough, but I don't think she would have liked the pipe that orc was gonna lay with her. As she stared down the other girl, she had a fierceness in her eyes that only a redhead could have. Alternate dimension or not, that fact did not change.
On my right was the silver-haired chick I saw through the binoculars as she worked in the field, and then ran into during the advance into the village. While she was no less fierce, she had an innocent sweetness to her as she stared the other down. I got a chill down my spine as I thought about these two going at it-- over me, no less.
They traded words, "Find your own Emberlyn," and, "I was here first, Lyra!" as they got closer to me.
Neither paid attention to the ale in the tankards as it sloshed around, so eventually I had to break it up.
I told them, "Whoa, whoa, ladies, I am not opposed to double fisting."After the fact, I could have chosen my words better. Both looked a bit red-faced as I said it. Even after I realized back home fisting had a double meaning, I wonder what exactly they thought I had meant. Damnit Dobbs... where was that nerd when I needed him.
After my slip of the tongue, both girls darted off and left me with my two tankards of ale. I spent the rest of the night, eating and sharing stories of home. Lots of the village folks asked me what it was like. At the time, I honestly wasn't sure what to say, other than, "Nothing like this." That did little to quench their curiosity with me, and so I tried to explain to them the whole zombified world of commercial consumerism and rampant forced marketing to the masses, but if I remember their expressions correctly, it did not quite translate.
Before long, Sarge couldn't take the levity any longer and ordered us to turn in. With a rather hurried range walk, he led us back to the barracks that the village had offered us before. They had been kind enough to give us the key to the place so we could lock things up, and it took everything we could do to prevent Dobbs from playing with the swords and armor that had previously belonged to the town's garrison.
Now, as I write this, I sit at a large oak table at the center of a few beds where the guards would sleep, under candlelight. There is something to writing by candlelight that has a romantic feeling to it, that is if you want to feel all juicy and gross inside.
Who knows what tomorrow brings."
"You boys better be getting some rest here soon, I want to get out of here first thing tomorrow," Sarge grunted, as he stood at the head of the table where his soldiers all lingered late into the night.
"Wha? Sarge, why the rush?" Tag held up his hands, a sly grin on his face as he knew exactly the reason.
A few other protests came, as well. Heller suspected that they could be content to stay here for a long while. There was certainly an appeal.
The older man, whose stubble was shadowing his jawline, just stared at them. He would feel better the more distance they put between themselves and these vices. He already was feeling a bit tipsy from the evening's activities, but his bleak seriousness never ceased. He did not want to have to report any of this up the chain of command, but the longer they stayed there, the higher the risk that they would get busted for this. Sarge, himself, had already lost some stripes before, he didn't want to be there again.
"The man is allergic to fun," Tag jabbed at Greggor with a low tone.
Whether Sarge noticed or not, Heller couldn't say. Perhaps all that ale was hitting him hard.
"Whoa, would you look at this..." Spicer interrupted the whining of the rest of the squad from his perch above the door looking out the single arrow slit of the barracks.
The rest of the men looked over to him, curious as to what exactly he was on about, as he jumped down from his perch and unlocked the main door of the barracks.
"Spicer, what the fuck are you--"
Sarge was cut short as the door came ajar, and just on the other side of the threshold, a group of ladies stood, beaming. Their wafting scent already filled their nostrils, and while many of the men were red-faced looking at them, Sarge went pale. He had the look of "I'm totally going to lose another stripe."
The boys were enthralled, there were six ladies in all, all of them the beautiful maidens that they had seen throughout their stay in the village. Heller, himself, recognized two faces, his red-headed and silver-haired friends, who still glared at each other menacingly.
This was about to be a very interesting night.
"Hi! We brought some ale and food for you all." The lead girl, a tall brunette with short hair and a worldly smile, peaked around the corner at all the men staring back at her. "Such powerful warriors certainly have more of an appetite. Can we come in?"
There was something about how she emphasized appetite that seemed off.
"Yes!" five of the men immediately shouted.
"No." Sarge was drowned out by the enthusiasm of his juniors.
Despite the senior's half-hearted and dejected objection, the girls found their way into the barracks. Their tiptoeing seemed suspicious, and despite it being dark outside, none of them carried a lantern. But what they did carry with them was of interest-- between two girls, they struggled with a cask of ale, one they had set aside at the party. Greggor, being a big guy, grabbed it off their hands with ease, the maidens looking impressed. Setting it on the table, Tag resecured the door and the six girls all mingled with the squad, who eagerly gathered around. That was all except for Strauss, who was married, and Sarge, who was losing his mind. That did make the ratio positive, though, something the boys were all too happy about.
