Travesty (SolarSide Book 1)

by Austin Aragon

  “Julian no! They’ll kill you!” The helmets are up to my chest now. Their cold metal frames crush my body that it is almost impossible to breathe.

  Hands, blood stained and some missing fingers pop out of the buildings as Julian chases her. They are the multitudes of raised hands on the battlefield crying for help—the hands I was told to ignore.

  The girl is now at that familiar street from a few days ago. White cheery trees release their petals into the air as Julian talks to her. Herculeans start firing and he falls screaming in anguish. His arm stretches out towards me in the classroom alongside the dozens of other hands. My vision zooms in on his fingers. I can’t breathe and my vision begins to go dark—the helmets are almost to my neck! In Julian’s hand is the alien necklace. I look up at his face—but it has changed to that same Herculean from Tionem. Its blue eyes gripping me in its stare, its face no different in emotion for help and mercy than Julian’s was.

  Then all the hands point at me.

  “It’s only an illusion, race, species, war.”

  The Herculean’s face turns into a horrifying black owl that flaps towards me, and I fall backwards into the helmets.

  “GO AWAY!”

  I feel something frisking me. The hands pop out through the helmets grabbing me—dragging me deeper into the helmets.

  “Stop!”

  “Wake up from your delusion. Save us!” cry the hands and helmets. The pile reaches over my head and I start to suffocate.

  I rise from my cot sweating heavy and gasping for breath. Isaac stumbles about as he turns to see what’s happening. “Are you okay?”

  I look around quickly. I am in the barracks. “What day is it?”

  “Wednesday, why?”

  “No, what day is it in the war?”

  “It’s like the third week man, what the fuck is up with you?”

  I reach for my bladder to drink, but I see my dirty blue helmet with the white bold letters of UN on it, my hand hesitates for a moment. “Nothing, I just had a bad dream is all.”

  “You said the same thing yesterday,” mutters Isaac as he begins putting his boots on, “and the night before.” He places his armored vest on. “I swear to god though, if we have to dig out more trenches or move more rubble in the city as our, break, from combat today like the last two weeks. I will kill myself.”

  The other marines start to wake and ready themselves. Vance walks by to the latrine, “Tell me about it.”

  Alex puts his combat vest on as well. “And all the civilians just fucking watch, it’s their damn city, they should be helping us.”

  Commissar Herus enters the barracks with Blake following behind like a dog on a leash.

  We barely get up in time to come to attention, most of us undressed.

  “Who here is against humanity?” says Herus.

  What the hell is he talking about?

  “Who here is against Earth?”

  We remain quiet.

  “Who here is against America? Someone here has broken Party Creed and Ideals.” He walks down the middle of our two lines, his huge revolver bouncing at the hip at each step. I see Ray before me, raising his arms into the air begging for life, reminding me of what Herus is. He is cold and as harsh as that revolver he cherishes, and just as dangerous. He walks back up our line towards the door, and turns around.

  “Private Peter!”

  No fucking way.

  “Step forward!”

  The simple movement of bringing my leg forward suddenly becomes terrifying and complex. This step he requests now more difficult than this city he asked me to liberate.

  But I finally take a step.

  “Now, I have been informed of your glorious duty both in the assault on this exact city, and your more heroic action in Tionem from your Sergeant. However, this does not dismiss the fact that your logs account for something else. They mention two instances of you taking Stim doses outside of registered administration by a commanding NCO or higher. I will let you speak for yourself. We all hope this was just a misunderstanding, considering your valiant actions have previously made you admirable and respected as a Marine.”

  I try to breathe but instead end up hacking. Everyone glances at me quickly, the Commissar with a curtsy expression, like having a mouse trapped in a corner.

  “Commissar Herus, the Private can account for those instances,” I say. We still have to talk in degrading third person of ourselves, like back in basic, around the high ranking Party Representatives

  “Oh, excellent. Explain Private.”

  “On the siege here, the Private saw a fellow marine, Ray, running as a deserter. The act worried the Private, so in order to safeguard fighting capacity, he thought it necessary to administer another dose. The Private was not near his Sergeant at the time as one could imagine the chaos of the assault.”

  There is a long pause, I dare not look at the Commissar. I remain solidified out of fear, but hope it appears as respect or confidence in myself to him. I also feel a bite of self-hatred at how I revealed the truth of Ray’s death to my unit like this. They probably hate me now, for withholding the facts so long.

  “Yes, Private Ray was an unfortunate occurrence. We are still looking into why such warriors would desert as traitors. They only reasonable explanation we came to was just that, that they were traitors.”

  That bastard, Ray was a good man.

  “Your response is acceptable, but we still have the latter event to resolve.”

  “The Private has always been under the impression that Buzz creates a variety of advantages beyond physiological alteration. In Tionem at the time the Private had recovered from concussion damage during the battle. In the heat of that moment, in order to successfully take down the Herculean bunker to save his comrades, the Private, again without any unit NCO’s nearby, administered Buzz purely for stamina capabilities, to have the energy to do what was necessary to take down the bunker.”

  Herus hums to himself. “I was told you ran across rooftops like a wildman, and shot the AT while in midair.” I glance up quickly to see him smiling with delight.

