Let's go back to when it all started. Was it 10 years ago? No, it was a bit farther back, about 35 years ago in the year 1819.
It was the start of the industrial era, and Pa had taken up work in the coal mines. It was harsh work, but as he said, "It was honest work."
Pa never complained, a black man working in a place he was not wanted, but he smiled like he was always filled with joy juice. Ma said that's one of the reasons she married him, and I could see their love, always giddy and bright.
Ma worked at the local news press, and I knew that at an early age because she always came home with that warm smell of freshly printed paper… and more paper than we needed.
Ma and Pa loved themselves mighty, but not more than their son (if I do say so myself).
"Asael," Ma named me, meaning "Made by God." Ironic name for a black child born with dwarfism. I was small and the world made me feel even smaller, but Ma and Pa never did.
Ma would say,
"You have a heart so big that the big man up there had to cut off some other parts, so that you would not cause too much trouble in the world."
Pa would just smile,
"You were created as you were meant to be, ain't nothing called a defect."
We were not rich, in fact we were a stone throw from poor, but we made it work. I attended school amongst them local white boys thanks to my Ma's connections at the press. You should have seen me in my school uniform dancing around the house.
The white boys of the school weren't too fond of me, they showed that in the bullying. Firstly, I was Black… No, Ma doesn't like that word, African American she would call us. She said our ancestors chose to settle here after the end of slavery. The second cause of my bullying was my condition… my blessing. I was a dwarf. Unnatural proportions and all, and the cracker boys never made me forget that, especially that blonde slick-haired Edward.
I would get home bruised and sometimes bleeding, but I would tell Ma I was rough manning with the school boys. She would smile with a hintqqqqqq of suspicion, but would still clean me up.
Pa knew better, and he knew how racism was first hand from his workplace. So my old man taught me how to throw a punch, and I was good at it. But as Pastor Jeremiah always said, "The lord giveth and the lord taketh."
My dad died in '29.
"Freak accident in the mine," they called it.
Ma had told him to hang back that day, rest his aging back, but my old man brushed it off with a smile and a kiss. We heard the news of his passing that evening, when Ma got the news to print the headline.
I had to stop boxing after that, took up work on the gun-making factory downtown. The dust was bad for my lungs, but it paid good money. I was good at it, faster than most, ironic given my short hands. I knew the barrel in and out, disassemble and assemble.
It was good for a while until the factory had to close, less supplies being brought here because of the war. All supplies were being diverted closer to the war.
And that's where I went, to keep making guns at the frontlines. Ma hated it, but she couldn't do anything about it. She was pushing 50 and I was an adult of 27.
The frontline was brutal, but the soldiers made sure we were safe, safe and away from the blood and madness, as long as we kept making guns. But like all things in my life, that changed too.
The company was raided and we were left defenseless… well, almost.
I shot their noggins clean off with a rifle. The commander came to the scene, wide-eyed, grey-haired white man he was, and he was impressed. So impressed that he put me in a squad. By the end of the year, I was the head of that unit.
I didn't tell Ma, of course. God knows her heart could not handle it.
The war went on and so did my squad. Squad Unit 514, a.k.a Harlem Squad. My squad members: Thistle, Root, Bird, Biggy, and I, the squad leader Asael Jobbs, nicknamed Blood Angel… Ma would not like them using the name she gave me like that.
Our squad was good, mighty good at our job, clearing enemy barricades like we were born to do it, and in a way we were. Thistle was as slim as a broomstick, but that man had some legs on him. Root was our sleepy-eyed medic. Bird was our sniper… the name because he could clip the wings off a bird. Biggy was our tank… my tank.
Together we were almost unstoppable, and we got medals for just that. We were also multicultural. Thistle was white, Root was Hispanic, Bird was a Mexican, Biggy was a Black man who wanted nothing more than to be smaller than he was… sick irony. I wanted his size and he wanted my size. I guess we will have to wish upon a shooting star.
We ranked up quickly, got a lot of stars and all. Soon we could go home. Since the boys ain't really got any family, Ma was happy to welcome them. That's when I dropped the bomb… metaphorically of course.
Ma knew already. She had known for years. Not bad for a woman closer to 60 than 50.
