We did a lot of desert training. No sweat, (no pun intended) as far as I was concerned.
Sure, most of my time doing ugly stuff was down in South America - but if the Altiplano isn't high desert, I don't know what is. Not to mention growing up in the southwest, hiking and camping and trail running and the like. Whether it was Stateside, the Middle East, or down south, dry and sandy was sort of in my blood at this point.
So, as much as they pushed the limits, the thought of getting tossed out of a helicopter for a week's survival and evasion practical in the middle of the Mojave didn't stress me like it did some of the others.
Which is why they dropped my presumptive ass in the middle of New York City.
A short bus ride, a long ride in a blacked-out plane, and a text message. "Your name and photo have been posted to the Homeland Security threat list and publicly disseminated. Your electronic devices have been compromised. You have 36 hours to return to the facility." Nothing more, no hints, no tools, and no support network.
That's what I get for thinking I knew what was going on.
Start of a short story? I like it.
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