He looks up. “Of course,” he replies. “It’s my good luck charm.”

“I don’t believe in luck.”

“You don’t, eh? Then what do you believe in, Commander?”

I don’t answer. Because I’m not sure I know anymore.

I can feel Katana’s lungs expand and shrink with each breath. Her body is warm, and every once in a while she snorts through her nose — loudly. Derek is loading up the last of the horses with gear, while the rest of the platoon finds their own animal.

“You have all of the information you’ll need,” Arlene says. She pats Katana’s nose. “Do you have any questions, Commander?”

“No,” I reply. “Manny?”

“I’m fine and dandy,” he replies. “Not much else to say.”

“Good luck, Manny,” she says softly. “Come back safely.” She looks at me. “You too. I pray that your operation will be successful.”

“Thank you,” I answer. “We’ll be back. Count on it.”

“Your mission codename,” she says. “What is it? What do I tell the Underground?”

I think about it.

“Angel Pursuit,” I say at last.

She nods, approving.

I tap the heels of my boots against Katana’s flanks and she moves forward.

Easy enough, I think. For now.

The motion of the horse is almost like riding on the moving deck of a ship. Every movement of the animal rolls your body slightly forward and backward. I feel exposed sitting on top of such a big creature. I can see clearly in all directions, but as a mountain fighter, I’m used to traveling within the cover of ravines, behind trees and through bushes. Not perched on top of a twelve-hundred pound horse.

Behind the stables, there’s a hidden trail that winds into the woods. Manny moves toward it — but not before he whispers something to Arlene. She smiles.

It’s a sad smile. A wistful one.

I wonder what he said.

“Alrighty, Commander,” Manny tells me. “I’ll lead the way.”

“Roger that.”

He turns on his horse to look over the platoon. They’re saddled up and ready to go. Half of the group looks unsure of what they’re doing on their horses, while the other half seems to be adjusting just fine. Uriah is one of the latter.

He trots up beside me, an expression of wry amusement on his face.

“You look pretty relaxed in the saddle,” he comments.

I pull back on the reins and turn Katana to the right. I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and urge her forward. She follows Manny’s lead, and the entire platoon begins moving out of the stable area, into the woods.

I frequently look over my shoulder, watching the militiamen. A few of them nearly fall off their horses at first. It’s comical to watch — if not a little depressing. My platoon Lieutenants — Vera, Derek, Andrew and Uriah — adjust the quickest. Unsurprising.

Vera looks royally ticked off to be riding a horse, however, judging by the sour expression on her face. I guess she’d rather take a Humvee into Los Angeles.

So would I, but hey.

There’s a war going on.

For the first hour of riding, I find myself adjusting to the sensation of horseback riding. At first it feels odd. Like I’m bouncing — floating. And then I settle into the saddle and relax into the rhythm of Katana’s strides. It’s nice not to have to hike on foot. But I can’t let my guard down. These hills are crawling with rogue militia groups and breakaway gangs that fled the city.

At least that’s what I’ve been told.

According to intelligence reports from the National Guard, Los Angeles is a hotbed of Omega activity — and the ring around the outside of the city limits is a dangerous barrier of violent people.

“Generally speaking,” Arlene said earlier, “Los Angeles is the castle, and the territory outside it is the village. The people that have been locked out of the castle are the few survivors, and the some of them have formed gangs. They’re dangerous. Several have created militia groups — only they’re rogue. They’re not fighting just Omega. They’re fighting anyone.”

Survival of the fittest.

The mountain trail gently slopes downward, winding between trees and bushes. But as the hours pass, the trail travels up and down and around the hills. At one point, we break the cover of the trees and hit the open, rolling hillside. Grazing territory for cattle.

“We’ll want to steer clear of the ridgeline,” Manny advises. “Ride the crest just below the top. We don’t want to silhouette against the moonlight.”

I can’t argue with that.

We stick to the trails and stay just enough below the ridgeline to avoid detection, but high enough to get a good view of the surrounding area. A bone-chilling breeze sweeps up the side of the hill, creating a ripple in the grass. I shiver and scan the horizon. It’s so open. So exposed. I don’t like it. I’ve come to love the cover and concealment of the deep forest.

We come to a spot in the ridge where it becomes necessary for us to deviate from traveling higher. The mountain is divided here. We will have to climb down and then back up.

“Let’s get this over with,” I breathe. “The sooner we get back on the ridgeline, the better.”

“No argument there, Commander,” Manny agrees.

So we take our horses downward to the valleys between the mountains. Going downhill on a steep trail is a new experience for me. I almost have to stand in the stirrups, pulling back on the reins. Katana nearly slides to the bottom, sticking her front legs out in front of her, crouching with her hind legs. I nearly topple over her head, but grab the saddle horn to keep myself mounted.

“Have you noticed something?” Uriah asks, hanging onto his mount tightly.

His horse, Mach, is midnight black. It matches Uriah’s personality perfectly.

“What are you talking about?” I say.

“I’m talking about you.” He wraps the reins in his right hand. “This platoon. Notice how everyone is following your orders? You’re a great Commander.”

“Uriah,” I sigh. “I’m not. Ordering people around doesn’t define a leader. Doing the right thing at the hardest time does.”

I’m quoting Chris.

“You want to lead people?” he said one day, long before we ever joined the National Guard. Or before I was even enslaved in a labor camp. “The key to being a good leader is to make decisions based on facts, not on anger or fear. Find the genius in everyone you work with. Be humble. Don’t take credit for victory. It belongs to the group. But the hardest thing about being a leader is doing what you know in your gut is right. So many times, the simplest answer is the right answer. In the heat of the moment, complex strategies aren’t usually the answer. Look for that clear, easy solution. ”

How did he know this? What did he do as a Navy SEAL that gave him such an enormous amount of insight and knowledge? That kind of discernment is rare. And it reminds me that no matter how much I love Chris, there is a lot that I don’t know about him.

“Hey, Commander,” Uriah whispers, snapping me out of it. “Lighten up. You’re doing good. Give yourself props.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t think patting myself on the back is a good idea,” I murmur.

Because honestly, good things don’t last.

“Hold up,” Manny says, making a closed fist to halt. “We need to let the horses rest and get them some water.”

I pull back on Katana’s reins and we come to a halt. I dismount and hit the ground.

Dang. My butt is sore.

My thighs ache. I walk stiffly for a few minutes. Now I know why they say cowboys walked bowlegged. The rest of the platoon does the same. More than a few moans and complaints are expressed. We allow the horses to drink water, and while they rest, I study Katana’s face. She’s a gorgeous animal. Her eyes are full of intelligence and understanding.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” I whisper. “Yes, you are…”