2089: Love in the Time of War (Part 1 of 3)

In 2089 the world was in the middle of the third world war. In the preceding decades the global population had swollen to an unimaginable 10 billion souls. And souls had to eat.

For years the U.N. had tried to coordinate the efforts of many countries to attempt to alleviate some of the famine, but any success was quickly followed by more failure. Eventually the strain on the commodities markets acted as the catalyst for the domino effect that collapsed the world economy. Then no one ate.

China had the densest population on the planet, this was common knowledge. It stood to reason, thought many, that they were to be blamed above the rest. The raving masses demanded retribution. It wasn't until rumors began to circulate that the Chinese were developing a super-weapon that things began to escalate.

Many armies attacked and the only option left to the Chinese was to use their super-weapon. It was devastating. They destroyed their enemies and themselves in the process. Most of the continent was uninhabitable from that point on. Tremors rocked the world, the aftershocks lasted for days. As a result there were many 'natural' disasters: floods, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions; all contributed to the problems.

Then, the world turned to the country that was always there in times of need, whenever something horrible happened it was there to lend a hand. The U.S. The United States hadn't the resources to help anyone at this point. Thousands of government run agricultural projects were underway, taking advantage of the vast unused landscape of the country, but none would yield anything for several months.

Envious of our soon-to-be crops and angry at the lack of assistance, many nations declared war and sent armies. The American military was put to the test. Over time other wars broke out between other countries and within three years the instruments of modern warfare were all used up. Tanks, planes, and ships had all been used and destroyed by someone else. The more high-tech side of war went extinct; infantry was the only martial avenue left. Men and boys everywhere were conscripted into the infantry. Among these teens Cody Baker, 13, was taken. His family had died in a raid two years before and he was left alone. Codyʼs reason for living, for fighting, was a spunky young girl of the same age. This girl and her aunt took him in and they sheltered him until he was conscripted.

In the infantry Codyʼs head was shaved and he was rushed through a boot camp that could have easily killed him; and did many. He didnʼt understand why the military wanted to kill off the weaklings when there were so few soldiers to begin with. But he survived, his will to live was too strong. Strengthened by one simple thought: Sonya. The young woman heʼd left behind. He loved her with a passion paralleled by few even in these desperate times when people werenʼt afraid to love; people were afraid of so much else that they had no fear left to spare on such insecurities. In the infantry he fought, killed, slept in the mud or not at all, ate whatever he could find and sewed up his own wounds. He hated it, every damn minute of it. If Sonya werenʼt alive Iʼd end it all in an instant with my own gun, he thought. He lived for her.

One day he was transferred to his home state in the U.S. The entire southwest, where he used to live, had been completely overrun by hostile forces. His platoonʼs job was to weaken those forces in that area in hopes that the land may be recovered. All that hope was destroyed when an aircraft, a legend of bygone years, flew overhead and rained bombs down on the whole area. His entire platoon was wiped out.

His best friend for the past four years, Daniel, lay in the mud on the side of the trail propped up against a tree that was charred and broken in half. Cody crawled, still shell-shocked, to see if his fears were true. He grabbed Danielʼs ankle and gave it a shake; nothing. Cody stood to get a better look at him. It was obvious from Danielʼs wounds that heʼd died instantly. God still has some mercy, Cody thought. Cody removed Danielʼs dog-tags and stowed them in his pack; there was no family waiting to receive them.

Cody had met Daniel on his first day of basic training. They were the same age and the only two in their group who didnʼt have to shave. It was difficult for the drill instructor to tell them apart at first; same height, same build, same innocence and naiveté, same hair. It wasnʼt long before their individual talents and weaknesses could be used to differentiate the two; and in the following years Codyʼs hair went blonde naturally.

Cody was the fighter and the good soldier. He put on muscle fast, could handle sleep deprivation and remained quite calm under pressure with loud explosions around him. Daniel was thinner, weaker and wore glasses; his nearsightedness wasnʼt diagnosed until a month of poor target practice had gone by.

Daniel was special, he spoke often of truth, and courage and honor and how he hated himself for not possessing these things as readily as he would have liked. Cody didnʼt think so much, he just reacted and lived from moment to moment in the beginning. Cody dragged Daniel through basic training. On more than one occasion Cody had to pull a weeping Daniel out of a pit and force him or carry him to the end of the exercise. Cody was the strength in the field.

