Chapter 1: Bittersweet Homecoming

Wednesday, September 18, 1963

First Lieutenant Adam Hotchkin stood at attention in his uniform at the ceremony.

Kent was using the occasion to push his de-escalation agenda with the Sunset Isle, rather than paying tribute to Trevor.

Despite the polite applause around him, Adam's jaw tightened with each word.

The President hinted at reducing funding for the military, while talking a big game about embracing diplomacy with this island puppet regime of the Bolshevik Union that sits barely a hundred miles off the Everglade State coast.

It had taken a year for the federal government to convince the Sunset Islanders to release Adam as part of a prisoner exchange program, and an additional year for it to admit publicly, and today "honor," the sacrifice of his friend in Mongoose Bay.

"America must lead by example," Kent said. "The time has come to extend a hand of friendship rather than a fist of war."

Adam, tall and broad-shouldered with close-cropped sandy hair and a rigid posture, maintained his composure despite his disdain.

At 27, he'd already seen more combat than most men twice his age. His weathered face and penetrating blue eyes reflected a steely resolve.

This ceremony was meant to pay tribute to Captain Trevor Brady, his oldest and closest friend, who had to die because of the President's spinelessness.

"Our soldiers - men like Captain Brady - are an asset worth preserving," Kent continued. "We must strive to ensure no more lives are unnecessarily lost."

Adam remained motionless as his anger increased at the President's naivety. With Brady's body barely cold, Kent was betraying America's interests, in the Sunset Isle and in 'Nam.

The ceremony could not end quickly enough, for Adam or the other Army personnel present.

As the crowd began to disperse, two of Adam's superior officers stood behind him as he gathered his things.

"Can you believe this crap?" the one, a lieutenant colonel, asked the other. "The President's selling us down the river with this appeasement strategy."

"Keep your voice down," the other, who Adam recognized, a brigadier general, replied. "But yes, the Bolsheviks must be laughing their asses off."

He wanted nothing more than to join in the conversation and tell them how he feels, but such candor was not his place. Instead, he made his way to his car, his fists clenching in frustration.

Flags fluttered at half-mast in the streets of Fort James A. Keith, honoring the loss of one of the military's finest.

America had guaranteed support to the rebels fighting against the Bolshevik-aligned government in la República Isla del Ocaso, the Sunset Isle Republic. Adam and Trevor had trained many of these brave men to retake their country, and were deployed with the first battalion for the invasion at Mongoose Bay. Many additional troops were waiting to land, but at the worst possible moment Kent withdrew American support. Trevor and hundreds of others were killed, and Adam was detained along with the survivors.

His white skin and American accent saved him from the fate his comrades suffered. A year ago, he was the lone prisoner to be released, and handed back to American authorities.

James Kent and his supporters were dead-set against any further military escalation.

Adam's grip tightened on the steering wheel. He would never accept that Trevor died for nothing. Dealing with the Bolshevik Union and its proxies, off the Everglade coast and in South East Asia, had to be America's top priority.

He pulled into the driveway and sat in the car, collecting his thoughts as he looked at his modest two-bedroom ranch-style house in the base cantonment.

Adam entered to find his wife Madelyn bathing their 3 year old daughter, Mary. He watched them silently from right outside the doorway for a moment. While he had truly missed them while imprisoned, being back under these circumstances was bittersweet.

Madelyn's auburn hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she smiled up at him as he slowly pushed the door open.

"Daddy!" Mary squealed, splashing water excitedly.

"Hey there, squirt," Adam said, managing a smile despite his dark mood.

"Hi honey," his 22 year old wife greeted him, her soapy hands working through Mary's hair. "How'd the ceremony go?"

"Same old nonsense," Adam replied. "Kent hinting at cutting the Army's budget."

She pressed her lips, shaking her head.

"More politicians who've never served making decisions that get good men killed," he muttered.

"You're thinking about Trevor, aren't you?" Madelyn asked softly.

