"They can do that, you know. The law is just an idea."
It’s my birthday today. I’m finally old enough to drink. Harry Miller is taking me out to celebrate. He tells me he’s taking me to a strip club called Goldfingers. I don’t really want to go to a place like that but he has a way of making me feel like I don’t have a choice about things.
I figure Harry is just about my only friend here, at the base. He’s a lot older than me, but he’s taken me under his wing, for some reason. The other guys don’t seem to like me for some reason. They hide it when a CO’s around, and I guess they don’t really give me a hard time or anything, but I can see it in their eyes. They never want to talk with me for too long, or spend too much time with me. Something about me puts them off. Except Harry. Harry always has time for me. He says he’s the only one here that understands me. That really understands me.
I’m not so sure about that, but he always says it like I know what he means, like he’s getting away with something. I don’t know why. There’s nothing that special about me. I joined up because my father wanted me to be a soldier, and I nearly got kicked out because I never did. I still don’t. But even though I’m weak and lazy and will probably never amount to anything I didn’t get kicked out; I got sent here instead.
Apparently it’s a very elite unit. At least that’s what they told us. I’m not sure what makes a military unit elite anymore. I’m not sure even the military knows. I thought it meant that everyone in it was tough and strong and ready to die in a Siberian prison camp. But all we do is sit around at a base in Idaho and run flight simulations. Over and over and over. It’s highly classified, what we do. No one is supposed to know we even exist.