Soldier Looking for a Mission
Disclaimer: Same as before.
Eternity - Thanks for the encouragement, I really appreciated it. It's not often someone likes my AU fics...
~ ~ ~ ~
2146: Sapphire Bay. Shit. I'm still home. I'm still only home. On my loneliest nights in South America all I could think about was getting home. Now that I'm here, all I can think about is leaving. But why do I feel this way? Ol' Gollum ain't lurking in the bush anymore, we triumphed over the Biohazard. But why do I feel something else afoot? At least back during the war, every second I stayed within these walls I got weaker. Every second ol' Gollum spent out in the brush he got stronger.
"Hey Hiram." Bogle says, "Did you know Kate's in town?"
"Yeah, I saw her last earlier this morning." I reply, "She and her dad flew over here in their Cessna."
"Hey, do you still have that thing for her?" Bogle says, making the 'pretty eyes' look and coddling up to Weerd, who's wearing a dress.
"Oh Hiram, you're so manly and strong, I wanna ditch Scott and...." Weerd says.
"Not funny!" I shout and punch at Weerd, I wind up punching through him and hitting the wall.
"OW! DAMN IT!" I shout.
"You should know ghosts aren't solid." Weerd says, "And Hiram, tell me about my eyes."
"Oh Kate, they're bluer than the sapphire seas...." Bogle says.
As annoyed as I am, I'm finding this funny, so I laugh. Arnot, the ex- Colonial Legionnaire in our ranks always used to say that humor kept him going when he was in the Legion.
"Why are you laughing dude?" Bogle says, "I found those words in a draft of a poem you were writing about Kate in your diary."
"Why you....!" I shout.
"Hiram?" Shaggy says, he's knocking on my door, "Kate called five minutes ago and asked if you wanted to go running with her."
"I'll be right down there, Uncle Shaggy." I say and throw on one of my sand brown t-shirts and a pair of shorts and my sneakers.
Right as I get downstairs I hear the doorbell ringing. I see Kate standing in the doorway as Uncle Shaggy opens the door. She pets Scooby on the head and smiles and waves when she sees me.
We stretch and warm up for our run. "Take it easy on me, OK? I'm not in as good shape as I used to be." Kate says.
"I will." I reply, "I'm not gonna take you on the Fan Dance or anything."
"Good, I was relieved when you didn't come down in fatigues and boots with a fifty five pound backpack with extras for me." Kate laughes back, "I remembered seeing a couple guys who just finished the Fan Dance during Selection when my Dad and I were in Wales. Twenty-six miles running through the hills of the Welsh countryside with all that gear, that's insane."
"That wasn't nearly half bad, once we did the Fan Dance, the rest of the course didn't seem nearly half bad." I reply. Actually it was glancing at that little picture of Kate I kept taped inside my compass that kept me going during the longer forced marches we did.
We start out at a brisk clip, and I take some time to admire Kate's slim, athletic form, in her shorts and University of California t-shirt. As we've run three miles, we pass by the St. Michael's Catholic Church. We can hear the choir practicing inside as we stretch on the front lawn.
"What are they singing?" Kate asks, the song is in French and it's one very familiar to me.
"J'avais un camarade, de meilleur, il n'en est pas," the choir sings, "Dans la paix et dans la guerre. Nous allions comme deux freres. Marchant d'un meme pas (bis)."
I'm distracted as I hear this song. I remember Arnot's singing old Legion marching songs in French and German used to annoy us on field exercises and long marches. It makes my hair stand on end, as I heard this song from both legionnaires in South America and whenever we buried one of our own fallen men.
"Hiram?" Kate asks, there's concern in her eyes, I can see it.
"They're singing an old song that B-Squadron used to sing, J'avais un camerade, I had a mate." I reply, "One of our boys in the unit was an ex member of the Colonial Legion. His singing used to annoy us, but this song grew on us one day in South America."
~ ~ ~ ~
South America, 2142: "Arnot, will you shut up. You've been singing all day since we got into the bivouac, I'm sick of it." Fife groans under the weight of his field pack and rifle.
We're staying at a Colonial Legion bivouac for the night, and from there a truck is gonna come take us back to the JSOC Compound outside of Manaus. These legionnaires are a tough, battle hardened breed. They've been fighting the Biohazard in the colonies since it started in 2138. To a man they are sun tanned, with tattoos crisscrossing their arms. Their white kepis with the black bills, worn only in encampments, distinguish them from far off.
