Path Of Their Own Ch 01

Author's note: This is a sequel to my first story "Going Feet First" that follows the story of PFC Galen Martin, a paratrooper of the 101st airborne who began his adventure on his way to his first combat mission in Vietnam. Through a supernatural event, he became stranded on a medieval world of powerful magic, terrifying monsters, and hidden dangers. With his own growing powers and growing party, he set out to find a way home, and do some good along the way.

Welcome back to Raska

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Path of their Own

Chapter 1: A Second Start

......................

How does one continue when their world has stopped moving?

That was the question to ask herself now that the funeral service had finished. All of their respects paid to her son's empty casket. The final ceremonies had wrapped up with her last relatives and former in-laws offering her their final condolences and financial aid. She accepted what she could, turned down what she couldn't, and then said her farewell before they began their trip home.

Now all she could help herself to do was sit at her kitchen table and sip lukewarm coffee. Eyes fixed on the wall clock that still ticked on without fail.

Classical instrumentals played through the radio beside her; a low violin playing above a harp melody and a crescendo of woodwinds. But the harmonious tune, no matter how lovely to her ears, couldn't quite fill the silence around her. Nothing would ever truly fill the void brought by the company of two empty chairs on either side of her. Or drown out the memories they invoked.

Tucking her lengthy brown hair back behind her ear, she took a sip of coffee and rested her face in her left hand as she stared at the chair to her right. Fourteen years ago, there was a clean cut, able-bodied, gem of man sitting down at this very table to eat breakfast and discuss all the times to look forward to when he came back from the war in Korea.

Moving her teary eyes to the seat on her left, she sighed and let her thoughts rewind once again. This time it was a little more than year ago, when it was just her and her only son talking about what he wanted to do when he finished training and came back from Vietnam.

At least the first time her husband's body had come back home. Now they said her boy was killed, but not found. Not found meant he wasn't where he was supposed to be found. And she hadn't felt that bad premonition when this had supposedly happened, not like when her husband passed. Not like all the times her boy had gotten hurt growing up.

She couldn't explain it, but she always knew when something was frightfully wrong, and somehow... somehow she felt there was still a chance.

A chance that her Galen could still find his way home. If anyone could defy the odds, she just hoped that he was one of them. And hope was the one thing she had left to hold on to.

The only thing in this world.

...............

The sound of trucks zipping by and tracks squeaking over the hard-packed dirt was constant outside the canvas walls of the tent. Men were yelling all around as a constant buzz of helicopters or other aircraft flew overhead despite the insistence to keep the skies clear. The only favor the higher-ups did by ignoring the recommendation of the men below them was keeping the camp as noisy as possible.

This was a benefit because the noise outside kept anyone from listening in on the conversation between the pilot and the rankless man sitting across the table from him. With the tent's window flaps drawn shut and the door zipped up with guards posted outside, the only thing that offered any light for the two to see was a lantern hanging off the center post.

A flint was struck on a zippo and a small flame illuminated the name "REED" stitched in the breast of a standard-issue tunic. The agent then gave a flick of the wrist to snap the lighter shut before he sucked in a drag off his cigarette. He breathed the cloud of smoke off to the side and readied a pen on his clip board before he nodded to the pilot sitting across from him.

"So, Captain, start at the beginning. When you and your wingman first came under contact."

Leaning forward to put his elbows on the table, the pilot nodded.

"We were about fifteen miles out from the base here when the two enemy fighters came in from the north. My wingman and I broke off to engage while the cargo plane we were escorting made the run for home. The initial missile exchange between us and the Vietnamese ended up with one of them going down while the other got past us."

"Going straight for the C-130," Reed guessed.

The pilot nodded. "By the time my wingman and I came around, the Vietnamese MiG had sprayed the Herc' with its guns. Damage I could see were two engines on fire with a third puking smoke. We moved as we could to reengage, but that's when another two enemy jets came in. We came around, we fought, one of them did get a lock on me because my wingman was yelling at me through the radio that the missile was coming for my plane. My co-pilot was screaming about it as well."

"But it didn't hit."

"No. I was ready to pop flares but there was a... A flash. Blindingly bright."

