Nome Airport -- Nome, Alaska Free State -- 7:00am Alaska Time -- Sunday July 15, 2018
Flight Lieutenant Charles Whittington. Confederate Air Force 60th Frontal Aviation Squadron. Leesville, South Carolina CSA
The summer sunrise blinded the men in the waiting room as the look out into the starting day.
There were perhaps 30 of them here. It's been sometime that any of them saw the outdoors like this.
Charles has been in this desolate place since the previous fall.
SOMEBODY SWING AROUND! HELP ME OUT! PICKED UP TWO!
MISSILE WARNING. MISSILE WARNING. MISSILE WARNING.
He ended up shot down. Captured. Found. Caught.
Prisoner of a war undeclared...officially.
They said the Californians were too "soft" to engage in torture.
Whoever said that lied.
They were rough on the handsome, young man. The worst of it meted out...by a woman.
The thoughts still haunt him. A venomous Asian woman who enjoyed her job.
She walked to him, and slapped him..hard
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!"
The palm of her glove impacted his face and he felt a sharp burning. A nasty burning. His nose detected a faint aroma of burnt flesh.
"First question," she said. "How does the C-16's target acquisition system separate differing targets at different altitudes and distances.."
"Like I'm gonna tell you that?"
-- smack --
"AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"
"Lets try it again," she said.
"I see you are in tears at two slaps....So tell me Confederate...."
"Who's the bitch now?"
He didn't much of anything of the world outside wherever he the others were held. They didn't know much of anything.
It been a day since the captor announced they were being transferred.
It was last night when they found out they would be sent to an airport.
Could it be?
A group of people entered the room with trays of food. With them were men and women in lab coats. They wore armbands with a red cross on them.
The assorted men in looked at them.
"Doctors? Nurses?" Lt. Charles Whittington thought. "They brought us this far...As more of their game?"
One of the doctors spoke up.
"Good morning," the doctor said, in a speech and cadence that was quite familiar to the 30 men here.
"As you can hear, I am one of you." He said.
"I am Doctor Kilgore. I'm and this team are from the Confederate Red Cross."
He pulled out a paper. "Under the terms of the NIPKORCAL-Orlando Pact Joint Agreement On Alaska of June 25, 2018, a timetable has been set for the exchange and return of detained military personnel on all sides. You are among first to be heading back to friendly territory. A transport will be here in a few hours to fly you to Anchorage. From there you were be checked out and more detail and debriefed. From there you will get military transport back to the Confederate States."
Some of the men raised their voices in the cheers. There was many happy, if painful, smiles.
"Yes, friends," the doctor said cheerfully. "You're going home."
"But," he paused. "Not before you have a good Confederate breakfast. You may serves yourself."
Each man raced towards the food carts and trays in the room. Captivity had meant meager rations for weeks...or months.
Lt. Whittington was among the first. Piling on the grits and sausages on his plate and attacking the feast before him.
"Hey soldier," one of the nurse notices as she walked by, "Slow down. We got plenty."
Whittington barely noticed. He was devouring the meal like his life depended on it.
Around the room, it was much the same. A lot of gorging of food by men who hadn't seen much.
There was also another hunger as well. There was a hunger to know. There buzz in the room, even with some of the military guards of the enemy listening.
"Ma'am," Whittington asked the nurse. "What's happened? I've been away for...God know how long...What day is it?"
The nurse sit next to him. "Sunday July 15."
"JULY???" the pilot said. "I've been here damn near a year?"
The nurses nodded.
Another man asked just down the room, "So if they are letting us go, does it mean they've quit?"
"Yes!" another man, a CS Army tanker, asked. "They may have quit...or what have. When I get captured. We were pushing North, hoping to have boots in Prudhoe Bay by know."
More men built their idea wish.
"Oh Jesus I hope so!" another soldier said. "If they quit, it means all of Alaska is OURS as it should be."
The nurses shook her head. "They didn't quit, but neither did we."
Whittington looked at the nurse quizzically.
"Alaska now has a boundary. Our side has the south. Their side has the north."
There were other conversations they both heard snippets from.
Around the world, the deck was shuffling. Philippines. China. Portugal. Maine. Slovenia. Greece. Ukraine. Chechnya. Congo.
Home.
"How are thing back home"
The nurse answered, "Nervous. So much change coming so fast. Too fast if you ask me."
"Change?"
"The government cracked down on those people disrupting Mississippi and Arkansas."
"They did? Good!"
"But Congress may still push through what those coloreds want."
"Since when has the Congress cared about the Coloreds?"
"They didn't want a major city going up in flames."
"What?" an eavesdropping soldier asked. "Where did that happened."
"Louisville...right after the Hutson Bowl, and all the carrying on about the protests, and the march....and the schools."
"What about schools."
