He favored me with a level stare. "Be glad we didn't conduct this exercise with those damned forty-fives."

"What do you mean, sir?" I asked. (I never knew when to keep my mouth shut.) "Well, everybody knows how inaccurate these forty-year-old pistols are."

"Oh. Uh, right." And barely remembered to add, "Sir." It never fails to amaze me how many otherwise knowledgeable people have bought that particular myth. The forty-five automatic is one of the finest combat pistols ever made.

The sergeant caught my eye. "Say, Lieutenant," he interjected, his face a mask of deadpan sincerity, "are you a bettin' man?" I didn't know what he was up to; but sometimes even I know when not to jostle somebody's elbow.

The lieutenant looked puzzled for a moment. "I only bet on sure things, Sergeant."

"Well, would you be willing to bet me twenty dollars that Barnes can't knock down three out of five of the pop-up targets from here with your forty-five?" Suddenly I understood. Quickly, though not without effort, I affected what I hoped would pass for a worried expression.

"Sergeant," drawled the L-T, "I don't as a rule steal money from subordinates; but I will pick it up when I find it thrown away."

He pulled out his forty-five, shucked the top two rounds out of the magazine, turned to me, and said, "You know how to work one of these things, boy?"

"I think so, sir." I took it from him with both hands and turned it over and around like a chimpanzee inspecting a new toy. I didn't quite stare down the muzzle; I thought that might be overdoing it.

I glanced up at the lieutenant. "Uh, sir, could I get Gary Vernon to spot for me?"

By this time Lieutenant Donaldson was visibly having trouble restraining a smile. "Sure, why not.

Sergeant, have 'em stand up a target on this lane and set it for automatic reset." (Who says the gods don't have a sense of humor . . . ?) I took up my stance. Rather than the wimpy one-handed pistol stance shown in "the book," I use the solid two-handed "Weaver stance." The first round thumped into the backstop one hundred meters away, a little high, I knew, because I saw the dirt fly.

Gary called out, "Looks like it was just over the shoulder on the left."

So I dropped the sights to the lower right-hand corner of the target and squeezed again, and this time when the pistol came down from recoiling the target was falling. Three seconds later the target had reset; in another three, it was down again.While waiting for the target to reset for the fourth shot, it occurred to me that I had a golden opportunity to correct not only the lieutenant's misapprehension; but potentially even to send a message concerning common-sense methods back up the chain of command.

Twenty dollars isn't much of a lesson. . . .

Carefully I planted the fourth shot in the backstop to one side of the target; then pushed the safety up and lowered the pistol. Glancing over my shoulder, I said, "Sergeant, youare splitting that twenty dollars with me, aren't you?"

The sergeant's smile reminded me of a TV minister reviewing his ratings. "Long as you share it with the boys."

"Lieutenant, sir, how much is it worth toyou for me to miss this next one?"

Donaldson snorted. "Soldier, I hardly think two hits out of four are reason to gloat."

"Double or nothing, sir?" Richard Nixon would have been proud to claim the look of wide-eyed innocence I achieved at that moment.

"You're on!"

I let my face relax into a grin. I slipped off the safety, took careful aim, and pulled the trigger.

While watching the lieutenant dig out his money, I noticed that Crater was handing a few bills to Simpkins. "You asshole," I blurted indignantly, "you bet against me!"

He grinned. "No, you sorry shit. I bet you'd hit four."

The lieutenant watched the sergeant hand me a twenty. He looked around thoughtfully; then said, "You know, back at Virginia Military Institute, Captain Proctor was fond of saying that hard experience had taught him that the book didn't have all the answers. He regularly advised us to keep our eyes open in the field. Maybe this is what he meant. I guess a second lieutenantcan learn from his platoon sergeant.

And an occasional private."

Brown's eyes twinkled as he said, "Good thinking, sir."

The lieutenant was actually grinning as he walked off.

Unfortunately, I didn't have long to gloat. A day and a half later, Sergeant Brown walked in on us as we packed our gear to head out. Wally had been telling Crater that he was flying his wife, Annie, over for the holidays, and Gary and I had been making our final plans to go on the annual tour of the HK firearms factory over in Oberndorf am Neckar next weekend, something we'd been planning for at least ten weeks.

When Brown shut the door and didn't say anything at all, I got an itch between my shoulder blades that wouldn't go away. Something about his expression made it worse.

Crater missed it. "So, how did Second Relief do on the range yesterday?" he asked breezily.

"Not bad. We got back early, too-we didn't let them use the 'French PX' after you guys and Sergeant Pritchard bought that case of French wine yesterday. By the way"-his mood lightened momentarily-"how was it?"

"Most likely just like the bottle we left in your room, Sergeant, sir," Crater said innocently.

