“So, why do you want be a rigger? It seems like a job where you have to concentrate, a lot”
Omar smirks at me.
“First off, I don’t have a problem concentrating. But the main reason I want to be a rigger is I really want to jump out of planes, and not just every three months to keep my airborne certification. I want to jump all the time. I have always known that’s what I want to do. This way I get paid to do it.”
Once our food arrives our conversation dwindles to grunts of appreciation for the Bamboo Garden’s shrimp with lobster sauce and tiny spicy chicken. After a few minutes Omar turns on the TV. The TV is totally old school and has no three-dimensional technology or virtual reality settings. It is exactly what I am used to, but I can tell if frustrates him. After about ten minutes of channel surfing, he lands on Entertainment News. I just look over at him with raised eyebrows. He shrugs his shoulders, unapologetically. “I want to see what the sugar is up to.”
I shake my head, and, turn back to my food. “Hey, why do you think they are called, “the sugar”?”
He sets down the remote and turns to face me. “I asked my dad once. He said, he wasn’t sure, but it reminded him of an old movie called Mary Poppins. There was a song in it called, A Spoonful of Sugar “
I shake my head in complete confusion. “Really?” I give Omar a sly grin. “Why don’t you, sing it for me.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Yeah, right dude…that’s not happening. It’s this really lame kids, movie”
“Have you seen it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like it?”
“It was okay when I was seven.”
“So, how does the song go?”
“Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, the medicine, go down, the medicine go down.”
Omar doesn’t sing it, but he can’t quite keep the melody from his words. I snicker at him, but he just rolls his eyes and continues to explain.
“It’s a metaphor. My dad says that entertainment changed when it became government sponsored. He says the famous people became the sugar. They are there to provide a sweet distraction. People watch them and their personal drama and don’t pay attention to all the crappy, unjust, stuff the government is doing.”
My eyes widen and I try not to show my shock at hearing his very antigovernment statement.
“Wow...that is a pretty strong anti-government metaphor, coming from someone about to be enlisted in government service.”
“I told you dude, I’m just here to jump out of planes. That doesn’t mean I suddenly think that Lui has become altruistic.”
My mouth drops open a little at his forthrightness. “You should be really careful who you share your opinions with. Or better yet don’t share them.”
“I am really careful.”
“How can you say that, we just met, and you basically admitted you have no loyalty to the, U.A.”
“Yeah, but neither do you.”
“How do you know; I didn’t tell you that?”
“Am I wrong?”
“Well…No but, still, you didn’t really know that.”
“I am really good at reading people. It’s kind of my thing.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “I’m sure sometimes you’re wrong.”
“Rarely”
“It only has to happen once.”
He gives me a serious look, and sighs. “Point taken, now come here, I want to show you something.”
He switches his phone to projector mode and props it on the table facing the blank white wall.
“Go turn out the lights.”
I do as he asks and come back to sit on the bed just as a very old looking video plays. It is a woman and two kids in old timey cloths. Then she starts singing and the chorus of “a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down” begins. The video is only a few minutes. It is old fashioned and childish, but oddly comforting. I turn to Omar when it is finished.
“Great, now I’m going to have that song stuck in my head for the rest of my life.”
“Nah, it will be stuck in your head a couple of days, tops.”
“Please tell me you have something better to watch on your phone, than Mary Poppins’ videos.”
“Porn?”
“No thanks”
“Just kidding, dude, I took all that off my phone before I got here.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You got rid of your porn, but you decided it was okay if your drill sergeant found Mary Poppins on your phone? Can we just watch something normal…like, maybe something in between porn, and Mary Poppins?”
He laughs, but, then puts on Sky Jumpers. It is one of my favorite shows about a group of scientist and soldiers that travel through worm holes in time to right the wrongs in history or to prevent catastrophes in the future. They always wear parachutes because the worm holes are usually at high altitudes.
“Holy Crap, Omar! Is this show why you want to jump out of planes?”
His face gets a little red, so I know I’m right.
“No! Well, maybe a little. It is my favorite show.”
I try unsuccessfully to stifle my laugh. And Omar pegs me in the head hard with one of the lumpy, pillows. “Don’t worry man your secret is safe with me. It’s my favorite show too.”
We watch a couple of episodes of Sky Jumpers and then I fall asleep. I am awake and walking toward the bathroom when the wakeup call pounds on the door. Thirty minutes later Omar and I head down to breakfast. There is a buzz of excitement most of us are picking jobs and getting sworn in for service today. We finish our breakfast, and head to the white Van. After we get out of the van, I turn to Omar.
“Good luck man, I hope you get your rigger job.”
“Oh, it’s that or nothing. Sergeant Jefferson has been checking to see when there are rigger slots available. I should be good. Good luck to you too man.”
Inside MEPS, it is another long day of hurry up, and wait. I am beginning to think this is going to be the story of my life in service of the U.A. When I finally get to the job recruiter, I am a little on edge. I take a deep breath and tell myself this is my destiny. I walk into a small office, seated at a computer is hulking ginger headed man in BDUs. Without looking up from the screen he orders me to take a seat. He stays focused on his computer screen for another two minutes, then, he finally looks up at me.
