Chapter 11: Ceremonies

The morning was overcast but dry, though the forecast was for rain in the afternoon. Lars was rolling out of his cot when Travis came in. “You getting enough sleep?” asked Lars.

“Man does not live by sleep alone,” replied Travis.

“Do we have to worry about a Mister Wiltshire showing up? Of any sort?” Travis just smiled and shrugged. “And you give me grief about Helga?”

“I don’t have a problem with Helga chasing you as long as you don’t have a problem with Torvald sharpening his filleting knife.”

“I don’t have to outrun Torvald. I just have to outrun Helga, ‘cause he won’t be any happier with her than with me!” countered Lars.

“I am reminded of the line from the XXX movie. ‘Catch him fast. Kill him slow.’ Come on, clean up and get dressed. Put on something clean. We’re going to be front and center this morning.”

Lars nodded but didn’t reply. As their only translator he knew he would be involved, though he was not at all sure what that meant. First things first, though. He grabbed a towel and his toilet kit and headed for the showers.

Breakfast was a fast meal at the cookhouse. If he ate with the Vikings, Helga would be there and would delay him and ask him all sorts of questions he didn’t have answers to. He was able to bolt down some scrambled eggs before being dragged off to the morgue, which did wonders for his interest in finishing breakfast. Several engineers were waiting there, along with one of their officers and a coffin. It was plain timber and plywood, not made from polished mahogany and walnut, but looked solid. Travis brought in Torvald a minute after Lars did.

“We need to load Sven in the box, but a heck of a lot more politely than I just said,” said, Travis.

“I would think so.” Lars went over to Torvald and said, “ Þessi er coffin, sem er okkarr venja.” {"This is a coffin, which is our practice."}

“Ja, einn langrr kista, lítþúr segðumk. Hann munu lagt inni?” {"Yes, a long box, like you said. He will be placed inside?"}

“Ja.”

“Hvere er hans sverð ok skjöldr? Hann skulu hafþaur.” {"Where is his sword and shield? He should have them."}

Lars turned to Travis. “Torvald says Sven should be buried with his sword and shield. Can we get them?”

“Probably. They must be over in one of the storage tents. Give me a few minutes.” He left the room. Ten minutes later he returned awkwardly carrying a sword and a wooden shield. “Are these the correct ones?” he asked.

Torvald smiled. “Já, en þú haldþatr wranger.” {"Yes, but you hold it wrong."} He took the shield from Travis and turned it upside down.

Travis blushed. “I never trained with a sword and shield,” he explained.

Lars told that to Torvald, and Doctor Cooper directed a couple of attendants to bring Sven out of the morgue cooler. He was laid in the coffin, and Torvald took the sword and laid it on his chest, point down, towards his feet. Travis placed the round shield in the coffin, but it was too big. “That’s not going to work,” he said. He took back the shield.

“Klose koffininn ok staðr þat á á.” {"Close the coffin and place it on top."}, said Torvald.

Lars nodded and said, “Ja.” He turned to the engineers and said, “Torvald says to close the coffin and then place the shield on top. Can we do that?”

“Not a problem, sir,” answered the lieutenant. He directed his men to put the lid on the box and nail it shut, and then they placed the shield on. Torvald positioned it properly and a few nails were added to keep the shield in place.

Travis took over. “Okay. Lieutenant, if you could tell the brass that we’re ready, we’ll stay here with the coffin and Torvald. I’m not certain what they have in mind, but we’ll be ready.”

“Yes, sir.” He left with the engineers, leaving Torvald, Travis, and Lars with the coffin. Torvald simply stood there, a hand on the shield and looking into the distance. Travis thought it was similar to looks he had seen at other funerals over the years.

It was about fifteen minutes when a squad of bare-headed Rangers entered the morgue. They all moved silently in line, and their leader, a sergeant, came forward to Torvald saluted, and said, “Sir, we are here to escort your fallen warrior.” Lars translated and Torvald simply nodded. The sergeant gave several orders and the squad split in two, to stand at each side of the coffin, and then lift the coffin and carry it through the double doors.

Outside the hospital, a Humvee awaited, configured to carry cargo in an open bed. The coffin was loaded in the back, and then the squad reformed in front of the Humvee. An order was given to begin a march, and the squad slowly and formally marched towards the gravesite. They were followed by the improvised hearse, and then Travis motioned for the other two to join him. They walked slowly behind the hearse to the bunkhouse and beyond, to where a large crowd of people were waiting.

While Lars didn’t understand all the military ranks and groupings, he was learning rapidly. To one side stood the Rangers, Bravo Company of the 2 ^nd Ranger Battalion, and they were all in ranks and under arms. To the other side, at least as many British troops were present, though they were unarmed. Travis had told him that they never went around armed unless they were in a combat zone, and basically needed to be completely retrained before they were deployed. “Trust me, you don’t want to be around armed amateurs. The engineers are a combat unit, but not the warehouse people or mess people, and most doctors and nurses simply refuse to carry weapons.”

“Understood.”

