Soldier of the Church

:

He knew there was no point in returning home. His father would beat him to death for running away. But he didn't run away aimlessly. He knew where he would go and what he would do in the future. He wanted to serve God and his nation. He wanted to become a hero, so that one day, many years later, his father could say, or rather, force himself to say, "I'm proud of you, son." He walked steadily, never breaking stride. In his mind, he was becoming like those many heroes in movies who fought. The evening was drawing to a close. He knew exactly the schedule of Masses and the times he could meet the priest at home. He boldly stepped on the cobblestones, which were making loud protests against his polished combat boots. He already felt like a hero, imagining himself receiving medals, beginning his promotions, and returning home after four years of service. His mother would stand in the doorway with tears in her eyes, his brothers would watch with envy, and his father would greet him with open arms. With these thoughts in mind, he stood before the stately rectory. Father Ireneusz's villa had always inspired admiration in him. Father Ireneusz had also served, in the rear units, but always. He was an idol and a role model for him. He boldly stepped through the gate, throwing it wide open. The door where his bright future awaited him was still fifty meters away. Without hesitation or looking back, he stepped even more firmly along the perfectly paved concrete driveway. He stopped before the door. He took a deep breath and rang the bell. A resounding volley of fire rang out from four M-16s firing a three-round burst. A moment later, the door opened. Standing there was none other than Senior Major Ireneusz Kwasiak.

"Good morning, Senior Major Ireneusz Kwasiak, I've come here to sign up for altar boy service," he shouted breathlessly, standing to attention and placing two fingers to his forehead. As he finished this sentence, he realized his mistake, his ears burning, but he maintained what he considered a formal posture.

The priest merely glanced around; the sun had long since set, and now his golden shield was halfway below the horizon. He smiled to himself. He returned the salute. "

I'm glad, soldier, that you've agreed to sign up for this glorious service." He gestured toward the house. "Come inside, Cadet Malczewski."

Arek Malczewski boldly entered the bright hall, decorated with frescoes depicting events from the Holy Bible.

"Please sit there, I'll bring you the necessary papers

." "Thank you, Major." Arek settled comfortably on the sofa, above which was an image of Moses descending from the mountain, at which very moment he had smashed the tablets at the sight of the chosen people's betrayal.

He remembered his actual purpose in coming here and assumed a more soldierly pose, straightening his back and "heel to heel," as the old organist used to say when teaching singing, though he never explained the importance of foot placement for proper vocal timbre. As Arek studied the opposite wall with its history of the Annunciation, a priest silently entered, carrying a briefcase.

"Arek, I've known you since I was transferred here, why did you decide to run away and sign up for service? I hope it wasn't an impulsive decision." He sat down opposite the guest, spreading out his papers.

"Father, my decision is conditioned by the fact that this small town doesn't give me the opportunity to develop. I'm not shown respect at home. And besides, school bores me." The Reverend glanced sideways at the future apprentice. Arek quickly regained his composure. "Besides, I want to achieve something, and I believe the army offers me that opportunity."

"Well, that's better." Sign in the designated areas. Tell me which formation you'd like to belong to.

"The Bright Arrows Campaign

—the Bright Arrows, you know they're an elite unit. I repeat, ELITE. Are you sure you'll be able to master the art of riding with their armored fists. Endure all the hardships of training? You're a small man; you weren't supposed to be eighteen. I'm worried about you." The Reverend looked at the gray paper, put it in his briefcase, and, looking a little paler, pulled it out and placed it in front of Arek. "Full of enthusiasm, with a light movement of his hand, he signed the document without even reading it. As soon as the young man signed, Father Ireneusz immediately took it away from him.

"I'm a fast learner, Father.

" "I have no doubt." He stamped it and folded the paper, putting it in his jacket pocket. "Have you had a medical examination at school recently?"

"Yes, Major."

"That's good, the military doctor won't have to see you." You'll be taken to your unit immediately. They should be here for you in a while.

"So soon?

" "Yes, we care about the soldiers, and I hope..." His cell phone's ringing interrupted him. "Excuse me for a moment." He left through the door above which a crucifix hung. It led to the sacristy.

During his absence, Arek watched the rest of what seemed to him like a graphic history of the Old Testament. His observation of the great flood wave, with Noah's boat floating on it, was interrupted again by the priest's entrance.

"Forgive me, boy, but I have a call for the last sacrament. I'll leave you alone. They should be here shortly and take you to the base in Cukinowo. You have your assignment here; they'll tell you what to do."

