This
story hasn't got a proper title yet, I merely call it by the name of
the main character, Ben Drexel. Those of you who have read Lone Wolf,
will recognize the name. This book explores the origin of this
fascinating character.
Trying
to find something out of place that he could harangue Drexel about,
VanLipsig moved about slowly. Seeing nothing of note, he made his way
back to where the young Sergeant stood at attention. The entire
circuit had taken nearly ten minutes. To do the men credit, they
hadn't even twitched. Returning their salute, he acted like he'd just
walked in the room.
"As
you were."
The
men sat on their bunks, going back to what they'd been doing.
Ben
remained standing. He offered the Colonel a seat and a bottle of
water. VanLipsig accepted both, but didn't open the bottle right
away.
"Not
completely hopeless, I see."
"They're
good men, sir."
"I
meant you, Drexel. Them, I could give a shit about. At least they're
neat. It will make going through their effects simpler."
"Excuse
me?"
"We
don't live long," VanLipsig said without really listening to
Ben. He seemed lost in his own little bubble. "Our life
expectancy is the shortest in the Corps, but we keep going because
it's really all we can do." He glanced up at Ben, his eye
holding sorrow. "I never wanted to do this to any of you, kid. I
want you to know that I had no choice. You'd come up on the radar. I
kept you under wraps as long as I could.... What they've done to us
isn't right, but there's no going back now."
"Us?
You mean your team?"
VanLipsig's
level stare told him the truth. Gulping, he turned his left arm over.
A faint scar ran from his wrist to his elbow. They'd told him both
his arms were broken and had to be surgically set. He knew now that
was a lie.
"Those
will fade soon. Your body will heal faster than ever. The reason you
cracked that little fucker's jaw...."
"Because
I've been turned into one of the genetic freaks."
VanLipsig's
dark eye flashed angrily. He inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring.
"Might want to curtail that kind of language around my guys.
They don't much like being called freaks."
"We
are, though. All of us. I've seen the shit you guys can do, sir. You
have to admit, it's freakish."
VanLipsig
lowered his head. "We don't much talk about it. What we had done
to us, we'd like to forget. Most of my men don't remember what
happened. They know they're missing gaps in their memories and they
know they were tampered with. You and I are unique, kid. We remember
a lot more."
"I
still have gaps. I can't remember—what's her name?" He begged
for information.
VanLipsig
shook his head. "I wish we could take that away completely, but
you're like me. They're the freak show." He nodded at the men in
the room. "But we're super freaks, you and I. No matter what
they do to us, we'll remember."
"Do
you remember everything?"
"Yes.
Everything." He looked like he wished he couldn't. "And one
day, so will you. You'll remember her name and you'll want to find
her. But by that time, she'll have moved on, found someone else,
forgotten you. It's better to make yourself forget, son. It hurts
less that way."
"I
loved her, Colonel."
"We
all loved someone in our past, kid. Trust me, don't torture yourself.
One day, you'll the be one sitting where I am talking to some young
hotshot about accepting what he's become. I'm here to tell you, it
gets no easier each time I make this speech. But it seems like
there's always one or two who aren't like the rest. We stand out, we
think differently, we make the hard choices. I look at you and I see
myself. Ironic, I'm old enough to be your father—fuck no,
grandfather." He chuckled sadly, shaking his head.
"You
look my age. How's that possible? Your men look older."
"I
was a prototype. They made a lot of mistakes with us and learned from
them. Your group will age, but slowly. By the time you're sixty,
you'll look about forty."
"How
old are you, Colonel?"
Wil
didn't answer. He opened the bottle, taking a swig. He smiled,
raising the bottle as if toasting Ben.
"Where
do we go from here?"
"From
here, we train the freaks. Tomorrow, we tell them the extent of
what's happened to them. We do not point out the fact their memories
are altered. Clear?"
Ben
nodded, shoulders sagging. He wanted to tell Ray, but he knew he
couldn't. To tell his friend would put him in a dangerous position.
Ben didn't think VanLipsig would kill him to shut him up, but he
might if the situation were dire. Rather than test the Colonel's
resolve, he decided to keep quiet.
"Light's
out," Wil said as he reached the door. "Day starts at 0430,
gentlemen. Be bright eyed and bushy tailed."
"Oorah,
sir," they chorused, saluting.
©
2016 Dellani Oakes
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