"And I was just starting to hope that maybe at least of couple of you weren't as stupid as you look," Lunsford said.

He waited until that had time to settle in, then went on.

"Let me set the scene for you. You are a Belgian paratrooper. You have just landed in Stanleyville, where some really nasty people have been practicing cannibalism on white people, possibly including your relatives. You go to the apartment house where you hope your relatives are. There are dead white people all over the lawn, and in the elevators. You break into your apartment, and there is this barefoot black guy in a Belgian officer's tunic, a leopard skin, and shorts. And, of course, holding a gun. You'd blow the motherfucker away, right?"

There were no smiles now.

"Teeter?" Lunsford said, pointing to one of them.

"Yes, sir, that's what I'd do."

"Anybody who wouldn't blow the motherfucker away, raise your hand."

No hand raised.

"Well, lucky for me-I was the black guy in the Simba suit- that paratrooper thought before he pulled the trigger. Lucky for me, that Belgian paratrooper had control of himself under pressure. I don't think I would have had that control myself. That Belgian paratrooper did."

"You're talking about the lieutenant, aren't you, sir?" Master Sergeant Thomas said. "We heard that an American jumped with the Belgians. . . ."

Lunsford didn't reply.

"Anybody who wants to change his mind about the lieutenant," Sergeant Thomas said. "Raise your hand."

His hand rose.

"Jesus, Major, how were we supposed to know?" one of them asked as his hand went up.

"You were supposed to think," Lunsford said. "The only way you're going to stay alive is if you think."

Lunsford waited until they all had raised their hands.

"Enough with the hands bullshit," he said. "You all look ridiculous. And this is the Army-we don't take votes."

Now there was laughter.

"From this moment, Lieutenant Portet is our resident expert," Lunsford said. "If he says something, you treat it like it came from me. I just hope you're smart enough to understand how lucky we are to have him." He paused. "One more thing. If one of you runs off at the mouth and repeats what I said about Lieutenant Portet being the American who jumped on Stanleyville, I'll feed him his balls."

He paused.

"You have anything else, Lieutenant?"

"There's just one problem, sir. There's a lot of beer in that building that's going to get warm unless someone starts to drink it."

"So there is," Lunsford said. "Okay, what happens now is that you will form a line, walk past Lieutenant Portet, state your name, and say that you are happy to meet him, or words to that effect. With a little bit of luck, he'll remember them the next time you see him."

One by one, they filed past Jack and shook his hand, and said they were happy to meet him, or words to that effect. Jack had the feeling they meant it.

"If you've got something on your mind, Jack, say it," Lunsford said as they were riding from Pope Air Force Base to the Main PX at Fort Bragg.

"Although there was a lot of bullshit in that session," Jack said, "it was masterful."

"But?"

"I'm not the heroic, calm-under-pressure officer you made me out to be, and you know it."

"Neither am I heroic, or calm under pressure. The trick is not letting the troops find out."

"I don't know if I can pull that off."

"You can if you try. I've been doing it for years. You owe it to the troops, Jack, to make them think you're something special. They need to think their officers are something special. And you're an officer now."

Jack shrugged uncomfortably.

"And speaking of the troops, you owe me . . . three times two ninety-eight is eight ninety-six, divided by two is four forty-eight. You owe me four dollars and forty-eight cents, and I would like it now, please."

"What for?"

"Your share of the beer."

VI.

[ ONE ].

123 Brookwood Lane Ozark, Alabama 1550 20 December 1964 "Good, she's home," Marjorie Bellmon said aloud when she saw Liza Wood's Buick station wagon in the carport.

She turned the Jaguar off the street and drove up the drive.

Liza, a tall, lithe, strikingly beautiful twenty-four-year-old who wore her flamboyantly red hair in a pageboy, was in the carport, stuffing bags into a garbage can.

When she saw Marjorie, she smiled and walked up to the car.

"Hi," Marjorie said.

"It must be love. He's letting you drive his Jaguar," Liza said.

