Dr. Mara seems really interested in my results. She grills me on it for weeks. There isn’t anything more I can tell her. I was given a defective mask. Or had I been? My mind told me the situation was real. My reaction was not faked. I can still feel the sting in my eyes. I can feel the rage coursing through my body. I can feel the energy building. I still see the sparks dancing on the walls.
No one else acknowledged them.
Was I singled out? Why?
For all of Red Phase, though, we are pulling 100% Fireguard Duty, a shift for each person every single night as someone watches Berring and I sleep. We’re always tired, and the squad knows it’s our fault.
We barely pass into White Phase. I stand proudly as our platoon guidon’s flag gets changed into the beautiful white. We spend the next several weeks mastering our weapons and marching to the shooting range almost every day, where we wait for hours for ten minutes of practice in the morning and another ten in the afternoon.
I love my M16. I learn it inside and out. I zero it to my body, my line of sight, and after several practices my aim gets better and better.
I can strip my rifle in a minute and forty-five; in another ninety seconds, it’s put back together. Each part is predictable, fits together like a perfect puzzle, is firm, stable, and unchanging. I can rely on my weapon. I practice the drill of checking it after a jam: SPORTS—Slap Pull Observe Release Tap Squeeze.
***
As each week passes, my body, and our platoon, become a hard-working, well-oiled machine. I’m transforming into a disciplined soldier; we are becoming a coherent fighting unit. I’m controlling the rage, using my new skills to temper the rising heat, recognizing the earliest signs of trouble. We tolerate each other, and some are even coming to accept Berring and me.
In White Phase we’re back to regular Fireguard Duty, so we get a couple night’s full sleep in-between our shifts. We master the obstacle courses, the marching and formation drills, all the PT drills are second nature, and we can do the 2-2-2 test, a two-mile run, after a short break we do two minutes of pushups, and then two minutes of sit ups. Our ruck marches get longer, but they are doable now.
Weekly Mail Call is another tiny bit of sanity, a lifeline, as Smoke, Tage and I exchange letters, helping each other through this ordeal. They’re doing much better than me, from the sounds of their letters.
Torrent is doing well, as far as he can tell. Never once does he confirm anything about his gifts to me. Maybe he will the next time I see him in person. Dr. Mara had to have told him about me. Right?
Blue Phase is the best of all. We train in the field, working together to solve missions, putting our skills to the test—first aid in the field, carrying our “wounded” buddies, following the orders of our Platoon Leader, PL. We learn survival skills and have gotten good at hand-to-hand combat. Doing the weekly tournaments, wielding a stick like a quarterstaff at each other (while wearing football helmets and protective gear), is great fun—I almost win the tournament against the other platoon. I can fight, both with a weapon and without. I can march twelve kilometers with a heavy pack on my back. I cope with little sleep and screaming gunfire and explosions all around, dealing with obstacles and the unpredictable. I stalk through a town while spotting IEDs (improvised explosive devices–homemade bombs). I throw grenades and work a rapid-fire weapon, as well as others.
I can also control the flaming heat inside of me.
Part III
Chapter Twenty-Three
I can’t believe Graduation Day has arrived, after ten weeks of hell. The platoon eventually accepts me and Berring as we finally gel into a team. But underneath it all, I can tell they want me gone and out of their lives as quickly as possible.
The ceremony practice drills are boring, but we go over them again and again. The September graduation is long and boring, too, but I’m filled with euphoria. I made it—I made it! I didn’t think I would. I only lost control of my fire twice. The counseling and discipline saved me. I’ve learned to control my rage. I still mostly hate my squad and my platoon, all except Berring, but I did not get recycled. I passed every test, the weapons ranges, the Confidence Course, the field exercises. I learned to put my head down and do as told. My body is conditioned and hardened. I’ve marched and camped through rain, heat, and cold.
Everyone’s families are here, and we are in our smart dress blues. Smoke has managed to make it, as he graduated yesterday. He got special leave to come see me. We hug like it’s been ten years, after the ceremony is over.
