Untitled
Copyright© 2026 by Wojtek
Chapter 2
There was no noise as I opened the French doors. The room looked like an upscale hunting lodge, leather furniture everywhere, bookcases lining two walls. The other two walls were even more interesting. One wall was filled with exotic hunting trophies, mounted heads were on display. Cheetah, puma, jaguar, and lion, it was any and every big cat. There were a couple of gazelles and antelope heads to round it out. Then there was a huge stone fireplace that took up two thirds of the fourth wall. Set in the middle of the room was a huge desk.
Looking at the desk, I knew that I’d seen it somewhere before. I guess standing there staring at it was a clue.
“You have seen it before. It is an exact copy of the Resolute desk in the Oval Office.”
That’s when I noticed the guy standing to the side of the desk. He wasn’t anything special. Dressed like a hunter from the early 1900s, about average height and build, with blue eyes and salt and pepper hair that drew you in. He also had a magnificent beard.
“So, I take it your God or Odin or something?”
“Yes and no. Am I The God, no. Am I a God, yes.”
“Well, that’s about as fucking vague as you can get.”
“Would you like a beer? We can sit and talk a bit before getting down to business.”
“Fuck it. I could use a beer. Shit, sorry about the language.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know you Marines have mastered the art of foul language. I do not have delicate sensibilities like Maibitt. Where were we? Oh, yes. I am a God, but not the God.”
He motioned me to an oversized leather chair. It was comfy as hell, and he took a similar chair across a nice wooden coffee table from me. I was startled when he reached down and grabbed a beer from the coffee table that wasn’t there a second ago.
“Sto Lat (One hundred years.)”
“Well, my hundred years are up so that’s pointless.”
“Not necessarily, but we will get to that. Now grab a beer and let’s see what questions you have.”
Picking it up, it was a good Polish beer. I drained half the bottle with the first swig. Fuck, I hadn’t tasted beer in six months.
“So, explain to me exactly who you are.”
“So, I am not the God. That would be my father. Odin in Norse mythology, Zeus in Greek, and the Holy Father in Catholicism. I on the other hand am ostensibly the God of War or Battle. The Slavs know me as Svetoid, the Norse as Tyr, Ares in Greek, the Catholics know me as Michael the Archangel. The Valkyries are a caste of what the Catholics call angels.”
Well, this made things interesting. Now what the hell did he want with me? Then a question popped into my head.
“So, what do I call you?”
“Seeing as you aren’t a really true believer in formalized religion, can just call me Harold.”
“OK Harold. One more question. What about Islam and the LDS church?”
“Both are cults. Muhamed stole a bunch of stuff from Judaism and Christianity, then added a whole slew of bullshit and called himself a prophet. Joseph Smith took Christianity, added a bunch of bullshit, and called himself a prophet.”
That pretty much squared with my views.
“And just to round it out, Christianity, fairly accurate, added some stuff. Though nowhere near the level of the other two. Judaism, fairly accurate, other than the weird food stuff. We won’t even discuss those lunatic Scientologists.”
One other question began forming in my head. Though Harold beat me to it.
“All the Catholics ask. The whole Virgin Mary was a bunch of nonsense. The All Father, the easiest way to describe him is that he is a petty asshole most of the time. He basically went down and cucked Joseph. He got a little randy, went down and seduced Mary, did the horizontal mambo and split.”
Wow, now that was a total mindfuck. Then he laid another one out there.
“And as far as what happens after death. All the things that are taught by religions is a bunch of bullshit. There is a multitude of what you know as heaven. Each one of my brother and sister Gods has their own.”
He thought about it for a minute. Then he leaned towards me.
“We each have our own criteria as to who we let in. How we judge souls may have things in common with what religions teach. But when it comes down to it, we make the decision. There are no guarantees like religions want to make it out to be.”
I was a little bit weirded out as he stared at me.
“I focus on soldiers, warriors or whatever it is that you humans call them. There is no hell. If you aren’t chosen to enter one of the afterlives, your soul just ceases to exist. Either way your body is nothing but worm food at that point.”
Well, this knowledge would cause chaos among religions. It was time to get down to business.
“So, Harold. What is this all about, you brought me here for a reason?”
“I did. So let me set the stage. I’m a little bit of a scallywag. The trickster mythologies like Loki for the Norse or Coyote in Native folklore were actually me. I’m not totally proud of it, but I just can’t help myself.”
“And?”
“Wait a minute, I want you to see something. I want you to see this before I let you know why I brought you here.”
He took a swig of his beer.
“So, time works differently here. You have been here for an hour. That is twelve days on your world.”
“My world?”
“You didn’t think your version of Earth was the only inhabited planet out there. Hell, there are a multitude of Earths out here across the span of space and time. Kind of like that multiverse thing from Marvel.”
He let that sink in for a moment.
“They have already had your wake and funeral. There are a couple of key things. You were awarded the Navy Cross for your actions. The gunner on the MK19 had a camcorder attached to his turret, so there was footage of the whole thing. All the personnel from your Force Reconnaissance Company showed up for your funeral. That’s five officers, seventy enlisted Marines and four Naval Corpsmen. Your parents opted to have you buried at Arlington National Cemetery. Interesting note on that. I have to commend the Marine Corps on the length and detail they go to for military burials. From now on, the Marines that are in the Body Bearers unit will always get into Valhalla.”
He then explained what he meant. The Marine Corps had a small unit called the Body Bearers. They are unique among military units like that. They operate with six body bearers where the other branches use eight. They are also the only branch to carry the casket at shoulder height. These had to be some strong bastards.
It also seems my father got into the action. When you have a motivated retired Sergeant who just lost his son in battle, no one seems to have the ability to say no. The Marine Corps or Army sure didn’t. They had a horse-drawn caisson to transport my casket to my burial plot. There was also a live bugler and firing party.