Part 1
Our generation is too young to remember how the world died. The only remnants of a world once lush and prosperous are the digital images in our text books. Even the teachers don’t seem to have any real memories of that time; the way they speak of it seems to come straight from the records. For most of the day we sit here and are reminded why we fight. They say we fight for survival of our species. They say we fight simply because if we stopped, we would be wiped out. Peace is only found in death, they say. In the events leading up to the war, one of our scientists developed a serum that essentially fused our blood with synthetic glucose producing nanobots, successfully removing our need for food or rest. If I had the need, or even the ability to sleep, I would be doing just that. The day starts with the usual training at the facility. They gather us in groups of fifty and push us through drills meant to build strength, endurance, and combat prowess. I remember reading once that people used to exercise for leisure, or simply to be healthy. We do it because our enemies do it. We both do it for the sole purpose of being stronger than one another. Strength means survival, weakness leads to death.
The training horn blows, signaling the start of our cardio training. Cardio training consists of running long distances, sprinting through obstacles, and climbing trees. I’ve always been the best in my class when it comes to this. I run faster than anyone else. The trainers praise me for my dedication to being war-ready and I accept their praise knowing full well they are wrong. I run faster because I don’t believe in this war. I run faster to separate myself from everyone. I reach the trees long before anyone else comes close. This is my escape. The trees are laid out in a four mile stretch of land; I reach the very last trees before anyone reaches the first. Days like this our goal is to make it to the trees, climb one, and wait. The trainers’ goal is to hunt us. It’s not a test of speed; it’s a test of our ability to conceal ourselves in a combat environment. I’ve never been found. Because there is no set distance we need to travel into the wooded area no one else feels the need to venture this far. I run to the end to be alone, to get away from this life. They say I could kill a man before he even knows I’m there the way I’m able to disappear into the tree tops. The only hints of my presence are the thin marks on the trunk of my tree from my thin chain I use to climb. In the dim light they are invisible and once I’m above the first level of branches, so am I. I’m not sure how to feel about the fact that I’d rather spend most of the day with a tree than with my own people. Up here there is no war, no murder, the only death being the browning leaves that fall off my tree. The trees here are taller and have thicker leaves so I can easily climb high enough to view the entire field without being spotted. I see an ocean of green and brown being filtered by the blue glow of the trainers’ searchlights.
Every time a trainee is found the blue light is transferred to their beacon, a small bright light that shines from a pin on our shirts. The trainee then has to make his way back to the start of the course in a set amount of time or the pin emits a small but painful electric shock into your body. They say this is to teach us to react to contact, that if we are found in the battlefield to react fast and get ourselves in a position with an advantage in combat. The grin on the faces of the trainers when they find the twitching student who didn’t make it in time tells me otherwise.
Out of the fifty students in our class, there are only three of us that have never been found in this exercise. In fact, no matter what the situation or task, we are always the first to finish or the longest to survive. Most students, even trainers, admire our ability to adapt to situations and overcome obstacles. In most cardio training, Mel is usually close behind me. When you look at us side by side we could be brothers. He has the same dark hair as I do, except he prefers his long and unkempt. Apart from our physical ability, we couldn’t be more different. He feeds off the praise we are given, the only thing stronger than Mel is his ego. All three of us, being the top of the class, are expected to fly through combat certification and be the first to see actual war. Mel is the only one of us that is looking forward to it. To fly through training and certification is the last thing I want; I don’t even want to leave this tree.