When they left basic for the war they went across the Atlantic to fight. As Cody had grown in mind and depth a sense of dread and sorrow had begun to creep inside him and grow. Daniel was the antidote. When he spoke of honor and hope and how good always prevailed over evil eventually it put Codyʼs heart at ease for a time. Daniel was the strength in the cold dark hours when grave thoughts of hopelessness and fear would wreak havoc on menʼs souls. Danielʼs father had been a literature professor at a university that no longer stood. He often spoke of Shakespeare; Cody had heard Daniel whispering to himself many times before charging an enemy, “Once more into the breach dear friends.” It was one of Danielʼs totems of strength, the words of those authors that he held in such high regard. Daniel was like the chaplain of the platoon though he was not concerned with a particular faith. Men three times his age would come to him seeking a modicum of peace just so they could sleep.

Cody and Daniel were a team that took turns taking care of each other and had decided that when the war was over they would build a home in the mountains far away from any evidence of war and, with Sonya by Codyʼs side, be content with that.

For the first time Cody felt the darkness surge with strength in his belly. Cody had learned to feel death; or life. He could look over a battlefield and guess how many survivors were waiting in it—usually he was off only by one or two. He felt no life near him now. Cody placed his hand on Danielʼs head as a sign of admiration that he felt was important to perform. He thought of their life together and wondered what Daniel would say to comfort him now if he were here. Cody looked around without hope to find Danielʼs ghost. Cody felt the warm abating from Danielʼs body and suddenly felt the gesture was pointless and hollow. This wasnʼt Daniel anymore, he was a casualty, nothing more. He thought, thereʼs no reason to pay homage to an empty shell.

Daniel would say that mourning is the function of the mourner. He closed his eyes and hoped that Danielʼs spirit, if it were there, could sense his feelings. Cody withdrew his hand and started walking.

He didnʼt know how he would get back to HQ by himself but he had to go on. As he walked through the wind and the pouring rain he began to recognize certain landmarks, and then he knew exactly where he was. About 15 miles from his old home, with Sonya. He thought for a moment; he had to know. He abandoned his route and took off at a run, the pace only capable by trained infantry. He wandered for a moment when he knew he was close. Heʼd been in the infantry for 4 years and couldnʼt quiet remember... And there it was, at the end of the row near the wash. He ran towards it. His next sight made his blood go cold. The house was crushed and burned; a mortar. The one thing heʼd been fighting for this whole time was dead and gone. He had no more purpose and no desire to fight over ruins any longer. He was tired of death, pain and suffering. How could we have fallen so far? It was time to check out.

The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood up, telling him someone was close. It was another sensitivity he had developed in the infantry, the ability to know someone was there even before they did. He heard a slushy footstep in the mud telling him the target was exactly forty feet directly to his 6 oʼclock. He didnʼt move. If this were any other circumstance the target would be dead already, but he had no reason to live; why should he care. But, before ending his own life, he decided, he would kill one more of them. Make at least one oʼ those bastards pay for what they did; for taking his Sonya. So in a flash he grabbed up his rifle, rolled to the side and aimed at the silhouetted figure from a crouched position. Something inside him made him hesitate— something that had been literally beaten out of him in basic training. There stood a person with long dark hair, gentle fragile hands, a torn gown and deep, brown, tear filled eyes. The rain falling on both of them was the only sound, it separated both of them from each other, and each of them from the rest of the world. Neither of them moved. As Cody studied her more closely he saw that her skin was a pail tan tone that seamed to glow in the gray drear of the day. He looked up from his gunsight to confirm his thought.

“So-ss-son....” he could barely speak past the lump in his throat. But then out of the silence came the name...

“Cody?” the figure spoke. A sweet beautiful voice that spoke every vowel and consonant with hope.

“SONYA!” Cody croaked at last. The rifle hit the ground and sank into the mud. The figures ran to each othersʼ embrace. Their hearts beating fast and their spirits lifting. They pressed their lips together.

“I was beginning to think I would never see you again,” she cried.

“I thought you were dead when I saw the house and...” Cody was saying when she silenced him with another kiss. They held each other in the rain for what seamed like years but was only minutes. Finally she took his hand and led him away into the mist.