"I wasn't born yesterday, Asael. I know you more than you know yourself. Besides, it's impossible to hide the fact that you are a soldier in a country like this."
"A'ight Ma, how do you feel about it?"
She took a deep breath.
"Nothing I can do to stop you from doing what you love. Just like how you almost got your noggin knocked off by that beast, Gregor, during that community championship wrestling match. But did you let that stop you? No, not my boy. You stood up and showed that man the fear of God."
The boys laughed in the distance. Ma looked from me to them.
"I see you found brothers."
I looked at the messy lot, happy and laughing.
"Yeah… my brothers in arms."
"Your Pa and I also tried for another, but the good lord would not let it be. Happy to see you have found them."
"Ma…"
I was cut off by Thistle's footsteps.
"The turkey's ready, Ma," he said, with a face blackened by smoke and his hair a little burnt, but he was beaming with all the excitement in the world.
"On my way, sweetheart."
Ma gave him a forehead kiss and they were on their way into the kitchen. Ma had made them her kids in the months we stayed together.
Harlem Squad was called back in five months later, and so we left with the town's prayers and wishes with us.
The battle was as it was, brutal and bloody… but it also made me rethink my life.
We slipped into war like an old uniform. I was thirty-three then, not getting any younger. Marriage has always been a hope of mine, but given the foot that I am me, it was not to be… not until I found the beautiful lady Bethany.
The warzone was intense now, more than the last, and I was getting rusty, so I took a bullet to the side. The squad rushed me to the medbay, and that's when I met the most beautiful lady I have ever been graced to see. Skin like milk, eyes as blue as ice.
The crew was worried sick, but I was lost in those icy blue eyes as her fingers stitched me up.
"My insides are feeling a little tingly, nursy."
She looked up, stress lines lining her eye.
"That must be the morphine kicking in."
"Nah miss, some butterflies are trapped in there, giddy little things."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Butterflies?"
"Yeah, you put them there."
She looked at me dead in the eye. Oh, I could see myself in those eyes… then she smiled and let out a weak laugh. Red spreading up her cheeks slowly… or that might just be my blood.
"That might be an effect of the blood you lost during the surgery."
She peeled off her gloves and grabbed the tray.
"Get some rest… Blood Angel."
She left out the door, but she remained in my heart.
"Thistle, Bird, Root, Biggy," I said.
"Yes captain!!" they saluted.
"I think I found my missing rib."
They looked at each other, then burst out in laughter.
"She's crazy fine," Bird said.
"She would make a good Mrs. Jobbs," Biggy said.
"You think so?" I said, staring at the ceiling, her face still vivid in my head, just behind my eyes.
"Definitely," Thistle agreed. "Although I am not sure what you see in Beth, but whatever makes Cap happy."
"How do you know her name, Thistle?"
He looked around, confused for a moment.
"She's my older sister," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.
I looked for a minute, then I saw the resemblance.
Alright, tightening the lantern flame and walking you back into that tunnel… same voice, same bones, just cleaned and carried to the final line.
In the days that came, we got closer and closer. She read me to sleep every evening after stitching me up.
One evening, when she was stitching me up, humming to herself, the lone yellow-tinted lamplight illuminating the space—
"Why do they call you Blood Angel, Asael?"
I turned, my side hurting only a little bit thanks to Bethany.
"Why the question, lovely?"
"Just curious. I heard some of the boys mouthing off to another squad."
"Fine, I will tell you the all so unimpressive take it how I got the nickname Blood Angel."
I cleared my throat for dramatic effect, like Ma used to do.
"One day in '21, we boys were stuck in a warzone, bloody and hot, bodies everywhere you could walk. I was separated from my squad during a bomb strike. I was disoriented and shook. I landed inside an enemy tunnel. I could hear voices everywhere around me, but they couldn't see me because it was dark and the tunnel was half filled with water. Long story short, I came out of the tunnel all bloody… wet."
"What about the enemy soldiers?"
"I killed them," I said, colder than I expected.
"All of them?"
"Yes, Beth. All ninety-seven of them."
She looked at me for a minute, then kissed me on my forehead.
"Soldier boy, keep marching," she said jokingly.
"I'm 33, Bethany."
"So?"
"It should be Soldier man."
That made her laugh.
"Ohoh, is there a Mrs. Soldier man?"
