Good evening ladies and gentlemen. This is something that has been on my mind for a while now. I won't clue you in on too much, but you can expect an Evangelion story like no other here. I won't proclaim to have holy writ here, just a fresh new look on the Evaverse. Without further ado, I present to you my latest.
Disclaimer: Standard. If I have to explain it, then I probably don't own it. Like the various acronims herein.
Author's note: I will post a glossary at the end of the chapter for those of you who don't speak military. Do not be afraid!
It's Only Love.
Three simple words… often not the three that you would expect to hear, yet just as powerful as the usual. But I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Jon. I often sit and think about just how powerful those three words were… are to me. But also, and perhaps more importantly, to one whom I think of as my brother. We did not feel very close at first… Hell, we couldn't even communicate effectively the first few weeks of our friendship. We just had this unspoken bond. I had intended to share that with my own children at some point, but lately things don't seem very likely to pan out in such a way. Maybe with this little tale, I can help share my experience with you, and that you will also know that it only takes one thing, one event, one choice to change the course of a life.
I'm not one to usually take risks. Well… that statement is not entirely accurate. There are certain circumstances that warrant erratic, and perhaps foolish, behavior. Now was one of those times.
I was late. I know that sounds ridiculous, but when you are suddenly under attack, and you are late to your squadron, things tend to bite you in the intelligent center of your brain, and you go a little dumb.
This particular incident was one that would have great influence over my life, though at the time, I was too focused on trying to make it to the Security Forces offices on the base. Which particular base is not really important, but I was late, and the mortars were waiting for no one.
I was a brand new 2nd Lieutenant in the 82nd SF squadron in the United States Air Force. I was anxious to get in the thick of it, and begin my career. At twenty three, I had a lot to work on, and my first sergeant really had his work cut out for him. Trying to keep the base secure with forty airmen under him and a new, wet-behind-the-nose 2LT following him around like a lost puppy was certainly a hard job. But I knew that he could handle it. He had over 20 years experience in the Air Force, where I was just beginning my first active duty year.
They certainly didn't train us for a mortar shell exploding on your hummer in basic's self-aid and buddy care. I was out of the driver's side of the vehicle and flat on my face before I knew what hit me. The shell landed in the rear right side of the truck, and the resulting explosion threw me clear through the driver door and out of the wreck.
After my truck got hit, I just remember covering my head with my arms and lying as still as I could. I think the aggressors that attacked my base finished their job, or ran out of ammunition, because there were no more shells after that. Or none that I remember anyway. For a long while, I stayed in my little shallow body cast of dirt, just reflecting, I had just survived a mortar attack in a hummer. I was certain that the reminder of my day would be a bit less traumatic.
As soon as the thought hit me, I shivered. It was pretty violent; enough so, that I sat up and took in my surroundings. There was an up-armored hummer coming towards my position at a very high rate. As soon as I was able to pick them out, the gunner of the hummer jumped half way out of the dorsal firing platform, raised his hands in clear shock, and dove in for a brief second. I saw the hummer swerve for a brief fraction, and then continue on its previous high speed intercept mission to my location.
Before the crew, my crew, arrived I took stock of my surroundings. The debris from my hummer was smoldering all around me, almost forming a perfect circle of junk with myself as the epicenter.
The hummer finally closed, and one of my flight sergeants jumped out of the hummer and ran to me.
"LT! HOLY SHIT LT! We thought you just bought it!" The sergeant was clearly shaken up. His face, normally a healthy suntanned brown, was almost white. I sat back and rose to stand, feeling like the morning after a good leave. I could tell there was massive bruising internally and externally; just breathing hurt.
I took in the rescue party, and noticed one of the junior airmen standing next to the hummer with his weapon hanging from the three-point sling. His jaw matched his weapon, until he slowly moved his hands to one of the pockets on his uniform blouse. He produced a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. I have never seen a person go through a smoke in two drags, but this kid of no more than 18 finished one like it was air. I don't know what possessed me, the stress or the realization that I just survived 50 millimeters of high explosive, but I staggered over to him, and took the new cig from his hands just as he lit it, and took a long drag. I let the acrid smoke fill my lungs, and let it out slowly.
"Damn LT. I guess that's a good enough reason to start if I've ever seen one." I considered the sergeant's words while twirling the smoldering cig in my fingers.
"I guess you're right. By the way, I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Jon Fowler, your new section Lieutenant." I finished and presented the sergeant my hand. He took it only after a moment's pause.
