The Valkyries

The Valkyries

Copyright Oggbashan September 2013/October 2015

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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“Who the fuck are you?”

I had woken up in what I knew to be my deathbed to find myself surrounded by attractive young ladies wearing bronze armour and carrying spears.

“Fuck?” one of them asked. “We don’t normally do that. An interesting idea”.

“Who are you? Why…?”

“I should have thought that was obvious, Eric. We are the Valkyries. We have come to take you to Valhalla to join the other heroes.”

Was I delirious? Me, a hero destined for Valhalla? These women must be a sick joke by some of my family.

“No, Eric, we’re not a joke. We are the real Valkyries. Can human women do this?”

Suddenly all of them were mounted on war horses. How? There was no room around my bed for a single horse, let alone a large number.

“OK, OK. I believe you. You are the Valkyries. But why me? I’m not a hero.”

“You are Eric Smith?”

I nodded.

“You fought in the Second World War?”

I nodded again.

“You won the Victoria Cross, Britain’s premier award for bravery?”

“No. I didn’t. The Victoria Cross was won by another Eric Smith. He was a distant relation. His award was posthumous so you must have taken him decades ago.”

“Shit! Loki must be playing games again. He mucks up Valhalla’s record keeping whenever he can. Let’s see if we can sort it out. You were in World War 2?”

“I said so.”

“You didn’t. You nodded. Sister? Have you got the record?”

Somehow the Valkyries’ horses had disappeared. The large crowd of them had reduced to four women.

“Yes. Sergeant Eric Smith, veteran of the North Africa campaign, landed in Normandy on D-Day and was involved in the British Army campaigns from there until he was at Luneburg Heath for the surrender to General Montgomery.”

“That true, Eric?”

“Yes, but…”

“Is this yours?”

She produced a Lee Enfield rifle and handed it to me. I received it like the old friend it was. I looked carefully. It had been mine. There were the familiar serial numbers and the bullet scar from the sniper in Antwerp. I hadn’t been injured. My rifle had been leaning against a Jeep while I worked on the engine.

“Yes, it’s mine. But how?”

“How? We can do many things. We could even do fucking, if that’s what you want, Eric.”

“I’m dying. You know that, or you wouldn’t be here. I doubt that I am still capable of fucking anyone.”

“You’re not dying. You died a couple of minutes before you said ‘Who the fuck are you?’. You can leave the bed anytime you want. Look at that mirror.”

I climbed out of bed, easily. I walked across to the bedroom mirror. Reflected was not the old man who had died, but myself as I had been in 1944, even in my khaki uniform with full equipment. I hadn’t noticed the weight because I was again the young fit soldier I had been then. I even had the holstered Colt 1911 I had been given by an American Officer for taking out a sniper pinning his troops down.

“That’s the man we want in Valhalla,” the Valkyrie said.

“Fuck me!” I said.

“Well, yes, we can do that. But we would be more comfortable in Valhalla. Shall we go?”

“I suppose so. I thought I was a Christian, so why Valhalla?”

“You thought you were a Christian. You weren’t really a Christian. You believed more in the Gods of War. Remember that sniper? What did you say when he hit your rifle?”

“I don’t remember. What did I say?”

“You said: ‘By Odin, I’ll get that bugger!’, and you did. You stalked him for an hour before killing him with a single shot from this rifle. A Christian might have called on his God first. Your response was that of a warrior – a warrior we need in Valhalla.”

“For Gotterdammerung?”

“Yes, but we have other battles to fight before the last one, possibly one on the way to Valhalla now. Come on, Eric. Where else could you go?”

She had a good point. Valhalla, especially with these delightful young ladies, seemed very attractive. It seemed much more attractive than Purgatory or Hell might be.

“There’s another reason, Eric. You swear by the Norse Gods, so did your father...”

“And my grandfather.”

“Exactly. Do you know why?”

“No. I didn’t think there was a reason.”

“All of you are Wodingas, descended from Woden or Odin. At least that’s what the records say unless Loki has been tampering with them. That’s another reason for us wanting you, Eric.”

“OK, ladies. I’m your man. How...”

“You mount up behind me.”

My familiar room had vanished. She was back on an armoured horse that was stamping on the ground impatiently. She held out a hand. I slung my rifle across my back and mounted easily, as easily as if I had been riding horses recently instead of sixty years ago.

“I’m Kara,” she said. “That means ‘the wild one’ or ‘the curly one’. Take your choice.”

