Soldier In Me

One: Human After All

There was a slow and repetitive beep stirring by me, along with my heartbeats. It was comforting actually, to hear my heartbeat, to know its there and moving just like normal.
    I shifted my body, unable to find comfort within the bedsheets. A soft throb ran through me.
    The thought hadn't occurred to me at first, but I realized this wasn't my cot and the sergeant wouldn't be blowing a siren in my ears anytime soon.
    I opened my eyes to soft light peering from the cracks in my curtains. It was a strange room, too quiet. The walls were plaster, reflecting the sun like fresh snow into my eyes. The soft beeping, I realized, was from a machine hooked up to my arm. The floor was made up of cement sections, glossed over like the fake crystals they sold at gift shops. 
    I had expected two feet to hold me up when I stood. As the only one did, I slipped and fell to the crystallized ground, ripping out cords stuck inside my body.
    The machine reading my heartbeat sounded out a loud and constant blare that dug into me.
    I looked down at my arm and couldn't help the scream that escaped me. It was childish and high pitched. It was shameful.
    It all came back to me, I'd been on the battlefield. The dirt was wet, but not wet enough to be mud. It kicked up behind me as I ran alongside Ltn. Howell.
    Howell! Where was he? He must have been in a different room, he was right beside me when the bomb went off.
    It had struck us both, a shot by the enemy. Howell had gotten the worst of it. As the fire flew, and so did I, I thought I would die. But I survived! Ha!
    My excitement didn't last long, because I had lost my left hand and the entirety of my right leg.
A doctor ran in soon after the machine started beeping. He sighed in relief as he saw me alive, and not dead as he had presumed.
"You're awake!" He said, taking my hand and helping me back onto the bed. "We thought you might never after what had happened." He chuckled nervously.
I squinted at him, "The bomb?"
"Indeed, and the three months you were out!" He was trying to be humorous, to lighten the mood or something. It clearly not working, he cleared his throat and hardened his tone. "Sorry, that was inappropriate."
I scanned the doctor. His head was the shape of an oval, his greasy face making his glasses slip all the way to the edge of his nose. He was skinny, but he stood like a man who once was larger. He had work done. The name clipped to the pocket of his white coat said DR. MILLER.
"Well if you quit it now your supervisor will be none the wiser." My voice was harsh and I didn't regret it.
"Right, yes," He scratched the back of his neck and grabbed the tablet that hung on the wall by the door.
After a moment of reading his mood went to empathy. "You're-" He stuttered. "Nevermind."
I knew what his answer was. "I'm what?" I hissed. "What am I, Dr. Miller?"
"One of the War Children."
That was the nickname for my 'kind'. Not a flattering one, but indeed the most widespread.
He took another large breath "We can attach your prosthetics in a few hours. But there is someone here who's been waiting downstairs."

I saluted my sergeant as he appeared in the doorway but he gestured for me to be at ease and said: "I'm just here as your friend."
He was still in uniform and held his hat in his hands, fidgeting with it.
The first thing I asked him was "Where's Lieutenant Howell? Is he here?"
The sigh he let out caused my heart to jump into an obnoxious beat.
He sat down next to me on the hospital bed. He didn't dare look at me. "Men are lost so much in this line of work..."
I froze.
I let him continue, even though I knew what was coming.
"I really shouldn't have, but I admit to growing to care about the soldiers under my jurisdiction and I shouldn't have ever let it happen."
Dr. Miller stood in the corner of the room, too scared to move and disrupt us.
"John is dead."
It was hearing the words out loud that hit me the hardest. Emotion spilled out of me like it never had before. John Howell. Oh god. John...
After a few minutes, I got myself back and choked out. "What's gonna happen to me?"
Sgt. Davids stood up, gathering himself. "I deeply regret to inform you that you will be forced to retire."
"Retire!? No! But the prosthetics-!" I began to panic.
Davids raised his voice to his signature authoritative one "You cannot fight Olivia."
My eyes were coated in tears for the first time I could remember.
"You cannot shoot a gun even with the prosthetics and you won't be able to run. Got it?"
Disgusted, I wiped off my tears and sat with my back straight. I looked straight ahead of me and gulped. "Yes Sergeant."
"When you get them I can take you home."
"Home?" I weaved my brows.
"It is your parents' estate before they died. Mason and Rosa Briggs." 
"Wait? I had- parents?"

