“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.
“Very stable. Good benefits.”
The benefits were excellent. The presidential helicopter was particularly nice.
It started when I was 30, fresh off my promotion to major. I’d come home for Thanksgiving, still jet-lagged from Kosovo, and found myself seated next to Trevor’s new girlfriend, Stephanie, who worked in marketing. “So, what do you do?” Stephanie asked brightly, reaching for the cranberry sauce.
“I’m in the army.”
“Oh, like recruiting? My cousin thought about joining once.”
“Something like that,” I said. Trevor leaned over.
“She’s basically middle management staff, government work. Can’t really get fired. You know how it is.”
I’d spent that morning in a secure video conference with the Secretary of Defense discussing the insertion timeline for a hostage rescue in the caucuses.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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