Main Chapel, Fort Hood, Texas


I have worn this uniform so long, Lord, that I do not see how I could ever fit in without it. But I have seen my country change, Lord, in ways that make me not want to wear its uniform any more. Please help me decide. Please.

Deep in prayer, Hanstadt barely startled when he felt the press of a hand on his shoulder. He recognized the press immediately. Funny how the old bastard can still sneak up on me.

"Hello, Bob," said Hanstadt, without arising. God outranked even a three-star.

"Emily said I might find you here, Joe."

Hanstadt shrugged. "And so you have. What can I do for you?"

"Joe, you have never been much of a churchgoer. What brings you here now?"

Hanstadt shook his head with a sigh. He had reached a decision but that decision had not come easily, or without regrets. "I'm punching out, Bob. Putting in my papers."

"Retiring? In Heaven's name, why? You have a bright future ahead of you still."

"Retiring or resigning, whatever it takes. I'd prefer to retire."

"Is it this thing that happened at the mission?"

Closing his eyes, Hanstadt rocked his head in affirmation. "It's got to stop somewhere, Bob."

It was now Bennigsen's turn to nod. "Well . . . yes . . . it has. But what can you or I do? We're just old horse soldiers. We do our jobs."

"Not with me, Bob. Never again with me. I have had it."

"But I need you, Joe. We have an order from the chief—"

"That twat!" interjected Hanstadt. "She sucked her way into three stars then ate Rottemeyer to get a fourth."

"Well . . . yes . . . that one," conceded Bennigsen. "But my orders are to prepare to pull the Corps out of Texas. How the hell am I supposed to do that without my G-4?"

"My shop's got some good people, Bob. Most of 'em will stay."

"And what are you going to do with yourself, Joe?"

Hanstadt grinned broadly. "It does occur that General Schmidt might have a use for my . . . um . . . talents. And, who knows? Maybe someone with a foot in both camps might turn out to be useful to the country."

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