Battleborne Read online

  Battleborne

  By Dave Willmarth

  Copyright © 2020 by Dave Willmarth

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  All characters and events depicted in this novel are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Lieutenant Maximilian Storm grunted as a high velocity round punched into his helmet at an oblique angle, failing to penetrate, but knocking him off balance. The impact caused him to fall backward, away from the tree he’d been using for cover. His side landed on a sharp stone that he felt poking at his ribs even through his body armor.

  “Shit!” was all he had time to say before tracer rounds started zeroing in on his now exposed head and torso. He rolled to his right down a slight decline, adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream, fueling his muscles to move faster as rounds tore up the soil around him. Three struck his back in rapid succession as he rolled, not penetrating the Kevlar and armor plate there, but hurting like they had.

  Max dropped into a shallow depression, then scrambled on knees and elbows a bit farther to his right to take cover behind a raised tree root. All around him he heard the pained grunts and screams of his squad taking hits. Explosions up in the trees spoke of mortar rounds dropping from above, a few of them making it through the canopy to tear rents in the forest floor. Shrapnel flew everywhere, both metal shards from the ordinance, and wooden slivers from shattered trees.

  He looked up and over his shoulder, being careful not to raise his head above the root in front of him. He could see Smitty, one of the newer guys, crouched behind a large rock about twenty yards back, eyes wide and breathing hard.

  “Hey, Smitty! Gimme some cover fire. I’m pinned over here!” he called through coms. Tensing his body in preparation for a burst of speed, he watched Smitty nod and raise his weapon. Just then a cracking sound in the canopy above caused both of them to flatten themselves to the ground.

  It didn’t do Smitty any good. Max watched as the high explosive mortar round impacted the ground a foot or so behind the man. His mostly vaporized body was splattered against the boulder he’d been using for cover. Max grimaced as Smitty’s head, still in one piece inside his scorched and battered helmet, bounced past him.

  Hugging the dirt, Max called out again for assistance. “Smitty’s gone. I need cover!”

  He waited, listening for any reply. The only sounds coming through his earpiece were panicked breathing and cries of pain. “This is Wolf One! Wolf squad, report status!” he ordered a roll call, falling back on ingrained training. He was the leader of a twelve-man squad, part of a larger company that had walked into these woods two hours ago.

  There was no reply for several seconds, indicating that at least one of his guys was down. Finally, a voice came through, the speaker grunting in pain. “This is Four. Two is gone. Three is out but breathing. I’m down, left arm all torn up. Five took one through the neck. He’s not moving anymore.”

  “Nine here. Still good, boss. But I’m it. Mortar rounds got the rest.”

  Max cursed silently to himself. “Nine. Cover fire. I’ll move back and grab Three and Four!”

  “Roger that.” A moment later automatic rifle fire sputtered behind him, and tracer rounds began passing him on their way downrange.

  Max scrambled to his feet, keeping low as he followed the depression he was in, moving toward where he’d instructed Four to take position. Wolf Four was Dylan, one of his original squad, along with Wolf Three, a corporal named Blake. They’d fought together for nearly four years now, and the three of them were now the last survivors of his original twelve-man team. Replacements had come and gone, close to a hundred of them. Max had quit counting. Wolf Nine was another new guy, only with them for about three weeks now. His name was Kuhns.

  Using another tree as cover, he stood nearly upright and dashed toward his wounded men, who’d been positioned on his squad’s right flank. He covered the thirty yards with adrenaline-fueled speed, managing to reach their position without taking any more hits. Sliding into their hole, he found Dylan using his right hand and teeth to tighten a tourniquet around his left bicep. The arm below the cloth was mangled and dripping blood. Max quickly took over, tightening and properly securing the cloth. As soon as he was done, he looked to Blake. The soldier’s helmet was badly dented on one side, and a ragged bullet wound in his shoulder was bleeding.

  “I think the hit to the head knocked him out.” Dylan grunted. “You take him. I can walk.”

  Max nodded, taking a knee and rolling Blake’s body up onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Head straight back. We’ll RV with Nine when we’re all clear.” Not waiting for his friend and comrade, he got to his feet with a groan, lifting Blake’s weight as well as his own, and took off at a trot toward the rear, picking up speed as best he could. He did his best to weave behind trees and other cover as he ran, hearing Dylan right behind him. Thirty seconds after they’d begun running, he felt Blake jerk against his back, and Dylan started swearing.

  “Shit, shit shit! Blake just took one to the back, boss. I think he’s toast.” The man panted, shouting as he ran.

  “Shut it and run!” Max growled back, not stopping to check on Blake. The man was either alive, or he wasn’t. Stopping now might kill them both. His legs screaming, he pushed himself harder. Leaning forward slightly, he used Blake’s weight to give him a little extra momentum, teetering on the very edge of falling forward, just barely keeping his footing. He could hear his pulse pounding over the sounds of rifle fire and exploding ordinance.

  What he did not hear was the mortar round crashing through the leaves above him.

