This was something I wrote years ago. (Well, the bulk of it and the basic setup; I’ve revised it abundantly before publication, as you do.) If memory serves, the first draft of this text came about sometime after I returned home from my international student exchange.

During my time abroad, I had no personal laundry machine in my room or a shared one in the dorm building. Thus, I made trips once or twice a week to the local self-service laundromat, located a short ways down the street. While I sat there waiting for the washing up and tumble-dryer to run their course, I took to reading the novel Catch-22 by Joseph Heller and cackling to myself as I did so.

I had acquired the book on one of my trips to town. On some lazy afternoon walk I had happened on a local bookstore where I saw the book in the English literature section. I vaguely remembered the novel’s and author’s name from some past literary overview or musing of mine, and took that as sufficient providence to buy the book.

As is probably apparent to anyone familiar with Catch-22, the novel’s style and sense of humor are basically what this text is all about. Saying I was “inspired” by Heller would be an understatement: I mostly do what I, within my limits, can to imitate him. So for what it’s worth, I suppose this is my Heller pastiche.

I don’t remember ever coming up with a proper title, just a working title or two that really didn’t fit or satisfy. So let’s just call it by its protagonists: Ignacio & Hammer.

*** *** *** *** ***

Chaplain Ignacio found Colonel Hammer seated squarely behind his oak desk. Chaplain Ignacio’s desk, that is, not the Colonel’s.

“Sir”, Chaplain Ignacio startled as he opened his office door and the fact of Colonel’s presence became apparent in his still sleep-ridden brain (Chaplain Ignacio’s brain, that is, not the Colonel’s).

“Chaplain”, Colonel Hammer boomed. His crew-cut hair was standing at attention.

“Sir.”

Chaplain Ignacio was uncertain if it would be appropriate – and indeed, to the letter of the law – to sit on the visitor seat of his room. After all, Colonel Hammer had occupied his usual seat behind the oak desk. This was Chaplain Ignacio’s room but the awkward fact of Colonel Hammer being his superior made the situation, well, awkward. 

Chaplain Ignacio continued to hesitate and ponder protocol, fearing to take the fateful step into his office. Passing the threshold would necessitate more fateful decisions, such as another step, then another one, then another one, then… well, we all see where I’m going with this.

These steps would quickly amount to a walk, and the good Chaplain would then be forced into another decision: the direction of this walk. While technically all 360 of the degrees surrounding him were available, the direction would be nonsensical if taken in any directions except toward the visitor’s seat or his own seat behind the desk.

No, seatwards was the only direction.

Yet, with Colonel Hammer occupying the seat behind the desk, conflict on that front seemed both inevitable and imminent. That said, it was perhaps as things should be, the Chaplain mused. After all, where would conflict on the front be more appropriate a state of affairs than in the military?

He had no precedence for this manner of intrusion: foul-mannered yet completely legal (especially if one was to look at it from Colonel Hammer’s side of the court). As a superior officer, Colonel Hammer traditionally held the stronger case. Such is the military way: superior officers hold superior views by virtue of being superior officers.

It would hardly be of any use to be a superior officer if one’s view was inferior, Chaplain Ignacio mused silently to himself.

“Take a seat, whydontcha”, Colonel Hammer instructed with his low thunder of a voice. 

“Yessir”, Chaplain Ignacio spoke and ended his hesitation at the door with unvoiced gratitude. It was only 0630 hours and the Chaplain had thus far been denied his regular cup of morning java. As such, he felt ill-equipped to deal with the surprise of the Colonel awaiting him in his empty office (which the presence of the Colonel, technically speaking, made a not-empty office).

Chaplain Ignacio took a seat – whydontcha – on the visitor seat and waited Colonel Hammer to reveal what cruel trick of fate had bestowed him upon the Chaplain that morning. The Colonel produced a thick cigar holder from his breast pocket and from the thick cigar holder he proceeded on to produce a thick cigar.

“Do you mind if I smoke”, he bellowed. It was not a question and the Colonel produced a silvery lighter from his pocket and lit the cigar. An assaulting pulse of puffs began to emanate from his rhino-like frame.

“Sir”, Chaplain Ignacio coughed timidly.

“You do not like me smoking in your office, Chaplain.”

The Chaplain wavered. “Sir?”

“Yes or no, Chaplain.” Again, it was not a question.

“No sir.”

“No what?”

“Sir?” Chaplain Ignacio was lost at sea and not in the navy.

Thunder began to gather on the brows and behind the eyes of Colonel Hammer. “No as in ‘No, you don’t like me smoking in your office’ or no as in ‘No, I’m wrong and it’s alright for me to smoke in your office.’”

“Well, sir…” Dewy drops of sweat began racing on the Chaplain’s temple. “Sir, I meant the latter. Sir.”

Colonel Hammer’s eyes widened at the Chaplain’s audacity. “Are you saying I’m wrong, Chaplain? ‘Cause that implication damn well goes with the latter option.”