“You’re a real soldier now, Ash.” Smoke smiles. “I’m proud of you. You didn’t even burn the army base down.”
“Shut up,” I lower my voice. “Don’t say that. I wanted to burn it down. I only started one fire, and I almost blew up the gas chamber with us inside.” He tousles my short, spiky gray hair.
“Only one?”
“Fine. Two, but only the bedding caught on fire that first week so that doesn’t even count.”
“Tear gas doesn’t light on fire, silly.” His smile lightens my mood; his presence lifts me. I’m with family again, for a few precious hours.
I know about the gas now, but at the time I hadn’t and I’d thought the army was trying to kill me, Dr. Mara was testing me, or something else nefarious was happening and someone else was pulling the strings to see what I could do. Now I realize that the army was only conditioning us with the gas. As for the other two reasons, the jury is still out on that.
“Smoke—the psychologist, she knows all about me. Mara’s been teaching me to handle my temper. She said Torrent controls water – she’s been helping him, too.”
While I know Dr. Mara is a nice lady and she’s been there for my brother and me, sometimes I do wonder about her. Some of the things she’s done or says makes me question myself and her.
“I know.” Smoke nods.
“You knew? How come no one told me? Are there others like us?” My questions shoot like bullets, accusing.
“I only knew about Torrent, we wrote letters. I don’t know if there’s anyone else. I wish I had a power like you guys.”
“No, you don’t, Smoke.”
He looks at me gravely. “Listen, Ash, I got special permission to have two days off. I was the Platoon Leader: they like me. I’m going to visit our parents’ graves.” I look at him in surprise. I’d forgotten about that idea. “They won’t let you come, Ash, I asked. You and Torrent are going to be taken right to your Advanced Individual Training assignment at Fort Carson in Colorado. I’ll be staying on at Fort Sill for my AIT. Tage is staying at Fort Leonard Wood.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I told you, they like me. Being a good soldier has its benefits.”
I snort. How come being good comes so easily for Smoke? Why does everyone always like him?
“I’ll write, Ash, as soon as I get back. I’ll take pictures of mom and dad’s gravestones.”
“You do that, bro.” My mood sours. He’s always had it easier than me. It’s not fair. I shake my head. Sometimes I think he’s my twin to balance me out. He’s so level-headed, while I’m not. Maybe it’s because he’s my twin that he just gets me. Someone needs to corral me; my abilities, temperament, and mouth.
Just like he said, they ship me off the next morning. I’m taken by military jeep and we start the drive across country to Fort Carson in Colorado Springs. On the way we pick up Torrent. His hair is just coming into a buzz cut, back to his normal sandy-blond color.
“What happened to the blue?” I snigger.
He smiles at me. “Had to get the dye out, army regulations. It’ll come back someday, I’m sure.” We have no privacy, and I don’t want to talk to him about our abilities. Not with soldiers around to hear our every word.
***
Two days later, the large, blue-gray face of a giant mountain, Pike’s Peak, looms into view as we finally crawl out of the endless plains of Kansas and eastern Colorado. The snowcapped mountains are beautiful. As we get clos
er, the peak reaches halfway up the sky, watching like a majestic god over the city. We enter Colorado Springs, and I see a layer of smaller peaks dressing Pike’s Peak’s front, and the whole mountain range stretches to the north and south.
We drive through Gate One at the south side of town. We’re right in the foothills nestling the mountain; Pike’s Peak to the northwest, looming like a natural wall flanking the west side of the city.
We’re taken to our barracks. We’re each given our own room in the same building. There are other soldiers around, but just us two in this unusual AIT program.
I wonder how Tage is, and what she is specializing in.
I’m surprised to see Dr. Mara in an office. This is obviously her space, unlike the temporary room she borrowed at Fort Jackson. Her large desk and the wall behind her sport occasional photos of her with a husband and children, her military awards and certificates and medical degrees. Wooden bookshelves on each side of the window hold numerous titles on psychology, history, and the military. Torrent and I are escorted in and the door closes.
