Dear Kathy, October 5, 2043

There are a lot of things I’ve tried to forgive myself for. And for those I can’t forgive, I at least try to forget, like brushing memories under a rug. It works, most of the time. Except for when I try to sleep, of course. Then those buried memories crawl out from under their rugs or peek out from behind their shadows, ready to divulge themselves in vicious nightmares. And I can’t escape my nightmares. They’re always there, the moment I close my eyes, ready to dredge up every goddamn hidden memory with vindictive malice. And today I’m positive I’ve given my nightmares more ammo than I think I can handle. That’s why I’m writing to you. In hopes that… in hopes for what I’m not sure. If anything, maybe I can exhaust myself. Sometimes, if I tire out myself enough, I won’t dream. Just sweet, wonderful blackness that engulfs me until morning.

We descended on Connecticut six days ago with thick mud on our boots and a grumble or a gripe poised for every condition. The autumn air was sharp enough to cool the sweat at our brows but not cold enough to chill the sweat pooled at the smalls of our backs from our packs. It was that in between kind of weather, the type that is sunny and fresh but with enough bite to fill your lungs with a crisp taste of fall.

The Coalition Army had fled Hartford long before we even got there, and we were allowed to slow our pace, marching up the highways of Connecticut and admiring the vibrant range of crimsons, ambers, and wines of the New England foliage.

Everyone knows the Coalition Army’s on the run, and we had pushed like hell out of New York to try to stop them. But by the time we had crossed the border of Connecticut, they had tucked its tail between its legs and deserted the capital. They’re really just prolonging the inevitable though, and making us march after their cowardly asses just pisses us of more. Rumor has it the army’s trying to hole up in Boston for one last stand.

Today The General halted us some hours short of sunset. Shlain, who thinks he knows everything, says we’re in Mohegan State Forest, or something along those lines.

“I don’t give a shit where we are,” I informed him while I dropped my pack. “If we marched one more mile, I was ready to just drop everything and make a one soldier strike.” I slid off my body armor vest and slumped to the ground, rolling my shoulders and groaning at the pleasure of being free from the seventy pound gear.

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” griped Shlain in a feigned high voice which I’m to assume was supposed to sound womanly as he flung off his own rucksack. “See, that’s why they never should’ve let women into the infantry,” he grinned wide and winked to let me know he wasn’t completely serious. “They just can’t keep up.”

“Fuck you,” was my eloquent response. “As if the entire army hadn’t heard you screaming three miles back.”

Shlain lifted his right leg and stared intently down at the mud encased boot. “I’m not fucking shitting you; I twisted my ankle back there.”

I made a show of rolling my eyes and unbuttoned my uniform top. “Grow a pair.” I threw the fatigue top to the side, and with forefinger and thumb peeled the brown under shirt away from my back where it had been plastered with sweat. I enjoyed the breeze against the wet shirt and shivered a little, my body confused from the heat of long hours of marching and the bite of the cold air.

Wright broke in with a high whistle. “You gonna let her talk to you like that?”

Shlain just shrugged, sparing me a wicked smile that only I was privy to.

Wright’s new to the squad but I actually like him. He’s seen combat, years of it, even. He’s not one of those daft newbies. He doesn’t scare easily and he’s even pretty intelligent. He and I are the only ones who really read in the platoon. We secretly pass off books to each other like the prized and sacred items they are, smuggling them in our packs and trying to sneak passages away from the quick to taunt eyes of the platoon. He also has the most beautiful skin you’ll ever see. It’s black, like ebony black, dark and rich and quite catching. I tell him when the war’s over he should become a model. I still don’t know him very well, but occasionally we share understanding nods, both of us taking support from the other in our exclusiveness from the rest of the unit. I’m the only infantry woman for miles, and he’s the only black man in the platoon.

Shlain had already pulled out his poncho liner and spread it across the brittle and dying grass. Sitting on the liner he leaned against his pack and broke out a deck of cards, his dark green eyes casting challenges to any who would meet them. “Up for a game?” he asked, shuffling the deck with the quick hand of a pro.

Wright snorted and shook his head. “I’m not losing any more money to you, you greedy, cheatin’ bastard.”

Shlain shrugged his shoulders, his usual taunting lopsided grin in place. “Don’t be bitchy just because you can’t win a hand.”

“Bitchy my ass,” he pointed a finger hard at Shlain. “You’re doing something shady with the decks. I don’t know how you do it, but when I find out, I’m kicking your ass.”

Even I had to let out a snort of laughter at that one. Don’t get me wrong, Wright isn’t of slight stature. He’s wide in the shoulder and with the heavy bulk of a man accustomed to military labor.

But Shlain… Let’s just say I’ve seen Shlain fight. He has all the dirty viciousness of a street fighter who has no idea what it means to play fair. He’s quick and slender and with a body honed from long years of war and miles of running. It’s his face that makes people misjudge him. He has that pretty boy face with a fine Roman nose and a strong jaw line that people mistake for lover instead of fighter. Half the time he’s sporting a shadow beard that he somehow never gets in trouble for and his black hair has long ago grown out of regulation. He’s the most racial ambiguous person I’ve ever met, with his perpetually dark olive skin, black hair and high, distinguished cheekbones. I know there was once a pool going on to guess what his nationality is, but if anyone guessed right, Shlain is never telling. He uses this ambiguity to tell every racist joke in the book, and some so far out of the book they should be illegal. He has that I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude that women just can’t steer clear of and he knows it.

