Poulengy explained as best he could while driving along. “Your son’s platoon was separated from the rest of the company shortly after the drop. When the Guard reacted, and the company commander pulled back, his retreat took him away from your son’s platoon. The CO of the unit, a Captain King, reported after the extraction that Nathan’s platoon was heavily engaged almost as soon as it hit the ground. The commander of the 17th Airborne assumes your son’s platoon lost its radio during the drop or in the fire fight. Regardless,” Poulengy went on, “when the Night Stalkers went in last night, they were only able to locate the two platoons with King.”

“Then where the hell are they?” Scott demanded.

“Well,” Poulengy mused, relaxing behind the wheel for the first time, “we’re pretty sure the Idaho Guard doesn’t have them.”

“How do we know that, sir?”

Poulengy glanced over at Scott and winked. “Water can flow two ways through a sieve.”

Scott’s puzzled expression prompted his superior to explain. “There are folks with the Idaho Guard who have remained loyal to the colors. Though they’re not able to provide us with anything concerning what the state’s political and military leadership intend to do in the long term, they are able to provide us with real-time information on activities, dispositions, strength, and composition of Guard units that have been mobilized.”

“Do they know that they still have a platoon of our people in Idaho?” Scott asked.

“As best we can tell, no. Which is why,” the Chief of Staff of the Army replied as he swerved to avoid a soldier who stood in the middle of the road, saluting as he stared dumbstruck at a four-star general driving a Humvee, “I waited till I got here to tell you. Eventually word will get out. But,” Poulengy stated as he stopped the Humvee at a stop sign and looked over at Scott, “I want to keep that information close hold for as long as I can. Not just for your son, but for all of his men.”

Behind them the driver of a two and a half ton truck, unaware of who was driving the Humvee, leaned on his horn when Poulengy didn’t continue through the stop sign fast enough. “Scott,” Poulengy continued as he finally began moving again, “with all the uncertainty as to where everyone’s loyalties lie, normal operational security measures are useless. That is why I suggest that we just say fuck opsec. Let them see you coming. Stomp your feet. Pound your chest. Let the television film you every step of the way.”

“Take care of opsec by ignoring it while intimidating the good citizens of Idaho along the way,” Scott summarized.