//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: La Montagne Québécoise 
// by SilverArrow21 
//------------------------------//

Chapter 1:

I sat back in my swivel chair, and regarded the email that I had just written. It was relatively short, that is, compared to other military messages I had sent out in the past, but I thought it sent a clear message. Raising a hand and running my fingers through my dark coloured hair, I considered for a moment what kind of reaction I might get out of it; both from my commanding officer, and my father; but in the end, decided that it had to be done. Rubbing my eyes and leaning forward close to the screen of my computer, I read the email.

To: Lieutenant Jameson of The Queen’s Own Rifles of Canada;     Nov. 16

Lieutenant, this is Sargent Mahoney writing to inform you that, despite the disapproval of my father, I will be joining you in Toronto in 15 days’ time for your new winter operations  in the central Africa. I urge you to accept this as my final decision, as participating in your campaigns is my ultimate desire. Please ignore any future objections from my father, or any other outside entity. This is my choice, and I do not wish to be dissuaded from it.
Yours to serve: Sargent Darius Mahoney

Satisfied with its composition, I pressed ‘send’, and waited for the computer to tell me that it had indeed, been sent. I then closed the computer down and stood up stiffly, stretching. Though it had been short, I had been a long time in writing that particular message, and so I reached both my arms up into the air and leaned back to pull on my stomach muscles, loosening them out from the lengthy spell of sitting. Turning to look out the window of my small office, I saw that outside it had become quite dark, and the snow was falling softly across the beam of light from an outside lamp. It was then the thought suddenly reached me that this was the last day I would be staying at that small home, before I would be shipped off to war… 

I can still remember the day I told my father that I had joined the army. He had been furious when he heard - having had his plan for my life all worked out - but then, had relaxed a little at the thought that I would soon realize the true nature of my decision, and back out. Then, just a few phone calls, and a brief description of exactly who he was and Bam!, Into the world of politics for me. But that report in had changed everything. 'Well,' I thought 'he has no right to control my decisions'. I mean I was nineteen years old for Christ sake! So what if I didn’t want to be a stupid politician like he was? I just didn’t understand why I should have to be just like him. Sure, there is power, and a fancy title, but there’s also more to life than sitting around all day trying to figure out what to do with this goddam country.

Sighing, I pushed the door of the office open and made my way upstairs. Coming to the top of a short staircase, I walked to the end of a short hallway that lay perpendicular to it. I then pushed open the door to my room and stepped inside, glancing around, the weight of my predicament still hanging heavily over me. I knew that I would need to get some rest if I were going to make it to the airstrip on time for tomorrow. It would be a long flight to where I was going; a quiet mountain, which sat 25 km north of the Baskatong Reservoir, in Québec province. I had spent almost a month preparing for this trip, and had been fortunate enough to find an unusually tall hill, which I called a mountain, that was far too perfect a site to pass up, well away from any kind of town. Upon arrival, I would go on a half-a-day hike through thick forest, away from the few country roads, to the mountain, and spend the duration of my leave minus a day for travelling to Toronto, enjoying its spectacular wilderness.

Glancing absently into a corner of the room, I saw my two bags propped up against the wall, all packed and ready for transit. Remembering that all the equipment inside needed to be checked before I left, I walked over to the large backpack and satchel.  Sitting down, I went through my clipboard checklist once again, checking off each item that I found in pencil. “… Aluminum pots … compass … tent … fire starter … snares … cartridges…” I stopped there, the words suddenly caught in my throat, with my pencil hovering just above the paper, for I had reached the wicked-looking survival rifle that was strapped carefully to the side of my bag. I stared at it with distaste. It just seemed so offbeat from what I was so used to; from what weapons were supposed to be. The two separate caliber barrels, and the para-cord wrapped tightly around the stock, the commando knife hidden carefully against the flat piece of metal over the trigger. It didn’t seem right, especially when it was in my hands.

This was odd though, for I had never had a problem with these types of things before. During our training, we had been exposed to various types of arms, of all calibers and makes, but for some reason this was quite different. Maybe it was because it was given to me by my father.

I shook my head and finished going through the checklist. If I were going to be any kind of soldier, I would need to learn to get over my own personal feelings. Oh yes, that reminded me, of one other very important piece of equipment…

After returning from a short trip downstairs, I finished re-packing everything into the bags and walked across the cold wooden floor to my bed. Climbing in, and trying to get comfortable for the long day that was before me, I felt something flat and rectangular that was lying on the mattress gab into my back. I sat up and reached around to try and get it out of the way, and found it to be a laminated photo of myself, from basic training a few months back. I was standing outside our facility, with a couple of my comrades. We were all laughing and smiling, the bright sun was making my dark brown hair and pale skin look even lighter, and several of the men had their teeth shining from the brightness. I could certainly see the difference training had made; yes, what was once a meager, determined boy was now a built and hardened man, ready to take on whatever was thrown at him. Even a war. 

I reached over and placed the photo on a bedside table, trying to prop it up against a desk lamp so that I would see it in the morning. Then, lying back again, I closed my eyes and waited for precious sleep to come. Shortly afterwards, I began to drift off, and images of my glorious mountain, with its forested slopes and many interesting ventures I had prepared, moving in and out of my thought stream; although it also conflicted with fearful images of my father and his ire against my decision.  But there was something else too.

Breaking these images, as though trying to force its way into my thoughts, was a strange cartooned town, with the sun shining down and an odd-looking populous moving about its streets. I seemed to be up in the air somewhere, so I could see hills and fields stretching out away from me for miles around. And just off in the distance, I could see a castle, set in against the side of a mountain, overlooking all of the land, like a towering guardian for everyone who lived there. 
How strange…