Life at the Square
*I personally have great respect for Canadians and Brits. I feel I need to say that now because of some of this chapter content/story in general.*
Back in the lively barracks that Christmas Eve, we sat together on our bunks and talked while the other troops were doing their own thing. I was sitting on my lower bunk beside my team leader, Stiles; Savaren was reclining on his bunk next to Andrews, both Miller and Rowlands were on their top bunks with legs hanging down. All of us had been passing around our third bottle of cheap "Kilian's Scandinavian Vodka" when Savaren asked me about Savannah, and my thoughts from earlier stunned me for a few seconds again. He took a long swig from his personal flask and said;
"Yo! How's Savannah doing, bruh!?"
Savaren tended to turn into a sort of overly chilled out doucher when he had enough drinks. The other guys were buzzed enough to be interested as well.
So, I told him, "She's fine. She's still in Annapolis for medical school."
Now, Rowland had a girl back in Virginia who he concluded was cheating on him. Savaren was about to say something when Rowland said from the top bunk, "She's probably takin it every day from those Navy boys over at the academy!... You know, if they aint too busy fuckin each other! HAHAHA!"
The others giggled at the navy jab, but I focused more on that comment about Savannah. My buzzed mind couldn't handle the insult at the love of my life or his casual attitude when saying it, so I clenched my fist and shouted, "No! Rowland! She wouldn't do that shit EVER! I know her better than I know myself! Besides, I don't think she would visit my mom, or send me half the pictures she does if she was takin it from possibly homosexual sailors!?..."
Just then, Quinn sat up next to Savaren, and cut me off before I escalated my own rage into a fight, "You have pictures!?"
They all got up or slid off the top bunks and started hitting me while asking aggressively, "Where are they David!?"
The cavemen had heard everything about Savannah at that point during our liberty "squad briefings" (drinking sessions). They even reluctantly heard about our romantic first date when I had too many. After enough hits and interrogations, I pulled two of my favorite pictures out of my arm pouch and unfolded them. Stiles snatched them, and they looked over the pictures like Neanderthals seeing fire for the first time. All the while, they were saying aloud, "Yeah Son!" "She's Hot!" "Huhuh, Cool!" and "Huhuh! You get it in there!?" until I put the pictures away. I was just thankful I still had my less decent pictures of her hidden.
2067 was the first Christmas I spent away from family and all things familiar. On the 27th of December, I got a letter from Savannah and mom wishing me a merry Christmas with sentimental photos and all that. On Christmas day, the Canadian militias launched attacks all across the city. Some insurgent channels did so religiously, saying that the conduct of the American occupation was directly against the laws of God or whatever. That didn't inspire a whole lot of insurrection for a largely Godless population and our occupying force that already gave our farewells to Holiness upon arrival in Montreal. Nobody had moral superiority in this world, so none of that mattered to us, but the Canadian insurrectionists would take any cause or reason to kill US troops. Luckily, The Square wasn't targeted on Christmas. Although, the sound of gunshots could be heard down the street. I just thanked whatever was listening, God, Universe, or Lt Royce that I didn't have another street patrol that day.
That Christmas Eve was truly memorable though, and not just because of the horrifying incident where I shot Savannah in front of New York 6. All our alcohol ration tickets were used and the barracks was one big party the whole night. We all got drunk as hell that night and were surprisingly uninterrupted by the officers upstairs. They were probably having their own party, knowing that The Square's fun that night was at the expense of those poor fucks who drew guard duty and firewatch. The simple thought was; sucks to be them… at least until the next morning. When Captain Morales came down to our level on Christmas morning, clearly suffering from his own fun night; he saw the condition of the enlisted barracks and we got PTd to high hell. Despite Christmas Morning pushups in full kit with masks and pounding headaches, Christmas Eve was worth it.
5 months later- Age 19- 2068
"I dream about her, I think about death, and I live in a toxic urban hellscape surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people who want me dead."
On my free time, I'd drink booze, smoke cigarettes, chew tobacco, gamble, and curse. If mom were to see what I had become, she would've gone right ahead and had a heart attack. If dad was still around, he wouldn't care if I was in a warzone; he would've still come over and beat my ass. It wouldn't even matter that he did a lot of the same shit when he was in the service. By this time, killing had come to be one of those ordinary things. I did a tally a few weeks prior, and it turned out that my hands had killed eight people since I arrived in Canada at that point. Maybe it was more. I didn't really see the results of every suppression burst or grenade hurled at a possible sniper position. I used to hear that people could go their entire military career without firing their rifle once in self-defense or in the line of duty. Not us in Canada though. I killed two in the assault, the young blonde captive boy, the woman against the wall, and four other confirmed whoevers during our many patrols through the streets over the months.
