Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/the-heathens/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
"My friend tells me that my Kucuk is magical, you have done healing to broken man-child he has saved. Is this true, my puppy? Are you gift of the gods that he describes?"
I paused, then smiled and leant to his ear and whispered, parroting words he'd said earlier in the day, "I am no blessing, my Harcos. I come from no gods. But I am honoured that you think me so... and I will work to become one, to be worthy of you, my Aldas."
Harcos spun me and laid a mighty slap upon my ass. "There are lentils in yon sack. Fix them in the water you have on boil." I watched him wipe sweat dripping on his cheeks; odd, for the night had cooled quickly.
The Heathens 9: Gifts of Gods
By Bear Pup
M/T; tenderness; brief piss/oral (morning ritual)
I quietly went to the tent when the lentils were ready and Harcos had pulled the meat to rest and finish on a warm stone. Zajak was not-quite-snoring, the soft susurration of a man-child in peaceful sleep. I carefully crawled behind him and started muttering my soothings. Soon my arms were wrapped protectively around him and I nudged him awake, "Wake slowly, Zajak, my hunky ox. Time for a meal of meat and beans." I slowed the soothings as he woke and stretched, and I was ready when I felt his body go rigid with fear.
I let the soothings stay a subtle background, but I told him how lucky he was to find such a kind and gentle man as Pameten, how much better his life and mine would be with people who did not condemn or despise us. He gradually relaxed and I coaxed him out of the tent. He froze in abject terror as Pameten Harcos looked up and I nudged him forward and sat him by the fire. I served the men their food and then got plates for us.
I had never had beef-meat grilled before; I'd never actually seen a hunk of meat anywhere near the size of that one. It was the taste of God's own feast. Harcos had acquired oven-bread as well, and it made the lentils sing. Zajak eyes took in the two large men in fear, then awe, then concern. I served the men seconds and showed Zajak how to clean the scutellae and the cookpot. Harcos asked Pam something. I barked as he simply flung the remaining meat onto the coals directly. The sizzle was both loud and aromatic; even though we'd just eaten, the smell called to me.
I leant into Zajak's shoulder. "I need you to be the stalwart ox, my brother. Go to Pameten," he looked at me in such fear that I pinched him, "He calls you the hare, my brother, are you a scared little boy intent to run to mother's skirts, or are you the brave, big-balled ox I think you to be?"
I don't care how a young buck is raised or by whom; poke his budding manhood and he'll jump. Zajak scowled at me, then looked appraisingly at his new master, then back to me. I could see his lip quiver and his knees shake, but he did it. He went and sat next to Pameten, shocking and pleasing the warrior. I sat with Harcos and he petted my hair and crooned to me how special his Kucuk was to make his friend so happy.
We went together to relieve ourselves, at Harcos' insistence. I have to say, it was the first piss of my life where I and two of the three other men were armed and wary. We tucked ourselves into our tents, Pameten's protective and soothing hand on the back or shoulder of his slowly-relaxing servant throughout. I said a fervent prayer for both of them, even though I had come to doubt all I'd been taught. In spite of all, I knew that the One True God was real and, far from cauldron of anger, guilt and shame taught by my erstwhile family, He was the source of love and light and compassion in the world. I prayed for Him to give a little of each to the poor damaged Ox/Hare I'd met this day.
I snuggled into Harcos, but could tell he had a new level of tension that had not been present before. There was no hint of friskiness in either of us. Yes, we slept, but it was not the deep sleep with sporadic snoring of the road; he woke instantly at any sound. I found myself following suit.
Perhaps two hours after we've banked the fire and crawled under the blankets, we both jerked awake. I felt Harcos tense long before I could really recognise the noise. A child, a girl, was sobbing and crying in grief and pain and a man was grunting. My young ears heard something that I think Harcos could not, and certainly he could not have understood it. It was a young boy, stifling tears and praying to a heathen god for deliverance through death, for his sister first and for himself if the god would extend such a boon. Over and over the prayer repeated, a mantra, as the girl was ravaged by the rutting pig.
