Quarters #9 Fort Bragg, North Carolina 0215 2 December 1964 In a failed attempt to get out of bed to answer the goddamned doorbell without waking his wife, Brigadier General Paul Hanrahan painfully stubbed his toe on the leg of the bed.

He swore.

"My God, what are you doing?" Patricia inquired, sitting up in bed and turning on a light.

"I was trying not to wake you. There's somebody at the door."

"Well, get your bathrobe on. Don't go down there in your underwear. "

She turned the light off and dropped back into the bed.

General Hanrahan found his bathrobe in the dark, left the bedroom, turned on the hall lights, and made his way gingerly down the stairs.

This better be important, he vowed, he vowed, or I will burn whoever is at the goddamned door at this goddamned hour a new anal orifice. or I will burn whoever is at the goddamned door at this goddamned hour a new anal orifice.

He snapped on the porch light and pushed the curtain away from the small triangular window in the center of the door.

"Shit," he said softly, and unlocked and opened the door.

"What can I do for you, Marjorie?" he asked, as kindly as he could manage under the circumstances.

"Where is he, Uncle Red?" Miss Marjorie Bellmon asked. "I know he's here, he called me from here, but the duty officer wouldn't tell me anything."

He turned and wordlessly waved her into the house.

He picked up the telephone and dialed a number.

Miss Marjorie Bellmon and Patricia Hanrahan-who, her husband became aware, was now coming down the stairs-heard only the following: (Politely): "Let me speak to the duty officer, please."

(Less politely): "Then wake him up, goddamn it!"

(Impatiently): "General Hanrahan."

(Apologetically) "I should have told you who I was, Sergeant. No problem."

(Politely): "Sorry to wake you up, Captain. I don't suppose Sergeant Portet is readily available?"

(Long silence during which the duty officer reports, somewhat uneasily, that there had been sort of a little "Welcome Home, Jack" party sponsored by the staff, which had ended when the beer ran out about oh-one-thirty, and that so far as he knew Sergeant Portet was asleep. Soundly Soundly asleep.) asleep.) (Politely): "Hold one, please, Captain."

"Marjorie, Jack's in bed at Camp Mackall. He was all worn out from the flight. Do you want me to have them wake him up?"

"Can I see him in the morning?"

(Normal tone of voice): "Captain, first thing in the morning, put him in an ambulance and deliver him to my quarters. Tell him his girl is here."

(Somewhat impatiently): "Yes, an ambulance. You weren't told we're keeping him under a rock?"

(More politely): "Oh-six-thirty would be fine, Captain. Thank you. Good night."

" 'Under a rock'?" Patricia Hanrahan quoted, quizzically.

"Why does he need an ambulance?" Marjorie Bellmon inquired.

"Jack will be here at half past six," General Hanrahan said.

"I'll go to the guest house and be back then," Marjorie replied.

"Don't be silly, Marjorie, you'll do no such thing," Patricia Hanrahan said.

"What did you do, Marjorie? Drive all night to get here?" General Hanrahan inquired.

Stupid goddamn question. Unless she flew here on the wings of young love, how else would she get here?

"Are you hungry, honey?" Mrs. Hanrahan inquired.

"A little. I didn't stop except for gas."

"Red, why don't you make her an egg sandwich or something while I get her bed made?"

(Somewhat strained enthusiasm): "Sure."

[ THREE ].

Quarters #9 Fort Bragg, North Carolina 0530 3 December 1964 General Red Hanrahan came suddenly out of a deep sleep with the realization-Christ, why didn't I think of this last night?- that if he had Jack Portet delivered to his quarters in an ambulance at 0630, it would be all over Colonel's Row in ten minutes-and all over the Special Warfare Center ten minutes after that-that there had been some sort of before-reveille emergency at his quarters. that if he had Jack Portet delivered to his quarters in an ambulance at 0630, it would be all over Colonel's Row in ten minutes-and all over the Special Warfare Center ten minutes after that-that there had been some sort of before-reveille emergency at his quarters.

The Army, he thought, could give How To Gossip lessons to a dozen Italian widows gathered around the village water pump.

The concerned and the curious would descend on his quarters like flies onto a corpse, and he couldn't have that. For one thing, he had been told to keep Jack out of sight, and for another, tongues would really start to wag if it became known that he was playing Cupid's helper to a fellow general officer's daughter and her sergeant boyfriend.

