Published: 19 Aug 2019
Part IV: Snowstorm
The recruiting sergeant is waiting at the restaurant. Arthur gestures for Kevin to join Santos and Casey, who have just been seated.
“Before you leave this afternoon, you can come by the recruiting station and check the weather. We have a secure phone,” the sergeant begins.
“Thanks,” Arthur said. “I saw the local forecast, and figured I’d better get more info before we headed west. There’s a secure satellite link in the UAV; if I can’t get through on that, I’ll take you up on your offer.”
“Secure satellite? I hadn’t heard.”
Arthur and the sergeant spend the next 45 minutes discussing the capabilities of the UAV and plans for the demos later in the day. Arthur was right about the breakfast. The sergeant was likely on basic rations, and he appreciated the chance to eat on the economy for a change. The best food went to soldiers deployed in war zones; next best, to soldiers in training; next to soldiers who held non-combat assignments. The hotel offered the best of all worlds, where money and military perquisites came together to create Denver omelets, home fries, biscuits and gravy, and Spam.
Many men had come home from World War II after years of eating a compressed pork product called, ‘Spam.’ Some swore never, never again to eat it. Others found it to be a comfort food, and a cult had grown up around it. Pork shoulder and, well, other things, as well as a great deal of patriotism went into the making of Spam. It had a resurgence in the early 21st century, and then, when war became the only driver of the American economy, another resurgence in the late 20-teens. Now, “spam-burgers” were as traditional as hot dogs on the 4th of July, and “Spam and eggs” was a soldier’s Sunday brunch.
“Looks like we’ll get home tonight,” Arthur briefs the others. “CP says the storm won’t hit Fort Riley until 2100, and we’ll easily make it by 1800. They said to come on in. Everyone set?” The boys nod, and Arthur starts the UAV’s main turbine and rolls out of the parking lot.
“I want you to know,” Arthur says once he reaches the defense highway. “You all did a fine job these past two days. Sergeant Ledbetter thinks so, too. He said he’d send an email for your files; I’ll send one, too.”
“You can’t do that,” Kevin says before he realizes the implication. “Um, I mean, uh, the school computer system is down,” he finishes somewhat lamely.
“It’s okay, Kevin. I’m pretty sure Santos and Casey have figured out we’re a couple. Am I right?” He glances in the mirror that gives him a view of the crew compartment. It isn’t a rear-view mirror; two bulkheads separate the driver from the traffic behind him, and the rear view is a closed-circuit television.
“Uh, sir, yes sir,” Santos says. He glances at Casey, who nods. “Sir? You figured us out, too?”
“Yes, at breakfast the first day. You okay with this?”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Santos asks.
“Um, I’m pretty sure we both have been,” Arthur says.
Santos coughs and clears his throat. “An officer and a cadet, sir, uh…” The boy can’t frame the question he wants to ask.
Arthur looks at Kevin, who grins and nods. He knows Arthur’s question.
“Kevin and I met and began our relationship in his father’s house. In fact, it was on the floor of his father’s den, and it was with his father’s knowledge. In fact, I’m pretty sure he set us up together. The next day, we received his father’s permission – actually, his father’s blessing – to continue. I knew then that Kevin was a high school ROTC cadet, but never expected to have to deal with him officially. Or, if that ever happened, I thought we’d be able to deal with it. His father is a colonel, and could get one of us a transfer, if that were what it would take.
“We found out about this assignment – that we’d be together – the afternoon before departure. There wasn’t enough time…” Arthur’s voice trails off as he signals a lane change.
“And why can’t you send an e-commendation for his file?” Casey asked.
“It just wouldn’t be fair,” Kevin answers. “And, if anyone ever put two and two together, it would poison my entire file, and Arthur’s too.”
“Holy shit,” Santos says. “I never thought of that.” His voice is barely audible over the hum of the tires and the whine of the turbine.
“Please be careful,” Arthur says, and then laughs when they stop for hydrogen and a snack. “I don’t want the motor pool guys finding French fries under the seats.” French fries. A few years ago, we called them Freedom fries, because we caught the French conducting industrial espionage. Again. Then, the French got control of the oil fields off the shore of Guiana and we were friends. Again. And we’re back to French fries.
The comm console between the seats buzzes. Kevin looks at the display. “Secure link,” he says. “Uh, maybe Rick … uh, Santos should answer.”
