Cold Words Burn Deep

When we get out of the forest, nobody says anything. Sarah won’t even look at me and I know she’s still angry that I decided not to kick Cassie out of the squad; Zach is looking relieved and gives me a discreet grin and nod to show his thanks, while Bishop is just sitting in the grass and waiting patiently. The only sounds are distant shouts and laughter from other students enjoying their free-time, the flutter of birds flying low overhead, and Bishop yawning. Drew gives me a quick look-over, and after he’s satisfied that I’m healthy he walks off to sit with Bishop. We stay there for about ten minutes until we hear footsteps coming from the forest and see Lydia and Cassie walking side by side.

        Lydia’s facial expression suggests that nothing out of the ordinary has happened but the same can’t be said for Cassie. Most of Cassie’s face is covered in blood and she’s holding her nose, which looks broken. Immediately Drew rushes over and opens up his fanny pack, which he keeps filled with first-aid supplies.

Cassie walks past him and continues until she’s a couple feet from me then says as clearly as she can, “I’m sorry for what I did and you don’t have to worry about it ever happening it again. You welcomed me into the team with open arms and I’ll never be able to repay you for everything you've done for me. I want to be a part of this squad so I’ll act like it.” Without waiting for a reply she salutes with the hand not holding her nose and walks off towards to the infirmary.

        I try my best to keep my surprise from showing but I can’t help but look at Lydia and wonder what she said to Cassie to make cause this massive change. Lydia just looks me in the eyes and nods then starts talking with the others about the homework Ms. Deja gave us for tonight. I walk over to her so I can ask about what happened in the clearing but the academy’s exterior PA system comes on and announces that we have ten minutes until class starts.

I stop walking and lift up my arm so I can read the next thing on my schedule, 10:00 A.M: SQUAD LEADER- LEADERSHIP TRAINING, SQUAD- WILDERNESS SURVIVAL, I put my arm down and look up to see everyone looking at me. Sighing, I say, “You all saw the schedule, go find out what berries are safe to snack on after a job well done. I’ll see you all in the mess hall. Lydia,” I add with a lingering look, “I expect a full report on the events in the clearing when we’re all back together.”

        She gives me a hesitant nod then turns away and jogs to catch up with the others.

        Shaking my head slowly, and fully knowing that whatever Lydia tells me won’t be the entire truth (if any of the actual truth at all), I turn and walk towards the wing of the academy that holds the meeting rooms where my personal instructor will be waiting for me. I hate being away from the others for any period of time but it’s important that I go to weekly lessons where I learn how to handle tricky situations with tough decisions and how to be the most qualified leader for my squad as possible.

I make my way to the room I’m always in and find a man I have never seen before waiting for me behind a small wooden table. The table has seven folders laid out on it along with a small computer monitor that has two small speakers on either side of it. He gestures for me to sit across from him in an empty, metal, foldout chair. The man seems to be in his mid-thirties, is wearing a grey suit, and has short black hair that’s starting to turn grey.

“Hello Mr. Porter.” The man says, “My name is Mr. Winters. I know you weren't expecting to see me here but today I have a rather special presentation and there’s something you and I need to discuss.” He sits back as I sit down and gives me a smile that’s about as warm as ice. “We’re here today,” he continues, “to discuss your squad and its members.”

The way this guy is talking about the squad and me is making me uncomfortable. His eyes study me but I have a feeling he isn't interested in anything I have to say. He looks and speaks about me as if I’m some machine that isn't working correctly.

“What about the squad needs discussing?” I ask.

“Well that’s the thing.” He replies with a knowing grin. “Just how much do you actually know about your squad members? Being together for as long as you have, you must know them fairly well.”

“Everything I need to know. We’re a family and we don’t keep secrets from each other.” I retort defensively.

“Is that so?” He replies slowly. “So they know everything about you as well? Your weaknesses? Your fears? Your doubts? No, I don’t imagine they do, but I do. You see, I know everything there is to know about you and your little ragtag group of ‘soldiers’. Let’s take a look at these files and find out just how little you know about them.”

I’m stunned by his words and don’t say anything as he picks up a file and opens it.

“Ah,” he says, “Lydia Grace Powell, female, age, 16, height, 5’ 5”. Ms. Powell was the sixth member to join your squad. She was admitted into the academy at age four and quickly developed a case of severe depression; a depression that remained for years until your squad recruited her. She is currently your squad expert in reconnaissance.”

