Inuyama He's heart skipped a beat.
Almost instinctively, his gaze slid toward the other man's shoulders.
Then Inuyama He froze completely.
On the shoulder boards of that immaculate American general's uniform, five silver stars formed a standard pentagram, blazing beneath the faint lingering glow of gunpowder smoke and the hard metallic reflections of the hull.
Five—Five-Star General?
Absurdity washed over him like ice water dumped over his head. The military was the place that valued seniority and rules above all else. Shoulder boards—especially those representing the highest rank—were not something to be treated as a joke. Nor could they be forged.
As far as he knew, since this special rank had been established near the end of World War II, the United States had not bestowed the honor of Five-Star General upon a living soldier for nearly half a century. General Omar Bradley, the last man to hold that rank, had died in 1981—
There was no currently serving Five-Star General in any public records.
Either this man was brazen enough to openly forge the military's highest symbol, or—there were forces hidden beyond public view that Inuyama He knew nothing about.
Just then, a faint scent approached, mingling expensive perfume with the warmth of a young woman's body. A "Foster Daughter" he had planted in the media industry hurriedly delivered intelligence into his ear in a voice barely above a whisper, yet clear: "Just three days ago, during an informal White House briefing, the president did mention that a general had newly been awarded the rank of Five-Star General 'in recognition of outstanding contributions.' But he did not reveal the name, only hinting that the general was carrying out an extremely critical secret mission. The public was asked to remain patient and expectant. Once the mission was complete, this new