May 27, 2134
Wilmington, North Carolina
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I asked my dad, “you think she was proud of me?”
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My dad rubbed my head, “she is proud of you Son. More than I am, and that’s saying a lot.”
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I nodded, giving him a hug, still looking at my mother’s name engraved in a tombstone. I told him, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”
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“You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
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“I know. I just wish I came back.”
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“You had a job to do, Son. Your mother understood.”
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We left the cemetery and walked over to a diner. There were barely any males my age. All the males were either past their 50’s or younger than 17. Women weren’t drafted for the invasion, but they could join at their own choice. Most women didn’t join the Wilmington Rangers, instead they were incited by the military to stay home and help the war effort from there.
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When the men left to go to war, the women stepped up and plowed the fields, fixed the electricity, and filled in any holes left. They filled factories, workshops, and hospitals. The NCC would have fallen apart long ago were it not for them. The idea of the NCC was far more important than any individual's own agenda.
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We sat down at a table and ordered some coffee. My dad asked, “anything you want to talk about?”
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I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him about Creole, Arron, Lake Charles, Tent, Daniel, all of it. I wanted to pour my heart out and explain every minute detail to him. I just wanted to talk to him, but I couldn’t. The words were forming but they wouldn’t be spoken. He’s been through what I’ve been through, but he wasn’t there with me. I felt like I didn’t have a Ranger-to-Ranger bond with him, I just had a father-to-son bond.
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Being gone for so long and having to depend on people I barely knew shredded my view on reality. I no longer cared about what people thought of me, where I ended up, or what I needed to do. I just wanted to get back in the field. Back in the muddy trenches, fist clenching my axe, and blood stained on my clothes.
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I told him, “nah Dad. I’m good. I didn’t even see a whole lot of combat to be honest.”
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“Well… that’s good.”
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I knew he knew I was lying.
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After coffee, we started walking back home. As we were passing a field, I saw kids picking corn and plucking it. My dad said, “food shortage got fixed a few days ago. Rationing no longer in place.”
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I asked, “there was a food shortage?”
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He nodded, “yep. Two this year already.”
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Kentucky was a huge farm state. With most of the fields and graineries destroyed from the invasion, the NCC couldn’t replant most of the crops and lost a huge surplus of food to the TUC. It would take us years to get our food production back to where it was.
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We got home and I went to my room. In my room, I found a picture of my mother and I at a county fair. My dad walked in and said, “you were all she talked about in her final days. Matty this- Matty that- but me? ‘Fuck you George, where’s my Matty?!’ She didn’t give a rat's backside about me.”
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I chuckled, “I’m sure she did Dad.”
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“Yeah, probably. Well I was thinking we go squirrel hunting later? Like old times.”
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I nodded, “yeah. I’d like that.”
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I settled into my room, hanging up new clothes Dad bought me and checking out some models I did when I was a kid. It seemed like so long ago. In reality it had only been two years. The last tank I did was an Abrams. Seeing the 1/35th scale tank just reminded me of how many tanks we lost in Louisiana. I took my models off my shelf and put them into the lowest drawer on my dresser.
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I laid in my bed for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling and listening to the distant sounds of gunfire. The short burst of a MG72, tearing into a large group of Rangers. The bloomp-bloomp of LAV rounds shooting at Confederates. The brrt-errt of A-10s. The calls for medics and constant never-ending screaming of suffering.
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I got up, found my dad, and told him I was ready to go. We geared up, throwing a bag of snacks and water bottles into his truck and driving down to a nearby river. He took his shotgun and handed me a shotgun. We got out on a trail and walked down it. With trees straddling both sides of us, I kept my eyes peeled for movement.
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I heard rustling in a bush near me. I turned to it, shotgun ready. It was a Blue Jay. Hopping branch to branch with small leaps. I relaxed. Once my guard was down, I heard rushing footsteps coming towards me. I turned around, not seeing my dad, but a Confederate soldier instead. The soldier grasped my rifle and threw it away. He pushed me down, jabbing a knife into my chest.
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“Matty?”
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I looked up, seeing my dad with his hand out. He asked, “are you okay?”
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I dropped my shotgun and fell to my knees. I just started crying. For no real reason. I bawled my eyes out and screamed, “make it stop Papa! Make it stop!”
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He kneeled down and hugged me, “it’s okay Son. It’s okay, I’m here.”
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I kept screaming into his chest, “just make it stop! Please!”
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He held onto my head, “breathe. It’s okay. We can go home.”
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I nodded, “please.”
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“It’s a lucky day for these squirrels, huh Matty?”
