Author: B. E. Wilson
Date: 2015-04-08 17:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction & Fantasy; Science Fiction; Adventure; Alien Invasion; First Contact; Military; Space Marine; Post-Apocalyptic
Description: In the grim aftermath of an alien invasion, Drew Butler must make a life altering decision, either get drafted or enlist. With his older twin brothers drafted, and either missing in action or killed, his father convinces him the only way to survive is to enlist and qualify for the T-1A77 Marine Combat Suit Program. The Suit, constructed and cross-engineered from an alien power source, it was the only weapon having success against the superior and more technologically advanced assailant. It would be the only way to increase his chances for survival. Following his father’s advice, Drew finds him
Publisher: William Wilson

Marine Summer: Year 2041

By: B.E. Wilson

Copyright © 2015 B. E. Wilson

ISBN:978-0-9904733-3-6

Edited by:Scribendi Inc.
405 Riverview Drive, Suite 304
Chatham, ON N7M 0N3
Canada

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, information storage, or retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental

www.bewilson.com

Contents

- Copyright

- Marine Summer: Year 2041

- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20

Marine Summer: Year 2041

1

It was my first train ride, my first time away from family, and the first time since the aliens invaded that I had actually felt scared. I had to ride on top of the train—my folks couldn’t afford to buy me a ticket that would allow me the protection and warmth of a railway car.

It was cold and miserable. The rain felt like tiny needles of ice penetrating my skin. Being poor, I didn’t have the warmth of a coat to protect me, which was a luxury in these times. I had to make do with nothing but a ragged, old gray t-shirt. I pulled the neckline up to cover my nose; at least by hiding half my face, I could pretend that I was warm. I swear, even my own breath on my chest felt cold as it touched my skin.

It was getting dark, but I could see the glow of the train station ahead. It looked like a blurry and stained snow globe off in the distance. The scene became clearer as flashes of lightning illuminated the stormy sky.

The train was starting to decelerate. The jolt of the brake causing me to lose my balance, I tried to grab onto something, but it was just a wet slick surface. I accidently made contact with the man in front of me as I fought to grab onto something, anything, to keep my balance. But he just pushed me away like I didn’t matter and over the side I went. Before I knew it I was face down in the frigid mud, my breath taken away from me as I crashed into that soggy excuse for earth.

I had to pull my own sorry ass up out of the mud. The station was just a few hundred yards away, but it seemed like miles. Wallowing through the mud, I could feel my jeans rubbing against the scrapes on my knees as I went. Must have been a few rocks in that mud, and I think I found every one of them.

So this is North Dakota, I thought. I could have sworn it looked like heaven in those pictures I’d seen. Now, not so much. What have I gotten myself into?

Finally I made my way up onto the platform. The tiny, old wooden planks covering the ground looked ragged and unkempt as fresh new mud caked together with the remnants of old captured dust. The back wall was covered in green paint and torn camouflage netting. The guys who didn’t have to sludge through the mud were all huddled around the drum fires, leaving no room for unwelcome or weaker foes. All of the smaller and weaker guys were huddling against the back wall. A tiny conductor’s office was tucked in the corner of the station, windows scattered with rotten planks of wood pockmarked with what I presumed to be bullet holes.

I slithered my way through the maze of other young men blocking my path to the small opening in front of the office door, I leaned down to peak through the tiny window behind the rusty iron bars. The uniformed man behind them was sitting at a desk with his feet propped up, deep into slumber, his cheeks puffing outward as his exhaling made his lips flutter.

“Excuse me, sir,” I nervously said, barely a whisper coming out from between my chattering teeth.

He didn’t respond, but only shifted his weight in the chair, crossing his arms across his chest.

Louder and clearer, I cried for his attention again. “Excuse me sir!”

He shot up out of the chair like it had just caught on fire, the veins in his forehead bulging out and his face flooding with a bright red blood crimson.

“Fucking sir? You called me ‘sir,’ you fucking maggot?”

Guess he wasn’t ready to wake up yet. What the hell have I just done?

He ripped open the office door. It made a thunderous boom as it smashed into the back wall, startling the rest of the men on the platform, all of them now focusing their eyes on me. Wasn’t how I imagined I’d keep a low profile. I was now the center of everyone’s attention.

His heavy finger was now poking me in the chest. I looked down and saw that one of his fingers would make two of mine. A thudding sound resonated each time his finger stabbed my sternum, the pain spreading across my entire chest and aching as far down as the soles of my feet.

“I’m a sergeant in the United States Marine Corps, you sorry little son-of-a-bitch!”

Holy shit, all I said was excuse me, I thought.

He grabbed me by the nape of the neck, twisting me to face the others. I could feel his meat hook of a hand squeezing me like he was trying to choke the life out of me. I couldn’t help but grimace; the pain was almost unbearable. His rough and leathery weathered hands felt like sandpaper against my cold aching skin.

“Just like this little pantywaist, if any one of you sorry motherfuckers approach this office, I’ll wear your asses out. Now you!” he screamed in my ear, “drop and give me twenty!”

I froze. I didn’t know what he wanted. I hunkered down, covering my head out of fear that he’d hit me.

“Push-up position now!” he yelled over and over until I complied.

I hadn’t done a push-up since ninth grade. I was scared I’d look weaker then I already did in front of the others.

“Count them off, pussy lips!”

I was okay with the first fifteen, but for that last five, my arms shook and my face became flush. I could feel my chest heaving from being so out of shape. As I finished the last one, I felt his boot hit me squarely between the shoulder blades, shoving me and my face into that muddy, rotten wood floor.

As he held me down, he warned them again, “Anyone else want to speak? If you do, this will be you! I suggest you ladies keep to yourselves! No talking on my platform! You’re lucky I’m letting you even breathe on my platform!”

As I lay there, embarrassed to no end, I heard the door slam behind me. I took my time getting up, hoping nobody would still be looking at me, but that wasn’t to be the case. They were all staring at me with looks of disgust.

“Nice job dickhead,” one guy said.

“Way to go douchebag, get us all in trouble why don’t ya?” another spoke up.

I had never felt so alone in my life. Searching, I found a little section against the back wall that no one had claimed yet, and for good reason. Small bullet holes allowed the wind to howl through. It felt like razor blades dragging against my skin. But I wasn’t going to move. At least no one was going to bother me here.

Even though the cold and the wind were dismal, I found brief respite in my own thoughts. I reminisced about the past, about how all of this had come to be.

I remembered running through the cornfields on my family’s farm in Indiana, chasing my brothers through the never-ending maze of yellow-gold. My little sisters giggling as I chased them, their laughter giving way to their hiding places. Big Sunday dinners with aunts, uncles, and cousins coming from all over. School dances and my first kiss, hiding out behind the barn with Emily Johnson as she let me get to second base.

The memories briefly brought a smile to my face, but my thoughts soon betrayed me. I started thinking of my brothers, both marines, who died in the Battle of Tennessee, or so we were told. My dad said they were only on the ground fifteen minutes before they were reported dead or missing. After that, my beautiful mother turned into a shell of her former self, frail and weak, grief stricken. She pined for their return. My father became haggard, half the man he used to be. I felt the most sorry for my sisters. They were so young when our lives changed that they never understood. They were robbed of their childhoods.

I remembered sitting in 9th grade English class when it happened (Year: 2037). The teacher received a phone call and quickly turned on the classroom TV. I remembered the look on her face as she ran toward it, fidgeting, trying to press the button to turn it on. When that TV came on, the whole class sat straight up.

There they were: visitors, aliens, our actual first contact. Massive spaceships floating over Washington, Miami, Dallas, Los Angeles, and many more. They even showed up in major cities in other countries around the world. They were just hovering there, long black ships blackening out entire cities with their shadows. The news channel we watched mainly focused on the ship over Washington, I remember it vividly, staring at it, looking for windows. The nose of the craft had a circular shape, but with sharp edges, triangular towers spiked out in odd places on top of the craft, and more smaller and jagged towers poking out of them. The bottom was rounded and smooth like the bottom of a glass bowl.

The teacher turned the volume up so we could hear the reporter.

“Something is happening. I wish all of you could hear this. The noise level is increasing—it’s almost deafening,” she said.

We continued watching as she grabbed her ears and fell to the ground. The cameraman must have fallen too, since his camera angle pointed up into the sky, allowing us to watch the spaceship as it transformed. No doors or hatches opened, but the back half of the ship grew outward for miles, coming to a long point like a stingray’s tail.

Thirty minutes later, the reporter was finally able to speak again as the spaceship started to rise, gaining altitude.

“We’ve been directed to the White House, as the president is now out on the front lawn.”

The next scene terrified everyone in the classroom. There he was waving upwards, smiling for the cameras, welcoming our new visitors, only to be squashed like an ant by a shoe. It happened so quickly, nobody realized where it came from or how it happened. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone; instead, a black square box with rounded edges was cratered into the earth where the president had been standing.

The TV went dark for a few seconds after that. Nobody said a word, until screams rang out when the windows in the classroom shattered. The explosion in Washington, D.C., rocked a little school in Princeton, Indiana, as if it had been next door. I assumed the black box was some sort of bomb.

Looking up, I watched as a shards of glass slashed my teacher’s neck, her hands flailing about as she reached for her neck, dropping to her knees before collapsing forward onto her stomach. She bled out right in front of us.

It was complete chaos, kids screaming and running for the doors. Some got trampled and some of those that fell down couldn’t get back up, didn’t make it out of school that day. I remember that run home, I was still in shape then and ran five miles like it was nothing. My dad was screaming, “They blew up Washington!” He was beyond frantic.

That day changed our lives forever. We gathered everything we could carry and made a run for it, heading north and winding up in a camp outside of Green Bay, Wisconsin. Men would work in the fields and the factories while the women took care of the camp and the schooling. My father got assigned to a factory making bombs, something he knew nothing about. He constantly tried to talk to the officials running the camp, telling them that he was a farmer, that he would be better suited to working in the fields. But they wouldn’t listen.

Dad told me that half the population had been lost, but we were still in the fight. I think he preached this to us every day, right up until the time when my brothers were drafted. After that, he still preached to us every so often, but when the reports came that they had been killed or were missing in action, he preached no more.

That’s what brought me here today. Instead of getting drafted, I enlisted. I’m reporting for boot camp. I’m going to be a United States Marine.

2

Even though I was freezing, hungry, and scared, I guess my mind wandered and I drifted off to sleep. I was frightened awake by the sounds of horns blowing and the sergeant from the conductor’s office screaming. I had one of those bewildering moments when your eyes open but you don’t know where you are.

“Get your faggoty asses on my yellow line! Do not step on my black line or my blue line or I’ll beat you black and blue till you understand—you—only—belong—on—my—yellow—line!”

I scrambled out of my nesting spot like a deer on ice. As soon as I finally found my footing, the sergeant kicked my feet out from underneath me. I fell hard against the wooden platform. My head bounced off it even harder, causing my vision to blacken. The shadows around the outsides of my eyes started closing in on me.

“Holy shit Sally, are you going to be last in line?” he barked at me.

I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. I found it hard to focus as he rang my bell pretty good. I clawed my way back up to my knees. It felt like I was carrying another person on my shoulders.

“Move it—Move it—Move it!” he kept screaming, chasing me till I found my place in line.

Every guy in that line was crunched together; any space left between two bodies was a reason for more screaming. I watched as he yanked some guys forward, pushed some backwards. I really didn’t believe he knew where he wanted us.

“Nuts to butts, ladies, nuts to butts! They’re all yours, Staff Sergeant Buckley!”

We watched in horror as two behemoths stepped up onto the platform. They looked like giants. Their campaign covers (hats) were pulled down low on their brows; you could only see noses and mouths, and those mouths weren’t smiling. The one he referred to as Buckley was in the lead, his shoulders as broad as a rack of antlers on a moose. His biceps bulged underneath rolled-up sleeves, tattoos covering every inch of his arms. I didn’t even know he had eyes till he was standing practically on top of me.

“Go to the front of that other yellow line to your right, recruit,” he said calmly.

That was a little more like it. He was nicer than the other sergeant. He split us into two groups. I went from the back of the line to the front without getting shoved or hit. I was liking this guy; he seemed to have it all together.

“I am Staff Sergeant Buckley, and I will be your first sergeant! This other gentleman is Sergeant Keller,” he said, referring to the man casually leaning against the conductor’s office with crossed arms and an evil grin showing from beneath his cover as the after-storm moonlight un-shadowed his face.

“Your senior drill instructor, Gunnery Sergeant John Edward Adams, is back at M.C.R.D. (Marine Corps Recruit Depot) Fort Rice, North-fucking-Dakota. And he is awaiting your arrival into his outstanding platoon. All of you new recruits are now called privates. You will address the drill instructors as sirs, starting and ending every sentence with ‘sir’! You will refer to yourself as ‘the private’ and then state your last name if required! I’m only going to tell you this once, so if you’re daydreaming and not paying attention, you will pay the piper from this point on!”

Some guy in another row, third one back, raised his hand as if he had a question. Right then things went from bad to worse in less than a second. Both D.I.s went ballistic. It didn’t matter what the guy’s question was—they obviously didn’t want to hear it. They were dragging guys out of line, shoving them to the ground and ordering push-ups. Ripping suitcases from everyone’s hands and throwing them on the train tracks.

“You think this is a fucking summer camp?” Buckley screamed at the guy standing to my left.

I stood there in fear as I watched him grab the kid by the throat, choking the life out of him. If his knees buckled, he screamed louder, “Don’t you fall down on me you little pussy!” I didn’t know what to do but be thankful I was too poor to own luggage. All I had was garbage bag with only a change of clothes that I instantly dropped to my right and kicked away.

“Only thing you little turds need to say right now is, Oh Lord, if I die tonight, let me die like a fucking Marine!” Keller shouted as he paced back and forth next to us.

I had known boot camp was going to be tough—my father warned me—but I had no idea it would be this intense.

“Listen up!” Buckley barked. He was standing on my right, his voice exploding in my ear, making me flinch with every single word he bellowed out. “Those in this line,” he pointed at me, “You are on the bus to your right. Those on the other line are on the bus to the left!”

Petrified, I shook nervously as he walked about ten feet out to stand directly in front of us, turning and staring back down through the middle of the lines.

“I feel your eyeballs on me! Don’t you eye fuck me! When you board my bus you will sit two per seat, you will place both feet firmly on the deck sitting straight up placing both your hands palm down on top of your knees! You will not look left, you will not look right, up, or down! If your tiny pecker itches, don’t you fucking scratch that pathetic little excuse for a cock! Eyes forward, and don’t you eye fuck me while you’re on that bus. Don’t you ever eye fuck me again, or I’ll poke out your eyes and skull—fuck—you, I’ll make you dread the day you fell out of your momma’s twat!”

This guy isn’t as nice as I thought he was. For fuck’s sake, I’m a bad judge of character.

“Company—Atten—Hut!”

What are we supposed to do? I thought to myself. I was too afraid to move.

“Holy sheep shit, you cocksuckers can’t even stand at attention!” He yelled, jumping toward me. With a quick jab he punched me square in the gut, doubling me over. His right hand catching me under the chin, he stood me straight back up as his left hand pushed my lower back straight out.

“Like this, maggots!” Buckley said, instructing them all to imitate me. He grabbed my hands and yanked them down till my arms were straightened out, making me position my thumbs on the seams of my hand-me-down jeans. When I looked down, his fist hammered my chin back up so that I was looking down my nose. His thumbs dug into my shoulders as he wrapped his fingers around them, pushing them backwards as my chest thrust outwards.

“Now freeze in that position, private! Company, this is standing at fucking attention! The rest of you sorry excuses for human flesh better get your tired carcasses in that same exact position before I count to three!”

I felt awkward, out of place, standing there like a spectacle on display, my teeth still rattling from his rock like fist that jacked my jaw.

“Now Company—At—Ease!” Buckley ordered.

I don’t know what the others were doing behind me, but I stood at attention. Again, I didn’t know what his command meant.

“Jesus—H—Christ,” Keller howled from the back of the lines, “Relax, dummies!”

I was hesitant, and for good reason. As soon as I relaxed, Buckley barked at us again.

“Company—Atten—Hut!”

I tried my damndest to get back into the position he had placed me in, but he caught me trying to find my seam with my left hand.

Buckley charged me again, his fingers pointing in my face, his thumb tucked neatly into his palm. He wagged those fingers in my face as his campaign cover poked my forehead. His breath was atrocious; it smelled of tobacco and what I believed to be rotten fish. It was vile.

“Get your ass to attention, private,” he said. Seeing that I was looking at him, he smacked me across the face, rattling my brain once more, “Don’t eye fuck me boy, I’ve done warned you. Get your ass to attention before I lose my patience!”

“Sir, yes sir!” I shouted.

“Well…would you looky here, that’s the first fucking thing you’ve done right, recruit!” Buckley backhanded me in the chest as an award—an award that caused me to wince in pain. I had only said the words because I was scared. It was purely coincidental that they came out right.

“Company, on my orders you will run to my bus and take a seat. Company—March!”

I took off as fast as I could go. I could hear Keller behind me yelling at the others, “Run dummies, run!” Buckley was in tune with him: “Double-time, double-time, double-time!”

What the fuck is double-time?

Some guys were quicker than me and beat me to the bus. I thought if I could get a window seat I’d be out of arms reach, but I wasn’t so lucky. With all of the jockeying to grab seats, Buckley took it upon himself to seat the stragglers. I tried to look straight ahead like he told me too, but the sight of him tossing grown men around was fascinating to me. It made me wonder if after training, I’d have strength like that.

“All right, ladies! We’ve got a long ride south of here to take you Girl Scouts to your new home. I’d better not here a peep out of any of you! It had better be so quiet I can hear a church mouse fart!”

Buckley smacked the driver on the shoulder, signaling him to drive. As soon as the bus started to creep forward, the unthinkable happened, I sneezed.

“Holy mother of God, who the fuck just blew snot on my bus!”

Buckley first, then Keller moved toward me. We hadn’t driven ten feet and both D.I.s were ripping me a new asshole. They sounded like two hoarse rabid dogs trying to get at the mailman. Both towering over me, both so loud I couldn’t hear what the other was saying. It had to be the most brutal ten minutes of my life till they finally sat back down. I knew this was going to be one long bus ride.

3

I was struggling to stay awake. The constant rocking of the bus down this long winding road was putting me to sleep. My eyelids felt like they had ten-pound weights attached to them. There was no reason to turn our heads since the bus windows were permanently blacked out, so we had no choice but to look straight ahead.

Sergeant Keller stood at the front of the bus facing us. He told of our history, of what had changed and what was to be expected. I wanted to listen, but as the rain started pinging off the roof of the bus, it made me even groggier, it reminded me of the tin roof on our house back in Indiana. I imagined I was back home, sitting in a recliner, looking out the window as the clouds rolled over the fields.

Daydreaming again, I was shocked back to life by the screech of the wet brakes as they pulled up to the main gate, an immediate rush that sent us all lunging toward the front of the bus, everyone fighting to stay in our seats per the sergeant’s orders.

The base was completely dark, except for a few street lamps that led us to a humongous parking lot. The bus pulled up behind two other buses until they were almost touching. Its brake lights shone back in our direction, the red glow almost blinding us.

Buckley stood at the entrance of the bus and adjusted his hat before he said, “Welcome to my hell, ladies. You have thirty seconds to get off my bus and find a set of footprints out there to stand on! And five of those seconds are already gone! Move it!”

It was a mad dash to hit the door, guys falling over each other, pushing and shoving. I was pretty sure one guy took a swing at me as he pushed me aside.

“You don’t want to be the last fuck-tard off my bus—move it!” Buckley screeched as I tried to pass by.

As I passed Buckley, he offered his assistance by pushing me through the door, lifting me off my feet and making me miss the last two steps, I reached for the door handle to catch myself, but my hand slipped off the rain-soaked rail. I found myself landing on the unforgiving concrete, my right side bouncing off the hardened surface.

“Get your ass off my grinder!” he said reaching for my arm, tugging me back to my feet.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“What did you say? What’s your malfunction, recruit? Get your sissy ass on my footprints!”

He shoved me away, causing me to teeter again, but this time I was able to catch my balance and sprinted toward the others. I found an empty set of yellow spray-painted footprints on the ground and claimed them.

There were three groups of men processing in. We stood in complete silence, and not a word was heard from any recruit as the D.I.s arranged everyone who still didn’t have a place. We were standing at attention, the cold rain beating down on us, when, as if God himself had just appeared, the rain stopped and the clouds parted.

Headlights from a nearby jeep flashed on, and a dark shadowy figure appeared before them, his arms behind his back and his elbows pointed outward.

“Attention—on—Deck!” Keller said, his voice echoing across the barren concrete desert.

“Thank you Sergeant Keller, I’ll take it from here,” the shadow said.

The shadow stood up straight, his arms fell down to his side, and he began to march toward us, his steps even paced, his movements swift and accurate. As he came into the light, it became evident who he was. His uniform was immaculate, not a wrinkle showing in any garment. The rack of ribbons on his chest was 10 fingers deep. His jaw was square, his nose stubbed and broad. He waved his hands to the other D.I.s, dismissing them from the ranks, motioning for them to step aside. I think everyone standing there noticed the same thing I did: He was missing his pinky and ring fingers, on both hands.

“Ladies!” he said, his voice as loud as the thunder at the train station. “I am your senior drill instructor, Gunnery Sergeant John Edwards Adams! I’ve spent over thirty years in our beloved corps! Things have changed due to our present conflict, and they’ve only given me eight weeks to make you pussies—Marines!”

I couldn’t stop staring at his hands, hands that were now clasped again behind his back as he walked between the two closest platoons.

“Not only have they only given me eight weeks, but I will be the senior drill instructor for all three platoons! Some of you,” he stopped to look at the platoon across from us, “have already met your drill instructors! The rest…you will meet yours, when you process in. They will be waiting on you!”

Whew, I’m not getting Buckley and Keller. That’s a relief, I thought.

He snapped around immediately to face my platoon. “You girls will process in, in the building behind you, building ‘C’ and,” he spun again to address the other platoon, “you little sweethearts, will process in building ‘B’, which leaves you other little darlings in the last building. Now if I have to tell you the letter, I don’t need your illiterate ass in my Marine Corps! If I have to tell you, we’ll just shoot you here and drag your body outside the gate so your families can pick up your worthless shit-bag of a corpse!”

Holy shit, they’re gonna shoot us?

“Sergeant Buckley!” Adams roared out.

“Yes Gunny!”

“Process these maggots in!”

“Aye-aye Gunny!”

At that point, hell broke loose once more, it looked like a boulder had landed in a pond and the people running in every direction were the ripples. I ran in the direction of my assigned building only to realize that my worst nightmare was coming true: Buckley and Keller were following us.

Oh no, I got these two guys for D.I.s, I thought to myself, the fear building up inside me.

4

Processing was the longest two days of my life to this point. It was a lot of hurry up and wait, a military term that had stood the test of time. They stripped us of anything civilian and shaved our heads to make us look the same. We were to have no personal identity, standing in lines buck-naked, with some guy you didn’t even know standing behind you with his junk pressed into your crack while he breathed down your neck. The itchy feeling from his breath made you want to scratch, but if you did, you were doing naked push-ups until your arms gave out.

Physical exams, shots, and eye tests. Guys with poor vision were issued BC glasses. It stood for birth control glasses, because any woman that saw you in these ugly monstrosities, well…she wouldn’t have anything to do with you. I was thankful I had great vision.

The shots were the worst. It was a moving line of ouches and guys passing out as they hit us with what they called jet injectors, I felt like a flat tire they were trying to fill with air when they hit me with it. If you didn’t pass out the first time, they handed you another shot, a cold one, with the needle waxed over. You rubbed it between your palms to get it warm; once it was no longer cold, you had to stick it under your arm pit to keep the temperature steady until the doc took it from you and stuck it in your buttocks. It left a painful lump the size of a golf ball, but we couldn’t rub that lump or it meant more unwanted attention.

It all seemed chaotic. Everything we did caused someone to yell at us. We couldn’t do anything right. Senior privates, those further along in boot camp, manned the line when we received our uniforms. They also took liberty with our virgin knowledge of how things worked, screaming just as loud as the D.I.s behind us as we went down the line, getting clothes tossed into our green canvas duffel bags. They didn’t even ask for our sizes; they just guessed.

Those first two days were horrendous. Marching through the base to chow we looked like, as Buckley put it, “a bunch of monkeys fucking footballs!” Guys were stepping on other guys, some fell down, and no one seemed to be able to get in step with the D.I. We watched as other platoons, seasoned ones, marched along in precise beauty, singing cadences and hitting every mark of the instructor’s call. It was embarrassing to pass them as they turned their noses up at us, like we weren’t good enough to be dog shit on the bottom of their boots.

And chow. I already hated chow. Breakfast was the worst. Powdered milk, powdered eggs—I honestly believed everything they served was powdered. The eggs they force-fed us had the texture of yellow cardboard.

Those who were overweight were called ‘Fat Bodies’ and were only given a third as much food as the rest of us. Me being a thin guy, when I walked through the line they just kept piling food on. It was more food than I’d ever seen on my plate in my entire life. And it didn’t matter what I wanted. They didn’t ask, they just loaded my tray down like I was eating for a family of ten.

Once the tray was full, you made your way to your assigned table, if you could. Senior recruits kept yelling, ‘Live Grenade, make a hole!’ It wasn’t till the second day I figured out what they meant: “Move, dickhead! I’ve got a hot cup of coffee. Don’t make me spill it.” Hell, I was wondering if someone actually did have a live grenade.

Five minutes. That’s how long they gave you to wolf down your meal, just five minutes. You had to wait till everyone was sitting down at your table, and when the last guy was finally there, you started shoveling. At some point you began to question whether you had even chewed a single bite.

It was the morning of my third day. To me it was still nighttime, but the senior D.I. barreled into our barracks with a vengeance.

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Adams squealed as he grabbed an aluminum trash can by the door, dumping the trash out and proceeding to bang his nightstick inside it as he made his way around the barrack.

Buckley started flipping guys in their racks, which sucked for the guys on the top bunks, who had further to fall.

“Ladies, get those peter-beaters off your guns and get those asses out of those racks! We’re burning daylight!” Adams said.

I looked out the window, it was pitch black. What daylight? I looked at the clock above the front entrance. It was 4 A.M.

“Get your puny asses to attention!” Keller shouted.

Barefoot and standing on cold tiled floor at the foot of my bunk, it was all I could do to stop shivering as the Gunny walked by.

“You girls got five minutes to shit, shower, shave, and get your uniforms on. Once you have your uniforms on, you will get your orders and stand at attention to await inspection!” Buckley said. “Now—move!”

I obviously didn’t know anyone in my platoon. We hadn’t even had a spare second to be properly introduced. But somehow, without one word spoken to any of them, there we were, standing nude in front of each other and scrubbing places that one particularly doesn’t show in public, unless you’re a perv or something.

I was one of the first ones out, dressed and standing by my bunk. I had retrieved my orders from underneath my mattress, making sure to fold my blanket back just the way the diagram showed. I didn’t think I could stand to do any more push-ups. My arms felt like rubber.

Adams started to my left, checking orders and addressing sloppy uniforms. A few times I adjusted mine, hoping he wouldn’t notice. I listened intently as he approached. The things coming out of his mouth floored me. I’d never heard anyone speak like that to anyone else before.

There he was, standing in front of me. I couldn’t even have blinked if I’d wanted to. I just stared at the dimple in his chin as if it were a window to another universe.

“Orders!”

“Sir, yes sir!” I shouted as loud as I could, holding my folder out for him.

As he took the orders, he gave me the once over. He started at my head and gradually worked his way down to my boots with his eyes. Grabbing a fistful of my shirt, he untucked the shirt with a quick yank.

“Fix that gig line private!”

“Sir, yes sir!”

“What’s your name, private?” he asked, staring at the paperwork inside my folder.

“Sir, the private’s name is Drew Butler, sir!”

“Butler! Do you hear that Buckley? A butler, are you fucking Benson? No you’re not Benson, private!”

Why the fuck is he calling me Benson? Who the hell is Benson?

“Answer me private!”

“Sir, no sir!”

“Butler huh? No, your name is butt-nugget! Do you know what a butt-nugget is son?”

“Sir, the private does not know, sir!”

“You’re that little turd hanging on to my ass hair. Yeah, that’s what you are! You just won’t fall off, will ya? But you are going to fall! Fall to your stomach right now!”

Keller and Buckley rushed to their knees, one on each side of me, barking in my ears like fervent dogs, “Give me twenty!” Over and over they kept commanding.

“Well, would you look at this shit,” Adams said, going over my orders, “Look at this, boys,” he directed Keller and Buckley while pointing his finger at one of the sheets. “Private butt-nugget enlisted! Scored high on his testing, so if he makes it through boot camp he’s going to the 4th Battalion 1st Marines. This little bastard cut a deal. Nugget here wants to wear the suit!”

Evidentially that pissed off Buckley, who was now standing over top of me, his cover shading my head, his nose pressed into my temple. I could feel his lips moving against my right cheek with every word he distinctly intended for me to hear.

