should be waiting for him there, soon. He should be saving his money, and not spending it on all this ritzy shit, Alexander had told him, or else how could he buy in on anything? Any of the deals?
After a while, he started the car and the heater and drove home to his quarters. In the tiny room he drank the two remaining glasses of white wine in a bottle he had there, and without taking off any of his clothes except the trim winter blouse, fell on the bed and went sound asleep.
He was awakened by the phone, ringing. He woke confused, thinking it was the sound-power field phone from the battalion command post; Col Becker. He was out in the big open field again. And fuck Col Becker. Col Becker couldn’t help. Col Becker couldn’t even see them, from where Becker was. The mortars were falling on them fore and aft, again. He could see that from where he stood. He was shouting and waving at them frantically and screaming again, “Get them out of there! Get them out of there! Can’t you see what they’re doing? They’re bracketing in on them! Get them out of there!” He bit it back with his teeth, as he sat up and looked at the ordinary, everyday phone as if it were some foreign, alien object on the little bedside stand. Even from this far away, he could see the great white eyes of the platoons, white-white in their muddy faces, looking back at him. For help.
When he picked up the black phone out of its cradle, and cautiously asked who it was, clearing his throat so it would not sound husky, it was Jack Alexander.
He had not cried out. He was sure he hadn’t. As long as he didn’t cry it out loud, the sentence, as long as he didn’t tell anybody about it, or need to tell anybody about it, as long as nobody knew, he would be all right, he was sure he would be.
“Well, what do you want?” he said, more sharply than he had meant to say it.
“Don’t bite my head off,” the thick voice said. “I just called up to congratulate you. I don’t know what you said to the Old Man but you sure sold him.”
“I got him to promise to talk to that lieutenant,” Winch said.
“Yes. No, I don’t mean about Landers. I mean about you. I don’t know what you said, but he came away thinking you’re about the greatest guy that ever lived,” the voice said dryly.
“I didn’t tell him anything about me,” Winch said.
“I of course did not tell him the truth,” the heavy voice said coyly, in a ponderous try at a joke.
Winch tried to get hold of himself. “Yeah. I’m glad you didn’t give me away.”
Alexander didn’t waste breath on any laugh. “I’m to get hold of that lieutenant tomorrow. The Old Man even called me at home. But I’m on call to him all the time, anyway. So we’ll talk to the lieutenant tomorrow. Things are looking a good deal better for your boy Landers.”
“But what we’ve got to do is to get Hogan to withdraw all those charges. That’s the main thing.”
“That asshole,” Alexander said. “He’s so anxious to get in good with Stevens, he’ll squat and strain if Stevens hollers ‘shit.’ Don’t worry about him.”
“Well, then it looks pretty good.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it does. Say, listen, are you coming on into town tonight? Because—”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Winch said cautiously.
“There’s a couple of guys from out of town going to be here,” Alexander said. “Important guys. It would be a good thing for you to meet them.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Winch said. “But I’ll try to get in.”
“Do it if you can. We’ll be at my game at the Claridge. They carry a lot of weight in certain places. Know senators and people.” The voice seemed to know that he wasn’t going to come, anyway, but nevertheless felt required to go on and do its duty just the same. “Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, otherwise.” The voice and the phone went dead.
Winch put the phone down and sat and looked at it. The nightmare, so familiar now in all its details, was as strong in his mind as the real conversation. He had no desire to be with Alexander tonight, and no intention of going to the Claridge. Desolation ran all through him and was like the taste of biting on some old