"Mais une balle siffle, qui de nous sera frappe," the singing drifts from a group of legionnaires burying a recently deceased comrade, "Le voila qui tombe a terre. Il est la dans la poussiere."
As soon as he hears the singing, Arnot springs to attention. He is a fellow with longish brown hair, with a mustache growing out and several days of beard growth. We've all got that from being in the jungle brush for seventeen days on a LRRP. He's joining their singing.
"Alright, I've had enough of this shit." Arturo said, "Arnot, shut the fuck...."
The thirty year old from Los Angeles is on his ass right before he finishes, "Have you no respect for the dead, Arturo? These men are mourning the passing of a comrade. A legionnaire is loyal not to the state but to his fellow legionnaires alone."
"Mon coeur est dechire. (bis)." The singing continues.
"It does seem a bit crass to shout at Arnot over his singing now, doesn't it?" Robin says. Trooper (Private) Robin Fenway is a nineteen year old from Ireland. He's our newcomer to B Squadron and this is his first patrol.
~ ~ ~ ~
2146 : "Ma main il veut me prendre, mais je charge mon fusil." The singing continues, "Adieu donc, adieu mon frere."
"What does that mean?" Kate asks.
"My hand he wants to take. But I load my rifle. Farewell then, farewell my brother." I reply, emotion creeping into my voice, "We used to sing that whenever one of our guys fell in combat since that day."
Kate seems almost ashamed, as if she'd inadvertently stepped on the graves of deceased soldiers, "I'm sorry, I...."
"Don't be." I reply.
"Dans le ciel et sur la terre." The singers continue, "Soyons toujours unis. (bis)"
"In the sky and on the ground. Let us always be united (repeat)." I continue to translate.
~ ~ ~ ~
2143: Another explosion tears across the JSOC Compound. The creatures are really intensifying their assault on the Joint Special Operations Command area, where a lot of nasty raids into their territory have been staged. It's one of our grenades as we blow away the last remnants of an enemy raid.
"And stay out you bastards!" I shout, firing the last trickle of charge from my electric gun.
"Robin?" I ask, turning to see if our signaler who called in the air strike that saved our life can see his work. He's lying dead, a hole in his forehead, in the bottom of the bunker.
A few hours later, we stand in ranks, the only Mountain Troop casualty being a young ex-undergraduate student from Ireland. Arnot leads our song, "J'avais un camerade, de meilleur, il n'en est pas."
"Soldier." A second lieutenant demands, "What are those men singing?"
I recognize him, Second Lieutenant Osbourne, a pretty boy from Pennsylvania who throws his rank around. He's with the Rangers, and he ordered Robin to do the task that killed him, raising his antennae up made him a huge target. Some Gollum sniper couldn't resist the shot.
"They're singing for Robin, sir." I reply coldly, because this gung ho bastard wanted air support when we were doing well enough to shove the enemy away Robin was killed.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Hiram's POV)
"Katie, the nicest girl in Ferris High School." I remember hearing those comments about Kate, and they always rang true. She was the social butterfly, the sweetest girl on campus. I'd always liked her since we knew each other. Since her father got stationed at Patrick Field, down by Melbourne she and I had known each other rather well. Going to high school and eventually college together, we had been friends for years.
Now the woman of my dreams is off to marry someone else. I've got nothing left, this little jog, the occasional little get together we'd have, only table scraps. Inevitably I'm gonna have to leave. But there's no more war, no more South American Theater of Operations to lose myself in.
I wasn't suicidal or anything, don't get me wrong, but if I did die in the area of operations (AO) it wouldn't matter. Kate wouldn't have me and my feelings for her to worry her, if she did somehow know, and I'd be dead and at peace. Maybe it was in the back of my mind when I volunteered for the most dangerous missions in South America, or when I asked to have my tours extended to a point where my CO, Colonel Gates, practically had to order me to take leave.
I never went anywhere near home when they made me go on leave. I visited Kate one or two times, but that's about it. Even those short periods where I'd see her were painful, because I knew after we'd have a friendly lunch or dinner conversation, or meet over coffee, she'd go back to her apartment with Scott and I'd be kicked to the curb again. I remember after one such moment, in 2144, when they needed volunteers from Mountain Troop to end their leave breaks early for the Andean campaign I volunteered.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Kate's POV)
There always seems to be a lot on Hiram's mind, I've noticed that over the past nine years. When Scott and I first got together our sophomore year of college, Hiram was the first person I told. He seemed happy enough about it, but there seemed to be something bothering him and he just refused to say exactly what it was.
He started acting unusual when I asked him, "Have you met Scott Petersen, my boyfriend?"
