Ghosts of Christmas Past

2 months later- Age 24- 2075

Things at LM-5 were going great and the mill was closed immediately after Thanksgiving as the snow fell gently over the woods onto the thick white blanket across the forests. The workers had all moved into their homes in the village for the holidays, and Christmas was just around the corner. Candles burned all night and lit up the log cabins in a magical display like out of an old Christmas movie. We in the quarters dressed Yogi in a Santa Claus outfit and all was just lovely.

Yogi was the giant and fierce-looking bear statue by the front door, of course, named after the classic cartoon bear. He held up one paw in a strangely friendly but authoritative manner since we arrived and was always an object of intrigue that gave rise to strange customs. Every day since I arrived at the mill, I would give Yogi a high-five on the way out and the high-five became a lazy tradition among those who lived in Quarter #1. Even if you weren't feeling good that morning, you Always high-fived the bear. If you didn't, AF Command at Juneau would realize how pointless a unit being at LM-5 is, and we'd go straight to the front. High-fiving the bear became a physically enforced practice.

Over time and after enough boredom or lack of things to be upset about, those things tend to have a way of creating themselves. Like, I had been at the head of countless tribunals against those who failed to high-five the bear during my time at LM-5. As I suggested, the lack of problems or issues to deal with quickly led to the creation of strict practices. The ones who failed to high-five Yogi sat before me in my powerful position atop the level two stairs and the guilty would kneel before me at the fireplace below. The fire was always going in order for the accused to literally face the heat while myself and the rest of the council debated from our position of power on how to handle the offender. The man of 2nd platoon who did not pay Yogi his respect was sentenced to be punished for the crime by getting restrained and socked in the mouth by his closest friend (2nd platoon was still small, so we knew who everyone's best friends were.) The second offense made the person subjected to a beating by his entire squad for 30 seconds which doesn't seem like a long time until it happens. Then there was the 3rd offense, which I never had to issue punishment for because the offenders always had a way of recognizing Yogi after the 1st or 2nd offense. I won't say exactly what we intended to do to those who neglected the bear a 3rd time, but I'll just say that we hoped God had mercy on that man because we sure as shit wouldn't.

Like I said with the celebrity news, and given the new environment, we took many of the serious repercussions for things that were deadly in the Sherman days and implemented them in a watered-down form at LM-5. I'll say again "Montreal never leaves." But the minuscule procedures and practices that were established over time retained a certain level of the old psychosis since all our skulls still contained those minds. So, things like the high-five tradition was initially just something silly, but as I said, would grow into a strictly believed and exercised law. Things like that even became deadly serious to the way of life of everyone at the lumber mill. You'd be surprised at the seriousness of dumb things when paranoid and formerly psychotic minds are afraid of losing where they ended up.

I'll give an example of the severity of those dumb things, but I'll sum it up by the overall idea of: "I love LM-5. SFC Levin high-fived the bear statue the first day. Clearly, we all have to do that or we'll lose our newfound joy in life!"

I'll paint a quick picture of how we viewed the pettiest things with something that happened on watch atop the saw building, and before Christmas of 74.

Only around 4 months into our new station and the Yogi high-five was already into its 2nd month as a law. So, I was standing and looking out at the distant mountains since the workers had stopped working weeks ago when I heard a commotion or argument between two of the troops from my platoon.

The commotion didn't phase me since it had been going on for nearly the whole shift. Although the argument was largely ignored by everyone atop the saw building, I caught a few words about girls only for the argument to drift into other areas of nonsense. The whole thing only escalated when one of the guys suggested how Gilda Broscoe would leave Stanley Van Robb for his co-star Keith McKinney. A nearly preposterous suggestion escalated into a shoving match when one brought up the secret ledger of Van Robb's recent expenses regarding his "Business trip" to Acapulco.

Still not caring, and more focused on the dot I was trying to make out as "Task Force Steel" all stopped when it had reached the personal level. No more vicious defense of people they'll never meet, it had gotten to the point of one shouting, "Well, at least I didn't forget to high-five Yogi yesterday morning!"

Though I had tuned out most of the pointless banter, I certainly heard that. The exclamation startling me and the rest of the roof sentry crew, the other's who'd been minding their own immediately seized the accused as well as the accuser. Everyone having heard the DEFCON 1 warning from that guy's mouth, I got on the radio to make Captain Mosby aware of what happened.

I told him how PFC So and so forgot to high five Yogi, and how Specialist Smith hid it from me for a full day. It was good that it was discovered so soon because Mosby averted our redeployment to the front line by fabricating a patrol encounter with a Chinese raid group. One soldier was punished for not giving the bear some palm, and the other was punished for not immediately tattling on his friend. So, a vertibird from Task Force Steel was sent to survey the coordinates of the make-believe raid group, but the imaginary communists disappeared into the forests. It was essential that Juneau was occasionally reminded that troops at LM-5 were still necessary, but they never learned how the magic bear idol was the reason for those reminders. Such were the ways of LM-5 when problems were created simply in order to remember what struggles were like.

