Shocked that his superior would denigrate their national leaders at a time like this, Andrew King didn’t quite know what to say. Taking note of his subordinate’s confusion, Blackwell’s expression changed. “You’re wondering how I can stand here, a leader who expects his troops to hop to and literally jump when I say so, and speak so disparagingly of our political leaders.”

“Yes, sir,” Andrew replied hesitantly.

Blackwell’s face recast itself into an expression that betrayed the anger he always felt when discussing the matter. “Since the end of the cold war it has become a matter of habit,” he stated in the low growl that was his signature, “to throw the military into situations that it has no business being thrown into by people who have no idea of what they are doing. Whether it be a quagmire like Somalia or a painful, lingering sore like Kosovo, presidents who have never shouldered a musket or lifted a finger in the defense of their country somehow imagine that they have the wisdom and intelligence necessary to weigh the risks and make informed decisions about when and where to place this nation’s sons and daughters in harm’s way. They rely on advisors and political appointees who have acquired their military expertise in the lecture halls of Harvard and Duke. They listen to military experts dredged up from the bottom of strategic think tanks ensconced in plush offices. And to lead the armed forces, they appoint generals whose primary qualifications are their adherence to the political correctness of the day and their ability to prove that they have impeccable mating habits.”

By now, Andrew King was regretting having questioned his commander. Blackwell, ever a passionate man, was in rare form. The early evening darkness made his menacing expression even more sinister and threatening.

The battalion commander waved his hand in the direction where their soldiers were assembling. “I hope you appreciate the fact that it is those soldiers who pay the price if the well briefed plan we have just received goes astray. It will be young Dixon and his men who will have to sort out the mess created by our national leader’s missteps and errors in judgment. And,” he paused as he lowered his voice, “when it’s discovered that the task we’ve been assigned is beyond our means, it’ll be you and young Dixon who’ll have to zip the body bags closed and write the letters home.”

Embarrassed, Andrew King lowered his head to avoid his colonel’s gaze. “Sir,” he finally managed to state when he felt an appropriate amount of time had elapsed. “I am sure that Lieutenant Dixon is ready.”