She was certainly curly. Her long red hair curled either side of my head as we galloped across a grassy plain, heading for a shimmering bridge in the distance. Either side of us there were more Valkyries, perhaps twenty. The thunder of the troop of horses was almost deafening.

One of the Valkyries swung her horse close to Kara’s and pointed. In the distance ahead but to the left of us a couple of dozen black-clad warriors were riding to cut us off from the bridge.

“Eric, we need you and your rifle now,” Kara shouted. “Dismount, and stop them.”

She brought her horse to a sudden stop. My face slammed into the mass of her red hair before I could stop myself. I enjoyed the feel and scent but I followed her commands and leapt off. I lay down on the top of a slight mound, took four or five clips out of my pouches, and checked that my rifle had five rounds.

The Valkyries swung right and the black warriors angled towards them. I sighted at the lead rider, about six hundred yards away, and fired.

I hit exactly where I had aimed. His horse went down, killed with a head shot. Three or four riders were thrown into confusion by the sudden fall in their path. I aimed for the horse that emerged from the chaos first.

I fired and worked the bolt with my 1944 familiarity. Three more horses were down before I needed a fresh clip. I had hit a fourth but not stopped him. The riders had swung towards me, making my targets narrower. I aimed at the riders this time, taking three down before loading the third clip.

I had fired all ten rounds so far as fast as I could. The enemy riders were beginning to spread out so I took greater care with my aim for the next five rounds, watching to my right because the Valkyries had drawn swords and were charging from right to left. I had time for yet another five rounds before friend and foe became mixed. My accurate fire had meant that the Valkyries outnumbered their opponents who began to retreat. I picked targets very carefully as the few black riders galloped away, the last one at about eight hundred yards. I saw the rider jerk as my round struck, but I think it just grazed his shoulder.

As the Valkyries rode slowly back towards me I checked that my rifle still had five rounds available. I don’t like loading two clips, or more than eight rounds, because the spring isn’t always strong enough to move all ten. If I need ten rounds urgently, I’d rather use a Bren gun.

The plain had a s**ttering of dead men and horses. One of the horses was still staggering with an obvious broken leg. I shot it dead from a hundred yards away. The couple of wounded riders had been taken away by the few enemy riders who were left to retreat.

As she came back to me Kara gave her reins to another Valkyrie and dismounted. She ran to me, threw her arms around me, and kissed me fiercely. If this was a normal kiss for her, no wonder her name might mean the wild one. I had never been kissed like this. For a few moments I forgot her bronze breast plate and my ammo pouches digging into my chest.

“We knew you were a warrior, Eric, but we didn’t expect you to be that deadly...” Kara said.

“Nor did we expect that many of the enemy,” another Valkyrie added. “Perhaps it was for the other Eric Smith? What was he like?”

“I didn’t know him personally,” I replied, “but I know what he was and what he did. He was an artillery sergeant defending the perimeter at Dunkirk in 1940. All the rest of his gun crew were killed by Stuka dive bombers but he continued to fire his 25 pounder alone for an hour until he was killed by a German tank. His action allowed the retreating troops to set up a defensive line behind him.”

“But he wouldn’t have been as accurate as you with a rifle?” Kara asked.

“That’s unlikely. I was one of the most successful snipers in the British Army – then. Apparently I still am. But if the other Eric had been here with his 25 pounder he would have killed the lot with one round.”

“You still are a successful sniper. We don’t normally defeat that many so easily. They’ll be back.”

“Back?”

“Like us, Eric, they are immortal. They, and we, can be killed. That is painful and very unpleasant but we are resurrected within hours. Until the last days, that is. Then those killed in the final battle will be dead forever.”

“I’m not sure I will have enough cartridges if they keep attacking, Kara.”

“That’s simply remedied, Eric.”

Kara waved a hand. I felt my ammo pouches increase in weight.

“You’ve got a new supply. If you want more, all you have to do is ask. We need our warriors to be well equipped.”

“If they’re going to attack again, Kara, I could do with some more troops.”

“You’re doing fine, Eric. You might have deterred them from attacking again. It’s less than a mile to Bifrost Bridge and then we’re beyond their reach.”

Kara was right. We reached the bridge at a gallop. I could see more black riders in the far distance but too far off to intercept us and outside of my rifle’s range. If I had one of the modern US sniper’s rifles I might just have been able to drop a round among them. Hitting an individual would have been luck, not aim.