“You don’t deserve to wear the Suit, you sorry piece of shit! Men wear the Suit and you ain’t a man! If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll break you, you’ll be washing dishes for some faggoty admiral in the Navy, you sorry pathetic asshole!”

“Calm down Buckley!” Adams said, grabbing his arm and pulling him back, “Down, you devil-dog!”

I thought I was screwed. I thought all the planning my father did before I enlisted was lost. This was a nightmare.

The Suit, the T1A77 Marine Suit, was the only piece of equipment that had any success in fighting the enemy. It was what every young boy growing up in the camps talked about. My dad had numerous conversations with the recruiter about it. If I tested well and enlisted, I could qualify for the T1A77 program. So I did, and I got it. That, and I was the right size for it (5’10”). The recruiter swore I was a perfect fit.

“Boy, this recruiting station has been in service for two years. I’ve sent thousands of men out of here as Marines, killing Marines, badass Marines and not one of them made it to this program. Let me guess,” he smiled, mocking me, “Your recruiter promised you? Told your folks you’d make it out alive? Well guess what, jack-wagon, without my signature on it, it ain’t fucking happening! So good luck with that, dumbass!” Adams stepped back, an evil smirk on his face.

I gritted my teeth. I was pissed, and I wanted to knock that shit-eating grin right off his face. This whole thing had been planned out. My dad worked hard on it so that I wouldn’t end up like my brothers. All I could do was stand there, watching out of the corner of my eye, straining to stare right through the D.I.s as they moved on to the next guy.

“Name!” Adams said, addressing the guy to my right.

“Billy Houserman!”

“What the fuck did you just say?” Keller said, his fingers buried in the kid’s cheek.

“Sir, the private’s name is Billy Houserman, sir!”

“Well fuckin’ A, ditty bag, we got a Houserbush! As in, how’s your momma’s bush, private?” Adams said as he snatched the folder from his hand.

“Drop, maggot! Give me twenty!” Buckley said, grabbing him by the back of the neck and throwing him down.

“Sir, the private requests a time out, sir!”

“A what?” Keller laughed. “You’re in the wrong corps, boy!”

We all listened as the evil laughs of the three D.I.s filled the platoon bay.

“All of you listen up! So that all of you understand,” Adams said, stepping up onto the row of tables that divided the bay in half, where he began to pace as he addressed us. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but the Marine Corps has fallen back to the practices of long ago, the traditions that, in my opinion, should have never changed. In the past they were changed due to all your sissy asses and hippy ways. But now…we own your asses! There are no time outs! We will put our hands on you! We will beat you into the best Marines on the face of this Earth! Next one of you tree hugging hippies asks me for a time out, I will personally poke your eyes out and skull fuck you to death. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” rang out from all of us.

“Sergeant Keller,” Adams called as he jumped off the tables, his boots thudding the floor as he stood again right in front of me.

“Yes Gunny!”

“Houserbush wants a time out. Would you be so kind to take him outside and let him run around the barracks till he sees the errors of his ways? You want a time out son? You’re going to get time outside—humping!”

“On your feet, maggot. Move it!” Keller said, pushing the kid from behind.

“Now let’s continue,” Adams said. “Name!” he called to the next kid.

“Sir, the private’s name is Ritchie Lee, sir!”

“Where’re you from, Lee?”

“Sir, the private is from San Francisco, sir!”

“San Francisco? The Bay Area, huh? Let me ask you a question, private.” Adams said as he stepped up close to the kid. “Are you one of those…pickle kissers? Are you boy?”

“Sir, no sir!”

“Then what the hell are you boy?”

“Sir, I don’t understand, sir!”

“You’re Asian, aren’t you? Where’s your family hail from?”

“Sir, my family emigrated from Korea, sir!”

“Oh my god,” Adams theatrically jumped backwards, “We have a fucking commie spy in our midst. Are you a spy, private?”

“Sir, the private is not a spy, sir!”

“Well good,” he said, stepping forward, “your name is R-O-R, not Lee. Do you know what that stands for, son?”

“Sir, no sir!” I could hear in Lee’s tone that he was puzzled.

“Stands for ‘Raugh out Roud,’ boy!”

We could all hear Buckley snicker, which made me turn my head to look at him. He was covering his mouth with his hand. Like his laughter was encouraging the playground bully.

“Does that offend you, private? Do you find me culturally insensitive?” Adams playfully asked.

“Sir, no sir!” Lee answered, his tone more masculine.

I could tell from the way he answered that he was pissed.

“Good, son, now drop and give me twenty,” Adams said, side-stepping to his left to attack the next.

“Name!”

“Sir, the private’s name is Frank Tickler, sir!”

Not even blinking an eye, Adams kept up his routine. “Twat Ticker!” he said, turning around and applauding himself. “Come on ladies, this is too easy!”

On down the line Gunny went, each private given a nickname, each one insulted and chastised. He pulled no punches, or so it seemed to us. We weren’t much in his eyes.

As he finished, he stood in front of the barracks door, looking back down its open bay across the tables as if he were talking to the back wall. The rest of us stood at attention for what seemed like an eternity.

“Welcome to hell, ladies! The journey you are embarking on will not be an easy one. We face an enemy like this world has never seen. However, you will become Marines, and Marines will not be defeated! Oorah!”

“Oorah Gunny!” Buckley answered.

“Platoon, give me a—Oorah!”

We halfheartedly complied, much to Adam’s disgust. So he made us say it again and again until we sounded off in what he considered was the proper military fashion.

“Oorah!” thundered through the bay like a cannon being shot.

“That’s it, ladies! Now you’re giving me a hard-on! One more time—Oorah!” Adams ordered.

“Oorah!” I screamed as loud as I could, I couldn’t hear myself, but I could feel my voice painfully crackling from the strain.

Then with great pride, Adams spoke to us, not yelling or degrading, but just talking. “This is my creed:

"These recruits are entrusted to my care.

I will train them to the best of my ability.

I will develop them into smartly disciplined, physically fit, basically trained Marines, thoroughly indoctrinated in love of the Corps and the country.

I will demand of them, and demonstrate by my own example, the highest standards of personal conduct, morality and professional skill.”

“Semper Fi!” Buckley said, nodding to Adams.

“Semper Fi!” returned Adams, his voice calm and raspy.

I don’t know how the other guys felt, but
when he said that, I really did feel pride. At that moment I forgot about losing my deal with the recruiter, losing the chance to wear the Suit. Then it all came crashing back when Adams spoke again.

“Sergeant Buckley, take these pussies to morning PT [Physical Training], chow, and then how about a twenty-mile hump to start the day off right!”

“Aye-aye Gunny!” Buckley said, turning toward us, “Platoon, get on my street now! Don’t stand there looking at each other’s peckers; get your asses outside now!”

5

It had been two weeks and winter was setting in. Things had gotten worse for me. I felt like a marked man. The D.I.s took it upon themselves to condemn me for my choice, or that’s how it seemed. It didn’t matter what I did—in their eyes I couldn’t do anything right. I was feeling singled out. I was given more PT than anyone else in the platoon, and I always had one of them in my face ripping me over the slightest little mistake.

When we received our rifles, we were instructed to never let them out of our sight. We even had to sleep with them. Somehow I fucked that up too. Sometime during the night, I must have rolled over and the rifle fell out of my rack. Buckley found it. That morning he made me stand in front of the barracks, my hat on backwards, sucking my thumb, my pants pulled down around my ankles as I rode my rifle like a stick pony. The others piled up at the door trying to get a glimpse of me as Buckley kept shouting, “Hump that bitch!” I had never been as embarrassed in my entire life as other platoons marched by on their way to morning PT. The catcalls and whistles were unbearable as they passed by. Every D.I. from those other platoons stopped to yell at me, adding to the attention.

Since I racked next to Houserman and Lee we became friends. Houserman’s old lady was quite the sight too. We looked at her pictures every time we left the head (bathroom). All of our mail was censored, so if you didn’t want the rest of the guys to see your girl, you were quick to let her know not to send provocative pictures. Houserman didn’t have the chance to warn his, so she sent some nice ones. All I can say is that she’s very flexible. The D.I.s would take the pictures and hang them on a corkboard in the day room; everyone had a good long time to check out all her merchandise.

Today would be the day we’d finally get to shoot our rifles. We were heading to the range. Buckley let us skip morning PT after my pony show and took us straight to chow, only returning to the barracks to retrieve our 65 pound rucksacks. It would be a fifteen-mile hump to get to the range.

It was snowing pretty hard, making visibility almost nonexistent, I could barely see past three men ahead of me. I hoped they knew where they were going and didn’t wander off the road.

Lifting my knees higher than normal just to make it through the thick snow, I could feel my thighs burning. My calves were getting sore, cramping straight down all the way to my ankles. We doubled up on socks, but I still could feel the dampness slushing around inside my boots as we tromped through that white hell.

“Hell yeah!” Keller shouted over top of the ranks, “I love this shit!”

“How can he love it? I can barely feel my fingers. How do they expect us to shoot if we can’t hold the rifle, let alone see the target?” I whispered to Houserman.

“Shut your hole back there!” Buckley said before Houserman could answer me.

So we kept pushing, silently trekking toward our unknown location. Fifteen miles of weariness. Even the D.I.s were hushed as they led the way. The only sounds were branches cracking and snapping from the weight of the wet snow.

When we were almost there, the snow would eventually filter off, not ten miles back when we would have actually appreciated it more.

As we turned the last corner, I saw a large, white-covered field with a creaky decrepit tower rising from its back. Two soldiers popped red smoke canisters, tossing them twenty or so yards in front of the tower.

“That’s my landing zone. You have 20 seconds to get your tired, good-for-nothing, lazy carcasses inside my LZ!!! Double-time ladies, double-time!” Buckley ordered us.

My legs were failing me; the harder I tried to run, the more I fell down. The field wasn’t much longer than a football field, but it felt like we were running across the state just to catch that red smoke.

I collapsed as soon as I made it, my heart beating out of my chest. It felt like my lungs were on fire as I sucked in that frigid air, trying to catch my breath. I looked around at the rest of the platoon, who much like me, had collapsed face-down in the cold snowy bed.

“Who told you ladies you could lie down? Get your sorry rear-ends in formation!” Keller said.

I stood there, my chest heaving, my breath steaming up in front of my face, blurring my vision. I was so far out of position Buckley had to place me in the right spot. His hands felt like dull knives ripping through my nearly frost bitten skin.

“Which of you out-a-shape worthless pups needs a medic?” Buckley said, his gaze darting back and forth through the ranks, looking for a victim to torture.

I wanted to say, ‘Me!’ but I didn’t dare. I’d had enough humiliation for one day.

“Good, that’s more like it. Get used to the cold, because you’ll be camping here tonight! We’ll make camp next to that tree line…what the fuck? Keller, what is that?” Buckley said, pointing back toward the road we just came from.

“Fuck me!” Keller said looking up, “Take cover!”

This is a joke. I’m not falling for this, I thought.

At that moment time stood still. My weary eyes looked up to see what was going on. Then the first explosion happened, about thirty yards in front of us. The concussion of the blast took me off my feet. I felt the pain of tower’s wooden steps impacting through my back, the weak planks giving way as I crashed through them.

Enemy aircraft had broken through the clouds on bombing runs. We didn’t even hear them coming. After the first explosion, I couldn’t hear anything anyway since my ears were ringing. My vision distorted as if I were looking down a long, white, cloudy tube, colors fading to black and white.

I climbed from the rubble, turning over on my hands and knees to see Lee helping a wounded brother. I tried to call to him, clawing in the snow in an attempt to reach him. I could only watch in horror as his body disintegrated from the next explosion. Clumps of dirt rained down on my head.

“No!” I cried.

I tried to rise to my feet, feeling compelled to find him, or what was left of his body. Keller appeared out of nowhere, picking me up and pushing me back as I attempted to get to Lee.

“Get to the tree line!” he said, his voice muffled in my ear, his hand on the back of my head forcing me to turn away, “He’s gone. You need to run!”

I started side-stepping in the direction of the woods, keeping my eyes fixated on the crater where Lee was standing. I was in shock, not realizing I was stumbling over the body parts of my fallen platoon brothers.

“Run, Butler!” Keller said, pushing me from behind.

I turned and tried to sprint, the snow slowing me down. I could see Buckley at the edge of the tree line, his right arm flailing in a circle motioning for us run past him. I could hear the explosions behind me, chasing me, zeroing in on me. Then I heard a dead humming sound in front of me. I froze as its roar came closer, my fear stopping me from reaching Buckley. Two A-10 Warthogs buzzed the tree line, the sounds of their ancient jet engines becoming clearer.

I felt Keller’s hand in the middle of my back, shoving me, as the alien aircraft weapons shredded one of the A-10s over our heads.

“Move your ass or die!” he said, debris from the wreckage falling behind us.

I ran past Buckley. Looking for others, I saw none, so I kept running. Keller blew by me on my right, urging me to follow. I no longer felt the pain in my thighs. The cramps were gone; I was numb. I just kept running, trying to catch him.

I don’t know what happened next. All I remember is waking up. The snowflakes falling from the trees above tickled my face. I had a pounding headache that caused my eyes to flutter as I struggled to focus them. As I reached up to shield my eyes, my thumb grazed something on my forehead. What the hell is this? I asked myself, carefully patting my head. It was a bandage.

“You bumped your head. You’ll be fine. Can you sit up?” Buckley asked, his voice coming from somewhere on my right.

“I—I think so,” I muttered.

“Good. We need your help over here son.”

My body was stiff, I shuddered in pain as I sat up. Looking over to where his voice had come from, I saw him attending to an injured private.

“Butler, we need your help!” he called again.

“Yes, sir,” I said, fighting to stand, staggering toward him and falling on my knees next to the injured man.

“Give me your hand,” he said, taking it and placing it on the pad covering the man’s chest. “Press here, don’t ease up on it.”

“Sir…” I called as he moved away, “But sir….”

I knew the kid, but only by face. Even though we lived in the same barracks for the last two weeks, I hadn’t taken the time to learn his name.

“What’s your name? Can you talk?” I asked him.

He nodded his head yes and murmured, “Sanchez.”

“You’re going to be all right, Sanchez,” I smiled at him. “Hang in there, buddy.”

Sanchez tried to cough, but only gurgled as the blood choked him. A small red stream started to drip down his cheek. I wiped it away with my bare hand. He raised his left hand up near my face, his fingers spread open. I wasn’t sure what he wanted, so I took his hand in mine.

I watched as he smiled. He seemed content as he looked into my eyes. I returned the smile, trying to let him know he would be all right. But that wasn’t what he was looking for. He lightly squeezed my hand, I could feel him shaking and trembling.

“Sanchez?” I asked.

“Oorah,” he whispered faintly as his eyes closed, the smile gradually fading from his face as his chin drifted down to his chest.

“Sanchez!” I called louder.

He didn’t respond. His grip relaxed on my hand. I shook him, trying to wake him.

“Sanchez!” I cried.

Buckley had been watching as he worked on another; he was watching as I started to sob, still holding on to Sanchez’s hand and pressing the pad covering his wound.

I felt his hands on my shoulder. Gently he pulled at me, “He’s gone son…let him go. There’s nothing more you can do.”

He steadied me as I rose, his hulking arm draped over my shoulder as his left hand patted my chest, “You did good, kid, and you helped your brother find comfort, so now let it go.”

“I’ll never let it go,” I said defiantly. Looking down at him, my voice still shaky, “Semper Fi, Sanchez.”

“Oorah,” Buckley said, patting my back. “Say a prayer for him, and then let’s help the others.”

He left me standing there. Although Sanchez looked peaceful in his final rest, the pit of my stomach was churning. I’d never seen anyone die before. Even though we’d been at war for three years, I’d never actually seen it. I was scared and angry. Thought of that also happening to my actual brothers made me sick. I ran away from the others. Buckley called my name, telling me to come back, but I kept running till I found a tree that suited my purpose.

I didn’t know Buckley was chasing me, I didn’t want anyone to see me vomiting. He found me behind the tree hunched over, cowering.

“Butler,” he called. “Butler.”

Wiping the puke from my chin, I tried to collect myself before facing him. Turning, he handed me a bandana, surprising me, I thought he was going to chew my ass.

“It’s going to be all right. Death is part of what we do.”

“I know, sir…but…” I tried to say. I couldn’t get the words out before my eyes swelled up again.

“No ‘buts,’ son. It’s normal to be scared. It’s normal to hurt. Don’t be upset with yourself for what you’re feeling. There will be time to mourn our fallen later. Right now, we need to try and save those still living. But remember this—look at me son,” he ordered me, bumping my chin upward with his fist. “We’re Marines too. We will avenge their deaths!”

I nodded to him, biting my lip. I knew he could see the anger in my eyes.

“Okay then…take a few to get yourself together. Okay?”

I shook my head yes, then wiped my eyes with the bandana.

“All right, but hurry. We need you.”

As he jogged away, I turned and leaned against the tree where I had just lost my guts. I was standing next to a small clearing, untouched by anything. Two rabbits were playing, dancing across the snow, leaving small tracks in the fresh powder. They were oblivious to the death that surrounded their peaceful forest home. The blood that was soaking into that white blanket clouded my mind; I couldn’t stop thinking of Sanchez closing his eyes and wondering, will I die the same way?

“Not without taking a few of those bastards with me,” I sneered to myself. “I promise both of you that. Lee and Sanchez: I’ll kill those alien bastards!”

6

The platoon was decimated. Only ten of us were still standing, eight recruits and two D.I.s. We could only find seventeen bodies. The rest were just…gone, as if they had never existed. Keller and Houserman had both taken shrapnel to the legs. They could walk, but it was going to be a long hump back to the base.

I think I had the worst job to start out with, collecting dog tags. The others were tasked with clearing debris out of one of the smaller craters.

“Here, sir,” I said, handing Buckley the tags. “Why are they clearing that hole?”

“To do the unthinkable,” he answered, his eyes fixed on the crater.

Collecting the tags wasn’t the worst job; Buckley reserved that one for himself. He had us line the bottom of the crater with our fallen.

As the last guy climbed out, Buckley was waiting, “Men!” he said. We were all lined up on the edge of the crater. “This is unlike any war our country has ever faced. These valiant men laying before us deserve better than this. There will be no long ride home in a pine box for them. They will rest here! Our enemy has never attacked us in winter! They usually can’t tolerate the cold. But today,” he bowed his head, “they came for us! We’ve already lost San Diego and Parris Island, homes to many of us, homes that have bred many a fine Marine! We moved to the safety of the north to breed more, breed the finest, and now, in this godforsaken hole, lay those fine men! Do not,” he paused, pulling a lighter out of his shirt pocket, lighting the torch in his hand, “do not let their deaths be for nothing!”

It was eerie watching him throw the torch into the pit. Some of the men tried to look away, but he ordered them to watch. He said it was respecting our fallen. Some huffed in response. Maybe they thought it was disrespectful. I didn’t when I watched him climb over the side, shovel in hand, as he started covering the bodies. Keller was next to join him; then I followed suit. Not a word was spoken after that, just the sound of shovels digging and slinging dirt as the others climbed back in to join, covering the smoldering bodies of our brethren.

We rested until dusk. Buckley thought it would be safer to travel at night back to the base. He didn’t permit us to walk on the road, so we stayed in the woods, keeping the road in sight and taking numerous breaks to let the injured rest. Buckley would scout ahead for the enemy, then return to give us the all clear.

As the morning light from the sun shined over the horizon, its rays showed us more smoke billowing in the distance. We were within a mile of Fort Rice. Crossing the last hill, she came into view. My heart sank in my chest. I saw nothing but flames.

“Get down,” Buckley said, waving his arm back to us.

We watched as he belly-crawled to the edge of the ridge, pulling his binoculars from his pack to study the damage and look for signs of hostiles. He pointed back at me, then to the ground beside him. I released my grip on Houserman and crawled over to Buckley. I could feel the snow piling in front of me, falling into my shirt and melting on my skin.

“Tell me what you see,” he said, handing me the binoculars.

I studied the base, I saw nothing but rubble, bodies, and rust-colored snow. Very few buildings were left standing. The front gate was in shambles.

“What do you see?”

I could barely answer him. “Death,” I breathed.

Keller flopped down next to me, snow flying up into my face. He yanked the binoculars from my hands.

“Mother of god,” he said. “Looks like a cluster-fuck down there.”

“Think you can back me up?” Buckley asked him.

“I’m pretty banged up, but I can go.”

“No, you stay here. I’ll take the pup with me. Watch for my signal to bring the rest down.”

“I can go, damn it. He has no business down there. He’ll get you killed. No offense kid,” Keller said elbowing me on the shoulder.

Timidly, and before I even knew what I was saying, I blurted out, “I can do it.”

“You sure, kid?” Keller asked.

I could feel his eyes on me. I knew he doubted me.

“Yeah…I can do it.”

“Roger that. Don’t get your ass shot off,” Keller’s big paw smacked me on the back of my helmet as he handed me his rifle. “Keep your finger off the trigger unless you have no choice. Keep the barrel pointed down so you don’t shoot Buckley’s head off.”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered.

“Grow a set, would ya? This is the real deal here!” Keller said, grabbing a fistful of my coat and pulling me near him so that our eyes were only inches apart. “No time for hero shit. You have to guard his six o’clock! If those alien fucks are down there, you could make him a sittin’ duck if go all chicken-shit and try to run home to your momma!”

I knocked his hand away, freeing myself, I could feel my upper lip snarling. I didn’t like him touching me. He had put his hands on me too many times as it was.

“There ya go…can you feel those nuts finally dropping?” Keller said mockingly.

“Fuck you,” I blurted out.

“Ooh, somebody thinks they’re a badass now.”

“Shut your holes! Both of you!” Buckley said. “Let’s go, kid.”

We stayed on our bellies, crawling through the brush till we neared a drainage ditch on the side of the road. Buckley had climbed to his feet, squatting down behind a tree. So I did what he did and took my place beside him.

“In the ditch,” he said shoving me.

As I took that first step the icy ground gave way. I went down face first into the ice and snow, rolling up into a ball when I hit the bottom.

“Smooth, dickhead,” he hissed at me.

Looking back at him, I observed the proper way to do it. It was like he was playing baseball, sliding into second base. He slid down the steep slope feet first, but when he hit bottom he was swiftly back into a squatting position.

“Get your ass up!” he said, gritting his teeth. “Stay three meters off my six. When I stop, you stop; when I move, you move. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” I whispered back.

We made our way down that hill slowly, Buckley stopping every so often and motioning for me to get down on my belly while he checked over the edge of the ditch. When the coast was clear, he’d point at his eyes and then in front of him, signaling for me to follow.

Once we ran out of ditch, he dragged me back into the woods. We only had a small field, fifty yards or so, to cover before hitting where the back gate used to be.

Buckley clicked off his rifle’s safety. I thought he wanted me to do the same thing, but he covered my hand. As I looked up, he shook his head no. I didn’t understand how I was supposed to cover him if I couldn’t fire my weapon.

“Stay here. Don’t make a sound. Keep your eyes forward and watch for me,” he whispered before sprinting off through the woods to our left.

He was only gone a few minutes before reappearing in front me, crawling across the frozen terrain, holding his rifle in front of him and pushing snow as he went. When he hit the gate he sat up, placing his back against the concrete wall. With a quick twist, he turned upward onto his knees to face the wall, his rifle drawn and sticking though a blown-out section as he swept the area. I was impressed with how clean his movements were. With a blink of the eye, he sprang back to a sitting position. He signaled for me to come to him, so I started crawling in the same way that he had. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He angrily gestured for me to stop, get up, and run. I rose up, trying to run, but my feet slipped as the snow gave way. The more I stumbled, the angrier Buckley got.

I collapsed next to him. “Sorry,” I breathed out.

His hand immediately covered my mouth, “Control your breathing,” he said in my ear as eased his hand away.

“What now?” I asked.

“We’re going through that hole, I’ll go first and you’ll take position behind me. When I signal all clear, you come through.”

“Got it.”

Like a cat, he was up and through the hole. Much to his distaste, I grunted as I tried to copy what he had done earlier, my rifle banging against the concrete. He tilted his head sideways looking back at me, flipping me the bird.

Way to go dickhead, I thought. I was pissed at myself. I told that cocksucker on the hill that I was capable of doing this and now I keep screwing it up.

I went through the hole and followed him through the rubble of burnt-out buildings, upside-down vehicles, and a few of what I thought were dead bodies. It was hard to tell.

We came in south of the grinder (parade grounds), where he stopped behind the destroyed remnants of a tank.

“Holy fuck!” he said speaking normally. “Get your ass up,” he ordered.

Standing up beside him, I saw other Marines wondering about aimlessly. I had a clear view of the base then. It had been destroyed.

“No threat. Go get the others and bring them down. Meet me back here on the edge of the grinder.”

“Sir, yes sir!”

There had been, by Buckley’s count, 3,000 men on that base the day before. Our ten and the others who were left totaled 29. Once we gathered everyone together. Buckley would be the highest ranking, which meant he was in charge. We never found Gunny’s body, but we found his head. His head was on a spike in front of the chow hall, next to the CO’s (commanding officer) and few others, I didn’t know who they were.

“This is a goddamn disgrace!” Keller said.

“These alien assholes are gonna pay!” Buckley said.

I couldn’t help but gawk at the heads. The scene was haunting. Part of me was still angry over Sanchez, but the other part didn’t want to wind up like Gunny.

“Keller, get yourself and the others medical attention. I’ll go try to salvage some comms and get help,” Buckley said. “The rest of you, help Sergeant Keller and quit the fuckin’ rubbernecking. Butler, you take two healthy men and stand watch. Nothing, and I mean fucking nothing, gets on this grinder. We’re exposed. We’ll need to find some cover before nightfall!”

“Sir, yes sir!” I shouted.

I took two guys from our platoon and set them up, but I didn’t know how they would stop anything; I was the only one with live rounds. But, I did what he asked of me and we stood watch for hours before he returned, calling us back to join the others.

“Those bastards took out Lexington too, but we got Southern California back!”

Lexington was the other M.C.R.D, that and the one in Seattle. That’s where I hoped to be after boot camp, because that’s where the suits were.

“When’s help coming?” Keller asked.

“It’s not!” Buckley answered.

“What the fuck do you mean, not coming? This location is F.U.B.A.R [fucked up beyond all recognition] and we’re compromised!”

“Pipe down Keller! Our orders are to hold this position!”

“Are you kidding me, Chris?”

Is that his first name? I wondered.

“These are our orders, and we will follow our orders!”

“Well fuck me running!” Keller said, taking off his Kevlar helmet and chucking it away.

“I don’t like it either, but this is what the corps has asked us to do, and we’ll do it!” Buckley said, picking up Keller’s helmet. “Half the armory is still standing—we’ll take refuge there.”

“It’ll be the dead of winter soon. We’ll freeze to death in this shit-hole,” Keller said.

“No, we improvise, adapt, and overcome! That’s what Marines do. Right, sergeant?” Buckley said, tossing his helmet at him.

Keller let out a huge sigh. “You’re right, staff sergeant, you’re right!”

“Time to play house, ladies. Get the wounded to the armory. Then we need to search this shit-hole for what supplies are left!” Buckley nodded to Keller. “Let’s move!”

7

Our home for the next three months was a snowy graveyard. It no longer looked like a base, more like a Civil War fort—at least, like how I remembered them from my history books in school. Rubble and burnt-out jeeps were covered in sheets of snow, blankets of white powder hiding their hideous appearance. They no longer reminded us daily of our losses, but we were all sure that when the spring thaw came, they would show their ugly faces once more.

For that first month after the attack, I was assigned to the tree-cutting detail. From reveille to taps, I swung that heavy-bladed tool till it became light in my hands. Buckley would preach to us, “A Marine with an ax is a very dangerous man!” I hated that sermon at first, but by the end of that detail, I enjoyed having that bladed demon by my side. Since ammunition was scarce, the thought of having another weapon helped me feel safer. I even took it with me when I stood watch, strapping it right to my side as if it belonged there.

There was always some reason or another for why help never arrived. Battles in the south were raging, and most of the troops had been dispatched to war. The Canadians came through once; we thought we were saved, but it wasn’t to be. Their Army was just on its way to join the fighting. They did, however, give us some encouraging news. The Brits had pushed those alien bastards back across the Mediterranean into Africa, and the Aussies who lost their land during the invasion, with the assistance of Japan, had won numerous sea battles in the Pacific and were getting closer to taking their home back. It wasn’t much, but it gave us hope. Not to mention they gave us rations. Military MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) can get old after a while. Even Keller and Buckley struggled to choke them down, and they had been eating them for years. When weather permitted we sent out hunting parties. Venison cooked over the fire was a treat for us. I remember being able to sleep better on those nights with a full belly, but always dreaded the prospect of that breakfast MRE when I woke up, I didn’t know how many more mornings I could stand those powered cardboard eggs before I lost it and went section-8 (crazy).