Could it be? Could he possibly have had or still have feelings for me? I don't know, it's like he has this deep dark secret he refuses to tell me. I'm pretty sure that he didn't volunteer for South America completely on the grounds of patriotism, though I know that's a big part of it. I'm almost certain he volunteered because of me. I'm not gonna ask Hiram, because what if he doesn't have feelings for me anymore? At least I know Scott has feelings for me.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Hiram's POV)
Even if Kate was single, I wouldn't move on her. I love her, that's for damn sure, but I don't want to subject her to the mess that I've become. I wake up screaming a lot in the middle of the night, wake up thinking that I'm in the jungle when I'm really safe at home.
As we run back to my house we run with the occasional word spoken. She's catching me up on how she and Dr. Monroe, some older fellow I've never met, are becoming partners in a clinic somewhere in Los Angeles.
We get inside the house and I break out a couple bottles of mineral water. Passing one to Kate I go into the kitchen to get myself an orange. "Kate, do want some fruit or any snacks?" I say as I go in.
"No thanks, I'm good." Kate replies, she's been looking at an embossed piece of stationary with the US Army seal on it.
"Are you re-enlisting?" Kate asks me.
I nod, "I'm staying with the Territorial Army though, and with the 21st Special Forces."
"Are you gonna take them up on it?" Kate asks me.
"On what?" I ask.
"To: Sergeant Hiram George Becker, US Army. An opening for a class at the US Army Warrant Officer Candidate School is open for you. If you desire to take it, when you've re-enlisted contact your detailer for orders to attend. Signed, Colonel Archibald Gates, US Army." Kate replies, reading the words of my old CO word for word. He's the commanding officer of the 21st Special Forces, and a man who personally led patrols through the South American brush on more than one occasion.
"Hiram, this is a great opportunity." Kate says, "I mean, a Special Forces Warrant Officer, that's no mean feat. That means the organization thinks you're a valuable investment."
I know that, Katie, I know, trust me. I've been told that a million times. Warrant officers in the Special Forces a rare breed indeed. They're specialists in their areas of expertise, mine would be mountain warfare, weapons, and trauma management.
"Kate, I've considered it, but I think I'd rather beat the sword into a plowshare." I reply.
"Hiram, you've got a decade of distinguished service under your belt, you're a mid-grade NCO, highly decorated." Kate replied.
Kate, the Army brat that she is, understands the whole offer to me better than I ever did. "My re-enlistment ceremony's next week. You're invited if you'd like to come along."
"Actually, Sergeant, be ready for that ceremony this evening."
"Sir?" I ask, noticing Lieutenant General Barnes, Kate's father.
"I pulled a couple of strings." Barnes replies.
"May I ask why, sir?" I ask.
"I understand you've been offered a promotion to warrant officer." Barnes states. Why the hell isn't he answering my question? I can't, however ask a general, 'Sir, may I ask why you're being diversionary?'
Kate, however, isn't covered by those rules. "Dad, what's happening? Is there something wrong?"
"Katie, it's classified." Barnes says, "Please, leave us alone."
"Sir," I ask, "What really is happening?"
"Sergeant Becker, you've been selected for a mission of the utmost importance. I can't brief you on the specifics, but...." Barnes says.
"Sir," I ask the silver haired general, "Might I ask why I'm being requested."
"You're resourceful, a skilled operator, an exceptional soldier..." Barnes begins.
"Sir, there were other, more decorated members in my unit." I reply.
"Sergeant, there were more decorated operators in both the Territorial and Active Special Forces units. But you have a unique qualification." Barnes replies.
"Sir, might I ask what, precisely that is?" I ask.
"No Sergeant, I cannot mention the details. I've already told you too much. You will be briefed at 0900 tomorrow." Barnes says, as he walks out.
~ ~ ~ ~
I'm a soldier, looking for a mission. Looks like one has already found me. Whatever it is has to be pretty damned important to have a general pushing my re-enlistment back nine days.
All this is secondary, as my heart's beating at a million beats per second. I'm wearing my Army greens, or my Type A uniform. It's a short sleeved, light green shirt, with darker green trousers and black shoes. On my head is my hard earned sand brown beret. The badge on it is the crossed arrows with the dagger through the center. A small scroll on it reads 'De Oppresso Liber' (Freedom to the Oppressed), the motto of the 21st Special Forces Regiment, TA. I've got quite an array of salad (military decorations). On my chest are the silver parachutist's wings, the combat infantryman's badge, all the ribbons I've earned ranging from the South American campaign ribbon with two stars. I earned the Silver Star for valor, among other medals.
