August 17th, 2070

A little squad in the Army struck gold and discovered how to beat this damn war. Well I don’t know what’s taking so long to end it, but I guess we just got to trust the top brass to do what they got to do instead of jerking themselves off.

That squad went from some no name group of soldiers to legends, yeah even here in the corps. They called themselves the Dead Man Division. Real cool name if you ask this lowly marine.

Private Woods sat high in the stands of Fenway Park, far away from any other marine and civilian. That's just how he liked it. Away from the chatter and the chaos of the Helix War, just alone in his thoughts. Not so much to stew in, perhaps just to simmer.

“Woods, there you are. Have you shaved that damn beard yet?”

Lance Corporal Tomlinson. As high speed as a noncon was going to get. Always on my ass to get me straightened up. I guess he didn’t know the world had gone to shit and the last thing on my mind was to keep regulation. I don’t blame him for his uptight ways. He was a good guy trying to cling onto order and sanity of the ways of his beloved corps. Me? I just wanted to live another day.

Woods scratched his scruffy, dark beard. “No Corporal. My razor is dull and the PX hasn’t been restocked since last month.

That was a lie. Not that PX hadn’t been resupplied, but my razor was sharp enough to slit open my throat. I was never shaving my beard.

Tomlinson handed Woods a small plastic razor. “That’s fine, I brought you mine. Captain Diaz wants you shaved by chow time. If she sees you without a clean face she’s going to smoke you and I until next winter. It would behoove you to freshen up.”

Woods pursed his lips as he took the razor. He rubbed his beard, perhaps for the last time. “You expect me to dry-shave?”

“Nope.” Tomlinson tossed the unruly soldier a bottle of water.

The bottle was freezing in the Boston Winter air.

“Dude.”

Tomlinson gave Woods a smug smile.

Woods screwed open the cap and continued to complain, “It’s got to be ten degrees out, you can’t be freakin’ serious!”

Tomlinson gave a cruel chuckle. “You should have thought of that before going Grizzly Adams under Captain Diaz’s leadership.” Tomlinson turned and started the long walk back down to the baseball field where his unit made their base of operations. “No beard by chow time, Private! That’s an order.”

***

Boston Massachusetts served as the largest stronghold of the Northeast. Washington D.C. was long abandoned at the start of the war and New York City fell three years later. Go figure that Beantown, with the hardest headed people in New England, would be the Americans that gave the biggest fight.

Now, I’m New England born and raised, but I’m from some hick town in Connecticut. Smack dab between Waterbury and Southington. You’d think I’d be thrilled to be stationed at the great Fenway Park, where the Sox used to play, but to tell you the truth I rooted for the Yankees. Yeah I know, turn in my New Englander card, yada, yada. You got to understand, once Connecticut lost the Whalers, the state wasn’t the same, we had to ride on the coattails of all the Mass teams. It just kinda sucked.

A newly shaven, defeated Woods shuffled with a tray full of food to the table where his squad mates sat. Tomlinson waved him down to an open seat. Captain Diaz stuck a spoon at him and smiled. Spinach covered her teeth, which made Woods try to hide his smooth face even more.

“Let me see that jawline, Private Woods,” Diaz said.

Woods sulked as he showed off face.

“Smooth as a baby’s ass!” hooted Gunnery Sergeant Burns.

If Tomlinson is Luke Skywalker, I’d say Gunny would be his Yoda, just not as wise. Definitely as old. Gunny has to be pushing sixty and he’s still carrying his weapon into battle every day. The man is a beast. I heard he was trained as a sniper-delta force ninja early in his career, but decided to take it slower and joined up with our platoon.

“Good, good.” nodded Diaz. She looked around the commissary. “Where is Kekipi?”

Woods looked behind him and spotted the medic filling his cup with sweet tea before taking his seat across from Burns.

“Glad you can join us, Sergeant,” said Diaz, “Now, let’s get started.”

Her squad put down their dinner rolls and forks to listen to what their leader had to say.

“A storm is coming in and we’ve been selected to patrol Sector Bravo.”

“The Helix have been so quiet, Captain, why do they need us to patrol before a blizzard?” asked Tomlinson.

“Probably to look for any folks that are coming into Boston for help,” suggested Kekipi.

“Correct, Doc,” confirmed Diaz. “This storm could bring in two to three feet of snow and any stranded civilian will fall victim to frostbite or some stray Helix.”

“I’ll make sure I am well supplied before we move out, Captain,” Kekipi said.

“That’s what I want to hear, Doc.” Diaz looked at Woods. “See, Woods, a little initiative is appreciated in my squad.”

Woods would have liked to give Diaz the nastiest look he could muster, but instead he just smiled and nodded. “Noted, Cap.”

Diaz rubbed her hands together. “This will be a perfect chance to prove that we Marines are the real Dead Man Division.”

Woods groaned under his breath.

The Captain has an unhealthy obsession with the Dead Man Division. The idea that the Army became famous and claimed such a badass nickname made a lot of Marines jealous, sure, but Diaz is taking it to a whole nother level. ‘We’re taking the Dead Man Division title back’ Oorah and all that macho bullshit that we Marines are known for. It’s really cringy.

“I don’t want to hear it, Woods,” scolded Diaz. “We’re the god damn Marine Corps. It’s in our blood! It’s in our history! First boots on the front lines. We are the spear and sword of this military and who grabs the name first? The 10th Mountain Division of the fucking Army!”

Gunny flashed a smile and Tomlinson nodded in agreement.

“I for one won’t take it,” continued Diaz. “And neither is any man underneath me. We will be the Dead Man Division, and no one will stop us from achieving that!”

“Oorah, damn straight, Captain!” shouted Burns.

Woods rolled his eyes. He looked at Kekipi who stayed silent.

Doc is a reasonable one. Very level headed under pressure and doesn’t get riled up by Diaz’s hype. I heard his great-great-great grandpa was some kind of local Hawaiian legend. He was stationed in Pearl Harbor during World War 2, but he fell in love with this Hawaiian native. Like they wanted to get married and have kids. Kekipi’s grandpa was a Marine and was about to be shipped to the Pacific theater. So what did he do? The guy freakin’ jumped off the ship and swam back to Hawaii to marry that girl of his. So the natives called him ‘Kekipi’. It’s supposed to mean ‘rebel’ or something.

That guy was a badass. I think my grandpa owned a radio shack.