The Vassal

He stood around six feet tall. He was medium build, with close cropped grey hair and eyes that seemed to change color depending on the firelight.

He was totally clothed in black; shiny black dress shoes, black pants, black long-sleeved shirt and even a black tie. The tie was twisted around and the end tucked back into the shirt between a set of the buttons running down the front. There were a few bits of shiny metal devices stuck to him but the shadows from the fire made it hard to tell what they were, except that they were there.

Bowing his head in a sharp gesture, the man said, "I am sorry, Grandmother, but I do not know your culture, your ways, to make this work. One needs to BELIEVE for any magic to work, so I must by needs follow MY traditions."

Stepping back, he pulled a cloth bag from his belt and with a simple gesture, completed the circle surrounding the three people.

Walking back towards the fire, the man reached down to an object on the ground. Picking it up he turned to the little group and revealed that he held an "old school" K-Bar combat knife. Thumbing the blade with his left thumb he looked at the group and said, "I wish to tell you a tale. It is a hard tale, an evil tale but a tale that must be told."

His eyes scanned over the small group inside the circle and he continued, his voice seemed to be coming from all directions, from out of the night itself.

Pointing to the young woman he said, "When she was but a young girl, she was placed in a hard predicament. A trusted family friend, someone into whose care she was placed for protection. Someone who as an adult knowingly and willfully hurt the child placed in his care. Someone who broke that trust by assaulting her; trying to break her mind and spirit. He told her things, lies, to bend her mind to his will and thus her body to his lusts. Things that were truly scary and which a child would not understand were not going to happen. Threatening the life of her pet. Threatening the lives of her parents and her sister. Telling her he would take her away and they would be happy to have her not around. EVIL things. He used these evil thoughts to force her to do things. Things a girl should not have to do. Things beyond her age. However, this young girl, this warrior, fought back. She did not give up. In her mind she was protecting her parents and her sister. The fact that she was only 18 years old did not diminish her resolve. And later, when she had grown more into a young woman and her sister was celebrating her 18th birthday she saw his gaze leaving her and focusing more and more on her sister. Knowing that he would soon be doing to his sister what he had done to her, she redoubled her fight. She offered him more and more perverse deeds to shield her sister from him. She found more disgusting and humiliating things to offer him so as to keep his attention on her and not her sister. It culminated one night where after a particularly depraved coupling, when he had fallen asleep in a drunken stupor, she found the courage to dispatch him with a knife. Now this warrior suffers with the trauma and consequences of those times. She has not given up, she fights on. Her war continues. She is worthy of having HER war known and recognized.

"This warrior has a strength of spirit that I find fascinating."

The old man looked into the eyes of the five "sportsmen." "I would name this warrior my vassal. Do any doubt my right to claim this thing or wish to contest my valid right?"

The Warriors looked back at him with hooded eyes and did not raise a challenge.

"You," he said pointing at Windsong, "will you accept me as your liege lord?"

"Y... yes," she said. Her voice was not more than a squeak. The air was getting thicker, a fog was rolling into the glade and she smelled ozone. Walking closer to where she sat, he motioned for her to stand, leave the circle and stand next to him. Running the blade over the back of his left arm a brilliant line of red appeared. Dipping his finger into the welling blood, he painted a cross onto the young woman's forehead. Cleaning the blade on his pants leg, he grabbed her arm and while staring into her eyes, drew the blade over the back of her arm as well. Dragging his finger along her arm, bringing the newly claimed blood back to his own wound he rubbed her blood into his. The hair on her arms felt the tingling prickle of static electricity and the old man's voice had taken on an odd hollow tone, as if he was speaking from the bottom of a well.

"Then by right of blood, I, by the Grace of God and the People of these United States in Congress assembled, made and created an Officer and Gentleman and commissioned as an Officer in the Naval Forces of these same States, do declare this woman, this warrior to be my vassal. All that was hers is mine. All that she possesses, all that she has done, all that she was is mine. Even her name, is mine."

The night grew suddenly colder, stiller. It was as if the very darkness was listening to the words of power being said.

"To her, this warrior, I GIVE a body, a soul free of sin and a life free and new."

Looking deeply into the eyes of the woman formerly known as Windsong he says, "You are without guilt, without hurt, free of your past..."

Looking over his vassal's shoulder, he addressed the older woman. "Grandmother," he said, "you will need to help my vassal find a new name. She has neither sin nor blemish. She is pure of heart and deed."

"My vassal," he says, "Whisper to me the true name of the one you fought all those years ago."

