This is rated M for intense action, gore, tragedy, and some sexuality at the very end of the story. The entire thing has been re-edited, so many changes (some major) have been made. I hope you enjoy this story, and please let me know what you think!
Kyra Lucas, 24 years old, has been in the military since she was 22. The government paid for her four years of college, and in return she enlisted for the Marine basic training course. A dream of hers since childhood. It was everything she expected it to be, and then more. It was hard, as she knew it would be. Every day you ran, rain or shine, drought or blizzard. You followed fitness standards and worked out, learned guns inside out and how to use them, and how to act as a proper soldier. If you were sick, too bad. Unless it needed medical care, you continued training regularly. It was all she thought it would be like, except for one… small thing.
The verbal and sometimes physical abuse was great, and was given on a daily basis. Her sergeant, Grana, had no desire to make life any better than Hell for someone he strongly felt shouldn't even be in the course. He pushed Kyra over her limits, and then beyond. Her comrades, the other trainees, could do absolutely nothing about it. Only a selective few even had the guts to pull her to her feet when she fell from pure exhaustion on the obstacle course. If they did it, it was done when their sergeant wasn't looking, for they knew they would face an unjustified punishment if they were seen. She could never have felt so grateful for something so simple. At the risk of their own better experience with this course, they helped her. It was that experience that taught her something important. No matter what the situation, soldiers were family, and they would care about the brother and sister standing next to them whether they knew them or not. You felt compelled to the lives of your comrades. It was like a law passed down through human existence, remaining without being written.
Though the days passed by agonizingly- each promising further verbal and physical abuse after the other- she never once gave in. If she did, then it was over. Her desire of being the only thing she had dreamed of would be lost. It would be forced out of her by the malevolent abuse and cruelty of a man who would love nothing more than to see her break. It was sad for someone like her to have to endure more of the harsher events in life. One day… it nearly ended her life, and that is where this story begins.
123456789123456789123456789
I gripped the top of the splintered wooden wall, ignoring the protests of my arm muscles as I lifted myself up. The palms of my hands stung after being pressed against the abrasive surface of the wall. They had already endured countless splinters, so the puncture of fresh ones weren't as much of a bother. It was nothing compared to the sharp sting in my lungs from breathing in the cold air, which was greedily being sucked in to keep the blood flowing so I could continue. There was no stopping.
I swung my leg over the wall and dropped down to the muddy ground. My knees were already flimsy from running, so they collapsed briefly, sending me to rest on my hands. The cold mud felt good against my palms, which were red with irritation and a little bloody. I grabbed a fist full of the gooey substance before getting back to my feet and running for the next part of the course.
The rain was hard today, but that wouldn't stop the training. It never did, so you never hoped. Though I never hated the rain, I cursed it on the days when we ran the course. It would make the next obstacle quite scary to overcome.
The tunnel is a two foot wide pipe, close to fifteen feet long. Various objects could be found in it, from empty shells and pieces of metal to eating utensils and hair products. Anything could be washed into them after a flooding rain. That was probably the most frightening bit. Not only were you swimming as fast as you could to get out as soon as possible, but you were trying to avoid sharp objects in murky water that was impossible to see through. You'd think that they would clean it out every once in a while so no one could suffer a fatal injury, or even drown. But it's not like they send someone to check and see if things are safe. They expect it to be, for it's the lieutenant's job to ensure the safety of his troop. Unfortunately, my lieutenant was less than irresponsible.
I approached the tunnel, ignoring the urge to hesitate before plunging into the ice cold water. I would never dream of it, for Grana was standing right there to make sure I went in head first. He bent down and shouted threats in my ear as I lowered myself into the water.
"Don't you dare fucking stop, soldier! The devil won't be givin' you time to breathe when he's clawing at your heels! If he doesn't get you, I will!" He screamed.