He dressed hurriedly and ran out of the house, sprinting to the garage, where, with the tires screeching, he drove out of his black Hammer, out the gates of his property.

Arek was never meant to be in the elite unit of the Light Arrows, which many called "the murderous den." Father Ireneusz sent him to the so-called BPP, the Poor Fucking Infantry. More specifically, to the 3rd Army, 2nd Regiment, 3rd Mechanized Infantry Battalion. The training wasn't the toughest, with daily marches of 25 kilometers. Poor food, sadistic superiors. Learning to use basic weapons, practicing landings from land, air, and sea. The idyllic life of a cadet ended when he finally arrived at his unit, where his father was the commander, his mother the captain, and the soldiers were brothers. One big, loving, and disciplined family.

"Why didn't I go to officer training school? I could have become a priest and wouldn't have to play here," Mirek always complained. He met Arek at the beginning of his training, when the officer was teaching him how to assemble and disassemble a weapon, and he held a rifle in his hand for the first time. When he refused to disassemble it, Arek had a similar problem. The officer scolded them and sent them to the kitchen, where they were given the honorary task of peeling potatoes for the officers' mess. Miluś pulled a bag of powder from his uniform. He sprinkled it on the peeled potatoes. The cadets had two days off. All the officers suddenly came down with diarrhea. An investigation was launched, but nothing was found.

"You're right, but not many can handle the pressure."

"You're right, later I'd be in the special forces and promoted to exorcist.

" "A dreamer, after all...

" "Awesome!"

A shout echoed throughout the parade ground. Everyone gathered there, grouped into squads, stood up straight as one.

"Soldiers, I'm General Mikołaj Karlszewski." You are gathered here because, as you know, you have completed your training and will be sent to all fronts of our war. Some of you will go to fight the Muslims, others will fight the Buddhists. Many will stay to fight the Satanists, the worst scum this land has ever seen. You are young and you are soldiers, and I do not promise you that you will all return home in one piece. But I do promise you that you will be buried here, in consecrated ground. I do not guarantee a permanent supply. But know this: God and country will not forget you. Your souls will be honored in heaven when you prove your worth through your courage. Do not forget your "last bullet" sewn into the cuff of each uniform. Now you are divided—the General accepted the note handed to him by the Jesuit.—The 1st Army of the "Precious Blood" is being sent to fight the Islamists in present-day Jordan. The 2nd Army of the Holy Cross is being sent to fight the Orthodox in the east. The 3rd Army of the Holy Trinity will fight in the Subcarpathian region, where Satanists have established a foothold from underground. They will soon be able to defend themselves; the 5th Corps of the "Shroud of Turin" from liberated Ukraine is already heading there today.

In conclusion, I'll tell you that the Polish Army is one of the best in the world. The Vatican has often sent our soldiers as a last resort. Our fathers often saved Europe from being overrun by infidels. Let's be pure and fight so that our ancestors can be proud of us. Relax. Disband.

- Great. I love the mountains, and we're going to the Podkarpackie region. But life isn't as bad as it might seem.

- Mirek, were you even listening? We're going after Satanists. Think clearly, why do you think we had to ask for support from Free Ukraine? This won't be an ordinary ride to pacify a few villages that collaborated. Something stinks here, and I think..."

- Private Malczewski and Gwid. What are you still standing here for? Are you all gathered for gossip? Get in your backpacks, we're taking all our equipment with us, we have a briefing in barracks A12 in fifteen minutes. Moving slowly.

Like partridges startled by a gunshot, the two young men ran to their bunks to pack everything they still needed in record time. Their backpacks, stuffed to the brim, were almost unbearable for the average person, but anyone could get used to it, especially after running 5km with one while holding a mortar board. Both arrived at the assembly point on time. They took the last two available seats, placed their backpacks in front of them, and waited. In the meantime, they received maps of the apparently mountainous and forested terrain, printed with the letters A to F. First came the broad-shouldered corporal, followed by the Major.

"Don't get up," he ordered upon entering. There was a funny story about him. When he was born, his then-drunk father decided to give him the same name as his surname: Major. He joined the army, where he was quickly promoted to... Major.

