Free Stricken Resolve by S.K. Logsdon Page A

starts flashing
its big red florescent lights and, cautiously, I approach the
vehicle. Scanning my peripheral at all angles, my hand resting
comfortably against the butt of my gun, holstered to my chest.
    Both men nod to us, unaffected by my hand
resting on my gun, as Officer Brodden opens the back passenger
door.
    “Master Sergeant James, it’s about damn time
I see you again,” I hear a very familiar heavily southern accented
voice drawl, from the depths of the dark interior.
    Leaning down, resting my bend arms on the
door frame I peek in.
    “We’ll isn’t it Sergeant Brewer, you crazy
S.O.B,” I tease with a half-smile.
    “It’s Sergeant Major Brewer, now.” He smirks
like the same lunatic who used to hang women by their ankles from
our racks in the barracks and eat them out for the entire squadron
to see. He was always one horny, sadistic madman. “Now get in,
we’ve got a private flight out of Camp Pendleton in.” He peers down
at his no doubt expensive watch.
    “Two hours and thirty-eight minutes,” he
states, looking back up to me with a friendly smile.
    I slide in aside him and close us into the
darkened backseat. Glancing across from us, there sits a rather
attractive female with silky straight jet black hair. A thinner but
curvy frame, from what I can see. And that’s enough. Her skins a
caramel tanned brown like mine. But the angles of her face suggests
she’s Spanish in origin. I’m Native American, with traces of
Spanish and Pilipino ancestry locked into my DNA. Her lips are
full, nose average with a blunt end and her eyes are large and
watching me. The irises are a deep indigo. I don’t think I’ve ever
seen eyes quite like hers before. They’re captivatingly beautiful.
But the rest of her I could care less about. Nobody could ever hold
a candle to my Mama Bear. Not even stirrings of sexual charge spark
when I view this female. Attractive or not, it’s a mere
understanding of appearance. Nothing more.
    “Master Sergeant James, please say hello to
Specialist, Sergeant Penelope Gonzales, your fake wife for the next
six to nine months,” Brewer introduces and my stomach drops.
    Damn me and my duty to this country. This
better be some extremely important data I’m withholding.
    “Hello sir,” her soft feminine voice floods
the air and I suddenly find it hard to breathe in such an enclosed
space.
    I suck in a deep lungful of oxygen.
    “What do you mean my wife ?” I seethe
as the words bound from my lips. My stomach churning into a pit
full of raw sewage.
    “Here.” Brewer hands over a thick manila
envelope. Is he seriously not going to tell me? He comes here and
meets me with this strange woman, wearing nothing but his civilian
clothes and I’m supposed to just accept my fate? Ha—guess they
think my quiet demeanor suggests passivity. Guess again.
    Yanking the envelope from his hands, I press
my back into the thick leather. Sliding a finger into the top, I
tear it open. Even though I can feel the woman’s eyes nearly eating
me alive. I ignore her and focus my attention on the packet, my
blood boiling like hot molten lava. Who in the hell do these people
think they are? They come in and disrupt my life with my fiancé.
They pull me away from my children and now they think I’m going to
succumb to months of being a domesticated husband, fake or not, to
someone other than my Emily. Not likely.
    First page I skim. My eyes resting to one
particular sentence.
    ‘ Numerical security codes mentally
obtained coincide with alphabetical counterpart instilled in
separate safe link. ’
    You’ve got to be kidding me. Apparently
Pen—whatever her name is, is my alphabetical counterpart. Why on
god’s green earth did they not inform me of that when this was all
mentally engrained?
    Next page.
    Key point- ‘Nuclear armament and
disarmament codes, to be extracted at integral intervals over an
extensive time period. Suggested timeframe; not exceeding fifteen
months.’
    Next page.
    ‘ Codes to