#Sgt Major. David Marlow

[templarhalo]

working on ood boards for my Godzilla OC Sgt. Major David Marlow, the main character in my upcoming Gozilla fic Task Force Artemis.   he’s the grandson of John C. Reily’s character Lt. Hank Marlow from Kong Skull Island.  Since my fics are set an AU where Dr. Serizawa lived, David has a close working relationship with him due to their shared admiration for the Titans and has carved out a position as the Doctor’s left hand man.  

David also has a big-brother relationship with Madison Russel, sparring with her and showing her tips and trick on subjects from philosophy to Kendo.  He has a deep respect for Madison for her actions during KOTM and as such will politely remind anyone who dismisses what Madison says because she’s  twelve to shut the fuck up because Did they willingly draw a Three-Headed Space Dragon to  their position?.  Fortunately this doesn’t happen often...

And before you ask, yes he does have his Grandfather’s Gunto.  Yes he knows how to use it. And yes he will stab you with it.  Even if you are Titan.

@aegor-bamfsteel     @embidedbythesand  @leoprime13

[oneshul]

Shabbat Zachor: Amalekites, Egyptians, and a Promise

The Sinai Desert was still pitchy-black when Lt. Djer’s adjutant, Corporal Tem, shook his commander’s shoulder to awaken him. The lieutenant immediately arose—his training at the Royal Egyptian Army Military Academy (Heliopolis) stood him in good stead. He sat on the edge of his cot, blinking and collecting his thoughts.

           Today, we pull patrol-duty in our Northwestern Sector, he thought, I must set a good example for my troops.

           “It will be blasting-hot today in the wilderness, Sir,” whispered the corporal.

           The lieutenant smiled ruefully. “It’s always hot in this furnace, Corporal,” he said, tersely. “Have the sergeant-major rouse the troops—quietly. We are on full combat alert, as befits us fortunate soldiers who guard the Blessed Boundaries of Holy Mother Egypt from any invaders or ravagers.”

           The corporal nodded, saluted, and disappeared into the dark.

           The lieutenant did his morning toilet, dressed in his cotton undergarment, and began buckling on his bronze body armor. Djer’s armor fitted a bit more snugly than usual. He had gained a few pounds on his last leave to his home village. His parents raised sweet dates, plums and figs on a little farm close to the Nile River. Pa’s sweet melons were legendary for their size, heft, and color, and he regularly won first-prize in the farmers’ market. Patting his belly, Djer left the tent to inhale the pure, sweet desert air, tinged by a salty breeze from the Sea of Reeds to the north.

           “We await your orders, Sir,” came a voice from the shadows, which he recognized as that of Sergeant-Major Joser, his aide-de-camp in commanding 18th Regiment, Royal Egyptian Cavalry (“Jaws of Anubis”). “Will you be desirous of mounted chariots, Sir? It would not take but a half-hour to ready them for patrol and possible combat.”

           Djer had thought about this the previous evening, and decided. “It will not do for the sake of maintaining mounted silence to take the chariots,” he replied, “on the chance that we encounter a desert tribe of Bedouin, and require a surprise attack. No, Sgt-Major; this day, our troopers will ride their mounts.”

           “Very good, Sir,” said Sgt.-Major Joser, “I will have the troops ready their horses. All will prepare the saddles meant for warfare, not parade.”

           “Do so,” commanded Lt. Djer.

           Less than a hour later, the copper bugles sounded, and the 18th Regiment was under way.

           “Which direction, Lieutenant?” asked the Sergeant-Major.

           “Let us head towards the Sea of Reeds,” answered the lieutenant, “just to find any stragglers from that escaped mob of Israelite slaves. We are under orders to—deal with them.”

           “Deal with them by what means, Lieutenant?” asked the Sergeant-Major. He was a grizzled veteran of many encounters with Egypt’s many enemies. An eye-patch gave evidence of the Old War with the Nubians.

           “By any means necessary—including killing,” returned the lieutenant. I hate to think of murdering innocent women and children, even if they are Israelite, he thought. Still, we are under the orders of Capt. Sobek, who is in constant touch with the High Command at Royal Egyptian Army Headquarters. I have no choice.

The soldiers rode along in silence, whispering only when necessary. A blood-red sun was rising in the east. There was no sound, except the creaking of saddlery and the clank of lances against bronze armor.