“Yes, please,” Arthur says. Snow and night are falling. The high-intensity headlights are useless in the face of the snow. He turns on the infra-red heads-up display, but the roadway isn’t warm enough to show much contrast. He slows to 40 kph, and is considering firing up the radar when the active collision alert system alarms. Arthur brakes carefully, and rolls to a stop ten yards from a tangle of scorched metal that blocks the road.
“Sir, CP says the storm moved faster than they expected, and we should plan to stop at first op.”
“Well, that’s OBE,” Arthur says. Tell them we’ve encountered an accident scene; give our coordinates. Tell them the road is blocked, that we’ll render aid and report as soon as possible.”
After Santos relays that information, Arthur continues. “Santos and Eck will stay in the crew compartment. Let no one in unless accompanied by Casey or me. Password is Armor. Duress word is Infantry. Casey, you’re with me.”
Thirty minutes later, Arthur and Casey are back in the UAV. Casey is visibly shaken. “Dead … they’re all dead,” he says. He nearly falls into Santos’s arms. Santos looks at Arthur and sees his okay. Santos hugs Casey and whispers softly to him.
Arthur switches off the main turbine. A smaller, auxiliary turbine supplies heat and power to essential systems. He picks up the secure link. “CP, this is Romeo Zero One.” When the link is established, he reports. “Tractor trailer, jack-knifed, blocked the highway. The tractor broke loose and overturned. The driver is dead. A van was involved. The van burned. Four bodies in the van. No sign that anyone got out of either vehicle. We are now in blizzard conditions. Wind is 90 kph and gusting; snow is still falling; flakes are small. Temperature -6° C. We have enough hydrogen to operate the auxiliary turbine for 72 hours, main turbine for about six hours. I recommend we hunker down, sir.”
The voice from the CP, flat and mechanical from the electronic encryption, tells Arthur what he wants to hear. “Your command, your call, Lieutenant. We will notify civilian authorities, and tell them to look for you when they get the plows out. I’ll notify command and General Eck.” There is a pause before the voice continues. “Arthur? It’s Major Wylie. Bravo Zulu.” There is a click as the circuit breaks. Arthur hangs up the phone. He had not recognized the encrypted voice of Col. Eck’s deputy. ‘He doesn’t work the CP,’ Arthur thinks, and then realizes the major was there because he knew Kevin and Arthur were in the storm.
Arthur moves the UAV into a position protected somewhat from the wind – and snowplows – by the wreckage. He drops shutters over the wheels and armor over the windshield. All systems are shut down except for the satellite phone and the piezoelectric heater. The aux turbine spins at minimum rpm, just enough to power those items and one light in the personnel compartment.
“I don’t suppose we have any French fries left,” Kevin says.
“No, but we do have MREs,” Santos says. “Uh, sir, an officer has to authorize opening them.”
The canvas bench seats – there is one on each side of the compartment – are designed both to hold four seated soldiers and to double as stretchers. Above the seats, two more stretchers are folded against the wall. Arthur demonstrates how to lower the upper stretchers – or bunks – and then folds them back. “Kevin and I will be using one of the lower bunks for a while. Later, we’ll fold down the upper stretcher, and Kevin will sleep there. Lights out in five minutes. Can you two operate in the dark?”
Santos and Casey look at one another, and grin. “Sir, yes sir!”
It isn’t completely dark. There is a blue LED over the tiny compartment that holds a chemical toilet. The howl of the wind makes the boys glad of each other’s company, but is not loud enough to cover entirely the sounds of sex or, later, to keep them from falling into an exhausted sleep.
The chime of the alarm on his PDA wakes Arthur. He shuts it off and rolls out of the stretcher-seat-bunk. Let them sleep, he thinks. He dresses quietly and goes to the command compartment. There, he activates the external cameras and looks around. Snow has drifted in the lee of the UAV, but Arthur parked so that the nose was clear of drifts. At least, we can get out of here, and back on the road, he thinks. He opens the secure link to the command post. “Romeo 01, sir. We’re awake. The storm has abated, here. No wind, no snow falling. I believe we can move from our position, but I have no intel on the road ahead or the availability of h-fuel.”
“Stand by, Romeo 01 … The tractor trailer that was wrecked. Are there any identifying numbers?”