It was evening time. The light was quickly disappearing as I stood watch at the makeshift gate. The gray layers of clouds overhead signaled that another winter storm was on its way. Houserman was pulling duty with me. We took turns, with one of us staying close to a small fire trying to keep warm while the other watched over the wall. I pulled my turn as I was ordered to do, shivering as my teeth chattered like a wind-up toy, but I stood my post. But Houserman kept running back to the fire when it was his turn. He was constantly moving.

“Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this cold,” he said, standing over the fire rubbing his hands together.

“Get your ass on the wall before Keller catches you,” I ordered him.

“You’re not my commanding officer, asshole,” he replied, play punching my arm.

“Keller walks out here right now and you’ll get us both killed.”

“Quit bitching, Butler. Ole limp-dick can’t even catch us now, hobbling around with that dead leg dragging behind him,” he laughed.

“Yeah, but you gotta sleep sometime, and you bunk’s too close to him. He’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“All right, I’ll go, I’ll go…just let me warm up a bit.”

Houserman turned his back to the fire, both hands rubbing his buttocks trying to warm up, but a noise came from over the wall alarming us both. I took hold of my rifle, which had been propped up behind the bench we’d been sitting on, and ran to the wall. Houserman, who had left his against the wall, went to retrieve it, knocking it over in the process. A single shot fired.

“Shit!”

“Sorry dude, my finger hit the trigger. It was an accident, I swear.”

“Fuck you Houserman, if that fell this way you’da killed me.”

“I’m sorry, dude!”

I hushed him by placing my pointer finger to my lips. Searching the tree line, I looked for the source of the noise. It was like a clap of thunder, muffled from behind the trees.

The other six on watch who’d been guarding the other three walls came running to us.

“What the hell’s going on?” Keller said, appearing out of nowhere behind me.

I shrugged to him. I didn’t know. I pointed to the tree line as the brush shook, snow falling from branches as trees began to sway.

“Houserman, go ring the bell!” Keller demanded.

We took an old Navy bell that hung in front of the galley and turned it into our warning system. Houserman took the clasp and gave it ten chimes, signaling to the others in the armory that there was trouble.

The longer we stood there peering into the darkness, straining to see the tree line, the louder the roar became. The trees were quivering faster now, violently wobbling.

“Firing positions!” Buckley ordered, stepping onto the platform behind us. “Wait till you see something!”

He didn’t have to tell us twice. As soon as we saw it, we fired. We didn’t even take the time to process what we saw as shots rang out across the field. Round after round of ammo hurled into a stampeding herd of elk as they came through the brush. The bloodbath stained the undisturbed blanket of snow.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Buckley shouted.

Keller laughed, ridiculing our rookie eagerness. “Bunch of killers aren’t you boys!”

When the snow had settled, 20 elk lay dead. The ones that made it through broke for the hill behind us to our right.

“It’s not done, Sarge!” Houserman pointed out.

I readied my rifle on the edge of the wall, now bare of snow from the friction of my hand only seconds before. Splinters poked into my wrist.

“Do not fire, you fuck-sticks, it’s probably just more elk!” Buckley warned.

But it wasn’t elk. A pack of wolves leapt from the brush.

“See, they were running from those wolves.” Buckley paused, his mouth gaping open as he watched the wolves ignore the fallen meal only to run around or jump over the easy dinner. “What the hell….”

With a blue glow lighting up the tree line, its radiant light illuminating the field below it, an alien aircraft flew over the tree tops, spinning and struggling to maintain altitude. Red flames shot out from its engines as they sputtered.

“Fire!” Buckley said, his voice screeching like a banshee.

I got off three or four rounds and had to switch to my last clip, fumbling and nervous. The clip slid from my hands, landing at my feet. I fell to my knees to retrieve it, rising and slamming it into the rifle as I saw the aircraft hurling toward us.

“Get down!” Keller screamed, backpedaling as he tried to escape.

I could feel the air above my head swoosh as it narrowly missed taking my head off. Keller wasn’t so lucky. His lame leg restricted him from finding safety as the aircraft delivered a blunt blow to his right side, sending his body flying through the air. The aircraft hit the ground, bouncing. It nosedived into the fallen sergeant off that first skip, chopping his torso off at the hip. It continued rolling, only coming to rest after crashing into the armory, destroying what was left of our home and the only thing protecting us from this horrible winter.

Buckley snatched my rifle out of my hands and jumped off the wall, crouching as he approached the vehicle. He raised his right hand. Lifting two fingers, he motioned for us to follow. I pulled the ax from my hip and raised it to my shoulder. It was the only weapon I had left. With both hands I squeezed the handle with all my might like a baseball player stepping up to the plate.

“Careful, boys. If something happens, don’t fire until I tell you to, and for god’s sake don’t sweep those rifles across my back.”

I took position at his 5 o’clock as the others spread out beside him. I was only a few steps behind him when the aircraft hissed, causing Buckley to throw his right fist up, which told us to stop.

I never thought Buckley could be scared by anything until the door on that aircraft started to open. He took three steps back so quickly he bumped into me. I placed my hand on his back to stop him from falling.

“Mother of God!” Buckley exclaimed.

I hadn’t actually seen one of these things until now. It wasn’t as scary as I had imagined nor as grotesque as others had made it out to be. Its skin was a dark brown, like tanned leather. It had two eyes like us, but they were a cloudy white. The nose was pointy and shorter than ours. When it opened its mouth, I was fascinated by its teeth. It had just two, a top plate and a bottom one, completely solid.

“Stand your ground, boys. Keep those rifles on that motherfucker,” Buckley commanded.

I studied the creature as Buckley crept forward, directing it by hand signals to get out of the aircraft and lie on the ground. It wasn’t wearing armor as we had expected it to. It only had on black robes that exposed its chest. The alien raised its bald head, shivering as if it was freezing to death, those petrifying teeth clacking together.

Buckley fired a warning shot into the air as he got closer. The creature didn’t respond.

“Get your ass out here!” he told it, “Come out of there or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

The alien slumped over, frightening everyone. Buckley hit the ground as shots fired all around him. The creature convulsed with every round impacting its body; dark orange blood erupted like tiny volcanoes, staining the alien cockpit. Buckley’s commands to stop went unheard until the last round was sounded. The bright ruby-red barrels of the rifles gleamed like candles, steaming as the cool air chilled them.

“You stupid, ignorant motherfuckers! You could have killed me,” Buckley chastised us as he climbed back to his feet. “That was my fucking prisoner!”

We all tentatively approached the spaceship, hesitant and still scared, watching as Sarge inspected the body.

“Is it dead?” Houserman asked.

Buckley turned, shoving him, “What do you think, asshole?”

“S-s-sorry Sarge,” Houserman stuttered. He was just stepping back when the alien rose up, reaching out, and latching onto the back of Buckley’s shirt, lifting him up, choking him. The colossal beast lifted him off the ground like he was a ragdoll.

Without thinking, I pulled that ax off my shoulder with every bit of strength I could muster. The blade landed at an angle, slashing the alien from the left side of its head above the eye and coming out on the right side of its chin. It split like a ripe melon on a warm summer day.

The intruder crumpled over, releasing Buckley from its clutches. His face was still a faded blue, gasping for air, as he fell back into the snow, only to be squashed by the weight of the alien as it fell on top of him.

“Get this thing off me,” Buckley wheezed.

The rest scrambled to free him, rolling the creature off his back.

My blood ran hot, adrenaline in overdrive as I kept my eyes fixated on that dead beast. Thinking, that’s for my brothers, for Sanchez and Lee. Go to hell, you dead piece of shit!

“Butler!” Buckley called, bringing me back to reality.

“Yeah, Sarge,” I answered, my chest still heaving.

“Put the ax down, son.”

I didn’t even realize I was still holding it. I let it drop at my feet, watching as it fell. The handle immediately disappeared, engulfed in snow from the impact.

“Get me up,” he said. “Butler, what were you thinking? I wanted that thing alive!”

“You’re welcome,” I sassed him, turning my head. I shot him a ‘don’t mess with me’ look.

“Stand down son. That’s an order.”

I pursed my lips, shook my head yes, and walked away. I knew Buckley wouldn’t admit it, but I had saved his life. But I still wanted more. I wanted revenge.

I could hear him as I walked away. “Boys, somebody’s Marine nuts just dropped.”

8

I had little to no sleep that night, I found myself volunteering for other guy’s watches. I wanted to stand that wall. I wanted to fight. If only one more alien wretch would make it past our walls. I wanted its head.

Buckley said the latest radio transmission had reported fighting in Oklahoma. The bastard alien aircraft probably made it through, barely. He thought more might come, though, and since we were short on ammo, he decided it would be best if we retreated.

The plan was to make it back to Bismarck, find transportation, and seek out another base. As I stood watch, Buckley stayed up all night trying to make radio contact with the nearest military outpost in Billings, Montana. His efforts were unsuccessful.

The clouds had cleared by morning. The sun was finally peeking over the wooded skyline, and I could feel its warmth on my face. I didn’t know much about North Dakota winters, but during my first, the sun didn’t make many appearances.

Since Buckley had taken refuge in what was left of the armory, the others were scattered around the campfire in pup tents, sleeping two by two. When Sarge emerged that morning from his wintery den, he clapped his hands as an alarm clock.

“Drop your cocks and grab your socks!”

It struck me as funny, made me chuckle. There was no way any of the others would have taken their socks off in this bitterly cold country. If they did, they were crazier than Buckley.

“We got a long day ahead of us, ladies! Get some grub in your bellies and get that important paperwork filed before we head out!” he said.

Important paperwork was his way of telling us to go take a shit. That was one thing since joining the Corps that amazed me—they actually did tell you when you could take a dump, eat, sleep, or do anything else, for that matter.

Our first order of business was to send Keller to serve with the other Marines in the sky, as Buckley put it. We placed his remains in the armory and set it on fire before heading out. Sarge said if the enemy came calling, Keller would hold them off; they would investigate the smoke before searching for us.

He took the lead. The rest humped in a two-man formation except for the last three. They marched behind us, pine branches dragging behind them to cover our tracks through the snow. Only a few had ammo. I clung tightly to my ax; some only had homemade clubs to protect them. It was a thirty-mile hump just to get back to Bismarck. It would be nightfall before we hit the town.

Bismarck, North Dakota

Deserted.

“It’s a fucking ghost town,” Buckley said.

Buildings were boarded up or vacant with the front windows smashed, their contents pillaged.

“So now what, Sarge?” I asked.

“Butler, congratulations. You just made Lance Corporal. You take five of these men and branch out east. Look for anything still capable of running.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Stop with the sir shit. This ain’t boot camp.”

“Aye-aye…si…I mean, sergeant!” I stammered. I was confused by the formality of it all.

“Boy, I’m just a higher ranking enlisted is all. We put our pants on the same and we piss with the same tool. Get your shit together; lead by example.”

I snapped to attention, saluting him, not knowing that wasn’t proper either.

“Don’t fucking salute me, you jack-wagon. I’m not an officer. I work for a living! Did I make the wrong decision in promoting you? Do I need to pick someone else, you limp-dick tool-bag?”

“No, sergeant, I can do this, I swear!”

“Then take your five men and meet back here in two hours, copy?”

“I copy, sergeant.”

I chose three men who had ammo: Johnson, Wilson, and Allen. Houserman was my next pick, followed by Woods, because he had an ax like mine.

We ducked in and out of alleys, trying to stay off main streets. Every car or truck we found had been stripped of parts; most didn’t even have wheels. Houserman noticed an old bus behind a burnt-out church, the front charred from the flames. The tires looked good and the motor was intact, but the fuel gauge was pegged past empty. Houserman said he could get it running if we found some fuel, so we reported it back to Sarge.

“Diesel! In this cold! You have to be fucking kidding me!” he said.

“I can get it started,” Houserman insisted.

“Sarge, there’s a gas station about two clicks away from that bus. You can see it from behind the church; its sign is still standing,” I reported.

“If they still have fuel, we’ll need somebody to go bilge diving. Who’s up for it?” Buckley asked, looking around for a show of hands.

I stepped up. “I’ll do it.”

I would have volunteered to go through the first two weeks of boot camp again if I had known what it was actually going to be like, having to shimmy down the manhole into a dark tank that smelled like ass. I was covered from head to toe in diesel when I climbed back out. I had one uniform left; the one I was wearing had to be burnt. Standing stark naked in the snow in the field beside the gas station as a couple of guys rubbed ice and snow on my skin to try and eliminate the smell, I thought that I would risk frostbite a million times over just to get rid of that stench.

Salvaging parts from other cars and trucks, Houserman had the bus running in two days, which was good since supplies had dwindled to the bare minimum. Buckley had been sending search parties out around the town to ransack houses and bring back anything edible or useful.

“Bundle up, this jalopy don’t have a heater,” Sarge said as he turned the key, the old bus wrestling to turn over. “Come on…come on…” he said, his head pressed to the top of the steering wheel. “You can do it, girl, come on.”

The batteries were dying due to the cold; the whining of the engine was faint and weak.

“Houserman! You said this thing could run!”

“It will, give me just a second,” he said, taking off outside.

We had taken every car battery we could find in a one-mile radius. Houserman jumper-cabled the last two remaining batteries.

His voice muffled, we could barely hear him say, “Try it now; don’t give it too much.”

The chariot that had once brought people to Sunday church services finally started to show life as it began to sputter and puke, black smoke billowing from the tail pipe.

“Get your ass in here, Houserman!” Buckley barked at him, a smile appearing on his face. It was possibly the first time any of us had seen him smile.

Houserman slammed the hood and boarded the bus. Sarge didn’t even let him take a seat before he stomped the accelerator, sending him flying down the aisle of the bus.

“I got you,” I said, grabbing his arm, pulling him into the seat with me.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Travel was slow going over unplowed highways. It felt like we were the only ones left on earth; there were no signs of life anywhere. A trip that should have taken around six hours took 14. I don’t remember too many car trips from my youth, and this one didn’t help bring back any memories.

We reached Billings close to midnight. It too was desolate. It was like people had just stopped in the middle of their daily lives and disappeared. Empty cars with open doors were parked in the middle of streets, unshoveled drifts of snow blocked store entrances, and the only light in town was coming from the one working headlight on our bus.

“What the fuck happened here?” Buckley said faintly.

“What now, Sarge?” I asked.

“The army has an outpost about twenty miles outside of town. We’ll go there.”

“What about fuel?”

“We’ll check out this gas station,” he answered me, pulling off into the station, “Holy shit, look at that.”

I stood up to get a better view behind him. Two cars were still parked at the pump with nozzles in their tanks, just sitting there.

“What do you make of that?” I asked.

“I don’t know…but it ain’t right. Johnson! Give Butler your weapon. The rest of you stay here. Houserman, you take the driver’s seat. First sign of trouble, back this bitch out of here.”

We zigzagged our way through the parking lot, trying to stay behind cover until we reached the store’s front door. I knelt down behind a trash can as Buckley hunkered down next to the door. I watched as he reached up and pulled the door wide open. When he motioned to me, I went to him; I would be the first to enter. As I entered, he followed, his hand on my right shoulder. My rifle swept the left side and his the right. The store was vacant.

“Clear,” he said.

I followed his lead. “Clear.”

Items were still stocked on shelves; the coolers were full. It was creepy.

“Something happened to these people,” he said.

I browsed the items on the shelf. Then a rustling sound behind me got my attention. I drew my weapon and turned toward sound.

“Sarge!” I called.

“I heard it.”

We proceeded to the rear of the store. A door was open, rocking in the wind. Buckley eased the door open, snow blowing in on the floor at our feet. We burst through, only to find ourselves behind the store, alone.

“Stand down, nothing here.”

“Copy that,” I said, relieved it was nothing.

“Look here, it’s a generator,” he said.

I watched as he twisted the cap off the tank sitting next to it.

“I’ll be damned, it’s full! Let’s give it a try.”

He turned the key on the generator and the store came to life. Lights inside glowed bright, and the glare from the sign out front lit up the woods behind us. He started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I asked. I didn’t understand the humor.

“We’ve got heat, food, and a place to crash. What else could a man ask for?” He grinned at me. “Go get the others and black out the store windows. We don’t want to give away our position. And get Houserman to disable that sign.”

It had been a long time since I had felt heat. It was nice not to have three or four layers of clothing on. Eating something other than MRE’s was also nice for a change. I quickly developed a fondness for Twinkies. In history class they taught us about the Romans, and how they purged after stuffing themselves with food. That’s how I felt. I ate till my stomach hurt and I almost wanted to puke.

“Don’t get spoiled, boys. We need to ration some of this food out. We’ve still got a long way to go,” Buckley said.

I smiled at him, “Come on, Sarge, one more Twinkie…” I began to say, when a scratching at the back door stopped me from finishing my sentence.

Buckley jumped off the counter where he’d been lounging. He rushed to the back wall, leaning his head around the corner. The scratching noise was getting louder. He gestured for me to move down the hallway. He took a knee about six feet from the door. When he lowered his hand, I yanked the door open as fast I could.

I shut my eyes and waited for Buckley to start shooting, but nothing came. His hysterical laughter and the sound of whimpering caused me to cautiously open one eye. A frail little mutt waited at the door, tail wagging, waiting to be invited into the feast.

“Come here, boy,” he called to it.

Uncertain, the mutt waited outside the door, his front paws prancing on the ice, unsure if he wanted to make our acquaintance.

Feeling grateful I wasn’t dead, I joined in trying to coax the animal inside. It was terrified and trembling from the cold. I took a Twinkie out of my pocket, splitting it in half, and offered it to him. The dog, still fearful, inched its way to the snack and swiftly snatched it from my hand.

“There ya go, boy. Want some more? Come on, you can come in here, come on,” I said, softening my voice. “Come on boy.” I made kissing noises with my lips.

The timid pup cautiously followed me as I stepped further back, the others backing off to give the animal space. Once we cleared the hallway, Buckley shut the door.

“Poor guy,” Houserman said, “his ribs are showing. Probably hasn’t had a good meal in weeks.”

“One of you clean out one of those empty cans and get that dog some water,” Buckley said.

I spent the next few hours making friends with the dog as the others slept. I fed him till he had enough. Then he lay down beside my leg, resting his head on my lap. Running my hand down his soft brown coat not only relaxed him, it did the same for me. We both fell asleep.

I felt a hand on my shoulder shaking me and looked up from my slumber to see Sarge standing over me.

“What time is it?” I mumbled, my mouth dry.

“Time to go. You need to wake the others and say bye to your new friend.”

“But Sarge, he’ll die out here.”

“Sorry kid, where we’re going is no place for a dog.”

The animal rolled over on his back, patiently waiting for me to rub his belly, his paw smacking at my hand.

“Come on Sarge, please? I’ll look after him. He won’t be a problem,” I pleaded.

“We might get into some shit. A barking dog can give away our location, and we can’t risk it.”

“Okay Sarge,” I sighed.

After waiting in line for morning constitutionals, we packed up the back of the bus. We emptied Houserman’s rucksack and persuaded the dog to get in—well, not so much persuaded as forced him. Sarge didn’t even notice as we snuck by; he was sitting in the driver’s seat with a map spread out over the steering wheel trying to locate the outpost. I just kept my hand inside the sack, consoling the dog as we boarded the bus.

With the dog beside me in the very last seat, our situation was almost perfect, and we would have gotten away with it if the dog hadn’t decided that it was time for his morning constitutional. He jumped down onto the floorboards and dropped what I would call the nastiest crap I’d ever smelled. It took less than a second for Sarge to notice.

“Who the fuck did that?” he asked, placing his hand over his nose. “The gee-dunk [junk food] ripped one of your asses. Holy shit that’s foul!” he said, pivoting in our direction.

“Sorry Sarge,” Houserman confessed. “It slipped.”

“You need to get your ass off my bus!” Sarge said, rising and tromping to the back to retrieve him.

Houserman was too slow. He didn’t get out of his seat in time to block his view, and as soon as Sarge took ahold of Houserman’s coat, he discovered our furry stowaway.

“Well bust my nuts, what do we have here?” he said, releasing Houserman from his clasp. “Butler, did you disobey a direct order?”

“Sarge, I can explain.” But I actually couldn’t. I needed to think fast.

“I can’t wait to hear this. By all means, fuck-nut, explain. Tell me why I shouldn’t stomp your ass into a puddle for disobeying me!”

“I was hoping that someone at the outpost could take him,” I lied.

“And why would you think that?” he said, sticking his finger in my face.

The dog snarled, showing its teeth.

“Stand down!” he yelled at the animal, causing it to whimper and sink into the seat behind me, its pitiful eyes raised up.

“I promise Sarge, I’ll dump him off at the camp. He won’t be an issue, I swear.”

Buckley just stood there, thunderously tapping his foot, his top lip twitching as he looked sternly at the mutt.

“Sarge?” I said.

“Fine. That fleabag is your responsibility and the first time it acts up, out the door it goes!”

The guys cheered at Sarge’s softened heart.

“Shut your holes and sit the fuck down before I change my mind!” he said, stomping his way back to the front of the bus.

9

With my arm around my new best friend, we both watched out the window as we headed to the outpost. The thing about Montana was it was a lot different than where I came from. Indiana was flat, and Wisconsin wasn’t much different. Montana was beautiful in winter, with white-capped pine trees, deep valleys and snow drifts taller than houses. The aliens didn’t even like the cold, and I didn’t understand why they had come this far north just to ruin such a wonderful place.

“Damn it to hell!” Sarge’s voice rolled through the bus as he brought it to a halt.

Breaking out of my trance, I looked up to see a sign covered in snow. In the top left corner we could make out the letters ‘Cam’, but the rest was unreadable.

“Houserman, go clean off that sign! Boys, if this is our stop, we’re screwed. We’ll be humping it from here.”

Sure enough it was. Camp Stanley, U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. With the sign brushed clean, Houserman returned to the bus.

“Sarge, no way you’re climbing that hill in this thing,” he said, gasping for air.

“No shit, dumb-dick! Get your ass back to your seat.”

We sat there a few minutes before he decided on our next move.

“Butler, leave that mutt with Houserman. He’s staying behind to watch the bus. The rest of you gear up. If you got ammo, you’ll be up front with me!”

“Sarge do you think that’s wise?” Houserman asked.

Buckley leaned over, flicking him on the nose with his finger, “Does your nose hurt?”

“Yeah…”

“Then there’s your answer! The rest of you, let’s move out!”

Slugging through the deep snow was one thing, but going uphill was grueling. Every step took my breath away. I was sinking to my knees, fighting to keep my balance. The pace was close to a slow crawl.

“Should be around this next corner,” Buckley said.

As we approached the camp, we could see that it wasn’t much different than Fort Rice after the attack. Cut timber lined the front gate some twenty feet high, a crow’s nest nestled to the left of their self-built gate, and a huge sign hung frozen in place. On it, ‘NO TRESPASSING’ was spray-painted in bright orange letters.

“I think this is lost cause, boys,” Buckley said.

“Halt!” a voice rang out from somewhere behind the wall.

Buckley studied the wall to locate the source of the voice.

“State your business!” the voice said again, followed by giggles, like that of a child.

“I’m Staff Sergeant Christopher Buckley, United States Marine Corps. My men and I are looking for refuge! We need to speak to your commanding officer!”

“There’s no refuge here or a commanding officer! Go away!” the voice said, giggling again. “Or I’ll shoot!”

“Show yourself! Who are we talking too?”

A single shot sent us all diving, but Buckley stood his ground, the round landing a few feet in front of him.

“You want to see me? I see you!” the childlike voice said.

A man with a long scraggly brown beard raised his head out of the crow’s nest, then stood smiling foolishly as he looked down at us. Wearing a camouflage uniform, tattered and filthy, he fumbled with his shirt’s breast pockets like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“What’s your rank, soldier?” Buckley asked.

“Private. What’s yours, soldier?” he said mocking Buckley.

“Staff sergeant. I already told you that!”

Another man peeked over the wall to the right of the gate, his beard longer than the first man’s. His teeth were yellow and stained as he smiled, his bug eyes pointing down his nose.

“Go away or will eat you,” he said in a deep monotone.

“All right, all right, we’ll leave,” Buckley said, about-facing. “Get around the corner and take cover,” he whispered to us.

“But Sarge…” I began to protest.

“Shhhhh…just move your asses.”

We could still hear the two men’s evil laughter echoing through the hollow as we backed out.

Once Buckley was sure we were out of sight, he had us halt and kneel.

“This is crazy,” I said.

“No, those two up there are crazy, fruitier than bat shit. So listen, I want you guys to crawl through these woods on the left side. Stay down and out of sight. Don’t go over that ridge till you see a sign from me.”

“What sign?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll think of something. Just be ready.”

We tried to be quiet, but at the bottom of the ditch ran a little stream, and a couple of guys broke through the ice covering it, giving away our position.

“I hear you,” one of the men sang.

“Shoot them already,” said the man with the deeper voice.

We crawled up the side of that ditch, finding a small patch of brush to peek through. I had a good line of sight on the wall, but the others had to stay further down in the ditch.

A few minutes later we heard a commotion. The silly-voiced man was screaming. Looking up, I saw him come flying over the wall. He landed flat on his back with a thud as he disappeared in the snow.

“Put it down!” we heard Buckley shout. “Down motherfucker, down—now!”

“Get him, boys,” I ordered the others.

They hustled from the ditch, capturing the fallen man.

“Oh my god, he stinks,” Johnson said, laying atop the man.

Then a shot from behind the wall rang out.

“Told you to put it down!” Buckley said.

“Holy shit, did Buckley kill him?” Allen asked.

I shrugged. I didn’t know, but I thought it sounded like it.

Within a few seconds, the right door pushed open, snow plowing up behind it. Buckley stepped through.

“Drag that fuck in here,” he said with a lazy smile.

Inside the gate, the other man was holding onto a wooden pole, struggling to stay on his feet. An obvious look of pain spread across his face as he mumbled, “The Sarge shot me—the Sarge shot me.”

“Find something to tie these two up with,” Buckley said.

The camp was in disarray. Small cabins lined the foot of the stone face to our right. A few stick huts were sprawled around the center of the grounds, encircling a large fire pit.

“How’d you get in?” I asked.

With a little snicker he answered, “Well I was going to scale the wall, but if you turn around…there is no damn wall. The front one is just a prop to scare people. I’d say these two deranged dip-shits built it before they went stark raving mad.”

I looked out that side of the camp. It overlooked the valley below, and it was by far the most amazing part of Montana I’d seen yet. It looked like heaven, a deep valley covered in snow set in front of mountains. It was like a painting.

“Well it seems these two privates are the only ones here. I wonder what happened to the others,” Buckley said, his forehead wrinkling up as his eyebrows scrunched inward.

“They were taken. They were supper for our visitors,” came a voice from behind us. It was the man Buckley had shot.

“What’s your name, private?” Buckley asked, swinging around to confront him.

“Roy,” he answered, his far-away gaze staring up at the Sarge.

“Roy what?”

“Private Roy is all,” he chuckled.

“And this guy?” Buckley said, pointing to his unconscious friend.

“Oh him, he’s…now what is his name? I don’t remember.”

“If I shoot you in the leg again, will that help you to remember?”

“Oh it’s coming back to me,” Roy’s head now going around in circles, “I think it’s…Mary…no…it’s Mark, yes…Private Mark.” His sickening laugh irritated me. I wanted to shoot him myself.

“Sergeant, you got to see this,” Wilson called from one of the shanties.

“Someone secure this man! Let’s go, Butler. You’re with me,” Buckley said.

I could hear vicious growls as we neared the hut. With each step we took, they became louder. Wilson shined his flashlight inside, “What do you make of this, Sarge?” he asked.

Two German Shepherd watchdogs were chained by the neck, foaming at the mouth, almost skeleton like, with patches of hair falling out. They were trying to break free of the chains binding them.

“Damn!” I said, pointing to the one on the left. I could see his bare lower jawbone exposed. “How is this possible?”

Buckley pulled out his pistol, placing two shots right in the center of the dogs’ heads, between their eyes, dropping them. Injured but still fighting, both dogs wrestled to get back to their feet, Buckley fired again.

“Burn it!” he ordered.

“How were those things still alive?” I asked, dumbfounded.

As they dragged Roy behind us he sang, “The—aliens—did—it.”

“Stop!” Buckley commanded the men attending to him. “The aliens did what?” he asked, grabbing a fistful of the man’s beard, raising his head up. “What did the aliens do to them?”

He grimaced. “They made them stronger, fed them the…you know…the green.”

“What’s the green?” Buckley pulled his head higher.

“The green, the green, the green! Ha—ha—ha…you’ll soon find out. If you’re not dead.”

Buckley violently pushed him away. “He’s mad, out of his head. Take him away!”

At that moment, Allen ran out of the last cabin at the end of the camp, his mouth foaming like the dogs Buckley had just shot, howling like a wolf. He attacked Johnson, driving his thumbs deep into his eye sockets. Johnson’s screams made me weak in the knees. I watched his legs jerk as Allen rode him. As Allen’s jumped off Johnson, Buckley put a round in his shoulder, but it didn’t faze him and he charged at us. I pulled my ax, swinging it behind my head then hurling it at him as Buckley fired two more rounds into his chest. The ax stuck from his nose to his neck, dropping him to his knees.

“Nobody go in that cabin!” Buckley ordered, walking up to Allen and kicking him over.

