Drafted
Prologue
Sterling sat sandwiched between two men in the humvee. Her clothes clung heavily on her thin frame, and the gun across her lap felt as if its weight would crush her. Her body trembled uncontrollably, and was nearly unable to keep her teeth from chattering.
The frightened girl was among the first wave of women filtered into the draft. Much to her misfortune, she had passed every medical and psychological exam with flying colors. Everything had been rushed. They missed the little things like a cadet's suicidal tendencies, clinical depression, sexually transmitted diseases, cases of schizophrenia, perhaps an oddly violent tic. Sterling had seen it all. In the midst of all of the chaotic madness, there was no time for being completely thorough. The usual nine weeks of basic training had been reduced to five, sometimes four, depending on progress, fitness, and willingness to become a mindless drone. Everything was in and out. Teach them the basics, slap on some gear, thrust a gun into the terrified, new soldier's numb fingers, and deploy.
Seventeen-year-old Sterling had been deployed two days ago. She had no inkling of where she was going, but rumor had it, she was not headed for the frontline. She was not exactly sure that was a good thing.
"Are you okay, Miss?" Asked the man, Bren according to his dog tags, beside her.
Sterling nodded meekly in the dark, knowing there was just enough light for him to see. In reality, she was anything but fine. She was scared witless.
"How old are you?" He asked her quietly, his mouth near her ear so that she could hear him over the chatter of their other companions. Bren's voice held a soothing quality, as if he were trying to lull a fussy infant to sleep.
"I'm seventeen," she replied just as softly in her sweet, almost high-pitched voice.
The man frowned at this, looking deeply unsettled. "You're just a... kid." He hadn't been trying to offend her, he sounded hurt by this fact, as if they had been sending six-year-olds to the frontline.
Sterling was irritated by this, and immediately went on the defensive. "I'm not a kid. What business is this of yours anyway?" She queried, her tone instantly taking on a sarcastic bite.
"My apologies, Miss, I didn't mean to offend. I just disagree with what they're doing here." He explained politely. His kindly voice had held slightest twang of a southern accent.
"Oh." She said, softening a bit. "Were you drafted too?" She added, almost as an afterthought.
His clear, icy blue eyes were on her, shining brightly in the moonlight. Bren shook his head. "Nope, I enlisted myself, but I believe that should be someone's choice, not an obligation." Momentarily, he seemed to be far away, as if his mind had gone elsewhere. Looking back to Sterling, he tried to smile. "I'm Bren."
Sterling shook his outstretched hand. "Sterling." For a moment, she looked down at her hands, picking nervously at the bloodied skin around her nails. Her eyes strained in the dark, and she found herself wishing the sun had not deserted her the hour previous. "Bren, I'm scared," she confided.
Bren rested a large hand on her small ones in an attempt to comfort her, then said: "I know, but I'll do my very best to watch over you, Sterling."
Her brow furrowed. It made no sense to her that a complete stranger would offer such a big promise, but before she was able to say another word, the general in the front seat turned and regarded them gruffly. "Welcome to hell," he told them ominously as the humvee stopped.
The frightened girl was among the first wave of women filtered into the draft. Much to her misfortune, she had passed every medical and psychological exam with flying colors. Everything had been rushed. They missed the little things like a cadet's suicidal tendencies, clinical depression, sexually transmitted diseases, cases of schizophrenia, perhaps an oddly violent tic. Sterling had seen it all. In the midst of all of the chaotic madness, there was no time for being completely thorough. The usual nine weeks of basic training had been reduced to five, sometimes four, depending on progress, fitness, and willingness to become a mindless drone. Everything was in and out. Teach them the basics, slap on some gear, thrust a gun into the terrified, new soldier's numb fingers, and deploy.
Seventeen-year-old Sterling had been deployed two days ago. She had no inkling of where she was going, but rumor had it, she was not headed for the frontline. She was not exactly sure that was a good thing.
"Are you okay, Miss?" Asked the man, Bren according to his dog tags, beside her.
Sterling nodded meekly in the dark, knowing there was just enough light for him to see. In reality, she was anything but fine. She was scared witless.
"How old are you?" He asked her quietly, his mouth near her ear so that she could hear him over the chatter of their other companions. Bren's voice held a soothing quality, as if he were trying to lull a fussy infant to sleep.
"I'm seventeen," she replied just as softly in her sweet, almost high-pitched voice.
The man frowned at this, looking deeply unsettled. "You're just a... kid." He hadn't been trying to offend her, he sounded hurt by this fact, as if they had been sending six-year-olds to the frontline.
Sterling was irritated by this, and immediately went on the defensive. "I'm not a kid. What business is this of yours anyway?" She queried, her tone instantly taking on a sarcastic bite.
"My apologies, Miss, I didn't mean to offend. I just disagree with what they're doing here." He explained politely. His kindly voice had held slightest twang of a southern accent.
"Oh." She said, softening a bit. "Were you drafted too?" She added, almost as an afterthought.
His clear, icy blue eyes were on her, shining brightly in the moonlight. Bren shook his head. "Nope, I enlisted myself, but I believe that should be someone's choice, not an obligation." Momentarily, he seemed to be far away, as if his mind had gone elsewhere. Looking back to Sterling, he tried to smile. "I'm Bren."
Sterling shook his outstretched hand. "Sterling." For a moment, she looked down at her hands, picking nervously at the bloodied skin around her nails. Her eyes strained in the dark, and she found herself wishing the sun had not deserted her the hour previous. "Bren, I'm scared," she confided.
Bren rested a large hand on her small ones in an attempt to comfort her, then said: "I know, but I'll do my very best to watch over you, Sterling."
Her brow furrowed. It made no sense to her that a complete stranger would offer such a big promise, but before she was able to say another word, the general in the front seat turned and regarded them gruffly. "Welcome to hell," he told them ominously as the humvee stopped.