The Valkyrie Chronicles: Titans (17 page)

The time had come and my heart was heavy as we joined Artemis with her people in the Central Spire courtyard with tens of thousands of people crowding the area to see them off.  The Olympians had become and integral part of the community here in Valhalla these past two years as Artemis' jump pack recharged enough to fold space.  Some had decided to stay to live among us here or on Earth or Folkvangr.  The rest just wished to go home to their people after living in the fog of a living nightmare for so many eons.

She would have to do it in two trips as she could only fold a twenty-five foot diameter of volume.  So we stacked supplies and gifts for her people and two-thirds of the Olympians started packing into the circle laid out by the markers on the ground.

I stepped up to Artemis and grasped her forearm as I choked up a bit.  She smirked. “Come on you softie, you're Valkyrie, don't go getting misty on me.  I'll be back in a few days for the rest of our people and the Asgard expedition.”  Then she mumbled with her voice quavering on the verge of crying, “Zues' chariot!” She pulled me into a tight hug.  She whispered, “I love you sister.”

I nodded through eyes threatening tears. “I love you too.”

She made her way down the line exchanging goodbyes, Arina was a blubbering mess.  Then Artemis stopped at the end of the line and looked up with a thoughtful look on her face as she studied Thea.  “As bizarre as it may sound, I think I'm going to miss you Thea.” They shared a chuckle at the surrealness of mortal enemies becoming friends.  I understood exactly how she felt as I shot a loving glance over to Inatra.  Intark would have been here, but he was handling some important business in  New Ishatak, helping to rebuild the Ragnarok capital, but he would be back in a few days for the second transport.

He would be part of the Asgard expedition to Olympus to help hunt for the other Titan vessels to  free their people still enslaved.  The Three Embers would be joining them with Inatra and Arina since  they would be building a Bifrost terminal for the Olympians and Inatra will always be at Arina's side.  Pegasus, Kitty, and Talia would round out the Asgard strike force that would be on loan to Olympus until their people are returned to them.

I thought it was hard to say goodbye to my pseudo-sister Artemis, but it will be even worse seeing most of my family leave a few days later.  I know it will only be a hundred years or so until the Bifrost terminal is completed so that I can see them whenever I wanted, but still, two of them are my babies.

Artemis shot me one last sad smile then stopped as she walked past.  Then unshouldered her bow and quiver and handed them to me and whispered, “Something for something.  You gave me my people back Kara.  I will forever be in your debt.”

Tears were falling as she strode purposefully to the center of the circle, the roar of the crowd was deafening as Artemis waved.  Then for a moment it looked as though the world was stretching in toward her and then they were just gone.

I could hear the drums pounding in my head signaling the end of an era, and I turned my head to the stars wondering what was next for the Valkyrie of Asgard.

Books in the Music of the Soul universe...

(All books are standalone and can be read in any order)

Music of the Soul

A Deafening Whisper

Dating Game

Karaoke Queen

Silent Bob

Five Feet or Less

Broken Song

Syncopated Rhythm

Progeny

Girl Next Door

Lightning Strikes Twice

June

Short Stories in the Music of the Soul universe...

Misadventures of Victoria Davenport: Operation Matchmaker

Books in the Valkyrie Chronicles series...

Return of the Asgard

Bloodlines

Folkvangr

Seventy Two Hours

Titans

Books in the Fracture series...

Divergence

Books in the Drakon series...

Awakening

Dragonfall

Books in the Bridge series...

Trolls

Sample Chapter from the Music of the Soul book: Dead Shot

Chapter 1 – Camp Guinevere

I looked downrange at the various tin cans and bottles arranged on the rocks and crumbling low walls at the base of the sandy hill.  They were arranged randomly anywhere from twenty to thirty yards out.  One was half hidden by a loose mud brick.  I kicked some clumped sandy loam from the treads on my ACBs.

I unholstered my sidearm and cleared it.  I liked the balance of my M9 Beretta.  I preferred it to the M1911 that some soldiers still preferred for the stopping power.  My hands were smaller so the nine mil was a better fit for me.  I underwent all kinds of razzing about women and smaller weapons until the first time I hit the range in basic.  That shut the men up.  This “girl” as they put it, got her expert marksmanship qualification medal without breaking a sweat.

I slid a magazine partially into the magazine well and looked back over my shoulder with a grin, “You sure you want this Chief?”  I asked Chief Warrant Officer Danes.  Come on McKenzie, don't get cocky.

He just rolled his eyes and harrumphed, “Stop stalling Meyers.  Remember, constant motion.”  My grin increased as I looked around at my fireteam, the Bugbats, who were just grinning like a bunch of fool meerkats.

They have been with me the last five years of my dubious military career, funny how we all seem to keep getting stationed together.  The big brass knows not to break up a good thing.  I'm good at what I do, good at being a soldier.  It's probably why I've gotten away with being busted back to Specialist five times in my eighteen years in the army.  I don't need the added responsibility of higher rank.  Besides, Specialist Meyers sounds so much better than Corporal Meyers anyway.

It just struck me that I have been in the military for exactly half my life.  Just two more years before  I retire.  I thought about home again.

I hadn't been back to the Vancouver/Seattle area since my old girlfriend Monica, sent me that dear Jane letter while I was in Basic.  Dad is always traveling the world with his Wild West trick shooting show.  So we always make a point of meeting up when he is anywhere remotely close to one of my duty stations.  I smiled internally at the thought that's where I learned to trick shoot, I played a young Annie Oakley in the show.

