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SCL Chapter 56: Where Devils Walk
🕑 Added 2025-05-01 06:12:01 +0000 UTCThe Heaven's Devils assembled quickly. They threw on their heavy parkas, thick hats, and gloves, and lined up in formation on the plaza outside the dormitory.
It wasn’t just Squad One — soldiers from the other squads in Third Platoon had also filed out of their dorms. After all, the honor of the Heaven's Devils belonged to every member of Augustus’s platoon.
At this time, the sun was just beginning to set, and the two moons rising over the blood-red sunset looked especially stunning.
Standing at the entrance of the fortress bus, Augustus watched his soldiers board one by one.
Just then, Lisa Cassidy— the platoon’s only female soldier — came running to join them, having hurried over from her dorm, which wasn’t particularly close.
Lisa’s attire wasn’t much different from the others: a form-fitting white trench coat cinched tightly at the waist with a leather belt, and high-heeled leather boots clicking sharply against the ground.
She was clearly wearing makeup, with a light shade of lipstick on her lips, and her naturally wavy ginger hair swayed gently in the wind.
"Sergeant, where are we headed?" Lisa asked as she waited for the person ahead of her to board.
"I heard we’re going to that little town near the fortress," Augustus replied.
"Howe Town?"
Lisa’s bright, pale blue eyes lit up, and she didn’t even realize the excitement in her own voice.
"I know what you’re thinking," Augustus said, his thick brows drawing together. "Let me be clear — whether it’s rats, crabs, morphine, Eden, Gospel Angels... any kind of drug, don’t even think about it."
"No one understands a woman’s heart better than you, Sergeant," Lisa said with a smile.
"I’ll be watching you — without taking my eyes off you for a second. If you even try to get your hands on drugs from some side street in town, I’ll grab you by the hair and drag you back myself," Augustus said, his cold gray eyes fixed firmly on her.
"Well, then just stick close to me... Should I hold your arm?"
Lisa, eight years older than Augustus, saw him more as an overly serious little brother than anything else.
"You think I won't?" Augustus found himself wondering if he had been acting too leniently lately, giving Lisa the illusion that he was easy to push around.
If Lisa insisted on making trouble, he would deal with it — ruthlessly.
"Ah... time to get on the bus, sir～"
...
Like other residential towns built around military fortresses, Howe Town was almost entirely composed of businesses catering to soldiers.
The residents here constructed their homes using prefabricated slabs cast from slag and timber harvested from the boreal coniferous forests. The rooftops were covered in dark gray shale tiles. Some traditional Turaxis homes still used fireplaces, their deep red chimneys poking out above snow-covered roofs.
It was clear that the townsfolk hadn’t given much thought to road planning when building their homes—rows of houses were separated by crooked, winding streets that extended into darkness beyond the reach of the streetlamps.
With the Kel-Morian-controlled zones of Tulasis II steadily shrinking, their air fleets could no longer take off at night to bomb cities under Terran Federation control. As a result, the blackout orders had been lifted. All shops were lit up, their windows aglow—mid-range restaurants, traveler’s inns, gun stores selling semi-automatic weapons, and bars flanked by sexy women standing at their entrances.
Augustus and Warfield walked side by side through the streets of Howe Town, followed by the boisterous crowd of Heaven’s Devils.
Augustus wore a three-eared hat made from a Kyadir bear-maw beast. His cold gray eyes calmly scanned the people and scenery of the town. The wind howled, and the thick fur wrapped tightly around his ears and the back of his neck—only the bravest xeno-beast hunters would dare venture into an icebound planet to slay such ferocious creatures. Yet his brother, Arcturus, seemed to have quite a collection of them.
“Tarsonis’s Federal Assembly just announced a new round of economic sanctions against Umoja yesterday,” said Warfield as they walked. “They also expelled the Umojan ambassador from Tarsonis, accusing Umoja of exporting advanced technology to the Kel-Morians and aiding anti-government insurgents within the Federation—supplying weapons to terrorists and rebel forces.”
“They expelled the Umojan ambassador again?” Augustus slowed his pace.
The so-called anti-government forces supported by Umoja’s elected parliament were in fact the armed factions loyal to his father, Angus. The Terran Federation might not have fully uncovered who was orchestrating the protests and uprisings across different planets, but the high-tech weapons they’d confiscated were clearly beyond the manufacturing capabilities of any frontier colony.
