—HARRY CHAPIN SOUTH OF YAKIMA, WASHINGTON It was a cold, wintry day in August as the convoy rolled onto Highway 82 and the soldiers began the thousand-mile journey to Arizona. The Humvee was out on point, about half a mile forward of the other vehicles, and Garcia was behind the wheel. Mac sat next to him, with Sparks and Kho in the back. Mac had no way to know what they were feeling—but her emotions were evenly divided between excitement and fear. On the one hand, it felt good to do something, anything, after such a long period of relative inactivity. The decision to leave Vagabond hadn’t been made lightly. After giving the matter a lot of thought, Mac had concluded that it didn’t make sense to remain at the airfield while their supplies dwindled away to nothing. So she’d called a meeting. It was held in a hangar and, with the exception of those on guard duty, the entire unit was present. “Here’s the deal,” she told them.
