There was nothing in my husband's memoir regarding an enemy's standpoint on the whole issue. At first, I thought it was strange. He would have seized the opportunity to interview a Hexagon guard the moment he saw an opening, and I'm certain, him having operated behind enemy lines, that opportunity arose many times. What I did find was an entry that discussed the "Tin Can Talk", and that was the next best thing to what I considered to be a lead.
July 16, 1992
General Vergs asked me to step out of his office before he proceeded with the oral contract. He didn't want outside noises to be heard as that would've led to the assumption that others were listening in on the call from his end. Instead, he had me fetch the voice recorder from my jeep so that I didn't need to be by his side, jotting down all that was said. I can't remember how long the conversation went on for, but that was the only ever discussion that both parties were willing to hold as tension still grows.
I'll be delivering messages from Edgewater from here on out. I hope and pray that the French guard have mercy on a man such as I. I'll always leave my badge behind just for good measure.
I guess Tommy wasn't a spy. If anything, they might have assigned him as some sort of messenger. A middleman who relayed messages from the general's private office to the Hexagon's front doorstep. Tough job. Tougher than espionage if you ask me. And if Edgewater was where the DMZ did start, then the French pushed us far back. It looked like they were going to do it again if we didn't act soon. They established the rules of the DMZ. That gave them every right to break 'em. Leonia sounded like an urgent issue. The thought of it got stuck in my head, so I took a mental note of it.
We made it back to Big Indian just as the sun reached its highest point. Thankfully, our camp basked in the shade of the lush forest, and not much light bled through the trees. Even though the sun was hot and dry, the base remained cool and moist. The time was ten hundred, but underneath the mask of leaves and thriving vine, one would assume it was still the witching hour.
Our surroundings were painted in a dark blue tint, and the only source of light that emanated was the bonfire which danced in the center of our tents. Captain Finer parted from us to escort St. Vier into the main house. I didn't pay much attention to it because Dr. Agatha was there to greet the squad as the guys sat down on dusty crates and wet logs. I was glad to see her again. The doctor's presence made my heart skip a beat.
"Good day, Elisabeth." She took my hand and brought me over to the flame where a glowing pot boiled over it. It was the same stew that I had the night before. Luckily for me, I didn't grow sick of it just yet. The doctor poured me a bowl then had the CS, (culinary specialist), pull out a stool for me to sit on. "Thank you, Everett," said the doctor.
If I had a mouthful of stew swishing in my gob, I would have spat it out upon hearing the doctor utter that name. Those questions began ringing in my head for the nth time, feeding my impulse to just explode and conduct my own interrogation on the camp chef out of the blue. I knew they weren't going to give me a chance, so I just quietly ate my stew while the doctor and the CS continued catering to the troops.
Everett already knew who I was. I sensed that because, every now and then, he would give me a subtle stare then immediately turn his head away whenever I'd stare back at him. I wasn't sure if I had done something to offend, or if there was a rumor, or speculation going around that made them act the way they did, but one thing was for certain… They didn't trust me any more than I trusted them. With that said, the prospect of getting along with them wasn't fully ruled out.
Everett spoke friendly like me at the time. He wasn't a peasant, but he did come across more as a busboy than a "culinary specialist". Gold blond hair, smooth white skin, crystal blue eyes. He looked like me, like he could have been my biological brother. At first glance, I thought he was just a kid—probably around eighteen or twenty years of age—but I guess I was mistaken. Twenty-nine he was, but no one in the regiment treated him like a fully-grown adult.
The lieutenant called him "Swede", and the rest called him "Boy". I felt bad for him a bit, especially when the lieutenant started with his antics, but they did get along from doing that. They were hardy like pirates.
"So," Dr. Agatha spoke from behind me. She dragged an empty, wooden crate and sat next to my stool, still keeping an eye on the soldiers with a smile on her face. In her hand was a tomato which she munched on as if it were an apple. She offered me one from the box behind us, but I respectfully declined. Personally, I didn't fancy eating things out of my bare hand. "When did you and Thomas migrate to the U.S. if you don't mind me asking?"
"A year ago. I had business, and he was willing to find work here just to be able to travel with me."
"That's sweet… Any kids?"
"No. No kids."
Tommy and I were infertile—we fought because of it. Actually, I assumed that was the reason he joined the regiment in the first place. To clear his mind… Catch his breath.
