A Secret Agent's Secret

By Anna L. Walls

Sidney Brenner just wanted to find her father. Everyone was looking for him. He was someone important in the rebel movement – he had to be, or he wouldn’t have had to run away leaving his family behind. It wasn’t really so bad though, not until her mom died. Now she had to do something, and waiting for her father to come back was no longer an option. She also wanted to be useful to him and to the rebels, and being sold into slavery would not do that. She decided to be a soldier. A soldier would be useful. Wouldn’t it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna L. Walls
• Release date: Jul 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005156336

Anna L. Walls

I grew up a rancher's daughter hoping to inherit the ranch and run a riding school for city kids. However, my brother bought the ranch from our parents in order to avoid an inheritance tax and I ended up joining the army, marrying my fisherman husband and moving to the wilderness of Alaska where I raised two wonderful boys. One of them gave me an old laptop computer and now I'm a published author. Go figure.

Book preview

Prologue

We had the same goal, the government and I, just not the same purpose. We both wanted to find my father. The government wanted him because he’d disappeared; they thought he’d joined the rebels, and I guess they worried about that quite a lot. Me, I just wanted to find him. He was my whole world. He was all I had left. I simply had to find him. Of course, at ten winters, as of my last midwinter age ceremony, I didn’t have a chance in hell of doing that, or even surviving, more than likely.

You see, they take orphans, if they can find them. They take them to the city and sell them on a slave block and everything; it’s televised across all the districts. I suppose the proceeds go toward supporting the whole ruler-worker status, or maybe it buys the overlord’s daughter a new dress. I have never seen more than a slip of copper in all of my life and that was at a distance. We in the outer districts weren’t allowed money, though we got away with trading amongst ourselves most of the time, provided it was sufficiently on the sly so as to go unnoticed by the authorities.

The only way to avoid the block was to find viable work or volunteer for some kind of city training before they take you. Everyone knew that. I volunteered for the military. One thing I didn’t know – what they don’t tell anyone – is that military training is very intense; there’s little room for reminiscing, or even homesickness, no tolerance either. They can’t afford to have an enemy in their houses, factories, or especially among their military, so they try to crowd out the old loyalties. But through it all, I vowed to remember just three things – his name, which was easy because my name was the same as his – Sidney Brenner. His face, which was also easy because, even though I was his daughter, everyone said I looked just like him. Same color skin – copper – mom’s was pearl white even after being in the sun for hours, same color eyes – a rusty brown – mom’s eyes were bright blue, same straight eyebrows – mom’s were arched like bird wings, same color and kind of hair – dark copper red – dad always said that mom’s hair was spun out of gold. Having never seen gold, I had to take his word for it. Really, the only difference between my dad and me, aside from my being a ten-year-old little girl with long hair and him being this tall, skinny guy with short hair, was that he wore glasses. They were these wire-rimmed things that always gave him headaches, but he said he was as blind as a bat without them, that is unless he was looking at something on the other side of town. Maybe I’d have to wear glasses too when I grew up, but so far not. The third thing I made myself remember was that I loved him with all my heart, and I was determined that nothing would take that away from me. Oh yeah, another thing where my dad and I were alike – we were both pretty darn stubborn. I guess they liked that about me.

It never ceased to amaze me, though, how they never caught the connection. I mean someone had to know I was his daughter, but they never made me change my name, and now that I think about it, no one ever questioned me about him either. And since I saw my father every time I looked in the mirror, I thought it was rather amazing no one else ever spotted the resemblance, not in the city anyway. Then again, at the academy, they had posters and pictures of known rebels all over the place. The best picture of my dad, well, he had the glasses, and his hair might have been the same. It looked like someone had thrown a stack of hay at his head. It was a black and white rendition of someone I didn’t know. There was a smaller one in color, but it was just as strange. It made me get really bold, another thing I guess they liked.

But I’m getting ahead of myself; let me start at the beginning.

