Kids Play War Games Ch. 1 FINISHED

7/8/2030

The little wind-up soldier wobbled in the hands of a child as the first reports of The First Bombings came on the TV. The boy watched with interest at the footage of black smoke and barren landscape that had once been New York. He chewed his lip and rubbed his eyes as crying survivors were asked to speak.

But the boy did not cry. He rubbed the toy soldier in his hands and watched with wide unwavering eyes. Then the footage dropped and the president filled the screen.

President Watson gave the camera a serious, grim look. "We have lost an important part of our nation today," he began, his voice cold, his eyes strikingly fierce. "But we will not let it go without vengeance. Will we cower and cry as our enemies laugh and prepare another strike? Will we allow the terrorists to gain our upper hand? No! We must stand tall, and show our enemies the force of our rage!"

The boy gave an involuntary gasp of awe, his eyes shining with the power of the president's speech. The toy soldier dropped from his hands, forgotten.

"This is the age of the soldier, the age of the courageous! This is the age of the veterans, those who gave there lives, and those who will give them to end this horror!" The president stood a little straighter as he paused, and the boy went to attention, as he knew to do by all the videos he had watched. President Watson seemed to make eye contact with him through the screen. "But most of all, this is the age of the future soldier he who is not yet ready to enlist. It is you who we rely on most to overtake our enemies, to keep our country standing! For need of more soldiers, we are lowering the enlistment age to sixteen. See you soon, recruits!"

The boy shook with excitement as it switched to commercial. He was nine years old. Only seven years, he thought. Only seven years until I get my chance!

With a big smile on his face, Crest Bittar picked up the toy soldier, imagining himself in uniform, himself fighting. Seven years wasn't that long, he told himself as he set the soldier moving along the floor once more.

When his parents looked in on him minutes later, all they saw was him playing with the soldier, a dreamy expression on his face. But on the inside were images of destruction and battle.

"War," Crest said softly to himself, winding up the soldier again. "War."



10/13/2035

Dr. Mathos Reed, the well-renowned brain surgeon, muttered something impatiently as the scientist and the general argued.

"Can we hurry this up?" He snapped. "The patient is already in the Operation Room."

The general gave him a cool stare. "Yes, of course. Do it."

As Dr. Reed strode away, he heard the scientist call, "This isn't right!"

The general snapped back, "Then why did you help with it?"

Dr. Reed never heard the scientist's reply, as he slipped into the silent OR right at that moment.

An unconscious army cadet lay on the operation table, surrounded by scientists, nurses, and assistants.

"We have everything prepared," A scientist assured him, holding up a small electric device in a gloved hand. "All you have to do is put in in."

Dr. Reed nodded grimly as he washed his hands and pulled on gloves. Then he beckoned to an assistant and held out his palm. "Scalpel," he ordered, and one was placed in his hands.



12/7/2038

Crest Bittar, now sixteen years old, stood proudly at his graduation from BMT. His parents frowned at him from the stands. They had not been happy when he enlisted for the air force. But he could see their hidden pride when they hugged him at the end. His mother beamed at the fat that he would have a few weeks to visit family before heading off to war.

Crest didn't smile until well after graduation, when he was packing up his stuff and preparing to leave. He had taken the little toy soldier with him, the one he'd been holding the day of the first bombings, the one that had started his devotion to the military in the first place.

He smiled at the little toy, remembering the awe and new dedication he had felt that day, vowing that he would help to end the wars, and smiling at the adventure of it. "I did it," he whispered to the figurine, "I'm here. I did it!"

As he tucked the toy into the pocket of his bag, he heard someone approaching. He stood up a little straighter and saluted when he saw it was Sergeant Bender, the drill instructor who had run his training.

Sergeant Bender nodded approvingly, then dismissed him. "Well done, Bittar." He allowed himself a small smile as Crest glowed with pride. "You were one of my favorites, you know. You were strong, capable, smart..everything we need for these battles. You show quite the potential."

Crest was astonished. The sergeant had never shown any sign of liking him - but then, he had never shown any sign of liking any of them.

Sergeant's eyes glittered. "In fact, there is a very...selective career that is having trouble coming up with adequate recruits. You would be perfect for it. All your work would be top secret, of course. I dare to believe that you would require little training for it - we could give you a briefing right this second and you would be all set to go, wouldn't you?" Crest nodded eagerly. "However, taking this career would end you home visiting time a week early. You would have to get an intense medical examination done...and one small procedure."

Crest frowned at this. What kind of procedure could they need to do?

Seeing his hesitation, Bender hastily added, "It's just your appendix. We need every man we've got out there, and we can't have it bursting under stress."

Crest understood immediately. The appendix was useless, he knew. Taking it out early wouldn't hurt. He hadn't known it could burst under stress, but then, he didn't know much about anything medical. "I'm in."

Sergeant Bender smiled, his eyes gleaming. "Good. You'll receive an envelope of information before you leave tonight. Read it carefully."

Crest promised to do so, and as soon as the sergeant left, he reached into the pocket and squeezed the toy soldier. "It just keeps getting better," he told it smugly. "Better and better!"



12/.28/2038

Crest sat on the examination table with his shirt off he had just finished up with an intense physical that had left him tired but not exhausted. The doctor nodded with approval as he signed off on the forms. "You're fit and ready," he informed him, as he placed the paperwork in an envelope. "Now, you'll want to eat as much as you can now, because you can't eat past midnight. You'll be having your procedure done tomorrow. Get some rest!"

Crest did as he was told, and by the time he was being prepared for his operation, he was starved. Finally, they put the IV in and he met the doctor, a serious looking man named Dr. Reed.

"Don't worry, this is routine," Reed assured him with a tight smile. "We do this every day."

"I'm not worried," Crest responded confidently. This procedure had been around for years, why should he worry?

Dr. Reed nodded, all tight faced and serious. "Good."

As they wheeled him down to the operation room, he felt the medication take its hold.

If he had been fully awake, he would have noticed them lying him flat on his stomach, an odd position for an appendix removal. He also would have noticed them shaving the already short hair on the back of his head, and he would have found that odd too.

But he did not notice any of these, and within minutes, he was deeply asleep.