Screaming Eagle

By Jeremy Baker

He sits across from me, mottled and shivering under the vent. He shifts, and says, “Since Belgium, I hate the cold.”

He twists a ring. The face is a white eagle on a black background. Beak spread. An arc of text above. I struggle to read what’s written there. Finally it catches the light: Airborne.

“Paratrooper?” I ask.

“And more, a long time ago,” he says, revealing it’s time for business.

“Who’s the target?”

He slides the file across the table. His hand shakes, and he stifles a cough that rattles deep in his chest. I open it, revealing his picture.