John O'Brien - Chaos

Sergeant Watkins raps once on the glass panel and we hear “Enter,” from within.

Watkins swings the door open and I walk in with him close on my heels. He stops, steps against the wall inside the door, and comes to attention. The room has the same carpeting and paneled walls as the waiting room. Aircraft pictures line the walls with bookcases below them. Another desk, similar to the one outside, is by a large window to the right facing us.

Colonel Wilson, I am assuming, is the man sitting behind his desk. He is dressed in a light blue, short sleeve Air Force uniform, his close cropped graying hair is illuminated by the morning sunlight streaming through the window. Rows of decorations line the left chest of his uniform shirt but I notice the lack of wings above them. I approach to within three feet of the desk and come to attention.

“Captain Walker reporting, sir,” I say saluting, focusing my eyes about a foot over his head.

“Captain Walker. Am I to gather that you departed from Lewis-McChord?” He asks returning the salute.

“Yes, sir.”

“And your mission?”

“I am under orders to pick up some Army personnel in Kuwait and return them to Joint Base Lewis-McChord, sir.”

“I see. And under whose orders are those?” Colonel Wilson asks, his eyes drilling into mine as I continue to stand at attention.

“General Billings, sir,” I reply.

Wilson then opens a booklet on his desk and flips through it, his finger tracing down one of the pages.

“Very well, Captain,” he says after his finger stops its tracing, apparently finding what he is looking for.

See, thankfully, I noticed the pictures on the wall at McChord. All military building have pictures of the Chain of Command from the President on down including the joint base commander.

He opens another booklet and starts flipping through. Stopping on one particular page, he looks up. “Captain, how do you explain how you were selected for this mission? The 17 this not based at Lewis-McChord.”

“Sir, my crew and I were on a refueling stop, heading back to base when all of this went down. I was one of the only pilots, well, still available,” I respond.

“And your crew, Captain?”

“Gone, sir.”

“And General Billings sent you on this mission himself!?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Security reports blood along the side of your aircraft. Care to comment on that, Captain!”

“It was a rather interesting time getting here, sir,” I respond.

“Then I am to assume that the blood is from the infected ones?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Son, what about your rather strange new crew members?”

My eyes drop momentarily, meeting his, before snapping back up to the imaginary point over his head. “Those are my kids, sir.”

“Am I to understand this correctly, Captain!? That you smuggled your kids onboard a military aircraft on a military mission!” He asks leaning toward me, his left hand grasping the edge of his desk in front of him, jutting his chin forward, as he slams his right hand down on the desk top.

“Yes, sir.”

It is one of those moments when time seems to completely come to a halt and the abyss opens up before you, seeming to lasting forever. Colonel Wilson then sighs heavily and leans into his chair.

“Sergeant Watkins, that will be all. Please wait outside,” Wilson says looking over at the Sergeant.

“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Watkins says, salutes and then exits the room, closing the door behind him.

“At ease, Captain,” he says once the door clicks shut.

“I have kids too and would’ve done the same in your circumstance. How is it at McChord? We haven’t had any contact with anyone for the past two days,” he asks as I come to parade rest, folding my arms behind me.

“Not good, sir. I’m not sure there will be anyone left there soon. The quarantine broke there and these things were running everywhere at night. I’m not sure what the plans were but was only given these orders.”

“Sir, if I may speak?”

He merely nods and I ask, “How are things here?”

He laces his fingers behind his head, leaning back further. “We’re holding our own for the moment. But we’ll have to make a decision soon as we aren’t getting supplies anymore.”

“Sir, do you have any information on what these things are about? Anything?”

“No, son, I don’t. We don’t have anything at all nor have we heard anything.”

“How are you keeping them subdued or under control if I may ask? How are you keeping your containment and quarantine when no one else seems to be able to?”

Colonel Wilson merely stares at me.

“Oh, I see,” I say after a moment, understanding what the silence and stare alludes to.

That is why he doesn’t have any information on the things. There aren’t any of them here; well, not any anymore; alive that is. The silence and stare alludes to the fact that they are shooting those with any of the flu symptoms. Maybe that’s the right way to go, I think knowing that I’m quite certain I don’t want to meet the general who issued those orders or this little joyride of ours across the world will come to a quick and decisive end.

“Do you have any information on the rest of the states?” He asks.

“Sir, we didn’t see anything on our transit. I did pick up a garbled radio transmission as we came east of the Rockies up by the Canadian border and one civilian aircraft heading into the Columbus, Ohio area but that’s it. I imagine there have to be others though,” I say leaving out the contact with Andrew. Too many questions could arise about that one.

“Well, if things get bad here, we’re going to take one of the KC-10 birds out of here to the states. The problem is, we don’t have a pilot certified in one,” he says sighing. “I was thinking about using yours, or your crew, but you have a mission to fulfill.”

“Sir, we could arrange for a pickup after I return the troops back. At the very least, I could bring some supplies. I plan on stopping here on my return leg.”

“That might work, Captain,” Colonel Wilson says leaning back up in his chair.

“Captain Walker, I can authorize your fuel but you’ll have to depart immediately after. I cannot overrule General Billings’ order, but General Collins might and he’ll be arriving in a couple of hours. Maybe earlier if he heard your aircraft arrive. You might want to be gone then. That will be all, Captain.”

“Yes, sir. And thank you, sir,” I say coming to attention and salute.

“Sergeant Watkins,” Wilson hollers in the direction of the door and returns my salute.

“Sir!” Watkins responds, opens the door and salutes.

“Sergeant Watkins, escort Captain Walker to his aircraft and see it’s refueled. He’ll be departing within the hour,” Colonel Wilson orders Watkins.

“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Watkins says. “Shall I notify the general, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary, Sergeant,” Wilson responds.

“Yes, sir,” Watkins says after a pause, accentuating the underlying subtleties involved with the decision and order.

Sergeant Watkins and I start out of the door to Colonel Wilson’s office when Wilson calls to us, “Captain Walker.”

I half turn back towards him, “Yes, sir.”

“Godspeed and good luck, son.”

“Thank you, sir. And to you as well.” The image of him sitting behind his desk in the rays of the morning sun is forever imprinted on my mind

Calloway and the other airman are waiting outside the door as the Sergeant and I exit. They take up their previous stations behind me. “Calloway, Foster, at ease. The Captain has been cleared,” Watkins says. I hear the distinct click of fire select levers being flipped to what I hope is to ‘safe’ as we head down the stairs and out to the vehicle.