One Man's Myth was Another Man's Life

Private Nathan Bergmann sat in the converted warehouse working on his bulky man pack radio. He unscrewed the face plate with a great amount of difficulty (the army always purchased from the lowest bidder) and pulled out the shattered crystal. He sighed and hung his head.

“Damn,” he said to himself. “That's the second one this week.”

He couldn't complain too much. The radio he had been carrying for the month was state of the art, fresh off the assembly line. Civilians weren't even privy to such technology. If the Blaukueste Empire got their hands on it, the communications advantage the Rotberg Army had would be undone and this decade long war would last even longer.

Nathan stood up and was about to go to supply to get a new crystal when he was blocked off by a large form.

“Bergmann, what are you doing taking that damn thing apart?”

“Just trying to fix it, Sergeant,” Nathan replied to the round face of Sergeant Walderson.

“Do you even understand that expensive piece of technology?” Walderson asked, his voice just under a roar.

“Yes, Sergeant. They taught us all about them when they issued them to us.”

Walderson just shook his head.

“Things sure are changing,” he said. “The telegraph was the hot new thing when I was your age. Now they don't need wires. Incredible.” He stood there staring at the backpack sized metal box for a moment, then shrugged. “Alright, Bergmann, go on and get it fixed. But you better have it ready by the time we move out.”

“Roger Sergeant!”

With that Bergmann darted off to the supply building.


Colonel Forscher sat in his brigade command post, looking over maps and overlays. To his right his staff, a small army in itself, moved counters on a massive representation of the battlefield. Battalions and companies were moved forward and back as information trickled in. To his right another small force of personnel chattered away on stationary radio units and scribbled notes that were taken to the other side of the room to update the markers. He shook his head in amazement. What used to take the better part of an hour with unreliable telegraph wire was now accomplished in the span of minutes, the message sent over the air. It almost seemed as if the Rotberg Empire had accomplished what the heroes in epics did.

“Colonel,” it was Major Wittmann, the brigade personnel officer. “The Two-Thirteenth has reported success at pushing back the Blaukueste forces in sector Pallasch. Major Bauer reports having found something alien looking.”

Forscher furrowed his hairy eyebrows. “Alien? That's nonsense.”

“He says it's partially buried. An artillery round uncovered it and he says that the round didn't even scratch it.”

Forscher thought for a moment. That battalion's reserve, Wolf Company, was still at the brigade CP waiting to be called on.

“Tell Bauer to get his reserve in to secure the object, then to continue on with his mission.”

“Yessir.”

What was this “alien” object, Forscher wondered. His attention was refocused as reports from the three-sixteenth blared over the radio.


“Gear up!” Sergeant Walderson bellowed to his platoon. “We're moving out.” He looked at Bergmann as the boy strapped the giant radio over his even heavier rucksack. “That thing in prime condition, Bergmann?”

The young private smiled. “Yes Sergeant!”

“Good. It had better not crap out on us while out there.”

“Can't promise anything, Sergeant, but I'll give you one-hundred percent.”

Walderson smiled. That's what he liked to hear. Even though he gave the kid a lot of trouble, he actually had a lot of respect for the boy from the Northern peaks. He had never had problems with the soft spoken Bergmann, and called on him regularly to do jobs he couldn't trust anyone else with. He'll make a good NCO, Walderson thought as he threw his own ruck on and moved outside to where the rest of the company was waiting.

“Leadership on me!” Captain Landerson called.

Walderson began to dash to the company commander when a familiar face popped up beside him.

“Nice of you to join us, Lieutenant,” Walderson chided.

Lieutenant Triebel gave Walderson a bright, white grin. “You think I'd let you have all the fun, Sergeant?”

The two laughed as they approached the circle of platoon leaders and platoon sergeants.

“Listen up,” Landerson said. “We're moving in to secure the rear of the battalion's area of operations.”

A grumble ran through the tightly packed group.

“I know, it's not the combat we want,” he continued. “But our buddies may have found some undiscovered ruins the ancients left behind, and we need to secure them for the Rotberg Empire.”

It did little to brighten their spirits. It wasn't combat, and that fact alone kept moods gloomy.

“Alright, First Platoon will lead, Second on the left, Third on the right.” Landerson turned to a man in a jumpsuit. “Lieutenant Essig, I want your panzers to overwatch from the rear.”

The chiseled-jaw tanker nodded. The word “panzer” was still unfamiliar to Landerson's tongue. Panzerkampfwagen were another new technology that the Rotberg Empire had birthed. They were almost useless in mountainous terrain, but out here on the hills and plains they were perfect for blasting through enemy positions. The heavier Mark III's were grouped into their own units. But the lighter Mark V's had been paired with infantry units to great effect.

“Alright, disseminate the information to your platoons. We move out in twenty minutes.”

It was actually thirty minutes, due to the panzer platoon having trouble starting up one of their panzers. The infantry moved out first, spaced out, their squads in wedges so that from the air the company looked like several spearheads.

Bergmann grumbled silently under the combined strain of his pack and radio. There were times when being the designated radioman was more trouble than it was worth. Marching four miles to the front lines was one of those times. He tried adjusting his shoulders and the straps on his radio, but nothing seemed to help. Sergeant Walderson had told him that it'd build character and make him stronger. Bergmann wasn't so sure about that, but the grizzled Sergeant was very wise. Maybe he was right. So Bergmann continued on without a sound.

