Genesis Again

by Brian Dae

  Finally off the premises of the Deiderot he wanted to return home at once. Not to his apartment room in The City but back home to Elena. The other veterans must have felt the same way but they all lived in disparate places and needed to stay in The City for a night. Worse yet, no one knew when they would be called. A lack of courage made him walk his regular route before a desire for destruction turned him toward the library. Cassidy knew the newspapers would reveal nothing new and still he wanted to know the bare minimum, to at least remember what it was all about if just for the sake of context. A trivial sense of duty. It was difficult to rationalize why the risk would be worth it when security forces might be watching him. Moving quickly he almost neglected to see Ralph following behind. Slowing his pace he waited until they crossed.

  “Injured my leg during the war. Got it replaced actually. Would appreciate it if you slackened your pace a bit chief,” Ralph said.

  “Seems counterintuitive to be sending you on a search mission.”

  “Shows how much they care, doesn’t it?”

  Accompanying Ralph meant taking one and a half steps for every two by not extending his feet. Wearing their full uniforms disguised the prosthetic limb tucked underneath Ralph’s pant leg and made it look like a quirky character trait in how he swayed one foot ahead of the other, requiring anyone matching his pace to make the necessary adjustments. Cassidy unlearned his normal walking pattern in essence. Being twice the age of any odd recruit lent them right of way in which even elderly pedestrians made an effort to accommodate their berth, nodding their heads in imaginary agreement as the soldiers passed on through. Traveling as slow as they did this pocket of space lent them an aura of untouchability. The military refitted them into new uniforms to renew a sense of identity in not just the veterans but also the people who saw them, reinforcing the idea of two classes of citizenry. Earlier in the week Cassidy had caught Peter’s passing glance dashing into another room. Although he wanted to avoid speaking to his father, this wearable authority intrigued the boy. For a father who defined himself these past few years by his absence, it seemed hypocritical to demand respect with symbols. Now all the people around him stared and ejected themselves from his line of sight too.

  “Are you headed to the library too?” Cassidy asked.

  “Guess I am now. You leading the way?”

  Enshrined in imported marble, The City Library announced itself as a destination—opening its large framed doors to anyone who happened to come across its stone guardians perched above small pedestals. Back then his father left him there to wait while carrying on with business in The City, linking the place in his mind with passing time. And then such a thing became a misconception as he often ran out of time reading books late at night. At first he worried Ralph might have trouble ascending the steps but the veteran pulled himself up by hanging onto the guide rails, levitating just a bit to move on, refusing at all to be assisted. Standing at the top step gave them the vantage point of an artificial hill, providing a rolling view of the plaza. Museums and galleries surrounded this square built to look more historically important than their actual ages suggested, mostly copies of buildings constructed overseas. Visiting tourists might still be impressed by the view as its scale alone lent it character. Ralph looked back and shrugged. He suggested they hurry on inside.

  Old newspapers sat far back in the building, past an endless aisle of tables and shelves. Again, Cassidy felt concerned about his guest’s mobility and stopped short of offering to retrieve the documents for him when Ralph made his way forward. Together they made the long journey at a leisurely pace, traversing each and every genre until reaching the print media section. Rarely mattering a week after publishing, the words of these less acclaimed journalists faded into obscurity, sorted only by date as no one bothered to list each and every article by topic. Visitors could not bring these papers outside and yet the pages faced serious tears, discoloration, and wear as one needed to unfold each page in search of what they looked for. Even remembering the topic, Cassidy found it difficult to pinpoint exactly which month and day the articles he recalled were issued, skimming the titles in quick order. The two spread out the papers on a table and tried laying them out vertically. After spending the better part of the afternoon looking, Cassidy suspected they were looking at the wrong publication.

  “Say Cass, what do you remember about the article?” Ralph asked.

  “Only that it was something we should be concerned about,” Cassidy replied.

  “And we’re meant to get it. That’s the purpose of this whole thing isn’t it?” Ralph said.

  “That’s about it I’d say.”

  After spending a good hour standing, Ralph eventually fell back into a chair and started panting. Tired breaths betrayed a weaker body than he let on. Putting on a good effort had deceived Cassidy into thinking whatever damage the veteran suffered had been overcome through time and effort. In truth the struggle consumed much of his waking hours.

  “I’m not going back,” Ralph said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to take a private flight out of the country tonight and never come back.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious, Cassidy. I’ve been planning ahead for the day I received that letter in the mail. Already made up my mind that I was going to get out of here.”

  “Look, if I’m being honest you probably won’t even pass the physical. Are you sure you need to take it this far?” Cassidy said.

  “I wasn’t there Cassidy. I was gone when it came right to the end. But you were there. You saw what happened. And you know what? Maybe you’re stronger than me, head on your shoulders, a real soldier, but you know what I’m talking about right? It’s madness. There’s nothing waiting for us there. They’re all pretending they’re not crazy and we’re meant to play along with it right? Well I can’t go along with it anymore. Call me a traitor and kill me if you have to. I’m not crazy.”