Bifrost Bridge felt odd. It was translucent. I could see through it but our horses’ hooves treated it as solid. It took an hour to reach the gates of Valhalla. It looked like a massive medieval castle with high walls and towers with more towers inside the outer ring. Our horses’ hooves thundered on the wooden drawbridge.

As we rode through the gates the sentries saluted us. They were dressed as Viking warriors with round shields, spears and long swords at their sides. Their helmets were simple without the horns beloved of Victorian illustrators. The sentries looked like fierce battle-hardened men.

“No challenge?” I queried.

“What need?” Kara replied. “You are with the Valkyries. Anyone we bring to Valhalla has already been selected to live with the heroes. But the salute was for you, Eric. Rarely does a single hero cause so much pain to our enemies. The sentries would have seen what you did. Later they’ll probably give you a few beers. Up here you can drink as much as you like. In Valhalla there are no hangovers.”

“That sounds good. I haven’t been able to drink, on doctors’ orders, for years.”

“Now you can. And, Eric, if you still want to be fucked? There are willing women everywhere. They can’t get pregnant. How could they? They’re as dead as you are. But – treat them well. All the women here are heroines, or they wouldn’t be in Valhalla. They deserve your respect.”

“And honour?”

“That too, Eric. I know you were always a gentleman as well as a deadly sniper. If you treat women here as you did when alive, you’ll be popular.”

“But I don’t get to fuck Valkyries?”

“We don’t normally have sex. We’re warrior goddesses. We select from among the slain and those heroes who die naturally. So many men die in wars all the time that we’re usually too busy for sex. But it’s an intriguing idea. Ask me again in a few days’ time.”

“Thank you, Kara.”

“For what?”

“For bringing me to Valhalla.”

“That’s what I have to do, Eric. I admit I enjoyed bringing you because you are so deadly. I felt real satisfaction as you killed our enemies. Sometimes I might ask you to descend Bifrost with me and protect our approach. If you can keep the enemies at a distance my task would be easier.”

“Of course I’ll do what I can, Kara.”

“But you might like a reward?”

“And you know what reward I’d like.”

“OK, Eric. It’s a deal. If I need you to be a sniper for me, your reward will be sex with Kara. Whether you’ll enjoy that? I don’t know.”

Kara stopped her horse by a substantial building butted against a castellated wall.

“Dismount now, Eric. You’ll be staying here.”

A tall blonde woman opened the front door as I reached the ground. She was carrying a bronze shield and a long spear, wearing a bronze cuirass with a metalled skirt like a Roman legionary. A short sword hung by her side.

“This is Eric,” Kara said. “Please look after him, Britta. Eric, Britta is your shield maiden, at least for a while. Her task is to introduce you to Valhalla. Your task is to train her to be a sniper. You could be fighting side by side if we Valkyries need your skills. Our enemies should be worried by today. It has been years since so many of them were killed in one action.”

Britta stood beside me, facing Kara. Her right hand took my left.

“Thank you, Kara,” Britta said. “I am pleased you have given me Eric. I’ll try to deserve him.”

“You don’t need to try, Britta. Eric is here because you already deserve him. You should learn to be proud of each other, and dangerous to our enemies. Eric? Britta has two weeks to show you Valhalla. You have two weeks to start training her as a sniper.”

I was about to protest that becoming a skilled sniper took much longer than two weeks. Kara spoke almost as I had the thought.

“Don’t underestimate Britta. She will learn a lot in two weeks. After then? I’ll expect both of you at the lower end of Bifrost Bridge to protect the returning Valkyries.”

Kara reared her horse and cantered away.

Britta’s hand squeezed mine.

“Welcome to our home in Valhalla, Eric. The meal is ready for you. But – as it is to be our joint home, you should carry me across the threshold this time. I’ll shed my armour to make me lighter.”

Could I? A few hours ago I wouldn’t have been able to carry a heavy shopping bag. Now I was dead, in Valhalla and apparently back as the man I had been during the Second World War, could I carry a very substantial woman across a threshold?

I did. It was an effort. Although Britta’s armour and weapons had vanished to be replaced by a long dress, she is taller and heavier than me but I staggered through the doorway before lowering her to the floor. She was giggling.

“Perhaps I should have carried you, Eric,” Britta said. “That would have been just as effective but the neighbours might have wondered which of us is in charge.”

“In charge? At present you are, Britta. I have no idea about Valhalla nor how I was chosen to come here. I need your help, please.”

