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 Warrior's Path The Way 4

   June 1942

   "Gentlemen," Captain Montgomery said as he addressed the new troops. 
"Welcome to Syria.  I know that you came in as a unit.  Unfortunately, you
are going to be split up as replacements into other units.  Sergeant
Matheson will have your orders.

   "Specialist Hawk," Captain Montgomery continued.  "Your language skills
are needed by one of our advanced units.  You will grab your gear and head
out with Staff Sergeant Jacobi."

   Jon stepped forward as he received his orders.  Grabbing his pack and
his duty bag, he looked over to Staff Sergeant Jacobi and walked over to
him.

   "Christ!" the staff sergeant exclaimed with disgust.  "Are you even old
enough to be here kid?"

   "We have our orders, Staff Sergeant," Jon shrugged.  "Are you ready to
go yet?"

   Hearing his tone, Captain Montgomery looked over at the young man in the
specialist's uniform.  Looking closer, he realized that the Staff Sergeant
was correct.

   "Have you seen any action, Specialist?" Capt.  Montgomery interjected
before the staff sergeant could reply.  "Any combat experience?  Or are you
fresh out of boot camp."

   "I am fresh out of boot camp," Jon smiled.  "But, I saw some action in
the Philippines."

   "Ever kill anyone, boy," Jacobi asked harshly.

   "Yes," Jon said as he turned to look into the Sergeant's eyes.  "I took
a girl across the length of the Philippines to General McArthur's
headquarters.  Seven Japanese officers are dead by my hand.  Nineteen
enlisted personnel are likewise dead.  General McArthur was pleased when I
brought him the intelligence I garnered from these men, as well as their
unit patches from their uniforms."

   "How old are you, Son," Captain Montgomery asked softly.  By his flat
tone, Captain Montgomery knew that he was telling the truth.

   "I'm eighteen, Sir," Jon said as he continued to stare into Staff
Sergeant Jacobi's eyes.  "I was aboard the Niagara when it was attacked. 
The blast knocked me and one of my servants overboard.  I was seventeen at
the time."

   "The Niagara went down near New Zealand," Captain Montgomery said after
a moment.

   "From mines," Jon nodded.  "The explosion killed my parents and injured
my other servant.  She is doing well and living in my grandparents' home
while I am here."

   "Carry on, Sergeant," Captain Montgomery nodded.  Now he knew where the
boy's anger came from.

   "Yes, Sir," Jacobi nodded.  "Come along, lad.  We've got a few miles to
go today before we make it to our unit."

   On his way, Staff Sergeant Jacobi explained where his unit was
stationed. He told Jon about the landscape and how to survive in the desert
environs.  Jon sat silent and absorbed his words.  About the necessity of
making sure he drank enough water, how to care for his weapons to protect
them from the sand and grit, and about the unit's mission in their part of
the desert.

   When they arrived, Jon was shone to the X.O.'s tent and given a briefing
on the situation.  Listening to him, Jon realized that the x.o.  thought he
was just a walking body bag because of his youth.  A corporal was brought
in and ordered to take Jon to the impromptu range they had set up and his
skill was tested.

   "Nice," Corporal Nantz smiled as he watched Jon shoot another bull's
eye. "You stick with me and you should have no problems.  I'll let the
Major know that I want you in my squad.  You all right with that?"

   Jon nodded and slipped five more rounds into his Garand.  Hitting all
five rounds into their respective targets, Jon looked up at the corporal
spotting for him, "Have we spent enough time here, then?"

   "Yeah," Cpl.  Nantz replied.  "Make sure you clean it properly."

   Jon nodded and began gathering his brass from the ejected rounds.  After
carefully policing everything, he followed Cpl.  Nantz back to the squad
tent and found his rack.  Stowing his gear, Jon thoroughly cleaned his
rifle.  Once the rifle was clean, he grabbed his pack and pulled out a
leather shoulder holster carrying a Browning High-Power/FN GP35.  Cleaning
and oiling his sidearm, he next pulled out four magazines and made sure
they were clean.  Three magazines he loaded and placed in the shoulder
harness.  The fourth magazine he cleaned, loaded, and inserted into the
weapon.  Replacing the Browning in its holster, he reached into his duty
bag and pulled out a katana and made sure it was cleaned and oiled.

   "You take that off a Jap, boy?"