“Yes, sir.” Arthur fumbles for his PDA. “Milton Transportation out of Ames, Iowa. Trailer number 337418. The cab was burned too badly to get much, but the last three of the license plate were Fox Yankee India, sir.” Sure glad I took that info down, then, he thinks.
After a minute of silence: “Orders, Romeo 01. That trailer is carrying molybdenum to the armor factory in Denver. Value in excess of a million dollars. Someone in Denver leaked the intel on the shipment. We have word that at least one band of thugs is looking for it. Make no mistake: they’re not stupid, and they’re armed. You are to guard and defend the trailer until relieved. We’ll have someone to relieve you before nightfall. They’re prepping a couple of Cobra-5’s if you need close air support, but we’re in whiteout conditions here, and I don’t know when we might be able to launch. Understand?”
“Yes sir. I have my sidearm and two clips. Other than that, we have no ammunition remaining after the demos except blanks for the 50-cals and blanks and smoke grenades for the M1Gs.”
“Actually, lieutenant, you do. I’m sending the unlock signal, now.”
A “holy shit!” came from the rear compartment; Arthur hopes the CP hadn’t heard.
“Use of deadly force is authorized,” the CP continues
“Sir, I’ve got an ROTC cadet on board,” Arthur says.
“Enlist him – in the reserves – is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Arthur says. The link goes dead. If I enlist Kevin in the reserves, he’ll be able to finish school and get his commission … that must have been Major Wylie; he’d know … he’d understand.
“Sir? Sir?” It is Santos. “Sir, I swear we didn’t touch anything! It just opened, sir. A compartment in the floor. Sir, it’s got M1Gs, ammo, belts of 50-cal shells, grenades, and I don’t know what all…”
“I know,” Arthur says. “We’ve been ordered to protect the trailer against an anticipated attack by bandits. First, you and Casey remove the blank suppressors from the 50-cals and arm them. Round in the chamber and safety on. Then, load your M1Gs and two extras. Full clips; no round in the chamber; safety on; full bandoliers; antipersonnel grenades in the sling. I will arm the defensive systems. I’ll brief you as we work.
“Kevin, think carefully: Do you swear to support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America and to obey the lawful orders of your superiors, and do you take this oath of enlistment in the Reserves of the Army of the United States for the duration of the current hostilities, and of your own free will?”
Kevin does not hesitate. “Sir, yes sir!”
“After Santos and Casey have loaded the M1Gs and the 50-cals, give me an inventory of what ammo remains. You can count and eat at the same time … and listen.”
While the boys work, Arthur briefs them on the situation and anticipated threat. “The good news is that they probably won’t be expecting resistance. The bad news is that the UAV can cover only one side of the target. Santos and Eck will select the best defensive positions on the west side. Consider using the cab and van for cover; consider positions on top of the trailer. Plot protected paths between positions, and plot a protected escape route back to the UAV…” Arthur sets up a display on the battle computer.
The attack, when it comes, is unexpected, well executed, and vicious. They spotted the UAV, Arthur thinks as the first anti-tank missile is detected by the MTDS and intercepted by a MikeRock fired from the top turret by the AWASH. I didn’t think that snow bank would hide us for long. “Santos, Eck, we’re under attack; stay hidden unless they get within 100 yards, then fire. Casey, fire at will.” Arthur glanced at the CP link. It flashed, Munitions Expended. The CP’s Ack on the screen was all Arthur needs. They know we’re under attack; that’s all they need to know, now.
Arthur fires up the main turbine and prepares to maneuver, before taking a seat at the second 50-cal gunner’s position. Casey’s first burst of three rounds shakes the UAV. “Whoa! That’s not like blanks!” Casey exclaims. Another burst of three, and “Got one, sir. Snowmobile. Overturned and burning…” The boy’s voice trails off.
Arthur glances at the boy. “You okay?” he asks.
Casey looks at Arthur, but only briefly before turning his eyes back to the sights of his 50-cal. “Sir, yes sir. Sir, there are more … three of them. Another missile! Where do they get them?”
Arthur’s reply is lost as the automatic missile defense system fires. “Intercepted, sir.” Casey’s voice reflects his excitement.
I don’t know where they get them, Arthur thinks. Black market, for sure. Some stolen from depots in the USA; some stolen from overseas and smuggled back into the country. Some sold to former allies, now enemies.
“Two tracked vehicles approaching, sir.” It is Santos’s voice. “Pulling trailers. Looks like they plan to loot while the others keep you distracted.”
