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EPILOGUE GOING HOME

CHAPTER 82

KING FAHD

26 JANUARY 1991

1200

The general gave him the news about Dixon personally. Colonel Knowlington listened quietly, nodding ever so slightly as the Special Ops commander finished.

“Officially, he’s MIA,” said the general. “But someone saw the body.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s war.” Knowlington shrugged. “I’m sorry to cut you short, but there’s something I have to do right away.”

“Sure.”

* * *

Colonel Knowlington left his office and walked directly to Tent City. He found Mongoose in his tent.

“Hey Colonel,” said Mongoose. “I’ve just been going over the frag.”

“Don’t bother. Get your bags packed. You’re out of here.”

Mongoose nearly dropped the sheets of computer paper containing the squadron’s daily assignments. “What?”

“There’s a C-5A going to Newburgh, N.Y. at 3 p.m. You’re on it or you’re court martialed for desertion.”

“You bastard.” Mongoose jumped to his feet, as angry as if Knowlington had told him he was sleeping with his wife. “You promised me you’d take care of keeping me here.”

Skull said nothing, turning and leaving the tent.

“I won’t forget this!” shouted Mongoose, running after him. “I’ll get you back, you drunk bastard.”

Tightening the fingers in his right fist, Colonel Knowlington walked away.

CHAPTER 82

SUGAR MOUNTAIN

26 JANUARY 1991

1200

His mouth was full. Warm lamb, scented with mint and a little bit of thyme, his all-time favorite dish.

It was a celebration, in honor of his finally becoming a real, bonafide officer. Mom blew out all the stops.

His cousins and aunt were there. His mother sitting at the end of the table, smiling.

When he saw her, he knew it was a dream. For a moment, he didn’t want it to end. Then he decided it had to. He pushed his arm under his chest, raised his head for a moment, collapsed back.

It was dirt in his mouth, not lamb.

He pushed up and heard the voices nearby, Iraqi voices.

His gun was lying a few feet away.

Useless. It had jammed.

A Kalashnikov was a few yards beyond it.

So was its owner. Dead. He’d shot him.

The pistol was on the ground. He bent and scooped it up.

The AK-47 was empty, he remembered, but he picked it up anyway. He grabbed the H&K as well.

The voices were louder now, no more than ten yards away, around the corner of the crevice.

Air Force Lieutenant William James “BJ” Dixon put down the rifles and knelt on one knee, bracing himself in firing position, both hands wrapped firmly around the pistol.

No way was anyone taking him alive.

_The End_