"I see… And before Big Indian, where did you stay?"
"Pennsylvania."
Lords Valley in Blooming Grove. That was the name, I think. The folks there were sweet and lively. Well… in contrast to everywhere else. People who came in from the west said that the valley was like entering a dreamland. Guys from the north said that it was like they never left home. That it was safe like Canada. And passersby from the east said that our place attracted "twinks", "snowflakes", and the "scums of the earth". As expected, we didn't get people from the south.
That township was like blessed land, and leaving it meant waking up from a dream and getting smacked in the face by cold, hard reality. That place was beautiful, but I won't hold back when I say that it was the reason why I got all soupy in the brain the moment I hopped on that jeep to Big Indian. I needed to learn how to walk and how to talk. Pennsylvania wasn't going to give me that chance.
"Oh, I've heard lovely things about Pennsylvania. The Keystone State." The doctor had a thing for holding people's hands ever so dearly. I felt healed by her loving touch. Guys from Pali' called her "Big Mama", and she was indeed a "mama". Big? Not so much. In sooth, she'd get frailer and frailer every time we bumped into each other. "You're blessed to have witnessed the peace and tranquility of that place. Many of us only dream… and we'll keep on dreaming. What was it like over there?"
"I forgot the war was even going on," I told her. "That's how still the waters were. It just felt… odd toward the end of my stay."
"Odd?" Dr. Agatha cocked her head like a dog and asked me, "In what way?"
"The world keeps turning," I said to her. "I don't know… It didn't sit right with me."
"I understand." Of course, she did. She stood from the crate and dusted her rump. "I won't pester you any longer, though I will tell you this: I'm all ears all the time. I told that to the others, but they tend to keep their problems to themselves. Look where that got them. Caught in the center of small rooms with four walls closing in on them. They're strangers, you know? They force themselves to be." Her eyes were fixed on the lieutenant when she said that. "I hope you don't. I hope you're different."
"I won't, ma'am."
* * *
Later that day, General Vergs called me into his office for a debriefing. Sitting on the opposite end of his desk was St. Vier with her hands cuffed to the arm of her chair. Captain Finer stood to the side of the general's throne, methodically fiddling with the grip of his sidearm. I was told to sit in the throne while General Vergs paced the small office back and forth, his eyes refusing to break away from the sight of the enemy soldier.
"Baby," he called my attention, "mission report." I froze. He was probably testing to see how quick I would have responded, but I had no idea what to say and/or do. Thankfully, he was patient enough to rephrase his statement in the form of a question. "What is the name of this individual and where did you gather her?"
"Her surname's St. Vier," I reported to him. "Captain Finer and I located her tied down in a chapel somewhere along Esopus Creek near Rohaly Road. Lieutenant Miller was the one who captured her."
"From where?" he asked.
I prepared the memoir in my hands just in case he needed more information that wasn't sitting in the back of my head. "An outpost near Palisades. There was a convoy, too."
"Ah, yes. I heard about that." He then asked the captain, "Finer, what was the intel you gathered from the French?"
"Something about 'eyes and ears'," he said
General Vergs stopped pacing the room. "Bugs?"
"Maybe," I chimed in. "In the memoir, it said something about Katonah being tapped. Lieutenant Miller had the place burned down—"
The captain silenced me with a raised finger, "Burned down?"
"Y— Yes… Maybe they're bugging places again."
The general instinctively reached for his whisky glass, looking to put his mind at ease. "And I thought Pope was the only problem."
Captain Finer added, "Sir, Miller's not a problem. He's a psychopath."
"Exactly. Psychopaths are problems. Notice how I didn't say 'handful' as Emily would have said. Anyway, are you telling me that he gave out a direct order without reporting to us what had happened? No sitrep, no nothing?"
"Come to think of it," Captain Finer gestured at the general to grab another glass. He was looking to drink his sorrows away, too. "I don't remember Miller updating me on what went down in that specific hamlet, and that was a while back. I did see smoke in the air, but I paid no mind to it. Maybe I should've. What if that turned into a goddamn forest fire." He asked me, "Baby, what date was that entry?"
"September thirteenth," I answered him.
General Vergs said in a mocking tone, "That sounds about right. Katonah got quiet after that."
"He's a piece of work," Captain Finer quipped in response.
