He lights another ancient. “There are two guys inside a public restroom. Both of them in separate stalls that are right next to each other. Both of them taking a shit. Now they also both know, that the other guy is in there too, there is no secret they are simultaneously dropping a duce. Then one guy in the stall hears the other guy say, ‘Are you fucking kidding me? No toilet paper?’
Now, this guy did not directly ask the other for toilet paper, in fact, why should he offer any, anyways? It’s not his problem. Also, this guy who doesn’t have any paper, may just as well go to the next stall over and solve it himself, or maybe the guy will own up to his failure at picking the wrong stall, and accept his shortcomings and leave. But regardless, this guy next to the stall without paper still has to answer the question: do I give him some of mine, and end up getting involved in his shit, or do I reframe, and stay in my own stall, simply worrying about my own shit.”
“This is stupid. You said it yourself, they are both right by each other. He can just hand some paper underneath the stall to the other guy without it being a big deal.”
“Ah, and that’s the typical response right? We all like to think we are some Good Samaritan, some altruistic savior of our brothers, but I have not yet added one very crucial detail.”
“What?”
Isaac takes a deep drag, turns to face me, and exhales with a smile. “The guy looks at his roll of paper, and realizes, that there’s no way in hell there’s enough for two people.”
I sigh, “Goddamn it, Isaac.”
VII
Isaac hands me the fold of paper. I check out what he wrote, the last word being Resonates.
Reason eventually succumbs once nations attack, threatening every soul,
“Twenty minutes till atmosphere,” announces the intercom. “Man stations and prepare for invasion.”
I place the paper inside my chest pocket. I’ll have to add mine later.
Sergeant Blake rises out of his seat. “Easy, on me.”
Everyone in my unit—twelve in total—rises into the walkway, taking rifles and equipment in preparation to board our landing transports in the hanger bay. We grab the netting of the low ceiling above us so that we don’t float about, and hobble down the walkways to our hanger.
We are in zero gravity, but our sacks and equipment are still heavy on us. I’ve had many training days with full battle-suit getup, but only a few while not under Buzz. We are told Buzz will relieve the weight and it was true, but till you get it, you’re carrying an elephant. It starts with our helmet. A simple metal alloy formed to fit our heads. Then comes the machinery embedded with it: a visor that slides down over our face like a motorcyclist’s face shield, a small communications antenna on the left side, and a battery unit on the back of the helmet near the bottom that powers it all. This transforms the visor into a virtual layer over the battlefield giving us on the moment information and target finding. The whole helmet is painted blue except for the white font letters on the front: UN, signaling I am a Peacekeeper. Overall, it comes weighing in at 3 and half kilograms.
Next is our under armor fatigues. A full body onesie, battle pajamas. Light and water resistant, able to absorb most of our sweat, and also carrying our intergraded chemsack, all entering in at one and half kilos. What’s put over it is what makes it heavy though. First a ACU coat, which is what the actual battle-ready fatigues are, only allowed to be worn when in combat—old traditions don’t die easy. It covers our entire torso, coming in at 5 kilos. After that is the chest encompassing suit of bullet proof body armor weighing around 6 kilos, the heaviest thing on us. All combat fatigues are currently just a tan colored theme, simple in order for all the participating countries to easily maintain uniformity. But our body armor plates, encased in its own thick flack vest as well, are an olive drab for Marines, making us stick out from the rest of the GI forces. Together, it’s this armored vest with the flak jacket underneath that can help decide if a bullet kills you or not. Though what it can do against Herculean plasma our superiors have conveniently left out, so it’s quite possible it’s all useless. Something you’re better off not fretting about.
Going lower, we already have the leggings part of our under armor. What we wear over it is the same type of bullet proof body armor on our torso, but in obviously different areas. First is the iron underwear, or Crotch, one and half kilos. This wraps around the most valuables like a superhero’s thong. Over the under armor is flak pants, made with a thick fiber to resist trauma to make up for the absent body armor our legs are naked to, five and half kilos. Next come the boots. They go almost up to our knees because after the lacing the cuffs are infused armor plates to help protect our shins and calf’s, three kilos each. To complement the suit we also wear shoulder cap armor, two kilos. Following that is elbow and knee armor pads, one kilo each, so four combined overall.
And that’s just the suit. We put on a second vest over the flak jacket, two and half kilos, which holds all of the immediately important shit one would need double time out in the field. Magazines that snap off quickly, half kilo each, but you carry at least 4, so two kilos. Medical kit and dressing kit, another kilo. A grenade, a little over a kilo each, but again, you’d be dammed not to carry more than just one. Field knife, right under half a kilo. A utility canister depending on what your sergeant deems necessary for the mission, such as a smoke or motion sensor canister, one kilo. Then not required but extremely recommended is a sidearm. Weight differing to what you choose, but most around two kilos, but you better not forget its ammunition, add on one more kilo.
Next is the sack over our back. The thing itself is one and half kilos. In it our C-rations, packed for one day’s supply of meals, two kilos. A rifle repair and cleaning kit, one kilo, another kilo or so if you’re carrying spare parts too. At least six more magazines, three kilos. A second dressing and med kit, one more kilo. A flare, half a kilo. Rope, one kilo. Our gas masks, and their filtration canister, two kilos. Shovel that can be contracted and placed on the side of our sack, also two kilos. All topped off with your trusty bladder filled with water and electrolytes that has its own pocket inside the backpack, two kilos full, half a one empty, and you don’t want it empty.
But no one’s backpack is ever that light. You also have your favorite snacks because C-rations suck, half a kilo, but up to two if you’re a fat ass. You have a book because half of fighting is doing nothing, and you want a thick book to carry you through, one kilo. A sleeping bag, because you don’t always know if Command will really have it available for you when it’s time to hit the deck, one and half kilos. Some sort of bug repellent because alien bugs are a lot scarier than Earth ones, half a kilo. Some hobby of yours because reading can be lonely and being lonely in war is what happens when you’re dead, so why encourage it? Maybe it’s a deck of cards, light at half a kilo. Or maybe it’s a gaming system, one to two kilos depending on brand. And if you’re old school, it’s a board game, probably one kilo. After that you still need all of your personal belongings. The things that really get you through it all. Family photos in plastic so that it doesn’t get ruined by weather, or porn, still definitely wrapped in plastic, half to one kilo depending on your tastes. An item of inspiration: maybe your dad’s bible, or favorite stuffed animal from when you used to be a kid and weren’t expected to fight and kill, or just an article of clothing that smells like home or your girl; something to prepare you for death, round that up to a kilo.