“What in hell does that mean, sir?”
“It means we fight not for country, not for law, not for money, but for right,” Martindale replied. “I believe we know what is right, what is just. Your brother Paul knows the law. You, Hal, and Chris are soldiers. We all came from different backgrounds, different perspectives, and different experiences. But we’re all standing here, together, right now. There’s a reason for that. Whatever shaped us, whatever we were, and whatever we are, I believe we are warriors. Members of the warrior class. No rank, no flag, no master. We fight for what is right.”
“And sometimes you have to fight on their level, Muck,” Paul McLanahan added. “You taught me that when you first put on this armor back in Sacramento. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t nice, but it worked. You taught me we can do some good with it.”
“And you know something else? I didn’t force you to make Kazakov pay you,” Martindale added. “I suggested you squeeze him so we could help some of his victims, but I didn’t come up with this numbered bank account or satellite phone idea—you did. You could have turned him over to the Jandarma without making him do anything. But you did it because you don’t think Kazakov will ever stand trial, and even if he does go to prison, he won’t suffer and he won’t be in long. You believe the only way to hurt him is to take what he loves, and that’s money. I agree.”
“We all agree, Muck,” Hal Briggs said.
“Affirmative,” Chris Wohl agreed.
“So stand tall and be proud of what you did, and don’t concern yourself about squeezing a bug like Pavel Kazakov,” Martindale said. “But if it bothers you so much, if you think what you did and what I suggest we all do together is wrong or illegal or immoral, you can take off that armor and go home and live peacefully in retirement. You’ve earned it. Those of us who want to stay will continue the fight, however we decide to do it, for as long as we want to do it. Either way, you have the thanks and best wishes of us all, General McLanahan.”
Patrick said nothing. He stood, handed his helmet to his brother with his head bowed, and walked slowly toward the tilt-rotor aircraft that would take him home.