circumstances, Sergeant Wandowski had decided, it behooved him to be at the main gate around 2200. He knew there was a courier flight arriving at the airfield around 2130, and it seemed likely this Major McCoy would be on it.
When he saw an Air Force jeep approaching just after 2200, Sergeant Wandowski congratulated himself on his foresight. If one of the swabbie pecker-checkers fucked up meeting this major—which was very likely—it would have been his ass in the crack, not theirs.
“I’ll handle this one,” he said to the swabbie on duty, and stepped out of the guard shack, crisply raising his hand to stop the jeep.
An Air Force buck sergeant was driving the jeep. If his passenger was a Marine major, he goddamned sure didn’t look like it.
He was coverless, insignia-less, and wearing an Army field jacket.
Whatever it was, it did not rate a salute, and Sergeant Wandowski did not offer one.
“What can I do for you?” he demanded.
“You can tell me where I can find Brigadier General Pickering,” McCoy said.
“Never heard of him,” Sergeant Wandowski said, both truthfully and as sort of a challenge.
“Trust me, Sergeant,” McCoy said. “He’s somewhere around here. How about getting on the horn and calling the officer of the guard and asking?”
“I’m the officer of the guard,” Wandowski said.
“Then call the officer of the day,” McCoy said patiently.
“Can I ask who you are?”
“My name is McCoy,” McCoy said.
“You’re Major McCoy?”
McCoy nodded.
Sergeant Wandowski was unable to accept that.
“Sir, have you got any identification?”
“Get on the horn—and right now, Sergeant,” McCoy said icily. “Call the OD and tell him to get word to General Pickering that Major McCoy is at the gate.”
There was something about Major McCoy’s tone of voice that made Sergeant Wandowski decide that he really didn’t have to check the major’s ID card.
He picked up the telephone, and had the operator connect him with the commanding officer’s quarters.
“Hold the major there, Sergeant,” Captain Schermer ordered. “Someone will be there shortly.”
Captain Schermer’s Navy-gray 1950 Ford station wagon rolled up to the main gate several minutes later. A Marine captain, who looked like a circus strong man, jumped out of the front passenger seat and walked quickly to where Sergeant Wandowski was standing by the Air Force jeep. Sergeant Wandowski saluted.
The Marine captain returned the salute.
“Good evening, sir,” he said.
Major McCoy, shaking his head, returned the salute.
“The general’s compliments, sir,” the Marine captain went on. “The general hopes that you had a pleasant flight, sir, and asks that you join him in his car.”
Sergeant Wandowski took a closer look at the Ford station wagon. There was a man in the backseat from whose collar points and epaulets gleamed the silver stars of a brigadier general. Sergeant Wandowski popped to attention and saluted. The general returned the salute.
“Thank you, Captain,” McCoy said. “I would be delighted to do so.” He got out of the Air Force jeep, said, “Thanks for the ride, Sergeant,” to the driver, and walked toward the Ford. The captain ran ahead of him, pulled the rear door of the station wagon open, and stood to attention as Major McCoy got in the back beside the brigadier general. Then he ran around the front and got in beside the driver.
As the station wagon drove away, Sergeant Wandowski saluted again. The captain returned his salute.
“What the hell was that all about?” Brigadier General Pickering asked.
“Considering the circumstances,” Captain George F. Hart said, “I thought a little levity was in order.”
“What circumstances, George?” McCoy asked.
“Where should I start?” Hart said. “For openers, Banning showed up with a hair up his ass, and the boss had to pull it out of him that Milla’s in the hospital in Charleston with breast cancer.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“You could have phrased that with a bit more tact, and substantially more respect for a senior officer,” Pickering said. “But let’s start with you, Ken. How are you?”
“Fine, sir.”
“Then you weren’t wounded very early this morning?”
“How’d you hear about that?” McCoy asked, genuinely surprised. “I took a little shrapnel hit, nothing serious.”
“We shall shortly find out how accurate a statement that is,” Pickering said.
“Sir?”
Pickering pointed out the windshield. McCoy looked and saw they were approaching a three-story building. An illuminated arrow pointed to the emergency entrance.
“General, I just had this thing bandaged. . . .”
“And now the hospital commander himself is going to have a look at it,” Pickering said.
Two hospital Corpsmen, a nurse, and a gurney were waiting outside the emergency room door.