Dante prompted, “Come on Dead Shot, show him the shit.”  Larson chimed in, “You got this DS.”

I sighed. “If you're sure Chief.  Liberty passes for my whole team right?”

He grinned. “Ain't gonna happen Meyers.  You're all gonna be servicing all of the sidearms for the whole camp in the armory tonight.”

Danes was new to Camp Guinevere here in Africa, in the Ennedi Region of Chad.  My personal opinion is that the big man pushes too hard.  We do things a little different in the Joint Peacekeeping Taskforce assigned to the United Nations to help stop human trafficking.  But you can't begrudge the man. He was a Chief Warrant Officer and my new immediate superior and intermediary channel to god himself, the camp CO.  I grinned... that was going to make this all the sweeter.

I shrugged and turned, and cataloged all the targets in my head as I took a slow calming breath like my father had taught me, committing each to memory.  I slammed the magazine home and disengaged the safety as I started pacing toward the makeshift mess hall in the old crumbling schoolhouse on the edge of the camp.

I racked the slide and chambered a round.  More grunts were coming out to watch, this was turnin' into a goddamn spectacle.  I took one last look at the targets then my path and started briskly walking parallel to the makeshift range as I fired.  I took in each target and exhaled as I squeezed the trigger gently as I caught the targets in my sights.  Step, step, squeeze.  Glass exploding and cans being knocked from their perches.

I dove over the crate of MREs and started my barrel rolling.  Always leading the roll with my eyes and firing as I hit my belly each time and each time a target falling.  Then I rolled up onto a knee as I fired the last shot.  I grinned and stood and ejected the empty magazine into my hand, cleared my weapon and holstered it and slid the empty magazine into one of the slots on my beltpack.

I turned with a grin and said, “Fifteen for fifteen.”  The crowd that had gathered was cheering and some were laughing.  They'd seen this often enough.

Chief Danes slid his cover off his head and wiped some sweat from his brow in this ungodly heat.  His silvering buzzcut fit the big man to a T.  “Well that is the damnedest thing I ever did see Specialist, but you missed one.”  He nudged his head toward the one that was still only half exposed.

I grinned. “No, sir, as you know there are only fifteen rounds in an M9 magazine and you set up sixteen targets.  No doubt purely just an oversight.”  I narrowed my eyes knowing damn well it hadn't been.  “But if that bitty can is a problem...”  I crouched and rolled, pulling my ka-bar from my leg sheath and released it with all the force I could muster.  It was a thing of beauty watching it tumble end over end and slice almost cleanly through the tin can, sending it tumbling to the ground.

The crowd of men cheered again as I shrugged and said, “Sixteen for sixteen.  Now pay up Master Chief...” I added, “Sir.”  I wiggled my fingers and he narrowed his eyes, evidently not amused.

Then he shook his head slowly as he started smiling and saying, “Well I'll be goddamned.  I thought all this Dead Shot horseshit was exaggerated,”  He pulled some liberty passes from his belt and handed them over.  Oh... I didn't expect him to have them on him, I was just pushing his buttons.  Then I cocked an eyebrow as I took the passes from him.  He had expected to lose!  He was evaluating me... I nodded in approval, sneaky bastard.  Maybe he wouldn't be that bad of an SO after all.

He shook his head.  “With skills like that I can't understand why they never sent you through sniper training.”  I blanched at that, I swore to myself and to the Army when I enlisted that I'd never pick up a sniper rifle.  It just didn't sit well with me taking out a target that didn't see me coming.  If I was going to kill a man, it was going to be face to face, defending myself, my allies or my country.

I played it off like I always did. “I make a better grunt than I would just lazing around layin' on my belly all day.”

He nodded and grunted something that sounded like approval, then said, “I hear tell you can do that with just about any weapon.”  I shrugged.

Larson chimed in, “It's how she got saddled with the Dead Shot callsign Chief.”

The fourth one of our team, Kid, ran off to police my brass and retrieve my ka-bar.  He was the youngest of our fire team and I'm pretty sure he may be sweet on me.  His name was really Specialist Emanuel Ortega, he got saddled with Kid when he was first assigned to the Bugbats.  At twenty-five, he looked like some snot nosed kid with a baby face and not old enough to shave.  He had a knack with equipment and was a first-class grenadier.  Now he's thirty-one and still looks a might young.

The Master Chief said with a smirk, “Be back on base before zero six hundred.”  Larson, Dante, and I straightened and saluted the man chiming out, “Yes sir!”

Then he dismissed us as Ortega returned with my knife.  I winked at him. “Thanks, Kid.” I looked around at my team as I handed out the passes.

I grinned ear to ear as I removed my cover, and wiped the sweat from my shaved head with it.  I normally kept my brunette hair longer, at regulation length until I was assigned to Guinevere.  It's like living in a sauna, 'cept it's sweat we're all percolating in, not steam.  I had to shave my hair off a week into my station assignment just to keep it from matting with sweat and dripping into my eyes all the time.  I tried a buzzcut first, but it felt prickly and uncomfortable to me.

I said loudly and belligerently as we headed toward the barracks and the motor pool, “Bugbats saddle up!”  My team yelled in excitement, “ Hooah!”