The Day Before Midnight [antikvár]

Author's Note Close observers of Maryland geography will immediately recognize that the author has allowed himself to manipulate the landforms of the state to suit his dramatic purposes. To note two such obvious alterations in reality, South Mountain, though it exists exactly where I have placed it, is not nearly so high and formidable a peak as I have pretended. And the relationship of Burkittsville to South Mountain has likewise been adjusted a few miles to fit the story together more conveniently. I've allowed myself a similar latitude in depicting the performance of certain military units. Though in fact the Army's Special Operation Group/Delta, the Rangers, and the 1st Battalion (Reini), Third Infantry, as well as light infantry and tactical air support units of the Maryland National Guard and the Maryland Air Guard do exist, the author hopes that readers understand this is a work of fiction, and although it aspires to accuracy in its portrayal of procedure, its depiction of the performance of these units during a national security crisis is wholly a fabrication. Finally, the author would like to thank all who gave so generously of time and energy in his researches. These include colleagues Michael Hill, Randi Henderson, Matt Seiden, Pat McGuire, Weyman Swagger, and Fred Rasmussen; friends Lenne P. Miller, Jr.; Joe Fanzone, Jr.; Gerard F. "Buzz" Busnuk; T. Craig Taylor, Jr.; David Petzal; Ernest Volkman; my father-in-law, Richard C. Hageman; my brother-in-law and medical adviser, John D. Bullock, M.D.; my brother. 0700 It snowed that night, and sometime after three, Beth Hummel awoke, as she always did, to the sound of small bare feet padding urgently across the hard wood of the floor. "Mommy?" It was the voice of her older daughter. Bean—derived somehow from Elizabeth—was seven, a careful, grave second-grader who wrote her numbers and her name with exaggerated precision and had filled out her Christmas list from the Sears catalogue as if it were a college application. Beth rolled gently, hoping not to awaken Jack next to her, and turned to face the child in the darkness. Her daughter was very close, and Beth could smell her, warm and fresh like a loaf hot from the oven. "Yes, honey?" "Mommy, it's snowing." "I know. They said it would on the TV." "The world is all white. Jesus loves the world, he made it all white." "I'm sure he does, honey," said Beth. Jack snorted in his sleep, came from unconsciousness with a loggy lurch, half rose, then whispered gruffly, "Shhhhhh, girls." He fell back, inert in seconds. "Mommy, can I get in?" "Of course, honey," said Beth, scooting over and lifting the covers so that there was room for Bean, who climbed in and snuggled against her mother. The child was still in a I