The situation on the street was still terrible. The civilians were even more violent, so it wasn't just the militia killing US troops anymore. There had been reports of troops getting separated from their units on patrol, only to be offered shelter by Canadian civilians who killed them in some brutal or creative fashion. Some firebases had perimeter patrols during nights where Canadian insurrectionists would abduct lone soldiers just after the spotlights pass. The soldier would usually be found hanging from a streetlamp when morning came, and typically with a sign on the body saying something along the lines of "Go Home Americans!" Fires still let loose across the city and the anarchists enjoyed setting fire to military installations as well as the homes of their fellow countrymen.
The Square was relatively untouched since the companies stationed here still continued the policy of "Shoot anyone not in US uniform." However, sometimes the Canadians were clever and used our gear collected off the fallen to try and infiltrate our square. I wasn't there for one of the incidents, but I heard they killed a Canadian in US uniform. Not only was the guy's accent a dead giveaway, but he had the corporal chevrons upside down like he was a "Jolly Ol Chap from a 'Section' of the King's Fusiliers." Whatever. Don't listen to me. BUT! Since Christmas, I had been in three legitimate firefights. A few of my guys were shot on those occasions, but we didn't lose anyone, and we walked away with more blood on our hands and nothing that couldn't be fixed by a stay in the sick bay or a stimpack and bed rest.
Anyway, I got promoted to Sergeant around late April, so I was no longer a corporal. My time in the MTP during high school and good performance in basic allowed me to make corporal after basic. However, the army operated strangely in Canada. The idea of someone making sergeant after less than a year of service was unheard of in the military during my dad's day, or even on the Alaska Front. Canada was different in that soldiers were killed or placed elsewhere so sporadically that gaps in unit command structures needed to be filled quickly by people "Accustomed" to the environment of annexation forces. In other words; the army in Canada needed troops and commanders used to killing indiscriminately or witnessing horrors in cities full of rubble and hatred. My new rank didn't change much though, I still had the same old position with my guys and enjoyed the same barracks life.
In the barracks, we mostly gambled, drank, smoke, or engaged in other sins. My favorite game or pass time was Texas Holdem. This was because the game could last for hours if everyone was willing to pitch in. Before you knew it, you lost half your semi-worthless "Army Script" and started another game.
"Army Script" was a new thing we were paid on top of actual money for various assignments or jobs. Since most of the military sent their cash back home, we got Army Script as a way to ration things within the units.
For example: Volunteer for an extra guard shift = Get 50 Army Dollars (Script.. You get the idea).
Or, buy a bottle of whiskey at the commissary for 30 Army Dollars. When it came to assignments, the money was typically used where rank couldn't be used to give orders. Example: Sgt Lucky's squad could use extra hands to move supplies = Volunteer and get 60 Army bucks.
Some guys took full advantage of the army currency and were quickly becoming Army Millionaires. Because most of the currency system was based on rationing, people exchanged shit for cash to be spent on goods for their squads or groups of friends. I always thought it was funny to see some private auction off a clean picture of his naked girlfriend to a bunch of E-5s just to pay for a drinking night with his bud. However, most of those "Army Millionaires" had the right scheme, and typically got all that army cash by asking to cover peoples' guard shifts or patrols. Some even went as far as advertising their services through the use of posters on the walls like:
Do You Think Guard Duty Blows Major Balls!?
Hit up PFC Walkins at Bunk 7A. If I Aint there, leave a note with your name, rank, scheduled shift, and Bunk Number. I'll Hit you up when I can to negotiate a price.
Note: I can't cover Slots for E-4 and above. NO "Punishment Shifts!" I aint getting Court Marshalled for your Stupid Ass!
The barracks was much better after it went through a brief period of renovation post-Christmas. An engineer team was dispatched to The Square from Division HQ, where they sealed up the walls so the rats couldn't get in, they installed proper lighting, they put a few tables to go with the surplus of chairs, a crappy old TV was plugged in, and we got new iron frame beds to replace the broken ones we found or made after the battle for Montréal.
When on watch, not many Canadians were stupid enough to attack us. As I mentioned earlier, we also still kept the policy of shooting at anyone who approached, so we would take pot-shots at civilians even if they were just walking by. That might sound screwed up, but they hated us anyway and we didn't typically shoot to kill unless they got too close. The shots just scared the piss out of whoever was walking by and served as a warning that they were not welcome near The Square.