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*
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I got up from my bed in the middle of the night. I hadn’t slept at all. My mind was racing, unable to stop for a second. I put on my shoes, a hoodie, and walked out of the house. I ran the entire night.
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I didn’t stop running until the sun cressed over the treetops. I looked at the sun, and ran back home.
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My dad was sitting at the table eating. I sat across from him and drank a glass of milk. He smiled, “I have a job for you. I think you need to get your mind off things for a little while.”
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“What is it?”
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“One of my squadmates from the war started a farm. He needs more hands, and I told him you were good with horses.”
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My grandparents used to own a small farm in South Carolina. I always used to tend the horses. I loved horses. I loved animals in general. One time while we were patrolling outside of Creole, we came across an entire field of dead horses. The stence was burned into my nose hairs.
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I nodded, “yeah I’d love that.”
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“Okay, we’ll ride up there today then.”
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I packed a sleeping bag and a few clothes. I told my dad, “don’t check in on me everyday. Come every week and now.”
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He nodded, “okay. If you say so Kiddo.”
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While gathering my clothes, a pair of dog tags slipped to the floor. I picked them up and saw that they were Arron’s. I clutched them and let out a sigh.
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Before we left, I walked to Arron’s house. As I was walking up the driveway, I saw his mother pull back a curtain. I walked to the door and knocked on it. She answered, “yes?”
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I tipped my head, “ma’am my name is Matthew Rogers. I served with your son in…”
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“Yes. Yes! I remember you. Come in, come in!”
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She sat me down at a table and ordered her daughter to get us a cup of tea. I handed her the dog tags and said, “your son died like a hero. He always said he wanted to be buried underneath your maple tree. Unfortunately, he was buried in Louisiana. I figured I could bury these tags as a compromise.”
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She nodded, taking a sip of her tea and walking me out to the maple tree. She held onto a shovel and said, “you know. You two used to rest under this tree after playing all day. Real-Rangers is what Arron called you two. Now both of those boys are real Rangers. One just didn’t make it back.”
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None of us made it back.
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I dug a small hole in between two roots and dropped the dog tags into it. I covered the hole up and said, “he was a good man.”
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She smiled, “thank you for being there for him. I know you did your best.”
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Did I? I wasn’t there in his final minutes. He didn’t die like a hero. He died like a damn dog. The bastards killed him like a damn dog. His life was taken away in the matter of seconds for a cause he didn’t even volunteer for. What makes him different from me?
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He died with his innocence intact, as he was. I lived with mine ruined, and not understanding who I was. Only one thing was clear. He was a number, as was I. We were both practically whores, being paid to use our bodies for the meat grinder. Burg Hill, Lake Charles, Lafayette, they all had different names, but the outcome was the same. Numbers go down, numbers rise. The circle continues.
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**
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I worked at Mark Hathom’s farm for a few weeks. I enjoyed it. The hard labor and long days kept my mind off things and my hands occupied.
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Mark Hathom was my dad’s best friend in his time as a Ranger. Mark lost his arm in the war, and now had a prosthetic arm. He was a very aggressive, no bullshit type of man.
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He understood my request to sleep outside, in a small forest on his property. He knew me more than I knew myself. Maybe because he had brought in so many Rangers, he knew how to treat each and every one.
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I slept in a sleeping bag underneath some fallen branches. There was a small stream nearby, which I used to clean myself. At 0600, I woke up, went to work chopping corn stalks and operating combines. At 2100, I went back to the trees and rested. I had a schedule going, a schedule which I loved.
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There were only four other workers on the farm, all of whom were former Rangers. Two of them worked in the house, while the rest of us stayed in the fields.
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We shared stories while working and talked about the craziest shit. Everyone was blown away when I told them I was under Lieutenant Valkyrie. They admired him and asked me so many questions about his personal life.
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When Winter arrived, the fields withered away and our priorities switched from the crops to the animals. We milked cows, shaved sheep, and cared for the horses. Two of the workers left, going home for the winter.
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One night, during a thunderstorm, I stayed up with one of the horses. He was jumping around and freaking out every time thunder crackled the sky. I saw this while doing my walk-throughs and stayed in his stall with him. I sat down, rubbing his underbelly and scratching his chest. Eventually, he started to calm down. He laid down in front of me and rested his head on a bucket.
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I pet him along his mane, “it’s okay buddy. It’s just noise. Just trumpets and horns, and women calling your name. You’re safe, because you’ve heard the noise. The worst has already passed.”
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I laid behind him, feeling his shoulders squeeze mine each time he let out a breath. I accidentally fell asleep.
