CHAPTER 1
From the Darkness
The cool, dense air boasted over the horizon at dusk. I stand there…Face to the boundless horizon of the terrain before me. Blood, Bullets, Bodies lie cold…still on the ground, each containing a past.
I stood there with my AR in hand, I stepped forward, knocking all pebbles around my feet, leading my few men towards what seemed to be certain death. We all were a bit edgy now. After a week of fighting and adrenaline, the body seemed due to failure. No one could predict what had happened in the past few days.
Of course, command stuck me with Ten young and inexperienced recruit’s, mind you that’s all there was left. All veterans were wiped out. Our people have been fighting for freedom from the dreaded Collective for years. It seemed as if it was a lost cause. Maybe it still is. Who knows what’s ahead for my men and I.
My men and I have grown weary, all our suites were battered, most of the armor missing, or gone entirely. Faces were cut and bruised, some of them considered serious. No time for that now. Ammunition was in short supply. We finished all the remaining rations we had. We were hungry, cold at night, and without Enhanced Sensors. We were blind to what was coming…
“Setup camp here for the night!” I said with a stern voice.
The recruit’s looked for their spots for the night. I however would not. Someone has to guard these kids. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let them guard me.
A couple hours passed, it was now dark. The air grew ever more cold. I knew by the cold temperatures someone wasn’t going to make it through the night. They all seemed to stare at me, with a scared look in their eyes. Wishing that they were home, before they were all destroyed. All remaining people are now nomads. Cast into the wind, Seeking shelter wherever possible. The few fighting for our world, I included, only go where the enemy lie. You could say we’re the last hope for this planet, this planet seemed so destined to be Collective property.
It was pitch black, I had been crouching on my knees for awhile now. All I could hear is deep shivering breaths from my men. The silence soon left. Out of my eyesight I heard footsteps. As I reached for my AR nervously, The steps grew closer and so close it seem like they should have passed already.
Bullets flying through the air right over me, my knees are shaking, and my feet are numb. I see familiar faces all around me dodging the explosives illuminating the air like lightning. Unfortunately, numerous familiar faces seem to disappear into the trenches. I try to run from the noise, but my mind keeps causing me to re-illustrate the painful memories left behind.
Young men in old, ill-fitted uniforms lay twisted on dried, grassy wheat as we can see them reaching for a weapon that once laid above them or clutching their fists to take the pain away as dawn arises and dense fog hovers the horizon and tiny peaks of mountain peer out above a ruthless and needlessly waste. Tiny horse like figures blend into the background, posing like trees as riders dislodge, seeming to search and strip the bodies of shoes, weapons, anything that can help the next soldier survive.
I walk into Valley Forge. Winter 1777-78. As I walk in, an overwhelming feeling of emotions comes over me. Sadness, anger, hope, unwillingness, and happiness. I walk in a little bit further and I am greeted with many huts. These huts have no windows and only one door. I decide to peek into one of them and see 12 men inside. The huts are hard to see in because smoke has filled them. From another direction there is many men talking. I walk towards the noise and am surprised to see men sitting around a campfire eating small amounts of food. The men are talking about various things. Some are talking about their family, how they are excited that their duty is almost over, and some of the strong willed patriots who are willing to fight for their country are talking about how they are going to stay longer than they were sent to. As I keep wandering around the camp I find myself at an area with many men. These men are different than the men at the campfire. These men were the unlucky soldiers who had gotten sick. There is a soldier who is crying over another soldiers still body. Again I hear talking but this time it’s about how they need help caring for the sick and the soldiers that want to leave shouldn’t leave so they can help the sick. I shake off what I just witnessed and made the tough decision of staying. I would stay because they would need my help,
BANG, BOOM, BLAM,TAT-A-TAT, TAT. My ears are assaulted with noise, my eyes witness squirting blood a soldier is shot. I observe soldiers blown away by bombs. I see blood that saturates an infantry man. I view maimed men and observe limbs with fragmented bone. I witness militia dead on the ground. I listen to screams, grunts and gurgling blood in a man's windpipe. WHOOSH, flame throwers make a path with flames blazing burning men instantaneously. My eyes reveal the emotion that rips through my heart, tears drip down my cheek. I turn my head. I cannot watch a soldier cradle his buddy as he dies.
A certain matter-of-fact quality pervades the descriptions of the wounds inflicted and received by soldiers; the face-to-face attacks with rifle butts, spades, and grenades; the sounds, smells, and colors of death and dying in this book.