           “Sir,” said the Sergeant -Major, “We must halt, to allow Siptah, the Jebusite Scout, to study the trail and tell us what to expect.”

           The lieutenant nodded. Siptah, agile and alert despite his advanced years—he was at least forty—practically vaulted over the head of his horse, and, lying on the ground, began sniffing eagerly, like a desert dog. Djer looked on in disgust—how could a human being, made in Osiris’s image, degrade himself into sniffing at the offal of passing animals? Still, he had to grant Siptah some credit—the scout was nearly always correct in his trail-judgment, and—besides an uncomfortable, earthy smell the scout had—Why can’t he wash more often? Djer would ask, holding his breath while he spoke with him—he was a pleasant enough fellow, and a great warrior, besides.

           “What news, Scout?” he asked.

           The elderly Jebusite grinned and rose, not bothering to dust the desert-sand off of his arms and legs. Arms akimbo, he stood before the lieutenant, not bothering to salute.

           “If it please the Lieutenant, Your Worship—” began Siptah.

           “Just Lieutenant will do, Siptah,” said Djer, fanning the air before his face. How can the poltroon live with himself? he thought, breathing through his mouth, “Give your report, please.”

           “Israelites passed by—oh, perhaps one-two hours ago,” said Siptah.

           “Good; we will shadow them, and make certain they are moving well out of Imperial Territory,” answered Lieutenant Djer.

           Siptah raised one gnarly hand. “I have more to report, Lieutenant,” he said, and his grinning face grew grim, “There is also a war-party of Amalekites following the Israelites, perhaps just one-half hour behind.”

           A voice from behind Djer called out gleefully, “What luck! Let the Amalekites finish what we ought to have done to those evil Israelites!”

           Without turning, the lieutenant called out, “At ease, Corporal Henut! I called for silence in ranks!”

           “Begging your pardon, Lieutenant,” returned Henut, “but I have more than a bone to pick with those abominable Israelites—they laid waste to my homeland, including my father’s little idol-shop! That Invisible God of theirs, jealous no doubt of my father’s stock-in-trade, caused it to be crushed beneath the weight of that insidious hailstorm. I hate those Israelites with every fibre of my being.”

           Nodding at the Sergeant-Major, Djer ordered the detachment to halt.

           “Military Police Detail!” ordered the lieutenant, “Apprehend Corporal Henut, and bring him to me.”

           Henut found himself bound in papyrus-ropes, standing before his commander.

           “Corporal Henut,” said the lieutenant, “for speaking out in ranks, and for contravening a direct order—”

           “Begging the lieutenant’s pardon,” interrupted Henut, “What order was that?”

           “Our orders are to shadow the Israelites, not to attack them,” answered the lieutenant, “nor to aid or abet any other people or nation who choose to attack them. We are merely in an observatory capacity.”

           “Yes, Sir,” said Henut, sullenly.

           “And for your outburst,” answerered Djer, “I am reducing you in rank to Private, and fining you your next three weeks’ wages. I run a strong, proud outfit, Private, and I will not have rapscallions such as yourself besmirching our unit’s record. MPs! Keep him under close guard, and, once we return to the Forward Operating Base, he is to go into the stockade for one week.”

           The MPs led Henut away; because the unit was in the field, he was allowed to re-mount his horse, under their watchful guard. The detachment spurred on, again.

           “What is that noise I hear, Sir?” asked the Sergeant-Major, “Is it the sound of rejoicing? Are the Israelites observing one of their pagan festivals?”

           Lt. Djer listened. “It is not the sound of rejoicing or singing,” he returned, “It is the sound of war—hear the women’s screams!”

           As the cavalry detachment mounted the hill, they beheld a ghastly sight: a band of Amalekite Bedouin marauders were attacking an Israelite refugee line—only, instead of attacking in front of the line, where the soldiers and young men were, the Amalekites were deliberately slaughtering helpless elderly, women, and even children.

           “What shall we do, Sir?” asked the Sergeant-Major, “Our orders are explicitly to shadow the Israelites, and not interfere with their Exodus from our nation.”

           “Still,” mused the lieutenant, “The orders said nothing about the deaths of the innocent.”

           “What are you suggesting, Sir?” asked the old sergeant-major, already guessing what was on his young commander’s mind.

