Fort Bragg, North Carolina, 6th April, 2027
Anna loved sunrises. The permanent, unchanging kiss of light over the horizon that marked a new day wherever she was in the world. Whether it was her childhood home in Washington D.C., empty cold brick townhouse and snow-strewn poplar trees. Or Florida University - morning runs with ROTC cadets amidst the sticky breeze. Even Ukraine with all its shattered buildings and heartbreak and crying babies, the sun still rose. No matter how dark the night was - she could count on a sun to rise the next day. Illuminating the cavernous darkness of her mind and giving each hurt a new light.
Today's no different. Up at the crack of dawn. Hands shaking in her pockets as she stood on the female barracks roof. Gravel crunched beneath combat boots. Eyes held aloft to the same sunrise bleeding through distant woodland hills. The brisk air filled with distant buzzing noises. C-130s drifted overhead as they deposited their payload of airborne jump students. Black chutes fluttered like ash in the morning breeze. If she didn't squint so hard at them, they'd resemble crows circling carrion in the valley. Hungry beaks waiting for the next kill.
She checked her watch again. 6:00 a.m. The quiver hadn't left her hands. She could go for morning PT and hope a run clears it up. Set an example for the enlisted women and indulge in idle chitchat masquerading as yet another ordinary Civil Affairs officer. Pretending their pitiful stares and loaded questions never meant anything beyond concern. How's it going? Do you want to talk about it? I mean you don't have to if you don't want to. Or maybe she shouldn't be waking up so early anymore. Reminded by the permanence of the sunrise of just how insignificant she was in the eternal filmreel of time.
But there was no mistaking the liquid comfort that settled in Anna's belly as she watched the sunrise over the hills. No matter how many inevitable fuck ups in her godforsaken life - the sun will still rise. And set. Spinning round and round in the eternal galactic cosmos. The mountains will still loom over North Carolina for a million years. And if Anna relaxed enough, she could feel each fibre of her body dissolve into the fabric of time and slowly cease to exist altogether. A small smile broke as a breeze picked up. Sharp against her freckled cheeks. Yes. After she's done with the military and its ungodly reveille hours, she'd keep this habit. A prayer to the permanence of the sunrise. Hoping that the infinite wheels of time will pick her up and fling her into eternity.
Downstairs, a sergeant barked orders at morning PT formation. Some things never change. There'll always be wars, men and women dying for no goddamned reason. A knot tightened in her chest. She screwed her eyes shut and practiced the breathing technique Counsellor Stevens told her about. Big inhale. Count to three. Exhale. The thoughts stayed at bay. Surging back amidst her slow exhale. Blood and screaming and someone yelling in Russian.
Fuck the breathing.
Anna walked away before the voices could get any louder. Kicking open the stairway door and making a beeline straight for the coffee machine. She couldn't be chuffed donning PT gear and going on a three mile run - so Anna put her feet up and filled out the exit interview form. Have you returned all base-issued firearms and equipment? Have you been briefed on your VA entitlements? Her military-issue bags sat packed by the door. Bunk spotless clean like she moved in a year ago. Nothing left to do but doomscroll Instagram until the clock struck 9. She lugged her entire life in three army-green duffel bags to Colonel Henderson's office and rendered a prim salute when the ashen-haired lady showed up right on time. Years of yelling had rendered her superior officer's voice a hoarse mess.
"Sullivan! On time for once, you must be raring to get the fuck out."
"Ma'am," Anna caught herself without an excuse, "actually - yes. I can't wait to get out."
Or I can't wait to get out of your sight.
"Look - I'm not even gonna try to have this conversation again, because obviously the carrot doesn't work on you."
"What then, is it stick time? Stick time for Anna Sullivan? Are you gonna beat me over the head with a stick?"
"The book, more like," Colonel Henderson motioned to a chair, "you have three days until your DD-214. Which means you're technically still the army's property."
"But I ceased to be part of this unit yesterday," Anna argued, "which means I don't have to take orders from you-"
"Who says I'm giving you orders? Do you know how tired I am of giving you orders?" Henderson shot a finger, "I've had enough backtalk from you to last until retirement."
Anna threw up her hands, "What, then? Is this about reenlisting?"
"Oh, I know you don't wanna reenlist," Henderson's voice softened into that motherly tone she often used when she went into carrot-mode, "the army isn't your thing. You're not made for the army. C'mon, red hair. Privileged upbringing. Stellar ASVAB scores. You're a rocket scientist, not a soldier. Or rather, you think you're too good for the army."
"Well, yea maybe I should call up NASA and see if they're hiring."
"You think they wanna hire a girl who writes Civil Affairs manuals for a living? Is there any need for cross-cultural expertise when we find alien-life on Mars?"
Anna looked down. Maybe skip the breathing exercises in her presence.
"You think they want to hire someone who's gone to the base Psychiatrist four times in a month?"
A strangled whimper caught in her throat, "You didn't have to go there."