His voice disappeared when my head was plunged into the murky water. It was so goddamn cold. It was bad enough that I was having trouble breathing on the surface. Now the shock of how freezing the water actually was had caused me to let out a mouthful of air. I felt the bubbles press against my face as they floated upwards. Precious air wasted. God, just swim! Swim like the devil really is at your heels!
I frantically clawed and kicked at the water, pushing through complete darkness in a desperation that nearly struck me with panic. I held it back though. It was something I learned to do in tight circumstances to calm myself down. If I let panic take hold then I wouldn't be able to concentrate on getting out of the situation. That's never good.
Swimming through the pipe had never felt longer. Every foot I conquered seemed to take a full minute instead of a few seconds, making the journey agonizingly painful. My mind was fully focused on getting out, and taking in the heavenly breath of fresh air that I so craved. How heart stopping it was when I found that I could move no more. No matter how much I kicked and tried to push through the water, I did not move. Something was terribly wrong! A tug at the belt of my pants revealed all, and panic struck me like never before when my lungs began to hurt from the lack of air. I was going to drown. I was caught on something and was going to drown!
Stricken dumb with fear, I reached for my belt and searched for whatever was hooked on me. It felt like string, knotted together in places. A net, caught on the buckle. I couldn't untangle it in time, nor cut it. Was there even a chance that I could break free?
Seconds passed lazily as my mind went hazy due to the lack of oxygen. My fingers were becoming less and less lifeless as they tried to free me from the net. The lungs in my chest ached too much to bear. To make things worse, a lump resided in my throat at the realization that I was going to die. I stopped tugging at the belt and just stopped moving altogether. The face of my brother crept into my mind. What will he think when he hears his sister died during Marine training? How will he possibly be able to handle such a loss after our father died recently, and our mother years before? I can't just die like this. There was little I could do, and eventually I blacked out completely, floating like a dead fish in the water.
123456789123456789123456789
The soldier that had been directly behind me found me unconscious in the tunnel. He quickly snapped the net and dragged me from the water, resting my back on the ground. Everyone stopped and rushed over, muttering to each other worriedly while watching the soldier try to revive me. He had to repeat CPR almost five times before I finally coughed up water and rolled onto my side. I was gagging uncontrollably, desperately taking breaths of air and not caring that half my face was buried in the mud. Grana pushed through the crowd, shouting at the men to get back to their rounds before he saw me sprawled on the mud. The soldier explained what happened.
"Take her to the med facility." The lieutenant ordered with an annoyed growl, then he walked off.
I was put under intensive care for physical injuries, exhaustion, and internal damage to my lungs. My caretaker was very concerned about my condition. Not only was I suffering from the drowning experience, but from other things as well. There were cuts and bruises on my hands and knees that were having trouble healing, huge blisters the sizes of dollar coins on my feet, and a broken finger. He had half a mind to walk over to that lieutenant's barracks and ask what the Hell he was doing to me, but he held back. Injuries like these happen. Any other soldier would have them, right?
The first day I just slept and slept, straight through the night, not waking up till late afternoon. When I woke it was impossible to move without wincing back in pain. My whole body ached, my hands and knees were wrapped in bandages, and there were tubes going in and out of me. Honestly, you'd think I just got outta Iraq, and that war ended years ago. A nurse saw me squirming in my cot and rushed over, putting a hand on my shoulder to push me back down.
"Don't move." She ordered, and I obeyed. "How do you feel?"
"Terrible." I answered in a scratchy tone. My voice was squeaky and kept cracking every time I answered her incessant questions about my health. She prodded me on my stomach and along my ribs. It was particularly painful in my upper ribs, and she said I had some internal bruising there.
"You won't be leaving this building for a while." She notified me before getting ready for her next patient.
"How long?" I asked before she left.
"Two weeks at the most, but if you make a speedy recovery then you'll be out within one. Someone will be along shortly with some food, and you will eat all of it."