He pauses and looks me in the eyes. “These are the facts you already know. What you don’t know is that Ms. Powell still reverts to her emotionally unstable state when alone. We have days’ worth of footage showing her breaking down into an emotional wreck while she hides in small crevices and other hidden spaces. Your group isn't the happy family you would like to believe it is.”

Mr. Winters sets Lydia’s file to the side and picks up another one. He clears his throat and starts aloud, “Robert Bishop Robins, male, age, 15, height, 5’ 9”. Mr. Robins was the first member to join your squad after you assisted him in an incident on the first night or your arrival at the academy. He is your squad’s current ordnance and weapons expert. He is also currently viewed as your most loyal supporter.” 

Winters glances up at me and I can tell he’s about to get into the more personal details involving Bishop. “Mr. Robins has also been caught hundreds of times on video leaving your dorm in the middle of night sneaking off to secluded space in the woods where he experiences fits of rage and uses his personal combat knife to inflict considerable damage on the surrounding vegetation and on humanoid dummy’s he makes from scratch. I wonder if there’s a dummy out there that looks a bit like you, or perhaps, one for every member of the squad. Regardless, is it really a great idea to trust someone with such violent tendencies to be in charge of explosives?”

Clearly enjoying the look of shock that is surely on my face, Winters sets Bishop’s file on top of Lydia’s and picks up the next. “Sarah Kelly Jackson,” He begins, “nice girl, you’re a lucky guy.” He adds with a devious smile. “I wonder what made her choose you out of all the boys around here. Maybe there’s something special about you? Maybe she just pities you. She might just hate to see you unwanted by every other girl and feels like it’s up to her to make the sacrifice. Just some food for thought.”

 He stops for a moment to let that sink in and starts reading again. “Age, 15, female, height, 5’ 6”. Ms. Jackson was the fourth member to join your squad and the first female. She was recruited after you found her crying in one of the more secluded sections of the academy and consoled her. She is currently your squad’s head tactician and most adept marksman.” He stopped speaking and I could feel my throat tightening in fear.

“What can he know about Sarah?” I ask myself desperately. “After all these years, what don’t I know about the one person who I thought I knew everything about?”

Winters seems to be able to sense my anxiety and his smile grows wider. “Did she ever tell you why she was really on that roof when you found her?” He asks. “Did you ever wonder why she was standing on that ledge? Did you even see the piece of paper she been holding in her hand?” His cold eyes glint evilly as he sees that the meaning of his words strike home. “She had just run from an explosives handling class. Her instructor had been telling her and the other students about how it was important that they learned how to set explosives efficiently so that they wouldn't leave any survivors. She started crying and screaming about how the instructor was a monster then fled the lesson. She went up to that roof to kill herself; to escape from everything. Just how well do you really know your girlfriend Mr. Porter?” Winters stops talking for a minute and sits back in his chair so he can watch me try to deal with what he’s just told me.

“She had realized that she was learning to do just what someone had done to her parents.” I realize. “She went up there because she didn't want to grow up to do that to anyone else. Why did she never tell me? No, of course she couldn't tell me. That kind of pain isn't something you can just explain to someone else.”

Letting out a breath I didn't know I had been holding, I set my face as well as I can and gesture for Winters to continue his presentation. He’s visibly disappointed that I didn't put on more of a show but sets aside Sarah’s file and picks up the next one.

“Drew Caleb Waits,” Winters continues in a bored voice, “age, 16, male, height, 5’ 7”. There’s nothing too special here. He was the third member to join and started following your group after you and Mr. Robins rescued him from a few other students trying to get his share of rations during a particularly arduous week of training. He is your squad’s current field medic. As you already know, Mr. Waits was physically battered when he arrived here at the academy. What you may not know is that not all of his injuries were sustained at his orphanage. Prior to becoming an orphan, Mr. Waits was the victim of a rather brutal experience at his original home. Our psychologists have concluded that his profound empathy is a result of these experiences and his wish that nobody else in the world needs to suffer ever again if he can be there to help. Sounds like just another bleeding heart kid thinking he can save the world.”

I can’t help but wonder why this man seems to loathe everyone in my squad with such a passion but it’s hard to think too hard because it’s taking all of my willpower not to strangle him right now. Who was this guy to talk about my friends and their lives as if they’re some annoying soap opera? If he can sense my anger, he doesn't give any sign of recognition as he opens the next file.

