XX Author's Note XX

Well, everything has to start somewhere, though I'll admit beginnings aren't my cup of tea, so please bear with me. If any of the military facts portrayed in this leg of the trilogy are incorrect, I apologize; I researched them to my highest ability.

Chapter has been updated as of April 2015 to fix a few inaccuracies.

X Vera X

Planning is essential to everything; without a plan, you have little hope to succeed or advance anywhere in life. I held that belief even while I was still a little girl growing up in northeast Rubinelle. The meteors? The war? The revolt? Admittedly, none of those were in my original plan, but I adapted and made a new one. Still, I never quite expected myself or the world to change as much as they did when those events began.

Before the entire mess began, I had a much bigger goal in mind: politics. The constant conflicts with the neighboring nation of Lazuria, the all-pervasive dominance that the Armed Forces held in Rubinelle society and politics, and the constant threat of war had never truly enthralled me like it did to most. In fact, it had come to disgust me when I got older. Still, the idea of leading people had stuck with me ever since I could remember. I'd always been on the top of my studies, and I seemed to have a certain charismatic touch that drew people under me. So what better job than to be a political leader?

When I'd finished my private education, I got a special scholarship offer and a commission in the Navy. It was unnecessary; I'd already gotten more than enough scholarships, but it was beneficial to my interests. What better way to improve a résumé than military service? Besides, I only had to be on active duty for a year at the most, and stay in the reserves for three years after that. I hadn't been too worried at the time of my enlistment; I was smart enough to see all the 'tension' between Lazuria and Rubinelle as nothing more but hot air being blown all over the place, and that the chance of war erupting during my service was very low.

So, I'd gone into a fast-track path in the Naval Aviation branch, the most prestigious part of the Rubinelle Navy. It included basic training, a four-month officer course and nearly another year of actual flight training. Training standards for the country were slightly lower than most, and it wasn't uncommon for some private education programs (especially those that catered to wealthy families) to grant young teenagers the equivalent of a high school diploma, so I'd managed to accomplish all of this at a relatively young age compared to half the people I'd trained with.

Did I enjoy it? No. The lack of space and privacy made the experience unpleasant, but sometimes sacrifices are needed to gain something. Adaptability is one of my best traits, though that wasn't always the case. There were some things to enjoy after I joined, though. The pay was very good, I got to travel very often to places I'd never been before, and after it was over I'd still be a certified pilot, free of charge. I'd eventually come to like my new job.

Then again, I should have known that good things don't always last for a long time.

I do not believe in dishonesty; the truth is, the meteors left me without any sense of direction for the first time in my life. Any semi-intelligent person would understand that such an occurrence stunned everyone. The war that erupted afterward, while sudden, was something I was entirely ready for, at least till we won. Looking back through it all, I could definitely say that it was quite a turbulent time. I will not justify my actions, but I must say this; not everyone involved with the NRA was bad. Some of us were just—misled. I do not claim to be proud of some of my actions during that year, but neither do I claim I would rather they never happened. A simple fact was that over the course of the war, we all gained and learned some things from the unfortunate events- things I never even thought possible before the meteors came.

X In the Channel separating Rubinelle and Lazuria, two days before the meteors. X

"Raven Three-Three, Raven Three-Seven, report in," said a voice over the radio. It was the flight controller from our carrier, the Odin, and we were in Raven Squadron, 51st Fighter-Interceptor Naval Wing—hence, our call sign.

"This is Raven Three-Seven, skies are clear," I replied after a quick glance at my radar. Peacetime military life was very repetitive. As the front line of Rubinelle's defenses, we found ourselves working daily. The most common task was maintaining Combat Air Patrols (CAP) either at a couple of a hundred miles away from the fleet our carrier was part of, or near the maritime border with our northern neighbor. Since this wasn't too serious a matter, it wasn't worth the resources of launching too many planes. Two planes from any of the squadrons stationed aboard would do, and it just so happened to be us today, with me as the flight leader since I was the ranking officer present. At the moment, we were cruising at 11,000 feet just thirty miles south of the border. Our orders were what they had always been: watch out for foreign aircraft and make sure they didn't violate our airspace.