"So, what fair winds bring you beautiful maidens herein?" Dobbs laid out the cheesiest line on this side of the portal, one that made Heller want to puke, yet again.
Ironically, they ate it up; one of the older girls, an auburn-haired beauty, was giggling.
"Yeah, isn't it late for you all?" Tag added, with a tone that lacked the cheese of Dobbs, but still steeped in creepiness. Tag was known to lead on a little strong, a vibe that these ladies, again, seemed to be clueless about.
Heller noted that they seemed a little tense, but in a nervous yet excited way.
"We figured you lords needed some more ale and food. You have been traveling for long, no?" asked a long-haired brunette, wearing a blue flowing dress tied along a white blouse. Sneaking into the center of the room, she spun around with a tray of meats and cheeses, her face alit with a welcoming smile.
"And we wanted to keep you boys' company!" added in a cheery tone, from a short petite blonde, who skipped forward with her golden hair flowing behind her. She had a charm to her that injected you with excitement and immediately caught a few of the soldier's eyes.
"Soraya!" Heller's silver-haired friend from before, smacked her on the bare shoulder as she blushed.
The girls, again, each shifted in their stance awkwardly, cheeks redder as time went on.
"Well, we certainly welcome it," Greggor spoke up, taking up the offer of a sliver of choice meats off the dray of the dark-haired maiden, who held her breath as he neared.
Food was soon laid out, and ale began flowing once more. Each of the men and women had a tankard, horn, or stein in hand as they mingled. Most sat along the tables and benches at the center of the barracks. The stone walls echoed with laughter and joviality, as they became familiar.
They learned each other's names, the girls each taking turns introducing themselves. There was Emberlyn, the silver-haired girl that Heller was most familiar with. Fiora, the auburn-haired girl making eyes constantly at Dobbs. Lyra, the feisty girl who shot daggers with her eyes at Emberlyn for sitting close to Heller. Selene and Elowen were black-haired sisters, with Elowen being the oldest of the six of them. And finally, Soraya, the youngest of the women, as it was told, had just come of age to be called so.
Slowly they began to pair, and traded stories about home. The girls asked about the men's lives back in their world, and the members of the squad struggled to explain the concepts of the world they hailed from. Things like television, the internet, consumerism, and technology did not really translate well. They had few implements with them to try to explain, but the girls would simply ask more and more questions, to the point that they could not answer.
Heller, himself, spent a lot of time talking with Emberlyn and Lyra, each of whom jousted to get a word or question in, as he described his life. They fed his ever growing head, admiring everything he had to say about what, in comparison to reality, was a pretty humble life back home.
"Do you have a house or a farm back home?" Lyra ran a hand over his forearm, judging whether he spent his time in the fields plowing the harvest.
"Oh no, I live in the barracks bac--"
"Of course, he doesn't have a farm, he is a noble knight!" Emberlyn browbeat her rival.
"Oh... no I'm not a knight, just a sub-corporal."
Tag, who was impatiently waiting in the wings of their conversation, rolling his eyes, watching the trio take up all the air.
As both girls continued on, Heller noticed something he felt ashamed to have seen. As they leaned in and wiggled about, hardly taking a breath in their conversation, the necklines of their dresses slipped open, and as far as he could tell, nothing lay beneath. Having glanced at a few nipples and side boob from several of the girls in the barracks, he wondered if the lack of undergarments was normal for this world. Even more, was their disregard for how revealing they were being normal?
"Do you have a wife?" The ever direct and feisty red-headed Lyra stared deep into Heller's eyes, her lips pursed with seriousness.
"Uh... no, no I'm single."
Both girls almost immediately came an inch closer to him. Tag glared with jealousy as Heller shrugged.
Their curiosity seemed to be insatiable, and as the night wore on, all began to settle into the endless stories of both the old world and new they came from, as well as the path and adventures that had led them to this day. The girls had begun to mix in with the men, sitting beside them, interestingly close enough that their sweet scent made the lack of sleep the men had previously felt an afterthought.
