“And since he had flown all the way here from Rucker, I figured nothing would be lost if I showed him around. If nothing else, he’ll see if anybody understands him when he tries to speak Swahili.”
“I get the idea, sir,” Thomas said.
“I’ll remind you again, Lieutenant,” Lunsford said, “that anything you see here is classified, you’re not to discuss it with anyone—are you married?”
“No, sir.”
“You seemed to hesitate, Lieutenant.”
“I’m about to married, sir—23 December, sir.”
“That will probably keep you from being assigned to us,” Lunsford said thoughtfully. “Maybe we shouldn’t show you around. Oh, to hell with it. We’re here. To get back to what I was saying: You will not discuss anything you see here in any way with anyone, and that includes your fiancée, or, when she becomes your wife, with your wife. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does the young lady speak Swahili?”
“No, sir.”
“I thought perhaps she was also studying to be a missionary,” Lunsford said. “Okay, Sergeant, if you’ll give the lieutenant a thirty-minute tour of the establishment, I’ll have time to snoop around here and see how you’ve been screwing things up.”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Thomas said.
“Make sure he speaks to every man,” Lunsford said. “Have everybody on the team explain his function. In Swahili.”
“Yes, sir. If you’ll get in the jeep with me, Lieutenant?”
When Master Sergeant Thomas was sure they had driven far enough to be out of Major Lunsford’s sight, he turned to Jack.
“Lieutenant, is your Swahili good enough for you to understand what I’ll be saying? No offense, sir.”
“I’m having a little trouble understanding you, Sergeant,” Jack said. “But maybe if you spoke slowly . . .”
“I’ll try, sir,” Sergeant Thomas said. “Now, what we are trying to do here, Lieutenant, is simulate, as well as we can, what life would be like for a Special Forces team operating clandestinely in a sub-Saharan African country.”
“Very interesting,” Jack said.
When they returned to the landing strip, and the small collection of tarpaper-roofed crude frame buildings around it, thirty minutes later, they found Lunsford sitting on the steps to one of the buildings.
He did not get up as they approached, and returned their salutes with a casual wave of the hand.
“See anything interesting, Lieutenant Portet?” he asked in Swahili.
“Yes, sir. It was very interesting.”
“And did the lieutenant have any trouble conversing with you, or any of the men, in Swahili?”
“Not much, sir,” Master Sergeant Thomas answered graciously.
Lunsford raised his hand in the manner of a clergyman blessing his flock.
“By the power vested in me by God, the President of the United States, and General Hanrahan, I declare a training schedule amnesty for all hands,” Lunsford said. “You will go get them, Sergeant Thomas, and bring them back here. And when you do, Lieutenant Portet will critique our little operation.”
“Sir?” Thomas asked incredulously.
“It’s truth time, Sergeant Thomas,” Lunsford said. “And the first truthful answer I would like from you is whether you have had your run today.”
“No, sir,” Thomas said.
“Then why don’t you kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, and jog out to the men, and lead them as they jog back here for the lieutenant’s critique?” He turned to Jack. “We in Special Forces have found, Lieutenant,” he went on, “that a daily jog of no more than five miles keeps the body in tip-top shape for our strenuous duties. Isn’t that so, Sergeant Thomas?”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Thomas said.
“Put your heart in it, Sergeant,” Lunsford said. “We don’t want to keep Lieutenant Portet waiting around, do we?”
“No, sir,” Sergeant Thomas said, visibly fuming.
He turned and started to trot off down the road.
Jack looked at Lunsford.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“This is what is known as setting the stage, Lieutenant,” Lunsford said. “Unless I am truly mistaken, what Sergeant Thomas is going to do, when he arrives, huffing and puffing, at the campsite, is say, ‘You’re not going to believe this, but what we’re going to do is jog back to the airstrip where that honky-motherfucker of a candy-ass airplane driver is going to tell us what we’re doing wrong,’ or words to that effect.”
Jack chuckled.
“Why are you trying to piss him—everybody—off?”
Lunsford said, “If you’re trying to teach somebody something—anything—” Lunsford said, very seriously, “the first thing you have to do is get their attention. That’s particularly true with a group like this. The junior man out there is a staff sergeant. They’re all fully qualified Green Berets, and with more than a little justification, they think—they know—they’re pretty hot stuff. And unless