  He slouched back into his chair and stared Cassidy deep in his eyes.

  “So commander, what’s your decision going to be?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Lieutenant Cassidy stop wasting my time and finish writing that report. If it’s not in General Westmoreland’s hands within the hour, you’re going to be walking home across the border!”

  Chin rested on fist, Cassidy invented memories and mundane figures about their rear post. He prioritized items with numerical values, listing them line by line for his superiors: personnel size, inventory, patients, and equipment. Statements regarding soldier rehabilitation padded the remaining blank space. How Central Command determined whether someone was fit to return to fighting or to be repatriated back home depended on unknowable metrics, and with the war’s current status, settled into a long backlog. As the combined Armies of the First, Second, and Sixth descended onto Vieten, everything else faded into the background. Anything worth reading now would be written by the men either standing inside or outside the fortified city and it was their accounts that journalists and historians would consult for posterity, an account of the final siege. For soldiers serving in the periphery like Cassidy, nothing they experienced in the grueling fights leading to this moment could outshine the coming battle and they struggled to accept the fact. Wounded young men lying behind Cassidy’s desk groaned out of boredom and rolled about soiled cots uninterested with their surroundings and the unchanging grasslands expanding outside the window. Miserable company depressed Cassidy further and stalled his writing the report. Nothing mattered, especially not reports discarded by upper echelon.

  “Cassidy, what do you think you’re doing? For the sake of all that is worth living for, write something down!”

  Originally their clerk had filled the reports but she transferred to operational logistics when a position opened last month. Cassidy volunteered to handle her duties temporarily and discovered how permanent the arrangement would become, despising the work ever since. Talented individuals served short ten
ures under Captain Stone’s command and former members referred to time spent under his tutelage as a second training. No one expected him however to volunteer for rear medical support when this would diminish his unit to ten working men, orphaning the remaining members to different units for the remainder of the war. Such an act seemed too taboo to believe possible. Cassidy initially found such cowardice audacious given the desire of superior officers to appear courageous but settled on disgust when it became clear the war was ending. Separating himself from his fellow soldiers at the front while serving in a dingy medical camp at the final moment looked nakedly self-preserving. All those with him would be seen so by association. He finished putting enough details to paper and leaned back in frustration.

  “Finally. Good job Cassidy, now get me the courier while I call General Westmoreland.”

  Their outpost sat on the main continental road, constructed from nothing in a few short months and built to last an equal amount of time. Limited maintenance and irregular supplies kept the building functional with its wall doing little more than to shield against wind and sunlight, while shifting temperatures and infrequent rainfall rendered the land around them unproductive, uncomfortable, and boring. After the soldiers finished their war and returned home, there would be nobody left to walk upon this alien land where these open stretches were obstacles to traverse and not a place to settle. Despite their time becoming familiar with its conditions they only fostered a greater enmity for the land.

  Cassidy had long suspected the courier of siphoning gas from the trucks and figured he would find him there. He rose from his desk and stepped past wounded soldiers littered around the room—constantly awoken by people shuffling across the hall. Attempting to move discreetly as to avoid disturbing them further proved meaningless when Captain Stone began yelling throughout the building.

  “The stupid telephone’s stopped working! Where’s the technician?”

  Whenever an issue arose, Cassidy found himself dragged in whether relevant or not. Even the actual duty of leadership had been delegated to him it seemed or perhaps more charitably said, he possessed the captain’s trust. Captain Stone instructed Cassidy to look over the telephones until the technician arrived and with the walls constructed so thin, it was hard to imagine the technician did not hear the call. Cassidy served long enough in administration to work a phone and began trying the other lines, connecting to another unit further back than theirs. Lacking any new information, he set the phone back onto the receiver and faced the anxious figure of Captain Stone.

  “We’re still able to connect with Fort H so it’s not a problem on our end. When’s the last time you contacted Forward Base?” Cassidy asked.

  “Wasn’t more than an hour ago. You don’t think the Karkovians have cut the line do you?”

  “The last of their army is holed up in their city. I doubt it,” Cassidy replied.

  Their technician arrived and looked over the telephone system, agreeing with Cassidy’s summation that nothing appeared to be wrong. He dialed back to operational logistics and waited under Captain Stone’s breath for a response. Cassidy figured he better find the courier in the meantime and left the telephone room. The other outposts survived without dedicated couriers and technicians so he counted his blessings, not everything would depend on him.

  When Cassidy stood outside, he squinted his eyes underneath the sun and surveyed the land. A lone guard watching the gate dozed off with his head tucked low sitting in the shade. He overlooked this behavior because it hardly mattered but the timing was inauspicious; a single military truck raced toward them with the Vandian insignia emblazoned on the side. Cassidy tapped the soldier on the shoulder and stepped outside the perimeter to greet them.

  “What are you guys doing back here? We thought you might be the enemy,” Cassidy said.

  A shifty-looking soldier with parted hair shouted back to him.

  “Have you heard anything from Operational Logistics?”

  “We’re trying to reach them right now. How about one of you explain the situation?” Cassidy said.

