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“But sir,” Doc Harper said, “you can pick up the phone and have a replacement for him sent from one of the companies at Fort Bragg here in . . . what, three hours?”

“I don’t need a replacement for him. I need to find out what happened. There’s no way one redneck should have taken out four soldiers.”

“Colonel, we just pulled a .308-caliber bullet out of that boy’s shoulder,” Doc said. “Three hours ago he was facedown on a dirt road bleeding all over the place.”

Ogden checked his watch. “It’s sixteen hundred right now. I want him talking by seventeen hundred, got it?”

“He’s my patient, sir,” Doc said. “As soon as he wakes up, he’s yours, but I’m within my rights to say that I will not bring him out of it early.”

Ogden sighed. Couldn’t have Doc Harper b.i.t.c.hing about putting wounded troops at unnecessary risk, not when that general’s star was so close. He’d have to s.h.i.+p Doc Harper out soon, though, get someone else in here who followed orders no matter what they were.

“Who’s with Climer?” Ogden asked.

“Brad Merriman,” Doc Harper said. “The guy they call ‘Nurse Brad.’ ”

Ogden nodded. He knew Nurse Brad. Good kid. Medic first cla.s.s, but somewhere along the line the boys started ripping on him for being a “male nurse,” and the nickname stuck.

“You and Merriman both sit with Climer,” Ogden said. “If one of you has to take a c.r.a.p, the other is staring at Climer to see if he wakes up. And when he does wake up, you call me immediately, you understand?”

Doc Harper nodded and saluted, then turned and walked out.

Charlie didn’t like being such a hard-a.s.s, but he needed answers. Three of his soldiers killed. The only known enemy unit a thirty-one-year-old civilian named Ryan Roznowski who had stolen a mail truck and tried to run the roadblock. The postman a.s.signed to that truck was missing and presumed dead.

Roznowski had four triangles. He also had a wife, who was nowhere to be found, and a house that showed signs of a struggle, including blood on the living-room floor. Charlie knew that triangle hosts were dangerous, sure, killers, no question, but a guy with a hunting rifle setting a postal van on fire, then taking out four trained soldiers? It just didn’t add up.

But it wasn’t all bad news. They had finally succeeded in capturing a live host. Mission accomplished. That’s what made the general’s star a lock, just as long as he didn’t f.u.c.k anything up.

But that star would come at a price—more names in his Little Blue Book.

Neil Illing.

James Eager.

Joel Brauer.

If he’d been able to put a full squad at each checkpoint, nine men instead of four or five, those boys might still be alive. Maybe he should have brought the other two companies. No, his plan was solid; it allowed for the maximum situational flexibility under the circ.u.mstances. If they’d had more time, if he’d had more men . . .

If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, what a wonderful Christmas it would be.

He’d write the families later that night. The best part of the job, really, telling some proud mom that her son had died while serving his country.

“Corporal Cope! Get in here!”