Thor's Saga

By Karl Bernt Askelin

Gunnery Sergeant John Thordarson, nicknamed Thor after the Nordic God, is a warrior without equal who comes from a long line of warriors. In 1979, he serves with the top secret Astromarines, whose duty is to protect the spy satellites that watch over the Soviet Union. 

 

During a space battle to protect Skylab, Thor finds himself blown into deep space, where he eventually finds the death that he has cheated so often and his body enters a comet-like orbit.  

 

Three hundred years into the future, Thor finds himself brought back to Earth and to life by a future generation who calls upon his skills as a warrior again. 

 

The future world that greets Thor seems at once to be everything he has fought for as well as everything he has fought against. 

 

His rescuers, as he discovers, are immortal, and society as he knew it has transformed completely. Everybody enjoys regenerative health and beauty beyond compare. Only total dismemberment can bring death. 

 

Religion has been rendered obsolete in that the biggest selling point of religion is the promise of an afterlife. The future generation has made heaven on Earth. 

 

Immortality means there are no children, no more passing on of DNA. As the population is freed from the trials and tribulations of childrearing, many of society's norms are smashed.  

 

Thor also finds that there are no possessions, whose primary and now obsolete purpose was to advertise to a potential mate that one was able to provide a safe, healthy, and stabile environment for offspring.  

 

But why did this splinter group of the future generation bring back Thor into this utopia? Over the course of 300 years of societal bliss they have grown to hate their society, a society without change, its people leading self-centered lives without challenge or purpose. 

 

They want Thor to teach them the art of war since they believe that it is the biggest engine of progress that history has seen. 

 

They believe that Thor is the perfect man to teach them. But has Thor changed his mind about war as per his last message to his family or will he help the splinter group "advance" from the carefree lifestyle he so despised in his time? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karl Bernt Askelin
• Release date: Feb 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215855324

Karl Bernt Askelin

Bernt Askelin holds a  Master of Science & Technology  in Aviation degree, but has recently  moved to architecture.  Thor’s Saga is his first novel. 

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Chapter 1

Out of the darkness they emerged. A wall of humanity for as far as the eye could see. They are the enemy, his enemies, and they are coming at him. He raises his M16 in the direction of the wall of flesh. There was no point in aiming at a target rich environment. He pulls the trigger. The click of the gun’s mechanism is drowned out by the sound of bullets roaring forth from the barrel.

Steady streams of bullets tear into the surging human wall. For every enemy body that falls, several more are there to take its place. He squeezes the trigger harder, as if to will greater destruction out of the gun and into the advancing mass. But even if he had triple the firepower he senses it would have had little impact on the insurmountable number of foes materialising before him.

It is not only their sheer number but the varied appearances of the charging enemies that surprises him. They wear the uniforms of many different nations and from different times. He starts to recognise them as they get closer. Cold War Russian, Chinese, Cuban, African and North Korean uniforms from the 50s. There are VC and NVA uniforms of the Vietnam War era and even Second World War German and Japanese uniforms. All the vestments are torn and bloody. What he sees makes no sense and confusion races through him. Everybody he has ever fought and killed over time is present and they now join to kill him.

He has little time to dwell on the subject as the still firing gun is torn from his hands. They are upon him. Yet they don’t strike him, they just press forward. He launches himself into the throng using every hand-to-hand skill that he possesses. Many enemies fall with horrific injuries, but still the fearless mass gains momentum until he is completely surrounded. He strikes them until they are pushing against him, pinning his arms against his sides. The panic that he suppressed before begins to well. He is helpless. He starts screaming. Twisting his head around, he looks into their eyes, searching for any sign of compassion, anger, or hate. But all the eyes are vacant, blind to his existence. The mass pushes forward mindlessly. He feels himself losing his balance. There is nothing he can do to stop from falling onto the ground. He screams and screams, but they don’t seem to hear. They start to stumble and trip until they fall on top of him. Soon his vision is blocked by the sheer number of bodies that bear down upon him. He continues to kick and scream until their weight blocks all movement and he is pinned. He struggles to breathe.

I need air... need air... GIVE ME AIR...