Now several hundred British troops, men and women, were standing in rows across the empty grave from the Rangers. The final group was the Vikings, standing silently at the foot of the grave, not really understanding what was happening, but quiet and curious. Some of the women and children were crying. Torvald had told him that Sven was his cousin, and he was survived by his wife and two young children, both of whom were standing at the front of their group.

The squad of soldiers marched past the funeral site but stopped when the Humvee reached the proper spot. Then they silently marched to the back of the hearse and removed the coffin. Travis whispered to him, “I was told Sergeant Major Pearson had these guys practicing half the night.”

Lars nodded but stayed silent. The sergeant gave several more orders loudly, and the squad acted as pallbearers, carrying the coffin to the grave, where a string of four-by-fours was laid out over the hole. They lowered the coffin to rest upon the four-by-fours, stepped back, and came to attention. Lieutenant Colonel Fowler, also armed and wearing body armor, stepped forward and began speaking. “We gather to commend a fellow warrior who fell in honorable battle. He goes now to...”

Lars began to translate the Colonel’s words into Old Norse, as Fowler said that Sven was now in Valhalla with Odin, Thor, and the other gods. Only those who fell in battle with their weapons in hand were so honored. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Lars noticed the Rangers kept any disbelief off their faces and just stared stoically to the front. Some of the Brits had a more difficult time, but they remained silent.

After Fowler finished, Torvald stepped up and began singing a dirge, which his fellow Vikings took up; Lars didn’t even try to translate it. Next. Fowler stepped forward. He called out Sven Halstrom’s name three times, then ordered the pallbearers to proceed. They came forward and lifted the coffin off the four-by-fours by way of some ropes threaded under them. The wood was removed by a different group, and they lowered the coffin, with its shield atop it, into the grave. Finally, a different squad came forward, unlimbered their rifles, and took position. Sergeant Major Pearson gave the order, “ATTEN-HUT! SALUTE! COMMENCE VOLLEY FIRE!” The honor guard turned to the side, brought their weapons up, and gave a three-volley salute. They then retired to their original position and Fowler called the funeral to an end. The grave would be filled in afterwards.

The troops marched back to their barracks and all the weapons were locked back in the armory. Helga found Lars at lunch. She had been crying but had washed her face and looked happy to see him. “ Þú visumk Sven rikki virða. Þakka.” {"You showed Sven great honor. Thank you."}

Lars gave a sad shrug and replied, “ Vér erum ógleði þar var striithr. Ek var spyrjumk um kollrr steinn “ {"We are sad there was a battle. I was asked about a head stone."}

Helga gave him a strange look and asked, “Hvat er kollrr stein?” {"What is a head stone?"}

It was Lars turn to look confused. “ Vér staðr stein á haugr til segðhverrr er þar.” {"We place a stone on a grave to say who is there."} Helga looked curious, so Lars took a piece of paper and drew out a simple headstone. “ Vér láta rísta rúnar hans nafn á þat.” {"We carve runes with his name on it."} Lars wrote out the name in English and separately underneath it in Runic. He had spent some time online trying to figure out which of the possible half-dozen Runic alphabets to use before giving up and calling up a generic English-to-Runic translator.

“Þakka.” She tucked an arm through his, and suddenly Lars felt his heart race. He placed a hand on her arm, and she hugged him. What the hell was he going to do now?

Travis and the two colonels dragged Lars away to act as an interpreter. Travis commented it was ruining his love life but extending his real life. Lars flipped him off but acknowledged the truth. “So, what do I need to do?”

“The engineers are finishing up their modifications, the mess staff is looking for a few volunteers tonight, and you need to help the dentist with some of the victims.”

“Wonderful.”

Lars went off in the direction ordered and Travis went off to help Jennifer cataloging the Viking possessions. They didn’t gather again until dinner. “What’s the plan for this evening?” he asked.

“Dinner ends at 1900, so figure an hour for cleanup and prep. I told the mess to be ready at 2000,” answered Bellingham.

“Are we really going to drink warm beer?” asked Lars.

“Bloody Yanks! No, we don’t drink warm beer! We just don’t drink beer so cold you can’t taste it!”

Fowler laughed at Lars. “It’s not warm, Lars. I did a tour here as a first lieutenant. They don’t normally store it in refrigerators, but the storerooms and cellars are kept cool. You’ll be fine. I’m more worried about our guests. Miss Wiltshire here seems to think they’re going to get hammered.”

“Moderation was not a watchword for the Norse culture, Colonel,” Jennifer commented from her side of the table.

“This might be a learning experience for all of us. How does our beer compare to theirs? Is it stronger or weaker?” Travis asked of the young woman. All he got back was a curious shrug.

“They’d probably be making their own if we gave them half a chance,” commented Bellingham.

“They could make their own beer?” asked Lars.

Fowler replied, “It’s apparently not that hard. I heard my great-grandparents made it at home during Prohibition.”

Bellingham nodded in agreement. “We were never that silly, but the colonel is right. If you can make bread, you can make beer. It’s just water, yeast, and some form of carbohydrates. Nowadays we use grains, but I’ve heard of it being done with bread, and these guys knew how to make bread.”