There was no doubt; we were hearing the purposefully-painful rape of the girl-child, the despair of her brother and the sadistic lust of the horrible, evil man we'd met that day. From the boy's prayers, it was clear that this was not nearly the first such event, and that he'd tried and failed to protect his sister and paid dearly for it; in addition to punishing the boy, Magare inflicted far more cruelty on the girl if he did not behave and stay silent, pliant and obedient at all times, and told her over and over that she was only in pain because of the wicked acts of her prideful brother.
Harcos was livid with rage, literally shaking. His concern for the children he'd barely seen and never actually met broke my heart. I turned in his arms. "My Aldas, you cannot save them this night. But you and Pameten are brave and good men and will find a way. This night, let me sooth you, my Aldas." I began to croon my soothings as I kissed my warrior's chest and arms, his face and neck, softly, compassionately, with love; not hard, passionate or as a lover. He softened and nuzzled into my neck, whispering things in his own language, the rhythm that of a prayer and the intensity that of a promise.
I kept soothing, caressing and gentling my giant until I heard the evil creature climax and the girl's sobs subside. I silently prayed for guidance from The Lord God on delivering them from the grip of that demon-made-flesh, and that Harcos and Pameten could find a way to free them. We both faded slowing into sleep.
We awoke to loud and frenzied noises. A hard and driving rain was washing the tent, and merchants were scrambling to protect merchandise and livestock from the sudden storm. It was still full dark and from the obscured moon I guessed halfway to dawn. The noisiest of the merchants subsided and the rain became a lullaby, the remaining whinnies, baas and imprecations fading to the background.
We awoke finally to a dim, cloudy light, the rain slackened but not gone. As had become my most-treasured duty, I drained Harcos of his piss and cum, then dressed him in travelling kit, complete with arm-guards and sword in an untooled, boiled-leather sheath, its insides rough and harsh so I could hear the blade honed with each movement.
When I was suitably attired, we emerged and Harcos began to attempt to salvage the coals he'd banked, but the rain had driven deep into the ash and quenched even the deepest embers. He went to the cart and pulled out an odd leather rack, perhaps an arm-span wide and two long. He pounded the ends into the upwind side of the fire pit and leant it over enough that is sheltered the spot where the fire had previously been laid. The smooth side of the leather was down, facing the fire, and the rough, porous face, that which you needed to be sure never got wet, was exposed to the driving rain.
I watched in fascination as he laid down several wet pieces of wood, then pulled a handful of plant-fluff from the cart, along with several dried branches and two split-logs. He kindled the tinder and flame came up. When it caught, he laid a complex cone of wet wood and let it smoke and spit.
The rain came in waves, rarely hard but never stopping entirely. I was astounded that the leather smoked but did not char at all. Harcos explained that the rain itself soaked the leather more quickly than the fire could dry it. It would simultaneously keep the rain from the flames and keep driving winds from snuffing or spreading the blaze.
No sooner had the first flames taken hold, I had the cookpot as close as possible with water to boil. Zajak emerged from the tent and came to help just as I was testing the not-quite-to-boil pot. He came to me and I raised an eyebrow. He gave me a tentative smile and muttered his thanks; Pameten had nestled and held and comforted him -- no more -- throughout the night. Pam was, however, still sleeping, something that amused Harcos no end. Apparently, Pam was a notorious bear in the morning, one that Harcos loved to poke whenever possible.
When four bowls and split grain were ready to eat and the camp around us was alive with morning sounds, Harcos stepped silently to the 'back' side of the tent, leant forward and bellowed, "HAIL THE CENTURION!"
Zajak's eyes flew to mine, wide and shocked as the most amusing noises erupted from the tent and Harcos doubled over laughing. He was back by the fire when Pameten came out, eyes wild and roving, a kilt on (backwards and gapping rather obscenely) and no shirt, but both adzes in place. Apparently, as long as Pameten was armed, he considered all clothing other than weapons optional at best.
I was trying hard not to laugh and Harcos had a bored look on his face as he sipped his grains and berries and just stared at Pam, but Zajak was appalled. He ran to Pameten and tugged him back toward the tent, whispering fiercely in a language that I knew Pameten could never understand, but as Harcos lost control and began howling with laughter, Pam ground his teeth and let Zajak drag him into the tent.