"Tomorrow night, an operation begins, consisting of an airborne assault into enemy-held territory, codenamed "Babylon." Your battalion is tasked with clearing the area before the arrival of the main Allied forces. You will be airborne. As you yourselves know, this is mountainous and densely forested terrain, inaccessible to motor vehicles, with no paved roads. The weather is forecast to be temperate, and the moon will be new. Our intelligence reports that the enemy forces number about a squadron, with groups of six or seven men each. They are armed with AK-47 rifles and several NH-75 handheld RPG launchers. No armored vehicles. You will fly there in a CH-47 assault helicopter, escorted by two AH-1s, to point B. You will be dropped off at point C, where you will receive further orders from your sergeants." You have no cover, you're on your own until the next day, when the main strike force of the Free Ukraine 5th Corps of the "Shroud of Turin" is scheduled to arrive between January 18th and 20th. This is good infantry, accustomed and trained to fight in difficult terrain. Your main tasks: Reach point C, advance to points D, E, and F, where you are to neutralize any points of resistance. Wait for the 5th Corps, and with them attack the main objective, the city of Przemyśl. Are there any questions? – One hand raised – I'm listening.

– Where will the remaining battalions be?

– They will be deployed to the cities of Jarosław, Lubaczów, and Brzozów. Is that all? Good, now you return to the parade ground, where our CH-47s will take you to the starting point of Operation Babylon.

They left quickly and organizedly, first the last benches, then the second-to-last ones, and so on. The parade ground was empty of unnecessary people. Four CH-47 personnel carriers were already on the apron. The soldiers were divided into small squads, each taking their turn to be transported to the base near Kielce. As they belonged to one of the best armies, their transport didn't take long.

The Nowe Jeruzalem base south of Kielce.

The plan was known, the equipment was ready, the excess weight had been taken from the backpack, the canteens were packed, and food for a rainy day was preserved. It promised to be a cloudless and clear late spring night. Time until Operation Babylon began, twenty minutes. The engines in the personnel carriers were warmed up, the soldiers were grouped in ten-man squads.

Emotions were literally visible on the faces of the 21st-century Sarmatians.

"Arek, I'm nervous, I feel strange. " "

Mirek, I'll tell you something in great confidence... this is also my first operation!" "

Silence there, no talking before or during the transport. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the nine throats of Squad C replied in unison. They remained in inner silence, buried in their minds, reenacting their battles between the cadet who had recently left the barracks and the old veteran they had always wanted to be.

"Ten minutes until the flight begins. Time for prayer," Sergeant Wronek announced in a laconic voice. The young officer, like all the others, was frightened and ready for an uncertain future. He had endured too many humiliations in officer training school, shed too much sweat, would spend too much time hesitating now. Yes, ready.

"To prayer," came the order. When Squad C began its first words, the other squads had already sung their first verses.

Our Lord, our God, accept our honor, courage, and hope. In you we entrust ourselves, we trust in you, we commit our lives to you. Lead and protect us to your glory. O Mary, our Mother, accept us as your children.

"To the transporters." Another order that was the beginning of the end of their imagination. They marched, proud and confident. They strived for victory, dying for their faith, that's what they were taught. Let heaven's will be done.

Rzeszów area, 1:22 a.m. APC

- "Boys, from now on you are alone, hold on.

" And so, the point on the map marked "B" was reached, two ACH-1s completed their escort. The clear sky showed three large machines heading towards Przemyśl.

Przemyśl Foothills Landscape Park. 10 km from Kniażyce. 2:12 a.m.

A red light came on. The soldiers' faces were shrouded in a red glow. This time without emotion, this time ruled by adrenaline and testosterone.

"We will soon reach point "C." Prepare for landing. Check radios.

" "One is ready."

The soldiers indicated with a thumbs up or down whether they had heard or not. All ten microphones were operational.

So far, the equipment hasn't failed. The young officer, however, sensed something must be wrong. Or maybe he was imagining it, perhaps he'd been watching too many action movies, though he hadn't had much time to watch them.

A yellow light bulb flicked on, all three aircraft began to descend, and the rear flaps opened. The yellow glow faded. "Put on night vision goggles." The flap opened, revealing a vast expanse of forest in the greenish image. The treetops were closing in. The pilot began lowering the ropes attached to the flaps. He leveled off. As soon as the sensor at the end of the rope touched the ground, the inscription above the hatch opening would light up: God be with you.

It happened; the letters of the inscription lit up. The soldiers trotted toward the ropes. Each one was capable of finding a path in the absolute darkness and sliding down; their every move had been anticipated and, if necessary, implemented in this type of operation. They descended efficiently, with precision. One by one, dark figures, like a drop of water on a thread, slid down, almost identically dissolving into the dark forest floor. Instinctively, they took their positions; the entire landing took less than six minutes. The pilots unhooked the ropes and quickly rose to a high altitude. They remained a memory.

