Not in the Military, Son
By E.S. Wynn


This arm? You’d never guess it, but - -

Yeah, the war. I was a chain-AEtherist, had the whole Mortis Cultes how-to and troubleshooting ritual checklist manuals memorized, could tell you the expected yield of an AEOM within half an odom just by looking at the size-to-throughput ratings stamped on the side- - and that’s no easy feat, let me tell you!

You ever seen an AEOM when its charged and active? No? Well what the hell are they teaching you in school?

We had these things, these crystal things about this big, laced inside with chromium and blessed by one of those big hyperborean shaman types. They used to make us carry them around in the field in case we couldn’t find a hot spot or Charlie plugged the dirt with one of those dead wards they used to use as a prelude to an ambush. You ever seen someone lay a dead ward? Ever feel the way it vibrates through the ground, makes your whole body feel kinda numb and jelly– what?

Oh right. You want to hear about the arm.

So there I was, in the middle of a firefight, ears bleedin’ from the sound of the big fifties just going off, cutting Charlie right out of the trees, taking them down right and left, and I hear Eagle squadron ghost in from above, yell something into the radio about orangin’ this stand of bamboo. My god, you never seen so many grown men run so damn fast in your life. But then I caught that damn bullet right about here in my arm and- -

What?

Listen, you want to hear about the arm or not?

So as I was saying, there I am, air crackling from the fly of AEther slingers just going off, cutting Charlie right out of the trees, taking them down right and left, and I hear Eagle squadron ghost in from above, yell something into the radio about burnin’ this stand of bamboo with one of those nasty pranic bombs. My gods, you never seen so many grown men run so damn fast in your life. But then I caught that damn spike of odic force right about here in my arm and. . .

You listening? Kids these days.

So I catch this damn rail-bolt right about here in my arm, and another about here in my shoulder, and I’m down, spread out on that trampled ground, the popping of rod-pumpers all around me, dropping my buddies right and left. I was just about as terrified as I ever been, but I pulled through it, dragged myself on hands and knees, bleeding, over about thirty miles of that damn thick, Vietnamese desert sand. I don’t know how Charlie can stand to live in such a dry place, but he does and he does pretty well- -

Would you stop interrupting me? I’m the one telling the story. You want to hear- - See this arm? I lost this for you. I lost it so you could be free and so you could sit here and listen to my stories about it, and what do I get? A lot of crap, that’s what. Didn’t your momma ever tell you to respect your elders? She should have. Damn kids.

So it was a proton burst, cut right into the muscle. That’s why they had to cut it– too much proton burn on the tissue, too much time in the snow, too much time for the AEtheric infection to set in and start rotting things on the inside. Doc was good– cut the arm before the bite could go all the way to my heart, start doing that brain-atrophy thing they say happens as you turn into one of those zombie things. They offered me one of them clockwork prosthetics with the crystal projector that’s supposed to be as accurate as any M16A1, but I told the doc that the urges which go with the vampirism were enough to deal with. If I was going to beat my nicotine addiction, I was gonna need to do it cold turkey, totally without the OX-M patches they stick to your back to get the Orange out of your spinal fluid. Can’t be running around with surgical leeches just hanging off you like a parade of pagan icons. Not in the military, son.


- - -
E.S. Wynn isn't afraid of the dark. The dark is afraid of him.