Los Angeles, 1947. Jack Callahan had been a Marine in the Pacific, and he had seen things that made the war in Europe look like a ...
Not metaphorically. Literally. It happened on Iwo Jima, in the ash and the blood and the screaming, when a Japanese bunker fired a shell that missed him by inches and hit a ridge behind him, and the ridge exploded in a way that was not geological, and Jack saw a star—the brightest star in the sky, Sirius, he would learn later—flicker and dim, as if someone had turned down a dial. He told no...
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