“Roger,” Arthur replies. Casey fires another burst. “Second snowmobile down, sir.”
“We’re under fire, sir,” Santos’s voice comes through the comm link. “Don’t think they see us … trying to draw us out…”
Another burst from the 50-cal. “Got another, sir. Uh, sir, this is too easy.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Arthur replies, and presses the comm link. “Report, Santos.”
“One hundred fifty yards and closing, sir. They’ve stopped firing.”
The 50-cal sounds once more. “Got the last one, sir. Um, someone crawling out; has a weapon.”
“Sir…” Santos’ voice is punctuated by the characteristic double crack of the M1G. “We’re … taking fire … one hundred yards … returning fire…”
“Casey, hang on!” Arthur orders as he lunges for the driver’s seat.
“Roger, sir! … Yeeh-hah!” Casey yells as Arthur kicks the turbine into combat mode. The UAV disappears in a cloud of snow, and then comes to a rest on the west side of the wreckage.
“Casey, cover fire; Santos, Eck, fall back into the UAV.”
“Got ’em, sir … sitting ducks…” Casey crows. Arthur sees two plumes of fire which blow outward as the hydrogen fuel tanks of the two heavy, tracked vehicles explode.
“In, sir!” Santos reports. “Door secure.” Arthur doesn’t acknowledge, but drives the UAV to the opposite side of the wreckage and scans the terrain. Santos is already in the second 50-cal position, and Kevin is crawling into the right seat.
Arthur glances at the boy. His face is pale. Not surprising … wait! Arthur thinks. “Kevin … your arm … you’re bleeding.” The boy looks at his left arm in surprise. Blood is soaking the sleeve of his cammies. “Oh…” He faints.
The battle is over. Only after Casey bandages Kevin’s arm, and Arthur has swept the battlefield with infra-red and radar, does he have a chance to look at the battle computer, and the clock. Less than 30 minutes … but how many dead? Arthur’s thoughts are interrupted by the CP link.
“Romeo 01, report.”
“Sir, four snowmobiles and two larger, tracked vehicles with trailers were destroyed. At least five enemy casualties. One may have crawled away, but does not show up on IR. One soldier wounded, first aid provided. If we can’t get out of here before dark, request med-evac. Two Mike-Rocks expended. They worked, sir. Knocked out some sort of anti-tank missile. Probably shoulder fired, since they came from the snowmobiles. Five hours of hydrogen for the main turbine remain.”
“Standby, Romeo 01. Cobras will be there in one hour. They’ll evac your wounded and escort you to base.” There is a pause, and the CP voice resumes. “Who was injured, Arthur?”
“Kevin, sir, but he’s okay.”
“Thanks, Arthur. I’ll tell his dad.” It is Major Wylie again, for sure.
“Arthur, you said no sex between officers and enlisted.” Kevin’s voice is subdued, but Arthur hears the anguish and tears that modulate it. They are alone in Kevin’s hospital room. It is a private room. Not because Kevin is the son of a colonel, but because he is a wounded soldier. The purple heart awarded to him earlier that day is still pinned to his pillow.
“Yes, I know,” Arthur replies. “I thought about that before I offered you the enlistment oath – I should have said something, made sure you knew…”
“Oh, no!” Kevin interrupts. “I heard what you said. You told me to think carefully. I did. I didn’t think about maybe having to leave school and not getting commissioned. All I thought about was that I would lose you … but … well, I knew you’d thought of that, too, and you were doing what was best for me. You were, weren’t you?”
“Yes. For you, for Casey and Santos, for the guys who wouldn’t be wearing body armor if the molybdenum got stolen. And, I had to arm you. If the worst had happened, and you had to fire a military weapon … the only way was for you to be a soldier…” Arthur’s voice trails off.
Kevin nods. Use of a military weapon by anyone not a soldier is a felony punishable by prison or, depending on circumstances, death. Sure, he could have argued circumstances – if he had lived – but there would always be a blot on his record.
“Besides,” Arthur continues, “if you hadn’t been part of the action and a part of our victory you’d never have forgiven me.” Arthur stops talking when he sees the stricken look in Kevin’s face.
“Do you really think that?” the boy whispers.
“Would you not?” Arthur’s voice is as low as Kevin’s. There is a long pause.
