“No, General,” said Judge soothingly. “Please. Just hear me out. As you well know, military doctrine advanced a great deal between the end of the Great War and the start of this one. You yourself were instrumental in recognizing the importance of armored mobile warfare, long before many in the German high command.”

That point was arguable at best, but Lieutenant Nguyen had advised him before he left Pearl that he should take every possible opportunity to stroke MacArthur’s ego. True to form, the general nodded at the compliment as if it were his due. It seemed to calm him down a little.

Judge continued. “Doctrine and war have likewise advanced in the decades between the end of this war and our time.”

Jones then made a fist, unfurling his fingers as he ticked off each of his next points. “Stealth platforms, directed energy weapons, quantum processors, comm nets and bio implants, intelligent munitions, hypersonic flight, high-earth-orbit kinetic-impact devices, remote sensing, night vision. You may well be the finest general on the face of the planet at this time—”

MacArthur grunted and nodded his agreement again.

“—but the greenest marine in our task force has an innate understanding of our war-making capacity, which it will take you some time to fully comprehend. And, as I have explained, we do not have much time.”

Judge paused and waited on MacArthur’s response. He was surprised by the man’s gaunt appearance, but reminded himself that MacArthur had only recently escaped Corregidor, where he’d shared the same privations as his men during the siege. Deep fissures raked his hollow face, and the skin hung slack beneath his chin. He was thinking openly, the play of his thoughts so apparent on his face that no one spoke. He looked up at the three visitors and sighed. “You know, millions died pointlessly in the last war because those charged with its prosecution hadn’t learned the lessons of our own Civil War,” he said.

“We don’t have many lessons to teach you, General,” Judge offered to smooth over the difficult moment.

“No, but I hope you have a few for those bastards in Tokyo.”

The flexipad emitted another double beep and a long chirrup. Flash traffic.

“Excuse me, General. Do you mind?” asked Judge. “This will be urgent.”

MacArthur nodded his assent. A knock sounded at the door as Judge consulted the pad. An adjutant handed MacArthur a slip of paper and a black-and-white photograph. The general’s eyebrows shot up when he read the note.

He handed it to Prince Harry, who was sitting closest to him. The prince mouthed an obscenity when he read the document.

Mike Judge didn’t mouth or whisper anything.

He said quite clearly, “Motherfucker!”

His colleagues turned sharply toward him, and MacArthur was jolted out of his own reverie by the outburst.

Judge shut down the pad with a sour look creasing his tanned features.