The Kel-Morians didn’t even have enough gear for themselves—there was no way they could support anti-Federation rebels in large quantities. Only the Umojans, ever fond of infiltration and intelligence warfare, would attempt to exploit the Federation’s internal divisions to weaken this increasingly aggressive and arrogant regime—without resorting to open war.
“But the Federation government will eventually invite the Umojans back—maybe even as early as next month,” said Augustus. “The senators don’t want to fight two independent powers at the same time. And the Federation still needs Umoja’s exports of cutting-edge tech.”
“Umoja doesn’t want war with the Federation either,” Warfield agreed. “They’re not even ready for a full-scale war.”
“If the Umojans think they can settle things with diplomacy or bribery and preserve their regime’s independence, then they’re dead wrong,” said Warfield sharply, having already sensed the greed of the Terran Federation’s Assembly—and of the old families lurking behind it. “Once the war with the Kel-Morian Combine is over, the next target on their list will be Umoja.”
“Yeah.” Augustus nodded silently. He knew that in the end, the Umojans would succeed. After the war with the Kel-Morian Combine, the Terran Federation would find itself overwhelmed by escalating uprisings and planetary independence movements, leaving them no time or capacity to deal with Umoja—far away on the other side of the Koprulu Sector.
Just then, without warning, Augustus glanced over his shoulder—and spotted Lisa Cassidy behind him. She blinked her pale blue eyes twice when she realized he was looking.
“What are you looking at?” Warfield turned to glance back as well but saw nothing other than a noisy crowd of Marines.
“You’re the one who dumped that medic on me in the first place,” Augustus said in a voice low enough that only the two of them could hear. “Lisa’s a brilliant medic—her capabilities are beyond question. But she can’t quit crab. She can’t resist her craving for the drug.”
“Until I find a way to fix that, I have to keep a close eye on her. Drugs destroy a person’s will. They make you embrace depravity, surrender to pleasure, fear the pain of withdrawal, and ultimately become a slave with no dignity left.”
“She’s already been through detox more than once at the fortress hospital, but none of it worked,” said Warfield. “It’s a damn shame. Anyone who’s seen Lisa Cassidy on the battlefield would think she’s a tough, cool-headed, decisive woman. But in truth—she’s the first to admit it—her will is weak. She can’t control herself.”
“You should’ve thrown her back in the brig,” Augustus said flatly.
“That’s not for you or me to decide,” Warfield replied, shrugging. “Lisa’s contributions on the battlefield earned her another chance from the Department of Military Affairs. If this keeps up, prison is exactly where she’s headed. But no Heaven’s Devil belongs in a cell.”
“But if Lisa uses again…” Augustus glanced sideways at Warfield.
“Then do whatever you think is necessary,” Warfield said.
“I will,” Augustus replied.
The two of them continued west along the street until they stopped in front of a restaurant called Old Man’s Diner.
The place wasn’t large. It had only a few dozen tables covered in clean linen cloth and outfitted with stainless steel chairs, but the decor was surprisingly tasteful. The walls were lined with oil paintings from the colonial era and brass wall sconces. The servers, all young and attractive, carried trays with natural smiles.
“I thought this was supposed to be a high-end restaurant,” Augustus said, eyeing the roll-up shutter door at the entrance.
“Budget constraints,” Warfield replied as he stepped inside. “The UNN folks just want a few photos of the Heaven’s Devils celebrating.”
“So how did they rope you into it?” Augustus asked.
“Because it’s a political assignment,” Warfield said. “I’d rather be crawling through gunfire than sitting here eating a fancy meal.”
When Augustus, Warfield, Raynor, and the rest of First Squad sat down at the same table, the servers quickly brought out a lavish spread—platters of roast chicken and mugs of beer delivered to the ravenous Marines.
“Here, take this.” Before the feast began, Warfield reached into the oversized pocket of his coat and pulled out a neatly folded flag, slowly unfolding it.
“Hey, I love this flag!” Hank shouted with enthusiasm.
It was the Heaven’s Devils insignia—a white skull cloaked in black, wings unfurled, and crimson fire burning in its eyes.
“Heaven’s Devils, gather around me,” Augustus said, deciding to commemorate the moment. “Let Major Warfield take a picture of us.”
All the Marines rose from their seats, moving tables and chairs aside, forming two inward-curving rows.
Third and Fourth Squads knelt in front; First and Second stood shoulder to shoulder in the back. In the center, Augustus and Raynor held the Heaven’s Devils flag.
In that moment, everyone was smiling.
