CHAPTER 7Kalvan sat on a rock under a tree, wishing he could smoke, and knowing that he was getting scared again. He cursed mentally. It didn’t mean anything—as soon as things started happening he’d forget about it—but it always happened, and he hated it. That sort of thing was all right for a buck private, or a platoon-sergeant, or a cop going to arrest some hillbilly killer, but, for Dralm’s sake, a five-star general, now!
And that made him think of what Churchill had called Hitler: the lance-corporal who had promoted himself to Commander-in-Chief at one jump. Corporal Morrison had done that, cut Hitler’s time by quite a few years, and gotten into the peerage, which Hitler hadn’t.
It was quiet on the mountain top, even though there were two hundred men squatting or lying around him, an
