The n00b Warriors (22 page)

Then it just stopped.

In the sudden calm, Dylan went to the radio and had the only person alive who knew how to use it call in the Company D HQ. It took nearly half an hour to find Tommy, but finally his crackling voice appeared.

“Better be good—I had to leave a game tournament.”

“There was another surprise attack,” Dylan explained. “We held them off, but half my men—I don’t even know! Maybe more than half are gone.”

There was a pause, and then Tommy said, “I expected it to be worse than that.” Then he laughed. “You haven’t seen anything yet!”

Dylan didn’t speak.

“How bad of a hit did Company A take?”

“Same—maybe worse.”

“Who’s in charge of the company?”

“He’s dead.”

“Very well—congratulations. For now, it looks like you’ve been promoted to Company A team leader.”

Stunned, Dylan put down the radio and drifted away. There was only one thing on his mind:
Are Trinity and Hunter safe?

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(Rebel Frosted Flake, Blog Entry)

THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW

Posted: Thursday, January 1, 2015 | 12:33 AM (GMT)

I never thought it would come to this.

I am occasionally the voice of dissent in writing my thoughts; my readers know there are certain people with whom I disagree sharply. But I would have never wished any of this—on them or anyone else.

Last night, a truck came down our street calling for volunteers to fight against the one they call “Coco Puff.” That’s what we’ve sunk to—fighting an enemy who’s referred to with such a ridiculous name. Not even a real name! It’s a cartoonish name, which is appropriate, because society no longer seems human. Everything about what we are becoming is not based on the ethical laws that have sufficed for so long—we are animals.

I didn’t ring in the New Year loudly and joyfully as I usually do. My wife is gone—dead in the Christmas blasts. I rang in the New Year staring out my window into the darkness, wondering how it came to this. I didn’t agree with the President’s policy—I said so in my blog—but I never expected it to come to this.

I never expected my country to drop its guard and not protect me and my family.

People tell me that it’s okay to be angry—that this will ultimately help me cope. But who should I be angry with? The men who rallied against their country, or the country that provoked them?

Tags: Coco Puff, Christmas blasts, new year

Level 12

Scouts

“Sir!” someone said, franticly shaking Dylan awake.

Dylan opened his eyes and saw Aimee. “Ugh, Aimee! Stop calling me sir.” Before she could apologize, he asked, “Time?”

“Six—Tommy’s on the radio. He says it’s urgent.”

Dylan sat up and looked over at Hunter, asleep next to him. He hadn’t slept so close since Disneyland. Still in a haze, Dylan stood and followed Aimee.

Johnny and Trinity were sleeping next to each other near the radio, and Dylan kicked Johnny’s shin as he passed by, pretending that he had merely tripped over him.

“Dylan here,” he said into the radio, then looked over at Aimee and commanded, “Go find me some coffee.”

“Ha! ‘Bout time!” Tommy excitedly replied on the other end. “I got some news that’s going to make your entire morning—heck, it might just make your entire life!”

“The war’s over?” Dylan asked, confused.

“Better! You remember the Golden Wii?”

“What about it?”

“I think I found it.”

Dylan groaned. “I don’t care about the Wii! Call me when you have news that’ll actually make my morning.”

“Don’t you get it, Dylan? This is the kind of thing that could send you home! If you find it, the legend says you go home.”

“It’s a legend, Tommy,” Dylan said firmly, remembering he was talking to a little kid and not a person with grown-up rationality.

“That legend will get your butt out of there. Grab a pen. I’m going to give you coordinates, and you’re going to send three men out to scout it.”

“I don’t have the kind of support out here to run that kind of mission—get me more reinforcements, and we’ll talk about your suicide mission.”

“Looks like someone’s growing up! Taking charge! I like that.” The radio went silent briefly, and then Tommy came back on. “Three men, write the coordinates, or you’ll never get replacements again—I’ll just let you all die off.”

Dylan clenched the radio in his fist. He wanted to break it in half.

“Do this for me, and I’ll see that you’re taken care of.”

Dylan flung the radio down and crouched, clasping his hands together and pressing them against his forehead. Finally, he picked up the radio again and said, “Give me the coordinates.”

“That’s the boy I’ve come to love—I’d hug you and slap you on the rear if I was there right now. You’re going to make this whole company famous!”

Dylan took down the coordinates and then immediately severed the connection. He turned around and saw Aimee, who had returned with his coffee. He could see from the disgusted look on her face that she’d been listening. “You’re going to be in charge while I go.”

“You? You can’t go!”

“Who says I can’t?”

