Pursuing Dreams (The Young Soldier Book 1)

by MK Clark

  Don answered and glanced at Die Hard Company. “If you will follow me.” He started back toward the barracks. He could hear the grumbled complaints from the first boy, Hurdes, and couldn’t help feel a bit of satisfaction when someone behind him told the boy, “Shut it.”

  Gabriel Company had been dismissed, but Don could see a few of his comrades hanging around, watching them. He had to fight back a grim smile as he neared the barracks doors. A few boys from Gabriel Company stood there, leaning against the wall, eyeing Die Hard Company in disgust.

  “Nice breeze we have today, don’t you think?” one of them commented.

  Don raised an eyebrow at them in question.

  “I dunno,” another replied, winking at Don. “There’s been an awful stench on it these last few minutes.” He gave the boys behind Don a significant glance.

  Don didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. It was drowned out by the sound of echoing footsteps and chattering within the building. Die Hard Company, it seemed, was not the only company there.

  A5: first building, ground floor, fifth room. Don decided that this was as good a time as any to introduce the boys to the way things worked at Basic. Don took three steps up the stairs, blue cloth catching his eye as he turned to face Die Hard Company. A few more boys from Gabriel Company stood at the rail of the second floor, just as imposing as the ones at the front of the barracks. They were the only ones in the building not talking. Don shook his head slightly, warning them not to cause trouble, but they saw the appreciative smile on his face.

  “This building is barracks A,” Don began. “There are three floors, one washroom, and six companies per floor. They are numbered accordingly.” Sullen faces looked up at him from the ground. His stomach twisted into a nervous knot. He was suddenly much more thankful for the presence of his comrades at the top of the stairs.

  “Your room is A5, which means you’re on the bottom. You will have a few minutes to acquaint yourselves to your new home, and then we will proceed to the mess hall.” Don jumped down from the stairs and walked down the solitary hall in the barracks. Stopping at their door, he motioned for them to go in. They filed past him, and after the first ten murderous glares, Don began to expect them and didn’t even notice the rest. What interested him were the boys who did not seem to mind his presence and gave him curious looks instead of hate-filled ones.

  The last boy in the line stopped just outside the door. “I just wanted to say thank you for showing us the ropes, and I’m sorry about Hurdes and his gang. They’re loud-mouthed idiots. They said enough stuff out by the buses to make some of us ashamed they come from Earth.”

  Don shrugged. “Just doing my job,” he mumbled, too surprised to say anything else.

  “Well,” the boy said, “thanks.” He turned to walk in the door. Impulsively, Don called after him. “Yeah?” the boy answered.

  Don hesitated and then asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Nasser.”

  Don nodded. “If you ever need anything, you’ve got a friend in Gabriel Company.” The boy grinned and then turned to make his way to an empty bunk. Nasser. Don would have to remember him.

  Don gave them ten minutes to get settled. Those were ten of the longest minutes of his life. Three companies directed by his comrades came during that time, two to his floor and one up the stairs. Pacing the hall, Don tried to come to terms with Michael’s death. What did it mean for them? Realistically, it meant almost nothing. They would survive without Michael. One boy did not make that much of a difference in their company. In a few weeks, a month tops, they would forget Michael had ever been there. This thought made Don sick with guilt.

  In the end, the company would be sobered up by the incident, perhaps even better for it. Michael’s friends would be sad for a few days, but it would be Roberto, Don, Tony, and Tyson who remembered the longest. Not because they were particularly fond of Michael, but because of the events that had unfolded in that small clearing.

  Tony and Roberto had been tip-toeing around the tension between Don and Tyson, neither one wanting to start another disastrous fight. Don had been grateful for that. He had not wanted to talk about it the day before or this morning, but Don knew he couldn’t leave it like that. He was going to have to talk to Tyson sooner or later. The sooner the better, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not yet.

  When the ten minutes were up, Don returned to the doorway of room A5. After he’d gotten their attention, he told them to fall out. It was time to go.