Both genders shifted where they sat, even Strauss, who kept his distance out of respect to his wife at home, felt an awkward stir. Sarge had tried to keep away, but the youngest of the village maidens, the petite, blonde-haired Soraya, would not let him out of reach.
"So, you are, uh, a knight, sir?" Her light voice prickled the hairs on Sarge's neck as the young maiden in white brushed against him. She sat flush beside him, though her frame was dwarfed by his.
"Oh, no, no." Sarge's round cheeks flushed red, as he scratched his stubble nervously. A few of the men chuckled at seeing their boss so flustered. "I am an N-C-O, ma'am, not a sir, I work for a living." He gruffly cleared his throat as her big blue eyes stared into his soul.
"Enseeoh? Wow." The distinction between modern military ranks and their equivalence to medieval-period titles went over Soraya's head. But her noticed interest in Sarge was not going over anyone else's.
"You must be a brave warrior to be elevated to such a title." Soraya began to trace the sergeant's hairy forearm with her dainty fingers.
"Soraya... leave the poor man alone," Lyra shouted across the circle of newly acquainted friends to her younger companion, while rolling her eyes.
"Shh!" Soraya held a finger to her pursed lips, as she refused to back away from her older companion.
"That girl... I swear." Lyra shook her head. She was just a hair further away from Heller than Soraya sat to her new friend, but was in a relentless stalemate with the silver-haired Emberlyn.
Both traded glares from across Heller's back, both glaring at him as they took measured efforts to scoot closer to each other. A scoot from one begot a scoot from the other.
"So you have no wife, then what are girls like... back where you are from? In your world?" Emberlyn fluttered her eyes, hoping that the girls he was used to had silver hair and less than fiery demeanors, making her a perfect match.
"I hear that even the women there had jobs, and are soldiers. Are they fierce, and strong?" Lyra cued in on the motive. Heller was stunned by how ravenously she was looking at him.
"Uh, I... uh, well." He swallowed as both girls leaned in.
Not far from the awkward interchange between two ripe young women honing in on a lone Heller, Greggor was chatting with Selene about medicinal herbs in this world. The fun facts Greggor was hurriedly writing down, as his black-haired lady friend giddily gave him as much knowledge as he could eat up.
"You never know when you may run out of supplies and have to resort to good, old field medicine." The large man with shoulders built like bricks and a barrel chest had a keen and innocent interest in herbs. The boys often teased him as being a gentle giant. Something Selene seemed to be fond of as she chatted eagerly with him.
"So you are a doctor?" She leaned over, looking at Greggor's notes and doodles. Her dark black hair tickled an exposed part of his arm, sending a shiver up his back.
Her sharp feminine scent burned his nostrils as she hovered around him, causing him to stammer. "Uh... no, just uh, medic."
"Medic..." She pondered the word for a moment, leaning closer. "I bet you know a lot about the body..." Her hand held on to his arm, as she leaned over his notepad to see his scribbles in a script foreign to her.
Greggor's face was bright red, coughing before quickly changing the subject.
Just a few feet away, on an itchy wool blanket, Dobbs and his auburn-haired friend Fiora were hitting it off nicely.
"Never have I quested through such a humble and... beautiful... land as this." He hung on the word beautiful, looking her in the eyes. Where a girl from their world might have gotten the "ick", this maiden was fascinated with Dobbs' ability to speak their flavor of the common tongue. How exactly their language was so similar to ours, the Army intelligence at the pre-operational brief never explained, but it made things very convenient as they got to know the local fare.
With a sweet giggle and a palm to her lips, Fiora ate his one-liners up. "Oh my... you speak about our lands so greatly when the stories I've heard of your land of Corvusia would humble us."
Dobbs kept his suave posture until his eyes drifted south, and noted two protrusions beneath the thin fabric of her dress atop her bosom. Clearing his throat to recover, Dobbs donned the campiest expression of charm possible. "Well, bright lights and digital signs can never match the wonder of the stars."
Spicer, who overheard, nodded as he had to admit that was a good delivery. His own new friend, the eldest girl Elowen, giggled at the line as the two chatted on about life and their past experiences.
Nearby, Sarge was doing everything to keep Soyara off of him.
Heller noted just how close everyone was getting, and just how much ale was being passed around.
"Tell us," Lyra impatiently snapped.
"Well, I mean girls are not that much different back home, I suppose. Every one of them is different whether they are quiet and laid back or fiery and upfront. They work alongside us and still do many of the same things. I guess, if anything, here you all emphasize more ofyour feminine natures."
