The Volunteer

by J B Cantwell

  “Well, where else would they send me? It took a while to heal, too. I was pretty out of it for the first few months.”

  “Wow. That seems like forever.”

  “It would have been a lot longer if it were fifty years ago. The medicines the Service has now are far better. I was only in intensive care for three months. Then, physical therapy for another three before they discharged me and brought me back here.”

  My stomach dropped. Is that what would happen to me? Is that the death some invisible someone was planning on? I imagined what could go wrong on the mission Tanning was sending us on. I could drown. I could be blown to bits. I could die a slow, painful death.

  “Have you ever been sent out in the field?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. This happened during training. I was eight months in.”

  “Did anyone get in trouble? It seems to me that an accident like that would warrant some sort of investigation or something.”

  He turned away from the mirror.

  “Come on. You know as well as I do what they think about us. We’re disposable. To this day I can’t figure out why they bothered to save me at all. Maybe because I’d learned enough to be useful.”

  “Did you and Hector … do you guys know how to make the explosives?”

  “Yes. It was part of the training before. I guess they don’t need anybody for that anymore, though.”

  “You’re right. That’s probably why they saved you, because you knew so much. That kind of knowledge makes you valuable.”

  “I’ve thought about that. I guess there aren’t many of us out there who train in construction of the devices.”

  “How far did you get?” I asked, my voice much lower now. “To nukes? E-bombs?” I held my breath, waiting.

  He looked at me sideways for a moment.

  “E-bombs, yes, but only in theory. They already have several of them assembled, most of them pointed at Canada, and several more stored somewhere outside Philadelphia.”

  Philadelphia. Not too far from New York. Was there a way in?

  “I know you’re new here,” he said. “But you need to be careful. They listen, you know.” He pointed up at the camera in the ceiling.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. I turned back to the mirror, the seed of a plan formulating in my mind. I was glad I’d met Kyle here in the quiet of the morning.

  I was going to take this assignment and flip it on its head, and nobody, not from either side, would ever see me coming.

  I showed up for class despite Fraser insisting that I stay away the day before. Today, I sat right in the front row, ready to learn, determined to stay on task.

  He entered the classroom just as he had the day before, with the slamming of a door and an aggressive dropping of his papers onto the desk at the head of the class.

  He put his hands on the desk, propping himself up, and stared at me.

  I tried hard not to move, not to show him any emotion at all except for that of a soldier ready to serve. I stared him straight in the face, resolved.

  And he didn’t say a word.

  Instead, he picked up his tablet and with one swipe of his finger sent all of us the schematics for a grenade. I wondered about Kyle’s reaction to this information, but I didn’t dare look around. Anyway, he clearly knew all about grenades already. Why he and Hector were still here with us newbies was a mystery to me.

  “Some of you may already know the information I am about to give to you, but there are a couple of new things that have been added to these types of devices in the past year by some of our more senior engineers.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out what I could only assume was a live grenade. He placed it gently on the table before him.

  “Today, we are working with a true explosive device. Everybody go to the closet; you will find hazard uniforms there which should serve to protect you in the case of an accident.”

  I wondered if the suits were a new addition to this part of the program as well. Clearly, Kyle hadn’t had access to one when he’d had his accident.

  We all walked to the closets and pulled out the protective suits and helmets. They were enormous, a fact that had me breathing a little easier. It took us about ten minutes to suit up, and we needed to help each other with the outer straps of the things. Our helmets attached to the thick canvas fabric of the suits. Once I was inside my own, I felt hot and nervous. Surely, they would protect us.

  Surely.

  I glanced at Kyle, and his eyes were wide with fear. I caught his gaze and nodded at him, trying to look and be strong enough for the both of us.

  This was it. Or so Fraser was telling us. He pulled on his own hazard suit and had Hector fasten his straps for him. Then he spoke, and I realized that each suit was wired with a speaker and microphone so that we could all talk to one another.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  We each took several steps toward the large desk at the head of the class. Kyle kept a larger distance away from the table than the rest of us, but I was eager to learn, even if I was scared.

  Fraser held up the grenade for all of us to see.

  “This weapon is far more advanced than what you might see on your lenses as you watch the latest programs about soldiers in battle,” he said, his voice crackling through the speaker in my helmet. “It used to be that one needed only to pull the pin to deploy it,” he held up the small circular pin at the end of the grenade. “Things have changed over the past fifty years, however, and even more in the past year. Now, we are able to set a timer on the bomb, and thus the soldiers setting these explosives are better protected than ever.

  “Don’t let the size of this device fool you. It packs a deadly punch when detonated, as some of you already know.” He nodded in Kyle’s direction. “Even in our hazard suits, a new requirement by the Service, we are still in danger. Unfortunately, for some of you, these rules were not in effect until this past summer. Because of this lack of foresight, injuries have occurred.”

  He carefully set the grenade down on the desk again and picked up his tablet, instantly sending an additional schematic of the grenade along with a checklist of steps to disarm it.

