The Citadel was quiet after sunset. Wind ran through the rickety metal interior, whistling through cracks. On a dark night a traveler could see the monstrosity from a hundred miles away. It towered above the fields and forests, bleak and ancient and bare, like a gravestone covered in rusty, flickering lights. Besides the stars and moon, no place offered light or man-made shelter for hundreds of miles.
He woke in the night, his mouth dry. Without opening his eyes, he quietly slipped from under the single dirty sheet and went to the kitchen on his toes. He filled a glass with water, and with his eyes barely open, found his way to the front door, unlocked the flimsy chain lock, and squeezed out trying not to let the outside light in.
The distant view from the high, exterior walkway was one of total black. In the distance he could hear dogs barking and howling and the wind carried smells of stirred up dust and the distant ocean. He stood and looked out, sipping water from the coffee stained, chipped glass.
He often sat there in the early morning and contemplated the paranoia of the place, the insanity of keeping watch over a land of nothing. The lives in everyone in the outpost revolved around the government's fear that Elora had secretly left behind an underground base that lay waiting to attack. When would the fear end and normalcy begin again? Never, he thought, time does not seem to heal this wound.
He leaned over the railing and looked at the nothingness below. Squinting at the shadows, he saw only black. There was nothing to see and 'nothing' was his doom. Nothing awaited him. No purpose called. The fields and forests and tunnels below were vacant and it had long been so, so long that no living man could remember it any differently.
To his left and right, above him and below him, no soul stirred. I should sleep, he thought. Instead, he began walking along the walkway. He knew what had woken him.
In the barren dead of night, he hated this place and dreamed of cities that restlessly stirred and buzzed, meeting at cafes, political rallies, clubs, restaurants, and training performances. The citadel rises at sunrise and save one or two bars, retires at sunset.
He walked the fifteen minutes past the armory, other living quarters, and training facilities. Then he ascended old, creaking metal staircases to reach the higher levels. Climbing rusty ladders he ascended that last few levels hand over hand, until he reached the flight decks. The wind came in hard from the East. He pulled out his cap and tucked his hair under as he pulled it down tight, then he walked to the overlook above helipad 7.
Quietly he peered over the edge, down at the crew scrambling through pre-flight checks. Around the helicopter soldiers were loading gear and bags were all over the pad with soldiers making last minute load changes, checking off lists, and then rechecking everything a second time.
His friend walked among the men, kneeling by each and saying a few words before moving on. Cal was a respected lead diver and they would jump on his heels without hesitation. None talked about it, but his leadership put them all at ease. The chopper was headed for a three-city tour, ten days of descent in each. Including ascending and transit it would be 70 days, most of it in dark tunnels, if everything went right. Their nerves were surely in need of untangling.
They'd been told of the mission two weeks ago. Everyday since had been nerve racking and miserable for each of them. The men were ready though. He'd had drinks with all of them in the bar the night prior. They were eager to get it over with. Now, as they made final checks, they joked and laughed and looked as light hearted as if they were off for a hike.
Probing the tunnels was safer than it used to be. A long while back he could remember his father coming home sullen, a mission having gone wrong and lost half of its men. Now most lost only one or two. Still too many. All in search of the ghost of an enemy that had never existed.
He watched as the men finished their checks. The helicopter blades began to turn. The men stole glances over their shoulders as they dawned their gear and lined up, suddenly quiet, suddenly aware of the peril ahead and the love to be left behind. The citadel wasn't much, but it wasn't the metal they'd miss. They leave behind friends, wives and children, brothers and sisters, parents. In the moonlight, their pale skin shined and their eyes twinkled. Surely, not all would look that way in 70 days.
