Chapter 1

(The personal diary of Specialist Jennifer Collins CM2771902 dated I January 2022 found in the ashes of the Battle of Detroit)

They told the shivering group of raw recruits that in order for us to function in a normal way in the correct manner; we would have to keep a diary of our progress and eventual rehabilitation as a valued member of society. Those are not my words but the words of the district leader Livingston Jumping Eagle to the incoming class of 2020 as we stood in the driving rainstorm like a bunch of frightened sheep waiting for the final journey to the butcher shop. It sounded a bit contrived to me like the touchy-feely crap they feed you in high school.

My name is Jennifer Collins and I have started my dairy this day with this first entry about how we started our new training efforts at the old military camp that used to be called Fort Dix. Now it is just a pathetically littered landscape of buildings falling apart from lack of maintenance and dismal roads that were in dire need of re-paving. Our building is one of the old wooden ones with lots of windows but no air conditioning and only a pot-bellied stove in the basement to keep it warm in cold weather.

I have been selected to be the keeper of the flame which means I am not to allow the stove to cool off beyond the recall of a strong draft to bring the embers back up into a hot burning fire. The building fire would drive off the snow and the ice and even heat the water for the showers at the end of the building. If I failed, all of the girls would be angry at me for shivering in the frigid temperatures and being forced to take showers in freezing water. That was more like torture than being stretched over the gun-rack and having your bottom blistered by the group leader's paddle. I had already watched several of the girls being disciplined by the guards and knew the harmless looking canes they all carried raised welts that lasted for days.

Our group leader was an Indian girl called simply Zoe. She was a "from India" Indian and not an American Indian like you would have suspected in these circumstances. Her uniform was custom tailored with shiny buttons that reflected the light from the lanterns at night. Our unsightly so-called uniforms were more like sacks that had been fashioned together to hide our nakedness from the many males looking for a free peek show. Zoe's uniform was tight over her backside and whenever she instructed us at the blackboard, her perfectly shaped cheeks wiggled about like bowls of pudding fighting to get out of the fabric. I am not one of those girls who are attracted to such things. I am just describing her appearance and her attitude.

They usually let me miss the early morning exercises to catch up on my sleep that I had missed tending the house fire. I complained about everything out of habit because everyone expected it from you, but in actuality, I really loved the fire keeper job and I loved shoveling the hard black coal into the hot furnace and stirring the hot embers to keep it all moving nice and smooth and not forming into terrible clinkers that needed brute strength to separate from the grates. I had gotten burned a couple of times but I was real careful now and managed to avoid any serious injury.

Zoe came down to do an unscheduled inspection last night and caught me starting to doze off sitting up in the wooden chair right by the door. I was petrified with fear thinking that she could sentence me to the "joy brigade" which was a cover title for the whore station all of these places used to keep the fighting males happy while they learned how to kill the enemy. I think I would rather be taken and used as a decoy on the weapons range rather than the slow death of spreading my legs dozens of times each and every night for complete strangers.

I already knew that most of the males were either volunteers for service or had been recruited from the prison system that incarcerated any male without certified employment after reaching eighteen years of age. It seemed a bit harsh to make lack of employment a crime but the lack of sustainable economic resources had made non-workers guilty of felony crimes against society and our way of life. Under the female exemption clauses of the new order, women were excused from military duty but they had to be re-educated as loyal members of society if they had not produced at least one child to offset the falling population figures that impacted economy GDP. In my case, I was not likely to have a child since I still had my cherry and had no interest in "Doing it for the good of society".

So the females were there if they were not producing children for the state and the males were there if they did not manage to find a job to contribute to the economic order.

The religion-driven fighting had been going on for almost thirty years now and didn't show any sign of ending any time soon. The young men were shipped off to countries that were still living in the stone ages just to show the enemy that we were still willing to fight for our freedom. The sealing of our borders with barbed wire and landmines and towers with lights and machine guns stopped the hordes of illegal aliens but also eliminated the volunteers for military service and the millions of moms that kept the population figures sustainable.

Fortunately, the females over forty were given exemption providing they either "backed up" the military with free pussy or cared for the children entrusted to the care of the state.

I was surprised when I got scooped up in a sweep of our neighborhood because I thought I had at least six months before I was liable under the new laws. It was too late to claim motherhood because I was still a virgin and as a female I had absolutely no chance of getting a job because no employer wanted a nubile woman working just until she got knocked up.