“You’re right. It’s easy to say I’d have forgiven you, but that’s ’cause I love you so much. But, I really don’t know. I can’t know what I might have thought, can I?” The boy reaches out and squeezes Arthur’s hand. “Thank you for making sure I don’t have to wonder…”
The door opens. Arthur immediately stands. Colonel Eck walks in, followed by Mrs. Eck. They were present for the Purple Heart ceremony that morning, but left immediately after.
“Good morning, sir; ma’am,” Arthur says.
“Oh, Arthur, I thought we agreed you’d call me Beth.”
“Yes ma’am. Good morning, Beth. I’ll be in the waiting room, sir, if I may be excused?”
“I’d like you to stay, Arthur, if you will,” Colonel Eck says.
Mrs. Eck fusses over her son, to his chagrin, and over Arthur, to his acute embarrassment. “Well,” she says, “I know you boys have things to talk about. I’ll visit Mrs. Buchannan. She’s just had twins. Give me a call when you’re ready to leave.” She pecks her husband on the cheek, and is gone. A faint scent of lavender trails behind her.
The colonel sits on the foot of the bed, and gestures for Arthur to sit in the chair at Kevin’s bedside. “You two haven’t had much time, but I know you have thought about it. Any ideas?”
Arthur knows exactly what the colonel means. “Reassignment, sir, and definitely no more recruiting trips together.”
“Kevin?” the colonel asks.
“Arthur has to stay here, Dad; he’s too important to the baby battalion … uh, the Future Corps. Can you get me assigned to Fort Knox?”
The colonel looks from one boy to the other. Finally, he speaks. “Kevin, I’m so proud of you. Arthur, I could not be more proud of you if you were my son, too.
“I was thinking of something less drastic, however. First, Kevin is right. Arthur is important to the baby battalion. Second, you’re both important to the recruiting program. I read Sergeant Ledbetter’s e-coms. He said that the synergy among the four of you was what made it so successful. He’s already signed up thirty of what he calls ‘top quality volunteers’ and has more scheduled for testing. And, he wants you to come back. I spoke to him this morning, and he assured me he wasn’t blowing smoke.
“Third … Arthur? Why shouldn’t an officer and an enlisted man have an emotional attachment?”
Arthur is put off by the colonel’s words. Emotional attachment. He didn’t say sex. Why? Oh … Oh!
“Sir, before I answer, I think you should know … I’m not just emotionally attached to Kevin. Sir, I love him … I love him so much…” Arthur squints his eyes and wrinkles his nose as he fights off tears.
“I know, son,” the colonel says. “I know he loves you, too. He has told me … and I can see it when you two are together. Hell, I can see it, now. So, answer the question.” His voice is gentle, but firm, an iron fist in a velvet glove.
“Sir, because it might lead to undue favoritism, reluctance to send someone into harm’s way. If it were known among the troops, it would be construed that way, even if it weren’t true.” He pauses. “I think that’s all, sir.”
The colonel nods. “I think that covers it. Yesterday morning, you sent Kevin from the relative safety of the UAV into the snow with nothing more than concealment to protect him from a force of unknown strength and composition. Did your emotional … did your love affect your judgment? Don’t answer too quickly.”
Arthur thinks. “Yes, sir, it did. I knew Kevin would be in danger, in great danger, but I figured the best chance for him would be the best chance for all of us, and that best chance for all of us would be the best chance for him. Casey is qualified on the 50-cals; Kevin isn’t. I was the only qualified driver. Santos had shown himself during the recruiting demos to be a sharp soldier. There was only one way to split us up that made sense. If that makes sense, sir.”
Now it is the colonel’s turn to pause. When he speaks, his voice is low and measured. “You think well and deeply, Arthur. You think quickly and correctly. Major Wylie and I reviewed the battle computer record, and interviewed Santos and Casey. Arthur, I don’t believe your love for my son clouded your judgment, nor that it will. You and Kevin will stay together here at Fort Riley. You will continue to command recruiting trips in which he will participate. You must, however, be circumspect. Does anyone know or suspect?” Before the boys could answer, he added, “Besides Santos and Casey, that is.”
Kevin’s mouth opens in an O. Sweat beads on Arthur’s upper lip. The colonel sees both, and grunts. “They didn’t betray you –not deliberately. But, they’re both pretty transparent. And, they think you two are damn special.”
