Chapter 14

December 13th, 1963

Fort Benning, Georgia, USA

"Move faster, you sorry…" the voice began drowning out as he continued running.

Dennis struggled with the terrain briefly as he continued the jog up the muddy ridge in full gear.

The steel M1 helmet, the fourteen plus ammo packs, the recent addition of the very brand new, very well-liked by the Air Force and Army Forces, and very experimental XM16E1 "assault rifle" which was thankfully lighter than previous American rifles, his canteen, still full of water of course, and the fact that his clothes were now soaked and muddy made it so that the young man was carrying over a hundred pounds of gear.

That wasn't really the issue, though.

He had qualified, in spite of his age, and was now part of the United States Army’s 52nd Infantry’s E Company, lugging said gear around for miles was the easy part. No, the issue was quickly becoming the annoyingly steep uphill climb in the muddy, rocky, God-forsaken training ground that actively seemed to want him to crawl on all fours in order to get up the hill.

He didn't complain, his mind forcing itself to focus on the issue of keeping up and not lagging behind.

Still, his somewhat heavy pants as they approached the top made it clear that he was nearing whatever limit he had.

Just a little further…

He felt the ground give way under him suddenly, and before he knew it, he was falling headfirst into the dirt.

He awkwardly managed to prevent his head from hitting the ground and quickly righted himself by placing the knee forward and pushing himself up with his other leg, the sergeant screaming obscenities that would make the miners from back home blush in spite of their ashen faces.

He righted himself barely on time, cursing under his breath. Dennis was sure he wasn't the only one struggling at this point, but still, his drive didn't allow much for mistakes, and if the Army embodied anything, it was excellence.

He forced himself not to feel some sense of relief when another man ahead of him fell to the floor, far worse than he had, almost dropping his M16 as his face hit the muddy gravel.

The sergeant ahead began screeching into the man's ear, even as the man got up.

Stopping to help wasn't exactly encouraged.

Exactly how it would be in a combat situation.

Don't stop to help the guy on the ground, not before you're safe at least. It would put you and everyone else at risk and instead of one mournful family having to suffer the loss of a son or a father, two or more would be delivered the stars and stripes folded up and be made to grieve in the same way.

The thought made him pause as his mind briefly flashed to his mother’s now tired smile, waiting for him with a warm dinner, his father’s burial flag and photo staring back at him with the same bright smile that he’d worn when he left.

Then he woke up.

Dennis craned his neck forward slightly, adjusting himself from the seat he’d fallen asleep in. He shook his head as the memories of the dream dissipated in his mind, the muscles on his left leg aching somewhat as he glanced at the small clock on the wall.

0705... twenty-five minutes left...

Without a word, he got up from his chair, noting the door of what could affectionately be called a classroom was already open. It was bare bones inside, only a few desks and fewer people, three of them sitting on desks, a fourth man looking out the room’s window. The windows faced west, only allowing the glow of the sun’s reflection to shine through.

One of the guys he recognized. A tall, slender young man with almost chestnut-colored hair.

“Hey, you’re Orville, right?” the guy said.

“Yeah. Cawthorne, right? E company?”

“Yeah, but just call me Sean. Easier to say.”

“May just have to, actually. I’m being transferred to your company.” He replied, masking his excitement with an almost smug attitude, as though he were saying “I’m on your level, pal”.

As if detecting that, one of the men there huffed.

Dennis straightened slightly, noting the air of experience from the other man.

“You guys are Tenth Special Forces, right?”

The man didn’t reply, and neither did his friend.

But the fourth man in the room did.

“That would be correct.”

The fourth man in the room turned around, putting out his cigarette before turning to them without another word. Both Dennis and Sean took a seat, as though the man commanded authority and had wordlessly initiated an operation. Dennis winced, noting the out-of-place aviators which appeared to be an aesthetic choice rather than a necessity.

Central Intelligence?

“My name is Trent Colbert, Central Intelligence Agency.”

Dennis suppressed a self-congratulatory smile.

