Cool as a Cucumber

WARNING: Probably MA+ again.

*Things Could change soon?*


About 3 or 4 months after the nut house- Age 23- 2073

Little tiny glimpses.

I swore to myself, my boys, and to Savannah that I would make it back home by any means. I believe it was June something and the whole Battalion was formed into The Square for yet another execution. This was another execution of our own soldiers who were reported as refusing orders. I'd seen this thing a couple times before. Forgot to mention earlier. Whoops.

So! US troops who were generally new to Canada tended to be shocked when they saw how we operated. Some refused execution orders or even went so far as aiding Canadian partisans. Fucking scumbags. The new guys were generally reprimanded for disobedience, but those who refuse orders too many times and or plotted to defect, or aided the enemy were guaranteed death. Execution orders and other repeated acts of defiance against the Sherman Doctrine were considered, "Gross Cowardice" or "Treason Against Pacification Operations." Many convicted of such acts were sent to military prison, investigated, or put up against the wall in this case.

The three boys that time were a PFC, a Corporal, and Specialist convicted of "Treason for failing to follow essential pacification protocol" (Which could have included a gross amount of defiance). The battalion was formed, and the three were tied to chairs with bags placed on their heads after waiting for 10,000 hours for the O-fuckers who were all Hooah and Sherman.

While waiting, and even as the fuckers were tied up, I saw Captain Mosby standing in front, between the platoons of our company, and looked totally unaffected. I glanced over to Royce who was in his place beside Mosby and occasionally spitting tobacco onto the ground, after lifting his breathing mask. I wondered why the fuck he didn't just Not wear the mask, considering all of us had long grown used to the air and only really wore our masks outside The Square. Looking towards Reed, I saw him in front of his platoon. Reed caught my eye, gave a slight "Jerking motion" before the "Explosion" and instantly made the horns with his hand. I gave him a thumbs up... There was meaning to that "Communication", but I'll explain in a second.

Years of watching death desensitized most of us entirely, and lots of us volunteered for the firing squads, so those formations were more fucking pointless than anything else. Still glancing around, most of the platoon behind me looked bored like the rest of the 800 plus in our battalion. Hell, half the platoon knew that once dismissed, I was going to plug in that new tape I got at the commissary for them. Of course it was because they were the best platoon ever! "Bootcamp Babe Blows the Brigadier 4." It wasn't that often that we got a new porno to play 24-7, and I'd long memorized every scene in "Tie Me Up Tara" that actually had a decent 20 minute story outside of the other 70 minutes of fucking... So that's what that gesture Reed gave me meant; I invited him and his platoon to the premier of the movie I bought with my army bucks.

Needless to say, we didn't care a single bit about the misfortune of those traitors. The guys were with the 102nd Regiment, so LTC Reconnu took his place and read the order aloud once all was good to go. Nobody from the 102nd was stationed at The Square, that regiment was headquartered at a firebase on the other side of the city. They tended to move soldiers to be executed to different bases so they wouldn't have to be killed by their "own guys" per say. Even as psycho as I was, I could understand that. It would've broken by wittle tiny winy heart if I had to shoot anyone I called a friend... Except Reed, I'd gladly shoot him. I'd even have broken the aim for the heart order to put one through his cock Haha! Did I mention that guy's the best? So, next thing you knew, the firing squad marched over and gunned down those boys before I even noticed Reconnu stopped fucking talking. I had a really hard time holding back laughter alongside lots of other subdued chuckles behind me! What a bunch of shitbags! (The traitors. Not my platoon, they're the best.) So, the bodies were dragged away and later hung from rooftops outside The Square. Nobody cared, we were dismissed, and we had more pressing matters to attend… Like that porno tape!

Days went by, I think? And Captain Mosby gathered us up for a march into the Rosemont district for another sweep. Same shit as before. Company wide op in a hot zone made more fun by actual action that time. The street we were clearing was just like so many other times, and I was put in charge of knocking on doors for my platoon. I couldn't have my boys do All the work; I wasn't that kind of leader, so I happily joined the fellas. Intel uncovered some shit on a section of that neighborhood to carry out while those VIP lists were still a thing, and the 98th is always ready to lend a hand to the big Monte-Boyz. We weren't looking for anyone in particular, just some likely domiciles for suspected shit rats. One apartment building and four ruined urban homes later, and the company op looked like a carnival. So many years of the same fun and laughing. In the last house, almost our whole company was busy obliterating caches, detaining prisoners, and executing confirmeds that I was almost jealous of the action I wasn't really enjoying.

