Relieved to have extracted himself from that discussion without making a fool of himself, Nathan continued to make his way down his portion of the company line. As he did so, it dawned upon the young officer that it must have been circumstances like the one he had just walked away from which nurtured the aloof, often cold manner that his father assumed whenever he was thrown together with new and unfamiliar people. The more he found himself being confronted by new situations, the more he came to understand the man with whom he had spent most of his life.

GOWEN FIELD, BOISE, IDAHO • NIGHT, OCTOBER 30

It had been a long time since Lieutenant Colonel Nancy Kozak had found herself worrying about what her troops thought about her or looking for ways to relate to them. Such concerns, especially at times like this, were of no importance to her. Rather than bridging any gaps that existed between officer and enlisted, Nancy’s mind was occupied with the problem of securing a site that was too large, too open, and too isolated with a force that was too small.

While her former duties within the directorate for training resources had often taken her out to the small ammo storage site that adjoined Gowen Field, her current responsibilities required that she look at the scattered bunkers and surrounding terrain through new eyes. Even now, in the harsh glare of the overhead lights, she watched as her handful of National Guardsmen dug in and prepared for a long, nervous night. Before reporting back to her superior Nancy decided to avail herself of one more opportunity to survey the dispositions she had made.

Carefully she made her way up the steep side of one of the dirt-covered bunkers from which she would be able to see everything. To the west was Gowen Field itself, a sprawling National Guard base. The buildings, motor pool sheds, maintenance facilities, fences, and combat vehicles were nothing more than a jumble of dark silhouettes set against a dark western sky. Here and there she could see the form of a fellow Guardsman pop up as he or she went about working on an Abrams tank or Bradley fighting vehicle. Like Nancy and her small detachment, the soldiers over in the main portion of the installation were part of the advance party, a handful of selected mechanics, full time Guardsmen, quartermaster types, and officers called in to open billets, prepare vehicles for issue, inventory stocks of fuel, and order perishable rations for the rest of the troops assigned to their units.

As yet a general call up had not yet been initiated. “The governor,” quipped a personnel officer she knew at base headquarters, “doesn’t want to send those people in Washington the wrong message. Of course, being the cautious soul that he is, he’s not taking any chances. That’s why we’re here.”