           “Sergeant-Major!” commanded Lt. Djer, himself unstrapping his bronze short sword, as well as his cavalryman’s knife and shield, “I order you to have the bugler sound the ‘charge,’ so that we can redress the imbalance between civilian Israelites and armed desert bandits.”

           “You heard the Lt. Djer,” called out the Sergeant-Major to the young bugler, “Prepare to sound the charge, on his order!”

           “Wait a second,” said Djer, half-turning in his saddle to face his troops.

           “Soldiers of Imperial Egypt,” he said in a stentorian voice, “I am commanding you to join me in defending a group of helpless elderly, women and children from a mob of murderous Amalekites. You know our enemy: he is merciless, and so must we be. If you bear any ill will towards the Israelites, you may remain under guard back here with our Military Police, and I will arraign you later for refusing a direct order from me, your commander. But I hope and expect that every man-jack of you will gain great honor for both our Mother Egypt this day, and for Anubis, for whose ferocity and fairness our regiment is named. Will you join me?”

Sadly, the remaining record of the 18th Regiment of Horse (“Jaws of Anubis”), Border Patrol Detachment, Royal Egyptian Army, has been lost. May Osiris welcome their glorious dead,and give plaudits to their triumphant heroes.

Rabbi David Hartley Mark is from New York City’s Lower East Side. He attended Yeshiva University, the City University of NY Graduate Center for English Literature, and received semicha at the Academy for Jewish Religion. He currently teaches English at Everglades University in Boca Raton, FL, and has a Shabbat pulpit at Temple Sholom of Pompano Beach. His literary tastes run to Isaac Bashevis Singer, Stephen King, King David, Kohelet, Christopher Marlowe, and the Harlem Renaissance.

[oneshul]

Beshalach: The Egyptian Version

Despite a strong defence and adverse weather All arms combined magnificently together.

--Robert Graves, “The Persian Version of the Battle of Marathon, Greece”

Scene: The Egyptian Bank of the Sea of Reeds, up near the Nile Delta. Off, we hear cries of triumph by Israelites, singing, led by Miriam the Prophet, Sister of Moses. They are celebrating their successful Crossing of the Sea, their general liberation from Egyptian Slavery, and so forth. Before us is a Regiment of Egyptian Light Cavalry“Sobek-the-Crocodile-god,” commanded by Lieutenant Setep-en-re. A MAJOR comes riding up on a dun-colored charger. The lieutenant, only recently graduated from the Royal Egyptian Military Academy (Thebes branch) with a degree in Chariotry, salutes enthusiastically.

Lt: Save Ra! Save our Holy Pharaoh! What is the Major’s pleasure?

Maj (curtly, businesslike): Lieutenant, you are to hold your position here, as Reserve Forces, backing up my command, the Regiment “Horus-the-Killer-Hawk.” I will take my regiment and proceed directly into that breach between the waters (pointing). Depending on the Situation, you will either proceed, or no. Most importantly, wait for my further orders. I repeat: do nothing without orders from me.

Lt: I will hold fast here, as per your orders, Sir! If it please the Major, what is our objective, Sir?

Maj: Our objective? Why, to gather that Rabble of Slaves, killing those who resist, and herd the remaining men, women, and children back to the treasure-cities of Pitom and Ramesses. They will resume their rightful labors, and their wretched lives. Understood, Lieutenant?

Lt: Understood, Sir!

Maj: Very good. Hi-ya!

(He strikes his mount with a quirt and gallops off, heading toward the Sea. The Lieutenant remains behind, as per orders. A Corporal, acting as Charioteer-Driver to the Lieutenant, salutes him and asks:)

Corporal: Sir, begging the Lieutenant’s pardon, Sir. Are we to understand that we are not allowed to engage the Enemy?

Lt (Sighing, eager to fight): Sadly, Corporal, that is correct. We are acting as Reserve, this time. Reserve only.

Corporal (He is in his late teens, and joined the Army to see action): Oh, Sir! How I wish that we, too, could storm into the surf and have at that—that—Hebrew Slave-Gang. How they and their Invisible God have laid waste to our beloved nation!

Lt: That is true, Corporal—hold the horses steady, can’t you? They are disturbed by the salt smell emanating from the waters. Here (He scribbles an order on a slip of papyrus)—send that to Lt. Waset, with my compliments, and tell him to bind cloths around the horses’ mouths, to prevent their smelling the Sea.

