“It doesn’t matter who you trained. We need on the job training for this position. That’s why I am speaking to you personally. We need you. Your country needs you.”
There it was, your country needs you.
“How long do I have?” He seemed perplexed by my question. “How long before I need to make a decision?”
“I need to know now.”
“That is not gonna happen. If I say yes, I need to say good-bye to my friends and let them know what happened. If I say no, I would like to see them before you throw me in the stockade.” A smile appeared on the Colonel’s face. Yes, we had a choice, but I also knew the consequences.
“I need an answer now, and we can get word to them.”
“Sorry, if I don’t take your word for it. But, I would prefer to do it myself.”
“I understand, but that’s not gonna happen.” The situation was clear. I either said “yes” and went with them now or I said “no” and went with them to be taken into custody and treated as a prisoner. But, I had one card left to play. They needed me, he made that fact abundantly clear. But, how much? Could I negotiate a one-year term, instead of three? A better bunk? A separate room? Or? “Okay. I will sign up. Right here, right now. If you answer one question honestly. And do one thing for me.”
The Colonel leaned forward and said, “Shoot.”
“You read my file. You know that while I was, according to others, an exemplary soldier, you also know I was a pain in the ass. I don’t take orders as well as I should and am highly opinionated.” Colonel Miles leaned back and smiled. “So, if you don’t do either of these two things I will say no, and you can throw me in any damn cell you wish.”
“Ask.”
“I need you to get my friends out of here. They have family in Utah, we were on our way before we ended up here. Let them go.”
“You know I can’t do that,” he said.
“Come on, you can do anything you want.”
“I can’t let one family go. Then other people will be asking to go as well.”
“No one will notice. Believe me. Just send some soldiers to them and bring them here. Tell them they are free to go. Let them leave. Eight fewer mouths to feed.”
“What’s the question?”
“What?”
“I will think about your request after I hear your question.”
“Who attacked us?”
Colonel Miles’ mouth twitched and looked to his left, ever so briefly. He doesn’t know either. “You know I can’t answer that.” I opened my mouth to respond when he interrupted. “But, I will make arrangements to have your people set free. They will have to fend for themselves after that, but I will let them go.”
“Seriously?” I wasn’t expecting this to work. I was prepared to spend however long in a military prison, just because. Just on principle.
“Of course. But, I got to warn you it won’t be easy to get to Utah. This country isn’t as friendly a place as it used to be.”
“I’m sure, but at least they can try.”
“So, you’ll say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” He rose from his chair to shake my hand. I did the same. “Welcome back into the United States Army. Private Anderson.”
“Thanks.”
“What tents are your friends in?”
“Section CD. Tents thirty-six and thirty-seven.”
He wrote it down on one of his Post-It notes.
Within thirty minutes of saying yes, and after a makeshift re-enlistment ceremony, I was in a truck headed to division headquarters. I had found a way out of the camp. Not the way I wanted, but at least my friends will be sent free to go as they please. While I was not looking forward to my time serving my country, a weight was lifted off my shoulders. My friends were free, and I would no longer have to worry and constantly think about our next move. My next move would be whatever orders I am given, and while I would miss my freedom, it will be nice to not have to worry about what’s going to happen next.
Maybe when this is all over, I can find them again. In Utah? Maybe. Maybe someplace else. I just hope they understand why I did it, why I left them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
11/28/2024 - 12/5/2024
In 2021, I joined the Army, and at the time I thought it was the rational and practical thing to do. It was a month after my mother’s funeral. A week after Kaitlyn left for good or, as I now understand it, I left her. I had missed a month and a half of school and didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to do anything. I wanted to wallow in my misery. But, I also knew that was suicide for me. Once I went down that path, I may never get back out. Drug addiction was not out of the question. Alcoholism? Yes, sir. I thought I could write a novel, but I knew that would be a disaster of depression. So, what was I to do? The Army would tell me what to do. I would lose myself in the structure. Turn my brain off for a few years. Help my country. It was a rational and practical thing to do. It was a rational and practical thing to do for a mind not thinking clearly.
After one week of basic training, I thought it was a mistake. I have a rebellious streak in me. A need to defy authority or at least question it. I did my best and still was reprimanded many times, for giving the wrong person a wrong look. I fought my instincts and eventually was rewarded with the structure and routine I so desired and more importantly an avenue to get out of my own head. I started to have fun again. Laughing with bunk mates late at night, during our little rebellious acts. It was not easy, but it didn’t kill me, and by the time I left basic training I felt alive for the first time in many months.
Then I was assigned to Syria.
Now, in 2024, I was back in the Army, after a six-month reprieve, and as the truck approached the headquarters, I was nervous, yet optimistic. I may not have liked my time in the Army, but I was a good soldier, in fact, you could say I excelled at it. Like a student who finds Chemistry easy, it’s just simple Math, yet wants to major in English.
“We’re almost there,” the young lady driving the truck said. I had been lost in my own head, taking a trip down memory lane, I completely forgot I was in the company of another human being.
