As the convoy turned east from Route 26 onto Route 3, two men came out of the all-night gas station at the intersection. They watched as the heavily armed Humvees escorted their deadly cargo away from Fort Drum and toward its destination. Both men had served their country.
“’Bout time they grew some balls to go after these assholes,” said the man in the John Deere baseball cap.
His companion grunted. “They’ll need some Special Forces in place to save the hostages. These guys are good, but unless they’re inserted in the dark, most of the hostages will be killed.”
One of the soldiers manning the fifty-caliber machine gun on top of one of the Humvees looked at the two men, who waved. The man gave them a nod.
“You don’t think they’ve already done that?” asked the man in the John Deere cap.
“The military’s not making the calls here. The politicians are. They’d screw up anything and sacrifice these guys and the hostages if it made them look good. The whole situation’s fucked up.”
“Then we just have to hope that someone else is calling the shots. Someone with a brain and a little backbone.”
The last Humvee passed the two men, and the convoy disappeared down the dark road.
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