August 11th

I’m scared.

Terrified would probably describe it more accurately.

Hawk and I are in Borovia, trying to make it back to ‘friendly’ territory after our ordeal in Trans Carpathia.

Things are not good. The tension in the area is so thick you could cut it with a knife. The undercurrents whisper of revolution and civil war. I don’t want to be here when things blow up. I know Hawk senses that something is amiss, but I understand the language…I hear what the people around us are saying. We are strangers…and strangers attract attention here.

Negative attention.

Especially American strangers.

We are currently holed up close to the train station, waiting for an opportunity to get the hell out. I wanted to keep going, but Hawk said we both needed rest before continuing. I know he is right…I’m exhausted…but there is something not right here. My mind is screaming at me to run while we still can.

Its times like these when I wonder what the heck I am doing here…playing soldier!

I’m going to write something down here that I have never told anyone…it’s the reason why I joined the army. If this gets out I don’t know if I could face my friends.

I joined the army on a dare.

Yes…its true. Someone challenged me and I took the bait.

It all took place in a coffee shop in Boston where I had gone to hang out with some old friends. I had been back from Trinity for almost a year and was pretty much doing nothing, trying to get my life in order and decide what is was I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

I had been accepted by MIT to do my Phd under Noam Chomsky…an accomplishment in itself. My ear for music seemed to lend itself well to languages…I can now speak about 7 or 8 fluently…Linguistics and exploring the nature of ‘language’ on a deeper level seemed the next logical step.

In the meantime, though…I wasn’t doing anything. I pursued my acting hobby, taking part in some local productions around the Vineyard, even some ‘Shakespeare in the Park’. People tell me I was quite good…but the spotlight never appealed to me. I certainly didn’t want to do it for the rest of my life.

Anyhow, I was pondering this when Julian…a very close friend of mine from childhood…started teasing me as he is wont to do when he is bored. To this day I still don’t know how it came up but the next thing I knew he was telling me that I wouldn’t survive a day outside of the ‘bubble’.

The ‘bubble’ is the term we use to describe that theoretical ‘security blanket’ barrier between the rich and ‘the real world’.

I of course told him in so many words he didn’t know what he was talking about and the next thing I knew I was signed up for boot camp (as enlisted - couldn’t go into officer training…that would be cheating). I was out to prove them all wrong…and in the process signed 2 years of my life to the army.

Did I mention I was stubborn and very competitive?

My mother nearly had a coronary when she found out…and of course threatened to disinherit me, but I would not be swayed. How hard could it be? I had the brains, and I was in pretty good shape…it would be a cake walk…

Yeah right…

Nothing can prepare you for the hardship, the humiliation…the sheer agony of basic training.

Nothing.

In shape…not a chance. Tennis, sailing and the occasional jog is certainly not 10 mile runs in the heat with full gear…running through obstacle courses with an angry sergeant on your tail…200 push-ups in the cold rain…

Smarts? Advanced degrees don’t mean squat when you can’t figure out how to put your gun back together.

To be brutally honest…I was the worst member of my unit. Weak…completely exhausted…and humiliated at every turn. I was about ready to give up. The others hated me and would certainly not miss me if I left…

Then it happened.

They tell you that in training like this the army breaks you down and then builds you back up into a soldier. You reach your lowest point, you shatter…and they put you back together piece by piece, making you…forgive the pun…all you can be.

I hit that point…and suddenly things started to come together. The exercises weren’t that hard…the drill instructors weren’t as terrifying, the guns and other weapons were no longer a mystery.

I was becoming a soldier.

And when I get into something…I never go half way. I became the best damn soldier that unit had ever seen. I excelled at everything…and ended up besting some of my superiors on the field, causing a bit of a stir.

After basic…I knew something had changed…I was no longer the skinny, uppity, Calvin Klein clad academic that came off the bus with her nose in the air…I was a warrior. I felt a sense of accomplishment I had never felt before, and I was part of something important.

I loved it.

I knew I could never go back to my old life.

I continued my training…Airborne, Ranger School, I even learned to fly…which was surprising given the fact that I hate heights. I did Intelligence, where the analytical skills I applied so well in academia fit in perfectly, and all the while continued to perfect my skills with my favorite weapons.

But my greatest skill…my true calling…was always Covert Ops. The combination of my language skills and my talent for acting meant I could blend in anywhere, become anyone…be invisible.

After only a few years in the military…still a Corporal…the Joe team started sniffing around my records. The rest is history…as they say…

Yet even after all I have done, after everything I have been through in the war against COBRA, I am sitting here next to my CO, a general of superb talent and skill who values my opinion and trusts me with his life…and I still have doubts.

I still feel I don’t belong. That I'm not good enough...

He is asking me for my analysis of the situation. He is asking me to advise on the course of action…but does he know I am scared out of my mind that I will make the wrong choice?

I am supposed to be tough! Everyone says I am a real wildcat in a firefight…if only they knew what usually went on inside my head before the shooting starts.

So now you know…

…I just hope I can get Hawk and myself out of here alive.

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