August 12th, 2070

Day 3 with the Dead Man Division

August 12th? Is it Wednesday? Every day feels the same these days. I know we are passing through what used to be Illinois. Perhaps we are close to Chicago. What’s left of Chicago. It’s hard to believe that it has been a full year since the fall of the United States to the Helix. Fifteen years we fought those damn abominations. People still wonder where they came from. They appeared from nowhere and don’t seem to have too much of a motive but to eradicate us.

I’ve decided to start this journal today. As a scientist I feel obligated to record everything I witness for the next few months. Besides record my findings, but my experience with this squad. The 10th Mountain Division, these days they are lovingly coined “The Dead Man Division”.

A horrible nickname, I know.

I have no choice but to blame my assignment. I am Doctor Miranda Chavez, a Xenobiologist. That’s a fancy word to say that I study aliens, the Helix more specifically. We haven’t learned much from fighting them for the last decade and a half. We know they act more like parasites. They attach themselves to their hosts to transform their very DNA. Mutating them into a mindless creature that explodes when killed, spreading spores to their next victims. Frightening.

So now I’ve been embedded into this unit to bring them to No Man’s Land in order to study the Helix.

“Hey Doctor Fraggle! You awake over there?”

Miranda rolled her eyes. She ignored the question and continued to concentrate on her journal.

“Doctor Fraggle.” As in ‘Fragglerock’. Some 1980’s kids show. Lo and behold nearly a hundred years later and the 80’s still plague our pop culture. What’s left of our culture anyways.

“Hey Doc! Did you want some breakfast?”

Private Collins. As annoying as he could be, he was one of the sweeter soldiers in our little skeleton crew.

“Im fine, Collins. I still have a granola bar in my pocket,” said Miranda. She patted her breast pocket. “Besides, I don’t think I can muster the fortitude to stomach another morning of Veggie Omelet MRE’s.”

Collins shrugged his soldier, tearing open the packet.

The squad of soldiers leaned against their scouting vehicles; modified two person cars with telescoping, tilting wheels. Perfect for making their way through the rubble of past battles.

“Eat up, we move out in thirty!” ordered Sergeant Marks. The broad man’s stern voice rattled Miranda’s body, as if she was the sole target for the command.

Sergeant Marks has always had a thing for scientists. I don’t mean an attraction, but an enmity for us. I’m no psychologist, but I think he looks down upon us because we bring nothing to his table. Where as I have my expertise in his enemy, the very thought that I don’t carry a machismo weapon and ‘Rambo’ swagger, makes him cringe in his boots. It seems Collins has already rubbed off on me.

“If I could get my hands on a couple eggs, some fresh vegetables, and maybe a dash of salt, then I could make a real veggie omelet to write home about,” Flores grumbled. He popped open the tiny Tabasco sauce that came with the MRE packet and slathered his tasteless meal with it.

Private Flores used to be a cook before volunteering for this MOS. Lord knows why. The others respect him for decision to a degree, but think maybe he was better off being a “POG cook”. I don’t understand the animosity that my boys have against those that did not choose the combat profession. Then again, there are many things I don’t understand about military life.

“Don’t you dare bring those Charms into our Smoke!” shouted Ito as she ripped a package of candy away from Flores.

Like how bringing candy into a vehicle is bad luck…

“Settle down Corporal,” scolded Marks, between mouthfuls of granola. He washed down the snack with gulp of bitter coffee before checking his watch. “Break’s over. Get them situated, Ito.”

Ito nodded. She slapped her hands together and ushered the privates into their Scouting Mechanized Carriers. “Into your Smokes, boys and girls! Let’s get this show on the road!”

“Transform and roll out!” joked Collins. He quickly ducked into his seat as Ito glared at him.

Nobody gets Collin’s humor, especially not Ito. She is one of those soldiers hoping to make officer by taking the toughest most dangerous assignments. I have to admire her tenacity, she’s got guts.

Miranda strapped her seat belt harness over her shoulder. Settling in comfortably behind Collins. The SMC’s were only large enough for two seats. A driver and a passenger. Miranda had the pleasure of riding along with Collins. Ito with Flores, and Marks with Spears.

Oh, Spears. Do you know those war movies where there is a poetic soldier spouting profound observations about war? That’s Private Spears. He keeps to himself most of the time. Always choosing to sit alone in his solace and silence. The others call him Socrates. I don’t think they can appreciate the beauty that Spears brings to their world. Then again, is there much room for beauty?