The Beginning

Simon came out and saw me sitting on the bench beside the door, he briefly rested a hand on my shoulder, and then he was off, I didn’t see where. His wife, my mom’s best friend, came out next. She knelt down in front of me and took both my hands in hers. Her eyes were very red, and tears had made her face all wet and blotchy. I’m so sorry, honey, she said, and I knew it was all over. Mom wasn’t hurting anymore.

I went in. Lyra had done right by my mom. Her hair was all pretty again, braided in a thick golden cable over her shoulder and over the crisp white sheet that covered the rest of her. I could tell that Lyra had dressed her in her best dress too. Probably for the first time in a long time, and the place – and mom – didn’t smell … to tell the truth … rotten.

I figured Simon had gone to start digging the grave; they never let dead folks lay around very long. And more than likely Lyra would go and spread the word; pretty soon friends and neighbors would stop by to say their goodbyes. I just sat there. I sat in mom’s chair and just looked at her.

I hadn’t seen my dad in a couple years now. He’d been found guilty of something-or-other, but when the government troops came to haul him off to the gallows, they couldn’t find him. They questioned mom something fierce, and even beat her up some, but she didn’t tell them anything. They beat up half the town trying to learn where he’d gone, but in the end, they had to go away empty handed.

Mom got sick a few months later, but she refused to allow anyone to go tell dad. She didn’t want him worrying about her when there was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do. In the end, for like the last week or so, all she could do was drink the tea Lyra brewed for her. Lyra said it was for the pain and that I wasn’t to touch it.

People started to come over. No one knocked; they just came in. Some brought a biscuit, or maybe a bit of meat. Most people simply couldn’t spare much without going hungry themselves. I knew this and I was grateful for every crumb, but just now, I couldn’t bring myself to eat a single bite. Most people went to the trouble of picking flowers somewhere; these they lay on the body; mom wasn’t there anymore, but it was a real pretty gesture.

Later, men came and took away the body. Before they made it out the door, I moved for the first time. With a knife I could barely manage, I cut mom’s braid off; I wanted something of hers, something to remind me of her, something small enough I could actually hope to keep. Then she was gone.

Now I was all alone. I wandered through our little hut. Her and dad’s bed was in one corner; they’d taken the mattress to bury my mom on. My bed was in the opposite corner. After tomorrow, I wouldn’t even have that much. I needed to round up what I might be able to take with me. If I was lucky, someone would come and get me, but I wasn’t about to ask. Feeding your own family was hard enough, feeding an illegal family member – taking on an extra mouth ‘under the table’ as the saying goes, was really hard. To do so would mean everyone else in the family ate that much less. Unless I was immensely lucky, I was on my own.

In mom’s drawer I found a fine red and white scarf. It was something I almost never saw her get out, but when she did, it was to pet it back into its folds and put it away again. She did that once or twice a year, and she always had some kind of secret smile on her face when she did it. She never said anything about it though. So, though I knew it was special to her somehow, I didn’t know how. I carefully wrapped her braid in it.

During the day, I rationed my way through the bits of biscuits and such people had brought me, saving enough for a bit of something in the morning. Come tomorrow, I would be out on my own. People would come and take things from the house; I didn’t begrudge them, they all needed things – everyone did. I fully expected that, by sundown, someone else would be needing the shell of a house that would be all that was left. That’s just the way it was. You had to have permission to build. You had to have money to buy. Neither was to be had.

I put my bit of loot on my bed, Mom’s shawl, and my thin blanket. Some things were added, but then they were discarded – I couldn’t carry much and would have no place to keep things. I had my dress. Mom had made it for me; it was long and only now just getting short enough to show my shoes. I didn’t have any socks; no one had socks. I figured tomorrow I’d go to the factory and see if I could get work; that’s where mom used to work. She’d made my dress from discarded scraps of cloth. If I could get work, I might be able to avoid the slavers. They’d hear of mom’s death soon, and then they would come looking for me. If I was working when they came, they might leave me be. If I was lucky that is.

