Operation Phoenix

Our skies are mostly clear but there’s a storm among us. Our homes, our families, and our friends are being taken by the ricochet of bullets, bombs, and other weapons of mass destruction- all of which have been overlooked by empty promises made for peace. We were once a prosperous nation now held hostage by cowards. Our freedom is what we want, and what I want too. My actions tell another story. My hands pull the trigger. I’m a vessel, a gear in the machine, which does the storm’s bidding.

I’m a military recruit, or a ‘cub’. At sixteen, men have a choice- be a soldier or a weapons manufacturer (if you fail the exams and physical). As for women, you might be a soldier with nightly threats of assault. You could be a maid who cleans the houses of the Elite, with promises of high salary but also a lot of sexual harassment. If you're lucky, you might be a trophy wife hand-picked by the wealthiest men in the country (polygamy is back in style, so you and your bestie might get to be baby factories together). Beautiful wives and many children are a status symbol now. Personally, I don't judge the trophy wives-they just happen to be blessed with model genes and fertility. For many T.W.'s, they are in a marriage with a pretty notable age gap between the wives and the men. As a result, the bastards might pass peacefully in their sleep, and the T.W.'s live their best lives with a fortune, a mansion, plenty of food, parties, yachts, and private jets. My best friend, Iris, is a widowed T.W. and is living her best life at 18. On my days off, she lets me crash at her place, and play with her kids in their 500-ft Texas-shaped pool. She was married to a retired senator who wanted to win a bet with his buddy to have more children than him by 90. Neither one made it to see 87.

My position isn’t too bad, but I have nothing to compare it to. For each graduating student, you have to ace the final exam with a 15/20. You're graded by your ability to perform each of the 20 areas in a three-hour obstacle course (it's an hour and a half for boys-however, the system justifies the shorter exam with a stricter policy on each student's speed and accuracy to a "higher standard"). But everyone in the Academy knows this training is designed to purposefully flunk most women out. The training becomes more difficult year after year, to "encourage" girls at the military academy to look at "more suitable career choices." No matter what women are to choose from the limited options given, we are made from what they want us to be. All of the tests are rigged. Iris had better grades than me, and she was much more athletic (she played volleyball with her older sisters). She was spotted by a former California senator by the name of Bill Winthrop the III while he was touring the school after his divorce from wife #3. Since Iris was still in school but a legally consenting adult at 16 (the age was coincidentally moved just for women since they tend to "mature" faster than men), she was able to sign a contract with Winthrop of "courtship" and transferred to a finishing school, trained specifically for women wanting to marry.

The idea of the contract states that any female still in school (16 and younger), is secured to "court" the man requesting "affections" with an adult still present, while the girl is educated on matters of maintaining the house, hosting the perfect dinner party, being the perfect wife, and of course, sex. The contract is sealed with a signature from each member of the union until the "graduation" from the School of Family Dynamics. The contract just shows ownership for the man, and gives the girl a promise of a home and that no other girls will be pursued within the first 90 days of marriage. Peachy, isn't it? When the marriage contract is sealed, the woman is expected to uphold her end of the bargain until the husband dies or files for divorce. Since repealing the laws banning polygamy, divorces are quite rare, so the outcome is usually quite favorable for the new wives. If the husband should file for divorce, the woman is cast out into society without rights, money, or custody over her own children. She's a scorned woman, punished for the failure of her marriage. She can re-apply for the School of Family Dynamics, and hope for a new contract, or try her luck at re-enrolling in the military academy starting from day 1 of training. Neither admission is usually fair or easy. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

My first week of my career was at risk after I was attacked by a member of my own group. We were all celebrating the completion of our first assignment at a local bar, near Boulder. One of them had too many shots, and made a pass at me. I rejected his drunken declarations of love, and tried to leave. I was rewarded with the other three following me home and leaving me with gifts. Two broken legs and a favorable pet name for women etched into my arm with my own pocket knife (a big dishonor to anyone in the military).