"There's a blip on the edge of the radar," Heather called from behind me, alerting me to matters I wasn't immediately aware of. She was a good co-pilot and radar-intercept officer (RIO), perhaps the best one in the squadron, and I liked working with her.

"Good eye, Heather."

As I scanned the skies further, my thoughts went out to her. Had I believed in the saying about gypsies switching babies after birth, I would've said Heather and I were long-lost twins. Even though we'd been born in entirely different parts of the country (I was born in Cadigold, eastern Rubinelle, and she in Keadus western Rubinelle.), we had a surprising number of similarities: the two of us were born in August, had green eyes, were lactose intolerant, skipped second grade, and thought a year of service in the military would look good on our résumés. We did look somehow alike, too—at least, that's what the Marines aboard one of the troopships attached to our fleet said. The fact that we both turned down the same Marines when they asked us out was a source of shared laughter between Heather and I, too.

The similarities were very odd, but it did make her easier to get along with. She thought ahead, she didn't tolerate improper behavior, and she understood exactly what was always going on. She was one of the few people I can honestly say I got close to after I joined. While there were those who were just as smart as I am, they were always nothing more but acquaintances. Heather was different; I could truly call her a friend.

"What kind of planes are they?" Madeline asked, moving her own plane closer to our tail. A quick glance at the radar told me they were large planes, likely cargo or bomber aircraft, and that they were at least forty miles north of us at the moment.

Well, it's nothing to make a fuss about. Certain professions had specific skills that must be mastered before one could become truly proficient. When it came to military matters however, Madeline wasn't a passable soldier (My opinion, not the military's, unfortunately.). She could fly, no doubt about it, but she showed cautiousness unfitting to her profession. A proper analogy would be a general too unwilling to risk losing his men.

Kayla, who was her co-pilot, was equally incompetent, though this was more due to lack of seriousness than over-cautiousness on her part. She seemed to believe that it was all just a game. Even if some of the incidents in the Channel were exaggerated, I knew war might erupt at any moment. They were both fairly intelligent, just not good servicewomen. I still got along with them fairly well. Off the field they tended to be slightly immature, although I suppose that last trait didn't carry enough weight compared to most of the non-commissioned officers (NCOs) and enlisted men (EMs) when the officers weren't looking.

"Looks like bombers. What are they doing all the way out here?" Madeline wondered as she sent the information back. Naval intelligence would likely process it while trying to understand the enemy's intent.

"The Lazurian Air Force does bomber patrols," I pointed out. "The idea is risky, but it isn't out of the ordinary."

"Can you confirm if the bombers are in our own air space?" Flight Control asked. I quickly looked on my radar again.

"Negative, they're at least ten miles in their own borders."

"Carry on with your patrol."

Well, this was an everyday occurrence, really; we'd usually catch Lazurian aircraft or ships on our radar, and would have to make sure they weren't invading our territory. Nothing materialized out of these encounters. Three months ago, we'd seen a Lazurian battleship unusually close to an island under Rubinelle jurisdiction, but after a day of constant harassment from Navy planes (including that one time when a flight of A-10s dropped flares all over the ship), the Lazurians finally left. The day-to-day routine did start to wear down some, though.

Three quarters of an hour later, the uneventful patrol was over and we headed back to the carrier. In the distance, the sun was just beginning to descend below the horizon. The carrier came into view, a lone shape in the vast emptiness of the ocean. It was actually the flagship of a much larger fleet, but for the time being it was traveling on its own to a port in the mainland for some much-needed upgrades; the carrier had originally been built during the Great War, a massive conflict between Rubinelle and Lazuria nearly two decades ago.

In a way, it irked me. The fleet we were assigned to was composed mainly of older ships, and was tasked to a low-risk area. I'd tied with two other people at the top of our class. Even if I didn't particularly enjoy something, I always tried to exceed in everything. It seemed more practical to assign those people with high grades to more important fleets, but no, my talent was being wasted here.

"Tower, this is Raven Three-Three, permission to land." Madeline was the first to speak.