I hadn’t even finished my meager breakfast before people began to come. Some had the courtesy to look a little guilty about taking things, but I just tried to smile and nod. I didn’t mind, really I didn’t; if it was good for them, I was happy for them to take it, whatever it was. I had my few treasures wrapped up in my blanket on my lap. They were welcome to everything else.

When it seemed like no one else was coming, I set out to find my future. My leaving cleared the way for someone to claim the house. I tried Mrs. Flanders’ place first, but all her looms were working and there just wasn’t anything else for a little girl like me to do. She gave me a chicken leg though; she knew what my future looked like.

Next, I went to Mr. Granger, the baker, but I just wasn’t big enough to do the big things he did in his bakery, not to mention the fact that he had a wife and two sons to help him. He gave me a biscuit for my trouble, but sent me on my way.

Mrs. Soros, the lady who raised chickens, was an unlikable person anyway, so I really wasn’t too disappointed that she turned me away almost before I had the chance to ask.

It was the same with Mr. Bronson, who raised pigs, though he was nicer about it. That was pretty much it in our little town. Simon, Lyra’s husband, was a lumberjack; that’s what most of the men did here, and it was certain he wouldn’t have any work for me.

Come the end of the day, it was just me and my blanket under a bush; the house was already occupied by someone I didn’t know.

Next morning, I stood there in the middle of the dirt street, looking at the sprawling white building at the end of town. The mayor lived there, along with his family and his private army. Every town had a mayor; he was a government man through and through, he had to be. His wife, if he had one, was probably some city someone, and if there were any kids, they were sent back to the city for schooling. There were no schools here.

I stood there and looked at that place for a long time. He almost never showed his face unless he was going around taking an accounting of produce, ordering supplies, and taking the government’s share of whatever. I figured I had until he made his next rounds in a couple days; he’d learn of mom’s death then. I guess the mayor wasn’t all bad; we still got our food allotment even though mom wasn’t producing anymore. She’d given it to Lyra so she could take care of us, but now it was all gone.

I didn’t want to be a slave in the city; there was no chance going that route, no future, no nothing but being a slave for the rest of my life. I wanted to find my dad, but I wouldn’t be any good to him either. I didn’t know what gave me the idea, but I wanted to be useful to someone; I wanted to be useful to my dad when I found him. Dad was supposedly off fighting with the rebels, so to be useful, I needed to learn how to fight.

I hefted my blanket to my shoulder, but then I had a thought. If I walked through that door, they probably wouldn’t let me keep anything. I had never heard of anyone who had ever come back to the town they came from, but then I was only ten and it wasn’t something anyone ever talked about.

I turned around and went to find Lyra. I gave her my stuff and told her she could have mom’s shawl, that mom would like her to have it. She started to cry. I guess she hadn’t taken anything from the house, not even a memento. I also gave her the blanket, such that it wasn’t worth much, but most importantly, I asked her to hang onto my treasure for me. I told her that I was going to go ask the mayor for work in the city, but that I fully planned to come back someday to get it. She started to sob, but she nodded and accepted the scarf wrapped around my mom’s hair. She didn’t invite me in, and I didn’t ask. I hadn’t eaten yet today, but I wasn’t going to ask for that either.

Finally, I forced my feet to take me all the way to that door. A tall man in a black uniform answered at my knock. My momma died yesterday. I come to volunteer to be a soldier.

The man just stood there and looked at me like I was daft. Maybe I was, but I wasn’t backing down now.

After like a full minute, he asked, You sure?

I’m sure. I didn’t offer a reason. I didn’t have one. I guess I better think of one, so I’ll have some kind of answer they’ll like. I can’t very well say, ‘I wanna be just like my daddy’.

The soldier turned to the room. Mrs., he called.

From a room farther back, this woman all decked out in purple (to include her hair and lipstick and eye shadow), came into the room. Behind her was another woman who couldn’t have been more black and white. I’d never seen the mayor’s wife before. All that purple scared me, and that black and white woman was even worse, she looked like she was already dead. Her hair and face were all white with gray shadows on her cheeks and black hollows for eyes, and a black hole for a mouth, but then I realized it was just her lips that were colored black. Seeing her almost made me run away, but my feet didn’t catch on in time.