Her tone was very imposing, and I supposed it had to be in order to get the soldiers to do what was needed to ensure a speedy recovery. People up top want their soldiers back in action as soon as possible, and I had no doubt Grana would want me back out there very soon. Before she left I had another question I was itching to have answered.
"Who rescued me? I remember blacking out again after I was revived."
"I never caught his name. He had short black hair and well built body from what I could tell. He was soaked to the skin and covered in muck at the time, so I can't really describe him much. I'm sure he'll drop in sometime to see how you're doing."
I averted my eyes to the ceiling when she left, trying to match her description to some of the other men. I've never really paid attention to any of their features. Lots of them had black hair and fit bodies from what I saw. Most of the time I was too focused on getting through the hard trainings of the day to bother looking. Other times, after the training, I was too exhausted and just wanted to take a shower and go to bed.
No one came during the next few days. I was anxious to meet the man that saved my life so I could thank him. Maybe he didn't come because he didn't feel he needed to. He saved my life, but that's part of the job, to look after each other. It's no reason for him to check up on me every day. Though, it would be nice. Or maybe Grana won't let him off to see me? He doesn't like giving the men much free time. "It lets their minds wander off into places they ought not be in." He would say in a somewhat British accent. His father was a Marine, so they moved around a lot and were stationed in England for about ten years. That's probably where he picked up the accent.
Most of the time I slept. I had never felt so tired all the time in my life. Then it occurred to me that it could be the drugs making me drowsy, and I didn't like being drugged. It took the pain away from my injuries, but it left me numb and made it difficult to move. Eating and drinking was sometimes an issue because I didn't have full use of my hands, but I refused to be hand-fed. I may not have much pride, but I have enough to refuse that sort of treatment.
Not only did the drugs render me immobile, but they screwed up my body clock too. If I was forced to sleep the day away, I'd wake up in the middle of the night feeling hungry and not being able to eat because all the nurses were asleep. I kept waking up at various times, losing track of the day and not liking the feeling. However, the good news was that I was healing nicely. The cuts on my hands and knees were finally scabbing over and closing up with the proper treatment. My ribs were patching up fine, and my voice was back to normal if not a little sleepy. The broken finger, however, would take a few weeks to heal, but they weren't going to let me stay in bed that long. The doctor was just going to notify my lieutenant about the disability and recommend that I refrain from taking part in the demanding rounds that required the use of my hand.
On the day of my release, someone brought a change of clothes from my barracks and I got dressed. I was excited to be out and felt rejuvenated, ready for Grana's rigid training rounds. My body finally had the time to heal the sore muscles and any aches and pains that bothered me almost daily before. Sprained fingers were as good as new, blisters were nursed away, my ribs were fine, and I had slept so much I felt I could stay awake for days. I went back to the barracks early that morning and stayed there for the rest of the day. It was enough time for me to write a letter to my brother and send it. I told him about what happened, explaining that I was alright and there was no need to worry. I also began working out to get my muscles used to some activity before having to return to training the next day.
123456789123456789123456789
I never found the man who saved my life. Anyone I asked never seemed to know, which was kind of weird. Surely someone must have known who he was, or recognized him. They were surrounding me when I was revived.
When I lined up for drills the next morning, I was surprised to find that Grana wasn't there. Someone else had taken his place. That night I discovered that he had been discharged. Someone filed a complaint about the way he trained the soldiers and his lack of responsibility for their safety. I guess that my near-death experience had pissed off the right person, because I was glad the son of a bitch was gone. It turned out he had a history of such incidents.
I passed my basic training and survived Grana's attempts to force me out. He may have ran me ragged and shouted every possible insult and threat in my ear, but I endured. In the end I guess I have to thank him, for I've never been stronger and more mature in my life. During weeks of shooting rounds I found that I was very good with a sniper rifle. I had my grandfather's steady hands, my father used to tell me. It was nice to know I was good at something.
