Life under the army boot (II)

Above his head, the door rattled shut. Pulling the bag off his head, he saw dozens of round eyes staring at him: he had been thrown into a pit of pigs.

"Pigs again!" Cal rolled his eyes.

The pit was deep enough to try to get out of it. But at least the pigs were not aggressive. Cal walked around the perimeter and made sure there was only one way out: a low door where one pig fit through, but it was sealed tightly from the outside. When the animals piled up and fell asleep, Cal crouched down beside him and let his body rest, too.

In an instant, his happy life at the Academy seemed like a ghostly dream under the merciless boot of reality. He shuddered as he awaited the new day; it seemed that once again his intuition had been right in predicting trouble.

The morning began with the squealing of pigs: the scheduled feeding had made the animals squeal desperately, and Cal nearly had a heart attack.

When he came to, he followed the pigs down the narrow passage, and the bright sun hit him in the eyes. And, on top of that, a couple of hundred eyes saw him at once.

Someone had gathered the cadets together to introduce their new comrade. As Cal climbed out and leveled himself-the air filled with laughter. Squinting and looking around, he appreciated the joke, only that he was on this side of the fence.

He was given half an hour to clean himself up, after which, with his heavy backpack, he and the other cadets ran twenty kilometers until he collapsed without strength.

For every fall he got a kick in the legs and by the end of the day, he was covered in bruises. But, like the others, he didn't complain and looked forward to the night, even if that night had to be spent with the pigs.

After a grueling workout, the cadets returned to the barracks, and a huge line lined up at the water tap.

They washed, drank water, and immediately, taking off their boots, washed their dirty feet. A proper shower was out of the question. Cal was relieved to think that he had learned the seemingly useless technique of cleansing the body in good time.

Now, under the circumstances, it was his salvation. Waiting for his turn, he simply drank the water and put his hot head under the water, stood like that for a couple of seconds, and then returned to the barracks and applied the body-cleansing technique.

Instantly his body was fresh and clean and even his hair was shiny. Except his clothes were still stinky. Throwing them off of him, Cal changed his clothes and did his laundry after everyone else.

The days that followed were just as difficult for him. Liam never showed up once, and Cal felt lonely.

Every day he woke up at dawn and followed the cadet routine: mandatory parade-ground training with weapons before lunch or a march to the mountains. Cal hated all training, but he seemed to be left alone for a while.

One morning, however, the captain himself showed up to see the cadets training and saw Cal. He called out to one of the seniors and asked him indignantly who had allowed him to train. At that, he was furious, as usual. The older man was reprimanded and ordered to transfer the newcomer to the infirmary.

During these few days, he never had time to get to know the other cadets, even during punishments they all preferred to keep quiet, so his transfer did not affect anyone. Slowly he wandered after his superior, dragging his traveling sack.

An infirmary was truly a dreadful place if a military hospital. It was where the most hopelessly wounded and sick were brought, usually from poor and insignificant families who could not afford proper treatment. From morning till night there was screaming and moaning, and the stench of rotting wounds could drive anyone to his grave.

The cadet could only be sent there for the worst crimes unless, of course, it was the general's will. In Cal's case, the situation was hopeless, for some reason he had fallen out of favor with that arrogant ghoul.

Cal hadn't even had a chance to explain himself to the general and find out the reason for his hatred, was it really the Legion?

Or could it be his connection to Liam that was to blame? With these thoughts, he came to the infirmary. It was hell, he thought. From his first steps, he could smell the unbearable odor and hear the many cries, pleas, and curses. As he entered the hospital's chief physician's office, Cal set to work.

He had about two hundred patients waiting for him, who needed to go to the bathroom lying down, or worse, they had already done it under themselves, and Cal's job was, yes, to wash their asses.

Hour after hour didn't get any easier - by ripping the sleeve of his shirt, he fashioned himself a mask that partially trapped the stench, and he vomited a little less.

At first, he took out pots of urine, trying to do it carefully, but after several dozen failures, he had already spilled other people's urine many times and simply stopped paying attention to it.

While he was doing his job, he was often grabbed by the hands and clothes by a haggard, unlikeable patients. They asked for water, cigarettes, or painkillers.

Not infrequently they asked for a blow job or to bring a prostitute. At first, Cal was stupefied, but later, following his partner's example, he stopped paying attention to such people.

His life was like going around in circles: he would barely finish washing his patients when the disgusting food would arrive and the lunches would have to be served. After that, he washed the dishes himself and dried them in the sun.

Hands were in short supply, so Cal helped change the stinking bloody bandages or carry out the severed pieces of flesh for disposal. By the end of the week, he couldn't think about anything. His head was buzzing, and every cell in his body was aching for rest.

On his first day off, Cal slept for twenty-four hours without movement and went back to work. Several patients had died, and it was his duty to do them the last honor of washing and wrapping them in a white cloth before burial. This work took half a day, after which he had to pull up the rest of the tails.

Sick people complained and cursed, but Cal was deaf and mechanically performed his duties. Far after midnight, he finished his chores and casually sat down next to a quiet man. An exhausted Cal dozed off.

That's when Celestina discovered him.

The Spellcaster had asked to be transferred to the hospital, intending to clean it up, and as she was making her rounds she suddenly saw Cal. Without waking the cadet, she asked the head of the hospital for details.

