I am the newest officer in the Army of the Republic of Texas, ART. My name is Lampright. I had a first name, but nobody ever called me by it, so I got rid of it. My good friends call me Gunner, everyone else calls me Lampright, or sir. I was inducted when I was about fourteen, my life was hard then. I was living off what ever I could beg, scavenge, and occasionally steal. I never knew where my next meal would come from, or if I be alive for my next meal. Dehydration, starvation, robbery, animal attacks, the elements, all competed with each other on a daily basis to see who got to keep my corpse. Not that now my life's any easier, but at least now I'm fed, clothed and armed.
It all started when my parents abandoned me when I six. I lived with the various drifters near the remains town of Selma. They taught me to survive. I learned from dozens of good men, moving to a new teacher as each one left for a new location, as drifters do. I was about thirteen when I decided to go and seek my fortunes in the ruins of San Antonio. It was a good hike, but then again, I didn't have much to carry. I lived off the rubble for about nine months, before I realized that at least one of the military bases was still operating, and I began my planning to get a hold of some of their supplies.
I managed to sneak through their fence line through a hole in the middle of the night. The idiots left a window open on one of their supply warehouses, and I climbed in. I must have tripped some kind of silent alarm though, because within minutes there were guards swarming all over that place, and I KNOW I wasn't seen. I actually managed to avoid the guards looking for me, but I got caught when my backpack snagged on the fence on my way out. I was still yanking on it when a perimeter patrol came by.
I thought I was done for. The soldiers took me to their commander, and he wanted to talk to me. I had no idea, but my life was about to do a 180. The commander was impressed with my abilities. He decided that instead of executing me as was standard, he kept me as a mascot. I became the company 'pet'. I was fed, clothed and sheltered by the men there. I also made the occasional cash as a prank monkey. But I decided that I wanted more. All these soldiers would leave and then come back with stories of courage and death in combat. I wanted that.
They let me start out as a perimeter guard. They scrounged up a leather jacket for me to wear, because the body armour they wore was too big for me. I walked the fences on the graveyard shift with a revolver and a radio. I worked my way up, training with the infantry stationed at the base. I went on my first patrol outside the base when I was sixteen.
I started out in a probationary squad, everyone but the sergeant was under the age of 17. We were left in the squad until we were considered ready, usually around 18 or 19. There was Victoria "Eyes" Robertson, the sniper. Her nickname wasn't because of her beautiful blue eyes, it was because of the ability to see a frickin' grass hopper move from 100 meters. I kinda had a crush on her, and as I look back, I think she liked me too, even back then. I should have noticed that she only laughed at things I did or said, and only smiled for me. But I was young, distracted, and inexperienced. There was John "Tank" Gomez, a sixteen year-old with more muscle than most of the 'lifers' on the base. He carried our M-249, although this guy could probably have handled a god-damn minigun. He was a little slow in the head, but he followed directions well and his fire-power was really handy. Daniel "Boomer" Cooper, a slightly smaller than normal guy, was our grenadier, and one of my best friends. That boy could set dynamite or disarm a mine like nobody's business. Hank "Ratchet" Larson, a guy who could design, built maintain and repair anything with a moving part. Tom "Mouse" Daniels, tiny guy, not worth much in a fire-fight at any kinda range, but this guy could sneak up on a cat, real jittery, too. I was assigned as a rifleman. This was when I got my nickname, Gunner, because I knew so much about the weapons. Our sergeant was built like a bear, he musta been 6'1", at least 220 lbs., all muscle. He had the best weapons in the squad. An M-72 gauss rifle and a plasma pistol. He was really only there to make sure we stayed on track and didn't do anything REALLY stupid, other than that he let us, or more usually me, make most of the decisions. He was there to provide guidance, I really gave the orders. There were a few others, "Tracker" Hanson, "Fritz" Gutenberg, a couple others.
This was my squad. Those people were some of my first real friends. We lived and died together. We ate together, bunked together, showered together. These stories are as much about them as they are about me.