Having listened to her whisper and then repeated the name back to her to assure both correctness and tonality, the man prompts his vassal to return to her seat. As she sat, he held his arm over the circle and let some few drops of his blood land on the white powder. The Grandmother felt a rippling in the air. It was as if someone had made a curtain out of electricity and placed it around the small group, as if the circle on the ground had become a cylinder reaching for the stars above. After a few moments with his eyes closed, the old man turned away. Returning to a place next to the fire, the man called out, "Richard Megler, come to me. Richard Megler, come to me. Richard Megler, thrice I demand thee come to me or be damned."

The silence hung in the night air. The Grandmother, she who has been Windsong and the Warriors saw nothing but the crazy old white man talking to himself.

The man, on the other hand, saw and heard many things. He saw the shape of a man beginning to walk from the fog towards him. He began to hear the murmurings of a large crowd approaching from deep within the fog.

+++++++

The Marine Captain walked into the Duty Space for 1st Platoon, Company H, Marine Expeditionary Unit 25 currently embarked on USS Saipan. "Atten-Hut," yelled one of the Marines.

"As you were," said the Captain, "Why don't you all go down to the mess for a coffee, I need to talk to the Gunny and Lt. Maxwell here."

The Captain stood quietly beside the open hatch as the Marines trooped out. Closing the watertight hatch and spinning the wheel to lock it down, he turned to the two remaining men.

"Ok, Gunny, I know you are planning something with that fucking Navy puke and dragging your Platoon Commander in on it with you."

The Lieutenant began to say that the Gunny was NOT "dragging him into anything" that HE was driving his platoon while the Gunny was loudly denying that anything untoward was going on, and that even if there was, it had nothing to do with any Navy pukes.

The Captain held his hand up for silence. Into the resulting deep well of soundlessness, he said, "I do NOT want to see a SINGLE one of my fucking Marines go off that deck following that poor excuse for a Navy Officer... EVER! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

Standing to attention both the Gunnery Sargent and the Lieutenant replied "Sir, Yes Sir!"

After the Captain left the space, the Lieutenant turned to his Gunny and said, "It looks like the Captain has put a stop to our plans, Gunny."

"How do you read that, Sir? I just heard that we are to go ahead with the mission with the Captain's blessing."

"Were you in the same conversation I was, Gunny? Didn't you hear what he said?"

"Sure did Skipper... he said that he did not want to SEE a SINGLE one of his Marines go off that deck FOLLOWING that poor excuse for a Navy Officer."

"I agree. So we need to bag this op per orders."

"Sir, I am disappointed in you... what I heard was the Captain giving a very direct operations order... He plainly said for you to take the entire platoon with you, to do it at night so no one could see us and to put the Marines in the 1st helicopter and Mr. D and the corpsmen in the 2nd bird."

The newly minted Marine 2nd Lt looked at his Gunnery Sargent and realized first that he had a lot to learn about the true workings of the "Green Machine", and second that he may have just been admitted to the secret world of Marine NCOs... an honor he was well aware of.

+++++++

The man looked at the shade of Richard Megler. Megler was looking around, searching as if to find something. "Lose something, asshole?" asked the man. Megler jerked at the sound and stared at the man. "You can see me?" he asked, "Where is the girl? Where is my treat? Why are you here?"

As if on cue, more and more shades were stepping forward to surround the old man. Megler was jostled and prodded so as to remain in the first ring as the crowd expanded. The old man watched the new shades arriving and acknowledged their presence. Chief among the ghosts were Gunnery Sargent McCrery, Corporal Richard "Ricky" Johnson and Rifleman Larry "Bonehead" Williams, all left dead on the plains of Rwanda. They had been stupid enough to follow him, to believe in not just him, but in his judgement. Beside them were a dozen or more children, orphans who had been swept up in the chaos of that time and place and who were dead because he had failed them all. There were many more from times, places and situations both before and after that event. He saw Becky Thompson, a little girl from his 4th grade class who drowned on a school outing. He had tried to save her; he had actually gone into the water and pulled her to shore before any of the adults could reach them, but it was too late. He saw Patrolman McGuiness, Elkton PD, dead at the hands of a drug cartel enforcement group for trying to do his duty; he bravely but tragically tried to intercede into what he thought was a gang shoot-out to rescue the old man. Too late to stop him, the old man, detonated the claymores that scythed through the assembled thugs, adding another dozen or so more to the parade that always followed him.