"I'm just saying - the Army offers you the support that you need," Henderson tried to meet Anna's gaze, "you've done a fine job here, Sullivan. Wrote enough cross-cultural curriculum to last America through the next three wars."
Anna rolled her eyes, "Yea, wait til they find oil on Mars."
"Which brings us to the topic of discussion," Henderson held up an envelope, "you got marching orders. Fort Meade."
"Orders? I've got three days remaining," Anna groaned, "wait, Fort Meade? The NSA?"
Henderson shrugged, "I don't make the orders, Sullivan - you know how it is. This comes from the top."
"Yea, like shit rolls downhill," Anna quipped.
"More like flies. Get your umbrella ready for this one," Henderson shook Anna's hand with a vice-grip, "it's been a real pleasure having you. Good luck!"
Anna left the office weighed down by her bags. Orders perched between her lips. She looked for a bin to spit the envelope into on her way out, knowing it was impossible anyone could get hold of her if she ran fast enough for seventy-two hours. No dice. A suited man stood in the driveway. Sunglasses and earpiece. Real men-in-black shit. He wordlessly took Anna's bags and shoveled her into an awaiting Chevy Tahoe with blacked-out windows.
"Where're you taking me?" Anna asked.
"Fort Meade, Maryland," the deadpanned answer came.
"Really? The NSA?"
The answer drowned out in a squeal of burning tyres as he took off at breakneck speed. Base gates she always had to argue her way out of opened spontaneously, sentries saluting in a blur as they sped past. Nobody flashed any badges or took any license plate numbers. They just left one of the most tightly guarded Army bases in America. She'd barely checked the GPS on her phone before pulling into Pope Field Airbase. Chainlink gates opened of their own accord and before she could say anything, her driver had started unloading her bags onto a Gulfstream jet. Engines already running on the damp tarmac. Gleaming in the morning sun she was just admiring hours ago.
"A friggin' jet," Anna yelled over the engines' whine, as the driver came back for her, "you're flying me out to Fort Meade on a private jet?"
She saw her own reflection in his Ray-Bans. Wars and deaths and the brutal harm humans could do to one another reflected in one sleet-faced, shaking girl. Bunned, red hair tucked behind her regulation cap. Captain's epaulettes on her chest.
"You're Captain Anna Sullivan, 92nd Civil Affairs Battalion, right?" he deadpanned, eyes tracing her ID badge.
"Uh, yea, but-"
"That plane is for you," he gave her a light jab in the shoulder.
"What, what? I don't-"
The jabs turned to shoves. Before she could protest further, heard the engine roar clamp out into silence when the cabin door sealed shut behind her.
Dim lights glowed against cream leather seats. They hadn't even turned on the seat belt sign before the plane started rumbling towards a runway. I'm not ready for this. Anna flung herself towards a cabin window. Tiny street lights of Fort Bragg disappeared beneath the drizzle. It'd barely been a year back from deployment. A soft cocoon to nurse her wounded soul and hope that the drudgery of Army routine could heal those scars. A year too short.
The jet banked into rain clouds. Foggy mist wiped Fort Bragg from her mind.
And severed the last tether to her life support.
More suits greeted her at Tipton Airfield. A convoy of blacked-out SUVs. Whispered acknowledgements into earpieces. Slight bulge of handguns behind their suits and zero explanations or opportunities to squeeze in the question: just what the hell is going on? The Chevys blasted down a deserted highway like they're headed to Mars. Screeching to a stop after less than a minute of lightspeed travel that dug her nails into the armrest. Phew, that was - unnecessary.
She's sent off through metal detectors and separated from her bags. After the guards took her phone away, Anna's thrusted into a service elevator without an explanation. Flanked by more suited men who barely bat an eyelid at her frantic exclamations that she'd left her phone upstairs.
"Your personal effects will be returned shortly, ma'am."
"After what? The Spanish Inquisition?"
"After your interview."
"I thought I was leaving the army, not joining a cult," Anna winced at the ear-splitting pressure as she plummeted into the NSA's bowels. Probably where they keep the Al-Qaeda prisoners and political dissidents. Maybe a few more levels and she'd find Michael Moore in chains. One of her escorts looked away with a half-smile and she counted it in her books as a moral victory for today. The elevator's LCD indicator stopped counting after the 22nd Basement level and just showed "XX". It rammed to a sudden halt, leaving Anna winded. Head spinning like a carousel. More metal detectors. More guards registered her palm prints. She's led down a featureless, concrete-lined corridor where each thud of her boots echoed to infinity.
The escorting suit paused at a random door, visibly touching his earpiece for confirmation. For a moment, Anna anticipated being thrust into a dark prison cell. Shackled into a chair. Medieval torture devices on the wall looking on as they beat a confession out of her. Kinda similar to what the Russians did in Donetsk, no? Basements of suburban homes littered with car batteries and handcuffs. They found a skeleton there once. Bony wrists still in shackles.
