Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

1. The Gulf War

August 1, 1990

SS Aphrodite

Caribbean Sea

It was the wildest state dinner to date. Whichever State Department official decided to charter a superyacht overnight in the Caribbean needed a raise. Dozens of Nations from all over the world crowded the indoor-outdoor bar, and dozens more danced and mingled about the deck to high-energy pop music.

I found myself at the starboard railing of the ship, looking down at the crystal blue water illuminated by underwater lighting. China stood with me, talking my ear off about trade deals and whatnot in his heavy accent. I was so bored that I finished two entire glasses of wine.

It was Italy who saved me. He swept me to the dance floor, insisting that I make good on my promise to dance with him. The music was incredibly loud, and colorful lights flashed and twirled across the floor. We joked and laughed and threw our hands in the air.

I danced for hours, enjoying how Poland's hands grazed the skin that my bikini left exposed. Oh, wait, that's Denmark.

Before long, Bahamas was pulling me toward the bar and shoving a shot into my hand. I drank with her and Jamaica until I felt dizzy.

When Australia suddenly appeared with talk of diving, no inhibitions kept me from taking his hand.

The headfirst plunge into the warm sea sobered me momentarily. I opened my eyes underwater, dazzled by the bright lights that shimmered above me. Suddenly in need of air, I swam to the surface.

The towel didn't do much to keep out the chilly night air.

"I'm freezing!"

"She'll be right!" Australia rubbed my back and arms with his broad hands to generate some heat. "A drink'll warm you up in a jiffy."

I was back at the bar. As the bartender poured another shot of liquor, a woman in a suit approached me with a message from my staff. An urgent call from Washington awaited me below deck.

~

My untouched whisky sloshed back and forth with the gentle rocking of the ship. It pinned down a corner of the world map that I had hastily unrolled on the table of the empty conference room. My hands were planted on the map and my eyes were locked on the Middle East. As the fog of the party lifted and my mind sobered, I became more and more troubled.

The door eventually opened, letting in a burst of muffled music from above. It was England, shirtless, hair wet with a towel around his shoulders. He looked annoyed.

"I've been looking for you for hours."

I turned my vacant stare on him. I had completely forgotten about the party. "Where is Kuwait?"

"...Kuwait?"

He joined me at the table. His finger slid across Europe and the Middle East until it landed on a tiny country between Saudi Arabia and Iraq. It was smaller than the tip of his finger.

A sardonic laugh came from low in my throat. Leaning down on my elbows, I folded my forearms and rested my head on them heavily. I didn't realize how much my head had been spinning until it stopped.

England's tone was cautious. "What is it?"

"I think we're invading Iraq," I muttered.

"...What?"

Eyes closed, I turned my face to better project my voice. "We're. Invading. Iraq."

"I heard you, but...why?"

"Because they invaded...you know..." I scrunched my nose in thought. "Kuwait."

"That's not the surprising bit here," he rushed out.

I cracked an eye open to see his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. I immediately felt defensive, and my mind grasped for an explanation. "Well...Kuwait is a democracy."

"Barely," he scoffed.

"Well...we do need to protect Saudi."

"Saudi Arabia? A country that hates you?"

I slowly, tiredly pushed up on the palms of my hands. I gazed down at the map with a flat expression. My eyes flickered between the United States and Europe, two developed regions that relied heavily on a certain export from the Middle East.

England shifted onto his back foot, suddenly hesitant.

The unspoken conclusion hung in the air between us, silently agreed upon. Like a tidal towering over me, the reality of the situation made me feel about two inches tall.

"Shit," I breathed.