So, the snows of winter were nothing like in Montreal. In Montreal, the snow would just barely fall onto the cinder-filled streets despite the river and lake being iced over. Once the snows melted on the streets, the water, ash, and toxic chemicals in the Montreal air let out a fume even more penetrating and awful than usual. The only way to describe that fume was like the nice smell of rain after a storm but mixed with burnt hair, sulfur, gunpowder, and gasoline. At LM-5, the snow covered the trees and mountain tops like frosting on a cake. The thick snows, the silent lumber mill, the tall trees, log cabins, and log quarters really did resemble something like a winter wonderland. Everything about LM-5 was so much better, but the bar set in Montréal was lower than my words can even describe.

Beginning in late November, we were even issued the winterized combat uniforms I'd only seen in that comic series and on the troops who stopped by. The olive-green COFs were replaced by light grey ones and dark grey combat boots. The army green ballistic plates were replaced with white ones, and the joint padding was painted white as snow with little black markings for rank and unit designation. A new bit of gear were tinted goggles that were incredibly useful on cloudless days since the sun reflecting off the snow was literally blinding. The grey ski masks were also really warm in the bitter cold and much thicker than the thin green ones worn under our gas masks in Montréal. The masks and goggles did a very good job of sealing off the eyes in a blizzard, but I wore the face coverings for their practical purposes.

When I saw the blizzard equipped and faceless boys to my left and right in the new season, I often thought back to the old Montréal days. Over the short months at LM-5 I'd grown so used to seeing the faces of my men, I forgot the days when faces were more strange to look at than masks. I will never truly forget the images I'd seen a thousand times before. Images showing armored soldiers in ragtag green uniforms, each one's head and face covered by a thick helmet and menacing gas mask used both to breathe the toxicity, and to remain anonymous during the chaos. Despite the wonder around us, it still wasn't hard to find reminders of times we were rapidly forgetting.

We still carried our rifles with us wherever we went, but it hardly seemed necessary in LM-5 since by this time we were largely convinced we accidentally got shipped to a boy scout's camp. But, winter was so magical at LM-5, and it seemed like I went through years of hell to finally end up in heaven... I tended to think that every morning each day I was there.

Finally, Christmas of 2074 came. Christmas Eve was when the good stuff happened, but the holiday itself was unlike any other I had experienced in as long as I could remember. Christmas Eve was very relaxed even on shift, but the real fun didn't start until dinner. In the mess hall, there was a great meal that was collectively made by the families of the workers, and decorations were put up the whole day for the evening party. Upon seeing what was done to that chow building, all of us in the company were hit with that old wave of shock, wondering again where our perception of "Canadian Hospitality" switched from molotovs and dead soldiers to Christmas carols and cheer at our sight. The Canadians of LM-5 had been nice and even friends with us for months, but never so overtly happy.

At the end of the shift, we gave the collective "Haha! Sucks to be you" to the guys of the night shift and began our fun. We ate like never before, and when the eating was over, then came the drinking. I took on Savaren, Collins, Andrews, Hill, and Mr. Tuck in a drinking game. The game was a classic of The Square; very simple, yet very stupid. The goal was to chug a quarter bottle of Bourbon, and the first one to empty it won a pot of 200 actual dollars (Not that now irrelevant Army Script). I came in second, but as soon as I was done, my body rejected what I did, I fell out of my chair, and threw up all over the floor. However, even the nearly instant misery of that game wasn't enough to spoil the night after a rally. That entire night, the mess hall sounded of laughter and Christmas carols mixed with lumberjack songs and far too much alcohol. This fun wasn't the type of fun you had after surviving a frenzied Red Zone mob and was safe at the barracks, this was simple... fun.

I saw it in the eyes of my friends and subordinates. There was so much laughter, fun, and genuine joy in all of their faces. Most of the soldiers were too drunk to think about the past, instead joining in the songs, games, and even dance in intoxicated glee. Some were different though. I was busy drinking water with my buddies both Army and Canadian after recovering from the game, but I remember something caught my eye. One of the corporals from Reed's platoon sat alone at an empty table just staring at the plate in front of him. I thought he was concentrating on not throwing up at the time, but looking back, it was different. The empty bottles around him, and the look on his face showed he wasn't trying to keep something inside his stomach, so much as reflecting on what was already inside his head. All that horror was easy to think about after a few drinks and in the wrong moment. I didn't know if that corporal was one of those who received the drugs, but maybe he needed them or was starting to realize that amidst the joy around him.

