The Big Burn. Terry Watkins

wouldn’t last much longer.

      Guam

      Anna sensed an absence of movement. They were on the ground.

      The door of the transport plane was open, and opening her eyes, she appeared to be alone. They had brought her all the way out to Guam and abandoned her in the plane.

      A fine set of circumstances. Her anger and frustration was rising again.

      Brock and his associates had, indeed, deplaned without her. No one was on board but her.

      She could see the jungle beyond the plane framed in the open door.

      Anna unfastened her seat belt, got up and stretched. The heat and light poured in through the open doors with a nasty vengeance.

      She deplaned, squinting, and began to sweat almost instantly. It was like walking into a sauna. The sun beat down on her neck and face, the humidity sucked the sweat right up out of her pores onto her skin where it heated up but couldn’t evaporate because the air was already saturated. She’d rather be surrounded by fire.

      Right across the road from where she stood there was a big sign above the feeder road into the camp: Welcome to Camp Nowhere.

      The camp sprawled along the road on the far side of the airfield. No colorful tents like the ones she saw in firefighting camps. This one consisted of a half-dozen Quonset huts with semicircular, corrugated roofs, the structures bolted to large concrete slabs. Behind the Quonset huts stood several smaller stucco buildings and in the distance, across from what looked like a rice paddy, Anna saw several concrete outbuildings.

      The sprawling base seemed empty. She had a weird feeling about it, as if she’d stepped into a horror thriller, or one of those great old Twilight Zone episodes.

      She walked away from the C-17 and then stopped and stood staring across the dirt road at the camp. There was a small road sign: Harm’s Way. Hanging from that sign by one arm was a small skeleton of a man that had been fashioned out of wire.

      Then, to her right about two hundred yards down the dirt road, barging out of the jungle like a charging rhino, came a Humvee. It careened onto the road, bounced over potholes and headed her way. When it reached the entrance to the airfield it turned toward her and kept on coming as if the driver was going to run her down.

      Anna stood her ground, still as a bullfighter awaiting the charge of the bull.

      The Humvee came to a skidding halt in a swirl of dust five feet from her.

      Brock leaned out the narrow window. “Sleeping Beauty awakens. Hop in, Quick. We have a meeting we’re already late for.”

      Like smoke jumpers, like probably all military-type organizations, last names took precedence over first names. She was Anna to her close friends, Quick to her colleagues. The habit probably came from name tags on military uniforms, last names only.

      The doors were off the Humvee, so she wasn’t getting into any air-conditioned luxury. Brock wore lightweight tan pants, a green T-shirt and had a weird-looking gun of some kind slung tight next to his chest.

      “You going to shoot me?” she asked.

      “No. We don’t go anywhere without these. I’ll get you one after the briefing.”

      “I can’t wait.”

      She continued to give him a hard look, letting him know she didn’t appreciate his exuberance.

      In the field about a mile away behind the Quonset huts and other buildings, commandos were drop-roping from two choppers.

      She climbed in to the Humvee and they took off toward the camp.

      Just then a group of men jogged by in tan shorts and green T-shirts. They all looked the same, as though they were from the same family. A bunch of middleweight fighters, short-cropped hair, hard bodies, all yelling in a sharp cadence.

      She began to feel ill, the effects of the heat and the lingering exhaustion.

      Too hot.

      She had to get the damn fire suit off or she’d pass out. “Can you stop a second?”

      He pulled over.

      Anna jumped out and unsnapped the suspenders and began pulling the heavy overalls down. She wore black shorts and a gray sleeveless T-shirt underneath.

      “Pretty damn hot, isn’t it?” Brock said.

      She stepped out of the fire suit and tossed it into the back of the Humvee.

      “Crazy hot.”

      “This place is locked and loaded with testosterone,” Brock warned. “I wouldn’t go any further than that. Where we’re going there’s air-conditioning.”

      “I wasn’t intending to go any further, at least not until I’m standing in front of a running shower.” She refused to get back into the Humvee. “I’m not talking to anybody without a shower and some clean, dry clothes. You’ve changed clothes, now it’s my turn.”

      Brock chewed on the left part of his bottom lip. He had to think about her attitude for a second. She wasn’t in the military so he couldn’t call it insubordination. At least not technically. But there was the fact that she’d made that fire jump against direct orders from her boss. So she was insubordinate by nature, apparently.

      The thing about her he worked hard to ignore was the shock at how beautiful she was, even under that ash and dirt. It was hard to keep his gaze off her. He turned and looked forward.

      “Well, shit,” Brock said. “I’ve got orders to deliver you.”

      “Why did they send you in the first place? Was it because they knew if they’d sent a CIA guy I wouldn’t have believed him for a second without proof?”

      “Maybe.”

      “What if I refuse now?”

      “Well, this is a top-secret base and we’re in the middle of a global war. I can to shoot you, but then this whole exercise would have been for nothing.”

      “That’s right.”

      “You’re not coming?”

      “I’m thinking about it.”

      Brock looked over at her, frowned and shrugged. “You need a shower and fresh clothes. I can appreciate that.”

      “That’s big of you.” She crossed her arms and leaned on one hip. Stubbornness was written all over the woman. He had to quiet the brewing storm.

      “Okay, since I’m the one who’s going to train you, and jump into this mess with you, we need to get along. So I’ll offer a compromise.”

      She shifted her position. Maybe he was on the right track.

      He continued, “This guy we’re going to see has a file on your father. We’ll be there in about five minutes so he can meet you and know that you’re willing to go in. Then, the minute that little bit of time-wasting is over, I’ll take you to the showers and get you some clean clothes. Five lousy minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

      Her arms dropped to her sides. He almost had her. Just a little more reasoning, and she’d see things his way. He was sure of it. “See, the problem is, he’s a bureaucrat, CIA type. He runs things on this mission. It’s his job to get your father off that island. So, if I were you, and you want to see your dad again, I’d just placate the man for five minutes. Is there any way you can do that for me?”

      Anna stared at him for a few seconds. He wasn’t sure which way she would go. Brock hadn’t noticed before, but she had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and just when he was beginning to believe those eyes were hardening, and he’d have to come up with more bullshit to get her into the Humvee, she climbed in.

      It had been a long time since Brock had had to deal with a civilian, or even a regular soldier, for that matter. The kind of men he dealt with were the elite of the