the War Machine
Lt. Lumbardo looked across the crate at in the embassy Basement.
"It looks like a coffin." Sgt Rielly said.
The Lt. ran his hand across the imprint on the front of the wooden box. "I dont think stark industries makes coffins." He said. "I wonder whats in this?"
"Only one way to find out." Rielly said, flipping out his gerber knife and prying at the corners. the wood squeaked as the nails pulled loose. It was an erie sound, there, in the embassy basement, with no one around to see or do anything about. Lumbardo's hands tightened around his M4 rifle, instintively.
Inside was a suit of armor.
It was broken down into individual components, and packed into soft foam. Each piece was colored dark grey or silver. Rielly picked up the packing list, and started to read aloud. "Stark Industries." He read. "War Machine Mark two. For military and law enforcement use only. Is this real?"
Lumbardo picked up the helmet and stared through the blank, black eyes. "I've never heard of anything like this." He said. "What do you think it does?"
Rielly chuckled. "Put it on, and give you superpowers." He said. "Like one of those stupid comics Specialist Buckets is always reading."
Lumbardo tugged on the chest piece. "Its heavy." He said.
"Its probably a joke, sir." He said. "Like something a contractor ordered, and forgot about before he shipped out."
"Isnt Stark industries a weapons manufactorer?" Lumbardo said.
"Yeah." Rielly said. "Like Boeing. But I seriously doubt they made this halloween costume. You ever see those pictures on the internet?"
"What like, nudes?"
"No sir. I mean, like those guys who go to comic cons. Comic conventions. They dress up in this sort of stuff. And it looks really cool and everything, but it doesnt actually do anything. I mean, no one thinks that it could, or whatever."
Lumbardo put the cover back on the crate. "Well, its not ours." He said. "And dont say anything to the men about it. Especially Buckets. He'll go apeshit over the whole thing, and try to fit this crap in his rucksack."
"Roger that, sir." Rielly replied. And the two soldiers found what they were originally looking for, an ammo crate to resupply the platoon. With that the went up the stairs, leaving the basement and turning off the light behind them.
It was not always hot in Afghanistan.
That was a common misperception. In the winters it snowed. In springtime it was mild. Afghanistan was a desert, but not a complete desert, that is, not a sandbox. It simply lacked adaquate rainfall. If the city of Kabul was transplanted out into Flagstaff, Arizona, it would seem much the same, at least for its external surroundings. It would miss the Hindu Kush, towering above the city, blue peaks and white snow caps sitting in judgement.
The actual city of Kabul lacks almost any anemity you can think of. There is no running water. Electricity is only provided by personal generator. Most of the houses in the city lack roofing, due to fifty years of constant war. Bombing by the Russians, bombing by the Americans. For the city it matters not at all.
The American Embassy squats behind a ten foot slick wall, topped with spools of razor wire. It is an ugly, concrete thing, with narrow windows that resemble and maximum security federal prison. The roof is covered with a tent of camouflage netting, to hide the glint of snipers perched on all four corners of the rooftop.
This was were Virginia Potts went to work, every day.
She lived in a trailer that had started life as a connex box, in a shipyard somewhere around America or the world. It had laminate flooring, two electric lightbulbs, a shower, a sink, a bed frame with a matress, a wall locker like a prisoner would use, and an air conditioning unit that hung in the window frame. There were flowers out front, near the sidewalk, planted by earlier state department workers trying to recapture a bit of home. There were also sandbags on the roof, in case one of the many mortars sent by the enemy made its way into the unit. But she tried not to think about that. So every day she showered, and put on one of her six Armani pantsuits, and one of her three remaining Gucci low heels, and walked from the trailer to the Embassy, where she met for one of endless meetings.
Which were almost, if not entirely, unproductive.
Afghanistan was in a state of war. Where it was not in a state of war, it was in a state of flux. The President, Hamid Karzai, controlled the city of Kabul that was the length and breadth of his domain. Every other province was controlled by a regional warlord. Some were loyal to Karzai, some were loyal to the Taliban. A great many were simply for sale to the highest bidder.
Virginia's job was to coordinate efforts with the many charities and NGO's (non government organizations) that wanted to take part in Kabul. Sometimes this was easy, with organizations such as the Red Crescent, the Arabic version of the red cross. But many of the NGO's represented shadier organizations. Already there had been suicide bombings in Iraq carried out by members of supposed charities. Then there was the trickier part- many of the Afghani's were hostile to any sort of support, or help, especially toward girls and women.
