Legacies and Secrecies

By Dustin Koeller

James Hollenburg is sent off to a military base, where he embarks on recovering evidence that intelligence had given in their briefing. Upon return, he is sent back out to face the treacheries of war in an attempt to complete his assignment before their return. Little is known about the situation as they continue pressing on through the war. All that's known? Orders were given, and now he and his team must carry them out. Will he and his team back it back alive, or will it be the end to his life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647019525

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Legacies and Secrecies

Dustin Koeller

Copyright © 2020 Dustin Koeller

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2020

ISBN 978-1-64701-951-8 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-64701-952-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Unknown Existence

Mystery Lead

Uncovering the Truth

Mission Collection

Crossing Paths

Finding Refuge

Revealing of a Hidden Secret

Cross Bearing Destruction

What Happened Now?

Search for a Plan

The Never-Ending Chaos

Destruction of Diminisher

Fiery Pits of Hell

Moving On

Division among the Ranks

Rabbit Hole Destruction

The Formal Ties

Arrival at Shymkent Station

Getting on the Inside

Nuclear Mess

Unlikely Alliances

The Skirmish of Revenge

Unexpected Placement

Prepped for Surgery

Postsurgery Results

Chapter 1

Unknown Existence

There is a legend that very few know about. Some say it has been around since the beginning of time while others believe it’s nonexistent. Ultimately, it’s whichever you choose to believe. I’ve heard this several times as a child, so I know the legend well. In the beginning, there were two groups—one known as END and the other as SFH. Both groups are said to be immortal. Well, that’s what the rumors claim at least. These same rumors also claim END has been after the destruction of humanity and the universe itself. SFH is said to be the one who always tried to thwart END’s attempts and save humanity from extinction. This is the legend. This is the myth. Truth about it is far, but to me, it’s only a story, I said to the fellow soldier lying in the hospital bed to the right of mine as Megan sat back and listened.

That’s interesting. So you said earlier about being first deployed in 2020. Tell me a little bit about that, he replied while looking back at me with his undivided attention. And so I began my story.

August 25, 2020, was a dreadful day; in fact, it was the worst day of my life. I had found a white piece of paper containing the words "DEPLOYMENT STATUS" lying upon the kitchen table. Because of those two simple words, the past couple of years have been hectic and brutal.

For those who don’t know, my name is James Hollenberg. I’m twenty-seven, and most people can spot my blond head above others. I graduated high school with an honors diploma while being at the top of my class. After high school, I joined the Marines. I worked rigorously and persistently through the ranks to end up where I am today. My goal was to become a sniper. It was all I ever dreamed of being, and I miraculously achieved it. Along the way, I obtained something even greater: promotion to platoon leader. The hard work and dedication I showed toward my job won me the position.

I joined the Marines because of my father. He had joined the Marines when he was younger. He was my role model and motivation. Without him, I wouldn’t be where I am today. His modeling of what success looked like was what made me want to be just like him. He was a good role model, a good husband, a great father, and especially a fantastic marine. All I wanted to do was make him proud, and I know I have. He died six years ago, but he had told me, the night before I returned for active duty, how proud he was. It wasn’t long afterward that he had a heart attack, which was the cause of his death.

My girlfriend at the time, who is my wife now, was my rock during that horrendous moment. She’s my high school sweetheart, and her name is Sarah Hollenberg. She’s currently twenty-five and has long dark-brown hair. Her body was slender but lightly toned to a half-formed muscular look. This five-and-a-half-foot woman didn’t look Caucasian due to the constant exposure of her skin to the sun. Her misty crystal-blue eyes shimmered like diamonds in the light of the sun, a heart-stopper every time.

She was only a grade below me during high school, but that didn’t matter. She was smart. She was the top graduate of her class as well. She was able to prove her intelligence in a way no one else could. Her reasoning and comprehension spanned a plethora of topics. When it came to controversial ones, she could lay out her reasons with logical facts that would support her argument in ways that helped others understand. No piecing things together was required; this allowed her explanation to be better understood and easily comprehended by others.

It was our fifth anniversary. On this special occasion, I wanted to wisp through the space-time continuum to celebrate this magical day with her even though I knew it wasn’t possible yet. If it were, I would leave and never come back. All the stress and fear were cumbersome, especially with all the shooting, hiding, and the constant insecure feeling. The idea that no one knew who or what was lurking around put a toll on you, but it was something everyone on active duty had to deal with.

The Marines were constantly demanding my assistance and then withdrawing me from battles. They seemed to be almost like my mother, constantly changing their mind about what they wanted to do, and each day had been a struggle to carry on. The days were tiring and endless. Each passing day was harder to push through as we tried to complete our missions. Sometimes, it seemed impossible.

Everything that soldiers witnessed there was beyond the imagination. No one’s mind could comprehend or even visualize the horrors that occurred there. The images we saw were burned into the back of our minds, forever leaving mental and emotional scars. These same images never ceased inside me or my fellow comrades’ heads.

I had watched the ground absorb the crimson liquid that oozed out of the brave men and women on both sides. Sometimes, I wondered if the ground had thoughts that humankind had no clue about. If it did, I’m sure it thought that the splattering blood on the dry brown terrain from the lifeless bodies was just a part of life.

Another thing that I’d seen that’s far more scarring than anything else on this planet: frag grenades. Multiple tiny shards of metal were forced outward, at high velocity, toward any unlucky person or item that was nearby, leaving a fiery explosion within their hatred. Sometimes, the explosions were powerful enough to blast limbs or entire bodies into vapor. You’d see a teammate walking along when, suddenly, a flash of fire and a loud, resounding band, like a firecracker, would just devour the person.

