Faulkner smiled wickedly. “You ain’t seen nothing yet. Some days it will be like this. Real quiet like. Then out of nowhere there’s fire and ambushes and bombings. Sometimes those last less than a minute, and other times they go on for two days straight. We call it Gehenna for a reason.”
“How much longer do you have?”
“My time’s up,” Faulkner said. “I’m hitching a ride out tonight. You’ll be in charge of my boys now.”
“They don’t get to leave?”
“They can if they want. They’re just going to die eventually, anyway—might as well stay out here and make it sooner than later. To tell you the truth, there’s not much accountability out here—people die so often that if you run away, they just assume you’re dead.”
He took a long drag on his cigarette, then slapped Dylan on the back, wished him luck, and said he was leaving.
Faulkner’s luck ran out after he left the trench, as guerillas started firing on him from nowhere. He took 17 shots to the upper body before falling to the ground and dying.
The remainder of Company B located the three guerillas and returned their own bullets, but it was too late. Faulkner was dead. And Dylan was now in charge of the four men he had left behind.
Dylan collapsed against the wall as soon as the guerillas were dead.
“You okay?” Hunter asked, sitting next to him.
Dylan closed his eyes and nodded with difficulty. “So our mission, at this point, is to fire at anything that moves.”
“I guess,” Hunter softly replied. “But the thing is, we can’t really take out anything that’s moving. How do you fire at bombs coming straight at us?”
Dylan didn’t say anything, but he knew Hunter was right: they were human shields, and they could only watch in horror the beautifully tragic effects of war, isolated from all but themselves. If there were other companies around, they were not able to establish communications.
The trench was long and uneven; it stretched several hundred feet. Dylan was now in charge of an area longer than a football field.
There were many layers to the trench, Dylan quickly learned. Every 50 feet, there was a listening post that raised a few feet out of the trench and was bordered with several sandbags. Two people at a time could be stationed at the post, where they would listen for the lightest noises. Periscopes also lined the walls of the trench, which allowed soldiers to see out of the trench without putting their head in firing range.
The trench had a two-foot step that was called the firestep. It gave soldiers the ability to be high enough out of the trench to fire on any incoming enemy troops. There were ladders every 20 feet for soldiers to climb quickly out.
The soldiers ate, slept, and lived wherever they could find room in the middle of the trench, but there were more fortified areas every several feet called dugouts. These were used for ammo, food, and sickbays.
Sandbags lined the entire trench, which provided extra protection. However, they did little for flooding, despite much effort. The trench was muddy and in need of constant repair to keep it from caving in.
In front of the trench was a rifle pit where soldiers could lay flat with their weapons, but be down in the ground just enough to have cover. In front of the pit, past a series of wires, was no-man’s land—the vacant, bomb-filled area of land that separated rebel trenches from Cocos. It was unprotected, unsheltered, and the area no one would ever want to be in.
# # #
Dylan put the four B men on watch throughout the trench’s lookouts, and he stationed two D men with each, hoping they’d learn something. There was nothing they could do except fire whenever they were being fired upon. They were surrounded by trees and seemed well-enough protected.
While Dylan sat back and drank some coffee, Trinity came and sat next to him. “Welcome to hell,” he said to her.
She didn’t smile.
“It’s not so bad, really—now that we’re here, anyway.”
“So now we wait.”
Dylan nodded. “It’s the worst part.”
She looked down at the grime on her skin and admitted, disappointed, “I miss being a girl. I feel like the Army tries to make everything unisex—there’s no opportunity to be pretty.”
Dylan was about to say something about Trinity’s looks, but got embarrassed and stopped.
Trinity left him and went to Johnny, who was staring out of the trench. She put her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek, then whispered into his ear. Dylan should have turned away, but he couldn’t—he wanted to be the one being kissed on the cheek and comforted by her.
# # #
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 aw
ake. 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.
# # #
(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?”
“There are more reasons than love to get married.”
“It’s not right, Trinity—you don’t even know each other.”
She leaned closer and looked into Dylan’s eyes. “He’s the best person who’s made an offer.”
Dylan met her stare. A rush of emotions went through him, and he wanted to shout out the way he felt, but he couldn’t. Instead of speaking his mind, he muttered, “It’s not right.”
Trinity was quiet, and Dylan asked, “So is that it? You’ll just run off and get married and pregnant?”
Trinity sat back down. She looked exhausted. “I haven’t decided—but I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
Dylan stalked away from Trinity and found Johnny with Aimee on the far side of the trench. She was shaving his head. Without a word, Dylan shoved Johnny against the dirt wall. Aimee dropped the razor and tried to wrestle him away. “Hold off—we’re all on the same side!”
“Why would you tell Trinity something like that?”
“What?”
“To have your baby! What are you thinking?”
“I should go check on the supplies,” Aimee said awkwardly.
The n00b Warriors (Book One) Page 14