by Sating, Paul
In a scramble of arms and legs and dulled brains, we ran. In our collective buzz of urgency, we broke our single column formation. Too scared or exhausted, no one seemed to register the screaming voice of Sergeant Kelem—a name I would never forget—chastising us from behind for being, and I quote, "absolute fucking morons."
My nightmare was just beginning.
5 - Underworld - Seventh Circle
I didn't know what time it was. The narrow windows pinched at the corner where the ceiling met the wall revealed darkness outside. The floor was cold on my feet, even through my socks, and its chill raked my skin as I jumped out of bed. My brain was slow to recognize the strange surroundings and just why in the heaven someone was creating a raucous clanging philharmonic. The yelling only made it all the more painful of a wake-up.
The demon next to me fell out of his bunk onto the cold tile. I rubbed my eyes clear. What nightmare was this?
Boot camp. Oh, my Lucifer. I was in boot camp.
As the cacophony rose, starting the first day of what would surely be a living nightmare, my fellow recruits looked as disoriented as me. Heads swiveled the length of the room, bunk neighbors looked at each other dumbly. The brave stood and fumbled with their bunks, trying to look busy. Then the air changed as three instructors strode into the bay and down the aisle between the rows of bunks, awake and raising heaven.
Sergeant Kelem led the way, his boot taps clicking on the tile. He occasionally reached down to shake a bunk and scream at a slow-moving recruit. Behind him, his two cohorts revealed themselves as those who woke us. One smashed together a pair of steel garbage can lids, and the other beat on the bottom of the can with a thick black flashlight.
"Get the heaven out of your bunks," Sergeant Kelem screamed, his face distorted. Who could be this angry so early in the morning?
Recruits were on their feet now, unsteady and looking unsure about what they were supposed to be doing. I was no better. I just stood still by my bunk and watched the hostile procession.
"Get dressed, scum," he howled. "I don't need to see your pasty asses and tighty whities!"
I jumped to the end of my bed and snagged the shirt and pants I'd draped there, donning them. Some incubus went to the front of their bunks, some to their lockers, and others were already dressed and hastily making their beds.
The entire time, Sergeant Kelem and his garbage can posse stalked up the aisle, giving us no clue whether he was pleased or not. His sidekicks dropped their noisemakers in the middle of the aisle and watched us like hungry hellions. Kelem marched past his recruits, his hands clamped into fists, casting disapproving glares at everyone all at once.
Finished covering tidy whities with pants and slipping on their shirts, demons began making their beds. I hadn't thought that task would be so important, but I also noticed that none of the soldiers bothered the recruits who were working on theirs, so I figured it would keep me out of trouble to follow suit. I moved to the end of my bunk and tucked in my sheet, straightened my pillow, and pulled the wool blanket up, taking a second to make sure everything appeared orderly.
By the time I finished, most others already stood at the sides of their bunks at the edge of the aisle. Sergeant Kelem's two partners took positions at either end of the long bay and he stood in the middle, slowly turning in a circle. I took my position near the aisle at the side of my bunk, sweating from the turbulent first moments of my first day of boot camp and wondering how some of these incubi seemed to know what to do.
Sergeant Kelem looked back and forth at his two assistants, nodding. Then, in a coordinated attack, all three began tossing bunks. My mouth dropped open as I watched the two soldiers move from both ends of the bay toward the center, while Kelem raised Abel in the middle. They flipped mattresses, threw pillows, tossed sheets and green wool blankets, sometimes in the face of the demons who'd made them. Some recruits jumped out of the way as if the pillows would hurt, one yelped at the assault, but most stood their ground and waited. A couple recruits did the unwise thing and tried to stop the surgeons of destruction from ruining their hard work.
A demon grabbed the arm of the skinnier sergeant. Time flashed. The sergeant grabbed the recruit's arm, spinning the recruit and pinning his arm behind his back in a bolt of movement. Subdued, the demon was marched face-first toward his locker. I knew what was coming, but it was so aggressive, so fast, my dulled brain didn't want to believe it, even as the sergeant slammed the incubus against the metal.