General Barnes is standing opposite me. His silver Army Air Corps pilot's wings glisten prominently in the setting Florida sun, as does his master parachutist's insignia and his six rows of ribbons. Atop his head is his Army issue officer's combination cover. I salute him as I stop my approach to him.
General Barnes says, "Sergeant Hiram George Becker, raise your right hand and repeat after me."
I do so and he says, " I (state your name), do solemly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God."
"I, Hiram George Becker, do solemly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God." I reply.
"Congratulations, Sergeant Becker." Barnes says. His aide, a lieutenant I don't recognize, hands me a contract that's promising another six years of my life to the military. I sign it without hesitation.
"I do hope in six weeks I'll be swearing in a Warrant Officer Hiram Becker." Barnes says.
"I'll consider it, sir." I reply.
"Your commanding officer seems to think rather highly of you, Hiram." Barnes says.
"Sir," I hear a voice and see an officer, clad in a similar manner. Colonel Archibald Gates, US Army approaches us in his Class A uniform, "I was about to inform Sergeant Becker of that fact. The sergeant has my recommendations."
I know Archie Gates well enough that the reason he's here is not just to congratulate one of his men. He's still that same square jawed fellow, with a compact, muscular build and salt and pepper hair. One of the best officers I've ever served under.
The two men talk amongst themselves and I wade into the crowd of well wishers consisting of Uncle Shaggy, Aunt Velma, Uncle Fred, the whole gang, Kate and even Scott her fiancé. Though the last of them I'm not really pleased to see, I smile nonetheless.
I'm particularly annoyed when Scott salutes me. "Scott, you don't salute a sergeant, you salute an officer. And you're a damn civilian."
I grin as I say this, despite my gravelly tone. "Aren't you gonna become an officer?" Scott asks.
"Warrant officer." Kate corrects, "He's a technical specialist in his field, as opposed to being an officer like Daddy."
"Jeez, I'm sorry." Scott says.
I walk into the kitchen of Kate's house and see a cake with a sergeant's stripes on it. The writing reads, 'Congratulations Sergeant Hiram G. Becker, B Squadron, 21st Special Forces'
"Surprise asshole." Says a voice.
"Stoney, what the hell are you doing here?" I ask.
I'm talking to Corporal "Stoney" Brown, he was a newcomer to our unit in 2143, and was one damn good machine gunner.
"We had to congratulate our future mountaineering warfare specialist." Lance Corporal Linkovich Chumovsky says, he's a fellow from Estonia who was assigned to us in 2143 as a newly assigned trooper. Now three years older at twenty-two, he's still as strong as an ox and about as intelligent as one too.
"At least you're not gonna be jabbing us with needles, like when you were patrol medic." David Morgan remarks. He's another of that ilk in their early twenties that joined up in the later stages of the war.
"Yeah, that bloody hurt." Sergeant Jack Falstaff remarks. He's a big, stout fellow in his late thirties, an avid diver, skier, mountaineer and cyclist from Swindon, in England.
"Hey, you guys must be Stoney, Link, Dave, and Falstaff." Kate remarks.
"How do you know about us?" Falstaff asks.
"Hiram wrote home about you guys all the time." Kate replies.
"Aw, isn't that sweet." Jack replies, "We meant so much to you that you wrote home about us in your letters."
"They were complaints about the lot of you." I reply, grinning, "Especially the way Falstaff over here overate."
"I'm still pissed about the fact that you idiots put curry powder in all my ration packs. I absolutely detested that stuff when I was with the 4th Welsh Division down in India back in 2131." Jack replies, "I hoped you wankers didn't drink out of the tea urn back when we were on the Counter Terrorism team, because I pissed in it every morning."
"You're not gonna write him up, are you, Warrant Officer Becker?" Dave asks.
"Of course not, I'll just make sure his bicycle disappears every day." I reply.
"I know, 'If anyone touches you while I'm away, I'll knot their bollocks so tight they'll be pissing out there ears.' Find some more original threats dude." Stoney replies.
"That's Sergeant Dude to you Brown." Falstaff laughs.
"No, Sergeant Dude is what we call Hiram." Dave replies.
"Yeah, but now it'll be Warrant Officer Dude." Falstaff replies.
Well, it seems I've finally found what I wanted. A mission, that's all I need. As I watch Kate and Scott sharing a tender moment on the back porch of the house I can't wait till the briefing and pre-training phases for the mission start. I need to get into the zone, and fast.
~ ~ ~ ~
TBC
Disclaimer: Same as before.
