Throwback Thursday: ‘Wings of Nemesis’ by Oscar Windsor-Smith

A wasp droned in through an open window of the psychiatry reception area. Major Andreas Bergström shuddered in his orange jumpsuit. The trivial sound drowned every other:  the receptionist tapping at her keyboard, the swish of her desk fan, and the occasional slurp of his guard’s chewing gum. 

Can’t you see it, people? Don’t you understand what’s happening here? 

The reception furniture was government issue like you’d expect on base, but Doctor Hamilton’s receptionist wore mufti and the walls were painted in pastel shades. He guessed this was how the Air Force proved their dedication to unscrambling the head cases they’d created. Bergström attempted to concentrate on wafts of perfume drifting from the receptionist. It proved no match for the stale, tobacco-and-burger stink radiating from the cop … 

Try as he might, he could not ignore the wasp.

The wasp landed two chairs away, facing him, antennae quivering. His desire to annihilate the little bastard remained undiminished but the cuff that attached his arm to the Military Police sergeant denied him that freedom. 

In response to a muted tone on her intercom the receptionist purred, “Doctor Hamilton will see Major Bergström now.” She rose and sashayed toward a door bearing the name Lt Col M Hamilton. Before she reached the door it opened.