Taking another drag off his cigarette, Reed finished writing something before he looked up and asked, "Like a bolt of lightning?"

The Captain nodded. "Yeah, only without that loud crack. When I got my vision back, the MiG on my tail zipped past me, and my engines started running real hot. So I throttled down, looked up from my gauges, and we... We weren't over the jungle anymore."

Reed leaned in, the lantern's light shining off his bald head and casting a shadow over his eyes.

"Go on."

"We ended up over some yellow grassland, bordering some foothills and a forest. The radio stopped receiving, and that C-130 went down on the prairie. And after that I saw that the enemy pilot was coming around to reengage me."

"Your plane was fine though?"

"Yes. Only the engine was running a little hot."

Reed's mouth quirked around his smoke, but he nodded and continued writing. "What happened next?"

"The enemy came in and fired another missile at me as I gave him a burst from my gun which sent him up in flames. Again, when I was about to pop flares and evade his missile... That flash happened again and... I was back. Radio was working, my wingman was still engaging the last MiG... And after we shot him down, we both landed here to check my plane."

The agent frowned and breathed out a cloud of smoke as a serious, contemplative look came over him. His pen tapped his page as he thought about something, but then he continued writing.

"Mr. Reed, if you'd excuse me, what the flying fuck happened? That C-130 wasn't in the jungle when we flew back, so I wasn't hallucinating. My wingman swears that the Herc' and I vanished in a lightshow and I came back with another flash. If you can, just tell me; is there some new gadget being used here that we don't know about?"

Crushing his cigarette on the table, Reed stood and moved to the tent flap behind him. "Captain, we don't know. There were very important pieces to our project here that were aboard that plane, along with the supplies and armaments for the Special Forces we have coming in. Finding that plane is a priority for us, along with the three other craft that disappeared from this anomaly in the past month alone."

The agent paused at the exit, frowning before he looked over his shoulder back to the pilot. "You are the first to ever return from this. And I do mean, ever. So trust me when I say I'm going to find out what is going on, and where you went. Until then, you will not speak of this to anyone without my personal consent because, as of one hour ago, you have been pulled from your unit and placed under my command. Welcome to SHADE division, Captain."

.................

There was a light at the end of the tunnel.

His eyes buzzed at the sight of it, leaving him blinking several times as his regular vision returned. Tear drops welled up in his ducts with the burning he incurred but despite them, he was already sporting a broad smile.

Just ahead of him was sunlight, open space, and fresh air. Three things he looked forward to above all else. Blue sky, fluffy clouds, singing birds. A green, lavish forest along the bottom of a canyon welcoming him back to the surface after two weeks down in the darkness below.

Breathing out a sigh of contentment, the young man in green lightly shook the Elven girl sleeping against his shoulder. Her grip tightened on his tunic where it said "U.S. ARMY" above his left breast pocket while she rubbed her head against him. Another light shake, and she began to stir. Seeing her eyelids lift, he righted himself in the driver seat of the wagon and leaned in to bring his mouth closer to her ear.

"Celia," he whispered. "Lat zelli'in dainv."

They drew closer to the surface and the coming light prodded her to open her eyes. Seeing the daylight had her squinting yet she still grinned while hugging onto her soldier's arm. A breath of relief escaped her golden lips.

"

Under the sky again

," she whispered while looking to her Galen. "

With you. In freedom.

"

He huffed a brief chuckle and brushed loose strands of her long, green hair away from her face and gave her forehead a kiss. However, this enchanting moment quickly drew to a close as the coming sun took an increasing toll on his eyes. Before his wagon had even come into the full glory of daylight, he had both his peepers squeezed shut whereas Celia merely raised a hand to shield hers.

"Fuck, is that daylight coming through the canvas?" asked a male passenger in the back of the covered wagon.

"We're out of the underground?" a female voice followed.

"It would appear to be so," answer another woman. "May want to shut those eyes of yours before it gets too bright, Dark Elf."

"I second that," Galen answered, rubbing his eyes as the horses pulled his wagon past the threshold and out under an open sky. "Because we're topside."

