I don't recall there ever being a morning as calm as this one since the war began. The shuffling of feet and idle chatter were practically the only sounds you could hear being made within the terminal.
Come afternoon, I drop by our administrative offices (really just a bunch of olive drab tents located somewhere between the tarmac access and the barracks) to deliver the last of today's queep. I was about to step into the C/O's workstation when a group of men in business attire suddenly emerge from the draping. They walk past me as they make their way to the exit, discussing something deeply bureaucratic.
I step inside the tent gingerly, and the C/O greets me:
"Lieutenant Colonel Green, I take it you're done with the paperwork? Good. Leave it on the stack to the far left."
"... Excuse me sir, but who were those people?"
"Ah. The men who left just now are representatives from the Northrop and Boeing production plants in Osea. As you might know, the board's had their hands full in trying to replenish our stock of aircraft, though over the past week we've had huge breakthroughs in negotiations. If you're interested, now's probably the best time to make a switch."
Some time later, I leave with a manila folder tucked underarm and find an unoccupied tent to do the work.
