la Legion d'Abraham - The last words of a Hero

Independent piece on the la Legion d'Abraham story about a hero in desperate times.

Do you want to stand in the front lines, among men of rock; the mountains of our time. Can you endure scorching desert storms and blistering blizzards? Learn how to be a survivor, and to be a warrior, a hero of our time!

 

Join la Legion d’Abraham, the Legion of Abraham.

And strike back!

 

He looked at the crumbled piece of paper and stuffed it back among the junk in his coffer which he had collected during the years. It had seemed exciting, doing service for you country, for the world even. Now he wished for nothing more than to be back on the streets of New Amsterdam boasting liquor stores and robbing pimps and dealers. The moon was shining through the spotless windows of his barrack, casting a light on his back which had shadows dance on the dull grey cement wall in front of him. The silhouette of his head and torso was shifting in form as clouds drew past, making him sometimes look monstrous.  Why did I do this? He picked up a silvery pocket watch; the sort of watch which was carried by the aristocrats in the 19^th century, and turned it over to see the engraving on the back:

To our beloved son, the pride of our life and the light of our darkness. Mom and Dad.

He clenched it in his fist and pressed it again his chest. A tear was shimmering in the light as it rolled down his cheeks and fell soundlessly to the floor. I will endure! We will succeed!

The words felt hollow but it was as much passion as he had mustered in quite some time. He heard someone turn in his sleep and mutter something indistinct. Except from that the barrack was still and quiet, the men sleeping heavily after a lengthy assault by the daemons.

 

They had been called in a week earlier on an urgent order from the High Court. A defence-position near the former glorious city of Marseille was under heavy fire and was loosing ground. Marseille was where the resistance had first spread and it was there that the human headquarters were at. Their help was crucial. Very few of the people outside of Marseille knew exactly where under all the debris the headquarters was located. But Jarno knew. He had been called in before and he was considered to be a veteran among the toughest; where the average age was 27. He was 35. For years he had turned down offers to be an instructor and to retire from the most intense fire fights, he had felt himself needed here among the men, not wanting to be a quitter, a runaway. Now, for the first time ever he felt himself wanting to quit, to retire and to hand over the reins to someone else. But none was suited, none could take his place, none could see an approaching danger and save the lives of his men as he did. He wanted as many men back in the barracks by the end of the day, and no candidate so far could keep up with his statistics. He placed the pocket watch back among his belonging and heard the metal, from the many medals he’d earned, cling.

 

The Silver Cross, earned for heroic efforts made during the battle of Hattin 2044.

The Purple Heart, to the hero of the African plain, 2046, Jarno

The Jade Horn, for the rescue of the people of Hua Hin, 2047. Jarno – a hero of modern age.

 

Hero, hero, hero! He closed his coffer with a bang which had some soldiers wake and mutter a few drowsy curses at him. He climbed back onto his bed and laid down on back. His eyes were staring blindly at the ceiling, lost in thought with his fingers entwined as in pray. The air was cool and the night calm, no sounds of mortars or grenade launchers, no rattling guns or pistols, no crying or screaming from battered and injured men. All calm. But he knew it wasn’t. The enemy never slept, and while he did, they would forge new plans in how to destroy the humans once and for all. Will we ever win? Another tear rolled down his cheek, wet and soft and damped the pillow below. Eventually sleep found him and he got four hours of troubled dreams.

 

He woke before the trumpets signalling dawn were blown. Manny Decamp was sitting on his bed with a small mirror in his hand, watching his own reflection. His back was stiff straight and his black-lined tired eyes were fixed on his mirror. No doubt troubled with the same thoughts as Jarno had more than 10 years earlier. His thoughts wasn’t all that different now, only more complex. How can we win? Can we even win, or is it just in vain? He hoped not.

“Hey, Manny. You alrite, mate?” he called quietly to his young friend, but Manny kept staring. “Buddy, you alrite?” He tried again in a sharper tone. This time Manny broke his gaze from the mirror, closed his eyes and slumped down on his bunk.

“Yes, Captain, I’m fine.” Manny answered in a voice thick of sorrow and heaved a sigh.

There was a moment of silence while Jarno thought of what to say. “It will be alrite, Manny. In the end, it will be alrite.” He didn’t know if Manny believed him but he nodded and placed his mirror back on top of his coffer before he too lay down and awaited the trumpets.

 

IN MEMORY OF

JARNO GUDMAR 2020-2055

HERO OF THE HUMAN RACE

And

PRIDE OF LA LEGION D’ABRAHAM

C.O.W.

Author's Note

Independant piece on the "la Legion d*Abraham" meant to describe the misery and the state that the human race are in.
la Legion d'Abraham is a major project of mine that is takeing shape and evolving by the day. It's in a world where daemons (demons) challenge the human race for domination; where the scale between Good and Evil, Right and Wrong, Black and White, is grey.

Reviews

[Sara Muschweck]

I can't get enough of this story, you have captured with such artistry the readers attention. This stands well on it's own yet having read the other chapters on this story line, you see how humans in each time period struggle to do what is right. This character, an unlikely hero wishing to be back at his criminal ways, instead earning medals . I can't wait for more!

[Jenn Wathen]

Thats very informational good...