Though he had gone over it before, Emerson felt it wouldn’t hurt to hit the old man with his reservations once more. “Well, I feel like I’m being sent in to fight a fire without my pants on. Throwing one battalion forward while the second one hasn’t finished off-loading and the 3rd Battalion still in transit is, in my opinion, a tad bit risky.”

“Nonsense,” Scott replied. “We’re not going to hit any serious resistance until Twin Falls, and maybe not even then. The battalion from the 11th Air Assault I gave you together with the air cav troop and attack helos should be more than enough to sweep aside any ambushes the Idaho Guard throws across your line of advance. With luck the battalion that’s still in transit from Carson can roll right through here without pause and continue on almost to Twin Falls before you need to off-load them. That’ll give you a fresh battalion, ready for immediate pursuit.”

The brigade commander charged with delivering the roundhouse punch along I-84 said nothing. Like everyone else, he was aware that his division commander was acting out of character. But he also appreciated the fact the situation that they faced was unlike anything any of them had ever imagined, let alone confronted. So he was tolerant of Scott’s short temper, his incessant demands to hurry, and his frequent visits to see how things were progressing. Emerson imagined that his commanding general was simply anxious to bring this nasty little affair to a decisive close as quickly as possible.

“So,” Dixon repeated his question, “are your people ready?”

“The lead battalion is 2nd of the 13th Infantry. It has three company instead of the normal four,” Emerson stated dryly. “That’s due more to reduced manning levels and poor recruitment than the loss of those who felt they couldn’t participate in this operation,” he quickly added. “Tank platoons have three tanks instead of four, infantry platoons can only put a dozen or so dismounts out on the ground, and 155mm artillery battery in support has but six guns.”

Impatient, Scott snapped. “I know the numbers. What I want from you,” he demanded, stepping in front of the startled colonel, “is a simple yes or no. Are your troops ready to close with and destroy the enemy by the use of fire, maneuver, and shock effect?”

For a second, Emerson wasn’t sure if he was more shaken by his division commander’s conduct or the question he posed. “The enemy,” after all, were fellow Americans. Despite their political views, despite the fact that they stood less than a kilometer away armed to their teeth, they were Americans. That he would be leading his command forward against them in less than six hours was still, to Emerson, akin to a bad dream.