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start with their overall professionalism and depth of expertise in unconventional warfare. The tactics taught at the John F. Kennedy Special Warfare School made a lot more sense to Mitchell than those he'd learned at the infantry school at Fort Benning.
    The course at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, had also introduced him to something more than a new part of the army. He'd met his wife there.
     
    During a practical exercise in rescuing downed pilots and moving them through a resistance network, Mitchell's student team had picked up a female helicopter pilot. Mitchell's first impression of the slender, five-foot-six, dark-haired pilot was not favorable. He was the serious type; she, on the other hand, made a joke of everything. At first he took her jabs personally. After being forced to stay together in a safe house for almost thirty-six hours, however, his opinion of Capt. Jean Long had slowly undergone a transformation. He realized that her teasing wasn't meant to belittle him. It was simply her way of dealing with the world. She laughed at the stupidity built into the exercise and at the other ridiculous things life brought her way, and she didn't really care if other people disapproved of her attitude.
    By the time he was ready to pass her on to the next link of the escape network, they had formed the basis of a friendship. Four months later they were married. Mitchell had never thought he'd tie the knot that quickly, but he had never regretted it. Life had certainly been an adventure since he'd met Jean Long.
    Mitchell's musings were interrupted by Hooker's roar into the phone. "Sergeant, this is Sergeant Major Hooker. You got ten minutes to kick that driver in the ass and get him over here to my compound. I want to look into his beady little eyeballs before he goes to pick up my people. I got troops standing ass deep in a shit-filled rice paddy waiting on that yo-yo. You read me loud and clear, Sergeant?"
    Hooker slammed down the phone without waiting for an answer. He smiled at Mitchell. "Sir, you just have to know how to talk to these people. NCOs don't understand all those fine manners and etiquette they taught you at West Point. You have to master the firm but gentle art of persuasion in a manner similar to mine."
    Mitchell laughed. Hooker was a master of persuasion, but he didn't know much about being gentle. "Hey, Sergeant Major, tell the colonel I'm out with the deuce and a half. I'll go with the driver to make sure he gets to the right spot."
    Hooker nodded. "All right. Better you than me facing down Dave Riley anyway. He's going to want an explanation for both the helicopter's no-show and the truck being late. Since your wife is one of them-there whirlybird drivers, you might be able to explain it better than me. By the way, are you going up or is she coming down here this weekend?"
    Mitchell replied while grabbing his map and beret. "I'm going to take the train up there. Already got tickets on the 4:20. When I talked to her last night on the phone she said she's got to work again tomorrow. Got two birds she has to test-fly. If she finishes them today she might have the afternoon off tomorrow. We should have all day Sunday together."
    Hooker shook his head. "Man, they're working her to death. When's the last time she had a weekend off?"
    Mitchell had to think about that. "Probably about two months ago. When we went to Soraksan National Park for the weekend."
    "Need a ride over to Chongyangni Station?"
    "I'd appreciate it, but I can take the subway."
    "No trouble, sir. We'll leave here at 1545."
    Mitchell paused as a thought occurred to him. "You don't suppose we're going on alert because of all this stuff going down in China, do you, Sergeant Major?"
    Hooker considered that. "I doubt it, sir. Everything seems to be pretty static."
    Mitchell shook his head. "I don't know. On the news there was a story that they tried sending troops into Beijing and the troops didn't buy off on it."
    Hooker shrugged. "Who knows what