Sergeant Kelem wore an angelic smile as he marched past the two columns of beds, panting. I stopped breathing when he neared me. "Who in the heaven gave you permission to make your beds? Huh?" He stopped in front of one recruit who hadn't done a thing and hadn't even moved from the end of his bed yet. The demon flinched as if he expected to be struck. Sergeant Kelem's head moved in a slow, methodical manner, up and down the recruit. His jaw jutted from underneath that wide-brimmed hat. "You're not worth my time, scum." Then he turned on all of us. "None of you are. You're all worthless and weak. And guess what the Army doesn't want in its soldiers?"
Ten demons down from me, a redheaded, freckle-faced demon raised his hand. I think there was a collective wince around the room. "Sir, permission to speak?"
Sergeant Kelem moved with the speed of an athlete, getting in the face of the brave redhead. "You're too stupid to speak. So shut your mouth." Moving away from freckle-face, Kelem screamed, "All of you are too stupid to having anything worth hearing. For the next few weeks of your life, the only thing you need to worry about is doing what I want you to do and doing it perfectly. Every detail, every effort, every corner of a fold, ever polished millimeter of your boots, and every blessed step you take. Your life is now ruled by me. As far as you're concerned, I'm your Lucifer now."
A collective gasp took the air out of the room at his blasphemy. I'm not a staunch fundamentalist by any stretch of the imagination, but his comment surprised even me. A sergeant in Lucifer's Army, I expected a little more reverence. But hey, I'm all about nonconformity, so our drill instructor just raised himself a few notches in my book—not that he would care, I'm sure.
"Now, since you all are too stupid to follow orders, and none of you can make a bunk worth a damn, Sergeant Panzer here will show you how to do it correctly. Gather your sorry asses around and pay attention. And if even one of you thinks about using your Abilities, to get yours done or to help another scum, forget it. Abilities are a thing of the past, until you leave Lucifer's Army."
No one was allowed to use Abilities? The Army had my attention now.
You wouldn't think it was possible to squeeze thirty demons around a single bunk. But with the proper motivation and level of fear, it was. What I also didn't think was possible was that there was so much detail and work involved in making a bed, or that it required nearly forty minutes to show us how to do it properly. First impression of the Army? Details mattered.
Toward the end of the lesson, my stomach reminded me it hadn't received any attention, growling loudly. Unfortunately for it, me, and anyone suffering the same predicament, Sergeant Kelem noticed.
"You can forget about eating, scum," he snapped, not even making eye contact. "You'll eat after you make your bed like a big boy."
No one was allowed to talk, so they couldn't advise me on why my corners were loose enough to ripple like sails in the wind. By the twenty-fifth time flipping over my mattress, I couldn't ignore their growing frustration at each failure. Whenever they thought the sergeants weren't looking they pointed and gesticulated, sometimes jabbing their fingers at critical points in the sheet I needed to pinch to get the proper fold. Trying to fix my corner, I took my hand off the fold and placed it against my stomach, releasing the sheet, sending it all crumbling apart.
I was sure my fellow recruits were seconds away from stuffing me inside my mattress.
Before they killed me, I finally got the fold—though I think Sergeant Kelem let it slip because they had other things they needed us to accomplish—and th
ey marched us out into the early morning.
Rare—never on purpose and often because I was sick or hungover—was it for me to be up and outside before the Hellfire rose. And it was miserable. Standing underneath an overhang, a stiff breeze taunted us, picking up speed and blowing through the space shared by our platoon and two others. Its consistent assault cut through my jeans and shirt. Sergeant Kelem monitored us, shouting at anyone he saw shivering.
We were waiting for access to the mess hall, and the anticipation of eating overrode my discomfort at the cold. Sergeant Kelem passed by me more often and, after a while, he hovered near. His eyes flickered toward Creed each time he neared, but he would only scowl.
Our platoon was called to enter the hall, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Cold and hungry, both would be satiated now.