"Tech Sergeant Dwayne Sims. Hellova first day, huh sir?" I shared a grin with the sergeant, and then we both started laughing. We only stopped because the airman, who I noticed was the gunner for the hummer, cleared his throat.
"Uh, sir? Sergeant? I think that we are due back to the CP."
We shook it off, and mounted up. I was hoping that my tardiness would be dismissed on account of my ride being destroyed by enemy fire, and that my day would be salvaged. I was mistaken.
The command bunker for the security forces on base was a flurry of activity when the sergeant brought us up in the hummer. I thanked him for the ride, and quickly let myself inside. I barely noticed the greetings from the staff; my goal was at the far end of the structure, and I had to wade through a lot of personnel trying to fix the morning's action reports.
Finally, after many greetings and a few stares, I made it to the Commander's office. I looked down and swore.
"Aw man. I look like shit." Indeed. My ABU's were covered in a mix of sand, grease, soot, and oil. This was definitely not going to go over well with the old man. I also noticed that I still felt like a tractor got a hold of me and tried some chiropractic moves on my entire body.
Shaking my head slowly, I drew myself up to attention, and knocked twice.
"Enter." That was it. I was going in. This was going to be wonderful.
I opened the door, marched to a point two paces from the only desk in the room, and threw up a crisp salute.
"2nd Lieutenant Fowler, reporting as order, sir." I noticed a significant pause, the commander sizing me up apparently, before finally, "At ease LT."
At the words, I finally looked down, and into the face of a hardened veteran. The commander was a lieutenant colonel, well on into his mid forties with his regulation haircut gleaming white.
I mentally cringed. I hope that the stress of command only does that to blondes.
He must have noticed my staring, because his cough forced me to look into his steel blue eyes.
"Lieutenant, I won't lie to you. You look like shit." I frowned and he took that as he should.
"No, really son, you look like you were hit with a mortar." His voice held no humor what so ever, and I could not mirror his bearing.
I broke the frown with a sharp laugh, which he thought wasn't very funny, and I quickly killed all thoughts of irony.
"Sir, you wouldn't believe me if I told you." I managed to say that without any trace of the levity that I had mere seconds before. Before he could react to my statement, the phone on his desk rang, and he gave me a short glare before answering.
I took the moment to mentally shut down. The morning's events were catching up to me, and I didn't think that I could make it to chow. Hell, I'd already missed sick call, so I was going to have to tough it out with the man. But I still had to think, I was lucky to be alive. That one thought put me in a pleasant mood, enough to get me through the rest of the meeting anyway.
The Colonel slammed the receiver back on the cradle of the phone with enough force to re-arrange the document sorter on his desk. He also brought me back to the present.
He looked at me, and his color was gone from his face. The phone call was obviously details about the attack. Hell I would have given him all the details he needed, but I doubt that he would've believed me.
"Son, I don't know how, but you are lucky to be alive." I knew it, but I guess those things don't hit you until later. The adrenaline must have worn off, because I suddenly slumped to the chair just to the right and behind me.
The Colonel rose slightly to see if I was still with him, and I raised my hands to motion that I was.
"I'm sorry sir. I guess it just hit me."
"It's okay son. Damn. You really did get hit by a mortar. Heh, no wonder you laughed." He chuckled a bit before he sat.
"Listen, I won't lie to you. Some really weird things have been happening around here lately, and I need all the help I can get. If you can survive this little incident, then I think your tardiness this morning is more than made up. In fact, I think I know just the discipline to straighten you out."
I sat up suddenly. Did I hear him correctly? Discipline? But I thought he was going to let this one slide? He noticed the look on my face.
"Don't worry son. A little 'T.L.C' from the medics and you'll be ready to lead your flight on a quick run out to the origin of those shells." At that he stood, called for a medic, and the rest of the morning was spent for me being looked after by two of my section's "casualty collection" boys, all the while riding in a modified deuce and a half.
The truck took us out to 500 meters from the fence, where we found a weird device. I knew that the insurgents sometimes left their wears after they exhausted their uses, but this was no mortar tube and base plate. It was more of a chest. Like the old pirate chests from those kid stories you hear.
I know that it was stupid, and not regulation at all, but I told the rest of my people to set up a perimeter while I took Tech Sergeant Sims with me to check out the thing.
"Sir, this thing wasn't here when the Predator flew over. The only thing here was a few scorch marks and footprints."
"Huh. Well, if it wasn't visible here before, maybe it was just buried. Let's check it out."
