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Chapters (53)
  1. BALANCE OF POWER
  2. Acknowledgments
  3. About The Creators
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. FORTY-ONE
  45. FORTY-TWO
  46. FORTY-THREE
  47. FORTY-FOUR
  48. FORTY-FIVE
  49. FORTY-SIX
  50. FORTY-SEVEN
  51. FORTY-EIGHT
  52. FORTY-NINE
  53. FIFTY

"Not being able to do the things that you were able to do easily in your twenties," McCaskey said. "That sucks. All-nighters used to be a breeze for me. So was eating junk food and not having my stomach burn like a son-of-a-bitch." The grin faded. "But age makes it different. Losing a coworker makes it different. And something else makes it different. The realization that just being right doesn't matter. You can have law and treaties and justice and humanity and the United Nations and the Bible and everything else on your side, and you can still get your ass handed to you. You know what the moral high ground has cost us, Colonel? It's cost us the ability to do the right thing. Pretty damn ironic, huh?"

August didn't answer. There was no point. Soldiers didn't have philosophies; they couldn't afford to. They had targets. And the failure to achieve them meant death, capture, or dishonor. There was no irony. At least, not in that.

The officer headed toward the commissary, where his team was waiting. When he arrived, he turned on the computerized "playbook" he carried. He indicated the plan McCaskey had presented, then he polled the team to make sure everyone was willing to be on the field, ready to play.

They were.

August thanked them, after which the team hung loose. All except for Prementine and Pupshaw, who figured out where and how hard to hit the soda machine so it would dispense free cans.

August accepted a 7-Up and then sat back in the plastic chair. He drank the soda to wash away the bitter coffee taste. As he did, he thought about what had happened over the past day. The fact that the politicians in Spain had turned to Amadori to stop a war. Instead, he used it as a primer to start a bigger war. Now the politicians were turning to more soldiers to stop that war.

August was a soldier, not a philosopher. But if there were an irony in all this, he was pretty sure he'd find it in there.

Written in blood and bound in suffering.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Tuesday, 1:35 a.m.

Washington, D.C.

Hood awoke with a jolt.

He had returned from the White House and immediately called Darrell McCaskey to relay the President's orders. McCaskey had been silent and accepting. What else could he be? Then, knowing he'd want to be awake whenever the Striker operation commenced, Hood shut the lights off and lay down on his office couch to try to rest.