He very carefully got out of bed so as not to wake Patricia again, found his bathrobe without trouble, and made it almost to the bedroom door before stumbling into a footstool that was where it shouldn't have been.

"Shit!"

"For God's sake, Red, what are you trying to do, wake Marjorie? "

"Go back to sleep, baby. I've got to make a phone call."

"Hah!"

When he walked into his kitchen, he saw that Miss Marjorie Bellmon was already wide awake, fully dressed, and had made a pot of coffee.

"I didn't mean to wake you, Uncle Red. Sorry."

"No problem, honey."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Well, let's see when Jack will be here," Hanrahan said, and picked up the handset of the wall telephone.

"U.S. Army Special Warfare Center, Staff Sergeant Abraham speaking, sir."

"This is General Hanrahan, Sergeant. Sometime in the next few minutes, someone from Mackall is going to bring a sergeant named Portet-"

"They're here, sir, waiting for 0615 to bring him by your quarters, " Sergeant Abraham interrupted.

"The original idea was to bring him in an ambulance," Hanrahan said. "I don't want to give my neighbors something to talk about."

"I'll run him over there in the duty jeep when it's time, sir."

"Thank you," Hanrahan said. "You might as well bring him now. I'm up."

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks, Sergeant."

Marjorie kissed him.

"Thank you, Uncle Red."

He smiled at her and looked at his watch.

0537. He's already on the post. Which means he left Mackall at, say, 0445. Which means they woke him up at 0400. Good. I hope he was really hungover when they woke him up.

"I'm going to go back to bed for a while, honey. Make yourself at home."

Marjorie heard the jeep drive up, and peered around the drapes of the living-room window.

Her heart jumped when she saw him get out of the jeep.

Oh, my God, his nose is bandaged!

My God, I really love that man!

As she went quickly to the door to open it before he would have a chance to ring the bell and wake up the Hanrahans, she had a second thought: My God, he looks like a soldier! He looks like one of them!

The last time she had seen him in uniform, he looked like what he was, a draftee fresh from Basic Training, a buck private in combat boots and a baseball cap and ill-fitting mussed fatigues bearing only the legend US ARMY over the left breast pocket and PORTET over the right.

She opened the door and he trotted quickly up to her.

He is one of them!

There was a green beret on his head, and sergeant's stripes and the insignia of Special Forces on the sleeves of his starched and form-fitting fatigues. There were U.S. Army parachutist's wings pinned above the US ARMY patch, and what she correctly guessed were Belgian paratrooper's wings over his name on the right. And he was wearing glistening paratrooper's jump boots.

"You're a long way from home, Marjorie," he said.

"How's your nose?" she asked.

And then she was in his arms, his face buried in her neck.

She felt him grow and stiffen against her abdomen.

"Oh, baby, I'm so glad to see you," he said.

She freed herself.

"So I noticed," she said.

He smiled.

"That's what they call an 'involuntary vascular reaction to a stimulus,' " he said.

She felt herself blush.

He leaned down to her and kissed her, very chastely, on the lips. The innocence of the kiss lasted perhaps three seconds, and then she was aware that she was pressing herself against him with a hunger that matched his.

She freed herself again.

"The Hanrahans," she said, nodding toward the stairs.

"Jesus," he said.

"You were supposed to teach them about the airport," she challenged. "Nothing else."

"It didn't work out that way," he said.

"You could have been killed, damn you!"

"I wasn't," he said simply.

"Good morning, Jack," Patricia Hanrahan said from the staircase.

Last night's carousing obviously hasn't hurt his appetite, General Hanrahan thought. When I was a young buck and drank beer all night until there was no more, the last thing I wanted to see- even think about-the next morning was a fried egg. When I was a young buck and drank beer all night until there was no more, the last thing I wanted to see- even think about-the next morning was a fried egg.

Sergeant Jack Portet was seated at the kitchen table, eating ham and eggs under the adoring gaze of Miss Marjorie Bellmon. Mrs. Patricia Hanrahan, wearing an apron over her negligee, was leaning against a kitchen counter wearing a look that Red Hanrahan thought was either maternal or Ain't They Sweet! Ain't They Sweet!

The telephone on the wall rang, and Hanrahan answered it on the second ring.

"General Hanrahan."

"Colonel Swenson, sir. I hope I didn't wake you."