June Fourth, Year One Thousand and Eighty Seven in the Year of Our Lord

Arthur Daye, Knight of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, approached the top of a hill, his troop behind him. Fatigue almost took him, a fitful night sleep. The horses remained at the bottom of the hill, waiting for their return. A few more days travel till they reached Tiberias. A scouting mission, and they had found nothing. World of Saladin had spread this far north, armies advancing. Saracens and Egyptians. Trying to take back what the Pope had rightfully claimed.

The name left a bitter taste in his mouth. Pope Alexander II. Arthur spat as he thought of the man. He had sent them here, to take the Holy Lands. Now they were away from their families, from their own lands. He did not doubt his wife’s ability to take care of his fief.

“I cannot wait to return and enjoy some fresh mutton.” Julius, a knight that enjoyed food and drink more than battle, announced, with some agreeing exclamations.

“A fresh bed and the company of a woman.” Alan countered. He held himself like a lord, rather than a serf turned warrior. His face was clean shaven, and he carried not a sword, but a Pollaxe. When in the city, it was not uncommon to see him with at least one maiden on his arm.

Arthur turned back to his group, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, simple in design, a smooth oak hilt, with a guard and pommel of brass, and an un-etched blade of steel. “Do not celebrate yet, for we still have many days left till we reach Tiberias.” Many groans came back to him.

A breeze approached from the East, from over the hill, and a sound came to him, one that had been absent for a while; the cries of men, the clash of steel, and the cry of hawks and vultures circling and fighting above.

Arthur reached the top with the rest of the troop and a battle was waged below them, the Saracens were fighting the other crusaders, all the men that could be spared from the city. The metallic smell of blood reached his nose, mixed with the sand. They had only one choice, despite the distain he had for the Pope, he still had his oaths, he had to fight.

The Sharp but muffled sound of his blade emerging from the sheath greeted his ears as he rushed down into the battle, the cries of his comrades accompanying him. Deflecting the scimitar wielded by a Saracen with his shield, he thrust his own blade into the man, drew it out again, and turned, finding himself engulfed by the opposing army. Bringing down his sword, he cut a man across the chest at an angle, watching him fall for a second before turning to drive off the next attacker. He delved into the pattern of battle – deflect, stab, turn, slice, repeat. Those that rushed at him fell.

A guttural cry and scream assaulted him, the battle seemed to slow as Arthur turned, Alan stood there, Eastern daggers had slipped past his defense, the man fell, his face was blank, not the laughing, joyous face that was oft met in the halls. The battle suddenly resumed it speed and the onslaught began again. The knight fought fiercely against his opponents, many falling to his now red, slick steel. Raw, red rage filled him as the next of his knights fell to the scimitars. The area around him was thinning; he took down another Egyptian, and deflected against a horseman, slicing the beast, which landed on the rider in a crunch of bones.

Tiring even more, he did not notice when he swung wildly at nothing, or the robed men around him backing away, to allow another man into their presence. Stopping for a breath, Arthur looked about him, many Saracens lay around him dead, and all of his men. A decisive military victory. Against them. And he was the last man standing. The last of the defenders. A tear game to the corner of his eye, the reek of blood pervaded and permeated his nose. Beckoning him towards death as a final man approached. He was in armor that shone in the sun, a white beard hung down to his chest, and a turban adorned his head, a scimitar in his hand.

Arthur closed his eyes to the carnage about him, and prayed, knowing what was coming next. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at the Egyptian Sultan in the eye, “We will never stop out quest for the Holy Land.” Saladin nodded, and raised his blade, a look of piety in his eye, his face saying that is was easier this way. The last knight nodded, and resigned to his fate, closed his eyes, and waited.

June Fourth Exactly Eight Hundred and Twenty Years Later

Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Davies, United States Army, unit 1138, approached the top of a sand dune, the rest of his squad behind him. He was exhausted from a fitful night sleep. He trudged on still, his squad behind him. They had left the Humvee at the base of the dune, engine cooling. They still had a few more hours till they returned to Baghdad, this was a scouting mission, and they had found nothing. They had heard the Al-Qaeda might be around here, trying to take back the areas that they had taken. Liberated. Spreading freedom as the president wanted.

The President’s name left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had sent them here, to find WMDs, to spread freedom and democracy. Now he was away from his family, his home. Be could bet that his wife was taking care of the house and the kids just fine though.

“I can’t wait to get some leave and have something other than a ration pack.” Julian, a private that much preferred the mess hall and off duty drink that a fire fight, announced, with many of the others agreeing.

“I would prefer a mattress and the company of a nice woman.” Allen countered, a mere boy, only eighteen, fresh from boot camp. Could barely get a full beard if he was allowed it. When on leave he always attracted the women.

Arthur turned back to the group, resting his hand on the FN P-90, the black submachine gun strapped to his side, the short barrel allowing control. “Don’t get excited yet. We have to reach Baghdad before we get leave. And we have hours yet.” The groans came back to him. A breeze approached from the west, carrying the sounds of explosions and armed fire. The sound of helicopters was in the distance. Arthur motioned to the group, and they all dropped and crawled up the remained of the dune, finding a battle below them. Turning off the safety, Arthur nodded to his group, and they entered the fray….