  “The way this explosive works has become quite complicated over the years. It used to be that one needed only take out the trigger pin to cause the explosion to happen, typically within ten seconds or less, giving the soldier some time to get away from the blast. Now, things are more complicated on the inside of the device, employing a timer that can be set on the outer casing of the grenade.

  “When accidents happen, it is usually this feature that fails more than any other defect. However, it remains a useful explosive device when in battle.”

  He pulled the pin out of the grenade, and everyone gasped, stepping back.

  He had his finger pressing in where the pin had been.

  “Don’t worry. It will not detonate as long as I put pressure on this trigger.”

  He held out his hand, showing us where exactly his finger was pressed down.

  “You can see, also, that this device is set to explode in one minute once the trigger is released. Even if I take my finger off of the device now, it will not blow.”

  He did so, and everyone stepped back even farther.

  “I suggest you move in closer if you would like to see how to save your own life in the event that you cannot discharge the bomb safely. In this case, I have one minute to defuse it. Or, rather, fifty-two seconds.”

  He quickly placed the grenade back onto the desk and pulled out a sharp knife, slipping it between the crack where the outer shell of the grenade was joined. He tipped up his knife and split the grenade in two.

  Kyle was now at the back of the room, refusing to get any closer.

  I considered joining him, but then I realized I was lucky to even be here at all after what had happened yesterday. Any show of cowardice would not serve me or my mission, any mission, well.

  Fraser’s hands flashed across the halved grenade and quickly pulled out another
pin, holding it up for all of us to see.

  “This is the interior firing pin. Now that I have removed it, the grenade will not explode. At least, not theoretically. As you can see, the inside of the device is filled with material, in this case, sand.”

  I frowned, and everyone stayed silent, including Fraser.

  The timer had stopped ticking down at nine seconds.

  “What do you think about that, class?” he finally asked.

  I raised my hand.

  “Yes, Taylor?”

  “It’s a dummy, Sir.”

  “Yes, that is true. And what do you think about that?”

  “I am relieved, Sir.”

  I was sweating now inside my suit, and a thin sheen of fog was building up around the corners of my helmet’s face plate.

  For the first time since meeting Fraser, he almost smiled, but the smirk on his face did nothing to make him look friendlier.

  A couple of the soldiers on the other side of the desk began to removed their helmets, even Alex. But I didn’t dare.

  Kyle spoke up from the back of the room.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” his voice crackled. “Put your helmets back on.”

  Fraser nodded.

  “Indeed. Any assumption on your part, ever, that what is believed to be an explosive looks inert, you are risking your life and the lives of the soldiers in your unit.”

  I elbowed Alex, and he looked down at me. I didn’t speak, and instead stared daggers at him.

  He shook his head in an exasperated way, but in the end he pulled the helmet back on and tightened the huge straps that held in place.

  Fraser gently replaced the interior pin into the grenade, then put the two halves back together again and pushed the outer safety pin back into place. The timer read :09 seconds.

  “I suggest we go outside for the rest of this lesson.”

  Suddenly, I didn’t feel so safe, even though there were still two soldiers walking with their heads exposed.

  Fraser, however, kept his helmet on.

  There was grumbling and panting as we ascended the ten floors to the top of the silo, and soon Fraser was opening the hatch door and instructing us to exit the facility.

  The light outside was too bright. We had all spent the last few days inside the silo with nothing but its dim lights to guide us. But out here the sun shone brightly in the sky, stinging my eyes.

  Once Fraser had guided us out of the grove of trees and a fair distance away from the hatch, he popped the safety pin out of the grenade again and threw it with all his might out into the field.

  Kyle was backing up again, putting as much distance as he dared between himself and the rest of our class.

  “Soldier,” Fraser said to him. “You alone are wise enough to understand the risk here.” Then, he turned in the direction he had thrown the grenade in and checked his watch. “Soldier Taylor, do you still believe that the material inside the grenade was simply sand and nothing more?” he asked.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but I never got a chance to. The grenade exploded precisely nine seconds from the moment Fraser had thrown it, and the force of it was enormous, knocking everyone in the class flat on their backs with its power.

  Fraser’s voice came through our speakers, and I could hear that he was laughing.

  “Ha ha!” he said, quickly getting back up to his feet. In the distance we could see that the area of the field where the grenade had exploded was now on fire. “Our scarred friend wins the day!”

  He strode toward Kyle, who had been the only one of us to stay upright, and held out his hand to shake.

  “Congratulations, soldier,” he said. “You get to live. As for the rest of you,” he turned back toward our group. “Boom!” He shook his head, laughing, and headed back toward the hatch.

  The lesson was over.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, Alex, Hector, Kyle, and I gathered outside the mess hall as we had been instructed to do the night before. Tanning had alerted Hector and Kyle about the underwater mission we would be taking on in just a few days. Kyle still seemed rattled about the lesson we’d been in yesterday.

