Drafted

Once they had arrived at their mysterious destination, the man to the right of Sterling exited the humvee. Securing her pack, she scooted to the edge and hopped out of the vehicle, landing rather awkwardly. Bren landed nimbly besides her, almost making her scowl at him.

They had been dropped off near the edge of a heavily-wooded area, and a rustle in the nearby trees caused Sterling to jump. “This little Petunia’s a scared a the wind,” snickered the other man, whose accent was extremely heavy compared to Bren’s.

Sterling cast him a sharp look which he missed through the darkness, but said nothing. She could not deny it, she was afraid. Afraid of the dark, afraid of this mission, afraid of her gun.

“Lay off, Anderson,” Bren warned, tossing him a look of momentary disgust.

Anderson flipped his palms up in surrender, but smiled a sleazy smile at Sterling and spit a wad of chewing tobacco into the turf.

“Don’t worry,” Bren said to Sterling, “He’s afraid too. Hell, we all are. Just stick by me, and stay with the group, okay?” He looked up at the line of hummers lining up behind them, spitting out tiny groups of soldiers of various ages.

“Okay,” Sterling echoed, her voice unable to rise above a shaky whisper. She turned as well, seeing the soldiers approach, ready for any further instruction. True alarm did not set in until the large vehicles began to drive off. “Where are they going?” she squeaked.

To her surprise, it was a serious-faced Anderson who answered her. “I dunno, but this ain’t lookin’ too fine for us, Petunia.”

She chose to ignore the rather irritating nickname he had adopted for her. “No kidding.” She said blandly.

An unfamiliar general stepped up and administered a rapid head count. Once satisfied that everyone was accounted for, he called: “East squad, find some shelter and report back immediately.”

Sterling felt her stomach clench, she was in Easy. She followed the others slowly, clutching her gun. No one spoke until an abandoned barn was found nearly half an hour past. Sterling, among half of her squad had been delegated to jog back through the thick brush to report. The forest was thick and had to be cut down in places to allow a space for running. Her heart thrashed violently against her ribcage, and she tried to fight the bout of claustrophobia that plagued her. The night mist rained down on her face, as did her self-pity.

Bren jogged easily beside her, not saying a word, though she knew he’d occasionally glance over at her night-sheathed silhouette. She found herself glad that the handsome man could not see her face.

Many had settled down to sleep in the spacious barn. Few were awake, preparing what Anderson had so quaintly nicknamed “freeze-dried shit” –a brown, sealed package which held a meal consisting of freeze-dried food, powdered drink, and easily packaged snacks- by flashlight.

Sterling’s area was mostly dark, and full of sleeping soldiers. It was then that she allowed herself to silently weep. It was not until she drew in a substantial sniffle and wiped at her large green eyes that she saw Bren watching her.

The man said nothing, he merely held her gaze for a moment longer before turning over.

Bren. The name rustled through her mind like the whisper of dry leaves on the ground in autumn. Who is this man, she wondered, and why has he sworn to protect me specifically? Her eyes shifted suspiciously to his black hair, which fell sideways, looking rather silky. He was muscular, she noted, extremely fit. Any woman would be crazy to ignore that fact. His kindness seemed extremely sincere, but Sterling found herself afraid to even begin to trust the man beside her. She watched him until his breathing slowed, evening out as he slept. Only then did she let herself indulge in slumber.