Damn the luck; damn it all to hell.

I separated from Delta and the Service on 01 January 2001. Eight months later the reason to stay in Delta materialized — eight months too late. By that January, all I had left to look forward to was my fourth trip to the Balkans. And by the Gods and all that I hold holy, I just didn’t want to go back there. “Mission burn out” crossed my mind, and then it crossed it again. I was double-crossed by mission burnout and I knew it.

I’m a firm believer in the adage: “Worry not, for you’ll know when your time to act is nigh.” True. I can tell you how in recent years I sat wringing my hands and agonizing if or when I should get my ruined knees completely replaced with rusted iron hinges. Suddenly there was a bright star in the night sky of the east and I knew that Mary had been fooling around again.