Manny wasn’t sure how to look like a fanatical Christian soldier. There was no way to fake the manic glint of true commitment. So he chose a different tack. He thought about Major Clark, the defiant set of his jaw and the promise of violence frozen into the ice of his blue eyes. DeShawn Clark was not a fanatic, but he was a warrior. Manny knew he might be able to fake that. So he screwed up his face into his best imitation and hoped it would pass muster.

“Well,” the silver-haired old soldier growled and narrowed his eyes. But then his face broke out into a grin. His tone lifted up an octave. “By God,” he said, “it’s good to have you boys here.” He clapped a hand on both Manny and Roland’s shoulders and pulled them into an embrace.

“Your souls are safe now, my boys. Thank God for your warrior hearts. Now,” he pulled back and straightened up, “I’m Martyr Ditmar. Where are you bound for?”

“Intake,” Manny said with more confidence than he felt. “We just arrived today.” He glanced down at his papers for a moment and then said, “This says we’re infantry. Reserve division.”

Martyr Ditmar seemed surprised. “Really?” he asked. “I’d have expected them to put you, at least,” he nodded to Manny, “in the Storming Battalion.”

“The Storming Battalion?”

“Yes,” the elder Martyr nodded. “You’ve got the right…complexion for it.”

Thaaaaat’s got to be a bad sign, Manny thought. Don’t press the question too much now. You may not want the answer. Instead he put a hand on Roland’s shoulder.

“Wherever we go, I gotta stay with Aaron. He’s strong, but he took a few hits to the head too many. I help him get around.”

The Martyr gave a smile that seemed genuine.

“Well, then,” he said, “you’ll want to get your butts down to cadet processing. It’s a hundred meters down that-a-way.” He clapped them both on the shoulders. “It’s good to see you here. Smile, boys! You’re heroes now. Warriors in Christ. Go forth!”

“God bless you, Martyr,” Manny said. Roland followed up with his best attempt at honest enthusiasm.

“Yay God!” he said with a too-wide smile.

“We should go,” Manny said quickly. “I don’t want to tarry on the Lord’s time.”

“That’s the spirit,” Martyr Ditmar replied. “I’ll see you both on the training field.”

They stomped off toward the cadet processing building which, until recently, had been the high school’s administrative building. There were posters for school dances and after-school clubs on the walls. It looked like a student body election had been underway when the Heavenly Kingdom captured this place. Manny and Roland queued up behind a half-dozen other confused-looking young men and waited for their turn at the processing desk.