Not Just Another Soldier

Prompt: "You are a product on an assembly line. Assert your individuality." This story was written in 40 minutes for Power of the Pen and remains unedited

**Author’s Note** I realized after I finished this that the term “whitewash” could be interpreted as a racist remark. It is not meant to be at all. It is simply meant to refer to the erasing of memories, like painting over a colorful wall in white, which covers everything beneath.

The demand for soldiers in World War III has left schools nearly nonexistant. Instead there’s only the rigorous army boot camps, which we soldiers - and even some of our officers - call “the assembly lines”. Because they don’t train us for war so much as they manufacture us into the perfect soldiers. They delete our memories, keeping only what THEY want, what THEY think we need to succeed. It’s often not at all what we think we need to be successful; but then, us and the Military of the Western Hemisphere often have differing definitions of success.

My name is Albert Fitzgerald Mendez-Kline, and I’m here because they decided they liked me. “They,” I assume, is the MWH, but it was never made exactly clear. They took me 8 months ago. I haven’t been whitewashed yet (that’s what we all call wiping memories), but I will be soon. I don’t want to be whitewashed! Not only can they erase memories they deem pointless , but they can create false new ones - which will encourage you to do their bidding.

I’ve seen the graduates and even the second-years after their whitewashing, how they can’t tell you their mother’s name. I’ve seen the soldiers, as they march from boot camp facilities to war barracks, with a lost look in their eyes. I’ve seen how they respond primarily to ID numbers - and the names they claim are theirs were implemented during a whitewashing. And yet I’ve seen how they shoot straight and respond like machines - products of the assembly line that produces mechanisms, perfectly-working mechanisms. Not people.

I realize in Morning Assembly one day what an assembly line it truly is. How we’re treated as products up until Month 10, when we’re whitewashed and become products. And then they tinker with us, like machines, until we’re perfect down to the smallest detail. Products, not people.

I don’t WANT! to be a product! I want to be Albert Fitzgerald Mendez-Kline, age 14, biotech geek and beagle lover. I don’t want to be Soldier Number 928416, aka Adam Smith, or whatever name they’ve given me during my whitewashing. But I don’t have a choice now, do I?

I didn’t think I did. But then #928349, from the class ahead of me, came to see me one day after Physical Exercise.

“Hi, um, Peter.” I scrambled to find his new name.

“No,” snapped “Peter Johnson”. “It’s Jeremy Gonzales.”

I gasped. Jeremy had been his name before whitewashing. How… but how…

“Look, Albert, you don’t want to lose yourself in whitewashing.” Jeremy spoke quickly. “So here’s what you do. You find a photo of whoever you love most. And immediately after your whitewashing, IMMEDIATELY after, you look at that picture. All right?”

“Si, señor.”  I answered in Jeremy’s Spanish, and he still recognized it. Languages were another thing whitewashing took away.

“Adios, Albert,” he answered.

***

I stepped out of the Chamber two months later, memories of my friend Peter Johnson ringing in my mind. He was nice. He would always say, “What’s up, Sam,” in the hallway. I liked my name. Sam. It had a nice ring to it.

Suddenly I felt something in my pocket. Huh. It was a photograph of a girl. I frowned. Something about her seemed familiar…

Lydia! Her name was Lydia and she was…

my sister....

but I didn’t have a sister…

But I did!

Memories flooded into my mind and I gasped. “Peter Johnson” wasn’t a real person, his name was Jeremy Gonzales, and my name wasn’t Sam at all!

Electricity coursed through my veins. I remembered! My sister and my parents and my friend… They hadn’t managed to - what was it called? Whitewash! Yes! - whitewash me at all! They’d only refuelled my desire to be myself!

I smiled broadly as I walked along the corridor. I’d still go into war and I’d still fight, but I wouldn’t just be #928316, “Sam Bell.” I wouldn’t be just another immaculate, perfect product of the assembly lines. I’d be Albert Fitzgerald Mendez-Kline, fighting because I wanted to. Not because Sam Bell wanted to. I was me.

I’d survived the assembly lines. And I was still me.

Reviews

[matrixmark]

A great start - I really thought your idea of having memories deleted was really good (Reminded a little of the movie 'universal soldier'
I really like the name you have ginve the protagonist - really imaginative. Names of characters are always hard to think of and for you to come out with 'Albert Fitzgerald Mendez-Kline' is quite spectacular.
You did a fantastic job telling your story from Alberts POV and it moved along at quite a pace. For him to say that he didn'r want to become a 'product' was kind of chilling to me and that he would do anything to fight to be just 'Albert'
Grammar - Excellent.
Story - A little gem of a read.

Solid structure - I want more of this

Mark.