Corporal: What if we are ordered into action, Sir? Cloths will make it difficult for the horses to breathe.

Lt (with exaggerated patience): If we are ordered into action, we will take the cloths off.

Voices off: See the three Regiments of Horse enter the surf, there! How their armor gleams in the sun! How magnificent they look—All honor to our Royal Egyptian Cavalry!

Color-Sergeant (from the next chariot over: he is a grizzled veteran of twenty years’ service): Aye, shine like the sun in his glory, my brave boys!When I was Riding-Master in the Luxor Stables, I trained those boys to straighten their lines; I did, indeed! (Under his breath:) There, there you go, Lieutenant Khendjer, there you go, Captain Mernef; smartly, smartly. Hold your lines steady—steady, steady....

Voices: See the horses buck and rear!

Color-Sgt: Aye, well, they are not used to water; they require hard-packed earth to do their job as proper chargers, they do.

(Sound of horses bucking and snorting. Voices: How I wish we were going in, too! Just watch me—I will make those evil Hebrews go down in the depths like a stone. Killing and booty—that’s for me! Oh, hush up, Private Senusret, can’t you? You have never been in battle! etc.

Lt: Hold your lines, Men! We are in Reserve, this mission; do not dare move, unless and until I give the word. Let one man break orders and move his mount forward, and I will see him get one hundred strokes of the cat-o’-nine-tails!

Corporal: Sir, Sir, do you see what I see?

Lt: What is it, Corporal (Shading his eyes)?

Corporal: A strong east wind is blowing, and—and—it is all very curious, Sir. The water—the walls of water—are collapsing upon our men and horses!

Lt: What Israelite sorcery is this?

Corporal: Oh, it is terrible—our bold and brave horsemen, drowned in the Sea!

Lt: Yes, now I see them: all drowned, poor fellows. Wearing that heavy body-armor, steering our heavy chariots—they never had a chance, poor devils.

Corporal: That Invisible God of theirs blew with His wind, and the sea covered our comrades; they sank like lead into the mighty waters.

Color-Sergeant: Woe! Our chosen captains are sunk in the Sea of Reeds.

(The Troopers mutter excitedly: “We must exact revenge”—“Just let me and my horse charge into the surf, and I will slay Hebrews, right and left!”—“Woe! My best friend, Nehesy, was standard-bearer in “Osiris the Afterlife” Regiment, and he is drowned!”)

Corporal: Lieutenant! Begging the Lieutenant’s pardon, Sir, but may we not charge into the fray, and slaughter those thieving, murdering Israelites?

Lt: Listen to me, you mutinous Dog: our orders, delivered by Maj. Wegaf himself, are to hold fast, right here! Until the Major or a superior officer contravenes those standing orders, what can we do?

Color-Corporal (sadly): It matters not, Lieutenant: no orders will be changed. The Major and three Regiments of Royal Egyptian Horse are drowned, all dead....

(A Brigadier General gallops up; all salute.)

General: I am Gen. Hetep, of the King’s Royal Household Guard, “Thoth of Magic.” Listen, you men! We are Egyptian soldiers; we never lose. You survived the greatest battle fought in recent memory. Here is my plan. Regiment—reverse course! We will return to Thebes the Capital, and declare this battle to be a famous Victory!

Lt. (stammering; he cannot believe it): Are those—are those your orders, Sir?

Gen: Yes. Those are my orders. All salute! (They do so) Ra save our beloved Pharaoh, Ramesses the Great!

The Regiment (in one voice): And our Blessed Nation.

Gen: Regiment—forward to Thebes and our Monarch’s palace, for a splendid parade!

(Egyptian Horsemen and Chariots exit, harness-bells jingling and wheels creaking. Israelites continue dancing and singing, on the Sinai bank of the Sea of Reeds.)

Rabbi David Hartley Mark is from New York City’s Lower East Side. He attended Yeshiva University, the City University of NY Graduate Center for English Literature, and received semicha at the Academy for Jewish Religion. He currently teaches English at Everglades University in Boca Raton, FL, and has a Shabbat pulpit at Temple Sholom of Pompano Beach. His literary tastes run to Isaac Bashevis Singer, Stephen King, King David, Kohelet, Christopher Marlowe, and the Harlem Renaissance.