Either way, it's very dangerous to be drunk, alone, and dwelling on your mistakes or what you had to go through. Alcohol was a great mask for inner emotions in good company and vibes, but I was too dumb at the time to see if that man was okay. But, the night went on, and I had the time of my life. Still, through all the drunken stupidity and merriment, nobody could escape the past, and even though drugs helped numb the effects of thought for many of us, it still wasn't a good idea to dwell on it. All anyone can do is accept their mistakes and be thankful for what they do have, whether that be their friends, their family back home, or hope of something better to come along… I think the chaplain tried to tell me something similar before.

Maybe I don't need to, but I feel I should mention my letter the night before the Christmas Eve party. Just like the thousands of nearly pointless letters I'd sent over the years, the letter home that night wasn't much, but still something. I remember briefly wondering how I could still have things to talk to Mom and Savannah about after so much, and why they still responded. But, they responded every time, no matter the change in scenery, the atrocity, the lies, I knew the meaningless letter was cherished and loved by them for reasons I still can't logically explain... Anyway, here's what it said:

Dear, family

LM-5 is still the best place to be during this awful war. Christmas Eve is tomorrow and now I feel better than I have in a while. I have gone 3 weeks without smoking, so I think I'm doing much better. Not going to lie: I still crave them out of habit and kicking the "Routine" part of the addiction I hear can take months. But, the cool clean air of this place is enough to clear me up and give me hope. I can't wait to receive your holiday pictures and maybe in my next letter I will send some pictures of me. I think Corporal Stanley still has a camera haha. You know I miss you both more and more every day.

Love, David

Christmas Eve passed, and on Christmas morning, there was no watch. Orders said we had to run patrols, but Captain Mosby said we didn't, and I didn't want to go over his head with our Regiment's command at Juneau.. That was a joke. I had no desire to do anything due to that morning's hangover.

There were no presents and no childish glee, just the groans of soldiers experiencing horrific hangovers at the sound of our quarters' piercing alarm clock. My LT bud, Lt. Royce was passed out in the bunk next to me like he'd been shot and just happened to fall on it, and I laid there staring at the rafters when Captain Mosby himself approached. He wore half his gear, his captain insignia sat crooked on his sleeves when he saw his unconscious immediate subordinate and went down the chain of command upon seeing my eyes open. He rubbed his head while giving me a mandatory lecture about platoon readiness that he couldn't word correctly from the lingering alcohol in his system. It's hard to really take in a lecture when your superior looks like he's about to hurl at any second. I couldn't even tell if he was kidding or not. I still did my accountability after that as accurately as possible (Glanced around the room and lots of assumed everyone was alive) then fell back onto my bunk hoping for a painless and swift death.

Things quickly fell back into the norm. The mill workers were still taking the next couple months off, but we had to guard the place, and they had to prepare weeks in advance for the next season. The boredom returned, but was slightly alleviated by new training sessions that were implemented after Christmas and the snow livened the atmosphere a little more. Those training sessions were regarding winter warfare drills throughout the week. Originally paranoid that Juneau was getting ready to ship us to the front, everyone was sure to high-five the bear. Although it turned out those warfare drills were done by every unit part of the Alaskan Front, so the paranoia gradually faded.

Those drills ended up being lots of fun, and I really enjoyed having to lead exercises in the woods and conduct combat readiness in this environment. It was strange conducting field drills based on a theater of warfare we had zero experience in. Tell any of us to clear a ruined skyscraper, throw ourselves at frenzied insurgent guns, subdue a neighborhood, or use gas bombs to kill suspected citizens and we could ace that test. Going off the field manuals for open winter warfare in flat, mountainous, or wooded environments just felt strange. But, given the fact that LM-5 was LM-5, there were plenty of winter warfare exercises that turned into big snowball fights.

So, in the new year, I was feeling better than ever. I wasn't lying when I said I stopped smoking either. My friends no longer felt like I was a psychopath, and I was coming to terms with my life of fun and relaxation near the front of a bloody war. I considered stopping my use of the Anti-Psychotics, but I still thought about some of the worse times in Montréal regularly. Those drugs gave me the benefit of dulling the painful emotions and memories for almost 3 years, but I just felt bad for those who couldn't lean on drugs. I wouldn't be surprised if the forces stationed in Canada were given spiked rations to turn them into sociopathic murderers, but I was okay. Whether it was the drugs, or the escape from Montréal, we were all doing better as a whole. We would continue to do better for far longer than we ever imagined. This was so much the case that I am actually going to skip a lot in the next chapter. Apologies for the spoiler, but you'll soon see what exactly happened, and why the period of nothing was indeed relevant to how we ended up.