Sims gave me a look, before he took a step back. I wasn't going to let him get in trouble by messing with something like that, and I let him know it.
"Hey, you just radio back and tell them we found a suspicious package. I'll see if there are any distinguishing marks." Sims again voiced his displeasure with his face, and I just shrugged. I know that it wasn't smart, but I let the moment get to me.
When Sims went off to radio the news, I crept closer to the chest, and it seemed to be humming. It was low at first, but when I got closer, the humming rose in volume, and soft light shone from the seam in the lid. Before I had a chance, the lid exploded from the bottom case, and the light pored straight up in a brilliant flash that blinded me for a few long seconds. In those seconds, I saw things… many different things that I didn't understand. I saw partially crumbling cities form all across the globe. I was witness to rising seas and drastic temperature changes. When I finally recovered, Sims was running back to my position. He was waving his arms and carrying his assault rifle at the ready.
I knew that was not a good sign, so I pulled my side arm from the thigh holster and thumbed the safety. When he reached me, he looked a bit frightened.
"Calm down Sarge, it was only a light show." He looked at me and gave a convincing, "What?" I smirked and turned a round, only to find no trace of the box or the impressions of a box in the sand. "Ok, now I'm going crazy."
Sims grabbed my kevlar vest and shook me. "No! Sir, we are under attack! That radical group of national rebels is back, and they have overrun the main gates!" That got my attention.
"I didn't know about the Nationals! Ugh, what a first day!" Again, Sims looked at me with a scared expression, when he shouted, "First day my ass! You've been here as the XO for our security forces for four years now! I didn't think that blast knocked you that far back!"
Now I was a little scared. It was my first day, right? I took another look at the spot where the box was, and noticed a crater farther back, probably created by a grenade. So that was the blast Sims was talking about. I shook those thoughts when we heard another explosion, this one from the direction of the command center. The sergeant and I took off running for the base.
The fighting that day will never leave my mind. Sims and I fought to hook up with the rest of "my" flight, and then made a push into the center of the base. The main resistance came from the two technicals the nationalists brought with them. They both mounted fifty caliber machine guns and were speeding around the base, causing random violence against menacing concrete shelters and wooden furniture wherever they could be found. Luckily, we kept them from traveling as far as the flight line and the hangers for the airlift squadron we had on base. A few of the men in my flight were sharpshooters and took out the personnel in the vehicles before they made too much commotion. The rest of the rebels were rounded up and, despite protocol, we only ended up with a few prisoners. It is quite a sight to see men and women pouring out of their workplaces armed to the teeth and looking pissed. I don't blame them. They were in the middle of their work day, and some idiots screaming about world unification being unjust come rolling into the base.
Their statements were what made it click with me. World Unification? Where and what the hell happened to the Middle East? I decided to check out the current situation, but before I could make it to the base computer lounge, I heard my name being called on the PA system.
"Captain Fowler, please report to command for final debrief. I say again, Captain Fowler," I didn't pay attention to the rest. I looked down, and noticed my ABU's still had the dirt and grime from the "morning's" explosions, but with the addition of captain's bars on the lapels. Now I was genuinely scared. Had I just lost four years of my life? Four years that I can't take back? I still felt like a twenty three year old LT.
I turned to Sims, who was with me through the whole ordeal, and finally got a good look at him. He looked a great deal older than the man I met a few hours earlier. We both slumped to the ground, leaning against one of the aforementioned nightmare trucks. He also produced a pack of smokes from his breast pocket, removed two, and presented me with one. I took it, thinking that two in a day would be a bit much. I was wrong. Apparently, I was used to much more, but that wouldn't hit me until a while later. We shared a quiet smoke, neither one of us speaking. Finally, Sims took one last drag on his cig and flicked it away.
"You're lucky Cap'n. You don't have to stay and help bury our dead." He stood up and offered me his hand. I noticed his rank then, Senior Master Sergeant. I guess that something really went wrong. He must have misread my expression, because he grunted.
"Don't worry sir. I think that your new post will suit you well. Just remember this one thing. You have made this unit proud. If you ever need us, you know where to find us." He snapped to attention, and threw up a crisp salute. I didn't know what I had done to deserve this man's respect, but I did not intend to leave it unreturned. I mirrored his actions, and then he about faced from my presence. I watched him move off through the rubble of the base, until the PA system finally managed to shake me into action.
When I reached command, one of the orderlies bustling about presented me with a large file.
"Here are your discharge papers, sir. Everything is all set, all we need now is your John Hancock." He gave me a sad smile, and I looked down at his name plate.