  “It’s okay, man,” Hector said, slapping him on the back. “We’re going to be underwater for these explosions. No fire.”

  “You’re wrong,” Kyle said. “Underwater explosions are just as deadly as those above ground. More so, even.”

  This surprised me. “How?” I asked.

  “It has to do with pressure. It’s no picnic to be in the vicinity of any explosive.” He paused for a moment, and his eyes went blank. Then, shaking his head a little, he went on. “When an explosion happens above ground, the pressure wave is reduced by the air surrounding the explosive. But underwater, the wave goes right through you. Our bodies are made up of sixty percent water. Imagine what the full blast of the water around you would do to your insides. They practically get liquified.”

  My eyes were wide, staring. Suddenly, I was very aware of the danger of the mission before us. I had mistakenly thought that we might be safer under the surface of the lake. Clearly, I was wrong.

  “If you stood at a safe distance from an explosive above ground,” he went on, “you would survive. But if you put that same explosive underwater, you would likely die, even at the same distance away from the explosion.”

  He fell quiet. All of us did. Nobody said another word, not even Hector, as Tanning approached us.

  “This way, soldiers,” he said, then turned to lead us toward the exit of the silo.

  In a few short minutes, we were above ground watching the sun come up over the horizon.

  A small, armored military vehicle was parked just outside the hatch entrance, and Tanning opened the back door for us.

  “In you go. Good luck on your mission.” He looked at me as he said this.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Hector moved past me and entered the vehicle first.

  The driver didn’t speak, but as Tanning banged on the roof of the vehicle, he put it in gear and sped away from the silo.

  The ride was bumpy and silent. I wondered where we were going. Somewhere to learn more about the types of explosives we would be using? Maybe.

  Or maybe somewhere to learn how to swim.

  The wheat grass passed us by in a blur, the driver hitting the gas hard. It took several minutes riding this way before he found a paved road. I was both grateful and nervous for for this. Now we would be more exposed. There was a reason that the explosives unit had taken up residence underground, and my mind raced as I thought of what those reasons might be. I stared out the window as the ride slowly stretched into hours. Nobody spoke. Hector dozed.

  Finally, we arrived at our destination, right along the edge of Lake Erie, my lens told me. A large, single story building loomed up before us, and snipers were stationed all along the rooftop. I guessed this place wasn’t safe after all, and I found myself wishing for the dark depths of the silo again.

  An old sign still hung over the boarded up entrance. The paint, cracked and peeling, read “Community Pool.”

  The driver pulled into a large garage guarded by two Primes in full armor, machine guns at the ready. One of them turned and entered in a passcode once we were inside, and the door closed behind us.

  This was it.

  Hector climbed out of the vehicle first, followed by the rest of us. There was no one there to greet us, and we stood, somewhat stupidly, waiting for direction.

  The driver opened his door and groaned as he exited.

  “Come on, then,” he said, his first words since we’d entered the truck over three hours before.

  Hector went first, and I wondered if anyone had told him that he would not be the one in command of this mission. I didn’t fight to make my way forward, though. He would find out the details soon enough.

  The driver led us into a large, open warehouse space and in the center, a vast, deep pool awaited us. A huge man approached, and all of us but the driver stopped to mee
t him.

  Arnold Whittaker

  Designation: Prime

  “Hello, soldiers,” he said. Everyone snapped to attention, even Alex. “Your mission commences in five days. You will be laying explosives near an underwater pipeline the Canadians have built to take water out of the lake. The water in Lake Erie belongs to the USA, despite their objections to the contrary, and they have no rights to it. The war of 2036 secured our claim.

  “Now, which of you knows how to swim?”

  Kyle was the only one to raise his hand. I was surprised. Where would anyone desperate enough to join the Service have learned to swim?

  “Tell me of your training, soldier.”

  “I—I grew up in the south. There were several small lakes nearby, and the weather there is hot most days, even in the winter. I’ve been swimming since I was a kid, Sir.”

  “Understood, soldier. As for the rest of you, the next few days will be a crash course for you. You need not worry, however. You will be training in full scuba gear with directional jets attached to your bodies. After some basic instruction, you will have ample time to practice with your jet-suits.

  Now, follow me to your barracks. You will have half an hour to sort out your things and change.”

  He started off, and this time I was the first one in line. Whittaker walked, to my mind, dangerously close to the edge of the pool.

  Maybe he’d had a chance to learn how to swim, himself. But somehow I didn’t think that my heavy boots would serve me well in the deep water beside us. I tried to put a little distance between myself and the edge without breaking rank.

  The barracks were small; just eight beds were lined up against one wall.

  “You’ll find wetsuits in the cabinet.” He motioned to a closet at the far end of the room. “When you’re changed, report back to the pool, and be ready to get wet.”

  The closest to swimming I had ever come was just a few days ago as the water from the damaged Manhattan Wall had poured into the streets.

  Whittaker left the room, and I slumped down on one of the beds.

  “Don’t worry,” Alex said. “They wouldn’t send us out there with no training.”