The rear flap of the wagon was thrown open with one of the passengers in the back chuckling aloud. "Damn, there's nothing like a week in the hole to remind you how bright the sun is."

"No kiddin'," Galen muttered, eyes still clamped shut while Celia was simply blinking hers back into adjustment before checking on him.

"

Maybe your helmet would give your eyes some shade

?" she suggested, running her hand through his short, brown hair.

"

I'll be fine here in a minute

," he said, pulling his hand away from his face and forcing himself to watch where the horses were steering their wagon.

He pulled the reins to the left to guide them in the direction he knew to be the way out of this place, known as the "Sundered Trench." The beasts obeyed, moving toward the river that ran down the middle of the canyon floor. With the wagon on track, he relaxed in his seat and gently rubbed his face again to stave off the pain brought about by the brightness.

"

How long have you been out of the sun?"

Celia asked.

"

Two weeks

," he answered, trying to open up his lids again; finding some success.

"I guess the Dark Elves never had time to bring you to the surface, with your training and all."

"

It was worth it

," Galen whispered, giving her another kiss before he turned in his seat toward the back of the wagon. "I'm gonna bring the cart to the river, I need to give my eyes a chance to adjust."

..................

The third to come around and adjust to the surface light, Flak stood in the river High and relished in the crisp, clear waters flowing past his bare feet. Puffing his pipe, the Marine Staff-Sergeant looked down river with a scowl unconsciously drawing down on his face. How things have changed in such a short time.

A bit more than a week ago he was rucking with his men through hostile territory to find a missing plane. Just three weeks separated him from the end of his tour and his retirement from the military. In a literal flash, he was in a helicopter crash that ferried him off to some place far, far away from everything he had ever known.

In the time since he was dropped in this crazy world, he had woken up in a medieval city, got locked up in a dungeon, spent a night raiding a castle and a mansion, then slept that very same eve in another castle in a different city that was underground and run by creatures called "Dark Elves."

His blood was boiling just thinking about what he had lost coming here. What he would likely never do or see again. How much he now had to learn about a world centuries behind his own. This place had much more in it than just folklore coming to life. There was magic here. Actual magic.

Pulling open his tiger-stripe tunic, he examined the two pale spots on his chest where he had been shot on his way out of Vietnam. Something like that should have taken months for the bone, tissue, and not to mention his lung, to all heal. And yet some white-haired witch gave him a poke and he was all better in seconds. Come to think of it, he didn't even know how he was able to do what he did back at the castle with those holes in him.

This is all fucked up

, he thought, expelling a cloud of smoke out of his nose and buttoning up his shirt.

He shifted his gaze to the shore and his scowl eased off. Beside the wagon still housing his group's new Drow companion was one of the soldiers he had been tasked with finding back in Vietnam. A fresh boot that had barely been in country for a month before his first mission earned him a mystical trip to this world. And from there the kid just continued to get put through the ringer. Right now he was lying on the sand with an arm draped over his face, still hurting from his reintroduction to sunlight.

The Staff-Sergeant had to hand it to the Private, though. In the short time they worked together, he hadn't seen him hesitate in pulling the trigger in a fight or lose his head. Nor did he lose discipline in an unfavorable situation. For being out of touch with logistics and his chain of command, his equipment and uniform of the 101

st

Airborne was in good shape. His brown hair was clean and cut decently short, and his face was recently shaven. Though he was a bit pale from his time in the dark, the greenhorn wasn't doing bad at all for someone who was so new to the theater of war.

Rubbing the thin, black beard overtaking his face, Flak still wondered at how Galen had acquired his magic. It blew his mind every time he thought about how the Private could make things disappear and reappear at will. How he now stashed most of their supplies in some sort of hammerspace that he could make blink in and out of existence on a whim.

Damn handy trick to have.

Then there was the Private's primary source of recent trouble, lying all pretty and content beside her soldier with her arms wrapped around his chest, looking like she had just woken up from a nap. Celia was her name, and Galen said that she was a "Tree Elf," a rare breed of the pointy-eared freaks that lived in the nearby forest. She had white eyes that made it look as though she were blind, and long, vibrant, green hair that appeared to be a completely natural color.