“I saw it done on the Discovery Channel once. You can actually make it in a day or two, though nobody is going to mistake it for Budweiser,” finished Fowler.

“Huh. This has certainly been an educational trip,” admitted Lars.

They continued chatting until half past seven, or 1930 as the military types called it. At that point they headed over to the bunkhouse and found the mess attendants setting things up. The serving tables had been cleaned up and pulled back and the dining tables had been arrayed along the walls. Numerous folding chairs were also spaced out around the room, and what was left was a large central space that could be used for dancing. Lars had no idea if Vikings danced, but he had learned that a boombox was somewhere. That would probably freak out the Vikings, but hopefully the beer would calm them down. It also might amp them up, which could also be amusing.

Helga immediately laid claim to Lars when she learned he had entered the room. “Heil, Lars.”

“Heil, Helga. Þú lítmjrök ... allfriðr!” {"Hello, Helga. You look very ... beautiful!"}

Helga smiled coyly at Lars and said, “Þakka.” One part of him knew she was toying with him, but she really did look lovely. Helga, along with the other women, had changed out of their utilitarian uniforms and switched to clean dresses, party-clothes in a more modern vernacular. Helga was wearing a clean and lightweight white linen shift, and a lightweight wool apron-skirt done in bright blue. Amazingly, everything looked like it had been pressed; her outfit wasn’t wrinkled.

Lars asked, “Eru þú vel?” {"Are you well?"}

She was still recovering from her appendectomy but was moving around and didn’t seem to be in pain. She told him that it didn’t hurt but was sore if she didn’t sit down every so often. She pointed at one of the folding chairs and said, “Já, en ek fá leiða. Fá sæti ok setjask.” {"Yes, but I become tired. Get a seat and sit down."}

Lars took two of the seats and set them side-by-side. That wasn’t quite what Helga had in mind, but she simply said, “Þakka, Lars,” and pushed him into one. Lars sat down and she promptly set herself down sideways on his lap.

That was how Torvald found them a moment later. “Heil, Lars,” he said, his hands on his hips and an unpleasant look on his face.

Lars gulped, and replied, “Heil, Torvald.”

Helga simply smiled and put an arm around him. “Heil, Faðir.”

“Helga!”

“Faðir!” replied Helga, who doubled down on her possession of Lars by kissing him on the cheek. “ Ek elskaskhann ok Ek ætla til hafahann.” {"I love him and plan to keep him."}

“Lars!”

“Þú hugsekr hafhvatvetnar til segðumr þessi?” {"You think I have anything to say about this?"}

Helga responded to this with another kiss to his cheek and Lars began counting down the remaining few minutes of his life. Fortunately, his imminent demise was delayed when the mess staff wheeled in several handcarts of chilled beer cans. The Yanks and Brits all began yelling and applauding, but the Vikings had no idea what the strange metal objects were. It was Lars’ golden opportunity to escape Helga’s plans and her father’s retribution. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her off his lap gently, and then went over to the handcarts. Fowler and Bellingham went with him.

Both men ordered their soldiers to drink in moderation, which got them a few snickers from the back rows. Sergeant Major Pearson and Sergeant Major Thomas threatened dire consequences for anybody who got hammered and screwed up.

“Wait, wait!” yelled Lars. He motioned Torvald over and said, “ Torvald, minn vinr, þú spyrjumk fyrir øl?” {"Torvald, my friend, you asked for ale?"}

“Ja?”

Lars popped open the top of a can of Guinness Stout and poured it into a red plastic Solo cup. “Øl!” He handed it to Torvald and then poured one for himself. “Til kærleikr.” {"To friendship."} Then he lifted his glass and drank some beer.

Torvald took a sip of the beer and smiled. “Til kærleikr.” He then tilted his cup back and drained it in a single swallow. “Nú, þú!” {"Now, you!"}

Lars had no choice but to finish his beer. He repeated the toast and upended the cup slowly, finishing it off. There were cheers around the room as Torvald waved everyone forward. Lars poured beers for Torvald and all the other senior leaders. He managed to avoid drinking; there was no possible way he was going to win a drinking contest with the Viking. Helga came forward and asked for a beer of her own, and Lars poured her one.

She asked, “Hvat um þú?” {"What about you?"}

Lars simply laughed and poured one for himself. “ Ek gereigir viljtilr fá ofrolvi.” {"I don’t want to get drunk."}

Helga simply laughed. “Á øl?” {"On beer?"}

“Ja! Þessi er ólíkr hvat þú eru nýtöttumk til.” {"Yes! This is different from what you are used to."}

Helga laughed some more and called him a little girl. Lars simply smiled and nodded. She pushed him back into the chair and sat back down on his lap.

Somebody had a stereo system and music was started, which amazed the Vikings; it didn’t frighten them, though, since they had already seen so many magical things by that point. Half an hour later, the two handcarts were empty, and another was being wheeled in. Bellingham summoned Lars over and said, “It’s time for presents.”