Michael's message

Grabbing the video recorder, Michael looked for a place to put it so that he could record one last message to Anya, his wife. It had been a tiring week, and though he had no proof, his suspicions were high that this mission was not what it seemed. The soldiers who were selected were all like him, educated and suspicious of the military's real intent. Each in some way had earned some punishment.

Michael's crime had been that he questioned the mission. He was ordered to map the existing populated territories in the United America and create a complete analysis of each community's value.  They wanted the population broken down by age, reproductive successes and status, scientific advancements and research, and which used more than they contributed and why.  As he completed each communities assessment, he noted that those whose contributions were less than their need were given special attention.  Some were found to be sufficient in their need due to their scientific contributions to the military's cause, but others were not so fortunate.

After the report about one particular community whose need was extremely demanding and contributions had been minimal left Michael's desk, he decided to follow up and found that it no longer existed. There was no record in the system, and when Michael asked about the report he has submitted, he hit a wall of blank stares. He was instructed to return to his desk and get back to work, an order that did not sit well. Michael pressed his position and after that, he was reassigned to this remote island.

Placing the recorder on a crate facing it toward the window, he sat back and began to record his message.

"Well my dear, I did it. I stepped on the wrong toes and was shipped out of the office and into the field." Michael slumped his head and looked up with just one eye, the way he always got out of trouble with his wife.

"And, I just want to say you were right."

His head slumped again, and his voice was almost inaudible, " should'a just kept my head down and been grateful for the desk job. I couldn't tell you what I was doing, security and all, but it didn't sit well," now looking directly back at the recorder, "and I asked too many questions, followed up on the wrong file, and well, here I am. My orders here aren't secret. We're just loading odds and ends pieces of old used equipment onto these planes. Kind of like cleaning out an old closet. But." Michael shifted his shoulders, and the view from the window was exposed.

Behind him, there were planes, many decades old and barely fly worthy, with their cargo doors open being loaded by soldiers in antique MOPP gear and gigantic filters strapped to their backs. Old trucks with their flatbeds loaded with crates were moving from the hangers on the other side of the airfield toward the planes. The scene was much like Michael was describing it, soldiers performing the task of packing old equipment onto old planes for a move ordered by some general because he did not like its current location.

Looking back at over his shoulder and then back to the recording device, Michael continued, "Honey, I wish I could see you again, but leave is not something you get when you are on Scut duty. I sure did it this time. You always told me my mouth would get me in the shit one day.  I'm hoping this job is it for punishment, and then I will be moved again somewhere where I can communicate more often. We'll see, the questions I asked really pissed someone off."

Over Michael's shoulder across the field in the distance, there was a shadow of a mountain ridge. This ridge was the base's natural protection, and therefore, it was not lit. However, at that moment, while Michael was recording, there was a reflection of some kind, a brief moment of reflected light flashed and then nothing. It was so brief that it was almost not there.

"I would promise to keep my mouth shut in the future, but when I see something that does not sit well," his shoulders shrugged.  "well, you know me."

In the sky, behind Michael, almost at the top of the window, three lights appeared. They were moving fast, descending, and headed straight for the airfield.

"I suppose I should get back to work. Take care of mom and dad. I love you." At precisely the moment Michael reached for the recorder, the first of the missiles landed and a blue light appeared in the window. The recording ended.