I felt paralyzed, watching as Sarge put his foot on the man’s chest. Grasping the handle, he dislodged the axe. The ripping sound it made weakened my stomach as he pulled it free.

“Here,” he said to me, holding the ax up. “Don’t touch the blade; find something to wipe it off with.”

Parts of Allen’s flesh were hanging from the edge of the ax. I felt myself wanting to gag as I retook possession of it. I let the blade drop into the snow and dragged it. Pulling a bandana from my coat pocket, I wiped it off, throwing the bandana in the fire afterwards.

“Don’t put that thing away just yet,” he told me. “Let’s see what’s behind door number one,” pointing to the cabin.

The cabin was stuffed with rations, enough food to keep our platoon for a year or so.

“Well, that must be the green. Check out that can of beans,” Buckley said.

I started to reach for the can, but he quickly grabbed my hand.

“You don’t want to do that. You saw what it did to Allen,” he cautioned.

“Yeah…”

“This place is a trap. They sprinkled that powder on everything. Do you see it?” he asked me.

“See what?”

“Everything’s open, every can, every fucking package. Whatever this green shit is, it drives people crazy, they go completely insane.”

“Wait a second, Sarge, then how come the two out there haven’t killed each other?”

He pondered for a second, “Good question. Let’s go ask them.”

Roy and Mark, if those were their real names, were propped up against a log by the fire. Buckley walked up, pulled out his pistol, and placed it directly against the smaller man’s forehead.

“How the fuck are you two still alive?”

“Whatever do you mean, sergeant?” Roy playfully asked.

“This is what I mean. I’m going to ask you first, fuck-face, and if you don’t answer I’ll kill you where you sit. Then I’m going to ask you, doughboy, and if you don’t answer, you’re dead too. And guess what: I don’t ask more than once!”

“Don’t say nothing, Mark!” Roy said.

“Shut it, asshole,” Buckley whipped the man in the side of the face with his pistol, knocking him over.

“Wyatt!” Mark cried out, his voice sounding more normal.

“Wyatt, is it? Hmmm, you boys been lying to me,” Buckley said as he put the gun back to the smaller man’s head. “So, how are you still alive?”

Not heeding the Sarge’s orders, the man began to act crazy again. “The aliens did it! It’s the green—the green—the green!”

Boom. Buckley pulled the trigger. It was like slow motion for me, seeing the man’s head jerk back, exploding blood, flesh, and brains onto the frozen white ground behind him. Steam rose off the matter and into the cold winter air.

“Morgan!” the other man screamed, starting to weep. “No, no, no,” he cried.

“I told ya, I only ask once!” Buckley said, now forcing the pistol under Wyatt’s chin.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begged. “He was my brother…Morgan,” he whimpered, trying to catch his breath, “Morgan James.”

“Well I’m truly sorry about your brother. But this isn’t a game. How the fuck are you still alive?”

Sobbing and sniffling, Wyatt confessed, “Please forgive us. We knew it was wrong, but we made a deal with them.”

“Made a deal with who?”

“The visitors, the aliens,” he hung his head in shame. “They said if we helped them, they’d let us live out the rest of our lives unharmed.”

“How the fuck did you communicate with them?” Buckley asked, seizing a handful Wyatt’s hair and forcing his head up.

“They know our language. They know everything about us. Said if we poisoned everyone that came through here, we could stay here. We got tired of the killing though, that’s why we tried to scare you away. We couldn’t stand it anymore. We didn’t want to kill anymore.”

“How many? How many did you kill?” Buckley screamed at him.

“All of them,” he blubbered.

Shaking his head, Buckley released him, standing back up and holstering his pistol.

“Son, where’s the bodies?”

“At the bottom of the hill,” he nodded toward the picturesque valley that I had admired so much.

I was the first to make it to the edge. Looking down, I only saw brush, trees, and snow.

“I don’t see them,” I said.

“Let’s go down there,” Buckley said.

We only had to walk about fifty yards past the timberline when hell appeared. Rotting corpses and skeletons lay piled together, mangled in an atrocious heap of carcasses. Two to three hundred remains rested at the bottom of that hill, stealing its beauty and turning it ugly.

As we returned to the camp, Wyatt begged for his life. “Please don’t kill me. I’ve got weapons, ammo, and everything you need is here. It’s yours, please, just don’t kill me.”

Buckley wouldn’t even look at him. “Son…we’ll take everything. But you’re a traitor. And in a few minutes, you will be judged, and that judgment will be death.”

We fastened Wyatt James to the lone flagpole overlooking that valley of death. His hands tied behind his back, he stood awaiting his fate, watching as we emptied their stockpile of weapons and packed up their supplies.

Finally, all of us in a line, ten yards in front of him, we became the firing squad, his inevitable doom. We all listened as Sarge condemned the man.

“Wyatt James, you have been found guilty of treason, consorting with the enemy to murder your fellow man. I have no pity for you. You are a disgrace to the uniform, the Army, and this country. For your vile sins against mankind, you will be put to death.” Turning to face the traitor and look him in the eye, Buckley asked, “Do you have any last words?”

He had no more tears. I think he had accepted his fate. He just shook his head and closed his eyes.

“Platoon—Ready!” We raised our rifles. “Aim!” I nervously looked down the sights as Wyatt looked up to the sky.

“I’m sorry,” he silently mouthed the words.

“FIRE!”

It was done. I don’t know how many shots actually hit him, but Buckley said they were all head shots. No rounds hit the body. He showed no emotion as we packed the gear down the hill, although I was struggling with mine. Two soldiers had died today because of the enemy, both with the help of my hand. I didn’t feel this way when I split that alien bastard’s head open. But these two, they were soldiers.

We left the last one, James, hanging where he died. And for those who had turned him, when they came calling they would find a note. It was a simple note Buckley nailed to his chest.

We will find you and we will kill you.

10

My emotions were starting to get the best of me. If it wasn’t for the love of my new friend, I thought my heart would turn black. Buckley didn’t argue with me again about getting rid of the dog. As we headed west, it wasn’t that important to him. I named him Rags since we had fashioned a coat out of rags to keep him warm. He would become the only source of joy in our ranks on that old ragged bus. The only part that irritated Sarge was the pit stops. We had to bus train Rags. But as much as Sarge griped about it, he still stopped to let the dog out to do his business.

We went from barren town to barren town. At times it felt like the world had forgotten about us. It truly looked like Armageddon.

Salvaging and searching for supplies was our main daily activity. Others would get their chances to bilge dive for fuel as well.

Sarge set course through lower Idaho, back into Oregon, and up to Washington. He wanted to know if Seattle was still standing. As we would eventually find out, it was more than standing.

“Whoa…,” he said his foot stomped the brake pedal. “That ain’t a welcoming committee.”

We all rushed to the front of the bus, fighting for position, to take a look. We had been traveling I-90 toward Seattle when a roadblock stopped us dead in our tracks.

“Hope they know we’re friendlies,” Buckley said.

Six M-1 Abrams tanks blocked our path, concrete barriers stretched out in front of them. Stone boulders were stacked ten feet behind them, with a door that looked like it was made of iron placed in the middle.

“Where’s the soldiers?” I asked.

The turrets on the tanks swiftly zeroed in on us.

“My guess is they’re in the tanks,” Buckley said. “You men stay here. Don’t leave this bus. They don’t know who we are. A single round from one of those bad boys will disintegrate this bus and everything in it.”

“You’re not going out there, are you Sarge?” I asked.

“What, you want to go back the way we came?”

“Not really.”

“Well, me either. But if I don’t let them know who we are. They’ll blow us off this highway. Stay put. I’ll be right back,” he said, standing and un-holstering his pistol.

“You can’t go out there unarmed,” Houserman said.

“What’s a pistol going to do to a tank, moron? Shut your hole and get in your seat!”

His hair long past his collar, scraggly beard hanging six inches past his chin, Buckley didn’t look like a standard Marine. We all watched intently as he dropped his coat on the ground in front of the bus. Raising his hands, he spun around.

“He’s showing he doesn’t have any weapons,” Houserman said.

“We don’t need a play-by-play, dickhead. Keep quiet, all of you!” I said, slinking down in the driver’s seat.

Buckley kept a slow steady pace, hands raised high in the air as he neared the gate. He was only thirty or so feet when armed soldiers busted through the gate, weapons drawn, ordering him to the ground.

“Sarge!” Johnson said, his voice shrieking behind me. I felt the bus shake as he rushed from his seat, placing my arm in front of the aisle to block him.

“Sit the fuck down!” I demanded.

“But they’re cuffing him!”

“They have too! They’ll identify him and let him go, I’m sure of it!” I raised off my seat shoving him back. I hope they let him go, I thought to myself.

Thirty minutes passed and still no sign of Sarge. We all were tense, our emotions starting to boil over. Then, all of a sudden, a weak but familiar sound caught our attention. The sound was soft and sounded muffled at first, but grew louder as a black spot appeared in the distance behind the wall, growing larger as it approached.

The same time the AH-1W SuperCobra attack helicopter hit the wall, the gates started to open. The rotor’s wop-wop sound became clearer as it hovered over our location. A single jeep carrying Buckley in the passenger seat made its way back to the bus.

“We got an escort, boys,” Buckley said as he boarded the bus.

Cheers of joy and relief resonated through that old tin can. Crushing ‘Oorah’s filled its old shell. For the moment, all of the nightmarish moments we had endured would be forgotten. It felt good to look around at the smiling faces as the bus headed for safety behind those gates.

“Hey Sarge,” I called. “Is there a camp here?”

Rolling his head to the side, he said, “Camp…no camp. There’s a base and it’s a big one!”

I thought Fort Rice was a big base. I was getting a little anxious to see this one.

As we rode along we watched the road ahead. There were little outposts set up on the side of the highway and a few trailers surrounded by tents. Military personnel stationed at roadblocks rubbernecked as we drove by.

“This is a base?” I asked. “It’s smaller than Rice.”

Amused by my observation, Buckley erupted with laughter. “Not this, boys…this! Eyes—Left!”

As the bus exited the highway, I couldn’t believe my eyes, I had seen nothing like it. Dug into the side of the mountain, they had trenched a road, a hundred yards or so wide and at least a mile long. It led up to something spectacular.

“Welcome to Tiger Mountain, boys!” Buckley said.

The escort helicopter took off in front of us, banking upward and to the left as it neared the base. The road dead-ended into the side of the mountain, where we saw a structure hundreds of feet high with gun turrets placed throughout different levels. Blacked out glass reflected the surrounding terrain. Black steel beams reached upward, protecting its walls. It was shaped like a pyramid that had been tucked neatly into the mountain, like it was born there.

“What is this place?” Houserman asked.

“United States Joint Defense Installation, U.S.S. Tiger Mountain,” Buckley answered.

The closer we came, the more dwarfed we felt. Our tiny bus looked like a pebble rolling toward a dam. But this dam didn’t hold back water.

A Marine in a white suit, only his face showing through the glass shield, pointed to the lot on the right, directing Buckley to drive in. As we made the right turn, another motioned for us to stop in front of him.

Buckley slid the window open, “Soldier,” he called. “Aren’t we supposed to go in there?”

“I’m sorry, sergeant. Your bus will not be permitted. We have arranged alternative transportation. I need you to exit the vehicle and follow me,” the soldier said, pointing about twenty yards right of the gate.

I pulled a rope from my pack and fashioned a leash for Rags. We grabbed only what we could carry, weapons and our rucksacks.

“Leave the rest here!” Buckley ordered.

As we stepped off the bus a soldier directed us to the door as another waited for us to leave. Once the bus was clear, he drove it off.

“What are they doing with the bus?” Buckley asked.

“They’ll dispose of it, sergeant. Please follow me,” he said.

The soldier pulled the handle on the hatch. Eight locks swiveled away, allowing it to swing open. He pointed inside, motioning for us to enter. As soon as I stepped through, a burst of air on my head startled me.

“Don’t be alarmed, gentlemen, it’s just an air shower. To capture any possible contamination. Please proceed to the end of the grating. Go through the two doors and take a seat on the wall.”

The chamber was dark, dimly lit. Running water cascaded under our feet as we walked over the grating. Two men stood behind the double doors as we entered, protective suits hiding their uniforms.

As we all set on the ledge of the tiled wall, one of the men spoke. “Please remove all clothing, jewelry, and anything else other than your dog-tags. Step up to this line.” He pointed to the orange line at his feet. “We will hand each of you a bar of soap. Once you are finished cleaning, dispose of the bar through the grating and wait for the others to finish.”

Other than my snow bath, I think this was the second bath I’d had in months. Slightly embarrassed to be naked in front of complete strangers, I still enjoyed the warmth of the water. Even Rags was happy to get a scrub down.

Once finished we stood waiting in all our glory before being directed through the next set of doors, where another man handed out towels.

“Gentlemen, once you are dried you’ll find in these lockers a pair of skivvies and a black pair of coveralls. Put those on and we’ll hand out slippers for you to wear.”

“Wait a second, are we being arrested? I’ve been arrested before and it feels a lot like this,” Buckley said.

“No, sergeant, you aren’t being arrested. The environment inside the fort is very critical. Since you’ve been out in the field so long, we will take no chance of contamination. Even our other soldiers returning from ops go through the same procedures. Please, let’s keep moving.”

“What about our gear?” Buckley asked.

“It will be checked, logged in, and returned once it passes screening. And the dog will not be permitted into the facility. I’m sorry.”

Half-naked, I leaned down and clung to Rags.

“Wait a damn minute,” Buckley said. “That dog is regulation. He’s a service dog. We don’t turn our backs on members of our platoon.”

“Just a minute, sergeant,” the soldier said.

I shot Buckley a puzzled look. I was confused. Raising his eyebrows, he shrugged at me. The soldier had gone over to the phone located on the back wall. I tried to hear what he was saying but he was too far away.

As he hung up the phone, he said, “The officer on duty said he must be able to perform commands established with military training.”

“Easy enough,” Buckley said, stepping to my side he whispered, “You better pull this out of your ass, Butler. I’m sticking my neck out here.”

I took a step from the ranks, urging Rags to follow. His round eyes gently looked up at me. I had never given him any commands before, not even “Sit,” I didn’t know what was about to happen.

“All right, boy.” I pointed at the soldier who made the call. “Attack!”

The wet rope was as limp as a noodle. Rags just sat there looking up at me.

“Attack!” I commanded him.

I looked at Buckley for help. He just rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’ll need to take the dog,” the soldier said as he headed for Rags.

The rope snapped tight as Rags lunged at him, teeth bared. He was barking with every breath he had in him. The soldier tripped over a raised piece of grating, falling to his backside on the wet surface. The small twine of the rope started to unravel.

“Heel! Heel!” I shouted at Rags, who immediately ceased his advances, running behind me and sitting behind my legs. His head pressed against my leg as he spied the fallen man, his upper lip still quivering as he gave a low growl to show his displeasure.

“Enough, boy,” I said, reaching down to pat his head, feeling him nuzzle and lick my palm.

“Want to go for round two, or have you seen enough?” Buckley asked, offering the soldier a hand up.

The man pushed his hand away, getting up on his own, “No, thank you,” he huffed. “Just proceed through the next door, enter car ‘B’, and stand fast.”

“Will do. Let’s go boys,” Sarge said.

Outside the exit, we entered a long, silver tram car. It had no seats, just hand straps hanging from the ceiling.

“Good morning gentleman, this is Corporal Jones. Welcome to Tiger Mountain,” a voice said over the car’s intercom. “We’ll be heading a mile into the facility. You’ll be able to view the main access to your left, and make note from your observations that this is like an actual working city, although it’s underground. All branches of the military are represented here. Upon reaching the end of the line, please wait in your assigned car and I’ll meet you on the platform with further directions. Enjoy the ride.”

A little jostle and the car was moving. I clung to the strap with one hand and Rag’s homemade leash with the other. The car smoothed out in a few seconds, like it was riding on air. The humming of the electric motor filled the cabin.

“Girls!” Houserman pointed out.

All of our faces now pressed against the window, each of us ogling the gorgeous young ladies. It had been some time since any of us had seen a girl—or anybody else, for that matter.

I was amazed by the main access. Sidewalks lined both sides, and bright street lamps provided more than sufficient light. People were hustling about, both uniforms and civilians walking in both directions. Tunnels led to other areas—I was able to read a sign that said, “This way to Dining Hall, PX and Movie Theater.” This place was amazing, nothing like anything any of us had seen before.

As the tram stopped, I waited to step on the platform and explore this big underground city. I was fascinated by the view and I wanted to know its secrets. The station overlooked a large domed area resembling a park. People were sitting on benches and eating at picnic tables, and kids running on what looked like green turf.

“Gentlemen, if you will,” Jones said as the doors opened. “Please stay on the red line.”

Lines were painted everywhere; signs hung on the walls indicating what each color stood for. Red was ours, the Marines.

“So corporal, what’s next?” Buckley asked.

“You’ll be transported to the platoon barracks. They’re dorms, actually,” he smiled. “You’ll be quarantined at first, to see the doctors and stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Buckley asked. He seemed frustrated.

“I don’t know, sergeant, I’m just the tram operator,” he chuckled.

Within seconds a bus had pulled up next to the platform. It looked much like the tram car on wheels.

“Gentlemen, here’s your ride,” the corporal said.

The bus entered a dark tunnel, segregating us from the main population.

“I don’t think I’m going to like this,” Buckley said.

11

Three weeks stuck in quarantine. It was hell. Segregated from the general population and treated like a bunch of sick degenerates. I’d longed for the silence of Fort Rice, but if it wasn’t for Rags, who shared my coffin rack with me, I would have preferred being back there, guarding the nothing of a fallen base.

Buckley said it was like being in jail, three hots and a cot. I didn’t know; I’d never been in jail. The chow was the best that we’d ever been served since we joined the corps, but after the first week it grew monotonous.

The doctors who poked and prodded us said all of us had become malnourished and prescribed double rations with protein shakes. Ugh, those shakes tasted like chewy chocolate powder mixed with swamp water. Buckley let us pour them down the shower drain at first, until he discovered they were watching us via cameras. Then he ordered us to choke them down.

It was the 22nd day of the quarantine before they let us have any recreation time, which meant walking around the supply bay adjacent to our dorm. Circle after circle we walked. Like zombies we dragged full bellies of bloated meat and protein shakes around that exterior ring. If you tried to run for exercise, you’d quickly be scolded like some toddler who had disobeyed his mommy. It was boredom at its finest.

They gave us two choices: one, watch the pugil stick matches the supply division held every night in the bay. Or two, return to our dorm and watch old black-and-white movies in the day room. There was no day and there was no room, just a couple of metal folding chairs and a plastic couch that if you sat on wrong, you’d slide off until your ass smacked the hard concrete floor.

We spent two more weeks as outcasts, rejects from normal society. Then, one morning, they instructed us to start joining morning muster, something that we’d been barred from since they gave us the slightest touch of freedom from our cold gray stockade.

I was standing there in formation, casually conversing with a few of the other guys. All of us were spit-shined in new uniforms, a far cry from the tattered ones we arrived in. Then I heard a command I hadn’t heard in months.

“ATTENTION—ON—DECK!”

I was a bit rusty and my snap was lazy, but I wasn’t the last to get into the proper stance. My eyes stared through the wall in front of me to a point I imagined a thousand yards away. I didn’t see the major walk in; I only heard company-grade officers address him.

“PARADE—REST!”

With a quick step of my left foot to the side, my arms flew behind my back; my thumbs laced at the belt line like they belonged there.

“Good morning, Marines!” the major said, finally walking into view.

My heart sank in my chest as this monster stepped into view. He was enormous, the biggest black man I’d ever seen. He had no neck, literally no neck; he was just shoulders and head. He made Buckley look miniature compared to him. As he stood there staring out into the ranks with his hands on his hips, I noticed the size of his arms, twice the size of Buckley’s. I don’t know what scared me more, his arms or the scar on the right side of his face leading up to his eye patch.

“I said…good morning, Marines!”

Simultaneously we all answered back, “Good morning, sir!”

“Oorah! That’s more like it,” he said, accepting the clipboard a corporal handed him.

“All present and accounted for, sir!” the corporal said before stepping back behind him.

“Even the FNGs [fucking new guys], I see. Well, would you look at this,” he said pointing at Buckley. “Staff Sergeant Chris Buckley, I heard you were a hell of a Marine once, and you left it all behind to go train a bunch of babies, little piss-ant tit suckers!” he chuckled.

With breakneck speed, Buckley was at attention, “Yes sir, heard the same about you. Before you went to…supply!”

Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the ranks separated as the major pushed his way through to address him.

With his cannon barrel size finger he poked Buckley in the chest, “What did you say, grunt?”

“I said, it’s good to see you too sir!”

“Bet your ass it is, you old warhorse!” he said, laughing as he extended his hand toward Buckley.

I was bit confused. I was waiting for a fight.

“How the hell have you been, Chris?

“Fucking ‘A’ fine, Harold. It’s good to see you.”

“Damn right it’s good to see me, even with one eye, I’m the sexiest devil dog the Corps has.” He slapped Buckley on the shoulder. “Are these your men?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Outstanding. We’ll have to catch up,” he said as he started to walk through the ranks again. “Men, my name is Major Harold Jenkins. I’m the supply officer here on Tiger Mountain. Stay on the lines, do as you’re told, and you’ll survive until we can find you all your next duty station. Step out of line and your ass belongs to me. I am an eighth-generation Marine! I eat, sleep, and piss excellence! Your sergeant can tell you, I’m firm and I’m firm. It’s my way or I’ll make you eat the highway!

The major stopped right in front of me, I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t help it: I raised my head to look at him. I was mesmerized by the size of this man.

“What in the hell is your malfunction? Who told you you were worthy to look at me?” he said screaming, his breath forceful, I could feel my eyebrows dance in the wind.

Jumping to attention and now looking straight through his chest, I answered, “No one sir, sorry sir!”

“Damn right you’re sorry, you little ankle biter! Buckley, you better teach these whelps who the big dog is around here, or I’ll neuter every last one of them!”

“Yes, sir!” Buckley said.

Major Jenkins leaned down until we were forehead-to-forehead as his one eye looked into mine, “I see your soul in there, boy. Fuck up again and I’ll reach in and pull it out. I’ll tie it on a string and wear it around my neck while I’m giving your momma 12 inches of black thunder. Do you understand me?”

I nodded yes as he nudged me backwards with one push of his massive skull. Rags, tied to a pole, wasn’t as scared as I was. He sank to the pounce position. His growl was evil as he foamed at the mouth, straining to pull free from his ties.

“Is that your mutt?” he asked.

“Yes, sir!” I answered.

“You better get him under control. If he growls at me again, he’ll be on my supper plate.”

“Yes, sir!”

I stayed in my rack the rest of the day with Rags, getting up only to take him to a designated shower they allowed him to relieve himself in. I just lay there, thinking. I was angry. Part of me wanted to punch the major for what he said about my mother; the other half didn’t want to die.

It would be two more weeks before our orders would come in. I found it best to stay in the dorm. Morning conflicts with Major Jenkins were all I could handle, so I stayed within the confined walls to prevent any more head bumping situations, and I kept my eyes and mouth to myself. The push-ups I had once hated became my release from boredom. I could now do a hundred without breaking a sweat.

Finally it was judgment day. We stood in formation in that cold cave of a bay. My focus was strong. I had mastered the art of the thousand-yard stare. I felt like a statue. I could hear everything around me happening, but I stayed strong and didn’t sway, centering my vision on a small pebble protruding from the poured concrete wall as if it were the center of the universe.

“Buckley, front and center!” Jenkins commanded.

In a rapid military manner, Sarge was quickly standing in front of Jenkins.

“Yes, sir!”

“M.C.R.D. Seattle! Congratulations, you’ll be two wings over training more fighting men.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“Dismissed!”

Buckley smiled as he made his way back to the front of our ranks.

“Houserman!”

Like he had never had a day of training, Houserman casually strolled to the front.

“Quit your fucking lollygagging and get your ass up here or I’ll send your ass to the frontlines!” Jenkins warned him.

“Sir, yes sir!”

“Admiral’s staff, Navy! You’re going to go jack-off the white coats!”

“E-e-excuse me sir, I don’t understand,” Houserman stuttered.

“Listen dumb-shit, you’ll be washing the admiral’s dishes, shining his shoes, or standing guard outside of his office. You’ll do whatever the fuck they tell you to do, and you’ll do it like a fucking Marine! Do you copy?”

“Yes, sir,” he said halfheartedly.

“Get the fuck back in ranks, you broke-dick!”

Waiting patiently for my name to be called, I listened as others were told they would become stewards, janitorial staff, and other demeaning jobs with the confines of Tiger Mountain.

“Butler!” he called. My heart sank and my legs became weak. “Butler, front and center!” his voice, loud and angry, caused me to shake as I ran to stand in front of him.

“Yes sir!” I answered.

He pointed to the balcony overlooking the bay. Without thinking about it I looked up, metal balconies lined the bay, black windows with steel doors hid behind them. “Major general’s staff. You hit the jackpot, jack-wagon!”

“But, but sir,” I stammered, “I’m supposed to be a suit.”

“A suit?” he said mockingly. “Are you fucking serious? You’re nothing more than a stray. You haven’t earned the right to wear a suit! For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even finish boot camp, yet we still have to call you pathetic nomads Marines! Now get your ass back in ranks!”

“I am a Marine!” I said, standing my ground.

He rushed me, that massive finger now poking me in the chest.

“Say it again, I dare you! Say it again and I’ll stomp your pathetic ass into an oil spot right where you’re standing!”

Before I knew what I was doing, I swatted his hand away from my chest and stepped to him. Looking up at him and gritting my teeth I told him, “I’m a Marine!”

I waited for him to swing, knock my head off, but he didn’t. His eyes looked me up and down. A devious smile appeared on his face as he snickered.

“You are, are you?” he asked.

“Yes sir! I’m a Marine!” I grunted.

“We’ll see about that.”

And in a flash his hand was wrapped around my neck. I could feel his fingers digging in, cutting off my air.

“Well, boys,” he said as he dragged me, “this so-called Marine is about to find out what a real Marine is! Pugil sticks now!”

Like he was throwing a feather, he lifted me off the ground and sent me flying. I tripped over sandbags, crashing to the ground on the flat of my back. I could hear the air rushing from my lungs.

“Get his helmet,” Buckley said to Houserman.

“No helmets!” Jenkins informed them.

“That’s not right, sir,” Buckley said, stepping over the bags to help pick me up.

“Neither is this sawed-off runt stepping up to me. You should have trained these children to know their place in the corps.”

Buckley dusted me off. I was still trying to catch my breath.

“I’m taking his place,” Buckley declared.

“Stand down, sergeant. That’s an order!” Jenkins said.

“This is crazy, Harold, and you know it. It’s out of line! I will file a complaint with the command sergeant major and the commanding officer if you force me to!”

“Do what you feel is needed, sergeant, but this pup is going to be taught a lesson!” He bent over, picking up his stick. “Here—today!”

I looked at Buckley. It was the first time I saw concern in his eyes for anything. He whispered in my ear, “Exploit his blind side, don’t stand in front of him, and keep moving.”

“Out of the ring, sergeant!”

“Good luck kid,” he said to me.

It struck me odd not to stand in front of him. The giant was a mile wide. He was all front.

“Pick up your stick, boy!” he said, pointing to the one laying at his feet.

My heart was beating like a drum, I had already felt his power, and I could only imagine what those arms would feel like swinging a pugil stick at my head.

I soon found out. As soon as I took my eyes off him, my world went black. He knew I wasn’t watching, so he cheap-shotted me right in the back of the head.

“This gentleman is why you never take your eyes off your enemy!” he said, his sickening laugh ridiculing me. “You had enough, boy?”

“Get up, Butler!” Buckley shouted. “Don’t give this asshole the satisfaction!”

“Careful with your words, sergeant, or you will be next.”

“It’d be my pleasure…sir!” Buckley responded sarcastically.

I needed to make a choice, fight or flight. I chose fight. I rose back up to face him.

“So you had enough, pup?”

“Nope, I want all you got!” I said.

It was a stupid thing to say. I think my heart was bigger than my balls, because in less than a millisecond I was on my back again. He took one step forward, swinging from his right and landing a shot to my left temple that twisted me completely around.

“All I got? Hell, little man, you didn’t even defend yourself!”

I used the stick to prop myself up. I felt my right knee buckle as I tried to stand.

“Looky here, the pup is already done.”

“I’m not done,” I told him.

“Oh…well I’ll give you the count of three to get to your feet. One—Two…”

He rushed in again. I fell backwards, rolling under his swing, and climbed to my feet. I could hear our guys clapping and cheering behind me.

“Swing and a miss!” Buckley said.

I started shuffling to my left, my knees weak. I waited for his next offensive. I could feel blood trickling down my cheek from my left eyebrow. I wiped at the side of my face, trying to keep it out of my eye.

“Come on boy, take a shot!”

“You first!” I challenged him.