  “Why the hell do we have to listen to you?”

  Don searched for the voice and found its owner. It wasn’t Hurdes this time, but the face looked like one from his group. “If you’d like to lodge your complaint with your sergeant, be my guest. I’ll wait.” The boy remained silent, and Don nodded. “Okay, then, shut up and get in line.”

  The mess hall echoed with noise as twenty-three of the fifty companies ate together at the five long tables. Companies had been arriving off and on for the past few hours. Technically he was still Die Hard Company’s guide, but he was finished with them for the moment. Don had done his duty. After registration, he’d showed them around Camp Lorenzo, taken them to the supplies office, and told them what he thought they ought to know. If any of them had any more questions, they knew where to find him. He wasn’t going to babysit them all afternoon.

  Now that everyone was eating lunch, he felt a bit better. Gabriel Company sat together as they always had, and the other companies seemed to follow suit. He hadn’t realized just how many boys had arrived at the camp so far, until they surrounded his company. There were hundreds of them. Next to all of them, Gabriel’s thirty-nine boys seemed a pitiful number.

  Worse than the new boys were the instructors who came with them. Gabriel Company was just beginning to see how easy they had it with Sergeant Cohan. From the encounters a few of the boys had, they swore most of the trainers seemed intent on making the lives of all the boys, and not just the ones in their own companies, as miserable as possible.

  The loudest of all victims was McKenzie Dooley. He was currently in the middle of a story, surrounded by boys who felt just as put on and disgruntled as he. “…made me do twenty push-ups and say her name each time!”

  Don had no doubt that at least two of the stories Dooley had been telling them were exaggerated. He wasn’t sure how accurate the rest were, but the spirit behind the tales was true.

  “That’s First Sergeant Ambrigino, trainee,” Dooley mimicked the woman’s voice. “The next time you read these stripes wrong, I’ll see you do a hundred.”

  “You think that’s bad?” a voice called down the table.

  Alder, Don thought and then glanced down. He was right.

  Blake Alder leaned onto the table to join the conversation. “I had Cohan’s stamp of approval before I reported to my company, and the sergeant there raked me over the coals for wrinkles on my pants.” Alder stood and put a shiny black shoe on his stool. “Do you see any wrinkles?” he asked, pointing to the pant leg. “Sergeant Cohan sure didn’t. I don’t know who that man thinks he is, but he ain’t my drill sergeant.”

  Don rolled his eyes and continued eating. His companions would get used to it, once they realized that bugs on the ground had a higher rank than they did. It was all a matter of perspective. The boys would be fine as soon as they learned to buckle down and do what they were told without complaint.

  Don stood and took his tray to the wash bin. He let his eyes rove the room. Now that other companies had come, the entire mess hall had filled. With twenty-seven companies still not here, Don realized they were going to have to eat in shifts: two periods for each meal, at least, maybe three if he included all the staff.

  “Hey, O’Hara!” Luke Johnson called after him. “Where you going?” Don shrugged. He hadn’t really had a plan. “You mind running by the supplies office? Schedule said mail was comin’ in today, an’ my gram said she was sending me a box.”

  Don nodded, and although
Luke thanked him, it was drowned out by another voice.

  “Don!” Tony emerged from a group of huddled boys. “Check for me, too?”

  Don acknowledged him with a wave of his hand. He wasn’t keen on shouting over the noise of over eight hundred people. The others in his company didn’t seem to suffer from his reservations as they each in turn called out, asking for the same favor.

  Finally, Don threw his hand up. “Enough! What am I, the mailman? I’ll check for everyone, but next time, you lazy bums can do it yourselves.”

  He heard a chorus of cheers as he exited the hall, and shielded his eyes as the sun came out from behind the door to blind him. He really didn’t mind going to the supplies office. He had nothing better to do, but if the boys thought he was doing them a favor, who was Don to complain? Sweat began to form on his brow a few moments later. Don’s formal uniform had lost some of its stiffness throughout the day and could almost be thought of as bearable to wear. The only problem was the thickness of the cloth. It seemed to absorb the sun’s heat and trap it against his skin.