“Hello Ash, Torrent.” Dr. Mara stays sitting. “For your Advanced Individual Training, it will be just the two of you, for obvious reasons. You will be further learning how to control your special strengths. This is new: the army has never done this before. Only a few select know the true situation of you two, so don’t be spreading it around about your abilities. For some of your time here, it’ll be just us three, while other assignments may involve other Privates or COs. Since I’ve been working with you both, and we’re ready to begin the second phase of your training, what do you think about what we’ve accomplished so far?”
Torrent focuses his face intently on the glass of water on her desk. The glass fogs after several seconds, crystals forming at its edges.
“Very nice, Torrent, you’re ahead of the game already. How about you, Ash?”
Oh my god, can I beat that? I haven’t called up my flame in forever, I’ve been focusing on learning to not call it up …
“I …,” I don’t know what to say.
“It’s okay, Ashley, you’ve mastered your first challenge, learning to keep the flame from igniting out of control in highly emotional situations.”
I nod, and Torrent smiles at me a bit longer than he should.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The helicopter banks sharply left as we rise, the large mountain range dropping below us. A thick, orange haze brushes the top of the peaks, flowing east across Colorado Springs, bringing smoke from the raging forest fire.
Torrent and I have been practicing our powers for the past two months. We can both call up our gifts on a moment’s notice, directing it at will.
Can we conjure enough stamina to handle a vast forest fire, though? We’re about to find out.
This fire started in the mountains west of Woodland Park, probably from a careless, out-of-state camper. Even hot ash on a windy day can start one of these devastating fires. Colorado has been too dry for the past decade, and especially this month – November – it’s been in a semi-drought state.
Torrent and I, we love it here. Since being stationed at Fort Carson, we’ve tried white-water rafting, cross-country and downhill skiing, sand-boarding down the Great Sand Dunes, which is just three hours south of us. We’ve jogged up The Incline to stay in shape and hiked to the top of Pike’s Peak in eight hours, savoring the old-fashioned, puffy donuts with hot chocolate at the gift shop. It’s always forty degrees colder at the peak, and we wrapped our jackets tight against the strong, blustering, wind. The view was spectacular. We got a shuttle ride back down.
I wouldn’t call these outings dates, really. He’s the only one who hangs out with me. The other Privates gives us both a wide berth. Maybe they know we’re different. So, we spend a lot of time together, just the two of us. But I think I’d like to start calling them dates. I don’t know how Tor feels.
The air is dry instead of the dripping humidity of Fort Jackson, so much easier to breathe. The sun shines warm and bright almost every single day. The summer in South Carolina was hot, with lots of rain in the spring, but so far, the fall in Colorado has been cool, especially at night. Glorious Pike’s Peak looks different every day, like God’s watercolor painting.
We’re called out to help with mudslides and flooding in Manitou Springs. The small, artsy, town nestles in a mountain valley just southwest of Colorado Springs. I try shooting fire directly into the flooding, hoping to dry the water or slow it or something. Torrent manages to freeze the flow in the front, but then the flooding mud and water just pushes the heavy ice barrier along, tearing up bricks and concrete, and crumpling cars. We fail miserably.
How are we going to deal with a forest fire? It’s too big. Torrent and I glance at each other, anxiety tensing both our faces.
He and I have grown closer over these past few months. Our special training and abilities are a shared understanding. No one else gets it. I like having him to myself. More and more these days, as warmth spreads through my heart.
Dr. Mara says they’re continuing the search for the other elementals. They have strong clues that there are two more like us. She won’t tell us more. If they’re found, I hope they’re not assholes.
I like having Dr. Mara and Torrent to myself. The three of us have gotten close; Dr. Mara is like a mother to us parentless soldiers. And Tor, well, that’s getting more complicated by the moment.