"Oh. -Oh! That's where that came from. Thanks." Brown's flinch was visible this time; the news must bereally bad. "The lieutenant didn't think Captain Jones would appreciate it if he let you guys keep buying black-market booze from the back of a deuce-and-a-half."

Then he turned to me. I could see in his eyes that he was about to drop a shoe-first or second didn't matter; I knew I wasn't going to like it. Diffidently he said, "Say, Barnes, didn't you spend some of your time off this past week teaching Johnson how to shoot?"

Uh-oh. "Yeah, Johnson and all those other no-gos on that relief. Why?" (Neverever show off in front of second lieutenants: they'll either bust your ass-or put you to work. Donaldson was the latter type. I'd spent hours out in that freezing snow drilling those idiots, showing them how to hold their weapons properly, how to read their sight pictures accurately, how not to jerk on the trigger or take adeep breath for luck just as you're squeezing the shot off. . . .) Brown grimaced. "Well, all the others did okay; but Johnson didn't even qualify."

"That's no surprise," Wally groused. "He doesn't qualify to be a human being."

"Well, damn." So that's what had been dripping off the fan blades. "I knew he wasn't paying attention; but I've never hadany body not qualify." To the astonishment of nearly everyone, I'd even managed to nurse Butler through his qualification.

"Well, you have now," Brown said. "Fortunately, one of the other platoons in training has the range today and the L-T wants you to take Johnson over right now and get him qualified."

Now? As inright now?

Great . . .

I truly loved this guy-I hadn't had any real time off in a week, and now I got to play wet nurse. I sighed. "So who's coming off our shift to take Johnson's place on the other relief?"

Johnson's relief worked opposite us on the missile site; when we were on site, they were either off duty or pulling patrols, and vice versa. We rarely saw the guys on the other relief (except when we changed reliefs), unless someone changed shifts and they shuffled people around.

Brown wouldn't meet my eyes. I knew then that my suspicion had been right on the money.

Another shoewas falling and it had my name on it.

"Well-l-l," Brown drawled, gaze glued to the ceiling, "we don't really have anybody on slack.

Peters fell and sprained his knee on the ice yesterday, and the L-T let Wilson go in this morning 'cause his wife's having a baby, and Whitney has pneumonia. One of you guys is going to have to pull forty-eight hours straight and be on the other relief for a while."

"I wouldn't take his place if his life depended on it!" Wally exploded.

Fuck. I hate it when the handwriting on the wall conflicts with my plans. I avoided looking at Gary.

I was already seeing red, and he hadn't even said it yet. Good of the unit . . .

"I'll do it," he said. Just as I knew he was going to.

Wally and Crater made outraged sounds: "Hey, man, you can't-" "Sheeiit, Vernon, what're you doin'; you crazy all of a sudden?"

I lunged to my feet. "Damn you to hell, Vernon! You know goddamn well if you switch with that little prickhead, the HK tour is screwed-"

Gary met my eyes squarely. "Randy, hang on to your temper a minute-"

"Fuck you very much, Vernon."

I turned without another word and left with my gear slung across my back, not even stomping or hurrying. When I got to the door, I slammed it open and stalked out into the cold.

Dammit! It was about time Vernon let somebody else take the shit for a change.Screw morale . . .

along with everything else about the goddamned Army. . . .

As I stormed toward the waiting jeep-where Johnson already huddled, looking less miserable than he was going to by the time I got through with his ass-I wondered if I'd get any sleep on the drive over.

Johnson grinned at me and said, "Hey, man, you know how it is . . ." with that stupid look of his pasted all over his bony face.

I wanted to shoot him.

Instead, I drove out to the goddamned range with him, and got the misbegotten little shirker qualified. By the time we finished, Johnson wasn't smiling anymore. Hell, by the time I finished with him, I wasn't sure Archibald Johnson would ever smile again, and didn't give a bald rat's ass one way or the other. It didn't help my temper any to realize that while Gary Vernon's pact with Odin had brought him nothing but good luck, mine seemed to have brought nothing but bad.

Chapter Five

My footsteps rattled around the cavern like angry wasps inside a falling nest. Whoever said to beware asking the gods for gifts knew what they were talking about. (Which made me wonder how many other mortals had been royally screwed down the ages.) I hadn't asked for much; just something to believe in on those endless nights in the missile site's guard towers, where hours and hours of deadly boredom alternated with occasional moments of lethal peril. Just something to believe in, for those excruciating seconds when all hell would break loose, and a man didn't know which direction death might come from next.

Well, I'd gotten exactly what I'd asked for. Odin had let me have it, both barrels.

And in all the chaos, I hadn't apologized to Gary.

He'd only done exactly the kind of thing I'd always admired most about him. Given his silver tongue, I should have realized he could talk his way back onto our shift again before the scheduled HK factory tour. I certainly should have realized that morale reallywas that important. Soldiers who don't give a damn anymore make mistakes that get people killed. Both of us had ended up mad enough at each other-and at the system in general-to be just that little bit less cautious than normal. When the gods are watching, that's all it takes.

