"War…” Just another one of life's sick games that the young get forced to play. Not too long ago since I left high school via graduation. The rest of my days seemed normal until my parents stumbled upon a letter in the mail with an eagle logo displayed on the front of the envelope. It was addressed to me but as odd as it may seem, I reluctantly opened it anyway. The military wanted to draft me into the army as a recruit. My family told me to do it. I had no choice in the matter since I just freshly came out of high school and if I declined the offer, I would face repercussions. The next morning I packed my things as there was a hard knock at the front door.
Looking down from the upstairs window, there were two men dressed in camo outfits and steel toe boots holding assault rifles in front of them. I assumed that they were escorting soldiers here to pick me up. Upon adding in a few more essentials, my parents answered the door and called me down. Rushing down the stairs I nearly tripped but managed to maintain my balance. The men asked if my name was as the file mentioned. I nodded, hugged my family, and waved goodbye as the soldiers took me into their vehicle and drove away heading to their base camp. I've only seen pictures of military bases before but seeing them in person makes you nothing more than to be astounded by its presence.
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Along the way, the soldiers engaged me in small talk and light conversation to break the ice until we arrived. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be since I found myself laughing at the jokes discussed. Once the vehicle stopped, we exited and walked for about 15 minutes to the training facility. There were quite a lot more people than anticipated to be here. Heck, I even saw quite a bunch of familiar faces from high school. The youngest out of us ranged from 10-12 years old. If the age bracket for drafting has gotten this low, you probably have a general concept as to how bad the situation could be.
After a brief reunion, each of us was given a combat knife, pistol, belt of grenades, and a standard-issue militia uniform equipped with a medic kit. Upon further inspection, my knife seemed different from the others. It had a trigger and the interior around the blade seemed to be some sort of socket. When I tested it, it turned out to be a ballistic knife. After signing a form and a few introductions, we all went to bed since training commenced at 0'600 in the morning.