“These kinds of missions are too dangerous—you get killed and then what?”

Behind Aimee, Dylan could see Trinity. She was now awake and snuggling against Johnny, who was also listening. Dylan turned away and said, “Then I guess I’ll just have to not die. You know how to hold these lines better than anyone else out here—you’ve done it the longest. If I die, then you’re in charge.”

“I want to go,” Johnny said, moving Trinity aside and standing.

“Johnny, no!” Trinity protested.

“He needs the best—he needs me.”

“You both are acting
so
immature.”

Dylan shook his head. “You’re not coming. You nearly formed a mutiny the last time we went out. I’m taking two men from Company A—they need the practice.”

Dylan turned and started to walk away, but Johnny’s hand stopped him. “I need to do this.”

“Why? What are you trying to prove?”

“That I’m making an effort for Trinity.”

Trinity blushed. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’ve asked us both to get along, and I’m trying to make an effort—that is, if Dylan will have me.” He extended his hand. “Truce, Dylan—let me go with you.”

Dylan glared at Johnny, but finally gripped his hand, dropping it as quickly as possible. He went to look for Sanchez, one of the new Company A men. He was the strongest and quickest of the group, and the one who would be most valuable to the company with the right training.

Dylan found Sanchez with his head peeked over the trench, scanning the area for Cocos.

“Sanchez.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pack up. You’re coming with me and Johnny on a scouting exercise.”

“Yes, sir!” He seemed excited and began replenishing his pack immediately.

When Dylan got back to Johnny, Hunter was standing next to him, holding his pack. “What’s this?” Dylan asked Hunter.

“Ready to go.”

“Hunter, you’re not going on this one.”

He looked down, hurt and confused. “I don’t understand.”

“I want you to stay behind and look after Trinity.”

“But aren’t we a team? I’ve always gone—don’t you need me?”

Dylan said bluntly, “Not this time.”

He walked off, feeling the sting of what he’d just said too much to have to face Hunter. He went to the radio and waited for Johnny and Sanchez.

It was still dark out. As Dylan waited, he looked to the moonlit sky
—
and suddenly forgot about all the sounds of fury that surrounded him. Just for a moment, he escaped from the danger that he knew would make him wet his pants at one point or another. He softly inhaled life, feeling himself engulfed in another world.

And then the moment was broken with, “Sir, some of the other companies write their tag numbers on their socks so their mamas will get the proper letter informing them that they died serving their country—should we do that?”

Dylan refocused on the grime and smoke and saw Sanchez staring at him, waiting for his answer. “If they kill you out there, you’ll be so brutally slaughtered that nobody will ever be able to make out what those numbers are. So if you want your mama to receive the proper kind of letter, then you better not die out there.”

“Oh—okay.”

Sanchez was scared, which made Dylan feel good. It made him realize that this soldier would do anything if he told him it meant not dying. The truth was, most scouts came back alive. The only ones who didn’t were the ones who ventured too far off or spoke loudly as they walked.

And so after all the goodbyes and stares that read, “Thank you for not picking me for this task—hope you don’t get your nuts hacked off,” they left. They hurried as they shinnied up the ladder
—
heavy shelling could be heard not far from them.

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They Army-crawled several feet until they reached the barbed wire that separated their side from no-man’s land. The fog was low, which was good for them; they were impossible to see from the Coco side.

The enemy’s situation wasn’t that different from the rebels’; they were lacking men and support, and there were holes everywhere in their line. Dylan’s group didn’t have to go very far to be safe from enemy fire.

They first marched slouched over, close to the ground, and quickly. The further from the trenches and deeper into the combat zone they got, the straighter and slower they became. At one point, Sanchez even hummed a classic Disney song softly. “Tell us about the battle of Disneyland,” he said to Dylan when he finished.

“Not now—keep quiet.”

“Was it as bad as they say?”

Dylan looked around to make sure no Coco Puffs were around, and then said, “It was worse.”

He did not want to tell the story; he never wanted to relive that story; but he had to make them think he was a leader, and so he started doing what everyone else in war seemed to do: exaggerate and embellish. He had gotten to the point where he exaggerated many facts of this story for the purposes of better storytelling. “From Main Street to ‘Toon Town, we were surrounded by Coco Puffs. They came from every way. Some we fought off with bullets, and others we fought off with the mere butts of our guns. We were greatly outnumbered and greatly unskilled. But we kept on fighting, and one by one those Coco Puffs began to die. We killed them all, and when it was over, we rode the rides. All night we rode them. It was the most intense and fun night of my life.”