   Looking up, Jon saw a first sergeant watching him.

   "This one's mine," Jon shrugged.  "I got it when my father was posted in
Japan.  Those I took off the Japanese officers in the Philippines I have
stored."

   "You going to tell me the story behind that statement?" the first
sergeant asked?

   "Probably not," Jon shrugged.  "At least, not yet."

   "Well, Nantz thought you were decent enough at that range out back," the
first sergeant shrugged.  "I'm sticking you in his platoon.  Keep hold of
that sidearm.  Some of the locals will want you trade them for something.
They are always looking for weapons.  Weapons and medicine.  You are not
authorized to trade either with them."

   Jon nodded at his instructions as he attached the sheath of the katana
to his pack.  Pulling the katana, he took out the cleaning and oiling kit
and cared for that as well.

   "Christ, Kid," a sergeant called from his rack.  "Do you think you're
fighting the entire German army by yourself?"

   "I like to be prepared," Jon smiled as he slid the katana back in its
sheath.

   "Come along, Kid," the first sergeant ordered.  "I'm to take you to the
Colonel when you're finished."

   Jon nodded and slipped into his gear.  First the shoulder holster, then
his pack, then his rifle.  Jon slid fresh rounds into his rifle, grabbed
more zip clips for loading the Garand, and followed the 1st Sgt.

   "Ah, Mr.  Hawk," the Colonel smiled as Jon came into the Command Center.
"Welcome to Syria.  I'm sure you've been told everything about this place
by those who have been marching its length.  Tell me, what did you see on
your way in?"

   "We're not using the population correctly," Jon shrugged.  "We know that
these people roam the desert in small bands.  That is intelligence we can't
afford to throw away.  General McArthur showed me that the smallest thing
can mean the difference in a successful attack or defense.  Most of the
military letters I gave him were of things he already knew.  However, the
patches I gave him told him exactly who he was fighting."

   "Is it true that you are fairly good at languages?" the Colonel nodded
after a moment.

   "My father had a few postings overseas," Jon shrugged.  "My mother
thought it important that I learn to talk with everyone in whatever country
we went to.  My French is passable, my Chinese and Japanese is pretty
good."

   "Very good," the Colonel replied.  "When your regular duties aren't
filling your time, I want you to spend time with the locals.  I want you to
learn their language and see if you can become friendly with them.  I want
them to share information with you freely."

   "They won't do it for free, Sir," Jon said after a moment.  "Give me a
medic, medicines and medical supplies that they need, and a couple of days.
Ask nothing from them or of me until we are sure that they trust us to be
different from the Germans and Italians."

   "So," the Colonel smiled.  "This won't be an immediate solution.  I
expected as much.  But, once we have them on our side, do you think it will
translate to the other tribes as well?"

   "Possibly," Jon shrugged.  "But, we will have to be known for our
generosity.  If they think we are buying them, they will get offended.  We
are guests here in their land.  Guests with a purpose, but still guests. 
We should act accordingly."

   "See what you can do," the Colonel replied after a moment.  "We may not
be in one place long enough to follow this slow plan of yours.  But, I
would still like you to see what you can do."

   "Yes, Sir," Jon replied.

   "Here," the Colonel smiled as he handed Jon new chevrons to be sewn onto
his uniforms.  "You're going to need the rank for them to respect your
position."

   "Christ," the 1st Sgt.  chuckled.  "Four months to make sergeant?  Not
bad, kid.  But, I do hope you're ready for it."

   The months ahead proved that Jon was indeed up to the challenge.  In
time, his skill with a rifle and familiarity in the desert environs saw him
doing individual and two-man actions frequently.  In a letter to his
grandfather, Jon requested and received a couple different rifle scopes and
the scope mounts.

   May 1943



   "We have trouble, Jon."

   Sliding up to his rifle, Jon looked through his scope.  "Shit," he
sighed as he watched an infantry column heading for an ambush.

   "Get on the radio," Jon ordered.  "Let them know that they're marching
into an ambush.  Then, meet me at our fallback position.  Wait for an hour
then head to the next.  After that, if I haven't caught up, you need to get
to base.  Take the notebook and give it to the Colonel.  He will know what
to do with the information.

   "It's all right, Marcus," Jon said as he looked over and saw the black
man watching him.  "You need to hurry along now."