At breakfast, we sat at large round tables, eight demons to each, and ate silently while Sergeant Kelem and his peers patrolled to ensure silence. It was the most awkward meal I was ever appreciative to have in my entire six-thousand-year life.
And it was enjoyable—even though it was barely better than my mother's cooking—until I gestured to the demon seated two chairs away from me. "Mind passing the salt?"
Apparently, that's not a good idea in boot camp. The recruit's eyes shot open as he looked beyond me. I turned to see four instructors moving in my direction. Trouble was coming, and I was its target. How had I not felt them behind me? Usually, my sensitivity would have picked up on their presence. Man, I was exhausted.
"Who in the heaven are you talking to, recruit?" a sergeant with a scar down his left cheek shouted.
"This one thinks he deserves salt!" a round-faced sergeant laughed as he unscrewed the saltshaker and dumped its entire contents over my breakfast. Demons tend to use a lot of salt for listless foods, but I only wanted a sprinkling to flavor my chimera eggs. Now, it was more like I was going to have eggs with my salt.
"Maybe he likes being the center of attention?" the sole female sergeant proposed with a smirk. My stomach no longer desired this concoction that passed as a meal.
"Then let's make him the center of attention," the scar-faced sergeant said.
They agreed, a little too excitedly I might add. The female sergeant slid behind me. "Sit forward, recruit," she ordered, and as soon as I complied, she kicked my chair out from underneath me. I fell to the floor as it clattered away, drawing hundreds of eyes from across the mess hall.
"On your feet, scum," the round-faced sergeant hovered over me, grabbing and twisting my shirt in his meaty fist and yanking me to my feet.
The female retrieved the chair and set it in an open pathway between tables, tapping the back of it. "Come on celebrity, let's take the stage."
I could not ignore the feeling that this situation was barreling toward Heaven in a handbasket.
Meaty-hands shoved me forward. I stumbled before regaining my balance, looking over my shoulder. "What am I supposed to do?" It wasn't until I asked that I realized I hadn't started my inquiry with the required stupid permission to speak.
Meaty-hands shook his shaved head. "This one will require a lot of work. Who's your drill instructor, scum?"
"Sergeant Kelem."
Meaty's eyes squinted. "Sir," he said through clenched teeth. "End every single one of your Lucifer-blessed sentences with 'sir.' Understand?"
I didn't have the heart—you may call it courage—to tell him that those instructions had already been given but also forgotten.
From behind, the female sergeant slapped the back of the plastic chair. She must have been wearing a ring because it was a sharp whack. She spoke in a low growl. "Get your sorry ass up on this chair now."
I did, rising above the seated crowd of fellow recruits. Scanning and not finding the friendly faces of Bilba or Ralrek, I looked over everyone's heads, trying to focus on the serving line on the far wall of the mess hall, where the employees were busy with the constant traffic of hungry recruits. Focusing on them helped the hundreds of faces watching me blend into obscurity.
"Attention. Attention," the female sergeant shouted with mock levity. "Recruits, put down your utensils. Stop eating. One of you believes he is so important he deserves to take mealtime away from you. Since that is the case, we're going to give him his due. None of you will be allowed to eat until this recruit is done getting your attention, so if you end up missing out on the rest of your meal period, you have him to thank for it."
I swallowed as pairs of eyes flared, lips were pulled back in scowls, and fists were clenched.
"Since this demon is in such need of attention, we're going to give it to him, because Lucifer's mantra is all about 'one team, one fight,'" she continued mocking. She pointed at a side wall where a vertical forest green banner hung. "You see that, recruit? That's the Army's Oath of Excellence. You're going to recite it for everyone."
"Yes sir," I answered through my constricted throat.
Her growl promised pain. "Oh, so I'm a sir, am I? All right then, wise ass. Not only are you going to recite the Oath, but you're going to do it to your favorite song. Would you all like that?" she asked the captive audience.
The cooling food on their plates taunted them as viciously as the drill instructors carrying out this farce. How many enemies had I made now?
