Divine Awakening

Ash blinked as he regained his bearings after awakening his Third Eye. The experience left him speechless. The psychic weight of the ocean-drop in his Third Eye—impossibly large—granted a new solidity to his perceptions.

Nomad had a lean, athletic build, with eyes a striking shade of hazel. His perceptive gaze gave Ash a sense of intelligence. Nomad’s military approved short hair had hints of grey at the temples, and while he looked relaxed Ash sensed the coiled violence under the surface. Nomad was an apex predator with far more training than the normal people Ash met.

“Sorry about the ambush,” Nomad said with a smile, “the captain said I could wait for you here. You meditated the whole flight,” he glanced at his watch, “almost twenty-one hours now. I’ve never made it past four hours myself. The older I get, the smaller my bladder gets.”

The mention of a bladder brought Ash’s attention away from his Third Eye chakra and back to his body. His eyes widened.

Nomad laughed and pointed at a pair of curtains near the rear ramp.

A couple of minutes later, Ash once again sat across from Nomad, feeling much better.

“Hey, Nomad. I’m Ash.”

Nomad kept a friendly smile. “From now on, you’re Shamrock.”

“Right,” Ash said. He glanced at the open tail of the plane.

“We’re at a small base in Turkey. You landed five hours ago. The captain wanted to wake you, but I convinced her to wait. I do some meditation myself and didn’t want to risk your enlightenment because of an impatient officer.”

“Thanks. That was very considerate.” Ash realized Nomad had spoken to him in Spanish this entire time. “That accent. Panama?”

“Close, Colombia. I don’t use my Spanish enough, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to practice.”

Ash didn’t know much about Green Berets, but he knew they assimilated themselves with the locals when deployed.

“Your Spanish is excellent. Is that where you learned to meditate?”

“Thanks, and no. That came after. Some things are hard to shake, and meditation keeps me off the meds. What type do you practice? Mindfulness? I didn’t hear any chanting.”

Ash paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. Truthfully, what he practiced was a little bit of everything, because everything stemmed from the knowledge passed down to the ancient tribe of his ancestors. Mindfulness, Zen, Transcendental, Chakra, Mantra, Stoic, and movement-based meditation—like Tai Chi—all those meditations stemmed from what his family just called the Path.

“I dabble in a bit of everything, to be honest,” Ash said. “But most of my focus involves chakras.”

“Chakras always seemed a bit too New Age for me. I’ve reevaluated a lot of things these last few weeks, though. Full disclosure, I’ve seen portions of your file. Mostly your training and combat. I’m the only one on the team that has.”

“Big Brother is always watching. I just didn’t realize how close.”

Nomad nodded. “It’s hard to make out from pictures, and impossible from the satellite feeds, but I don’t recognize your fighting style.”

“I don’t think it’s very common. My ancestors come from a small tribe in the Peruvian mountains. They were like ninja-priests, and they acted as judges. So, I guess you could say it’s a homegrown style.”

“Ninja-priests? That sounds awesome. Well, it’s very effective, whatever it is. The captain said you were unbeatable in a fight, but the last time I saw someone that black and blue, they’d taken a C4 pressure wave head on and burst most of their capillaries. They didn’t make it.”

Ash glanced at his arms and the bruises that had started to fade into green and yellow. He used terms Nomad would understand.

“My Sifu provided some advanced training along with a huge dose of humility.” Ash changed the subject. “You’re in charge of the military group, right?”

“Yeah, which is why I wanted to spend time with you before we meet everyone else. We have a challenging group composition, and our orders couldn’t be more dangerous.”

“The captain mentioned you’ve been here practicing for a bit.”

“Yup, you’re the caboose. Do you have any leadership experience?”

Ash shook his head. “If you have any advice, I’d really appreciate it.”

Nomad visibly relaxed. “I’ve met a lot of people, and my favorite quality is a willingness to learn. To be honest, based on the previous missions to the Pit, I worried my orders were suicidal. When I saw the group’s composition, I knew they were.”

Nomad leaned back on his hands. “I wondered, after all I’ve done, everything I’ve sacrificed, why were they throwing my life away. For the first time, I even considered disobeying my orders or retiring.”