When not on patrol or guard duty, watch, janitorial work, etc. the area outside The Square was dangerous beyond all belief, so off time was spent in the barracks or the plaza if there wasn't anything going on outside. Not saying there wasn't anything to do in the barracks. I illuminated a few activities earlier, and if nothing else, there was always that crappy TV in the barracks playing porn almost 24-7. Nothing quite like watching people fucking to pass the time with your pals in a warzone. I'm currently under the belief that you aren't truly friends with anyone until you've exchanged commentaries throughout a 3 hour long porno with them. Although, on certain occasions the Canadian propaganda station was playing on the TV, and that inspired all sorts of fun bonding.
It was funny to watch the propaganda station and see how the Canadians portray us on their official programs. Any TV studios were leveled during the siege, so the Canadian propagandists were recording in what looked like a basement. As much as we soldiers enjoyed the station, the Army Signal Corps repeatedly took the channel off the airwaves, only for it to show up again after a few days on a new channel. The Anti-American station showed us as horned devils in gas masks, and many of us laughingly agreed. Sometimes, people watched the channel and clapped or laughed while pointing at the atrocious scenes depicted and shouted, "Look! It's Me!" at one of the dozen masked men with assault rifles. The station closely hid their supposed knowledge in regard to Government officials' locations. They said that the famous "Governor" of Montreal was still nowhere to be seen, but was, "Most Certainly Alive." He was suspected to have fled to the countryside to seek the battered remnants of the supposed "Queen's Mountie Regiment" or whatever the fuck it was called. Either that, or he took shelter with the partisans.
Another interesting thing the propaganda station reported on occasion was about the intervention of Canada's big brother, Britain. That worried some people for a while until an officer fratting on the enlisted level saw that and reminded some conversationalists about the station being for propaganda. I thought back to what I knew about Europe even before leaving and found another reason to laugh. The Brits were totally pussy whipped by the EUCOM, and the Euros didn't give two fucks 'Aboat' Canada. Sorry Canada, ya on ya own!
So, we didn't get much news about the other fronts. I didn't even know how the Army was doing against the Chinese in Alaska since I left for basic. One thing we were getting though a couple months after Christmas was comics! At some point, they started to send comics to the soldiers stationed in Canada. Once again, I didn't know if it was the same for those in other fronts. We received three issues: Tales from Fort Bear Claw, Marine Corps Marty, and Toronto Times.
I liked the weekly issues of Fort Bear Claw. That one told the story of the Alaskan National Guard unit that fought like guerillas up in the mountains. In the comic, the fort was the only installation to remain unaccounted for by the Chinese invasion force. Since then, they set ambushes against Chinese troops, work with Alaskan locals, and help the Rangers in fights for the Alaskan Wilderness. The main characters were based on actual men from the real Fort Bear Claw that fell when the Chinese first invaded. Though the characters were based on names of soldiers who perished there, they were memorialized in those comics to boost our morale. Whether the events of the comics were based on what was actually happening in Alaska, I again don't know.
My favorite one of the new comic series was Marine Corps Marty. It was my favorite because I never heard about what the Marine Corps was going through over in China. The stories followed Martin Sandusky of the USMC 294th Mechanized Infantry Regiment. His accounts showed the brutal conditions in which the Marine Corps was supposedly undergoing in their fight along the Yangtze River. I also liked it because the character was in a mechanized unit and got to wear one of those super cool armored exoskeletons and carry a big gun into battle. There weren't too many mechanized troops in Canada, but every time I saw one of those huge suits of T-45D power armor, I wondered what it was like to feel nearly invincible in a combat zone.
As for the last magazine, I didn't really care for the Toronto Times because I lived it every day. That one followed a platoon of infantrymen who went day to day in the Ash-heap of Toronto. I only heard a few things about Toronto from some of the guys in our company, but both their stories and the comics depicted the same shit I've been in since the assault. A lot of it was very relatable, and I understood all of the inside jokes, but it was just a reminder of my circumstances.
Women were a real problem in The Square. There was a SERIOUS lack of them. Women were slowly being integrated into combat roles, but few were sent to Canada. Our square was considered a prime firebase in Montréal, so there were no women here; per say. Occasionally, we would get a team of nurses and or "Gistics Chicks" (Women in Logistics, Stupid name I know but that's what we called them) to roll through, but once they were done, they'd head back to HQ for rest. I imagine those gals were pretty tired after doing their job at The Square while simultaneously fending off a horde of soldiers who just about Demand pussy.
