Kinney shifted and then moved closer until he was between her widespread knees. Hunched over, his helmet just touching the top of the pipe, with the Glock in his right hand, he used the other to unclip his hydration system. With arm extended, he offered her the water.
Heart racing, head pounding, McMichael knew this was it. In one quick motion with her left hand, she reached up and gripped Kinney’s right wrist holding the Glock. Then she shoved upwards pinning his hand and gun against the pipe. Simultaneously, hidden beneath her crumpled pants, clutching Upton’s knife, she pushed up her other hand, but it wouldn’t move far. The blade had somehow caught in her pants. Worse, Kinney’s headlamp blinded her, and she sensed his strength and wits recovering. In slow motion, she felt him forcing his pinned hand down. She couldn’t resist for long. Blinded, eyes averted from the light, she struggled to free the knife.
Kinney, pushing downward to free his right hand, with the other smashed the soft canvas water bottle against McMichael’s forehead. Seeming to sense the futility, he flung it away. With his hand unencumbered, he grabbed her throat.
Adrenaline raging, she didn’t register the water bottle bouncing off her forehead, but she did feel his hand wrap around her neck. Just then, she felt the knife come free, and with Kinney choking her, she stabbed upwards. The razor-sharp blade sliced through Kinney’s flesh, entering below the base of his head protection system. With animal strength, she shoved the knife further, penetrating his chin, then mouth, up through his tongue into the roof of his mouth. Another push, and she cut through into the man’s nasal cavity. Blood sprayed everywhere, splattering into her eyes. Ignoring the gore, she focused on the task and didn’t blink.
Kinney, his right hand pinned holding the suppressed Glock, pulled the trigger several times. The shots penetrated the corrugated metal, into the dirt beyond, each time creating a miniature sand waterfall. But McMichael continued to leverage his wrist and keep it pinned. A few seconds later and around her neck, she felt his other hand loosen. Then, in apparent desperation, Kinney shifted his hand from her neck and grabbed the exposed portion of the knife blade. As he tried to pull the weapon free, she could feel the meat in his fingers against the razor edge and guessed he was slicing himself to the bone. She hung on, and in obvious agony, Kinney went into a wild and desperate rage. He bucked with great strength, and she felt his grip tightening around the blade as he tried to pry the anguish from his mouth.
To keep from being overcome, she didn’t hesitate and clamped her naked legs around the struggling man. Locking her ankles, she kept him in place.
Still he tried to buck from her grip, but her strong limbs held him firm while the pipe above constrained his movement.
To press her advantage, McMichael shimmied her legs higher and pulled the soldier closer, forcing his face deeper into the knife. She noticed how Kinney didn’t speak or yell. He couldn’t with his tongue pegged to the roof of his mouth. Instead, he made gurgling sounds and grunts while his bloody grip on the knife prevented the blade from going deeper. Not caring, McMichael drove harder, twisting, and she felt his fingers loosening.
As hot blood splashed from her victim, the sensation strengthened her. Back and forth she sawed the knife, ripping more of Kinney’s flesh. Rivers of dark came pouring out, flooding her chest with hot waves of slippery death. She pushed and strained, arms and legs burning, for what seemed like an eternity.
Bloodied and sliced, Kinney’s hand began to slip, and she felt the knife inch upward. As he tried to regrip the blade, she noticed his hand losing strength. Looking in his eyes, she saw tears of pain and watched as they trickled down his cheeks and mixed with the blood streaming from his horrific wound. As she twisted, she detected the sound of flesh, bone, and gristle grinding and tearing against the knife. After one last struggle, his hand fell away from the KA-BAR and she sensed there was nothing left.
A second later and the knife penetrated to the hilt, and at last she felt Kinney relax and go still.
Exhausted, panting, holding the dead weight above her, she rested for a moment. A sudden urge to be free arose, and still pinned to the pipe, she let go of Kinney’s Glock hand allowing it to fall aside. With her left hand free, she pressed it against Kinney’s helmeted forehead while she used the other to twist and pull out the knife. Blade in hand, she dropped it, and then lowered the man until his helmeted head came to rest alongside hers.
With Kinney lying atop, her legs still wrapped around his torso, she shuddered. Disgusted, she wanted him off. Panicked, she pushed up his head, dug her heels along his sides, kicked and pushed until only his face rested in her lap.
For a few seconds, breathing heavy, she sat there staring at the back of his helmeted head. Still fighting against panic, with a bitter scowl, she scooted herself away until his ruptured face slipped off and smacked wet against the pipe.
With her legs still astride Specialist Kinney’s body, the remnants of his headlamp leaking light, the pipe was almost dark. Still there was enough visibility to divine a pool of blood massed between her legs, covering her thighs, thick across her chest. In revulsion, she bent to the side and dry heaved.
Exhausted to the core, she lay back and took a series of deep breaths. Tears emerged as she imagined her kids, their faces, and antics swirling through her mind. Not noticing, each tear created a trail through blood-spattered cheeks. She took another deep breath and tried to calm herself.
To return home, she realized, meant playing soldier for a while longer. And it sucked.
Chapter Nineteen
A PLAN
After watching SALI leave the room with the disk drive handed to her by Secretary James, the general glowered at the skinny man. Sitting across from James, the general didn’t care for how the crumpled secretary lounged on the cushy couch with a smug smile, holding a glass of wine as if it were any other day. For the first time in history, people had died defending the Republic of American States. Worse, General Story hated being in the dark and didn’t have time to play games. Before he could launch into a tirade, Ms. Grant sat down on a recliner at the opposite end of the coffee table.
“I want to apologize for SALI. That woman is a handful,” said Ms. Grant, shaking her head.
The general took the opening, “And who the hell, or what the hell, is she?”
As he swirled the wine in his glass, Secretary James answered, “That woman is our SALI, and she does her best to enjoy life.”
“Is she a computer, a droid?” asked the general searching for an explanation.
The secretary laughed and shook his head. “No, no, SALI is a real woman. One hundred percent woman, I might add.”
“Where is the artificial intelligence platform both you and the president promised? Instead, I find myself at a late-night cocktail party with a half-naked woman.”
Ms. Grant went ashen. “Again, I apologize for her behavior. When SALI has new guests, well, she overreacts.”
“I don’t care about that,” snapped the general. “Look, without answers and a briefing on how the AI can help, there’s no point continuing. If she’s a real woman, then she can’t be the damn AI. In case everyone’s forgotten, we’re at war.”
“Oh, General,” said James, “You’ve met the AI, or at least part of her.”
“What?” asked the general.
“Let me explain,” answered the secretary placing his glass on the table. “That woman is a piece of the AI, the living, breathing part. She is human, same as you and I. Below us, in a secure data center, the balance of the system is humming. Together, they can process data at a rate greater than a million minds combined.”