Letters from the Desert – 29 Dec, 2432

Dear Sarena,

Turns out these Furies aren’t so bad. Sitting around a campfire at night, swapping war stories, I can almost forget they aren’t human. Even the mine-sweeping rock, though ze doesn’t really say anything.  Fly translates for the others; lacking a mouth and vocal cords is a barrier. I don’t bother asking Fly how ze knows what they’re thinking. You know how it is when you work as a team; words aren’t always necessary. My squad operated like that. We could glide through a zone and just know what the others were going to do.

Fly says wars are pretty much all the same. Two sides fight over a pile of dirt or sand or bit of ocean. Even the tactics don’t vary by much. Fly was at the destruction of Sattahip. Helped set the fires that burned the base and scorched the surrounding docks. Said the Furies had no intention of letting it stay in enemy hands. It was just like when my squad did that silent raid and destroyed the downed spy plane outside Kunmeng. We waited until dark and crept into the airport, disguised as a Cambodian merchant transport. Guards never suspected we were actually loaded down with armed soldiers. We waited until midnight then boarded the plane and planted explosives. We were airborne when they went off, blowing that plane to so much scrap. No secrets were given away that night.

Fly says the same tactics were used in Tripoli in 1804 and could be traced back to the ancient Greeks. Actually, Fly said the bucket of water shared that little history lesson. Not that the bucket talks. As I said, Fly translates for them all, maybe using telepathy or something. Or maybe Fly’s crazier than I thought.

Stay safe, little sister, and take care of your team.



copyright 2014, Kimberley Long-Ewing, all rights reserved