Once everything cleared, the body wasn’t there occasionally. An arm, leg, torso, or head covered in blood may have been left, but the rest was gone. But when those small occasions occurred, nothing would be left. A determination could only be made after the smoky gray fog hovering over the area dissipated.

The next thing we veterans witnessed the most, occurred especially in battlefields, were land mines. Their hidden presence, always obscured from plain sight, would strike soldiers suddenly by explosion, causing a lot of destruction, deaths, and injuries.

This was a form of plain genocidal murder. Many men and women have been killed by these nasty things. The ones that death had called never deserved to be taken from the start. Several people have been blown away with this merciless and unforgiving act. Many were my own friends and past squad members.

If that weren’t enough, hostile forces loved taking prisoners as well, not caring if they were soldiers or civilians. These people became their hostages. If the American government didn’t oblige, they would execute them, but not before torturing them first. They would begin by dismembering one body part at a time. If the ransom failed to be filled, they would continue until the prisoner was dead or the ransom was fulfilled. The problem was that our government refused to negotiate with hostile forces, whether they were terrorists or another country.

Any sensible person knew that oppression against a country’s own people would initiate a liberation war. There was one major thing that was bad about these liberation wars—we never found the captives alive. The harsh reality that not everyone can be saved began to sink in for those assigned to those search and rescue missions.

In times of war, one thing my platoon tried to do was keep everyone safe. We tried to protect the innocence of all men and women affected by the war, whether they were civilians, foes, or our own troops. We didn’t want causalities, but we knew this wasn’t possible. The purpose of this war was clear—the government had something to gain or wanted something for themselves.

For years, the government has sent us in, war after war, trying to acquire anything they deem valuable. It wasn’t limited to just oil itself. We ended up being sent in to destroy the diamond mines in Libya. Afterward, the US went into those mines and extracted the remaining diamonds for their profit. We were sent into Zimbabwe to help the resistance overthrow the government. This was to establish a diplomatic relationship. All previous attempts failed due to the resentment that the diplomats of Zimbabwe held toward the US for their unresponsiveness to pleas for help in the past. Now, we were on standby for unknown reasons, leaving us very wary.

Back home, in the United States, people didn’t see these horrific images to this extent, nor would they unless they served time on the battlefields. The images here were too graphic for airing on TV news stations, which followed the set American television standards. The news media had interests in the horrors and consequences of the wars being waged, but they weren’t allowed to air it, causing several news channels to become upset. Instead, they reported watered-down versions that kept the interest of the American people, but each story was voided of emotions.

The emotionless journalism made me sick to my stomach. While people were dying here, executives were sitting in their offices, wondering which stories would rake in more profits and viewers. In today’s times, the operations of businesses are motivated by greed.

Despite my complaints, a repeated pattern was apparent in the constant strain of combat life. It was like the song of my life continuously looped over with no end. We would receive a mission then execute it, which generally involved shooting people to survive then coming back alive if we were lucky enough. There was only one thing that helped me think things through while being here—a walk. Walking always seemed to help, and since I was off duty, that was exactly what I did.

From my barrack, my base wandering began. I had no destination in mind. I just began by heading off in a direction. I walked for some time as I tried to sort through my thoughts.

When will I get vacation time? How is Sarah doing? How is Mom doing?

After several minutes, I began approaching a massive black building—the base of operations. It was producing a darkened shadow about the size of Godzilla, if that were even possible. It slowly crept behind me like it was stalking me, trying to avert my attention to its movements.

As it began its intrusion on my thoughts, I fought against it, refusing to let it overtake them. The glaring white light took its turn when the shadow failed its mission. I gazed upon the ground, ignoring the pesky annoyances as I continued putting one foot in front of the other. The weight of my body was held by the resistance of the ground below my staggering feet.

Minutes passed before I realized I was approaching the basketball court. Several people were out playing. I didn’t count, but at a quick glance, maybe ten or fifteen players had taken to the court.

I think the game just started. No one is sweating terribly, and there are no signs of blood on the concrete yet.

The basketball court was the only place on the base that had smoky-gray concrete poured. This happened to be a reassurance for the players that the ball wouldn’t just ricochet in a random direction from a bounce off something insignificant.

Even though I wanted to stay and watch, I didn’t since it was distracting me from sorting out my thoughts that were running rampant in my head. I continued trekking to wherever my feet led me. The attempt to clear my mind was slightly working, but there were other things that tried to interject as well.

The movement of my feet was the only thing I knew right now. They led me to places without rhyme or reason, and they didn’t leave a clue to where they were going. Since I usually knew where I was going on walks, this was unordinary for me.

The reason for this was because my mind was weighted down by several things, and I didn’t care where I ended up. As long as it was a place far away from others, that was all that mattered to me. I pulled my midnight-black leather wallet from my pocket and unfolded it to a picture located in the center flap.

The picture was of my beautiful wife. It was the one I had with me since I had joined the Marines. It portrayed everything that made me first fall in love with her: her friendliness, beauty, sassiness, and so much more.

It helped keep my sanity intact and served as a reminder for who was waiting on my arrival back home. Our life we had created together was nothing short of superb. Her worth was immeasurable to me. I wouldn’t trade her for anything. She was my other half. I was ready to go home and see her. I longed to hold her in my arms once again.

Once I managed to unglue my eyes from the picture, I noticed that I was approaching a cluster of slate gray structures with rounded tops. They were on the opposite side of the base away from all the common barracks.

Many here thought bunkers were tall structures. They weren’t tall at all. They were about eight feet tall, give or take a few inches. I didn’t know why or how my feet brought me here, but nonetheless, it was a surprise for sure.

How long have I been walking? I didn’t think I’ve been walking that long!

Everyone complained about the bunkers. Only one shiny, polished metal door was positioned on the east side as the entrance and exit for these structures. Although it made for a slightly easier defense, no one liked to enter these shelters because