Chapter 1 Shit Coffee

“Shit coffee.”

“What?”

“Shit coffee.”

“Does it taste that bad? I’ve never tried.”

The soldier sitting opposite him on the convoy truck grunted in frustration. Damien looked at him. The soldier was a thin young man with mousy brown hair, desperate eyes, and big ears. The faintest whiff of a moustache curled over his upper lip. Shit coffee? What the fuck was he going on about anyway? He looked out the back of the convoy at the fields rolling by. It was a cloudy day, and the fields were empty. They seemed to mostly be covered in weeds and wild grass. He thought how nice it would be to lie in the grass and slowly fall asleep. 

“Our first mission. Weren’t you listening?”

“Not really.” 

“We’re going to one of Senator Broz’s premium coffee greenhouses. Some problems with staffing and they need people to collect the goods. Except I know-” the mousy-haired soldier leaned in conspiratorially. Damien continued to look outside at the fields, but he could still smell the soldier’s warm breath on his cheek. 

“I know - my father told me, you see, he’s a personal friend of the senator’s-” 

Someone in the back of the truck snorted.

The mousy-haired soldier turned and looked scornfully at the inside of the convoy. “I joined up for the good of my country, thank you very much. It is an honor to protect Agurts.” 

“Sure,” snickered the other. 

“Anyway,” the mousy-haired soldier returned to Damien with his hot breath. Damien wrinkled his nose and did his best to keep himself calm. His gear was heavy and uncomfortable and the convoy was bouncing all over the place as it drove down the unpaved road. Was this what the army had in store for him?

“As I was saying, my father knows the senator, and this place we’re going - there are these bats, right, and they feed them coffee beans, can you believe it? And then the bats shit them out, and then they make the coffee out of the bat shit. And that’s what we’re doing. We’re picking up shit coffee.” He sat there smugly waiting for a reaction from Damien. Damien just stared at him.

“Well?” 

“Well what?”

“What do you think?”

“I mean it sucks. But what can we do about it?” He looked out the back of the convoy. They appeared to be slowing down - he guessed they were approaching the greenhouses. First day on the job and he was literally picking up shit. The mousy-haired soldier beside him sighed and shook his head.

“You’re useless.”

“Everyone get ready to disembark!” A voice from the truck shouted. A figure stood up just as the truck pulled to a stop and swiftly jumped out. She had the dark skin of someone from Uruya, or of Uruyan descent. She was tall, and had a fierce expression on her face. Damien looked at her impassively for a moment, then grabbed his gear and clambered down. 

“Line up troops! On the double!” 

Damien lined up outside the truck with the mousy-haired soldier on one side and a white-bearded old man on the other. The mousy-haired soldier nudged him gently in the ribs. “The name’s Petar, by the way. What’s yours?”

“It’s Damien.”

“Cool. Stick with me, Damien, I won’t steer you wrong.”

“Hm.” Damien grunted noncommittally. The clouds were a slate gray roof blocking out the sun, making the light soft and diffuse. Perfect weather for hunting. General murkiness made it easier to disguise your presence, disperse your shadow. He had sat once in the undergrowth of the woods around his house and waited until a deer passed by. It never saw his arrow coming. He had stood over its corpse for some time before skinning it and carrying the meat home.

The woman passed over them quickly and then stood to attention as Sergeant Han came up to their team. “Well,” the man smiled wanly. “I’m sorry boys, that this has to be your first day on the job. But this is the Agurts National Army, and an order’s an order. Get in there and pick up as much of this coffee shit as you can get your gloves on. Put it into those crates inside and we can load up and get the hell on our way out of here. Understood?”

“Understood!” They shouted as one, saluting. 

Han nodded, his eyes already moving on. It was as if he had barely seen them in the first place. The tall Uruyan woman appeared before them again. “My name is Laina Djemai, and that’s Corporal Djemai to you. You heard the sergeant, let’s get a move on!” 

She started to march briskly towards the coffee greenhouse. Petar nudged him again. 

“Ever seen anyone so excited to go pick up shit?” He chuckled. 

Damien smiled for the first time that day. “No, I have to admit I haven’t.” 

Petar’s returning smile went from ear to ear. He was thrilled his joke had finally found its mark. 