That reminds me, on the outskirts of the city and near to the site of the original siege line was a collection of buildings relatively untouched by the carnage "Army Headquarters Montreal Division." The Army HQ had plenty of women, and not only military ones. They were primarily desk jockeys, but I heard that some firebases outside of major hot zones were getting female medical staff permanently stationed there. Lucky fucks... Although probably pretty terrible for those poor gals.
In the face of boredom, I always had Savannah to keep my mind occupied. I wrote her all the time and she sent me pictures of herself, Mom, or when she was out with friends. Some of my "Personal Pictures" of her went missing later which pissed me off. I think some dipshits stole them from my pack to go pound off in the bathroom and forgot to give them back with a murder-worthy reminder of their borrowing. Probably for the best. However, I'd been considering selling some of those pics for some army cash, but the thieves foiled that for the time being. Regardless, my squad mates always wanted to know what I was writing to her when they weren't on their own assignments. As good as things seemed in the letters, negative influence takes its toll on the mind and I often thought of Rowland's situation.
I mentioned Mark Rowland's cheating girlfriend earlier. He knew it was killing him inside that she would do that even though I had no idea what the two of them had been through before he left for Montréal. I only spoke of Savannah when people asked, but Rowland never talked about his girl, only a few times in basic and during the occasional outburst when he drank too much or let something slip on an eventful patrol. For instance:
Our squad was securing an intersection one day and we had a captive with us. We were waiting for a response from command over the radio on whether a truck crew was making the rounds.
A lieutenant from some other firebase walked past us with his platoon following and shouted, "That fucker militia?"
I gave a "Yeah!?"
The LT was still leading the march and shouted back, "Just kill him!?..." It sounded like the officer was going to explain his reasoning, but before he could/if he was going to, Rowlands shot the captive in the back of the head. The officer turned his head to the front and kept marching with the platoon following.
There was a moment of silence after that, but just before the shot, I thought I heard Rowland mutter under his breath, "Stupid Bitch" it was obvious that he wasn't talking about the captive.
As the blood from our captive's head flowed slowly down the street, I began to worry about him and even myself.
Suspicion and paranoia are contagious. I loved Savannah very much and the dried tear marks on her letters made my heart ache. I slowly began to lose myself as my 1-year mark got closer. I had gone almost a full year away from the love of my life, mom, and all that I knew in the world. Memories of a pleasant life were slowly fading from memory with the nonstop worry of the day to day. I'd killed many people and that weight was always on my shoulders. Each letter from home made me happy, but the constant misery in my mind was building. I daydreamed about Savannah, and beautiful memories of her were getting a darker tint. I thought and thought about her in the best of ways, but Mark's own situation was encroaching on my own. Almost every day, I'd hear about someone who got a "final letter" (Dear John Letter) from their own love interests, occasionally causing psychotic episodes. Love, War, Paranoia, and Suspicion were a dangerous combination that hung over the heads of everyone in Montreal.
As euphoric as the letters from Savannah were, I was beginning to go crazy at two recurring thoughts: "Any day now, I could get my last letter from Savannah" and "I'm going to be trapped in this toxic city with no one back home to love me." As it went on it'd get worse and manifest in different ways, and though I believe everyone who was in Montreal can understand, I can only speak for myself. The rosy memories of what was were starting to become sickening compared to what was "Normal" in Montreal.
So, Mark unintentionally gave me scary thoughts, but in the subject of women, Quinn Andrews had his own peculiar situation. Quinn Andrews had a girlfriend back in DC. Quinn's girlfriend, Julie was of Chinese descent. She and her family had to go through a process where the US government supervised them for an entire week, interviewed the family, quizzed them on US history, US Ideologies, and had them declare their loyalty to the US in front of friends and even neighbors. After that, their house was ransacked of anything possibly "Communist" related, and their finances underwent several audits looking for ties with Chinese institutions. This entire process happened to Asians of all descent, not just Chinese.
In this time, I thought to myself… a lot. I used to enjoy thinking to myself and even considered it a hobby of mine. Now, thinking was nightmarish, and I tried to distract myself in a myriad of ways. Although, when the thoughts inevitably came, I tried very hard to think good thoughts of home before they made me sick. As my time in Montreal grew longer, the vision of home became more and more blurred.
Eventually, I would wonder if Savannah would even recognize me if she saw me. Some months down the road, I looked at myself in the mirror and I did not like what I saw. My face was scratched all over, the scar on my face reopened, my eye was black, my armor was shredded, and my hands were covered in more blood from ever increasing and unending war.
*Again: I personally have great respect for Canadians and Brits... Felt like I had to say that again. For the rest of this story: Canadians are awesome, I know quite a few, this is fiction.*