closed the door. He sat on the toilet and took off his boots, then stripped out of his flight suit and underwear and got under the shower.
Ursula looked at the closed bathroom door, then started taking off her clothing. When she judged he had had enough time to take off his clothing and get under the shower, she went to the bathroom, saw him vaguely behind the steamed glass door, smiled when she heard him talking to himself, then pulled open the glass door and got in the shower stall with him.
[ SEVEN ]
Apartment 10-C, The Immoquateur
Stanleyville, Oriental Province
Republic of the Congo
2055 8 April 1965
The word is surreal, Captain James J. Dugan decided as he looked around the living room of Apartment 10-C. The last week has been surreal, from the moment I was told to call the Office of the Commanding General at Fort Riley. I know better than to think this is a dream from which I will wake up, but that’s what it feels like, and the word for that is surreal.
Captain Dugan was wearing the uniform of a major of Congolese paratroops, complete in every detail to the Browning 9-mm automatic pistol in a web holster. First Lieutenant Paul W. Matthews was wearing the uniform of a Congolese captain of paratroops.
As they had put on the uniforms, under the direction of a Congolese captain of paratroops named DeeGee, who confessed that he was really Sergeant First Class Andrew DeGrew of the 17th Special Forces Detachment, Lieutenant Matthews had made a little joke:
“Yesterday, I ain’t never even seen a captain of Congolese paratroops, and today I are one.”
When they had pressed Sergeant DeGrew for details of what was going on, DeGrew had politely told them that “The Major” would explain what was going on over dinner, which would be served at 2100 in Captain Portet’s apartment.
Once satisfied with their appearance, DeeGee/DeGrew had left them alone in apartment 8-F with two bona fide Congolese paratroop sergeants, who would, DeGrew explained, serve as both their orderlies and their bodyguards. Using sign language, one of the sergeants had managed to communicate that there was beer, if the officers wished, and at 2050, the other had managed to communicate that it was time to go to dinner.
There were two paratroopers outside the door of Apartment 10-C, whom Dugan and Matthews judged to be bona fide because both bore facial scars obviously intended to enhance their beauty.
Captain DeeGee opened the door to them, a Car-16 slung from his shoulder, and indicated the direction of the living room.
A white man in a U.S. Army flight suit without any insignia of any kind was sitting on the floor playing patty-cake, patty-cake, with the blond infant who had been on the 707. The blonde was nowhere in sight.
There was a coffee table, on which had been arranged a selection of hors d’oeuvres, and a barefooted African in a starched white jacket was standing behind a small bar. The Congolese lieutenant colonel now identified as Major Lunsford was at the bar with two other men: the captain of the 707, and the Congolese captain who had been at the foot of the aircraft steps and told them saluting wasn’t necessary, he was a Spec7.
And I never saw a Spec7 before today, either, although I’ve heard of them, Captain Dugan thought.
A second barefoot black man in a starched white jacket came into the room through a swinging door, carrying a huge platter holding a small roast pig with an apple in its mouth. The enormous black woman from the 707 followed him, and showed him where she wanted it laid on a large dining table. Then she followed him back through the swinging doors.
“Welcome,” the airline captain said. “Come on over and have a drink.”
“You’re Major Lunsford, sir?” Captain Dugan asked, offering his hand.
“Welcome to the Congo, Captain,” Lunsford said, shaking his hand, then offering his hand to Matthews with a nod.
“You’ve met Spec7 Peters, I understand?” Lunsford said.
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
“The proud daddy on the floor is Lieutenant Geoff Craig, my exec.”
Craig waved at them, then held the infant’s arm so that the infant could wave, too.
“Which one of you is better at dropping things from L-19 hardpoints?” Craig asked. “Specifically, into a clearing maybe twice the size of this room? A clearing in some really heavy bush?”
Dugan and Matthews looked at each other, but neither replied.