As soon as his left foot took a step forward, I ducked. I could feel the rush of air as the stick passed over my head, so I choked down on the stick like a baseball bat and started to swing, but I didn’t time it right. His return swing uppercut me before I could get my shot off, I felt my feet leave the ground. The last thing I remember was my head hitting the hard cold floor.

“Stay down. That’s an order!” Jenkins said.

I shook my head to rid the cobwebs, watching as he turned his back to me and raised his arms in victory. I needed to get up. I was his enemy, and he had just taken his eyes, or eye, off me. I scrambled to my feet, staggering from side to side as I tried to grasp my stick with both hands.

I think his arrogance allowed him to believe it was over, so he said to his men, “This is why we only train men…not boys!”

I charged him, his men pointing and yelling for him to turn around. But, before he could guard himself, I caught him with a blow flush on the right side of the jaw.

“Damn you, I gave you a direct order to stay down! Now you’ll pay!”

Hunching over, bobbing, it was my turn to mock him. “Like I paid your mother!”

He came at me with breakneck speed, same step, same move, and same swing. This time I stayed back, waiting for the second shot to go by before crushing the side of his jaw, I swung so hard it turned me completely around. Seeing his knee buckle, I took a shot at it, hitting him dead in the back of that knee and watching it collapse. Then, like I was back chopping all those trees at Fort Rice, I went to work with everything I had. Strike after strike, hacking at his side. I realized then I was doing some damage.

“Get him!” Buckley screamed.

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I jumped on his back and wrapped my legs around his midsection and squeezed with all my might at the same time I swung my stick around his neck catching it and pulling it under his chin. He was the bull and I was the rider, and someone had just opened the chute. The more he bucked, the harder I pulled. His arms started swinging about, trying to dislodge the stick from under his now choked off neck. When his attempts failed, he went for my ankles, but I had my heels dug in and he was close to passing out. I wanted him to feel what it was like when his eyes went black. It wasn’t pleasant.

As he fell to both knees, his back starting to hunch, I could feel him weakening. I knew I had him. Just a few more seconds and he’d be out cold.

“ATTENTION ON DECK!” resonated out through the bay.

Paying no attention to the order, I continued to choke Major Jenkins.

“Get that man off the major!” a man’s voice ordered.

Buckley and a couple of the others grabbed me, pulling me down. I tried to get back to Jenkins, but they held me back.

“Snap out of it kid, or you’re going to the brig,” Buckley said in my ear.

“What the hell is this?” the same voice asked.

I looked up to see the man who was speaking. Two silver stars rode high on each of his shoulders. It was the major general. The very man I had just been assigned to serve. I knew I was screwed. Even though I was victorious, it now meant nothing.

“Would somebody like to help the major to his feet?” he asked.

Major Jenkins was still down on one knee, holding his throat.

“So what in the sam-hell is going on down here? I hear this commotion from my office and I see an enlisted man fighting an officer. And all of you jack-wagons are standing around like you’re watching the fucking Thanksgiving Day Parade!”

“It was just an exhibition for the men, sir, a morale builder of sorts,” Jenkins said, his throat gurgling as he struggled to clear it.

“One of my majors getting his ass beat is a fucking morale builder…is that what you’re telling me, major?”

“Yes sir, let me explain…”

The major general interrupted. “Oh this I’d love to hear. I love fairytales. So by all means, please carry on, do fucking explain!”

“This young…Marine,” he emphasized, “is in the Suit Program. We thought it would be good for the rest of the men to see what it takes to be in that program. You know, what kind of Marine it takes.”

Standing there, hands on his hips and stern look on his face the major general spoke. “No, I don’t know. And I think you’re bullshitting me, major, just to keep your sorry ass out of the brig. And that man is an E-3. He’s too low ranking to be a suit.”

“His paperwork is upstairs, sir. We’re pushing it through,” Jenkins said.

“Are you bullshitting me—Major?”

“Only if I have to, sir.”

“Mmhmm,” he pondered. “You’d better, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Sir, I’d like to apologize,” I spoke up.

“Shut your hole, lance corporal, I want no further explanations. Major Jenkins, I want this man on the first Jeep out of here in the morning. Get his rank right, get his uniforms right, and get this godforsaken mess of a supply bay field-dayed [cleaned] before I run all of your asses till your feet bleed. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir!” Jenkins said, saluting the general.

“Carry on…all of you…carry the fuck on!”

We waited uneasily for him to leave, it was tense waiting and knowing that Jenkins just lost the upper hand. I personally thought he was going to kill me just as soon as the general cleared the bay.

“Well kid,” he said facing me, “you got moxie. I think you’re in over your head, but then again, what the fuck do I know. You impressed me. Thanks for the ass whippin’!”

I was taken aback as he offered a sincere handshake.

“Thank you, major, same to you.”

“And kid, you might want to get some rest. It will be kind of hard over there on your first day with that head aching.”

“It’s not that bad, sir,” I said.

“Oh, it will be.”

Then, I felt his fist clobber my chin and that familiar dark cloud started filling my eyes.

12

“Rise—and—shine—sunshine,” Buckley teased me.

I pried my eyes open, not knowing where I was, my head still foggy.

Rags took my open eyes as a sign it was okay to lick my face, which he had done every single morning since we arrived at Tiger Mountain.

“Down, boy,” I said. My throat felt horse and my mouth was dry.

“Can’t sleep all day. Reveille will be in about…oh, say, eight hours.”

“Eight hours?” I questioned him, I was lost. “It’s not morning?”

“Hell no, it’s dinner time. Get your ass up and get over here, Jenkins got us steaks. He felt bad for knocking your ass out.”

Then it dawned on me—I had so much to do to get ready to leave.

“Damn!” I said, attempting to rise up from my rack.

“Slow down, slow down, we got you covered. We sewed all your patches on your uniforms. All you need to do is pack, so don’t rush,” Buckley said.

Finally sitting up in my rack I asked, “How long have I been out?”

“Oh, about six hours. You’ll be fine. We had the doc come in and check you out.”

“I feel like I get hit by a truck.”

“Technically, you did, I’m thinking Jenkins and a truck weigh about the same.”

I tried focusing my eyes. Looking around the room, I saw the others sitting at the tables in the center of the dorm.

“Come join us,” Houserman said, a warm smile on his face.

“Yeah, these boys are biting at the bit to tear into those steaks, so you might want to get your ass over there,” Buckley said.

Considering what I had gone through, it was a nice gesture from Jenkins. Seeing all these men, the only Marines I’d known, enjoy a great meal and each other’s company, I couldn’t help but wonder what would come of them after tomorrow. Would our paths ever cross again?

Dinner, jokes, and laughing. It was a memory I’ll enjoy for a long time. As they retired one by one, I sat up packing, remembering where we had been and how we had gotten here. Then finally, I was the last to drift off to sleep.

It was oh-five-hundred hours. Buckley once again woke me.

“Shhhhh,” he warned me, whispering. “Time to go. They’re out there waiting for you.”

I nodded okay and quickly dressed, grabbing my rucksack and rifle and heading to the door. As soon as we passed it, Buckley clipped a leash on Rags.

“I’m sorry, son, he can’t go with you.”

“But Sarge…”

“No buts, kid. I’ll look after him for you. I promise,” Buckley said, reaching down to pat Rags’ head.

I knelt down to say my goodbyes. Looking into his sad eyes, I couldn’t help but think he knew what was happening. He jumped up, putting his front paws on my chest, and licked my nose as I scratched behind his ears.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” I said, my voice cracking. I could feel the tears swelling up and hastily choked them back. “I have to go.”

I shook Sarge’s hand. Turning, I started walking away. I could hear Rags whimpering behind me. The further I went, the louder he cried. It was breaking my heart, but I didn’t want to show weakness. Jenkins was up ahead waiting with my orders.

“Here, kid, this is all I can give you,” Jenkins said, handing me four magazines. “You probably won’t need them, but it’s better to have them and not need them.

“Thank you, sir.”

He gently placed his hand on my shoulder and stepped next to me.

“You are a Marine. Keep your head up and don’t take your eye off the enemy. And for what it’s worth, if Buckley doesn’t take care of that mutt, I will. When this is over, you come back and claim him.”

We exchanged brief smiles. He patted my shoulder and sent me on my way.

It was lonely tram ride back to the main gate. I was the only one in the car. I’ll never forget walking out of that hatch, the cool air filling my lungs. I should have been happy, but leaving Rags, Buckley, Houserman, and the others, I wasn’t so sure. What if I never saw them again?

“Corporal!” the driver called.

I nodded and entered the jeep.

“Where are we headed?” I asked.

“About two hours southwest of here. Your new home will be just northwest of Mount St. Helens.”

I remembered reading about Mount St. Helens in history class. It had erupted sometime back in the late 1900s.

What kind of base is near an active volcano? I wondered to myself.

The trip was uneventful, just a simple supply convoy delivering who knows what to who knows where. I think I counted six trucks and a couple of other Jeeps.

We pulled down a long dirt road hidden just off the highway. As the trucks turned left, we made a right. The driver pulled the Jeep up in front of a little building in the middle of nowhere. I looked around, not seeing much more than trees and shrubs.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s your new home,” the driver said. “Good luck, corporal.”

I grabbed my gear and stepped out of the Jeep, my ax clanging against the side.

“Where do I go?” I asked him.

He didn’t answer, just pulled away.

I circled around to the back of the building, cautiously looking for the entrance. There was no door, nothing.

A buzzing sound behind me caught my attention. Looking up, I saw that a small camera was tracking me. It was tucked neatly between two branches of a tree, just above the first fork.

“Identify yourself!” a voice said.

I adjusted my angle and could see a small speaker.

“Corporal Butler, reporting for duty,” I said into the speaker.

“Orders!”

I dropped my gear off my shoulder. Unzipping the compartment on my rucksack, I pulled out the folder and held it up.

“Orders!” came across the speakers again.

I opened the folder, pulling out the paperwork within, and held it up for the camera. The flash of a red light from inside the camera lens startled me.

“Stand fast!”

I tucked the paperwork back in the folder, stowed it back in my rucksack, and waited.

I stood there for what must have been three hours, and nothing happened. I tapped on the camera lens. I yelled at it, “Hey!”, trying to get anyone’s attention. Still, nothing happened.

So I pulled my ax out and started swinging it. Stretching my arms, trying to get some exercise, anything to break up the boredom.

“Put the weapon away!” the voice said over the speaker.

“Excuse me, am I in the right place?” I called.

“Yes!”

“Where do I go?”

“Here!”

“Here where? There is no door.”

“Here!”

I was getting frustrated. I thought they were fucking with me.

“Where the hell am I supposed to go?” I asked, my agitation starting to show.

“Here!” the voice said angrily.

I searched all over that tree, looking for anything. I climbed on top of the small building, but found nothing. Is this a game, a trick? I thought. Still standing on top of the building, I noticed a twinkle in the bushes to my left as the sun broke through the clouds and its rays exposed a reflection.

“Hmmm. Interesting,” I said.

I jumped down off the building and snatched my gear up. With the rucksack on my back and my rifle attached to the strap, I cautiously searched through the brush. In fact, it wasn’t brush it all—it was camouflage. The bush thicket was about two feet thick and hid a small hatch. I tried turning the handle, but it was locked in place. Then the hatch made a beeping sound followed by a pop that caused me to jump back and raise my rifle.

“Put the weapon down!” the speaker crackled.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, easy for you to say,” I responded.

I dropped my grip on the rifle, letting it sway on my belly in the harness. Reaching out, I tried the handle again. This time it opened.

“Enter!” the voice commanded.

It was pitch black inside that hole. I couldn’t even see a few feet in front of me.

“What the hell?” I mumbled.

I crouched down and peeked my head inside. A couple of hands seized me and jerked me in. I tried to wrestle myself free, but couldn’t see what I was wrestling with. I felt cold metal on my cheek; when I managed to get ahold of the thing that had my shirt twisted up, I felt a powerful smack on the back of my hand.

“What the fuck?” I screamed.

“Not even if you buy me a drink,” a voice said from the darkness.

“Huh?” I said, thinking to myself, This is odd.

I felt myself being dragged. A small light appeared at the end of the dark tunnel. Now I could see what was gripping me. It was a Suit.

Looking up, I saw three Suits. The dark metal, intimidating and cold, stood over me. Smooth lines and no edges, black visors smooth with the contours of their helmets. Muscular physiques stamped into the upper torso plates all the way down through the legs, joints covered by more black armor.

“Are you Drew Butler?” the one above my head asked, its digital voice resonating through the small domed cave.

“Yes, sir!” I answered.

“Then get your ass up. We got work to do!”

I rolled over to my side and watched as all three walked through an arch at the back of the cave.

“Come on, rookie!” one of them called.

Unsnapping myself from the rucksack, I clambered to my feet.

“Today, rookie!” I heard one call.

I caught up to them in a long brick lined wall tunnel as they entered a small open area with a ledge overlooking a pool of water. A small bench and a locker were set to the right side.

“Drop your gear there, on the ground in front of it.”

“Yes, sir.” I said.

“Quit calling me sir. See the paint on my arm?” He pointed. “What’s that stand for?”

“Sergeant,” I answered.

“No shit, now quit calling me sir.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, rookie. Sheesh!” the sergeant said.

I threw my gear next to the locker and joined them on the ledge, standing next to the sergeant. He placed his metal paw on the small of my back and pushed me to the ledge. I could feel my feet sliding on the soft dirt floor.

“Whoa, whoa…”

“Don’t be scared, rookie, I won’t push you off…yet.”

“What is this?” I asked.

“It’s a cave lake. See the door on the other side? That’s how we enter the base.”

Peeping over the ledge, I could see a metal platform extending out over water. Two Suits were standing guard, one on each side of the dark silver door. It was dimly lit from this height.

“How do I get down there?”

“You jump, rook, you jump!” the sergeant answered.

“Jump! Are you kidding?”

“Nope. It’s the only way down.”

“Are you chicken?” another asked. I looked at his arm. He was a corporal like me.

“How far down is it?” I nervously asked.

“Oh, 50, 70…maybe 100 feet. Don’t really know. I’ve never measured it,” the sergeant said.

I tiptoed to the edge. It looked like black ice, with no bottom in sight. My knees felt weak and my stomach started to turn.

“We can call it quits right and you can hitch a ride back to Tiger Mountain,” the Corporal said.

I had to think. I’d never done anything like this.

“Okay, let’s take him back,” the sergeant said.

“No! I can do it…I think,” I said.

“You got one second,” the sergeant warned.

It was like being in slow motion as I stepped off that ledge dropping into the abyss, all the lights a faint blur. Their laughter coming from above sounded like ghosts echoing down a long hallway. The water seemed miles away. I clenched my eyes tight. My body stiffened. I waited for impact. And then time caught up with me as the cold rush of the water stole my breath. I felt the impact through my entire body as my feet sliced through the water’s surface. I felt like a deer trying to climb a ladder with no rungs; I was reaching for things that weren’t there. I could see the light of the platform, but when I moved my eyes away from it, I could see just nothingness, an empty void.

Letting myself go limp, I resurfaced to hear, “He did it. Let’s go pull him out of the drink.”

Pull me out?

“Aren’t you guys jumping?” I yelled up to them.

“Nah, rook, we’ll use the stairs behind the locker,” I could hear the Sarge saying.

Now what? I need to get to the ledge. I could barely feel my legs. My arms weren’t responding.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw lights approaching, moving fast. Reaching up I grabbed the edge of the platform. I couldn’t even pull myself up; I was spent.

“I got him,” the corporal said.

As I looked to my right, the cold stopped bothering me; I was just fascinated. The corporal was running down the path to my right, faster than anything with two legs I’d ever seen before. I could see from his lights that the path he was on was about to end, but this didn’t stop him. Like a big cat jumping at its prey, he sprang up in the air, soaring at least 20 or 30 feet across the open water, landing right in front of me.

“Gimme your hand,” he said.

He lifted me like it was nothing, like I didn’t weigh anything.

I was awestruck, watching the other two make the same effortless jump.

“Pick you chin up, rookie, and follow me,” the Sergeant said.

Punching a code into the panel right of the door, one of the Suits standing guard let us in. Once inside, I realized it was just an elevator. They surrounded me, placing me in the middle.

When the doors opened, we all walked into a long underground hangar bay. It was as long as the eye could see. Tanks, jets, and huge crates were scattered about everywhere. Other soldiers were scurrying around like rats in a maze.

Puzzled, I asked, “Is this it?”

“Is this what?” the sergeant replied.

“Where I learn to wear the T1A77?”

“Not quite. We don’t actually train here. It’s a front. Yes, it’s an actual working base, but for the Suits…nah…we’ll be taking you to Wonderland.”

“What’s Wonderland?” I asked as they stopped.

The sergeant turned to face me, the face shield of his armor retracting back into the top section of his helmet. His face tanned and weathered, he grinned sheepishly at me.

I grinned back, and asked again, “Where’s Wonderland?”

“Same place as La-La-Land. Corporal if you’ll do the honors,” he said.

“What…” I said, feeling the needle enter the side of my neck.

“Can’t tell you, rookie. Well, not until we’re sure you are worthy. Have a good nap,” the sergeant said, waving bye-bye as I drifted back into the corporal’s waiting arms.

13

“Good morning, sweetheart, did you sleep well?” I heard a soft voice say.

“What?” I asked.

“Come on, Cinderella, you’re late for the ball.”

“What ball?”

“These balls on your chin if you don’t get out of that rack.”

“Huh?” I said, that didn’t sound right to me.

Springing upward, I busted my head on the bottom of the rack above me.

“Calm down, sweetheart, don’t hurt yourself.”

Groggy, I rubbed my head and asked, “Where am I?”

“You’re home,” he laughed. “Now you might be a little drowsy, so don’t stand up too soon. Here, drink this. It will help clear your head.”

I could only see his shadow. I flinched when I felt him grip my hand.

“It’s okay, bubba, I’m one of the good guys.”

He placed a glass in my hand and pushed it toward my face.

“What is it?

“It’s heaven. Come on, drink it. It will help clear your head. Come on, you can do it,” he insisted.

Raising the small glass to my lips, I tilted it back to feel it burning down my throat all the way to my stomach. Spitting the remains out and down the front of my shirt, I started to cough.

“What, what—the—hell—was that?” I said between coughs and gags.

“Jack Daniels, of course,” he laughed.

“How the hell was that supposed to help me?”

“It wasn’t, but it sure amused the hell out of me. Listen up, newbie, the head is to your right. Go clean yourself up, and when you’re done doing that, the CO wants to meet you.”

“The who?”

“The commanding officer. You know, the guy who owns your balls now.”

I couldn’t see the person who had just been talking to me leave; I only heard the sound of the door shutting behind him. I wiped the crust from my eyes, fighting to gain focus. My body creaked as I pulled myself up off the bunk. Did I get hit by a truck? I asked myself.

Like a blind man in a strange place, I felt my way across the room, bumping into what felt like a chair and table before I found the door to the head. I ran my hand up the wall inside the right, flipping the light switch. Like the morning sun rising, it blinded me. I felt a shooting pain in my eyes I’d never experienced before. I stumbled to the sink, rushing to splash cold water on my face. Shadows became blurs, sparkles danced in my vision, and my head began to spin.

“Calm down,” a female’s voice said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m in the wrong head,” I said, embarrassed.

“No, you’re in the right head. Tilt your head back.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tilt your head back, I’ll help you.”

I could feel her gentle hand on the back of my head, her fingers on my forehead as she lightly pushed my head into position.

“It’s from the sedatives, pretty powerful stuff actually,” she said, her fingers softly pulling up my eyelids. “This is going to sting a little, so brace yourself.

“Brace for what…”

I felt the first drop hit my right eye. The pain was excruciating, sending tremors all the way down to my toes.

“Don’t fight it!” she said. “These drops are the only thing that’s going to help you see.”

I felt myself swaying, my knees fighting to keep me standing. The second drop to my left eye sent me sinking to the floor in a heap.

“Ha…another supposed bad-ass. Man can’t take a few eye drops. Where do they find you pussies?”

Crumpled on the floor like a child’s blanket, I heard her continuing to mock me as she left. Ashamed of my current state, I used the counter to pull myself back up. She had seemed so sweet at first.

“Excuse me, ma’am, can you hand me a towel?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Ma’am?” I called.

Silence.

“Are you still there?”

I heard the outer door click as it shut. She had left me to myself. Through foggy eyes, I made out the shape of the towel rack. As I reached for one, I soon discovered my depth perception was a tad off when my knuckles cracked into the frame.

“Damn, that hurt!”

Still fighting to focus, I was finally able to feel my way to retrieving a towel. Wetting it down, I started patting it against my tender eyes. I could feel tears and drops of water from the towel start to stream down my cheeks. My vision was finally returning. A few minutes later, it cleared.

Then, looking in the mirror I made a discovery. “What the hell?”

Red blotches systematically covered my body, two on each shoulder, three horizontally across my chest, and six down my stomach. Turning to see my back, I found eight of the same blotches tracing my spine, four on each side about three inches in diameter.

What have they done to me?

I made my way back to the bunk that I assumed was mine, finding my uniform neatly pressed and hanging from the bunk rails. Dressing as quickly as my sore limbs would allow, I struggled with simple tasks like buttoning my shirt and zipping my fly.

Tying my boot laces seemed like it took an eternity. A simple task that most children could accomplish in mere seconds, I found laborious. Sitting on the edge of the bunk, I needed more time just to clear my head and recuperate from the chore of getting dressed.

With a throbbing headache, I rested my head in my hands until a familiar voice called to me.

The door to the dorm cracked open. I couldn’t see behind it, but the voice…I knew that voice as it called to me, “Get your ass out here, rookie!”

I lifted my aching carcass off the bunk, fumbling to adjust my uniform to a presentable condition. I started walking toward the door, each step more agonizing than the last. I’d never felt this weak or helpless, ever.

As I opened the door the lights in the next room affected my still sensitive eyes. I was again straining to focus. I could hear cheers of “welcome aboard,” and “it’s about fucking time” repeated over and over.

“Sit here, rook,” the Sergeant said as he grabbed my arm, leading me to a couch.

“Well Mr. Butler, let me be the first to introduce myself,” a man said.

“I’m sorry, I’m still having issues seeing,” I said.

“Oh my apologies, no worries,” he laughed, “Hunter, dim the lights.”

As the room darkened, I started making out my current company: four men and one woman.

“How’s that?” the man asked.

“Better, thank you.”

“I’m Captain Tommy Pickett. They call me Motown. Welcome to our team.”

His smile was genuine. There were faint streaks of gray in his dark, curly hair. His height was close to mine, his build almost identical.

“Are you the CO?” I asked, rising to attention.

“No, no, no,” he chuckled. “I’m your platoon leader. Calm down. We aren’t as formal here as what you’re used to. Take a seat and relax.”

“Why do they call you Motown?” I asked while sitting back down.

“I’m from Detroit, you know? Wilson Pickett?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh my god, you don’t know who Wilson Pickett is?” he gasped. “You young guys are at a disadvantage when it comes to good music.”

“Motown is his call sign, mine is Hunter,” said another man. “I’m Second Lieutenant Carl Anders.”

“Why Hunter, sir?”

“I like to deer hunt, both species.”

“He’s a sausage jockey,” the woman said, smirking as she threw a wad of paper at him.

“I’m Sergeant Rita “B-O-B” Garcia. I’ll be your close quarters and hand-to-hand combat instructor.”

I looked at the second lieutenant, his slender frame still leaning up against the wall by the light switch. I watched as he combed his fingers through the wavy golden strands on top of his almost regulation haircut. Leaning over, he picked up the wad of paper and tossed it back at her, shooting her a playful wink in the process.

“Excuse me, I don’t want to seem rude. But I don’t understand your name either. B-O-B? And I thought women weren’t permitted to fight anymore?” I said.

“Uh-oh, take cover,” Hunter squealed as the others laughed while dropping to the deck.

Sergeant Garcia stood up, abandoning the pistol she had been cleaning, and approached me. Standing over me, she glared down at me with a stern scowl on her face.

“I’m going to let that one pass since you’re new. Women don’t serve in combat operations due to the losses, but I’m not one of those women,” she said, pulling a glove off her right hand to expose a functioning robot hand. She then removed the detachable sleeve that was hiding her arm. Her entire arm was robotic, proportioned as an exact replica.

“What’s wrong, rookie? Scared?” she asked. “We’ve lost a lot of good women due to this fucking war, so unless you men can squeeze a watermelon out your ass and call it a baby, that’s the reason they won’t allow us to fight. Somebody had to repopulate this god-forsaken shit-hole of a planet. Again I’m not one of those women. Those alien bastards took something from me, as you can see, and I plan on it getting it back. Any questions?”

“No, ma’am,” I shook my head.

“So next time you call me out, I’m going to rip your testicles off and shove them in your mouth. You got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am. I work for a fucking living. And B-O-B stands for Bitch on a Broom. Oorah!”

“Okay…” I softly agreed. She scared the shit out of me.

“I said…Oorah!”

“Oorah!” I replied. I didn’t want to piss her off again.

“Take it easy, girl,” the other sergeant said to her. But before he could get closer to her, her robotic hand had a firm grip on his crotch.

“Do you want me to rip them off?” she asked, gritting her teeth.

“Easy now, I’m getting excited and you know it,” he playfully jabbed back.

“At—ease you two. Bob, let go of his nuts and carry—on,” Motown ordered.

With an evil smile, she released her death grip on his package and blew him a kiss.

“Whew, that was a close one. Okay corporal, I’m Gunnery Sergeant Cliff “BOOM” Jackson. I’ll be your weapons instructor, and in the field I’ll be your go-to guy for all your weapons and explosive needs. In my opinion, the bigger the boom, the better. Ask Garcia—it’s always better when it’s bigger,” he laughed.

“Pfft, I didn’t feel a thing, it was so little,” she scoffed.

I knew who he was from his voice; I could vaguely remember him from before they drugged me and knocked me out.

“Oh ignore her. She’s just upset over not having a pair,” Boom said.

“Trust me, rook, I got the biggest pair here!” she said.

“Amen to that,” Motown said.

As they all kidded and laughed with her, I couldn’t help but notice her looks. Her jet black hair tied up in a ponytail danced as she giggled. Her coveralls, fitting a little too tight, showed off her curves. Her body was chiseled; her skin was a dark olive that glistened in the room’s dim lighting. I was fascinated that someone so beautiful could be so frightening. Her deep brown eyes made contact with mine. I was mesmerized.

“Either get a hard-on or take a picture, rookie,” she said.

“Excuse me?” I said, I could feel my face getting hotter.

“If you keep staring at me, I’m going to make you my bitch,” she warned.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” I pleaded, embarrassed that I had been caught. I hung my head. I had never heard a woman talk like this.

“Hi, over here buddy.” Another corporal was waving his hand to get my attention.

“Yes,” I responded.

“I’m Corporal Willy Thomas. They call me Brains. I handle all electronics and comms, and I’ll also be melding you up with your Suit.”

I nodded to him. “Melding?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s sort of a process to see if the Suit accepts you. That’s why you’re so sore right now. We do extensive testing to see if you are an acceptable candidate for the Suit,” Brains said.

“It’s just a machine. Why wouldn’t anyone be acceptable?” I asked. It wasn’t making any sense to me.

“It’s more than a machine,” Hunter stated. “Yes, its mechanics are extraordinary. We adapted a recovered alien power source to fuel it. But the computer…it lives.”

“How does a computer live?”

“Through you. It actually becomes part of you. Once the Suit is on, it meshes with your central nervous system, allowing it to move and function as you would, as if it were actually a part of you,” Motown said.

“Your nanos were off the chart,” Hunter said.

“Nanos?”

“We use nanotechnology to wire you into the suit’s mainframe. It becomes part of you, living and breathing.” Hunter pointed to my chest. “The red marks covering your body, those are the hookup points. You’ve only been hooked up to a simulator at his point, but so far the readings state you’re a perfect candidate for the next level. Granted, the Suit can still reject you, but we’ve never seen it happen with readings that are remotely close to yours.”

“That’s why we knocked your ass out,” Boom said. “Testing is some painful shit.”

“When do I try it on?” I asked. I was eager to get the chance.

“Not so fast, rook. You need to go through training before we let you move on to that level. If we take you out into the field right now, we’d just be getting you killed. We’re giving you three days to heal, then Garcia over there, well…she gets your ass. She’s going to whip you into shape,” Motown said.

“But in the meantime, get to know your surroundings,” Hunter said, motioning for me to come to him.

“Yeah, show the kid,” Boom said.

Hunter opened the door to outside the dorm. As I walked through, I was blown away by the view.

“Welcome to Colorado kid, the true home of the Suits. We’re on the 15th floor. There are 20 floors total. It’s the biggest secret underground base in the U.S.”

It must have been a mile across. It was a perfect circle. Artificial light from the ceiling poured down through the center opening to the base of the facility. Concrete bridges across many levels created shortcuts from one side to the other. Military and civilian personal congregated on the open patios of overhanging ledges. Taking it all in, I noticed things I remembered from my childhood, like a McDonald’s and a few other fast food places, neatly tucked into one of the lower levels. The 4th floor directly across looked like an old town street, complete with stores and shops and lampposts lighting up a cobbled road that was busy with foot traffic. People were walking along like there wasn’t a war even going on. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

“Pretty impressive, huh?” Motown asked.

