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Dew would have described Devon as huge if he hadn’t been hanging around Perry Dawsey as of late. Devon’s big neck supported a pitch-black head. A graying high-and-tight peeked out from the b.l.o.o.d.y white bandage around his head. His eyes seemed extremely wide—Dew could see all of the man’s irises. The look bespoke rage, or shock, but seemed to be Devon’s normal expression. His lower lip was too big for his mouth and stuck out in a perpetual pout.

“Whiskey Company?” Dew said. “Can you get me Captain Lodge? He’s the commander, right?”

“Was the commander, sir. Captain Lodge is dead.”

“What happened?”

“Sir, an X-Ray Company squad came into our area of the airport, then just started shooting, throwing grenades and launching AT4 shoulder-fired rockets. After we dealt with them, we attempted to locate Colonel Ogden, but his portion of camp was empty and his men will not answer our calls. We called Deputy Director Longworth. He told us to find to you immediately.”

“This is bad news, Nealson,” Dew said. “How many casualties?”

“Thirty-two dead, sir,” Nealson said. “The X-Ray squad had complete surprise, and they were very efficient. Another twenty-five wounded that need to stay put. We’ve got sixty-three men fit for duty. Just tell us what to do, sir.”

“Stop calling me sir,” Dew said. “I work for a living. Sergeant Major, have you seen any real combat action?”

“Action in Somalia, Yugoslavia, Afghanistan and Iraq,” Nealson said. “I have busted heads and killed on three continents, and if there are any more members of X-Ray Company that need to be dealt with, I’ll add North America as my fourth.”

If it had been possible to relax in the current f.u.c.ked-up situation, Dew would have done so. Devon Nealson was a gift from above. His men would follow him anywhere.

“Sergeant Major, something tells me you have a nickname?”

“At times, people call me ‘Nails.’ ”

“Nails, you’re now officially in command of Whiskey Company. I’m going to venture a guess that you already established our transport options?”

“We have three Ospreys including the one a.s.signed to you,” Nails said. “Sixty-five men, including the two of you. It’ll be a little snug but the Ospreys will take us all.”

“Load them up,” Dew said. “We’re all heading to Detroit.”

11:55 A.M.: THE FIVE-SECOND RULE

Alan Roark stopped the Humvee right in the middle of the I-75 overpa.s.s. Horns immediately started honking from behind. He ignored them and finished cramming the rest of his Big Mac into his mouth. The things were so f.u.c.king good. He tried to drink from his c.o.ke, but all he got was the bottom-of-the-cup straw sound.

Peter pa.s.sed over his c.o.ke, which looked half full. Alan smiled a thanks, then drank. It soaked the giant bite of Big Mac sitting in his mouth.

The horns kept honking.

Alan swallowed and let out a big ahhh.

“Dude,” Peter said, “you need to take smaller bites. Seriously.”