“My Sister Delivers Amazon Packages.” His Ceo Patted My Shoulder And Said, “Honest Work,” Then Turned Away. A Few Minutes Later, The Ballroom Doors Swung Open. An Officer Stepped Inside, Stopped, And Saluted.
“General Jablonski, Your Vehicle Is Ready, Ma’am.” The Room Went Completely Silent As Everyone Realized He Was Talking To Me. My Name Tag Said It All: U.S. Army.
I Just Smiled. “Well, My ‘Amazon’ Is Here.”
‘She delivers Amazon packages,’ my brother laughed at his gala. Then my ‘Amazon’ arrived.
My name is Lisha Jablonsky, and my brother once told his country club friends that I drove around all day while he actually contributed to society. This was three hours after I’d authorized a counterterrorism operation in Yemen that saved 200 lives. The thing about being a twostar general in Joint Special Operations Command is that nobody knows what JSOC actually does, and I prefer it that way.
When civilians hear “military,” they picture parades and salutes. They don’t picture encrypted satones at 3:00 a.m. or authorization codes that can redirect entire carrier strike groups.
My family certainly didn’t. My brother Trevor worked in pharmaceutical sales. He made good money, the kind that bought a McMansion in the suburbs and a BMW with heated seats.
To my parents, this was success incarnate, something visible, something they could brag about at their bridge club. I’d been in the army for 22 years. “Lisha does something with the government,” my mother would say vaguely at family gatherings, her tone suggesting I processed paperwork at the DMV.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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