Miles looked down the table to see who was going to wind the messaging threads together on a wartime morning. Splash, Vic and Rocket were over by the window, attempting to peer down to the corner in the deep fog. Dierdre was in the Galley doing something with deliberation that accompanied the clicking of a sharp chopping blade.

Keith was harnessed to keep the Conference Table stocked with food and beverages. He didn’t mind because he got first grab at what was coming out of the gaping maw of the handsome cast iron skillet on the double-burner tactical stove.

A crowd of the Zoomers were already huddled, attempting to fulfill the tasking from Miles that had dropped on them shortly after the Flat Yank coffee mugs were filled. He had been a little abrupt when he waved his hands wide and declared:

“I need you guys to do a little thinking. The news is electrifying about thousands of targets hit, and swarms of Iranian drones flying all over. So, consider these things this morning. It is the Anniversary of the Boston Massacre in 1770. British troops opened fire on a crowd of colonials who were hurling snow-balls and rocks at the formation.”

“Sounds like what could have happened in New York last week, when the cops got jumped in the park,” said Holly thoughtfully.

Miles nodded, then continued “It was also the Jewish holiday of Shushan Purim that celebrates a triumph of Jerusalem against the Persians a while back. So, there are other things to consider in all this. That is why I want you to look at the Ottoman Empire and the ethnic groups who lived inside it. Sometimes uneasily.”

He reached for a croissant on the pastry tray. “There are old nations long divided by new lines of authority, so a look at the map might show you part of what is coming next with the Kurds. In Iran, Iraq and Turkey. Or Baluchistan.”

The Boomers returned to the table, not to join the conversation but to refill mugs.

Splash leaned in next to the Field Service coffee thermos. “This is a relief from the context of massacres and rescues from the Persians. The Pentagon I served was restrained for decades in responding to Iran’s brand of terror warfare that was verging- quickly- on nuclear weapons and the missiles to carry them across the seas.”

Rocket smiled. “Yeah, they needed less than 10 hours to launch after getting the ‘go order’ from the President. H hour was 15:38 p.m. EST on Friday for a single synchronized wave of US and Israeli forces. They got to Iran at 01:15 a.m. EST, 09:45 a.m. in Tehran. It was a massive surprise.”

Kit is one of the Zoomer interns and she frowned over the collar of her crimson smock. “I just got a lead on the story of that guy who slashed a woman to death over in Hybla Valley.”

Miles pursed his lips and gestured for her to sit down near him. “We knew he should never have been let in here, but the Freedom of Information releases show the police warned our Prosecutor that he was a chronic violent offender and someone was going to die of they did not sent him away someplace. Maybe tomorrow. It seems like we will be seeing more of this stuff until we take it seriously.”

Dierdre appeared in the door to the Galley. “Looks like lunch is coming, and I have a treat for you, she said. “You are going to need it.”

She held her spatula in an en garde position. “I am not going to do a cooking lesson here, but things to remember because this recipe can be tailored to what looks good or what needs to get out of the ‘fridge.” She took an upright posture, sweeping wide with her cuisine entrenching tool. “When you go to the Harris-Teeter market, make sure you grab a couple red and green peppers and a bad of good onions to keep in stock. Get whatever looks good in the butcher section.”

She turned bck to face the room.The recipe I am doing today can be done with anything. Thin sliced beefsteak. Italian sausage. Good old hamburger if you aren’t taking a break after the new McDonalds Big Arch burgers.”

Splash looked a little guilty after Dee’s glance. “Then chop an onion fine with a couple peppers and brown everything in a big cast iron skillet.” There was sudden sound from the flat-screen as the crowd showed their appreciation for the periscope video of the sinking of the Iranian corvette in the Indian Ocean.

She turned back to the Galley and the counter where she assembled the ingredients in proportions suitable for the crowd in the conference room, chopped and organized for ready transfer to the cast iron skillet. She did not let the noise from media messaging rush her. Keith stopped to watch her smooth, unfastened movement with knife and flashing spatula.

She handed him a tablet with a recipe glowing under the bright Galley light. “These are some directions, but the key is keeping things moist and ensure whatever you load in the skillet is suitably drained of grease before you start adding the pasta and spices. The broth and tomato works with just about anything for the protein portion.”

Not quit twenty minutes later and one more cup of coffee, this is what appeared:

Keith grabbed one of the left-over morning bagels, sliced it and prepared to ladle some of the savory mixture high across a buttered bagel.

Dee smiled. “In case you want to mix some up, here’s the recipe.”

Miles looked alarmed as this graphic appeared on the North wall of the conference room:

Vic looked anxious. This isn’t going to be a regular feature, is it?”

Dee just laughed.

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