When she asked, she found out she was the only volunteer to this post. This did not help to unify her with the other state department staff. They were united by their disdain for Afghanistan, for the way it looked, for the way it smelled, for the danger. Ambassador Hogan told her one night, over drinks, "I'm going to Europe after this. Nice Europe, not eastern. And I'm never looking back."
"What about the people?" She asked. "Dont they want our help?"
He snorted. "Is that what you think this is? We build them a school, and they blow it up. They dont watch tv. They dont want anything we have. This project is hopeless. Were here because of nine eleven, and thats it."
"Is that what you think?"
"What do you think?"
"The women. The women need our help."
"Best thing we can do." He continued. "Is give the ones that want to go to someone better, a visa. But if we start doing that the ones that want to blow people up will get visas. This whole thing was doomed from the beginning.
After that Hogan had made a pass at her, which she politely but firmely rebuffed. he started babbling that his old frat brother had called him "happy" for some reason, that she didnt want to find out.
She never would have met Lumbardo, if not for the floor in the lobby.
The lobby was made up as the first line of defense by the soldiers. It had a clearing barrel next to the door, and a control center behind bulletproof glass, where Corporal Eynon checked the security cameras and radios of every man on post. The Afghani national was smiling at her, which set her on edge, just a little, due to the fact that he was missing most of his teeth. "America number one!" He exclaimed, and gave her a little thumbs up. At that moment, her feet slid out from under her, her papers flew up in the air, and she was airborne.
In the next she was caught, looking deep into Lumbardos eyes. Like black pools.
"Are you alright, ma'am?" He said.
"Uh huhn." She told him. "What happened?"
"The floor was wet."
It was the closest she had ever been to an actual soldier. She could see the camouflage pattern of his uniform up close, feel the weight of his assault rifle next to her side. His grip was strong, but gentle somehow. "You tripped." He added.
With that he picked her up, and moved her several feet away from the wet spot, putting her down gently nearby. She felt a twinge when he let go. As if she didnt want to be released from his grasp.
"Its not the way I'd want to get hurt, here in Afghanistan." He said.
"I dont want to get hurt at all." She laughed, awkwardly.
"Your papers!" The afghani said, while adding, "Lady number one!" The documents were sopping wet. She would have to run them through the printer again. "Thanks." She told him.
"You look like you need to sit down." Lumbardo said. "Do you want to sit down?"
"Sure." Virginia said. "Maybe I do."
They sat together at the picnic table behind the embassy. It was mostly used to smoke at, by the embassy staff, and Virginia pulled out a pack of slims. "Its a bad habit." She said. "I know, I'm sorry."
Lumbardo shrugged. "I dip Copenhagen." He said. "This isnt the place to stop your tobacco addiction."
"God," She said. "I know. I know thats true."
"We havent been properly introduced." He said. "I'm Will Lumbardo."
"Virginia Potts." She shook his hand. His gloves were off, and she took note of the abscence of any wedding ring. Or for that matter, a dark mark where a wedding ring would have been.
"So your a soldier here?"
"Yes ma'am. A lieutenant."
"Thats an officer? Or enlisted."
"Officer."
"I dont know that much about the Army."
"Well, you got it right."
"I'm in the government. I mean, state department. I should say state department, shouldnt I?"
"If thats who you work for."
"I just think about it as the government. I used to work for this terrible boss, and now that I dont work for him, I think about it as working for the government."
"Who was he?" Lumbardo asked.
"Some rich guy. And a total jackass. But that all crashed and burned a few years ago."
"Oh yeah?"
"His company was involved in some kind of ponzi scheme. It crashed and he got sent to jail. I mean, he deserved it, but I was put out of a job. So, I applied on USA Jobs, and here I am."
"Thats not that bad."
"You dont think so?"
"Well, I mean, and least your getting paid well. This is a tax free zone."
"Oh yeah!" She laughed. "I didnt think of it that way."
"And your probably making more money than me. I'm getting about $1500 a month."
"Ouch. Really?"
"Yeah."
"Why dont they pay you more?"
"I dont know. They dont pay soldiers well."
There was a moment, a real moment between them. When they paused and Lumbardo looked into her eyes, and Virginia grew shy, and a little happy, that this was really happening. Then an explosion went off, somewhere nearby in Kabul. Lumbardo strapped back on his helmet and told her he had to go. She sat there for a while longer. There was an oak tree over the picnic table, and a slight breeze that blew through it, making everything seem normal again. As if she could close her eyes and listen to the tree and be transported back home.