  The ground three steps in front of him erupted in a spray of dirt, shrapnel, and fire. Max felt a wave of heat and pressure hit him in the face, even as he went blind. He heard screaming, and wasn’t sure if it was Dylan, or himself. Intense, burning pain registered in nearly every part of his body, along with a sensation of falling.

  Thankfully, none of it lasted for long.

  In seconds, he felt nothing at all.

  *****

  “Arise, noble warrior.”

  Max felt a tingling sensation on his face. Or what had been his face. It felt like… being watched. He tried to open his eyes, but there was only blackness. Not the darkness of an unlit room, but a complete and utter void. The total absence of light, or gravity. He tried to raise his hand to investigate, and there was nothing. No hand, no arm, no face. When he tried to speak, there was no sound, only thought.

  “What is this? Where am I? Who are you?”

  The same voice, a female, spoke again. “I am Hildi, the Valkyrie. You are in the place between. In your world you call it Limbo. It is the place of passing, of choosing. A void, free of physical existence. Free of the physical pain of your previous form.”

  Max remembered.

  “The fight in the woods. There was… a mortar round.” He mentally flinched as he relived the explosion, despite not having a physical form to follow the impulse. “I… died?”

  “Your body will die, yes. I found you and retrieved your essence mere seconds before your body expired, and brought you here. You are now among the Battleborne. Warriors found worthy of serving the Allfather. Those who have shown themselves to possess great courage, honor, loyalty, and prowess. The honored dead who perish in battle, as warriors should.”

  “My men?”

 
; “Their fate is not your concern, for now. You must choose your own path.”

  “Choose? Choose between what?”

  “You may return to your previous physical body. In which case you will perish, and your essence will be reabsorbed into the natural forces of your world. You may choose to join the Einherjar, Odin’s warriors in Valhalla, to await the battle of Ragnarok. There you will fight and train by day, improving your combat prowess. Each night the victors and the dead are reunited in celebration of the day’s battles. You will live only to honor Odin in the final battle.” She paused as visions of melee battles flashed through his mind, followed by feasts filled with meat, mead, and song. “Or you may choose another incarnation, on a new world. One befitting a Battleborne such as yourself.”

  The idea of Valhalla was not new to Max. Or to any soldier. Most dreamed of the promised glory, the daily battles, the nightly parties. Even as a kid, when he’d first read about the Norse gods and the legendary monsters they faced, he’d dreamed of taking part in it. Though, like everyone else, he’d thought it all just a myth. Now, if he wasn’t simply trapped in his own mind, sitting in a hospital somewhere, quietly going insane, he had a chance to actually live that dream!

  Still, the mention of a new world stirred something within him as well. It was every kid’s dream to explore new worlds. To “Boldly go…” He needed more information.

  “Hildi, may I ask questions before I choose?”

  Though he couldn’t see the Valkyrie, he felt her smile at him. “I should be disappointed if you did not. The wise do not make ill-informed decisions.”

  “This reincarnation in another world. Do you mean an actual other planet? Or just like, a different culture or time period on Earth?”

  “Your Earth is merely one of many worlds, noble one. It is a particular favorite of Odin’s, as Earthlings seem to thrive on conflict. Since the time when your primitive ancestors first learned to use sticks and bones as weapons, you have fought each other. Odin has fostered that trait in your people, as have some of the other gods. But no, should you choose to forego Valhalla in favor of a new incarnation, it would not be on Earth. And before you ask, I do not know which world you would inhabit next.”

  Max took a moment to absorb that information. Accustomed to quickly taking in and processing intel that enabled him to make the best possible decisions in the heat of combat, his instincts kicked in. And just like that, he knew his next question.

  “Should I choose reincarnation, since it would be on another world, I would not be human?”

  “That is unknown. The human race is not exclusive to Earth.”

  “Would I be able to choose the body I’m born into?”

  “That I cannot answer. I can say that once you inhabit your new form, you will be allowed to make several choices that will directly impact your life, and how you interact within that new world.”

  “And if, or when, I die in this new world? Will Valhalla still be an option?”

  He felt another smile from the Valkyrie. “As always, that shall depend on how you conduct yourself in that lifetime. You may not choose to be a warrior. Or you may die in some dishonorable manner. There are no guarantees.”

  Max wasn’t anxious to go through childhood, or puberty, again. But if he could do so with all the memories of his previous life… “Hildi, when I am reborn, will I remember who I am? Who I was?”

  “You will retain your current memories, yes. Though your rebirth will not be as you imagine.”

  “Well, now. That’s not scary at all.” He grumped at the Valkyrie. Another question hit him. “Will I need to pray to Odin? I’m not really a religious type. And I did not ask for this.”

  “Did you pray to Odin in your former life?” When Max mentally shook his head no, she continued. “And yet you were chosen as Battleborne. Your new life would be the same. Odin does not require that you worship him in life. Though, you may find that honoring the gods provides certain… benefits.”

  “You keep saying Battleborne. What exactly is a Battleborne?”

  “Those who have borne the weight of battle, and remained whole, even thrived, despite the loss, the horror, the trauma, and guilt that can wound a warrior’s soul. Those deemed worthy to serve in Valhalla, or to embrace new incarnations. Chosen of the gods, the Battleborne often find themselves the nexus of great happenings upon their worlds.”

