strategies. But more importantly, he now has direct access to the Black Sea via the port of Sevastopol, the traditional home of Russia’s Black Sea fleet. Russian naval power in the Mediterranean will grow exponentially.”
John-Angie politely interrupted to deliver their meals. They were attentive but unobtrusive, like any upscale servers should be. Sarge surveyed his Irish stew. Stephanie’s self-described comfort food was very comfortable indeed. Julia seemed to be pleased as well because she dug into her salad. With food on their minds, they changed the subject, exchanging less serious talk about the world. Sarge melted into his surroundings, wishing with every smile and comment that he could have a real relationship with Julia. Before he realized it, John the server had deftly slipped the check onto their table in the customary American Express leather check presenter. Sarge stuffed it with twenties and sat back in his chair, noticing a group approach their table. He stood up to greet one of his students, Michelle Crepeau.
“Hi, Professor Sargent,” said Crepeau. “I would like you to meet my parents. This is my daddy, Kenneth Crepeau, and my mom, Lou.”
“Pleasure to meet you both,” said Sarge, returning Mr. Crepeau’s firm grip with a handshake.
He introduced Julia, and handshakes were exchanged. “Did you folks enjoy your dinner?”
“We did,” said Kenneth Crepeau. “My Michelle has spoken very highly of you, Professor. It appears you have a real fan.”
“Well, let’s see how she feels after finals,” said Sarge to a round of smiles and giggles from Miss Crepeau.
Sarge noticed Julia studying him.
“It was very nice to meet you both. I’m sure your daughter will do fine,” said Sarge reassuringly.
Sarge settled back in his chair as the Crepeau family left, turning his attention back to Julia. Death stare .
“Is she one of yours?” asked Julia casually.
“One of my what? Students?” replied Sarge.
“You know,” pressed Julia. Oh boy .
“No, I don’t know,” said Sarge. Buy time. Hide the legs .
“A groupie student chick. I saw how she looked at you— Professor ,” said Julia with her best schoolgirl voice.
Every fiber of his being screamed, Run, Sarge, while you still can, before she breaks your legs .
“Wait, what? No way. You don’t get your nookie where you get your cookies,” protested Sarge. She isn’t serious, right?
“I’m just kidding you, Professor. Jeez, touchy. You can put your legs back in front of you now,” said Julia, laughing. It was over, fortunately.
Pushing his chair back, Sarge helped Julia with her coat, and they walked toward the front door. Stephanie’s had a long wait list at this point. The entry and the bar overflowed with groups waiting to be seated.
“Would you like to come up for a nightcap?” asked Sarge, as politely as he could muster.
Julia locked her arm in his and leaned against him, reminding Sarge of what he had been missing.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Sarge, as the couple strode out into the cold night air.
Chapter 8
December 16, 2015
Mariupol, Ukraine
Nomad lay shivering on the rusted steel decking of the northernmost blast furnace tower in the thirteen-hundred-acre Azovstal Iron and Steel Works facility. Rising more than one hundred feet over the industrial site, the multileveled access tower gave him a commanding view of the bridge over the Kalmius River, along with the span of Highway M14 running parallel to the steelworks. He felt exposed and trapped in the tower, but the terrain south of the river didn’t give him many choices for a less conspicuous observation post. He was getting paid a lot of money to ensure this operation met Colonel Biletsky’s expectations, and the view from the furnace stack gave him the situational awareness required to pull off a two-pronged attack.
“Here they come,” said Nomad, tapping Anton Teresenko, Biletsky’s subcommander, on the arm.
“Right on time
John-Angie politely interrupted to deliver their meals. They were attentive but unobtrusive, like any upscale servers should be. Sarge surveyed his Irish stew. Stephanie’s self-described comfort food was very comfortable indeed. Julia seemed to be pleased as well because she dug into her salad. With food on their minds, they changed the subject, exchanging less serious talk about the world. Sarge melted into his surroundings, wishing with every smile and comment that he could have a real relationship with Julia. Before he realized it, John the server had deftly slipped the check onto their table in the customary American Express leather check presenter. Sarge stuffed it with twenties and sat back in his chair, noticing a group approach their table. He stood up to greet one of his students, Michelle Crepeau.
“Hi, Professor Sargent,” said Crepeau. “I would like you to meet my parents. This is my daddy, Kenneth Crepeau, and my mom, Lou.”
“Pleasure to meet you both,” said Sarge, returning Mr. Crepeau’s firm grip with a handshake.
He introduced Julia, and handshakes were exchanged. “Did you folks enjoy your dinner?”
“We did,” said Kenneth Crepeau. “My Michelle has spoken very highly of you, Professor. It appears you have a real fan.”
“Well, let’s see how she feels after finals,” said Sarge to a round of smiles and giggles from Miss Crepeau.
Sarge noticed Julia studying him.
“It was very nice to meet you both. I’m sure your daughter will do fine,” said Sarge reassuringly.
Sarge settled back in his chair as the Crepeau family left, turning his attention back to Julia. Death stare .
“Is she one of yours?” asked Julia casually.
“One of my what? Students?” replied Sarge.
“You know,” pressed Julia. Oh boy .
“No, I don’t know,” said Sarge. Buy time. Hide the legs .
“A groupie student chick. I saw how she looked at you— Professor ,” said Julia with her best schoolgirl voice.
Every fiber of his being screamed, Run, Sarge, while you still can, before she breaks your legs .
“Wait, what? No way. You don’t get your nookie where you get your cookies,” protested Sarge. She isn’t serious, right?
“I’m just kidding you, Professor. Jeez, touchy. You can put your legs back in front of you now,” said Julia, laughing. It was over, fortunately.
Pushing his chair back, Sarge helped Julia with her coat, and they walked toward the front door. Stephanie’s had a long wait list at this point. The entry and the bar overflowed with groups waiting to be seated.
“Would you like to come up for a nightcap?” asked Sarge, as politely as he could muster.
Julia locked her arm in his and leaned against him, reminding Sarge of what he had been missing.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Sarge, as the couple strode out into the cold night air.
Chapter 8
December 16, 2015
Mariupol, Ukraine
Nomad lay shivering on the rusted steel decking of the northernmost blast furnace tower in the thirteen-hundred-acre Azovstal Iron and Steel Works facility. Rising more than one hundred feet over the industrial site, the multileveled access tower gave him a commanding view of the bridge over the Kalmius River, along with the span of Highway M14 running parallel to the steelworks. He felt exposed and trapped in the tower, but the terrain south of the river didn’t give him many choices for a less conspicuous observation post. He was getting paid a lot of money to ensure this operation met Colonel Biletsky’s expectations, and the view from the furnace stack gave him the situational awareness required to pull off a two-pronged attack.
“Here they come,” said Nomad, tapping Anton Teresenko, Biletsky’s subcommander, on the arm.
“Right on time
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