The n00b Warriors (12 page)

I do not support these groups. Though their ideals may represent my own, their means to get them are neither just nor American. But they are not going away—they will play a role in America’s future until the government backs away from the corruption that they have recently embraced or are defeated by the militia groups that grow more powerful with each arrogant decision that the government makes

Tags: American Values Militia Group, corruption, militia attacks

Level 6

Becoming Official

Dylan felt water being squirted on his face and tried to use his hands to wipe it away, but they were tied down. He struggled to free them for a second, keeping his eyes shut against the water, and then heard giggling followed by Tommy’s high-pitched voice. “Relax! It’s just water.”

He felt a rag wipe off the water, and he opened his eyes and saw Tommy standing over him holding a larger water gun. “Good morning, sleeping beauty!”

Dylan slowly looked around the room. He could see rows of beds and nurses in white outfits. The ceiling was fabric, and he realized he was in a tent. He felt a warm hand rub his own, and he looked to his right and saw Trinity standing next to his bed. “Is this the hospital?” he asked.

“Yep,” Tommy said.

“The mortar knocked you backwards, and you hit the back of your head pretty hard,” Trinity explained. She gave Tommy a dirty look. “He let two guards cut out early so they could play video games with him, and two Cocos got into the area—that’s who was shooting at us.”

“Happens all the time,” Tommy said breezily. “And it’s just a small bruise
—
no big deal. Nurse gave you something to sleep—you’ve been out since yesterday.” He paused and looked towards the exit. “Which means you’ve had all the rest you need, so come on and get up.”

“He’s still weak,” Trinity objected.

“He’s fine—I’ve seen guys missing limbs running—or actually hopping—marathons out here. I’m getting chow. I’ll meet you out front in twenty minutes.”

 “I told you to stay down,” Trinity scolded Dylan after Tommy left.

“Did anyone else get hurt?”

Trinity nodded.

“Where’s Hunter?” Dylan asked, hoping he wasn’t among the wounded.

Trinity started to answer, but then Dylan saw Hunter walking up behind her with a plate of food. “I got you something to eat.”

Dylan started to sit up, but was dizzy and quickly fell back down.

“Don’t get up,” said Trinity, “you’re too weak.”

“I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?”

Trinity bit her lip. “We have to get out of here, Dylan—Tommy is insane. Do you know what we spent the past day doing? Videogame tag—it’s Tommy’s own invention. The way it works is you run and hide, and when Tommy finds you, you’re supposed to shout out a video game, and then that keeps you safe from being it—only Tommy still tackles you to the ground.”

“He made us play it literally all day long!” Hunter added. “And he wouldn’t give us water—I threw up twice.”

“Everyone says he’s insane, and that he always sends people to the most dangerous places—one person told us that more people have died under him than anyone else. But they’re too busy in Seattle to do anything about it.” She paused and added quietly, “If Seattle doesn’t kill us, Tommy will—some of the new recruits were talking, and they think there’s a way to escape.”

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Trinity and Hunter helped Dylan out of the hospital to the golf course, where Tommy was already waiting. Dylan supported himself against a tree and watched Tommy march back and forth in front of a small group of kids, explaining his theories on life and war.

The golf course’s once-green lawn was dark brown and full of weeds. Sleeping bags were scattered everywhere, and placards on sticks identified the companies that currently resided in the course.

The placard next to Tommy said “Company 103227D”—the name of Dylan’s company. They were located on the putting surface of the ninth hole. Most of the people standing on the putting green were unfamiliar to Dylan; they were the new recruits he had been promised before coming to Seattle. He had come to Washington with six other kids; his company now had 15. Tommy promised it would be up to 20 before they saw any action.

Dylan’s head began to throb, and he did his best to listen as Tommy gave a biography of his short life.

Tommy had been born into the war. Tommy’s parents were both Company B soldiers, and his mom had given birth on the front lines. She was allowed two weeks’ leave to be with Tommy, but she only took three days. On the third day, she sent Tommy to Los Angeles to live with his aunt.

A group of Coco Puffs had raided Tommy’s aunt’s home when he was 12. As large Cocos with large guns forced Tommy’s aunt, his nine cousins, and even his little black dog (Peanut was his name) out of the house and into yellow slave relocation buses, Tommy hid in the entry coat closet with a sheet over his head.

Three days later, a Coco Puff family and their infant daughter moved into Tommy’s home. During the night, while Coco Puffs slept in his aunt’s bed, Tommy sneaked into the kitchen and ate a banana and three slices of baloney lunchmeat. Then Tommy took his little league bat and went upstairs. First Tommy took two swings at the father’s head. When he didn’t move anymore, Tommy took a swing at the mother’s head (she had been screaming since the first swing Tommy had taken at the father)—“It only took one swing to shut her up,” so Tommy said with a smile.

Tommy left the infant sleeping in the corner because it reminded him of his baby cousin, and then went to the room that used to be his own. Tommy took his PSP and several games and fled the house.

It wasn’t long before Tommy found a group of escaped Frosted Flake POW’s who were planning an attack on the Coco Puffs. Tommy lied about his age, joined up with them, and fought and survived in one of the greatest Frosted Flake battles ever.

Tommy ended the speech with, “I, ladies and gentlemen, am a legend.” Dylan smirked.