“Ah,” He says with a pleasantly surprised expression, “this will be much more interesting. Zachary David Byrd, age 15, male, height, 5’ 9”. Mr. Byrd was the second member to join your squad, however, despite extensive searching through surveillance records; we have been unable to find the event of contact that brought you two together. This is most unusual but irrelevant to the situation. He is your squad’s current lead electronics expert and engineer. Over the years he’s attended this academy he has tampered with academy property several dozen times which has irritated many of our technicians.”

 While he stops to read the next part of the file, I can’t help but savor the fact that despite all the terrible secrets this man is holding against me and my friends, they still don’t know how Zach and I met. One night in the first few months at Corbulo, Zach had been tampering with one of the security cameras and had been found by one of the groups of more thuggish students that prowled that grounds when it was dark and the instructors were away. When they saw what he was doing, they tried to scare him into helping them break into the academy guards’ weapons storage. After Zach refused, they started to close in, warn him about giving the wrong answer, and get ready to beat him until he changed his mind. I had been nearby in one of my thinking spots, overheard the exchange, and then dropped down onto two of them from above. In the confusion that ensued, Zach and I fought them off until they ran off in a panic.

After Zach finished his experiment with the camera, I invited him to come spend the night with Bishop and I since our dorm was closer than his. He spent that night with us, and the ones after that until we finally decided to make the arrangement permanent and bring him into our little world.

        Winters finishes reading the next part and gives me a particularly malicious look. “I don’t suppose you’re with Mr. Byrd when he’s accessing the computer mainframe are you?” He asks. “No? I didn't think so. It appears that over the years your friend has been trying to make contact with the outside world and find connections to his past life. It seems like not everyone is happy playing soldier and following you around step for step. I wonder if he would leave you all if he got the chance. Would he even look back?”

        This revelation strikes me about as deeply as the one about Sarah did. Why didn’t Zach tell me? I could have pulled some strings with some of the instructors and tried to get some news from the outside. Zach knows I would do anything for him if he asked. Why keep this a secret?

        Winters is clearly relishing the look of pain on my face and takes his time opening the next file. “Cassandra Rae Putman,” he begins in a dramatic drawl, “age 15, height 5’ 7. Your most recent addition to your squad. Ms. Putman’s early years at the academy were spent in the bulk dormitories with other students who never formed particular squads. After the incident in the burning forest exercise, she spent about eleven months in hospitalization and physical therapy. She adapted remarkably well to her new prosthetic leg but suffered from more…. personal effects. She has been documented several times and becomes unable to tell fact from fiction. During her hospitalization she often screamed out about you; sometimes speaking about you as her savior and other times as the one that caused her injury in the first place. Our analysts believe that this is directly related to the 'incident' in your class earlier today. Are you comfortable trusting someone who might praise you and then turn around and shoot you?"

        Everything that that information entails hits me all at once. "Is that why she went against me in the training room? Does she think that what happened to her in the forest was my fault? Why did they let her out of the infirmary without some sort of therapy? She's a danger to herself as well as everyone around her. During a live-fire exercise she could break down and get herself killed. The fact that they didn't even think about her mental well-being…. They just don't care. All they want is another soldier. It doesn't matter to them if we start to go crazy. We would just become a failed experiment and they would start all over again."

        Something must have shown on my face because Winters' sick grin grows wider as he picks up the final, and largest, file. "Now we finally come to you." He says with a sadistic smile. "Are you afraid of what might be in here? The things you thought you could keep hidden from everyone else, the flaws you thought wouldn't show through the attitude of confidence you try to cover everything with. Maybe there's some things in here you don't even know about yourself; or maybe you just can't admit them to yourself." His words have an almost joyful ring to them and it's obvious that this is the moment he's been waiting for. Winters is leaning forward in his chair and his eyes shine with an excitement not dissimilar to that of a small child on Christmas morning.

        "Well," He continues, "let's not waste any time." He opens the file and begins to read aloud. "Tristan Arronte Porter, age, 15, male, height, 5' 8". Founder of squad designation, 'Blue Team'. Blue Team's leader and close quarters combat expert. Exceeds expectations in majority of courses and mental examinations." He looks up at me with his wretched smile and I have to force myself to not attack him for drawing this out so much.