I tried my best to look stern. "That was cruel, Harcos! And you scared poor Zajak half to death. And poor P-P-Pam--" I dissolved in helpless giggles and Harcos returned to his full-belly laugh. A sour-looking Pameten emerged, fully if not artfully dressed (I'd have to help his new servant with that), and Zajak had the most reproving face I've ever seen outside a painting of a saint. The former sent Harcos into new gales of laughter, and Zajak's look had me curled into Harcos with mirth as I tried desperately to gain my breath.
Harcos handed them their breakfast. I sat there with a hint of pride at the utterly affronted look Zajak gave my master. Last night, this young man was completely undone by his fear of the intimidating beer-barrel warrior; today he was close to an attempt at thrashing my mountain of a barbarian for laughing at 'his' Pameten. What a difference a night can make!
When everyone was fed and watered (I'd made a warming tea of mint I'd scavenged the day before), Harcos and Pameten planned the day. The first order of business was to find if the river crossing was still viable after the rains. It was also important for reasons that were all too obvious that the tents never be left unattended. And, especially after what we'd all heard in the night, that neither Zajak or I be left alone under any circumstances.
I whispered in my master's ear during breaking in the conversation and he nodded. Eventually it was arranged that Zajak would come with me and Harcos on the reconnoitrer, leaving Pameten to inventory and straighten his cart, something he'd had no time to accomplish yet. Harcos threw an oiled-cloth cape over his shoulder and gave one to me; Pam gave a similar one of leather to Zajak.
I spent the entire walk giving Zajak as much of the language and knowledge that I could, as quickly as possible. I found that I was starting exactly where Strasta had, with water and food, clothes and injuries, medicines and weapons.
It quickly became clear that Zajak was perhaps not that far off his old name, Ox, as I might have wished. I found myself slowing to his rather plodding mental pace, focusing only on words he would need quickly, and skills that I could explain using what he already knew. I also got a better chance to really look at the young man; it took me only moments to see what Pameten had so valued.
Zajak was tall for a man of our area, nothing close to Harcos, but certainly taller than any in my own family and at least a head over Pameten. He had wide shoulders, narrow hips and long legs. He was painfully thin when seen from the side, as if he'd been flattened beneath a rock.
Things that had not been flattened were his broad chest, which seemed strong if not muscular, and his, um, well, his ass. When he moved, the simple shift he wore would catch and pull across the flexing, dimpled muscles or catch within the deep, somewhat wide cleft. When we stepped aside for a piss, though, I nearly choked. Ox as a name was right! I'd seen smaller balls on cattle and smaller dicks on ponies! Unworthy as the thought was, my mind went immediately to what it must look like hard, and what it must feel like to... Oh dear.
When we got to the bluff overlooking what yesterday had been a bed of rock-hard dry clay with a few streams, it took my breath away. We knew floods that crashed down the valley, but our little river (creek) could be jumped easily when calm and went from torrent to calm in hours after the rains. What was below was a crashing hell of mud, waves, trees and snarling currents. Even I could see that there would be no crossing that day.
On the way back, Harcos bartered for some uncommon medical herbs from a man he knew and trusted, and a thick venison roast from a hunter just arrived from the hills. He spoke and haggled with a dozen others, making sure Zajak and I were never more than an arm's-width away, but bought little else. He did find one item, though, that perplexed me, and he paid precious silver for it. It was a disk of soft metal, silver adulterated with tin and other metals. Inside a thick band was a nicely-worked tauroctony, the symbol of the Mithraic heathens. It was mounted and held by a cross-bracing of stouter metal. He pocketed it without a word.
The rain was finally diminishing when we returned, wet and muddy, to the tents. Pameten was there, looking grave. Merchants to either side had moved out, their destinations away from instead of over the river. Magare had, naturally, forced his slave boy to move the tent next to ours. Harcos made no sign of displeasure that was visible, but a long and silent conversation of glances and gestures commenced between Pam and my master.
Marcos headed off, leaving us to tend to a lunch of the charred steak from the night before, cutting it into tiny bits into the hot water in which we'd cooked carrots and herbs. Not boiling it, but allowing the meat to absorb and flavour the veggies. Zajak watched and helped, and I made sure to teach (slowly) whatever I could.