"Granted, Three-Three; wires are ready." Operating from a carrier was for very skilled pilots only. Take-off and landing were maneuvers that required focus and precision; error easily led to death, as well those made the crews on the deck. I hated being dependent on others, but I was able, like so many times before, to land smoothly. There was a light jerk as the cable caught the plane and stopped it. Once they released the cable, I followed the visual cues and guided the plane to the side of the deck where it wouldn't be in the way. The ladder was brought up, and we all disembarked from our planes. Almost immediately we were ushered off the deck and back into the carrier superstructure; there was no room or reason for us to stay and get in the way.

I sighed uncomfortably at the temperature inside the hallways—even in the evenings it was hot. At least now I could go wash this sweat off and go to bed. Force of habit, I guess.

"I wonder how far we are from port," Kayla said as we walked down to our quarters. "It'd be nice to get off this ship for a while, go to some clubs, and have a good time..."

"It should be for another two days," I answered. While she would be out at a club, I'd actually be doing something productive, like studying. College wasn't that far away, and my one-year term was almost over. Actually, since all the members of our flight were on the same program, all of us would be leaving soon.

"Watch out," Madeline warned as we stepped into one of the hallways. I looked up.

Oh, great. I tried to keep a tight-lipped expression on my face as our flight leader started coming our way. Lieutenant Commander Myra Kerrigan was easily the worst human being I'd ever met. She came from a traditionally military family, which she apparently believed was a mark of superiority. Normally, I was never bothered by people like her; I knew that I was already better than them.

This woman, though—she was worse than I'd ever dealt with. Actually, no one liked her. First of all, she showed a complete lack of sympathy or compassion for others. She didn't treat anyone in her flight with respect. In fact, she treated us all like we were criminals or something. She was always demanding perfection—her definition of it—and her demands were usually laced with insults and threats of dismissal. Eventually, she dismissed some people just two months after our flight had been put together, but the persons in question had been unfit for such a role. I'd already forgotten their names, actually.

Second, her leadership style almost resembled a dictatorship. No one could really expect any privacy around her; she always seemed to know where we were and what we were doing. She also reserved to herself the right to inspect our belongings or quarters whenever she pleased. The last part, I knew, was somewhat within her authority. The first part was unsettling, though. Complaining to higher authorities hadn't warranted a response; they actually had the gall to ask me if I was just complaining to cover my tracks.

That was another thing I loathed about the service: because of our age, enlistment terms, and our reasons for joining the armed forces, we weren't treated very seriously when compared to the other career pilots. Just because this was temporary didn't mean no effort would be put into it. Some of the others might not be that dedicated, but they shouldn't have judged us from the actions of the few. Why are some people so quick to jump to conclusions, anyway?

Her green eyes narrowed and darted over us as she approached. We all stopped and stood to the side as she passed; she always had the right of way. After she disappeared up the stairs, we kept walking.

"That gets annoying after a long time," Kayla said. "Don't see why we have to do that every time she or her lapdog passes."

"It's been widely practiced in the military. It should've been since you joined," I pointed out. Rules are rules—even if they're enforced by her.

"You really need to stop changing sides," she responded. Our mutual hatred of our commanding officer was one of the few things I related to everyone else, although they always tended to think this meant I had to agree with them on everything.

"Rules are rules," I said simply, turning my head back forward.

"Looks like another cat fight," a pilot commented at the site as he and his co-pilot passed, probably up to do another patrol. I huffed under my breath. It wasn't just our commanders; the pilots outside our squadron, and even a few in it, looked down on us too, just because most of us wouldn't be staying on full enlistment terms like them. The others weren't that pleased either. Even though we had several glaring differences among each other, we could all relate to that particular issue as well.

We finally got to where our flight's quarters were after several minutes of walking; the inside of a carrier could easily be compared to a maze. We were stopped just short of our room by a commotion, though. One of the doors opened and a brown-haired boy tumbled out.

"Why the hell do I always trip in the doorway?" He rubbed his head as he got up. I frowned at the spectacle, one that had been repeated several times in the past half of year. I rolled my eyes.

How pathetic. You never learn, do you?

"Hey, ladies," he said as he saw us and grinned. "Back from patrol already?"

"Do you mind? You're blocking the path," Heather replied in a flat voice.