Adam nodded.

"Every day," he said as he went to the sink and splashed cold water onto his face, looking up and staring at his reflection. His uniform fit snugly, accentuating the powerful physique beneath, forged from years of training.

Madelyn dried Mary off as they made small talk, then helped her get dressed for bed. Madelyn carried their daughter out to tuck her in as Adam headed to the bedroom to change.

By the time he was putting on his robe, Madelyn walked in quietly, her slender figure silhouetted in the hallway light.

"Are you okay, Adam?" she asked. "I'm worried about you."

He nodded slowly as he leaned forward onto his dresser, his forehead creased with stress.

"Yeah," Adam replied, turning back to her and taking her into his arms. "It's just... I don't know what's wrong with this country anymore. The Bolsheviks are running amok out there."

Madelyn nodded, her green eyes sympathetic as she gently stroked the back of his neck.

"I hate that you have to be caught up in all this mess," she said.

He held her closely, feeling his strength returning.

"Someone has to do this work," he chuckled. "You wouldn't have married a weaker man."

"True," she giggled, nuzzling against him. After a minute of standing silently in their hug, she looked back up to him. "I'm gonna turn in."

"Alright," he said, kissing her on the top of her head. "I'll join you soon."

Adam returned to the living room and retrieved his handgun and a glass of whiskey.

Sighing, he turned on the evening news and sat back down to clean his sidearm. The television showed a reporter interviewing students at Oswald University in the city of Grassy Knoll, Alamo Republic State, protesting against military escalation.

"We demand peace with the people of the Sunset Isle, not white American men killing brown freedom fighters!" shouted a bearded student with long hair and dirty clothes.

Adam rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Just don't want to be conscripted in service of freedom," he muttered slowly to himself.

As the camera panned over the Grassy Knoll cityscape, a brief thought of dread overcame Adam, feeling that everything America had built - its cities, its industry, its freedom - could be undermined by a weak, recalcitrant population. As this thought lingered, Adam was unaware that in a few months' time, he would forever alter the course of the nation from within the skyline displayed on the television.

***

Friday, September 20, 1963

Two days later, Adam's garrison duties as a marksmanship instructor were interrupted when he was summoned to Colonel Mick Richardson's office.

Richardson was a stern-faced man with salt-and-pepper hair and the weathered look of a career military man.

"Lieutenant Hotchkin, thank you for coming on such short notice," Mick greeted him, with unusual formality

Inside, he found not only the Colonel but also two men in dark suits said to simply be from the "Department of Defense." The taller one, with a thin face and penetrating eyes, introduced himself as "Mr. Wilson."

The shorter, stockier man didn't give a name at all.

The blinds were drawn, no secretary was present to take notes, and the men spoke in hushed tones.

"What I'm about to show you is classified at the highest level," Wilson said, opening a leather portfolio. "This information does not leave this room, and if it does, things get ugly in un-American ways."

Adam swallowed, nodding as his superior officer gave him a solemn look.

Wilson cleared his throat and presented Adam with a set of photographs.

Adam leaned forward and picked up each of the pictures, which showed Bolshevik missiles and missile components being unloaded at the Port of Atardecer, the Sunset Isle capital.

"Those are Bolshevik SS-5s and F-7s," Wilson said. "Right off our coast."

Adam knew of these weapons systems. The SS-5s could almost reach the State of Pacifica on the west coast. The cheaper F-7s could hit anywhere in the Everglade State, including the vibrant Maralago Beach. When operational, this could all happen within fifteen minutes.

Reaching into the folder again, Wilson produced an intelligence report showing a Bolshevik plan to invade America from the Sunset Isle.

"This is just them war-gaming, of course," Mick added. "But the plan is viable. If they did this today, we would lose Everglade in a week, and it would take a month to push them back."

Adam listened, absorbing everything, his concern growing.

"And the President knows about this?" Adam asked, studying the photographs and report carefully.

