Private Puckett broke into Rodgers's reverie with a salute and a snappy "Sir!"

Rodgers removed his earplugs. "What's the word, Private Puckett?"

"Sir, Major General Campbell says he has a C-9A jet waiting to fly us over."

"Leave it to the army," Squires said. "We get an unarmed Nightingale to fly over North Korea."

"I'd rather have a nice, snug Black Hawk myself," Rodgers said, "but we've got a problem with range. Thanks, Private."

"You're welcome, sir."

Squires grinned as Puckett returned to his seat. "Johnny Puckett's a real good man, sir. Says his daddy used to have a Ham radio setup in his room when he was a baby-- made him a mobile out of old knobs."

"There's something to be said for that. Like in the old days, when people learned one craft and became real good at it."

"True, sir. Only if you don't get quite good enough at it, like my daddy trying to be a soccer player, you're screwed."

"Are you?"

"Seems so to me."

"He passed that drive and ambition on to you, didn't he? King Arthur couldn't search for the Holy Grail himself. Moses wasn't permitted to cross the River Jordan. But they inspired others to do those things."

Squires cocked his head. "You make me feel guilty about not writing home."

"You can send him a postcard from Osaka when we head back."

Rodgers felt the plane bank to the southwest. Head back. The words always caused his throat to tighten up. You never knew if you would come back; you just assumed it. But there were so many times that didn't happen, and even experienced soldiers were caught off-guard by that realization. The words of Tennyson came back to haunt him, as they often did:

Home they brought her warrior dead. She nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry: All her maidens, watching said, "She must weep or she will die."

The transport landed, and as Captain Harryhausen complained about the weather, the Striker warriors rushed out to the waiting aircraft. They were in and airborne four minutes after the door of the C-141 had been opened.

The sleek, narrow Military Airlift Command jet rose rapidly in the driving rain and headed northwest. The men were sitting as before, in benches along the sides, but the mood now was entirely different. Those who had slept or played cards or read on the trip to Osaka were now electrified. They were checking gear, giving each other pep talks, and a few were praying. Private Bass Moore was in charge of the parachute rigging, and he checked the lines as the jet flew in low over the Sea of Japan, bucking the heavy winds and thinning sheets of rain.

An officer from Seoul was onboard, reviewing the exit strategy with Squires. There would be a Sikorsky S-70 Black Hawk waiting to come and get them: the chopper could be over the DMZ and into the Diamond Mountains in a matter of minutes. More importantly, the eleven-sealer had a pair of M-60 side-firing machine guns to help ensure that they'd get out again.