90-Day Wonder

“Corporal Allison reporting as ordered, sir.” Allison said, snapping off a salute.

“At ease, Corporal. Take a seat.” The base commander replied, not bothering to look up from a piece of paper he had in front of him.

Allison took the seat in front of the desk and did her best to not look anxious, but it was hard. She had to make a conscious effort not to wring her hands or bounce her leg. The thirty day SIQ chit did help to ease her mind, but she also knew that this day, this meeting, eventually would come. They had kept her in the dark about everything. Told her to go about her business. Things moved behind the scenes. In the shadows of the higher echelons of command. Those things now came out of hiding to hand down their verdict. Her mind raced, expecting all the worst things that gnawed away at her on the inside since that fateful day.

The base commander looked up from his paper after what seemed like a whole hour. She sat almost rigid in the chair opposite him. He was an older man, well into his forties. His two stars denoted his rank of Major General, and his uniform was that of the US Air Force’s Class B Blues. His mustache was trimmed to regulation standards and his dark brown hair was starting to show signs of graying. He had a watch on his left wrist that told the time as only being five past eight. He sighed and put the paper down onto the desk. He looked at Allison expectantly, as if she was supposed to say something here and now. The usual song and dance. “I didn’t do it,” “You gotta believe me,” “it was an accident,” and other stock phrases heard a million times over. But Allison had no idea what to say. She’d never been here, in this room and in this situation, before. Like a child waiting to get a flu shot, she was just ready to get the pain over with.

“The US Army sent this document over to me from their Criminal Investigation Division. It reads, and I quote, ‘Corporal Allison’s actions on the 16th of August, 2028, were thoroughly investigated due to the result of the mission. After extensive interviewing of her commanding officer and his staff, as well as reviews of the after-action report and sensory data from her ARES unit, it is the opinion of this committee that Corporal Allison acted in good faith under orders and under extreme circumstances. A court-martial will not be pursued and as of this day, the 15th of September, 2028, Corporal Allison will return to active duty under orders to be transferred to a new ARES assault team immediately.’”

Allison stared at the General as he read off the words. A knot formed in her stomach, but relief also washed over her. There was no penalty; she was now cleared to return to active duty. She fought hard to breathe a sigh of relief in front of the base commander and opted for a small nod instead.

“You’re to be on the next cargo plane out of here at 1500, Corporal. Pack your things. Your ARES is already getting loaded to go as we speak now that the repairs are finished.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Best of luck, Corporal.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Allison all but kicked the chair out from under her as she stood up and snapped another salute to the Major General, to which he returned it from his seat at the desk. With that acknowledgement, Allison dropped her salute, took a step back, did an about face, and left the office. She got five steps away before she finally let that sigh out with no one around to hear it. One thing ends, and another begins. She had to go get her transfer orders from the clerk and pack up everything to be ready to go before 1500 hours. Easy enough, honestly. That even left her time to get one last meal in before going back to the frontline. But it all came with a huge unspoken caveat. Though she wasn’t being court-martialed, she was going to be put under scrutiny. Her actions would be watched much closer now, which only meant that she’d have to prove herself that much harder in the field. She could feel it now with all the eyes on her. Deep down she knew that, in reality, it may not even come up at all. But the wound was fresh in her mind, and she would need more time to mend it.

Time waited for no one though. There was still a war to be fought, and Allison was among a special breed of soldiers made for something that normal troops couldn’t be trained to do. With that, a heavy responsibility hung over her head. The Army could ill-afford having one of their prized demi-machina be shuffled off due to combat stress, let alone the recuperation period she was given. No one else could do what they did, and so they were as coveted as they were obligated to perform their duty. There was nowhere else they could go. There was much internal debate, even today, about the use of soldiers like Allison. It always came down to two sides: morality and necessity. Some considered what they did to the demi-machina to be reprehensible, but others argued that it was the only way to effectively employ the ARES units. Something had to give, but with the way the war had been going all the way until the introduction of a new threat, most of the opposition were rather silent in the face of the new unspeakable horrors that NATO forces were battling.

Allison didn’t trouble herself with it. Even if some of the other service members looked down on her, she was no stranger to the idea that such behavior was rampant across the military. She didn’t take it personally. Her service record spoke for itself, even with this black mark on it. She would put in the effort to overshadow it; there was no doubt in her mind about it at this very moment. But now was not the time to dwell on the past. She had been giving her marching orders. She returned to her room and pulled her coveralls off, slipping on a pair of thermal leggings and a mock sweater before putting the coveralls back on. She packed away everything into her olive drab duffle bag that was marked with her name and serial number. She had everything ready to go by noon, with the exception of her CVC (Combat Vehicle Crewman) jacket. She would wear it for her departure. The bitter autumn air reminded her of home. The States. Camp Grayling in Central Michigan was where she had spent most of her young life learning and then training with the local National Guard contingent. Many years were spent there before she was rotated around the country to other facilities for training, but she always remembered how the winter seasons were so cold and borderline unforgiving at times. Here in Great Britain, it felt about the same. She preferred it that way.