Ash remained silent as Nomad opened up. Ash’s Throat chakra confirmed the man’s sincerity and honesty.

“I’m an old dog, though, and habits die hard. So, I showed up. When they showed me your file, Shamrock, it was the first time since receiving my orders that a glimmer of hope appeared.”

Nomad paused before locking his gaze with Ash. “Can I be blunt?”

“Of course.”

“The more I thought about you—your age, your battle with the cartel, the body count you’d racked up, your fighting ability, and, of course, your unnatural luck—the clearer the picture formed in my mind. You weren’t a spark of hope, but a psychopathic madman who would either kill us all or abandon us to fend for ourselves. To be clear, there’s a need for solo operators like that, but our mission needed something else.”

“What’s that?” Ash asked.

“We need a leader,” Nomad said simply. “But the wrong type of leader is worse than no leader at all. Officers that don’t listen or believe they know better despite any evidence to the contrary put everyone in danger. Have you heard of the term ‘fragging’?”

Ash shook his head.

“It’s a very dark practice where leaders are killed by their own men. I’m telling you this to underscore the importance of leadership and what men do when they believe their lives are unnecessarily put at risk.”

Ash’s Root and Third Eye chakras remained calm, so he knew Nomad wasn’t threatening him or intending harm.

“The situation we’re about to enter has a one hundred percent fatality rate,” Nomad said. “I know our survival depends on your skills, but that information is highly classified and can’t be shared with the group. The Civies are a complete unknown, but my team is trained to follow orders, which will keep you safe longer. Now, you might be wondering, how does all this relate to your simple request for leadership advice?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m wearing a flak jacket to bed.”

Nomad laughed, a deep, comforting sound. “I’ve picked up a lot of skills over the years, most necessary for my job, but none more important than reading people. My life routinely depends on it.” He fixed Ash with a steady gaze. “I’ve never met a psychopathic madman who meditated, so I’ve already crossed that off the list. What I didn’t know was the type of leader you’d be. No offense, but the typical guy your age thinks they know everything.”

Ash smiled ruefully. “It’s good that we met today and not a month ago because I was uncomfortably close to that guy.”

“Lucky us,” Nomad said with a smile. “The fact you immediately asked for advice when confronted with a shortcoming tells me a vast amount about the type of person you are and the leader you’ll become. You’ve rekindled that spark of hope, Shamrock. Maybe I’ll even survive to see my girlfriend again.”

“I hope everyone else comes to the same conclusion, so I don’t have to sleep with my eyes open.”

“Lucky for you, Shamrock, this isn’t my first rodeo. On the off chance you weren’t a psychopath, I built something I like to call the Circle of Trust. I’m very proud of it, actually, and it’s turned into my favorite activity.” Nomad glanced at his watch. “Let’s swing by the mess hall first.”

Ash’s Root chakra kept hunger pains away, but his stomach still complained.

“That sound’s great,” Ash said.

Nomad stood and strode for the open rear ramp.

Ash grabbed his pack and followed. His newly awakened Third Eye noticed far more detail than usual, and his senses were momentarily overwhelmed by all the sensory input.

Ash squinted against the brilliant sunlight as he exited the plane, the light a harsh contrast to the dim interior of the aircraft. The scent of jet fuel lingered in the air, mingling with the smell of hot tar from the patched runway. Heat radiated off the tarmac in shimmering waves, and the sun’s intense rays warmed his skin through his t-shirt.

A dry wind carried the distant hum of other aircraft, along with the faint sound of voices and the occasional clatter of equipment. Ash took a deep breath, the air warm and dry in his lungs, a massive departure from the humid air he’d grown up with.

A blend of hangars and concrete buildings surrounded the airfield, with patches of sparse vegetation trying to survive in the tough climate. Military personnel moved purposefully around camouflaged vehicles in neat lines.

Ash noticed a group of airmen nearby, their laughter and banter carrying over the background noise. The camaraderie was evident, a stark difference from the life he’d left behind.

Ash refocused his thoughts. He wasn’t here to make friends, but to pay a debt his family had carried for thousands of years. Hopefully the softly glowing Notification at the bottom of his vision would help him do that. They still hadn’t reached the mess hall, so he took the opportunity to open the minimized Notification.