Slowly Dixon began to wonder if he had become a little less human. Was it that he felt all these things? Or perhaps he wasn't touched by any of them? Possibly it was a little of both. Had exposure to death, both up close and personal and by remote control through the plans he developed, destroyed his ability to deal with feelings? Had he become so callous to suffering that nothing could touch him? Was he treating the death of his wife the way he did any other military problem— identify the problem, analyze all courses of action available, and select the best for the given situation? Was that what he was doing?
As if emerging from a daze, Dixon drifted from his own thoughts back to the present. Darruznak was still sitting at his desk, staring at his coffee and waiting while Dixon absorbed the blow. "I'm sorry, sir. I…"
Darruznak lifted his hand, indicating there was no need to apologize. "Scott, like I said, under normal circumstances I would insist that you go to your family and tend to their needs. But these are far from normal circumstances."
Dixon tried to recall the general saying that, but couldn't. No doubt he had been lost in his own thoughts, allowing that comment to pass over him. Now, however, Dixon gave the general his full attention. There was obviously more to this meeting than the obligatory regrets.
"Scott, this morning the commander of Task Force 3–5 Armor was killed in an accident. As you know, that task force, as part of the 16th Armored Division, is preparing to participate in the counteroffensive." Darruznak paused, sipping at his coffee, before he let the other shoe drop. "In a conversation with General Horn this morning, the commander of the 16th expressed his concern over sending that 3rd of the 5th Armor into battle without a capable commander. Neither he nor the 3rd Brigade commander feel comfortable with the abilities of the XO of that unit. Both feel that it would be unwise to commit 3rd of the 5th unless a suitable replacement for the commander can be found."
In an instant Dixon understood where Darruznak was going. His cautious introduction and slow approach toward the bottom line was unnecessary. Somehow, someone had suggested or recommended that Dixon be that replacement. That was why Darruznak had emphasized his point about these not being normal circumstances. He was setting Dixon up. Without being conscious that he was doing it, Dixon began to shake his head from side to side.
Seeing Dixon's reaction, Darruznak realized that he didn't need to continue, that Dixon had made the connection. "Scott, before you say anything, hear me out. In the first place, we know how you feel. Everyone involved in the decision knows that you turned down command of a task force. They know what happened in Iran and your belief that you cannot lead men into combat again. Finally, everyone knows about your personal tragedy. 1—we — can appreciate the former and understand the latter. But for one moment you have to forget your own personal feelings and problems, as hard as that might be, and look at this the way we see it."
Dixon stopped shaking his head and eased back into the chair. Darruznak leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. "Scott, in a few hours we are going to issue an order to 3rd Brigade telling them to commence the counteroffensive. That plan includes use of 3rd of the 5th. General Horn understands the concerns of the commanders in the 16th Armored Division. He also knows that we cannot afford to delay the operation until a new commander is found for 3rd of the 5th. Nor can we conduct the operation without that unit. Bottom line, Scott, is that 3rd of the 5th goes, with or without you. With you, their chances of coming out of this fight increase."
And what, Dixon thought, brought them to that conclusion? The last task force he commanded in combat didn't come out. Losses were so high that it never again was able to participate in combat operations in Iran. He wondered what perverse logic brought them to the conclusion that he could make a difference at a time when he was unable to sort out his own life. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Sitting up, Dixon looked Darruznak in the eye. "Sir, I cannot, and will not, accept command."
Returning the stare, Darruznak responded, any hint of reasonableness absent from his voice, "And you, Colonel, must understand that we are not asking you. You will assume command of that task force. When that unit crosses its line of departure, you are going to be with it. Is that clear?"
Dixon sat there looking at Darruznak. The general returned his stare. The silence was heavy, oppressive, and unbearable for Dixon. Darruznak broke it. "My aide will arrange for my chopper to take you to the 3rd Brigade headquarters. How much time do you need to get your affairs in order, Scott?"
Though the general was using his first name, his tone had changed; it left no doubt that the conversation was over. There was no room for discussion, no hint of an alternative. Dixon had his orders and was expected to carry them out.
Dixon slowly stood up and brought himself to attention. "Sir, I'll need two hours, maybe less. I need to go into Cairo first."
Darruznak nodded his approval. As Dixon turned to leave, Darruznak called out to him, wishing him luck.
The tan and brown camouflaged Chevy Blazer, called a CUCV by the Army and pronounced "cut-vee," swerved in and out of the traffic. The CUCV was waved through roadblocks and police barricades. Neither Dixon nor the driver, fully armed and in combat gear, had to show any ID or orders. Dixon had figured they wouldn't need to, which is why he opted for the CUCV instead of chancing a taxi. The driver, aware of the prohibition against taking military vehicles into Cairo, had protested. Dixon, however, easily overcame any argument, using his rank and bluff. Though he hated to do either, he was in no mood to mess around and didn't have the time. He really didn't care about the consequences. After all, he thought, what was the worst they could do? Send him to the front?
Dixon ordered the driver to park in front of the building to which the 2nd Corps public affairs officer said WNN had moved. Not finding a place to park, the driver made himself one on the sidewalk, Climbing out, Dixon paused, holding on to the door as he stared at the building. He knew why he had come. What he didn't know was what he was going to do. Telling the driver to wait where he was, Dixon closed the door and entered the building in search of Jan Fields.
His task was not easy. Because its own staff and facilities had yet to be reconstituted, WNN was sharing facilities with another American news agency. Most of the people in the building, and some in the other news agency, weren't aware of the arrangement. One girl finally volunteered to take Dixon to the office the WNN people were working out of.
When they arrived there, Dixon looked about. "Office" was a charitable term for the overly large closet where a handwritten WNN sign hung. In the office there were two desks, three chairs, and some camera equipment. None of the WNN staff, however, was there. The girl told Dixon that someone would be along in a minute. Looking at his watch, he decided to give himself fifteen minutes. After that he would have to leave. Sitting down in one of the chairs, Dixon leaned back and closed his eyes. He was still tired, though not nearly as tired, he thought, as he soon would be.