Two weeks later, the UAV sits in the end zone of the former football field. Bales of hay are set up at the other end. Tiano-rock music plays from the psyops speakers. Kevin, Ricky, and Jon stand atop the UAV. Everything is normal, except the fire department isn’t there. The bleachers of this field are wooden, and the demo cannot proceed without the civilian fire department trucks parked and ready.
It doesn’t take long before the students’ attention span is exceeded. Several leave the grandstand, run to the field, and begin dancing to the music. Soon, most of the school’s student body is in the field. Ricky catches the eye of one of the girls closest to the UAV and gestured to the ladder. Within seconds, they are dancing together on the roof of the UAV. Another girl climbs atop the vehicle and begins dancing with Jon. Then, a boy wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with an American flag whose stripes, rather than red and white, are the colors of the rainbow, climbs the ladder and steps toward Kevin.
Kevin doesn’t hesitate. He stuffs the wireless microphone into his pocket and takes the boy’s hand. Kevin doesn’t feel it when Casey pulls the microphone from his pocket. Casey punches buttons on the remote control that is part of the microphone. The music changes from Tiano-rock to a sultry tango.
I’ll get you for this, Casey, Kevin thinks. He pulls the boy into the close embrace the dance calls for. The cheers from the crowd catch his attention and he looks around. He and the boy are the only ones dancing. Ricky and Jon, and the two girls, are standing at the back of the UAV, leading the cheers and applause. “Come on,” Kevin said to the boy. “Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget!” The boy’s assent comes in his tightened grip on Kevin’s bottom.
The students boo the appearance of the fire trucks, but Kevin quiets them. “Hey,” he calls. “That’s the US Army for you! Play hard when you can, and work hard, too. It’s time to work hard.” He asks the two girls and his partner’s names, and thanks them. And the show begins.
Sergeant Ledbetter had reserved rooms at the Gateway. “There’s room on base,” he says. “The troop train left this morning. But, well, I’ve got some discretionary funds in my budget. In fact, I’ve got a lot more than I did before your last trip, and you guys are the reason for it. You’re the best advertising for the Army I’ve seen in a long time.”
The Liberty Train runs on track laid where once was a state highway. Long ago, that highway had linked the little towns between Fort Riley and Kansas City. When the interstate highway system was created, towns like those were represented by an intersection with a couple of gas stations and perhaps a fast food joint. The towns, themselves, often a mile or more away from the interstate, atrophied and often died. Today, the interstate highways are reserved for their original purpose. The Eisenhower Defense Highway System, modeled after the 1930s Autobahns of Germany, serves to move troops and military equipment quickly through the country. With no gasoline, and little hydrogen for civilian vehicles, the interurban rail has become the small towns’ lifeline, and some are blooming, again.
Arthur and Kevin are on the train. They are in the same car. They do not acknowledge one another’s existence when they meet at the Fort Riley station. To have done so would have been suspicious. Now, they sit at opposite ends of the car and do not look at one another.
Arthur travels in uniform. A camo duffle in the overhead rack holds his civilian wardrobe: blue jeans, shorts, and T-shirts, and the precious nylon running shorts and shirt. The two nylon pieces and the kangaroo leather cross-trainers had cost nearly a half-month’s pay. Nylon, although made from coal, is in demand for parachutes and body armor; and, pirates now seize one in four ships between Australia and North America.
Kevin wears what has become a universal ‘summer uniform’ for kids: thin gray cotton shorts and T-shirt. The T-shirts always have a patriotic logo. The colors are muted: there is no petroleum to spare to create the vivid colors common earlier in the century, and vegetable dyes tend to fade quickly. The shirt Kevin wears displays the “Don’t Tread on Me” flag on the front, and a picture of a tank rolling over a sand dune on the back.
Kevin and Arthur are on the way to Kansas City. This is a pleasure trip. Although they ride the express train – the one that stops only at every other town – it will take four hours.
Arthur’s seatmate is a disabled veteran. Arthur looks at the man’s left arm: plastic and aluminum that click every time the man turns a page in the e-book he holds in his right hand. Arthur has seen much worse.
Arthur walks from the restroom wearing the ubiquitous gray shorts and a gray T-shirt. His T-shirt has a flag on the back and the crossed rifles of the infantry on the front. He steps behind Kevin, puts his arm around the boy’s waist, and swings him into an embrace. Startled, Kevin almost doesn’t feel Arthur’s kiss. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” Arthur says.