.. / -- .. ... ... / .... .. --.. / -- .. ... ... / .... .. --.. / -- .. ... ... / .... .. --

I held a printed photograph of John in my metal fingers as the car drove across the road into the deep forest.
    Sgt. Davids was working on something, typing faster than light as the car's automated system followed the smooth curve of the road.
    Davids had the picture with him and gave it to me. They'd been really close, it was hard not to be close with a guy like John.
    I knew my sergeant thought of him as a son, that's why he'd kept the photo. I don't know why he'd given it to me, kindness I guess.
    We didn't speak to each other at all. Davids did his work and I just examined the photo in my hand.
    I could feel the gloss of the paper through the metal fingers, it was only because of the receptors in the hand that transferred to my brain through wires, electrics and other science stuff I didn't bother to learn.
It was the same with my leg, hard to control too. I'd fallen six times before we got out of the hospital.
It was weird being out of uniform, the loose clothes that hung on my body were made of a soft but itchy material.
My parents' house was far out of the way, deep in the mountains. It was under the jurisdiction of Dituri city and built not long after I was drafted.
Both my mother and father had worked for the government as scientists and they continued to do there work all the way out here.
The street was paved until a turn off the main roads. The path became bumpy from then on, dust kicking up behind us.
I desperately wanted to put John's photo away, but the lack of pockets made me keep it within my grasp. I turned it face down so I would no longer have to look at him.
We stopped in front of the house and the car chimed "You have arrived." in its sweet robotic voice.
It was large and wooden, towering like a haunted house. I half expected the sky to go dark and lighting to strike loud. But sunny skies shinned on the old house.
The back of the car popped open and I grabbed my small suitcase, refusing to use the mock of my dominant hand.
Sgt. Davids was too sensitive of a man for his job, his eyes were red as he drove away, leaving me on the steps of my dead parents' estate.

The patio groaned under my feet and the wheels of my suitcase squeaked as they rolled to the door.
I unzipped my case briefly enough to grab the keys and sealed it back up again. Metal keys were a rarity these days.
I shoved it into the keyhole, upside down at first. Eventually, I figured it out and the door creaked open, slamming against the wall inside.
The house's interior made me hesitate. It was startlingly empty, but for some reason, felt very crowded.
Everything was covered in plastic, presumably to keep away the dust.
When my parents died a crew basically put it in a frozen state. Closed windows, plastic everywhere.
Heating and Electricity would be reinstated soon, until then I opened up all the windows to get rid of the stuffy air.
The silence was what really suffocated me.
I spoke "Hello."
It was met with no reply. I hadn't expected any, but I had hoped for one. I was an idiot to, but I couldn't help it.

To the left of the door was the front room. A couch was placed against the wall, two chairs towards the window, a small coffee table between them. A curved pale couch faced a dead fireplace.
    I placed the picture of John on the ledge above the fireplace, next to other photos of people I didn't recognize.
    The front room extended to a curved wall decked in windows. In the middle of the semicircle was a grand piano, its top propped up, covered in the plastic like everything else.
Next to it was an old recorder, a large disk left on it. I lifted the needle and placed it onto the disk. This thing must have been hundreds of years old, or a replica, maybe.
A soft song came from the tube attached to the recorder. The music was slow, a stream by the side of the road.
On the edge of the piano was a picture of three people. A soft-eyed man wearing a sweater held a small girl on his lap. The girl wore pigtails and held a floppy teddy bear with barely any stuffing. Next to them was a woman with her arms wrapped around them both. They all smiled, faces full of love.
It took me a moment to realize, that the little girl was me and the two people were my parents. This was so long ago.
I imagined them there, sitting in the two chairs by the window, just looking out. I imagined the people in the picture, but with grey hair and wrinkled faces, still happy. They held hands, their warm drinks placed on the table, coffee or tea, I don't know.
As I took a step towards them, my metal ankle keeled and I smacked the floor.
I laid there for a moment, listening to the song that just neared its end.