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Gothic and imposing, its stone walls and heavy wooden doors blackened by weather and years of pollution from the nearby main road, the church towered over the figures of the two men who trudged along the street below, heads bowed against the bitter December wind. Ghost had been surprised when Soap had suggested a detour on their way back to Herefordshire after a week running a training program at RAF Bassingbourne. It wasn’t that he didn’t know Soap had a religious background—Ghost had spotted a string of beads with a crucifix in his room once, draped over a family photo—but he’d never seen anything to suggest he was still practicing. When Ghost had asked about it, Soap had shrugged and brushed it off as “sentimental tat”. The next time Ghost saw the photo, the beads were gone.
Ghost’s own relationship with religion didn’t stretch far beyond being dragged along a few times during his time at his Church of England primary school, usually around the time of the harvest festival. He had lingering memories of dark, austere wood panelling, dusty, embroidered cushions that hung on the back of the pews, and a dull vicar mumbling from a pulpit. A chore now to be endured only at funerals—that was how Ghost felt about religion. But Soap seemed excited to stop in. And Ghost could use a break before regrouping with the rest of the squadron, having spent the last few days training a bunch of rag-tag trainees that were unlikely to ever even see real battle, but had demanded an awful lot of his attention. He was tired.
The main doors were firmly closed, but Soap led them through a smaller side door and up a few steps into a sheltered entry hall, their boots echoing on the crumbling tile floor.
“You been here before?” Ghost asked, peering at the leaflets that lined the walls, listing things like “Christmas masses”, “confession times”, and contact details for the local choir.
“Nah, I’ve had it bookmarked to visit though if I was ever in the area,” Soap said. “It’s meant to be beautiful.”
On either side of another heavy wooden door, set into the stone wall, were shallow dishes, each containing a few centimeters of water. Johnny dipped his fingertips into one, bringing them to his forehead, the center of his chest, then each shoulder in turn.
“Holy water,” he said, “for making the sign of the cross.”
“Do I do it?” Ghost asked hesitantly. He wasn’t sure what the rules were, and he didn’t want to upset Soap by making some kind of religious faux-pas.
“Do you want to?”
“I want to learn.”
“C’mon, I’ll show ye. Here,” Johnny said, stepping to one side. “Let your fingers kiss the water, you’re not trying to bathe in it.”
Ghost pulled his glove from his right hand and gingerly placed it in the water. It was freezing, and understandably so, kept cold by the marble of the dish and the proximity of the winter air.
“That’s it. Now, bring them to your forehead.”
He did as instructed.
“And your chest, here,” Johnny said, touching low on Ghost’s sternum. Ghost copied the movement. “Now your left shoulder…and your right”. Soap’s fingers brushed just below his collarbone on each side, Ghost’s trailing just behind him.
“Ready?”
“S’pose so.”
“Better take your hood down, though.”
“Sure,” Simon said, pulling it back and running his hand briefly through his hair. “The mask okay?”
“Yeah, you can leave that on,” Soap said, lifting the latch on the door inside. “Sure the big man wouldn’t want you feeling uncomfortable.”
Simon didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. The interior of the church was a stark contrast to the outside. Columns painted in soft colours soared up towards the high, arched ceiling. The main altar was made of white marble, under a dark blue sky dotted with gold stars. More, smaller altars lined the walls, with rows of flickering candles in front of them, illuminating the soft faces of the statues above. A huge crucifix hung near the front, almost life-size, depicting a pale Jesus, eyes half-closed, red blood pouring from a deep wound in his side. He’d have scars to rival Ghost’s own. The air had a soft haze to it, a sweet, woody-scented smoke that clung to his skin.
Worshippers were dotted here and there, solitary figures with heads bowed, or whispering in groups of two or three, their hushed voices echoing in the cavernous space.
“Let’s sit down for a minute.”
