“Spokesmen for the FBI have repeated their claim that their perimeter, after multiple penetrations, is finally secure. The chances of any reinforcements reaching the members of the 5th Brigade are, according to the spokesmen, nil.”

“While everyone has been criticizing the FBI’s handling of this situation,” the host asked when the expert was finished, “why hasn’t the Wyoming National Guard taken a more active role?”

“That is simple,” the expert stated as he sported a smirk and leaned back in his seat. “Such cooperation apparently has never been offered. The commander of the Guardsmen here, a Colonel Tinselly, takes his orders from the governor of Wyoming. The governor, in turn, has taken every opportunity to restate his position that this is a Federal matter. Until state laws are violated, he has no quarrel with the besieged militiamen.”

“Bullshit,” Scott muttered as he stood before the mirror and knotted his tie.

“Hush,” Jan snapped.

“In the second place,” the expert droned on, “we must not forget that the men and women of the National Guard are part time soldiers, not professionals. They were brought together for one specific task, to establish an outer perimeter designed to keep the curiosity seekers away from the FBI operation. They are not trained to handle the type of law enforcement operation that the FBI is currently engaged in.”

“Double bullshit,” Scott shot back in response.

“Scott Dixon,” Jan hissed. “Keep quiet, or I’ll smear your brass with my fingers.”

This caused him to smile. She really knew where to hit a guy. Finished with his tie, Scott stepped over to the closet and took his dark green blouse out. The ribbons, decorations, badges, rank, and other insignia made it heavy, far heavier than the average man’s jacket. But Scott didn’t mind the weight. He never had. As he carefully slid his arms down the sleeves, he watched himself in the mirror. Each and every one of those items that added so much weight meant something. Every ribbon signified an achievement, an event, or a period of service. Some were “give me’s,” ribbons representing medals that everyone who served in a theater or had put a certain amount of time in received. Others, such as his Purple Heart, were very, very personal. And one, a simple powder blue ribbon with a sprinkling of tiny white stars, meant more than all the others combined.

Finished, Scott looked himself over. When he was satisfied that all was in order, he walked over to the television, snapped it off, and stood before Jan. “Hon,” he said solemnly, “it’s time.”

On any other day Jan would have protested. But not today. Today was a special day, one of those pivotal days that mark the end of one stage in a person’s life and the beginning of a new one. For Scott it would be deeply emotional. Today Major General Scott Dixon, a man who had endured much in his life, was about to suffer one of the greatest pains a parent was asked to endure. Today Scott was going to watch his oldest son graduate from college and enter into a world that Scott had, for so long, fought to make safe.