"Soldier! Is that mouse of yours clean and ready for action?"
The gruff voice screamed in his head, his pounding head.
He rolled over in bed and faced his wife. Whats her name was
sleeping soundly in the dark. Apparently she couldnt hear the
Sarge when he talked. But then she didnt know the horrors of war.
Her world was safe. In a few hours she would be in carpool. While
he would be sleeping in the foxhole he made out pillows and
blankets in the closet. He needed to stay safe, cant have Bravo
compromised he thought.
When he closed his eyes tracers and grenade blasts still flashed.
He couldnt sleep. Too long in the field he thought. He would have
to call in sick again tomorrow. He rolled again trying to get
comfortable. Again the voice boomed.
"You laying there in the sack when good men on the Red Team are out
flag hunting and dying? Wheres your honor soldier? I want to see
you out in the field in five!"
"But booting up my computer takes ..."
The wife mumbled at his voice, the mission may be compromised if
she awoke. He rolled off the bed and belly crawled to his office,
the COMM CENTER he called it lately. He powered up the system.
While the computer booted up he did a quick RECON of the area.
Talking to himself.
"Headphones and microphone. Check. Mouse, field stripped and
rebuilt. Check. Monitor clean. Check."
"And dont forget that damn Task Manager soldier. You dont want to
loose a life to a damn virus scan, do you?"
"Sir no sir." He cursed himself for the lousy grunt he was. He had
taken to calling himself Grunt, the name Sarge called him, his real
name as far as he was concerned. Sarge for all his roughness had
made him the man he was today.
Boot up complete he was prepared for battle. Task Manager was one
of the big lessons he had had to learn. He was down in the
wastelands and humping to cover when the app froze and this lousy
grunt was nothing but a pound of meat.
And the damn natural keyboard. These standard issue keyboards were
killing more good men in the fields than the enemy. Hard to find
your keys in the heat of battle. He tried to put those weaknesses
out of his mind.
"A good soldier adapts!" the Sarge screamed.
Sir, yes sir. Reading my mind as always Grunt thought.
And the big mother of all soldier killers, LAG. LAG was the
universal force that killed with no discrimination and no mercy.
Any soldier in the field knows that LAG will take a man anytime,
anyplace.
"No use fretting about LAG," the Sarge would no doubt say. "Wishing
LAG away is like wishing the mountains flat. You know the risks of
soldiering."
His mind came back to the business at hand as was only a few clicks
away from battle. Then magically he was there. Rolling hills, the
crack of gun fire in the air, the glorious sounds of battle. He
dropped to a crouch and headed for cover.
Finally Grunt was making headway. Men fell in his path. He was
unstoppable. A grenade here, a few pistol shots going up the hill
to clear a path, and the sweetest moment of all. A long shot with
his beloved M 40 Sniper Rifle. Men never knew where death came from
when Grunt was placing bullets in their hearts from the next
mountain over.
Finally Grunt took a bullet going up a hill after a sniper. Sarge
was impressed and said so, and that please Grunt. It was Sarge that
made his way up the hill and dragged Grunt down to the medics.
Sarge finally offered a few kind words to Grunt.
"Brave move soldier. Damn brave thing you did. You saved the team."
Sarge ran off, back into the fields before Grunt could thank
him.
Grunt tried a smile, but that damn doc was back harassing this fine
soldier. "I am a damn war hero. Get your hands off me," he
yelled.
"You just get some rest. Ill be back around." That damn doctor
always telling him to get rest, and that woman. Who was she? Keeps
coming around telling me she loves me. Guess war heroes get that
from women.
Grunt laid back and thought of his days in the field with a smile.
He would be out soon and ready for his second tour of duty.
"How long has he been like that?" The doctor asked the woman as he
helped the orderlies restrain him to sedate him a second time. She
had followed her husband into the emergency room and could only
shake her head, not knowing what to say. The EMS team had
constrained the man and sedated him, but he had broken free and was
fighting. He was babbling inanities and drooling.
The wife had been awoken early that morning by his shouts. He was
found hiding in his bathtub screaming for everyone to take cover.
He was still wearing the Voice-Over-Net microphone headset that had
ripped from his computer as he ran for cover. He was talking but no
one talked back anymore.
end