Page 60 of Shifting Years
August 1973
Todd
"America lost?" I muttered to myself.
I had fought a tiger-man and accepted I was something out of a monster movie, but this? This was impossible.
I studied the locked door, imagining bursting through, but they had guns and I didn't. I had been a prisoner of war, and now I was a prisoner again. This time on an American base.
At least Bobby's getting medical care. I hope.
There was no hero's welcome or a slap on the back for saving Bobby, not that I needed it. Suspicious questions hid within interrogations on why I survived when others didn't. Why did I look better than the other POWs they found?
The accusations were written all over my countrymen's faces. I had learned to stay quiet under an enemy commander. From my own was no different.
If Bobby makes it, he'll vouch for me. Just hope he doesn't mention my, uh, wolf. Wish I could talk to someone though.
Seconds later, the door squeaked open, revealing the same thick, serious-looking bald man in fatigues. He placed a glass filled with water on a white table, away from my reach.
"Let's hear thestory."
"I already said it, sir." He had no decorations, but his aura said he was high up.
"Tell me, Mr. All-American, who won the 1968 World Series?"
I sighed. Unneeded trivia stayed in my mind, but not the important things. "Detroit Tigers against the Saint Louis Cardinals, four to three. Mickey Lolich was MVP."
"Favorite character on Star Trek?"
"Uh…" I had the strangest feeling of someone saying 'See, you should have watched.' I blinked as the strange memory vanished. "I don't know."
"That's the trouble,comrade.Sporting events make it over here, but local shows not so much. The enemy knows we ask about baseball, so you over-prepare. Most people don't know the score or MVP."
"I saw one episode. Uh, some thin guy with a bowl haircut had pointed ears."
My duplicate popped into existence, but I kept my eyes on my interrogator. He'd think I was pretending to be crazy. I wasn't so sure.
"He doesn't believe you." My double gestured to his military uniform. "You wished for help, and I'm here."
The bald man asked me something in rapid-fire Russian, then Chinese.
"He's asking if you're a spy," said my double.
Was I losing my mind? Honestly, it made more sense than anything else. "I don't know what you're talking about or saying," I said to the bald guy.
"I'm so sure. See, your story doesn't make sense unless you're working forthem. You survive when others don't. You disappear for years, and one day out of the blue, you kill the commanding officer and otherarmedsoldiers. Why not earlier? Had to go back to Moscow for training or do you still want me to believe it was just you?"
"I had help."
"Not Brezhnev? So Red China? Remaining Vietcong?"
"Bobby."
He huffed.
My double spoke, ice dripping from his words. "Wrong color, at least tohim.He doesn't believe one ofthem." He turned to the wall. "Get ready."
Jumbled voices muffled through the door followed by a shouted, "Hey! You can't go in… oh! I see. Yes, sir! Absolutely, sir."
