The Sultan was rising again, a new day. I hadn’t slept, and held a cigarette that wouldn’t stop quivering. “She’s here,” he said, handing me a photocopied map with a red circle on it. “Can you hear me, Loo-tenant Porter? This is where she is.” We went to her. I needed to do something with the day. She lived in a hamlet west of the Villages, just across the Anbar border. I coordinated with the marines, since they were the landowners there, which suddenly sounded like such a ridiculous term. Captain Vrettos commended me for my initiative when I said I needed to talk to a source outside our area. He looked almost healthy for once, even had color in his face. The news of the Cleric’s death had already ricocheted up the command—we’d received congratulatory messages from the Big Man and brigade commander, and were expecting one from the division commander. Captain Vrettos thanked me again for what we’d done the night before. I didn’t say anything, because I couldn’t.