Eternity - Thanks for the encouragement, I really appreciated it. It's not often someone likes my AU fics...
~ ~ ~ ~
2146: Sapphire Bay. Shit. I'm still home. I'm still only home. On my loneliest nights in South America all I could think about was getting home. Now that I'm here, all I can think about is leaving. But why do I feel this way? Ol' Gollum ain't lurking in the bush anymore, we triumphed over the Biohazard. But why do I feel something else afoot? At least back during the war, every second I stayed within these walls I got weaker. Every second ol' Gollum spent out in the brush he got stronger.
"Hey Hiram." Bogle says, "Did you know Kate's in town?"
"Yeah, I saw her last earlier this morning." I reply, "She and her dad flew over here in their Cessna."
"Hey, do you still have that thing for her?" Bogle says, making the 'pretty eyes' look and coddling up to Weerd, who's wearing a dress.
"Oh Hiram, you're so manly and strong, I wanna ditch Scott and...." Weerd says.
"Not funny!" I shout and punch at Weerd, I wind up punching through him and hitting the wall.
"OW! DAMN IT!" I shout.
"You should know ghosts aren't solid." Weerd says, "And Hiram, tell me about my eyes."
"Oh Kate, they're bluer than the sapphire seas...." Bogle says.
As annoyed as I am, I'm finding this funny, so I laugh. Arnot, the ex- Colonial Legionnaire in our ranks always used to say that humor kept him going when he was in the Legion.
"Why are you laughing dude?" Bogle says, "I found those words in a draft of a poem you were writing about Kate in your diary."
"Why you....!" I shout.
"Hiram?" Shaggy says, he's knocking on my door, "Kate called five minutes ago and asked if you wanted to go running with her."
"I'll be right down there, Uncle Shaggy." I say and throw on one of my sand brown t-shirts and a pair of shorts and my sneakers.
Right as I get downstairs I hear the doorbell ringing. I see Kate standing in the doorway as Uncle Shaggy opens the door. She pets Scooby on the head and smiles and waves when she sees me.
We stretch and warm up for our run. "Take it easy on me, OK? I'm not in as good shape as I used to be." Kate says.
"I will." I reply, "I'm not gonna take you on the Fan Dance or anything."
"Good, I was relieved when you didn't come down in fatigues and boots with a fifty five pound backpack with extras for me." Kate laughes back, "I remembered seeing a couple guys who just finished the Fan Dance during Selection when my Dad and I were in Wales. Twenty-six miles running through the hills of the Welsh countryside with all that gear, that's insane."
"That wasn't nearly half bad, once we did the Fan Dance, the rest of the course didn't seem nearly half bad." I reply. Actually it was glancing at that little picture of Kate I kept taped inside my compass that kept me going during the longer forced marches we did.
We start out at a brisk clip, and I take some time to admire Kate's slim, athletic form, in her shorts and University of California t-shirt. As we've run three miles, we pass by the St. Michael's Catholic Church. We can hear the choir practicing inside as we stretch on the front lawn.
"What are they singing?" Kate asks, the song is in French and it's one very familiar to me.
"J'avais un camarade, de meilleur, il n'en est pas," the choir sings, "Dans la paix et dans la guerre. Nous allions comme deux freres. Marchant d'un meme pas (bis)."
I'm distracted as I hear this song. I remember Arnot's singing old Legion marching songs in French and German used to annoy us on field exercises and long marches. It makes my hair stand on end, as I heard this song from both legionnaires in South America and whenever we buried one of our own fallen men.
"Hiram?" Kate asks, there's concern in her eyes, I can see it.
"They're singing an old song that B-Squadron used to sing, J'avais un camerade, I had a mate." I reply, "One of our boys in the unit was an ex member of the Colonial Legion. His singing used to annoy us, but this song grew on us one day in South America."
~ ~ ~ ~
South America, 2142: "Arnot, will you shut up. You've been singing all day since we got into the bivouac, I'm sick of it." Fife groans under the weight of his field pack and rifle.
We're staying at a Colonial Legion bivouac for the night, and from there a truck is gonna come take us back to the JSOC Compound outside of Manaus. These legionnaires are a tough, battle hardened breed. They've been fighting the Biohazard in the colonies since it started in 2138. To a man they are sun tanned, with tattoos crisscrossing their arms. Their white kepis with the black bills, worn only in encampments, distinguish them from far off.
"Mais une balle siffle, qui de nous sera frappe," the singing drifts from a group of legionnaires burying a recently deceased comrade, "Le voila qui tombe a terre. Il est la dans la poussiere."
