The n00b Warriors (20 page)

Later that night, Dylan made his way to one of the B soldiers, Aimee, who was alone in one of the lookouts. She was in her early 20s, Asian, and the only woman left in Company B. She had a black buzzed head.

“How’s it looking out there?” he asked her.

“All quiet, sir.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way for a while—the men could use some rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long have you been on the lines?”

“One month, sir.”

“And you’ve never been shot?”

“I’ve gotten lucky.”

“I want you and the other B men to teach the boys in D everything you know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I want you to retreat out of here.”

“Sir?”

“You’ve been at the lines long enough—it’s time to let someone else take over.”

“I think I stand for all the B boys when I say permission to stay.”

“Denied.”

“Sir, this is more our home than anywhere else. I can think of no better place to die. If you send us back, it will be R&R for a couple days, and then they’ll send us back out to some terrain we don’t know. At least now, our minds stay fresh and focused, and we know our turf.”

He looked out at the darkening horizon. “You really want to stay?”

“You need all the help you can get, sir.”

“Okay—permission to stay. You’re free to leave whenever you want.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Where you from?”

“Florida, sir.”

“And your story?”

“I was playing tennis for the University of Florida when I got the word that I had been drafted. They sent me to Georgia to be trained with Company B, and then I was sent here. I’ve been to the lines twice now, and I don’t want to go off until this war’s over or I’m dead.”

“You have family?”

“Two younger brothers, and a mom and dad.”

“And you don’t want to make it back alive for them?”

“They’d be proud to know I died for the cause.”

“The cause?” He eyed her. “And what exactly is the cause?”

“It’s what we fight for, sir.”

Dylan nodded. “But do you know it—do you know what you fight for?”

She shrugged. “I just want it to be over—that’s the cause I fight for.”

 He nodded. “Go get some rest—I’ll take your post for a few hours.”

“Thank you, sir.” She climbed down from the post, but turned and looked up before leaving. “Sir?”

“Yeah?”

“Your company should shave their heads—I have a razor and can do it.”

“Why?”

“Lice, sir—it’s pretty common in the trench.”

“Our hair is about the only thing this Army hasn’t taken yet—strip us of it, and we’ll have nothing left that’s ours.”

She shrugged. “Just a suggestion, sir.”

“Hey, Aimee?” Dylan called as she started to leave again.

“Yes, sir?”

“Enough with the ‘sirs’
—
if there’s any Cocos listening, the first person they’ll try and kill is the person in charge.”

“Yes, sir—I mean, okay.”

Dylan watched the darkness, fighting to keep his eyes awake. Sometimes he’d think he saw movements, or heard the sound of ruffling dirt. But it always turned out to be the tricks the mind plays in the presence of war. To fight off sleep, he cleaned his gun, then counted the number of explosions he heard in a minute. He kept the post all night, and finally gave it to someone else at dawn. He didn’t sleep all that day.

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(Coco Puff, Blog Entry)

BLOODY CHRISTMAS

Posted: Thursday, December 25, 2014 | 11:02 AM (GMT)

Christmas. I’ve never seen the fuss in the holiday that Americans do, but I do regret that the events that happened late last night and early this morning had to come on a day that is supposed to be joyful.

Obviously, by now you have heard of the events, and probably like me have some sort of news playing in the background as you read this.

They say the fire that is burning through Los Angeles will last for days. Every few minutes, I see new images of something destroyed in one of the numerous bombs—the Hollywood sign, the Staples Center, Griffith observatory, Disney Hall—once landmarks, now gone.

They are saying the attacks were strategic. What strategy calls for the complete destruction of every single structure with any cultural or historic importance?

This is the worse attack by the rebels and, I hope, the final straw. Surely now the government will take action and do everything to stop them at any cost.

I am continually hearing reporters talk about who is to blame. About what could have or should have been done. I believe there will come a time for all of that, but today it is best just to mourn those who died in the attack
—
to put aside our differences for a few days, and reach out to those who lost their families.

Tag: annihilation of Los Angeles

Level 11

What Do We Do?

A loud bell chiming stirred Dylan from his sleep. As he woke, he realized he was soaking wet, and his first thought was that someone had peed on him again. But then he felt rain falling softly on his face. He was sleeping in a puddle of rainwater.

