The initial contact point was still manned around the clock, with each new arrival to the facility being processed and added to what was inevitably going to be the largest database of personal information in existence. If possible a brief interview would identify their needs, then they’d be assigned to housing. It never ceased to amaze him when he came into his office which overlooked the main waiting area at the contact point, the variety of humanity that was there. Queues of men and women of every race and age. Special areas where children from newborns to teenagers sat with nurses, social workers and other specialists as they waited to see if any family could be found to assist them. The processes that followed this initial contact were becoming increasingly complex as more and more options became available. He’d decided to make his task for the day to try and build a new streamlined framework to take into account all of the new resources. The phone on the desk rings, pulling his attention away from the mountains of briefing papers, tenders, proposals and financial data that awaited him. “Hi, Weems here. How can I-“
“How soon can you have a crisis response group ready to go?” The voice at the other end of the line was urgent and spoke with the tone that he’d learnt was unique to Colonel’s and above who needed to be heard*right now*.
“That’s a very open question. What kind of crisis? How many affected? First or second lifers? Where is it and…. sorry, who is this?”
“This is Colonel Paschal, Director of Operations for DIMO(N). We’re looking at way over fifteen thousand victims in a concentration camp environment. Hand your work over to your deputy, thin out your staff to the minimum needed and get the rest assembled for a quick move. We have a major disaster on hand and it’s a complicated scenario.”
“Complicated how?” Weems didn’t like being ordered around so abruptly but he’d learned that, here in Hell, the military forces had the upper hand and their brusque, terse approach to problems actually worked.
“Most of the victims are angels.”
Angelic Treatment Ward, Bethesda Naval Hospital, Bethesda, MD
“What is happening? Are we on Earth?” Maion spoke weakly. She was confused and bewildered by everything that had happened. The last thing she could clearly remember was the pain and filth of the prison she had been sent to. Then, the rest was a mixture of half-remembered scenes, flashing lights and humans everywhere. Humans who seemed to be in charge.
“We are. You are in a thing called a hospital, it’s where humans treat their sick and wounded. They call such people ‘patients’ and have people called ‘doctors’ and ‘nurses’ who look after them.” Lemuel paused and look rueful. “Don’t argue with them Maion, just do as they say. They get very angry if others try and interfere with them looking after their patients.”
Maion very carefully lifted her head and looked around. The movement attracted the attention of a human woman dressed in white with a name-tag reading “Grace” on it. She took a clipboard from somewhere and started writing down numbers from the equipment that surrounded Maion’s bed. “Well, Maion, how are we feeling today?”
“I can’t feel much at all.” Maion was slightly confused and also resentful. Humans were menial servants, that was how it had been all her life. The idea that one could address her, not just as an equal but as her superior, drove through the strange fog that filled Maion’s mind.
“I’m not surprised. We had to pump you full of morphine so you could recover. When did you become an addict by the way?”
“What?” Lemuel was shocked by the casual question.
“Don’t interrupt.” Grace snapped the response at him. “Maion, we ran an analysis panel on your blood, once you had enough to analyze that is, and that told us you were a heroin addict. A couple of cops we have helping out here told us where to look and we found the injection marks between your toes. That’s not a good idea by the way, you can get gangrene and lose your feet doing that.”
Maion was bewildered, she couldn’t understand a lot of what the nurse was saying and the fact that the humans had discovered her secret so easily shocked her.
“About two years, two and a half. At first it was just a bit of fun, it made parties so much better. Then, I found how bad it was if I didn’t get it. In the end, I had to work at the club to earn enough.” Maion cudgelled her brain, trying to remember what it was that she could say and what she had to keep secret. “Michael-Lan’s nightclub that is. I had to dance there and do other things, just to get my stuff. I’m sorry Lemuel, I wanted to tell you but I was ashamed.”
Lemuel moved closer to her and took her hand. Grace caught the action and smiled to herself, at least these two would help each other out. She’d seen enough addiction treatments to know that recovering from addiction was much easier if it was a joint affair. “Don’t be hard on her Lemuel, you’re an addict too.”
“What?” Lemuel was genuinely stunned by the offhand comment.
“We ran a panel on you too. You’ve been using opiates in small quantities for quite some time. You’re not hooked the way Maion is, but you’re an addict just the same. Kiddies, don’t mess with this stuff, it will really screw you up.”
“What?” Lemuel simply didn’t understand what was happening around him. He was out of his depth, flailing around in an effort to get his mind around the things he was learning.
“Say that once more and I’ll have you assigned to washing out bedpans.” Grace smiled to take the sting out of her words. “Look, we can handle this. It’s no big thing really. Anyway, Maion, don’t worry about this great lummox, we’ll take care of him as well. When we get time that is, we’re getting overworked with all the concentration camp victims coming back from Heaven. You’re not alone here any more, there are more than a dozen patients just like you here. Some of them worse. If it’s any consolation to you, everything we learned treating you is helping us look after them better.”
Maion lifted her head again and looked carefully around, feeling the strain on her neck and shoulders as she did so. There were three other angels in her ward, all surrounded by the same equipment as hers, all with human staff looking after them. She also saw her own wings stretched out within a wooden frame.
Grace caught her glance. “The surgeons operated on your wings. They managed to repair the damage to the bones between the joints. You’ve got titanium screws in there to hold the bones together. The joints? Well, they’ve done the best they can but the damage was very severe. We had experts come in from Ireland, that’s a place thousands of miles away, to help fix the damage but whether they did any good, we just don’t know.”
“Will I fly again?” Maion was almost desperate, trying to imagine a world when she couldn’t fly any time she wanted.
Grace hesitated. There were times to lie and times to tell the truth and it was hard to know which applied here. In the end she settled for the truth. “I don’t know, but the doctors think the chances are not good. We’re not quite sure how you fly, but the surgeons think those wing joints will be very stiff and hard to move, even when they’re healed. If they heal. That’s all for the future though, we can cross that bridge when we come to it.” She switched her attention to Lemuel. “As for you, you look pretty sick too. Lack of sleep, no food and withdrawal symptoms. Get some rest. That’s an order.”
There was a racking groan from the other end of the ward. One of the other angels was coming around. Grace reinserted the clipboard into its holder at the end of the bed and took off in the direction of the sound. Overhead, the roof of the tent shook as Bethesda’s Mi-26 brought another angel in for treatment.
Chapter Sixty Seven
Headquarters, Incomparable Legion Of Light, Heaven.
“Oh man, can’t we all just get along?”
Raphael-Lan covertly raised his eyebrows in despair. “I really wish we could, especially after all the work you put in with the humans a couple of millennia ago. Michael-Lan really admires that, you know. The sheer patience and concentration needed to control that carpenter for so many years, well, it was an achievement he really respects. A pity it all turned out so badly. Anyway, we, or rather you, have a job to do. He Who Must Not Be Named wants you to lead the Incomparable Legion and its human levies against the army invading Hell.”