As soon as he hears the singing, Arnot springs to attention. He is a fellow with longish brown hair, with a mustache growing out and several days of beard growth. We've all got that from being in the jungle brush for seventeen days on a LRRP. He's joining their singing.
"Alright, I've had enough of this shit." Arturo said, "Arnot, shut the fuck...."
The thirty year old from Los Angeles is on his ass right before he finishes, "Have you no respect for the dead, Arturo? These men are mourning the passing of a comrade. A legionnaire is loyal not to the state but to his fellow legionnaires alone."
"Mon coeur est dechire. (bis)." The singing continues.
"It does seem a bit crass to shout at Arnot over his singing now, doesn't it?" Robin says. Trooper (Private) Robin Fenway is a nineteen year old from Ireland. He's our newcomer to B Squadron and this is his first patrol.
~ ~ ~ ~
2146 : "Ma main il veut me prendre, mais je charge mon fusil." The singing continues, "Adieu donc, adieu mon frere."
"What does that mean?" Kate asks.
"My hand he wants to take. But I load my rifle. Farewell then, farewell my brother." I reply, emotion creeping into my voice, "We used to sing that whenever one of our guys fell in combat since that day."
Kate seems almost ashamed, as if she'd inadvertently stepped on the graves of deceased soldiers, "I'm sorry, I...."
"Don't be." I reply.
"Dans le ciel et sur la terre." The singers continue, "Soyons toujours unis. (bis)"
"In the sky and on the ground. Let us always be united (repeat)." I continue to translate.
~ ~ ~ ~
2143: Another explosion tears across the JSOC Compound. The creatures are really intensifying their assault on the Joint Special Operations Command area, where a lot of nasty raids into their territory have been staged. It's one of our grenades as we blow away the last remnants of an enemy raid.
"And stay out you bastards!" I shout, firing the last trickle of charge from my electric gun.
"Robin?" I ask, turning to see if our signaler who called in the air strike that saved our life can see his work. He's lying dead, a hole in his forehead, in the bottom of the bunker.
A few hours later, we stand in ranks, the only Mountain Troop casualty being a young ex-undergraduate student from Ireland. Arnot leads our song, "J'avais un camerade, de meilleur, il n'en est pas."
"Soldier." A second lieutenant demands, "What are those men singing?"
I recognize him, Second Lieutenant Osbourne, a pretty boy from Pennsylvania who throws his rank around. He's with the Rangers, and he ordered Robin to do the task that killed him, raising his antennae up made him a huge target. Some Gollum sniper couldn't resist the shot.
"They're singing for Robin, sir." I reply coldly, because this gung ho bastard wanted air support when we were doing well enough to shove the enemy away Robin was killed.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Hiram's POV)
"Katie, the nicest girl in Ferris High School." I remember hearing those comments about Kate, and they always rang true. She was the social butterfly, the sweetest girl on campus. I'd always liked her since we knew each other. Since her father got stationed at Patrick Field, down by Melbourne she and I had known each other rather well. Going to high school and eventually college together, we had been friends for years.
Now the woman of my dreams is off to marry someone else. I've got nothing left, this little jog, the occasional little get together we'd have, only table scraps. Inevitably I'm gonna have to leave. But there's no more war, no more South American Theater of Operations to lose myself in.
I wasn't suicidal or anything, don't get me wrong, but if I did die in the area of operations (AO) it wouldn't matter. Kate wouldn't have me and my feelings for her to worry her, if she did somehow know, and I'd be dead and at peace. Maybe it was in the back of my mind when I volunteered for the most dangerous missions in South America, or when I asked to have my tours extended to a point where my CO, Colonel Gates, practically had to order me to take leave.
I never went anywhere near home when they made me go on leave. I visited Kate one or two times, but that's about it. Even those short periods where I'd see her were painful, because I knew after we'd have a friendly lunch or dinner conversation, or meet over coffee, she'd go back to her apartment with Scott and I'd be kicked to the curb again. I remember after one such moment, in 2144, when they needed volunteers from Mountain Troop to end their leave breaks early for the Andean campaign I volunteered.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Kate's POV)
There always seems to be a lot on Hiram's mind, I've noticed that over the past nine years. When Scott and I first got together our sophomore year of college, Hiram was the first person I told. He seemed happy enough about it, but there seemed to be something bothering him and he just refused to say exactly what it was.
He started acting unusual when I asked him, "Have you met Scott Petersen, my boyfriend?"
