He listened attentively but made no effort to pick up a pencil to transcribe any of the information he was being given by the caller. Instead, he merely nodded his head and grunted. After several minutes the master sergeant hung up.

He was about to renew his quest for coffee when he noticed that the Chemical Corps officer was standing next to him. “Anything important?”

The sergeant made a face. “No. Just a prank call.”

Bored out of his mind and looking for some sort of diversion, the captain smiled. “Oh? What did this one say?”

The sergeant chuckled. “The guy said he was a platoon leader from Alpha, 517th and that he and his platoon were still in Idaho evading National Guard and militia patrols. He said he wanted to talk to the brigade ops officer or commander to report his situation.”

“Well,” the captain asked innocently, “did you remind him that Company A had been extracted two days ago?”

The sergeant was about to say, “I didn’t tell them shit,” but thought better. The brigade sergeant major had a nasty habit of showing up just when an NCO in his brigade was doing something the sergeant major disapproved of, like cursing in front of an officer. Instead the master sergeant shook his head. “I didn’t tell him anything, sir. It was probably some colonel’s kid getting his jollies off. No point in encouraging those people.”

The captain shrugged. “I suppose. Well, in any case,” he muttered as he pulled a crumpled beret from a pocket, “I’m going down to the PX annex for a few minutes and get some munchies. Can I get you something while I’m there?”

The master sergeant managed to hold back a groan as he did little to hide his downcast expression. To this particular captain an excursion of a “few minutes” could be anything from fifteen minutes to several hours. So much, the master sergeant thought as he watched the chem corps officer stroll out the door, for his fresh cup of coffee. Putting all thoughts of the phone call out of his mind, he slumped down in his seat, picked up one of the magazines, and opened it.

IDAHO CITY, IDAHO • MORNING, NOVEMBER 2

For the longest time, Nathan Dixon held the receiver of the pay phone while he stared at it in confusion. What was he doing wrong? The movies always made it look so easy. When Clint Eastwood found himself unable to contact someone by conventional means all he did was call back to base using his calling card and report in. Hanging up the receiver, Nathan shook his head. “Well,” he mumbled to himself as he turned away from the phone, “It’s true. I’m no Clint Eastwood. And this isn’t Hollywood.”