“Okay,” I said and turned to look at the driver. She had a striking face with sharp edges, black hair and dark skin, wearing the desert camo all the soldiers wore, with her hair pulled back tight against her head. She was small, maybe five-four, yet gave off the impression of strength.
“First day?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “Not my first day. My third first day.”
“Third deployment?”
“Something like that.”
“Yeah. It’s been confusing since the attack,” she said and made a turn off the main road.
She said no more as we pulled up to a large ranch house, just north of the main road to the camp. The home or as I will now call it, headquarters, was a Spanish style estate that the military had confiscated. It was tucked away from the main road hidden in the desert landscape. As the truck pulled down the long driveway, I began to grow nervous again.
“Here we are,” she said, stopping the truck in front of an impressive garage with the three wooden garage doors.
I opened the door and hopped out. “Thanks,” I said.
“No problem,” she said and gave me another half-smile. “My name is Lena. Wait. I mean Specialist Simpson.” She handed out her hand to me leaning over the passenger seat. I took it.
“Nice to meet you, Specialist Simpson,” I said. “Blake. Private Anderson.” It still sounded strange, yet that was what I was called twenty-four-seven for three years.
“Private Anderson,” she said, sitting back up and putting both hands on the wheel. “Better get in there, before they think I kidnapped you.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad,” I said.
She rolled her eyes, and I closed the door. It felt good to flirt, especially with the zero possibility it would go anywhere. The truck pulled away, and I was left alone in the desert in front o
f a house, that would’ve been worth a couple million dollars anywhere else in California. Out here in the desert? Who knew what the real estate market was like now that the end of our country had proceeded? Why did I think about real estate?
I approached a wrought iron gate, opened it and entered a front patio area, in front of a large wooden door. The front door was part of a structure of the house that looked like a bastion from a medieval castle. I looked up at the windows on the second floor of the bastion and expected to see archers or at least someone with a French accent telling me to “go away.” Instead, nothing, no sentries. Just the evening air and the exterior lights accentuating the curves and features of the home.
I knocked on the front door and waited. Nothing happened. I heard no footsteps or voices. Then again, this house seemed to be built of sturdy material. I knocked again, and this time I didn’t wait and just opened the door. Slowly, I peeked inside and saw a man five feet from the entryway seated at a table working on a laptop. The home was dark except for the light from the entryways gaudy chandelier. To his right and behind him was a winding staircase that led to the upstairs of the home.
“Hello,” I said as I entered, my voice echoing off the marble floor. The soldier at the desk looked up and looked as though he saw a ghost, then recognition spread across his face. Not recognition of me, but recognition of ‘oh yeah, somebody was supposed to arrive this evening.’
“Yes. Yes,” he said. “Come in.”
I was still wearing my same jeans, black sweatshirt, and beanie and for the first time, I felt subconscious about it. “My name is Blake.”
“Right. Sergeant Anderson.”
“Sergeant?”
“Yes. Is that not right?” He looked down at his laptop and typed quickly, then paused to read whatever was on the screen. “It says here you are to train the new arrivals on camp procedures and any other training needed.”
“I suppose so, but I was just a private before.”
“I guess you’ve been promoted.” He looked me over again. “Do you have your bags?”
“No, they are still in my tent.”
“Your tent?”
“Yes, in the camp.”
“You were in the camp?”
“Yes.” Was that not in my file?
“Interesting,” he said. “Well Sergeant Anderson, you will, obviously, be given new clothes anyways, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”
“Nope.”
“Okay. Let me give you the tour.”
The tour lasted ten seconds inside the house. To sum up; you are not allowed in the house. The house and land have been loaned to the Army, and the homeowners would appreciate it if a bunch of young soldiers didn’t destroy it.
“The bigwigs, you know, can stay in the house, but for the rest of us, we are to stay out back in the compound,” Specialists Lewis, my tour guide, said. He opened the sliding glass door that led to the back yard, which was what one would expect; pool, built-in barbecue, outdoor TV. But all the amenities were not what caught my attention. Past the iron fence encircling the back yard, stood a large tent community, like the camp that I just left. Soldiers were everywhere. Some were running what appeared to be laps around the camp. Some were waiting in line at the mess hall. It was a section of the camp, but for the Army.
On the left of the camp, was another section, but this did not look like anything at the camp or like anything I had seen before. “What’s over there?” I asked as we stepped through the back fence and into the camp.
“That’s the prison.”
“The prison?”
“Sure,” he said and continued his walk to the center row of trailers and trucks that separated the Army billet from the jail. Some trailers were food trailers like I had seen in the camp, but most were portable workstations. Multiple large trailers had satellite dishes on top.
The first trailer we entered, appeared to be the laundry room, where I was measured for my uniform and given Army sweatpants, t-shirt and a sweatshirt to wear. I was told I should change immediately, so I did.
“What size?” The man doing the measurements said while pointing at my boots.
“Ten,” I said. He nodded and reached behind to a shoe rack and pulled a pair down for me.