   Marcus nodded.  Grabbing Jon's notebook and his own pack, he slid back
from their hiding spot and radioed in to stop the column.  Behind him, he
heard Jon's first shot.  Three more shots rang out from Jon's position
before Marcus could get the column stopped.  Immediately he hurried on to
the fallback position.  He set up a defensive position with a clear exit
strategy as Jon had showed him.

   Running across the outcropping, Jon was running and gunning.  The
Germans were bringing their weapons to bear on his position.  Due to the
range, Jon was able to fire three times before they found his first
position.  Twice more he fired before going to his next firing position. 
His M1903A4 Springfield was in constant use for the next fifteen minutes.
Not every round killed.  But, Jon made sure that every round counted.

   Jon cursed as the first mortar round landed twelve yards in front of
him. He slid back and began to run.  He quickly loaded five more rounds as
he moved and fell into a firing position.  He was sure that his first round
took an officer.  A mortar round landed close to his position.  Close
enough to let him know they were using a spotter.  His second round took
the spotter from his position just below the rise of one of the sand dunes.
The next battery of mortar rounds let him know that he was too late in
taking out their spotter.

   Jon sat up with a groan.  By the darkness, he knew that he was in a cave
of some sort.  Closing his eyes, he slowed his breathing and heart rate. 
As he calmed himself, reached into the pouch on his pack and grabbed his
first aid kit.  Opening it, he took out the small candle he kept there. 
Reaching in his pocket, he grabbed his Zippo and lit it.  Waiting a moment,
he opened his eyes and lit the candle wick.  He cursed again when he saw
the broken stock of his rifle under some rubble that had once been the cave
wall.  He tried to dig it out, but stopped as more dirt and dust threatened
to rain down on him.  Taking out his canteen cup, he turned it over and
dripped some wax on it.  Setting the candle in the cooling wax, Jon began
to look around.  It was an underground cavern system.  He took his time and
explored his position before venturing further in.  He was surprised when
he found himself walking on cut stone.  Though the cavern was a natural
formation, it seemed to be refined for use by men.

   When he came across a large cave, he studied the walls.  Though he could
not read the words on the walls, some of them felt warm.  He went through
another candle just checking out this room before he found an exit.  Jon
gasped when he entered the next cave.  This one clearly fashioned by the
hands of men.  Whatever its initial intent, it now served as a burial
chamber.  For some reason, the darkness seemed less oppressive here.

   On the walls were various mosaics and cuneiform writing.  Jon didn't
understand the story they told, but couldn't deny their beauty.  Making his
way to the altar, Jon saw the bones of an ancient warrior.  The length of
bones giving mute evidence of his size.  The silvery sword with jeweled
hilt gave evidence of his status as a man of worth.

   A breath of wind suddenly blew out Jon's candle.  He gasped as the
entire room seemed to glow in a soft blue light.

   "Welcome, Jon Hawk," a voice sounded in the depth of Jon's mind.  "Your
arrival has been much anticipated."

   "What?" Jon said confused.

   "I have been watching you for some time," the voice called.  "In the
land known as the Philippines, when you felt the danger around you?  That
was me giving you warning.  When the local people accepted you as one of
them.  That was me paving the way for your visit here."

   "Why?" Jon asked.  "What is your concern about me?  Who are you?"

   "I am," the voice sounded amused.  "Rather, I was Nur-Ishtar.  I was
once a Warrior-Mage and protector of this world.  Now, I am just a watcher.
I have decided that you will take my place."

   "What does that mean?"

   "There were once twelve of us," Nur-Ishtar continued.  "I am the last of
my kind.  All my kin was destroyed.  I destroyed those who fought against
those like me.  I took my brothers powers from them.  For many years, I
fought the evil of this world.  I still had not found an heir when this
body was failing me.  I made this stronghold for a time when one would
come. You are the one I have sought."

   As he spoke, Jon saw the pictures of Nur-Ishtar's life running through
his mind.  He wasn't sure how, but he understood everything that had
happened.  He knew who had moved against this man's kin and knew the
measures Nur-Ishtar had taken to ensure this location was secure.  As the
words washed through him, he was aware of the passage of time that
Nur-Ishtar had fought and the reasons for those battles.  After a time, Jon
realized that he was laying down and that the blue light was only bathing
his body.

   "What are you doing," Jon asked, then gasped when he realized that he
hadn't said anything.