Mr. Tall-Black-Uniform was talking. She says she came to volunteer to be a soldier.

Mrs. Purple and Mrs. Dead just stood there and looked at me rather like Mr. Tall-Black-Uniform did, but I was rooted now. I refused to go back to starving in the street waiting for someone to come get me and turn me into a slave.

Suddenly she let out this long cackle. It made me jump; I’d never heard such a sound before. A soldier? She laughed again, but I stood my ground and kept my face straight. She swept forward, still making these strange cackle sounds in the back of her throat, and plucked at my dress. Such a little elf. What kind of solder do you want to be? (Her eyes were purple too) I shuddered.

I pointed to Mr. Tall-Black-Uniform. Just like him. What else could I say on the spur of the moment? What other examples did I have? At that, Mr. Tall-Black-Uniform joined the laughter, at least for a moment.

I volunteered. You have to let me, I said. It was the law; I knew it. It was the one thing I could do as long as I did it before they claimed me as slave.

The laughter stopped like someone had blown out a candle. Mrs. Purple gave a flip of her hand – yeah her fingernails were purple too – saying, It’s your funeral. Maybe you’d rather be like Lydia here and be a beautician; she does such a fine job, don’t you think? I’ll give you until the lifter arrives to change your mind. Then she was gone back into that other room.

Mr. Tall-Black-Uniform guided me inside and closed the door behind me. I watched it close. It felt like only my head was on this side of that door—that it was closing on my throat. Suddenly I couldn’t seem to breathe.

He extended his hand for me to take. Gasping for air, I took it and he led me down some stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, four other men lounged around; he tagged one of them who went upstairs to take his place. The others just looked at us. I suppose no real explanation was necessary.

Mr. Tall-Black-Uniform sat me down at this long black table, and then he loaded up a plate of food and put it in front of me. He scrounged around some and finally produced a glass of milk. Then he sat down across the corner of the table from me. At first he just watched me eat. When I started to slow down some, he tried again to dissuade me, more honestly this time, I think. He told me that they didn’t make allowances for girls in the military, though they might be able to find some non-combat roll for me.

I wanna be a soldier, I insisted. He just sighed.

While I waited for the lifter, whatever that was, the others joined us at the table. They didn’t question my choice, they didn’t openly try to change my mind, what they did do was tell stories. Those stories scared me some, but they couldn’t change my mind. Did I mention I was stubborn? Thanks to their stories, I had a little warning about what to expect. Not that it helped much.

Military Training

I discovered the lifter was an underground machine. It was some sort of enclosed wagon-cart thing that was big enough to live in – as big as my house was anyway, and it shot through this tunnel on nothing but air. Later I learned that it sat on a magnetic field, and since it was surrounded by nothing but air, it moved pretty darn fast; even so, it still took all day to reach the city district of the government – the City.

I have no idea how I got there; I think the lifter brought me right to the where the military lived and trained, I just remember leaving the lifter and telling a man dressed a lot like Mr. Tall-Black-Uniform that I’d come to volunteer. He read something on a computer screen and then just nodded and pointed me to a door. I hoped there was food on the other side of that door; I was hungry.

My dress was the first thing to go, even before I found out where I’d be sleeping. They fed me and then made me wash, and when I didn’t do it good enough, they made me wash again. Then I was forced to walk naked to a big room where they gave me my new clothes. Getting new clothes was kind of exciting, and they were a lot like what Mr. Tall-Black-Uniform wore. The top was rather more girly; it was long enough to cover my butt and flared enough to be slightly ruffled, but the rest was the same. There were things worn under it that I knew nothing about, but the lady who was fitting me was kind enough to explain. She probably laughed about it later, but not where I could see. By the time all was said and done, I felt over dressed, plus I had a bag they called a duffle full of all sorts of other things including more clothes.

