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m/m The Security Squad, Part 2


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Last chapter is found here:



The Security Squad: Part 2

News-reports about the so-called Security Squad were rare, and only reported about successful operations to prevent terrorist attacks. If what the news agencies reported, about the Security Squad, had been entirely true and the entire truth, The Squad would have been a force for the good -- as far as that was possible, under our contemporary regime -- but many of us doubted the accuracy of the news we heard or read.

Many of us. Not all of us. Some neighbours, even those who initially had objected to the re-structuring of our political system, gradually moved into acceptance of the status quo. Some of us heard the whispered rumours: About disappearances of those critical to The Leader. About sinister operations by the Security Squad. About rebels of several stripes not able to agree with each other.

Brad had been drafted before he could finish his studies in Ancient history and Archaeology. I had finished a Master Degree, and found work at a computer company. Brad had been away for six months, until he was permitted one week of leave. He spent two days with his parents, but had told me, that he would be glad to spend time with me. I didn't know what to expect.

He had switched back to civilian clothes -- mostly. He was wearing his favourite type of jeans and Adidas trainers, but his black t-shirt was printed in white with the heraldic crest of the Security Squad, and, since the weather was cold, he was wearing a shiny black bomber jacket. His former stylish haircut was changed into a stern jarhead cut. The bones of his face were more discernable than before. He had had that look twice before, shortly before competitions. That meant, that the Squad kept his bodyfat low. If he had been a friendly and intellectual bro before, he now felt intimidating. Was this the same person I knew, any longer, or had they succeeded in turning him into a stranger?

"Hello, Joe! Long time, no see! I am glad to see you."

There was something about the voice. Different. Military. Mixed feelings erupted. They had taken him from me, and turned him into a willing instrument for them. But there was also something thrilling about my close friend being a Squad-member. Dangerous. Able to explode into action. Into God knows what violent acts. I felt worried for him.

"What about a meal? I can afford it now."

We both knew a restaurant with a menu friendly towards the habits of fitness buffs and bodybuilders. The meal was decent enough, but it scarred my soul to listen to Brad's new jingoistic vocabulary.

"I am proud to serve the greatest Leader our country has ever had, and I am proud to serve the greatest country on Earth. We have never had it so good."

Brad suggested a walk in the park, and, without any greater amount of enthusiasm, I accepted.

"Some chewing gum after dinner? I brought your favourite."

Chewing gum? Favourite? I had never liked chewing gums very much. Brad passed me a thin and long chewing gum of a very old fashioned sort. The tinfoil paper looked like it was used. I unwrapped it. Someone had written on the gum stick with a pencil: Don't say something compromising. I turned it around: We might be bugged.

"Aren't you going to chew it?" 

"Thinking about it -- that sort is so thin, that you need two or three pieces, to have something to chew on."

He passed me another chewing gum. The tinfoil paper looked used on this one, too. More pencilled words: They try to break me. I'm still the same. and on the backside: Just play along.

"Do you have any time for exercise any longer, Brad?

"That's the best thing with the Squad. Some exercise is mandatory, and exercise on our spare time is encouraged. How about your own exercise?"

I felt embarrassed. Without Brad around to push me, I didn't train as often as we had done together, before he was conscripted.

"So and so. Not like before."

"I can see that. You look thinner than before." Suddenly he looked concerned. He put his hand on my shoulder.

We sat close to each other, like we used to do before. Despite his attempt to assuring messages (that was actually quite alarming), I felt worried. Nothing would become the same again. Bugged? Saying something compromising?

I was very glad to see him, and he hugged me several times, but a lot of things were not like before. The days came and went. He returned to his base.

- - -

A month later, an envelope, that looked very official, arrived in my postbox. I couldn't believe my eyes. A conscription draft. Me? Of all persons... The Security Squad? Who has gone insane among the authorities? I was supposed to take a train to the station so-and-so, and would receive further orders when there.

My world crumbled. The small corner of normality, which I had tried to uphold in a mad time, was robbed from me. My reasonably good job. My reasonably good flat.

I worked the next day in a dazed state. I arranged for one of my cousins to take over my flat. I ate at one of my usual places, which, I am sad to admit, wasn't the healthy place with all the egg-white omelettes and whey-muffins. A woman, who looked vaguely familiar, sat down at my table without asking. I looked up.

"Karen? It's years! What are you doing here?"

She smiled, but I couldn't free myself from the impression, that the smile was somewhat artificial.

"I'm visiting old relatives. As you know..."

She laid a paper napkin in front of me. A paper napkin with text. Please spy on Security Squad. Don't show surprise. We'll contact you.

"... my parents are dead, but I have several other relatives left in town."

"Town", I said with some irritation.

"Small city, then. What are you doing nowadays?"

"Working with computers. Yourself?"

"I'm writing articles for a magazine about engineering. Oh forgive me..." She sneezed, and blew her nose in the paper napkin. The ink must have been soluble, since the text turned into a blurry blot. She swiftly pressed the napkin into a little ball.

The evening continued. My world was becoming even more confused, but I tried to keep a good facade. I have no idea, about how well I managed.

- - -

Yellow leaves were falling from the trees, in the alley close to the railway station. I was wandering around the station building, waiting for other travellers to disperse. I suspected, that the personel from Security Squad wouldn't blatantly advertise about the exact location of one of their bases, even if such things seldomly would be hidden from the locals for any longer time. I wasn't the only one, who seemed to wait for some sort of transport. Three other men seemed to wait, and seemed to not be from these whereabouts. I observed one of them. It couldn't be... Not him!