Could it be? Could he possibly have had or still have feelings for me? I don't know, it's like he has this deep dark secret he refuses to tell me. I'm pretty sure that he didn't volunteer for South America completely on the grounds of patriotism, though I know that's a big part of it. I'm almost certain he volunteered because of me. I'm not gonna ask Hiram, because what if he doesn't have feelings for me anymore? At least I know Scott has feelings for me.
~ ~ ~ ~
(Hiram's POV)
Even if Kate was single, I wouldn't move on her. I love her, that's for damn sure, but I don't want to subject her to the mess that I've become. I wake up screaming a lot in the middle of the night, wake up thinking that I'm in the jungle when I'm really safe at home.
As we run back to my house we run with the occasional word spoken. She's catching me up on how she and Dr. Monroe, some older fellow I've never met, are becoming partners in a clinic somewhere in Los Angeles.
We get inside the house and I break out a couple bottles of mineral water. Passing one to Kate I go into the kitchen to get myself an orange. "Kate, do want some fruit or any snacks?" I say as I go in.
"No thanks, I'm good." Kate replies, she's been looking at an embossed piece of stationary with the US Army seal on it.
"Are you re-enlisting?" Kate asks me.
I nod, "I'm staying with the Territorial Army though, and with the 21st Special Forces."
"Are you gonna take them up on it?" Kate asks me.
"On what?" I ask.
"To: Sergeant Hiram George Becker, US Army. An opening for a class at the US Army Warrant Officer Candidate School is open for you. If you desire to take it, when you've re-enlisted contact your detailer for orders to attend. Signed, Colonel Archibald Gates, US Army." Kate replies, reading the words of my old CO word for word. He's the commanding officer of the 21st Special Forces, and a man who personally led patrols through the South American brush on more than one occasion.
"Hiram, this is a great opportunity." Kate says, "I mean, a Special Forces Warrant Officer, that's no mean feat. That means the organization thinks you're a valuable investment."
I know that, Katie, I know, trust me. I've been told that a million times. Warrant officers in the Special Forces a rare breed indeed. They're specialists in their areas of expertise, mine would be mountain warfare, weapons, and trauma management.
"Kate, I've considered it, but I think I'd rather beat the sword into a plowshare." I reply.
"Hiram, you've got a decade of distinguished service under your belt, you're a mid-grade NCO, highly decorated." Kate replied.
Kate, the Army brat that she is, understands the whole offer to me better than I ever did. "My re-enlistment ceremony's next week. You're invited if you'd like to come along."
"Actually, Sergeant, be ready for that ceremony this evening."
"Sir?" I ask, noticing Lieutenant General Barnes, Kate's father.
"I pulled a couple of strings." Barnes replies.
"May I ask why, sir?" I ask.
"I understand you've been offered a promotion to warrant officer." Barnes states. Why the hell isn't he answering my question? I can't, however ask a general, 'Sir, may I ask why you're being diversionary?'
Kate, however, isn't covered by those rules. "Dad, what's happening? Is there something wrong?"
"Katie, it's classified." Barnes says, "Please, leave us alone."
"Sir," I ask, "What really is happening?"
"Sergeant Becker, you've been selected for a mission of the utmost importance. I can't brief you on the specifics, but...." Barnes says.
"Sir," I ask the silver haired general, "Might I ask why I'm being requested."
"You're resourceful, a skilled operator, an exceptional soldier..." Barnes begins.
"Sir, there were other, more decorated members in my unit." I reply.
"Sergeant, there were more decorated operators in both the Territorial and Active Special Forces units. But you have a unique qualification." Barnes replies.
"Sir, might I ask what, precisely that is?" I ask.
"No Sergeant, I cannot mention the details. I've already told you too much. You will be briefed at 0900 tomorrow." Barnes says, as he walks out.
~ ~ ~ ~
I'm a soldier, looking for a mission. Looks like one has already found me. Whatever it is has to be pretty damned important to have a general pushing my re-enlistment back nine days.
All this is secondary, as my heart's beating at a million beats per second. I'm wearing my Army greens, or my Type A uniform. It's a short sleeved, light green shirt, with darker green trousers and black shoes. On my head is my hard earned sand brown beret. The badge on it is the crossed arrows with the dagger through the center. A small scroll on it reads 'De Oppresso Liber' (Freedom to the Oppressed), the motto of the 21st Special Forces Regiment, TA. I've got quite an array of salad (military decorations). On my chest are the silver parachutist's wings, the combat infantryman's badge, all the ribbons I've earned ranging from the South American campaign ribbon with two stars. I earned the Silver Star for valor, among other medals.