She was enraged when she got the information. There were few people in her life more irritating than that arrogant bastard Tishow.

Upon taking up her duties, Celestina first petitioned for three more assistants, thereby sparing Cal the unfortunate fate. She had no way to make his life completely easy.

The young man now worked only six hours a day, and his duties included feeding and caring for the sick - no more washing and piss pots.

Once he had recovered a little, Cal was able to devote his attention to Legion. He picked a small basket of berries for him as he went outside the grounds.

Cal had already resigned himself to the fact that he would never have military training, but he was glad to meet a dragon. Dai-Kun helped himself to some berries out of politeness, did not need food, and looked around with interest.

Cal summoned him to the grounds behind the hospital. The dead were usually taken from there, and the wounded were dropped off there as well. At this time of day, the grounds were empty, and Cal took his chance.

He sat upright on the ground and admired the dragon: The Legion was growing up on its own, not needing it. Its mind and heart were also mature and experienced, unlike its master.

For the first time, Cal felt humility and a need for a Mentor. He asked Legion what kind of monsters he had encountered, and listened passionately for hours on end. The dragon also enjoyed talking about his heroic, centuries-old past.

He once mentioned how he and the Lord had gone to the planet from which the Ancient Spirit had come, and Cal was very interested.

He asked for the details of that journey and what he had learned. From the Legion's words, Cal understood that there was a being that could overpower the Ancient Spirit, but that the Overlord had not had the chance to get him.

Cal asked if Legion remembered that planet and got an affirmative answer. Another time they talked about creating new worlds, something Liam never told Cal.

Legion was an excellent storyteller, though he was not much of a talker himself, but his words always made sense and were never ambiguous.

But their conversation was interrupted when a wagon of wounded men appeared at the hospital gates. The Legion swiftly retreated into space, and Cal received the wounded and placed them on the vacant bunks.

From that moment on there was a personal 'devil' in his new life.

One of the patients turned out to be an old warrior whom even the hospital doctor feared. He had a sharp tongue and a hopelessly bad temper.

Cal was repeatedly pelted with his duck, and a couple of times he even got it on his head. The food invariably ended up on Cal's head, spiced up with three-story mats.

The sick man demanded a doctor, a clean bed, normal food, and so on, harassing everyone around him. Gradually the orderlies began to avoid the damn bed, and all the work, invariably, went to Cal. One day the patient became more violent than before and knocked Cal several times with his wooden leg from the headboard.

The leg had to be taken away, and the patient, on Celestina's orders, was given sleeping pills. After the old man had fallen asleep, the Spellcaster finally appeared before an astonished Cal.

"Follow me," she said. When the door closed behind them, Celestina brewed a fragrant tea and treated a gaunt Cal to an apple pie. "Is it hard for you?" she asked sympathetically.

"It's all right," Cal said, shoving a huge piece of pie into his mouth.

The sweet taste almost made him cry. He'd been able to eat hospital food occasionally in the last month, but since it wasn't particularly edible, he made do with water and berries.

"I want to tell you about your patient."

"The crazy one-legged old man?"

"Exactly," Celestina confirmed, "he's one of the bravest captains in the Union Army. Always take care of his soldiers, and bravely covered them with his chest. He has thousands of enemy kills to his credit, but he has never achieved fame or high military rank."

"I think I can guess why," Cal said, leaning back in his chair, "it's all about character."

"Yeah, but what you also don't know is that he built dozens of orphanages for war orphans. As you know, there are a lot of families on the front lines, and it's not uncommon for the deaths of parents to leave children wandering in a hail of fire. The captain took these children out and built family homes for them, donating all the money he had accumulated over the years of service."

"So the old man has a heart?" Cal wondered.

"Sure he does, but there's a lot of hatred for the general that's been at odds with him for years. If you can, you might persuade him to tell you."

"Where am I," Cal brushed it off, and got up to go back to work.

"You'll have a day off every five days, and I want to go somewhere with you, but I'll talk about that later. Go and make the captain feel good about himself."

"I don't understand, but I'll try," Cal bowed and went out.

But easier said than done. On another day the old man was more than a little out of sorts; he had already turned over everything he could, scolded everyone who heard him, and refused to take his medicine. Turning on his side, he ignored anyone who approached.

Cal was no exception, passing by his grandfather with his cart full of food, he received a painful kick and nearly flipped the hospital dinner on the floor. After feeding everyone but the old man, he finally came to him. The captain kept squawking and snapping, so Cal silently left a handful of berries on his bedside table and a fresh bun he'd grabbed from Celestina's table.

When no one saw, the old man turned and ate it all. His face didn't have the annoyance and spitefulness that had reigned all day, but Cal didn't see it. It was his day off, and on his way out of the infirmary, he was breathing in the pleasant evening air when he suddenly ran into a group of senior cadets.

They seemed to be in high spirits at the sight of Cal. With full carte blanche from their captain, they could make fun of the recruit, which they did by hanging him upside down on the flagpole. Cal couldn't call for help, it was humiliating, so, hanging upside down, he tried not to think about who or how he would be discovered here.

The wildly laughing company gradually drifted away, and finally, everything fell silent. But Cal's crystal glowed. With great difficulty, he reached out with one finger and answered.

"Cal, it's me," Liam said.

"Yeah, hi," Cal answered.

"Are you okay?" The Head asked in a mundane voice.