"The President is compromising national security," Adam heard the quiet, stout man say for the first time. He spoke without inflection or emotion, yet with deliberate intensity. "We believe his sympathies may lie with our enemies."

"That... that's a serious accusation," Adam replied, raising an eyebrow.

"We're serious people," Wilson said coldly, reaching back into the folder and pulling out a single piece of paper, showing it to Adam. "This transcript shows a private conversation between Kent and the Bolshevik ambassador. Off the record, outside official channels."

Adam's expression darkening as he read.

"He's... aware of the shipments..." he began to say.

"And gave his blessing," Mick interjected. "All in the name of his 'diplomacy,' trying to save face after the Mongoose Bay affair."

Adam put down the page, sighing deeply.

"Lieutenant Hotchkin," Mick said, leaning forward. "You've distinguished yourself in combat. Your shooting record is impeccable - the best in the Army. And..."

He trailed off, glancing sideways at his companions.

"And, sir?" Adam gulped.

"You have a personal stake, I think, in what we're about to share," the Colonel concluded, "provided your loyalty is unquestioned?"

"Of course, sir!" Adam replied immediately.

Mick leaned back.

"A few years ago, you swore an oath," the stocky stranger said, folding his arms. "Do you remember what that oath was?"

"To defend America against all enemies, foreign and domestic," Adam responded, locking eyes with the man.

"There is no greater threat to a nation's existence than traitors in its own midst," Wilson explained. "What you have been shown here today is evidence of treachery."

"We need your specialized skills, and personal commitment, to carry out an assignment, Lieutenant Hotchkin," Mick said, staring intently at him. "In fact, you may very well be uniquely suited for it. But it is not something we can order you to do."

Adam pursed his lips.

"Sir, what exactly do you need me to do?" Adam asked, watching the Colonel nod slowly, impressed by his resolve.

"The President is visiting Grassy Knoll, in the Alamo Republic State, in late November," Wilson said, removing a set of documents from the portfolio and handing it to Adam. "All the information is in here. The President must not leave that city in good health. In any fashion, whatsoever."

Adam was speechless, looking down at the stapled papers in his hands.

"You want me to..." Adam began, letting the implication hang in the air.

"We want you to protect this country," Wilson said firmly. "Whatever form that might take."

"You are free to accept or reject this request," Mick stated, before stepping toward the window to pull aside the blinds, allowing bright sunlight into the office. "Either way, after this meeting, it will be as though the events of this afternoon never transpired."

Adam paused for a long moment. He clenched his jaw in silent anger as he thought of the disgraceful policies of the administration, and the deadly consequences.

"If what you've shown me is accurate," Adam said slowly, his patriotic instincts kicking in. "Then the President is a traitor."

"We believe so," Wilson confirmed. "We're not asking you to do this lightly, Lieutenant. But the future of our nation is at stake."

"No, you're not," Adam nodded. "Sir, you have my full commitment."

"Excellent," Mick sighed, walking over and shaking Adam's hand vigorously. "You will be on your own from the moment you leave this office, and we will not speak of any of this again until the deed is done. Is that clear?"

"If you're caught..." the unnamed man added, "... we will disavow any knowledge of this operation."

"I understand," Adam replied firmly, giving the Colonel a salute.

As he prepared to leave, Mick added one final comment.

"Lieutenant, Trevor would be proud of what you're doing for your country."

The mention of his dead friend filled Adam with determination as he opened the door to the office. He turned, nodded appreciatively, then left.

That night, he lay awake beside Madelyn, unable to tell her that he had agreed to assassinate the President of America for the good of their nation and daughter's future. He watched her sleeping peacefully, wondering if she would understand the burden he now carried.

"I love you," he whispered to her sleeping form. "Everything I do, I do for you and Mary."