"Move it, Josh." Madeline ordered him to get out of the way. Some people just didn't deserve any sort of respect, and Josh Harren was one of them. Aside from being boastful and uncompassionate to everyone but himself, he was even less serious then Kayla; it was all just a game to him. Even if he talked about college occasionally, I was fairly sure he would never make it. He also tended to break policies about gender integration almost daily. It was amazing that he was even still here; he had to be the sole reason our flight wasn't treated with respect. I failed to see why they still hadn't dismissed him.

"C'mon man, just get out of their way," a voice called inside of the room. That would've been Vincent. He was a simple boy, really. He had the same educational goals like most of us, and he always tried to focus on the task at hand. He didn't socialize and mostly kept to himself. He seemed to think making friends was pointless since after this was all over we'd never see each other again. While I was fine with the last part myself, I wasn't reclusive; all acquaintances usually ended at one point or another. You had to get used to it.

"Show some manners." A hand grabbed Josh's shoulder and effortlessly pulled him back into the room. A broad figure then stepped sideways against the wall and motioned with his hand.

"Thank you, David," I nodded and walked past, ignoring a slight twinge of discomfort. David was an unusual member of our flight; he just stuck out. Not by his appearance—brown hair and a broad form were fairly common—but more of who he was. He'd got transferred here about two months ago, but we didn't know anything about him, not even his age. Judging by appearance, he had to be at least six years older than me. He carefully avoided giving information about himself—his highest educational attainments, family background, even the things he did before signing up. It was unsettling, as any sensible person should act around the unknown. He wasn't a bad person, though. On the contrary, he was very well-mannered and treated everyone with respect. He kept Josh in check, and he seemed to be the only person Kerrigan showed any lax treatment. Still, I didn't really want to be in the company of someone I knew little about, so I didn't interact with him too often. In private though, everyone was taking guesses about him, but these guesses usually were just nonsense. Me? He was probably just sent to fill in a spot after someone had been discharged for medical reasons.

"Hey! Back from patrol already?" A lean, black-haired girl skipped up beside us.

"Yeah, but we're pretty sure you got the night patrol, Amy." Kayla patted the younger girl on the shoulder. "Have fun."

More like, 'Good luck.' Night operations in carriers are pretty tricky.

"Thanks," she replied, not a change in her tone. Amy was probably the only one besides Heather whom I intended to stay in contact with after my release. She was a very interesting person—interesting and suspicious being interchangeable.She was very optimistic, but that, I knew deep inside, was mostly a cover. She was very friendly, helpful, and eager to make friends. Heather and I knew no one was that friendly naturally, and you could almost sense the mask.

Amy was one of those people whom you always wanted as a friend, but never as an enemy. She could destroy anyone she pleased, though we'd never seen it happen. The three of us actually got along very well though; such an attitude was very beneficial to a business career. We'd even talked about a sort of business partnership after we all got our university degrees. Great minds thought alike, and great minds made things happen.

We finally got to the room the four of us shared. It was a small square room, with most of the space being taken up by the two bunk beds on opposite sides. At the foot of each bed were small wooden chests for any possessions the occupants were lucky to own. Bolted on the wall above the doorway was a small television, and in the back was a small bathroom with a paper-thin door. In my opinion, it resembled a prison cell, even if it was a great improvement over the quarters assigned to EMs. At least we had other means to entertain the long hours we usually spent here.

"This actually gets more and more boring the closer we are to our discharge," Kayla complained as she pulled out some casual uniform items to wear. That day was still a few months in the future, but one that nonetheless still occupied all our thoughts.

I know, and clearly complaining fixes it. I rolled my eyes as I pulled out some of my own clothes from beneath a book I studied in my free time. The showering facilities on ships were lackin, but I still intended to take what I could get.

"Don't worry about it." Madeline shrugged. "All we got to do is wait a little while and we won't have to fly anymore. We'll be free to do whatever we please."

Indeed. I smiled to myself. I was always thinking about that day. I'd head home first, of course, to visit my parents. But after that I was going straight to a university, preferably one in my home state. And that was when I could really start reaching for my goals. Nothing is going to stop me.