  Don almost pushed the office door open with his back, too lazy to reach out a hand, but remembered at the last moment the penalty for a dirty uniform and quickly saved himself with a bare palm. Glancing at the dirt it accumulated while his body adjusted to the climate change in the building, he looked around for something to wipe it off on. Seeing nothing, he dusted it off with his other hand.

  Don didn’t have much time to consider which line he should stand in before a warm tenor voice greeted him. “Hello, O’Hara.”

  The corners of Don’s mouth turned up as he walked through the taller boys to the counter. “Hello, Grandfather.” He stared up into the twinkling eyes set in a wrinkled face capped by thinning, snowy hair. The man’s caring personality, jovial nature, and uncanny ability to remember everybody’s name had earned him the nickname Grandfather.

  “What is that you need?” the old man asked as he handed a boy a brown-wrapped package from over the counter. He motioned for the next boy to come forward, even while his attention was on Don. Some of the boys shot Don nasty looks as he passed them.

  “Someone heard that mail was due to come in today,” Don said. “I agreed to pick up Gabriel Company’s.”

  Grandfather nodded as he searched through a box to find what his newest charge wanted. The man’s official rank and name was Specialist Ryan, but those in Gabriel Company only used that around the officers and teachers.

  “Here you are.” Grandfather set a stack of small boxes on the counter in front of Don. Beside them, he set down a computer key card.

  “O’Hara, you have a wave waiting for you on the transmitter. The window is open all day, so you can talk now or whenever you want, but it has to be today.”

  Don nodded. The wave was a particularly ingenious invention. It allowed instantaneous video transmission anywhere from a few feet to thousands of light years away. A password simply had to be embedded into a key card, and then the card receiver would input the password. The card would then call the one who ordered the wave originally.

  Don looked around the room for a computer and video feed. He had never noticed one before, but he figured that was because he wasn’t looking for one.

  “O’Hara.”

  Don turned to look back at the old man.

  “Use the one in the back room.”

  Don looked over to the open door Grandfather pointed toward. It led into a dark room Don had never paid attention to before. Don thanked the man before pushing his way through the crowded supplies office and slipping into the room.

  The light came on as he palmed the switch. The room was small and filled with boxes, filing cabinets, and a desk. On the far side of the wall, a metal object six feet by two caught his eye. It contained a small, black screen in the middle. Above the screen was a small circle, reflecting light off it. That was the camera.

  Don took a moment to find the slot for his key card. The screen blinked to life when he pushed the card into the slot. Don glanced at the screen. The only thing that appeared was a small white box for his password. There was no question or hint. Don sighed. Most people would have given a question or a cryptic code to let the other person know what password they wanted, but not his father.

  Don stood for a moment, trying to remember the code his father had made him memorize for this sort of thing. He’d almost never had to use it. Once he was fairly sure he had the right numbers, Don typed them in, using the keypad beside the slot for the card. He took a deep breath before pressing the send button. Most of the time, he would have been wary of answering the general’s wave, but for some reason, speaking with his father sounded very comforting.

  After a few moments, his father’s torso appeared on the screen. Don tensed a little from habit before forcing himself to relax. “Hi,” he said nervously, unsure of the reception he would receive. The last time they’d spoken was at the space station after a fight, and then Don had disappeared.

  General O’Hara regarded his son with a look that made Don’s stomach twist in knots. Perhaps speaking with his father wasn’t such a good idea, after all. The silence stretched, and Don looked away. That was it, then; his father wasn’t going to forgive him. Disappointment filled Don’s gut as his gaze dropped to his feet. He clenched his jaw before looking back at the screen in hurt resignation. He shouldn’t have hoped for any other reception. General O’Hara was too set in his ways.

  “I don’t believe that is how you are to address a superior officer.”