In that last house, there we found her, the woman and her kids hiding in a closet full of Canadian weapons. Before anyone gets teary eyed at what I did, they fucking knew that a company rolls through Rosemont at least once a week. Also, fucking Sherman, my guy. This is their fault we found those weapons. What!? VIPs were still getting hauled in left and right, and every one of them is all "Oh Canada" until they're politely asked to talk while watching their boy's roped neck being kept from breaking by daddy's Honesty! Huff huff puff. Run-on sentence. Sorry about that. I tend to do that a lot. Anyway, the boy may get the mercy, but daddy doesn't know that regardless of his answer, those kids are becoming orphans! Speaking of which:

I shouted at the woman, "WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GET THE WEAPONS!?"

One of the kids lunged at me with a kitchen knife and I kicked him across the face straight down the hallway. Andrews saw to the kid and bound him up. I aimed my rifle at the woman, and screamed again;

"WHERE DID YOU GET THE FUCKING WEAPONS!?"

She cried, "Mon mari, ils sont à lui! Il était une milice! Ne le fais pas mal! Il n'a jamais combattu des Américains!"

I knew this Haha. It was honestly a little hilarious how she ratted out her dearly beloved so easily. I'd known women who acted more like that kid, so I asked "Your Husband, eh!? Where is he!?"

She sobbed hysterically, and quite hysterically, "Il est parti ce matin! Je ne sais pas où."

If it ain't clear, I knew quite a bit of French by this point in Montréal. I shouted, "He left this morning? GET THE FUCK UP!"

Just like Savannah! She knew French! I was too modest at the time, but that really was fucking hot.

Her other kid followed, and I dragged her onto the street. Captain Mosby approached, just checking in with his company staff. He was a great officer. Anyway, Mosby asked upon seeing the captive I found "What's her deal?"

The tied up and crying woman kneeling between Captain and I would've set up quite the erotic scene if I didn't love Savannah so much, but I had to ask for direction from my favorite O-Fella. I'll tell you I felt like a dog who brought a nice stick to his master, asking in "Dog" if his owner liked it. I would've wagged my tail if I had one. I've always loved puppies. Wish I had one growing up. I saw some pictures of some really adorable pitbull puppies one time from a guy in the barracks. I'm pretty sure that when it comes to pitbulls, it really is all about how they're raised whether they become sweeties or not.

Anyway, I told the Captain plainly, "Husband is militia, what will you have me do?"

He said, "String her up. Send a little message to her husband. I am so fucking sick of this god damned neighborhood spawning shit rats every fucking week!"

He went off even more as he walked away, "Why can't these Fucking Nationalists just accept the occupation!?"

Again; this was nothing new. Every neighborhood, every week, every day.

Now a few months ago, probably a few years ago actually, I would've done what I was told with a heavy heart and a face plagued with my own despair Boo Hoo, Sob Sob, Poor Poor world, Oh the Humanity. This fucking place changed me into what I loved being: Death. Recalling glimpses of the interaction with Holy Joe, I was DONE! Done with feeling sorry for myself about the things I did or even remembering them. Psycho psycho psycho, no more guns to My head if there's any J.C.s to kill. I fucking meant it when I said I would get back home and I was going to be damned if my own guys were going to place a sack on my head like those worthless wretches a few days prior. No, that wasn't going to happen to me, and I was all better. Death and hate, rage and insanity are the way back to her, and I fucking love her.

I loved every minute of what I did next. I loved tying that noose and tossing it over the lamp post. I LOVED standing her on that stool and placing the rope around her neck. AND I LOVED tying her kids up to watch as I kicked the stool out from under her! I made the sign myself and had the honor of hanging it. The pretty sign said, "Milice Abandonne!"

Killing is great… If I have to kill people just to get home, then Fuck It! I'll do it with the biggest Fucking smile on my face! Love love and more love. I always heard love and hate are close together in the brain or some shit. Why not love my hate? That'd make me a near perfect person!

A few weeks later, we were on a patrol and the few on the streets walking by started to walk the other way. Some dusty broads from the Red Zone turned the corner to notice us on a water break before turning away and Rowland shouted, "MMMMmmmhmmm you two look good enough to Eat!" They put their heads down and walked a little faster while we laughed.

Rowland halted them and approached. When he got close enough, he grabbed them saying, "Don't worry, I just want to chat… You know, get to know you better!?"

Rowland was so fucked in the head, and could've done anything. I'd seen him intentionally pick fights in the Red Zone, and fighting off lynch mobs was something I used to find fun. However, after returning from the nut house, I still knew I had a promise to keep, so I didn't mind him having a little fun as long as it didn't stir anything too crazy.

