"You're going to stay with me," Liza protested.

"And the Cuban can stay with us, and have some fun while you and the bride are out at the post playing Officers and Ladies. And sucking up to the brass."

"Go to hell, Geoff," Marjorie said.

"You want some company?" Geoff asked, ignoring her.

"Love some. Pappy gave me an L-23." He paused. "I better call and tell him we're coming," Jack said, and reached for the telephone again.

Three minutes later they were gone, in the Jaguar, Geoff having told Marjorie to tell Ursula he'd be back in a couple of hours, and to put clean sheets on a bed in one of the guest rooms.

"From the look on your face, Marjorie, my love, it is apparent that you have just realized the honeymoon is over," Liza said.

Marjorie didn't reply.

"Some women thrive on exciting little incidents like this," Liza said. "Where all well-laid plans are tossed out the window by a telephone call. They are called Good Army Wives. It's a little late to ask you if you're sure you want a life like that, but I will anyway."

"Jack did what he thought he had to do."

"That's always their excuse-it has to be done."

"Maybe you're right," Marjorie said.

"Of course I'm right."

"I was talking about you breaking it off with Johnny Oliver," Marjorie said. "Maybe that was the right thing for you to do."

"I'm not going to be a goddamned camp follower," Liza said. "That's it. Period."

"Can I borrow a car to go get Jack's uniform?" Marjorie asked.

"Oh, hell, I'll drive you out there."

VII.

[ ONE ].

Hurlburt U.S. Air Force Field Mary Esther, Florida 1505 31 December 1964 "Hurlburt," First Lieutenant Geoff Craig said into his microphone, "this is Army Six-one-niner."

"Go ahead, Six-one-niner," the Hurlburt tower replied.

"Six-one-niner, an L-23 aircraft, is at two thousand feet, oh, maybe three miles from your station, above the beautiful blue Gulf of Mexico. Request a straight-in approach to your Runway Zero Five."

"Army Six-one-niner, this is a closed field."

"Thank you, Hurlburt. We have the runway in sight."

"Army Six-one-niner, you are denied permission to land, I say again, you are denied permission to land."

"Thank you, Hurlburt. We will not require any services."

"Six-one-nine, go around, I say again, go around, permission to land is denied."

"Hurlburt, Army Six-one-niner on the ground at five past the hour."

"Army Six-one-nine, turn left on Taxiway One-five-A and hold your position. I say again, hold on Taxiway One-five-A. You will be met."

"Roger, Hurlburt, Six-one-niner holding on Taxiway One-five -A."

Geoff reached in the knee pocket of his flight suit, pulled out his green beret, and put it on.

"I hope you brought yours," he said to Jack Portet, in the left seat.

Jack nodded, took off his headset, pulled his beret out, and put it on.

"Never leave home without it," Geoff said solemnly. "Sometimes it's more useful than a credit card."

Two jeeps, both painted in checkerboard black and white, one of them with a pedestal-mounted .30-caliber Browning machine gun, came racing up the taxiway.

"Make nice," Geoff said. "We probably woke them up, and they're liable to be pissed."

He started to wave cheerfully at the approaching jeeps.

There were four Air Force men in the jeeps, all in fatigues, all wearing the flap-pinned-up-on-one-side, wide-brimmed hat that is the mark of the Air Force's air commandos.

The jeeps stopped. The two air commandos in the lead jeep trained the machine gun on the L-23. An air commando first lieutenant, whose jacket bore both pilot's and parachutist's wings, and who had a .45 pistol slung low-cowboy style-across his hips got out of the second jeep and walked in front of the first. He had an AOD brassard on his right arm.

"Smile and wave, goddamnit," Geoff ordered. Jack complied.

The air commando lieutenant looked at the airplane, shook his head in disgust, turned to the air commandos manning the machine gun, and signaled for them to point the machine gun in another direction.

Then he pointed at Jack and indicated that he wished for him to get out of the aircraft.

"I think he wants to talk to us," Geoff said. "You better shut it down."

"What the fuck are you guys up to?" the air commando lieutenant asked. "Didn't you hear the tower deny you permission to land?"

It was not normally the way he would have questioned the crew of an aircraft that had violated a direct order not to land at the air commando base.

But this crew was something special. They were Green Berets in addition to being pilots, which made them almost as good as air commandos, and thus entitled to a little professional courtesy.

"No," Geoff said, "what I heard him say was 'you are number one to land, there are no other aircraft in the area.' Isn't that what you heard him say, Jack?"

"That's what I heard him say," Jack said.

"You know you need prior permission to land here," the air commando said.

"We didn't remember that until we were halfway down here," Geoff said, "and the guy that sent us here apparently didn't remember at all."

