He floated in a a sea of darkness, no sight, no sound. Images of chaos and screams floated out of the darkness to torment him with nightmare memories. The screeching klaxons, acrid smoke pouring from the control panels, the moans and screams of his bros as the insertion vehicle died around them. The pilots called them "canned meat" because of the re-entry pods each trooper was locked into, but those pods weren't enough to save them. The nightmare images swirled around in a carousel of pain and remembered tragedy.
His mind replayed the mounting vertigo, the feel in the pit of his stomach as the high altitude vehicle plummeted thousands of meters towards a fiery collision with some very definite terra firma. He remembered the vomit in his helmet followed by the irrational shame of puking in his gear. He saw the panic stricken troopers in their pods across from him struggling against the inevitable. And the moment when forces overcame the vehicle's shell which ripped the insertion vehicle apart.
Obviously he was dead. No one could survive that horror. So, this silent, lightless void must be Hell. Judged and sent to perdition for his sins, he imagined a tear forming in his eye, but he had no eyes. He had no body anymore, he was just a disembodied mind. They say an amputee still feels his missing limb and so too could he feel his missing flesh. Trapped in a silent and never ending void, he cried out in incorporeal agony.
A flutter caught his attention and drew him out of his despair. It seemed like the tiniest vibration which he sent his awareness after in the hopes of breaking the eternal monotony. His attention focused on this vibration and encompassed it. And then the colors, sounds and feelings of life crashed in on him again.
He was lying on his back looking up at the light emitting Daedalus cells overhead. He was completely paralyzed but that did not bother him yet, especially when compared to the darkness he had just escaped. The room looked like every other hospital room he had ever been in, complete with force grown flowers which looked like iridescent purple daisies. The walls had the pale green color that seems the favorite of uncaring medical bureaucrats. There were people everywhere performing important looking tasks or they could just as easily have been wasting time. Looming over him, checking his vital statistics, was an enormous black skinned man with a bushy gray streaked beard and wearing a lab coat.
"Welcome back Private Garson," said the lab coat standing over him.
"Where am I?" asked Private Thomas Garson.
"Hospital ship Kevorkian in orbit around Nylon VI. You have suffered a significant trauma which resulted in the loss of 90% of your body. The rescue team that recovered you managed to put you into a stasis pod before your brain died. Don't worry, you're stable and you're gonna make it. Just get some rest now, the General wants to speak with you."
Afraid to sleep, Garson kept his eyes open. He realized he could easily look around the entire room with no difficulty but he could not see himself at all. No matter how hard he tried he could not see his body. After trying several times to move himself, he gave up. After an hour of waiting, the shortest officer he had ever seen marched in. His iron gray hair still showed signs of his last failed attempt at home hair coloring, but his uniform was pressed to perfection. His ramrod straight back screamed of self-importance but his shifting eyes betrayed his neuroses. His stripes revealed him to be the General the lab coat had mentioned earlier.
"Trooper Garson, I'm Major General Levy, Commander of the 125th Mechanized Assault Recon Division. We specialize in multi-environment combat," barked General Levy. "I'm here to offer you an opportunity to join our ranks. We are the best of the best, Trooper. Only those with the right psychological profile and physical condition are allowed to join my command. What do you say, boy?"
"Sir, I think you might be mistaken," neuralized Garson. "The doctors say I've lost 90% of my body, how can I possibly stay in the military?"
"Don't be stupid, son." replied General Levy. "I can't believe you've never heard of the 125th! The 125th Mechanized is a special discarnate unit. We issue you a body based on the mission requirements. You'll receive training in zero-g combat, extreme environmental combat, underwater combat and in all new advanced weapons systems. You'll become a member of the most elite unit in military history. A group of true warriors who use their brains to get the job done. But don't think for a minute you boys won't command the most hellacious fire power, because the 125th can bring down more pain per square meter than any unit in the army."
"Son, I'm handing you a golden opportunity on a silver platter. What the hell else are you going to do? Do you want to go home and be another wasted cripple? Do you want to burden your family with your care, or do you want to keep fighting to protect everything you believe in? Did I mention you get a significant bump in pay? "
"Thank you for the opportunity, sir. I think I should speak to my doctors before I make a decision though. I'm just not sure what my medical situation is at the moment."
"Look kid, your psych profile says you're perfect for this unit. Opportunities to be a hero don't come along every day. This isn't about doctors. It's about standing up and refusing to let something as bullshit as losing your body stop you from being a soldier. Your mind still works, we can provide you with a body."
Garson looked deep into General Levy's eyes and saw nothing but truth therein. Obviously he wasn't kidding.
"How does it work, sir?"
"Simple," said Levy. "First you say Yes. Then we transfer you out of this hospital ship and onto our combat carrier. What's left of you will be fitted into our special life support capsules. That will sustain you and keep you alive indefinitely. Then we'll start your training. You'll learn to pilot various combat mechs and other assault craft. By the time you're finished you'll be able to drive everything from the standard Predator class attack ships to assault tanks and even submarines.
"We'll upgrade your neural nanites with the latest small unit tactical combat software and we'll even implant you with a direct entangled comms line. When you deploy you'll be plugged directly into a mechanized body or vehicle. Usually, the 125th is sent for recon but we are occasionally called upon to eliminate small threats. You may work alone or in a team of three. You will operate completely independent of the command structure when deployed, which really means you'll only ever answer to me directly.
"What do you say, son? What's it going to be: 125th and glory or crippled at home?"
"I'm in."
"Welcome to the Pickled Punks, kid. You've made the right decision."
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