General Barnes is standing opposite me. His silver Army Air Corps pilot's wings glisten prominently in the setting Florida sun, as does his master parachutist's insignia and his six rows of ribbons. Atop his head is his Army issue officer's combination cover. I salute him as I stop my approach to him.
General Barnes says, "Sergeant Hiram George Becker, raise your right hand and repeat after me."
I do so and he says, " I (state your name), do solemly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God."
"I, Hiram George Becker, do solemly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God." I reply.
"Congratulations, Sergeant Becker." Barnes says. His aide, a lieutenant I don't recognize, hands me a contract that's promising another six years of my life to the military. I sign it without hesitation.
"I do hope in six weeks I'll be swearing in a Warrant Officer Hiram Becker." Barnes says.
"I'll consider it, sir." I reply.
"Your commanding officer seems to think rather highly of you, Hiram." Barnes says.
"Sir," I hear a voice and see an officer, clad in a similar manner. Colonel Archibald Gates, US Army approaches us in his Class A uniform, "I was about to inform Sergeant Becker of that fact. The sergeant has my recommendations."
I know Archie Gates well enough that the reason he's here is not just to congratulate one of his men. He's still that same square jawed fellow, with a compact, muscular build and salt and pepper hair. One of the best officers I've ever served under.
The two men talk amongst themselves and I wade into the crowd of well wishers consisting of Uncle Shaggy, Aunt Velma, Uncle Fred, the whole gang, Kate and even Scott her fiancé. Though the last of them I'm not really pleased to see, I smile nonetheless.
I'm particularly annoyed when Scott salutes me. "Scott, you don't salute a sergeant, you salute an officer. And you're a damn civilian."
I grin as I say this, despite my gravelly tone. "Aren't you gonna become an officer?" Scott asks.
"Warrant officer." Kate corrects, "He's a technical specialist in his field, as opposed to being an officer like Daddy."
"Jeez, I'm sorry." Scott says.
I walk into the kitchen of Kate's house and see a cake with a sergeant's stripes on it. The writing reads, 'Congratulations Sergeant Hiram G. Becker, B Squadron, 21st Special Forces'
"Surprise asshole." Says a voice.
"Stoney, what the hell are you doing here?" I ask.
I'm talking to Corporal "Stoney" Brown, he was a newcomer to our unit in 2143, and was one damn good machine gunner.
"We had to congratulate our future mountaineering warfare specialist." Lance Corporal Linkovich Chumovsky says, he's a fellow from Estonia who was assigned to us in 2143 as a newly assigned trooper. Now three years older at twenty-two, he's still as strong as an ox and about as intelligent as one too.
"At least you're not gonna be jabbing us with needles, like when you were patrol medic." David Morgan remarks. He's another of that ilk in their early twenties that joined up in the later stages of the war.
"Yeah, that bloody hurt." Sergeant Jack Falstaff remarks. He's a big, stout fellow in his late thirties, an avid diver, skier, mountaineer and cyclist from Swindon, in England.
"Hey, you guys must be Stoney, Link, Dave, and Falstaff." Kate remarks.
"How do you know about us?" Falstaff asks.
"Hiram wrote home about you guys all the time." Kate replies.
"Aw, isn't that sweet." Jack replies, "We meant so much to you that you wrote home about us in your letters."
"They were complaints about the lot of you." I reply, grinning, "Especially the way Falstaff over here overate."
"I'm still pissed about the fact that you idiots put curry powder in all my ration packs. I absolutely detested that stuff when I was with the 4th Welsh Division down in India back in 2131." Jack replies, "I hoped you wankers didn't drink out of the tea urn back when we were on the Counter Terrorism team, because I pissed in it every morning."
"You're not gonna write him up, are you, Warrant Officer Becker?" Dave asks.
"Of course not, I'll just make sure his bicycle disappears every day." I reply.
"I know, 'If anyone touches you while I'm away, I'll knot their bollocks so tight they'll be pissing out there ears.' Find some more original threats dude." Stoney replies.
"That's Sergeant Dude to you Brown." Falstaff laughs.
"No, Sergeant Dude is what we call Hiram." Dave replies.
"Yeah, but now it'll be Warrant Officer Dude." Falstaff replies.
Well, it seems I've finally found what I wanted. A mission, that's all I need. As I watch Kate and Scott sharing a tender moment on the back porch of the house I can't wait till the briefing and pre-training phases for the mission start. I need to get into the zone, and fast.
~ ~ ~ ~
TBC
