Two American National Guardsmen are sitting in a small tent in the middle of a desert somewhere in Afghanistan. Tim is a legal assistant for a high powered law office in Boston. He is fair skinned, red haired, with the faintest bit of brogue in his English, betraying his ancestors came from the Emerald Isle. Billy is older, has more rank and ribbons, this is his fourth tour. He has a family of four he misses. His three sons look exactly like him with dark brown hair topping high foreheads, brown eyes and long oval faces.
"In a few days we will be on our own, ten thousand miles from nowhere, no supplies, and no way home. It makes me mad, real mad. I want to see my boys again." Billy was obviously angry, the veins in his temples pounded furiously.
"My arm hurts and I am still running a little fever, that last round of inoculations for (what the hell fever) the Talliban intends to hit us with as a going away present, has made a lot of guys really sick," said Tim.
"I tell you there will be a lot of pissed off people when they find out we aren't getting any more supplies, no pay, and no way home," said Billy. "I just want to go home; they can stick this bullshit where the sun does not shine." He stopped talking and began coughing. He was not over the effects of the vaccine either.
In thousands of places in Afghanistan and in Iraq similar conversations were being held at every level of rank from General to Private. The US Government is bankrupt. No checks for anyone, even senators and representatives have hit the road for home while they still can.
Admirals talk to Generals and a rapid plan to bug-out for home is forged. Several Large Aircraft Carriers are undergoing rapid changes into troop ships. Every nuclear powered vessel in the area is being mustered to carry our boys home. All over the Middle East they are walking and riding, and flying toward points of departure.
Although the rapidly departing troops present the favorite target of The Taliban, their backs, few shots are fired. A strange shocked silence has taken over the market place and the Mosque. In one Mosque an Arabic voice declares, The Sword of Allah, is falling. An old man chants a prayer of thanks.
Very few obstacles present themselves. The plan goes flawlessly. The Americans come running for home any way they can. It is weeks before the disorganized remnants of what used to be the government discover the awful truth. There has been a new creation in a small hidden laboratory in the Iraqi Desert. It is a virulent virus that kills only Caucasian people. All the soldiers who finally came home are now carriers.
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