I love the time we spend together. While I miss my brother, hanging out with Torrent is different. I think I kinda want him to kiss me. Yeah. I wonder if he can control his body’s temperature like he can water. Would his lips be cold against mine?
Torrent is a great guy. He makes me laugh, he lifts my spirits and calms me, like Smoke. On one of our first down times, Tor and I sneak away from base.
At first, it’s just a quick, let’s do something daring stunt. Of course, it’s me daring him. Then it turns in to getting a bite to eat in town. Before we know it, we’re holding hands as Tor and I walk down the streets.
“I like this,” Tor says as he holds up our joined fingers.
“Yeah, I do, too.” His cool palms do soothe me from the outside in, just like I imagine.
By the end of the night, we go together to get tattoos in celebration of us mastering our elements – he gets a circular, blue, flowing-water symbol, and I am inked with a stylistic, circular-orange flame. Both on our left wrist, just below the palm. It hurts like hell.
Later that night he holds me tight around the waist, careful of the tattoo bandages, and we finish the evening with a chocolate-almond-cream Belgian coffee at Pike’s Perk, downtown. We’ve been on a couple of dates since then, whether it’s a stroll around a park, a movie, or just hanging out in the bunkers.
Being with Tor is igniting an inner heat that has nothing to do with the flames I can call into my hands. He is not taming the scorching sparks that lay low in my belly and are threatening to explode every time he touches me. Which is increasing on a daily basis. It’s cute that he’s finding excuses to stand close to me, to lay his arm across my shoulders.
I too am finding ways to talk with him, and not about the army stuff, but of him and growing up, his likes and dislikes. Getting to know him on a deeper level.
***
I look out the open door as we fly over the alpine peaks blanketed in deep, green, pine trees. There’s only a tiny sliver of snow left on Pike’s Peak, it being mid- November. Most of the summit is a dull, rocky, brown when normally this time of year it should be covered in snow.
We leave it behind as we head west over the mountains. The haze gets thicker as we approach Woodland Park.
We see it clearly now – a wide curtain of black and white smoke, flowing up and east from the dense forest, orange flames licking thousands of trees. Small planes fly low over the fire, dropping their bright red fire-retardant powder.
We land near the temporary emergency base, where firefighters and soldiers are working and sweating hard, recouping and
planning. Green military tents flap in the breeze. It’s hot and the nearby fire has turned this place into an oven.
Torrent and I are transferred to a jeep while Dr. Mara drives us to get as near the fire-line as possible. A few of the men and women stop and stare, probably wondering why two young, new soldiers are brought in to help. We stop in a stubbly, grassy, sloping field. Below us at the tree line, the wall of flame is steadily making its way through the trees, clearings, and dry brush.
The heat hits us like a wall. A few late chipmunks, rabbits, and field mice are skittering past our feet.
Dr. Mara shouts so we can hear her above the roar and crackles. “Ashley, you’re going to burn a swatch of grass all along here, to act as a fire-stop. Make it about ten feet across and control your flame!”
“Yes, Doctor!”
“Torrent, come closer with me. Let’s see if you can dampen it at all. We’ll start at that section over there where the tall grasses start.” They leave me, heading down the gentle slope. I’ve practiced burning swathes like this in the dry grass before, and I know exactly what to do.
I mold the heat and power within me, controlling the amount of flame and flow, before it streams out of my hands. To prevent the grass from burning out of control, I shoot the flame low, like an ember. I keep it slow and steady, burning a foot-wide path along the grass. I concentrate on the ground, the burning at my feet, controlling it, making the line as straight as possible. I form the twelve-inch line about a hundred feet long, then make my way back over the hilly, uneven ground, widening it to two feet.
It’s slow work, and the fire blazes, the air overpowering with intensity of the heat and the smell of wood smoke. I’m sweating, but I keep my focus, working along. When I get this hundred-foot long, ten-foot wide length down, I’ll start another, stretching the firebreak all along the ridge. Maybe we can protect the trees and forest behind us to the north.
Flame Guardian Page 9
