Free The Shroud of Heaven by Sean Ellis Page B

woman made a guttural noise that might have been a curse then thrust her hands at his face before spinning on her heel and stalking away.
    He lowered the missile launcher, shaking his head in disbelief, and pitched his voice so that there would be no mistaking his ire. “You’re welcome.”
     

 
Two
     
    As the battle shifted away from the airport, those inside the terminal building began to emerge from their defensive cocoons. Many of the non-combatants, desperately needing something to do in order to restore their dignity following the terrifying incident, raced to assist Kismet in the effort of lifting the fallen section of wall or began administering first aid to the dozen or more victims of shrapnel injuries.
    Only moments after the confrontation with the woman whose hair color evidently matched her temperament, Kismet once again found himself under fire for having saved the day.
    “Who the hell fired that AT-4?”
    The voice belonged to a man, but was no less strident. Kismet straightened from his labors, turning to face a man wearing desert-pattern fatigues with a brown oak leaf sewn into the collar. He checked the nametape over the man’s right breast pocket before answering. “I did, Major Harp.”
    The officer gaped at him in disbelief, momentarily losing his voice. It was evident from his manner that the man had expected to find one of the soldiers under his command responsible for what must have seemed like a reckless act. “Who the hell are you?”
    “Nick Kismet.” He extended his hand ingenuously.
    “A goddamned civilian?”
    Kismet lowered his hand with a sigh. “I guess so.”
    “I don’t know who you think you are, but this is not some playground where you can come live out your Rambo fantasies.” Kismet got the impression that Harp had used this speech before, practicing and refining his imprecations for maximum effect. The rant continued unchecked. “This is a goddamned war zone, mister. You civilians are to keep your goddamned heads down. I will not have my soldiers put in harm’s way because you people want snapshots for your fucking scrapbooks and war stories to impress women at cocktail parties…”
    “Major!”
    The torrent of rage and blasphemy instantly evaporated with that single, sharply spoken recognition of rank. Harp stiffened to attention, his eyes no longer fixed on Kismet, as the person who had called out stepped into view. Like the major, this man also wore a khaki camouflage battle dress uniform with an oak leaf on his collar, but his insignia was black: a lieutenant colonel.
    The newcomer scrutinized Kismet, then turned to his subordinate. “At ease, major.”
    Harp relaxed from the disciplined posture; it was evident that his fire had gone out. The colonel turned back to Kismet. “You’ll have to forgive Major Harp. He doesn’t understand that any man who has earned the Silver Star deserves a little respect even if he no longer wears the uniform.”
    Harp’s eyes widened at the revelation and a flush of embarrassment crept over his sand-abraded cheeks, but he kept his silence.
    Kismet raised an eyebrow. “Not very many people know about that.”
    “Well, I do.” The lieutenant colonel took his hand and began pumping it vigorously. “Jon Buttrick, Mr. Kismet. A pleasure to meet you. And from what I’ve heard, we all owe you a debt of gratitude. If that car had gotten any closer, we’d be cleaning this terminal up with a bulldozer.”
    Kismet risked a satisfied grin. “Frankly, colonel—”
    ”Call me Jon, Nick.”
    “Jon. Frankly, I’m glad someone appreciates that I knew what I was doing.”
    The officer chuckled. “I’m sure they’ll all figure it out once they hear about it on CNN.” He nodded to a gathering knot of reporters who circled like vultures, waiting for an opportunity to move in and tear him apart with their questions.
    “Monsieur Kismet.” The small dark-haired woman who had initially met him upon his arrival darted in front of