“Thank you, Eric. Not all heroes are so polite to their shield maidens.”

“There you are. I have no idea what a shield maiden is, what they do, and how I should treat you. Can you tell me, Britta? Please?”

“I’ll start telling you over our meal, Eric, which is ready for us.”

The meal was everything I had dreamed of while eating Army rations during the war. All my personal favourites were there. Britta was eating a totally different meal that seemed fish-based. Even when we had finished eating I didn’t feel that I had taken too much. I just felt that I had enjoyed food for the first time for years. As we ate, Britta talked.

“A shield maiden is your fighting partner, Eric. She will defend you; you should defend her. She’ll watch your back, you watch hers. At the least she would be your loader, your number two on a machine gun, the private to your corporal. At her best the status might be reversed and you would be her back-up, her support. But I think you and I will be equal partners standing side by side against our enemies.”

“How did you become a shield maiden, Britta?” I asked. “I don’t know why I was chosen. Why were you?”

“I was in the Norwegian resistance during the war. I was captured and tortured by the Gestapo. They wanted me to betray my comrades. I didn’t. Unusually they didn’t kill me. They started with a multiple ****. That didn’t encourage me to talk so they wrecked my body instead. They cut off all my fingers and toes, one by one, and blinded me. When it was obvious I wasn’t going to break they injected me with several disease germs then punctured my eardrums and cut out my tongue. I couldn’t see, hear nor speak. They threw me out on the street as a warning to other members of the resistance expecting that I might die. I lived for about six months as a crippled wreck. When I eventually died I ended up in Valhalla with the body you see now – undamaged.”

“No one deserved to be treated as you were.” I said. “Some of the Germans were monsters.”

“But not all, Eric. There are many Germans from that war here in Valhalla. Some of them believed in the Norse Gods. The good ones came here. The bad ones? Some of them are the enemies we fight daily, and will fight to the death at Gotterdammerung.”

“I’ll try to remember that, Britta. I never hated Germans. I just killed them.”

“Killing? That reminds me of some of the things you need to know about Valhalla. We’re dead. We don’t have to eat, nor drink. We do, for enjoyment. We don’t produce any bodily wastes so there are no toilets or sewage systems. Our food and drink is produced if we want it with no preparation, nor washing up. If we want to be clean, not that we get really dirty, we just think ourselves clean. I’ll have to do some things for you until you learn how to do it for yourself. For example – you’re wearing battledress. Inside Valhalla that isn’t necessary. Try this.”

Britta waved a hand at me. She had changed my clothes into casual trousers and an open necked shirt. My battledress was neatly folded on a chair with my rifle leaning against it. I felt more comfortable.

“And for me?”

Britta had changed into a clinging blue dress that emphasised her curves and exposed her cleavage.

“Like that, Eric?”

“Like it? You’re giving me ideas I thought I had forgotten.”

“You’re young again, Eric. We don’t need to worry about pregnancy or infections. Any of us can make love without consequences. I’ve waited years for a suitable hero. Are you going to be my hero, Eric?”

“Are you sure, Britta?”

“Sure? Of course I’m sure. How long is it since you had sex? Twenty years? I haven’t since 1943. Anyway, if you’re going to fuck Kara the Valkyrie you need practice and stamina.”

“You know about Kara?”

“Everyone knows, Eric. You’re famous, or infamous. You are the first hero who has been so effective against our enemies for years, and the only one in five hundred years who has suggested fucking a Valkyrie. The legends say that fucking a Valkyrie is a fantastic experience but deadly. We can die, as those you killed today die, but are painfully resurrected within hours. Death from fucking a Valkyrie is supposed to be more long lasting, a couple of days or even a week. Which reminds me. I don’t want to die again, Eric. I’ll be back as I was when the Gestapo threw me on the street, in agony but unable to express my pain.”

“I’ll do what I can to prevent that, Britta. If we are partners in war...”

“...and in bed.”

“I’ll do my best in both situations.”

“Come on, Eric. I want you in our bed now.”

Britta took my hand and led me upstairs to a large bedroom. In the centre was a massive four-poster bed. We stripped each other slowly and carefully. Britta’s body showed no signs of what the Gestapo had done to her. I couldn’t believe how good my own body was now. I had forgotten what it was like to be young, fit, and how quickly an erection could happen faced with a naked young woman.