“Get a room, guys!” Two boys walk by, hand in hand. Kevin blushes, but returns Arthur’s kiss. Public display of affection is still forbidden when in uniform, and he and Arthur wouldn’t dare anywhere on post, anyway.
The park is not crowded. Kevin gasps when he sees the posted ticket prices. Arthur laughs. “Our tickets came from MWR – the Recreation part of Morale, Welfare, and Recreation. They have a contract.”
It isn’t long before Kevin realizes that nearly everyone in the park, except for a few Chinese and Canadian tourists, is a soldier. It isn’t the clothes – they all wear some variation of what he and Arthur wear. It isn’t the haircuts: the short brush-cut of the soldier has become the popular style – the only style save for a few Goth-revivalists and the bowl-cuts of the evangelicals. No, it isn’t their physical appearance that marks them as soldiers. It is the look in their eyes and the set of their jaws, and their desperate need to have fun.
These boys and girls – they’re on pass from the troop depot, Kevin thinks. Tomorrow or the next day, they’ll be on a train for New Orleans to catch a troop ship for Israel, Oman, or Greece. At least ten percent of them will be dead in the first three months. Twenty five percent will die before their unit rotates back in 363 days. Then, fifteen days of leave, a month of training with a fresh batch of kids, and another deployment. The sun, which had been shining brightly, dims in his mind. The rumble of the roller coaster and the shrieks of its riders fade. Kevin would have fallen had Arthur not seen the boy’s eyes roll up into his head, and caught him in his arms.
“Kevin? What’s wrong?” Arthur whispers. He holds Kevin in a lover’s embrace and looks around. No one is paying attention, and Kevin is coming around. “What’s wrong?” Arthur repeats when Kevin is standing on his own.
Arthur wants this vacation so badly, Kevin thinks. I can’t spoil it for him – but I can’t lie to him, either. He touches Arthur’s cheek. “I’m all right, now,” he says. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”
Arthur nods, misunderstanding. “Okay,” he says. “But let’s get some electrolytes in you before we get on the roller coaster.”
The hotel is next to the park, and the boys can hear the rumble and shrieks through the open window. The lights on the cars of the roller coaster flicker across the wall of their room and give more than enough light. Kevin lies, naked, on his back with his arms beside him. His fists are clenched, as is his jaw. Arthur slowly, slowly, lightly, gently draws his fingers over the boy’s body. Arthur watches the boy’s reactions closely. Just before Kevin begs for release, Arthur takes him, strongly, passionately. Afterwards, Kevin kisses him deeply, sharing his essence and his passion. “Every time, it’s different,” he says. “Every time, it’s better. I love you so much.”
That’s why it’s better, Arthur thinks. “I love you so much,” he said. Then he gasps as Kevin’s fingers touched him delicately but strongly.
“Kevin, I know you don’t like the rides in the park as much as I do. How about we don’t go back there, today, and go to the Hall Museum, instead.”
Kevin and Arthur have wakened to the intense quiet of a bright and hot summer morning. The rides in the park are silent for another few hours. Kevin rolls over until he can look at Arthur. I do love him, so, the boy thinks. “No, this is your trip. It was your idea; and, besides, I’m happy when you’re happy. I’m happy when I’m with you, no matter what we’re doing. And, if roller coasters get you as hot as you were last night, I want to strap you into one…” Kevin stops.
“Actually,” Arthur says, “I’m not sure I want to go back to the park.” He curls his arm which was under Kevin’s shoulders, and pulls the boy into an embrace. “Kevin? Those boys and girls we rode with yesterday? They’re going to be on a troop train, today. I couldn’t not think about that…”
“Oh, Arthur,” Kevin rests his head on Arthur’s chest. “That’s why I nearly fainted. I looked at the roller coaster, and I saw one seat in four empty because that boy or girl was dead.”
Their lovemaking is special that night as each tries to comfort the other while drawing comfort from the closeness of their union. As Arthur drifts off to sleep with Kevin curled in his embrace, he thinks, I suppose this is the compensation for having lost our childhood. He smiles. It’s okay with me.
Speculative Fiction. While not exactly Sci-Fi, such stories tell the tale of our world from a “What If” viewpoint. Can you spot them all? Let David know: David dot McLeod at CastleRoland dot net. He deserves your feedback.
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