Neither Petar nor Damien was smiling for long. It took them ages to even get into the warehouse. Security was absurdly tight: first they were given special pocketless uniforms to wear while picking up the bat feces, so they had to strip out of all of their gear and place it in special lockers. Then they passed through some sort of full body scanner. As they entered the building, armed guards - the personal private guards hired by the senator - watched them suspiciously, noticeably hefting their heavy shotguns to the temporary workers. It made them feel less like representatives of the Agurts National Army and more like petty criminals. And on top of it all, the greenhouse stank to the high heavens - quite understandably, given all of the bat shit. While most of the bats were sleeping, occasionally one would swoop down from its perch in the jungle trees at one of them, causing a general ruckus. Morale was low. 

“Stupid fucking bat shit,” Petar moaned. “Who needs to drink bat shit coffee, anyway?”

“Have you ever had coffee, son? I mean the normal kind.” 

Petar looked over at the old man who had spoken. The old man had thick white hair with a beard to match. His skin was the color of tanned leather, as if he had spent just a little too long in the sun. He was as tall as Damien, and Damien wasn’t short. But it was the way he carried himself that was striking. He was a thick-built fellow getting on in years, but he walked with sinewy grace like some sort of jungle cat. 

During the whole ride over on the truck, he hadn’t said anything. And while the rest of them had been complaining about the work, it appeared that he had collected more bat shit than any of them. Petar puffed out his cheeks petulantly. “Yes I have actually. It was a gift from Senator Broz to my family.” 

“And what did you think of it?” 

“Ummm…” Petar pursed his lips as he thought. “Actually I don’t think I was allowed any. I think they gave me hot cocoa instead.” 

Damien asked: “Have you ever had coffee?”

The old man smiled warmly. “Yes…a long time ago.” 

Damien was surprised. Coffee was reserved only for the extremely wealthy. The old man, well, if he had been wealthy, he wouldn’t have been digging up bat shit with them. “What did it taste like? Is it really as good as they say?”

The old man thought for a few minutes. “It was bitter...it had a heavy bitterness to it.” 

“Bitter?” Damien shrugged. “I guess the rich have strange taste.”

The old man laughed. “You know, if you read the stories of the Old World, coffee was apparently everywhere, and despite its bitterness, it was very popular. Can you imagine?” The old man’s eyes glazed over. “A world where everyone can have a cup of coffee and food on the table. What a world it must have been.” 

“Too bad it’s gone,” a nasally voice responded from behind. The old man turned to a black-haired soldier with beetly eyes and a snub nose. There was a tension in the way he moved, like rope tightly wound and about to split. “We live in the Acid Rain Era now. And there’s no going back.” 

“That’s certainly true,” the old man responded smoothly. “I never said we should go back. Just, well, thinking about what was...what could be.” 

“You’re a dreamer,” said another soldier. This one was taller, with spindly glasses clipped over his ears. His legs and arms were gangly, as if they didn’t quite match up with his body, but his voice was melodic, darkly musical. “I respect dreaming, old man. The world - even the Acid Rain world - needs more people like you, in my opinion.” 

“Less dreaming, more shit picking!” Corporal Djemai appeared in the middle of them like a wolf among sheep. 

“We’ll get there,” the old man said calmly, bending back down to the task at hand. 

“Hmph,” said the woman. “You better. I don’t want to see any slacking.” She marched away, her back rimrod straight. Petar stuck his tongue out at her. The black-haired soldier seemed to think about throwing some shit at her retreating profile, but the old man restrained him. “Everyone has their own mission. She’s just doing what she thinks is right. So best not fight, eh? Let’s get on with it.” 

They got back to work, but the atmosphere had changed. It was less heavy and more relaxed: much of the tension and frustration that had built up seemed to have drained away. Damien could feel it in his bones. He had always been good at sensing these things. It had helped him to hunt. Knowing when an animal was nervous or agitated versus calm and at ease. He reflected on what had happened among them just now. A meaningless conversation about nothing much of anything that ended up going nowhere. He looked at the old man, who looked back at him in turn. He looked away quickly. The old man’s gaze was like an arrow shot clean under a noonday sun: sharp, steady, and true. 

