The Devil's Help

                                                                                By Adam Graham

"I'm the devil and I'm here to help."

Sergeant Pete Crowley planted his feet and leveled his M1 Rifle at the winged creature with fangs before him in the middle of a meadow in France. The creature was barely visible in the dim moonlight. Crowley took a step back. "Hands-er-hooves up."

The creature shrugged and complied.

Crowley stared at the creature. It was too big to be a man. Unless the Nazis had developed hallucinogenic weapons, he was darned if he knew what it was. "What do you want?"

"As I said, I'm here to help. Petey boy, I've been with you all your life. I've been the whisper in your ear that's pushed you to fun and excitement. Only you haven't been listening the last few years ever since you started going to church and married that girl. But we're old pals. Generally, we devils would rather that you not know we exist but there's no use trying to fool you about that. So, I'm here. No angel of light routine. Just a devil-to-man talk straightforward."

Crowley said, "There's nothing straight about you. Not even the tip of your tail. You lied from the get go. Lucifer isn't going to bother with some corporal on sentry duty for the Allies. You're not the devil, you're just a demon. And I doubt you look like that. It's just how artists imagine you. Only thing you're missing is a pitch fork and you'd fit in a comic book."

The demon laughed and wiped one hoof across his face. "You're being too technical. It'd be like you saying you were Army and me accusing you of impersonating General Eisenhower. As for the looks?" The Demon shrugged. "I am beauty beyond beauty, horror beyond horror. The human mind couldn't process."

Crowley glared at the demon. "I could tell you to go away."

"You could, but you won't, Petey. Beneath all that disgusting unnatural virtue, you have raw human curiosity. Why is a demon manifesting in physical form to Pete Crowley in the middle of the night in some field in the middle of France?"

Crowley said, "You want me to sign a contract to sell you my soul."

The demon let loose a long mirthful laugh. "Contracts? We're not into commitment. It's the other guy who asks for your heart and soul for the rest of your life. I'm all about freedom and convincing you to do what's right for you right now. Contracts are cute, but they're only of any power as long as people believe in them. Not a good way to do business."

"Then what's the pitch?"

"I'm here to give you a parting gift. You know, before you die."

Crowley shook his head. "You can't know that. "

"Not my usual thing, but an angel got sloppy. What I want to offer you is a chance to see what you'll never see. The future. It's like a movie trailer and I know you love those."

Was this possible? Wait for it, if you're to see it. But what if he never got to? Crowley frowned. "I'll take a look at your little slideshow."

"Oh, it's more than that."

The future came streaming by Pete's face.

Strange people in strange clothes.

Violence and riots.

Cruelty, abuse, deprivation.

Murders of children and of women.

Children without fathers.

Children without mothers.

Presidents abusing their office and disgracing the nation.

People burning the flag in the streets.

Skyscrapers collapsing

Wars and more wars.

An embassy being destroyed

A factory burning.

A man tripping over a wire in a rice patty being blown to bits.

A man being shot and falling onto the desert floor, bleeding out.

Pete fell to the ground weeping.

The demon smiled with malevolence. "That's what comes after victory. You think that this will end all wars, but it doesn't. Your father died thinking that in his war and now you've seen your son and grandson die in future wars-Vietnam and the Gulf War they'll call them. You will die for nothing, if you choose to."

Pete shook his head. "Choose to?"

"You could avoid dying. Deserting wouldn't be your style, but you could injure yourself so that you get sent back."

Shaking, Peter stood. "Or I could tell them about this encounter and get a Section Eight."

The demon spread its arms. "That's the spirit."

Pete shook his head. "I'm not backing out."

The demon stared into Pete's eyes. "You stay here and you're going to die."

"Maybe so."

"You still think the future of America is worth dying for?"

Pete stared down. The future looked horrible, but perhaps he'd been given a selectively edited version. This demon could have found quite a bit about 1944 to dispirit a soldier during the Last War. "Maybe not, but my unit is. We depend on each other. Most of these guys would lay their lives down for me, and I won't abandon them."

"But what about the son you've never seen? He'll grow up without his father. You're more use to him as a live coward than as a dead hero."

"I won't have my son raised by a coward!" Pete smiled. "That's it. You wanted to me pass on cowardice like a disease."

The demon nodded. "At least you won't be our problem after tomorrow. Plus you regret asking to see the future." The demon cracked a mirthless smile. "That's something anyway." He disappeared into the night.

Pete Crowley clutched his rifle, ready for the enemy. If they came, he would defend his sleeping comrades with his life.