Animosity

Chapter 5 - Our Long Walk

        Photo: American militiaman holds a puppy in his helmet, showing it off to the rest of his fellow troops.

—

        I turned back to look at the camp. It was getting smaller and smaller as we walked away, the bustle and loud commotion of the men that occupied it now out of earshot. A mounting sense of dread hung in the air, and I swallowed past the lump in my throat that had formed as I watched safety slip farther and farther away from my grasp.

        Major Cortez had come to wish us a safe trip and unload the documents onto us, giving us a salute and a small speech about how brave we were and how much faith he had in us. I found myself getting frustrated at the system— why would they pick soldiers at random instead of getting their best and brightest to deliver the plans, the most well-trained and experienced men that they could? Why was I selected for a task that was crucial on my second day here?

        Balling my fist up in frustration, I took a look around me at the small band of us that were now traipsing through knee-high grass, the crunch of foliage underfoot accompanying our every step. Lieutenant Hiro was in the lead, followed by Devy and Hank, then Doc slightly behind them. Buddy was walking next to me, glancing around nervously as he scanned the countryside with weary eyes. He looked scared, and I didn't blame him.

The scenery, under any other circumstances, would've been beautiful. Huge stretches of farmland, all deserted, swathes of grass rippling in the wind, lush green trees sending streaks of shade over the earth. Mountain ranges rose faintly in the distance, and a cool breeze blew, running its gentle fingers through my hair. The sun was high in the sky, hot, stifling, beating down on us with unfaltering relentlessness, and I held up a hand to shield my eyes from it.

Up in front, I heard Devy complaining to Hank about something, and the two of them laughing together as they stepped through the maze of greenery. They seemed to me like they were good friends, and the sense of humor that they shared furthered my suspicions. I could almost envision the hell that they would give me, and ever since the time in the chopper I was wary of the dark-haired man that had terrified me with his stories of combat.

Trying to take my mind off of them, I turned to Buddy and met his stare. "Looks like we got drafted right around the same time, huh."

He gave me a tiny smile, genuine and naive. It struck me with a painful tug on my heart just how young he was, and I felt my stomach sink as he spoke.

"Yeah," he answered, a touch of southern accent shining through his voice. "It came in right 'round the same time as my diploma did. My Ma was awful upset about it, but I was a little relieved if I'm bein' honest. I had no idea what I was gonna do once I got outta high school."

"Did you get to walk the stage, at least?" I asked incredulously, and he shook his head good-naturedly.

"Naw," Came the reply, a bit strangled at the end as he stumbled over a patch of dead grass. Cursing, he regained his balance again and instantly he muttered a small phrase of forgiveness at the Lord for using, in his words, 'foul language'. I would've laughed if the exchange didn't remind me so much of us when were kids, kneeling in the pews at church. My hand shot out to steady him as he stepped over the patch, and he gave me a grateful nod.

"I didn't get to walk," he continued. "I had to go to Parris Island the day before, although I heard from my buddies later that I didn't miss much, it was just a boring old ceremony an' all that. Some people made speeches and then they all threw their hats up, the usual."

"Still," I insisted indignantly, "They at least should've let you graduate. It isn't right, ripping you away from school like that. Soon as you turn eighteen they're determined to ship you off... impatient sons-of-bitches."