The n00b Warriors (2 page)

“You’re not going to take
that
, are you?”

Dylan tossed it down. “No!”

“Why do you even have those? Soldiers don’t have stuffed animals!”

“I like them.” He turned around, and added, “And I’m not a soldier.”

“Whatever—so where do you think they’ll send you?” Before Dylan could answer, Jacob said, “Wouldn’t it be cool if they sent you to Seattle? Dad says that’s where the heaviest fighting is.”

“Maybe the Navy,” Dylan said hopefully, as he browsed his video game collection and decided which ones he’d take.

“The Navy?! There’s hardly any fighting on boats!”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t you want to kill the Cocos? For Chelsea?”

“Chelsea’s dead. Do you think killing some Coco who wasn’t even there—who doesn’t even know why they’re fighting in the first place—is going to bring her back?”

“Yes.” Jacob paused, and then added, “Corey Handler’s brother just came home from war, and he says every time you kill a Coco the government gives you points, and once you kill like fifteen you can start buying things with the points—like games and guns.”

The toilet flushed, and their father called, “Jacob, get in here and help me clean up
—
we’re out of toilet paper and I can’t reach a new one.”

Jacob left, and Dylan shoved everything on the bed into his backpack. When he finished, he stood back and looked at what he would be taking with him—all he could take of home. For the first time, he felt nervous. “I hate this country,” he muttered, throwing the bag over his shoulder and leaving his room.

Everyone was waiting for Dylan in the dining room. “All packed?” his father asked.

Dylan nodded, set his backpack next to the table, and took a seat.

“Enjoy your meal, son. When you’re in combat, sometimes you don’t get to eat for days, and the only thing that’s going to satisfy you is thinking back on the last meal you ate with your family.”

“He’ll have plenty of other meals with his family when he comes home,” Amy quickly said as she put dinner on the table. Tonight, Amy had made rice with canned vegetables, like most other nights. The nights they didn’t have rice and canned vegetables, they had canned beans.

“But he’ll be different then—he’ll be a soldier. You never can eat a meal like this the same way when you’re a soldier.”

Dylan looked at the seat to his left; it was empty, but there was a plate in front of it. His mom always put an extra plate on the table, just in case Chelsea came home. She had been officially listed as missing in action two years ago, but everyone knew she was dead.

“We should pray over the food,” Amy suggested.

“Pray?” Dylan asked, confused. “We never pray.”

“It just seems like a good thing to do today.”

As Amy prayed, Dylan began to eat, while Jacob made his fingers into a gun and took target practice at Dylan’s forehead.

“You can’t pray?” Amy asked, offended, when she finished.

“I was listening,” Dylan said.

“Let the boy eat in peace,” his father said.

“I just wanted this to be a nice, normal, family meal before he left.”

“It is nice, Mom.”

“You’ll be a brand-new man after your first kill,” James interrupted.

“Let the boy eat in peace, James,” Amy said sarcastically.

“You’ll bulk up a lot once you start killing—you’ll be as big as your sister was.”

“That’s enough, James,” Amy said. The table of silent after that.

When Dylan was almost finished, Jacob pulled a game cartridge from his shirt pocket and handed it across the table. “I want you to have it.”

Dylan read the title, then looked at Jacob. “This is your favorite game.”

Jacob shrugged, “It’s about war, and it’s supposed to teach you battle tactics. I figured you need it more than me.”

“Is that the game the government endorses?” James asked, looking at the cartridge curiously.

Jacob nodded, excited.

“Thanks.”

The mantle clock in the next room chimed, and James said, “You better start heading out, or you’re going to be late.”

Dylan nodded.

His father took his crutches and stood. He grabbed Dylan’s backpack at the end of the table and said, “I’ll wait for you outside.”

Dylan went to his mother, who was pretending to eat while she quietly cried. He kissed her on the cheek.

“Did you pack any of your stuffed animals?”

“No, Mom!” Dylan said, rolling his eyes. “I can’t take something like that.”

“Why not? It will let everyone know you have a soft heart—the ones with soft hearts stay behind and make everyone dinner. They don’t fight battles.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom.”

“Promise me you won’t be brave like your father.”

Dylan nodded.

“Say it—say you promise.”

“I promise I won’t be brave,” Dylan said.

“I don’t want you to come home missing any body parts. You just let the bigger kids do all the brave stuff.” She rubbed her hand on his arm. “You’re not strong—you’ll die if you try to be a hero—do you understand me?”

Dylan nodded again. “I need to go, Mom, or I’ll be late.”

“Write every time those Coco Puffs don’t have you cornered,” Amy added desperately as he left the room.

“I will.”

His dad was leaning against the front door. He handed Dylan the backpack as he passed, and then saluted him, “Make me proud, son—make me proud.”

Dylan nodded, but did not salute back.

“And if you ever see a three-fingered Coco Puff general, you put a bullet right between his eyes and tell him as he lays dying that your daddy says hi.”