“Based on your scores, and job availability, I am recom-mending you pick cryptologic linguist or cryptologic network warfare specialist. “
He says this with the kind of authority that could easily make a person think they don’t really have a choice in the matter. I can see how people get intimidated and just take whatever job is thrown at them. I refuse to be one of those people. My throat feels very dry, and it’s hard to respond to the disgruntled, looking giant sitting across from me. I clear my throat and mentally prepare to stand my ground at all cost. Even if it means, I have to go back to Elizabeth and camp in the fort for a while.
“Thank you, sir, for the suggestion, but I’m set on going Special Forces.”
He sighs deeply and rubs his face.
“Look Malone, I’m going to level with you. Your scores are good. You can qualify for just about any job we have available right now. However, if I put you in as an 18x, and you fail, which in all likelihood, you will. You are going to end up being a cook, because that’s what the army really needs right now.”
“I’m willing to take the risk. Besides if I did fail, which I won’t, I like food. I could be a cook.”
“It’s a shit job, with shit hours! Use your brain kid!”
“Respectfully sir, if there is anyone on this planet who can make it through Special Forces, it’s me. It is what I am meant to do, and I won’t settle for anything else.”
He stares hard at me for a minute, and I stare back at him, with raised eyebrows, refusing to squirm.
Finally, he looks to his computer and starts typing. Within two minutes a pack of papers is printed out. He
stands up and walks around his desk with the papers and a pen.
“Sign, here, and here and initial here by the 18x.”
He makes copies of the papers I just signed and initialed, and hands them to me.
“Here you go Malone. This is your copy of your contract. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I have been hearing that a lot lately, sir.”
“Maybe you should have considered that. Now, get out of my office. Follow the blue line to room 14F, and wait to be sworn in.”
A short walk across the building takes me to room 14F. It is a big room filled with desks, and at the front of the room is a wooden podium. Behind the podium is a giant U.A. flag and next to it, on a flagpole is the southern division flag. I take a seat with all the other recruits and wait. An hour later an army sergeant walks in and we swear our allegiance to the U.A. I say the words not really hearing them or thinking about their implications. I know this part of my life, is a means to an end. The world is volatile, and my country no longer has any regard for justice or liberty. Nevertheless, if a change can be made, it will only be possible from the inside. If change isn’t possible, then at least I will acquire the skills I need to save the woman with the black hair, and the others.
After swearing in we are released and told report back to MEPs for the ship out date listed on our contracts. My mind races as I flip through my contract to find my ship out date. I assumed I would be leaving immediately from MEPs. On the last page of my contract, I see my ship out date is one week from today. My heart sinks as I realize I am going to have to call Mrs. Taylor to get a ride back to Elizabeth. I can stay in the fort for a week, but Elizabeth is the last place I want to be. I’m lost in my slightly panicked thoughts when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up to find Omar smiling at me, behind him is a couple, probably in their late forties.
“Fin, these are my parents Basheer and Najma.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Rasul, it’s nice to meet you.”
We shake hands in a warm greeting, and exchange pleasant-ries. It doesn’t take long to see where Omar gets his agreeable disposition. His parents radiate kindness and affection for their son. After a few minutes of conversation, Omar and I realize we are shipping out on the same day, though flying to different states for basic training. He is going to Fort Jackson, South Carolina, whereas I am going to Fort Benning, Georgia.
“So, what are you going to do with your last week of freedom?”
I look at Omar somewhat embarrassed. “To be honest, I assumed I would be leaving immediately from MEPs. I didn’t plan on having a week to kill.”
Omar looks over at his parents for a second.
“It’s settled then. You should come, stay at our house.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t impose.”
Mr. Rasul shakes his head. “It is not an imposition; you are welcome in our home.”
Mrs. Rasul gives me a reassuring nod and places her hand on Omar’s shoulder. “You must come Fin, or you will hurt little Omar’s feelings.”
I can’t hold back a chuckle. “Well, I wouldn’t want to hurt little Omar’s feelings.”
To which Omar responds with a long-suffering sigh. His parents both smile and we make our way out of the building. It is only a short drive to Omar’s house nestled in a quiet middle-class neighborhood in Shreveport. When we step into the house, we are greeted by two young girls with thick, shiny black hair.
“These are my sisters, the evil twins, Aaminah and Akilah.” Omar affectionately teases his sisters.
Mrs. Rasul makes her way to the kitchen, while Omar shows me around the house. I try not to appear shocked as I peek inside what I assume is some sort of Muslim prayer room. My knowledge of religion is rudimentary, at best. I don’t know the history of all the religious conflict that was used by the government to propel the religious acts. I have heard the media describe Muslims and Christians alike as extremists that can’t get along with each other. That our religious differences only serve to create contention, which is why the acts were passed. I rarely went to church growing up. Still, I would consider myself Christain. I can’t say that it is out of any deep personal connection I felt growing up. More so, that the Christians I knew set an example of the kind of person I wanted to be. I have never known a person who is Muslim. The powers that be would have me believe these people are my enemy, but being here all, I see is a loving family, who invited me into their home. Omar brings me to his room, where we play video games for about thirty minutes, before he stands to leave.