***

Monday, November 4, 1963

Adam spent the past month trying to rest and be present for Madelyn and Mary, but the enormity of what lay ahead weighed heavily on him. He spent every waking moment reviewing the documents that outlined his mission and committing to memory the details of Grassy Knoll, from landmarks to police and media protocols.

For a hotbed of leftist student activity in a rightist state, the city offered many options for blending in.

Officially, Adam received a temporary reassignment to a "security detail" at Grassy Knoll Army Depot. The orders came through normal channels, providing perfect cover for his actual mission.

"It's just a couple of weeks," Adam told Madelyn as he packed his bag, not meeting her eyes. They had had this conversation many times, but he felt guilty. "It's routine work... better than going to 'Nam!"

He chuckled nervously.

"Mary will miss you," she said after a brief smile, watching him from the doorway of their bedroom. "We both will."

"I'll miss you too," he said, crossing the room to kiss her. "But I'll be back before you know it."

Madelyn held onto her husband as he tried to pull away, her grip tightening as her hands moved across his shoulders and back.

He kissed her passionately, sensing her need, grabbing her hips firmly, and pressing her body to his.

She returned the affection eagerly, kissing along his neck. Her tongue worked its way up to his earlobe, drawing out a gasp, before finally finding his lips again.

The couple collapsed backward on the bed as their kisses intensified, their tongues exploring each other's mouths.

Adam grabbed Madelyn's blouse, pulling it roughly over her head to reveal her naked breasts beneath. With hungry, aggressive movements, he cupped them with both hands while licking and sucking hungrily.

She gasped, arching her back, her hands tangling themselves in his hair.

His right hand slid downward to caress the inside of her thigh, while his left continued playing with her breast. Adam groaned softly with anticipation as his fingers found her vagina, already wet and waiting.

Madelyn tugged impatiently at Adam's belt buckle, unfastening his trousers to free his erecting cock.

He grabbed hold of her wrists, pinning them above her head as he straddled her. His rough handling elicited a squeal of pleasure as she struggled half-heartedly against him.

"Quiet, or Mary'll hear," Adam growled. "Bad girl..."

Madelyn let out another moan as Adam pushed his erection against her soaked panties.

With firm, insistent thrusts, he teased her until she begged for release. He reached down between them, pushing aside fabric to make direct contact with her pussy. Sliding his hand up and down against her wetness, he enjoyed hearing her panting, desperate cries for more.

"Please... please," Madelyn gasped, writhing beneath him. "Don't tease me like this!"

She raised her legs, locking them around his waist, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

"Fuck me," she whispered urgently. "Now!"

With a low grunt of satisfaction, Adam slammed into her warm, welcoming hole.

She cried out with pleasure as her walls clenched around his thick shaft, squeezing and releasing in a slow rhythmic pattern.

Her legs remained clamped tightly around him, drawing him deeper inside as she bucked beneath him wildly.

Adam pounded relentlessly into his young wife, relishing the sounds of their bodies slapping together amid their gasping breaths.

Her hands gripped his arms, fingernails digging into his skin.

He could feel her tremble beneath him as her orgasm approached rapidly.

"Oh yes! Oh my god!" Madelyn moaned, throwing back her head in ecstasy. "Don't stop! Nngg!"

Moments later, Adam erupted deep inside of her, crying out with animal lust. It had been some time since they made love this passionately.

He collapsed on top of her, exhausted but satisfied.

She sighed happily, clinging to him and stroking his back tenderly.

They lay together entwined in silence, breathing heavily, lost in afterglow.

When she eventually spoke, it was barely a whisper.

"Be safe," Madelyn murmured, before lightly punching his shoulder. "Leave those college girls alone."

"Ha!" Adam chuckled as they separated, brushing away a strand of sweaty hair from her forehead. "I love you, always."

She leaned forward and kissed him again.

This kiss lingered, bittersweet, as she helped him gather his things.

Several hours later Adam boarded the Air Force flight from Charlestown Airport, heading toward his destiny in the city of Grassy Knoll.