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[kanan]

DropZone

Time was passing by slowly for me, I had checked and rechecked all my weapons and equipment, as I sat in my harness onboard the CH-47, I sent up a silent prayer to the universe to watch over me once more. I was being flown over an area of Iraq, there was an Iraqi Command and Control Centre at the target location.

Many high level commanders would be there and there was a large amount of sensitive information that I was tasked to recover. Unusually this was a solo mission. The norm would be to send a 4 man SAS Sabre team or perhaps two. But due to the sensitivity of the mission and the inherent risks, they asked for a volunteer to go alone. I was of course eager to rise to the challenge and put my name on the list.

It was early in the war and the Iraqi Forces still posed a huge threat to the Allied invasion. Scuds were operating with impunity and there were still large groups of enemy tanks and troop formations on the ground. As one of the many Special Forces units operating behind enemy lines I was classed as a high priority and there would be an extraction team on standby for my return back to base upon completion of the mission

We encountered some rough air and the helicopter shook as the pilot regained control. He was flying low NOP (nap of the earth) below 20 feet from the ground. The noise from the rotors was just a background to me, I was thinking of my family back home in England. They were my world and always were at the forefront of my mind. It was a nice thought knowing they were always there back home waiting for me.

The pilots voice came through on my headset, “Sir, we’re at the safe LZ, we have 2 minutes to land and unload you and your bike. We cant stay any longer as we may have been seen on our approach. Good luck Sir.” The RAF crew in the CH-47 helped removed the straps restraining the bike and one of them wheeled it down the ramp. The dust was swirling from the motion of the helicopter rotors and was obscuring my vision.

One of the crew put something in my hand, i looked and saw a small pendant of the Holy Mary with child. I looked at the RAF crew member, she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “It’s for luck Sir. It was mine but I wanted you to have it. Make sure you come back, as I am expecting a coffee” she grinned at me. “Don’t worry, I wont miss that opportunity.” I grinned back then said, “See you back at base.”

I checked my LBE (load bearing equipment) then I shouldered my Bergen and got on the bike, it was just a modified Yamaha Scrambler with some extra fuel cans on panniers as well as some other additional equipment pouches on the handle bars and the fuel tank. I had already memorized my approach to the target location and knew where I needed to head for. Turning one last time to see the RAF CH-47 turn and fly away from the LZ at speed. I sent up another silent prayer this time to watch over the RAF helicopter and its brave crew and wished them a safe journey back to base.

The pendant the RAF crew member had given me was safely tucked into a small pocket inside my fatigues. I wondered what made her do that and I knew that they would have been briefed on the sensitivity of the mission and that it was high risk. The crew would all have volunteered to fly me to the target LZ. Brave men and women, none finer in the world.

I truly hoped I would return safely as it would make me very happy to walk into the RAF aircrew area and look for the girl who gave me the pendant. I would remember her eyes and smile anywhere, and the look of surprise on her face when she saw me again would be worth it.

I rode through the night, riding as fast as I dared on the unfamiliar terrain. Stopping every fifteen minutes to check my course on the GPS equipment I carried. I knew the last few miles I would need to approach on foot so I would have to conceal the bike somewhere I could find easily again. The bike also had a beacon on it that I could set so I could locate it on my GPS...

The Edge Of Eternity


There were eighty eight of us. Warriors who chose to give up our souls so we could go to Hell and fight there forever.

I was their Captain. My name is Karlen Twain, and I led these men through countless battles, we fought overwhelming odds and overcame them and achieved many victories. These men trusted me with their lives, their faith in me absolute. They knew I would always lead them back home after battles fought and won. We lost battle brothers, and in the field there is often no time to grieve and give those fallen men their deserved farewell. So we would always simply wrap the bodies in whatever spare blankets we could and remove from them those mens possessions. Which we would distribute among the remaining battle brothers.

In this way all of us that remained would have some small item to remember the ones we lost who can no longer fight alongside us. One of us would then say the blessing of passing beside each fallen comrade, “may your soul find peace and may you go on the next part of your journey in safety, it was an honour to walk with you and you will be missed brother”

Then we would burn the bodies leaving no trace we had been there, the fallen enemies would be left where they died. We do not honour the dead of the enemy. They are men with no honour and rape and murder is part of their creed. We do not mourn such men who choose to side with Hell.

On our journey we met a mystic called Ashenko, he told of us of a legend that the realm of Hell would be threatened and laid siege to by warriors from this world. He told us that these men of legend would be led by a man who wielded a black sword and he would also be searching for someone from his past life. That such a man would be among eighty eight warriors.

We numbered eighty eight including myself and I carried the sword Shiren, given to me by my teacher and best friend who sadly died in battle seven summers ago. The sword was forged from meteor iron and was made according to the ancient ways handed down from our sword smiths from the beginnings of our civilization. Such swords are rare and this one was blessed by the Buddhist monks who granted it the power to banish evil.

I was told by the Abbot of the monastery that this blade had the power to vanquish creatures from the realm of Hell. It was forged from a metal so pure and imbued with such a powerful energy that combined with the blessings of the monks made it a potent weapon against evil.