  “There’s dark clouds hanging over the sky and it’s not supposed to rain Lieutenant,” the soldier replied.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Instead of trying to decipher the soldier’s response, Cassidy left managing the situation to the guard and sought Captain Stone’s decision on how to handle the guests. He wanted nothing to do with them. Back inside the technician began packing his instruments while Captain Stone hung onto the phone with his elbow protruding out in an exaggerated fashion. Cassidy paused before speaking to keep himself from sounding exasperated and explained the situation to Captain Stone who appeared openly annoyed by the prospect of visiting soldiers. He handed the phone to Cassidy and left, proclaiming the strangers to be deserters.

  “Operational Logistics, respond immediately. Respond immediately or connection will be terminated,” the phone blurted.

  “Hello? This is Lieutenant Cassidy in Camp G, what’s the situation with Forward Base?”

  “Evacuate all personnel Lieutenant, have everyone evacuate east. Code 1145, I repeat, Code 1145. Repeat to all Commanding Officers.”

  “Can you explain, Operations?”

  The line cut and Cassidy stood there unsure of the implication. With the slow strut Captain Stone made toward the door, Cassidy could still shout out the message before he wandered outside.

  “Captain Stone, I just got word from Operations. Code 1145. I repeat Code 1145.”

  Captain Stone exhibited the greatest burst of speed Cassidy had seen in him since the war began, including live fire and calls from outranking officers, racing toward his equipment box and rummaging through its contents by throwing out anything apart from what he desired. Once he retrieved a dark black gasmask, he strapped the contraption to his face and shouted out its ventilated mouth: “Move everyone out Lieutenant! We’re getting the hell out of here!” Injured soldiers outnumbered the able-bodied eight-to-one which made carrying out this order challenging under practice drills and an adrenaline-fueled chaos under the present circumstances, drawing forth the same mental clarity they experienced fighting. Fortunately the men sent to their medical camp were not so severely wounded that their lives were tied to life-saving machines but owing to their missing limbs and shattered bodies had to be transported by piling them onto rolling beds and pushing them out like the deceased. With the evacuation ongoing, Captain Stone ran outside and waved his hands wildly and if not for his polished Captain’s badge, the soldiers might have assumed him mad and jettisoned the stranger off when he began climbing the railing. Once blessed with the higher authority to proceed, the visiting soldiers absconded off with Cassidy’s commanding officer in tow and headed east.

  This outrageous action went ignored by the abandoned soldiers who only understood it as a premonition of something bad. They lacked the time to imagine what it meant and focused on transferring an entire hospital in quick procession onto three trucks which shuddered beneath the burden. Cassidy directed the able-bodied to begin loading the severely injured while he found two volunteers among them who were willing to drive aside from the courier, thinking how he would divide their leadership between each truck. Among the injured were a few second lieutenants and he temporarily placed authority onto them despite their conditions, hoping their training could settle nerves. As they loaded the few rations and suppliers they possessed, the sight of dark clouds appeared far in the distance. He made the calculation in an instant to begin heading east and gave out the order to advance.

  Although their hospital lied on the main road, it would be charitable to describe the hallowed-out dirt path as anything but a well-beaten trail. Even before the war, Karkovians preferred traveling along the coasts where their cities and towns sat close by. The flat tundra they drove through now belonged to nature and no one else—the soldiers’ retreat proved as much. Cassidy sat back in his seat and watched the trucks roll behind, tire tracks consumed by an insatiable be
ast. An open sky gave room to think and surrender to uncertainty, causing men to keep quiet except for the occasional murmur when turbulent bumps loosened bandages and opened healing wounds. Being jolted awake by sudden action should have become habit but familiarity did not lend any ease; if anything, they would have been overjoyed to have been fired upon. Whatever it took to explain what had happened in black-and-white terms.

  Two hours out and the trucks became separated by larger distances. Cassidy wondered if he should order each driver to press on undeterred by the others, leaving them to decide how best to reach their destination. He contemplated whether this decision freed them or abdicated responsibility, having told them nothing about what he imagined the danger to be. For now they appeared one cohesive unit. That their commander fled meant little when the majority were strung from different units serving under competent men. And even for those who originally came from Captain Stone’s retinue, everyone understood each other’s’ contributions and whether their captain’s input came as a net positive. This moment led Cassidy to realize his position and exactly what it entailed.

  Eyeing the depleting fuel gauge left him cognizant that none of them would reach the nearest supply depot. Rationing fuel prioritized combat operations and hospitals were meant to be stationary. One truck might reach its destination if gas were siphoned from the others but nothing guaranteed that there would be fuel waiting for them and open truck beds became dangerously cold at night. Cassidy decided to take a gamble. Strategic maps placed a small town down south nestled within the mountainous forests where they could rest before moving onward to the navy-occupied port town of Estessia. This distance also exceeded their reach and took on different risks, pitting them against guerrillas who might hold them ransom. Undeterred, Cassidy opened the glass partition and instructed the driver to turn hard right, flashing their signal lights to have the others follow. Without hesitation they all drifted off course and proceeded south.