By the time I had my bag packed, this guy who looked to be about fourteen came to get me. As we walked, he informed me that I was now Private Brenner. He was Corporal Lasiter, my immediate superior; on his shoulder was a stick-on patch with a black chevron on it. What the rank was called was something I learned later. He would introduce me to the rest of the chain of command later. In the meantime, I was about a month late, so I had to do some serious catching up. Though he didn’t say so, I could tell he was really bummed he’d been saddled with me.

Everyone was asleep when we reached our destination. Corporal Lasiter showed me to a bed. I figured I might be too hungry to sleep, but I was too tired to stay awake. I was pleased to no end when wake-up was followed by a meal. After that, my first day, I was kept separate from the rest. That’s when I was showed how to stow my stuff. I had to memorize exactly how to do so because it would matter during inspections. Apparently, the squad who failed inspections got a whipping, and of course the trooper who caused the failure felt the tender attentions of his or her squad mates later that night. I am proud to say I was never the cause of the squad failing an inspection, though I’m certain that at the time Lasiter was convinced I’d be the cause of a lot of such failures.

I discovered that I was the only girl in his squad; in fact, I was the only girl in the whole platoon, and unfortunately the smallest person, though not quite the youngest.

For the first month or so, he and the platoon commander, a boy of sixteen called Lieutenant Kyle (his shoulder patch had an upright golden bar on it; it stood out on his black uniform), stuck real close to me teaching me the things I’d managed to miss since I was a late arrival. If I was going to do what I wanted to do, I needed to be really good at this military thing – really, really good. I made sure they never had to teach me anything more than once. I think they liked that about me.

By the end of the month, Lasiter didn’t resent me so much, not in that way anyway. I couldn’t claim as much for my physical endeavors. The only use anyone found for me was to ask me to do some mending. Good thing my mom had been a weaver; she taught me all I knew about sewing. I saved Lasiter from a black mark for having a missing button once, but mostly I used my skill to make my own uniforms fit better. At first, sleeves and pantlegs were too long and too big around. A little slack was given for the fit of our uniforms, but gathers under the belt was a black mark.

My days were filled with exercises I could scarcely do, many of which I had never heard of before, and running where I was always the last one to finish. Punishment for being so weak was of course more such exercises and more running. It didn’t make any sense to me; if I couldn’t do it the first time around, making me do more as punishment just seemed crazy, but crazy is as crazy does, and I was crazy for being here, so I tried. They let up on me a little when I started tearing muscles and blowing disks. These injuries only cost me a few minutes in the infirmary, but as least these guys knew my weakness was real, not just girly laziness.

Meals were a very formal affair, but there was more food at a single sitting than I was used to seeing in an entire day. I scarcely had the energy to eat, but I knew I had to. There were detailed steps to do with every meal that had to be memorized. Our platoon ate directly on the o'clock – seven in the morning, one in the afternoon, and then seven in the evening again. We had thirty minutes to dish up, sit, and eat. The timeframe was strict because other platoons ate both before and after we did. We also had to put away a minimum of two glasses of whatever was on tap – pretty much the only thing we could choose for ourselves. Me being the littlest person here, putting all that food away was really quite hard, but others helped if I needed it. I don’t know how they did it. That was a lot of food, but there was not to be leftovers other than bones or fruit skins, or some such.

The rest of the day – about five hours’ worth, I think – was filled with forced learning and propaganda. The propaganda was intense lessons where I had to memorize the names of the ‘good guys’ and all they had accomplished to advance the wellbeing of mankind. I also had to memorize their history and be prepared to recite all the wonderful things that had happened to bring about their current most wonderfulness. It was at once fascinating and sickening, but I had to learn it all. The forced learning part was personalized. I’d never gone to school. I needed to learn how to read, write, and do math. Most of this was pumped directly into my head, leaving me with a massive headache, but it also involved a lot of what they called reinforcement so the hours were mostly taken up with written exercises. I think it was over a week before my hand stopped aching.

I persevered – I had to. I’d look at my face in the mirror every day, twice a day, and silently I’d promise my dad that I could do this, that I would survive, that I would find him someday.

