November 15th, 1997

By almost all accounts, 1997 had been a spectacular year. Britain's cession of the colony of Hong Kong back to China had been relatively painless, the Florida Marlins won the World Series (pretty spectacular for the Marlins anyway), and Phil Collins didn't release any albums. From a historian's standpoint, 1997 would bathe in crystal perfection-a disturbing contrast to the shameless whore that had been 1996.

Historians though, for all their graces, don't always get to see the whole picture. The whole picture, in fact, was only visible from the very highest levels of power. From there the cracks could be seen, and the people who are paid a good deal of money to worry about that sort of thing were very worried indeed.

It was raining in Washington D.C., and, in a way, it was raining in the oval office.

"I can't guarantee this is going to work."

"Mister President, I can't guarantee that this is going to work." If there's one thing that General John Shalikashvili did not like about his position at the Joint Chiefs of Staff, it was the need for honesty. "There are some who have said-off the record of course but said none the less-that it's impossible."

Clinton had been scribbling notes and appeared almost lost in thought at the time, but the General's last statement caught his attention. He raised a curious eyebrow and looked up from his legal pad.

"Of course," Shali added quickly, "I think we can make it happen."

"I know you can John," the gentleman from Arkansas flashed his trademark smile. "You can do anything if you put your mind to it. It's critical that the United States step to the forefront when it comes to combating international terrorism. I still believe in a place called hope."

"Sir?"

The President shook his head. "Sorry, was I off on a campaign tangent again?" He raised a hand warily. "I'm sorry John. I've been thinking a lot about the Christmas shopping lately. Hillary and Al are both taken care of but I don't know what to get Chelsea."

The hardened general nodded sympathetically.

"I mean when she was a baby I'd just get her food. You know? Baby food? It was a crummy present but she didn't complain. Now I have to buy clothes that fit, or real jewelry, or music that I know she'll like."

"I think she'd look good in black. Something that compliments her blossoming womanliness."

"Huh?"

"Oh nothing, nothing sir. What I meant to say is... er... I think music would be best."

"John, John," Clinton shook his head and reached for a cigar. "Music's all the same anymore. It's all grunge this and Seattle that. Hillary won't have it in the house."

"Well it's not all grunge, Mr. President." The eyebrow rose again. "You see, there are these boys from Oklahoma..."

John and Bill talked late into the night. The political appetite of Bill Clinton had no circadian rhythm, and he wasn't surprised when his secretary, Betty Currie, shook his elbow the next morning.

"Billy, you fell asleep at your desk again." Betty had worked many years for Clinton. Being the only one allowed to catch him sleeping at his desk and calling him Billy were only two of the perks that came with the job. "Billy?"

"Wha... peanut butter and banana... wha?"

"Wha... peanut butter & banana... wha?"

"Foreign policy again? Do you want a cup of coffee?" The president pulled himself up on his elbows and began rubbing his eyes lazily.

"Yeah Betty - coffee would be really nice right now. And could you type up this outline for the Joint Chiefs meeting for me? I was supposed to do it last night but we got sidetracked. The whole meetings just a mess to me now," He stretched his arms and yawned. "I don't need to review it - it's gotta be done by nine. Can you handle it?" He passed her the yellow pad of scribbles that passed for his meeting notes.

"Billy - if I can handle you, I can handle anything," she chuckled, eliciting a laugh from her boss as well.

"You're right about that. You do your job very well."

Betty's dedication to her boss would be questioned on several notable occasions during the next few years-most notably by Ken Starr-but there was no question where her loyalty was that day. In fact, when she typed, "Combat World Terrorism - Hanson From Oklahoma" in bold lettering at the top of confidential White House letterhead, she never gave it a second thought.

Now that's dedication.

The rain had slowed in Washington D.C., and the sun rose over the weary capitol. A significant day had dawned-the first day of Operation Tulsa Thunder.