X Nate X

I don't really care what people say. I am not a lazy person. I just don't take life as seriously as most people do. I didn't see a lot to gain from effort. There are plenty of ways to get by without effort, so why bother? You only live once, so why not relax and have as much fun as possible? I had done exactly that when I grew up. My family hated me for it, for some reason.

Being in the spotlight isn't really for everyone. I am perfectly fine being as far away from it as possible. I am not a coward, but some people just don't enjoy being the big, the bold, and the brave. There are a lot of people who are happy with simpler lives, like being a clerk. I didn't want to see any action; I didn't want to have a role in fixing things. But, once I had been forced into it, I wasn't really left with any other choice.

The war was the worst thing I'd ever gone through. I will never forget some of the things I saw. There were times I honestly wished I hadn't survived the meteors, but I guess I would be a liar if I said I regretted everything. As messed up as it sounds, I actually have benefited by what happened. Then again, I would never have said anything about learning something new and worthwhile before the meteors came.

X In the barracks of the 49th Airborne Division, two days before the meteors. X

The sun that was shining against the bus window annoyed me to no end. I was already pissed off as it was; it was like it was taunting me. And this Army uniform I was wearing was really uncomfortable and made me sweat. Part of that might have been dread on what was ahead.

It isn't fair, I thought bitterly. It was an accident. It had been, and now my life was ruined because of it.

"I can see the camp!" A recruit yelled at the front.

Oh, man. I did not like those words; they just meant more pain. I barely survived Basic Training, so this specialized training school was definitely going to do me in. That was another thing that pissed me off about our punishment, which we took as an alternative to being imprisoned: I was too short, shorter than most people actually. Did that earn me any slack? No. And it had nearly killed me.

"Man, this blows," Russell complained from the seat beside me. There weren't many fun people in the world. Luckily, I lived two houses down from one of those people. All the things we'd done together—I couldn't even name all of it. They had been fun times, and well worth any trouble they'd caused…Well, except for the last incident.

"Yeah, I know. Why airborne school, though? Of all the places they had to send us, it was here." Secretly, I really hated heights. I was willing to bet my parents had suggested it secretly; they'd never really liked me. And they'd refused to let us change our enlistment contracts, although that was probably because the court had written them up. And so, here we were, together with a bunch of other guys straight out of training for some advanced training, against our will.

"Yeah, why not the Air Force? At least they got all the cool stuff," he said in agreement. A sign outside proudly indicated the base as the home of the 49th Airborne Division, the "First Wings", or so they called themselves. "This better not be as bad as Basic Training," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. I seriously doubted that it'd be easier. Jumping out of a plane... Who the hell did that, except stunt actors?

The bus stopped briefly at the gate before continuing into the base. I could see uniformed troops doing drills and walking around in full gear. Besides training, this base did hold real troops that would fight if war broke out, which meant it was also something that would be targeted.

The last thought scared me after we received our sentence. The only thing I heard in the media was how war was imminent. I didn't want to die, I was too young! I could be killed in a bombing, or I could get shot, or I could freeze to death. There was a ton of ways I could get killed in this place.

I do NOT deserve this.

"Man, now the fun begins!" Another recruit clapped his pal on the shoulder. The scene agitated me. Fun? We were going to be treated like dirt!

The bus suddenly jerked to a stop. "Off! All of you!" The driver demanded. I reached up and grabbed my bag from the racks above and filed off the bus with everyone else. There were other buses in front of and behind us, so a lot more people got off with us. We began to form up in front of an old guy that was here to greet us. He started yelling for us to get our identification out so we could be assigned to certain barracks. We were to stay there and get settled till they came back later. If this was the start of our advanced training, it was starting off pretty easy.

I got in and pulled the right set of papers from my pocket while he moved along the line. It took a while, but eventually it was my turn. I tried not to tremble and to look him in the eye while I handed it over. The officer observed the paper with interest and then jerked a hand at Russell behind me saying, "yours too, boy." He then looked at each sheet. "'Alternative punishment'; you two are partners in crime, huh?" He didn't sound as friendly as he did with the guys who went before me. He spit to the side. "Well, I guess I'll have to separate you two so you don't destroy the barracks either."

"Man, it was an accident!" Russell said angrily.

