Chapter 1

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the year, like the seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from the balmy spring, and those that follow drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless and hot.

Master Sergeant Vladimir Kirilenko, 34, of the Red Army, disliked Mexico. Actually, he disliked all hot places. How could those stupid Mexicans like this humid and boiling place? Bah! You should feel honored to be stationed here, to serve as a representative of the Soviet Union, he told himself. Besides, is it not in a few hours that we drive those filthy American dogs up into Canada?

“All Sergeants and Petty Officers, board the Flak Tracks or Rhino Heavy Tanks immediately!” the loudspeaker blared.

Well, time to get out of this place…

At this exact period of time that John Hamilton was celebrating his team’s victory over the Grizzlies in the State Championship. 

“No high school basketball team I have ever coached in my 29 years here has ever been as good as this year’s 1951 Timber wolves!” Chuck Daly declared at the end of his speech.

The crowd, at the 2,339 maximum capacity in the Doylestown High School gym, cheered wildly as Hamilton and the four other starters held up the trophy. After more speeches from the school’s principal and assistant basketball coaches, Hamilton and his buddies walked out of the gym high-spirited.

“I’ll see you guys at 7 P.M. at Nick’s!” John yelled as his friends drove away in their fashionable Cadillac’s. 

John’s Cadillac had a minor dent in it and was being fixed at the local Auto garage. He started the 3-block walk to his house.

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