  Don stiffened at the words. They were cold and distant, painting a picture of the connection between them. “Yes, sir,” he said and came to attention. “Trainee O’Hara reporting, sir.” Thankful his stance did not permit him to gaze at the screen, Don stared straight ahead, his eyes burning a hole in the metal.

  “At ease, trainee,” his father continued, and Don clasped his hands behind him, refusing to look down. “When on duty, I am first and foremost General O’Hara, not your father. You would do well to remember that.”

  Don swallowed hard and nodded, blinking quickly as his eyes began to sting. “Yes, sir.” Don was not sure why his father’s words shook him so much. Their relationship had already dissolved into what his father had described, but secretly Don had hoped there was still something there.

  After a short pause his father continued. “As neither you nor I are on duty at the moment, I don’t see this as being a problem.”

  The words echoed in Don’s head, not quite penetrating the brain to enter the realm of understanding.

  “How are you?”

  Don’s eyes flickered to the screen in a moment of startled silence before moving away. “Fine,” he said numbly. It was all he could manage to say as he tried to comprehend the abrupt change in attitude and manage the emotions beginning to overwhelm him. Don heard his father sigh and realized he should have said something more.

  He looked back at the screen and saw his father looking at him, hands crossed. General O’Hara’s face had changed. The wrinkles were more prominent now, due to frowning eyes. It was his work face, back to business for the two of them.

  “I’m allowing you to stay at Camp Lorenzo, given that you pass all of the health examinations.”

  The statement struck Don oddly. “I see,” he said, voice carrying an accusing tone he hadn’t expected. “So it’s only important to come after me when my life is in danger, not when I go missing.”

  General O’Hara’s frown deepened at the question. “Would you rather I demand that you be put under protective custody and shipped back while shackled to an officer of my choosing? You did not ‘go missing,’ Don. You ran off. I cannot imagine how I could act in a more gracious way than to give you exactly what you want, especially when you have done nothing to deserve it.”

  Don listened to the barrage, regretting he had said anything. “No, sir, that is not what I want.”

  “Then what are you after, Don?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don
’t give me that.”

  “Fine,” Don snapped. “Did you even wonder what had happened to me when they realized I’d gone? Did you even care?”

  The general sat back in shock. “Of course, I cared! I mobilized every soldier and contact I had to find you.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “Because I was furious with you, and you were safe. Anything I had to say to you would only have made things worse.”

  Don dropped his eyes to the floor, unsettled by what he’d heard.

  “I am sorry about Trainee Antony,” General O’Hara continued after a while, his voice carrying a tone Don hadn’t heard in a long time. It was so foreign that Don couldn’t place his finger on the emotion’s name. “I am sorry that I cannot bring him back to life and give his parents back their child.” He paused, and when he continued, his words were quiet but forceful. “That will not stop me from preventing the same thing from happening to my son, if he is at risk. Call it what you will, positional privilege if you must, but if that’s what it takes, then that is what I will use.”

  Silence penetrated their conversation once more, father and son both taking the moment to compose themselves before continuing. It was Don who spoke first with a question he had been carrying for two days. “Da,” he asked quietly, “have you ever hated someone enough to kill them?”

  General O’Hara laughed shortly. “Yes,” he said. “Everyone does, but I’ve never had the opportunity to test my resolve.”

  Don nodded. That was an answer he could have gotten from anyone. It wasn’t what he was looking for from his father.

  The general frowned when Don didn’t reply, realizing something more serious was going on. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” Don answered, attempting to smile and failing miserably.

  His father studied him for a moment and then, in a gesture of unexpected kindness, said quietly, “Sometimes people do foolish things.” Don thought he caught a hint of sadness in his father’s voice. “Even me. But those who live, they live to regret it. You cannot tell someone how to live their life, Don. Remember that. What they choose to do with their life is up to them. They are going to have to live with those choices as you will have to live with yours. Do not punish yourself for someone else’s wrongdoing.”