"Vandalism, destruction of private property, and fleeing arrest were all accidental, huh?" His tone only made it worse, and Russell went quiet. You didn't test these guys when they scorned you, or very bad things would happen. Well, at least they didn't keep the arson charge. Then again, they probably wouldn't have been able to send us here if that was part of the sentence.

"You will be over there," the sergeant said as he grabbed Russell and pointed to a gray building at the other side of the camp. "Block D, Room 15. You," he said as he grabbed me and pointed to a building at the opposite end of the camp. "You'll be in Block B, Room 3. I'll be watching you to make sure you two don't plan anything. And don't even think about it," he ended threateningly. This is stupid.

"Off you go." He watched us leave, so we couldn't share a word. Russell gave me a thumbs-up as our paths separated. I gave him a thumbs-up back. Heck, staying in touch wouldn't be any harder than it had been while we were serving detentions at school, right?

I headed in the direction I'd been pointed to, following a few other guys like me who were carrying stuff. There were a lot of apartment-looking buildings around here too, probably for all the regular soldiers. A few were outside and watched us as we passed. I tried not to be noticed. Something whooshed over my head just then, ruffling what little hair they'd let me keep. The baseball bounced for a few yards before stopping.

"Hey, did that hit you?" someone called. I turned to see a couple of soldiers, definitely not recruits, playing baseball. A girl had taken a few steps toward me.

"No, I'm fine," I called back.

"Just throw the ball back, shorty," another one called. I had already taken a step towards it, and then stopped. My mouth twitched. I did not like being called short in any form; it irritated me to no end. Rather than throw it back, I merely kept on walking towards the barracks. They weren't my superiors, so why should I listen?

"Hey, little guy! You hear me?"

"Matt, just leave him alone." It was the same girl from before.

"Hey!"

Before I knew it, he'd managed to get in front of me. "I know you can hear me down there." I gritted my teeth. "Lose the attitude if you want to stay here, you're a soldier now. You're part of a team; we work together and watch each other's backs." He turned and walked away.

Well, that was awkward…

That wasn't the type of confrontation I was used to; they usually ended in a fight. I suddenly felt embarrassed. I turned and tried to take the quickest route to the barracks, only to find an MP (military police officer) in my way.

"Nate Archey?" I felt my heart skip a beat. What did I do now? Was it about that argument I'd just got into? I hadn't even seen this guy coming!

"Y—yes?" I asked nervously, realizing other people were staring.

"General Walraven would like to see you. Come along, please." I really had no choice; resisting would've gotten me into bigger trouble, probably. Besides, a general? I just got here! Generals didn't normally bother with people low on the food chain, did they? So, how did he know my name?

Maybe he's going to send me home? I thought hopefully. It was possible, wasn't it? Maybe he was a dedicated guy who looked over everyone that joined. He might have seen that I was probably going to be a heavy deadweight than anything else. I found myself nodding. It was possible. Why else would he call me out as soon as I got here? Why else would a General of all people bother with me?

The general's office was in the biggest building that was in the middle of the base. It was also the most heavily defended. I whistled softly as we passed a large gun bolted into the concrete outside the main door.

"A flak gun," the soldier sitting there said as he caught me staring. "You never know when they'll attack." I swallowed nervously. Inside the building, people were busy. They brushed by me without even a glance. As it turned out, the general's office was also up a series of stairs. I was already panting when we got to the guards outside his office. The MP left and one of the guards opened the door for me.

"Good luck," he smirked. My confidence diminished slightly. I entered the office. On one side was a large map that showed the coastlines of each country. It also had a lot of pins on it to mark something.

"Sit down," a bored voice called. I turned to the desk in the center of the room. An old man wearing a general's uniform and a pair of glasses was going over some papers. I sat down, set my bag down beside me, and waited for him to speak. That's when I noticed a newspaper lying on the side of his desk. My eyes widened. Oh, no!

I recognized the headline because I'd read the paper before, and I knew the picture because I was in it. He knew what I'd done, and that had to be why he'd called me up here. I felt cold all of a sudden and closed my eyes. This is bad. What was he going to do? They couldn't possibly punish me for something I did outside the military, could they?

