going to get it back,” Thomas said. “That is, if the Rations and Quarters Officer is wise enough to delegate that responsibility to the senior NCO of this organization.”
“Sergeants, as you should know, having been one, are the backbone of the Army,” Lunsford said. “It would behoove you to pay attention to Sergeant Thomas. Say ‘yes, sir.’ ”
“Yes, sir,” Jack said.
“I was thinking of R and R,” Lunsford said. “Christ only knows how long we’ll be here. I’ll set up a week’s TDY to South Africa, every couple of months, on a roster. We will call them ‘local purchases missions’ and it won’t be charged as leave. If there’s excess money in the rations and quarters fund, we can pass it out to the troops.”
“That’s not legal,” Captain Smythe protested.
Lunsford looked at him with his eyebrows raised.
“Since you have been a sort of half Green Beanie not quite long enough to get your sweatband greasy,” Lunsford said, “I will overlook that stupid comment, Captain. But don’t ever again offer a legal opinion of one of my decisions. Say ‘yes, sir.’ ”
He was smiling, but Smythe—and everybody else—knew he was serious.
“Yes, sir,” Captain Smythe said.
The steaks were served, and they were just about finished with them when there was movement on the verandah.
“Why do I think we’re about to see General Mobutu?” Lunsford asked softly as two Congolese paratroopers moved quickly across the lawn to take up defensive positions, and two more stepped onto the patio.
“I didn’t hear any sirens, did you?” Jack asked.
Lunsford shook his head.
“Maybe he knows he’s important,” Lunsford said.
Joseph Désiré Mobutu stepped onto the verandah, followed by Dr. Howard Dannelly. Mobutu was wearing camouflage fatigues and jump boots. Dannelly was in a tropical-weight gray suit.
“Jacques, mon vieux!” Mobutu called out, smiling and waving his hand as he came off the verandah and started across the lawn.
“Why do I think he wants something?” Lunsford asked softly as he got to his feet.
“Welcome, my general,” Jack said in Swahili. “And you, Doctor.”
Lunsford came to attention in his bathing trunks, and saluted. Mobutu returned it, then embraced Jack.
“I am here as a friend, not officially,” Mobutu said in Swahili.
“Then hello, Joseph,” Jack said. “Can I offer you a beer? Lunch?”
“Just a beer, thank you,” Mobutu said, and sat down at the table, and motioned for Dannelly to take a chair.
Without orders, Nimbi came quickly across the lawn carrying a tray with more beer and a pitcher of orange juice.
Jack waited until Mobutu had taken a beer, and orange juice had been poured for Dannelly.
“General, may I present these three soldiers? This is Captain Smythe, who will be Colonel Supo’s pilot; Master Sergeant Thomas, our sergeant major; and Specialist Peters, who will be in charge of communications.”
Mobutu looked at each of them carefully.
Taking their cue from Lunsford, Smythe and Peters saluted.
“How do you do, sir?” Thomas said in English.
“Unfortunately, neither Captain Smythe nor Specialist Peters speaks either French or Swahili,” Lunsford said in Swahili, “but we’re going to try to teach them.”
Mobutu smiled at Thomas, possibly because they looked as if they could be brothers, returned his salute, and offered him his hand.
“What’s wrong with the little one’s leg?” Mobutu asked. “And what is a specialist? Is he a soldier?”
“He is a fine soldier, my general,” Thomas said in Swahili. “He hurt his leg during his last jump—”
“He’s a parachutist?” Mobutu asked, doubtfully.
“Oh, yes, my general,” Lunsford said. “And despite his injury, he insisted on coming here with us. He is perhaps the best special operations communications man in the Army. As a specialist of his grade, he is paid what a master sergeant is paid.”
Mobutu beamed at Peters, reached for his hand, and pumped it enthusiastically. Peters, who hadn’t understood a word of the exchange, smiled nervously.
“How is your wife, Captain Portet?” Dannelly asked in English.
“It’s Lieutenant, Doctor,” Jack corrected him, now speaking English. “And she is fine, and at this moment waiting for my call. There’s trouble with the circuits.”
“Mr. Finton tells me that her father is a fine Christian officer and gentleman,” Dannelly said.
“And her mother is a fine Christian lady,” Jack said.
“Well, then, I guess we can hope they will all be a good influence on you, can’t we?”
“I’m sure they will be, Doctor,” Jack said.
It was obvious from the look on his face that Captain Smythe was wondering what that exchange was all about.
“I said I was here personally, as a friend, Jacques,” Mobutu said in Swahili. “We have to talk about Air Simba. Do you