Eventually, my education caught up with everyone else and became less intense, but I couldn’t afford to treat it with any less determination.

Military Exercises

Military exercises took place four times a year, and for the most part, they were a welcome relief from the standard drudgery of training. It was almost like a vacation. You got to run around in the woods and act all mean and dangerous. Of course, that was the whole point, to teach us how to be mean and dangerous, or well dangerous anyway.

Three of those four times, it was just platoon against platoon, but the fourth time was the entire company against some other company. Who these other platoons or companies were, I have no idea. They didn’t send us to the same place either, so there was no getting used to the terrain. I didn’t know about such things then. I just relished the outside.

I had never been much of an outside person before – mom wouldn’t let me wander off very far, but after being cooped up inside thick concrete walls, the air was heaven.

Winning the exchange happened in one of two different ways. The most popular way was to take out the enemy’s offensive capabilities. The other way was to take out the commander and most of the command structure. In the platoon structure there was the commander, the sergeant, and five or six squad leaders. Taking out the structure enough to win meant taking out more than half of them. Winning this way with a whole company was harder; you had to take out the company commander and his four platoon commanders (preferably before any of them knew about the others). Then it was still up to the fall of the battle because the sergeants sometimes were good enough to rally the day and carry the fight; it kinda depended on the morale of the rest of the army, I guess.

All during my first such exercise, I felt like such a bumbling idiot, but I tried hard to learn, and after I managed (quite by accident) to sneak up on Lieutenant Kyle in his tent, having slipped by two guards stationed out front. Really, I hadn’t intended it to be a sneak, but Lasiter had sent me to report on his recon mission so that’s what I went to do. It wasn’t my fault those guys didn’t see me. Kyle nearly jumped out of his pants when he looked up from his maps and saw me standing there. There was quite a row about it too.

The recon information was the deciding deal, and the battle was won the next day at the cost of half of our men. Don’t worry; it’s just a game. If you’re tagged, you sit out the rest of the battle. This is for learning and we’re just kids really. They don’t put our lives on the line just yet. I can tell you from experience, though, that being tagged is no fun. You can’t talk. You can’t stand. You can’t walk, though you’re allowed to go find a bush if you need to relieve yourself. If you happen to be there long enough, someone passes you your rations, and at night you might get your bed kit, but that’s it. You are dead to everyone. You also might get robbed; people take from the dead all the time. If your position is overrun, someone might take your weapon and ammo. One guy went through my pockets saying he’d have taken more, but everything was too small. He was really angry that I didn’t have anything in my pockets. He made off with my bed kit though. Yeah, we’d been overrun that time. Everything he took was on my bed when I got back to the barracks though, so nothing goes permanently missing.

My sneaking in on the lieutenant wasn’t forgotten though. The next exercise we went on, Kyle pulled me aside the first day and told me to sneak into his tent the first opportunity I saw. Surprise me, but okay. That night I slipped in under the back of his tent. I thought I’d be funny and I stretched out on his cot. I mean, I’d made enough noise getting under the back of his tent to wake the dead, but no one noticed a thing. You’d think the tent shaking would have been noticed, but it wasn’t. Surprise me again.

Kyle came in and was already shucking his pants before he saw me. I hadn’t intended that, but I was too surprised to say anything. I just ogled; I’d never seen a man undressed before. I didn’t get to see anything though. He only had his zipper down, and he turned around really quick and did everything back up again.

He laughed, though he was real red in the face. He asked me if I thought I could sneak in on an enemy commander like that. I figured it wouldn’t be much different.

That exercise happened to be the shortest battle on record, because I was able to take out the entire command structure that first night. They were all in the tent making their plans for the battle. It was a good thing I’d taken enough ammo; I didn’t figure I’d be facing all seven of them. I went back to Kyle and told him what’d happened. He couldn’t believe it either.

My deed was discovered shortly after midnight when the guard shift changed and they fired off their red flair signaling that they conceded the battle. No one knew what to do.