As I lay on the ground that night,I thought of my parents. I had not seen them since the night of my abduction for combat training. Not twenty-four hours before, I had overheard on the news of children being "spontaneously recruited" to complete military training in the new school system, if parents did not enroll the children for combat training within a month prior to the first day that military school began. I was shaking like a stray leaf in the wind, and I ran to my mother. I refused to let go of her legs. Tears poured in streams down my cheeks, but I did not make a sound. "Oh, sweet child of mine." My mom wrapped me in her arms. "No child should be taken from their mother. Listen to me, baby." She gently propped me up, and while gently brushing the baby hair away from my face, she told me,"Hope is something you find within, when there is nothing else to lose. Once you have it, no one can take it away from you." She held me until I fell asleep, before being taken from my bed by military recruiters, shouting orders and scaring me. It was the last time I would ever see my mom or dad. When they were missing from my ceremony initiating me into my home base, my supervisor gave me the news-lost of a neighborhood bombing. The headmistress assured me, "We could not speak of this and deter you from your exams. You worked too hard to have your success ruined by some bad news. We were only protecting you." I studied her, and replied before walking away, “If protecting me is what you want, why am I here?”

When I report my assault to my superior officer, she responds, You let them wound you with your own weapon? I learn of the outcome. There was a nice settlement to cover the damages and the incident was overlooked. The boys in my group were given a warning, and nothing else. When you return to us, fully recovered, it will be erased from our records. We will have a clean slate.

My only solace is being able to stay with Iris while my body and spirit mend. After many weeks of sleepless nights, using a bedpan, and physical therapy, I wake one morning to find a present sitting on my bedside table. The wrapping is made of old comics that my grandparents used to send me- a family tradition dating all the way back to the 1940s. I open it, and I do not make a sound. I see the handwriting, with the signatures. The card has a little owl, my favorite animal, and my father's scrawl, "We believe in you, kiddo! We love you and can't wait for you to come home. 10 more days! Love, Mom, Dad, Stephen (my brother), Nanna, and Pawpaw. Under the card was my mother's locket, a gift from my father, given to her on the night they dated for six months. I opened it gently, sliding my thumbnail down the side to small photographs of her and my dad in their late twenties, shaped and pasted to fit perfectly within the heart-shaped compartments. The bandages were off my face, and I was able to cry at last.

I was interrupted by Iris and my nurse. As soon as she crossed the threshold, Iris locked eyes with me. "I know you have questions, love. You should have gotten this much sooner, and for that I'm sorry." Before I could respond, she gently shushed me until we were alone.

When the nurse had gone, Iris wasted no time.

"I was trying to investigate your parents' case, because I knew something wasn't right. My hunch was correct. You will know everything, but in the meantime, put this on.” She put my mother’s necklace around my head. “Don’t lose it.”

"How did you get this?"

“I was given it yesterday from some friends. You’ll actually get to meet them soon. Tomorrow you are supposed to be picked up by some of your military friends and sent back to the base.”

My throat was dry. “I can’t go back there.”

She smiled at me. “Good,” she said. “Because you won’t be returning to your base. You’re going to work for me.”

I shook my head. “I still don’t understand what’s going on.”

"You and a few friends are going to a new group I founded when I left school," said Iris. "In Phoenix. It's a top secret operation made up of people like us. Military school dropouts. Rejects. Women. Rebels who want to overthrow the assholes who are sitting in the capitol building."

"I thought that area was cleared out years ago,” I said. “How-”

Iris grinned. "Oh please, Jess. Do you really after all these years I only played house?”

My head was swimming. “That's all I can tell you for now,” Iris said. “We’re running out of time. Your ride will be here any minute.”

I sucked in some air, trying to ignore the knots in my stomach. “I trust you.”

“Good,” Iris said, grabbing a syringe from the side table. “Before you leave I have to remove a small tracking device located in your wrist.”

“What?”

“All military students have a small tracking device lodged in their wrist when they begin training. We have to take it out of you before you leave. Or we’re dead.”

“Jesus, Iris!”

“I know you’re scared, but please, Jess, I am begging you. We need you.”

“I trust you.” It was my mantra now.

I wake to hear the roar of an engine. A helicopter. I hadn't been on in my life. I hear a familiar voice calling my name. I open my eyes..."Stephen." My older brother sweeps me into a crushing bear hug, and I weep into his green bomber jacket.

"Hey, kid. Everything is going to be fine. Mom and dad are waiting for you down at the base."

Home.