A day after graduating, they put me on a plane to a recruiting camp in Texas. There I would apply and wait to be admitted into a squad, where I would start my missions. At first I was nervous, but the nerves soon turned into excitement. I was put into a cabin with four other women, who I avoided interacting with altogether. They didn't seem like a friendly bunch, nor very social. I wondered why.
My life as a recruit was never-ending. Days became weeks without an offer, and weeks became months, and months became a year. Now I knew why the other women were always so serious and had a pissy attitude. They too couldn't get accepted into a squad. Maybe there was something about being a woman that made us unworthy to fight alongside men, even after we had proved ourselves. Sergeants would rather snag the guy standing next to me with mild skills involving guns, rather than me, who could probably shoot a fly out of the sky. It didn't make sense, and I was starting to become the quiet, reserved, serious person the other women turned out to be. I thought that after basic training they would just assign me to a squad. I didn't think the squad had to pick me. Maybe their policies changed after the War on Terrorism ended.
I made a name for myself as an extremely good marksman. Very few soldiers could match my skills with a sniper. It was what separated me from the other women. I actually had something every squad would need: a good sniper. People with those kinds of skills could be crucial to accomplishing a mission in some cases. It gave me hope that one day someone might ignore the fact that I was a woman, and actually accept me for what I could do.
Over a period of time I was presented with my 'nickname'. Though I tried hard to distance myself from the other men to avoid any issues, the few who confronted me often had only cold words spat in their face, or I ignored them altogether. I was often in a bad mood and not in need of social interactions, for they only made it worse. For a while I had a forced depression to keep my mind focused. I excused my behavior by remembering how my mother died, how my father was killed in a plane crash and his body never found, and that no matter what I did no one would put me in their squad. My cold shoulder to everything got me the name Ice. It suited me, I suppose. In the end I could care less.
I didn't have much of a family, except for my brother Will, to talk to. I kept in touch with him constantly by internet, occasionally by phone, and by letter. He joined the Marines a year after me, and he was already in a squad with good friends he couldn't stop talking about. I was glad he could get along with them. All the way from elementary through high school guys just didn't seem to get along with him. I never knew what it was that made them hate him so much, even though he could be annoying at times, but he grew out of it years before. Oh well, maybe they were just jealous or something. He probably gets along with the men in his squad because they're all a team, and when you're out on the front you really don't need enemies among your group, so they make the friends they can. The one he mentions the most is a guy named Rob, and they stick together twenty-four seven. It's good for him, and I have to admit I'm damn proud of how great he's doing. This job was just meant for him from the start, and he made it clear.
I wasn't bothered much about not having many friends around here. My childhood friends had gone their separate ways, but I still had contacts with them. It's just been a while since I've said anything to them. My closest friend, Donna, a Filipino girl, she joined the Marines too. I thought we would be sent to the same camp, considering how few women there were, but Donna was stationed in the UK, way across the Atlantic Ocean. After that it seemed all communication between us was halted, and I've wondered why ever since.
After all that time I was still trying to catch the wandering eyes of sergeants looking for a tough new rookie to be a part of their team. For almost a year it was like that. Getting up early in the morning for a few laps around the track, lifting weights in the gym, practicing shots at the shooting range, eating my meals in isolation at the cafeteria, finishing the daily drills that all recruits had to attend to in order to keep them in shape, and then returning to my porter cabin to have some free time to spare. A day in the sucky life of Kyra Lucas. Things had to change sometime.
123456789123456789123456789
I set my tray down on the usual table and sat. The cafeteria was a little more crowded today because all the recruits heard of the lieutenant looking for an extra unit. Lunch was a popular time to look, so that's where everybody showed up.
Guys looking for a new unit were frequent, so it wasn't the exciting high point of the week. Times like this I mostly just sat and ate my lunch, waiting. If no one approached then I went back to my cabin. After about a year of observing what the lieutenants were looking for, I discovered some helpful facts. If you approached them and started talking, they labeled you 'annoying' and ignored you. They usually ask questions, trying to find out if there's a recruit with certain talents that they need. If they find what they are looking for, that person is usually approached. So… there was nothing for me to do but wait.