In the dark living room he bolts up from the sofa, gasping for air. He looks around in a panic, until he realises where he is and collapses back onto the sofa, rubbing his face. He drops a hand and reaches for his watch on the coffee table. He groans quietly when he sees what the time is. Swinging his legs off the sofa, he is confronted with a neatly folded pile of clean clothes. Again he groans with the knowledge it wasn’t him that placed the clothes there. He had scattered his clothes around the room when he came home drunk last night. The neat pile before him can only have been left by his wife. He hopes to get dressed and leave the house before she wakes up and gives him a piece of her mind. In the darkness he dresses quietly.

After lacing up his highly polished boots he heads into the kitchen. On the counter, the clapper board digital clock gives off a whirling sound as all four boards flip over to display 5:00 a.m. In the background the faint sound of a bugle is heard as reveille is sounded. A wall calendar behind the clock radio shows that it is July 10, 1979.

The seal of the refrigerator gives off a sucking sound as the door opens. The harsh interior light cuts a path into the gloom of the kitchen. A deeply lined face in its fifties peers intently into the refrigerator, searching for something.

Don’t you remember? That was the excuse that you used last night to get out of the house.

He turns to the figure standing in the doorway. The voice belongs to a strong and handsome middle-aged woman who could, if she wanted to, make herself look very attractive. She had long given up what she considered fancy and frivolous dressing to concentrate on being a good mother.

He stands up to face her. The light of the refrigerator reveals that he is dressed in the uniform of a U.S. Marine. The stripes on his sleeves denote him as a Master Gunnery Sergeant. He sighs at the tone of her voice. Don’t start, Ingrid, he pleads, hoping that it will stop the verbal onslaught he knows from experience is about to happen.

The fire in her eyes dies down, and to his surprise she takes him by the hand and sits him down at the bauxite kitchen table. The morning light creeps into the kitchen and reveals the look of serious concern she wears.

John, this has got to stop. You cannot say to me and the kids that you are going out to buy some milk and then come staggering home several hours later crashing out drunk on the sofa.

Her stare penetrates. He can’t hold her gaze and lets his eyes drop to the floor. The subdued look on his face seems out of place among his granite-like features.

Thank God the boys were in bed before you returned. When they ask me where you have gone I tell them that ‘duty calls’ and you have left on urgent Marine business.

He looks up at her then turns away to conceal his embarrassment.

Now you are heading off on another mission, and God only knows when—or if—you will be coming home again.

You know I have a job to do.

And you do it well, John. But I think it’s about time that you thought about your duty to your family.

Now he faces her gaze. I have my duty, and I do it for the good of the United States of America.

That may be true, John, but just imagine if every other father in this great country of ours behaved the same way. Would it still be such a great country?

His eyes drop again. Getting up from the chair, he looks out the kitchen window.

Ingrid’s calm voice now starts to crack with emotion. Don’t you want to spend time with us? Don’t you love us?

He spins around and looks directly into her eyes. You know I would give my life for my family.

Well, I don’t know if that is true anymore. However I am definitely interested in you giving your life for your family, and I don’t mean by dying. I mean by spending the time you have with us. Who knows, you might find it more challenging than blowing the heads off the enemies of our state.

He looks at her and smiles. Isn’t that a bit melodramatic?

She smiles back. You know what I mean.

He kneels down in front of her and takes her hands in his. I’ll see what I can do. I know that I haven’t been the best family man.

Do what you can, John Thordarson. You know that my love for you makes me powerless.

"He pulls her hands to his lips. She is touched.

You are not going soft on me, are you, Marine?

His face light up with a rare warm smile, but the moment is broken by a short blast of a horn from outside. Thordarson grins at her weakly. I got to go.

I know you gotta go.

I promise that we will talk about this when I get back.

Should I wake the kids?

No, let ’em sleep.

They exit the kitchen hand in hand to find their two boys standing smartly to attention. As their father approaches they salute, dressed in their pyjamas, more asleep than awake.

At ease, boys. Thordarson playfully growls at them while he trusses their hair.

They both remain at attention. With his hands, he cups their chins and forces their eyes towards him. First they are shocked at the look of affection in his eyes, but they then return it in a huge release of pent-up love and affection. He grabs them by the front of their pyjamas. Lifting them up to his chest, he holds them tight. He transfers them to one arm and with the other he pulls his wife into their embrace.

Ingrid looks over his shoulder out of the window and sees a Marine standing to attention next to a waiting car. She sniffles back a tear.

You had better go before you lose your tough guy image.