The broads screamed for help, and I knew this was a trap. Even though it actually wasn't. Paranoid Ha! As they screamed, a suspicious looking man down the street reached into his coat for something. There was no time to see what it was, so I raised my rifle and shot him in the chest. Rowland let the women run off after the gunshot, believing in the same trap as me. Scanning the rooftops, I approached the corpse with Savaren only to see the dead man holding a wallet. I walked back to my guys, sat back against the wall, and kicked my feet up. I opened my canteen and took a swig with a smile on my maskless face, wondering what that guy was reaching to his wallet for. No clue, don't care either. Fucker must've wanted to die or else he wouldn't've been on the same street as me. Oh well, rest in peace fucker...

I was about to think some further when I noticed Savaren looking at me. I found it a little strange when he said the thing I was about to think, maybe. Not the words I would've used, but he asked, "Is this it then? Is this what you're going to do to get back to her?"

I set my rifle down, the barrel was still hot, and said the answer I already had in mind to that stupid shit-near rhetorical question, "You all made me promise, right?"

I know he was just concerned about me and he was my best friend. He was no better than I; he killed people before just like me. Maybe he killed more? Who's keeping score? How the Hell was he spared from this fucking place!? His mind, head I mean! Him and Andrews, Stiles, whoever! It's only me! Only me and Rowland, maybe Collins on occasion, not really! Wh- Who!? What's the difference in my attitude towards what I do anyway? I could either do the fucking things I do and cry myself to sleep about it or I could laugh and enjoy myself. Why am I remembering things again!? Plus! I took the Chaplain's advice! I had forgiven myself. In fact, I'd more than forgiven myself. I had finally come to peace with this place! I still couldn't see that warm embrace or whatever the fuck you're supposed to feel when all's right as rain between you and God, but fuck it anyway! I could raise my rifle to my mouth and blow my fucking head off with happy happy happy images of happiness, or I could smile and carry on through shit and horror! I choose: "Smile and Carry On!" Plus! shit and horror are fantastic when that's all you know! Why am I even thinking about "happiness" Eww Haahaahaha! What I would've given for death, but NO! I need to see her; I need to hold her yet again and give mom a big ol hug. She's having a great time back home and I'm smiling and killing myself and others. I know I'm going insane! Letters letters letters, what about "leave?" Whoops! I forgot! That ain't fucking Sherman! But why though!? Why do they want me here!? Like this!?. I get it! They WANT psychopaths who are able to do this shit! No place for people with souls and hearts! HAHAHA! Can I die now? NO! No! no. Smiling and killing, that's what I'm good for. Savannah isn't real. I died a long time ago; this is just Heaven! Heaven! Where I get to kill and kill and smile and dance, and not care at all. Happy times in the barracks, writing letters, masturbating to Savannah's pictures, killing and fun, patrolling and shooting, the kick of the rifle makes me hard! Fun, fun, lying that I'm okay, Red Zone sucks, Green Zone boring, smiling and smiling, drinking and gambling, breathing toxins, smoking and pushups! Pushups! PT! PT! Good for you! Good for you! Good for Me! Good for Me! All Day! All Day! Every Day! Every Day! By Myself! By Myself! By Myself! By Myself! By Myself! By Myself! By Myself! By Myself! By Myself! By Myself! By Myself! By Myself! Momma told Johnny not to go downtown!… Army Recruiter was hanging around! Every second you aint training to kill them, Red Zone nationalists are training to kill you. Fuck that! Boys and I got some paling around to do before patrol. 2nd street, 3rd street, 4th street, Rosemont, Rosemont, rally the trucks and gimme those 45s, I'm bringin in the next VIP! 5,6,7,8, Not enough bodies decorating HQ. Oh the urge to Fuck and Kill! Happy, happy, NO! Why? Would Savannah be mad if I jerked off to Nurse Alyssa a few times? Not gonna stop anyway! HAHAHA! I wanna go to the Rec Center again! Two more weeks!

It doesn't end! Please make it stop! Please? They had it coming, they're trying to stop me!? What the fuck is happening to me!? NO! HAHAHAHAHA! FUCKING KILL ME! I'M SO TIRED OF LIVING! I HATE MYSELF AND THIS FUCKING WORLD, AND EVERYONE I'VE HAD TO HURT! THEY EARNED IT! I NEED TO SEE HER!

STOP. STOp. STop. Stop. stop.

I'm fine! I'm fine? I'm fine! I'm good… All good… Cool as a cucumber… I'm okay… Savaren is my bestest bud.