A little over an hour later Wolf Company had made contact with the rest of the Two-Thirteenth Infantry Battalion. Major Bauer and Captain Landerson exchanged a few words, then the rest of the battalion moved off to continue the fight. Wolf Company was left behind.

“Lieutenant Triebel,” Landerson called. “Bring your platoon up. Everyone else, three-hundred sixty degree security. First Sergeant, make sure they get their spacing. Everyone drop your packs.”

First Platoon moved up to their commander in a flash. Even Bergmann managed a sort of sprint.

“So where is this thing, sir?” Walderson asked.

“I guess we're standing right on top of it,” Landerson replied. “But the place where the artillery shell exposed it is just over the ridge there,” he said pointing.

Moments later the platoon crested the hill and were standing on a shiny metal surface.

One of the soldiers, Corporal Geiss, whistled loudly. “That is something else.”

“And they said that the artillery round did nothing to it?” Triebel asked Landerson.

“That's what they said.” Landerson shook his head. “Must be some sort of extra strong metal. But it's not natural. See where the welding and rivets are,” he said, pointing with his state of the art sturmgewer. “Damn, this is amazing.”

Landerson touched a small gray square on the white surface and suddenly a hole appeared.

“Oh gods!” Walderson exclaimed. “What the hell?!”

The men just stood there, stunned at what had just happened.

“So,” Triebel said hesitantly. “What now?”

Walderson piped up. “We send the most expendable soldier in first.” He looked at Bergman with a grin.

Bergmann cringed at the thought. “But Sergeant, I'm the radioman. I'm the only one who knows how to fix this thing.”

“Don't worry, Bergmann,” Landerson cut in. “The entire platoon is going in.”

With that Triebel and his men began to slowly trickle into the dark hole. Immediately it wasn't so dark as lights came to life as if by magic. The soldiers gasped and cringed, but nothing harmed them.

“It's as if we're in one of the great Griffins that the gods gave Hektor,” one soldier, a Private Jost, exclaimed. “You know, the suns that would open their eyes when Hektor and his warriors were aboard and awake, and close them when they were away or asleep.”

“That's just a story,” another soldier, Private Malz, retorted.

“Then how do you explain it?”

Malz was silent. He couldn't. No one could. To every soldier there they had just walked into one of the amazing epics, passed down for centuries in the Rotberg Empire.

As the platoon made their way down the corridor, holes in the walls would open with audible hisses, and a team would be sent to check it out. At one point a trooper brought out what looked like a book and a picture.

“A colored picture?” Triebel asked. “And it's of a human.”

Landerson took the book and flipped through the pages. “I can't read a damn bit of this. It's all in some strange garbled script. The characters are so odd.”

Other objects were found; items of what appeared to be clothing; small, thin boxes made out of a strange hard material covered in buttons; a short-barreled weapon that strongly resembled the soldiers' sturmgewers, but lighter and parts of it covered in that unidentifiable, hard material.

“Captain!” a soldier called from in front of the main body. “I found a large room!”

The platoon piled in to the auditorium-like space. Chairs dotted the area in some organized fasion.

“It's like the bridge of a ship,” Landerson said quietly. “But where's the helm?”

“Like Hektor's ship,” Bergmann chipped in. “No helm was needed because all he needed to do was tell the ship where to go and how fast. It didn't need any sails, either.”

“So,” Walderson cut in. “We're saying we've found Hektor's ship, built by the gods?”

“We might have,” Landerson said.

“Hey,” Bergmann exclaimed. “There's a flashing light on this chair.”

Before anyone could say anything his finger and kissed the arm of the chair. There was a whine and then the ghostly figure of a man appeared before them. Many of the infantry cried in fear. It was a ghost, for sure, come to eat their souls. Bergmann just stood there, terrified. He was only slightly aware that he had lost control of his bowels.

“To anyone that finds this message,” the specter declared. “My name is Captain Hektor Remmel, commander of the RSS Griffin. We were on a routine survey of the planet Salesia when we were attacked by Vickers Pirates.”

“The Vee-Kar demons that chased Hektor to the wild lands of Salusa,” Landerson said.

“We only barely escaped,” the ghost of Hektor Remmel continued. “But there was so much damage, and we were too deep in the planet's gravity well that we landed and decided to wait for help.” The ghoul paused, his face filled with dread. “That was two years ago, five June twenty-seven eighty-eight. It's now eleven June twenty-seven ninety. I tried to keep the crew together, I really did.” He sounded as if he was pleading with the platoon. “But soon many of them became fed up and left. My second in command, Jeffrey Sattler, took many of the crew to the blue coral coast. Some of my staff have taken other dissidents to search out other places.” Hektor Remmel sighed and shook his head, sadness and worry plastered across his face. “I've decided to take the remaining crew, those that remain loyal and duty bound, to the Rotberg mountain range to the north. We're stripping the ship of everything we'll need, and leaving behind anything that's extra. I've loaded the coordinates of our new home into this message. Please, come help us soon. And, if you can, tell my wife I love her.”

Then the ghost disappeared. For several moments the room was dead silent.

“This isn't magic,” Landerson said. His voice sounded very loud in the empty space. “It's technology. All of our myths and legends are all based on this event.” He stopped and looked around the bridge of the ship.

“What happened, sir?” Bergmann asked, as if the Captain was suddenly all knowing. “Why haven't we found things like this in the Empire?”

“An even better question,” Sergeant Walderson said. “What do we do now?”

The question hung over all their heads like so many storm clouds. What would they do?