“Time for evening prayers, be back in a few.”
While I wait, I wonder if we are really all that different. People in power have decided we are supposed to be enemies, but why? When I look at Omar and his family, I see good people. Why have we been pitted against each other? Is it the fault of organized religion? Is it the fault of religious leaders involved in a power struggle, or have we been fed misinformation for so long that we can’t make an unbiased decision about someone’s good character based on actions alone?
Omar returns and we continue our gaming. Not long after, we are greeted with the smells of a meal that has been lovingly prepared. Omar and I make our way to the dining table. Each member of his family says their own silent prayer, and we begin to eat. The next week passes with the comforting chatter of family. Though they have different rules and rituals that they abide by, they remind me a lot of the Hollocks. The house is filled with teasing, laughter, and genuine affection. When the day comes for us to leave for basic, we are sent off with many tearful hugs. During the plane ride and subsequent bus ride, I think about the week and am grateful for the experience. It runs counter to many misconceptions I have had. Omar’s beliefs are different from mine, but I know I can count him as a friend. It seems to me all religions are in the same boat. None have the freedom to practice freely.
The next fourteen weeks of basic and infantry training is a blur. It is not as difficult as I thought it would be. There are five other males and one female in my platoon that are 18x, special forces candidates, so we mainly stick together, the rest of the platoon is straight infantry. I have ranked how far I think everyone will get. Tatum Davis will probably be the first to go, he is neither smart, nor fit. I am honestly not sure if he will make it through infantry training. Gordon West will be the next to go, he is a nice guy, but he is already struggling with his fitness. Grant Lee is incredibly fit, although I don’t think he has the mental aptitude to go beyond infantry. I don’t know how he and Tatum scored high enough on the ASVAB to even qualify. Bellamy Weber is fit and smart. He is just so easy going. I don’t know if he has the intensity to see it through. Chloe Abram, the only girl trying for, special forces, is tough as nails. She is strong, smart, and levelheaded but the odds are not in her favor. During the government transition to the U.A. females were no longer able to apply for any special forces' positions. This decision was met with tremendous protest, and the regulations were eventually changed. However, there is no longer any watered-down version of selection and training. Any female who makes it through Special Forces training, does so by adhering to the exact same requirements of their male counter parts. Since the U. A. opened all military jobs to women there have only been two female seals and one female in Delta force. All three were killed in combat within two years. I almost hope she doesn’t make it. Nash Wescot, and I volley for top position, but he is quick tempered, and makes rash decisions. Who knows my rankings may be off…you never really know what people are made of until they are put to the test.
Chapter Nine
Savannah
A s I predicted Tatum Davis never made it through infantry training and was sent to a cook battalion. Gordon West was the next to go after injuring his ankle on a ruck march. He was sent off, for training as a unit supply specialist. The five us that are left are getting a week of leave. After that we have orders to report back to Fort Benning, for jump school. I will admit I am excited, but nervous about jumping out of planes. The only plane I’ve ever been on
was the one that brought me here. I assume everyone, else goes home to their family for their leave time. There is no one for me to go home to, and with so much time on my hands I know I will just end up thinking about Haven. I decide to find a new place to explore, so I rent a car and drive to Savannah.
It is very southern, but in a completely different way than Louisiana. The pace and the speech are both slow and sweet like molasses. On my third night, I decide to go to a fancy restaurant. It is something I have only been exposed to a few of times, and always with Haven’s family. I go to a place called Voltaire’s. It is clearly an old historic church, turned into a restaurant. It is beautiful and sad all at the same time. After a quick search on my phone, I figure out Voltaire was some kind of philosopher. There are little hidden quotes from him all over the place. “Those who can make you believe in absurdities, can make you commit atrocities,” was embroidered on my napkin. “It is difficult to free fools from the chains they revere” was printed at the bottom of the menu. My personal favorite was printed on a book of matches left on the table, after the maître d’ lit the candle in the center, “If you want to know who controls you, look at who you are not allowed to criticize” From what I read about him online, I assume Voltaire meant these quotes to criticize the religious powers of his time. This adds a touch of irony to the fact that the restaurant is inside a church. Looking around though, I get the feeling the owners of this place are putting on a little esoteric display of civil disobedience against our atheist government system.
After dinner I wander the downtown area and find myself back at Forsyth Park, near my hotel. I walk around and look at the old monuments. They are far from their former glory, and now serve as a cautionary tale of how we got to where we are now. The constant struggle of greed and oppression, that have led us to a place, none of us truly want to be. Further into the park are the newer monuments, dedicated to the U.A., and President Lui. These monuments are, shiny and new, nestled in the beautiful lie of well-manicured lawns and flower beds, that we call progress. All the while we ignore the suffering of the least of those around us. We turn a blind eye, and we pretend it’s not Lui’s, child labor force being worked to death, for nothing more than to provide the perfect backdrop for Armageddon.
Half Dead World: Book One from the Apocalypse Tales Page 12
