Raised by soldiers

Whats a spirit without a name.

Dear diary, my names CLASSIFIED. I'm sixteen and this is my life.

I was a young boy, only three when the war started. My parents, a father and a mother loved me dearly, at least that's what i was told. I don't remember them, or if i had any siblings. I don't really know how it happened, my adoptive family telling me the story plenty of times.

It was late in the night, the small town of Iron River Michigan was asleep. Most of the U.S was in war, the army getting help from a special task force. The state was plunged into darkness four days ago, the power being cut and power lines destroyed. Most had left weeks ago, the only ones left were those without cars or family in different states. My family was the only ones on the street that were left, we didn't have anyone to help us, only ourselves.

It was quiet, no birds, no cars, not even the wind made a noise that night. I don't know how but I remember it like it was yesterday, 3:28 AM. That was when the first explosion went off, the bright lights waking my family and the blast shaking the house. My mother had grabbed me, running out with my father not far behind her. The blasts kept coming, non stop till we made it a few blocks away. I don't remember what had happened after that, its blank in my mind.

I had been found in a basket a day later, brought to a base and taken care of by the soldiers. They tried to find my parents, having no luck. Over the time one of them adopted me, vowing to protect and care for me since i lost what i once had.

After that my life went okay, well if you ignore the being kidnapped, and almost dying once or twice. I'd say i was living the dream, two parents that loved me and a large family that would fight for me no matter what.

I'm sixteen now, happy as can be. I had everything i could need,expect being normal. I had never been to school, yes i got taught everything i needed to know. I always saw TV shows and movies of schools, the kids and classes excited me. It provided a sense of normalcy that i didn't have, I remembered begging my dads to let me join public high school. I did everything i could, even making a essay to show id do good in school. After weeks of begging they agreed, now i wait for the month to end before i get to be a normal teen for once.

Well anyway i guess i need to tell you about myself. My names Spirit, my dads named me that shortly after finding me. They said i was to tiny and on the verge of death, they didn't even know how i lived through it all. Anyways, I'm a short guy, I'm told i somehow took after my one dad Johnny. I have blonde hair like my other dad Simon and share their personality's. My uncles say its like I'm their actual child, i think its funny since- oh I'm being called for dinner. Well ill see you later. Spirit out.

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NOVEMBER 14th 2010 MICHIGAN UNTIED STATES 9:56 AM

It was the morning after a long fight for the 141, injuries among the team. They had been called to help with a attack in a small town, the morning was cold and dim, the sun just rising in the east. Two members sat on the roof, tending to their wounds and scouting the area when a basket was spotted in the distance.

"Alex, come check this out." Farah, a women from Urzikstan that had come to help beside Alex spoke. She handed him the pair of binoculars, pointing to a small basket in the distance.

"It's a basket?" Alex spoke with a hint of confusion, unsure of what to make of the object and its importance. Alex was a marine from the states, having stayed by Farahs side since the war in Urzikstan.

Farah sighed, hopping down from the roof and heading to the basket, everything stopped when a loud cry came from it. Farah stopped, looking back at Alex. "It's a baby."

The two went to the basket, pulling the blanket back to reveal a tiny toddler. The toddler was malnourished and dirty, his brown hair black in some spots from the dirt and soot from the bombs.

"What do we do with him?" Alex looked up at Farah from his crouched spot next to the basket.

"I guess we bring it to the camp and see if it reacts to any of the rescued civilians."

"It? Farah its a baby, not a object."

No response came from her as she picked up the basket, holding it away from her as she spoke on the radio. "Kilo to Bravo, we got another survivor."

"Copy that Kilo, bring them in and we will get them set up." A rough British voice sounded on the twos comms, Bravo, otherwise know as John Price. The captain of 141.
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                                                AUTHOR NOTES
Hello there dear readers, well here's the first part. I'm not really good at writing but i think its not terrible. But yeah, if anyone does read it that would be cool. I don't really know what to put here or what to really say about this but yeah, um... hope you enjoy it.