After a few moments, but what to the ghost seemed an eternity, the old man said, "All valid questions," as he willed the Gunny and Ricky to gather in the ghost. "The only thing you need to know is that I have bound you to me. You are MINE. You will never escape. You will never trouble the girl or any child again," he continued.

The old man turned towards the people within the protective circle, "Vassal, it is done. I have taken all that is yours, including the stains and guilt of your past. ALL that you were is mine now and I am greedy and will not return them to you.

Looking at the old woman and the Warriors he said, "Grandmother, this woman beside you is an empty vessel, she is pure, without name or spirit. I charge you to help her find both a new name and a new totem."

Turning next to the Warriors, "Brothers, thank you for your presence here tonight."

"Vassal, I command that you heal yourself. You need to be strong and healthy in both mind and body if you are to serve my purpose. You will know when I need you."

The man, turning away from the fire and the circle, cocked his head to one side as if listening to a noise that only he could hear.

"NO!" said the man, "I will NOT tell her!"

A pain struck the man to the ground, forcing him to his knees. Through gritted teeth, he said, "She does not need to know, we will settle this thing later."

He was now lying on the ground, his breathing almost stopped, his skin turning a cyanotic blue. "Ok!" he whispered, "Ok, let me up and I will do as you want."

Rising to his feet, he took several breaths to regain his strength.

"Little one," he said as he faced the young woman, "I told you that I have made a pact with WOLVERINE to watch over you until I could perform this ceremony. It is his desire that you know the conditions of the pact. He feels that you should know your value."

"I disagree, but he insists."

Looking into the night, the man raised his voice and said, "Brother Wolverine, I acknowledge my debt to you and demand you accept payment now."

A stillness takes the air. The night sounds stopped. The glade was deathly quiet. She who was Windsong strained to hear if there is any noise

He paused then and appeared almost shocked that he was still standing. He straightened and bowed into the night.

Looking back to the woman, he says, "My pact was this... for his protection of you, I would pay him as many days remaining of my life as he deemed necessary. It appears, as I am still here, that he has left me some."

With a shallow laugh he looked first at the woman, then at the Grandmother and finally at the Warriors. "This is the value I place on this warrior, my vassal. Grandmother, name her well."

Turning his back to the group, the man began to walk away. His gaze passing over the shades of all the deeds, the failures, of his lifetime.

"What is your name? Your true name?" the Grandmother called.

The man turned towards her, finally pulling his eyes from the legion of shades assembled around him, the ones that were always there, were always anchored to him. "Davies," he said, "Johnathan Davies."

He stood a bit straighter, as if adjusting a heavy burden that was weighing him down. He mentally called to the Gunny to get the troops moving. And began walking off into the night.

"Wait!" called the young woman once known as Windsong, "Please stay. At least for a while."

Davies turned towards the woman standing within the protective circle. He blinked his eyes, slowly, and for a moment the woman thought she saw vertical irises such as a cat would have.

"It is best that I do not," he said, "Bad things happen to people around me, people who trust in me."

Looking harder at the Grandmother standing beside the young woman he continued, "There are powers loose in the night tonight, Grandmother. I suggest you stay within the circle for a while then leave this place quickly."

Davies turned and within a step or two had disappeared into the night fog to continue pursuing the mission. The mission was all he had now, it was all that mattered. The woman once known as Windsong thought she heard a hawk or an eagle screaming into the still night air... "SCREEEEE". The hair on her arms and neck stood on end and then as suddenly as the bird call started, it ended and the night enveloped the young woman, the Grandmother and the "Sportsmen" in a cloak of quiet.

+++++++

I am Wyvern Actual. I have overwatch.

+++++++

To all the young "Turks" out there...

Leave the old men alone. They are tired and want nothing more than to be left alone with their coffee, their bourbon and their thoughts. Poke them at your peril, rile them from their apathy at your doom. When they were your age, they were more bad assed than you can ever imagine. They will not fight fair. They will not follow rules. They will not take prisoners. They will not stop until either they are dead or you are. All they want is to put down the burden of the mission, but if you force them to take it back upon their shoulders, you will not live to regret it. Leave the old men alone to their memories and their demons. It is safer.

+++++++

Green Machine - The United States Marine Corps. Initial production is conducted at two major assembly plants . . . Parris Island, S. C., on the East Coast, and San Diego, Calif., on the West.

Unlike the assembly plants in Detroit, the "Green Machine"' produces a finished product at a much slower pace. That's why so few are later recalled due to faulty production. . .