"I had to take it to the provost marshal's to get him a temporary sticker for it," Marjorie said, and added, "a blue sticker."

"A blue sticker? What's that all about?" She didn't give Marjorie time to reply before adding, "It'll wait until we get in the house. It's cold out here."

She opened the kitchen door for Marjorie, who walked in.

A small boy ran to her and wrapped his arms around her leg. "M'Jeri," he cried happily in his best, if failing, attempt to say her name.

Marjorie scooped him up.

"Hello, handsome," she said. "Where in the world have you and Mommy been? Aunt Mar-jor-ee Mar-jor-ee has been looking has been looking all over all over for you." for you."

She looked at Liza as she spoke.

"I'm about to have a drink," Liza said. "You want one?"

Marjorie thought it over for a moment.

"Yeah, why not? What are you offering?"

"Whatever you'd like. I'm going to have a Bloody Mary."

"Sounds fine," Marjorie said. "Where the hell hell have you been?" have you been?"

"Skiing in Colorado."

"For three weeks? Your mother-in-law wouldn't tell me where you were."

"I told her not to tell anyone," Liza said. "Tell me about the blue sticker."

"I heard about you and Johnny," Marjorie said. "I'm sorry."

"I wanted to get away from here, and I suppose in the back of my mind, there was the hope that I would find some handsome stud by the fireplace in the ski lodge, who would take my mind off the goddamned army."

"The goddamned army, or Johnny?"

"Both."

"And?"

"I wouldn't want this spread around, it would ruin my reputation, but when it came to the nitty-gritty, I decided there had to be a better way to get my act together than letting some moronic suntanned ski bum into my pants."

"And is your act together?"

"God, I hope so. Tell me about the blue sticker."

"Bmari," Allan said. "Bmari, bmari!"

Liza handed him a glass with red liquid in it.

"No booze, of course," Liza said. "But he likes it, Tabasco and all. I live in fear I'm going to give him the wrong glass sometime."

She handed Marjorie a Bloody Mary.

"There is gin in there, so make sure he doesn't pick it up. Now, what about the blue sticker? The temporary temporary blue sticker, I think you said." blue sticker, I think you said."

"Did they have newspapers where you were?"

"No, they communicate with tom-toms and smoke signals out there. Blue sticker?"

"Then you read about what happened at Stanleyville?"

"Sure. God, that was terrible. They were actually . . . cannibals."

"Specifically, did you see the picture of the Belgian paratrooper carrying the little girl in his arms?"

Liza searched her memory.

"Yeah, I did. It looked like he'd been shot in the nose."

"He wasn't shot in the nose. He fell off a truck. That was Jack."

"I have the strangest feeling that you're not pulling my leg," Liza said after a long moment.

"Girl Scout's honor," Marjorie said. "Cross my heart and hope to die, et cetera."

"What the hell was he doing in Africa?" Liza asked.

"He wasn't supposed to jump with the Belgians, but he did anyway. The Belgians are going to give him a medal."

Liza shook her head.

"And we're going to get married," Marjorie said.

"That's even worse news," Liza said. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have," Marjorie agreed. "And he came back, and I drove to Bragg to see him, and he proposed in words I will remember to my dying day. 'Screw your job,' 'Screw your job,' my knight in shining armor said, my knight in shining armor said, 'let's get married.' " 'let's get married.' "

Liza smiled at her.

"And you apparently were overwhelmed by the eloquence and said 'yes.' "

"Yeah," Marjorie said.

"Well, you're obviously happy about it, so I'm happy for you. And he's an officer now, with his own blue sticker?"

"Yeah," Marjorie said, and chuckled. "First lieutenant. Bobby had to pin his insignia on for him. He didn't know how."

"First lieutenant? That ought to make things easier for you at home."

"And I want you to be my maid of honor."

"I don't think so, honey."

"Why not?"

"He whose name I have sworn never again to say out loud, your daddy's dog-robber, will be there, right?"