The beacons are growing in numbers now, I can see them sprinting to outrun the shock. Every now and then I see a beacon that isn’t moving, someone who didn’t react fast enough and is on the ground temporarily paralyzed from the shock. The stationary beacon is almost always accompanied by light laughs from the trainers. Movement in my peripheral vision breaks my beacon induced trance. If this were an actual combat environment I would instantly perceive this as danger and my rifle would be drawn and aimed before my eyes could focus on my target. But this isn’t war, and the movement comes as no surprise to me because I already know who it is. She is the only other student who ever bothers to go this far. I like to think that she comes here to escape like I do, but I know she does it to survive. Out of the three of us, Jordan takes our training more seriously. As a young girl, her home was invaded by the enemy. Her parents and older brother went through the same training we are going through now so they armed themselves and prepared to fight. Jordan, being under the age of required admission had no ability to defend or attack. Her father hid her and her younger brother in a safe house high in the trees. Our enemies, being much larger than us do not have the ability to climb like we can. Although she was safe at that height, it also provided her with a front row seat to see her family slaughtered. She often told me she has nightmares of her parents’ faces, he fathers eyes locked on her as he laid dying in the grass. Sometimes when she runs, she imagines running after her mother, who was being dragged away by them. She never saw her mother die, but everyone knows that they don’t take prisoners. The last time she saw her brother that day, his limb bloody body was being carried off by two of them. She has nothing in this world worth fighting for but herself. Our leaders even gave her special approval for early admission. If it weren’t for that, we most likely would have never met as classes are made up of age groups. If this were a combat exercise, where they pit us against each other, she would be the last person I would want to be against. Even the subtle noise of her movement was meant to attract my attention. If I were an enemy, her movements would be dead silent and I wouldn’t have noticed her until she was at my throat with a blade. In this part of the forest, we’ve developed a way of communicating with each other. I silently snap off a branch and drop it to the ground; the light crash lets her know I see her.
The exercise lasts half of the day, ending when the training horn blasts twice in succession. We’ve learned to keep track of the time out here to anticipate the end of the exercise. Towards the end, we both leave our spots and sprint towards the rest of the group so no one really knows our true positions. The dual horns blow just a few minutes before break out of the tree line. As usual, we are met with applause from our classmates. Mel is the first to return to the starting point, instantly switching into gloating mode. The applause means nothing to Jordan and I, we silently join the group ignoring the praise. A transport vehicle arrives and the trainees who were caught pour out of it, met with laughs from the crowd. For the most part, the rest of the class is nonexistent to me except for Jordan, one of the few people I would actually call a friend, and Mel simply because despite his arrogance I know that he will be essential to our survival in the real war. Then there’s Daniel. The electrocuted students enter the transport vehicle through a rear hatch; the last to exit would be the first that were caught. Expectedly, Daniel stumbles out of the vehicle last. I can’t seem to remember an exercise that he hadn’t been the worst at. His father was a weapons developer, which meant his family was very well off. Money and social status do nothing to prevent war, everyone trains, and everyone fights. His relaxed upbringings lead him to be less fit than other students. Daniel joins us and starts talking to Mel about how he got caught. There’s something about him that makes him different than the rest of the students. No matter how bad he performs, I’ve never seen a hint of remorse or regret in him, it’s like he doesn’t care about the training at all. The trainers take that as an insult, the way their instructions seem to bounce off of him. To me, he is a ghost from another life, a life where there is no war. I’ll never understand why he always chooses to socialize with Mel first. Jordan tolerates him for some reason, maybe he reminds her of her younger brother. Mel on the other hand, couldn’t make it more publicly clear that he can’t stand Daniel. Despite his constant attempts to make Daniel realize he hates him, every break, every meal, and after every training session, you can find Daniel in a one way conversation with him.
After a short break, the educational part of our training day begins. The robotic drone of the teacher is accompanied by Mel’s snoring from the back of the class. Before I know realize it, hours have passed and yet I feel like we’ve learned nothing new. Every day is the same, the teacher talks about how the war started, why we train, and why we fight. My blank stare is abruptly disrupted by a sound similar to the training horn, a horn I’ve never heard before. The teacher stops mid-sentence and looks up to the intercom system. Our eyes meet the teachers’ focal point waiting for an announcement, a reason for the interruption. A rough voice comes over the intercom, the voice of our local president.
"I’ve just received word that battalion four has suffered a devastating loss from a recent attack on their operations base," he states. There are attacks every day in war territory, there is death every minute, usually they don’t feel the need to inform us apart from news broadcasts played on the television during breaks. They have never interrupted training to announce an attack.