"Thank you, Airman Winston." I took the papers and signed my name to the lines where I was prompted. He took them back, and gave me a salute. I returned the gesture, and then stopped him.
"Winston."
"Yes Sir?" He seemed to brighten at my mention of his name.
"Take care of yourself." I had honestly thought of asking him why I was being discharged until I read the bulletin board behind him. On it was displayed a list of officers taking volunteered leave of service, part of the force shaping program. At the very top was my name, and the day's date; June 21, 2012.
After taking my discharge papers from the MPF office, I gathered what little belongings I had with me on this deployment, and made my way to the flight line. I carried my issue duffle, full of my ABU's, spare boots, toiletries, and my pillow. In my hand I carried my laptop bag, with a fairly new, at the time of my deployment anyway, computer and some light reading material. Apparently I was already in line for a job with a private security corporation. I was supposed to meet with a representative in Ramstein Germany. From there, they would fly me to the States and get me set up with one of their offices there.
It sounded too good to be true. Hell, I couldn't even remember almost all of my deployment and any of the experience I might have gained from being in the suck for four years. Whatever my soon to be employers sought from me could be gone, and all they would be left with would be a husk.
I shook my head as the C-17 that would carry me to Germany rolled onto the tarmac. That kind of thinking would only set me back even farther. It was time to do what I learned to do; adapt and be flexible.
"Flexibility is the key to Airpower," I half chuckled under my breath. The motto of my training days never seemed so appropriate.
As the ground crew ran around the airframe finishing their preflight work, I moseyed on over to the aircrew who were busy loading cargo.
"Going my way?" I asked a pair of Airmen. They stopped fooling with a crate and snapped to.
"At ease, boys." They shrunk down and grew soft expressions. One of them, the one closest to me nodded at me.
"Thanks again sir. You might not be taking this flight, had you boys not stopped those radicals. Honestly, I thought that we had this sector locked down, but I guess the UN has its hands full with the Russian front." He smirked a little. "Heh, it's not like things can get any worse."
I made a noncommittal grunt. What the hell was going on in the world? I really needed to find a wi-fi spot and get acclimated to the situation. During my inner reflection, the two airmen finished loading the crate, and buttoned up the cargo compartment on the massive Globemaster III. She was a beauty of engineering, capable of carrying 77,500 kg of material and travelling 450 knots, plus in-flight refueling. She could make the trip fairly easily, as the aircraft can travel 2,800 nautical miles before needing refueling.
All of the information about the aircraft came flooding into my mind unbidden, just like a trigger. It was the same sensation as earlier in the day, when the fighting started. I remember moving around the grounds, shouting commands at airmen who looked ready to eat someone's lunch.
The two airmen seemed a bit deflated from the surge of adrenaline leaving their systems finally, and one produced a pack of cigs from who knows where. The other kid noticed my eyes lock onto the pack, and he nudged his buddy.
"Oh, sorry sir. We just sort of forgot." The first Airman, a Staff Sergeant by the tag Hill, said.
I dismissed his hesitation with a wave. "Tell you what. You just let me bum one off of you, and you won't hear a thing from me."
They both brightened at the statement, and Hill graciously produced a cancer stick and lit it for me. I almost moaned. What the hell has gotten into me? Am I addicted or what? Apparently, I had taken up the habit during my stay in country, and was suffering a mild withdrawal.
Taking a few quick, long drags on the nicotine catalyst, I closed my eyes and let the world fade away. Only when I finished the cherry did I open my eyes and notice the flight crew beckoning me over. I nodded a "thanks" to Hill and the A1C, and made my way to the midsection of the C-17. The loadmaster and the pilot were outside the ladder discussing the mission.
"I know we weren't supposed to carry passengers, but Command just saddled him with us… Look, just let him use one of the web seats you guys use. If it gets bad, just send him up to the jump seat. This cargo has to be sent back to 'Ram' to be analyzed."
The pilot, a Major by the rank on his jumpsuit shoulders, noticed me finally, and greeted.
"Good evening Captain. Sorry about that. We weren't expecting to ferry personnel on this trip. Senior Airman Jones will show you the web seat we fashioned for you."
I gave him a quick salute, which he returned almost too quickly, and I thanked him, before Jones and I made our way into the belly of the plane. It wasn't too bad. The seat they set up for me was equivalent to a hammock with the holes between the ropes too wide. I actually managed to get a few hours sleep, after the take-off and three hour flight out of restricted airspace. The rebels still send a few stingers our way every now and then, and I wasn't about to nod off during the good part.
