The American

f22 pictureAugust 21st, 2065

Bosmat Compound, Tel-Aviv

 

“He’s American.”

 

Stein sighed. “He’s the best we’ve got.”

 

Pax cocked a brow. He made it sound like they were scraping the bottom of the barrel. But halfway into World War IV, the Coalition was growing desperate.

 

He glanced at the sniper/navigator they wanted to send with him. She stood almost as tall as he did—slender, dark-haired. Her black eyes pierced like the bullets in the M16 slung over her shoulder.

 

“Rivka, World War III is over,” Stein said. “We have to work together if we’re going to defeat the Federation.”

 

Her black eyes flashed. “I know that. I’ll do my job if he does his.”

 

“Good.” Stein nodded and walked away.

 

Rivka glanced at him and sighed.

 

“Check the controls; I’ll check the guns and landing gear,” she called over her shoulder as she headed toward the stealth fighter.

 

 

Rivka headed around the other side of the plane, glad to shake the American. She didn’t trust him.

 

When she climbed out of the plane after checking the guns and ammunition, she came face to face with him.

 

“Look, I know you don’t like me,” he said. “but we’re on the same side here…we believe in the same things and we’re here for the same reason…to fight for freedom and justice for our people. So let’s work together and get this done.”

 

Rivka stared hard at him.

 

An arid desert wind blew down across the compound, caressing her face in hot whispers and feathering her dark hair out behind her. It brought with it the subtle scent of almond tree blossoms and she took a deep breath.

 

“Alright. You fly; I’ll navigate.”

 

Pax smiled and nodded as he motioned toward the plane. “Your chariot awaits.”

 

She cocked a brow at him and moved to climb into the cockpit.

 

Was that a smile on her lips?

 

 

© Whitney L. Schwartz

 

Written for Christian Flash Weekly 45

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