Summary: The story of the black-feathered Raptor. [PRE-NOTES] Some text in this story has a raised "i" next to it to indicate that it has additional information for readers who may not know what some terms mean. To view it, just keep your mouse still over the text attached to the raised "i," like this:i I tried to make all of these terms inferrable by context, but if you get confused by anything, the mouseover footnotes are provided at the first reference of most of the more obscure terms. [/PRE-NOTES] [Archivist's Note: I have attempted to reconstruct this footnote system as cleanly as possible within a basic text file. The 'raised i's' have been replaced with bracketed numbers and their accompanying footnotes are placed at the bottom of the file.] April 15th, 2021. Basic Combat Training. 8 months before the IED. “Get up over that wall, trainee! Let your team help you up, stop trying to do it alone!” I yell. I watch in disbelief as the triceratops who stands barely over 5 feet tall tries to jump, on her own, and grasp the edge of a 9ft wall. Her teammates at the top offer her their hands, but she doesn’t take them, and insists on jumping herself. She’s the stronger among them, so she helped the rest up first. She wants to be some kind of hero. “Come on, Kolk, grab our hands!” One of them tries encouraging her to accept their help, but still she refuses and opts to fail repeatedly on her own, the height of her jumps getting shorter and shorter. I simply cross my arms and watch, waiting for her to give up. She tries backing up and getting a running jump, achieving a little more height, but slamming into the wall forcefully and still not reaching the top. She repeats this, knocking more and more of the wind out of herself. I don’t intervene yet. I watch as she tires herself out; her teammates notice my oversight and begin to get nervous, fearing they will be punished collectively for the trainee’s actions. To my surprise, she doesn't give up. She keeps jumping, getting running starts, and failing over and over. The teams around hers have passed and moved on to the next obstacles already. What the hell is she doing? I begin to get angry, feeling a feather on the right flank of my head come unstuck from where it lay neatly before. I unfold my arms and walk straight toward the triceratops. The trainee’s teammates atop the wall see me and fearfully stop paying attention to her. I point at them, “Wait on the other side of the wall.” They drop down out of sight and I come upon the triceratops in a fury. I shove her to get her attention and put my smoking voice on. “What the hell is your problem, trainee? You think you’re better than everybody? You think you’re too strong to be part of a team?” “I can-” she begins to retort. “SHUT THE FUCK UP! GET UP THAT WALL RIGHT NOW! GO!” I scream at her, ordering her to do what she has been consistently failing at for four minutes. “Yes, Sergeant!” She yells in reply before resuming her attempts at getting over the wall by herself, newly invigorated by the chance she thinks I’m giving her to prove herself. I walk around the wall and order her team to proceed without her, before returning to observe the trainee's efforts. "State your name!" "Trainee Patricia Van Der Kolk!" Thud. “Repeat after me!” I order, as she slams into the wall again. “I am Trainee Kolk!” “I am Trainee Kolk!” Thud. “I am better than everyone!” “I am better than everyone!” Thud. “I don’t need my team!” “I don’t nee-” Thud “my team!” “Without me my team is nothing!” “Without me my team is-” Thud “nothing!” Her will persists, unbroken. Everyone has moved on to the rest of the obstacle course. I hoist myself atop the wall she continuously slams against, and stand on top of it, looking sharply down at her. “Without my team, I am nothing!” Thud, “without my team, I am nothing!” “I am but a soldier, there are many like me!” “I am but a soldier, there are many like me!” Thud “With tzhem I am an Army!” “With them I am an Army!” Thud “Witzhout them, I am a useless piece of szhit!” Thud, “Without them, I am a useless piece of shit!” "I am a useless piece of szhit!" "I am a useless piece of shit!" Thud. She screamed the last words loudly. She meant it. “STOP!” She stops after one final attempt and shakily stands, her shoulders heave with her deep breathing. Her breaths are raspy and quick, trying desperately to catch up with her heart. She doesn’t look at me. I can see her face glistening from sweat and tears. I stand above her, looking down at her horned head. “Look at me,” I order. She turns her head up to look at me, her face twisted with emotion. “You are done. I am going to order you once more to clear this wall, and you are going to grab my hand. You will be a soldier in this Army, or so help me God you will return to whatever shithole you crawled here from. Yes?” “Yes, Sergeant.” I drop down and lay my chest over the top of the wall, reaching my black forearm down to her. “Go!” She gets a running jump and her right hand clasps solidly around my forearm, my claws wrapping around hers and I heave, her heavy weight