A DAY OUTSIDE HEAVEN:

Mike stood atop the observation tower, drained and battered, yet still standing. He had yet to shed blood, but just an hour ago the field he marched upon was coated in red crimson, leaving him with only eight spare bullets. The hot barrel of his revolver had long been stowed in its holster, the warmth pulsated against Mike’s leg, and the soot covered his pants and hands. He had dried blood covering his fingers, and a purple-colored bandage was wrapped around his left hand, the result of a dagger nearly cutting open the piece of flesh.

Morning had fully engulfed the kingdom when he arrived at the peak of the tower. The gentle wind brushed against his exposed body, and he shivered in the harsh glow of the orange sun. No more than 300 meters was the capital, the grand castle where this all began. It always revolved around this place… From where he stood, the Staff Sergeant could easily point out the more notable locations he had the opportunity to tour. The training fields, horse stables, armory, throne room, and Lecca’s personal residence. It was impossible to believe that he had lived in such a grand place, even for just a fleeting memory. He could only wish to see himself live in a place far away, far from prying eyes. Perhaps somewhere deep in the winter of the Federation, much like Alaska.

Forced from his silent reverie, Staff Sergeant Mike Randall found himself rapidly descending the tower. He ignored the uncomfortable smells that was enraptured in the space, liquor, smokes, tea, and burnt drugs created a rancid smell. This was no doubt used as a refuge by criminal elements, or storage for corrupted officials, but problems would be delt with one at a time. Breaking out on ground level, the Ranger rushed forward, ignoring the crowd of homeless souls laying in the snow, throwing up their stomach content, or fighting each other over a scrap of food.

Running in the summer of the east coast, Uniform Company, Spearhead Squadron, it was all the same as cutting through the winter wastes in the capital. His Ranger School and RASP company was the first to train both enlisted and officers within the same unit. By the time he had graduated RASP and been assigned to a Ranger company, that being the 75th, he could barely recall the ease-fire called by President Hampton Zimmer ended the first engagement between NATO and the TIPA. With a growing hope, and the faith he had for the people of this world, Lecca’s wish and call for peace was all that could be carried out by the man standing alone. Unlike the celebration the former men he worked beside held for the small peace that existed between the larger war, there would be ceremony, no clattering of glass bottles.

Why did his eyebrows rise? Turning and removing his revolver from its home, he stood over two bodies just 100 meters from the rear-entrance. Top brass. From his understanding of the military uniforms and officer insignias of the kingdom’s army, he was looking at the dead body of a Vice Commander. It was the equivalent of a Colonel in the U.S. Army. Beside the body was that of a young child. They shared the same hair, the same cold eyes. Whatever he was looking at, it was scarily easy to discern that this was a father and his daughter. No knowledge of the inner workings of the kingdom made it to Mike’s own ears, let alone anyone else within his circle. It seemed that even those in the upper echelons of the Federation were just as blind to deteriorating situation within Yondel. And if he had to be certain, the Federation could have easily waited for the kingdom to burn itself down and lick its wounds.

But what did he know, he was just a normal G-man.

His trip through the frozen wastelands of the kingdom were spent in silence. And though engagements were peppered throughout, his trek was uneventful. Different paths, environments, people, voices. Mike was slowly losing track of the thousands of people he had stumbled across within the last three days. Just another day. He said, deprived of his sense of direction. Wandering aimlessly forward, the burning sun shined its golden light upon the field he now trotted through. The matter of which direction he was heading didn’t matter. His destination awaited him, and he knew that arrival would only be a matter of time. This place, this world, wasn’t enough to hold him from completing the mission; ensure that the throne was returned to the rightful heir.

To the sound of footsteps crushing dead grass, Mike lowered himself against a destroyed rock wall. Just peering his head over the top, he spotted two soldiers less than 15 meters away amongst olive drab tents.

“Hey, have you seen what Senator Orpheus is up to?”

“No… Is this about the special unit?”

“Those soldiers are like the Holy Knights. He personally created the selection process.”