"Detachment C, we are moving with units A and B to Kniażyce, about 2 km away. Radio silence until further notice." The commander's gruff voice offered no encouragement. They set off. They were soldiers now.

The march was smooth; the Satanists clearly had no fear of any attack. They hadn't set any traps, posted any guards, or sent out any lookouts. They considered themselves the masters of these lands. Command had anticipated this. Therefore, without further discussion, they decided to send in heavy armored personnel carriers.

The lights in Kniażyce were on. The street lamps were bright. No movement was detected. They advanced steadily and slowly. About twenty meters from the edge of the forest, the soldiers heard in their earphones:

"Squad C, stop. Kamil, Wojtek, get as close to the town as possible. Look around, and in case of danger, report immediately." Understood.

"Yes, there is," two voices replied simultaneously.

"Move on, the rest of you, wait for further orders."

If it weren't for the night vision goggles, no one would have noticed the two figures moving eastward in the thicket of bushes and trees. They were silent, like ghosts of the forest.

The results of their raid weren't long in coming. The men returned in less than half an hour.

As befits probable professionals, they remained undetected until almost the last moment, despite all the technology the group of soldiers wore. They approached the officer, who gestured for a change of radio frequency. They spoke anonymously to the others for a long moment. The two barracks colleagues saluted, and Sergeant Wronek ordered them to return to the agreed-upon radio frequency.

"Squadron C, forward, formation line," his voice rasped.

And they set off. Unhurriedly, step by step. Covering each other, just as they had in training. Squads A and B, not far behind, protected their backs and flanks in case the first squad retreated. They passed increasingly sparse trees. The peace of the forest was brutally shattered by an explosion. The Satanists had left traps, but not deep in the forest, but about ten meters from the edge of the forest. The explosion was loud, intended to warn, not kill. Despite everything, if a seasoned veteran had been there, he would have been ready to say that the newly minted soldier Wojtek would no longer be a father. The seasoned veteran knew that these mines were the nastiest; not only was the explosion loud, but the shrapnel from this mine castrated. Wojtek and the others knew from then on that when reconnaissance, one must pay attention to everything, not just what was in front of them, but also what they were stepping on. This was their first lesson, their first blood. Perhaps not of the purest quality, perhaps not the most glorious, but still. The second lesson was about to begin.

"Everyone get down, this is Alpha C, this is Alpha C, over.

" "This is Alpha B, what's going on, what's that noise up ahead?

" "We hit a mine, I lost one man. I mean, he's wounded..." Stress and adrenaline can eat you up even at the most inopportune moment.

"Shut up. Stay put, we'll be with you in a moment. No override.

" "Yes, sir." Wronek wasn't sure what to do, my first action, my first action. He repeated the mantra to himself. "Everyone, gather around, put two M60s in front. Cover one hundred and eighty degrees from my position, looking east. Do something about Wojtek, he should be screaming his head off, but he's silent as a grave. Arek, Mirek, check on him.

" "Order," they replied simultaneously. And their commander regained his composure, issuing sensible orders. He was preparing for defense. No one had a right to get through the crossfire of two M60s. And yet.

When Wojtek was in shock, everything was still fine; he didn't see what had happened. He didn't see what he was wounded in. He touched himself after his gear, patted his head, his chest. "Am I immortal? God, don't let me die here. Save me, I trusted you, I fight with your name on my lips, don't let me die here... I will kill them... please grant me your mercy... Satanists... I will destroy, burn, the pyres will burn with the infidels; but let me live. Where did I get it, where..." His thoughts, like a bee in a glass, without exit, order, or composition, flew through his head.

"He's lying there, Mirek, I found him." It wasn't difficult; the smoke from the crater hadn't cleared yet, and the dry branches were still burning. In the night vision goggles, it was clear where to look for the victim. "Wojtek, hang in there. You'll get through this." Arek unhooked his binoculars. "No one has ever died from a torn... er... it'll be alright, Wojtek." He also took off his helmet, pulled a basic bandage from his pocket, and gently applied it to the deepest wound in his thigh. He felt his boot step on something soft and rounded; he didn't want to guess what it was.

Mirek arrived a moment later, extinguished the smoldering branches. He also took off his helmet. He pulled out the bandage, and they both attended to it, keeping him quiet.

