Marine Summer: Year 2041 (11 page)

“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.

“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.”