“How many suits are here?” I asked.

“Six person teams, five levels each housing twenty teams. So that’s…”

“Six hundred,” I said answering for him.

“Give or take casualties, the number fluctuates,” Hunter said.

“So why here, why Colorado?”

“Because we’re five miles underground. Undetectable!” Motown proudly stated.

14

“Get your ass up!” Bob said to me, as I lay looking up at her, flat on my back for the 100th time.

“From here, I think I can see those nuts the guys were talking about,” I kidded, peeking upward as she had both feet straddling the sides of my head. Her hands were on her hips as she looked back down at me in distaste, disapproving of my laid-back attempts to defend myself.

My back was killing me, my head felt like I had a severe concussion, and my body was now covered in bruises of various colors.

“This is hand-to-hand combat training, and it would be a shame if you flunked out, knowing how you can meld with a Suit. It’s a fucking disgrace if you ask me.”

“Sorry, sergeant,” I said lackadaisically. I found it hard to hit a woman back. For the past two weeks she had kicked my ass daily. My heart wasn’t in it, and she knew it.

With the help of her scientifically engineered super arm, she pulled me back up onto my feet. My posture was lazy, non-aggressive, and it pissed her off to see me act so carefree toward training.

“Boy, you don’t start trying, fighting back, I’m going to flunk you. I don’t give two shits if I have to send your ass packing. I’m not going to have some half-ass wannabe like you in the field watching my back. You’ll get us both killed!”

“But Sarge, I can’t hit a woman. It goes against everything I’ve ever known, everything I’ve ever been taught in my life.”

She quickly responded, “Oh, really? My presence as a woman conflicts with your moral values, huh? Okay, you wait right here. I’ll be right back. I’ll fix that for you.”

Angry with myself, I wandered over to the window overlooking the rest of the base. Observing civilian couples walking hand in hand down the aisles, streets, and passageways. I was trying to remember the last time I’d held a girl’s hand. The last memory I could muster was in, I think, 7th or 8th grade. It had been a long time.

“How’s this, sissy boy?” the digital voice behind me said.

Turing around, I saw that Sergeant Garcia was now in her Suit. Her black metal breastplate was stamped out and formed to…well, allow room for her breasts. It immediately held my focus and had my full attention, In some sick way it was kind of erotic. It also scared the hell out of me.

“I can’t fight a Suit,” I said.

“You can’t fight me without it! Either way you’re going to defend yourself!”

She dashed toward me, her right arm drawn back to swing. Instinct took over and I dropped to my left and somersaulted out of her way, using the wall to stop her advance. She spun around to find me on the far side of the room.

“Whoa, Sarge, let’s talk about this!”

“To late for that, Butler! Defend yourself…or die today!”

Unlike the other Suits, this one exposed her right arm. Not thinking clearly, I targeted it on her next approach. At the point when she reached with her left arm, I jumped and clung to the right. It wasn’t weaker, as I’d hoped.

“Are you kidding me?” she said.

She swatted me away like I was a bug. I once again found myself looking up at her. She squatted down, her face shield retracted, locks of black hair covering her right eye. I was confused. She almost had a civil smile on her face.

Then, all of a sudden, she snatched me up and threw me across the room. I could feel the road rash burning as I skidded across the floor, almost skipping like a rock thrown across a pond.

Writhing in pain, still grounded, I felt her kiss my forehead. I opened my eyes to see her sheepishly grinning, not even realizing how swiftly and easily she reached me before I could get back up.

“Does the little baby give up?” she said, her tone condescending, as if she were talking to a baby or a dog. “Let me help the wittle baby up.”

As she offered her hand, I deliberately and cautiously lifted my hand to hers as slow as I could. Just as our hands were about to meet, I zipped mine past hers, unexpectedly poking her in the eye.

“Fuck!” she screamed out. “You little son-of-a-bitch!”

Unable to rub her eyes, she floundered around trying to regain her vision as I made my way to the door as hastily as my aching legs would carry me.

“Get your ass back here!” she cried.

My escape would have been flawless if it hadn’t been for Boom standing on the other side of the door. In my weakened state, and looking behind me as I ran, I abruptly crashed into him sending us both tumbling to the floor.

“What’s the hell’s your problem?” Boom asked.

“She’s going to kill me!”

“Who?”

He knew exactly who when she ripped the door off its hinges and pounced on me. With her hand embedded in my chest she pinned me down.

“Stand down, sergeant!” Boom ordered.

“Stay out of it, Gunny!” she responded, her fist drawn back.

“Girl, I’ll put you on the carpet if you don’t stand down now!”

“Whatever,” she huffed, shoving off my chest. “That was a dirty little trick, Butler! I should rip your head off!”

“What in the hell did you do, corporal?” Boom asked.

“I improvised, that’s all.”

“You pulled an underhanded move!” she shouted at me.

“Only because you put on the Suit. I did what I had to do.”

“Stop!” Boom shouted.

Boom climbed to his feet dusting himself off, “I don’t know what happened, and at this point, I don’t want to fucking know. You violated protocol wearing the Suit during a training exercise, and you should know better. It’s grounds for dismissal from the team.”

“Gunny, let me explain…”

“Shut it Garcia! Butler, get your ass up. We’ve got no choice but to expedite your training. We have orders to leave in four weeks. Something’s come up.”

“What’s come up?” I asked.

“Can’t tell ya, that’s classified. But if you ain’t good to go after these four weeks, your ass will be peeling potatoes for some chow how hoochie for the rest of your military career.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Then you’d better learn to fight me, shut your cock holster, and do what I say,” Garcia said poking me in the chest.

“You’d better do what all of us say. You’ll be pulling three training classes a day. Very long days consisting of no nights. This is crunch time, boy. It won’t get no realer than this,” Boom said. “Garcia, if he ain’t up to speed, cut him loose.”

“I’ll be up to speed, I swear it.”

“We’ll see about that. Back in the training room. Now!”

I was motivated at the prospect of wearing the Suit, but my mental block about hitting Garcia still existed. It wasn’t that she didn’t give me all the ammo I needed to hit her, I just wasn’t wired that way. If there was a dirty name, she called me it. If I didn’t hit her hard enough, she chastised me. When I slacked off, she went harder. Nevertheless, she pushed me through the training until I could hold my own with her—and her robo-arm.

Training with Boom was easier: shoot a few rounds and blow some shit up. He was careful with his instruction; safety was his key. And when all hell broke loose, he showed me how to decimate the enemy. An energy blast triggered outward from the Suit’s power supply would destroy anything within a six-meter radius. But it came at the risk of leaving the Suit inoperable for a short period of time until the power supply recharged itself. That left us vulnerable to attack.

Brains was the one who put me in the suit.

“I need a woman’s name, and don’t pick your mother’s, for god’s sake,” Brains said.

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s for voice command. It will be your suit’s computer’s name. Generally I place a woman’s voice in the controls. It’s more comforting.”

“Awe geez, I don’t know.”

“Come on, Butler, think of someone. An old girlfriend usually does the trick.”

This was going to be embarrassing. I’d only had one girlfriend in my life. It was for three weeks in the third grade. Her name was Geraldine Schuster. I ran away when she tried to kiss me, ending that short romance, but in my defense she’d had some of her lunch stuck in her braces.

“Can’t really think of one,” I lied.

“Come on dickhead, think of a movie star, a model, someone sexy.”

“Rita.”

He laughed, “Oh you got a death wish, don’t you?”

“You have to admit, she’s kinda hot.” I stated.

“Yeah, but we don’t tell her that. It makes her mad, and we don’t like making her mad. But I’m going to do it. It’s your funeral. What do I care?”

As he plugged in my Suit and pounded away on the keyboard of his laptop, I asked him, “Brains, why are you only a corporal? I mean at your age I thought you’d be higher ranked.”

“Well, my dumb young compadre, much like yourself—and I know all about you and not finishing boot camp. Yes I hacked your records,” he confessed. “But, much like yourself I didn’t finish boot camp either. Actually, I never went. I was working on this project, the Suit, when the aliens attacked. So when they asked me to enlist, I cut a deal with them. No boot camp, lifetime job, and a big bag of money in the end. Guess what?”

“What?”

“They agreed.”

“But why corporal, why not a higher rank?”

“Cause, I don’t care about it. I’m not some gung-ho ‘yes sir, no sir, can I spit shine your knob?’ type of soldier. All I care about is that big pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”

“But what happens if we lose?”

“Then we’re all dead and it doesn’t really matter, now, does it?” he shrugged. “Okay, we are ready. Step onto the back of the platform and stand very still. I don’t want the Suit cutting off your little winky.”

“Cut off my what?”

“It’s just a joke, dude. Stand still.”

Wearing nothing more than a neoprene suit, round portals sewn in areas where the red blotches used to cover my body, I stood waiting for something to happen, watching as he pressed enter on his keyboard. He reared up and smiled.

“You’re going to like this part,” he said to me.

Starting with my lower limbs, robotic arms fastened individual pieces of the Suit to me. Piece by piece, it carefully put me into the inner working shell of the Suit. The innermost layer was a self-contained plasma gel layer that rode against the surface of the neoprene suit.

“The gel layer will protect you from getting rub marks on your skin. That, and it will keep you cool or warm depending on the outside temperature,” Brains said.

Next to be fastened in place was a thin mechanical layer, electrical prods sparking as they came closer. On each layer more prods were inserted into each portal to make the connections.

“Don’t be alarmed, you aren’t going to get electrocuted,” he told me, seeing that I looked nervous as they inched closer.

A slight tingling sensation caused me to twitch—a normal reflex, I thought, but it kept happening as the prods kept firing.

“Hold still, Butler,” Brains demanded.

“Sorry, it startled me a bit. Wasn’t expecting it.”

“That’s nothing, just wait.”

I could feel the weight increasing as the layers started to add up. I was starting to struggle to hold it all up.

“Relax. It doesn’t need you to try and keep it upright. Close your eyes, calm down, and let it hold you up.”

That’s easier said than done, I thought.

With my eyes closed, I took a deep breath and let my body go limp. The hum of the robots as they moved through the air was comforting, at least. The occasional sound of screws twisting into place was almost therapeutic. It was soothing until the sound of a million tapping noises caught my attention. I opened my eyes to see a hoard of small, shiny, metallic spider-like creatures heading toward my head as they climbed up the suit.

“Hey, what the hell is that?” I asked, frantically trying to move although I was restrained inside the inner shell of the suit.

“Nano-bots. They fasten your armor from the inside. They won’t hurt you; no need to panic. Don’t be a big baby,” Brains chuckled.

There must have been a million of them. None of them actually touched my body, but the sounds of them climbing up and moving around in the inner shell sent a creepy sensation up my spine. My mind tricked my body into thinking that actual bugs were crawling across my skin.

“Here comes the fun stuff, the armor. Once the armor is in place and fastened we’ll load the ammo and battery pack onto your back. It will also house the bots after they finish. But if you receive any damage in battle, the bots will release and repair that damage…if they are given sufficient time to do so of course. If not, they will just fill the hole, kind of of like a can of Fix-A-Flat.”

“Fuck me running, this is some weird shit,” I said.

“Nah, this is the easy stuff. Just wait till you take your first steps. That’s when shit gets weird.”

“What’s the armor made out of?”

“It’s a titanium alloy, considered lightweight, but with everything in place you’re tipping the scale at around a thousand pounds.”

The overhead robot slid the backpack in place. With a hard push, it locked in. The fear of tiny spiders crawling was no longer a fear but a reality. I could feel the nano-bots entering the portholes of the neoprene suit.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

“What, rookie?” Brains asked.

“You said they would ride in the pack, but they’re crawling underneath the protective layer. There touching my goddamn skin!”

“Oh…yeah. We don’t tell anyone that part. You’re about to go live.”

“Live?”

“Yeah…live in 3—2—1, engage!”

I screamed in pain as the tiny insects entered my body like tiny needles. Electric current caused my muscles to convulse as they made contact with the probes. The pack on my back started cycling as the batteries fired up all the electronics. Gears and motors started turning, locking my limbs into place as the robots retreated, allowing the Suit to stand on its own with the assistance of only two braces still attached to my legs. Hydraulic cylinders pressurized, painfully straining and stretching my body till they settled in place, accommodating the Suit to my natural height.

“Don’t scream, you sound like a girl,” Brains said, mocking me. “Ouch, oh no, help me…you big wuss!”

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“No one ever is,” he laughed.

I felt one of the bots enter my right ear. I tried rattling it out, violently shaking my head back and forth.

“Get it out, get it out, it’s in my ear!” I begged.

“It has to be there, dipshit. It becomes part of your comms, genius.”

My struggle to rid the little intruder ceased when the overhead robot neared. In its clutches was the helmet, the final piece.

“This will do her. Say hello to Rita,” he said as the robot lowered the helmet onto my head. I could feel the bots fasten it into place.

“Give the command to lower your face shield, your visor.”

“What’s the command?” I asked.

“You’re supposed to have memorized those already. I can’t give your Suit commands. Only Motown and you can order your Suit what to do.”

I’d forgotten them. I tried four or five commands before I got it right.

“Rita, engage protective face shield.”

“Face shield engaged,” her tender voice complied.

As the shield lowered, the heads up display, the HUD, engaged. An icon showing that the Suit’s power level was at ninety percent floated in front of my eyes. I saw green lines encircling and targeting Brains, with green letters indicating he was a ‘Friendly’. To the right there were indicators for temps and fluid levels, to the left a small map with the location marked. At the bottom ammo levels, all caches read ‘empty’ in bright red letters.

Brains knocked on the face shield to get my attention, pointing to his ear as he mouthed some words.

“Rita, comms on.”

“Comms are now on,” she replied.

“Go ahead, Brains.”

“Ready to take her for a spin?”

“Hell yeah I am!”

“I’ll unlock the braces and you’ll be free. Proceed to the double doors straight ahead and we’ll take a few laps around the track.”

“Rita, engage free roam.”

“Free roam engaged.”

The first step off the platform was shaky. Instead of walking, I stomped.

“Try and walk normally. You don’t need to over-correct or conform. She’ll adapt to your walking style and before you know it, you won’t even realize you’re wearing it.”

The next two steps felt like water slushing around in a soggy boot.

“Rita, adjust boot air pressure two pounds higher,” I requested.

“Adjusting.”

It was like walking on air.

“Follow me, big man, right through here,” Brains said as he opened the doors.

Four others were test driving their suits around the enclosed track as well, Rita’s targeting system identifying friendlies and instructors by name. The other suits all had call signs, nicknames. I wondered why I didn’t.

“Rita?”

“Yes Drew Butler.”

“What’s my call sign?”

“Your call sign is Drew Butler.”

“Hmmmm.”

“What’s Hmmmm? I do not understand Drew Butler.”

“Disregard Rita.”

“As you wish Drew Butler.”

I took a few laps around the track, watching as some of the others toppled over. I was able to remain on my feet at least. Brains had me do a few sprints, a couple of jumps, and an attempt at an abrupt stop. It came naturally; it all felt good.

“Well, let’s move on. We need to do some programming and then get your weapons assigned,” Brains said.

“Weapons? I like the sound of that.”

He escorted me back through the team lab and into the armory in the back. Weapons hanging on hooks decorated the side walls. They were split into six sections, each with a nametag indicating which weapons belonged to whom. Down the center aisle sat six large black containers, each tagged for ownership. Mine showed a blank nametag.

“Why isn’t my name on any of these?” I asked Brains, was typing information into a mainframe next to the unclaimed stall.

“Because we haven’t given you one yet, or you haven’t earned it,” he said nonchalantly, continuing to type away.

“How do I earn it?”

“We all play a part in the show,” he bowed like an actor at the end of a play, “and you, my friend, are still behind the curtain.”

He motioned for me to stand in front of the unclaimed box.

“These units can be air-dropped anywhere. Say we’re out in the field, running low on ammo. They drop these off, we back up, and presto, ammo refilled. Go ahead, put your back against the unit. Not only does it fill up your ammo, it fills your fluid levels and rotates your tires.”

“Tires?”

“It’s a joke, geez…don’t you young guys know anything? Just back up to it.”

“Refill in progress,” Rita said as the ammo cache latched onto my backpack.

The Suit was virtually silent, but I noticed that the cache was quite loud.

“Hey Brains, won’t this noise give away our position?”

“Only if we get caught,” he smiled.

It would only take a few minutes to refill. I noticed on my hud display that ammo levels were rising. Indicators that had been blank now appeared full, showing that they were ready for use.

“Okay, go select a rifle on the wall. You must pick one out of your stall. If you try any other it won’t load since the digital signature won’t match up.”

I had three choices. I chose the camouflage one. I swore I heard it calling to me.

“Good choice. That’s an M4V-Carbine. It shoots a 138mm cartridge. Actually, they all shoot it, but that weapon is the assault version. Next, grab that pistol and place it next to your left hip. It’s a standard pistol designed only for the suits. We call it an MV-Defender. It shoots a 45 ACP. Not much special about it other than it’s also digitally un-transferrable. These will be your main weapons.”

“That’s it?” I asked. It didn’t seem like a lot of defense to me.

“Tell Rita to load them,” he responded.

“Okay,” I replied, stepping to the center of the aisle. “Rita, arm weapons.”

A hatch opened on my right arm, and a black fiber chute inserted itself into the side of the rifle.

“You’re carrying 400 rounds, playboy, all fed intravenously. We don’t change clips, it takes too much time. Your pistol will do the same. You’ve got a hundred rounds just in case.”

“This is kinda cool,” I said. I felt like a kid opening presents on Christmas.

“That’s not cool, this is cool,” he said, pointing to the black rod at the foot of my stall. It was about three inches in diameter and two feet long. “Stow your rifle across your chest. Latches will hold it steady against you. Just tell Rita to do it.”

“Rita, stow rifle.”

“Rifle stowed. You are hands free.”

“Now what?” I asked.

“Pick it up and press the button, but let me get out of the way first,” he said, quickly scurrying backwards.

Turning it over, I found the button, but before I could press it Brains said, “Hold it out away from you.”

With a press of the button, the rod telescoped outward. Two large blades formed at the end with a mean looking spike protruding out of the top.

“Whoa.”

“You came in with an ax, you go out with an ax. If you spend every one of those rounds, unleash that meat cleaver on those alien bastards. It’ll do some freaking damage.”

I swung it around. Its movement was amazing. It felt light, swift, and deadly.

“How much does this thing weigh? It’s as light as a feather,” I said.

“Light, my ass,” he laughed. “That’s 600 pounds of fury. Remember you’re wearing a Suit, dude. Every single weapon requires the Suit to lift it.”

“How is this possible?”

“You know that little power pack on your back?”

“Yeah.”

“That little discovery, the power pack, the aliens unknowingly gave us, well we actually stole from one of their downed aircraft, can power New York City…for a lifetime.”

“Is it safe? I mean, can it kill me?”

“We’ve had the power packs shot, blown up, and they just keep on ticking. Now if you start barking like a dog, I’d say it screwed with your noodle,” he said. This time he wasn’t smiling.

“You’re kidding me?”

“Yeah, dummy, it’s a joke. Relax. God, I swear…you newbies are so easy.”

15

I’ve never been drunk in my life, until now. Every time I set an empty beer can down, Boom handed me a fresh one. Motown was singing along and playing these black disk type things on some ancient contraption they call a record player. I’d never heard music like this. I really liked it, or maybe that was just the beer talking.

“Get you some, rook,” Boom said of my dancing.

“Guys, we’ve got field exercises tomorrow. You shouldn’t be torturing him like this,” Bob said.

“It’s his last three days, let him live a little,” Hunter chimed in, tossing me another beer.

“Killing useful brain cells, it’s a shame. Toss me one, Hunter,” Brains joined in.

“I know I tortured him, but this…the poor kid,” Bob shook her head laughing as I attempted what I thought was dancing.

“Get it boy, get it,” Motown encouraged me as I started dancing for Bob, shaking my rear end on her knee.

“Now we’re talking. Come to momma,” she said as she playfully swatted my rear.

Oblivious to what was going on, I was enjoying the moment so much that I barely noticed when a young buck private ran through the door and yelled, “Attention—on—deck!”

The speakers screeched as Motown stopped the music.

“Hey!” I slurred, turning around. “Put it back on.”

Bob pushed me off her lap. I staggered forward into Boom, who tried to catch me as I fell.

“Oh shit…hey why’d you do that?” I asked her.

Tipping her head toward the door was the only answer she gave. I crooked my head to see what all the commotion was about. It was the CO. He was standing in the doorway glaring me down.

“Uh-oh,” I chuckled. “I’m…a…busted.”

I don’t think I’d ever seen a sterner look on anyone’s face. For some reason, he reminded me of Sergeant Buckley.

“Really?” he asked. “This man’s inebriated!”

“Sir, I can explain,” Motown said.

“Stow it! Get this man in his rack immediately!” he ordered.

“I’ve got it, sir,” Bob said, leading me away by the hand.

“Ni-ni, everyone. It’s beddy-bed time,” I slurred.

“What a damn disgrace. Every one of you should be ashamed,” he scolded the others as Bob pushed me through the door to the sleeping quarters.

I was unsteady on my feet, unable to find my rack, and I lost Bob somewhere along the way. Flopping down in a rack, not my own, I found her. She was standing in front of the door, which was cracked a few inches open so that she could listen in on the conversation.

Still feeling playful, I wanted to wrestle. I snuck up behind her and attempted to tickle her sides, only to get my knuckles crushed as she grabbed both hands and squeezed.

“Ouch,” I blurted out. “Don’t be so rough.”

“Shhhhh,” she said, loosening her grip but still holding onto my hands, pulling my arms further around her waist.

This is nicer than holding hands with Geraldine Schuster, I thought. The fragrance of her hair enthralled me. She allowed me to hold her while she listened in.

“Men, field exercises are cancelled. We’ve have reports that Oklahoma is lost and we have heavy fighting on the southern border,” the CO said.

“Any activity in our area, sir?” Motown asked.

“There are reports of combatants in our area, south of here. They broke across the line, possibly recon activity. We don’t have all the info at this time.”

“Sir, we haven’t field tested our newest member yet. If he doesn’t get the required field training in, we’ll be a man short,” Hunter said.

“We are fully aware of that, second lieutenant. We have a couple of other teams in the same predicament. We are tossing around the idea of splitting up one team and filling those voids on the other. That’s why I’m here,” he said, taking a seat.

“Whose team?” Motown asked, now seeming annoyed.

“Possibly this one,” the CO said.

I leaned in further to get another whiff of her hair. “You smell wonderful,” I whispered.

“Quiet!” she stoutly whispered back, pulling me in tighter to hold me still.

Motown continued to argue, “Sir, we’re your most senior team. Always combat ready. Alpha team has more time in the Suit than three quarters of the other teams combined.”

“I know Captain, but you’re an aging team. We could use that experience in preparing the others to do what you’ve done.”

“No disrespect, sir,” Hunter butted in, “but that’s absurd.”

“Sir,” Motown said, “Give me the three days to finish training our new guy in the northeast quadrant. The kid’s got potential. We’ve never had a candidate like this, and he could be the one.”

“The one, huh?” the CO asked.

The one…okay, call me whatever you want. I was nuzzling my nose against the back of her head, I don’t know if it was her scent or the beer, but it was powerful.

“He’s never seen any combat, captain, so how can you tell?” the CO quizzed him.

“I can show you,” Brains spoke up.

“Show me what?”

“Here’s his readings as of today,” Brains handed him the laptop. “Each color on the performance chart represents one of us when we started training in the Suit. He’s the black line.”

“He really is off the chart,” the CO said.

“He’s 80 percent higher at melding with his Suit than anyone else here in the facility, or even in the entire history of the suit.”

“That’s amazing. Why hasn’t this information been shared until now, captain?

“Well sir, he hasn’t been field tested yet. He lacks a little self-confidence. We’d like to see what he can do in a tough situation. It’s very much possible that he’s the one we’ve been waiting for.”

I didn’t like hearing that, that I lacked self-confidence. I’ll show them, I thought. I leaned down and kissed Garcia on the neck. At first she didn’t respond, so I kissed her again. This time, with a quick jab of her metal elbow, I was on my knees praying for air.

“I’ll give you your three days. If he makes it, I’ll cancel your orders and send you to San Diego. The alien bastards want it back. There’s some heavy fighting there. If he’s that damn good, your team should have no problem in keeping it.”

“It’s a deal, sir,” Motown said, sticking his hand out to the CO.

Hesitantly shaking it, he agreed, “Deal!”

Garcia picked me up off the deck. “Time for bed lover-boy,” she smirked.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m so, so sorry,” I pleaded for forgiveness.

She took my hand and guided me to my rack. I was just thankful it wasn’t her strong arm.

“Try and stand up,” she said, unbuttoning my shirt.

“Please forgive me. Don’t be mad at me,” I drunkenly begged.

Her hands unfastened my belt, unzipping my fly.

“Sit,” she ordered.

Swaying as I tried to turn, I fell backwards, bashing my head again on the upper rack. She laughed loudly at my expense.

“Lift your leg.” She pulled my pants leg off. “And now the other.”

As I sat there drunk and defenseless, she pushed me back into the rack, pulling the blanket up to my chest.

“You’re tucking me in,” I kidded. “Thank you, you’re so nice. You’re too sweet to me.”

“Shut it, Butler, before I drag you out of this bunk and wear you out!”

“I’m sorry, don’t yell at me. I promise I’ll behave.”

“Listen, you just don’t kiss a girl until she wants you to. That was very rude,” she scolded me.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking…”

“Quit saying you’re sorry. Shut your drunk ass up for a second.”

“Okay.”

“You need to wait for a sign. She’ll let you know when she wants to kiss you. But until then, don’t think you can take liberties. Do you understand me?”

“What signs am I looking for?” I asked, pouting. I had no idea. I hadn’t really been with a woman.

“This sign,” she said, leaning over and kissing me delicately. Her lips were soft and slightly wet. Warm sensations engulfed my body from my lips down to my toes.

I wished at that moment I had a mirror. My expression after the kiss told the truth about me. I didn’t even realize that it was over and that she was still watching me.

“First kiss?” she kindly asked.

“Is it that obvious?” I asked back, opening my eyes.

“Yeah, it is. Get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.” She patted my chest.

Watching as she headed for the door, I called to her, “Rita?”

“Yes, Butler,” smiling as she turned.

“Thanks…for the kiss…and for everything else.”

“I told you when I met you that I’d make you my bitch,” she laughed. “Good night, Butler.”

“Good night.”

16

“Keep your eyes closed, rookie, and—you just—might—not—puke!” Boom jested.

We were latched face down underneath a V-42 Super-Osprey, only a few feet from the non-skid surface of the catapult flight deck. The bird was hooked up and aimed at the hangar doors in the side of the mountain.

“Why can’t we ride inside like normal people?” Brains complained.

“Because we aren’t normal, we’re Marines!” Motown stated proudly.

Two Ospreys abreast, three Suits per plane. It was me, Bob, and Hunter on the right, the others securely fastened underneath the other bird on the left.

“Lock those Suits into place; nobody wants any unnecessary road rash,” Hunter’s voice said over the comms.

“Um…sir?” I called to Hunter.

“Um…what? Playtime’s over. Suck it up, buttercup, we’re about to go flying. Shut your pie-hole and enjoy the ride!”

“But sir?”

“What the fuck is so damn important, Butler? What is your major malfunction?”

“Hunter, sir, how high up are we?” I asked curiously. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was afraid of heights.

“You’ll see in just a few seconds.”

Three red round spheres appeared across the hud inside my helmet. Rita’s voice started counting down, “Launch in 3,” the sphere on the left turned green. “2—1—takeoff.”

The now brightly lit green spheres faded as the Osprey shot off through the hangar like a bullet leaving a gun. The abrasive surface of the nonskid deck turned to a black haze in under a second as we instantly accelerated. The sound of the steam pressure releasing the catapult cable pulling us forward was so loud I could hear it inside my helmet.

And then, my stomach sank as the aircraft left the hangar. It was like the bottom had fallen out from under us. A few seconds of weightlessness set in as the plane dipped down, establishing flight under its own power. Our point of view went from a few feet to a few thousand feet.

“Oh shit!” I said, short of breath.

“Don’t you lose your cookies, Butler! That is an order!” Hunter said.

“Yes si…” was all I could get out before Rita opened my helmet and the remains of last night’s beer drinking found their way into the bright blue sky.

“Oh what a pussy,” Hunter said. “Hunter to Motown, boy wonder’s first flight is a failure.”

“Copy that Hunter, but as I recall, with the exception of Bob, we all puked on our first flight,” he sniggered.

That’s comforting to know. At least I’m not the only one.

“All right, cut the grab-assing. Things are about to get serious. We’re two clicks from our LZ. Weapons ready!”

“Rita, arm weapons,” I ordered the suit.

“Weapons armed,” she complied.

The plane banked right and dove into a valley, following the lead plane.

“Butler! When we give the command to release, adjust your flight so that you’re angled feet first. The moment your feet hit the deck, tuck into a ball and roll. When you start to slow down, dig your arm into some dirt and use it as a brake. Copy?” Motown instructed.