We only had one instance during that trip, and the crew did an outstanding job with the situation. Apparently, a group of three rebels were camped out 5 km from the base, and took a pot shot at us with a Stinger. I had a head-set on for this part of the flight, and I was privy to the chatter.
"SAM launch," came the calm warning from the co-pilot.
"Confirmed. Jones, buckle up back there."
"Sir." I took a look at Jones, and his face just remained neutral during the whole thing. After the audible warning from the onboard computer, the blaring klaxon was silenced, and the pilot came on again.
"I think they had a mishap." There was a smile on his face you could hear. The co-pilot chimed in, "Yeah. Damn. Hey Cap? I guess we won't need to alert the base to send your boys out. Suckers just had a round cook off down there."
I chuckled at the news. Serves them right, using that Russian shit. Still, that shit had teeth, when it worked right.
After we shared a laugh, the co-pilot did radio in the incident to the base, and they probably had my section scrambling to the location. They would be too late to find anything but scraps and "surprises", though. I shivered at the thought of the "presents" our enemies would leave us.
For the remainder of the trip, I spent my time sleeping, or reading up on my new employer. I had a file folder full of the usual bull, mission statements, and bells and whistles. What I couldn't put my finger on was why I was practically chosen for the job. I looked through the file and noticed a great deal of correspondence in paper form. I tend to print and save documents for just such an occasion. I knew better than to waste my laptop's battery when I didn't know I would be able to charge it again.
What little the letters let me know, was that I approached the company, a Blackwater Inc., for a job opening. After I passed through their weeding out process, I was passed to a secondary branch of their organization that dealt with security for private and government agencies. I was meeting one of the secondary members in Ram for an "introductory course". I had seen many introductory courses in my day, and this one seemed a little off. A private jet from Europe to CONUS? Well, I just had to wait.
It wasn't long before I was back in Germany for the second time in my life, and both were just visits to Ramstein Air Base. I wished that one day I could come back and visit the rich history of the Bavarian nation.
This visit was no more promising than the first in the vacation department, for as soon as the C-17 rolled to a stop on the flight line, I saw through the hatch window a gun- metal grey C-21 Learjet waiting. I dismounted the Globemaster, said my farewells to the crew, and walked with all my worldly possessions to the much smaller jet. A man in a black suit was waiting for me at the ladder, and he shook my hand once, hard.
"Good Morning Captain Fowler. My name is Harrison Rivers. I will be your liaison for Blackwater's Force Prime division."
I took a second to try and read the man before me. He was just over my height, at an even 6 feet. He had jet black hair, in a short efficient crew cut, and wore tinted black Rayban sunglasses. He never smiled; even after we took off.
"Thank you. I hope that you don't mind me asking a whole lot of questions."
If he was perturbed at all by my admission, Rivers didn't let it show on his face.
"Not at all. That is why I am here. Shall we?" He motioned to the C-21 and we both boarded the aircraft. After a very brief turnaround, I was once again on my way to the United States; it was only a few months, or rather four years, but it felt like an eternity since I left. The silence in the plane didn't last long. Rivers took off his sunglasses shortly after takeoff, and he let his face soften ever so slightly. I noticed he had dark green eyes, and looked to be about my age. Well, my real age of 27, not how I felt.
Just as I was about to ask, Rivers broke the silence.
"By the way," he started with a slight humorous lift to his voice, "We have a dress code." I laughed, trying to picture myself in anything but ABU's and Blues. It really had been a long time. I figured this job would be right up my alley. So far, it seemed fine enough. I had only brushed the surface of one of the wildest situations of my life.
Glossary:
ABU's- Airman Battle Uniform
Security Forces (SF)- Base defense forces. The soldiers of the Air Force
T.L.C.- Tender Loving Care
MPF- Military Personnel Flight; manages all of the personnel for a base, housing, lodging, and pay.
Volunteered leave of service- Program for officers to volunteer to leave the Air Force to make room for new faces and help "force shape".
Force Shape- program to resize the AF down to a certain number of total personnel.
RPG- Rocket Propelled Grenade
SAM- Surface to Air Missile
Ram- Short for Ramstein AB.
CONUS- Continental U.S.
First Sergeant- The NCOIC for a flight or squadron
NCOIC- Non Commissioned Officer in Charge
Flight- The smallest organization of personnel in the Air Force.
Squadron- The Middle range for organizations in the AF.
For those who have done their best...