I’ve mentioned Shlain to you in past letters, but I’ve never really told you about him. Somehow I didn’t think you would approve. To say that Shlain is a sadistic bastard is a bit unfair, but I won’t say he’s the most caring character either. If you have a weak spot, you better pray to God that Shlain never hears about it. It’s as if he lifts his nose to the wind and sniffs out weakness, then falls on you like a hungry, grinning wolf. When Burke was first introduced into our squad, it became fairly obvious that he was a homophobe. Shlain stared at him like a boy in a china shop with a sling and stone.

Burke had barely made it three days before he let some comment slip that let it be known he was not comfortable being too close to other males. One evening on downtime Shlain slipped behind him and snaked an arm around Burke’s waist. He pulled Burke up hard against his body and proceeded to whisper sweet nothings into his ear while Burke screamed and squirmed and struggled. But like I said, Shlain is a lot stronger than he looks. It was only after Burke burst out into tears, pleading with Shlain to let him go, that Shlain shoved him away, casting a parting shot of “fag” as he strode away.

I would’ve felt bad for the kid if I hadn’t been laughing so hard.

And that’s just one example of our Shlain for you. One part cruel, one part dick, one hundred percent asshole, and yet we love him. I’ve finally figured out why it is my squad, and even the platoon, loves him so much (besides the fact that he’s funny as hell). It’s that to Shlain, no one is safe, nothing in sacred. His close friends fall prey to his jokes and pranks. Even I’ve stumbled into the spotlight more than once. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut, wait for the berating to end, then his gaze will slide away, he’ll have lost interest in you, and you’re free to laugh at the next unlucky son of a bitch he pins his sights on.

“If you don’t want to play, that’s fine,” Shlain said up to Wright, flipping the decks from hand to hand, “but don’t scare off any of my other customers.”

Wright dropped down on to the ground, pulling a thick book from the side pouch of his rucksack. “If you can trick some poor sucker into playing with you, that’s their business.” Ignoring Shlain’s pointed sneer at the book, he flipped it open and as far as he was concerned, the rest of us were non-existent. Once Wright starts reading, nothing short of a fire fight will pull him away.

Burke sat down across from Shlain, rubbing his hands together. “You can’t be lucky all the time,” he grinned. “I’ll play and I’m getting my last pay check back this time.” Burke and Shlain had come to an uneasy truce. Burke learned not to let Shlain know he bothers him and Shlain, in turn, lost all interest in the matter and his taunts moved on to easier targets.

I stood up, fingertips reaching for the sky as I stretched my tight and sore muscles. “Yeah. Luck. That’s how he wins, Burke.”

“Where are you going?” Burke twisted from his crossed legged seat on the grass to watch me move away from the group.

“If I said I was going for a piss, would you leave me alone?” I shot back, stifling at the constant surveillance I always found myself under. Burke’s a scrawny soldier with a baby face that makes me still think of him as a kid and a pension for shooting at passing coyotes or other wildlife. Still, he’d die to save anyone in the squad and has proven himself time and time again.

“Just asking,” he mumbled and turned back to Shlain and the game. I know he’s just trying to keep an eye out for his fellow squad members, but Burke hasn’t quite accepted me as a fellow infantry soldier. He still sees my feminine body and woman’s face and can’t quite get it in his head that I’ve been fighting in this war much longer than he has.

I grabbed my body armor flak vest and slipped it on but didn’t bother to close it. Slinging my M-4 over one shoulder I stepped away from the group and headed for the dense tree line. The sun was on the down slope and the shadows were just starting to lengthen.

Shlain glanced up from his card game with Burke, watching me with wary eyes as I left the protective circle of our squad. He didn’t move from leaning against his pack, one leg propped up and his arm rested against his knee with presumably an outrageously good set of cards in his hand. I still haven’t figured out if Shlain is so careful to watch where I go to make sure no one follows me to harass me or to check to be sure I don’t have any other lovers. Still, his growls keep the other dogs at bay, and I’m grateful for his protection most of the time.

When ever we pull off the highway from a march, The General always pushes us far into the forest to keep us out of sight from Coalition spies or guerilla fighters. As such, I’m constantly finding myself surrounded by vibrant red, orange, a touch of gold and a brush of mauve as the colored leaves drift down from their trees like slow falling rain. It’s beautiful here in the fall. California has its own beauty, I know, but I promise you, Kat, after this war is over I’m going to take you up to Connecticut during the fall. It’s a vibrant landscape like nothing you’ve ever seen.

Lately, whenever I get the chance, I try to break away from the army. Their presence, all that masculine, domineering presence, wears on me. Even an infantry woman needs a moment alone, don’t you think?

I never stray too far from my squad, or stay away too long, mostly because I know Shlain will come looking for me if I do. But for the moment I was surrounded by the drifting leaves and the cool, sharp wind. It smelled of pine, musk, and earth. I lifted my head to the sky, seeing the canopy of ranged colors over my head and without the constant clamor of the grumbling troops, I felt alone.

