Chapter 1

I hadn’t believed my sergeant when he told us time slows to a crawl in combat, but it really does. I clearly remember every bit of my seven-on-one firefight in Ramadi Iraq, down to the tenth of a second. Maybe even millisecond.

My initial burst hit the leader in the face, as an RPG rocket missed me by less than a foot. It blew up a car behind me as I fired again. I took at least five hits in only a few seconds, but kept on shooting. My 3-shot bursts were still deliberate and accurate, since most of the pain would come later. Somehow I had time to hope the armor plate in my vest would protect me. I wore my body armor, as usual, but some of the enemy used armor-piercing rounds.

My carbine clicked empty and I knew reloading with a broken arm would be far too slow. I dropped my weapon, reached for a frag, and pulled the pin with my teeth. New blasts of pain erupted in my knee and belly, but I was delighted at my accuracy and timing. My grenade exploded chest-high in midair, within a yard of two black-clad terrorists. A splatter of blood, an AK-74, and the severed al-Qaeda arm holding it flew across the street. I fell to the pavement, mortally wounded but satisfied.

Three surgeons and a crowd of nurses urgently tried to save me, but my body didn’t cooperate. If I hadn’t been shot half a block from the hospital’s rear entrance, I might not have made it that far. They lifted and slid me from the gurney to an OR table. Two very bright lights shone on me while they cut away my bloody uniform. I was in shock and instinctively tried to resist, when a nurse pulled the safety pin ring from mouth.

Despite the painkiller injections, I could still feel many gunshot wounds. Two in the right side of my chest weren’t too bad, and I barely noticed the five in my abdomen. The bullet that broke my left arm passed all the way through, but the wound still hurt quite a bit. The one that shattered my left kneecap and drove part of it into the cartilage between my upper and lower leg still hurt like a SONOFABITCH! I was PISSED OFF that grenade fragments had grazed my chin and tore off my right ear lobe, too. My cook time and throw were perfect, but I hadn’t ducked quickly enough.

The trauma team were giving me saline in my left arm and O negative in my right, but it was leaking out faster than they could put it in. I knew the blood I coughed out with every breath was a bad sign. Before I died, I needed to know. I gathered the bit of energy I had left and forced my mouth to work. “Did I get ‘em?” Through the din of doctors asking for tools, a female voice answered, “You took out all seven before they got their bomb to the hospital! You’re a hero...”

The doctor in charge loudly exclaimed, “We’re losing her! Put an O-neg I.O. in the left femur and large bore IV with Ringer’s in the right ankle!”

His order came too late. When my eyes closed for the last time, a monitor showed my blood pressure was down to 60 over 30. The last thing I heard was a high-pitched whine, as my heart stopped.

I wasn’t a person anymore. I didn’t have a body. I felt another formless something near me. I was at my funeral, watching it from above. A deep masculine voice said, “You deserve to see this.” He was Mars, the God of War.

I was amazed a US Army Major General was giving my eulogy, standing next to an Iraqi Regional Governor. My parents and little brother were sitting in the first row.

“Corporal Alexandra Cortez was only in the Army a year and a half, but her bravery will live on in the hearts of all those she saved. By order of the Presidents of both our countries, and on behalf of all the people of the Republic of Iraq and the United States of America, we are proud to posthumously award her a Purple Heart, the Iraqi Medal of Valor, and the Distinguished Service Cross.” A Captain saluted my coffin, then solemnly laid the medals on it.

The two-star made everyone’s eyes water, but lifted their spirits with, “We have lost a valued colleague and wonderful soldier, a beloved daughter, sister, or friend. Despite our grief, and despite the efforts of our enemies, heroes like her will ensure freedom prevails around the world...”

Only a moment later I was my civilian self again, wearing a nice forest green dress with a red sash. My hair was in long braids, as it had been before I joined the Army. I stood under a pear tree, facing a vineyard up the hill. Only a few steps away an orange fell from another tree. Across a wide field of grain was a sandy beach and calm sea. Mars said, “Welcome to Elysium. You’re one of the very few who deserve this. Existence here is comfortable and eternal. Many other great heroes will be happy to meet you. I will return shortly.”