But I hadn’t forgotten how I used to arouse my wife when we were older. I used my lips, my hands and my fingers to caress Britta’s body. Despite my insistent erection I played with her for over an hour, raising her again and again to squealing ecstasy. I was pleased that we were in a solid stone walled building or she might have disturbed the whole of Valhalla.

Eventually my mouth was against her lower lips with my tongue exploring between them. Britta suddenly rolled us over before her mouth claimed my erection. Seconds later she was spluttering as my cum spurted into her throat. She swallowed it before slowly sucking as my prick subsided. Remembering how long it used to take before my wife could get me aroused again I was startled to find that I had another erection within minutes.

Britta swung herself around, straddled me, and eased my growing erection inside her. She clamped herself gently around me before gradually moving up and down. Above me her breasts bounced delightfully, her hair was lashing around, and she was smiling down at me as if I had produced a miracle.

Soon I was lost in the fury of our coupling. Britta was pounding hard. My hands were kneading her breasts before she brought her head down to kiss me full on the lips. I had never been with a woman who could kiss me while I was inside her. I would have been very grateful that Britta was so tall, if I had been able to think about anything except our bodies locked together.

Eventually I couldn’t hold on any longer. Britta had experienced several orgasms before I came into her. I was suddenly very tired. I was barely conscious as Britta eased me around so that my head was on her shoulder.

“Sleep, Eric,” she said. “You need it. There are only two things that make us tired here – dying and having sex. You died only a few hours ago, and you’ve given me more than I expected. Sleep.”

Her hand gently stroked my head. I was aware that a beautiful blonde woman was holding me as my eyes closed.

-o-

When I started to wake I was aware that I was very comfortable. My face was gently resting against the side of Britta’s breast. Her arm was across my body. It took me some minutes to realise where I was and who was holding me. I was in Valhalla in the arms of my shield maiden. Or was I hers? Her arm seemed to demonstrate that she owned me. Did I want to be owned by Britta?

I stirred slightly. Britta’s arm gently pulled my face back against her breast. I dozed again.

I woke to the smell of a cooked breakfast. I looked for a toilet. There wasn’t one. I remembered. Britta had told me I wouldn’t need to use one. I felt my chin. I didn’t need to shave.

Over breakfast Britta tried to tell me more about being in Valhalla. I wasn’t concentrating. I was enjoying my young-again body and facing a beautiful blonde.

“You can choose your weapons here...” Britta was saying. She realised I wasn’t listening.

“You want to make love again, Eric, don’t you?”

“Yes, Britta. I’m not used to having the ability.”

“Come to bed, Eric. I’m wasting my time talking when all you can think of is sex.”

We made love again. I tried to ride her. She flipped me over easily and mounted me. I’m not that small but Britta is taller and possibly stronger than me.

Afterwards I began to take notice of our surroundings. Fixed to the wall opposite the bed was a large Labrys – a double-headed axe. Britta saw me looking at it.

“That’s my Labrys,” she said. “It is a woman’s weapon from ancient Crete, a symbol of their snake priestesses. They used it for human sacrifice, usually of condemned prisoners, but they could also use it in war. Mine is far larger and heavier than the ancient ones but I am skilled in its use in close combat.”

“Why not a gun?” I asked.

“Combat between us and our foes has strict rules. We can only fight with weapons that were from the same period. If they attack as ancient Persians, we use ancient Greek or Persian weaponry. My Labrys is suitable for most periods before gunpowder. You’ll have to learn how to use older weapons, Eric. I’ll try to teach you the basics but there are professional instructors for all periods.”

“So what period was I facing when I came?”

“They were all WW2 period arms. Why did our foes choose to be mounted Cossacks, armed with carbines? Perhaps they thought you were the other Eric Smith and wouldn’t know how to ride a horse? But you were a shock for them.”

“They didn’t fire a single shot, Britta. Why not?”

“They were never in range. If the Valkyries had got closer? They might have fired, but the Valkyries are very difficult to kill. What they wanted to do was kill you so that you would be reluctant to fight them again. The Valkyries weren’t their target.”

“Why didn’t they use armoured vehicles?”

“They can’t. Neither can we. The fastest we are allowed is a horse. Neither of us can use artillery, nor aircraft. Handheld arms are all that is permitted – until Armageddon when anything goes. Armageddon will probably be a very short exchange of nuclear missiles or whatever horrors humans have invented by then.”

