Filjean wonderred how God could let these people, who had thumbed their nose at all that was good and decent, let these people succeed. And the way they made women fight in combat. It wasn't natural. No wonder when they did, they fought like some crazed animals, without decency or honor. Women would never understand the traditions of the military.
The military. It was the military's fault it had come to this. They had let themselves weaken under the pressure of the Congress. Year after year the military budget had been slashed. Not again. This time the military and intelligence community would make its feelings known.
The ridge crests had some snow. For a few days. It was like Christmas in April.
"Colonel."
"Yes, sergeant." He took one last look at the valley. Into the valley of death....
Filjean followed the enlisted man to the congregation. He removed his
helmet in respect as the chaplain began Christmas morning services. He
looked upon men and fellow officers, their faces hardenned by battle, but
bright in the memory of two thousand years. He was immersed in their brotherhood
as he recited the prayers .
Marcia tore a small piece of bread loose and chewed it slowly. She knew
she had this community in her sorrow. She held the minister's forearm.