“I should have the rest of your uniform for you later tonight,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. “Wait, I will also need some underwear.” Both men looked at me, the guide and the tailor. “Unless someone wants to go back to my tent in the camp and get my bag.”
“No. We will find you some,” the tailor said.
Next stop: Procedures and assignments.
My day was to begin at 0700.
0715: Breakfast.
0740: Training exercises, which I was to lead and a procedure document to study.
0930: Study.
1035: Refugee camp scenario training, lecture only. No lab work.
1155: Lunch.
1300: Prison patrol.
1700: Dinner.
1900: Alternating between prison and main camp.
2200: Bed.
Yep, I was back in the Army alright.
I was shown to my tent and was told I was free to check out the compound. I laid down on the oh so familiar cot. I was alone. There was another cot in the tent, but I was the only one assigned to the tent at the time. I would have the whole place to myself. I looked up at the pole next to the opening flap. No television in here. The tent even had the same circular table with the light and heater.
The silence was striking. Nothing but the desert breeze. I sighed and found myself thinking I made a mistake. Some things never change. I looked at the document that was to be my studying for the night. Homeland Refugee Camp Policy and Procedures - United States Army. Dated: October, 2024. Three-hundred plus pages on how to run a refugee camp filled with United States citizens. I’m sure it was thoroughly engrossing, but I put it down on my lap and closed my eyes.
I missed my friends. They were probably on the way to Utah by now. I hope they stopped somewhere to get gas and stayed off the main highways. The children all bundled up in the back seat of Drew’s SUV, Kaitlyn between them. Eating chips they found outside a gas station in Barstow. Zero, Jenna, and Ethan arguing over which way they should go. Zero saying he didn’t give a fuck, as long as we go. Jenna, trying to get them to listen, but they just talk right over her. Ethan, explaining we should take the side roads and get off I-15. The walkie-talkies. The laughter. The fear. The cool, moist, truck windows. The warmth.
“Sergeant Anderson,” a voice said, pulling me out of my dream.
I opened my eyes, another soldier, this one barely eighteen. “Yes,” I said.
“Your uniform is ready.”
“Thanks...and you are?”
“Private Gooding sir!” he said and went full salute mode.
“Excellent, Private Gooding.”
Wearing my new uniform, the next morning at zero seven hundred hours, I found myself a sergeant, staring down five kids who, after the attacks, decided the best thing to do was join the Army. They all just turned eighteen and spent a whole week in Basic before being shipped out here to the high desert of California.
From left to right standing at attention facing me were the following contestants: Jack Jensen, from Tillamook, Oregon, tall, black hair, blue eyes and a permanent smile that made you want to puke. Thomas Grayson, from Des Moines, Iowa, medium build, blonde hair, brown eyes, and the demeanor of a rat in a cage. Noah Thompson, from London, Kentucky, brown hair, brown eyes and an accent that had the stars and bars dripping from every syllable. James Wesley, from Dallas, Texas, built like a Mack truck, black hair, brown eyes, a football player right off the production line. Finally, we had Riley Gooding, from Rexburg, Idaho, scrawny, dirty blonde, and a teacher’s pet from the pound.
This was my charge. My squad. Those who I would be responsible for. There was a time when I did not understand the vitriol spewed by those in charge, during basic training. It only took me ten minutes in cha
rge of this lot to understand. Standing in front of a bunch of cocky, eighteen year old’s, really turns one into an asshole.
I spent the next week with them from sunrise to sunset. Every morning we re-did basic training; an hour run, an hour on the gun range, which was located at the far edge of the camp. An hour and a half of scenario training. Which was trying to reinforce the idea that you shouldn’t shoot those in the camp. Two hours in the afternoon in groups of two, including myself, play-acting at prison guard. After dinner, it was either two hours at the jail or two hours walking the perimeter of the camp. Soon, once I gave the go-ahead, we would spend much of our time at the camp, only on the outside, of course, and a small time guarding the prisoners.
“How long till we can deploy them permanently?” Staff Sergeant Jones asked, one week after I started. The fifth day of December.
“At the camp?” I asked.
“Where the fuck else are we going to send them?”
“I don’t know. Don’t we have enough soldiers at the camp as it is?”
“Not nearly. We have one hundred thousand people in that camp and barely three-hundred soldiers worth a damn.” One hundred thousand minus eight, I thought to myself happily. “So, we need you to get these five ready, before the next babies arrive and we can repeat this useless process.”
“Give me another week, and I should get it through their thick skulls, that intimidation is more important in this scenario than action,” I said. “Can’t have them shooting everyone who looks at them funny.”
My Staff Sergeant gave a quick laugh. “True. We’ve already had multiple flare-ups, and so far, I think we’ve done a damn fine job. But, it’s going to get worse. Not only there but the prisoners as well.”
“Where did all the prisoners come from?”
“From the camp. Most were identified as possible disruptors. So to speak. Gang members. Drug addicts. Multiple felony arrests. That sort of thing. They were picked up first, once the database was back up.”
“So, they didn’t do anything before they got here?”
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