Jacob ran to Dylan and gave him a hug. “I’ll see you in three years when I join up. Save a few Cocos for me!”

“Just take care of Mom, yeah?”

Jacob saluted and joined his dad on the porch to watch Dylan walk off. At the end of the street, Dylan turned and waved one last time.

Legoland was two miles away. The last time Dylan had walked there was a summer ago, when he had taken Jacob. It had been closed for years, so the rides were all covered with weeds and bushes. Jacob said they buried Cocos there and the park was haunted. To please his little brother, Dylan agreed to spend the day hunting for bodies; he only agreed because he knew there would not actually be bodies. The only thing they found was a few dead fish and ducks, though.

“Hey, Dylan! Wait up! You’re going to walk there without me?” Trinity, one of Dylan’s neighbors and best friends, called, said. She was dragging a large roller suitcase and wearing a homemade summer dress with flower imprints. Dylan wondered for a moment if she was going to the Legoland entrance or running off to live with some distant relative.

“You’re bringing a pretty full load, aren’t you?” Dylan and Trinity were in the same grade and had walked to school together every day for the past five years. She had moved to Carlsbad with her mother after her dad died of cancer. She was the only person he knew who had a father who had died in something besides the war. They lived with her grandma. Dylan’s father had always suspected her grandma was a spy, because she only spoke Spanish. But Trinity was one of Dylan’s best friends, and, though he refused to admit, he had always had a crush on her.

Trinity nodded. “My mom said it was better to bring a lot and throw it away than not enough.” She paused. “You nervous?”

“Nervous about dying? Who’d be nervous about that?”

“We aren’t going to die.”

“Not now, but how many people do you know who have made it out of this war alive?”

“What about your dad?”

“My dad is missing a leg and half his brains. He’d be better off dead.”

Trinity stopped. “You know what, Dylan? Walk by yourself. I’m afraid, and you’re not doing anything to help.”

“Come on, Trinity! I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.”

Dylan grabbed Trinity’s suitcase and began pulling it for her. They walked silently for several minutes. Finally, Dylan offered, “Your hair always smells good.”

Trinity laughed and shyly brushed back her curly black hair, “You’re flirting with me now?”

“Shut up! I’m not flirting. I’m just saying even when we’re going off to fight some war, you still smell good.”

“You’re flirting, Dylan!”

“Fine, then I take it back. I was just making talk.”

“The smell of hair and dying! You find funny things to talk about.”

Dylan looked at the other kids who were also walking towards Legoland and said, “It kind of looks like everyone is just walking to school, doesn’t it?”

She looked down sadly and shrugged.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you really think it will happen? Do you really think we’ll die?”

“Don’t think about that. I’m sorry I said it.”

A transport truck drove across the intersection ahead of them, carrying wounded soldiers. That kind of truck had become a more frequent sight in recent months; the soldiers who had a chance of living were all taken to the naval base in San Diego.

Trinity stared after the truck. “You won’t last like that. They stick the weak ones on the front lines—they’re not going to waste someone strong when they got someone like you.” She looked up hopefully. “Let’s run, Dylan! They can’t take us if we run!”

“Where do you want to go? The armies are everywhere—the war’s everywhere! They’ll recruit us on the spot the minute they see us and use us as guinea pigs. At least this way we have a chance.” Dylan looked over and saw that Trinity was crying. He hesitantly took her hand and said, “I’ll take care of you.”

Trinity’s voice quavered. “I don’t need you. I can take care of myself.”

“It will be easier if we take care of each other.”

Trinity looked at him and smiled through her tears. “Your hands are sweaty.”

“So?”

“So you’re nervous—guess you’re human after all.”

#     #     #

(
Rebel Frosted Flake, Blog entry: one year before the start of the Forever War
)

PLAYSTATION USA

Posted: Tuesday, September 9, 2014 | 09:51 PM (PST)

Over the last few weeks, there has been much said across the blogosphere about President Winfrey’s recently instated PlayStation Policy. I was the first blogger to interview the President and attack the policy’s proposition to use federal money to bail out Sony’s near-bankrupt PlayStation division. At the time of my interview, I never imagined that Congress232 would agree to a plan to use federal money on a foreign corporation in exchange for sharing profits.

In the President’s address to Congress, he said, “In the current structure of the world, its powers can no longer function without countries running like businesses.” Congress apparently agrees, because not even one member voted against the President’s plan.

And did you hear Senator Robins’ comments? “The President’s plan represents the first real policy that can put the country back on the right course.” Senator Robins used to be the voice of reason for this country. How much money did it take to convince him that this plan is reasonable, much less right? Are there any leaders left to steer this country back in the right direction?

I have to wonder now…while the government’s off making money with its so-called “business,” who governs the country? And I, for one, am just a little frightened of the thought that the future of our country depends on the gaming habits of our children. Will the President propose tomorrow that I let my son or daughter play video games because it supports the country? Will video games replace textbooks in school?!