he

"Hard to blame him. He's afraid of casualties; the Eighty-Second's not exactly trained in crowd control."
"Crowd control may be the last thing he needs," Aston muttered.
"But he doesn't know that, and we can't tell him."
"All right. Cut to the bottom line, Mordecai."
"The way it looks, the first airlift—outside Guardsmen, airborne, or whatever—should be coming into Asheville Airport in four or five hours . . . by which time, the first wave of Kluxers and Nazis will have been there for hours, and the maniacs from the other side will be arriving, too."
"Shit," Aston said again, then looked at Ludmilla. "All right, there's no time for you to fly around looking for him, Milla. If he's behind this, the only way to stop it is to stop him. Fast."
"I agree," she said softly.
"Mordecai," Aston said into the phone, "tell Anson we're going in."
"Now, Dick? Into the middle of all that?"
"Right now," Aston said