"So you're the one who burned down a house?" I opened my eyes to see him watching me.

"We weren't trying to!" I insisted nervously. He laughed.

"Calm down, son, this isn't an interrogation, just a casual conversation between two people."

"That's it?" I asked in confusion. "And how'd you get that paper? We live a long way from here."

"My dear old, elderly mother sent it to me," he said, "along with a letter complaining about 'damn kids' these days. And somehow they still end up in the military." I scratched the back of my head. He didn't sound mad, but then why did he call me? "I understand a toy rocket caused the fire?"

"…Yeah." I admitted. I didn't like talking about it.

"So what happened?" He smiled a bit. "Don't worry, it's entirely confidential."

"Well…uh…" I started talking before I knew it. "Me and my friend, we hang out a lot, and two months ago, he brought over a hobby rocket his uncle had sent him."

"Man, I can't believe you actually got one of these things." I pulled the platform out of the box. We were both sitting out in the field behind our block. In the other direction were the houses of another block. They'd been talking about turning this into a park, but nothing had happened yet.

"My uncle sends good stuff," Russell said as he nodded. "This is going to be so dang cool. What's this for?" He pulled out a small net. I looked on the box.

"According to this, it's to catch the rocket so it doesn't break when it hits the ground."

"It says here that the rocket goes one hundred fifty meters." Russell looked up at me. "How far is that?" Though my grades in school weren't all that great, I had a particular talent for calculating math stuff, including trajectories—wind speed, distance, height—it all came naturally to me.

"Exactly a hundred and fifty meters?" the general interrupted in interest.

"Yeah…" I said uneasily.

"It should reach all the way to that abandoned house over there." I pointed at a decaying shack.

"You actually fired it at the house?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No!" I blurted out. "Not exactly…"

"Man, you see that hole in the roof?" He pointed to the garage of the house. I squinted. There was a small hole, maybe six feet wide.

"Yeah."

"Think you can hit it?" He grinned. I snorted.

"I could hit something a lot smaller."

"Prove it."

"Ten dollars," I said as I reached into my pocket.

"Deal!" He reached into his.

"And all this registered in your minds as a good idea?" I could tell by his voice he was insulting me.

"Nothing would've happened if the net didn't break!" I shouted in frustration. Everyone kept insulting us. It had been a damn accident, okay?

"Calm down, kid." He lowered his voice. "This is a job offer, so calm down." Job offer? "Let me guess: you set the net over the hole, you hit it, but the net gave in and the rocket just fell in and caused the fire?"

"But how…?"

"My mother told me the story, but I had to hear it from you before I believed it. Stupidity and brilliance all at once—if you ask me." Was that the only reason he'd called me? To mock me? No, he wouldn't because he said... Brilliance? That was the first time someone ever referred to the incident as that.

"So you aimed and fired the rocket?" He asked.

"…Yes."

"How?"

"Uh… Well, I tilted and angled the stick that it was propped against," I said. "Is… there a point to all this? What do you mean by a job?"

"Really, I just wanted to see the person who upset my dear old mother." And suddenly he had a glint in my eye that made my stomach flip. "Since you're here, I might as well suggest something to you." Did he mean advice? What advice could he possibly give to me? "Why did you come here, son? What do you intend to do?" I hadn't expected another question, and it took me a few moments to answer.

"I guess—just get through with what I got stuck into and go home."

"Do you know what a mortar is, son?" He went on, completely changing the subject.

"Yeah..." I'd seen enough action movies to know what those were, so I could actually answer this one. "You drop a bomb in them and they shoot it back out a long ways."

"About right," the general said and nodded. "They are very important to infantrymen such as ours. You are here to become airborne-qualified and receive further infantry training." I wasn't sure exactly what he was talking about, so I just nodded. "Have you considered being an indirect-fire infantryman?" He lost me with that one.

"A what, sir?" I asked.

"The men who use mortars in combat," the General explained, in a tone like it was simple math. It probably was simple to them. "This is mainly an infantry division, and the last few years have been spent trying to increase its capabilities. Not that one young man could do much to fix the problem, but while you're here I might as well recommend you undertake the necessary training, since you seem to have a knack for it."