testing my strength. My claws grasp tightly around her arm, almost digging into her scale, and I use my left arm to heave myself up on top of the wall, getting my knees under me, before dragging her high enough that she can reach her other arm to the top of the wall. I continue forcefully dragging her higher until she gets a knee under herself. I release her and kneel on the wall next to her, watching for a second her silent satisfaction at finally having made it. I drop down to the other side of the wall, and take a few steps from it, before turning back to her doing the same. I speak to her again, the breeze bothering the now several loose feathers on the flanks of my head. “You are done for today. Zero four thirty, here, tomorrow morning, and you’ll run the course again with the same team. They will run the course again for you. You will be a member of that team. Do you understand?” “Yes, Sergeant," she said quieter than before. "I DON'T HEAR YOU!" "Yes, Sergeant!" “You’ll be a soldier, yet, trainee. Get out of my sight!” “Yes, Sergeant!” she said, promptly leaving to regroup with the other trainees, who were just finishing the last obstacle in the course. Finally alone, I take a moment to smooth my feathers back to the sides of my head and take a deep breath of the cool morning air. She'll be a soldier yet. I turn away from the wall and look at the crowd of trainees being corralled by the drill sergeants, and I notice the XO,i a human, 2nd Lieutenant Foster, approaching me. He had been promoted less than a month prior, and he’s already being groomed for promotion to 1LT. He seems to be on the fast track to Captain. Obviously, he knows some important people. I don’t let it cloud my judgment. He is my leader, and for all I’ve seen, he is a good one. "What happened there, Cherokee?" He asked, smiling. He enjoyed that nickname more than I did. I earned it for the feathers on the flanks of my head looking like a native’s headdress when I’m angry. I don’t think it fits very well. I shake my beak sharply, dismissing the incident. "Pride." "Tough nut to crack, that one. You’re a natural bitch-whisperer." “Tzhis one just had sometzhing to prove,” I replied. “Szhe’ll make a soldier, yet.” Foster pondered for a second. “She’s going into 68 Whiskeyi,” he said. “Same company we’re headed for, matter-of-fact.” This got my attention. “10th?” Foster nodded. “Hmm,” I remarked, not wanting to reveal any potentially problematic observations. She hasn’t completed basic training yet, how would Foster know where she’s going after…? “Stick on her,” Foster said. “The way you have with her, I might talk to somebody and make sure she’s yours.” …unless Foster is deciding now where she’s going. I scoffed. “Not sure I want tzhat one.” I lied. “We’ll see how szhe performs tomorrow.” ><><><><><><><>< December 18th, 2021. Al-Anbar province, Iraq. FOB Webster. “1-7[1], this is 1-6[2], be advised: TOC[3]` is currently unresponsive. I want you guys back today, break…” “Do you need assistance? Over.” Captain Foster completed his transmission. Of course TOC is unresponsive. Bastards. I look out at my people. I spot Kolk exiting the medical building and leaning against the wall. I am responsible for them. I press the transmitter on my long-range radio firmly. “1-6, this is 1-7, affirmative. Convoy Webster took contact from a squad-sized element at crossroads. Over.” "1-7, this is 1-6, Roger... I'll coordinate 1-2i to meet you at the crossroads, wait to step off until we give the go-ahead. Over." "1-6, this is 1-7, tango mike.[4] Out." I complete the transmission and look up at the squad leader, Scuz. “You tracking that?” He nods, “A-firm. I’ll let the TLs know.” He grabs his short-range radio and summons the leaders of Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie to the admin tent in FOB Webster and begins to fill them in on the plan. I stand and head outside for a breather and an update on the medical situation. I swap to my alternate channel, the channel reserved for medical personnel and their leaders, and break the silence: “Kolk, this is Farcy. How’s it going in there?” After a second, my earpiece chirps, and I hear the commotion in the background of the medical building behind Kolk’s transmission: “Shit’s fucked. Standby…” I watch the joes of first squad waiting impatiently, doubled-up on security with Webster’s sentries, for their TLs to return and brief them. They watch my body language hopefully, looking for any hints they can glean as to what’s really going on. They know something’s up. How couldn’t they? After a moment, she returns to the net with noticeably less background noise: “One stable, one red, one KIA. You need me?” My heart sinks at the news. I can’t pull her away just yet. “Negative, just… Wrap things up and let the others take over when you can. We expect to leave soon,” I transmit. “Copy,” my earpiece clicks as Kolk ends her transmission and gets back to work. ><><><><><><><>< Kolk finally climbs in the backseat of our vehicle. I sat in the passenger seat and the Squad Leader, Scuz, was driving. I push