Marine Summer: Year 2041

by B. E. Wilson

  “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 bett
er. 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.”