“Any you guys want to pray a bit, we got some time.”
It was not a whisper, but the gruff voice was no louder than one. I looked around to see if one of the neighbors had a window open, and I was getting some Sunday afternoon movie. Kneeling in the garden, I had not expected to find anything more warlike than cutworms.
“Sarge, I prayed so much when we met that troll at the tunnel, God’s just gonna to say, ‘You again?’”
The voices seemed to be coming from close by, and a little below my head. I peered among the sprouts and then around behind me to see if somebody dropped a phone and I’d set off an app.
“There it is, anyhow. All we got to do’s walk past the gate.”
“Is that all?”
“Sarge, why’d the captain send us?”
“Best men for the job, Collins.”
“Yeah?”
“He can spare us.”
There were five of them, in the shade of the cabbage. Military men maybe three inches tall, their shirts open to show sweat and orange dogtags. Orange feathers crested their helmets and they had swords in their hands. They stood in a semicircle facing a clump of arugula, which I’m sure I had not gathered up in a black wrought-iron fence, with a high spiked gate (well, nine inches high.) I couldn’t see what was inside this arugula castle, but whatever it was was worrying them.
“Don’t seem to know we’re here.”
“Won’t last.”
“Remember: as little fighting as possible. Secure the prisoner, then beat it back to the tunnel.”
“Tell you what, Sarge. In case I forget, I’ll start back now.”
“Make me laugh, Haines.”
I could see them as clearly as the veins in the cabbage leaves. Their faces were green, though that could have been camouflage. Their eyes and noses tipped up in a not purely human way, but I knew those faces all the same. I’d seen faces just like them in my company overseas. The one on the far right reminded me of me: absolutely fearless and scared to death. Faces like that fought for Pharaoh and Grant and Eisenhower, and would be seen in any fights beyond the world we know.
I reached for my phone to take a few pictures, but apparently I’d left it in the house when I changed into gardening clothes. If I shouted for Pat, would the little soldiers hear me? I checked the window to see if anyone happened to be looking out.
“You know the job. Get in without….”
“Aieee! He knows we’re here! He’s breaking loose!”
“Firpov, Haines! Cover the windows on your left!”
There had been no windows in the arugula thicket before, but there was one now, next to the gate. From it came a length of pure darkness, a thick curling tentacle. What the rest of the creature looked like I couldn’t tell for the arugula.
I turned to my tools: just about anything on the cart was bound to help. But what would they think of that? There was no sign they’d seen me. How would they react to a bolt from above? Either side might think I was attacking them: did anybody have weapons that could have an effect on me?
“Bust the gate! The amulet, Firpov: you had it!”
“Hope I didn’t use all its power on the troll.”
“We’ll find out.”
Tentacles stretched from two windows now. Two of the soldiers had raised their hands, sending little orange pulses through the air. The tentacle nearest them retracted. No one was doing anything to the tentacle by the thicket gate. It seemed to be growing, reaching for the invaders.
The clippers should remove a tentacle or two, but if the soldiers charged, I might get one of them at the same time. There were all those spray cans and bottles, including a really old, slightly rusty can of bug spray; the kind they warn you on the evening news not to use. Would that doom them as well? I grabbed it up and checked the directions for any mention of leprechauns, gnomes, or pixies.
“Ha! That’s got it!”
“Go go go! Collins, Petrov, hold ‘em ‘til we hit the tunnel!”
Three of them were running as fast as they could when cushioning a wriggling black object covered with tentacles. The tentacles curled around their arms, as if holding on for dear life. Two others were swinging their swords against the advance of what seemed to be three princesses, in tall cone hats and flowing aprons. Red and orange pulses shot from hands on either side, and the swords clashed against raised ladles. One princess/chef swung up a small pot and the two soldiers fell back.
Their sergeant and two comrades vanished under a cabbage. Petrov and Collins continued to fight their way backward, pressed hard by the princesses. One soldier fell, but the other grabbed him by the collar and dragged him backward as two princesses dipped ladles in the pot and tried to splash him with whatever soup or potion was inside. I watched as both forces ground toward that particular cabbage and, pushing back and forth as the advantage shifted, slowly joined the others and their refugee in the tunnel.
I waited, but I couldn’t hear any more battle cries or sounds of swords against ladles. After a while, I risked leaning an ear down to the cabbage where I’d seen them last, but the only sound was from a bicycle going slowly by on the sidewalk. This made me realize what a show I was providing in my current position, and I straightened up, stretched my back, and gathered all my tools.
I took these back to the garage. Watching a ballgame was less likely to upset the balance of power.
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