the transmitter on my radio. “All elements, begin movement.” We rode with only the rattling loudness of the vehicle to keep us comforted. It doesn’t help. Our eyes were on the hills. The crossroads are surrounded by hills on 2 sides, an absolute deathtrap, and a perfect spot for an ambush. We’ve been doing nothing but going in circles for months. Wait for orders, go get shot at, wait for orders, go get shot at. A constant stream of danger that is sure to have the men jaded by now. I fear they won’t be the same men their families knew when they return home. … “Out of every one hundred men, ten shouldn’t even be there, eighty are just targets, nine are the real fighters, and we are lucky to have them, for they make the battle. Ah, but the one, one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back.” – Heraclitus … Boom. My peripheral vision catches the vehicle in front of us jumping up, shedding mass in all directions. Twisted metal, reddish entrails, and fire escape the right side of the vehicle. The left side of the vehicle is instantly caved in. The blast shakes the windows of our vehicle 50 meters behind it. “Shit!” I hear Scuz cry out. “Convoy halt!” He yells into his radio, before swerving us to the side of the dirt road. I ram my door open and can barely push my head to look away from the direction of the catastrophe to secure our right side. I collapse my barrel briefly as Kolk charges past me towards the flaming pile of death, and after briefly gleaming that my sector is empty, I follow. I am a Utahraptor. An ambush predator. I am designed to chase down prey with explosive bursts of speed. My ancestors had a top speed of up to 45mph. Since the rise, we’ve slowed down to about 30. I’m wearing 75 lbs of gear. Hard plates and metal tools and components adorn my body, covered by a heavy canvas uniform. Today, I am using the gifts given to me by the Creator not for hunting, but for supporting. Not for attacking, but protecting. Not out of hunger, but of love. I know not how fast I ran, but in that moment I was certain it would’ve been slower to drive. I threw my rifle over my back and let it smack into me as I ran, my shoes digging into the sand and kicking it up behind me. Loud cracks began to sound off as the ammunition in the vehicle began to explode from the heat, sending small fragments of debris after me. Arriving at the vehicle, I was hit first by a horrible combination of smells: Gunpowder, charred flesh, and ozone. My instincts told me to turn back, but they were quickly overridden by the raging adrenaline. I looked inside and saw a body. Or, most of one. In the passenger seat, there lay a torso upright, still buckled in, completely blown apart. Ribs and bones were exposed, the left arm was fused into the meat of the torso, an open flame using the body as a candle and the remaining shreds of uniform as a wick. I didn’t recognize his mangled face. This soldier was already dead. I wasn’t fast enough. Above the driver’s seat was a spray of red blood. The interior of the vehicle had a gaping hole in its left side, and the dash, windshield, and ceiling were red with blood, rapidly turning dark as it dried along the walls. The driver’s seat was missing its soldier, with exception for only the pieces of bone and flesh that were seatbelted in. Whatever of him wasn’t tied down was liquefied by the explosion and distributed sparsely through the vehicle and the sand outside. A screaming filled my ears, and I turned behind me to locate the source. I saw Kolk dragging a screaming soldier into a nearby mud hut. The bright tan sands were polluted with messes of twisted metal, scorch marks, and the dead. Suddenly I’m struck in the back of the helmet by a piece of shrapnel from the ammunition cooking off. I have to go. Pardonnez-moi mes frères, I wish to the dead men still trapped inside their metal tomb. “Contact!” I barely make out the word over the sound of the inferno, and I spot Scuz raising his weapon towards the hills, and I hear gunfire erupt. I can’t think about that right now. My men are dying. I spot another pile of flesh and debris on the ground some ten meters away from the vehicle. It is moving. I rush over and trip on the way, landing hard into the sand next to the unrecognizable mess. I frantically push myself up and sort the pile of flesh and twisted metal. My large and poorly fitting helmet is now partially obscuring my vision, but it doesn’t slow down my hands and arms. “S'il vous plaît soyez en vie. S'il vous plaît soyez en vie…” I throw over a mass of intestines and fragmented bone and find a filled pair of pants, attached to an abdomen, attached to a torso that has two arms, a plate carrier, and a head. It’s the human. His eyes are open. I scramble around the back of him and find a grip on his drag strap, gain a good hold on it, and immediately begin dragging him quickly towards the building I saw Kolk headed into. Humans may be weak but they’re conveniently light, too. “Tout ira bien, fils,” I mutter to comfort him and mostly myself, but it does little. He has fallen unconscious, his