Harcos returned and gave a nearly-imperceptible nod to Pameten. He was followed a few minutes later by another large, wide warrior from his cohort, this with an older, quite beautiful (if a tad hip-heavy) woman servant. Magare's narrowed eyes made it clear he did not like the company. Another rather larger wagon pulled in, completing the circle around the fire pit. The man that came with it was almost tiny, perhaps the size of a lad just reaching his growth, but wrapped in whipcord muscles. He had two servants, a young a beautiful man-child, perhaps a tad older than myself but taking great care to look younger, and young woman who was clearly his kin, probably his older sister.
This last set really unnerved Magare and he berated the girl-servant who scurried away from his wrath. We ate, sharing it around and partaking of fruits or sweetmeats from the newcomers. I found a chance to feign ignorance on a garment which allowed Harcos to join me briefly in the tent.
"Can you save those children, my Aldas, as you saved me?" His face fell, sad and grave.
"No, my Kucuk. You have a strong heart, my puppy, but Magare has taken them as slaves; they are his property to do with as he wills. The army and Roman law will not intervene unless the damage he inflicts is visible and permanently-scarring, and then would only fine him."
I got increasingly-agitated as he spoke. "We can do nothing? You, Pameten and the two warriors who are clearly your friends and not friends of Magare? You will do nothing but listen to their torment? You did not hear how the boy prayed to his gods for death, at least for the sister if not himself. He can bear whatever is given him, but is rent asunder at the continual and brutal rape of his beloved sister. And we do NOTHING?"
Harcos pulled me hard into his chest and I struggled for the first time. I did not want his hug, I wanted his help. My Aldas had all answers, all solutions; how can he fail at this? He finally held me at arm's length, massive paws on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. I was amazed to find real pain and perhaps moisture in them. That sobered me. "What is right, my Kucuk, is not always within a man's power to accomplish. This is a hard and brutal lesson, but one you must learn. It is, perhaps, better that you learn it here and now than on the field of your fist blooding. I am sorry, my Kucuk"
"And if they die, what then?"
He got a shrewd and stern look, "No, Kucuk. If you kill Magare's property it is as if I had. I will be forced to repay him double the value of his loss, and I will be reduced in rank and stature. You will be given to him as less than a slave, to punish or kill as he pleases. This is something you must not consider, my brave and fearless little puppy."
"No, my master," using the harsh word that I knew he hated and saw that the barb had struck, at least a little, "I would never do such a thing. I ask not if they are killed, but if they die. If the boy succeeds in bringing the final end to his sister's unbearable suffering. What then, Harcos?"
"It depends, my Kucuk. If they die though an accident or the fate of Gods, things go as before. If they die by the intervention of another, however slight, it is as if that other had done the killing. If they die through the negligence of Magare, he will be sanctioned, perhaps fined or even prevented from owning slaves for a period. But nothing, no action, may be taken by me, by us, by you. "
"Thank you, my master. I will remember as I listen to her cries and his prayers." I had gone too far and knew this. His frown was one of real anger and disappointment, and I immediately regretted what I'd said. I went to apologise but Harcos was already gone in a swish of tent-flap.
I watched Magare closely through the day, and watched the boy most carefully. Harcos cared deeply for me, as Pameten did for Zajak. Magare had no feeling at all toward his slaves. Unless he had an immediate use -- a blow to deliver or a need to satisfy -- the boy was utterly ignored. Magare was also a pig that left detritus wherever he went, expecting (demanding) that his slave be there to clean up after him instantly.
As this went on, I watched as Magare was careful to ensure that he was the only one with sharp blades, apparently having long experience with slaves not yet broken to their unthinkable fate. I realised that I was putting myself and even my beloved Harcos at risk, but the horrific torment of these children, boy not yet to his seed and the sister younger still, made this a matter I could never allow. I would die a thousand terrible deaths before failing to act to stop this atrocity.
My luck and advantage was the closeness of the cookfire. The rain had fled and the fire had been built tremendously then burnt to coals for the evening cooking, but that left little room to manoeuver. I waited until Magare was slicing turnips of parsnips and I 'accidentally' fell back, splashing myself and Magare with the near-scalding water. His howl of rage and pain brought the attention of the entire range of nearby campers as he pulled the stinging cloth away from his chest and chasing the boy into the tent to get him new, dry clothes. No one, I was certain, saw that I'd fallen in such a way as to know the turnips and knife to the ground, and landed my hand upon the knife.