I should have apologized.

Archibald Johnson took Gary's place on Tower Five. I hadn't said much. The guys understood, and let me stew in silence. As though echoing my mood, ice formed on the tower's windows-from the inside-and blocked my view. Double chain-link fences and a treeless perimeter were all I had to look at for the next few wretched hours, but they beat looking at Archie Johnson.

I rubbed the windows with a scrap of dirty toweling, and muttered obscenities at the heater. I couldn't really fault it. Whoever had ordered it, back Stateside, they hadn't taken into account the plywood-and-glass box on stilts where it was going to be used. The idiot obviously hadn't figured on German winters, either. The heater was doing its best, faced with impossible demands.

I winced. I'd made some pretty impossible demands of my own, then ended by telling my best friend to go to hell.

I was not proud of myself.

So I scrubbed the windows and scowled out at the perimeter, with a black sky and black thoughts and glittering ice for company, and wondered how to apologize. My breath froze into little slivers of ice on contact with the glass. Tomorrow morning-first thing-I would put on my best hangdog expression and go find him.

Earlier, Wally had said that Gary was going into town tonight with some of the guys: Hill and Rosetti and a couple of others I didn't know very well. Wally had also said he'd looked mad as a two-dollar whore stiffed by a fifty-cent john. Which hadn't sounded at all like Gary Vernon, and made me feel even lower and slimier than I already did. A night off ought to leave him in a better mood, anyway; maybe good enough to accept an apology from a first-class asshole.

I sighed, and used my sleeve to wipe away ice crystals. Deep shadows lurked beneath the trees out beyond the perimeter. They hid secrets from the stars. Too quiet out there. Some nights silence was a relief; but others . . . Nights likethose a man was glad when the sun came up to find him still breathing.

I decided to listen in on the phone, just to hear human voices. Chuck had just delivered the punchline of a joke. I winced, and wondered what had led up to "-so she sucked his apples!" Laughter erupted over the line.

When the chortling died down, the platoon's Clark Kent finally decided to include me in the conversation. "Say, Barnes," Wally asked, "what are you planning to do after you leave us behind?

You're getting pretty short, now, aren't you?""Me?" I forced a rusty-sounding laugh. "Anything but re-up." For some reason, that earned laughter.

"What, you're not tired of the Army life, are you?" Crater snickered. "How about Vernon? He's due to re-up ordidi out pretty soon, too, isn't he? Do you know what his plans are?"

I sighed. "Yeah. He's going to give college a try, go ROTC, and come back to haunt you bums as a butter bar."

"ROTC?".

"A second lieutenant?"

Chuck's response was even more eloquent: "An effin'officer . . . ?"

"Sure. First a grunt, then a Special Forces officer, then a state rep, then a congressman, then president-and pretty soon he'll be running the whole show." Laughter greeted that assessment.

I wasn't kidding about Special Forces, though. Just because he'd resigned from the program as an enlisted man did not mean the door was closed-at least, not for Gary Vernon. For just about anybody else, yes; but not for Gary. Sneaky Peek, that was his goal, and I wished him all the luck making it to Special Forces. He probably would, too. Gary could work within the system, or at least get around it on the sly without getting into trouble.

I envied him that skill. When I saw something wrong, I needed to fix it right then. I'd already gotten busted for doing the right thing when an officer had told us to do the wrong thing. And, knowing myself, I figured I'd do the same thing again if it came down to it; which was why Gary had a future in the Army, and I didn't. At least hehad a goal. The only thing I knew for sure was there was no way I was going to re-up into this Army.

"Shit, sounds good to me," Crater muttered. "Maybe things'd get done right for a change."

A grim silence followed that cheerless observation, and not even Wally seemed able to steer the conversation into something less depressing. Everybody fell silent for too long. When the phone beside my hand finally crackled to life again, I actually jumped.

"Hey, Barnes," Chuck said into my ear when I answered, "commander of the relief is coming around."

"Thanks."

That was part of our ritual. When the commander of the relief walked the perimeter to check on the towers, you warned the next guy down the line he was on the way.

Sergeant Pritchard was on tonight; he walked into view between the fences and I challenged him.

He issued the countersign and I waved him on past; then, as Pritchard walked under my tower and headed on toward the next one in line, I picked up the phone and warned Crater. He acknowledged and I cradled the phone again.

And was startled stiff when gunshots rang out over toward Tower Five. I grabbed my rifle and checked the magazine as voices erupted over the phone.

". . . Johnson, you stupid shit-for-brains moron!" Wally was snarling, which surprised the hell out of me. He never used that kind of language. "You shoot at Count Dracula again and I'll rip your balls off and beat you to death with them!"