Rogue Defender

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East Asia burned, and Admiral John Brody felt the world crushing him.

“I can save Taiwan,” he said.

A dark pinstripe suit rose and extended thick ebony fingers onto the table. Secretary of Defense Gerald Rickets responded with authority.

“You need your resources elsewhere,” Rickets said. “Taiwan stands alone.”

“The president agrees?” Brody asked.

“Yes.”

“China launches electromagnetic pulse attacks, North Korea crosses the DMZ, and God knows who has sunk five warships on both sides, but you’re restricting my response.”

“Taiwan doesn’t count,” Rickets said.

“American submarine sailors died defending them five years ago, and now they don’t count?”

Brody sighed as Rickets straightened his jacket.

“I’m taking fifteen minutes,” Rickets said. “When I get back, I want to review sorties over Seoul and Patriot missile positioning.”

The other Joint Chiefs turned to aides for updates, but Brody followed Rickets into the hallway, the soles of his mirror-polished shoes clapping tiles like hooves digging dirt. He tugged stuffy navy blue wool from his neck, his starched uniform serving as the flank strap Rickets had cinched around his chest. Bracing to buck his rider, Brody flared his nostrils and lowered his horns.

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