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Knuckles chuckled and said, “And he was right, in the end. I blew those fuckers up with their own charges, and we loaded the vehicle, Tariq losing his mind because he knew something we didn’t. The place was crawling with Hezbollah.”

Brett took over, as always happened in a military story between two people, saying, “We hit the road and were no more than five miles out of that place when I saw a trail of dust behind us. A damn caravan of guys coming our way. Tariq started screaming and I stood up through the sun roof.”

Knuckles talked over him, saying, “Oh, bullshit. You looked at me and said, ‘What the hell is that?’Tariqsaid it was Hezbollah and we were dead.”

Brett said, “Okay, okay, but I did get out of the sun roof, and when they closed in, we were in fact dead. It was three pickup trucks full of fighters, one technical, and they wanted our scalps.”

Knuckles said, “One of the trucks had a Dishka mounted in the back, and that damn thing started shooting. I mean, it was like an old west movie where we were driving the stagecoach and the bandits were trying to catch us. I only had Brett on shotgun. Tariq was absolutely worthless.”

Even I was surprised at the story. I expected to hear how they’d hid out for a day or so, but this was something else. A “Dishka” as he called it was a Soviet anti-aircraft machine gun called a DShK that Hezbollah—and others, like ISIS—mounted in the bed of pickups. Having had one fire on me once before, I could feel the adrenaline coming out of the conversation.

Brett said, “I killed the driver of the first vehicle, but the Dishka kept coming, and luckily he couldn’t shoot on the move. Bullets were ripping all over the place, so much I was forced back in the SUV.”

Knuckles laughed and said, “He actually told me to stop the vehicle.”

Brett took umbrage and said, “We had a better chance of firing and maneuvering on foot than running around in a giant target. If we could have separated them from the machine gun, we stood a chance.”

Knuckles held up his hand and said, “Honestly, he might have been right. I was racing down the trail, considering his call, the Dishka starting to ring the steel on our vehicle when two DAPS came out of nowhere, and they were letting it all loose.”

I said, “DAPS?” I looked at George and said, “I thought you said it was a CSAR package.”

He smiled and said, “It was, but it was from the SOAR. They don’t do CSAR without protection.”

SOAR was the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, and a DAP was a Direct Action Penetrator—basically a Black Hawk helicopter that had been turned into a flying death machine.

Knuckles said, “The pilots let loose with the chain guns and shredded all of the vehicles, then circled around killing anyone who escaped. It was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“So how did you get out? Did you cross back into Lebanon?”

“Hell no. I pulled over and helped with the fight. Another Pave Hawk came in, and we boarded it, flying back to Jordan. I don’t know what Hezbollah makes of that mess, but they lost a lot of guys.”

Wolffe said, “The sticky part was when they landed. Nobody knew who they were, but knew they were American.”

I said, “Man, I can’t believe that. Makes our story in the Grotto look tame.”

Knuckles looked at Shoshana, her arm in a sling, and said, “I didn’t get dinged up, though.”

She smiled and said, “I did what I had to do. And from hearing the story, I know I was right in insisting on the passports.”

Knuckles chuckled and said, “Next time, you can keep them.”

Everyone began laughing, the tension from the story broken. I said, “You came back to the wedding alone. What happened to Willow?”

He fiddled with a napkin and said, “She had business commitments. She blocked out the week, but we went beyond that.”

“So I guess it’ll be a boys’ day tomorrow. Jennifer and Shoshana have some shopping planned, but the rest of us can hit the town.”

He dropped the napkin and said, “I can’t. I’m sorry, Pike, but I have my own commitments.”

I said, “What the hell are you talking about? It’s the wedding.”

“I have a flight out of here at the crack of dawn.”

“Where?”

“Uhh... back to DC. I have things I need to take care of.”

I saw his face, and having served with him for years, he was still horrible at lying. I said, “Bullshit. What would be more important than this?”