        "Here's where the fun begins," He states with a hushed tone as if he's some competition announcer. "In files that were acquired from your private instructor's personal computer, several psychological profiles and simulator results were discovered. These files described you as having: an above-expectations ability to lead as well as adapt to high pressure situations, an exceptional ability to absorb information from your surroundings and effectively improvise strategically, and an invaluable range of thinking for strategic decisions and planning out courses of action." He stops reading and looks me in the eyes. "These files make you sound like some sort of super soldier and war hero. Makes me wonder why these weren't sent up to administration to be included in your official record" he says with dramatic curiosity. Then his eyes light up with feigned surprise and he acts as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Perhaps," he suggests, "they weren't submitted because of the rest of the files' contents." He looks back down the file and continues reading.

        "Mr. Porter exceeds expectations in computer simulated missions in all situations until he loses a member of his squad. When a squad member is killed in action Mr. Porter's blood pressure become erratic and he goes into a frenzy; disregarding all mission directives and killing all hostiles in the area and then trying to revive his downed squad-mate(s) regardless of whether or not he succeeds.  It is recommended that he relinquishes command of his squad and a better suited replacement be found. After being questioned about his behavior in these simulations Mr. Porter adamantly replies that 'Unless I bring everyone home, the mission is a failure; to hell with mission directives.' "

        Winters looks up at me with a falsely sympathetic face. "You don't sound like quite the perfect soldier anymore, now do you?" His face slides back into its previous expression as he continues to read the file. "Simulations regarding insubordination and betrayal have had disappointing results. Mr. Porter refuses to execute another squad member even with his own life at stake. Subject consistently tries to reason with insubordinates and in some cases even begins pleading with them. Questioning about this has similar results and agree with previous theories. Mr. Porter seems largely dependent on the well-being of his squad to be able to be productive in any fashion. Analysts conclude that decommission is the best course of action."

        Setting down the file with the others, Winters looks up at me with a satisfied look on his face. "So Mr. Porter, that's the official data I have on you, but that's not all I know about you. You think you’re getting away when you go to your little hiding places but I have eyes everywhere. What kind of leader has to run away and hide? You’re a pathetic kid who goes off on his own because he can’t handle the real world."

         "I don't buy your whole 'devoted leader' act,” Winters continues, “I believe that you're much weaker than anyone everyone else. In fact, I believe that you need your squad much more than they need you. What would you do without them? If they decided to leave you, what would happen to you? What would be left of you?" He leans over the desk and points a finger in my face. "I think," he says, raising his voice, "that you need them so you can feel like you have a purpose. You would be nothing if you didn't have your pathetically damaged rejects that you decide to protect. You think they need YOU when they're the ones that are keeping YOU together. You're just another young punk trying to play hero."

        Then Winters leans farther over the desk and lowers his voice to a whisper. "And you know what?" he continues. "One day, they're all going to die and you're going to be all alone. When that day comes Mr. Porter," Now his whisper has turned into more of a snarl, "I will be there. You will remember this day and you will know that you are nothing. That day you will see this." He pulls a cigar out of his chest pocket and holds it up so I can see what's on it. There's a gold stamp that has a face on it, my face. It's my I.D photo with one alteration, there's a noose around my neck.

        Satisfied that I see the stamp and know what it means, he finishes his presentation with a single sentence. "The next time you see that," he says, "you will be broken and alone; and then you will die."

        I feel dizzy, everything has happened so fast. The weight of the things I've learned about my friends is pressing down on me and I feel like yelling. Then there's everything that Winters said about me. In my heart I know what he said about me only being important as long as I have my friends is true. I'm weak alone and, without my friends, what do I have to fight for?

        I banish the thought from my mind and look up at Winters. His face is inches from mine and he's wearing a grotesque smirk. My vision is tinged with red as I try to deal with my conflicting emotions. I struggle to identify each of them; anger, pain, fear, sadness, and a sense of hopelessness. My mind is a sea of confusion and I do the one thing that makes sense.

        I grab Winters' head in both hands and smash it through the table.

        Immediately the door into the room bursts open and three armed security guards flood in. Two grab me away from the table into a corner and train their weapons on me as the third drags Winters to his feet and out of the room. The other two back slowly out of the room and shut the door. Suddenly I'm alone. The world has gone crazy and everything I thought I knew is now wrong. I bring my knees up to my chin and start to cry.