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 hadn'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. He was still fifty meters away from the door where a bright future awaited him. 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, what seemed to be 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 half hidden 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 position 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 across from 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.

"To the Bright Arrows Campaign

—Bright Arrows, you know it's an elite unit. I repeat, ELITE. Are you sure you'll be able to master the art of riding with their armored fists. To 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, he signed the document with a light movement of his hand, 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 so." His cell phone rang, interrupting 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 pictorial 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 what many called the "murder room" of the elite Light Arrows unit. 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 school? I could have become a priest and wouldn't have to play here?" As 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. There, 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."

"What are you talking about? Later I would have joined the special forces and been promoted to exorcist.

" "A dreamer, right?

" "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 have 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 promise you that you will be buried here, in consecrated ground. I do not guarantee constant supplies. But know this: God and country will not forget you. Your souls will be honored in heaven when you prove your worth with 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 "Blood of Christ" is sent to fight the Islamists in present-day Jordan. The 2nd Army of the "Holy Cross" is sent to fight in the east against the Orthodox, the 3rd Army of the "Holy Trinity" will fight in the Subcarpathian region, where the Satanists have established a bridgehead emerging from the 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 so?

- 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, both 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. A broad-shouldered corporal entered first, followed by a major.

"Don't get up?" he ordered from the entrance. 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 on 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. 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, the "Shroud of Turin," is scheduled to arrive between January 18th and 20:20. 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 join them in attacking 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 in 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