“That means we can rule ourselves out. No way we are getting into that.”

“Right.”

“I am not a tough guy. Not in comparison to the princess and her men.”

As the two watch standers returned to their posts, Mike slowly began to move in between the scattered barricades, walls, and tents. Though he was armed, he didn’t have enough ammunition to spare a firefight before he crossed the main gate into the castle. Halting by a collection of trees, the Staff Sergeant scanned the surrounding area. From his understanding, both due to the invasion and the possible return of Princess Lecca, the kingdom had mobilized its forces, and the garrison within the castle was placed on special alert.

A small smirk formed on his face.

His luck was tangible. The sun was out, and even the shadows he stepped into weren’t enough to hide his silhouette. With the correct presentation, and timing between movements, he would be able to blend into the background and slip past the first gate. However, reaching the inner workings of the castle would be more than challenging. His face was known to those within. External access to the throne room would be the first objective. Securing any political hostage would be the second. The Royal Court wouldn’t go down without a fight, let alone the standing king. Overthrowing a government wasn’t Mike’s specialty, let alone something that any of the Rangers were trained to do. Not even Army Infiltration, and Special Forces could handle such a task on their own.

There yet was still time. And a chance to fix everything.

Holstering his revolver, Mike paced between each tent, rock, wall, tree, and bush. He had gone from someone looking to hide, to a soldier that belonged on theses grounds. The uniforms always had differed, this was the advantage. Yondel was no strangers not only to foreign soldiers, but to those from another world, Earth. With some luck his face might be more than enough to convince the guards within the castle of his clearance. A Holy Knight was second to nothing. Warriors from other realities with skills and training that went beyond anything the kingdom could’ve offered its own military. Sailors, Soldiers, Marines, Airmen, they were the true force multipliers. Knowledge is power. And to know of his identity as a Holy Knight was something he could easily leverage.

With his right hand he grasped and invisible rifle as he stepped over a small ledge. It was only mere seconds as a shadow passed over the Ranger, did Mike realize that he had made it past the first gate and breached the interior of the castle’s perimeter.

“Major, sir!” the call of a soldier’s voice within the inner gate caught Mike’s attention. A knight major had been identified as he approached the access watch to the local armory. The young blood had saluted the officer and was awaiting further instructions.

“Grand Harbinger Williams suspect that there is an intruder.” The single sentence was enough to set the watch stander’s eyes running across the entire view he had of the base. The young man was no minstrel boy, but he was more than willing to sharpen up at moment’s notice. With a hand on his short sword, and a determined gaze, the young soldier was prepared to give his life. He may have disliked standing watch, but Mike could easily see the man’s dedication to his post, the knight major, and by extension, the kingdom.

“We have others on base. They will not sell us out, not if they wish to live. We are organizing their return to each homeland they hail from.”

Exiting the armory, the officer in charge, was not convinced. “Even if they are our allies, they are undisputable risks. Let alone military personnel, civilians. From the invading force, we know that people break easily—if they get their hands on a commoner…”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Every instance of their visits has been expunged from any records. No one knows they are here.” The major spat back at the junior officer. He seemed annoyed by the suggestion that hostile forces were using the common man for information. Mike knew that the Federation had its inside resources, but they were more likely to get information out of people willing to help. Everyone was a security risk.

“We can speak more about this when the OOD from the navy stops by.” Junior officer rubbed his forehead. He could feel a growing migraine, “Those people on instillation are not our friends unless the king or flag officer say otherwise.”

“Easy, knight. No one had any plans to consider them friends either. We are dealing with matters sooner than later, and that includes getting what they need before we send them on their way.”

The mockery the major wanted to put through was at the tip of his tongue. Yet, he relented. Simply turning around and storming off, the knight major passed by Mike as he remained flat against a rock wall. The American looked past the officer and saw an entry point; a stairwell that pointed to a deformed wall within the castle. With some luck, and strength, the staff sergeant would be able to scale a small edge to gain access to a balcony on the east side. All he could do was hope he wasn’t spotted upon ascent, and hurry into the halls within before a knight or magician could kill him. That much Mike hoped.

