Day in The Life of a Tankman 2

I can remember what each of dozens of weapons do by memory.

I can remember the precise angles at which to shoot a sniper round so that it arcs into enemy tanks.

But I can't remember my mother's face.

Maybe it's because we were taken so early. Out of elementary school and into the "care" of a brutal drill instructor who made the point he did not care if we lived or died by shooting the one boy who wet himself on the first day.

I remember the look of fear in that boy's eyes as he lay there, his eyes growing glassy.

I remember the drill instructor doing the same to the head of the class, saying that he didn't like the kid who made all top marks and gave his all, and that was enough for his superiors to justify killing an 11 year old boy.

But I can't remember my mother's face.

I remember that on the day I survived the training, the higher ups granted me one wish, within reason, since tankmen were pretty much dead they day they were enrolled into a battalion. I remember the look on the drill sergeant's face when my request- that he been burned alive in front of the other survivors- was granted. I remember him pleading as we tied him to a pole he used for flogging us whenever he was bored, doused him in gasoline. I remember him saying he had a daughter that needed him as I struck the match, and I remember promising him that she would burn as well. I kept a recording of him screaming. It's what helps me sleep at night. Selling copies of it has earned me some favors.

I can remember his flailing screams turning to coughs which turned to silence and crackling flames, but I can't remember my mother's face.

Twenty days ago I sent a request to my superior officer to get a photo of my parents sent to me. On that same day, I confronted the drill sergeant's daughter tank to tank. She had apparently heard that the brass let me use her father as kindling and had not taken it well. I played her father's screams over the radio contact she had made with me, and her initial cold, calm promises of death became enraged profanity.

I used a napalm round to fulfill my promise to the drill sergeant, because as one could surmise from reading this, I am not a nice person. I was not trained to be a nice person. The brass rewards me for when I leave flattened, burning wastelands where there were once lush green hills. They found my reason for hurling several nukes into an unarmed enemy civilian outpost- "I got bored."- amusing enough to give me a pay raise. My allies know me as Collateral Damage Man. I have been portrayed by the enemy as the devil himself. I act my role.

I get the letter once I return to base. I know it's her the moment I see the picture, and memories come flooding back...

...and then there's something else.

Her death certificate. And my father's.

Killed in an enemy shelling.

There's a picture of a bombed wasteland. They had labeled it my hometown's name, and there must be some mistake, because there's no way this could be my home, no one who would bomb a civilian populace of no military import, no one would do that but

someone

like

ME.

There's another letter, addressed to "Collateral Damage Man"

A series of photos showing enemy tanks launching nukes in triple salvos towards my hometown.

The message is made of cut-out letters.

"NOT VERY FUNNY NOW, IS IT?"

The CO tells me the long and short of it. Someone on the other side found out the reason a tank fired three nukes into a civilian camp- because I was bored- and then found out who had done it, and where that person had grown up...

There were at least a hundred thousand people back in my hometown. All of them dead to get vengeance on me.

That is ninety nine thousand, nine hundred ninety nine more people than what was necessary to make sure I could never do what I had done again.

But someone who openly boasts the name Collateral Damage Man doesn't get to complain about collateral damage.

My CO says army regulations call for a bottle of rum and a day off to collect my thoughts.

I don't want a bottle of rum, or a day off.

I make my second request. I want to know the cities those tankmen were most likely from. Then I want nukes, and some people who are as horrible as me to join me in a "Terraforming" mission, which means we find a target, destroy it, and use chemical and nuclear weapons to render the land it was on utterly inhabitable.

Because I know one day I will die, but it will not be from this. The response of a devil to his loved ones being killed is not to shoot himself, or to drink himself to death, or to renounce war as evil.

It is to open up the gates of hell and show those responsible what a devil is like when he's not bored, but actively trying to destroy everything you love.

It's five hours later that my CO introduces me to HellFire and Wither. Both have a history of trying to one up each other on enemy civilian casualties. HellFire is a pyromaniac who throws a fit if he doesn't have at least have his weapons supply consist of incendiary weaponry. Wither spends his off time sending food donations tainted with biological weapons to enemy orphanages.

The enemy currently has a bounty of over 3 billion on each their heads. They want Wither alive, which is why Wither keeps a fresh cyanide pill with him at all times. I'm not authorized to know what the bounty on my head is.

We're deployed on the outskirts of a massive city- at least four million, maybe more. I myself have two nukes. HellFire has one and God only knows how much napalm. Wither has two, and some homemade biochemical weapons. He's not allowed to tell me what they are, nor am I allowed to ask, all he reveals is that I should be grateful everyone I love is dead instead of being where he's aiming.

There's a part of me- an almost silent splinter of conscience left- that tells me not to do this, that this won't bring the beautiful woman who made me cookies back.

But I remember that she is GONE and that THEY TOOK HER.

That's all I need to fire the first nuke. HellFire and Wither do as well.

It's 4:00 am, well before sunrise. So we make three new suns to usher in the day.

And I remember my mother's smile.

 

what a way to introduce yourself, CollateralDamageMan, enjoy the forums!