"Yeah, there is."
Her face went blank for a second, then the smile returned.
"Who's the lucky lady then?" she said with a hint of… was that sadness?
"A beautiful lady named Bethany Juliet Jobbs."
She laughed.
"Hahaha, how do you know my middle name?" she blurted between laughs.
"Thistle told me."
"Figures."
I slipped my fingers into hers, and she didn't pull back.
"You know how I feel about you, Bethany."
She stared at me for a minute, took in a deep breath, and let it out.
"You are getting deployed tomorrow. I will give you my answer when you get back, okay?"
"Okay."
That day never came.
Because the next day the base was hit. We were deployed just that morning, and when we heard the news of the attack on the radio…
There were no survivors.
My chest ached. It hurt more than a bullet wound. It was a pain I could not explain, a pain I could not touch and… I could not handle it.
I will say this now, I am not proud of what I did the next day, but now I know why I did it. I wanted them to feel my pain, and just maybe, if I gave it to them, it would somehow flow out of me.
It did not.
And my rash actions had dire consequences.
We walked straight into enemy territory. Well, I did, and my crew followed. They were angry too, but none as enraged as the Blood Angel.
We swept through the ranks of the enemy militia, dropping bodies left and right. Nearing the end, just when we thought we had ended the war…
Root got shot straight through the head.
"Root!!" Biggy bellowed.
We took cover.
"Where did that shot come from?" I asked over the gunfire.
"A tunnel to your left, Cap!"
I spotted the tunnel.
"Pass me your grenades, Biggy."
"Yes, Cap."
I got low to the ground, crawling through bodies until I got close enough to the tunnel, and in I threw the grenades.
I curled into a ball, and a second later—
BOOM!
The blast from the tunnel shook the ground.
I ran in after it, and my team followed. The tunnel was half filled with water, and I realized the trap too late.
Bullets rained down on us. I ducked down below into the low water. I could hear the screams of my brothers as the water turned red with blood.
Biggy was above me, looking me straight in the eye, face flat on the water surface, his hand pushing me down…
He was the one that pushed me down. Without him, I would be dead.
A smile spread across his face as he lay there lifeless.
I cried… but the water swallowed my pain.
The firing stopped, but I did not rise.
With my knife, I moved through the water like a shark, taking out each soldier one by one, rising only for a moment to breathe, then back in.
When I was done, bodies covered the water… my brothers and my enemies.
But I had no moment to cry. There were more inside.
And I had a job to finish.
I had moved before I saw the child.
At the edge of the cave… a child with skin that seemed to shine like a pearl, bloody and wearing rags. A child taller than I was… but a child still.
"Please don't hurt me," he said in a scared, gentle voice.
I followed his gaze to my hand. The knife.
I dropped the bloody object.
"No, no, no!! I won't hurt you," I blurted rapidly.
I approached slowly. He could be one of those child soldiers the enemy use…
I felt my Ma mentally slap me on the head.
What are you thinking, Asael? Does that look like a child soldier?
He seemed to calm, bringing his hands down.
"You killed them… you killed the bad men."
He said it with tears running down his face.
His hair slipped down as the rag around his head fell into the water.
White hair.
Hair that seemed too unbelievably white… like someone captured moonlight and braided it into his hair.
"Let's get out of here. They might return. Do you know the way out?"
He stared at me for what felt like a minute…
Then he pointed down the tunnel where I had heard voices.
Of course.
I slapped my forehead.
Well… I was always going to die one day. Now is as good a time as any.
I took the guns and grenades from my dear comrades, saying a silent prayer I read from Beth's book… a prayer for myself and for my comrades.
"Cool my blood in earth,
That my anger might be quelled.
Bless mine eyes with silver that I might watch for the saviour's coming.
If I die today, let it be penance for my sins,
Redeemed by guns of Holy men.
Let those who remember me,
Remember a child of righteousness and on the day of judgement,
Let me welcome home all those I loved."
The boy stayed for the prayer.
I fitted him with a vest and handed him a knife.
He gave me a frown.
"We will die if you don't take it. I mean… we will die either way, but…"
That made him take the knife.
He puffed his chest out and looked at the entrance of the tunnel.
Good to see he is ready.
And in we went…
Into the belly of the beast.