"Due to the shortage of personnel, battalion four has requested support from training class 87555," he announced, "combat certification will no longer be required, the following students from 87555 are required to report to the armory for further orders." My eyes flash between Jordan and Mel’s, we don’t need to listen to him call off names, and we know what’s coming. I’ve read about this process in a military procedure handbook, in the event of a dire need of new soldiers, half of a senior class will be withdrawn from training, issued gear and weapons, and shipped to a battalion to aid the war effort. Twenty-three names are called leaving two spots for volunteers, usually students like Mel who can’t wait to be deployed. The three of us are already half out the door when our names are called.
The armory is located three floors beneath with only one entrance, with armed guards and an advanced biometric security system. The hallway we are gathered in is cold and silent. I scan the room seeing everyone’s expressions. I see every emotion from excitement to fear among the twenty-three of us. Due to the volunteer process, the last two arrive much later than those of us chosen. I don’t recognize the first volunteer; he walks in and falls to the back of the line. After a few minutes pass, the hallway door slides open and Daniel walks in, of course taking a spot next to Mel. His presence is confusing to me, but I pay no attention to it, my thoughts are fixed on the situation.
"Are you ready for this?" Jordan asks me. Can anyone really be ready for war? She takes my hand, knowing I don’t have an answer for her question.
Part 2
Before this complex was converted to a training site, it was a fully functional military base. Because of that, you can find an abundance of useless security features that remain active despite the lack of reason. The armory is a prime example of this. In a fully stocked, functional, military armory you can find thousands of weapons. There you can find everything from pistols and rifles, to chemicals that would reduce you to a pile of liquid on contact. For that reason alone, the armories are kept at a room temperature just above freezing. Here in our schools armory, you find rows of armor and a locked cage of standard issue rifles. For reasons unknown to me, they insist on keeping our armory at the temperature it would be if it actually contained chemical weapons. Cold weather has never bothered me much; in fact, one of my fondest memories reminds me of snow all the time. Jordan grew up further west in a warm climate. Our first year of training started in early fall when the weather was still very much summerlike, she stood out to me because while everyone was in shorts and training shirts, she would opt for a sweater. I hand her my jacket as we’re shuffled into the armory. Inside the armory we are separated into groups of five, each group destined for a different platoon and a different mission. As expected, Mel, Jordan, and I are grouped together along with two others, John, a tall boy from a farmer’s family and Renee, a local girl. I take note of the different groups and who is assigned where and I can’t help but feel sorry for some groups with a clear lack of leadership or ability. While scanning the room, my attention is caught by three people in the corner of the room. I recognize two of them, Daniel, and our classroom instructor Mr. Bolivar. The third man I’ve never seen before. He was clearly military; from what I could see of his uniform he was pretty decorated. I couldn’t make out his rank from across the room but he was definitely an officer. Officers wear a different uniform than the enlisted soldiers, an all-black tactical suit. Even if they wore the same fatigues as enlisted, you could probably tell most officers apart simply by their attitude. From our history lessons I remember that the old military was full of officers, that all you needed was an education and average physical ability. In our military however, there are about fifty known officers. You don’t start as an officer, everyone starts enlisted. You earn the status through bloodshed and military proficiency. I couldn’t think of any reason an officer would be talking to Daniel but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I have other, more important, things to worry about. Daniel isn’t in my group, he won’t be in the field with us, and my focus is set on the four people beside me. These four people will soon be the source of my survival, or even the reason behind my death.
Everyone in this room will be issued the same basic gear. Two sets of dark green fatigues, one standard assault rifle, and an array of tactical gear including night vision glasses, a water filter, and binoculars. After the initial issue, each squad will be issued another set of equipment based on the unit they are being sent to. Although none of us will know what kind of unit we are being assigned to until we get there, you can almost guess by looking at your secondary issue. Medical units receive field manuals, various dressings, and a field blood diagnostic tool. Infantry units get hydration packs, weapon attachment, and an explosive deactivating kit. Intelligence units receive a small personal computer, a sealed manual most likely containing confidential information, and a communicator chip. Our group is the last to receive our secondary issue. Inside the black duffle bag are three plastic containers, I can tell the rest of my group is equally curious as I am. The first box contains a scope that attaches to our rifles, used primarily for scouting and long distance shooting. The second box opens and flips out into four compartments containing dozens of differently shaped knives. Small curved blades, long thin ones, and everything in between. I can see a hint of satisfaction on Jordan’s face. The last compartment of the knife case has various sizes of steel hooks and a spool of carbon fiber cord. Mel and John are busy trying to attach their scopes, Jordan is lost in the plethora of blades, and Renee opens her last box and a confused look floods her face.
