onto the metal table. The light dropped out of his hands, hitting the ground and turning off, but the shadows still skittered on the walls from the candlelight. Hans pulled out a knife from his cargo pants and held it to Nixon’s neck.
“We thought you hated being here, Nixon, and that you despised the war effort. We thought we could have used your expertise, but you ruined your opportunity to come away with us to a new world.”
Nixon breathed heavily, realizing his death was imminent.
“What spaceship? Saddam is dead, you morons. Didn’t you see him being hung on TV?”
“All lies, Nixon. You must never tell our secret. Our plans must remain unknown.”
Hans pulled up Nixon’s uniform and drove the knife into his abdomen through his undershirt. A group of hands began ripping away his skin and yanking at his innards, setting them aside in a sloppy, steamy mess on the cold table.
What the fuck, Nixon thought as he looked into their cold, steady eyes. I was almost down to double digits.
THE END
Author’s Notes
I actually served in the IZ as a junior officer when this story takes place. However, I never had the guts to actually go down to the secret bunker below Believers’ Palace. It really does exist. While Lieutenant Nixon is portrayed as bitter, I actually enjoyed serving in Iraq under the leadership of an Army colonel. He was the best leader I’ve ever served under during my time in the Navy.
My buddies who were actually kicking in doors and driving around in Humvees always poked fun at me for living the cushy life while in Iraq. This book is dedicated to them. And, yes, Salsa Dancing Night was an actual event at the US Embassy in Baghdad.
About the Author
Paul Salvette is an author who lives in Bangkok, Thailand with his wife, Lisa, and newborn daughter, Monica. He grew up in the United States and served in the Navy from 2002 to 2009, with some time in Iraq. His day job involves working at a Thai foundation that focuses on poverty eradication, philanthropy, and education. He hopes to stay in Thailand until he is deported or dies of natural causes, whichever comes first.
Learn more about Paul at https://paulsalvette.com
About The Bunker below Believers’ Palace
Lieutenant Nixon is a bitter, frustrated naval officer serving his time as a staff weenie in the International Zone. Bored with the monotony of war, he ventures to a secret bunker below one of Saddam Hussein’s former palaces with a quirky German named Hans. Crawling down to the depths of the destroyed structure, he finds more than he bargained for.
The Bunker below Believers’ Palace is a 3,400-word (~15-page) short story about the mystery behind Saddam’s toppled dictatorship.
Author: Paul Salvette
Editor: Ben Salvette
Cover Art: Paul Salvette
America Goes On – Coming Soon
A young veteran of the Iraq war drives across America while struggling to find his place in the country he just defended. Confronted with complacent attitudes and narrow minds, he realizes his fellow citizens don’t even understand America is at war, let alone respect his sacrifice. The only people he can relate to are his fellow Marines from his second tour of duty in Iraq, along with a mysterious girl who is waiting for him on the East Coast. Travel with this veteran through the barren desert of California all the way to New York City as he learns about modern America, as well as himself.
America Goes On is a 16,000-word (~65-page) novella about the 21st century reality of war in America.
Excerpt from America Goes On
The freeway descends from the Rockies into the Denver skyline and the Great Plains beyond. I’m stuck in rush hour and something is off. If Colorado is in the Wild West, it sure doesn’t feel like it. I’ve passed several ski resorts and seen too many damn rich people on vacation with their K2 skis on Thule roof racks, Botox injections, Dior sunglasses, and L.L. Bean jackets. This is not my scene.
Billboard after billboard advertises car insurance, iCrap, and cell phone plans. We’re engaged in a brutal fight in Iraq and Afghanistan, but everything here’s a grand diversion set up to keep people boxed in as dedicated consumers.
I’m on my way to visit Mark Thomas, who’s going to school up in Boulder. He was one of my guys, and a damn smart dude. He knew politics inside and out. He was in the Marines because he came from a messed up family and needed the money for college. It’s good to see he’s using the GI Bill to do what he really wants. He served his time, and I’m glad he’s getting something back for it.
During chow he’d talk about why we shouldn’t be in Iraq. He went on and on about how there are no WMDs, that we have no business being involved in the Middle East, and that the war effort is one big joke. I usually ignored that hippie shit, but Mark made some interesting points from time to time. To avoid getting the shit beaten out of him, he never mentioned his opinions to anyone else. During Mark’s diatribes, I’d usually give acknowledging grunts and nods, but whenever he veered into the ridiculous, I’d look to the side as a subtle way of showing my disagreement. Even though he didn’t believe in what the White House and Pentagon were doing, he was still a good Marine.
Mark told me to meet him in the middle of his “guerilla activism” at this park on campus. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, nor what I should expect.
Pulling off the freeway into Boulder, I see lots of people walking dogs outside fancy houses and coffee shops. It reminds me of when we used to go up to Ann Arbor to party in high school. But this town has broader lawns, smaller dogs, and nicer cars. I’m used to seeing college kids with couches on their porch and beer bottles tossed on the sidewalk, but this place, shit, it’s too nice. I pull into an overpriced parking structure and set out to look for Mark.
I hear drums banging away in the distance, so I figure that must be the source of this “guerilla activism.” On the walk over, I pass all sorts of multicolored flyers stapled to telephone poles that announce the protest tonight against the war. The flyers proclaim nonsense like “1,000,000 Dead in Iraq and Counting” (that’s ridiculous), “No Blood for Oil!” (we never put any Iraqi oil into our vehicles), and “Fuck the War” (whatever). I walk by kids who wear University of Colorado sweatshirts and carry massive backpacks with “Obama for Change in ‘08” buttons dangling from the zippers and shuffle around in blown-out flip-flops.
Kids talking among themselves trickle into the park as the massive crowd mills around a large stage. A few mustached university cops stand by in riot gear, but they’re just chatting about the Avalanche game rather than looking to start a brawl. The police certainly aren’t interested in the spectacle before my eyes, so I wonder if it’s just another day on the job for them.
In front of the stage, a mish-mash of old hippies and college kids hold a variety of protest signs, mostly about Iraq, but some read “Free Mumia,” “Smash the Police State,” or random blurbs beyond comprehension. Many among the younger crowd wear shirts silk-screened with that Che guy’s mug. Many among the older crowd don sun hats and pastel-colored spandex pants that highlight the disgusting fatness around their midsections.
Table of Contents
Title
Story
Author’s Notes
About the Author
About The Bunker below Believer’s Palace
About America Goes On
Excerpt from America Goes On
The Bunker below Believers' Palace: A Short Story Page 3