   "Yes," Nur-Ishtar's voice replied.  "I am teaching you those things you
need to know for the years ahead.  Your mind has gone over some changes. 
Your body is also changing to suit its needs.  Others will try to stop you.
You will see.

   "Rest now," Nur-Ishtar ordered and Jon felt his mind and body drifting
into relaxation and darkness.

   Jon regained consciousness calmly.  His mind recognized this as a safe
place.  Sitting up, he realized that Nur-Ishtar had altered his body and
the effects surprised him.  His former height of five feet eight inches
would be dwarfed by his new six foot eleven inch frame.  Where once he was
well built, now he felt as solid as the mountains.  Every muscle rippled as
he used it.  Each muscle well-defined and firm.  Looking around, Jon
realized that he could understand the stories on the walls.  He understood
the stories they told and the strategies the combatants had used.

   "More," Nur-Ishtar said and Jon could hear the amusement in his voice.
"Your scent will attract females.  Each of them will smell what is most
pleasing to them when they are with you.  The more time they are with you,
the more their desires to mate with you will dominate their thoughts and
actions.  You will hear the thoughts of men and women.  You will be able to
give them thoughts and ideas.  Help them to understand themselves and their
capabilities.  Help them to feel joy in their nature without feeling
lessened by it.  You can show them how to be strong and how to revel in
their strength and show others how to do so as well.

   "Translocation is also available to you," Nur-Ishtar continued. 
"Shifting one object through space.  As you get stronger, more gifts will
become available to you.  For now, look over my body.  There are things
there that will help you on your quest."

   Jon stood and looked at the body lying on the altar for a long time. 
For a long time he stared before he knelt and said a quick prayer for this
man's spirit.  Taking off his shirt and trousers, Jon took the breastplate
and held it to his chest.  A myriad of colors floated before his eyes as
the breastplate merged into his chest.  Next came the pauldrons, shoulder
guards bespelled for protection, vambraces to cover his forearms and give
him strength, and greaves to cover his shins.  Jon placed the helm on his
head to augment his mental strength and shield him from those with similar
capabilities but with evil intent.  As he took the shield, he could feel a
thousand years of protective spells to ensure his survival.  Taking the
katana from its sheath, Jon grabbed the tulwar on the bier and melded the
two together.  With a sigh, he merged the sword with his body.  Two
sapphire rings were next, followed by a jade amulet.

   Walking to the wall, Jon ran his fingers over the cuneiform spells on
the wall.  As his hands stopped at each spell, the words transferred from
the wall to his body.

   "You will be a great Master," Nur-Ishtar said, and Jon could tell that
he was pleased by the mental tone.  "You took powerful spellbound tools and
made them a part of yourself.  Not many would know that you are the true
weapon.  That was well done.

   "Open the drawers beneath my bier," Nur-Ishtar continued.  "Take those
things within and send them to a safe place.  You will need this wealth in
the years to come.  Fare thee well, Jon Hawk.  May the Gods keep you and
the years be kind."

   Jon smiled when he saw the gems, jewels, gold and silver in the drawers
beneath the bier.  With a thought, he sent them to his storage shed back in
New York.  Redressing and grabbing the rest of his gear, Jon teleported
himself outside the cave.  He was not surprised to find the Bedouin waiting
for him.

   "Why a tulwar?" Jon asked.  "It doesn't seem appropriate with this
area."

   "That you know of," Nur-Ishtar chuckled.  "Once, this was one land. 
This was fashioned by my brother with all his skill.  I took it from the
demon who killed him."

   "Welcome, Prince of the Dawn," the Holy Man bowed as Jon stepped
forward. "Come, refresh yourself.  You know your duty to us."

   Smiling, Jon nodded.  Here he would be given food and water and a chance
to cleanse himself.  By their custom, he would also impregnate every woman
of marriageable age here.  These women would be sought after and their
children would be well tended.

   All told, Jon spent six days in the cave and tending to the Bedouin
women.  He knew when each was pregnant and he became more proficient with
his mental skills.  As his skills expanded, he would play with the children
and help cure their ailments.  When he was finished, he stuck his right
hand in the sand and drew on his power.  Gold slowly crept from the desert
floor and formed into his hand.  He fashioned a heavy gold torc and handed
it to the Holy Man.
   "Thank you," Jon smiled.  "Go in peace."