The smell of shit clung to them as they left the greenhouse and returned to the trucks. It was getting on for evening. The clouds had made good on their promise: it was beginning to rain. Thick drops splashed down on them, adding to the air of pervasive misery. “Masks on!” The call went out, and the recruits donned their masks. Damien wouldn’t have worn a mask usually, but in the army, there were strict rules: raining? Get your mask on. No cause for unnecessary risks. They tromped back from the greenhouses to their trucks. There were some questions of logistics to work out. Sergeant Han had called over Corporal Djemai, who had in no uncertain terms told them to remain where they were and as they were and at order. Most of the group retreated onto the truck to escape from the downpour. But there were some ruins of an older building nearby. Damien took cover from the rain under one corner, savoring a brief moment of privacy. He looked up at the rainy sky. He had memories that always came flooding back at times like this…

“You alright there, son?” 

It was the voice of the old man. He sat next to Damien against the ruins and watched the rain with him. They sat like that for a few moments in silence. Damien didn’t really feel like talking, but the old man didn’t seem like he was going to move anytime soon, and he didn’t want to be impolite.

“Yeah.” 

“Good, good.” The old man watched as the sky darkened. It would be night soon. No twilight for them today, no sunset to paint the world gold. Just a steady darkening into blackness. “Farm boy, huh?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Armaria?” 

“Near Fierla.” 

“No kidding. Nice place.” 

“Yeah.” 

“The trees down there are something special. The North Fierlan Woods, is it?”

Damien blinked. “You know it?” 

The old man smiled. “Been through there a few times. Great place for hunting. Lots of foliage, but the trees aren’t packed so tight together, so the sight lines are good. Deer, wild boar...blightwolves as well, I guess.” 

Damien nodded vigorously. “I grew up there. I used to hunt every weekend before…” He trailed off into silence.

The old man looked at him and gave him a slap on the shoulder. “It isn’t easy, saying goodbye to something you love.” 

Damien shook his head in agreement. The old man slapped him again. “So just say: ‘see you soon’ instead! That’s what I’ve always done!” He laughed uproariously at his own joke. 

Damien couldn’t help but grin. “How has that worked out for you?”

The old man stopped laughing and pondered a moment. He shrugged. “Mostly.” 

They sat there for a little while longer, mulling over the events of the day. Suddenly Bob murmured: “...it’s fragrant.” 

Damien looked at him. “What was that?”

“You were asking me earlier about the taste of coffee, and I said it was bitter. But that doesn’t quite capture it. It is bitter, but it also has a flavorful aroma. It’s difficult to explain.” He started to fish around in the packs strapped to his belt, deftly retrieving a small waterproof leather pouch. Unzipping it, he held out a small brown oval bean for Damien to see. Even though he had never seen one, he could guess what it was, and his eyes widened. 

“Is that real? Where did you get it?”

Bob held it out for a moment longer. “A memento to remind me of what was, and what could be again. What I’m fighting for.” He put the small bean and pouch away and slowly pulled himself to his feet. Damien stood up next to him. He was impressed by the old man’s demeanor. It had been a rough day, a miserable one by all accounts, and yet here he was smiling and chatting like nothing had happened. The rain didn’t bother him, didn’t add to his despair; it just washed over him. And he even had his very own secret stash of coffee! He thought: maybe one day they could drink coffee together. That would be cool.

They heard a commotion behind them. It appeared Corporal Djemai had returned and was roundly scolding the group for some perceived misdemeanor. Even though they couldn’t see it, the sun had now fully set. It was getting much darker, and fast. The old man gestured towards the group. “We best get back.” Damien nodded and stretched as he stood up straight. The old man held out his hand. “The name’s Bob, son. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Damien took his hand and shook it firmly. “Damien. It’s a pleasure, Bob.” 

Before they got back onto the convoy, they had a quick dinner under a hastily set up tarpaulin, heating up their military dinner rations - a tightly packed Hallesbury container of rice, beans, a smattering of leafy greens, and some scraps of meat. It was, if nothing else, a hearty meal, and for some minutes there was nothing but the quiet sound of eating. Then Petar spoke up: “So...we’re going to be working together, so I suppose we should know each other. I’m Petar of the Rakevich family. If you need someone to show you around the scene in Sonceto, I’m your man. I know every club in the city, and then some.” He looked around expectantly at the group. No one seemed much in the mood to respond. He turned to Damien and raised his eyebrows pityingly. Damien sighed.

“Uh...Hi. I’m Damien Ballast. I come from Fierla, I guess. I...like nature...hunting...uhh…” 

“And I’m Bob. I’m actually from Zamaii, so it’ll be nice to be back in the area.” The old man picked up as Damien began to trail off. 

The black-haired soldier spoke next: “Bob? Like from the Bucks Team?” 