Breaking from the wall and making a mad dash within the second gate, Mike flattened himself against a collection of tents and boxes. Checking behind him, he saw that the patrols roving around the complex had not noticed his sudden action as they were drawn away by a collection of homeless commoners at the gate. Biting the inside of his mouth, he continued passing the third and final gate.

As he took another step into the compound, a ringing bell far away made the Ranger freeze.

“All stations! Hostile intruders have passed the defensive line! The Federation is here!”

A platoon’s worth of soldiers sprinted away from the gate and towards the opposite side of the castle. Gunfire erupted and echoed all throughout the courtyards and gardens.

“Hey you! This is a restricted area—”

With a sprit of crimson blood emanating from the man’s face, hot smoke erupted from Mike’s revolver.

He was compromised, and now, engaged.

With luck he only had a single squadron of eight that were gunning to kill him.

Guns and swords.

Knowing that if he continued to fight, he wouldn’t have anymore ammunition for killing the king, Mike bolted away from the soldiers that jogged after him in their heavy armor. “Halt, intruder!” The lead soldier cried as the Ranger moved beyond his reach. This wasn’t a game of cat and mouse. There was no hunter, there was no prey. To them, Mike Randall was either long dead or had disappeared. They could’ve never recognized the eyepatch, the shaggy brown hair, or the scruff that had grown considerably on his face. The Reclaimers, the Holy Knights were those that were sharp, squared away, and deadly in every action they took. Not a man that was moving with the intentions of evasion.

To them, ‘Mike’ was just another military-aged male that worked under the Federation. Though they stood correct that he was affiliated with the Federation, through the shouts and now the bolts of magic that flew over his head, the soldier from beyond renewed his oath to Yondel, to Zivaland, to the people of his home.

For his actions, there will be generations…

--

EVEN BEYOND DEATH:

48 hours had passed, with barely any rest or sleep to work with. Lecca looked beyond from her perch on a shattered wall, just in view, her royal blood showing to all. She rested her arms neatly on the shattered stone, a gentle palm remained pressed against her chin. Looking to her people below, even she could not believe the destruction that had befallen the city of Bishmark once more. It was a slaughter. She had presumed, to the best of her ability, that the city would yet be saved from attacks. Yet once more, she had played a hand in her people’s destruction.

Stretchers, coffins, burials. All happened simultaneously. The reaper once more stepped through the mud, his gleaming red eyes stared up to the princess. Calm gentle eyes… She could feel their pain, how much it hurt to be burnt, stabbed, tore to pieces. Words such as excruciating, hell, and punishment could not describe what anyone felt. Her heart quickened, and the desperation to bring salvation and peace to her people was all she wanted to achieve, yet without him she felt that such a goal, such a reality was never to be reached in the passing of time. Every time she opened her eyes, if there was one wish, it was to see what her heart yearned for.

Shutting her eyes, the reaper stood before her, as gentle smile emanating from his white face.

--

Light broke through the darkness.

She stood atop the wall guarding the capital. The inner city had been turned once from a peaceful labyrinth, and instead into something she could only describe as a large military training complex, one all too like the facilities in the Federation. Patches of trimmed grass, empty streets, makeshift exercise facilities, and marked and painted buildings for temporary housing of additional soldiers. From her vantage point she could easily identify the administrative buildings where command staff silently shuffled information of the conflict to the castle and back. Watch standers were dotted all over the city, and rovers joined patrols as they crossed the most critical and vulnerable areas for hostile movement.

To the scraping of metal on the stone wall, Lecca turned right. Her men were silent as they moved equipment across the wall. There were no greetings, conversation, questions. Just silence as they prepared to reclaim the throne. She reflected President Harding; leaders gathering their followers once more. For the sake of the kingdom, for Mother Juna, and as Mike put it “God”, she would make the sacrifice to bring peace and love upon the world, if not Yondel alone.

