"You all right, sir?"

"The old bones held out." Rodgers pointed to the radio. "Make the call. I told you, this is your mission."

"Thank you, sir," Squires said.

Crouching, the Lieutenant Colonel accepted the headset from Puckett and adjusted the mouthpiece while the Private punched in the frequency.

Bugs Benet answered, and Hood came on quickly.

"Mike, you're down?"

"It's Squires, sir, and yes, we all made it."

"Good. New development. Over the last ten minutes, all three of the Nodongs have been recalibrated. Instead of being aimed at Seoul, they're pointing toward Japan."

"All three missiles are aimed at Japan," Squires said, looking up at Rodgers. "I copy."

"Christ," said Rodgers.

"You're to get over there and, at my instruction, take them out."

"Yes, sir."

"Out," said Hood.

Squires removed the headset. As he briefed Rodgers, the members of the Striker team loaded their Beretta automatics. Sgt. Chick Grey, responsible for the maps, was checking the printouts Lt. Col. Squires had given him.

Upon hearing that they were almost certainly going to have to destroy the Nodongs, Rodgers wished they had brought explosives. But while North Korea was known to negotiate for the release of men with guns, men with explosives, bent on heavy-duty sabotage, were shot on the spot. Still, it was one of those rare calls he wished he could take back. The control circuits for those missiles were locked in safe-strong boxes and would be extremely difficult to get to, especially if time was tight. If they couldn't pick up explosives at the site, he didn't know what they were going to do.

Sgt. Grey walked over to Squires. Using a pen-sized laser light, he pointed at the map in the fast-dissipating darkness.

"Sir, the pilot did a great job. We're less than four miles from the site-- here." He pointed to a forest southeast of the depression where the missiles were located. "The march is mostly uphill, but the grade isn't a bad one."

Squires hitched up his own small backpack and loaded his pistol. "Let's move them out, Sergeant," he said barely above a whisper, "single file. Moore, you take point. First sign of life, you stop us."

"Sir!" Moore saluted, and went ahead of the line.

Squires went next, with Rodgers behind him.

As they walked through the field, the deep blue of the horizon shaded to azure and yellow. They marched up the sloping hill into increasingly thick woods.

This was the time Rodgers liked best. His senses, the air of anticipation, were at their peak; pure reflex, the survival instinct, had not yet kicked in and there was time to savor the challenge ahead. For Rodgers, as for most of the others they'd picked for the team, challenge was more important than security, than their lives and their families. The only thing more important than challenge was Country, and the synergy of daring and patriotism was what made these men unique. As much as each man wanted to go home, none would do so at the expense of a job unfinished or poorly done.