his mind where to assign him,” Lowell repeated, and Hanrahan understood there was something going on that Lowell was unwilling to talk about on the telephone.
“Okay.”
“So he’ll probably be coming back there,” Lowell said. “In a week, ten days, something like that.”
“Okay. I don’t know how he’s fixed for uniforms. Can he travel in fatigues?”
“No problem. We can get him something to wear here.”
“Okay. He’ll be ready when Craig gets here, which should be any minute. Anything else?”
“Is Patricia handy?”
“Hang on,” Hanrahan said, and handed the telephone to his wife, who beamed when he handed her the phone, and whose affection for Craig Lowell was evident in her voice and visible on her face.
He had no idea what Lowell said to his wife, although it produced peals of laughter, and when he had finished speaking with her, she handed the telephone to Marjorie.
He had no idea what Uncle Craig said to Marjorie, but at one point she blushed attractively and stole a look at Jack Portet, and when she was finished she handed the telephone to Jack.
He had no idea what Lieutenant Colonel Lowell said to Sergeant Portet, but it had Jack chuckling.
Finally, Jack put the telephone in its cradle.
“The condition of your nose permitting, Sergeant Portet, you are about to take an R and R in the vicinity of Key Largo, Florida,” Hanrahan said.
“An R and R?” Jack questioned curiously.
“It stands for Rest and Recuperation Leave,” Hanrahan said.
It is sometimes called I&I, which stands for Intercourse and Intoxication. I am looking at the only Special Forces sergeant in history who doesn’t know that.
But on the other hand, there are a number of Special Forces sergeants who have never heard a shot fired in anger. This one, according to Father Lunsford, behaved damned well when he was being shot at.
General Hanrahan had more or less the same thought when, a few minutes later, he opened his door to a tanned young man in expensive civilian clothing:
This one behaved well, too, although to look at him, you would never suspect that he’s a Green Beret officer, and a Vietnam veteran who’s entitled to wear a Combat Infantry Badge, the Silver Star, two Bronze Stars, and three Purple Hearts.
Geoffrey Craig had been a sergeant with an eight-man A Team on an isolated hilltop. They had fifty of the Mung tribesmen with them. The Vietcong had attacked with a battalion. Geoff and twenty-odd Mung had lived through the assault, and he had come off the hilltop with a Silver Star, his third Purple Heart, and a battlefield commission.
“Hey, Geoff,” Hanrahan said, putting out his hand. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“Good morning, sir,” Geoff Craig said. “I hope going by the headquarters was the right thing to do?”
“Absolutely. Come on in. Have you had your breakfast?”
“Coffee and a fried egg sandwich, sir.”
“Patricia will be happy to remedy that,” Hanrahan said, then asked, “I thought Pappy Hodges was with you?”
“He has friends here, sir. We’re to meet him at Pope at eleven hundred. Will that give us time to get Portet in from Mackall?”
“He’s here. And so is Marjorie Bellmon.”
“I saw the car,” Craig said, inclining his head toward the driveway, where a red Jaguar convertible was parked.
Hanrahan hadn’t noticed the car when Marjorie arrived.
“She drove up last night,” Hanrahan said.
And won’t that give my neighbors something to talk about over their morning coffee. “Did you see the Jaguar, with the enlisted man’s sticker, in the Hanrahan driveway? I wonder what that’s all about?”
“Jack told us that Ursula and the baby came through that nightmare all right,” Patricia Hanrahan said as he walked into the kitchen. “I’m so happy for you, Geoff.”
“Thank you. They’re at Ocean Reef with my father and mother. And Jack’s folks. That’s where we’re headed,” he said, and went to Jack Portet, who stood up as he approached. They embraced each other briefly and wordlessly, but the affection between them was clear.
“And Miss Marjorie,” Geoff said, turning to her. “You’re a long way from the bank, aren’t you?”
“If I wasn’t so glad to see you, I’d tell you to go to hell,” Marjorie said. “Ursula and the baby are really all right?”
“Absolutely. No small thanks to your boyfriend. You heard about his John Wayne act?”
“Why don’t you shut up, Geoff?” Jack Portet said.
“No, I haven’t,” Marjorie said.
“Quickly changing the subject—” Jack said.
“Cutting to the chase,” Geoff said, interrupting him, amused. “He’s about to be invested in the Order of Leopold, in the grade of Chevalier, for conspicuous gallantry in action—”