“Martyr Aaron,” Ditmar said, as he approached Roland. The instructor’s bodyguards stayed close behind. “Would you come with me? We’ve got some news for you.”

“Where’s Emmanuel?” Roland asked.

“We’ll explain everything,” the older Martyr said. “Just come with me.”

Roland followed him into the maze of buildings and toward a small office occupied by a white-haired man in what looked like the Heavenly Kingdom’s equivalent of a dress uniform. It was blue, bedecked with medals, and had a shining silver cross on each epaulet. The fancy man looked very tired. Roland could smell cheap caffeine wafting from his pores.

“This is Commandant Dawkins,” Martyr Ditmar explained. “He’s in charge of this facility. We’ve been telling him about you.”

“Martyr Ditmar is hard to impress,” the Commandant said. “But to his eyes, you’re some sort of latter-day Samson.”

“The strongest man I’ve ever seen,” said Martyr Ditmar. “He’s a darn fine shot, too. Something of a marvel.”

“Where’s my friend?” Roland asked. “Where’s Emmanuel?”

The Commandant gave an indulgent smile. It didn’t meet his tired eyes.

“Listen, Martyr. I know you can appreciate how important unit cohesion is during a situation as stressful as combat. We’ve had to make some changes in order to ensure unity. Emmanuel is one of a number of soldiers we’ve transferred to special duty.”

Roland could read between the lines. He was sure if he checked in the barracks that Manny, Jonathan, and the other handful of non-white recruits would all be absent.

“What kind of special duty?”

Ditmar growled behind him, “Now listen, son. Just because the Commandant called you a Samson doesn’t mean you’re in charge around here. We’re prosecuting a war. You won’t be privy to every decision made above you and you’re just going to have to get used to that.”

The Commandant was a bit calmer. He put his hands forward in a placating gesture and tried again.

“Your friend is fine. He’s better than fine. He’s going to get a chance to serve his Lord and the Heavenly Kingdom in glorious Martyrdom. You should be happy for him.”

Ditmar stepped forward and squatted down next to him. He put a hand on Roland’s thigh. A third of a second later, Roland had calculated the best way to rip that arm free of its socket and beat the other men in the room to death with it. But he held still, for now. Manny would have been proud.