"Pills?" she asks me. I open my last box to reveal a smaller clear box inside. The clear box is cold to the touch. I wipe away the condensation and see different sizes and colors of pills.
"Maybe water treatment," I say to her, "or not" I add after seeing the chemical weapons insignia carved into the bottom of the case. The medical group is clearly ecstatic about their assignment; medical units are stationed safe within strongholds to treat the wounded brought back from the field. Even if you couldn’t see their secondary issue, you can always tell who was assigned to infantry units. The group on the far side, sat silently against the wall with mostly blank expressions and fear. Infantry units have a forty-five percent survival rate in war.
"Listen up," the officer announces, "once I release you from here, you will head straight to the transportation prep room, once you secure your gear and weapons you have until we ship out at 0600 tomorrow for personal preparation," he says, "Dismissed."
I rush to the transportation room and am the first to store my equipment. As I’m leaving the room I can hear others making plans to spend our last night as trainees together, probably getting drunk or some other social event. That isn’t the condition I want to be in tomorrow when we arrive at our units. No matter how much I disagree with this war, there is no escaping it, I have to fight or my life won’t last much longer. After changing into athletic pants and a long shirt I make my way out to the forest training site. As I’m running there I almost feel like I could keep going, never stop, and be gone. I reach the trees and pick up my speed towards the far end of the site. Before I reach my usual spot I already have my climbing chain drawn and ready. I suddenly realize what the hooks and carbon chains are for. Wherever we are going, were going to have to climb, which puts me at some ease. I’m up past the first level of branches before I know it, and it’s only a few seconds until I’m comfortable perched on two of the higher branches. I close my eyes and try to calm the thoughts racing through my head. The sun can hardly break through the tree cover, and in the darkness here I feel powerful, I feel invisible. I think about the faces of my classmates assigned to infantry, about how I probably will never see them again. I can almost feel the relief of the medical unit, even though they arguably have the hardest and most important assignment, at least they’ll be away from the fighting. I think about Mel, who had always been an exceptional marksman, and his childlike giddiness at finding the rifle scope, and Jordan’s excitement about her brand new set of combat knives. I can’t recall where Daniel went, I know he wasn’t assigned to any of the groups, so I figured they denied his volunteer status, with good reason. I felt that Daniel would be a huge burden to me in the battlefield, not because of his physical inability, but because of the fact that I would probably risk my own safety to protect him. He was probably the least combat ready of our class, but I saw him as a friend, someone I wouldn’t allow to die if I had the means to prevent it.
The sound of someone walking through the dry leaves breaks my train of thought. I didn’t see Jordan secure her gear in the transport room but I had a feeling she would head out here as well. I could barely make her out from above the tree cover, she didn’t seem to be running, or looking for sign s of my presence. I wait until she is right under my tree and leap down landing right behind her. The last time I did this I was on the ground in an arm lock before I could even regain my senses from the fall. This time there was no defensive reaction, only a scream.
"Renee," I said surprised, "I’m so sorry I thought you were someone else." "What are you doing out here?" I asked.
"Looking for you, I knew you’d be out here," she said.
"Did you need something?" I asked. She doesn’t respond, only looks at me with a somewhat hesitant look which I assume was the result of my ambush. Without warning she puts her arms around my shoulders grasping the back of my next pulling me closer. She leans up and kisses me. My eyes close, I don’t fight it, and in fact I return the pressure. From behind us I hear a branch drop and crash to the ground, the same sound I used just this morning to let someone know I was here.
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