Me: Hi y'all!

Target: -Humph-

Me: Oh, this is Target, the narrator of this fanfic. I saw that kidnapping characters from books was pretty popular these days (we live in a world of stalkers *shiver*), so I thought maybe I'd 'suprise adopt' a character, too. Only, nobody else currently has this one's custody...

Target: Custody? Now I'm a kid? What the hell!

Me: Calm down, hostage, and technically, yes, you are a kid.

Target: Kids don't carry AK-47's.

Me: You don't have an AK-47 right now, so you ARE a kid.

Target: Damn.

D to the I to the S to the CLAIMER: I don't own any military bases or guns. If I did, I'd probably shoot my eye out.

"Shoot!" That was all they yelled at me to do. It was always either that, or "Get the hell down!" I hadn't wanted this, but I was chosen by the draft. The beginning was the hardest with the St. Joanna's Basic Training Military camp. That was back when I was fumbling with a wooden rifle as a twelve year old, and now here I was, holding an AK-47 in my arms as if it were my child.

"Ladies, I would like to congratulate you all for passing through Florida Military Academy. You are all officially U.S. marines," our unit leader announced from her podium, "Unfortunately, this advanced level of training is only a taste of what you're going to get out west with those Asies, but I wish you all good luck." She brought the base of her hand to her forehead and saluted. The two dozen female, fifteen year old marines, as well as I, saluted back. It's what we'd been trained to do. With a sharp turn on our heels and a yell from our Jr. Unit leader, Lexi Walters, or Gutter, as we other trainees liked to call her, we marched towards the barracks to pack for wherever we'd be stationed.

"I hope they send me to Missouri. I'd get'ta sit around all day and drink Coke," Middie said as she stuffed her spare pair of boots into her duffel bag. Middie had always been the optimist. Even when we had taken a long, grueling, 10 mile run, she was the one to point out that we beat our time record.

"Coke? Fuckin' Coke? Hell no! You're probab'y gonna be put on a base with a bunch of guys an' their beer," Gutter yelled at her, her blonde ponytail swinging back and forth while she took the sheets off her cot. Gutter was the beauty of Texas… at least she was at one point of her life. The army hadn't treated her looks well, which seem to be the cause of her constant grumpiness.

I, too, was excited, though I didn't say anything in case Gutter felt like shooting another nasty comment. As I shoved the few belongings I had into my bag, a shadow approached me.

"Want a smoke, Target?" the girl asked casually, offering me a cigarette. I smiled and took it up. She pulled out a lighter to start the end of it.

"Thanks, Wheezer," I said through my smoke. Her grey eyes remained unemotional as she walked away. Wheezer was the local bookie; anything you wanted, she could get it for a price. In fact, one time Spike, another girl from our unit, asked for the president so she could tell him to go screw himself for getting us into this goddamned war. A week later, she got a poster of him on her cot. Wheezer had serious skills.

"Ten-hut!" Gutter called, fully packed, "Let's go, ladies! We depart for the loading docks in T-minus 90 seconds!" I sighed, zipping up my dark green duffel. Giving a last glance around the bunks, I reminisced about my two years of marine training. My mind traveled back to when I had entered this room, and how I had met my fellow soldiers.

I looked each one of my friends in the eyes, trying to ingrain every detail of their faces into my brain, so that I would never forget them. Gutter, Middie, Wheezer, Turtle, Chops, Thumper, Rally… the fifteen names continuously scrolled through my mind. Perhaps maybe I would see them again, but most likely not. Seeing that most of the soldiers along the coast of Nevada were killed in a line of bombings from the Chinese, it was unlikely that any of us would go to the same post.

I lined up at the door behind Thumper, who loomed over every other girl at the facility. I could tell she was attempting to keep from crying. Her eyes were all red and slightly watered, but she stared at the ground, not getting much attention. The twins, Tweeter and Twitter, practically skipped up behind me, their brunette braids nearly getting caught in one another. I would have thought they'd have been a little more emotional, considering they had never been separated before. They quietly chattered to themselves, and I realized why they were so ecstatic; they had somehow talked one of the officers into getting them to the same base. Those ass-kissers.

"Ten-hut! We're outta here!" Gutter yelled once everyone was in line. We then marched, counting the one-two-one-two of out boots hitting the floor in synchronization. "Good bye," I whispered to the empty cots.

Target: So... do you plan on letting me out of your basement any time soon?

Me: Do you plan on eating a grenade?

Target: Would it get me out?

Me: No.

Target: Damn.

Once again, thanks for wasting precious minutes of your day to read this. Now if only I could beg you to waste another couple of seconds reviewing...

~Cheezy