I backed myself into a corner, wishing I hadn't said what I said while the two continued discussing Katonah, which was probably burnt to a crisp at that point. Perhaps, it was none of my business informing them about the lieutenant's doings.
"What do you think we should do, Finer?" the general asked him. "How do we go about this? Yes, I suppose burning down a hamlet prevents French hives from budding in that locale, but Christ Almighty, we can't outrun a goddamn forest fire if this is the way Miller goes about seizing Hexagon camps. Let me tell you another thing: I've been seeing smoke for how many days now. Surely, Katonah wasn't the only instance, and that was days ago."
"I'll do something about it, General."
"Please do." General Vergs downed his glass then set it gently on his desk, glaring at the infantrywoman. "You," he dug his pointer finger into her shoulder, "tells us what you know about 'eyes and ears'. Why do you guys keep bugging your own camps?"
St. Vier let out a small chuckle. She told him, "Those 'bugs' are for surveillance. It's regulated for all Hexagon outposts, but that's not what 'eyes and ears' means." The captive shifted in her seat and tugged at the chain of her cuffs, seeing if the armrest was brittle enough to break away from. Her sudden jolts caused us to jolt. "'Eyes and ears' is the reason why the DMZ got absorbed by our fleets. 'Eyes and ears' is the reason why Fort Lee is on the verge of a full-on siege. It's also the reason why eastbound American militias don't exist."
"Yeah? Then get to the point." The general was beginning to lose his patience. "What does it mean?"
"'Eye in the sky'... You've heard that before, right?"
"Yeah."
"Well, there you go." St. Vier leaned back in her chair with a smug grin.
"Snipers?" General Vergs asked her.
The captive cozied up in her seat, letting the cold air swirl in the room and through her hair. "Snipers," she answered him while staring me down from across the desk, dead in my eyes with a numb yet stalking gaze.
I didn't back down from her little mind games. I stood my ground and planted my rump firmly on the throne, asking her about Leonia. "The captain and the lieutenant said something about your convoy being a possible 'smokescreen' for something else. Is that true? What's your business with Leonia?"
"There's a shipment of arms coming in from Overpeck," she informed me, and there I was, thinking she was going to laugh, or avert my question with an insult. "Leonia's their first stop—a checkpoint inspection before they pass through Lincoln Tunnel and across the river."
"They've got convoys coming from O-Peck?" Captain Finer questioned her. "How'd our guys not see you cruise in?"
"We've got dinghies in the creek."
"Maybe Leonia was an urgent matter after all." The Pali' captain marched to the door, his fingers tingling in excitement and adrenaline. "But we shouldn't act. Not while O-Peck's still in the dark about it. The dinghies—are they still there?"
"Perchance."
"Should I write to Overpeck?" I asked.
Without letting a second of dead air pass, General Vergs answered, "No."
"Why? With all due respect, sir, Leonia's out of the way for us. Let O-Peck handle it," Captain Finer suggested. "Baby can write a letter requesting their aid. Trust me, this isn't our fight. Not now at least."
"It is, Finer," the general begged to differ. "Leonia's a straight drive from Fort Lee. They know how badly our control is waning over there. What if they decide to pay a visit? I cannot take that risk. We haven't even made it to Nyack, and already, we're flying a little too close to the sun by doing absolutely nothing." There was a map that was perpetually stashed in the back pocket of his trousers. General Vergs spread it open on the table and asked for my pen. "So… who's Peck and who's Leo?"
Captain Finer sounded defeated when he responded to the general. "Miller's Peck. My guys are Leo. What's the course of action? Do we head back to Pali'?"
"Emerge from the south, yes. Crescent Avenue looks like a good place to wait it out. For Miller, it'll be Degraw. These inspections usually last a whole day, so it's best you head down to the AO by twenty hundred. It's not gonna be easy. If these camps have bugs, they probably have comms, too." General Vergs then refilled his whisky glass and kindly pulled me out of his throne. With my pen, he circled both AOs on the map and underlined the words "Lincoln Tunnel". "This shipment won't make it across the river. Expect the French to do something about it. I have a weapons specialist in Nyack who might be fit to combat 'Eyes and Ears', but in the meantime, Leonia's our priority."
Captain Finer and I saluted in unison. "Yes, sir."
