Eighteen Years

"Still can't believe the blueys took Silesia in seven days. Dropped right on the downport like it was nothing." Private Klein made a short gesture with his hand, moving it downwards in a fist before suddenly exploding his fingers out, holding his hand just over his MRE. He looked at his sergeant, sitting opposite him on the bench in the mess tent. He didn't respond.   "Sergeant- Sergeant Kam, sir? Do you think we're going in soon?"   ___   Eighteen years.   My father was always distant. I didn't play well with most of the kids at school. I worked hard on the subjects I cared about. Ok grades. Enough for the high school that mum wanted. Only had two friends who really understood me there. One of them moved away. The other I lost touch with when I went to college.   Then I was fresh out of college in Hellicon City, with a degree in civil engineering. Had a few more friends, had a job lined up. But I wanted to help people, wanted to kick the Karkouri out. A friend of a friend said she knew somebody. She did.   A couple weeks later I'm halfway across the quadrant. At least I assume I am, they didn't tell us where the transport was going. No computers, no communication devices. These guys are nice enough but they've got a lot of rules.   Fourteen weeks of basic. Shooting. Tactics. Survival. Marches. Infiltration. Equipment checks. So many ****ing quipment checks. You'd think your backpack was a nuclear reactor.   Now I'm on a transport halfway across the quadrant again. We're shipping to Vanheim. One of the other privates said it was going to be hell. I'll always remember what Sergeant Nicholas said.   "It isn't like hell. In hell you don't need a coat."   ___   "Not confirmed but... word is we go in tomorrow."   They said some special op was going in tonight to break the VSF, so we "just" have to fight the Salborians. Good luck to anyone having to do anything inside that hornet's nest they call a city.   Private Klein spoke again, this time with muted enthusiasm.   "Let's give em hell out there."   I couldn't sleep.   ___   Eighteen years.   Eighteen years of blending in. Developing contacts. Visiting contacts. Burying contacts. Raid. Counter-raid. Infiltration op. Cancelled infiltration op. Waiting. A lot of waiting. Skirmish campaigns alongside fifty year old marines, radical separatists, mercenaries, pastors. Promotions, briefings, losing a friend, losing someone you met yesterday, debriefings. Training, seven long weeks of training every fisherman, accountant and jobless who saw a VLF flag raised on a town hall and knew someone in a camp. Relocations, hiding, dodging, ambushing, lying in the dark in a frozen ditch next to the road for nine hours waiting for a convoy you were told was definitely going to show up. Fighting.   It's been eighteen years since I was deployed to Vanheim. And we're almost done. We've almost kicked these b******s out.   ___   Lined up along the concrete wall, seven marines stood. Morton Kam peeked around the corner, then turned back to his marines.   "Squad, hold here for a few minutes. When I give the signal, we push up. Cover to cover. No bunching up-"   Klein's youthful eyes were staring towards nowhere. Kam strode over to him, quickly but quietly.   "You ok, Klein?"   "We can do it, right sir? There's millions of us. Real marines! From the Republic! And Mars!"   "Pull it together, Klein. Remember your training. You'll be fine."   Sergeant Kam's radio crackled to life, and he stepped away to listen.   Klein gripped his rifle tightly.   "I always wanted to see St Lawrence. But I never had time to go."   ___ All of 2nd Squad, 2nd Platoon were posthumously awarded the Medal of Courage by Sword of Liberty Command, for their efforts above and beyond in securing and holding the Jjarvik Street Medical Complex in the Battle of Aesir City.   Credit to John Mizon for his work on this story