One of the men she had collected was something she had never expected. Though still old, older than the more able-bodied fighters, the one man she trusted within the ranks of the army stepped out from shadow and stood beside her. Long had he traded his shined and pristine metal armor for nothing more than a simple khaki button down shirt, olive-drab trousers, and an enormous brown scarf that covered his neck, shoulder, and top of the leather armor he wore. His once clean-cut hair and trimmed beard had given way to time. He was unrecognizable to the average man, but to those within ranks, he was identifiable as the captain that dare stood against the throne.

He eyed the princess with a gruff demeanor, hardened by war and strife. His once blonde hair had been through the mud and blood of conflict and had been turned a gentle brown with hints of gold underneath the soot and dirt. Before he could express what thoughts was tearing through his mind, a young soldier walked up to him and the princess. The young man stood at attention as he eyed the two with a nervous gaze. His teeth clicked before he snapped a crisp salute, making the decision that it would be easier to salute even if those before him weren’t commissioned officers.

“Easy kid, we don’t salute in the field,” Captain Orwell said. “It may look like it, but you are in a battlefield, or soon to be in one. If you salute an officer, forbid your commanding officer, that is a one-way ticket to death.”

“Yes sir!” The soldier said snapping the salute to his side and relaxing his posture. “Sir, ma’am, our contact within the castle has engaged the royal guard. Five knights have already been eliminated.”

“Contact?” Lecca whispered.

“There was a man that made contact with us through a letter.” Orwell explained, “He said he was personally going to target the king while an assault from Zivaland was underway. As the man put it, he is here to take out the “Boss” behind all this madness in the world.”

Lecca bit her lips. She did not like what the captain had just described. There was no doubt that Mike was raiding the castle, yet he was a fool, one that would easily say that such an action, alone, was certain death. He was not trained in solo infiltration, subterfuge, nor sabotage. He was a normal human—a soldier that specialized in nothing but war. Underneath all the armor, and weapons was nothing but a man. One that could easily brake or die.

A ruthless killer. Lecca did not let her past control her, but they greatly influenced her actions. She was more than adept in infiltrating and killing designated targets with no traces. Efficiency couldn’t describe the list of souls she snatched from mere humans. Once ago she felt nothing. Now, she was the very definition of a life giver. It was not just the staff sergeant that changed her, no, there were others. However, he was the only one who remained by her side no matter what happened.

“Princess, the preparations are ready. Three hundred soldiers still loyal to the rightful heir, against a thousand of the finest in the city alone.” Orwell stated, releasing a heavy sigh as he withdrew his own sword. He remained steadfast as he whistled to the men on the wall. With his signal, the men attached themselves to specially made horse-hair ropes and descended the outside of the wall.

“Lecca,” Orwell coughed, “with the information we have, every part of the local government here is corrupted. The enforcers, judges, corporations, guilds, they were all bought out years ago.”

“Indeed. The people?” She asked, “Are they too blinded by the traitor?”

“No way to confirm. We should assume this goes to the top,” Orwell commented.

“And the contact? What does he know?”

“At the very least there has been a trade of enormous sums of money,” Orwell outed, seemingly knocking the wind out of the princess. “We could be talking upwards of one billion.”

A thunderous boom made Lecca shudder. A shadow tore above her, followed by a large stream of water vapor. Turning towards where the projectile went, she watched as a small orange light touched the side of the castle. Following the contact an explosion threw dust, smoke, bricks, and debris high into the sky only to rain down upon the citizens and the soldiers guarding the immediate perimeter to the palace.

Looking slowly up towards the sky, Orwell remained silent as a burning rage grew throughout his body. He clenched his fists pure white as threw planes branched off from their formation and began to deploy paratroopers all throughout the capital. Not making a single noise, he held his sword tightly as he took three steps back. Lunging forward, the man pressed his left boot against the edge of the wall and propelled himself out into the open sky, the aftershock blew into the princess pressing her dress to the side and her silver hair into the open wind.

Collecting herself, Lecca braced against the stone wall.

Gunfire erupted in the streets.

And the drums of war thundered once more.