Bright Star

PROLOGUE:

Except for the whine of the computer's fan, the house was quiet. The man seated at the computer desk, staring at the small screen of his Macintosh SE, was in his early forties. His close-cropped hair showed little sign of the gray that plagued his wife. Dressed in a well-worn gray VMI sweatshirt, casual slacks, and white crew socks, Major (Promotable) Scott Dixon's five-foot-ten frame was casually sprawled in his chair. The only visible motion was his hand moving the computer's mouse as he scrolled the letter on the screen.

It was a short letter, less than a page, but it was without doubt the most difficult he had ever written. In the fine tradition of military writing, it began with a reference to the letter he had received from his personnel manager at Armor Branch that afternoon: he expressed his gratitude to the man for taking the time to confirm Dixon's decision to turn down command of a tank-heavy task force in Germany.

Dixon's response, drafted and redrafted three times, was short, almost curt, but Dixon couldn't think of any other way to put it. "I have no need to reconsider my decision. Based on my performance during the war in Iran, I do not feel that I am qualified, or capable, of command. Coupled with family concerns and personal aspiration, command of a task force is not in my best interests." In that single, short paragraph, Dixon knew he was putting an end to his career. There would be no more promotions, no more challenging duties. Instead, he would fall by the wayside, diverted into backwater jobs and duties that required little responsibility and less thinking.

Satisfied, Dixon printed the letter. While he waited for the printer to finish, he picked up another letter, which he had printed earlier that evening. It, too, was set up in official Army format. But as difficult as his letter turning down the chance for command had been to write, the one in his hand had been even more so. It was his resignation.

Holding it at arm's length, Dixon reread it. Its contents were formal, copied from the example shown in the regulations. No, it wasn't the contents or the style that Dixon had difficulty with. It was the end result. Though he was willing to forgo command and accept the chain of dead-end jobs that that decision would yield, he was not sure he was ready to leave the Army. His wife, Fay, was ready: she took every opportunity to tell him so. But he was not.

Like an accountant balancing a ledger book, Dixon had mentally listed all the pros and cons of staying in and leaving. That approach, however, was too transparent, too simplistic. For Dixon, there was something to being a soldier that transcended the simple addition and subtraction of debts and assets. In his heart he knew it was time, but still he could not bring himself to leave the Army.

Without further thought he crumpled the letter of resignation between his hands. Leaning back in his chair, he turned and tossed the ball of paper toward a wastepaper basket in the corner. It bounced off one wall, then the lip of the basket, then landed on the floor. It would remain there for two days, untouched and forgotten.