That became my primary job from then on, even during the big company-wide battles. Never again was I so successful, nor did I always succeed in tagging officers, but I was a pretty good secret weapon, if I do say so myself, plus, it was tons of fun. One time, when I couldn’t make it all the way into camp, I poured dirt down the barrels of all their big guns. Made them all blow up. Their offense was out of commission.

I was the darling of the command, but being the company mascot didn’t get me any favors; it didn’t advance me through the ranks or earn me any down time, but I guess it made some people jealous. There was this one guy from another squad who kept stealing my gear. Never much, never more than he could hide, a pistol belt here, a canteen there, my bootlaces once. I knew who was doing it; I’d seen him a time or two, but I never said anything. We weren’t allowed to lock our lockers. Whatever it was, I always managed to steal it back in time for inspection, so I was never caught lacking. He tried to accuse me of stealing once when I boldly took back my brass belt buckle, but when a quick inspection showed that his wasn’t missing from his belt, but that mine was, it didn’t go well for him. There was no proof that he stole from me first, but such accusations were really frowned on; it sewed dissension among the ranks. He was transferred out of our company, and gone by the end of the day.

Female Troubles

When I turned twelve, the medic where we all had our bi-yearly physical asked me if I’d started my monthly yet. I had no idea what he was talking about, so I said no and went on about my business without giving it another thought. I was finally starting to grow so I needed to go get fit for new uniforms and such. I think I had to get new gear like three times that year and at least as many times the next year. By the time I turned fourteen, I was almost as tall as Kyle though I looked like a blade of grass standing beside him. It looked like I was going to be skinny like my dad too, which was just fine with me.

This was also when I started having guy problems. It’s not as if there’s a lot of free time for any kind of social life, but I wasn’t here for a social life; I was ‘dedicated’ though not so much to what they thought I was dedicated to. After bluntly rebuffing probably half a dozen advances, this one guy gave up asking permission. With a firm grip on my hair, he dragged me to the latrine and shoved me into the shower – not to take a shower, by the way.

I was kicking and screaming, clawing and scratching every inch of the way. My disadvantage was that he had a good grip on my hair and that he was twice my size. I was good though; I’d paid close attention in fighting classes. Eventually, my ruckus attracted attention, but by then I’d managed to get loose with a torn scalp and blood running all down over my ear and getting my white shirt all bloody on the shoulder and down the front. By then I was half insane. It took two of my squad mates to pull me off him. They took me to the infirmary – I suppose they took him there too; after all, he was the one on the floor. I didn’t see him until two days later.

They shaved a big chunk of my hair so they could put in the twenty something stitches it took to close up the tear in my scalp. As soon as they were done, I went to a barber and had him shave the rest of my hair off. Never again would I be so disadvantaged. Momma had kept my hair long like hers; it was down past my butt when it was loose, but I hadn’t been required to cut it, just keep it up off my collar.

Stitches and bandages gave me a profile against headgear for two weeks, but that didn’t mean much since we weren’t on the battlefield.

Two days after I got my stitches, Lieutenant Kyle, and an officer introduced as Colonel Andrews escorted my squad mates and me to a room I’d never seen before. His squad mates were there too. The guy – I never knew his name – he was always bunked on the other side of the bay, and I’d never made much effort to learn everyone’s names. He was sitting – chained, I realized – in a chair in the middle of the room, facing the rest of us. We all sat in chairs raised in tiers around half the room – six or eight tiers as I recall. Us privates sat in the first or lowest tier, our immediate officers sat directly behind us, school officials sat behind them.

As soon as we were all settled, a man dressed like us only in dark green came out to stand near the guy in the chair. This is what the security cameras showed. I’ve spliced the feeds together to save time. Full feeds are earmarked and available upon request.

Proceed, said Andrews. He was sitting up behind me. Kinda gave me the shivers, but I didn’t turn around.

The wall in front of us lit up and suddenly I was the star of some movie. The film showed me walking into the bay and hanging my uniform coat in my locker. The guy, the only other occupant in the room, came up to me and we talked for a moment – there was no sound, but my shaking my head was clear enough. I turned away to finish what I’d