Lost Sight - NATO-Russia Conflict 2018

Prologue - Rick

March 2018

California, USA.

Two young men, just in their twenties, stood next to each other. They both had the same height at 6 feet, and both had athletic bodies. One had a long, slightly curved nose and big ears - a Jewish look - while the other had a straight nose and elegant green eyes. From how they looked, they were college boys.

They stood in front of the recruitment office, where many young men, just like them, had lined up to join the fray. On the face of the single-floor establishment the words 'United States Marine Corps' stood firmly, its metallic paint glimmering the sun and the Stars and Stripes waving beside it.

The two men had gone through Marine Officer Candidate School last fall, and now, despite with one year left to their Bachelor's degree, they decided to do what all sensible citizens would do when their country was in danger: Join Up and Fight. The line was long; they could bet that nearly a hundred people were massing on the Marine Corps recruiting office.

Grudgingly, the two stood in line with their OCS graduation papers in their hands. Like the rest, they wore casual clothes; Rick, one of the two men, wore a plain gray t-shirt and khaki chinos, while the other one, Steve, wore a checkered button up. They had talked about this thoroughly, and their families had equally agreed that they should join up. However, the final decision was up to them.

Rick and Steve had bled through OCS together; being shouted by the same Drill Instructor, being given hella number of pushups for the same mistake, told to run a heck of a mile and back side-by-side, and sweated and bled next on the same dirt. They had each other's backs and hell, they wouldn't give a chance to anyone who wanted to fuck with them or their country. Not even those gun-toting Iranians that are attacking Afghanistan

The recruitment lines for enlistment was long, but the one for the officers were short. The ones who aspired to become officers in the USMC had to go through a heavy physical, which, by any means, could not be provided at the moment. There was a big sign on his table saying 'Will only attend to OCS grads or recommissioning ex-officers.' As the enlistment lines crowded, the OSO (Officer Selection Officer), an African-American captain with his two silver bars pinned on his khaki collars, sat calmly behind his desk, talking with a woman in civilian clothes. Before Rick and Steve and after the woman, there were a couple of other men, one their age and the other older, seemingly an ex-enlisted marine who joined up in OCS.

"We've gone a long way, Steve." Rick said, looking at his buddy. "This is it."

Steve, a student in pre-med, looked back at his Jewish friend. "Hell yeah."

Rick nodded, and with him leading, the two went to the back of the short line.

Seconds later, they saw the OSO taking a piece of paper from under his desk and giving it to the woman. She had black hair, cut to a manageable shoulder-length hairstyle. The OSO signed a bit, the two able to overhear their conversation. "Elizabeth Marlowe." She said.

"When did you graduate OCS?"

"October."

Rick gave a look at Steve, who didn't seem to care. Rick always had an eye for girls. "She graduated at the same class as ours!"

Steve, a bit not caring, said "Female class. What, you wanna get her? Jeez, Rick. I wouldn't go for a female marine."

"Heck. Let's just see."

All of a sudden Elizabeth Marlowe was now signing her autograph on the piece of paperwork. In a zip, the OSO put a stamp on her papers, and with a few acknowledgements, she went on her feet. She turned around and headed towards the door, the large green eyes on her face reflecting the weight of the decision she just made. Her eyes said 'I could get killed', 'I could lose a foot', 'but hell, I'd do that for my country. To protect my family, to protect my fellow citizens. People like them could sleep at night because they have hard men and women that patrol their borders.'

"Hey, hey, you!" Rick called out to her. "Did you get your commission?"

Without a word, she raised the sheet she got from the OSO. It contained her name, her birthdate, her OCS graduation date, gender, and the date that she would be shipped out to TBS - The Basic School. The Basic School was where Marine Officers were taught basic officership, and for the case of Marines, 'Every Marine is a Rifleman, and every Marine officer is an infantry officer'; that meant, no matter what Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) they would get upon graduating TBS, Marines were and always would be, Riflemen first.

A couple of minutes later, it was Rick's turn to speak with the OSO.

The OSO, stoic-faced with a thin black mustache above his lips, went on to speak. "OCS graduation papers?"

Rick quickly gave the paper he held to the OSO. The OSO scanned the paper with his vigilant eyes, and after seconds, he put the paper down and pulled up another piece of paper from under his desk. It was the same piece of paper Elizabeth Marlowe received earlier.

"I'm gonna write down the data you've got on the grad papers." Said the officer. He took his pen and began writing down. Mid-writing, the officer started a talk. "So why'd you think we'd accept half-graduated college boys?"

"Because the Corps need more officers on the frontline, sir. Because there are evidently a hell lot more men joining the Corps, and that means the MEUs would be in a lack of officers. Especially if we are going to be locked on a war on several fronts, sir."

"How do you know that there will be a multi-front war?"

"History, sir." Rick said. "And my analysis on the current situation."

"Hmm." He said while writing. "What MOS are you expecting to get in the Corps?"

"I'm hoping to get infantry, sir. Never wanted anything else."

A slight smile stroke the face of the OSO. "I see plenty of young men failing to get infantry," he looked up at Rick, with the final autograph, which was supposed to be Rick's, the only thing empty on the paper. "But looking at you, it seems that you'd cope fine. Sign here and put your name under it."

Rick took the OSO's pen and put his signature on the paper, his name following. Richard C. Salvade, he wrote down. Richard Cohen Salvade. His Jewishness could have easily been told from his name.

"Alright. You will be sworn in at your campus by the Marine Officer stationed there but not before the date given in this paper. Usually you get it when you graduate but, well, we're at a pretty sticky situation. So," the officer held out his hand. "Welcome to the Marines."

Rick gladly took the hand and shook it, a smile of pride and relief on his face. "Thank you, sir."

"Next!"

Rick waited outside for Steve to get his papers. It took a couple of minutes, and when the door opened with Steve having the commission papers in his hands, Rick offered him a brotherly handshake. Steve, for no reason, smiled at the notion, and took the hand of his best friend. "Hell, Ricky Boy. We're Marines now."

"Almost. I heard we don't get yelled at in TBS. Lots of classrooms." The two went over to the sidewalk, heading towards the small apartment they shared with a couple of other fellow college students, where they slept and got lazy and played games. "Well... actually I read a book about it back in tenth grade. We're gonna have lots of firearms tests, academics tests... it lasts for six months. After that we get our MOS training."

"Alright."

"Anyway, what MOS are you trying to get?"

"I'm not sure. Artillery or a Forward Observer seems CDI. Infantry seems manly and shit but... I'm not gonna risk losing a leg or two." Said Steve. CDI stands for Chicks Dig It. "You?"

"Infantry. No doubt."

"Why infantry?"

"Well, you know. A military has got an outer core and an inner core. The Marine infantry is the deepest, hottest, and hardest part of the inner core of the US Military."

"Hell, Ricky boy. You always want the hardcore stuff."

***