“I understand,” she said, “that Israel is often referred to as the Portugal of the Middle East.”

The general, his face still expressionless, said nothing.

A bead of sweat trickled down her right side as well. She shivered involuntarily and then tried to hide it by coughing. The dusty air caught in her throat and she broke into an authentic coughing fit. Good lord, what am I doing? Christine thought. Get a hold of yourself.

When she finally recovered, she said, “To tell you the truth, General, I really don’t know why Mr. Giddings sent me here.”

“But you have covered a war before?”

“In a sense,” said Christine.

“What sense?”

“Well, in the sense that a three day takeover of a Circle K by seventeen inbred mountain people calling themselves the Army of Heaven can be considered a war.”

Christine’s thoughts drifted to a kid she knew growing up, named Steve. Steve was both mentally slow and exceptionally large for his age – a combination that frequently resulted in people looking at him the way General Isaakson was looking at Christine now.

“The fact is,” Christine said, “I’m out of my league on this assignment. Normally I do what we call ‘fluff’ pieces. I mean, our readers don’t consider them fluff pieces, because, well, they’re mostly a little insane, but between you and me I haven’t done much serious news. You remember that guy who claimed his dog was channeling Nostradamus? I covered that. Oh, and I broke the story about the Toltec prophecy that said the world would end on August 31st of last year. I probably would have gotten a Pulitzer for that one if the awards had been given out before Labor Day.”

“No matter,” said Isaakson. “You must be sure to make it to Jerusalem.”

Christine was somewhat heartened by the fact that Isaakson didn’t seem ready to dismiss her entirely despite her performance. She could only guess that he appreciated her honesty. “I would certainly like to,” she said, “but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be here. I expect to be replaced by the first string in a day or two.”

The general smiled wryly. He was either warming to Christine or had at least decided to find her amusing. He looked about the dim room at the hastily assembled trappings of the Israeli force’s headquarters. Isaakson seemed pleased at the humble appearance of the nerve center guiding this arm of his nation’s massive incursion into Syria.

“It’s a shame,” he said.

“What is?”

“That you won’t be here for a few days longer.”

“Why?”

The general took another drag on his cigarette. Christine noted that the pack, lying on the table next to the case, was labeled Lucky Strike. “You’re going to miss the end of the war.”

Christine was skeptical. “The end of the war? I’m certainly no military expert, but everybody seems to think you’re hopelessly bogged down in Imtan….”

“We’re keeping three divisions of Syrian troops occupied in Imtan.”