When the mystic Ashenko asked to see the sword, I unsheathed the blade and handed it to him, holding the blade itself so he could safely grasp the sword. He held it to the moonlight and looked down its blade, he seemed awed by this weapon, and after doing a practice cut with the blade through the air he reverently handed Shiren back to me.

He said he had only heard of swords like this in stories, he never knew they actually existed, he said that the sword itself had a soul that he could sense, he said it was one of such power and purity that made the blade a potent weapon againt evil, this of course I knew but then Ashenko told me that such a blade could exist in Hell, I was stunned and asked him how that could be.

He said the blade has a soul that is bound to its wielder and when the wielder dies it goes where he goes. He told me it can exist in any dimension or region in the astral planes. I asked him if this was the sword that the legend he mentioned spoke of. He said it must be and that meant myself and my battle brothers were the eighty eight warriors who were destined to give up their souls so they could fight in Hell for eternity and wage war on the fiendish daemonic spawn that reside there.

This news gave me pause for thought. My battle brothers and myself discussed that night what we should do. We could live our lives here and fight for truth and love, freedom and justice. And continue to seek out evil men and end them in battle, but this would only last for as long as we were able to wield a sword and remain strong and healthy. We could not do this forever. Time would erode us all in the end and our task would be left incomplete. Perhaps if we were lucky and Fate was kind we may not lose too many of our number and be able to continue the fight, travelling the lands for the next twenty or thirty years.

However with each year our numbers would grow less and in time we would all perish. We spoke of many things that night, each of us told stories of home and those that shared our love who waited for us hopeful they would see us once more. We spoke of family and loved ones who we still thought of constantly even though we had been waging our war against injustice for several years. Some of us had children and they would be growing up without their fathers and some of us were uncles who had nieces and nephews back home.


These were all people who shared our love and gave us strength so we could be here and fight for them so the evil would not encroach on our home. We all had someone back there we missed and someone we loved who missed us.
I told my battle brothers of my love who was lost to me now. I told them of a place far from here across the ocean of Tranquillity.

She was such a wonderful woman and loved me more than I deserved. Her heart so warm and tender, her soul so very beautiful to me. She was my great love and as I spoke of her, tears welled in my eyes. Her name was Kitiara Swift and she was an orphan, her family had died in an accident in the mountains, she was only nine years old when a young couple travelling along the mountain pass found her huddled by the side of the track wrapped in a blanket and shivering.

She had been playing in the fallen snow and was far from the house when a lightning bolt struck the roof. The house was made from timber and the roof from thatch. The thatch was sealed with tar and this became a fast burning fuel that burned the building down in moments, its unclear why her mother and father and older brother had not been able to escape the house.

I think the speed of the fire was so great they had no time to flee. When Kitiara made her way back home all she could see was a plume of smoke filling the sky where her home was. She ran not knowing what she would find and saw the house a shell gutted from the intense fire. She cried out for her father, mother and brother but none answered her call. She wept and wept till she could cry no more tears and Kitiara knew that all she had was no more.

Her father owned a horse and though it had been startled by the fire it had returned Her father kept a travelling pack by the stable for his horse. This was not affected by the fire as it was several metres away from the family home.
Kitiara ran to the stable and looked for her father's pack. She smiled for he had packed it with several days of supplies and there were fresh blankets and a bed roll all neatly tied with leather straps to the top of the pack. There was also a red hooded cape and his sword and throwing knives in their pouch.

Her father had taught her how to use the perfectly balanced knives and she had soon mastered the art of throwing these with great accuracy. The tree stump in the clearing near the house was filled with little holes where she had thrown the knives time and time again.

Kitiara said a final goodbye to her family and shouldered the pack and grabbed the sword now in its sheath and the knives in their pouch. She called the chestnut brown gelding to her. The horses name was Shadow and he came to her call. She mounted the horse and with tears streaming down her face rode away from the only place she ever called home and the only people she ever loved.
Galloping across the fields still covered in snow she was heading away from here, so far away and would need to reach the mountain track before nightfall.

I had never told anyone about Kitiara’s life and by telling my comrades this tale of her sorrow, they understood something about me. But I did not want to sadden them so I continued with stories of when we first met and when we courted. I told them of the time Kitiara wanted to surprise me on a birthday and made a beautiful piece of calligraphy which she placed on my bed. When I returned from tending the crops in the field I went to our room and saw this beautiful piece of writing.

She had written, “love is you... you and me” and underneath was written, “I want to be your tear drop, born in your eyes, live on your cheeks and die on your lips” I felt so moved by these wonderful words my heart felt such great joy and gladness and my eyes welled with tears, then suddenly I felt hands cover my eyes. Kitiara’s soft accented voice said, “I missed you so much, I hope you like the present. Happy birthday Karlen, I love you.” She removed her hands and I turned and held her close to me for a long moment, before kissing her slowly and tenderly....


please feel free to look for some of my older stuff here in the writings section. of course any comments would be welcome. many thanks for your time...

peace