Chapter One Hundred and Sixty. Raising the Flag.

Chapter One Hundred and Sixty. Raising the Flag.

Huron gestured, and the Gateway activated, a rich golden sheet of light strewn with streaks of rose and amber. A dozen novices preceded him through the event Horizon, and he smiled as he left Harbordeep behind.

He loved getting away from the endless paperwork and tedium that came with administration. While introducing the novices he'd assigned to Glacier Valley could have been done by Austan, Clyde, Annisa, or Voren; he'd taken the task for himself. He'd made the mental argument that he was the one best suited to teaching the young novices how to finish raising the temple.

Looking out over the valley, his smile faded, replaced by surprise.

Row after row of tents formed impossibly neat, perfect lines. They were odd, domed affairs, the material a mix of greens that would have made them nearly impossible to see were it not for the precise arrangement. Nature didn't create lines that straight.

"As you can see," Huron chuckled over the whispers of the novices, "there are quite a few people here." He tilted his head. He could hear... something. A rhythmic thud and the faint sound of singing?

He turned towards the glacier, his eyes widening. A column of men was running, four men abreast and perhaps fifty men in length. They ran in perfect formation, each foot landing as one. His novices moved to the edge of the foundation of the temple to peer at the oncoming wave.

He could hear them clearly as they rapidly approached.

"His uniform is unlike," the words roared out of the column. "Any you've ever seen," there was a pause between the roars, and as he strained, he could make out a single voice call out the next line before it was bellowed back by the rest. "The Germans called him Devil Dog!"

Huron could feel them now as their footsteps fell together.

"His title is Marine!"

They passed the bare slab of the temple where the Gateway stood like a monument, never breaking their stride.

"You can have your Army Khaki's," he heard as the column proceeded past, "And your Navy Blues."

He couldn't hear the lead man calling out the song, but the response was still loud. "But here's a different fighting man," he turned to face the novices who were huddled together as the next line floated through the air, "I'll introduce to you."

"And those are some of the people we're here to help," Huron announced warmly, reassuring the novices. They were little more than children, having taken their vows a bare month ago.

"Let's go to the Adventurers Guild," he smiled, projecting an aura of calm confidence, "It will be a few days before the temple is complete, so that's where you'll be taking your meals."

Turning to the Adventurers Guild, he was surprised to see that a flag pole had been erected. Streaming out in the swift breeze were two flags. The topmost featured alternating red and white stripes, the top corner closest to the pole a square of blue, upon which were arranged rows of white stars. The flag directly beneath it was blood red. A circle, white with gold irregularly within the borders, served as a perch for a golden bird of prey and was superimposed over a golden anchor. A wavering scroll beneath proclaimed "United States Marine Corps."

There was also a stream of men entering the tavern on one side of the doors and leaving on the other. As he approached, he realized that the men exiting the tavern were carrying trays of food.

"Hold," one of the men towards the front of the line called, "we've got locals incoming; let's bring them through."

The line behind the man stopped their orderly progression, and by the time he'd arrived with the novices, the path into the Adventurers Guild was clear.

Huron gestured for the novices to precede him, and he paused to speak to the man who'd halted the line. "Thank you," he nodded to him. The man was in his thirties, wearing the same oddly patterned clothing as all the others. It had to be a uniform of some sort, although it had none of the ornamentation he'd expected.

"Sir!" The man said, his arm angling out to bring the flat of his hand to his brow an angle. The man's posture was so stiff that Huron would have thought there were planks holding him in place.

Repeating his nod to the man, he continued into the tavern, noting that the last of the uniformed men were leaving. He found that the tavern's long counter had been covered with deep dishes heaped with food. He watched as his novices hesitantly picked up trays from a stack at the beginning of the counter, slowly sliding them along the newly installed rails as more uniformed men ladled spoonfuls of scrambled eggs, sausage patties, and somethings he didn't recognize at all.

"While a lot of our Marines were alone, a few of them have people who will eventually notice they're gone, so we're popping them back over to setup covers for why they won't be reachable, discontinuing subscriptions and services," Mike sighed, "all the things you need to do if you move to another country, or" he grinned, "to another world."

"We should be fully engaged within three days," Mike continued, "we'll occupy the entirety of the Dungeon in three shifts, destroying the monsters by fire and maneuver."

"Assuming the coalescence rates you provided are accurate, we expect to see one hundred and twenty-five mana crystals every twenty-four hours, with a deviation of one to two percent," Mike reported, "although those numbers are subject to revision as we advance deeper into the Dungeon."

Bob had pulled some sort of hinged metal box out of his satchel and was tapping at the top of it. Huron leaned around slightly, and his eyes widened as he saw that there was a glowing piece of parchment filled with perfectly formed lines and words.

"Alright," Bob muttered, tapping away at the bottom of the box, which was lined with squares, each one glowing with a single letter. "You are making sure to incorporate the D&D group in the rotation schedule, right?"

Mike let out a sigh, drawing Huron's gaze. Never in all his years had a single sound managed to encompass sadness, frustration, humor, and resignation, all at once. He couldn't but be impressed. "Yes," Mike grumbled, "and I also have to report that there a number of Marines who are interested in pursuing the Path of the Endless Swarm, because, and this is a direct quote from a Lance Corporal, 'Dinosaurs are fucking awesome.'"

"I've also spoken to several other NCO's, and we would all appreciate it if you would agree to our recruitment of active duty personnel," Mike went on, "as at the moment, our command structure is fragmented but workable because there are so few of us." He shook his head, "We're getting close to needing to be split into two regiments."

"Aren't there any retired officers we could recruit?" Bob asked.

"We borrowed a line from the Brit's, 'Captains may marry, Majors should marry, Colonels must marry,'" Mike replied with a shake of his head. "While enlisted have the highest divorce rate in the country, officers tend to have fairly stable marriages and families."

Mike hesitated for a moment. "That reincarnation thing," he said, "it'll make old men young again, right?"

"Pretty much," Bob looked over at Huron, "although we'd need someone from the Church to cast the ritual as I don't have it."

"I'm sure I can assign a Priest of Priestess with that spell to assist you," Huron agreed.

"In that case," Mike smiled, "we can field plenty of widowed officers who won't have any commitments that would interfere."

"You have a great deal of faith that these people will join you," Huron observed.

Mike snorted. "Once a Marine, always a Marine," he said dismissively.

"They'd need to be able to go back to Earth," Bob warned Huron, "I mean, we could have them back on Thayland every day, but they'd have to go over." He shook his head, "I've found it's a great deal easier to convince people that magic is real when you perform the magic in front of them."

"I could task Annisa," Huron offered, "I believe the two of you have a friendly relationship?"

"Annisa is nice," Bob agreed, "assuming she's willing, of course, I don't want anyone press-ganged into helping us."

Huron shook his head and smiled gently, "Bob, I've sent word to everyone associated with the Church of the Seven God's of Light under Vi'Radia, and upon hearing of the impending disaster looming over your world, they've all offered to aid in any manner they are able."

Mike raised an eyebrow at that statement as he sipped his coffee.

"You aren't doing this on your own," Huron assured Bob, "small though we might be in comparison to your own nation, we are ready to aid you."

"That's what we all keep telling him," Mike grunted, setting his empty mug down.