  Max had heard enough.

  “Thank you, Hildi, for being so patient and helpful. It has been a pleasure.” He paused for a moment, taking a mental deep breath.

  “I choose a new incarnation, on a new world.”

  “Then so shall it be.” Hildi pronounced. “And you are most welcome, noble one. I wish you good fortune…” Her voice faded along with Max’s awareness, until all was once again silence and emptiness.

  *****

  Hildi appeared above her sisters, who were lounging on a pristine green lawn at the edge of a crystal clear lake. A low table was set between them, covered in tasty bits of fruit, meats, and pastries. Drifting down, she landed next to Eir, her favorite. Taking a seat, she plucked a few grapes from a bowl and popped one into her mouth.

  Eir favored her with a smile. “He was a handsome one.”

  Not meeting her sister’s gaze, Hildi shrugged. “I had not noticed.”

  When Eir snorted, she added, “He was quite polite, for a warrior. And asked questions that implied an admirable intellect.”

  “And he was handsome.” Sigr, another of the sisters interjected with a wink to Eir. “Well, right up until his face was blown off.”

  Hildi flashed her sister an annoyed look. Sigr patted the air with both hands in a gesture of peace, smiling all the while. “It seems our hard-hearted Hildi has taken a liking to this one.”

  Eir shared the smile, patting Hildi’s leg gently. “Indeed she has. Shall we make her happy by favoring him with blessings for his new incarnation?”

  Hildi’s eyes widened, and she blushed slightly. “You would… do this? For a Battleborne you have not even met?”

  As Sigr nodded, Eir replied. “Rarely have I seen you blush over a mortal, sister. You see something in him, and that is enough for us. Now let’s see, what gifts shall we offer him…?”

  *****

  Max had no idea how long his consciousness floated within the void. Time had no meaning when one’s thoughts were unfocused, and there was no physical sensation, no heartbeat or breathing in and out to mark and measure its passage. His thoughts thick as molasses, Max considered his death. The initial panic and fear subsided, flowing into a sense of loss, and regret. He had no family to miss him, but he felt concern for his remaining men. There was guilt over failing his mission objectives, and the deaths of his men. Anger flashed when he considered that they’d been sent into a meat grinder with bad intelligence. Eventually, the turmoil calmed, and he approached acceptance of his new reality.

  At some point, he began to sense a lessening in the blackness, coinciding with a feeling of gravity. Black became grey, lightening to silver, and eventually a bright white that caused Max to blink, then raise his hand in an attempt to shield his eyes.

  “Eyes! I have eyes! And a hand!” he heard himself shout. “And a voice!”

  The light faded, and he lowered his hand, looking down at himself. “I have a body! Sort of.” His tone changed as he took in his form. He reminded himself of a race of alien clones he’d seen on tv, his body and limbs thin, without much detail. The skin was featureless, no hair, no wrinkles or spots, or even pores that he could see.

  As he began to imagine what type of world would support this frail body, a new voice rang out from behind him.

  “So. Who do you want to be, Battleborne?”

  With more effort required than he’d expected, Max turned himself to face the speaker. What he saw was a diminutive figure standing atop a pedestal made of clear crystal. Just a few inches tall, it was a female humanoid with freckled pale skin, emerald green eyes that seemed to shine with a light of their
own, and bright red hair. She wore what appeared to be green silk pajamas, complete with feet.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I asked, what do you want to be?” She spoke slowly, carefully annunciating each word, looking at him as if he were simple. “Did you die from a head injury?” She placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head slightly. Her eyes sparkled with humor.

  “As in, what do I want to be when I grow up?” He couldn’t help but grin at her. “And no, no head injury. I mean, maybe? I’m not exactly sure. I think pretty much all of me got blown up.” He shook his head, chagrined. “Give me a break, here. I just died, had a conversation with a mythic being, learned that Odin and apparently several other gods are real, and now I’m… where am I?”

  She assumed a thoughtful look, placing one finger against her lips and rolling her eyes upward slightly. “I suppose you’re technically nowhere, still. This place doesn’t have a name that I’m aware of.”

  “And what about you? Do you have a name?”

  The tiny leprechaun-looking creature snorted. “Of course I have a name! It’s…” she paused, her mouth open as if to utter a word, but nothing came out. “It’s… my name is… huh. I can’t seem to remember my name. I’m sure I have one.” Her lips became pouty, and she smacked the side of her head with one hand as if to shake the missing information loose.

  Still smiling at her, he took a step closer and held out a single finger for her to shake. “Well I am Maximilian Storm. Or, I was. Can you tell me what we’re doing here… how bout if I call you Red until you remember your name?”

  She glared at him, her brows furrowed and her lips thinning as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Oh, right. Because of the hair. Real original!” she grumped at him. He withdrew the finger, which she obviously was not going to shake.

  “Okay, not Red. How about Grumpy? Or Feisty? Snarky McSnarkface?” He tried to look more serious, but failed. “What would you prefer to be called?”