Dulce Truths

Turn scoffs. “Where I really come from? C’mon, Mark — maybe you’ve been in space too long.”

Mark ignores the doubt and launches into the explanation. He knows from past experience that this is the best way to do it, the best way to bring a man’s memories back. Slow and easy, Mark tells himself, slow and easy.

“The idea all along was to have a program that takes veterans of future wars and uses them to make the super soldiers of today… or the past, if that’s how you want to look at it.” Mark looks to Turn. “That’s how you came to be in 1979, Turn.”

“What?” Turn says, giving him a narrow-eyed, suspicious look that said, ‘you’re full of shit!’

“It’s true,” Mark continues, looking from Turn to the others, “the favorite right ‘now’ is to take veterans from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that are ‘currently’ being fought in the 2000s and 2010s.” He looked back to Turn. “My father showed me your file before he died. General Anderholt recruited you from your hospital bed in 2003… just days after you’d had your legs blown off in the Iraqi city of Fallujah.”

“They were blown off in some alley in Cambodia!” Turn says, growing perturbed at how the conversation is going.

“That’s what you were told, but that doesn’t mean that’s what’s true.” When Turn scoffs, Mark leans in closer and looks him right in the eyes. “You aren’t even born yet, Turn. You won’t be until 1982.”

“Whoa,” Bobbie says in a long and drawn-out way, “that’s heavy.”

“Heavy bull-shit,” Turn says, chuckling and smiling and looking at the others. A few smile as well, but many others do not.

“I can prove it to you, Turn… if you want me to,” Mark says to him. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small black object that looks like a pen, just without the pointed end where you write.

“What’s that?” Turn says, his eyes narrowing.

“It’s a flash stick, something we usually use to take memories, but in cases where it’s been used on an individual before, we can return those memories.”

“I don’t need no damn flash stick!” Turn says, his earlier smile now turning to a sneer of anger.

“Really?” Mark says. “Then tell me… when were you born?”

Turn chuckles. “That’s easy, my birthday is…” He trails-off as he realized he can’t seem to remember. “It’s…” He bites his lip and glances around at the others nervously. “I… I don’t know.”

Mark holds up the flash stick before Turn’s face. “Would you like to?”

Turn bites his lip even harder, then gives a slight nod. Mark nods as well, then moves the flash stick closer to Turn’s face, to his ear and then behind it. He pushes the button and there’s a slight flash. Mark pulls his arm away and looks at Turn, who’s blinking rapidly, as if coming out of a deep sleep.

“Soldier,” Mark says, looking into Turn’s eyes, “when were you born?”

“December 12, 1982,” Turn says. No hesitation.

“Regimental history.”

Turn straightens-up, as if giving a report to a superior… which in a way he is. “I Marine Expeditionary Force, joined-up September 12, 2001, the day after the towers fell. Finished basic November 21. Shipped out to Afghanistan on December 4, saw action at Tora Bora, Zormat, and of course Kabul. Tour ended December 2002. Rejoined, went back to Afghanistan for a few months, then shipped to Iraq. Invaded Baghdad in April 2003. Last mission was in Fallujah on…”

“On December 22,” Mark finishes for him, “the day you lost your legs… the day that started you on leaving your time to enter this one.”

“Damn!” Bobbie says, while beside him Walter whistles.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Mark says, “I’ve experienced it before myself.”

“What about me?” Bobbie asks. “Have I experienced it?”

Mark takes in a deep breath and looks off before answering. “Although I haven’t seen your file… well, the fact that you’re a super soldier makes it likely.”

Bobbie nods at the flash stick still in Mark’s hand. “Can… can you?”

Mark nods again and just as he did with Turn, he leans forward and puts the flash stick up against the back of Bobbie’s ear. It flashes, and a moment later Bobbie is sitting back with that same dazed and confused look that Turn just had.

“Well?” Walter says.

“I joined up in 2018… on my 18th birthday.” He chuckles a mirthless chuckle. “Just in time for World War Three.”

“That was a helluva conflict,” Mark says, “one that was instrumental in getting the 177th off the ground in the first place.”

“The 177th?” Turn says.

“The 177th Time Travel Division based out of Area 51,” Mark replies. “Its heyday was, or will be, the years 2030 to 2036.” He smiles. “That’s when John Titor was in command.”

Blank stares from Turn and Bobbie meet those words, and Mark can’t help but chuckle to himself. Did I look the same way the first time I heard it? He figures he did.

“Look,” he says, growing serious once more, “we’ve got some time to kill. Let me explain.”

29 — The 177th