He ordered Richardson to remain with Linda while he took the van and carried out his brief recce in the burn zone.

Driving back out to the site in the last light of this miserable day, he saw that the fire was out and the considerable official presence that had been keeping citizen eyes away from the area was packing up to leave. The state police, local sheriffs, and firemen watched his van but let him pass. Nice of Gina to remember that detail and take care of it. He wondered what, if anything, the press would have to say. Probably that there had been a minor local fire, one home lost. In his experience, Gina’s ability to control the media was virtually absolute.

Gina. He found himself wanting her not to think ill of him, even though he was deeply ashamed of his performance. Soldiers were supposed to fight past the deaths of their comrades. You couldn’t do it, though, not when you were the commander and you’d had to do what he’d done to his own men. Mercy killing was not merciful to the person who had to pull the trigger.

Gina. Momma in the sky. He should’ve kept up with her, at least let her know how he felt. Maybe it could have worked. He had poetry in him. He had love. His heart needed her, and he felt that need all the time. He felt it now.

Likely he was just muscle to her, a one-night stand. What did a woman like that do for love, anyway, shag senators and whatnot? A big, inarticulate soldier such as him was probably just an entertainment.

As he drew closer to the battle zone, the stench of fire and burned flesh made him grip the wheel harder. The sweet stink of napalm-B mixed with the chemical foulness of high explosive.

He opened his satphone. A click told him that Gina was here, but she said nothing.

“I’m in position. You see anything?”

“It’s clear.”

She cut the connection.

“Gina?”

No signal. Now, that was odd. She must really be outraged at him. Would she prefer charges against him? She could, and he probably deserved it. Damn well did. He’d welcome brig time, to tell the truth. A firing squad would be a relief.

When he reached the farm, he pulled the van off the road and got out. The silence was stupendous. Not a bird raised its voice, not a frog croaked, nor a cicada screamed.

In the distance he heard a jet. It appeared to be operating about five miles due south of here. The engine’s note told him that it was not a commercial plane. So Gina was still flying patrols. She ought to be using unmanned aerial vehicles, UAVs, with silenced engines, or those new choppers they were starting to deploy, with the noiseless wing. The hybrids would avoid exposing themselves to jets.