The four men struggled into a sitting position to don their gear yet again. We’ll follow this dip to the right and keep that ridgeline between us and the farm till we’re within half a mile or so.” “Okay, sir,” Sergeant Smith agreed. Gentlemen, it’s worth the chance, but we approach carefully. “ Dead-end road,” Edwards said, folding up the map. The lower meadows by the stream were dotted with hundreds of large, odd-looking sheep with massively thick coats of wool, asleep in the grass half a mile beyond the house. The outlying barns were large, but low-slung with sod-covered roofs. A typical Icelandic farmhouse, it had white stucco walls buttressed by heavy wooden beams, a contrasting red-painted trim, and a steeply pitched roof right out of the Brothers Grimm. On first sighting it through binoculars, Edwards called it the Gingerbread House. The farm was three miles away, thankfully downhill through tall, rough grass. He’d felt himself on the verge of breaking down, and some absurd code of conduct wouldn’t allow him to do As soon as he’d seen Ginny’s room, Morris had had to leave. Dolls from all over the world had stood on handmade shelves. Ginny’s room had been a testimony to her father’s love. No way he could have afforded contractors. They’d been in the house only seven months, and Morris wondered how the petty officer had found the time to get all that work done. Much of the interior woodwork had been replaced. A good man with his hands, he remembered, a good gunner’s mate. Evans must have worked like a madman on that little house to make it as neat as it was. A second-class petty officer didn’t make much, Morris knew. But the four-year-old daughter of Gunner’s Mate Second Class Jeff Evans had not understood why her daddy would never come home again. Their sons and husbands were sailors, and had taken a sailor’s risk.

It was one thing to talk to wives and parents. Morris had gotten through five homes when he’d had to stop. It’s not your fault, he told the face in the mirror. Morris wondered if he had screamed in his sleep.

Nightmare had come, robbing him of the few hours of rest he allowed himself.

Red Storm Rising by Tom Clancy