He came out of no where. I wasn’t expecting him and I didn’t even hear him approach. One second I was alone, my only surroundings tall oak and maple trees, the next second I turned my head and a man was standing just behind the tall, branchy foliage.

I stifled the gasp that almost found its way out. Instinctively I jerked up my weapon, shoving the butt stock into my shoulder and staring down the black muzzle at the dazed intruder. Tension crept across my shoulders and I braced my legs apart, my heart still suffering from the sudden speed up.

He looked almost as surprised to find a girl in The Generals Army uniform standing alone in a forest as I was to seeing a man without a designated uniform pop up from the bushes. His mouth was formed in an “O” and his face was blank of anything but shock. Seeing the barrel pointed at him he lifted his hands up, dirty palms facing me.

“Don’t move,” I growled in a low, firm voice.

His face changed and it was like watching water being poured into a glass. The initial shock fading away, his features filled with personality and a lazy grin spread across his face.

“I didn’t expect to find a girl out here,” he said.

“I’m not a girl, I’m a soldier. And who the fuck are you,” I gestured with the muzzle for him to step away from the tree and he complied, hitching both hands up a bit higher.

“Such language,” he tisked. He wasn’t in uniform, just the last remnants of civilian clothes. A gray, worn shirt hung across his broad shoulders with holes apparent around the collar and his loose, tattered jeans bagged around his narrow waist. His hair was shorn short, too short to be civilian, but too long to be military. The sandy brown stubble matched the slight beard he was growing around his sharp jaw. To most he might have looked like just another confused civilian who had stumbled upon the advancing General’s Army.

But of course, civilians don’t wear military issued combat boots, and the black belt holding his jeans up was blatantly army.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?”

He smiled again, this time broader, and his eyes crinkled in a way that was disturbingly disarming. “Just going for a stroll.”

“In the middle of a war and with The General’s Army wandering about? Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” I stepped back, wanting more than anything to be able to call over my shoulder and see Shlain and Wright or Burke breaking through the foliage.

The man shrugged one shoulder and I noticed his eyes were a bright green that lit up his face. He was strikingly handsome in that very manly sort of way. “I wasn’t aware The General’s Army was so close, otherwise I can promise you, I would’ve gone in the other direction.”

“I’m sure you would have.” I pointed him towards the direction of the Army. “You’re the Coalition.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Careful to keep him hands up he looked over his shoulder towards where the Army was still hidden from us. “No. I’m just a guy going for a walk.” His vivid green eyes glided over me, taking in my uniform and my cleanly shorn head. “What is a pretty girl like you doing in The General’s Army?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. I hate those “you’re too pretty for the army” or “it’s such a waste to see a beautiful girl like you in the infantry” comments. And if I were an ugly girl, it would matter if I were in the infantry or army? It seems my crime isn’t being a woman in the combat arms of the military, but being a pretty one. “I’m fighting for my country, what do you think I’m doing.”

He scoffed, his eyes crinkling at the edges again. “If you’re fighting for your country, you’re fighting on the wrong side.”

It was my turn to sneer. “So says the man running from his own side.”

His eyes darkened and his smile wilted slightly. “What gives you that idea?”

“Either you’re a deserter or you’re a guerrilla. Either way, I’m well with in my rights to shoot you’re ass if you try anything.”

He pressed his lips together as if he were trying to bite back another smile. “Then I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“You’ll be on your best behavior all the way to the interrogators’ tent,” I snapped, swinging the muzzle to again try to make him move towards the army encampment.

He shrugged one shoulder at me. “I’ll go, but I have nothing to say to them. I’m just a guy on a walk, remember?” But his eyes jumped down to my hip and a dark, hungry look flashed across his features. He tried to smooth it away, his quick smile coming back to fill his face. “Or…” He glanced over his shoulder suggestively from where he had come then looked back to me, arching one eyebrow, “we can go for a stroll together.”

I snorted out my response. “I don’t desert, thank you very much. I’m not much of a coward.”

“Such loyalty,” he observed, his eyes yet again straying to my right hip. “Too bad it’s misdirected.”

I took a step back, growing uncomfortable with the way his face would grow ravenous when he glanced at my hip. I could only guess his interest was in my prize pearl handed revolver that I had stolen off a dead Coalition officer’s body. I wanted to drop a hand down onto it to make sure it was there and strapped into my black nylon hip holster, but I didn’t dare loosen my grip on the M-4.

“I don’t think you’re one to talk.” I looked over his shoulder, wondering if past the bright colored leaves were there more deserters or, worse yet, a hidden Coalition force. “You’re hightailing it from your side pretty fast.”

His brow pinched together and for a moment all humor abandoned him. “I’m not deserting.”

I arched my brows at him, curious by his sudden serious manner. “Oh? Then what are you doing? Because I don’t believe for one second you’re just out for some fresh air.”

“I can ask you the same thing, you know. What are you doing away from your army?”

“This isn’t about me. If you look closely, I’m the one holding the weapon so I’m the one asking the questions.”