That evening we went to the mead hall. I was startled by the raucous reception. Everyone there raised their drinking horns and toasted the latest hero. There were many jokes about what I intended to do with Kara the Valkyrie.

Britta and I drank prodigious quantities of ale but I didn’t need a toilet, nor did I suffer anything but a great feeling of slight lessened inhibition. Most of the time I had a substantial Britta on my knee.

But later was a disaster. I tried to ride Britta. I was in full flow, pounding up and down on her, when I suddenly collapsed into u*********sness, flattening her.

When I recovered, Britta was holding me tight. Her tears were wetting my face.

“What happened?” I slurred.

“You died, Eric – again.” Britta said.

“I died?”

“Yes. You did too much, too soon. It’s less than twenty-four hours since you died in life. You need time to get used to Valhalla. You’re in no state to fuck a Valkyrie, nor even your shield maiden.”

“Why are you crying, Britta? I’m back, alive again.”

“I’m crying because you just slipped away, quietly and peacefully. When I die again I do it in agony, deaf, blind, dumb and after months of pain. It’s the only thing that frightens me. Unlike you, when I’m killed it is awful. Watching you die brought back the horrors of my death.”

“Then we’ll have to make sure you don’t die again, Britta.”

“If we can. We have to fight. That’s why we’re here. Fighting has a risk of being killed. You have to train me to be a sniper. I have to train you in some of the older fighting techniques you don’t know. We don’t use protection when we practise. We use real weapons. If we fail in a bout against an instructor – we die. Tomorrow, no, later today, you have to start training with a sword. I might watch you dying again...”

“Perhaps you won’t.”

“I will. You’ll die. The instructors are weapon masters.”

I admit it. I was concerned. The best swordsmen in Valhalla must be real experts. But when I started my tuition I think Loki must have been at work on the records. I had been number two in my regiment’s fencing team, and we didn’t just do the fancy competitive work with foils but with real heavy swords, cutlasses, sabres and almost any edged long weapon.

The man I was facing looked formidable. There were about thirty people watching us outside the marked area. He explained the rules of sword instruction in Valhalla. Put simply, there aren’t any. We fight with real weapons to the death. The novice will die many times before he becomes competent.

He gave me a medieval long sword. He had a matched one. I swung my sword experimentally. It was heavy but well balanced, obviously the product of a competent swordsmith.

“Ready, Eric?” He asked.

“Ready,” I replied.

He launched a ferocious attack. I went into automatic defence mode, parrying his thrusts and cuts easily although he was very fast. After about thirty seconds I was convinced that I was a better swordsman than he was. I didn’t try anything fancy. I feinted a cut to his head. His sword lifted to block the cut that I changed to a thrust straight through his heart.

He looked startled as he fell down, his weight pulling my sword free.

“Well done,” another man said. “You’re better than we expected. Now face a real swordsman.”

He picked up the fallen man’s sword.

“Don’t worry about him. He’ll be back with us in a quarter of an hour, annoyed with himself for underestimating you. Ready, Eric?”

He lifted his sword in salute. I matched his salute, warily. Would he attack as quickly?

“Ready,” I said.

He took a step backwards before starting his attack. His swordsmanship was much more measured, precise and tricky to read. I relaxed and let my muscles respond almost before my brain had analysed his latest action. My ancient skills were working as if I had held a sword yesterday, not many decades ago.

My opponent was good but not excellent. He was much better than the previous instructor but surely this couldn’t be the best in Valhalla? He wasn’t. It took me several minutes before I killed him too. By that time the people around the arena had become a crowd. Many of them were shouting their support of me. Britta looked shocked as I stood back and wiped my bloody sword.

An older man, leaning on a spear, spoke to me.

“Well, Eric. You have surprised us. Tomorrow we’ll find you a better opponent, but I think you have done enough today. Someone wants to congratulate you.”

He stood aside. Kara the Valkyrie rushed forward and kissed me.

“You were great, Eric. Maybe you will be good enough to fuck me. We’ll see. But now? Britta is jealous of me. Give me the sword and show her what it is like to be fucked by a hero.”

Kara took my bloody sword and vanished. So did the older man. Britta was white-faced as she led me away.

“Do you know who that was?” she asked.

“Kara the Valkyrie,” I replied.

“Not her. The spear carrier.”

“No, Britta. Who was he?”

“That was Thor, himself. We rarely see him. But he watched you fight today and spoke to you. Your status in Valhalla was already good. Now? You are recognised as one of Thor’s chosen few. Your next instructors will be very wary. But that’s for tomorrow. For the rest of today you have to start teaching me to be a sniper.”