He stood stiffly and looked out toward the horizon. A thick layer of fog made it impossible to see more than a few feet.

Slowly, he began making his way down the trench. Nearly everyone was asleep, and he almost fell several times as he made his way over them. As he did so, the bells still rang in the distance. It seemed so unnatural to hear the beautiful chime while there was so much death and fighting happening. When they finally stopped, the silence was eerie.

Dylan heard whispers as he walked, but the fog was too heavy to see the figures. Finally, they appeared—Johnny and Trinity. They were sitting close together with their backs leaning against the trench. Johnny was picking at a zit on his cheek while Trinity sipped some coffee.

Dylan stood unnoticed, listening to them, jealously wishing he was the one sitting close to Trinity. He tried to hear what they were talking about, but their voices were too soft. Trinity looked up and jumped as she finally realized Dylan was standing near them.

 “Don’t do that, Dylan!”

“What?”

“Sneak up on us!”

“What gives, anyway?” Johnny asked. “You spying on us?”

“What if I am, Johnny? You going to do something about it? I don’t think it’s possible to get any more demoted than this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” Dylan said, finally saying what he had been thinking ever since Johnny had been assigned to his company. “You should be in Company C or B. Only way you managed to get in this company was by making the wrong person mad.”

Johnny looked down. “Well, maybe you don’t know the whole story.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Leave him be, Dylan,” Trinity spoke up. “If I remember right, you were demoted to D when we first signed up.”

“I was defending you.”

Johnny stood and said angrily, “Maybe there was a reason for what I did, too.” And then he walked away.

“Nice , Dylan.”

Dylan leaned against the trench wall opposite Trinity, and explained quietly, “I don’t trust him.”

Trinity stood, her eyes flashing. “I do.” She paused and said, “You’re not there, Dylan—while you go off into your world and plan how you’re going to protect us, I’m stuck here, and there’s no one I can talk to. You may not like Johnny, but he means a lot to me, and if you’re my friend, you’d at least try to like him for me.”

“So he’s your boyfriend?”

“God, would you stop saying that! He’s my friend—just like you! He makes me feel safe!” She took a deep breath and glared in the opposite direction. Then, through gritted teeth, she asked, “Did you hear the bells?”

Dylan nodded.

“It’s Easter today—did you know that?”

One of Dylan’s earliest memories was an Easter egg hunt with his brother. His mom had hid several dozen in the backyard, and when it was over, Dylan asked why. She said, “Because you need to know what it’s like to be a kid.” It was easy to forget that he still was young when he was doing something so mature, but the bells reminded him of his youth.

Dylan’s family did not celebrate Easter after that one time. Trinity was the only person he knew who celebrated any religious holiday. Still, there was a peacefulness to the word that made the sounds of war seem quieter.

“Jesus died for our sins today,” Trinity said softly.

Trinity had invited Dylan to church several times, but he never saw the point of it. He knew the lesson that the church taught, and it seemed a contradiction to what the government would make him do. Usually, he ignored her hints, but today he considered it for just a moment, and then he shrugged and said smugly, “And yet we keep on sinning.”

The smile on Trinity’s face disappeared.

“It’s war,” Dylan added lamely, as if that somehow made all of it right.

“It’s war,” she agreed. “My family used to get up early every Easter and watch the sun come up. Then my mom would pray.”

“My family would sleep in,” Dylan smiled, “and then cuss at each other.”

Trinity ignored him and continued. “She’d pray for so long for this war to go away. I bet she’s praying for us right now.” She paused and said tearfully, “I miss them so much.”

“You’ll see them one day.”

Her gaze grew distant. “Johnny told me if a girl gets pregnant, she gets to go home and raise the baby.”

Dylan nodded. He knew about that already.

“There’s a minister back at the headquarters. Johnny says he’d marry me and I could have his baby. I’d get to go home.”

Dylan gawked at her. “And you’re considering it?”

Trinity looked down. “I just want to go home, Dylan.”

“Don’t you want to know love before you die?” he asked awkwardly.

“I never pictured you to be the romantic.”

Dylan clenched his jaw. “Do you love him?”