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Force looked irritated. Master Chief Joe Batigula actually smiled at Bill as the overweight man sat between Howard and Chris.
    Bill held up both hands in the surrender gesture, drawing surprised looks. “You’re all here. Which is great. And I promise I’ll not piss around with my secret adventure story.” He gestured at the three pitchers of beer that sat on the three tables. “Fill a mug, dump some tequila in it for a chaser if you wish, and gather round a bit close. Cause what I’ve got to tell you cannot go beyond this crowd. Leastwise, not before midnight.”
    Stefano frowned as he lifted a mug of beer to his lips. “What happens at midnight? None of us have a curfew!”
    “Damn right!” growled Bob, his bulldog face looking around. “Who’s got the tequila? I need a chaser.”
    Alicia handed a hip flask to Bob, who grabbed with it a glare. The Ranger lesbian grinned, pulled down her black t-shirt to show some cleavage, and said “You’ll never get any of this!”
    “Fuck!” grunted Bob, shaking his head. “You’d never spread it for any real man!”
    Frank knocked his knuckles on the table loud enough to stop the byplay that had been part of the group’s chatter for the three years they’d been meeting every Friday night. “Enough bullshit and macho chatter.” The Marine Gunnery Sergeant looked his way. “Bill, glad to see you back after being vanished for nine months. You had Joan worried. Uh, what happens at midnight? And why does it relate to you spilling your story?”
    Bill pulled out his iPhone 6 and laid it on the table. The action drew the attention of his nine buddies as they all knew how much he hated carrying mobile devices around, and how much teasing it had taken to get him to buy a smartphone. He tapped an app icon on the phone’s touchscreen.
    “At midnight East Coast time, or 10 here in Denver, President Melody Hartman will make an address to the nation from the Oval Office.” He glanced at the faces of his fellow vets, people who had known danger, death and the idiocies of desktop generals. He loved them. They’d pulled him through when his live-in left him after one too many nights of her waking up with his hands around her throat as he relived an IED nightmare. They’d supported him when he got the news of his parents dying in a Louisiana bayou. And most of them had gone fly fishing with him on a creek up near Boulder. Two women, seven men, all retired from active duty but none of them able to leave the combat memories behind. Most were SOF-trained and all had dealt with deadly gunfire. They liked drinking together, playing rummy games, tossing darts in the back of Jack’s saloon, or joking about which sheila at the bar island might be a good fuck. The chatter and joking covered the reality that none of their relatives understood the work they had done, or the toll it had taken on each of them. Now, he was about to add to that toll. “The Prez is going to tell everyone what I’m about to share with you nine tonight.” He tapped the icon a second time, causing a blue and white image to fill its screen. Bill lifted the iPhone and angled it so everyone could see the image. “What does this look like to any of you?”
    “Earth from space,” said Howard, his shaved head gleaming pinkly under the tube lights of the ceiling. “So what?”
    “Wrong, Howard,” Cassandra said as she looked from the screen to Bill. “That is an orbital view of Earth taken from about 200 miles up, just above the equator. It’s similar to what can be seen from the ISS station. Right, Bill?”
    “Very correct,” he said, tapping another icon on the iPhone to draw up a new image. He showed it around. It got lots of raised eyebrows. “Who are these folks?” he asked.
    Alicia fixed amber eyes on him, her expression puzzled. “Those are the seven members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Our former service heads. They look to be seated at a display table in . . . in Building One of Peterson Air