It was tucked beneath my sandal as I staggered to my feet, wailing in apology to Harcos and, frankly, anyone who would listen. This was such expected slave/servant behaviour as to cause everyone to turn away. Harcos had a look of thunder in his face. I moved to scurry back to our own tent, careful to kick the knife beneath the tent-floor of Magare himself. He came out in a towering rage, and Harcos pulled me bodily from the tent and forced me to bow and apologise, which I did. I did not need to fake the terror and dread in my face and voice; I nearly wet myself at the look of betrayal in Harcos' eyes and the thought that Magare might well have me killed in ways I was unable to even imagine.
The ranting and raving of Magare took time to abate; he thoroughly enjoyed the fearful panic I my cowering, whimpering countenance. The turnips I had ruined made frequent appearance in his tirade, but the knife was forgotten. Eventually, the others bade him leave off so they could cook in peace and I could repair the damage to Harcos' dinner.
I was able to draw the attention of the boy as Magare was trying in vain to get commiseration from one of the others and muttered, "Your gods have answered. I saw them place their deliverance beneath the edge of the tent. Let no one see you." He stared at me in horror and fascination, wondering what my words might mean.
Among the other differences between the warriors' treatment of their servants and Magare's treatment of his child-slaves was that we ate with, if behind or beside, our masters. The nameless boy and girl were ordered to the tent while Magare ate in the isolation of power and privilege. I was not the only one who noted that the boy bent and slid something from beneath the tent as he entered, ignored by his arrogant master.
As we all finished and the warriors ceased their amusing and appalling stories of battles long past, Magare filled two tiny bowls, certainly not enough for growing children, and barked a command. His face purpled when no one answered his summons and he yelled his order again. Finally, he whirled and ripped his way into the tent. There was the slightest silence, then a sound of such rage and madness as I'd never heard. I cowered behind Harcos as Magare erupted.
The men listened to his incoherent, spitting fury. They stitched together that his slaves had been slain and that he, Magare, would exact swift vengeance. This went on for some time, the wrath of the monster unabated but his wits slowly returning.
The small and quick warrior next to his tent asked, "Who has slain them and how, Magare?"
"The girl was pierced through the heart and the boy cut across the throat!"
"In your own tent, Magare?" came Pameten's soft, deep voice.
Magare faltered. "Yes in my tent. Someone snuck in and killed my slaves. I WILL have retribution!"
"So the knife they used is gone as well?" the small man asked, voice cold and brittle.
"NO! That bastards left the knife they used! I will use that to find them! They will PAY!" Magare spun and returned with a knife that dripped with blood. I shuddered and sent an unceasing stream of prayers to God and every saint I could recall.
"Magare, that knife seems familiar..." This was the voice of the quiet, wide man who joined us earlier with the beautiful woman servant.
"Yes! Yes! Where have you seen it?" Magare shouted in triumph.
"This very night," came the deep reply, "in your own hand as you chopped... what was it? Parsnips? Turnips?"
"Yes," the small man replied with rising certainty, "of course. Just before Harcos' servant dropped the water. You were using a knife such as that to slice something, were you not?"
Magare's eyes went wide as he goggled at the bloody-drenched blade.
"What did you do with your own weapon, Magare, after the accident with the water?" asked wide, deep warrior.
"I don't recall you even looking for it, Magare," purred Pameten.
"Magare, please produce the knife you used to chop the vegetables," intoned the small, lithe man.
"I, I, but Barea...!"
"I think, Magare, that at this point you should address me as Optio."
Magare paled visibly and his hand began to shake. "Y-yes, sir, Op-Optio, I will find it forthwith." He turned and the small commanding man halted him and relieved him of the bloody blade. The slick monster spent perhaps a quarter hour in the small tent, emerging when it was clear he had nowhere else to look.
"Please produce the knife, Magare, now."
"I... the knife has been stolen," he invented desperately, "Optio, by those who, who, slew my slaves!"
"Hmm. Did any of you soldiers see any disturbance in the tent?"
A universal negative swept the group.
