Siren Song

Questions

The helicopter was stationary and the crew members were meandering about the hull. Twenty-four soldiers not including Sergeants Courin and Shank were trying to wake up and find their bearings. Crew members attempted to bring us up to speed, some more aptly than others.

"...mountains."

"Cold. Yes, very. Suit up properly."

"Yes. 2015. Yes, you do have a mission. Yes, right this minute."

"No, this is far from Heaven. Get moving."

"Bitch!"

Cameron was awake.

"Dude, let's go," he groaned impatiently for me to even get up. Dragging myself out of the harness and stretching was the most difficult. Applying over 120 pounds of gear was second-nature. Leaving the helicopter and breaking snow eight minutes later was just a bonus. Six of the eight minutes were simply devoted to psyching myself up for the coming weeks of the inevitable frigidness of a mountain lifestyle.

Our team leader headed our pack for the trek to where we could set up shop. Cameron was all too eager and invigorated by the exercise. Uneasiness and suspicion of the setting left me wary. We could not be alone and yet the former regiment was not what anticipated us.

The climb went on for nearly three hours and proved I was no stranger to reminiscing. I was truly grateful that there was no feeling of leaving anyone behind at home. Foster care that never finds you a permanent family takes care of nostalgia. Ani was still like a sister in my heart, but she didn't really like to see me anymore; all soldiers look alike, apparently. And what chance I once possessed to marry and settle down disappeared when Janie, that lovely girl, lost her father to cancer and her mother to grief. A mental break down and every anti-depressant known to pharmacy to prevent another suicide attempt ended out brief future.

Why do I still miss you, Janie? You crumbled when I needed you to endure.

I remember doing well in school. And I remember having no idea how college would help me protect people I would never meet but still longed to care for. The day I enlisted felt like the first day I ever saw someone look back at me in a mirror. I like what I do, and they like me here, too, I think.

God knows I hate the cold, and clearly does not care because it's still cold.

Caroline Schmidt still writes to me every week, and I still reply so she can sleep at night knowing I'm still alive. She was a lovely woman, albeit uptight, who always dreamed of being a mother but was infertile and deemed unfit to even foster due to bipolar behaviors. She used to visit the orphanage with her husband, Andrew, who loved her very much. They liked me, and I liked them, and Sister Sarah would frequently permit me to go on outings with them to bring about a little happiness in both parties. I should write more, but for some reason I can't muster up too much detail to fill out a piece of paper. I should write more just to give her a person of more substantial depth to remember once I'm gone.

Andrew Schmidt does not write. Caroline sends his love and "how's-it-goings" via her own letters. She's in denial but he knows I'm not immortal. He chose to start his mourning period early in hopes that he might forget me sooner. I respect him for his strength. At least this way he might be useful to his wife by the time I do get shipped home in a box.

And that's okay, Andrew. Thank you.

The mountain air was thin but our training included extended time periods in low-oxygen environments. Plus the oxygen tanks we carried now provided for us for the time being. Our team leader gave us the signal to say we had nearly arrived. I scanned the snow-scape carefully until I saw the black door of the bunker and research facility. We made a hundred-meter dash to the finish. I could barely feel my toes anymore.