Free The Eternity Brigade by Stephen Goldin, Ivan Goldman

promised to add new dimensions to warfare. Hawker and his comrades learned to disassemble, clean and reassemble every firearm in the U.S. arsenal, plus a number of captured enemy models. They saw films and demonstrations of artillery pieces, and practiced in conjunction with field artillery teams.
    Their schedule was so exhaustive they had little time for private lives. Between meals, classes and field exercises, Hawker had little opportunity to talk with his friends. By the end of each day it was all he could do to crawl into bed and try to get a little sleep before the cycle repeated itself the next day.
    Just as the recruits were congratulating themselves for surviving the weapons training, the physical examinations began. Each of them had been examined before being accepted into the program, and they thought the re-examinations were just a formality. They were wrong.
    The army was fully aware that this cryogenic experiment was something that had never been attempted on this scale or for this duration. It wanted to make certain each specimen was at the peak of health before committing him to the freezing procedure. Every major organ was tested several ways, with readings correlated for any systemic weakness that might fail under the stress of suspension.
    The day after the final results were in, the men were told to report to the laboratory building immediately after reveille. They were shown the equipment for the first time—large white coffins with thickly insulated walls. Hawker had expected to see tangles of wires leading from each coffin, as in the original videos, but the machinery was much too sophisticated for that. These boxes were designed to be shipped anywhere in the world within thirty-six hours, if an emergency arose; they couldn’t be entangled with needless spaghetti.
    When Captain Dukakis announced they were all to be prepped for the “final phase” of the experiment, there was a low rumbling through the group. None of the men had expected things to be this abrupt. “Don’t we even get a last meal?” someone asked nervously. “Even a murderer gets that!”
    “You had your last meal last night.” Dukakis was nervous and impatient himself. “We’ve found the process works best when the subjects’ stomachs are empty—otherwise ulcers tend to form. If your bodies develop any nutritional needs while you’re asleep, we can handle them intravenously. Now get moving.”
    The men were led into a waiting room and processed five at a time. Symington was in the first group. Green and Connors were taken in the same group, each ignoring the other’s existence. It was another forty-five minutes before Hawker, his stomach rumbling, was led off to the prepping room.
    He was forced to strip completely, and underwent several enemas to clean out his bowels. This, the nurse explained brusquely, was to prohibit any impactions of waste products in his system while he was in suspension. His penis would be catheterized as well, but that would be done after he was unconscious to minimize the discomfort. He was given a mild sedative shot and led to his own box—number 37, he noticed.
    “Won’t it be awfully cold?” he asked suddenly as he was climbing inside.
    “You’ll be asleep before you can feel any drop in temperature,” the nurse promised him.
    Hawker stretched out in his box and tried to make himself comfortable. After all, he’d be in this box for quite some time; he didn’t want to wake up after ten years with a kink in his leg. But no matter how he stretched out, the box was just the triflest too narrow to allow him any comfort. But, on reflection, he thought that might have been intentional. The doctors wouldn’t want him turning even slightly in his sleep and upsetting their instruments, so they’d make the fit as tight as possible.
    Just as he thought he was settling in, the technicians around him began attaching instruments all over his body. One small disk was attached in the center of his