William Dietz - Heaven's Devils

That provoked another round of clapping, as the entire battalion came in for some well-deserved recognition, and the Heaven’s Devils joined in.

Hobarth nodded soberly as the noise died down. “Last, but not least,” the officer said, as she extended her hand to accept a shot glass of Scotty Bolger’s whiskey. “I would like to propose a toast. This is for the fine men and women who gave their lives for the Confederacy and their fellow soldiers. We shall hold them in our hearts and minds until the time comes to join them. Then, as now, we’ll get drunk as hell! The next round is on me!”

The next couple of hours were a smoky, booze-drenched blur from which Raynor awoke to a buzzing sound, as a sharp object dragged across his arm. Then the worst of the pain went away as the bald man on the stool next to him swore and got up to take a fone call.

Raynor struggled to focus his eyes and get his bearings. He was surrounded by tiny drawings, no—tattoo designs. Thousands of them, laminated and tacked to the walls, corners blowing in the breeze created by a rusty fan.

Raynor had a vague memory of leaving Three Fingered Jack’s with the rest of the squad and staggering down the main drag. He remembered stopping to take a piss on a brick building. And he remembered stumbling past neon lights into a doorway with Tychus’s heavy arm slung around his shoulder.

“Ty-chus … Ty-chus … Ty-chus,” Raynor called out in a sing-songy voice. He heard a grunt originate from behind him. He followed the direction of the voice and saw that Tychus was laid out on a table, where a woman with bright blue hair was busy inking a new tat onto his sculpted abs. For his part the big man was puffing on a cigar while staring at the artist’s cleavage.

Raynor got up, stumbled over to the table, and squinted at the design. It was blurry at first, but when the image rolled into focus, Raynor found himself looking at a winged skeleton. It was partially concealed by a hooded robe, and armed with an old-fashioned rotary machine gun. There was a mushroom-shaped cloud in the background, and the name heaven’ sdevils was spelled out on the banner over the skeleton’s head. “I like that,” Raynor said thickly. “I like that a lot.”

“I sure hope so!” Ward yelled out, but Raynor didn’t understand why.

“Mine’s better,” Doc said as she looked back over a bare shoulder. “Check it out.” She was seated on a stool about ten feet away with a tattoo artist behind and to her left.

Raynor was proud of the way he was able to cross the intervening section of floor without falling down. The tattoo artist smiled and moved to one side so he could see. As Raynor examined her shoulder tattoo, he realized that it was exactly like the one Tychus was getting except that the machine gun had been supplanted by a huge syringe and needle!

“Whaddya think?” Cassidy asked. “Cool, huh?”

“Very,” Raynor replied airily. “It’s just like Tychus’s. Cute, very cute, you two.” He waggled a finger at Doc and turned back to face Tychus, at which point he delivered a wink and a smile. “Matching tattoos, huh?”

Raynor heard laughter from all around the shop, and wondered what he was missing.

The bald man came to collect him. “Come on,” he said. “We’re about halfway through yours.”

As the man led Raynor back to his table he realized that the Heaven’s Devils had taken over the establishment and all of them were getting tattoos!

“Sit down, champ,” the man said patiently. “And hold still.”

Raynor heard more snickering from all around him. He laughed too, not knowing why. “Yup, you got it.” He closed his eyes and took a nap.

The tattoos took time, as did the enormous breakfast that followed, so it was about 0500 before the Devils finally reentered the base and made their way back to the barracks. And that was where First Lieutenant Samantha Sanchez was waiting for them.

The officer had black hair worn in a buzz cut, a face that might have been pretty with a little bit of makeup, and a blocky body that was all muscle and no fat. Unlike Quigby, Sanchez wasn’t insecure, didn’t need to run her mouth, and, judging from her hands-on-hips stance, wasn’t going to take crap from anybody. Not even Tychus, whom she chose to address first.

“Are you in charge of the first squad? I thought so… . My name is Sanchez. I want your people out front and ready to run the perimeter of the base at 0530. No excuses, no exceptions, and no bullshit. Do you scan me, Sergeant?”

Tychus had served under all sorts of officers during his years in the military and knew the real deal when he saw it. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Five by five.”

“Good,” Sanchez replied, as if she would have been surprised by any other response. “Maybe you’ve heard of a city called Polk’s Pride… . It seems that the KMs have a strategic resources repository there. And we’re going to be part of the effort to capture it. If we succeed it will shorten the war. Questions?”

Kydd raised a hand. “Didn’t the first attack fail?”

Sanchez nodded. “That’s right… . And the second attack failed too. So we’ll have our work cut out for us. Any more questions? No? Well, get your shit together. Because you’ll be up to your asses in Kel-Morians a few days from now and I expect this platoon to do its part. That is all.” Sanchez did an about-face and left.

Harnack watched her go. “So what was that about?”

Raynor was tired, sore, and sickeningly hung over. It took considerable effort to produce a smile. “That was her way of saying, ‘howdy,’” Raynor replied weakly. “It was all stick and no carrot. Same way Tychus runs things.”

Harnack shrugged. “Works for me… . I don’t like vegetables.” He grinned in response to his own joke and slapped a wobbly Raynor on the arm as they headed for the barracks.

“Ow! Watch it.” Raynor’s arm seared with pain, and as he walked, he lifted his sleeve to see if any of the swelling had gone down. He peeled back the gauze bandage. No such luck. The skeleton was plump and fleshy, and the heaven’ sdevils banner was three-dimensional. As if it had come to life.

THE CITY OF POLK’S PRIDE, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II

Polk’s Pride had once been the second largest city on Turaxis II, with a population of four million people and a thriving economy. Back before the wars, it had been famous for hundreds of man-made canals that not only gave the metropolis its special flavor, but fed barge traffic onto the heavily traveled river that meandered through the downtown area. In fact, the Paddick flowed for more than a thousand miles before eventually emptying into the planet’s single ocean.

By now, all but a few hundred thousand of Polk’s Pride’s population had been forced out into the countryside, where dozens of refugee camps were set up to accommodate them, and the city was split in two. For the moment the area north of the Paddick River was in Kel-Morian hands—and the Confederacy controlled everything south of it. But that was subject to change as the battle for the city seesawed back and forth.