The general's hand moved unconsciously to his chest, his fingers touching the edge of his Purple Heart ribbon. Around the room, conversations had died completely. Forty officers watched the exchange with growing confusion.
"Sir." Vance's voice rose with frustration. "This is highly irregular. We have a ceremony planned, protocols to follow. We can't let every person who claims military service—"
"Did you have a call sign, soldier?" Thornton's voice was barely above a whisper now, but it carried to every corner of the room. His face had gone pale.
Marcus's eyes closed. His jaw worked silently for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, they glistened with moisture that didn't fall.
"Yes, sir."
"Tell me."
The room held its breath. Sarah Mitchell had both hands pressed to her mouth. Master Sergeant Davis stood frozen, his instincts screaming that something monumental was happening.
Marcus swallowed hard. His voice, when it came, was barely audible, a ghost of sound that somehow filled the cavernous space.
"Phantom Six, sir."
The effect was instantaneous. General Thornton's entire body went rigid. The color drained from his face. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. His right hand, steady through a thousand combat engagements, began to tremble.
"No." The word came out strangled. "No, that's—"
"General, clearly this man is—" Vance started.
"Everyone shut up!" Thornton's roar made half the room flinch. He never took his eyes off Marcus.
"Phantom Six. Phantom Six." His voice broke on the call sign. "October 2002. Kandahar Province. Operation Python Strike."
Marcus nodded once, slowly. A single tear escaped down his weathered cheek, cutting a track through the grime.
"I was a first lieutenant, twenty-three years old, flying my sixth combat mission as a Black Hawk pilot." Thornton's voice shook. He was no longer seeing the room. He was seeing mountains, darkness, tracer fire cutting through the night.
"We took an RPG through the tail rotor, went down twelve miles behind enemy lines. Taliban everywhere. My crew chief died in the crash. My copilot had both legs broken. We had maybe two hours before they found us."
The room had become a tomb. Not a single person moved.
"I radioed for help." Thornton's eyes glistened.
"Command said extraction wasn't possible. Too far. Too hot. Too many hostiles. They told us to evade and survive. At twenty-three years old, I thought I was dead."
He took a shaky breath. "Then this voice came on the radio, calm, cold, absolutely certain. Said three words: 'Phantom Six inbound.'"