Ficly

Apple

We kept on our press toward the ravine, ceasing to run and instead opting for a more stealthy approach so that we would not announce our presence to any enemy forces. Time seemed to drag on to infinity as we approached out destination. A few times we had to divert our course, and it was at those times that we felt the most desperate and helpless.

I could see the emotion behind everybody’s faces—the agony, the frustration, the fear, the futility. Everybody was showing something—except Dulles. It was as if he had some sort of switch on his emotions, possibly even his humanity, and something had switched it off. His face was blank, a perfect mask.

We had stopped behind some rocks. The place to which we were traveling was only about half a kilometer away, and we could barely see it. We were trying to scope out the place when we noticed someone uncomfortably close. That someone spotted us too. Fearful, we waited for an interminable second, praying it wasn’t a Chinese patrol. Then the figure spoke.

“Apple.”

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