Her throat closed and she staggered back. Only for the door to open and reveal an ordinary office. Gaudy blue carpets and padlocked filing cabinets on all sides. Anna sat and focused on breathing. Loosening that tightening knot in her chest. Wall clock's ticking punctuated the painful silence. The exact same door opened again mere seconds later with a redheaded man; an impossibility since she swore the endless corridor was empty on both ends.
"My, my, Anna Sullivan," the man drawled, pausing to take her in. Tall for a ginger dude, Anna thought. Fit too. Chiselled jawline. An immaculate, slim-fitting suit that suggested he spent all day behind a desk instead of escorting people like her. He shook her hand and introduced himself as Hans Andersen. Behind the firm grip Anna felt a tremor, but didn't know if it was her own hand.
"You got some real black ops shit going on here," Anna sat back down, "Is this a black site? Are you gonna interrogate me for Putin's whereabouts?"
"Do you know what this place is?" Hans sat across and leaned back.
"The NSA? I'm assuming this is where you wiretap American citizens and decide who's trying to blow up the Capitol. Didn't really work last time though."
Hans bit back a chuckle, "You're really as much of a smartass as Colonel Henderson says you are."
"That's all there is about me, really," Anna narrowed her eyes, "Oh wait, you're the NSA - you probably know a lot more than-"
"We know you've been trying to find employment in North Carolina. Teaching. Academia. Looking for courses on counselling," Hans unlocked a random cabinet and pulled out some files, "doesn't really look like it's working out."
Anna curled into herself and looked at her nails. God, I could really use a smoke now. Wait - if they know that…
"You brought me here to dig out my internet search history?" Anna glared back at him, "Are you going to report me for violating don't ask, don't tell? Because-"
"We're not here to talk about that," Hans opened her personnel file, "we're here to offer you a job."
"Sorry, you guys are great but I don't vibe with the whole invasion of privacy thing very well."
"This isn't-"
"Besides, I'm done with the army," Anna shook her head, hands going cold, "I'm through with this. Can't take another day in this uniform."
"This isn't a uniformed position. You will be retained as a DoD advisor to an inter-agency task force based out of Maryland," Hans slid out a sheet of paper, only the top half visible beneath a folder. Her eyes watered at the annual salary quoted and the string of zeroes behind it. On-demand usage of sanctioned DoD private transport within continental United States. Corporate Credit Card for personal expenses. DoD housing for unmarried staff. Impossible. She had a bachelor's degree from a second-rate university in Florida and maybe the curriculum she developed caught some eyes up top. But not this.
"It's an astronomical sum," Anna regretted showing her cards so soon, "did you get the right Anna Sullivan? I mean - I'm a Civil Affairs Captain in the Army. I do cross-cultural training after that shitshow of a deployment in Ukraine."
Hans looked at the file, "We need a female ex-military or law enforcement officer, aged 21-30, top-secret security clearance with cross-cultural expertise and knowledge of the Danish language. How many women like this exist in America?"
"Uh, I don't know-"
"I do," Hans raised a finger, "one."
"Why Danish? Does Trump suddenly have a taste for-"
"Details of the job are currently classified until you sign on. But I can assure you, it'll be extremely cushy compared to whatever you did in the army."
Anna studied the job offer. Four logos graced the letterhead: the NSA, DoD, for some reason, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and NASA. Looks like I'm really working for NASA. Half the page lay covered beneath a Manilla Envelope. Only a dotted line waiting for her signature. A blank cheque for her life. Then again, wasn't signing on for the Army a blank cheque anyway? She's just lucky they didn't condemn her to the Motor Pool scrubbing shit off Humvees.
"I mean, you could go to a university and hawk your curriculum and get a Masters. Maybe a Doctorate. And then what? You're gonna be stuck for the rest of your life reliving every single thing you saw in Ukraine for classrooms and seminars."
Heat bristled through Anna's skin and she spat, "What the fuck did you do? Wiretap my counsellor's office?"
"Insight," Hans tapped his temple, "you want something that gets you away, Anna. I'm giving you the outlet of a lifetime and I'm not gonna ask twice. Don't make me go back to the bosses empty-handed."
The paper glared back at her. Contract term: One year renewable up to three. Cold, hard truth of her reality beyond this bunker bit at her chest. She hadn't even found an apartment off-base to live in. No chance in hell she was gonna take up Marie's offer to move in with her. Ex-girlfriends are more trouble than what they're worth. Effectively, this was an offer she couldn't refuse. The NSA knew each one of her buttons and pushed them simultaneously with devastating effect.
Thrumming unease failed to lift, "One last question - t-this is a domestic post, right? You're not gonna send me back to Eastern Europe, are you?"
"Purely domestic," Hans grinned, "In fact, I don't think you'll ever leave Maryland."
"I'll do it," Anna signed on the dotted line and shed the last vestiges of her broken, embittered Army career. A wry smile broke on Hans face as he slid over a manilla envelope containing the next year of her life. Watching to ensure Anna was engrossed in its contents before shredding the remnants of her personnel file.