* * *
Me and the guys had been saying "creek" as if the one down in Overpeck was just a narrow, gutter-sized stream carrying water down a shallow, stony slope. I'll let you know that this creek was half the diameter and depth of the Hudson. It was a whole other river in and of itself. That's why the Hexagon was able to deploy weaponized dinghies in the location.
Now, Degraw was a rotten bridge with a huge chunk of its foundation being made from wood. I was surprised that it was still strong enough to hold our jeep. The beams and pillars were soaked as creek water climbed up their fibers. Made them soft like clay. Lieutenant Miller and his men left me to tidy up the dash as they readied themselves on the walkway. The jeep's cockpit was a mess. There were empty cigarette boxes all over the place, beer tabs, crushed cigars, and rolled up magazines I dared not touch. I simply swept their litters out the door with my foot then sat back in my seat, wiping my hands on my laps.
I'd accidentally bump my walkie-talking on the side of the passenger door every time I twisted my hip even in the slightest. I wanted to take it off and stuff it in the glove box, but I also didn't want to leave the Leo-squad hanging. The radio they issued me was big and blocky. Every time I hoisted it up to my face, I thought I was speaking into the holes of a cinder block. Captain Finer and I were the only two left on the call. He told me that he was married, too. Of course, he was. He acted like he had some mouths to feed someplace else. Sadly though, that marriage didn't last long.
He was a widower.
"When did you two get married?" I asked him.
"A year ago…"
My heart sank to my stomach. Fifteen years Tommy and I were married for, but no matter how long we've been sleeping by each other's sides and having our ups and downs, fifteen years felt all too short. For the captain to be deprived of that long-lasting joy from the get-go… Too harsh. Too cruel. I remembered what he said about bitter people not wanting to receive condolences, though it didn't matter to me at that time, and like I said before, this man wasn't bitter at all. "My God…," I told him anyway, "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be…" He said with a chuckle, "Sorry you didn't get to witness her." The captain talked about his wife like she was sunshine and rainbows. "She was a real gem to have around. It was the same thing with Tommy. They were both loved and adored. I guess it happens to the best of us." I pondered on how he managed to soldier on despite all of that. Surely, Tommy and his missus weren't the only two people he lost during that whole depression. He must've been in shambles on the inside such as I.
"Friends of the world," I muttered.
Lieutenant Miller patted on my window, letting me know that it was time to hop down the jeep. I said my goodbyes to the captain and secured the radio on my hip, glancing at the Escort catching dust on the dash. Inside the cockpit, it was nice and cozy, but as soon as I stepped out of it, a freezing gale wrapped around my neck and trickled down my spine. The night was ice-cold. I took the pistol, stuffed it down my trousers, then went to the edge of the bridge where the Pali' guys surveyed the creek.
I was hoping that maybe the Hexagon finished unloading their cargo and was already on route to Leonia. That would've meant that we failed to stop them in our designated AO, but at least no firefight was to be met. Unfortunately, they were still there.
"We've got cheese-eaters by the creek. They're loading up their trucks by the shallow end of the waters," the lieutenant briefed us. He then handed me his binoculars and said, "What'd you think their cargo is? I've got eyes on gun crates and a tanktainer. This doesn't look like a regular shipment. Looks like they mean serious, ungodly business."
The French were loading an ISO tank onto a freight truck, armed guys circling it with their carbines at eye level. Indeed, it looked rather sketchy. I've seen Hexagon trucks roam the streets before, but it was always for patrol purposes. This was different. This was new. I told him, "Looks like guns and precious metals."
"Precious metals?"
"Have they not shipped those kinds of things before?" I asked him.
"Never."
The lieutenant wagged his head and clenched his fist so tight that I could hear the threads of his mitts snapping apart. No one needed to say anything to his face. That man had unbridled rage coursing through his veins twenty-four seven. He channeled hot ichor throughout his body like it was second to breathing. I suspected that his French prejudices stemmed from more than just the war or who he was told to shoot at. He hated those guys with a passion.
"Never seen anything like that before." The lieutenant then looked west, facing the highways and caressing his ring finger with his thumb. I couldn't tell what he was doing, but a quick and subtle kiss laid upon the base of his finger led me to believe that he was wearing a gold band underneath all of those layers of kevlar and velcro. "I need a group of three to take a dip in the creek to slash their dinghies. A second team camps out in the shrubs."
The squad split into two teams of threes, but I was left out of the mix.
"W— what do I do?" I asked the lieutenant.
