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the most pressing problems.  And she needed someone to advise her on military issues.
     
    “We’re going to have to spend some time recruiting, Luke.”

Chapter 6: Jackson
     
    The German tanks perched on the low hills near Prokorovkha, their crews looking out over the advancing Soviet armored forces and desperately trying to whittle down the horde coming at them.  The smaller Soviet tanks moved toward the German line under heavy fire, losing dozens of their number but pushing their weaker guns into range. 
     
    Against all logic, the German Tigers suddenly lurched forward, sallying forth to meet their Soviet counterparts in a field of sunflowers.  1,200 Soviet and 800 German tanks fought like massive mechanical gladiators for four hours in the largest tank battle in history, each side trying to conclusively break the other’s will to fight. 
     
    For one morning, that sunflower field outside a thoroughly unimportant Russian village became the focal point of humanity’s rage, expressed through the most technologically sophisticated weapons in existence.
     
    Jackson mumbled discontentedly to himself.  The tone was too reverent, too melodramatic.  He often fell into that problem with his writing.  Almost no one remembered the Battle of Kursk and they would not be as immediately enraptured in the story as he was.  Jackson needed to write for that audience.  He wanted this essay to make the few readers of Conflict Resolution History Review consider the bravery of the men who had died in the sunflower field over six hundred years earlier.
     
    He was about to give the introduction another go when his secretary buzzed him.  “Yes?”
     
    “Some Terran Alliance people are here to see you.”
     
    Puzzled, Jackson asked, “Why?”
     
    “I’m not sure.  Should I ask them?”
     
    Shaking his head despite the fact that his secretary couldn’t see him through the office door, Jackson said, “No, just send them in.”
     
    In walked a lithe Asian woman, with metal-rimmed glasses and the unkempt look of a scientist.  Beside her was a soft-looking man whose doughy face and ruddy cheeks clashed with his thin frame.
     
    The man spoke first, offering his hand.  “Pleased to meet you, Professor Jackson.”
     
    His mind on autopilot, Jackson replied, “Likewise.  And you are... ?”
     
    “Oh, I’m sorry, how silly of me, I thought you’d recognize me from the news.  Gavin Henderson, Assistant to First Representative Flower.”
     
    “Ah.” 
     
    Henderson waited as if expecting some friendly comment about his boss.  When none was forthcoming, he gestured awkwardly to the Asian woman.  “This is Dr. Emma Takagawa of the Space Administration.”
     
    “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Takagawa,” Jackson said, meaning it more this time. 
     
    She gave a brief nod, obviously impatient with the pleasantries.  “Professor Jackson, do you know how to organize an army?”
     
    Gavin Henderson looked like he was about to throw up.  He whispered plaintively, “Dr. Takagawa, please, this is a highly confidential matter.  I would urge you to be more discrete.”
     
    Jackson, confused by the interaction between his two visitors, said, “My field of expertise is the history of conflict resolution.”
     
    Takagawa rolled her eyes.  “That sounds like bullshit.  Do you know how to organize an army or not?”  Henderson blanched visibly.
     
    No one had ever spoken to Jackson this way.  It triggered something in his mind that had lain dormant for decades—a desire to impress.  “Dr. Takagawa, I have extensively studied the organization, strategies, and tactics of armies throughout history.  I have written dozens of research papers on subjects like the mobilization of the United States military for World War II.  If someone alive today knows more about organizing an army than I do, I have yet to meet that person.”
     
    Takagawa smiled, and Jackson suddenly felt as if his knees might buckle.