"Feminine natures?"
"Yeah... I mean, dresses, the way you speak, what you do, how you act. It's just more feminine."
Both girls sat quietly and listened; even Soraya listened across from them, as she wrapped her arm under Sarge's.
"It's not, uh, it's not a bad thing, by any means," Heller clarified.
"So, do you like us more?"
"Like you more?"
"Since we are more feminine." Lyra sat up straight, pushing her breasts out. There, too, amidst her more modest bumps, was the clear protrusion of nipples. Heller wondered if none of these girls wore bras?
"I don't know if it's a matter of liking you more. Just, you all are different in your own way."
"But... would you rather have us?" Lyra leaned in, the top of her blouse drooping down, her pert cleavage in full view, as Heller needed no imagination to know the color of her areolas.
"Have...?"
Across the way, Soraya's fingers were digging into Sarge's arm, her small frame shaking.
"Sarge... what is your real name?" Shifting to her knees, her blue orbs looked up at him.
"It's... it's Paul."
"Paul..." his name lathered her tongue. "Are you wed, Paul?" Soraya held her hands together as if she was praying to the gods he was not.
"Nuh... no... not anymore."
"Anymore..." She pondered for a moment. Most in the barracks were watching this exchange. There was a suspicious apprehension amongst the other girls as to what Soraya would do next.
Even Sarge seemed more nervous than any of the men had seen him. Not the orcs or the most vicious fighting in Bastonia made him sweat like sweet and innocent Soraya. But what she said next, truly stole the rest of the color in his face.
"Paul... wed me then. Take me as your mate. I am pure! I haven't known a man! I could give you strong sons!" She pressed her flat chest against him, her head level with his, even as he sat and she was on her knees. She lathered his stubbled cheek with kisses, the mouths of the other soldiers agape as the other girls face-palmed.
"There she goes." Selene shook her head, holding the bridge of her nose between her fingers.
"I told you we shouldn't bring her along..." Elowen, the eldest, shaking her head, muttered to her younger sister.
"I told her to go easy, okay?" Selene got defensive.
A collective gasp stole the air of the room as the incredibly forward Soraya shed her white dress to prove her dedication to the matter. Sarge, most of all, was agape, nose to tit with perfect pink nipples atop a flat chest. The young maiden Soraya wore no undergarments, just as Heller suspected the other women were not.
The men had no shame in staring at the shimmering naked skin on the incredibly forward and eager girl as she jumped into Sarge's lap. While she boasted little in the bosom, her hips were feminine and a visual affirmation of her desire to bear the older man fruit, as they widely tapered in contrast. Sitting back against his chest, she rubbed her ass into his crotch, smiling as she found a bulge growing there.
"Soraya! You little spawn of Carneth!" Selene chided her, waving her hands in disbelief.
Laying her head back into Sarge's shoulder, pulling his cautious hands around her stomach, and wiggling around his lap, Soraya shot her friend a steely glance.
"This affair moves too slowly for me. I've waited my whole life to know a man like this... I want it..." Her last three words were a message as she stared deep into the older man's eyes and brought his hands to her nubs. She landed sugary pecks on his flesh that felt forbidden. The soldiers were awestruck at the beautiful girl's intense desire to get plowed by a man they only knew for his foul temper and many divorces. What did he have exactly that gave him such luck?
The youngest soldier, Spicer, became curious as he looked around at the girls pairing off with each soldier, looking very guilty. Nearest to him, Selene, hid her very red cheeks beneath her long dark hair, as she gasped at the lewd movements of her friend grinding in the older soldier's lap.
"So what's with her?" He scooted closer to his new friend, trying to get a good look at her face which she hid.
Moving between her and the show, it was apparent there was something the girls were hiding. Selene's face said it all, a guilty expression of knowing that told of a plot amongst these maidens to do something that Soraya may have acted on quicker than the other girls were comfortable with.
"Eek... uhhhhhh." Selene's face turned red again; she took a long swig of her ale.
"Hey..." Spicer, always bold and to the point, softly grabbed her chin and turned her head towards his. They met gazes, to which she melted into his hand, letting him hold her willfully. "I don't like being deceived." His stern gaze conveyed just how serious he was.
A few feet from them, another girl lost the veil of her deception, as Fiora straddled Dobbs and held his collar tightly.
- Next page: Page 02