“Sir, won’t that kill me?”

“If you weren’t wearing a Suit…I’d say yes!”

“The chosen one, my ass,” Hunter taunted me.

I wonder what all this ‘chosen’ stuff means. I wish they’d fill me in on what I’m chosen for.

“All right, boys and girls, please put your tray tables in the upright position and…release!” Hunter said, releasing first. His Suit flew effortlessly through the air.

Everybody else released and dropped like rocks being thrown off a bridge.

“How do I release!” I screamed. “Rita, release!”

Looking down, I could see that Motown had already touched down and was skidding to a stop, with Hunter close behind.

“Drop, Butler!” Motown shouted.

“It’s not releasing! What do I do?”

“Were you asleep during pre-flight? Pull the damn straps above your head!”

Two black straps were fluttering in the wind above me, both within arm’s reach. I admit my head was foggy this morning, I only concentrated in getting water into my system as they went over the briefing. I was ashamed and humbled by my own failure to pay attention.

Reaching up, I pulled the straps, and before I knew it I was floating in the air. It seemed like I was actually hurtling toward the earth at breakneck speed. In my confusion, I forgot to get myself into the correct position.

“Get turned around or you’re going to crash!” Motown screamed out over the comms.

At this point, as I nosedived toward Mother Earth I realized that flapping my arms, I could not fly. None of the motions I attempted managed to right my course. I needed to think fast. I took the ax from my hip and cast it. I slung it from behind my head toward my feet, using the momentum to flip over. It almost worked.

“He’s toast,” I heard Boom say.

Landing near the end of the clearing, my backpack was the first part of me to make contact with the ground. Instead of tucking and rolling neatly like the others had, I toppled head over heels, skipping over the difficult terrain. Instead of digging my arm into the ground to slow myself down, I was aided by a few mature trees as I flew into the woods, bouncing around like a steel pinball crashing into the bumpers.

“Damn!” Brains said.

“He’s done for,” Boom chimed in.

Even I thought I was dead; the plasma gel layer that was supposed to protect my fragile human body couldn’t adjust to all the bumps and impacts of the trees.

“Rita, damage report,” I said, wheezing. I felt like I had a few broken ribs as I lay in a pile of rubble I had created.

“Suit armor at eighty-eight percent, releasing nano-bots for repair procedure.”

Awe great, these little fuckers now.

As the bots patched me up, the team made their way over to me. Bob was the first to report.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’ll live,” I responded, humiliated that my first exercise had started off so poorly.

“I’ve got him; target my location,” she said over the comms. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah,” I gasped.

Soon all the rest of them appeared, bounding in over the debris.

“Well we know what your name is now,” Boom said. “It’s definitely ‘Crash.’ Yeah, it’s got to be Crash.”

“Crash Test Dummy gets my vote,” Brains said.

“That’s enough!” Motown cut them off. “As much as I’d like to fuck with him right now, this is still a training exercise. We will perform in a military manner. Butler, are you okay?”

“Yes sir, I’ll be fine.”

“Good. We’ve got twenty clicks to our first camp. Hunter you take point, Bob back him up. Boom, you got the middle with me. Butler, you’re in the back with Brains. Make sure you two are watching our six!”

With marching orders in hand, we proceeded through the valley. Formation was spread out about thirty meters between us.

“Banished to the back of the bus, I see. You know, back in Civil War times, the soldiers that were considered worthless or lazy were banished to the back of the wagon train to ride with the chow wagon. Hence, jack-wagon. Welcome to my world,” Brains said chuckling.

“Wait, but you’re not a fuckup,” I said.

“I know, but this is the first time I’ve ever had company. You might want to step up your game a little, if you catch my drift.”

I didn’t like that. I had fought to be here, I wanted to be here, and I didn’t want to be at the back of the line looking forward.

“Rita, silent comms.”

“Silent comms, go Drew Butler.”

“Check hydration levels,” I instructed her, as medical levels didn’t appear in my hud readings unless it was a combat situation.

“Hydration at sixty-five percent. Should I administer IV procedure?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. IV procedure initiated.”

I felt the nano-bots insert themselves into my left arm. There was a little sting at first when they broke my skin, but I was going to deal with it and not show any more weakness.

The first leg of the exercise was no-frills, Command had nothing set up to test us, and I assumed the airdrop was enough for a first day.

As we reached the first camp, the muffled sound of incoming Ospreys sounded in the distance. Two black dots appeared in the distance, getting larger as they advanced toward our position.

“Here comes dinner. Boom, pop some smoke,” Motown ordered.

Boom lifted his left arm up. A small, dark nozzle protruded out of his index finger, blooming red smoke up into the air as he ran in the helicopters’ direction. As the Ospreys came into full view, six ammo caches and one crate parachuted down, landing about a click south of our position.

“You stay here with Brains,” Motown instructed, I could tell in his tone he was annoyed with my current performance. I felt like a child banished to the kids’ table at Thanksgiving dinner.

“Shake it off, kid, you’ll get better,” Brains tried to console me. “My first jump wasn’t what I’d call…remarkable either.”

I watched as they retrieved the caches, the strength of their Suits on full display. I wanted to jump in and help, carry my own weight, but I felt like the odd man out.

“Get out of your suit,” Hunter said, pointing to my cache as he sat it down.

Putting my back to the cache, I felt it couple, docking me in. I gave the command to Rita to release me, opening the chest armor so that I could escape, climbing upward out of the chest cavity. But no sooner had I set foot back on the ground than a message came from Command. Motown took it privately as we all stood by waiting.

“Suit back up!” he said.

“What’s up?” Hunter asked.

“We have some unwelcome visitors in the vicinity.”

“How many?” Boom asked.

“Don’t know, but rest assured we’re gonna find out,” Motown answered as his Suit closed.

“Look alive, people! This is not a drill!” Hunter said.

“Fuckin’ A, we haven’t seen any action in six months. Let’s do this shit!” Bob said as she disengaged her rifle from her chest, petting it like she was holding a brand new kitten.

“Kid, you’re in the back. You do not engage by any means. You are just an observer at this point. Stay on Brain’s six and don’t fuck up; where he goes you go. Copy?” Motown said, his hand clanging against my shoulder armor as he patted it.

“Yes, sir,” I said, my disappointment hidden by the digital voice.

“Brains, tune in to Command and lock down their last known coordinates. Two clicks out, we’ll engage camo. Nobody fires. This is strictly recon. That’s an order!” Motown said.

“I got ’em, northeast, twenty clicks. I’m sure they saw our birds and might be heading this way,” Brains said.

“Copy that. You and the new guy hit the crest of those mountains. We’ll need an eye in the sky. Hunter, you take point. Let’s move it out!”

Climbing up the mountain was a cinch; fighting my fear of heights was not. I focused on not falling as Brains strolled on like it was nothing, his eyes mainly focused on the computer that jutted out from his chest armor.

“Brains to Motown, setting up grid now,” he said as a small compartment opened from his pack. A small clear drone hovered out and set course over the valley to our right. Light green lines appeared beneath it as it masked the rest of our team, covering a radius of a few kilometers.

“Hey, won’t that give away their position?” I asked.

“Open your shield, genius,” he laughed.

With my shield up, I couldn’t see the grid; it had vanished.

“You can only see it through your hud. Now if a bad guy enters our little dome of protection, he’ll appear to be a fuzzy red cartoon character. Those are the ones we want to kill, the red guys.”

It wouldn’t take very long before Hunter spotted a roving patrol.

“Camo on now,” his voice said over the comms.

Following Brain’s lead, I hunkered down against the mountain peak, fascinated as the Suit mimicked the rock wall to our backs. His helmet turned blue to match the spring sky as his head poked above the peak’s highest point.

“Now what?” I whispered inside my helmet.

“We wait. Why are you whispering?” Brains mocked me. “They can’t hear us, the helmet blocks all sound from exiting.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know,”

“Shut it you two!” Hunter said. “Keep moving that drone, unhide them, and show me their positions.”

“On it,” Brains complied.

As the drone silently flew past the patrol, red blips started appearing. I counted twenty, plus the remains of a downed aircraft appearing in the back of a gully.

“Sitting ducks,” Motown said.

“Uh-oh, they’re on the move. And headed right at you,” Brains informed them.

“Out of sight, out of mind. Take cover in the thick foliage and let them pass,” Motown said.

We continued watching as the team took sides, putting the first patrol of four in a cross-fire situation. Brains moved the drone to follow their path.

“Shit!” Brains said. “They know we’re here. We’re about to lose the goddamn drone.”

Before the first patrol of aliens realized they were being watched, the second patrol discovered our drone flying overhead and took aim at it. As a fireball erupted in the sky, the grid faded away, hiding all enemies from our view high on the mountain.

“We are blind. If you’re taking out the first four, now is the time!” Brains suggested. “I can’t see the others’ location.”

The first patrol took a defensive position, circled with their backs to each other, and stood ready for a fight.

“Hunter, do you have eyes on the others?” Motown asked.

“Negative, I have only the four tangos between us.”

“Okay, we could be in a world of hurt here if this goes south. Let’s drop these four quickly and get back to the bush. Camo won’t do much good if we’re still exposed in this clearing. So, on my mark,” Motown said.

The aliens were becoming restless. As soon as they stepped out of formation to search, Motown gave the order.

“Now!”

It was like a blur—I could hardly make out the team as they sprang from the covering vegetation. No shots were fired, but four kills lay on the ground before I knew it, stabbed and bleeding out as the team disappeared back into the forest.

“Status, Brains!”

“No other visible bogeys at this moment, stand fast.”

“I got one,” Hunter said. “Fuck that, I got lots of tangos heading our way.”

The group that shot down the drone was about to join the other party. What we had thought was 20 turned into about 40 as Hunter called them out. Our view still obstructed by the canopy of limbs and young leaves. I took a step to the right to get a better look and dislodged a few loose rocks. They tumbled down the slope, giving away our position.

“Aw shit,” Brains said as the enemy rounds started pounding our location. “Get to cover!” he screamed, leaping over to the other side of the peak.

Leaving me to fend for myself, I started to descend the mountain. Moving more quickly than I had anticipated, I was at the timberline and back under cover in a couple of seconds.

“Nice job, dickhead. Why don’t you send them an invite next time?” Boom said.

“Shut it, we got bigger problems,” Motown cautioned. “Here they come.”

“I got something for them. Let ’em get a few more feet and…”

“Don’t do it yet. Wait for it, Boom,” Hunter said. “I only see two tangos. Don’t waste a shot.”

I now had a clear view of the action. Two heavily armored aliens stood at the edge of the clearing, partially hidden behind standing timber. One signaled back, as if to tell the others to advance. As soon as he took the first step out from behind the tree, Hunter gave the go ahead and Boom shredded them, firing a rocket grenade that sent their carcasses flying back into the gully when it exploded.

“Light ’em up!” Hunter gave the order.

They stood four abreast, firing round after round into the trees as they slowly and cautiously advanced. From my vantage point, I watched as trees toppled over like dominoes collapsing, leaving nothing more than a brush pile the size of a football field. When it was all over, the gully looked like a hurricane had blown over every tree. Stumps were uprooted, with clumps of fresh dirt dangling in the air. Red-hot barrels steaming in the spring air were now silent as every last round had been spent, exterminating everything in the forest, which had been transformed into an alien graveyard.

“Now that was fun,” Boom said triumphantly. “Let’s do it again!”

“Is it clear? Can I come out now?” Brains nervously asked.

“Yes, you’re clear. Everyone, regroup at my location,” Motown commanded.

Brains flew down the mountain beside me in a sprint to meet them. As I stepped out from behind a tree, the Suit’s hud alerted me to danger, signaling that there was a troop ship cresting the opposite ridge.

“We aren’t done yet!” Hunter said, pointing to the debris.

Fifteen or so aliens were emerging from the remains of the collapsed forest. My hud went haywire trying to target them all while keeping a fixed point on the troop ship.

“Ship at your three o’clock sir, angle high!” I said over the comms to Motown.

“Well fuck me running! Circle up, hold this position. Butler, you’ve got rounds. Pick off the ones in the brush before they get to us.

Raising my rifle, I synced in with my hud. I popped off a shot at the one closest to me. He flew about ten yards back into the brush. Numbers two through five were easy kills, sitting ducks as I picked them off. Number six was lucky. As I squeezed the trigger, the weapon only clicked. Squeezing it again, I found that it was soft.

“Weapon malfunction,” Rita said, informing me of what I already knew.

The crew ship started releasing more soldiers into the gully to support the others. Our team was strongly outnumbered.

“Switch to pistol!” I said, throwing the rifle down to my right and pulling the pistol off my hip.

“Pistol magazine malfunction,” she said.

“Release nano-bots to repair!”

“Releasing nano-bots will require operating at thirty-five percent of battery during repair. Would you still like to perform this action, Drew Butler?”

“Negative.”

I needed to think quickly. The troop ship was closing in rapidly.

“Any day now, Butler!” Hunter said.

“Weapons malfunction sir! What do I do?” I asked Motown.

“Get down here and get ready to fight!” he screamed back.

My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest. I could feel beads of sweat dripping down my face.

“Heart rate at 120. Are you in distress, Drew Butler?” Rita asked.

“I’m fine,” I answered, breathing heavily.

“Heart rate at 140.”

I needed to calm down, get in the action! I thought.

“Heart rate 185, 190, 200—showing signs of cardiac arrest. Alerting medics.”

“Negative Rita, stand down!”

I could feel my limbs starting to shake uncontrollably. I heard faint sounds in my ears of “Get down here,” and “Butler, now!” I felt myself starting to black out.

“Experiencing strange vibrations,” Rita reported as my shakes became more violent. “Power supply is now passing one hundred percent and reaching hazardous levels. Shall I start shut-down procedures?”

“No!”

I’m not sure if I passed out or what happened. All I know is that when I awoke, it was silent until the Brain’s voice came through. “Back up is twenty minutes out!”

“We don’t have that much time. We need to find the back door,” Motown responded.

Looking down, I saw them engulfed by enemies. It was close combat as they attempted to fend off the alien attackers.

“Fucking rookie is a no-show!” Hunter screamed. “Good call Motown, letting that loser in our ranks. Epic failure sir! We’ll die because of him!”

“I’m still your superior officer. You will keep fighting and show me the fucking respect I’m owed!”

“Help!” Bob screamed as five tangos pinned her down, clawing at her suit.

My arm was free now. I reached for my ax and let it expand. With one jump, I descended the side of the mountain, landing just a few meters from her. With two strides and a huge swing, the ax split two of the alien bastards in half. Ducking as one took a swing at me, I punched it square in the chest, denting its chest armor and watching as it flew backwards into a ditch. Reaching down, I flung another one straight up into the air like a Frisbee. The last remaining assailant stood to fight; when he rushed in, just before he could make contact, I ripped off his chest plate and stabbed him with the spike of my ax, lifting him over my head and depositing him in a heap behind me.

“Holy shit!” Bob said, her cold masked face looking up at me.

“Over here, guys,” Brains said, frantically swinging a short sword to ward off attackers.

“I got one,” Hunter said, pulling back an enormous bow and shooting a titanium arrow. The recipient was only stunned as the arrow stuck in its armor, sending it staggering back.

Motown rushed in with a Katana, turning the blade sideways and driving the arrow home.

“Keep fighting!” Motown screamed.

I had adrenaline and strength like I’d never felt before. My Suit was quicker and faster than the others’. I leapt over Motown and took down the next two aliens, pinning them down into divots in the earth, crushing the alien steel into their chest cavities. It was like time slowed down for me as I advanced. I knew each move those bastards were going to make before they did. With nothing more than my ax and my hands, I plowed through them. I had no idea where my teammates were; I was immersed in fighting the enemy. It wasn’t till I stood alone at the end of the clearing near the crater Boom’s grenade had previously made, that I realized I was now one with the suit. My back to the team, the Suit mimicked my motions as I breathed, rising and falling with each breath.

“Did you see that?” Bob asked.

“How could I not?” Hunter replied.

“Rita, face shield up,” I instructed her. I breathed in the fresh spring air, filling my lungs as I tried to calm myself.

The cool air filtered into my helmet, chilling my face. I heard the sounds of baby birds chirping the first time, their song echoing off the rock walls.

“His suit’s glowing red,” Brains said, astonished. “How’s that possible?”

“He’s a perfect fit, told ya Hunter. Eat your words buddy, eat your words,” Motown sounded off triumphantly.

“I’ll be damned…” Hunter said.

“Kid, you okay over there?” Motown asked.

I turned around to answer, but all I could see was that the beautiful Colorado terrain was now nothing more than an orange blood-soaked slaughterhouse. Carcasses were everywhere, sprawled about, slashed in half. Shredded enemy armor was crumpled and flung into trees, rattling like wind chimes. The team stood together at the back of the clearing, stunned from the spectacle they had just witnessed.

“Kid…you okay?” Motown hesitantly asked again.

I snapped to attention and saluted, “Yes, sir!”

“Good, good…at ease,” halfheartedly returning the salute. “Brains, what was the kill total?”

“Ten for us, and—this can’t be right…” he said, looking at his screen. “Eighty for him.”

“What’s the previous record?” Motown asked.

“Twelve…Bob had twelve. Holy crap, he beat Bob’s record, by a fucking lot!”

“Thanks Brains,” Motown said.

“We got company!” Hunter yelled interrupting him, as the other Suit team appeared on site.

They were locked and loaded as they breached the tree line with guns drawn. But they stopped cold at the sight of the slaughter before them.

“Stand down, men,” the other captain said to his men. “My god!” he said, gawking at the carnage. “What in the hell happened here?”

“Face shields up!” Motown ordered our team. “Just a little battle is all, just a little battle.”

“Didn’t you call for support?” the captain asked.

“At first. Then we took matters into our own hands when you boys were late to the dance,” Hunter smiled.

“And it was one hell of a dance!” Bob chimed in.

“Roger that, devil dogs!” the captain acknowledged. “Sergeant, get two men on either side of this location. We need eyes in the sky. Corporal, start sifting through this mess for intel; salvage anything we can take with us. Captain, do you and your men need to rearm?” he asked Motown.

As she walked by the other captain, Bob clanked her hand off his groin, giggling as he flinched, and saying “I got your men right here.”

“Yes we do, thanks captain,” Motown answered. “Sorry, she gets tempremenstrual.”

“Roger that. We’ll hold this position,” he said, still watching Bob walk away, slightly confused.

“Let’s double-time it people. Reload and get back here ASAP!” Motown said.

We didn’t make it far before the other teams turned up. Sergeant reported another crew ship was closing in fast. Our break would be short lived. We still had no ammo, but we returned and prepared to fight.

“Defensive positions!” the other captain ordered.

“Negative!” Motown shouted, “This is my LZ! Butler…attack them on top of that mountain!”

“Yes sir!” I was off, scaling the mountain.

“What are you doing? You’ll get that Marine killed!” the Captain said.

“Nah, he’s just gonna kill some bad guys. Watch!”

“He doesn’t have any fucking ammo!”

“Well, the bad guys will live a few seconds longer then,” Motown chuckled.

As the nose of the ship breached over the peak, I made my move, leaping high in the air digging my claws into its underbelly. My Suit mimicked my location and camouflaged me as I hung effortless against the smooth dark surface, clawing and ripping to gain entry. The ship’s guns took shots at the evading targets on the ground.

“Today, Butler.” I heard Motown’s voice in my earpiece.

As the rear bay doors opened, I finally made my way into the ship, pulling myself up through the hole I made and taking position behind the awaiting forces as they prepared to drop. Unaware of my presence, I had the advantage as I started dissecting them. To my surprise, they were unprepared; most of them were still putting armor on. I was having my way with them.

“We need to help him!” the Captain shouted.

“Calm down sugar tits,” Bob told him. “Sick ’em, Butler!”

Alien body pieces fell out the bay door, littering the mountainside. A couple of them jumped out to avoid my ax; their bodies exploded on impact, pierced by the jagged edges of the ancestral rock.

I could hear the other Captain across my comms. “What is this? Why don’t we have these capabilities?”

Playing it off like it was nothing, Motown answered, “Same Suit, same skills…it’s no big deal really.”

The last two to die were the pilots. Their deaths were quick and merciless. The crew ship went into a slow spiraling descent, finally crashing on top of the previous blood soaked battlefield.

Climbing from the wreckage of crumpled alien steel, I was met by the other captain.

“How are you still alive, Marine?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Well it’s the damndest thing I’ve ever seen, son. Hell of a job. Oorah!”

“Thank you sir. Oorah!”

“All right, Motown, this is your piece of real estate. What’s your call?” the captain asked.

“We’re moving out, not sticking around for more reinforcements. We’ll hump back, keep air traffic out of the area. This is too close to home. Don’t want to give away our position.”

“Oorah! You heard him, men. Let’s move it!”

17

“Question?” I asked Brains.

“What’s that, my young conqueror,” he kidded.

“It’s bothering me. What actually happened to me out there the other day?”

Brains was fiddling with a drone in the hangar bay. My job was nothing more than to keep the overgrown child company as he played with one of his toys.

“Well, young buck, that power source is unlike anything we’ve ever seen. Not only is it a great source of power, it’s intelligent. There’s something in your DNA it communicates with; it’s organic, living, and breathing, and somehow it becomes a part of you. When you freaked out on that mountain, it woke up. It sensed your distress. It knew you needed help.”

Jumping down off the crate I’d been lounging on, I asked, “How would it know?”

“That, my friend, is the magic question. It’s beyond our knowledge of everything scientific.”

“But my Suit, it was unstoppable.”

“It wasn’t just your Suit; it was you, the Suit, and the power source. You became one. You weren’t just wearing that Suit; it became part of you.”

None of it made sense to me. I still didn’t have the answers I wanted.

“So what now?” I asked.

“We wait for orders, which I’m thinking once Hunter and Motown get done with briefing the general, it won’t take long.”

“What kind of mission?”

“Recon, battle support, search and destroy…hell, you name it...could be anything.”

Brain’s phone lit up on the side of his hip. I waited as he answered. Nothing more than ‘uh-huh’s and a lot of ‘I understand’s. I couldn’t even piece together the slightest bit of what the call was about.

“Ask and ye shall receive, my young friend,” he said.

“What is it? Are we going in? Are we fighting?”

“Calm down, calm down,” he urged. “We’re just dressing up and meeting back here in the hangar. It could be just drills for all we know.”

We jogged toward the exit, I was thinking he knew more than he was letting on, but he casually played it off as nothing.

As we dressed in the lab, the rest of the team also played dumb. Even Motown, who had made the call to Brains, said he had no idea. I was confused. Why aren’t they letting me in on it?

Dressed and ready, fully loaded, we headed back to the hangar. We had only been gone a few seconds, and I was amazed to see all the suits in the hangar lined up in formation. The general stood on a podium at the end. We jumped in line in the back and waited.

This is it, I thought. We are going to war!

I got that feeling in the pit of my stomach, that nervous feeling. My stomach almost ached and yearned for it.

“Captain Thomas Pickett and Corporal Drew Butler front and center!” called out the colonel standing next to the general.

“Let’s go,” Motown said.

Following his lead, we left-faced, marched to the end, right-faced, and headed to the platform in front of us, where I stood dazed and unsure of what was happening..

The general stepped up to the microphone, “Marines! Today, it is my pleasure to honor two fine Marines. First, Captain Thomas ‘Motown’ Pickett. Captain, please come forward.”

I felt petrified as Motown left me standing all by myself. I could feel everyone’s eyes upon me.

“Captain, it is my honor today to promote you to the rank of major. Not only have you been an outstanding Marine, you’ve shown true mettle in being an outstanding officer.”

“Thank you, sir,” Motown said saluting the general and then shaking his hand, which looked miniature in comparison to Motown’s suited glove.

“Not only have you led Team Alpha into battle, you’ve set the standard for battles to come. The United States of America, our beloved Marine Corps, and I myself personally thank you.”

“It’s my honor sir. Oorah!”

“Oorah!” the general responded.

Cheers of oorah rang out all around me, filling the hangar.

“Corporal Butler, please come forward,” the general instructed.

The butterflies in my stomach felt like they were capable of breaking out through my armor. I took my time so I didn’t trip or fall and embarrass myself.

“Today, son. We got shit to do!” the general said.

I could hear the laughter behind me as I stepped onto the platform to face him.

“Corporal Drew ‘Doomsday’ Butler, it is also my honor today to not only present you with a commendation for bravery, but to stand in for the President of the United States in doing so.”

Doomsday? What the fuck kind of name is that? I was thinking. It isn’t as cool as Motown or Hunter. Why Doomsday?

“While engaged with the enemy, you showed great courage under fire. You successfully performed at a level…well son, a level never seen before. That ax in your hands, under your control, is nothing short of amazing. Folklore tells us that a thrown ax can ward off a hailstorm, that one placed in the crops with the cutting edge facing the skies protects us from bad weather. An upright ax buried under the sill of a house can scare away witches. Placing an ax under the bed ensured male offspring.” Chuckles from the formations rolled in. “But an ax in your hands means…DOOM! You, young man, spell certain doom for our enemies. You’ve earned your call sign, Marine!”

I get it now, I take back what I thought. It was kind of badass.

“It’s my pleasure to award you the Navy Cross for extraordinary heroism in combat, and to promote you to E-5. You made sergeant, son. Congratulations,” the general said, a comforting smile appearing across his face.

Following Motown’s lead, I saluted and shook the general’s hand with my right as he handed me my medal with the left. It looked magnificent lying in its polished oak box, nuzzled into a soft pillow of cloth. It reminded me of one of those bright stars across the Dakota skies at night.

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

“You’re welcome, son. You can return to your team now.”

The playful verbal jabs were short and few upon my return to the team. We had more important business to attend too as the general carried on.

“Marines, these are apocalyptic times. We are facing a mass extinction of our species. An enemy force has invaded our homeland, and they aim to wipe us off the face of earth. We will not let that happen!”

“Oorah!” the teams barked.

“Marines do not fight to live another day! Marines fight so they can fight another day! We will fight!” the general shouted, slamming his fist on the podium.

“Oorah!”

“Marines will stop fighting when there is true peace on earth and no more battles are left to be fought. But then! A Marine will still stand watch!”

“Oorah!” the cheers started getting louder.

“Our enemy wants to convert this planet into a climate that is dangerous for our species! We cannot and will not let this happen! They will not feast on our bones! They will not push us out of our home, and this blue planet is our fucking home!”

“Oorah!”

“It’s time for the enemy to show themselves. Summer is close approaching and no area within our reach is safe. They will be coming out in the warmer weather to harvest humans. We must hit them hard and fast, and then we—Marines—will feast on their bones! We will turn summer against them, this will be the Marine’s Summer not theirs. In this year, 2041, we the Marine Corp will own summer!”

“Oorah!”

The general bowed his head, his right hand rubbing his square jaw. “Marines, this is our time. This is when we hit them and take back what is ours.” He looked back up across the ranks. “It’s time. As Marines, we stand tall, we fight proud, and we wipe these motherfuckers off our planet!”

“Oorah!”

“Teams Alpha, Bravo and Charlie! You leave within the hour. Southern California is back under alien control. You will take it back! The rest of you will have invitations to the dance within the week.

“Oorah!”

The colonel stepped up to the edge of the stage. “Companies! Atten—Hut!”

“Godspeed, Marines!” the general said.

“Dis—missed!” the colonel’s loud slow southern bark sounded across the ranks.

Bob turned to me. She wrapped her arms around my Suit the best she could, attempting a hug. “Congrats, Doomsday,” she kidded. “You wanted war, you got war!”

“Quit the love-fest, act like fucking Marines!” Hunter said. “Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick, we’re going to war and you two are grab-assing like it’s the fucking dating game or something!”

18

The old USMC Recruit Depot, San Diego, was our target. Brains was perched on an old cell phone tower north of Sea World. He was spotting targets and pointing out tangos as we made our way south.

I was behind cover at what had been the Shamu Stadium. Bombed out concrete bleachers hid my position. The goal was to make it across the San Diego River, Loma Heights, and Point Loma, then attach via Liberty Station.

“Three tangos coming north in front of you, go silent,” Brains said.

“One good battle and the little shit gets my spot. I’m not liking this,” Hunter said.

“Shut it, Hunter. Focus on the mission,” Motown said firmly.

Camo hid my location, tangos unaware of my presence. I waited till Brains gave the go.

“Wait till they stop, backs to you,” he said.

At the first sight of one of their backs, I pounced on them, slicing them in two. Easy kills. I quickly retreated to my hiding place and hunkered down.

“Wait till they stop. What part of that didn’t you understand?” Brains asked.

“I got excited, sorry.”

“Follow orders. Not following them gets people killed,” Motown said.

“Understood, sir,” I replied.

“Clear to advance to Doomsday’s location,” Brains instructed the team.

Finally gathered, we headed south and met resistance in the massive parking lot of SeaWorld. Alien assault teams came over the banks of the river, hidden from Brains’ view.

“Deploying drone!” Brains said.

“Get me some eyes behind those vehicles! Call out their positions!” Motown said.