Ghost was hesitant to follow Soap down the aisle, suddenly feeling out of place in his dark clothing and muddy boots, but he trailed after his sergeant, treading as lightly as he could on the worn flagstones. Soap stopped about two-thirds of the way down, and murmured something to Ghost.
“Now we genuflect.”
“We do what?” Simon asked, unsure if he just couldn’t hear him properly.
“Bend your right knee, like this,” Johnny demonstrated, sinking low to the ground, his movements slow and deliberate, and head bowed. He rose again and smiled encouragingly as he sidled into the pew and sat down. Simon didn’t like to do something without knowing why he was doing it, but he also didn’t want to draw the attention of the other people in the church, nor be accidentally disrespectful. So he knelt, knees creaking slightly as he tried not to rush, then straightened and shuffled in beside Johnny.
“D’you pray much, sir?” Soap murmured, leaning close to Simon’s ear.
“Not sure the thought ever crossed my mind, Johnny. I’m not much one for belief in a higher power.”
“Me neither.”
“But you pray?”
“All the time.”
Ghost was confused. “Why? What’s the point if you don’t believe?”
Johnny shrugged. “Depends a bit on your definition of prayer. I usually take a moment to think about the things I am grateful for. My parents, my sisters. All the lads of course. And you and Cap. Nice moment for reflection. Gets a bit trickier when I start to think about everything else. Think God gets let off the hook too much.” He scowled. “Y’know, I never even got confirmed.”
“Wha’s that mean?” Ghost asked, watching an elderly woman drop a coin into a box and light a new candle in front of a statue of a woman in a blue gown.
“Confirmation’s when you’re officially a fully-fledged Catholic. First you get baptized, usually when you’re a wee baby, then you do your first holy communion, then you get confirmed. But I put my foot down about that.”
“Because you didn’t believe?”
“Sort of. But at the same timeI didn’t not believe. And I decided that if God did turn out to be real, he’d know I’d lied about believing in him when I got confirmed, and probably wouldn’t be that impressed. Thought he’d prefer an honest non-believer over a liar. Not sure what he thinks of me now.”
“You’re not a liar, Johnny.”
Soap tipped his chin towards the ceiling, studying it as the candles guttered and flickered, his blue eyes glowing in the dim light.
“Think I’ve done a bit worse than lying by now, sir.”
“And you saved countless lives by doing it.”
“And taken countless more.”
Soap eased himself down to his knees, clasped his hands in front of himself and bowed his head. Ghost hesitated again, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment. But Soap had brought him here, had shown him how to make the sign of the cross, how to kneel in respect. So he copied his sergeant. There were no comfy cushions to kneel on here, only a small strip of wood with a thin layer of padding over the top. It was uncomfortable immediately, and painful after a few minutes, but he endured, the two men united in quiet reflection before the glittering altar.
Soap broke the reverie. “Better get a shift on, or Price’ll be sending out a search party.”
“Hmph,” Ghost grunted in agreement. “The old man worries too much.”
They shuffled back out of their pew, genuflecting again when they reached the aisle. Ghost moved a little stiffly, his knees aching.
“Cold bothering you a bit?” Soap asked as they made their way back through the church, Ghost’s hulking masked figure attracting more than a few curious glances.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll whack the heating on when we get in the car. That’ll help.”
“Hmm.”
“Thanks for stopping in with me, sir. I know it’s not your sort of thing.”
“Don’t mention it,” Ghost said gruffly. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”
Soap grinned. “Soppy bastard.”
“Don’t think you're meant to swear in church, Johnny.”
“Aye, but at least I didn’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”
Ghost chuckled. “Got plenty of time for that later.”
They stepped out into the dwindling evening light, a shifting fog now pooling under the streetlamps. Ghost pulled his hood back over his head with a shiver.
“Ready sir?” Soap asked, nudging Ghost’s arm gently with his elbow.
Ghost smiled under his mask, his eyes crinkling. “Lead the way, Johnny.”