“I mean…”, the Chaplain stammered and saw his cushy career of consoling men about to die for lines on maps and decorated flags, flashing before his eyes. Colonel Hammer chose to rewind that tape, however.

“Never mind about that now”, he roared and waved his cigar-free hand in the grandiose gesture that many cultures associate with the expression “fuck it”. Ignacio had rarely felt such ease at someone giving his words the good ol’ fuck-all so suddenly. 

“I come to you this morning to seek council on a matter of great importance”, Colonel Hammer explained. “It’s to do with a new enemy in the field that I’ve no experience of… but they tell me you’re an expert on this one.”

Chaplain Ignacio felt dumb-founded. He had never been an expert on military blocs, allies or enemies. Chaplain Ignacio’s work, as he understood it, consisted of assuring men on his side of a line on a map about two basic things:

The first of these was more in tenor with what the Church had taught him: that all men are born good and it is fine to feel bad about killing other men since the Bible does actually say “thou shalt not kill”.

The second, and more to the military’s liking, was that it was actually equally fine to kill men on the other side of that line on the map since they were not born that good. And besides, maybe those other men hadn’t even read the Bible so they wouldn’t even have the good Christian decency to feel bad about killing us on this side of the line, and so on and so forth.

These were assuredly not esoteric truths lost to superior officers, Ignacio pondered. All this made him profoundly unsure of how he, a lowly Chaplain, could help the Colonel on this one.

“So I rest assured that you can help me on this one, Chaplain.”

“Yessir. I’d be glad to help if it’s in my power, sir.”

“You would not only be glad, you would be doing your patriotic duty”, Colonel Hammer corrected without missing a beat. “Now, this new enemy is on the lips of several of our men. I cannot do with that: talk of opposing forces levied against is bad for morale. So, Chaplain, tell me all you know about this ‘God’ that the men speak of! I want to hear all possible tactics we might use against him, strategic weaknesses, the lot.”

Chaplain Ignacio blinked. He briefly considered the option that Colonel Hammer might be joking on his expense and in quick fashion withdrew that suspicion away from out in the open. Even if the Colonel would be testing his sense of humor, the retaliation to an un-understood joke would likely be less devastating than a suggestion that the Colonel was making fun when in fact he wasn’t.

“Sir, God is…” Chaplain Ignacio was at a loss and not sure if Colonel Hammer was at a win. “God is a… force to be reckoned with, I would say. Sir.”

Colonel Hammer frowned. “Mmmyes, that is what I gather from the reverence the men seem to have when they speak of him.” He lifted his steely eyes to bore through the Chaplain. “And what is your experience with him, Chaplain?”

Chaplain Ignacio swallowed laboriously. He corrected his spectacles that did not really need correcting.

“Well, one could say that I encountered Him at a young age already”, the Chaplain offered meekly. “He is… well, with me at all times. As far as I understand. Sir.”

“At all times?!” the Colonel boomed, aghast. “What the damn hell are you saying? Does this ‘God’ have such a high level of intelligence among us?”

The Chaplain waved his hands on the edge of panic. If he couldn’t subdue the Colonel’s fury, this would once again lead to firing squad assembly. HQ would ultimately disallow any firing squads and declare them to have been merely “symbolic”. At which point, the Colonel would give a fiery speech to the troops to underline how indeed the “literally intended firing squads had just been fucking ‘sym-bolic’ and the HQ has not put these words that they just put in my mouth, in my mouth. Dismissed.”.

So that would just look bad at HQ again.

“Colonel, sir, you have to understand: God is… He does not have a level of intelligence among us. He just, ehm… you see, by definition, He is omnipresent, meaning He sees and hears everything. But, but it really is –“

“EVERYTHING?” The Colonel vacated the Chaplain’s office seat and headed to the door. “THERE IS SOMEONE WHO SEES AND HEARS E-VERY-THING ON THE BASE AND THIS IS THE FIRST I HEAR ABOUT IT!”

Colonel Hammer’s face contorted to that of an oncoming stroke patient as he rumbled down the corridor to begin the truest show of military force he could muster: procedures.

The uninitiated often think the army life is all about learning to kill and maim, but it’s really more about procedures: the troops eat, sleep and shit procedures. The higher the officer, the more inane and burdensome the procedures.

“I have rooted out spies before and make no mistake, Chaplain: I will root out this one!” the Colonel bellowed. “God is a threat to battalion security and he will be treated as such!”

Colonel Hammer poked his head to Private Poorman’s cubicle and let it rip.

“POORMAN!”

“Sir yessir”, Poorman mumbled without lifting his face from the papers he was working on.

“BEGIN PROCEDURES! ASSEMBLE A FIRING SQUAD! WRITE A REPORT! GET ME SOME DAMN COFFEE! I AM GOING TO FIND GOD AND HEAVEN HELP HIM WHEN I LAY MY HANDS ON THAT SPYING S.O.B.!”

“Sir yessir”, Poorman muttered. If he concentrated, he could almost hear Chaplain Ignacio once again quietly weeping in his office, at the visitor’s seat.