He could choose a village for obliteration between mouthfuls of tapioca pudding just by thumping a map on his dining-room table in the White House, aides deferential, servants quiet. The killing was half a world away.
When his orders went out he would stay up to count the planes as they came home. If there were stragglers he slept fitfully. "You wake up like an alarm clock at 3:30 to see if they're back." Every detail was flashed to the Commander in Chief. It was his war, just like all those bills up on the Hill were his bills. He tried...
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