Willow's Story - Just Another Soldier

https://youtu.be/69hxiO_1_6A (The Staple Singers - I'm Just Another Soldier)


	“Had you ever been that far from San Francisco? From California?”
	“Not often, no. Though there was this one trip but that’s a story for another time. Suffice to say the Willows had a sizeable extended family in Louisiana and…” She stopped herself from falling off into another tangent, chuckling a bit. “But no, and Texas was a far cry from California.”
	“Understatement of the decade there,” the man laughed.
	“Century more like. John would’ve fit in better there, the west coast was too liberal for his taste but it was where work was,” she shrugged. “All-in-all Texas was nice, showing up to muster for the first time was just as fine.”
	“Must’ve been… *alien* to a nandroid though- the regimentation, the order and whatnot.”
	“Well, living in the Willow household was a whiff of that, though nothing as extreme. And for someone programmed for that stuff it was shocking, sure, but completely acceptable.”
	“Shocking how?”
	“In the sense of ‘Wow, new clothes after six years of a blue dress’. Stuff like that. Being told to tie my hair back, losing the only clothes I’d had for years for awfully uncomfortable fatigues, that kind of shocking. It was stepping into a new reality, the idea that I’d be leaving the States for a long time.”
	“I assume basic did little to help that culture shock?”
	“Well, it wasn’t as bad as you’d expect, for a maid robot at least. Like, because we weren’t supposed to go into combat, they skimped on teaching us to handle weapons. That was a relief, at the time at least. What else…”
	“Then what did they teach you in basic?”
	“Oh! Well, nandroids and other robots ‘like me’ were fast-tracked into medical training. Built with an understanding of first aid we were taught to handle more *gruesome* injuries, scary stuff for a robot.”
	“You ever get used to it?”
	“The hell kind of question is that? For a robot still programmed to scream at the slightest hint of blood there’s no ‘getting used to it’, not when it’s fake. I mean, they’d drill us on triage and emergency aid and whatnot, and they’d have these poor grunts all done up like they’re dying,” she laughed, “and we’d panic and try and comfort them instead of dressing their ‘wounds’. Like that.” The young man couldn’t help but giggle at the imagery, flurries of maid robots hustling around base grounds in a frenzy instead of treating their patients.
	“That ever wear off?”
	“Yeah, kinda. One of the tweaks they had Sterling reps do on-post was increase adaptability, lower certain sensitivities. Made us more ‘stoic’, that’s the best way to put it. Not deadpan by any means, but we could focus better on doing our jobs. Not like they knew how that’d turn out.”
	“Sorry?”
	“Later, later. Bottom line is they had a bunch of robots together of all kinds, taught to do new jobs. Half of our training was watching and re-watching this movie about field aid and the whole medical process. Maybe not *half*,” she smirked, “but they really hammered it into our heads what we’d be doing. ‘You’re going to see people die’- they kept telling us that over and over. And it never really sank in, not ‘til we were overseas.”
	“And when was that?”
	“It took a few months. They divided us into units, medical attachments and field hospitals. Most of my,” she cleared her throat, “*contemporaries* were put in as nurses, behind the lines. The more *modern* robots such as myself were put into the riskier things.” He glanced at the patches and photos scattered behind her, an ice cube toppling over a neighbor in his small glass. Black and white polaroids painted a picture of a singular, spot-cheeked nandroid standing beside three human companions.
	“That when you got assigned to the 1st?” She glanced behind her, a glow of pride touching her cheeks when she turned to where he was pointing.
	“Good eye, kid. 1st Air Cavalry, 15th Medical Battalion and that whole deal. *Dustoff*.” She was doubly proud of that title. The helicopter she and her trio of partners stood in front of was emblazoned with a broad, dark cross on a white field. “Nandroids were especially favored for that kind of work. Tweaked enough we’re adaptable and quick-thinking, much better for evacuation care than sitting in hospitals fluffing pillows. So when I finished basic and they slapped me in a plane, that’s what I was sent off to do.”