For some reason I wasn't as hungry as usual. It was strange, because I trained hard every morning and am starving by lunch. Maybe I was coming down with something. Or maybe it's because I lost my appetite about ten minutes ago when somebody had a bad case of diarrhea in the bathrooms.
After mindlessly picking at the peas, I put the fork down and sighed with boredom. Man, was I tired. Sleep wasn't easy last night because one of the latest new lady recruits happened to snore. Very loudly. She reminded me of my best friend's mom when I was 14. Now that was snoring at its worst. Fortunately I could just go upstairs and sleep in her room. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option last night.
I pushed the tray away and laid my head down on the table. It was a full two hours of drills next, and I really didn't feel up for it today. I really needed a vacation. Maybe that's what's wrong with me. I need some R&R to catch up with people from my former life. See my brother, talk with old friends, and stay at home in Oklahoma for a while. After closing my eyes for a few minutes I was on the edge of falling asleep. Suddenly, the table shook as someone sat down. What the-? No one ever sits with me.
Opening my eyes and lifting my head up, I looked toward the unexpected guest sitting across from me. He was big, as in fit, and over 6 foot considering how much higher he sat over my head; but of course, I was used to looking up at most guys because I was about 5'5. He had a buzzed head, and his clothing consisted of a U.S. Marines sweatshirt and dark jeans. My eyes searched for some kind of hint of what rank he was, but he didn't have any bars, stripes, or even a tag. This made me think he was a recruit. Naw, he couldn't be a recruit. He looks too much of a…man to be a recruit. All the guys around here are just boys.
"Hi." I dragged in a cautious tone.
He gave a brief half-smile, and it made me a little uncomfortable.
"I heard you were the one to come to if I wanted a recruit." He said, and I noticed his voice had a hardened tone, which usually only belongs to a man who has seen things. Horrible things. He has to be a lieutenant.
"I… guess. I've been here a while." I said, not sure why he was asking me. I was never asked about that subject before. Where would he hear crap like that from?
He nodded, looking me over, which made me even more uncomfortable. I had to shift in my seat and sit up more so he wouldn't be able to see down my wife beater, if that was what he happened to be looking at.
"I'm looking for someone who does fairly well with a gun. Some of the other men say you're one of the best." He continued.
Suddenly I was wide awake, and my head perked up a bit. Is he considering recruiting me? Hold on Kyra, don't get exited. Just keep your cool.
"Only if they say so." I said to that, sounding a little more interested in the topic of the discussion.
"How well can you shoot?" He asked, sensing my interest.
"The wings off a fly, sir."
He nodded, looking me over again, and this time I realized that it wasn't in a sexual way. He was just trying to determine how capable I looked, because his eyes were wandering over my toned arms and thin waste, not my chest. It made me relax a little.
"Anything else?" He asked.
"I'm handy with sharp objects in most situations."
For a while he was silent. Now I was feeling nervous. This was the first time I was approached by a lieutenant looking for a recruit, so I was praying frantically that he was highly considering me.
"What's your name?" He asked after a few minutes.
"Kyra, but everyone calls me Ice." I answered.
"Ice, would you mind demonstrating your shooting?"
I shook my head. "Not at all."
123456789123456789123456789123456789
I had my sniper rifle in hand. The lieutenant was standing behind me, examining my technique with the sharp eyes of a professional. I cocked the gun, rested it against my shoulder and aimed at the target about 50 yards off.
The wind on the grass and the other people shooting, all their sounds disappeared. Concentration was all that was on my mind, and that target. I waited for the wind to calm or play to my advantage, and the clouds to cover the sun so it didn't distract my vision. It took almost three minutes of patience before my chance came.
