A 20-minute story

Written from 11:07 p.m. to 11:26 p.m.

"What the Sam Hell is going on down there?" the general asked. "Give me the goddamned phone." He snatched the receiver from the hands of the flustered radio operator, accidentally banging the kid on the forehead with the earpiece.

"Sorry son," he apologized.

He then turned his back to the boy and hunched over the receiver in an attempt to secure some privacy.

"You listen to me, soldier," he whispered into the mouthpiece, but a violent dust storm seized the atmosphere of the Utah desert and swept the general’s words away.

"YOU LISTEN TO ME, SOLDIER," he repeated, much louder, glancing around to see if anyone heard. "YOU HAVE TO BREACH THAT WALL, GODDAMMIT!" He pushed his index finger into the ear opposite the receiver and squinted into the white, dusty distance as he listened to the soldier’s response. During the following pause, the radio boy searched his many pockets for the wintergreen chewing tobacco he was sure he'd brought from San Jose.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S NO WATER?" the general yelled. "WHY THE FUCK ARE WE IN THIS GODFORSAKEN PART OF THE COUNTRY IF THERE’S NO WATER?"

He paused to listen.

"NO FUCKING KIDDING, DOBSON. WE BOTH WOULD RATHER BE NIBBLING SARDINES BESIDE A POOL IN SAN DIEGO, BUT IT AIN’T GONNA HAPPEN UNLESS WE GET SOME FUCKING WATER! THAT’S WHY THE GOVERNOR SENT US HERE, IF YOU DON’T REMEMBER!"

The general tapped the radio operator on the back of the helmet to draw the boy's attention. The radio operator turned to face the general. The action jerked the phone from the general’s hand.

"Damn, boy! Watch what you’re doing!" the general said.

"Sorry, Sir."

The soldier stooped and grabbed the fallen receiver, handing it back to the snarling general, who mashed it back onto his ear. "I need two sheets of paper and a grease pencil," the he snapped.

Confused by the request, the radio operator didn’t move.

"MOVE, DAMN YOU! WE’RE IN A FUCKING WAR HERE!" the general barked.

This time, the radio operator bolted toward the tents, jerking the phone from the general’s ear again.

The general rose to his full six-feet, five-inches and stood perfectly still amid the windy command center, watching the young radio operator sprint into the distance, the phone receiver bouncing and twirling behind him in the dust. Despite being the most populated state in the Union with the largest National Guard force commanded by some of the most skilled military leaders ever to don a uniform, California would not be seizing the Colorado River today, he realized.