The Concrete Canopy Under Which Men Measure the Friction of Their Remaining Years
CHAPTER 1: THE FRICTION OF IRON The heat inside the hangar didn’t move; it settled into the marrow like the damp air of a low-altitude tarmac before dawn. Frank “Mac” MacAllister kept his right thumb hooked inside the lip of his denim pocket, his skin catching on the coarse weave until it met the cold,…