  I can’t tell if he is being sarcastic, or is seriously elated to think that his men can do stuff like that. “The Private did run across rooftops, but the AT was saved for taking out the AA.”

  “So it is all true!” He claps. “Alright, your incidents will be reported as field ingenuity under strenuous circumstances. I would still however, recommend that you ask or wait for a CO to administer field stims. If the cases for doing so personally do not live up to valorous reasons, as Private Peter’s have, the consequences will be immediate and unmerciful.” Commissar Herus leaves and we are left at attention, my body sweating from the interaction.

  “At ease,” says Blake, once he pokes out the door to make sure he’s gone. He looks at me while I collapse onto my bunk. “I’m sorry. I tried to tell him it wasn’t anything bad. But you know them. Follow regulations to a T.”

  Doesn’t remove the fact I almost had a heart attack. It’s getting harder to breathe. I can feel my limbs cramping. I need Cloud quick. I rise off my bunk. “Hold on everyone!” says Blake. Fuck, I gotta get out of here. I sit back down, my hands clenching the frame bars—I gotta get to Cloud. He begins walking around the bunks tossing envelopes.

  “What is this?” says Isaac, foundling his envelope.

  “Paychecks, Command has released yours now.”

  Rommel rips his open. “Why?”

  Blake takes a few steps towards the door, then faces everyone. “Good news boys, on a much lighter note, we get an early two day leave to Nova Carthago.”

  “Wait,” Isaac rises viewing his check, “you mean we are getting like, R&R?”

  “Yep, Command just notified me that since we were part of the first combat groups to fight, we also get to go first, and Marshall Hannibal himself decided to begin leave early.”

  “Well he’s my type of guy,” says Isaac gleefully, the rest of
us mutter in agreement.

  “So where are we going, sir?” says Tommy excitedly.

  “Nova Carthago, the capital of Carthage and the biggest tourist spot on this planet. Well before the war that is. I am sure it’s still booming with the Coalition arriving and thousands of support personal being based there.” Blake walks out the door yelling back at us, “We leave tomorrow at the crack of dawn!”

  I take my sack and go to the toilettes. The stall closes behind me as I lean over the toilet bowl and puke. I wipe my lips and spit into the bowl. Fucking Herus, fucking nightmares. I open the bag and tie an elastic band around my arm, and stab a syringe into my blue vein saying good morning to Cloud. I can’t do the dose through my neck distributor because it is monitored by Blake’s control pad, and especially with what just happened earlier—Jesus I almost got my ass fried. Thank god for abandoned ambulances.

  I place my hands against the stall wall and breathe out the remaining stress. I look into the toilet bowl, disturbed, while I wait.

  You only take small doses Peter, nothing like they actually administer to you on the field. Just enough to get over the aftershock. My hands slide against the walls of the stall, and I regain my focus on the toilet bowl. Every time I see you, I know I should throw the rest away. End this addiction, turn myself in. But they won’t leave me alone! The nightmares, the aftershock. Why is it fucking me up but not anyone else? What is wrong with me? Peter, you only take small doses. It’s not an addiction.

  There you go my little warrior. There you go.

  I am wonderfully calm. Hello, Cloud. I am not in a stall anymore. I am in the sky with the clouds. My freedom never ending. My responsibilities light. My pain grounded and alien to me.

  “Got stage fright over there?”

  I jump a foot—back in the stall again. “Uh, yeah, must not be drinking enough water I guess.”

  The sink turns on as someone washes their hands. “What are you going to waste your money on, Vance?” I realize it’s Isaac.

  “The biggest goddamn burger I can get.”

  “Amen.” The door closes leaving me alone, but only physically.

  I know what I am doing is right here. Why is my mind so weak? Why does it try and try to fuck with me! Make me feel guilty, make me feel scared over things that have already happened. Why am I so weak? I look at the toilet. Why can’t I flush you away.

  Then I hear something even though I am alone in the stalls. It sounds like a mother trying to hush their child, and I remember the words.

  There you go my little warrior. There you go.

  I am high. I am calm.

  XVII

  I am deprived of any ease tonight. I take a specially ordered hot shower to clean up as best as possibly. Easy eyes me with envy as I leave the filthy barracks for Regiment HQ. You don’t realize how much pain you are in till you receive an ounce of comfort. Standing in the hot shower becomes torture. My muscles spasm as the caked dirt turns into mud and clogs the bottom of the drain.

  The order was given as fast as I was to follow it, denying me the ability to greet Cloud beforehand. Fortunately, I was able to convince the Orderly to not take my personal sack that holds the illicit savior I worship. But even Regiment HQ—set up in a damaged hostel—is not a place of regale in this destroyed city, and my shower room is visible to the Commissars and Officers talking in the dining room over, removing the chance of getting any from my stash only a meter away.