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I woke up, sometime in the morning. At the stall door, a woman was waiting. She smiled, “you’re the first person he’s done that too.”
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I got up, and the horse followed me up. I chuckled, “sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep by mistake.”
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The horse smacked me towards her.
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She shook her head, “no worries. It kept him calm, so I can’t argue.”
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“My name’s Matthew by the way.”
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“Yeah I know. My dad talks a lot about you.”
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“Right. Your name?”
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“Trenny. Nice to meet you.”
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“Nice to meet you. What’s this fellas name.”
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I pat his back and stroke his snout. He puffed at me, giving me a sassy side eye. Trenny told me, “his name’s Sammy.”
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I nodded, “my middle name is Samuel. Sammy is what my friend called me.”
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I let out a sigh, remembering Carter. I just wondered how he was. I wanted to know what happened to him. I thanked the girl and drank a cup of water.
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I took a few weeks off from work to check in on my former teammates. I got their names and information from a military office and started my search with Anton.
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He was leading a successful life in Richmond. He worked for his father’s roofing company and stayed in close touch with Kyle. He started dating a girl, and was expecting to marry her. He reminded me of some love-struck kid. Then again, we were kids not even two years ago.
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Next was Kyle. He returned home to his mother’s loving arms and lived with her. He had a job as a line cook at a mediocre restaurant. I ate at his restaurant and caught up with him before he had to work. We sat down at a table and talked about what we planned on doing with our lives. He wanted to stray away from the military as far as possible, and move on with his life. I agreed, and said I was trying to do the same thing.
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My second to final stop was Carter. Unfortunately, he was condemned to a bed for the rest of his life. The round that hit his shoulder fractured, and sent small pieces of fragmentation into his spine. It severed the nerve connections to his lower-half. His smile wasn’t as bright as it used to be. When he did smile, it was for a short second and it was extremely dull. His sister was taking care of him. She and I were talking in a separate room. She was drinking a glass of wine and going on and on about how he should have been given disability checks, but turned them down. He also turned down physical therapy, which upset me. Carter wasn't a man to give up. But now he was?
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He told me, “I’m weak. I can’t even walk. I won't ever be able to. I’m just a waste of space. I’m just a piece of junk.”
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“Why deny the check?”
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“I don't need it. I won’t be able to enjoy it. It should go to you. Not me.”
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“What sense would it make to me? I’m fine.”
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“Are you?”
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“I’m not disabled.”
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“Can you sleep okay? Can you sleep at all?”
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“Yea-”
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“I don’t. I lay here every night hearing my own screams and I can’t shut it off. I can’t shut it off Matthew. I can’t. I just hear the screams, the bullets, the explosions. I can’t make it stop. I just hear it- over and over again until I can’t hear anything other than that. Then I see it. Matthew- I see it unfold in front of me like a movie I can’t control and it just goes on and on… then it stops. It stops so abruptly I get headaches over it. Then it happens again. Over and over again.”
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I left Carter, knowing he was far too gone for me to help him. I gave his sister a thousand dollars and she gave me a grateful hug. We were all too far gone now. We now couldn’t escape the world we put ourselves into. We were the standouts in every crowd, the loners in a full room, and the ones who preferred to sleep in the cold mud than a warm bed.
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I felt bad for Carter. I truly did. I couldn’t help him because I couldn’t even help myself.
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Then, there was you. You were only a couple weeks old when I met you. To be more precise, you were born December 15, 2134. You weighed a solid eleven pounds and seven ounces. You were a big baby. Heavy set, wide shoulders, large legs, and beautiful green eyes. As I held you, you looked into my eyes and through the iron wall I put up. You crashed that wall with zero difficulty. You changed me. You made me a better man, and I was ready to raise you to be a man of your own.
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Had someone told me I would have been a father to a beautiful boy, I would have called them a liar. You had your mothers skin complexion and her eyes, but you had my tree trunks of legs and dashingly handsome face.
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You completed me. I thought your mother did, but when I held you for the first time it changed. I swore to Kelly I would be the best father I could. And I promised you to be the best dad you could ever get. The NCC didn’t care for my promise. I got a letter the next day asking me if I wanted to be redeployed.
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I was reading the letter in Kelly’s kitchen. She walked in, “finally got him to bed.”
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She put her hands around my waist and began kissing my neck. I told her, “I got a letter.”
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She bit my ear, “I got a letter you can open…”
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“Kelly… they’re asking for Rangers.”
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She kept kissing my neck, “yeah well… you did your work.”
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“I have to go.”