"You maintain your position here on the bridge. If any of those cheese-eaters stray from their group, keep an eye on them. Make sure none of them wander into any blind spots. If they do, relay the message on your radio. We'll take care of it from there."
"Yes, sir."
The lieutenant peeped at the gun in my trousers. "What are you— Oh, for crying out loud." He then plodded back to the jeep and secured a leather holster in his hands. "Unintentional crotch-shots happen more frequently than you think. Please don't scrape the ol' beaver while on the job. An out-of-the-blue wax job's the last thing you'll need out here."
I wish he just stopped at "crotch-shots". That was unpleasant enough. "Thank you, sir." I took the holster from his hands and ran my fingers along its smooth surface. The grooves on it indicated that it was meant for a snub nose revolver, but my piece fit snug anyway. I strapped the gun wrap onto my belt and gave the lieutenant and his men a thumbs-up.
Before they advanced, Lieutenant Miller handed me the keys to the jeep and told me, "Eyes peeled out here, Baby. If you don't have a presence of mind, you'll be sorry. You get what I mean?"
"Yes, sir."
His brows dipped down but from the outer ends. He started to look worried, like he wanted to tell me something else. He gave me a nod and warned me, "Those folks… they're not nice people. Women… children… They'd wish they're dead." He turned his back and walked away from me, "I'll shoot a flare once we've cleared the AO. It's for you and the Leo-squad to see." He was out of character for the rest of the siege, but I figured he was just a little on edge.
We all were.
I entered the jeep once more and rested my head on the dash, waiting for everything to blow over. When Lieutenant Miller led his guys down the slope, I rested my head on the dash. That was a big mistake.
* * *
"Baby? Baby, respond!" The sounds of Lieutenant Miller's harsh whispers woke me from my short slumber. The radio rattled on my hip as he continued calling out to me.
I grabbed the walkie-talkie from my belt and asked him, "S— Sir? What's wrong?"
"I'm hearing sounds from the other side of the bridge. Do you see anything?"
There was no need to peer through the windshield as whatever was on the other side of the bridge stared right into my soul with its bright, beady eyes. A million microscopic needles shot into my spine and left me paralyzed, unable to move a single muscle. It snarled and paced the jeep like a stalking dire wolf. Once the moonlight draped over the mysterious entity, I was able to catch a glimpse of what it really was. It was a Hexagon armored car, and it wasn't any less scary.
"Sir," I reported to the squad leader, "we've got an enemy vehicle on the bridge."
"Shit," he quietly exclaimed, "how many?"
I had to hope for the worst. I always had to. Realistically, the Pali' guys would have only come to my aid if there were three or more armed guards staring me down, but alas, it had to be just one guard. Armed with a silenced pistol might I add. I kept thinking to myself, "I wanted this, I wanted this." I'll tell you what: I was a fool signing up for that job. I wasn't cut out for it, and still, I took it.
"Baby, answer me. How many?"
Our humvee was basking under a dying wind. No doubt I had been spotted. Once the armored car's headlights faded, my hand was magnetically drawn to my sidearm. I pulled with all my strength, but it almost felt like the pistol was glued into the leather case. There was a loop that kept it from sliding out, however I failed to notice at that very moment. My head was spinning. For a better grip, I hooked my index finger through the trigger guard like the panicky coward I was then clenched my hand. I would like to add that my brain was dead, and the only thing that was getting me through the situation were my instincts, "getting me through" meaning "getting me killed."
Bang!
I fired right into the HMMWV's comm system, and rendered myself deaf and blind in the process. The blast was loud. Loud as in a-dozen-balloons-popping-at-the-same-time loud. The gun was no longer in my hand after that. It must have fallen somewhere in that cramped leg space. Before I got the chance to bend down and secure it, my door swung open.
I was snatched by the collar, and all of a sudden, it was a fistfight to the death. When I hit the ground, I ate a mouthful of puddled pavement, and after that came an endless rain of hammerfists to the face. A firefight broke loose underneath the bridge. In my left ear, I heard volley fires along the creek. In my right, Lieutenant Miller was screaming my surname through the radio. There was nothing I could do for the man on the bridge was twice my size. He was crushing me into the ground. A human bulldozer.
"You bitch!" The French guard spat on my face once he was done rearranging my nose and eyes. "Who sent you?" He lifted me off the ground by my blouse and hovered his fist over my jaw as if he was mugging me. "Answer me, you whore!"