"Did any of you see what might have happened to the knife the Magare claims was stolen?"
The quiet, deep-voiced one spoke. "No, Optio, but I saw the boy-child reach down at the tent's edge before entering."
Pameten spoke next, "No, Optio, but I saw the boy reach down and retrieve something shiny and sharp from the mud."
The small man looked at Harcos who shook his head.
"And I saw the boy reach down when you dismissed him. What say you, Magare?"
"I, I, NO! It was an attack! A theft and killing of my slaves, Optio!"
"Silence." The small man's voice was quiet and calm. "Based on what I have seen, I pass the following judgment on this case. You, Magare, dropped a weapon from your own hand and did nothing to retrieve it. In your negligence, your slave found your weapon, the very one you discarded, and entered the tent. Through your negligence and disregard for all military protocol, you let another wield your own, discarded weapon.
"One of your slaves, through your negligence, killed another then took his own life. This is my judgment. Your silence and acceptance is both expected and required, Magare, until such time as the Primus Pilus hears these facts and passes final sentence. Please pay obeisance if you understand, accept and will obey this judgment."
Magare was shaking with rage, fear and loss, but he knelt and bowed his head before retreating to his tent. "Stop!" Magare halted and turned. "You will arrange for the immediate burial of both victims, in a plot consecrate to one or more of the Roman Gods. And you will pay from your pocket for the marker for each, bearing the true name of each. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Optio." Shoulders slumped, he turned and left the fire ring, seeking the keepers of the dead. Death was common in any city, and never happened at times convenient for the living. The Optio, Barea, gave a long and stern look at Harcos before turning to his own tent.
Harcos turned and disappeared, and I spent far too much time cleaning and cleansing the cooking pots, utensils and dishes. I was quaking with fear and shame as I finally realised that there was nothing, nothing at all, that I could do to delay further. I relieved myself and entered the tent to find my master sitting cross-legged.
I came before him and did something I hadn't done since my first day with this bear of a warrior -- I knelt and bowed to the ground and begged his mercy. I expected either swift justice, rage or forgiveness. I received none of those.
I finally wore down, unsure how else to abase myself, and looked up. Harcos' face was grave, sad, disappointed but there was something else underneath. He gestured me to sit, and I did, quaking all the way to my soul.
"You have done a terrible and dangerous thing, child. No, I will not call you Kucuk or Dasqas, for you have put yourself and me in terrible danger. You are tonight not my puppy, not my gem. You put your life and my position in jeopardy, and we will have a reckoning when we are far from prying ears." I was weeping then, not from fear but from shame. I had failed him. I had failed the man who saved me. And for what? Two children whose fates were sealed when the monster found them. Two children that were beyond the help of even the most powerful...
Two children my savour could (or would?) not save. Two children that I couldn't NOT save. I raised my face to Harcos and spoke, weak and quivering but I spoke nonetheless. "You can, you must punish me, Harcos. What I did was wrong, and you expressly forbade me from doing it. I put you at risk, and violated my own decision to obey you in all things. I defied you and deserve any punishment you decide is mete. Discard me, sell me or leave me to die; I deserve each of those, my Harcos. But I could not be your Kucuk, your Dasqas and I could not have been true to my Aldas if I had left those children to their fate.
"You have given me more than I have ever deserved, my warrior, my master, my saviour, but I could never be worthy of you and what you have given me if I could ignore the prayers of the broken boy or the screams of the girl-child. As the Optio did for Magare, pass your judgment. I will accept it. But know that I... I could never have looked at you -- the man who delivered and saved and healed me -- with anything less than shame if I had left them to suffer at the hands of the monster. Kill me, Harcos, or let another do it. Sell me or let another do it. Punish me, or let another do it."
So Ayib-cum-Kucuk has put his master in mortal peril. How will the Roman warrior, the tamed barbarian respond? Let me know you thoughts at orson.cadell@gmail.com
Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Karl & Greg: 19 chapters .../incest/karl-and-greg/ Canvas Hell: 16 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 9 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 9 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Mud Lark Holler: 7 chapters .../rural/mud-lark-holler/ Babe in the Woods: 2 chapters .../rural/babe-in-the-woods/ Off the Magic Carpet: 3 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/