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She stopped kissing me. I said, “if they need people I can go…”
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“Fuck you.”
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“Kelly…”
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“No… no! Fuck you Matthew! The way Julie reacted when I gave her John’s ring I… I can’t do that Matthew. I can’t… I couldn’t! It’s bad enough I have to give birth to a bastard, now you want me to tell my… OUR son you got blown up by a fucking landmine!”
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“What did you just say?”
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“Yeah! All the fucking looks I get downtown! People feeling pity for me because they think you’re dead. Or calling me a whore and draft dodger! I didn’t fucking get drafted! I volunteered! This is what I get? Single motherhood with my dead lover who doesn’t want to marry me! Instead… instead you want to commit your life to a war!”
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I slowly embraced her, not feeling her embrace at all. She pushed me away and turned around. She said, “get the fuck out. You can see him before you leave but we… are done.”
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*
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I sat down across from Ty at a table. He asked, “how have you been doing?”
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“Good. You?”
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“Alright. You sleeping okay?”
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“No. Not really. The noise just never stops sometimes.”
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“Yeah. Have you heard about Carter?”
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“Yeah I did. I visited him not too long ago. Couldn’t stand seeing him like that.”
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“I’ve been meaning to get to him. I just haven’t had the time. How’s Kelly though?”
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I cleared my throat, “well. Kinda burned that bridge.”
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“Oh shit. I’m sorry man…”
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“Yeah she doesn’t want me going back.”
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“You’re… you’re going again?”
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I nodded. He cleared his throat, “well I can’t. I just bought a property out of town and I’m going to be hiring some old veterans. Give those blokes some money.”
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We sat in silence until I finally spoke, “yep. I’m gonna be a dad.”
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“Holy cow man. That’s awesome!”
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I saw a sense of happiness and pride in his eyes. Something I’d never seen before. At least, not from him. We ordered coffee and talked a bit more about what our plans were. He asked if my dad could help us set up the farm, and I agreed.
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We drove out to the land after our breakfast, which was a few miles from the Pre-War ruins. As we were driving through, I glanced over at the countless homeless people being shooed out by Military Police.
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The Pre-War ruins weren’t unique to Wilmington. During Operation: ReGov, the NCC Military tore down most US skyscrapers and large governmental buildings in order to build a new military quickly. In 2045, we had 2,750 M1A2 US Abram tanks. In 2050, we had nearly 7,500 M1A2 NCC Abrams. The Government never rebuilt the ruins, so they were left to weather in the sun.
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We arrived at his farm and walked the perimeter. As we were, he told me, “you’re gonna make a great dad. You know that?”
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“Yeah. I don’t think so. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”
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The farm was about nine acres. It included a barn, house, and two stables. Ty managed to talk the seller down and bought it out-right the same. We began cleaning up the fields, which looked like they hadn’t been tended for years. After that, I started sawing wood planks for a fence. I asked my dad to come help, and surprisingly Que joined him.
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My dad slapped my back after bringing me more planks, “I’ll be right back. I forgot my tools.”
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Que stood across the barn from me against a post. I didn’t really know what to say so I kept quiet. Eventually, he walked up to me and said, “I never thanked you. Working with your dad, it’s a big help.”
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I nodded, “yeah. No problem.”
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“And… another thing. I won’t be going back. I did my two tours, so I think I’m done.”
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“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
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“No. No, not really. I want to forget it ever happened. You going?”
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“I have to. You were right. Home’s not what I remember. Home’s what I see out there. Mud, guts, and blood.”
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“Okay. That’s your call.”
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“One thing though, stop by and check on Carter every now and then for me. I gave his sister a thousand dollars so it should last a few months.”
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“Goddamn, a thousand?”
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I nodded, “yup. Just do me a favor.”
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“You got it.”
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**
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Our Division was reactivated in July, 2135. Our Division Group was slated for shipping out in early August. I saw you one last time before I left. Kelly begged one last time for me to stay, but I just walked away.
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I was sitting at the airport, probably 0300 in the morning, by myself. I was reading a magazine when a large man sat next to me. I looked at him to see Ty. He opened a magazine and sniffled. Before I could say anything, Anton and Kyle sat on the other side of me. Anton smirked at me quickly before reading his book. Kyle gave me a nod and I returned it. I looked at Ty. He smiled, “found those two waiting outside. Your dad’s taking care of the farm for me so I thought, ‘why the hell not?’”
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“You don’t have to.”
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Antok chuckled, “damn right. We want too.”
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Kyle smacked his teeth, “was getting tired of my warm bed anyways.”
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“Okay. We’re doing this.”
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