  I wrap the towel around myself and the Orderly brings back my cleaned clothes, still slightly damp as I change into them. The Commissars laugh and talk loudly in the room over as I finish getting ready, one particular howl unnerving me. Jesus, my heart skips a beat. I turn to the mirror to act like I am pruning, but really am I teaching myself how to breathe again. I can’t expose my terror, my fear, or they will find out. They will get me. One of those Commissars in the room is Herus, the man that almost fried me. Now he is taking me on a date. If he has omniscient powers, I wouldn’t be surprised, as he looks over at me just when I finish folding up my sleeves.

  “Great,” he says. He pats the backs of a few other officers at the table, and summons me to leave with him.

  We walk alongside a bustling avenue near Jericho’s downtown full of military traffic: supply trucks leaving the city, damaged combat vehicles being towed back in, and loaded jeeps of filthy and blooded causalities returning for cleanup.

  “Add some pepper to your step Private!” says Herus as we are singled to cross an intersection by an MP.

  I realize I’ve fallen behind and hurry across where we pause unexpectedly by an apartment building. It’s pocked and marked with bullet and shrapnel hits, and the fourth floor caved in from a direct ordinance strike, but despite it all, the ten story building stands defiantly into the air in comparison to the rest of its neighboring infrastructure.

  “You won’t believe how hard it is to actually find a decent room in this city,” says Herus. “Most Party Representatives are bunking with servicemen out in the field, lucky to even get an actual barracks like you were.”

  A sentry opens the door and we are lead into a dirty hallway. He walks down a little bit and turns to the left, retrieving a key and opening a door. “My residence, Private.” We enter inside. A small cot—the same as ours in the barracks—and a desk overfilled with papers and two laptops, the screens open and running, all squished into the corner of the room. On the opposite side of the room are a few plastic chairs of different bright colors that it’s almost comical compared to Herus’ grave demeanor. “Take a seat. We relocated all civilian property, including furniture, to warehouses as you can see.”

  I sit down, and he must notice I look confused. “We can requisition their living spaces, heck, most of them haven’t even come back anyway after we liberated the city, but we cannot use their personal property, as they are citizens of another country and we must respect customary law when convenient.” He turns to his desk, by it a filing cabinet with a coffee maker on top, and fills a mug. “So they gave me some furniture for company,” he glances at the colorful lawn chairs, “they liven up the place, no?” He moves to the bed, and for the first time in my service—life—he unbuckles his exterior belt, and removes his heavy dark overcoat and places it on a hanger near the wall.

  “Surprised?” He grins, his perfectly straight white teeth flashing me. He sticks his thumbs inside his overall straps and pulls on them to make a slap noise. The rest of his getup is a simple long shirt white fatigue. “As you can see, just a man underneath the coat, just another brother in the Cause. Or maybe you are still surprised over my humble room, expecting that I lived in exuberant decadence, like a five star hotel? Not the case, I am a soldier’s soldier. Living in code with the rest of you.” He rises quickly, startling me out of my seat. “At ease!” I sit down quickly. “No, goodness, you’re not in trouble, sorry. I forgot my manners,” he returns to the coffee maker, “I forgot to make you a cup as well.”

  His stout arm extends a mug with steaming coffee, twitching after a few moments of waiting. “What, are you Mormon?” he laughs. I take the cup and cradle it on my thigh. “Sorry if you are,” he says as he sits back down on his cot, “are you?”

  “No sir, the Private is not.”

  “Please, Peter, right?”

  I nod.

  “You can talk normally around me, okay? The whole formality thing is rather vain. It’s purely to display my position in public matters. Anyone with a drop of IQ knows it’s all a game. So why have you been on edge, Peter?”

  Does he know? Does he know he got to me before Cloud did? That this whole personal visit is infinitely more terrifying than when he trialed me publicly. God if he finds out now, after I just got in the clear…

  “You working a monolog in there?” he says, ripping me out of my mind.

  “No sir—I mean, no.”

  He slaps his knee. “Damn do we have you men on a tight leash. I always wonder, what will it be like for you a
ll when you return back to civilian life? We have you ready to do anything on the drop of a hat, and even faster when that Buzz goes in, that you don’t even have to think about what we ask, you just do. You become it, that is the command. You turn into a means in it of yourself, into the request, becoming your own cog as part of the machine. What will that old freedom feel like when you go home? Could you even handle it?” He takes a sip. “You were a college student before this. Where free thought is, more so encouraged one could say.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you wanted to work for the Party intentionally before this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, you are contradicting yourself now, Peter. You wanted to work most specifically for the UN, for the ethos of the Global Fathers, not just the American ones. Don’t be coy with me. I already know everything external about your past. What I don’t know is what’s under the hood.”

  “I wanted to work with the UN to disarm the remaining weapons of Earth. Create final peace.”

  His pupils gleam with energy, of sincere empathy? Or maybe just amusement at my now ridicules dream. “Does it make you upset that the opposite is in motion?”

  My cup slides a little spilling some coffee onto the floor. Nobody from the Party, or in government alone, ever asked me that. I did feel deceived that the ideals of the Party changed so radically, but I came to acceptance with it, as that it was necessary, and have since reformed my morality on it. He must want me to break. To admit dissidence, one of the things the Party tirelessly hunts down.

  He looks at the spilt coffee. “I am not trying to corner you Peter. It’s an honest question, no follow up action waiting to strike behind it.”