"Yeah, and what about the game?"
to be continued.
Flight Lieutenant Charles Whittington. Confederate Air Force 60th Frontal Aviation Squadron. Leesville, South Carolina CSA
The summer sunrise blinded the men in the waiting room as the look out into the starting day.
There were perhaps 30 of them here. It's been sometime that any of them saw the outdoors like this.
Charles has been in this desolate place since the previous fall.
SOMEBODY SWING AROUND! HELP ME OUT! PICKED UP TWO!
MISSILE WARNING. MISSILE WARNING. MISSILE WARNING.
He ended up shot down. Captured. Found. Caught.
Prisoner of a war undeclared...officially.
They said the Californians were too "soft" to engage in torture.
Whoever said that lied.
They were rough on the handsome, young man. The worst of it meted out...by a woman.
The thoughts still haunt him. A venomous Asian woman who enjoyed her job.
She walked to him, and slapped him..hard
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!"
The palm of her glove impacted his face and he felt a sharp burning. A nasty burning. His nose detected a faint aroma of burnt flesh.
"First question," she said. "How does the C-16's target acquisition system separate differing targets at different altitudes and distances.."
"Like I'm gonna tell you that?"
-- smack --
"AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"
"Lets try it again," she said.
"I see you are in tears at two slaps....So tell me Confederate...."
"Who's the bitch now?"
He didn't much of anything of the world outside wherever he the others were held. They didn't know much of anything.
It been a day since the captor announced they were being transferred.
It was last night when they found out they would be sent to an airport.
Could it be?
A group of people entered the room with trays of food. With them were men and women in lab coats. They wore armbands with a red cross on them.
The assorted men in looked at them.
"Doctors? Nurses?" Lt. Charles Whittington thought. "They brought us this far...As more of their game?"
One of the doctors spoke up.
"Good morning," the doctor said, in a speech and cadence that was quite familiar to the 30 men here.
"As you can hear, I am one of you." He said.
"I am Doctor Kilgore. I'm and this team are from the Confederate Red Cross."
He pulled out a paper. "Under the terms of the NIPKORCAL-Orlando Pact Joint Agreement On Alaska of June 25, 2018, a timetable has been set for the exchange and return of detained military personnel on all sides. You are among first to be heading back to friendly territory. A transport will be here in a few hours to fly you to Anchorage. From there you were be checked out and more detail and debriefed. From there you will get military transport back to the Confederate States."
Some of the men raised their voices in the cheers. There was many happy, if painful, smiles.
"Yes, friends," the doctor said cheerfully. "You're going home."
"But," he paused. "Not before you have a good Confederate breakfast. You may serves yourself."
Each man raced towards the food carts and trays in the room. Captivity had meant meager rations for weeks...or months.
Lt. Whittington was among the first. Piling on the grits and sausages on his plate and attacking the feast before him.
"Hey soldier," one of the nurse notices as she walked by, "Slow down. We got plenty."
Whittington barely noticed. He was devouring the meal like his life depended on it.
Around the room, it was much the same. A lot of gorging of food by men who hadn't seen much.
There was also another hunger as well. There was a hunger to know. There buzz in the room, even with some of the military guards of the enemy listening.
"Ma'am," Whittington asked the nurse. "What's happened? I've been away for...God know how long...What day is it?"
The nurse sit next to him. "Sunday July 15."
"JULY???" the pilot said. "I've been here damn near a year?"
The nurses nodded.
Another man asked just down the room, "So if they are letting us go, does it mean they've quit?"
"Yes!" another man, a CS Army tanker, asked. "They may have quit...or what have. When I get captured. We were pushing North, hoping to have boots in Prudhoe Bay by know."
More men built their idea wish.
"Oh Jesus I hope so!" another soldier said. "If they quit, it means all of Alaska is OURS as it should be."
The nurses shook her head. "They didn't quit, but neither did we."
Whittington looked at the nurse quizzically.
"Alaska now has a boundary. Our side has the south. Their side has the north."
There were other conversations they both heard snippets from.
Around the world, the deck was shuffling. Philippines. China. Portugal. Maine. Slovenia. Greece. Ukraine. Chechnya. Congo.
Home.
"How are thing back home"
The nurse answered, "Nervous. So much change coming so fast. Too fast if you ask me."
"Change?"
"The government cracked down on those people disrupting Mississippi and Arkansas."
"They did? Good!"
"But Congress may still push through what those coloreds want."
"Since when has the Congress cared about the Coloreds?"
"They didn't want a major city going up in flames."
"What?" an eavesdropping soldier asked. "Where did that happened."
"Louisville...right after the Hutson Bowl, and all the carrying on about the protests, and the march....and the schools."
"What about schools."
"Yeah, and what about the game?"
to be continued.
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