Colonel J. Lonesome Jones willingly gave in to temptation and enjoyed a leftover breakfast muffin with his espresso. At the age of forty-three, the boss hog of the Eighty-second MEU boasted a middleweight boxer’s physique, a shaved head he could forge horseshoes on, and an air of casual menace he had learned to turn on and off at will—a skill he had perfected as a kid in the Chicago projects.

Yeah, he could have a goddamn muffin if he felt like one.

As he lingered over the last minutes of a short break in the officers’ mess of USS Kandahar, Jones watched an immensely satisfying flexipad vid of his beloved Bulls stomping the shit out of the hopelessly outclassed Knicks. These few minutes of real life he allowed himself each day were sacrosanct.

So it was that two young marine officers who entered the mess made their way as quietly as possible to the far side of the room. There they placed an order with the steward for a round of burgers and fries. They filled mugs of standard-issue instant coffee from a quietly bubbling urn, lest the hissing of the espresso machine distract the old man and lead to an unwelcome round of ferocious ass-chewage. Second Lieutenants Henry Chen and Biff Hannon were keenly aware of the colonel’s reputation, both of them from firsthand experience.

Consequently both men nibbled quietly at their burgers like communion wafers, all the while maintaining a very low profile.

Jones was aware of them but didn’t attend to their presence until he had disposed of the sports downloads, the local Chicago news, and the global updates, in that order. When his free time was up he stood, stretched, and slipped into character.

“Good morning gentlemen,” he purred, turning on his two officers and frowning at their fatty meals. “You’re training with the SAS again today?”

They both nodded. “Sir.”

“Well, I hope you’re not going to allow those sneaky bastards to kick your asses quite so badly this time.”

Both men bristled.

“We’ve worked up a few surprises, Colonel,” Chen quickly assured him.

“Surprises? That’s good,” Jones said, deadpanning the pair. “Because I was very disappointed that anyone could get the better of one of my units, get close enough in fact to light up the farts of the officer in charge.”

The color drained out of their faces as they regarded his fixed, humorless stare. Jones paused without speaking, knowing his silence would be infinitely more effective. Eventually, a blushing Lieutenant Hannon stammered something about not letting it happen again. Jones let his stone face rest on the young officer for a moment, then softened it some. Just a touch.

“But it will, son,” he said. “It’ll happen again today. They’ll come upon you no matter what snares you lay in their path, and they’ll have their evil way with you. Do you know why?”