"Chickenshit," said the American. "Real chickenshit. Rape and baby killing."

"That's what worries me," said the Chinese colonel.

"The rape of a woman? And the death of a baby?" asked the Russian colonel. He was incredulous. He knew Colonel Huang had witnessed countless atrocities by the Japanese and by war lords; and while all three men found the killing of non-combatants distasteful, it was not a shocking tragedy to end the world. It wasn't even a military situation to be given any constructive thought. It was as if a dog had been run over on a highway. Too bad, but you didn't rearrange the highways of the world because of it.

"Yes, it worries me," said Colonel Huang. He turned off the television set and glanced out the porthole at the calm water extending out to the reddening horizon. There was nothing so secure as an American navy vessel on the high seas, to accomplish sensitive international arrangements without interruption.

"It worries me," continued Colonel Huang, sitting down at the table with the other two colonels, "when undisciplined operatives can pull off a hijacking that efficiently."

"He's right," said Colonel Anderson. "We didn't have an easy problem to begin with, Petrovich. We just may be up against something that is going to be impossible."

"Worry, worry, worry, first of all, how do you know the operatives were undisciplined, as you say? When we entered Berlin, we had those problems too."

"Not from your top troops. Your stragglers, Petrovich. Elite units don't rape or kill babies. Come on."

"So. One isolated incident," said Colonel Petrovich testily. He threw up his hands as if it were nothing.

"No, it's not," said Colonel Anderson. "It's a pattern. A splinter group of the IRA takes out an entire wing of British Army headquarters and stops to hold up a department store. A unit of the South American Tupemaros goes crazy in a girl's school, yet still manages to cut its way through a full, well-armoured division of the Venezuelan Army."