The Escort—I saw its nickel shine bouncing off the cockpit's ceiling. My gut feeling told me that it was in reach. I placed my hand on the step of the humvee and heard the pistol move around from inside. It sounded like it was close to the ledge. I had to calculate in my mind where it was exactly. If I ever had to spring from the ground to reach it, it had to be in one, swift motion.
I banged on the humvee's step at the same time the man's fist sunk into my gut. I heard the pistol scrape against the lip of the door frame. All I needed to do was sit up and grab it, but the endless barrage of punches to the gut made that impossible to do. He was killing my core. I couldn't twist, I couldn't turn. I was literally bleeding out my behind. Each strike to the stomach was like a knock on heaven's door. I hoped and prayed that there was still room up there.
At last, what I thought was the moon falling out of the sky was actually the Escort dropping from the ledge of the jeep. The pistol fell in the palm of my dead hand, and finally, the tables had turned. The Hexagon soldier scurried to grab his, but I was already sitting up from the ground, hair all a mess, nose and eyes swollen shut, and a red stream running down my right leg. The only force that made it extremely difficult to pull the trigger was my will. I couldn't do it. Even the man knew that I couldn't do it, and my struggles made him stop and think for a second. When I lowered my gun, he stood steady. When I let down my guard, he let down his, too.
There we were, jaw-dropped, wondering what the point of all that was. I didn't want to kill him, and he didn't want to kill me. So, what were we left to do?
Swoosh!
Lieutenant Miller's flare zipped through the sky and filled heaven's absence with red. It covered the bridge, shimmered over the creek, and hid the stains on my pants. That flare ended the whole affair. The Hexagon troop was dejected upon finding his comrades floating lifeless in the waters, though I think he already made up his mind about me. He stood there, scratching his head.
When the Pali' guys came ascending from the creek, the man's hairs stood ten-hut once more. That time, he didn't miss a beat in retrieving his pistol. He left me no choice. There was no time to decide, no time to treat it like a moral dilemma.
Well, it was, but I made my mind up faster than that guard ever did.
Bang!
I never killed a man before. Just like that, my hands were the same as the rest's—tainted. I felt that in my heart and in my soul. What have I done, right? There I was, sitting on my damp rump, crying like a kid. I tossed the gun to the side and curled up into a ball. Lieutenant Miller came rushing to my aid, wondering what had happened. The squad leader was furious. He attacked my nape with a blaring sermon of how irresponsible I was, though I was too inconsolable to understand a word he said.
"What, were you going for a warning shot?! Huh?!" I didn't think he could get any more livid. I was wrong. "What are you? A fucking retard? Your shot gave away our position and almost cost us the entire operation. You know what? If the general briefed me on who the hell you are and where you come from, I might have had the time to assess if you were really cut out for the deed or not! Looks like you're not! If I knew who the hell you were from the start, I wouldn't have agreed to work with you!"
"I'm sorry—"
"A 'sorry' is not going to cut it, Baby. You are fucking us up." He hoisted me off the ground and ushered me to the jeep. "Wipe your face," the squad leader said to me, "and stop moping around." Before he sat me in the passenger seat, he took a small tarp from the trunk, folded it into a square, then placed it on the cushion for me to sit on. "Okay," he was able to let out the rest of his anger in one, steaming sigh. "It's fine…"
"Sir, I'm sorry—"
"Shut up and sit down."
The lieutenant was right. I wasn't cut out for the tasks that Pali' threw my way, but a promise was a promise. I swore to finish my husband's work on his behalf because I knew that he would have done the same for me. Maybe I wasn't ready to die. Maybe I wasn't supposed to. I was doing nothing in my power to stay alive, and yet, I breathed. Someway and somehow, I was still kicking. Maybe that meant I had to get up and do something with the rest of my life.
Sept. 24, 1992
After the siege along Overpeck Creek, I advised Lieutenant Miller not to burn the shrubs, and instead, sink the enemy 4x4s in the waters. He agreed to my suggestion and had the Pali' guys roll the armored cars into the creek. Once we cleared the road, he and I inspected the ISO tank. It belonged to M-SIAT, the Michigan State Institute of Aerospace Technology. Although an American institute, it was a subsidiary of T-SIAP.
How did the Hexagon get their hands on something like that?