Code Name: Academy

Chapter 2

I wipe the sweat from my brow as I help lift another lifeless corpse of an elderly Syrian man out of the water. A young woman, probably not much older than myself comes racing across the beach and throws herself prostrate on the sand beside us.

"Baba! Kunt almutabaqqiat eayilati alwahida!"

Daddy! You were my only remaining family!

We gently lower his body to the ground and she folds him up into her arms, wailing. I'm the only woman with this particular group, so I kneel beside her and take her hand in my own. She clenches tightly and raises her light ocher eyes, hollow with loss, to meet my own. She takes strength from me and lightly brushes her father's eyelids closed.

"Allaahummaghfir li Papa warfa' darajatahu fil-mahdiyyeena, wakhlufhu fee 'aqibihi fil-ghaabireena, waghfir-lanaa wa lahu yaa Rabbal-'aalameena, wafsah lahu fee qabrihi wa nawwir lahu feehi."

Oh God, forgive Papa and elevate him among those who are led by your light. Send him along the path of those who came before, and forgive us and him, Oh Lord of the worlds. Magnify for him his grave and shed light upon him in it.

I whisper the words with her. I've heard this same prayer in a half a dozen languages in the past months here near the camps. I wipe a stray tear from my cheek and offer my condolences.

"SORENSEN," is yelled out from a little ways up the beach. I turn and see that it's Rob, my supervisor. "GET BACK TO WORK! WE DON'T PAY YOU TO SIT DOWN ON THE JOB!"

I step away from the grieving daughter and pull out my walkie-talkie. I switch it to the correct channel and respond, "You don't pay me at all, sir."

I hear a chuckle on the radio and a softer, Italian accented voice chirps, "Hey, I don't get paid either, boss. We should form one of those American unions and stand on top of boxes demanding wages and clothing allowances and champagne with every meal!"

Rob shakes his head at his walkie-talkie as I approach. "I don't think that you fully understand the concept of unions, Antonio. Besides, aren't you all volunteers? No one is forcing you to be here."

"Oh, sì, Robertò. Scusami. I get enflamed with injustices and must speak up for those smaller than me like our little Sang."

I roll my eyes as Antonio jogs up to join us and I throw my work gloves at him, hitting him squarely in his heavily tattooed right arm. His hot pink hair is a beacon that's hard to miss, and as he bends to pick them up for me, I sigh at the view.

"So sorry, bella Sang," he croons as he shakes his perfectly shaped backside for my benefit. "I promise that if I were attracted to the softer sex, you would be my one true love."

Yeah, yeah...I've heard that before.

He bends forward to take my hand and places my gloves in it with a wink. The timing couldn't have been more perfect as Rob's wife, Simone steps out of the office tent and smacks his beautiful behind with a resounding 'thwack.'

"Who're you calling soft? It is you, not I who has a head that looks like cotton candy," she laughs as he jumps and rubs his derrière.

Simone is about as far from soft as you can get. She is almost six feet tall, and her entire body ripples with sinuous muscle. She moves with the grace of a stalking jaguar, and her claws are just as fierce. Simone is from somewhere in the Sudan, and her ebony skin and high cheekbones are flawless. She is poised and doesn't let anyone tell her what to do, and it is to the betterment of humanity that she is gifted with a pure and giving soul.

I want to be her when I grow up.

"Hello," she smiles to me. "Do not let Antonio get you into too much trouble, Sang." She turns away and wraps her arms around her husband and plants a long and passionate kiss on his bearded face.