The old man shook his head ruefully. “No, I’m afraid not. Just plain old Bob…,” under his breath he muttered: “...just an old man trying to do his part.”

“Well - then - I’m next.” The black-haired soldier was sitting next to Bob. He stood up and bowed, then sat down again. “I’m Alexander Crossark from Auth. I’m actually an engineer. Looking forward to when they let us handle some SAs.” 

“Hopefully we won’t need them,” Bob pointed out. 

“Right, right. Well, anyway, that’s me. You can just call me Alex, by the way, so…” He turned to look at the tall soldier next to him with the glasses. The man carefully put down his food next to him and adjusted his glasses so they sat straight on his nose. 

“My name is Gustav Schertling. Please call me Schertling, thank you. I was not born here, my family came from across the Bayarian Gray Zone. If I do not speak so clearly, please let me know. The language is not my mother tongue.” 

Bob whistled. “Some ways to the west, huh Schertling?”

He nodded. “It was a long journey with a long story. Perhaps I will tell you one day, but not now. It is nice to meet you all. ” He nodded his head politely.

Petar put his empty tin next to him and let out a contented sigh. “Great to meet all of you! I just know, we’re going to be quite the team - better than the Bucks even!”

The group chuckled, then lapsed again into the awkward silence of people slowly getting to know one another. Alex was the next to speak. “You guys read the news today?”

Schertling nodded. “More trouble near Gafia.”

“Soil Ghosts are getting real difficult out that way,” Alex assented. “Hope they don’t come near Zamaii or anything. Could be trouble.”

“The tribes have no interest in Zamaii,” said Bob, suddenly. The group looked at him to elaborate, but the old man simply shrugged his shoulders. “...so I’ve heard.”

“Well, I’ve heard -” Petar began, “-that those Ghosts will take your money in a deal and then take everything else to boot! You can’t trust those mutants. They aren’t like us, not anymore. They’re hardly human.” 

Schertling stroked his chin thoughtfully, “They do seem to be getting more aggressive. I hope it won’t come to war.” 

“Gafia would crush them if it came to that,” Alex pointed out. “The Ghosts don’t have SAs, just those beat up Meks. I’m not even sure they have an army. It would be a pretty quick war.” 

“It would be a massacre,” Damien said. They all looked at him. He stared back. Well, wouldn’t it? The Gafians would march in, probably with imperial support, and that would be that. Ghosts to the slaughter.

“Troops! Finish up and move out, we’re getting ready to move!” Corporal Djemai was back from her dinner with some of the other corporals. Her figure was backlit by the lights coming from the trucks behind her, and she loomed large above them.

Bob stood up while shoveling down the rest of his dinner. “Well gentlemen, we’d best get a move on. Wouldn’t want to upset the corporal,” he winked at them. 

They chuckled. Damien swigged some water from his bottle to wash down the stodgy rice and bean mixture. 

Back on the convoy, it was pitch black. He could hear Bob snoring loudly in the back, and Corporal Djemai also seemed to have nodded off from the way her head was drooping. Suddenly he heard a low “Psst.” He looked over in the dark. Someone was beckoning him to lean in, so he did. He squinted and made out the face of Alex. The young man whispered at him: “Wake up Petar and Schertling, but be quiet about it.” 

“Why?”

“Just do it!” 

He shook Petar, who yawned and blinked confusedly. “Uh...huh...what’s up?”

Alex smiled coyly in the dark and held out a hand. They didn’t need to see what it was - they could smell it. Schertling’s eyes widened and he hissed. “Are you crazy!? How did you-” 

Alex put a finger to his lips and quickly put it away. “Don’t worry about it. I figured we deserved a little special compensation for what we went through today.” 

Petar nodded and smiled. “No one will notice - what is that, maybe a cup and a half of coffee? We’ll be fine.” 

Schertling crossed his arms. “Ugh. I don’t like it. But...I’ve never tried it before.” 

Alex settled back in his spot. “Just wanted to let you guys know.”

Damien said, “Thanks Alex. This is cool.” 

Petar leaned back as well and yawned again. “It is. Once we get to Zamaii, let’s find a place and heat it up! Oh man - I can’t wait to try it. We’ll be living like kings, boys!” 

Slowly they settled into silence. Damien dreamily reflected: his first day on the job, over. They had said life in the army would be tough, and his first day had been - quite literally - full of shit.

Still, it seemed like life in the Zamaii Border Patrol would be far from dull.