“What about Kara’s suggestion?”

“Fucking comes later. You’ve got work to do.”

Britta surprised me. She used a Krag-Jorgensen M1930 sniper rifle. Apparently she had been used to hunting with the earlier 1925 model before the war. Her rifle was slower to load than my Lee-Enfield but she was nearly as accurate on the rifle range as I was, but not when firing fast as multiple targets.

Her hunting skills meant that she could conceal herself but she had never faced game that might shoot back. I had to show her that choosing to be near cover that was rifle-proof was essential. Hiding behind a bush was a stupid tactic for a sniper except for a single shot.

By the end of the day I was convinced that I could teach Britta to be a sniper. It was unlikely that she could be as good as me within months. I had years of battlefield experience from North Africa to Germany. I had survived many encounters with enemy snipers.

But, maybe, if we had decades of fighting Valhalla’s enemies? Who knows who would be the best sniper then?

That night Britta and I felt the point at which I would die if I continued riding her. I let her flip me over and relaxed as she rode me.

For the next few weeks my training continued. No swordsman killed me but a couple of duels ended in mutual exhaustion. I died when I first faced an axeman. That death was far more painful than my natural death as his axe cut through my right arm and shoulder. I survived against axes when I used a sword instead of an axe. I was no more than competent with a musket and a crossbow and useless with a bow. Archery needs a different kind of skill that takes years to learn.

Britta was becoming a passable sniper and after the first week I could fuck her as long as we wanted with no sign of imminent death for me.

Then Kara came. She wanted both of us to defend the lower end of Bifrost Bridge when the Valkyries returned with some new recruits. We would have an hour between the time the Valkyries left and their return.

I wasn’t sure that Britta was ready enough. She was still frightened of dying again even though she knew she would be revived.

I chose our sites carefully because there was very little cover. I dug two slit trenches which took almost the whole hour. Britta’s trench was slightly closer to the bridge and in better cover.

When we saw the Valkyries in the distance we entered the trenches and made ready. There were many more of the enemy riders. While some charged towards the Valkyries, a dozen of them rode towards Bifrost Bridge to cut off the access. We waited until there were no more than four hundred yards away.

“Now!” I hissed at Britta.

We opened fire. Britta’s first shots missed. I missed a couple because I was watching Britta as well as taking aim. We had stopped eight. The other four were milling around shooting wildly with their carbines. That was pointless when on horseback.

What I hadn’t thought was that this was a deliberate tactic. We were concentrating on those four and didn’t see the other six coming from our left, closest to me. I should have been checking but I was still watching Britta. The six were within fifty yards before I saw them. I swung my rifle and fired fast, emptying the magazine. As I reached for the next clip I could see one of the first four charging at Britta with a lance.

I drew my Colt 45 and stood in front of Britta’s trench. She was firing to her left.

I hit the lancer’s horse but too late. As the horse’s front legs collapsed the lancer stretched out. The lance went through my chest. Even as I felt it pierce me I fired the Colt again blasting the rider’s face. I sank to my knees, leaning forward with the lance propping me up.

I heard Britta and Kara shout “Eric!” as I died.

The next thing I knew I was in Britta’s bed. She was stroking my head. I was alive again.

“Why, Eric, why?” Britta was saying over and over.

I tried to smile. Britta kissed my forehead.

“He can’t answer yet,” I heard Kara’s voice say. “But you know the answer. He was defending his shield maiden. He loves you, Britta, and would give his life for you. He just did. That is what makes him really worthy of Valhalla, not just his killing skills.”

“But if he loves me, why does he want to fuck you, Kara?”

“He doesn’t. Not any more. He wants Britta, not Kara. That’s true, isn’t it Eric?”

I nodded. I still couldn’t speak.

“I asked Thor about fucking Valkyries,” Kara continued. “Only demi-gods can, and survive. Eric would die, permanently. That’s a shame. It was a nice idea but you need him more than I do, Britta. He’s yours. I told you that you deserve him. Now he deserves you. Look after him. We all need heroes in Valhalla, male and female. You are both worthy. Thank you.”

Kara was gone. Britta was hugging me as if she could hug me all her life.

She can. I can hug her too. And now we can make love all night, fight all day, drink all evening, and make love again.

Valhalla is our heaven – until Gotterdammerung.