They heard a shot, then another. A burst from an AK-47. Satanists. How they'd broken through. Of the ten-man unit, only seven remained combat-ready. Despite their technological and technical superiority, training, support, and reconnaissance, no one, not even they, could have predicted the tunnels beneath them. Before they took Przemyśl, the Satanists had carefully secured themselves. Following the Vietnam War as a model, they became tunnel rats. The network of tunnels and their exits was dangerous for any type of infantry. The explosion was merely a warning; now, like ants, they emerged from the darkness, emerging from each side of Unit C, and especially from behind it. Flash grenades flew. From that moment on, night vision goggles were a blinding obstacle.

"Disperse," roared the commander, simultaneously firing a red flare. The warning to Units A and B struck a branch, and instead of flying upward, it bounced off and soared into the city. His hands trembled, his whole body trembled; he hadn't come here to die. All the stories that contained laughter with God's name on their lips, with pride in having made the highest, most magnificent sacrifice for the nation, somehow slipped from his mind. From that moment on, he only wanted to survive. "Shoot without orders." That wasn't necessary, for Mirek, Arek, Michał, Gabriel, Grzegorz, Maciej, Wojtek decided to fight for their own. Bullets rained down from all sides, ricochets from tree trunks showered their heads. The lack of a coordinated, even approximate, target cast the situation in a critical light.

"Squad C, we're breaking through to our people. Jumping. Behind me, one, two, three..."

They rose, all but Wojtek. A twenty-one-year-old, the top student in his high school. He had dropped out of college, feeling called to join the army. He wanted to rise from private to lieutenant, like his great-grandfather. He wanted to make a name for himself. He wanted... not to be crippled, not to be left alone. But his colleagues, Arek and Mirek, listened to his urgings to leave and followed their commander. They would return for him later. He was confident until the order came to break through to our troops. They left him alone, not even turning around. He wanted it himself; he would become a hero with a posthumous Job award for his sacrifice and faith.

The others ran. God carries the bullets, Maciej realized this. A simple farmer from Greater Poland. I won't survive on the land. Convinced of this, he headed for the barracks. There, I'll have a roof over my head, the certainty of a future, and friends for life. Ironically, his words proved true. The bullet that hit him in the chest went straight through. He didn't know it was fired from an M-16 rifle. Exactly the kind the soldiers of Units A, B, and C were equipped with. Just like his childhood friend, with whom they had decided to join the army. To the school of life for a real man.

Gabriel also fell to the ground. A pure idealist. Convinced from childhood that only the army could give him what his parents couldn't give him: self-confidence, fortitude, character, courage, strength, bravery, heroism. He was wounded; his foot caught on a mine's fuse. He ran, but it didn't kill him instantly. He couldn't feel his legs, but his forehead, the warmth spreading across his back. He wasn't suffering. One of his enemies crawled toward him. He whispered, "Ave satan," spat in his face, and without blinking, shot him in the head. There was no courage, no heroism in this...

Arek, Michał, and Commander Wronek emerged unscathed. They collapsed after about five meters of frantic running, amidst the whistling of bullets and the reflections of explosions. Squads A and B were now actively joining the fight.

"Another fifteen meters or so. Gentlemen, we can do it. Second jump, one, two, and..."

They set off again. The commander was the first to get up. He ran as fast as he could. He stumbled. He fell, and fell into a hole. One of the entrances to the tunnel network. He broke his arm and several ribs. He spat blood. One of his ribs pierced his lungs. With his good hand, he lit a lamp hanging from his shoulder. He saw a wide corridor, or perhaps a pit. He saw the barrels stacked, saw the fuse, and the ticking clock. And he saw something else. A flash at the end of the corridor, a luminous flash flying towards him. And then only darkness, descending like mist.

Arek and Mirek fought their way to Unit B. Exhilarated by their safety, they forgot about their "family" lying behind them. Now they wanted only revenge. They set off. And the alarm clock hidden beneath them rang.

Base "New Jerusalem." Two days later,

Operation "Babylon" ended in partial failure. Units A, B, and C were destroyed. Equipment was lost. Intelligence was blamed for the failure. There was a possibility of a spy in the base. Inquisitors from the Holy Office began an investigation. Probable purges at the command level.

Przemyśl was occupied. The 5th Corps of the "Shroud of Turin" occupied the city. Its pacification took place. Lord have mercy on them.