Only a white loin cloth and a dark green breastplate covered her slender and inviting form. Brown, fingerless gloves protected her delicate hands while green leggings and knee-high leather boots covered her legs. As much as Flak didn't want to admit it, she had a quite a cute face with a pert little nose, thin golden lips, and smoothly rounded cheeks. If it weren't for her eyes, those ears, or the unnerving golden glow that lit her body, he might have found himself interested in her lithe form.

But even if he did gain any infatuation with her, she was still Galen's girl, and one the boy had quite viciously fought for even though she didn't speak a lick of English. Just how the two came together was one of many stories he looked forward to hearing once they were settled in a place with cold drinks, hot food, and wasn't underground or surrounded by people possibly out to kill them.

"What's on your mind?"

Taking in a lungful of smoke, Flak turned to the feminine feline who had spoken to him, the former "Master Assassin of the Nekonian Ra'zorlich tribe." She had entered the river with him yet he hadn't heard even a splash, and like the big cats of the jungle didn't seem to mind water.

Petra was a woman as tall as he was, and a cross somewhere in between a cat and some sort of Humanoid. She walked on two legs that ended in something damned close to panther's feet, yet she had normal-ish hands that bore retractable claws. Her toned body was clearly powerful enough to run any Human athlete into the ground yet wasn't muscled to the point to appear masculine. From head to toe she was covered in a soft, black fur with matching hair drawn back into a lengthy braid descending to the base of her tail. Holding said braid together was a steel ring clamped tightly around the end.

Not minding that the only thing she wore were simple, black wraps that covered her breasts and nether region, Flak exhaled a cloud of smoke and met her dark, brown eyes with his deep blues. He thought for a moment on how best to answer her question, but then just shook his head.

"Just thinking. How's Galen and Red-Eyes doing?"

"Better, both of them. Galen is managing open his eyes more, Felyn will let us know when she's ready."

The Staff-Sergeant scowled at that. The Private said the Drow girl would be joining them right out the blue and not an hour before they left the underground city. Her English was decent enough but she never made eye contact with any of them during the entire ride to the surface. She kept her white hair in a loose pony tail that allowed the front and sides to hang down and cover her eyes most of the time.

And anyone that couldn't look him in the eyes was someone he couldn't trust.

"Galen!" cried Celia's high-pitched voice.

Both Flak and Petra snapped their attention to where the couple were lying. The Private was sitting up, blinking as he looked to the Elf with a worried look.

"What?" he asked.

She spoke some words of her native language to him and his eyebrows rose. Flak and Petra started wading through the shallow river water toward them, the former careful not to splash any water up his leg and onto the boot knife or the Colt 1917 revolver strapped to the side of his right calf. The Private started conversing with his Tree Elf before he suddenly extended his arm and made a red and yellow bag appear in his grasp.

"What's wrong?" Flak asked, shuddering from Galen's parlor trick.

The Private, looking more worried now, pulled a small mirror from the bag and immediately gazed into it. His eyes, though still watery, widened.

"Colors of my eyes changed."

Eyebrows rising over a skeptical look, Flak asked, "Really?"

Galen lowered his mirror and looked to Petra, who came forward to kneel in front of him for a closer inspection.

"They're a lighter shade of blue, almost like the sky," she observed.

"For the love of fuck... Private, what'd you do?" Flak asked before sucking in on his pipe.

"It's what we did," another voice chimed in.

The group turned to see Felyn drop from the back of their covered wagon, drawing the hood of her black cloak over her head and fixing the garment to spaulders of the yellow armor she wore. The Drow approached the group and looked to Galen as she spoke with some solemnity.

"Most of Dreek's experiments with vision strengtheners change eye colors. Her own eyes were once red, but now they have turned purple. It's an inconvenience to endure for the power."

Looking to his left arm and the tattoos that decorated it, Galen sighed and shrugged with acceptance. A second later he dropped his mirror back in its bag and made it all disappear before wrapping his right arm around Celia to pull her in close. "It's somethin' I'll live with. I'd have paid a lot more to do what we did."