“To cut to the chase, you boys have shown to be amongst those that hold a better grasp of the enemy’s language. In the weeks since the attack, we have been strategizing and planning an insertion into this... other world.”

There was a pause.

Then the man continued, slowly.

“This is unknown territory for us all. Due to the enemy’s presence and the nature of this portal, we haven’t risked a full-blown counterattack just yet, though that will come. Soon. And when it does, we will need interpreters both to help us speak with the locals, find allies, intercept enemy movements... but also to carry out operations deep behind enemy lines.”

Dennis felt some goosebumps at the words. The idea of going behind enemy lines, sabotaging enemy forces, derailing enemy reinforcements.

The kind of job you won a medal for.

The kind of job people remembered you for.

Still, he kept his excitement to himself.

“For you two in the Tenth, that’s just business as usual. Technically, the same can be said for you in Long Range Reconnaissance. But without a key grasp of the local language, it will be near useless. And since no one there speaks English, then as far as we know... you’re as good as it gets.”

No one spoke.

“So, from today until Invasion Day is decided, you will be undergoing extensive training in the local tongue. Normal language courses take months to teach what you will be learning in a week. From dawn ‘til dusk, you’ll be eating, drinking, and breathing this language. You will grasp it better than you do English. Helping us in that endeavor will be someone you should be familiar with by now.”

The door at the opposite end of the room swung open, a pale girl being wheeled in by a Military Policeman. Dennis forced himself not to appear shocked at the appearance of the girl, but it was rather difficult seeing her up close.

The girl with wolf ears...

And now that she was up close, she did indeed have a tail.

The girl glanced at one of the men, saying “Reagan.”

“Ma’am.” the Green Beret replied.

Wait, they’ve met? If so, then that means they’re...

Dennis eyed the Beret for a moment before glancing at the girl in the wheelchair. Her clothes were rather typical, a formal blouse and a long skirt, all grey. If her dark hair wasn’t so unkempt, she may have passed as someone’s secretary. Well, ears and tail aside. Once at the front of the room, she passed a hand through said hair, slowly, with purpose; briefly revealing that she, in fact, did not have human ears. She looked paler in person, almost sickly, yet it didn’t distract from her otherworldly nature.

Still, if he needed a reminder that this was indeed another world they would be going into, there she was.

Domitia laughed and mumbled something unintelligible, presumably due to the looks she got from him and Sean. As Dennis began trying to note if her canines were more pronounced or not, Agent Trent quickly brought the conversation around to the main objective.

“Right boys, understand that you will be essentially taking an entire semester’s worth of classes on Latin in under a month. Miss Domitia here will be assisting us. You will practice speaking with her. Learning from her.”

The soldiers nodded.

“For starters, I want each of you to try talking with her, starting with you, tyke.”

Dennis blinked.

With some confidence and desire to impress, he turned to the girl, took a breath, making sure he remembered the words properly.

“Salve. Meum Nomen est Dennis. Exercitus Americanus.”

The enunciation, the speediness with which he’d spoken, the delivery surely couldn’t be more perfect from what he’d read! He felt somewhat proud of himself, waiting for the girl to reply.

She eyed him for a moment, then scoffed, giving him a toothy grin that revealed her canines were indeed sharper and larger, giving her the air of a predator toying with its prey as she eyed him for a moment.

She then said in almost perfect English “You have a long way to go before sounding natural, Tyke.”

Dennis opened his mouth to protest but remained silent as Agent Trent moved on.

Reagan, with a bored expression, pointed to himself and said “Salve, Reagan. Nos invcem ante congressi sumum.”

The wolf girl clapped her hands, saying “Better! Very casual! Magna, Reagan, opus eruditionis!”

Dennis blinked twice while Reagan, in a disinterested tone, said “Gratias.”

He sunk into his chair just a tad.

Long way to go, huh? Yeah... But I’ll get there, you’ll see.

Without a second thought, he immediately steeled himself. Notebook out, pencil in hand, the now 18-year-old soldier began his training proper.