Thordarson reluctantly releases them and heads out the door.

Master Gunnery Sergeant Thordarson strides to the car and returns the salute of Sergeant Fredrick, who holds the door open for him.

Can I have a kiss, too, John?

Don’t be smart, Fredrick. It doesn’t suit you, Thordarson snaps as he lowers himself into the back seat.

Sergeant is around the same age as Thordarson. Like Thordarson, Fredrick’s back is ramrod straight and his features made of granite. But through his tough exterior glows the light of humanity.

Fredrick smiles and waves to Ingrid and the kids standing in the open doorway and then calls out, Good morning, family Thordarson.

Good morning, Sergeant Fred, they yell back happily. Thordarson is starting to feel uncomfortable at all these signs of affection. He looks up and down the street hoping no neighbours are watching.

Come on, Fredrick, pull the lead out and get me to base, he snaps.

Fredrick and Ingrid look at each other, shaking their heads in disbelief. Fredrick notes Thordarson’s discomfort and decides that he can’t let it go without a little bit of stirring. Opportunities like this are few and far between.

How is he this morning? He is looking a little bit cuddly. Is everything alright? Do you think that he needs a hug from me? The Thordarson kids giggle as Fredrick goes to put his arms around Thordarson, who easily ducks the embrace and snarls.

Get in the car, Fred, God damn you.

You can try. Lord knows I find it hard enough to get a cuddle out of him. Ingrid joins in with Fredrick, taking pleasure in her husband’s discomfort. She and Fredrick, who has been fighting by Thordarson’s side from day one, are bonded by their mutual love for John.

You’re going to be alright with him? You’re not going to kick him out yet, are you?

Jesus, exclaims Thordarson under his breath as his head swings rapidly side to side as he scans the empty street.

No, not yet. I am afraid my husband is like an addiction to me. You know it’s not good for you, but you can’t quite give it up.

That’s it. Thordarson jumps back out of the car. Ingrid and the kids burst into laughter. The kids are laughing so hard they fall onto the dew-covered front lawn, getting their pressed pyjamas dirty. Fredrick just stands there with his eyebrows raised and a look of mock shock on his face.

Get into the damn car, warns Thordarson.

Okay, Okay, I am sorry. Look, I am getting in. Fredrick slides into the car suppressing a laugh. Thordarson then turns his attention to his family. You boys get up. Look at your pyjamas, they’re filthy, and Ingrid, how can you just stand there and let them do that. His annoyance disappears quickly when he sees the smiles on their faces. His face in turn breaks into another rare smile. Though the smile is rare, when it does happen it conveys genuine warmth. He gives them a wink as his face morphs back to its usual stern look and he gets into the passenger seat.

Hope you have had your fun for the day, Fred, Thordarson says sarcastically.

Don’t worry, John, your secret is safe. I don’t think anybody saw you being kind and loving. God knows we wouldn’t want that to get out. The mighty Thor going soft—imagine the scandal that would cause around the base, if not the whole Marine Corps.

I have already told you to stop being smart. Besides, I have not given you permission to be smart. Fredrick looks at him and smiles. He is really enjoying this.

Sergeant Fredrick starts the car and drives off. Thordarson looks in the wing mirror and sees his family still waving goodbye. He smiles to himself and resolves then and there to spend more time with them. Ingrid was right. It was not fair on the boys and it is not fair on him. She has helped him to see that there is a hole in his soul. He has practically missed their early years and he wants to make it up to them.

A couple of blocks from Thordarson’s house they turn up in front of an old nondescript Nissen hut with paint peeling from it.

The good Mrs. Thordarson would be tickled pink if she knew that your entrance to work was so close to home.

Yeah, right. She would have me home all the time on Kitchen Patrol peeling potatoes.

Well, judging by the displays of affections this morning I would say that you would enjoy that. Making any plans to give up being the defender of the American way of life?

Thordarson is about to answer when the Nissen hut’s roller shutter door opens and Fredrick drives the car in. As soon as the roller shutter shuts behind them an armoured wall shoots up, completing an armoured cell that traps them inside. The room is dark for a second and then a mass of fluoro-lights blink on. They blink and shade their eyes as they adjust from the soft light of sunrise to the bright cold glow of the fluoro. Adding to the harsh lighting, a couple of heavy machine guns are poking through the armoured walls and trained upon them. If they opened fire there would