Late Nite Write

It's after midnight, so it's time to write a little something!

It was December 6, 1941. A pleasant Hawaiian breeze blew through the open window of Col. Harrison McCafferty's office, slightly ruffling the floral print curtains his ex-wife had installed last fall. McCafferty shifted impatiently in his leather chair. Robert was supposed to be there 25 minutes ago, he'd said something about important documents regarding national security. Well if it's so damned important, McCafferty thought, why can't he be bothered to show up on time?

McCafferty was a hard man, born on the eve of the twentieth century to a family that didn't want him. He somehow survived his first 16 years in a dismal shack, just outside of Maynard County, Alabama. As soon as he could, he enlisted in the army. It was all he could do to escape his desolate existence. He worked his way though the ranks, thriving on the discipline, inhaling the codified system of the military.

It's late. That's all I've got for tonight.