21st century money warriors.

Two bullets whizzed over their heads, landing with a thud on their SUV. Voids in the distance, shouting. The screech of tires ending at the pavement. Slow motion as they jumped from the vehicle into the embankment. Holes in the vehicle body as if driven with a chisel.

Staff Sergeant John Buxton felt the sand under his jacket, sounding like a small waterfall in the dry desert, on the edge of this dusty village. He tasted it in his mouth and it reminded him of high school football back in Texas. In this foxhole, beneath the sandbags someone smart had packed, his 9-millimeter in the holster on his hip, he felt just as he'd felt before a game: ready, eager, a trace of nervousness at wanting to be more than good, needing to be perfect. His father had told him the nervousness was a good sign; it meant you cared about your performance. John cared.

Another bullet overhead, white hot, too fast to see, but the sound matched the others. John couldn't see the impact on the sideboard from all the other holes.

He wasn't alone. With him was Elaina Taylor--simply "E" to her friends. John was active duty; E was a reservist. Normally a banker connecting Denver customers to their money, today she was also in a foxhole with sand slipping into her jacket and falling off the suede of her boots. Neither of them had grown up outside the United States, neither had aspired to fire weapons in anger, but both now carried weapons and the tools of their specialty on hand in their patriotism. There was nothing electronic that E couldn't figure out. Today called on all her resources.

"'Bux,' he said to me," started John out loud reaching for his black backpack, "'go buy me some gravel.'" He worked while he talked, hands feeling for the hundredth time that the cash he'd brought was intact. A precious backpack, precious cargo. How many times had he switched the bag with another while deployed to keep it inconspicuous? Carrying cash was the old way, and E represented the new way. They respected each other for their roles.

E smirked, "Why couldn't the boss have just asked for sand?" Dimples rose on her cheeks. Her khaki-covered helmet obscured her eyebrows. "It's everywhere." She opened the laptop and typed in coordinates of their location.

"Too easy for us," Bux said as he looked in his bag. Slight nod of the head in relief, it was all there in the bundles he'd prepared back at the base in the dark of the morning. "Accountability taken, all present and accounted for."

Elaina asked, "How many rounds did you bring?"

"Three clips. Last us a while unless they bring something to flush us out to the street."

At that they both collected their thoughts.

The good fight. The side of right. John had thought about it before today for some reason--part of a conversation overheard at the dining tent a few days back perhaps: "Why did you join?" "The good fight." It was another way to show care. Now it made clearer sense. Bullets flying in the air, long way from home, sand sticking to his skin at the neckline--the good fight, the side of right. Now the time to show your stuff, Bux. Now to put all the training to good use. What was a normal day at Beale Air Force Base was now a normal day in the Middle East.

"Why today?" John said aloud.

"Why not today?"

Bux looked at Elaina, the first time their eyes had met since leaping from the car for this cover. It suddenly came clearer, what he'd been thinking about, stewing upon. All the years of training: technical schools, short courses, career development courses, college at night, carwashes for the booster club, a beer with his buddies, a fishing trip on a smooth lake. The combat arms training, the self-aid buddy care, fitness tests, the leadership training, Airman Leadership School.

It was for today.

Elaina too had her own epiphany--a moment of clarity in the mayhem coming at the most opportune time. The hardship of leaving her parents for basic training, the technical training, the discovery that she was a natural at computers, the active duty assignments on both coasts, the choice to leave active duty for the reserves and return home to Colorado, the way she'd learned to view the news with a measure of understanding that this affected her in a personal way more than it affected her co-workers. The change that being called up represented.

It was for today.

"How long's it been?"

E looked at the laptop, "Fourteen minutes."

"No shots in a while," just as several zinged overhead into the side of their SUV. A tire blew out in a rush of escaping air.

"Good timing," Bux said, deadpan.

They were lean, seasoned veterans, trained to play a centerpiece role on the battlefield of the future--weapons carrying, money-toting, electronically enhanced troops. Twenty-first-century financial warriors. Roamers, wanderers, one operation to the next, world travelers for days like today. Warriors in its purest, most elegantly prepared sense.

Gone were the days of row after row of crank-driven adding machines, like the abacus versus the calculator. Now the advent of satellite-linked global positioning in the combat-ready laptop computers meant battlefield awareness. Immediate connectivity meant knowing not only how much funding was available, but also from a forward-looking dream, it meant intelligence for every warrior on the battlefield.

Today those warriors were Bux and E. Tomorrow it might be a crew from supply, transportation, or security forces. But today it was from finance.

Remaining are the days of cash payments to vendors in the back seat of SUVs, the need for linkup with contracting, the need for a legal opinion before wading into gray areas. All-weather, all-circumstance capable. Ready for the jungle, the mountains, the tropics, the desert.

Today, the desert.

Today meant speed, situational awareness, coordination of force protection as events unfolded before you. Technology push like intelligence push to the flyer--available for you on demand. Financial status always up to date, always immediately reflected in the "system," always known. Field to base to headquarters. Efficient, timely, accurate, simple.

Elaina said, "One time my commander remarked that when all the financial technology comes to fruition, we'll be replaced by a button."

"Make you feel small?" Sweat rolled down John's brow into his eyes. He wiped it away but felt the sting.

E felt for her 9-millimeter at her hip. "Until I realized that it meant I was able to be the true financial advisor, instead of the data person."

"Explain." Bux looped the backpack over his shoulder and prepared himself to shoot, metal lukewarm to his hand, even on this hot day.

"It let me concentrate on analysis and not data entry. It freed me from being clerical. Made me faster, made me more valuable. Especially to other services, in the joint world."

Bux weighed the statement. All the hard-earned enhancements led to less need for data entry, more need for competent and rational thought on why we spend on our priorities, and what those priorities encompassed.

Far off, the whump-whump-whump of a rotor blade rose in the distance. Growing now, then a second rotor behind it. Soon a reverberation of energy and sound as the rescue copter followed the attack helicopter to them. The guns exposed, they heard small-arms fire and made preparation to run to the landing zone, awaiting notification on secure comm over the laptop to proceed on the rescue team's mark.

"Got everything?"

E said, "All I brought was this," holding up the computer. "And my weapon."

Bux held tight to his backpack. Moments later they were aboard and safely away, headed back to base. No shots fired in defense, saved for another day. Maybe tomorrow.

E opened her laptop as the medic looked them over. "You know that gravel?" E asked, shouting over the noise.

Bux looked at her.

"Transaction has hit the system already. Mission complete."

Major Kalwant S. (Kevin) Smagh is commander of the 9th Comptroller Squadron, Beale Air Force Base, California. Major Smagh attended the United States Air Force Academy and graduated with a bachelor of science degree in management in 1988. He has held assignments in audit, acquisition, cost analysis, joint programming and has twice been a wing comptroller. A distinguished graduate of the Air Force's Financial Managers Staff Officer Course, he also holds a master's degree from the University of Oklahoma in economics and military operational art and science from the Air Force Command and Staff College. Military awards include the Defense Meritorious service medal and the Meritorious service medal. He is a member of the Forty-Niner Chapter of ASMC.