I just sat there for a few moments. Whatever I'd expected when that MP had talked to me, it wasn't this. Was this guy- a freaking General- really just giving me suggestions because of an accident I'd caused?

"You know, you're not the first of your kind I've seen," he said. My kind? He continued. "Lazy kid, no future, no idea what to do, and scared." It made me sound like a bad guy, but I knew I'd be lying if I said I wasn't any of those, especially the last one. "That's why I'm offering you an opportunity—I'm tired of seeing cases like you."

"Well..." If I wasn't going to argue, I didn't know what else was I going to say.

"Indirect-fire infantrymen stay a little further behind the line, if that's anything. And you'll certainly earn the gratitude of your brothers-in-arms." That actually made me like the idea. Russell and my girlfriend had really been the only ones who said anything good about me. I would put in a little bit of work if it meant making other people notice me.

"Of course, you can just stay a regular infantryman," the general shrugged. "A few more men will get hurt once the war starts since we'll be short one mortar—but what's that in the greater scheme of things?" Why'd he have to put it like that? Great, now I feel guilty.

"I… guess?" Did I really have a choice? I was stuck here, anyway. Those guys stayed behind the front line, and I might as well choose a spot where I was less likely to be killed. Plus, it was actually nice to think people would be glad I was there. The last thought gave me a firm shove. "I'll do it." I nodded.

"Good." He nodded. "I'll have someone take care of it, since your contract is tired to the court. Now, get out my office!" I fell out of the chair and hurried over to the door before running back to grab my bag and left.

"You okay, newbie?" One of the guards asked.

"Yeah," I panted, "didn't expect him to yell." The guard shrugged.

"He's a busy man. Don't take offense, though. He does care about the division. He does everything he can to make sure we'll survive if a war breaks out. Need a guide?"

"No, I'm fine." I shook my head. "I remember the way." As I walked back to where the MP had fetched me, I thought about what had just happened. It was good, right? I'd actually been moved to do something more important.

Maybe this isn't a bad thing, a voice at the back of head suggested.

"Hey. You okay?" A female voice asked. I jumped. A brown-haired girl, the same one who'd asked me if I was okay earlier, started walking beside me.

"Yeah," I said as my face seemed to heat up. I wasn't usually nervous around girls. I actually did have a girlfriend (one of the only people I really got along with) back at home. She was probably one of the most important people in my life. We actually had a lot of common interests and opinions. We'd kind of been talking about the rest of our lives. Well, only once, and that had been two days before the incident. I hadn't seen or heard from her since then. I tried calling during my six weeks at Basic Training, but no one picked up. Maybe when I got settled in here I could try again...

"What was with you back there?" she asked.

"I… really don't like being called short." She didn't seem like to type to make fun of me, and I though a little honesty won't hurt.

"Oh. Well, he didn't really mean any harm," she said, perhaps trying to convince me. I shook my head—I didn't believe it.

"Look, I'm fine," I said, trying to get her to leave. "Thanks, but it's getting late and those instructor guys hate tardiness, so I need to get going." I started walking away.

"My name's Macy. I'll see you around then." I slowed down and turned to face her. I maybe a slacker, but I'm not rude.

"Mine's Nate. See you," I called back. I wasn't even sure if that was true; there were a ton people of here. What were the odds I'd run into them again, especially when I was in a training group? Still, I felt even better afterwards. I'd gotten a new position from the boss, and people here were already acting friendly to me.

This might not be bad at all, I thought. As long as a war doesn't break out, this might actually be fun.

XX Author's Notes XX

I know I didn't introduce all of the characters, nor did I explore their backgrounds entirely, but that'll come. I believe it's for the best. I am trying not to rush character histories or connections like I did in the beginning of my other story. I want to take a chapter or two to help familiarize the reader with the characters and their relationships with the others.

Just a bit of trivia: In Norse mythology, the god Odin had two ravens that would deliver him information—that's the reason why I named one of the squadrons aboard the Odin as Raven Squadron. The rocket incident was inspired by an actual event that I saw on the news when I used to live in Toledo. This incident unfortunately burned down three houses (the occupants escaped) and killed a cat.