Aliens hid behind burnt-out vehicles left scattered across SeaWorld Drive, and the rear of the parking lot. Once the drone started sending data back to our huds, we picked them off one by one. Staying silent was no longer an option. It was a firefight.

“Enemy targets approaching from the east. Take evasive action,” Brains alerted us.

“I got it, sir!” I said, sprinting to cut them off.

“Twenty tangos, he’ll need help,” Brains said.

“He’ll need help?” Boom asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, forgot about that. Disregard.”

“Boom! Light these fuckers up!” Hunter yelled.

I heard multiple explosions behind me, concussion waves making my Suit vibrate as I ran away from them. I met six of the targets head on, their shots ricocheting off my armor as I ripped at theirs, firing rounds into their exposed chests. Rita’s voice repeating in my ear, “Targeted, take evasive action.” I was trying, but my power source was acting the same. It hadn’t activated like it did in the mountains. I wasn’t maxing out like before.

“Guys, Doomsday is struggling over there,” Brains notified them.

“Come on kid, get it going!” Hunter said.

“I’m trying sir! I’m trying!”

Six down and 14 to go. Finally my mental connection with the suit arrived freezing me in place.

“Armor at 70%. Releasing nano-bots,” Rita said.

“Negative!” I squealed in pain as the power started coursing through my body.

“Ex-pe, power spi—ke, shutting down,” Rita’s garbled voice said in my ear.

“Negative!”

Two more direct hits and finally, I felt invincible. But I would soon find out that I wasn’t. Killing the remaining 14, I stood victorious, until the bombs started falling. Two direct hits sent me flying; the third explosion sent me crashing back to the ground.

“Armor at 38%. Releasing nano-bots,” Rita said.

“What the fuck was that?” I said, gasping for air.

“What the fuck was what Drew Butler?” Rita asked.

Although I was in severe pain, I was taken aback that my intelligent computer had the ability to curse.

“Nothing Rita, patch me up.”

“Vitals indicate that you are in distress, body at 75%. Notifying medic.”

“Negative, use the nano-bots,” I instructed her.

“Warning Drew Butler, repair time thirty minutes.”

“Doomsday to Motown, I’m down. I need support on my location. I’m FUBAR for 30.”

“Roger that. On our way. Hang tight, kid,” he responded.

“Get to work Rita, I’m dying.”

“Roger that Drew Butler. Nano-bots released. Injecting 20 milligrams of morphine.”

“Skip the drugs, just patch me up.”

“As you wish Drew Butler.”

Hunter dragged me into a crater as the others took sniping positions around the edges. The amount of pain I was in caused me to turn off my mic so the others wouldn’t hear my screams. Brains arrived on site and gave eyes to Boom, who released his own little fireworks display for the attacking forces.

At one point, my screams were even hurting my own ears inside my metal tomb. The power source seemed to no longer have communication with my nervous system. I felt no connection at all, not the way I had before. I was scared.

“We need air support immediately!” Motown called in to command.

“Unable to assist Alpha Squad. We’ve got six downed aircraft. The others have returned for fueling. You are on your own until I can get birds back in the air,” Command responded.

“Son of a bitch!” Motown screamed.

I wanted so badly to get up and help. I felt helpless.

“Incoming!” Hunter shouted, as the bomb exploded 20 or so meters in front of our location, sending debris flying back into our location.

“That was too fucking close,” Bob said.

“Brains, get your drone in the air and get a location on that artillery!” Motown said. “Give Boom those coordinates. We need to take that motherfucker out before he ends us all!”

“On it!”

“I got two tangos southwest!” Bob said.

“I got them! Take right and I’ll take left,” Hunter said.

“In 3—2—1—boom! Tangos down,” Bob said.

“Hell of a shot, sweet cheeks!”

“I got your sweet cheeks right here Hunter!”

“Easy, I don’t want your super boy toy to get pissed and take his aggression out on me,” Hunter kidded her.

“Sir, two artillery banks, huge bunkers are set up on the runway, and they are out of our range. We have to have air support,” Brains said.

“Well, we don’t. What else you got?” Motown asked.

“We’d have to get Boom to Point Loma just to pull off the shot.”

“I’m game,” Boom said. “I’ll just jog over there, drop the package, and be back in a flash.”

“Bullshit, they’ll slice you down before you make it halfway. It’s a suicide mission,” Hunter chimed in.

“I agree. Stand down,” Motown said.

I felt the nano-bots leave my body.

“Rita, repair status?” I asked.

“Armor 95%, tissue 85%. Still need medical attention Drew Butler.”

“Fuck it, keep them working till I’m fixed. I’m going back in!”

“Roger that Drew Butler, fucking it.”

In spite of the pain I giggled and said to her, “Rita, we really need to work on your language skills.”

“I do not understand Drew Butler.”

“Disregard. Just keep the nano-bots working,” I laughed.

Rising from the ashes of the crater, I offered my assistance. “I’ll take them out!”

“Welcome back, sunshine. Let’s go to work!” Motown said. “Boom, give him your rocket grenade launcher. He’ll need some boom power if he makes it across.”

Boom slid the weapon onto my arm, strapping the holster in place around my forearm and wrist.

“With your thumb, pull down the trigger and fire it like any other weapon, kid.”

“Got it,” I said.

“We’ll be close behind. Don’t fall,” Hunter said.

“Yes, sir. Need to get motivated though. Would a couple of you shoot me?”

“Shoot what? You?” Bob asked. “Hell no!”

“I got it,” Hunter said, raising his pistol and firing two shots into my chest plate.

Like a light switch had just been flipped, the power source activated. A little motivation was all it needed.

“See, it worked the first time, and it worked again. I’m out!” I said, leaping from the crater and heading toward the river.

“Feed him data from the drone, Brains. The rest of us, let’s chase him!” Motown said.

Ten aliens blocked my path to the river, I stampeded them into the pavement, with the team picking up the kills behind me. At the river, I released my ax, turning and swinging it at the same time that I threw it across the river. Hanging onto the handle, I let its momentum carry me until I crashed on the other side, creating a trench two feet deep and 15 feet long. Through remnants of war, burned down houses, and bombed buildings, I blazed a trail to the edge of the San Diego International Airport, killing anything that dared to get in my way.

The runway was not inviting. At least a thousand alien troops awaited my arrival. I took refuge behind a concrete barrier to wait for backup.

“Doomsday to Motown, it’s hot down here! It’s a freaking army!” I shouted as shots whizzed by overtop.

“Hold your position, kid, the cavalry is on the way!” he responded.

“We’ve got air support in three minutes,” Brains said.

“Can you see the training depot?” Hunter asked.

“Negative, they’ve constructed a barrier. It’s locked down pretty tight!” I responded.

“Two minutes out, they are coming in hot!” Brains said.

“Kid, we’re coming on your six. When the Warthogs rip that runway, make your move! The rest of us will follow you in!” Motown said.

I could hear those antique engines roaring in my direction. Low and mean they tore over the hill. The 30mm Gatling gun started laying hot metal down the center of the runway. Alien bodies were cut down like paper through a shredder. The path was now clearer, and the first artillery bunker was now visible.

“Go, go, go! Before the second wave of Hogs arrives! Hell, you don’t want to be standing there when the first wave gets turned around and makes another pass!” Hunter screamed at me.

Springing over the barricade, I released the trigger mechanism on the grenade launcher. With it in one hand and my rifle in the other, I targeted anything still moving as I rushed at the first bunker.

I fired one shot at the bunker from a hundred meters. It didn’t even dent it.

“Grenade has no effect!” I said.

“Keep firing! Find a way in!” Motown ordered.

Another shot at 50 meters. Nothing.

“Here’s the Hogs, watch your ass!” Brains warned me.

I was in clear line of their fire as the shots laid down behind my heels, coming within inches of blasting me off the runway. Cover fire from the team kept me on my path, unable to jump left or right to avoid. My only alternative was to take cover behind the bunker, if I could make it.

“Come on Doomsday, you got to move faster!” Brains pleaded.

I wasn’t going to make it. Six alien fighters blocked my path.

Think, dummy. Think!

With one giant leap, I bounded over the closest alien. Snatching him by the shoulders, I swung in behind him, using him as a shield. This allowed both of us to fall backwards into the others, toppling them like dominoes. Shots from the Hogs ripped my alien shield to pieces, one round penetrating through him and embedding itself in my left shoulder. The others we knocked over were lying nearby, wounded but not dead. I shoved the unfortunate casualty off my chest and commenced executing the others. It was war. They were suffering, but I can’t feel guilty for killing them. If they’d had a chance to take a shot at me, they would have.

“Can you get in that bunker?” Motown asked.

Jumping into the trench behind it, I located the entry hatch, but there was no handle or latch.

“Guys, we got a problem. I don’t know how to get in!”

“Find a way. We’re getting stomped over here!” Hunter commanded.

Not only was my team locked down, the other alien artillery bank had started bombing their location, even killing their own fighters that my team had been engaging. I knew I needed to act quickly before they killed them all. I took my ax out and stabbed it in the seam of the hatch, prying away at it with everything I had. I managed to wedge the door open just a few inches, when shots from inside started ricocheting off my chest plate as the aliens inside attempted to thwart my entry.

I could hear in my head Motown’s report: “Bravo and Charlie just arrived. It’s a fight now, people! Look alive!”

This was good news. As the other two teams stormed in, I could now concentrate on nothing more than destroying the bunkers.

Wedging the hatch open just enough to stick my rifle through, I put it on automatic. It disintegrated every living thing inside. Shots pinged around like BBs in a tin can. With Herculean effort, I almost ripped the door off its hinges. Then, one of my own shots grazed my helmet.

“What the fuck!” I said, peeking inside.

The artillery control room was a dark green organic structure. It was made of what looked like hanging vines covered in orange slime. I thought that might be the blood of the room’s previous occupants.

“Temperature indicates dangerous levels Drew Butler. Initiating air handlers to accommodate,” Rita said in my ear.

The aliens’ weaponry was relatively simple: a small cache of rounds resembling what looked like paint canisters.

How can something so small do so much damage? I thought.

Placing one of the canisters in the cannon breech, then pulling upward on the lever I rammed the round into the barrel.

How do I aim this thing?

As the weapon was pointed straight up, I was still lost about how to aim it. I located the trigger mechanism, but aiming or rotating it was near impossible.

“Rita, locate all electronics in this area.”

As my hud lit up, I saw that the entire structure was electronic. A small grenade blast behind the bunker slammed the pried door shut, cutting off any light in the chamber.

“Night vision on,” I ordered her.

And there it was. With night vision, I could see that the entire structure was the aiming mechanism. It played like a movie inside the dome; the entire structure was my viewing screen. Simply rotating the gun showed the target of my round; a small white blur indicated where the explosion would occur. I aimed at the second bunker, pulled the trigger, and waited.

“Boom, baby! Wow, this is like playing a video game,” I said, watching as the other bunker was destroyed. “Let’s kill something else!” I shouted.

The Warthogs were making more passes. I watched as those aliens that survived climbed from their hiding places. They would then become my targets. Round after round I lit them up, laying down support for the Hogs and the Teams.

“They are killing their own!” Hunter shouted.

“What the hell is going on?” Motown asked.

I kept my silence and continued firing. It was a massacre. For a solid hour, I used their own weapons on them.

“Butler! What’s your location?” Motown requested.

“I’m in my new favorite toy sir!”

“You are where?”

“I’m still in bunker number one sir,” I chuckled.

“That’s you?”

“Yes sir, you gotta see this shit. You won’t believe it.”

With the airfield secured and weapons commandeered, Command sent in more reinforcements. Two thousand troops took the offensive, facing the recruit depot, with three teams of Suits standing ready for the call. Tanks rolled in, escorted by all the M1151 Humvees they could wipe the cobwebs off. Heavy artillery armored vehicles lined up behind the tanks, angling for a shot.

But then the Warthog pilots reported back that the base had been fortified. Alien wall-like structures, some over 15 stories high, towered over the vacant remains of the city. The sound of a strange hum reverberating from the shore back to the structure kept everyone on edge. Red and white lights flickered in strange patterns, dancing across the barrier facing our location.

The Navy parked two missile cruisers and a destroyer off the coastline behind us, providing plenty of extra firepower if needed.

“Why aren’t they attacking?” Hunter asked.

“Probably because they’re scared shitless, sir,” Bob answered playfully.

“No, something isn’t right. Command hasn’t gave the order to attack yet either. Yeah, something’s wrong.”

“Want me to scale that wall and take a peek?” I asked.

“No, stand down. Brains!” Motown summoned him, “get Command on the horn, I need to know what’s going on!”

19

Three days at the doorstep of the enemy and not one bit of action. There was no need to contact Command; they came to us. Battles across the world ceased. It seemed that these strange structures were popping up everywhere, one right after the other, all over the map. Six of them emerged out of nowhere just in the United States alone, and not one ounce of intelligence indicated it was happening.

We were laid up in makeshift quarters, converted cargo containers they had lined up down the shoreline. We were protected by a blanket of rolling armor nestled between us and the base. The accommodations weren’t much considering our merits, but they provided a place to escape the warm California sun.

“Attention on deck!” Bob yelled as the general entered our new digs.

“At ease, Marines. This is no time for the formalities. We’ve got business to discuss. Gather round.” the general said.

Pulling a laser pen from his shirt pocket, he projected a 3-D diagram on the wall. “Take a look at this.”

“What the hell is that?” Motown asked.

“They’ve burrowed in. This here,” the general pointed at the side of the fortress, “we believe they deconstructed one of their ships to build the barrier around this.” He clicked the button on his pen, and an aerial view inside the structure appeared on the wall.

“That’s one huge fucking tunnel,” Boom said.

“Big enough to bury another ship, perhaps? We don’t know at this point, but we need to find out,” the general said.

“Are we getting a green light to go in sir?” Motown asked.

“Bet your ass you are! Your team will take point. We’ll send Charlie team in thirty minutes after you, and Bravo and Delta soon after that. We’d send more, but the other teams are in Dallas, where they’re making preparations to engage another one of these monstrosities.” The general put his pen away. “We have no idea what’s down there, men…and lady,” he acknowledged Bob. “But we presume it’s some sort of hive.”

“We could be walking into the lion’s den,” Hunter said.

“Exactly! You may find yourselves completely outnumbered. That’s why we don’t want you to fully engage. This is strictly a reconnaissance mission. Collect data and hightail it back here.”

“Sir?” Motown asked. “What if we have no choice but to engage? What happens if we get down there and they are waiting on us?”

“I don’t care if it’s a fucking Army down there or three tangos—you’re to stay in the shadows. If your team is detected, you retreat. We’ll discuss plan B when you return.”

“Plan B, sir?” Motown said curiously. I believed he had a sense of that that was already.

“We’ll nuke that goddamn hole, but not till we have our people out of the blast radius!” the general said.

What if they have civilians trapped down there? Are we to kill our own? I thought.

“But, sir…” Hunter attempted to speak.

“No ‘but’s, Lieutenant, this is your mission. Don’t fuck it up!” the general barked.

“Aye-aye, sir!” Hunter jumped to attention, saluting.

“As soon as your team gets ready, Hunter, we’ll drop you in there. Better hit it. The clock’s ticking.” The general nodded and left the container.

“You heard the man! Let’s shit and get it!” Motown shouted.

With a quick refill form the ammo cache, we found a waiting chopper outside, a long steel cable attached to her belly. Motown lined us up in the order we would drop. I was at the very end, first man in. I should have been scared to be the first to enter the devil’s pit, but somehow, thinking about how far I had come, I felt proud. I had started out as a broke-dick unable to do anything right, and now Motown had faith that I could lead the team into a shitty situation.

“Safeties off!” Motown ordered. “Grab hold and let’s rock this shit!”

Each of us latched onto the cable as the chopper’s blades started to rotate; the thumping sound of air being beaten into submission resonated all around us.

“We ready to go flying, Marines?” Hunter asked proudly.

“Hell, yeah!” Bob sounded off.

“I guess,” Boom seemed less enthusiastic.

“Not really…but I guess I don’t have much of choice do I?” Brains said.

“Doomsday?” Hunter called.

“I’m full joy sir!”

“Oo-fuckin-rah!” Hunter signaled to the pilot, who started to lift the aircraft.

Soon we were dangling like fish on a line, the constant pressure from the rotors beating down our helmets and shoulders. I was okay with gaining altitude; it was the uncontrollable spinning of the cable that upset me. I didn’t like having my back to the structure. If they were going to attack, I wanted to see them coming.

“We’re getting close! On my marks, you’ll each release. Try not to land on each other,” Motown instructed us.

Hanging over that massive wall was unsettling. The tunnel was coming into sight. The pictures didn’t do it justice: It was massive, a black hole hidden in the shadows of the wall that protected it. Its depths were hidden by darkness.

“Doomsday, release!” Motown ordered.

I released my grip on the cable and fell into the abyss. I heard Bob’s command to release next, which concerned me as I hadn’t touched down yet.

“Rita, night vision on!” I shouted inside my helmet.

Finally able to see, I found myself hurtling toward a smooth, steep wall of dirt. I shifted my weight slightly so that when I made contact I could slide down on my side.

“The wall is starting to slope!” I informed the others.

I made contact with my left hand first, then my hip and eventually my legs. Using my hand I clawed into the freshly dug earth, attempting to brake. It reminded me of being on a water slide, but without the water.

I could hear Bob impact behind me, then Boom. The angle of the slope was leveling out, so I pulled my hand out of the dirt to keep my speed up so they didn’t crash into me. As the bottom came into sight, I was able to dig my feet in and stand myself up, I began running till the embankment completely leveled out, halting at the bottom in a crouched position on one knee. I pointed my weapon into the tunnel to provide cover fire if needed.

Bob sprang up right beside me, “That was awesome!” she shouted into the comms. “Let’s do that again.”

I didn’t share her enthusiasm, nor did Boom and Brains, who slid into her and knocked her off her feet. Taking notice, I moved up so that I was not in danger of experiencing the same fate.

“What the hell, dude!” she yelled at Boom.

“Sorry, baby girl, didn’t see you there,” he laughed.

“Shut it!” Motown said, sliding in next to them.

“Area clear, sir! No sign of hostiles!” I said, sweeping the tunnel with my rifle.

“Roger that,” Motown responded. “Hunter, you and Doomsday take point. Spread out, one on each side. Boom, you take direct center 20 meters behind them. If they make contact, be ready to light the bastards up.”

We crept east for what seemed like miles in that blacked out wormhole. We encountered no resistance. Hours ticked by. The mission began to seem like nothing more than a wild goose chase.

“Hey Doomsday, what’s that glow up there?” Hunter asked.

“I can’t tell. Hang on a second. Rita, night vision off.”

A dim red glow a few inches off the surface appeared in the distance. It was almost hazy, as if steam was pouring from the surface.

“I see it now. We’ve got contact sir,” I said to Motown.

“Brains, any contact with Delta team?” Motown asked.

“Negative sir, comms are dead,” he answered.

“Well team, let’s go see what the neighbors are having for dinner. Bob, take the middle. The three of you advance slowly. Let’s try not to give away our position,” Motown commanded.

With Bob between us, we slunk toward the glow, staying low and ready. The closer we came, the brighter the red light radiated.

“Temps approaching dangerous levels,” Rita said in my ear. “Engaging cooling systems.”

“Holy hell, it’s hot down here,” Bob said.

“Confirmed. Sir, it’s like an oven,” Hunter said to Motown.

“I’ve got 140 degrees Fahrenheit on my hud. What’s it like up there?” Motown asked.

We were only 20 or so meters in front of him.

“I’ve got 155,” Hunter reported.

“Same here,” Bob confirmed.

“Let’s carry on. Get what we need and get the hell out of this Easy-Bake Oven,” Motown instructed.

The edge of the glow was in sight. We crept closer until we could see what we had come for. Dug in deep sat the roof of another ship. We could see a mined-out cavern; blackened rock from drill marks lined the outside walls, with clumps of lose dirt falling about due to the vibrations coming from the ship.

“What the fuck is this?” I said, lying on my stomach and peeping over the ledge.

“That ship is huge,” Bob said.

“Has to be a mother ship,” Hunter said as he peeked over the edge.

“Um…guys?” Brains said seeming worried. “Why aren’t they defending the tunnel? Did that ever cross anyone’s mind but mine?”

“You think this is a setup?” Hunter asked.

“Considering we just had a major fucking war with them up on the surface, it seems odd that they just left the front door open. I don’t think they are inviting us for dinner; I think we are dinner,” Brains said.

I didn’t want to agree with him, but turning left and looking north, I couldn’t doubt his assumption.

“Mother of god!” I said.

“What is it Doomsday?” Motown asked.

“You have to see this. He’s right. Brains is right!”

Motown snuck into position next to me.

“Oh my,” he gasped.

At the bow of their ship, nestled up into the side of the cavern, they had dug out an area the size of a football field. Thousands of human bodies hung from meat hooks as bloated, fat alien butchers carved away at their corpses.

“My god, they’re harvesting meat,” Hunter said, watching as one of the butchers sliced a human leg off a victim and placed it in a black bag.

“They want us to march in here so they can slaughter us!” Motown said.

My Suit started to glow red as my temper flared. Thoughts of my brothers being treated like this haunted my mind. Lee being blown to shreds, Sanchez dying as I held his hands. As the remains of every discarded skeleton were pitched over the edge, my fever grew.

“Doomsday!” Motown called.

I ignored him.

“Doomsday!” he screamed louder.

“Oh shit, he’s going postal,” Hunter said, watching as my Suit burned brighter than ever before witnessed.

“No!” is all I could say, over and over. “No!”

“Stand down, Marine!” Motown ordered me.

“No!”

Before I knew what I was doing, I sprang to my feet and leapt onto the roof of the ship. With my rifle in my left hand and my ax in the other, I started running toward the butchers, firing off rounds and clipping them in their backs.

“He’s off the reservation!” Hunter screamed.

“Fuck!” Motown said. “Follow him!”

None of the shots that I fired were kill shots. I wanted those bastards to taste my blade. I jumped into the higher level and trounced them, taking their heads off and dismembering their limbs.

When they others caught up to me, I was frantically searching the bodies for my brothers, I was going mad, and the team knew it.

“Stand down, Butler. That’s an order!” Motown said, trying to stop me. I tossed him away in anger.

“Sir, we’ve got company!” Bob shrieked.

Thousands and thousands of aliens were coming out from underneath the ship, their teeth chattering as gray foam dripped from their lips. The thunderous chatter filled the cavern with an eerie echo.

“Firing line!” Motown ordered. “Light ’em up!”

The team stood side by side, releasing hell on the front chargers. The more kills they stacked up, the more aliens appeared behind them, climbing over their fallen to take their place.

“We’re not going to have enough ammo!” Hunter shouted.

“No!” I said, leaping over the team into the tide of oncoming aliens. “Die, you bastards!”

I don’t recall what happened after that, but I do recall what Bob told me as they carted me off back down that tunnel. I had removed my helmet; she said I looked possessed.

My face had turned a light gray with blue veins bulging and pulsating across my face. My eyes had gone completely black and cold. I looked lost, she said.

Delta team had finally shown up and provided additional fire support from their elevated position in the tunnel.

“Drew, can you hear me?” Bob asked.

I tipped my head. “Yes,” I whispered.

“I don’t know what happened to you, but that wasn’t you,” she cried. I could see that she was scared.

She continued on, trying to tell me what I had just done. I strained to listen as I faded in and out.

Apparently both teams ran out of rounds but I kept fighting. It was hand-to-hand combat; I killed anything that came close. My movements were swift and accurate. My rage allowed me to overpower the enemy.

As she kept talking in my ear, I finally faded off to sleep. But my dreams, my nightmares, soon reminded me of what I had become and what I did.

The rage burned so deep in my soul that visions of my onslaught ran like a movie reel. I could see my feet landing on the flat black surface as 10 or more aliens flew through the air at me. I sliced each in half with one swing of my ax as the remnants of their bodies landed around me. Shots whizzed by my head, killing the next wave as I advanced.

The dream played on in my head. There was no spectrum, just shades and shadows of blue. The scene was so vivid it was like I was still fighting.

I could see them clawing at me, rushing me, but it was like I knew their moves before they did. With my weapon empty, I discarded it and used my helmet to bash them, my ax to slice them. My movements were swift and true. I remembered how a gang of aliens had attacked from my blind side. I knew they were there; I slaughtered them unmercifully, without even looking at them.

What have I become?

20

I cracked my eyes open as the light from the window broke in. I could make out somebody pulling back the curtains.

“Where am I?” I could barely speak.

“Oh, you’re finally awake,” I heard Bob’s voice say.

Clearing my throat, I attempted to speak again. “Where am I?”

I felt her pounce on the bed, her soft lips showering my forehead with kisses.

“What’s this for?” I slurred.

“That you’re alive,” she said, continuing to plant kisses down my face.

“Why wouldn’t,” I stopped to clear my throat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She started to remind me of what happened. I didn’t want to tell her I knew. I was ashamed. I didn’t interrupt her, just letting her finish. My shame would ultimately turn to hate, a hate for myself from not knowing what I was capable of doing.

“Who—who’s gone?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“I shouldn’t have told you. It’s too soon. I’m sorry.”

“No, go on,” I urged her.

“Drew, we lost Hunter and Boom. There was nothing you or any of us could have done different. Don’t beat yourself up over it,” she pleaded.

As she continued to talk, my mind drifted away. Not only did had we lost Hunter and Boom, but all of Delta team had perished. I blamed myself. Maybe if I could have kept myself under control, I could have saved them.

“Hey,” she nudged me.

“Yeah?” I responded, tears welling up in my eyes.

“Drew, you can’t do this to yourself. It’s the past now. Let it go.”

It wasn’t the past for me. The nightmares were so vivid.

“I know. I’ll do what I can,” I assured her.

She placed a sweet soft kiss on my lips, leaving me to find some comfort in her smile as she leaned back and stared into my eyes. The woman that I had once feared was showing her heart.

“Where are we?” I asked her.

“Oh you don’t know, do you?” she laughed. “Hang on, I’ve got a visitor for you.”

I watched as she sprang from the bed and ran to the door, watching as it closed behind her.

What’s she doing? I thought.

The door opened slightly. I could hear the patter of feet on the tile floor coming at the bed.

“Guess who?” she said sticking her head through the door.

“Who?” I echoed.

But before I could say another word, Rags jumped up on the bed and started licking my face. He smelled familiar. Apparently Buckley had kept up my habit of feeding him Twinkies.

“Hey boy.” I scratched behind his ears, his long tongue gliding up my cheek, causing me to giggle. The tears I had been holding back started to flow freely as Rags attempted to catch everyone.

“Is it all right to come in?” I heard a familiar voice speak from behind the door.

“Yes, sir, it is,” I answered.

Major Harold McClain walked through the door sideways, “How the hell are you?” he smiled.

“I’m okay, sir. It’s good to see you.”

“Welcome back to Tiger Mountain, son,” he said.

“Thank you, sir, but I…”

“No son, no ‘but’s. You’re not home, you’re just visiting. We’ll get you healed up and back out there soon enough.”

A smile washed over my face.

“Drew?” Bob said.

“Yes.”

“The major here will be joining the team,” she told me.

“That’s right, I’ll be kicking your ass on a daily basis, pup!”

I laughed and attempted to sit up, although I was still lightheaded.

“Take it easy.” He offered to help, grabbing my forearm.

“Whoa…”

“Are you okay?” Bob asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m just a little dizzy.”

“Well, you’ve been asleep for three weeks, so I’d imagine you are,” the major informed me.

“So what’s next, sir?” I asked.

“I’ll be blunt.” His facial expression turned stern. “After you went berserk, Command wanted to ground you. Motown and I talked them out of it. You’re the reason we won back San Diego. Dallas didn’t have the same success, and we lost over 5,000 troops.”

“Shit.” I felt sick in the pit of my stomach.

“We don’t know what happened to you, but what we do know is that we need you to do it again,” the major said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “If you’re capable.”

I didn’t know if I wanted it. What had happened scared the hell out of me. I didn’t answer.

“They haven’t killed all their prisoners. They work them till they can’t work no more. Then they harvest them. That’s what your team walked in on. They use their ships as underground cities, each with its own queen, and you killed one of those queens.”

“Drew we’re flying back to Colorado tonight. If you’re able to travel we’d like you to come with us,” Bob said.

“Then what?” I asked. “What if I lose control again? What if I hurt one of you?”

“You won’t. I know it in my heart,” she said.

I thought about it for a minute and said, “Okay, I’ll go.”

“That’s my devil dog!” the major said. “But, this—whatever you call it—between you two, this love affair, or…hell, I don’t know, it needs to stay off the radar.”

“Understood,” Bob said.

“What the hell?” I blushed.

“Command does not need to know about it, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Aye-aye sir,” I smiled at him. “What’s our next mission?” I asked.

“Take back Dallas and the rest of them. We need to wipe these alien bastards off our planet.”

“You up for it, Doomsday?” Bob asked.

“Hell yeah! Oorah!”

But although my words said it, my mind was elsewhere. What has this fucking Suit done to me?

To be continued