I looked around at the beautiful scenery of the ancient farm and orchard. I picked a pear and took a bite. It was the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted! I walked up the hill, past the vineyard, to a small village. Somehow, I knew I would be staying in the third cottage on the left. It was simply built but looked homey and comfortable.

A group of men smiled as I walked near them. All eight or nine were muscular and attractive, wearing clothing from many eras. Two would have been at home in Abe Lincoln’s time. A very tall one had a ‘Death Before Dishonor’ tattoo, a blonde mullet haircut, and bell-bottom jeans from the 1970’s. Another three had white powdered wigs from centuries-ago Europe. I wasn’t sure about the others, which were probably ancient. A particularly handsome one in a simple toga told the man next to him, “I’ll wrestle you for her.”

I felt a smile appear on my face while I asked, “How about you wrestle ME?” He nodded and chuckled, then led me to a grassy square in the middle of the village. Many people came out to watch us. He moved left and right in the knee-high grass, trying to get on my side before I could turn, but I was quicker. I had no idea how they knew my name, but a few started chanting, “Al – ex! Al – ex! Al – ex!”

I didn’t realize the significance of the name at the time, but a few others chanted, “Spar – ti - cus! Spar – ti - cus!”

We circled a few times and he sprinted toward me, attempting to grab me in a bear hug. I ducked and rolled, gripping his ankle as he moved past. He fell to the ground as I finished my roll. He was quick too and rolled away before I could grab him again. We circled some more and he lunged for my left leg. I jumped up and squeezed his head between my knees.

The sudden shift in weight made him fall to the grass with me on his back. We wrestled on the ground for half a minute. I managed to sit on his belly with his back to the ground. I reached to grab his wrists, but he was stronger than I thought. He rolled us over and grabbed my wrists instead, then slowly moved them above my head. I felt his groin pressing against my thigh. Several people clapped or whistled. I thought he was very sexy, so I reduced my resistance as he leaned down to kiss me.

The deep voice of Mars returned, “NO! She deserves it! MOTHER!”

An extremely powerful but kind female voice echoed off the hills. “Sorry, Alexandra. I need you to do something else first.” As the exciting and sexy scene faded into a fond memory, I knew she was Minerva, Queen of the Gods.

My body was breathing and I could feel my heart beating! I was alive again!

The floor I sat on was cold and uncomfortably hard. My legs and everything between them ached, and I felt lesser pain in both arms. I opened my eyes and couldn’t see anything. Was I blind? I lifted the short skirt my new body wore and reached to check on the pain between my legs. I had long razor stubble instead of pubic hair. I had no panties and felt some sticky liquid. I moved my hand near my face and sniffed. The liquid was semen and blood. My hands and arms twitched as I shivered, and a bit of the filth touched my nose. I hurriedly wiped it off with my other hand, then rubbed my hands on my skirt in a futile attempt at cleanliness.

I slowly investigated my surroundings by touch. I wore a thin t-shirt on my upper body and was in a small room about one meter by two, the size of a typical closet. I smelled something unpleasant, the latrine pail by my feet. My new hair ran all the way down to my waist. The ten extra pounds I had been trying to lose were gone. I could feel most of my ribs and was very hungry. I wondered what happened to my breasts. Instead of an annoying pair of 36C’s that got in my way, I was nearly flat as a boy!

I felt around and found a wooden door. I probably could have kicked my way through the thin cheap closet doors used in most houses these days, but this one was solid wood. I did kick something soft by accident and remembered it was a plastic jug of water. I was so cold! Maybe approaching hypothermia! I flexed my arms and legs many times and rocked back and forth, trying to warm myself.

I / we remembered that at a clinic a few months ago, we were 150cm and 46 kilos, but had lost about four kilos in the three weeks I / we had been a prisoner. I mostly understood the metric system, but was more comfortable with US units and converted in my head. My new body was an inch short of five feet tall, and about 90 pounds. Before I died in Iraq, I had been 5 foot 9 and 145. I’d need some time to adjust. The small scrap of cardboard I sat on was precious to me, since it kept at least my buttocks off the chilly concrete.

Where was I? WHO was I? WHAT THE HELL!

I remembered I was Katina Orlova, a 16-year-old student from Volgodonz, a small city in Rostov Oblast. She / I loved dogs, was good at math, and had planned to start medical college in the fall. I / we finished assistant nurse training a few months ago and wanted to be a doctor.