Two weeks earlier in the darkness of an early April morning, I stand surrounded by close to three hundred other soldiers, filled with excitement and uncertainty. The air is heavy with the promise of another scorching day with the humidity reaching hundred percent. This day is called Zero Day. This is the day that determines which of the close to three hundred potential candidates get to make up the next class of two hundred Air Assault Students. The day begins early, 0330 to be exact, and with a lot of yelling. Immediately we are instructed to form one mass formation, the yelling continues. The Air Assault Sergeants, otherwise know as Black-shirts because of their distinctive uniform, take command. This is their yard and they make sure each and every one of us understands that. One by one soldiers are called out of ranks to receive their roster number. From this point on I am no longer be known as SGT Nealand, now I am Roster Number 442 or simply 442.
”Families, tribes, dusted out, tractored out. Car-loads, caravans, homeless and hungry; twenty thousand and fifty thousand and a hundred thousand and two hundred thousand. They streamed over the mountains, hungry and restless — restless as ants, scurrying to find work to do — to lift, to push, to pull, to pick, to cut — anything, any burden to bear, for food. The kids are hungry. We got no place to live. Like ants scurrying for work, for food, and most of all for land. “
I drop my vigil as I drive through Henderson Nevada. From the clouds, mountains and small skyscrapers, the twilight cast a weird silhouette around the city. I felt safe, as if the ratio of civilians had the police outnumbered. I turn off the radio to sense the silence that Lake Mead evoked in the sunset. Winding up the highway, the sky pulled like a magnet, my hair stood on end, the roof of the car like static electricity. I head north-west towards Vegas into the orange twilight. I light a joint and savor the powerful ringing in my ears as I focus my attention on the electric silence, invisibly driving me into Las Vegas.
As I inched my way toward the cliff, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I could feel the coldness of the rock beneath my feet when my toes curled around the edge in one last futile attempt at survival. My heart was racing like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. Gazing down the sheer drop, I nearly fainted; my entire life flashed before my eyes. I could hear stones breaking free and fiercely tumbling down the hillside, plummeting into the dark abyss of the forbidding black water. The trees began to rapidly close in around me in a suffocating clench, and the piercing screams from my friends did little to ease the pain. The cool breeze felt like needles upon my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The threatening mountains surrounding me seemed to grow more sinister with each passing moment, I felt myself fighting for air. The hot summer sun began to blacken while misty clouds loomed overhead. Trembling with anxiety, I shut my eyes, murmuring one last pathetic prayer. I gathered my last breath, hoping it would last a lifetime, took a step back and plun...
... to be inside this precarious place, I was careful with every movement. As we both lay in our bags, the cave's darkness soon soothed our eyes and sleep came to our tired bodies. Striking camp early in the morning we traversed over the white, moon lit landscape. We arrived at the car for a late lunch, which ended our camping trip.
We got on our way the next morning to Fort Hall, but first we had to go through the South Pass. It was very miserable going through that. It was really hot, sometimes I had to wear long sleeved shirts and jeans so the sun wouldn't beat down straight at my skin all the time. I had got really dehidratied. Also when I walked along on the side which is most of the time, I had gotten sand in my shoe. My oxen had gotten really tired along the way, so sometimes we had to stop to take a rest but barley often at all. My two oxen were tremendously strong. They had never taken breaks in the past but in see why now it is al,out getting up to one hundred
A shrill cry echoed in the mist. I ducked, looking for a sign of movement. The heavy fog and cold storm provided nothing but a blanket, smothering all sight and creating a humid atmosphere. The freezing air continued to whip at my face, relentless and powerful. Our boat, stuck in the boggy water. Again a cry called. Somewhere out there was someone, or something.
This war-torn land shows nothing but death and the dying. The ground is muddy from the rain, it’s dank and sodden. Up above the trench line is barbed wire and … nothing else. No birds, no animals … no people. A few dead bodies of the brave men going to assassinate the enemy by night fall, but stopped dead in their tracks, they got picked off by the sharpshooters. No! No one ever makes it! Never! There is a constant sound of gun blasts and the sound of explosions from the grenades. The dark is lit up by the flashes of the guns against the silver clouded sky. Nobody dares to look up for more than a few seconds otherwise they will be taken out.
Uninterrupted, I felt like floating all night. Just before the light of the day presented itself, I was staring from the terrace of the plaza that housed the temple and its stupa at the visible dense fog below that was pierced by the sporadic lights of the village that was waking up. While the day made its timid, slow entrance, the dissipating fog revealed the roofs of the houses below and the chanting inhabitants, who were walking up the 365 steps. Their voices gradually grew louder step by step until it reached and permeated the square where I was temporarily residing.
In the deep crevices between the tufts of grass, the shadows stalked slowly upward, submerging the sandy earth in an inky sea. The sun sank until only its last, thin razor of light glimmered over the fields. Time stretched its ancient joint...