For more of my Ian McQue inspired writings check out the ‘terminus‘ tag.
“I’ll use your name. Prepared for that?”
Coffee swallowed and asked, “You’d do that to me wouldn’t you?”
“If it’s as necessary as you say, I’d be doing it for you.”
Coffee vented air through his open mouth like a laugh or a fuck you or a crying of uncle. “The sure way or the slow way, huh?”
Admiral Tsien remained still and quiet at his desk. One hand lay on the surface holding down a manila folder marked [something cryptic but pertinent] the other propped up his head as he barely leaned to the side in a leather swivel chair.
Through the many-paned window behind Tsien and his chair, Coffee watched a tug pulling a Type: Recon to altitude. The Lebbeus—it was called—glided steadily right to left, heading north. Tsien licked his lips to speak, but first popped his fingertips from his forehead extending them skyward to mark the culmination of his thoughts. “Oorah.”
Coffee tugged at the soul patch in his goatee. “Oorah,” he said quietly. He then repeated the shape of the word soundlessly several times while still tugging the hair below his lip. Coffee shot up from his own chair and slapped the Admiral’s desk with both hands.
Tsien didn’t flinch.
Coffee leaned across the depth of the steel desk, locked eyes with a man no longer his friend, said, “Do it, Wu. It’s my life either way,” and then left the room.
247 words on day 566