Tommy stood straighter and pointed at the three stripes on his shoulder, “These three stripes I received because I have no compassion for Coco Puffs. They indicate that I am not afraid to kill, and in fact, I have come to enjoy it. If you don’t learn to take pleasure in your kill, you will die. You’re in the bloodiest battlefield in America. I expect that I will die here, and all of you should make peace of your own at the thought of never coming out of this hellish front alive.” Tommy looked at Trinity and winked, then continued, “Now—let’s get down to business. If everyone would direct their attention to the guy leaning up against the tree like he’s about to pass out—that’s…” He paused and pulled out a small piece of paper from his back pocket and read out, “Dylan, your new team leader. He may not look like much, but he’s willing to take a mortar for his company, which counts for something.

“Tomorrow, four of you will get to try out for the role of legend.” Tommy pointed at the mountains in the distance. “Just east of here, a group of Cocos are rumored to be held up in a cabin, and they have been hitting our supply trucks—intel suggests that they have an original Nintendo game console. Find the cabin, take out the Cocos, and the four of you and your team leader will get to play for the entire day.” Tommy looked at a young kid that Dylan had yet to hear actually speak. The boy quickly looked down to avoid eye contact. “What’s your name?”

“Paul, sir.”

“I got a mission to discuss with Dylan—take the company and run laps. To and from the company headquarters, ten times.”

Paul reluctantly nodded and led the rest of the company in a slow jog.

Dylan quickly looked down as Tommy approached, and Tommy gave him a slap on the back that nearly knocked him over, joyfully explaining, “I like you—I think you’ll do just fine out here.” He looked to a small pond behind Dylan and said, “Walk with me.”

Tommy set a quick pace while Dylan slowly followed. He was still nauseated from whatever the nurse had given him. He was finding it easier to stand, but the throbbing of his head made every step hurt.

 “It’s simple, really,” Tommy said. “Our intel suggests a cabin twenty miles east of here. I’ll have a supply truck get you within five miles, and you’ll have to hike in the rest.”

“Do they have a lot of weapons?”

“Not really. The men are armed, but only with their rifles. We believe there are only three, five at the most.”

Dylan nodded.

“And you’ll be armed with superior firepower.” Tommy paused at the shallow creek and watched the current. “You ever used an RPG?”

“No, sir.” All of Dylan’s games featured characters with rocket-propelled grenades, but he had never been good at firing them even in the games.

“I’ll have someone show you and your men how when you get back. It’s a simple little device.” Tommy sat on a rock and removed his shoes and socks. He dangled his feet in the pond and asked, “You ever been fishing?”

“No, sir.”

“We’ll have to do that sometime. It’s a relaxing sport.” He looked up at Dylan. “Don’t just stand there. Put your feet in. It’s not every day you get to do something as childlike as dangling your toes in the water—take advantage of it.”

Dylan did as he was ordered, but jumped back at the water’s icy temperature.

Tommy laughed. “It is a little cold, huh?”

Dylan nodded.

“You get used to that sort of stuff the more you fight. Cold, rain, snow—none of it will faze you. Not when you’re a true soldier.” Tommy sighed dramatically. He asked, “What are you like outside of war?”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“What do you do?”

“I don’t know. Play games, watch movies—that kind of stuff.”

Tommy nodded. “That’s what I like about you. You’re not one of these kids who come in all cocky-like. You play games.” He splashed Dylan in the face with the frigid water and reflected, “We’re kids in a man’s war. You’re going to die here like everyone else one day
—
but if you want to live as long as possible, just fight like everyone else.”

“How’s that, sir?”

“Don’t think.” Tommy laid back, looking into the sky. “How would you like to go home and live? If I told you how, would you want to know?”

Dylan nodded.

“Three years ago, a group of Cocos managed to get into a general’s office and steal his Wii. Supposedly, it was the last Wii left in all Seattle, and it was colored gold. About a week went by and, as you can imagine, the general was angry—he kept sending men on these insanely dangerous missions, hoping that they’d come back with his beloved Wii.

“None of the men would ever come back from these missions. Then one day, five of them did—and every soldier had a photograph of the Golden Wii glued to his forehead. The Cocos had glued the pictures to their foreheads and then sent them back to tell the rebels it would never be theirs again. Legend has it the general cried so loudly that you could hear it for miles away. The next morning, he sent out a memo saying that any soldier who successfully retrieved his Golden Wii would be immediately sent home and never have to fight again.”

“Is it true?”

Tommy shrugged, “Happened long before me. I guess it could be. It’s the stuff of legends now. If that general is still around, I don’t know who he is. But I’ll tell you what, Dylan—you find that Golden Wii, I guarantee you’ll be sent home.”

“So you believe it?”

“Every legend has roots in the truth, right?” He paused, then continued. “This place is mad. Everyone’s insane. If you don’t believe in the Golden Wii, find something else to believe in—it’s the only thing that’ll keep you from becoming like everyone else.” Tommy stood and put his shoes back on. “Just something to think about.”

Dylan decided to play devil’s advocate. “So if the story were true, but the general’s not around anymore, why would we be sent home?”

“Because a general’s word lasts forever.”

As Tommy started to leave, Dylan asked, “What if I don’t want to do it?”

“What?”