The interloper first appeared in our camp around o-nine-thirty on or about October 21st. It entered our camp covertly, disguised as a large cardboard box. We were fooled. Yes! We all were fooled. Of course we were; its delivery was accompanied by seven, possibly more, men and women dressed in bright yellow plastic vests. They certainly looked appropriate.
Well, they looked appropriate until the box came off.
Evident almost immediately, the contraption in the box was not native to the area. Its cap didn't match our camp's energy supply, and we suspected the interloper was a plant, a decoy from the enemy to throw us off our game, and it did ... for a while.
Days of suspicion followed, leading to a confrontation in our camp. The insurgents, now outed, they abandoned their tools, weaponry, and the original insurgent machine -- all within the bowels of our camp. Deep in the stone and concrete darkness, down the stairs from the locked door, the interloper remained trapped, unable to maneuver the stairs by itself.
Days later, detente reigned, and the contrite insurgents returned. They had a new machine, this one a peace offering, and its cap clearly fit into our camp. Within days the new machine had been reassigned to our camp permanently and began working without complaint.
But the original interloper remained.
"Come and get your soldier," we negotiated, "but you'll take the old, decrepit prisoner with you along with the mess your interloper has made for over forty days!"
The battalion showed up without warning to collect their comrade. We were unprepared and held the fort just long enough to make them uncomfortable. When they were finally allowed inside our camp, they brought dollies and brooms and plastic and apologies. After about forty minutes, the two prisoners were released to their custody. The old prisoner along with the scraps, stood at the end of the driveway to be collected by the first junk transport to come by.
The interloper sat in the driveway where it was safe from the junk collector, neither a part of our camp nor the enemy camp. It sat there all night, all the following day, and into the next night. Its troops returned and took new territory close to our camp, setting up orange cones over fresh tar to fill in more newly dug trenches in the street.
Still they left the interloper.
We didn't understand. If they wanted their hostage back so badly, why leave it where it could be taken by another faction? Were they afraid of poison gas? How depressing to be a rescued hostage that still, even after a successful extraction, was left behind like trash. How depressing to see it sulking in the driveway, waiting for its brothers (and sisters) to come rescue it completely from our property.
It's day #45 of the hostage situation. We'll let you know how, when, and if it ever ends.