The trigger clicked, and the bullet left the barrel. A few seconds later I let out another shot, hitting in the exact same place, and continued to do so for a few seconds. I didn't flinch, nor lower my rifle until the computer on the wall behind me spoke my score.
"Score: White ring, 0. Black ring, 0. Red ring, 0. Yellow ring, 0. Blue ring, 100."
The lieutenant clapped behind me. I then smiled to myself before turning to him.
"Very good. Very good." He complimented, walking toward me. "Well, Ice, if you are interested I would like to have you assigned to my squad."
I couldn't help but gleam gaily at the offer.
"It would be an honor to be a part of your team, sir." I said to that, trying to hold some dignity by not acting as ecstatic as I felt. If I didn't, I'd probably be running around in circles screaming with excitement and acting like a complete lunatic. I was actually going to be in a squad… doing missions… working with a team… training with a team… my team.
"I reckon you're curious about the kind of job you're getting yourself into." He stated more than asked, judging by the look on my face.
"It would be nice to know, sir." I said.
"My team is the Rapid Response Tactical Squad, or RRTS for short. I'm guessing in your years of service that you've heard of this level of Marines.
I nearly dropped my rifle I was so shocked. There was no way he just asked me to join this squad. It's like… a dream. I don't even think this day is real.
"Yes sir, I've heard about that particular area." I answered, still trying to maintain a respectable pose.
He cocked a grin.
"You understand I only take the best. Anyone who shoots like that has definitely got some talent. If you can handle blades as well as you can a sniper rifle, then I have no concern in your ability to fight. So… how about it?"
For a while I just stood there with an open mouth. Hell yeah! How could anyone pass up the chance to join the RRTS!
I realized how stupid I must look and straightened myself up. After putting on a serious face and looking as respectful as I could, I answered his question.
"Sir, it would be an honor to be a part of your squad. I promise I will be my best and even more during any assignment."
With a smile he held out his hand and I shook it. "I know you will. I'll sort the paperwork. Expect to be transported to your new barracks at 0600 hours tomorrow."
"Yes Sir, I'll be ready."
"From this point on you can address me as Sarge. Clear?"
"I'll be ready at 0600 hours tomorrow… Sarge." I said excitedly.
He had to smile, and soon was off, leaving me to my duties for the day. Instantly I was off to the cabin to pack what little stuff I had. It was good that all the ladies would be out on the drill, that way they wouldn't see me packing up and I would probably be calmed down by the time they came back. I'll just act like I'm going home, so they don't get jealous or upset that I was being sent off to a squad. Damn, I felt like bouncing around like a fucking cheerleader, (unlikely) but that was how excited I was. I couldn't wait to tell Will. This was the greatest day of my life.
123456789123456789123456789
I quickly shut off my alarm at 5 o'clock in the morning to avoid waking up anyone else. After sitting up and glancing around, I carefully slipped out of bed and got dressed. I wanted to leave without the other women noticing to avoid any problems. Dragging a duffel bag out from under the bunk, I slipped it over my shoulder and surreptitiously walked toward the door. Someone shifted and made me jump in surprise. I watched her for a while until satisfied that she was asleep, then continued.
After the longest minute, I reached the door and gripped the handle, about ready to open it before a groggy voice spoke behind me.
"Hey."
My head shot round and I saw one of the women sitting up in her bed, staring at me. I felt like a criminal caught escaping the prison and froze, waiting for something else to happen. For the longest time our eyes just gazed into each other, until she broke the silence.
"Good luck."
I was surprised by her words, but visibly relaxed and nodded.
"Thanks." I whispered. We stared at each other for another few seconds before I finally turned the knob and walked out the door, gently shutting it behind me. I began walking toward the entrance of the base, and there a jeep waited. Tossing my stuff into the back, I jumped into the front seat and the driver pressed the gas. I didn't look back when the jeep left the front gates and took me to the helipads.