She possessed enough breaths to cry out in a fragile, small voice. “Take my rifle and my boots. Make a battlefield cross with a picture of my parents and my two boys and Jameel.” She tried to breathe. Every ounce of life that she had left focused on getting those last gasps of air into her failing lungs. She was a steam engine running low on fuel. Dangerously low. She brought up a few more words to instruct Staff Sergeant Melody Grohl. Her superior wasn’t having it.
Glasses with liquid gold that bubbled up to the surface stood on the table. Two steaming plates with duck and truffles permitted the party of two to partake in the luxuries of being president and the top Marine general as Chairwoman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
They trudged through the sand with heavy packs. Across the battlefield, the Marines kept morale by remaining motivated. This was their last hump before returning to the United States from Iran. Platoon Commander First Lieutenant Garrison Safer ensured that his men and women would make it to their next objective. Like a rolling tank covering the land, these Devil Dogs kept in rhythm. Safer drove the troops with a fervor that powered their minds.
“Yes, so it was an IED. A flying piece of shrapnel sliced right through my trigger finger, my forefinger. It was barely hanging on and I kind of just propped it into an upright position.”
“Your deal, Mish’. You’ve got the most stars in this room as a general. Either we broker a deal at this table or capitulate to Iran at a round of negotiations,” Admiral Danford said.
Generals and admirals from the other branches of the United States Armed Forces convened. The space remained ornate with a vaulted roof and sculptures of past war heroes of American history. A One-way bullet and bomb-proof window about the size of a car's rear window completed the space. Marine General Misha Wainwright sat among the other heads of the military. One person who was not in the room was the president of the United States.