head rocked back onto my arm. I begin backing in through the doorway of the mud hut. “Kolk!” I yell, “one more!” “Get the bleeding on this one!” she yells in reply. I drop the human on the dirt floor, leave to join her patient, a stegosaurus, and immediately begin unfurling a tourniquet for his left arm. He’s unconscious, but breathing. His arm looks to have been crushed. Or severed. I can’t tell. Regardless, I haphazardly wrap my tourniquet over whatever I can make out to be the remnants of the soldier’s arm and begin to twist it down. My short-range radio is all the while lighting up with scarier and scarier reports. “Squad sized element in the hills to the two three zero!i” “New contact, East, nine plus contacts.” My other ear picks up a new transmission from Scuz. “1-2, this is 1-1, we are at Crossroads and taking heavy contact! What’s your ETA, over?” “1-1, be advised, we are 7 mikes out. Over.” I scan his legs and find another bleed, large, on his lower left leg. His OCPi uniform is soaked and dark. There is no way he will make it, but I proceed anyways. I hear another transmission come over the squad net: “Actual is down!”i The feathers on my head stand on end. We’re falling apart. I focus and prepare a second tourniquet, and I see Kolk talking to her patient. He’s awake. She sinches down a tourniquet over his left leg, says something else to him, then comes to take over my patient. “Got his arm plugged, he’s got belly distension, uncon but breatzhing,” I report, surrendering the patient to her and quickly backing out of her way. Gunfire has intensified outside. I scramble the receiver for my long-range radio into my hand and switch to the aviation network, hastily unfurling the radio’s antenna and shoving it out the small window of the mud hut. Someone is talking on the net. I hold the transmitter and try to shout over the gunfire, “Break break break! Break break! Gryphon, this is 1-7, troops in heavy contact, requesting call for fire grid five-zero-niner-niner, four-seven-four-seven, over!” It was a line I had rehearsed for a location I had memorized. A mostly-fuzzy reply comes back. “1-7, this is Gryphon, — negative. Aircraft are bingo fuel, over.” I slam the receiver into the wall and drop it. It’s up to me, then. I begin transmitting over my short-range radio, slowing down my speech to keep my voice clear: ”Alpha Charlie, be advised, we are black on air assets. 1-2 is 6 mikes out. React to contact. Over.” So I pray that I do not send these men to their deaths. I grab the stock of the rifle on my back with my left hand bring it to my front. I pull the charging handle back halfway until I see the gleaming brass of the chambered round. “Honneur et Fidélité” I approach the doorway and step out of it, taking the left corner and shouldering my rifle. As my eyes crest around the doorway, I see a large man in a black robe with a shouldered AK. He notices me and begins to aim his weapon towards me. My finger and thumb fall together onto the safety and the trigger of my rifle, and I put 3 rounds up his body, striking his leg, abdomen, and chest in order. He falls, and I begin to approach him and the corner around which he came. I feel a hard impact on my back plate and begin to turn around before another impact in my neck shocks me, and my vision goes white. It feels as if I have been struck by lightning. My legs give out under me, my arms no longer hold my rifle, and I fall heavily into the hot dirt. I struggle, trying to breathe, but my chest and body are locked. I am no longer in control. I soon begin to feel cold. I hear another shot ring out, this time inside the CCP[5]. Several more shots follow. Je suis tellement désolé, mon enfant. Je t'ai échoué. Another round of fire from inside the building reaches my ears. Somehow, I hear a large freight train. The inexplicable sound begins to slowly grow louder. I’m suddenly terrifyingly cold. My limbs are numb. I feel blood slowly running from my beak out onto the sand. “Farcy!” The sound dampens briefly, before resuming and continuing to grow in intensity. My fear leaks away. The sound becomes all I hear. All I think. Deafening loudness, but silence at the same time. [FOOTNOES] [1] Refers to the highest ranking non-commissioned officer of the first platoon. This is the position of Platoon Sergeant, held by Staff Sergeant Farcy. [2] Refers to the highest ranking commissioned officer of the first platoon. This is the position of Platoon Commander, held by Captain Foster. [3] Tactical Operations Command. [4] Coded shorthand for 'thank you much'. [5] Casualty Collection Point. The building Trish, Anon, and the second patient are in. [POST-NOTES] Note from the author: In the first draft of Valordictorian, Farcy was an unnamed extra, a JTAC officer who only appeared to Anon during the CCP scene, but he has blossomed into so much more than an unnamed extra. I hope you guys had as much fun reading about him as I had writing about him. I've got more cooking, chapter 3 is going to bring us back to Anon and Trish after the Crossroads incident. Thanks for reading, guys!