Major General Harmon Hicks was dressed in an immaculate Class A uniform heavily adorned with ribbons and awards. The badges for Air Assault School, Jump School, and HALO qualification stood out on his breast, and his shoulder was marked by Ranger and Special Forces Tabs.

All these spoke to what he was qualified to do, but were silent as to his competence compared to the mask he wore. It was that of a silent professional; both confident and respectful. It was the face of a man who had attained the status of one of the most lethal warriors on the surface of the Earth, but also one who had seen those like himself perish in the line of duty and understood his own mortality.

Major General Hicks was not a particularly patient man, but he could wait. After all, he was waiting to experience his twenty-seven year military career crash and burn. He would prefer to get it over with, but he could wait.

At last, the double doors leading into the room opened to let in a procession of stern faced men and women. The man at the center of the pack walked casually and the others oriented themselves around him. He was a little above average in height with a receding hairline. His dark blue suit was simple in cut and bulged slightly in the middle.

George Strawm, the United States Secretary of Defense, was not having a very good day. He had been woken up at three in the morning for an emergency telecom briefing from the Joint Special Operations Command. He had been told that Operation Shining Light, the secret surveillance of an alien planet, had been in hostile contact with the natives. He had immediately boarded a plane and flown across the country from Washington D.C. to the Colorado/New Mexico border.

The flight had not been kind to him and put him in an even fouler mood than before. Secretary Strawm dismissed his aides to wait outside and closed the doors. Not even the Secretary’s Army Protective Service Agents were permitted into the six-shades-of-secret briefing. He took a deep breath and slowly took a seat across from the General. The table was large, big enough to comfortably seat ten, so the nearly empty room exuded an odd sense of isolation. He laid out a manila folder in front of himself on the table and sat back.

“Major General Hicks, care to tell me why I was forced out of bed at three in the morning on a Wednesday night to fly to the middle of nowhere?” General Marshfield straightened and gave a short and concise rundown of the events that had transpired on the planet, which had been given the somewhat bland code-name ‘Margin Harvest.’

Secretary Strawm was a reasonable, calm-mannered man. It was why the President had appointed him to be the Secretary of Defense. Before becoming SecDef he had been the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and before that he was a Lieutenant General in the United States Air Force. His long career of service to his country had taught him many things about leadership, one such lesson being that one should never allow oneself to be outraged before hearing all the facts.

He sat very quietly as General Hicks explained the events, from the Delta team’s first encounter to the final rescue operation. He listened attentively to every word, and when General Hicks was done, he said nothing. For several long minutes, Secretary Strawm remained quiet. The silence was deafening, as the room lacked even a clock to tick.

Finally, he spoke. “General Hicks, do you know why the President authorized Operation Shining Light?”

Hicks shook his head. “No, sir.”

Strawm nodded and opened the folder. He spread a collection of photos, all of the alien creatures. Most prominent of the photos were the ordinary and winged subspecies, labeled ‘MH-S-A’ and ‘MH-S-C’ respectively.

“I see. The reason the operation was authorized was Margin Harvest could very well hold the secrets to the future of the human race. Weather control, ecological management, atmospheric regulation. That could have allowed us to eradicate drought, insect-borne disease, and desertification. Bring entire nations out of poverty, save hundreds of millions of lives.”

Strawm scowled. “But now that whole plan is in the toilet. The cat’s out of the bag, and unless we want to start an interplanetary war, it’s over. We’ll have to pull every person we have from Margin Harvest, and until we can find a way to make our drones work on their side all that potential is out of our reach. Goddamn it General, do you have any idea how badly your command has screwed us?” he demanded, incensed.

Secretary Strawm was a reasonable man, but he was furious at what had occurred. He, as well as the President, had seen Margin Harvest as a gift to save humanity. The means to reverse all the faults of Nature man faced were within their grasp and it had been yanked from them.

It didn't take long for the Secretary's anger to pass. With an air of resignation, Strawm sighed and stood up. “How long will it take to get all our AFO teams out?”

“I can have the last team back here inside of 24 hours, sir,” Hicks replied without hesitation.

Strawm nodded sadly as he walked towards the door. “Pull them.”

True to General Hicks’ word, 18 hours after his initial meeting with the Secretary of Defense the withdrawal from Margin Harvest was nearing completion. The Task Force Staging Ground had quickly filled to bursting with the incoming Advance Force Operations teams. Two dozen teams had streamed in on foot and on ATV. Their equipment had already been disassembled and transported back to Earth. The remaining teams were simply waiting on their turns to step on the strange platform that would take them home.

As the story of what had transpired had leaked out, Beowulf and Camelot team had received a massive outpouring of support. Not a single Operator could fault them for sinking the mission to save Lowball and Chainsaw.

Beowulf and Camelot teams sat together near the edge of the Staging Area. They watched as team after team picked up and left to head to device a half mile away. Lowball, Clumsy, Duck and Hot Wheels were passing the time by playing poker with loose rounds as chips. Chainsaw was napping under the shade of a large not-quite-oak tree, and Hack was trying to scrounge something to eat. The two team leaders sat together a short distance away.

“So, I gotta ask. Why did you do it?” Swiper inquired carefully. Moose glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Why’d I give the order to shoot?” Swiper nodded. Moose blew air through his nose and took on a thoughtful façade.

“About a year ago, my team was on an Op,” he eventually said. “Can’t say where, you know the whole song and dance. But we were observing a mountain pass, trying to catch some bad guys smuggling arms across a border. There was a checkpoint, and while we were watching this rickety little van pulled up.” Moose paused to take a breath.

“They ordered the people out of the van, and out comes this little gaggle of kids being shepherded by an old man. Oldest kid couldn't have been more than nine, and the dude must have been at least seventy, maybe older. Anyway, the guys running the checkpoint demand a bribe, right? So the old guy hands them a little wad of cash, probably all he had. The bastards count it up and then demand more. The old guy’s got nothing left to give them, but offers them the keys to the van.”

Moose’s eyes hardened. “One of them takes the keys, then shoots the old man right in front of the kids. We asked for permission to fire, but Higher denied us. Didn’t want to compromise the operation. We had to watch as they executed the children one at a time. Emptied their fucking rifles and threw their bodies off the mountain.”

Moose clenched and unclenched his fist rapidly. “The kicker? The smugglers used a different fucking pass anyway.” Moose shook his head angrily. “So, that’s why. I was fucking sick and tired of watching through a rifle scope as innocents died. I know I shouldn't have, but I did and I stand by it.” Swiper chewed on his lip in thought as he considered that. After a moment, he nodded his approval.

The two men shared a peaceful silence until a Lieutenant from the Command and Control Team came and notified them that it was their turn to head back. Fifteen minutes later, both teams were back in the concrete subterranean structure on Earth.

At 0644 Zulu time, 21 hours and 19 minutes after the order was given, the last human soldiers left Margin Harvest.