General Story turned to his aid, Lieutenant Colonel Andrea Simpson, sitting beside him. “I need to attend a briefing with Secretary James in a nearby classified location and will be out of pocket for the duration.”
Worn out and trying to hide it, Simpson wiped away a wisp of red hair from her forehead. “Understood, sir. If something comes up…”
The general cut in, “I won’t be gone long.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Simpson. Curiosity burning through the fatigue, she asked, “Should I go with you?”
The general glanced towards Secretary James and saw the man getting up and looking his way. “Not this time, Colonel. Secretary James has transportation standing by, and this meeting is for my eyes only.” He thought of his promise to the president; either embrace the offer or resign at once. He didn’t tell Simpson that part; no need. If he wasn’t coming back, well, the president was correct, everyone was replaceable. Getting up, he felt the stiffness in his legs and took a long stretch. Feeling better, the general squared his shoulders and marched across the room to meet the skinny man and learn more about SALI.
A sleek, autonomous electric vehicle picked up the passengers. No driver needed, both men sat in the back. Upon entering, General Story appreciated the soft leather seats. While driving, there was no engine or discernible road noise. The combination created a luxuriating experience and nurtured a tiredness that swept across the general.
But sleep wasn’t in the cards, the voice of Secretary James keeping him awake, “We’re on our way to visit the estate of Dr. Vivek Basu.”
“Humph,” replied the general. He knew the name, a major technology investor and business tycoon.
“He not only lives nearby but operates a renowned spiritual awakening camp: 175 acres of pristine mountain property with zero technology, unplugged. During the summer, he runs a camp for children as an opportunity to experience life before the internet age. As for the rest of the year, retreats are held for those wishing to avoid the influence of technology. Surrounded by fencing, the property has no cell service, internet connectivity, landlines, or computers. Beyond basic security measures and electricity, technology is prohibited on the property. It’s an awesome place, like traveling back to the 1930s.”
Ensconced in comfortable leather, trying to enjoy the ride and keep the horrible day at bay, the general found the high-pitched voice of Secretary James to be the only nuisance.
James continued, “When we get there, we’ll pass through an outer gate. There, visitors turn over all personal electronics for the duration, but we have clearance to visit the main residence, so we won’t turn over any of our stuff until we get there. Pretty cool, wouldn’t you agree?”
Reclined in the soft seat, tired, the general wasn’t up to conversing. “Sure, great. Now, how much farther?”
“Soon,” replied the secretary.
He couldn’t help it. With thoughts of the day swirling, the general closed his eyes and drifted into a disturbed sleep.
She heard moaning, then tasted it again: delicious. More! Licking her lips, she wanted more and tried to say so, but her throat was too dry. She was dead, worse than dead. Eyes fluttering open and with a throbbing head, in the dim light, she saw a curved metal roof. She tried to think where she was, who she was, but the pounding was too much, and she reclosed her eyes. Somehow, through the pain and disorientation, she detected a whisper.
“Shhh. It’s okay.”
Maybe she wasn’t dead? Water splashed on her cracked lips, and her tongue flicked at the precious moisture. It felt cool and soothing against her parched throat. Determined, she opened her eyes. In a rough whisper, she asked, “Where am I?”
In a low tone came a reply, “You’re with me, Sergeant Upton, inside a pipe behind enemy lines. You’re wounded.”
She tried to piece it together, but her head hurt too bad. An overwhelming thirst drove her, and she begged. “More water.” Opening her mouth, she waited until a wonderful sight emerged. A straw hovered, and she grabbed the plastic, pulled it between her lips, and sucked hard. Before she’d had enough, it pulled away.
“Not too much too fast. You’ll get sick.”
She tried to lift her head and get a sense of who was speaking and where she was. A mistake. The throbbing worsened. She lay back, raised a hand to her forehead, and wiped her brow. It still hurt. Alarmed, a face filled her vision, and she dropped her hand. Unsure, blinking, she tried to make the person out. The visage wore a head protection system, visor lifted, but with a headlamp breaking the darkness. Recognition dawned. Upton, a tough son of a bitch. She remembered more. A terrible fight, diving for the pipe, but nothing since then. Brow furrowed, she tried to recall further and didn’t notice his movement until he pressed something to her lips. In response, McMichael asked, “What?”
“Open your mouth, I’ve got a painkiller and more water.”
Still in pain, but seeking relief, McMichael opened wide and felt a pill land on her tongue. Like a miracle, the straw returned, and she took it, sucking the water and medication down her throat. Again, too soon, the straw pulled from her mouth. But she didn’t resist. Head still throbbing, she closed her eyes and tried gathering her senses. After a few seconds, she asked, “Where are we?”
In a patient whisper, Upton answered, “We’re in a pipe. The enemy is outside, all around. Keep your eyes closed, let that pill work, then we’ll go from there.”
Head pounding with less intensity, soothed by water, awash in sleepiness, McMichael complied.
Upton watched her drift off to sleep or unconsciousness; he wasn’t sure which, although it didn’t matter. She needed rest and time for the painkiller. To save on battery power, he clicked off his headlamp and thought about what he’d done.
Much earlier in the day, upon climbing into the pipe, the relief was instant, followed by the sheer joy of being alive. But as the bombardment lessened then stopped, he’d time to think. Guilt emerged as he thought of his squad, abandoned while he cowered out of the fight.
As the day progressed into early evening, more than once he determined to leave the pipe. Twice he’d inched close to where he climbed in, but he could hear movement along the road and knew it was the enemy by the sound of their diesel-powered vehicles. So he remained hidden, but guilt continued to chew his guts. Knowing he couldn’t hide forever, he’d been crawling in the opposite direction to find a better way out, when the sound of voices reached his ears. From that point, he moved like a quiet assassin until he came to the end of the pipe. Looking out, he was greeted by the sight of two enemy assholes about to commit rape. Fortune smiled as the men were facing away. Angry at what they were doing, driven further by his own guilt, he slipped from the pipe and, using his knife, killed them both. Afterward, he recognized McMichael, and his anger grew, but there wasn’t time for venting. Out in the open with the enemy all around, the extent of her injuries unknown, he needed to hide their tracks and take cover.
He went to work and positioned the two bodies to make it look like the bastards had killed each other. After that, he found McMichael’s pants, a blanket, and more water lying nearby. He gathered it all and placed the items on the blanket. Next, he lifted McMichael on top and hoisted the entire bundle inside the pipe. Then he crawled in, and with just enough clearance, he climbed up and over. On the other side, on all fours, he used the blanket as a travois and dragged McMichael back towards the direction he’d come. He estimated they’d traveled over three hundred meters and were now close to where he’d first entered.