But it was. Bill from first to sixth grade. He was now in his mid-20s, and his face was of course more mature than it had been then, but he had kept the visage of a bulldog, and time hadn't robbed him from his baby-fat, but turned it into the belly of an over-weight young man, instead. I hadn't seen him for almost ten years. What was he doing here?

A bus arrived. The driver was wearing some sort of non-descript uniform, and it was hard to guess which branch of the armed forces he belonged to.

"Documents, please."

All four of us fumbled after our drafts, and having checked them and our ID cards, he allowed us aboard the bus. We left the railway station behind. The base was located one hour into nowhere, and surrounded by a bleak and autumnal landscape. It was already becoming dark.

The moment we left the bus, a man in a very intimidating uniform left one of the buildings, and stood before us. His uniform trousers were made of black leather. He was wearing a black army sweater of wool, with some extra padding at the elbows and shoulders. His army boots were heavy, and looked high tech.

"Recruits! I am Sergeant Williams, and you will soon regret the day you met me. I will be your worst nightmare. I will break you, and I will rebuild you into harder, better, faster, stronger men, so that you will better serve your country and your Leader. But first, you will all collect your equipment in that building. No questions. You will be briefed later."

The Sergeant was scaring the shit out of me, but not only me. With some glee, I noticed, that the Sergeant had frightened Bill, too. We jogged in the direction of the building, and collected our equipment. Though wearing the same sort of uniform as Sarge, the man behind the counter was slightly less frightening, and adviced us about the whereabouts of the barracks. I began to put my civilian clothes into a locker, and put some of my equipment into it, which took some time.

"I don't know what the hell you are doing here, Joe, but I will make your life a hell."

I knew that voice. I turned around. It was Bill. I don't know how he had managed, but he had already changed into uniform. Obviously, it could change the appearance even of a man with a belly. I felt trapped. Memories from the past rose to the surface of my mind. Schoolyards. Shouting children. Rubble in my palm.

"How slow are you weak sissies actually?", a voice roared. It was the Sergeant again. "You were given this much time, and none of you has managed to fill your locker in an orderly way and change into uniform."

I glanced in the direction of Bill's locker. He had spent his time changing, but had left both his civilian clothes and his equipment in a heap in front of his locker. The Sergeant continued to roar:

"I give you five minutes."

I am not able to describe the following days in any detail. They are a blur of running with equipment, shouting, inspections, push-ups and surprise awakenings. I remember the scent of shoe polish, leather, wet wool and male sweat. A positive aspect of those days was, that Bill never had the time or opportunity to make any threats into reality, and, since he was in worse physical condition than I, he was generally exhausted. I still didn't know, why two such unsuitable persons like myself and Bill had been recruited.

- - -

For some time, the men who had arrived with me (and those who had arrived with some communications immediately before and after us) were kept isolated from the other men, but, one day, that limitation was lifted. I was eating lunch, noticing, that the quality of the food had improved. For days, we had eaten food rich in starch, but not containing much else, but now we were given fish, egg halves, omelettes and low-fat yoghurt, among other things. Someone sat down on the empty chair opposite my own. I looked up. It was Brad.

I hadn't seen him in uniform before. He was the type of person, which this uniform was designed for, to begin with. His black, woolen sweater enhanced the forms of his shoulders, traps and chest. His narrow waist was obvious for everyone. The black leather trousers with pockets on their legs made him look more dangerous than Sarge. His face was less gaunt, than when we had met the last time, and he was radiant of health.

"Your new haircut suits you, Private. Makes you look much more masculine." Brad nodded at my jarhead cut.


"No, not when we are on duty. I'm Sergeant Smith now. Williams is not the only Sergeant around, as you will notice. But I am glad to see you."

"Permission to speak, Sir!"


"What am I doing here, Sir? Any records of physical tests must show, that I am not of the same ability as yourself, Sir!"

"I am not able to reveal any classified information, Private, but I am assured, that you will soon be briefed. How have you endured recent time?"

"Sergeant Williams has enhanced my cardio, Sergeant, but I am not used to army life. I'm rather good at keeping my locker neat."

"I see. Your schedule is filled with activity most of the time, and so is mine, but let us see, if we can talk more when our times for recreation overlap."

To be continued.

The story continues here:





Edited by Hialmar
grammar, link, adjectives, added rubric and prefix
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I am well aware of, that it isn't in everyone's taste, but I am grateful for your kind words. They show, that some readers -- like you -- are willing to read this sub-genre.

One of my unfinished stories, takes place in a military setting, too, but in that story democracy is intact (or recently restored), and the protagonists are in conflict with the villain. The Security Squad is a story exploring the struggle between conscience, reason and instincts, and might frighten some readers. 

Please note, that I definitely not dream about living under the government Joe and Brad experience, but from a purely muscle-growth point of view, their adventure is exciting.

As you might have noticed, location is intentionally vague: Joe and Brad live in a country, which before the machtübernahme of The Lord Protector had a constitution similar to US (no Queen involved, at least not visibly so), but the inhabitants speaks British English (or what I attempt to be British English). They wear pants under their trousers, and they wear trainers on their feet - not sneakers, but I have probably mixed British and American English up, now and then. In this story it doesn't matter. Such a mix would add to the undefined whereabouts of the story. The scary thing is, that it could happen anywhere. Look at Hungary and Poland right now. 

Writing about men considerably younger than myself has its problems, but I try to remember how it was between age 18 and 30, and the educational background of Joe and Brad would explain there way of speaking. I am not good at emulating the particular way 25 year old Britons -- or North Americans -- speak. And if Gigantic Beast reads this: Yes, I include Canada in the term North America, and I don't know what I shall call the United Stateians in order to exclude Canada, Mexico and Bahamas.

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