The room looked just as tidy as when she had arrived weeks before. Everything was good to go, and just in time for lunch too. She headed to the chow hall to grab something to eat. It was always a contest in the service to which branch had the better food: Air Force or Navy. When Allison had been sent to Naval Station Great Lakes for familiarization training on water survival, she considered it to be some of the better food she’d eaten compared to Army and some Air Force installations. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers, but that didn’t mean she had to go back before getting one last good meal in. It was Friday and that meant a good selection. Salmon, white cheddar bacon mac and cheese, and a vegetable medley were the main courses alongside the standard side dishes. She made sure to savor it as much as she could before she would be under threat of eating MREs (Meals Ready-to-Eat) again. Though she knew it wasn’t something that would happen often, the idea of having to eat MREs like she was back doing Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape (SERE) school was something she dreaded. Ironically, she enjoyed having to forage for her own food after a certain point in the training. Fresh game meat was very preferable to the processed meals they threw their way.

There was little time to reminisce unfortunately. As Allison finished her meal and deposited her tray and silverware, she reminded herself of where the flightline was and how to get there. Early was on time, on time was late. That rule was drilled into her at every opportunity. So at 1417 hours, she grabbed all of her gear and threw on her CVC before heading out of the barracks. The walk over towards the hangars was dreary. The sky was gray and overcast. There wasn’t an officer or senior enlisted in sight. That made it a smooth pace to the flightline where the new C-185 Liftmaster IIs were. These big behemoths of aircraft could transport a single broken-down ARES unit, or multiple MBTs (Main Battle Tanks) like the new M1A3 Abrams. They were the lifeline for NATO’s operations in the European theater. Allison approached and removed her patrol cap as she crossed onto the active flightline so as not to endanger herself by risking having it fly off her head and into an air intake or turbine engine. As she approached the crew who were going over some of the pre-flight inspection checklist, she snapped off a salute.

“Corporal Allison of the 28th AT, reporting for departure sir.”

“At ease, Corporal. We’re almost done. You can board and we’ll be wheels up within ten.”

“Yes sir.”

Allison wasted no time in boarding the craft. It was very roomy, especially in the cargo hold. But that was to be expected. She checked her watch on her own wrist. 1449. Couldn’t have cut it any closer. She dropped her pack by her feet and settled in for the flight. It took all of about an hour and a half to get into the airspace of the new AEGIS base made in France. It was the current staging area for all operations into Eastern Europe with the reclamation of Germany made the top priority. The French countryside was a perfect place to put up a new base. What’s more, the French had stopped complaining about Americans in their borders after the Soviets had tried their hand at pulling their nuclear silos offline. The damage was extensive enough that it warranted France begrudgingly allowing more foreign troops within its borders as it and Germany became the forefront of the war. Walls were built some thirty kilometers outside the base to help protect it from the new menace prowling the continent.

The Liftmaster came in for the final approach to the airstrip and touched down. Allison disembarked the aircraft and gazed out towards the rear of the plane, watching her ARES unit being offloaded and prepped for deployment. She hefted her bag up onto her shoulder and made for the base inside. No one came to pick her up. No one came to meet her. She asked the USAF Security Forces airman at the checkpoint for directions and was given them bluntly, punctuated with an uttering of “wire jockey.” It was one of the many nicknames that she had been given by other service members, but it wasn’t the worst one she’d heard. The walk across base took entirely too long; at this time there were numerous officers and senior enlisted walking about. She knew what to do. Stay to the right. Salute if necessary. Render the greeting of the day. It was expected of her, but not always reciprocated. It didn’t bother her. She had seen superiors brush off lower enlisted greetings all the time. She was only here because she had somewhere to be.

The barracks were a stark contrast to where she had just come from, but it was more homelike than having a room all to herself. As she walked into the large barracks room lined with bunk beds and lockers, she saw four individuals sitting at a table, playing cards with each other. The door slammed shut behind her and drew the attention of all of them at once. There were two women sitting at the table opposite two men. The former gave her the stink eye while the latter looked at her with curiosity. Silence hung in the air with a tension thick enough to be cut with a knife. Allison stepped forward and pulled her patrol cap off her head. One foot in front of the other. Don’t show any sign of fear. She thought to herself. They were all wearing the same uniform that she was, showing that she knew she was in the right place at least. She pulled out a piece of paper with her orders on it and read it off.

“Uhm, excuse me. I’m looking for a…Lieutenant Hideo Sutton?”

One of the men stood up. His hair was neatly cropped and slicked across the forehead. His eyes and complexion were easy to denote him as having some Asian ancestry, and she guessed at it being Japanese from his name. He smiled as he stood up to face her. It was a disarming and easy expression. He looked like a natural leader. She saluted him. He saluted back.

“Good evening, sir. I’m Corporal Allison. As of today, I’ve been transferred to your unit.”

“Is that so?” He asked with a wry smile.

“Yes, sir.” Allison answered plainly.

Hideo stuck out his hand and Allison took it with hers, giving a firm handshake.

“Welcome to the Bushmasters, Corporal.”