"This is official? You're not just fucking around?"

"It's official," Geoff said. "We're going to pick up a guy and be out of here in five minutes."

"What guy?"

"His name is Santiago," Jack said. "De la Santiago."

"That's on the schedule for Saturday morning," the air commando lieutenant said.

"The early bird gets the worm," Geoff said. "You never heard that before?"

"Jesus!" the air commando said. He looked more closely at Jack. "Don't I know you? You've been here before, right?" His memory filled in the blank. "With the B-26's for the Congo, right?"

"Right," Jack said.

Intending them for service in the rapidly expanding war in Vietnam, the Air Force had taken a number of World War II B-26 bombers from the Air Force "graveyard" at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base and had them rebuilt. One of the first things Colonel Felter had done when given responsibility for the Congo was to order a dozen of them diverted to the air commando base at Hurlburt Field. There their American insignia was removed, and replaced with that of the air force of the Republic of the Congo.

Since there were no B-26 pilots in the Congolese Air Force, which existed mostly on paper, and the President didn't want the trouble he would get from the American people, and the Russians, if an American pilot was shot down, or crashed, non-American pilots, most of them formerly officers in the pre-Cuban Air Force, were hurriedly recruited to fly them to the Congo, and then into action against the Simbas.

"I figured your guy Santiago-he's Cuban, right?-was involved in that."

"You know him?"

"He walked into Base Ops about twenty minutes ago and said somebody was going to pick him up. I told him nothing was scheduled, and he should come back on Saturday. He just smiled at me, and went outside and sat down against the building."

"He's been flying B-26s in the Congo-" Jack said.

"While I sit on my ass here," the air commando pilot interrupted, more than a little bitterly.

"-and now he's back, and we were sent down to get him."

"With a little luck, maybe you can get yourself sent to Vietnam, " Geoff said.

"You realize the crack you guys put my ass in?" the air commando asked.

"Just let us pick up Santiago, and then forget we were here," Geoff said.

"All that 'you are denied permission to land' conversation is on tape, how the hell can I forget it?" the air commando said. "Oh, hell, I'll think of something."

"Thank you," Geoff said.

"If I went to Base Ops and brought your guy out here," the air commando asked thoughtfully, "could you get someone to cancel the pickup scheduled for Saturday morning?"

"Consider it done," Geoff said.

"Don't go anywhere," the air commando said.

He turned, walked to his jeep, got in, and motioned first for the driver to turn around and then for the other jeep to follow them.

"I think we ruined the day of the guys with the machine gun," Geoff said. "They thought they were finally going to get a chance to shoot somebody."

"Jacques, mon ami," mon ami," Enrico de la Santiago said when he got out of the air commando lieutenant's jeep. "They are finally letting you fly airplanes?" Enrico de la Santiago said when he got out of the air commando lieutenant's jeep. "They are finally letting you fly airplanes?"

But then Latin emotion took over and he ran to him, grabbed his arms, kissed both of Jack's cheeks, then wrapped him in a bear hug.

He was a slight man, with a swarthy skin, a full head of thick black hair, and a neatly manicured pencil-line mustache. He was wearing powder-blue trousers, a flamboyantly colored shirt of many colors, and an ex-USAF leather flight jacket, to which had been sewn a cloth patch reading CUBA, a painted-on-leather squadron insignia, and a leather patch with embossed Cuban pilot's wings over "E. de la Santiago, Capitaine, Forces Aero de Cuba."

Jack finally freed himself, and he and Geoff shook hands.

"The face I remember, but the name . . ." Enrico said.

"We used to see each other at Kamina," Geoff said. "In the Congo."

"Oh, yes. You were flying one of these," Enrico said, indicating the L-23. "It is very good to see you again."

"I like your jacket," Geoff said.

"A painful souvenir of times past," Enrico said, and shrugged.

"I hope we didn't get you in real trouble," Geoff said to the air commando.

"No problem," he replied. "I'll figure some way to really fuck you up sometime."

"Thank you," Enrico said to him.

"I'm sorry I ran you off before," the air commando said. "I really didn't know your friends were coming."

"Don't be silly."

"Okay, put the captain's bag in your little airplane, wind it up, and get it out of here," the air commando said.

He saluted, and held it, until Enrico realized the salute was intended for him. Then he came to attention and returned the salute.

Jack pulled the throttles back from TAKEOFF power, skillfully synchronized the engines, set a course for Rucker, set the trim for a slow climb, and turned to Enrico.

"So what's up?"

Enrico just perceptibly nodded in Geoff's direction, wordlessly asking, Can I talk in front of him? Can I talk in front of him?

"You ever hear the phrase 'Operation Earnest'?" Jack asked.

Enrico shook his head, no.