"I asked if you would like that," the female shouted.
"Yes, ma'am!" the hall erupted with roars filled with vigor.
She turned to me, crossing her arms. "Your audience awaits, wise ass. Start singing. And don't skip any lines. All Army personnel know the Oath by heart, so you'll pay if you try to play us for stupid."
"Ma'am, permission to speak?" See? I am teachable.
Her eyes squinted. "Permission granted. But make it quick."
"To what tune should I sing? I don't know the melody." Regardless, even if I did, it would be a horrendous experience for everyone. A singer, I am not.
Her hands dropped to her side, and she leaned to look around me to her meaty-handed peer. "Can you believe this one?"
"Kelem has his hands full," meaty-hands laughed. "They'll probably put him in for promotion after this one cycles through."
"If this one does," she replied with her own laugh at my expense. "What's your favorite song, wise ass?"
It was such an odd question in the middle of the mess hall on my first morning of boot camp that I couldn't think of a single blessed song. The heat of pressure scrambled my brain further as a dozen sergeants and hundreds of recruits waited. I searched through my mental library, all songs blending into one another. Just when I was about to ask the sergeant for a recommendation, one finally came. The title fell out of my mouth before I analyzed its appropriateness.
"I guess it would be 'Save a Chimera, Ride a Hellboy'," I finally answered.
"Oh, good," she said, throwing her hands up and slowly spinning for the entire mess hall. "Not only is he a wise ass, but he's got horrible taste in music. I can't wait to hear this, wise ass. Start singing."
So I did. My voice was creaky and shook, but I was doing what they wanted. Maybe, just maybe, they would leave me alone after this, and my fellow recruits wouldn't have the chance to burn the image of my face in their minds.
"Across the seas, And on the shores," I started. Meaty-hands interrupted me by kicking the chair. I wobbled but didn't fall. That only seemed to piss him off more.
"Louder. Like a man, scum," he snarled.
I cleared my throat and began again, louder.
"Across the seas,
And on the shores,
We fight and win, fight and win.
In the trenches,
We struggle on,
Never defeated, we fight and win.
For one, for all,
All as one,
We fight and win, fight and win.
Near and far,
Through dark and cold,
We fight and win, fight and win.
All for one, one for all,
By our brothers, we never fall,
/> Fight and win, we fight and win.
The old me is dead,
I am a soldier now,
To fight and win, to kill again.
For His name,
I will give my all,
To fight and win, to fight and win.
Until I fall,
Excellence in all,
I'll die to fight and win."
My chest thumped from my speeding heart.
A single hand clap sounded from somewhere toward the back of the mess hall. Bilba? The female sergeant spun. "Don't you dare clap for him! None of you. Why in Heaven would you clap for someone who just cost you ten minutes of your breakfast?"
Too many faces twisted at the realization the sergeant was serious.
A bell rang from the top corner of the mess hall.
"In fact," the female sergeant shouted over the ringing, pointing to the bell, "that is your signal. Mealtime is over. Pick up your trays and take them to the cleaning reservoir. You're done. Don't any of you think about grabbing a nibble of food remaining on your plate. I want you to remember that face." She pointed at me. "When you're hungry until your next mealtime. Let this be a lesson. None of you is more important than the other. Don't forget that, because this is what happens when you think you are. Your brothers suffer. Now, move!"
Incubi jumped from their chairs, grabbing their trays and drinks and forming a line at the reservoir. It moved with an efficiency of a long–perfected system; the only thing that slowed progress was us bumbling through it as we scraped food from plates, rinsed glasses, and deposited them in bins.
I was nearly the last in line because of the time it took to get off the chair and move it back to my original seat.
The last to join the line came from the other side of the mess hall. I felt their hateful eyes on me as they made their way closer. When they finally joined us, the demon behind me pressed his tray against my lower back, pushing in. I shuffled forward a few inches. Then the tray was there again, with greater pressure. I shuffled forward a few more inches, and it came back. A clear signal.
